All About Rarity

by Wellspring

Rating: mature
Tags: Main 6, Romance, Princess Cadance, Rarity, Shining Armor, Sex, Tragedy, Applejack, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark
Length: 193608

Rarity is torn between Applejack's love and her own desire for Shining Armor; and when she finally resolves to pursue the latter, ethics and morality is thrown aside to take–and keep–the prince she has always dreamed of.

"Why is it that a 'dream', that which fills our reality when we escape to the recluse of sleep, to be remembered only in that brief waking moment when we forget who, what and where we are, is the same as the 'dream' that drives one to ambition and insatiability, that ideal to which we give everything to reach and have-and to which we would not settle for anything less?"

When Rarity finally finds the prince she has always dreamed of, it came in the form of a groom to a princess's wedding. That same night, one of her friends, the prince's diametrical opposite, accidentally confesses an unbridled love in the most corrupt way possible. Torn between the dangerous pursuit of what she wants and the security of being wanted, wielding 'love' and 'lust' as her weapons, what sacrifices would Rarity give–and take–from one to the other?

This is a story of a dreamy-eyed filly who looks up to princesses and princes, to castles and chivalry, to love and romance; this is a story of an insatiable lady who refuses to let dreams remain behind the darkness of closed eyes or the illusion of sleep; a story of a passionate lover torn between what she wants and what she has always wanted; of a would-be princess who forces the devil's hand to yank the plains of heaven down the surface of the earth; of a she-fox who uproots the grape tree by sheer force of her fangs; and, of a teary-eyed witch who sits upon the throne of God if, for a second–even for just a split second, it would grant the filly's wish.

The story is All About Rarity.

PaulAsaran's Review

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Edited by the awesomely supportive Serenity Viewer, with the assistance of the very talented Schizoid Nightfall
Cover Art–used with permission–by the heart-eyed Crenair

WARNING: Clopfic. Contains adult content and themes. Includes sexual depictions of angry sex, hate sex, guilt sex, "she-was-asking-for-it" sex, romantic sex and happy sex.

Published 2013-02-28 14:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2014-03-30 21:43:02 UTC

Chapter 2: The Poisoned Apple

Chapter 2:
The Poisoned Apple

“You really needed to put these where the sun shines,” Twilight says. She takes the bouquet in her hooves and inspects its flowers.

"A place where the shines? That’s a rarity in this house," I respond. My hooves busy themselves aimlessly on the mannequin ensemble, trying to find a small, miscalculated detail I can pour my attention to. The dress has been finalized since last night.

I watch Twilight work from the corner of my eyes. Her horn glows. She levitates the bouquet from its glass vase, the one she brought me two days ago, and places it in a bowl. Still with her magic, she rinses and fills the vase with clean water before placing the wilting flowers back in place.

"You really shouldn't waste them like this," she says.

"I am not wasting them."

"A few more weeks and they’ll be inedible." She draws open the curtains and places the vase in the ray of light that cuts across the room. "I'm actually surprise you haven't eaten them yet."

"It need not be obligatory that the bridesmaid who catches the bouquet has to consume it."

"But it misses the entire point," she says, stomping her hoof.

"You're a mare of science, Twilight. You ought to know that symbols extends no further than cultural bromide." My eyes remain transfixed on the dress. My horn glows and I untie a ribbon, only to tie it back again.

"But you're actually the one who jumped through the crowd when Cadance threw it."

"Indeed, I did."

"And you were so enthusiastic."

"Indeed, I was."

"And now you're just letting them waste away?"

"Indeed, I am."

“So you are letting them go to waste?”

The question hangs in the air. I try to ignore it, but Twilight Sparkle’s constant presence is a reminder that she awaits, and expects, an answer.

After a minute of silence, I respond with a question of my own. "What do you know of flowers, Twilight?"

"Not much,” she answers honestly, patiently. “Botany isn't really my field."

"The flowers in the bouquet are called Diana’s Moonblossom. It's a very rare and very expensive treat, usually served as a desert. It’s a flower that went extinct long ago but has been re-cultivated in Luna's personal garden since her return. I mentioned this to Sapphire Shores, who made mentioned it to a friend, who made mention of it to a connoisseur willing to buy the entire arrangement for four hundred bits a petal."

"Wait, you actually sold this!?" she says, eyes going wide.

"I could have raised the price to five hundred a petal, but I needed to befriend him. He looks influential enough,” I say, randomly snipping some leftover fabrics. “In addition, it is difficult to find buyers."

"That's not my point. It's a gift. It's from Cadance's wedding. It's special."

"You are absolutely right." An idea dawns on me. "If I tell them that this is the same bouquet from the royal wedding then the price could be doubled, tripled even."

"Rarity!"

Unable to maintain the pretense any longer, my horn flares and the vase jumps towards Twilight’s direction. She captures it with her own magic.

"You eat it if you want to get married that badly!" I shout. "Go on. Take it! I don't need it. I don't want it. Get it out of my house."

Twilight Sparkle does not say anything. She levitates the vase and places it firmly on a nearby drawer.

"If you do not want it then leave it there to wilt,” I say, throwing the scissors and fabrics aside. “Flowers and their meanings, the self-indulgent sentimentalism of it all ruins the sincerity. It’s just the same plant growing out of the same dirt. And I for one would not subscribe to failed romantics and their trites.”

I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to break the glass vase into pieces and trample those flowers beneath my hooves. If only both were not so costly.

I glare at Twilight. “Now, do you still want to talk about flowers— or how Applejack raped me?"

Twilight Sparkle sighs. She does not want me to put it as bluntly as I did, but there is no substitute. No word in my vocabulary preserves the definition while connoting a more despicable implication.

"You two can't keep avoiding each other like this," she says.

"Try me."

"I’d rather not. It's ruining your friendship."

"You honestly expect friendship after what she did?"

"I expect friendship after a civilized discussion."

"What she did to me is beyond civil."

"But not beyond discussion. At least give her a chance to apologize if not to explain herself."

Twilight waited for my response, to which I had none.

"Alright, buck it. Blame it on the drink, blame it on wild anger or the heat of the moment or whatever. You and I both know that Applejack is the loyalest and most dependable of ponies and that nopony is more sorry for what happened than she is."

I remain quiet, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. The truth hurts.

"It's eating her alive. She can't sleep, she barely eats. Yesterday, she collapsed on the farm in the middle of work. She lay there in the heat of the sun for hours. She could've had a heat stroke if Big Mac hadn’t found her.

"Are you trying to appeal to my pity with this morbid invention?"

"What? Do you want to see her lying on a hospital bed before you're convinced? No. I'm not appealing to your pity, but to your understanding. You don't know how many times Applejack has paced back and forth in front of your boutique just so she could apologize, the only thing stopping her is because she doesn't think she deserves a space in your house."

“She wasn’t wrong about that.”

“Look, I’m trying to make this damn thing work! I gave you two enough time to work things out together. I’m not going to let this freak accident ruin our friendship.”

“Freak accident? I don’t think you know what happened but I was almost raped, Twilight. Raped! If you have yourself open to anypony willing to dust off the cobwebs between your legs, I sure as Tartarus do not.” I push her back with my hoof.

“You’re out of line,” she pushes me back. “I tried to be nice and friendly about this, but I guess I’ll have to force the issue. We’ll finish this here and now.”

Twilight’s horn flares and several of the windows shut. The curtains pull together, depriving the room of daylight. The lights flicker on and the bedroom door closes.

“Whatever are you doing?” I look around as every exit in the room closes.

“If we're getting this out into the open we need a closed environment." Her eyes scour the room. "And what you need is to sit down, shut up and listen."

“Y-You can’t possibly bring Applejack here, to my house!”

She glares at me and flares her nostrils. “She’s been here the whole time.”

“What!”

Twilight’s horn glows and the entrance to the boutique opens.

There, standing in the doorway, is Applejack. She holds her Stetson against her chest, revealing her disheveled blonde mane flowing freely. Her coat has lost most of its shine and seems darker than the usual. Her eyes are downcast, avoiding mine at all costs. But I can see the baggy eyes on her worn expression.

My legs move on their own. I step back, knocking down a mannequin. The taste and stench of apples returns to my muzzle.

Applejack looks at me, startled and uneased by my abrupt movement, and turns her head away.

“Is it...uh...alright, if ah come in?” she says.

My head makes the most subtle gesture of denial. Too subtle to be seen. It is Twilight who answers the earth mare’s question. “Come in.”

Applejack looks to me first, then to Twilight, before stepping inside.

“Don’t!” I hiss. Applejack draws back.

“It’s alright, go in,” Twilight assures her, throwing a menacing glance at me.

Applejack hesitates, but resolves to enter.

For every step closer Applejack takes, my instinct propels me to move back. The pressure in my limbs returns as she nears. My heartbeat rises and becomes noticeably painful against my chest.

Twilight’s horn glows and she moves the center table in between the three of us.

“Let’s all first sit down,” she says.

Twilight sits in the middle and beckons me to sit. Applejack sits on one end, an empty chair waiting to be filled opposite of her. Twilight glares at me.

“Sit,” she commands.

“I’d rather stand.”

“This isn’t a debate!” she almost shouts. “Sit down or Celestia help me I’ll force you into that chair myself.”

My hooves are already on the chair before she can finish her sentence. The three of us sit in uncomfortable silence. For all my incrimination and insults moments ago, I cannot not speak a word now. Applejack’s head turns elsewhere, only her physiology stops her from turning around completely. Twilight steeples with her hooves, and throws glances between Applejack and I. She sighs.

“Alright, before anything else, let me ask you both: do you want to fix this by yourselves or do you want me to stay?”

The question hangs in the air. Neither Applejack nor I answers.

“Well?”

Applejack reshuffles in place and stares blankly at the table. “Ah think ah want to talk to Rare in private-like,” she says, barely above a whisper. "If y'all don't mind."

“No, stay!” I scream to Twilight. “Who knows what she could do to me.”

Twilight glares angrily at me. Applejack softly closes her eyes and bites her lower lip.

“Very well. I’ll leave you two alone.” Twilight stands and trots away. “I’ll be out the door.”

Twilight exits. As soon as the door closes behind her, I leap to my feet and look for an exit of my own, but all the doors and windows are sealed by Twilight's magic. Trapped inside my own house with my rapist, I squirm into the farthest corner of the room.

Applejack observes me. She stands and takes her place at the opposite corner.

“Better?” she asks.

I make no reply. I press myself against the wall and cover myself with my hooves. I feel myself more naked than I naturally am when Applejack lays her eyes on me. She notices my gesture and turns away.

“Ah reckon I’ll start with an apology.”

“You–" My voice cracks and I clear my throat. "You ‘reckon’?”

“Look, this ain’t easy for me.” Applejack remains quiet for a while, waiting for my rage to subside. “Awright, ya know ah ain’t good with’em words so ah won’t beat around the bush. Rarity, I apologize for... for assaultin’ you.”

“...Rape,” I say flatly, my eyes closing.

She looks up. She knew the word, but did not think I would say it. “Pardon?”

“That’s the word you should use: Rape.”

“Ah reckon it meant the same thing.”

“Assault could mean that you could have just hit me,” I explain. “Rape means that you forced me... that you forced yourself... sexually... onto me...” My voice trails off.

“Rarity, ah apologize for tryin’ to... tryin’ to...” she stops to breathe. “For tryin’ to rape ya.”

Applejack says it, honestly and sincerely. As straightforward as she can.

It does not ease the pain in my chest.

“Ah don’t have any excuses," she continues, "and ah won’t blame it on the drink. Fault is mine. Ah don’t know what got over me. It was so sudden and ah was so angry and... ah’m so ashamed.”

“You better be.”

“Why are you tryin’ to make this so hard for me?”

“Because it shouldn’t be easy.”

“Ah apologize.”

“Oh, you’re sorry. That’s it?" My hoof make a step forward and my eyes starts to tear up. "Am I supposed to just accept your apology so we can walk hoof-in-hoof together again? You assaulted me. You stole my first kiss.”

Applejack head shoot up, her eyes wide. “Ah didn’t know...”

“I don’t know what kind of rustic debauchery you were brought up in, but I was saving my lips for my stallion on my wedding day. And now, I can’t even sleep at night without remembering how you tried to...”

It is too much. Never in my life had I felt so helpless and despoiled than when I was beneath Applejack’s hooves. Since her attack, a sensation lingers all over me like a stain of mud that cannot be washed away no matter how furiously I scrub my coat. I do not even know why I try. I feel that the stain and vulgarity is beyond flesh, that it has seeped to that where innocence and sanctity ought to be.

I break into sobs, collapsing on the floor.

Applejack takes a step forward but hesitates. She mumbles something, and angrily smashes her hoof against the wall. “Ah’m sorry, Rare. Ah’m sorry. Ah’d say it as many times it takes, ah’m sorry. Ah’d give anything to change the past, but there's no going back. It’s done now. Ah don’t expect ya to forget, but here ah am hoping ya could forgive. Ah don’t want this to ruin our friendship. Ah’d do anything to make it right again.”

I pick myself up from the floor and hid my face from her. “Whatever made you do it, of all things?”

“Ah... dunno.”

“I slapped you," I say, wiping the tears from my eyes. "You could have simply hit me back... It would’ve been less painful.”

“Ah wouldn’t dare hit ya." She shakes her head. "Never.”

“So you forced yourself onto me instead!? What was your intention? What were you trying to prove?”

“I think I thought that was the worst thing I could do.”

“Would you have...” I bite my lip. “If Twilight hadn’t been there to stop you, would you have... gone all the way?”

“Would you believe me if ah said no.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“I wouldn’t believe me after what ah did. Some Element of Honesty I turn out to be... but if there’s one thing you can believe it’s that the responsibility is mine... as well as the shame. Not yours.”

“I don’t think there’s anything left in me... Not even disgrace.”

“Ah said ah can’t change the past... but ah reckon ah can do something to ease your pain, to make ya feel less... scared.”

I look to Applejack, who looks at me with a stern expression of confidence found only in a stallion who is sure of what he’s doing. It frightens me.

Applejack takes a step forward and my eyes widen. The sight of her moving towards me propels me further against the immovable wall.

“Stay back!” I shout.

But she is not hindered.

I levitate several obstacles and fling them in her direction: a roll of tape, some fabrics, a pair of scissors.

“Twilight, help!” I shout through the door. There is no response.

Applejack draws closer, and in a desperate attempt I fling a wooden chair towards her face. It hits her directly on the head. The impact stops her for a brief instant. She glares at me, a striking glare, and I see how my struggle only fuels her determination. She inches closer again, closer until she was a manebreadth away; until there is nothing to see but her. I see her hooves close in on my shivering body.

It all comes back to me to in quick flash: the kiss, the musk, the taste of apples. Her hooves gripping me in place as she had her way with me. The feeling of defiance in a state of helplessness.

Oh, Celestia, no more...

Please stop...

My eyes tear up.

Then I feel Applejack’s hooves wrap around me in an embrace.

“Ah promised ah wouldn’t hurt ya, sugarcube,” she says.

My whole body freezes, shocked into place by the unfathomable and inconceivable warmth and protectiveness of that embrace. Her hold tightens around me. It is a powerful hold, yet gentle: the embrace that all mares yearn to lean on. I feel as though these hooves are there to protect me from the ones before and that, as I let her, she would protect me from all that would do me harm.

"Ah swear," she says. “Ah swear on mah grave, on mah parents grave, that ah won’t let anything hurt ya.”

My body eases up, and I make the subtlest of nods. My hooves return her embrace and we share a comfortable sense of safety. Certain, that one will not cause pain upon the other. Not anymore.

"Hey, Rare," she whispers.

"Y-Yes?"

"Ah'm sorry."

"...I know."

The smell of rust tickles my nostrils as I feel Applejack's hooves loosen.

"Applejack?"

There was no reply. I feel her breathing lighten.

"Applejack?" I call a second time.

Slowly, Applejack's body slithers away from me. Her weight shifts and she falls, collapsing to the floor with a loud thud. Over her right eye I see blood flowing profusely.

"Applejack!" I scream; I kneel to her and grab her in my hooves. "Twilight! Help! Call an ambulance!"

* * *

"And then... what happened?" Fluttershy squeaks, submerging half of her face beneath the tub’s hot water.

"Twilight and I waited for what seemed like hours," I say, staring at my own deadpan reflection. "Then Nurse Redheart came out of those doors and assured us that she will be fine. All she needs now is plenty of bed rest. The concussion is mild and her current state owes more to the stress of her work."

"Thank goodness.” Fluttershy sighs in relief. “I thought she'd be more hurt after that kind of fall."

"She is an earth pony, dear,” I say, rubbing my hooves together. “They're made of tougher stuff."

"Still, it's not like Applejack to slip in the apple cellar like that. I think that's the first time that’s happened."

"A first for everything, darling. And hopefully the last."

“But what was she so stressed about?”

“My look at the time. We better get out of here before our hooves get all pruney.”

We both exit the hot tub and go straight to the lockers where we return our private bath towels. We proceed to the massage room and pedicure room— the final stage of our weekly ritual.

“Oh, Miss Rarity,” says Aloe, just as I lie down on the massage table, “this came for you a minute ago.”

She hands me a small telegram in a basket and I levitate it to me. “Thank you very much.”

I inspect the letter. It’s perfumed with the smell of what seems to be...

Fleur de Lis.

I turn the letter excitedly. The crimson wax seal is embossed with three crowns.

Surely, I should remind Fancy Pants next time to stop doing that. He’s no Celestia.

I laugh meekly for a moment, imagining how the conversation would turn out. I levitate a letter opener, use it to open the envelope, return it aside, and finally read the letter's contents.

Dearest Rarity,

Fleur and I invite you as the VIP to our quarter-annual cocktail party at the end of this month in the Mare Antoinette tower. More than anypony else, I am sure you know what this occasion truly is for.

Your host,

Fancypants

P.S. Your friends are also invited and will be given a grand reception should you wish to bring them.

Out of control, I make a loud unladylike laugh that draws the attention of Fluttershy and the twins.

“What does it say?” Fluttershy asks, trying hard not to look over my shoulder.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just an invitation to a party.”

What made me laugh is the thought that this party, hosted by Fancypants, is without a doubt her engagement party with Fleur de Lis. I imagine how the mare, unable to contain her excitement, forces her fiancé to announce the betrothal months ahead of schedule.

Though what catches my eye is the postscript written at the very bottom. It suggest that I specifically bring one of my friend to the party.

It makes me think for a moment. Though Fancypants is charmed by my group of friends here in Ponyville, it does not follow that the rest of the elites share his genuine approval outside mere verbal expression. The blame is not theirs entirely. Two circles of friends does not always form a chain.

I look to Fluttershy who looks at me curiously. “Darling, do you by chance have anything planned at the end of month.”

“What for?”

“The party asks that I bring a friend with me. Though it is not an absolute command, I’d find it very rude if I were to appear their alone. It looks... defiant.”

“Will we be going somewhere?”

“Canterlot.”

“Is it the... party?”

“Indeed.”

“Well, I... I don’t know. I’m not sure...”

“Pretty please,” I hold on to her hoof and bat a few eyelashes, hoping it will have the same effect as it normally does to stallions. “There’s nopony else I could ask to come with me.”

“Well there’s Rain-”

“Rainbow Dash would reject with immediate haste, no doubt.”

“How about Pink–” She stops and catches herself, “How about Twilight?’

“I am afraid to say that Twilight Sparkle and I are not on good terms at the moment.”

“Did something happen?”

“She has a perfectly good reason for hating me as she does.”

“Oh my!” Fluttershy holds her hooves against her mouth.

“It’s none of the extremes that you might be imagining, I assure you. She is perfectly justified. It is the kind of simmering hatred that cools down with the slow passage of time. I simply need to keep my distance from her— say, a few days— and this party would be a great excuse for that.”

“Did you... do something?”

“It is what I didn’t do. My stubbornness and wild passion blinded me to the light of reason. It was my shortcomings.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

"I prefer not to, dear.” I smile to her. "It is that time of the week that we enjoy our afternoon.”

The both of us remain silent for a while. The twins arrive, carrying in their mouths a bottle of massage oil.

I lie face down on the massage table. Fluttershy does the same. Lotus stands by my beside and a moment later I feel the cold, viscous liquid bite into my coat. Then I feel the mare’s gentle hooves spread the lotion all over my back. It is a soothing sensation, as though every pore that breathes in the coolness washes away the strain from my muscles.

I allow myself the absolute surrender and relax, letting Lotus do her work.

Work–heck– this is magic!

My hindleg makes a small jerk, one of those small, weak jerks when one can't help but melt in pleasure.

Then the mare’s hooves increase in pressure. Against my coat and flesh her touch suddenly feels like a hammer that highlights the weakness of my feminine physique— as though those hooves can do whatever they wish with my body. To hold me, to lock me in a death-grip. Those powerful hooves against me, pressure coiling around my hips, a ruthless tongue that slithers across my neck, carrying with it the stench of apples...

“Aaah!!!” I scream and tumble back. The table flips and I fall to the white tiles.

I come to just as quickly as I had gone. In front of me, three mares stare in horror.

“Loti! What did you do?” shrieks Aloe to her sister.

Lotus looks frightened. She offers me her hoof and I take it. The two sister throw nervous glances to me and one another.

“No, no.” I say to Lotus. “You have done nothing wrong, dear. It is me. I... I do not particularly feel like it for today. Do not fret though. I will be back as scheduled.”

“Did I do something wrong, Miss Rarity?” Lotus whispers. “I am so sorry.”

“It is my back, I believe. I should have taken the doctor’s advice when he said that I should not apply too much pressure to my dorsum.”

“You have a back ache?” Fluttershy asks and tilts her head.

“Quite so," I lie. "I thought that a massage would work out the tensions but I guess it only had the reverse effect.”

“If only I knew!” Lotus cries.

“Hush, darling. The fault is mine for the lack of warning. I should have said something.”

“We should get you to the hospital,” says Fluttershy. “I mean, you know, just to make sure that nothing’s wrong.”

“No need. Nothing a good night’s rest can’t heal.”

Fluttershy rises to her hooves, the bath robe sliding off her sleek back. She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t advise that. Let’s go.”

Fluttershy drags me out of the room and into the reception area, where we pay our fees to the twins that keep apologizing profusely. Fluttershy and I assure them that they have not lost our patronage, and that they can expect us next week as scheduled.

I try to lead us back to their homes, but Fluttershy’s worry about my well-being eventually carries us to the hospital. I try to persuade her against it, one small lie over another, but she would always retort with tales of how her injured animal friends with the same symptoms.

“Really, I do not believe that this is necessary.”

“Maybe something bad happened when Lotus massaged you, or when you fell, or you broke a muscle and the pain is so much that you can’t even feel it.” Fluttershy, bless the darling, grimaces at her own thoughts.

“Really now, that last is too much of an exaggeration. Even for you.”

"Oh, we can pay Applejack a visit as well. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Fluttershy holds the door open for me before I could respond, and I find the reason that draws me away from the establishment, more so than naturally. I knew, at the back of my mind, that Applejack is there.

Waiting for me.

“We’re here,” she repeats, trying to break me out of my trance.

“D-Darling...” I sigh. “I really, really, do not feel quite up to this at the moment.”

“But...”

But before she could say more, out came the professional visage of Nurse Redheart, opening the door.

“Good afternoon, Miss Rarity,” the nurse says. “I am glad you came today."

"But I didn't—"

"We could use your help calming her down. Follow me.”

Clipboard in hoof, Nurse Redheart beckons me to follow her. Caught between the oblivious nurse and the surprisingly resistant Fluttershy, there is no escape. Fluttershy and I exchange glances and, not without reluctance, follow the nurse. She leads us to the second floor and in front of a door with the label ‘209.’

“Please convince her to take some rest,” Redheart says before departing.

Before I could act, Fluttershy pushes open the door.

It is a small, single room, cozy enough for patients who aren’t expecting many visitors. The large open window blasts a chill of cool air that makes the curtains dance against the wind, and in the middle of the room, parallel to the bed, Applejack is doing some push-ups.

“Ah told you ah don’t need no bed rest.” She looks to us and stops her exercise. “Oh. Pardon. Thought you were Redheart. Very strict nurse, that one.”

Applejack stands properly on all fours, grabs a towel, and uses it to wipe the perspiration off her glistening coat. The room had gathered the smell of apple pheromones.

“Sorry to be unsightly,” she says with a smile. “Was trying to work up a sweat, tryin’ to prove to ‘em doctors ah ain’t about to stay the rest the day all tuckered away in some bed.”

“Oh my, that looks painful.” Fluttershy flies closer to the earth pony to inspect the still-raw, cut over her right eye.

“It ain’t as bad as it looks,” she says, moving away. "Doc made a few stitches and said it'll be fixed like it was never there."

“You should really be more careful in that apple cellar. You can, you know, put pillows.”

“Uh... Apple cellar? Pillows?"

“Rarity told me it’s the stress that made you slip. You should be careful about that too.”

“Excuse me, darling,” I say without thinking. “May I speak with Applejack for a moment.”

Fluttershy looks to me then to Applejack. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you two wanted some privacy. I didn't know you two had something to talk about and I was in the way–"

“You weren’t dear. It’s just that...” I try to explain.

“I’ll... go wait outside now.”

Fluttershy flies out the door, leaving me alone with Applejack.

I look to the cowpony, and she slowly backs away to the other side of the bed, retrieving her hat from the cabinet and placing it on her head.

“So... How are you feeling?” I ask.

“Could be better, could be worse.” She shrugs.

“Anything I should be worried about?”

“Twilight and me already covered the hospital bills, if that’s what yer asking.”

“I... I wasn’t.”

“Sorry... I didn’t mean it to be rude-like.” She looks out the window and sits on the bed, her hind legs dangling inches from the floor. “So... Apple cellar, huh.”

“If you are going to ask me to disclose the truth to Fluttershy then I will.”

“Please. Ah don't want no lies," she says, cradling her hat. "Ah never asked you to lie for me, Rarity. I know ya meant good but ah don’t like it when ponies lie, even for mah sake... What ah did to ya that night was shameful, that ah deserve it; the only thing more shameful is to hide from it, and that ah don’t.”

“I’m sorry if I insulted you.”

“You didn’t mean it..." she says, followed by a small chuckle "Y'know, Rainbow Dash sneaked in to visit me this morning. She asked me where and why ah got hit. Ah told her you threw a chair at me and she got mad. But ah told her ya did that cuz ya were protecting yourself after what ah did to ya. Rainbow Dash got so mad at me she left, slamming the door on her way out. Last thing she said is that she’s gonna buck me in the chest the moment ah get out of the hospital to send me right back in.”

“I’ll speak to her. Tell her that we are on better terms.”

“Are we?”

“We are trying to be.”

“Yeah...”

I shuffle in place and I bow my head to her. “I never had the chance to say it but I truly want to retain our friendship amidst this whole misunderstanding. To forgive and to forget. The former is done; the latter, not easily so.”

Applejack opens her lips to say something. I hold my hoof up.

“Please, let me finish... I will not speak of the weight of our shortcomings. I will only add that I know and admit that a great deal of this mess is due to my insensitivity. If only I was not inconsiderate of your attention. And if I was not so... proud... we could have resolved this long ago. Applejack, I accept your apology. Now, I am begging you to accept mine, as one friend to another. For my crudity... for my harsh words. For my pride and my... temper.”

“Of course ah forgive ya, you silly mare. Ya didn’t even need to ask.”

“Friends?” I offer her my hoof.

“Friends.” She takes my hoof in hers and shakes.

I feel that the hoofshake is too formal for us that I decide to lean in for a hug. But she backs away a step and for a heartbeat I think she wants me nowhere near her. She assures me otherwise, however.

“Woah there, nelly.” she says. “Might not be a good idea.”

I tilt my head.

“Ah smell shampoo on ya since you’ve been in the spa and all. And here ah am all sweaty.”

I laugh. “Oh, don’t be dainty.”

I embrace her, my hooves wrapping firmly around her neck. The sweat does not bother me, it is irrelevant. Neither does the smell of apples that once repelled me.

I guess it is her natural scent.

I pull away and sit beside her on the bed. “Darling, I have a modest idea...”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I have been invited to a party in Canterlot and they would like me to invite one of my friends. I asked Fluttershy to go but the dear was having second thoughts about it, no doubt it is only her timidity that prevents her from declining entirely. So if you have nothing planned at the end of the month...”

“So you want me to go with you to a party... in Canterlot?”

“Indeed.”

“Just the two of us?”

“I believe it’ll give us a chance to make up for lost time. Perhaps even let us forget about the entire incident and have a... fresh start.”

“As friends, right? I mean, just friends.”

“Of course. Whatever else as for?”

Applejack is quiet for a while then laughs meekly.

“I know a Canterlot party is not exactly your idea of a good time,” I say, “but I have no other means of setting apart some time for ourselves in the foreseeable future. I understand if you—”

“Alright, ah’m goin’.”

“You will?”

“Yeah, ah mean... It’s just a party.”

“Oh, thank you. I was frazzled to think you’d say no.”

“How long would we be stayin’ there?”

“As long we wish to.”

“I’ll probably be spendin’ just one night there, if ya don’t mind. Can’t let Big Mac do all the farm work.”

“Completely understandable.” I stare at Applejack with a grin. “Of course, I have to make a new dress you.”

“Come again?”

“Darling, wearing the same dress in succession is a criminal offense.”

“Fine. Just don’t make it’all too frou-frouey.”

“As you wish. Though I would have to retake your measurements for adjustments. Do you mind if I come back tomorrow?”

“Anytime, sugarcube.”

* * *

“...sugarcube?”

“Applejack?” I gasp.

“What?” Cadance says, fidgeting with the coffee pot.

“I apologize," I say, remembering where I was. "What was it that you said?”

“I asked if you wanted sugarcubes in your coffee.”

“Uhh, yes. One please.”

Cadance reaches for the sugar bowl with her magic and plucks out a white cube, dropping it into my cup. She levitates a spoon and stirs the coffee as she hands it to me.

“Thank you,” I say, taking a sip. “It is quite an honor to be served coffee by royalty. One of the few more things I can brag about when I get back home.”

Cadance giggles. “It’s the same coffee.”

“Very delicious. Very exquisite.” I take another sip and study the taste. “Let me guess... Columbmare?”

“Yes.” She takes a sip from her own cup. “From the high mountains in the Old Country. They grow the finest beans there.”

“I’ve only had the pleasure of tasting this once. They rarely export this kind of quality to Ponyville.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

I take another sip and the thick taste of the coffee beans melds together with the thin cream. The strong taste rises in the steaming aroma.

I look around Cadance's private chamber. For a princess who has the entire wing of a castle for herself, she settles converting her room into a bungalow of pink. Where there should be a spacious master bedroom, there is an inconvenient place Cadance says one has to "delightfully squeeze" oneself in. The entire chamber is split in half to make room for a tear parlor kitchenette packed with all sorts of implements for private use. Frying pans, cookbooks and expensive spices hangs on the wall, covering the marble tiles of what should have been a splendorous room.

But the utensils, dear Celestia!A tea set made of gold and enamel; spoons, knives and forks of silver. No expense had been spared there.

"You like what I've done with the place?"

"Yes." I lie.

"Thank you," she says, smiling at the small room we confine ourselves in. “I like to think of it as a small cottage for Shining Armor and I.”

She adds more cream to her coffee and, finding the bottle empty, reaches for a new one.

“And of course, for personal friends,” she adds, smiling at me.

“Tell me, do you always serve coffee yourself?”

“Always when I have guests. Most of the time, otherwise.”

“Don’t you have servants... err.. servers to do these things for you?”

“Yes. But I hardly call upon them." She pours a new cup of coffee for herself and places a tray of biscuits on the table. "There’s too little things to do to keep oneself busy.”

“I, for one, could wish to say the same.”

“I don’t. I believe it’s a long days hard work that makes us appreciate the small things in life.” She smiles and sips her drink. "Being a princess isn't always a good thing."

She stops as though waiting for me to ask a question. I simply stare blankly and sip at my coffee.

I’m sure you’d know.

“How long do you plan on staying here in Canterlot?” she asks, trying to keep the conversation going.

“A week if I am lucky. But I would be gone before then.”

“You can stay longer than that.”

“My friend who is with me on this trip cannot afford to stay out of town for too long.”

“Who is it?”

A small smile somehow brightens my face. I take a sugar cube and stir it into my coffee. “Jacqueline.”

“Jacqueline...?”

“Apple... Jaqueline.”

“Oh!” Cadance laughs. "Applejack!"

“Well, Jaqueline sounds more elegant to be honest.”

“Where is she? I want to meet her as well.”

“She’s out buying souvenirs for her sister.”

“I didn’t mean to keep you from her. If I knew I would’ve invited her as well.”

“Oh, it’s perfectly alright. She doesn’t fancy tea parties as much as I. Furthermore, she and I will have all the time for ourselves tonight.”

Cadance blushes, her wings flutters for a moment and it hits a frying pan behind her. “Is it a... date?” she says, more than asks, like an excited school filly.

I almost blow my coffee into her face when she said that. Instead, I burst out in an unladylike guffaw. “Heavens, no! Where in Equestria did you get the idea?”

“Relationships with mares are not that uncommon. As a princess I can, must and do appreciate love in all its forms.”

“Don’t be absurd,” I say, trying to withhold my laughter. “Applejack and I, what a scandal! We are simply here on a recluse. Trying to tie a friendship that we almost severed—"

I try to swallow the words back in. But I have already let on more than I wanted Cadance to put her muzzle in.

“Did something happen?” she asks. She inferred, instantly, the distress. And I see from her eyes how eager she is to help.

“I do not like to speak of it. It is an unpleasant memory to relive.” My eyes remain on those blocks of sweets on the bowl. “I could only say that it is water under the bridge now.”

“But you lived through it, nevertheless.”

“True.”

“Then let bygones be bygones.”

“Though I appreciate delicious gossip as much as the next mare, I am afraid I cannot do so. It is a matter of strict privacy which is greatly controversial for Jacquline, and I, for one, would not disclose it without her consent.”

“I apologize for prying. I didn't think it was as serious as that.”

“The mistake is mine. It’s my usual habit of talking that leaves juicy clues like that to bait the interest of my listeners.”

She nods and smiles again. That smile that never seems to die out. I take another sip in response, and find my cup empty.

“More coffee?” she asks.

“Please.”

We hear the chamber door open followed by heavy controlled footsteps.

“Honey, I’m home,” says a stallion with a voice that chimes of bells. A voice that I could not hear elsewhere, and one I could not dislocate from the buried fantasies of my dreams.

Shining Armor!

My whole body freezes as I hear the footsteps growing closer. Then the prince comes into view, in full armor and standing tall and proud with the sunlight from the open windows gleams over the family crest on his chest.

“Oh, I didn’t realize we have a visitor.” He smiles at me, and my heart threatens to jump out of my chest. “Good afternoon, Miss Rarity.”

“Good after–"

I could not finish. Cadance leaps to her feet and takes her husband in her hooves. Within each other’s embrace, the couple kiss.

My smile stiffens and my grip of the cup tightens.

Cadance tears away from his husband’s embrace and smiles to him. “Honey, Rarity’s here in Canterlot on a business trip. I invited her for lunch if you don’t mind.”

"Not at all.” He turns to me. “Nice of you to pay us a visit."

"Aways a pleasure," I say to him. "Would you like to join m-... us?"

"I don't know if I can,” he says, taking off his helmet and putting it aside. “I wouldn't wanna get in between your chat."

"If ever," I say, "I am the third wheel here."

Shining Armor looks to his wife for approval. Cadance makes a nod.

"Let me make something for you," she says. "I'll go get some fresh ingredients from the garden. Behave yourself now."

"What is that suppose to mean?"

Cadance happily trots outs the room. Shining Armor sits to the table opposite to me and, for the first time in my life, I have him all for myself.

"That mare," Shining Armor sighs with a slight chuckle, "she knows she can order servants around to do the cooking..."

It is a struggle, a complete tortuous struggle, to maintain one’s composure. Seeing him sit within an arm’s reach from where I am, knowing I cannot as much as reach out and touch him. My heart beats like a mad drummer, coercing me to imagine the undoable and do the unimaginable.

“S-S-She...” Stuttering, I lick my dry lips and clear my throat. "She enjoys housework... castlework in this case. Nevertheless, a mark of a good wife."

"You said it."

"Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Oh please, allow me."

"It's no trouble."

My horn glows and I fill my cup to the brim. I levitate his cup with my horn and pour some from the coffeepot. My magic tenses up, and it takes my full attention to not spill anything.

"Sugar and cream?"

"None, thank you." He levitates his cup to his lips and drinks. The smile he shows me as he places his cup down makes me fidget in place.

"A stallion with a strong tongue, I see."

"I had to. During our training days we didn't have the luxury of sugar or cream. Got use to it, I guess."

"How's everything in Canterlot?" I say, trying to keep the conversation going."No changelings I should be worried about?"

"All's quiet on Canterlot," he says proudly. "Working hard day and night to make your trip as safe as it can be."

"My, all that for me?" I jest. "I should find some way of thanking the whole royal guard."

"Everypony's happiness is all that we ask." He drinks from his cup. "Speaking of everypony, how’s my egghead of a sister?"

"The usual,” I say as casually as I can. “Books."

A painful memory stabs the back of my mind. With all that has happened between Applejack and I, Twilight Sparkle had been the most reliable and equally least charming friend as of late. Still she blames me for everything that happened, including the assault which she believes I instigated.

But after I told her of my plan to make amends, she was quick to ask Princess Celestia to reserve both Applejack and I a suite each in the castle. Her majesty was more than generous to give.

"Any... romantic attachments to anypony lately?" Shining Armor continues to inquire.

I sigh. "The closest Twilight Sparkle has ever gone into romance is borrowing one of my books for her literary studies."

“But there’s nopony... going after her, right? I mean... like... making advances and all that.”

I only giggle in response. If there was, Twilight would have been too oblivious of the intention to notice.

Shining armor sighs, in relief and in disappointment.

"Must be hard looking out for an academic as a sister,” I tell him. “On one hoof, you don't want her taken away from you by other colts or stallion. On the other, you do not want her to live her youth where her touch of romance is limited to the cold pages of papers."

"How did you... That's very considerate of you to notice."

"I have a sister myself. And I am already paranoiac about her love life," I say humbly. "But I assume it is more difficult for you when you are miles apart."

"She's a grown mare now. She can handle herself. And I'm sure she's bound to find her true love in time."

"True love..." I repeat after him, my tone apathetic. That word is painful to say, especially here where I sit in front of him. My eyes set on his, but his sight traveled distant, past me, and to wherever his beloved wife may. “Do you believe in true love?”

"You don't?" he asks as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

There is a sudden moment of silence that neither of us intended to ensue. And when I wanted to talk to him, at least that if anything, I found myself incapable of uttering a single word.

A full minute passed before I answer.

"I didn't," I say, turning away. "Until your marriage with Cadance."

"Cadance and I... now that’s true love, no doubt."

"If I may ask, were you involved with... other mares before Cadance?"

He looks at me, eyes wider than they’re supposed to.

"Oh, I am so sorry. It was rude of me to ask such question." In truth, I do not regret my question. I find myself wishing he will give the most contemptuous answer Cadance would believe.

But then he smiled, a sweet charming smile that lit up my heart and answered with words that broke it.

"Never," he said. "There is nopony else that I ever loved as I did Cadance."

He blushed. Something in my chest sank and if not for decorum's attention I would have dropped my cup.

"I just hope I can give her the life she's always wanted."

"Dear, she lives in a castle in Canterlot. She is a princess. Married to the most charming prince in all of Equestria. I do not know how she, or anypony, could possibly want more."

"Charming, huh?" he blushes at the compliment for a second. "Do you know what Cadance’s dreamhouse is like?"

I do not respond. I regret speaking of Cadance, I wish I could derail the conversation elsewhere.

"Look at what she's done with the place." Shining Armor motions to the closed kitchen. "All she's ever wanted: a small cabin on top of a hill someplace far far away... Being royalty isn't really cut out for her personality. She wants friends instead of servants. She wants to do rather than be done by."

I could not say much more. It feels as though my heart is locking the air in my lungs.

"I'm glad you asked that question, Miss Rarity." He smiles delightfully and emits an embarassed laugh.

"Which question?" I ask meekly.

"Whether...” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I loved anypony else other than Cadance. I just found out how much I care to answer it."

I could only glance at my reflection in the brown liquid in my cup. I lift the cup and down everything in one gulp.

There follows the sound of the knob clicking open and the door opening. Cadance enters the room and walks straight to us.

"Honey, I brought your favorite." She notices the sudden silence and ask. "Was I interrupting?"

“Of course not,” I respond. “Shining Armor was just telling me how much he loves you.”

"That's so sweet."

"What's the grub, honey?" Shining asks.

"I’m gonna make your favorite: asparagus and broccoli."

"C'mon. That again?" he says, wrapping his hooves around his wife.

"Stop complaining." Cadance kisses her husband on the lips, "It's better than the junk food you eat in the barracks."

"Hey those hayfries are great."

I stand up, levitating my hat back on my head. "I best be going."

"You're not staying for lunch?" Cadance asks, still in her husband's hold.

"I couldn't impose any further. Shining Armor just got home, very tired..." I say, rubbing my hooves together, "I don't want to be in your way."

"Will you be back soon?” she asks, trying to squirm her way out of Shining Armor’s embrace. “Can we invite you and Jacqueline for dinner?"

"Now that you mention it, do you know Fancy Pants?"

"I've met him once or twice. Why?"

"He's hosting a party tonight in the Mare Antoinette Tower. Jacqueline and I plan to attend it. If you have the time then I invite you to grace the occasion with your presence. I'm sure Fancy Pants would be more than happy to have you."

“That sounds lovely. We'll think about it."

"Please do,” I say, tipping my hat. “Ta ta."

I leave the couple alone and exit through the main door. I shut the door loud enough to make sure they heard it. I lean my back against the door and close my eyes.

“Very considerate, that Miss Rarity.” I hear Shining Armor say.

“Of course, ever since we met that has been her–” Cadance answer is silenced, then followed by her giggles. “Honey, don’t rush, it’s in the middle of the afternoon.”

A few more squeamish giggles follow.

I tear myself away from the door and walk away, resisting the violent urge to break apart every window I come across through the long narrow hallway.

* * *

“Ah’m still not sure about this...”

“Oh, heavens, no. You look great, darling.”

“Ah ain't talking about the dress.”

“Are you nervous?’

“Ah ain’t nervous of nothin’,” she says, her hoof noticeably shaking. “Consarn it.”

“You have nothing to be nervous about, Apple Jacqueline.”

“Not that name again.” She puts a hoof on her head and massages a sore spot. “Ah swear if ya call like me that in Ponyville amma gonna give ya a good smackin’.”

“I Pinkie Promise.” I pledge with my right hoof up. “Though it’ll be a hard promise to keep... Jacqueline.”

“Ohhh... Ah didn’t sign up for this.”

“Yes, you did.”

“You said we’d be making up for lost time.”

“We did, didn’t we? And we will.”

“We’d done nothin’ all afternoon but pick dresses for me.”

“Well, we would’ve finished earlier if you weren’t so stubborn about getting rid of that hat of yours. I swear, I think you grew out of that thing.”

“Hey, this here’s a good hat.”

The carriage stops. One of the stallions pulling the carriage outside announces that we have reached Mare Antoinette Tower.

“Boy howdy... Here we go.”

I place my hoof over hers. “Don’t worry. Just be yourself... just less...”

“Crude? Uncouth? Ruffian?”

“Ruffian isn’t an adjective, dear,” I say. “And I was going to say straightforward.”

“Oh gee, that makes me feel a whole lot better.”

“Hey, if anypony in that party insults you I’ll be the first to buck them in face.” I smile at her. “Nopony hurts my friends.”

She smiles back, encouraged. “Awright, let’s get this over with.”

Next only to the Royal Castle and Luna’s Planetarium, the Mare Antoinette Tower is one of the most regal monuments in all of Equestria, for the sole reason that it is more accessible to the public than the other two. Intricate carvings and sculptures ran up and down the outer marble face, twinkling in the evening glow. All the pomp and ribbons thrown over the tower meant that the whole piece would not look out of place sitting atop a wedding cake, crowning the most elaborate of pastries

Applejack and I stand on a platform where four pegasi butler carry us to the fortieth floor.

We make our way through two giant swinging doors, emerging into the dance hall where the party is already at it’s height. The classical cello and piano echoes through the walls and into our ears as we enter.

“Ah think we’re late.”

“Never arrive early, darling.”

The call of attention ripples throughout the room, and hundreds of eyes turn to Applejack and I.

“Keep your smile on, Jacqueline. You’ll be wearing it for the whole night.”

I hear her gulp in response.

In the next instant two dozen ponies already surround us, all of them competing for my attention.

“Ooh! Rarity, glad you could come,” says a mare whom I do not know. “We’ve heard all about your exploits,” says a filly with dangling earrings that seem too big for her ears. “Love the new dress,” said an aging mare who is desperately trying to hide the wrinkles on her neck beneath a collar.

I try to answer them one by one, giving them my very precious attention. Enough to indulge their queries, but not enough to satisfy it. It is important to maintain their eyes on me, and I have not felt myself more at home than now, swarmed by other ponies.

Applejack, on the other hand, is trying her best to be Jacqueline in front of the colts and stallions fighting for her attention. She wears a long elegant cross between a summer sundress and a cocktail frock. The color is a bright maroon, a splash of crimson and sienna; red, to match her blush, and brown, to match that hat she refuses to remove. Her mane unloosened dangles freely with every hoofstep that becomes the highlight of her movement.

I, on the other hoof, serve as her complement, wearing a black floor-length sleeveless gown with a fitted bodice embellished at the back with distinctive cut-out décolleté. The bodice is slightly open with a neckline that leaves uncovered shoulders. The skirt slightly gathers at the waist and slits to the thigh on one side. Added with it are the right accessories to match the long gown in the form of a pearl choker of many strands, a foot long cigarette holder, a mini tiara and a pair of black elbow-length opera gloves.

Applejack sees me looking at her, and she makes a gesture with her eyes for help to deal with the attention she could not. I playfully smirk at her, indicating that I have no intention of helping her out of the sea of stallions who throw themselves at her feet.

I should probably help her out of that predicament... Perhaps later.

From a distance, I see Fancy Pants and Fleur de Lis looking at me. As much as I love all the attention raining on me, it is improper to hog the audience away from the host and the cause of celebration. I immediately tear myself from the crowd and run to him.

“Fancy Pants! Fleur!” I say to them, loud enough for the other guests to hear.

“Welcome, Rarity. Fashionably late as always. I was hoping you wouldn’t be able to make it this time,” he says with a laugh.

“I tried.” I respond with a laugh of my own. I turn my attention to Fleur de Lis and whisper, “Have you announced your engagement yet?”

“Not yet. We were waiting for you.”

“And your friends,” Fancy Pants added.

“About that... I could only ask one to come. The rest couldn’t make it.”

“Is that her over there?”

Fancy Pants looks towards Applejack. Several stallions are handing her a glass of scotch to which she simply shakes her head and hoof to.

“Isn’t she a marvel,” Fancy Pants says. He does a double take after running a napkin to his monocle. “She looks quite elegant compared to when I last saw her.”

“Thank you. That was my magic, as always.”

“You’ve outdone yourself yet again.” Fancy Pants grabs a drink from the table. “Might as well make her acquaintance.”

I follow him as he trots to Applejack. “I have to warn you that, being a regular country mare, she isn’t the most sophisticated of ponies. And you would have to excuse her candid approach to things.”

“No need to explain yourself dear.”

As Fancy Pants approaches Applejack, the crowd of colts and stallions naturally dissipates to make room for him. Applejack pieces together the scenario and realizes that the unicorn I am with is the host of the party.

“Uhh... Howdy,” she says.

You’d think she’d say Hello or Good Evening,

I try my hardest to prevent my hoof from flying to my face. Fancy Pants, however, sees nothing wrong with the greeting.

“May I have the pleasure of meeting Miss Applejack?” Fancy Pants says, offering her the drink.

“I’m Applejack if that’s what yer asking. But Rarity calls me Jacqueline tonight.” She looks at the glass offered to him and back to Fancy Pants. “And ah’m sorry. But no alcohol for me.”

The crowd around us gasps and Applejack nervously looks around, sweat coming out of her forehead. Our eyes meet for a second and I try to send her a message with my eyes of how rude it is to refuse a drink from a gentlecolt, especially if he’s the host of the party.

Fancy Pants emits a delightful laugh, naturally deaf to the bickering presumptions of his peers.

“Would you do me the honor of getting you a fresh one?” he says.

“Ah... sure ah guess.”

Fancy Pants turns to me and smiles. “You wouldn’t mind if I borrow her for a while now, would you?”

“Not at all.”

Fancy Pants hints to be followed by Applejack, to which the cowpony obeys. As they move to the wine table I can hear Fancy Pants words trailing off. “I must say I have been looking forward to making your acquaintance...”

I sigh. I do not know if I should follow them or not. Applejack is, albeit forcibly, controlling every minute gesture of her body to blend in with a crowd she knows she does not belong to. She does it for my sake, I know, to save me from an embarrassment. I could only imagine what kind of social distress I flung her into.

I hope the dear isn’t too ill at ease.

I feel a hoof lightly tap my shoulder and I briskly turn. Fleur de Lis is there, hoof outstretched and offering me a a glass maretini.

“Nervous about... Jacqueline?” she asks.

“Well... No. Maybe. I don’t know... Yes.”

“She can handle herself.”

“I know. What I am nervous about is that I don’t want to see her fumbling in place, bored out of her wits. This is not the kind of party Jacqueline is quite used to.”

Fleur laughs. “I understand. Though I think boredom would be the least of her concerns.”

The both of us look; a pair of nice looking gentlecolts approach the cowpony and Fancy Pants, hoping to become part of their conversation.

“I think she’ll have no shortage of company for the night.”

I observe how Fancy Pants always leads the conversation to Applejack, to which now she is slowly able to relax. “Fancy Pants aptitude in social gatherings makes him very good at making ponies feel at home.”

“He did the same thing to you, has he not?”

I laugh. “Why yes, I remember he did that when we first met... I could only wonder how many times he did the same to you.”

“Far too many times to count. And it still works everytime.”

“Still, go ahead and announce it now.” I almost squeal. “I’m getting goosebumps just thinking about it.”

“In time, dear. Your coming here has livened up the party and we wouldn’t want to distract everypony from you.” She winks. “Time to mingle.”

“Speaking of guests, I just remembered.” I levitate a canapé off the plate of a passing butler. “I have invited Prince Shining Armor and Princess Cadance to the party.”

“The royal couple?” Fleur says, her eyes lighting up. “You managed to invite them here?”

“They didn’t promise anything. Though if they did, they should be here any minute now.”

“Ha!” Fleur exasperates like school filly. “If you managed to get them to come, we’ll have to invite you to all our parties from now on.”

“Oh, woe-is-me.” I take a bite off the appetizer. “Whatever shall I do with all the invitations I have to reject.”

We both stop for a moment and share a laugh. Fleur turns to leave to meet up with Fancy Pants and Applejack.

As soon as she is gone, several ponies comes for my attention. First two, then five... six... seven...

It is going to be a long night.

The party is the same as the rest of its kind: a fistful of busy bees buzzing from one company to another, patting shoulders with one hoof and a stinger hidden in the other, playing that social chess where every pawn plays the queen mother. It’s the same jokes, gossip and circle jerking; everypony nodding in mechanical approval. I, admittedly, am no exception.

“...and then I said, ‘Discount? What am I poor?’” I say.

I laugh and then they are forced to laugh with me.

“Oh, Rarity you are such a delight, as always,” a matron says. She wears a fake wig and sports a pearl necklace for a cutie mark. "It is a shame that we don't see you here often."

"I try my best when I pass the city on business trips."

"Very considerate of you to visit us on occasions," says a black-coated stallion whose name I do not know.

"Of course," I say to him. "I would not abandon my Canterlot friends."

This elicits a murmur of delightful agreement.

"I guess we can all agree that you belong here more than anyplace else," says another stallion with a mustache. "Would you care to tell us about your adventures on being an Element of Harmony. I'm sure that's what we're all dying to hear."

“I’m not an Element of Harmony, dear. Just its bearer. But all the same I can share the story.” I force myself not to smile too big. "Of course, be forewarned that I might be a bore."

There is the combined sound of disapproval and eagerness from them.

I walk to the wine table to look as though I desire a drink, only to have the entourage follow my hoofsteps. "Now then... where to begin..."

The party wears on and I find myself with the attention of the majority of the crowd.

“...Past the Everfree Forest, into the ruined castle of the princess, she showed herself: The very of heart of darkness! Nightmare Moon!”

They stomp their hooves in applause when I tell them.

“...He was a powerful god indeed. He corrupted my friends and turned them into the opposites of their former selves...”

They laugh when I laugh.

"...There I was, surrounded by thousands of changelings, armed with nothing but my desire to save the city I so love. I would not dare hand all our glamour to those vile creatures..."

I look around, eyes eager to be seen than to see. I knew what kind of ponies they were. If I were to sing an opera or jump on a pogo stick it would make no difference to them insofar that others could see that I entertain their attention.

It makes no difference to me all the same.

"...and that is how I and my friends saved Canterlot," I concluded, finally, after what seems to be hours of talk.

They stomp their hooves in applause as though my tale was a concerto. Others shower me with their compliments. "We owe it to you, then, that Equestria is saved." "What heroic adventures." "Oh, Rarity. You always have a way of lighting up a party."

Then, at the height of the night, as my mouth opens, ready to return some conjured up reply, the worst of all possible things enters: the great doors open, and from it emerge the royal couple. All eyes turn to look see at the pair, dressed in beautiful ensembles. The excited gasps echo in the room.

The crowd around me breaks apart one by one. They dissipate around the entire room, all focused and eager to wait in line to have the prince and princess’s attention. A few ponies stay by my side for the sole reason that they are too close to tear themselves away from me without appearing improper.

I suddenly lose all desire to speak.

From this distance, I can already see the cowpony meet up the pair. Fancy Pants follows her to welcome his most esteemed guests, and beside him stands Fleur de Lis. They slowly form a circle to which all others orbit and chatter.

And I find myself alone at the outermost circle, my eyes fixed on the royal couple at the center of it all.

The shimmering lights of the room glint and wink to a dress of polished steel and metal. Shining Armor stands amidst the crowds as though he is the only solid entity amidst the mishmash aggregate of the faceless and the fluid. He stands in his captain’s armor, a lavender cuirass with golden plating that runs sharp across his shoulder blades. He spares himself the helm that would otherwise hide the youthful features of his smile. For his sole ornament, the aegis shines with his family’s crest and Canterlot’s coat-of-arms. Too militant for a celebration, yet too svelte for combat, the complete effect projects the refined fierceness of a saint-crusader. A soldier and a gentlecolt, both, when he could be one or the other.

Cadance is wearing some dress.

They must have noticed me looking in their direction, for Cadance looks at me and waves. Her entire company turns and all eyes are on me. I feel my stomach turning as I feel the need to approach them.

My legs moves on their own, carrying me across the floor through an aisle of whispers and glares. I take a deep breath and say the only words I could to Cadance.

Get out of here!

"Darling . . . so glad you could make it," I say, taking her hoof in my own.

“Thank you for inviting us,” she replies.

"So you managed to invite the royal couple," Fancy Pants says to me, then to his fiancé, "this ought to spice things up for the night, wouldn't you say?"

"The more the merrier," adds Fleur de Lis.

"Let me get you a drink, you two," I say to the royal pair. It is a momentary excuse just so I could, even for a moment, expel myself from Cadance’s company.

"Allow me," says Shining Armor. "What would you like?"

He smiles to me, and the fake smile I have worn for the past hour becomes real. The dress I am wearing wanders in his eyes, reflected by those deep, blue orbs.

"A maretini if it's not too much trouble,” I say to him. “Very dry."

Cadance smiles. "A maretini as well. Very dry."

For some time I stood there; part star, part audience—drifting towards the latter. The conversation dies out before I can hear it. I appear to be listening, making the safest answers to inquiries and controversies apt for the party. Natural adaptation takes over and my consciousness is barely present.

All I could think of is whether Shining Armor finds me handsome in my dress.

Does he think I’m overdressed? Too sultry?

As the minutes crawl by, the crowd thickens. I find myself having less and less to say until I am completely absorbed into the herd of retinue. Shining Armor has stopped looking at my direction and I have never found so myself so alone than here, amidst my kind ponies.

“Excuse me, darlings, I have to go the powder room,” I say to anypony who cares to listen.

I squeeze myself out of the crowd and trot straight to the bathroom located on the higher floor.

The swinging door of the bathroom bursts as I run in. I approach the sink and turn on the faucet. I stay there for a minute, hoof on the corners of the basin, eyes deadset on the water racing down the drain. I feel the strong inclination to splash water all over my eyes, ears, and mouth. The only thing stopping me is the cosmetics that would ruin my face in doing so.

The door opens. A surge of panic comes over me. I shake my head and turn the faucet off as I back away to the wall.

An elderly mare walks in. Her cutie mark is a windup toy of chattering teeth.

"Lovely party, wouldn’t you say?" she says. She approaches the mirror and proceeds to powder her muzzle.

"Indeed," I respond, clearing my throat.

"Full of surprises. First you then the royal couple. I could hardly believe it."

"Fancy Pants knows how to show his guests a great time."

"I could only wonder if there's any more room for surprises. It might be too much for us to take, wouldn’t you say?" she says, applying a thick layer of lipstick. "What do you think of Cadance?"

"Me?" I gasp. The question came completely out of nowhere.

"Cadance, dear."

"I don't think of her."

"That's hardly a way to talk of her royal highness.” she says, pressing her lips together. “I for one think we only need more time to get along with her. Might be a good way to connect with royalty, wouldn’t you say?"

"She is a great mare..."

"So you say now. This is her first party with us, yes? I dare to think why won't she spent more time with us."

I realize that her special talent is not shutting up.

"Well...” I lick my lips and a small smile crawls onto my face. “You don't you think it's because she's royalty?"

"What does that have to do with it? Princess Celestia attends our gatherings whenever it’s convenient for her."

"A party is a great way to showcase oneself. Is it not?"

"True."

"You know how the princesses lives in those castles, Cadance especially. The kind of party we have couldn't possibly match what they can conjure by command. Perhaps she is here to... I don't know... humor us?"

"Surely, her highness wouldn't be so vain now..."

"Oh, she isn't. In fact, I was the one who invited her. She said that by coming she's showing us what glamour truly is like, and that hopefully some of her regality would rub off on to us."

"She did not!"

“Well, not in those words.”

“In what words, then?”

“Well, words are meaningless when evidence shows itself in action,” I say bouncing the curls of my mane. “Why don’t you observe her. I mean, it’s not like she’s trotting across the room as though the floor is hers.”

“Well... does she?” She stops for a moment and looks at me with a raise eyebrow. “I mean... does she?”

“That’s for you to evaluate, dear. I for one think she’s just uneasy. I mean, you didn’t hear it from me, but the fact that she started joining us only now that she’s married, means that she feels like showing off her husband. Like some sort of trophy.”

"Well now, I didn't think she was so... conceited." She catches herself and her eyes grows in horror. "Oh please, don't tell anypony I said that."

"I won't."

"Let's keep this conversation to ourselves."

"Of course. Nothing will escape these walls."

As I exit the bathroom, another mare walks in. She is younger than I, with a pair of speech bubbles for a cutie mark. Before the doors could flip close I hear the previous mare say the words to the new one.

“You wouldn’t believe what I heard about Cadance...”

I return to the party with a smile plastered on my face, but the smile vanishes.

Cadance is there beside the punchbowl talking to Applejack, both of them laughing. I look around— Shining Armor is nowhere to be found. I circle around them and make my way to the balcony outside.

The balcony is no bigger than a private booth at an opera house, but, as in the theatre, its treasure lies in the view. Below and afar breathes the living city of Canterlot.The houses and towers all point up to the sky, as though drawn to the heavens where they rightfully belong; the lights of each flickers and twinkles like a mirror to Luna's garden up above.

I hear a knock behind me and I turn. There is no surprise in me when I see him, no startled look—only composure. It is as though I had been waiting for him, and he could not have come at a better time.

"Hi," Shining Armor says. "Mind if I join you?"

"Don't be so formal, darling." I fumble a little to the side so that he can stand beside me.

He leans on the balcony just beside me and hands me a glass of maretini. "I couldn't give it to you earlier."

"Why thank you." I take a sip from the glass. "That's very considerate."

"So why are you out here when the party's inside?"

"For the same reason you are."

"I don't think so. Parties like this are good, but they're not really my cup of tea. On the other hoof, a party fits you like a glove."

"Sometimes a glove suffocates the hoof if worn too long." My horn glows and I slip out of the black handwear and expose my hooficure.

He looks to the vast expanse of Canterlot laid out in front of him and takes a deep breath. "A fresh breeze like this is always nice."

"It can get tiring too. I have too much of it in the countryside of Ponyville."

"I keep hearing from my sis about your hometown. It must be a nice place. Cadance plans to go there sometime."

"It might be a good escape.” I shrug. “But it's not Canterlot," I say, my eyes on the horizons of the city. "Definitely, nothing like Canterlot."

"You sound hopelessly in love with the city."

"Call it love at first sight if you will. Do you believe in stuff like that?"

He makes a delightful laugh. "You bet I do."

“Let me guess...” My eyes remain on the tall spires and warm avenues of the city, reflecting its evening glory. "Cadance?"

"When I first saw her I knew she was the one," he says. There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. "Pardon me for saying so but I always took you more of a pragmatist than a romantic.”

"Excuse me?"

"Earlier this afternoon you asked me whether I believe in true love. Now you're asking me whether I believe in love at first sight."

"I see.” It is heartening to know that at least he took me for something, even if it was a mistake. “You can say I am a romanticist. At least I used to be."

"What stopped you?"

“Are you interested or simply curious?”

“What’s the difference?”

“If you’re just curious I’ll answer you. If you are interested, I won’t.”

“I’m curious then,” he says with a smile.

“Very well,” I answer him. "There were two things. The first came in the form of a prince named Blueblood. Long ago I believed him to be the prince I had yearned and sought for in my romances, tales of courage and valiancy. Born of royalty and knowing of how to treat a lady. But when I met him, on the day of the Grand Galloping Gala, wearing my greatest achievement yet, reality struck me in the face."

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

"My men worked as his guards once. Not really the most pleasant pony to protect."

"He is an atrocity."

“What happened afterwards?”

“The famous Gala fiasco happened, I’m sure you’ve heard of it. The next day I visited my parents for the first time after years of living alone. I still do not know why. I couldn’t remember. It was an impulse. But I do remember crying my eyes out while in my mother’s arms, telling her about my broken fantasy and fairy tale. Then my father told me something I will never forget.”

I stare down into my drink, its blood red contents swirling in an idle whirlpool. My father is there, in that watery reflection, staring back with hard eyes.

“He told me: ‘Save the dreams for when you’re sleeping.’”

Shining Armor looks as though he was slapped. “That’s just...”

“That’s just the most pragmatic line in existence,” I finish. “It’s practical because it’s true. Not everypony can become a princess living in castles.”

Our eyes move to the great castle of Canterlot. The dark silhouette merges with that of the mountain it is affixed to, as though it was stemming out of the earth itself.

I raise my glass to the city and gulp down the entire cocktail. The taste of vermouth dances on the edge of my tongue and lips.

"...Dare I ask what’s the other thing.” Shining Armor, his eyes having not left me.

"Other what, dear?"

"You said that there are two things that stopped you from being a romanticist. Blueblood was one of them, what's the other one?"

“The same thing that stopped me from believing in true love.” I look at him directly in those sapphire eyes. "You."

I approach him, resting one hoof against his.

Is this the first time... we touched?

"Captain of the royal guards, brother to the Element of Magic, a stallion of such refined upbringing and poise. Masculinity and beauty and strength. The stallion to which poems sing their praises, to which sculptors immortalize youth."

“Miss Rarity, keep this up and I’ll think you’re trying to seduce me.” He laughs, but stops when he realizes I do not laugh with him.

I answer him. “I am.”

The foalish blush on his face drains away, and with it his smile and humor. In its place are the bony features of one who refuses to adhere with earnestness short of serenity, a judge removed of emotion seconds before condemning a criminal.

It is unnatural to see a face so devoid of emotion. I stare at him, surprisingly unafraid, composed and calm; either I have complete control of the situation or there is no situation to control. I went on to speak, almost indifferent, almost impartial, as though the matter does not seem to concern us in any way. Like the reading of a list of facts. Not to be judged but accepted.

"But you were taken away from me. A marriage, of all things, before I even had the chance to know you, to meet you. Before I could present myself to you. You pledge your life to another mare. Imagine how I felt. Reality is not without its most painful revelation: 'Here Rarity, the prince of your dreams, suddenly out of nowhere. Married to a mare whom you do not know. To live the life you have sought.’ And if that's wasn't enough I am forced to make the bride's dress. The dress that should have been mine to you.

“It is unfair. I did not even have a chance. It could have been us. It should have been us. Our wedding, our night, our oath, our rings. I don’t deserve that bouquet, cast away into the sidelines. I deserve you.”

“Miss Rarity, I–”

"I want you, Shining Armor. In every way a mare could want a stallion. Even though I know you cannot love me, I want you still. Let there be no masks between us; I want you to make love to me. I want you in my bed, or I in yours. I want your hooves against my coat, your kisses against my lips. I want you to take the purity I have preserved for so long. To be the stallion that will take all of me for himself as his prize and conquest. I want you to make me feel what Cadance felt when you bedded her on your first night.

"No. Don't answer with words. You will answer me at midnight. At the castle suite my chamber door will remain open for you alone. Enter, and that will be your answer."

I levitate the olive to my mouth and exit the balcony, taking my place back in the party.

I see a few mares gathered beside the banquet. The music of the cello returns to my ears. I force a wide smile on my exhausted lips and greet them. "...Now, dears, where were we?"

* * *

The ticking of the clock rings painfully in my ears. My hoofsteps resounds in an unsteady rhythm, going faster and faster by the minute, driving me to and fro, from one corner to another only to be stopped by a wall to which I turn and spin and trot once more.

I glance at the wall clock, the minutes passing by like hours. I do not know how many times I have paced across the room, hoof clenched against my teeth, sweat forming on my brow. It is a quarter past midnight.

I curse, cursing myself, cursing Cadance, cursing everypony present in that party.

I feel as though I am at the precipice of collapse. My legs wobble and a pain climbs them, chilling my racing heart.

What if Cadance finds out? What if Fancy Pants and Fleur find out? What if Twilight finds out that I offered myself to her brother.

No, he wouldn't come. Not possibly.

My hoofteps quicken and I come close to crying. Every minute I feel the bed pull me closer, offering its depths for me to wallow in my own despair and shame.

And then, the door creaks opens.

My heart stops. I turn and look.

"Shining Armor!" I exclaim, unable to hide the excitement in my voice.

There, with no illusion, standing by the doorway, stood the proud lone figure of my prince.

I struggle to maintain my posture. I stand still, my neck up and shoulders eased. I lick my crisp lips and clear my throat.

My horn glows and I shut the door behind him. At the sound of the click of the lock, I feel ourselves exclusively isolated. This room, and what happens within it tonight, is our world. A world far from the eyes of those beyond these four walls.

I smile to him, a genuine smile. One that reflects that promises of the night. Such a young, ripe night.

I take him by the hoof and drag him to the side of my perfumed bed.

"It's just us now." I lean forward and kiss his neck. "No need to be so tense."

I turn and remove the black opera gloves from my hooves, the pearl necklace and the small tiara, placing all on the bedside drawer. As I proceed to undo my garment, I feel his hooves stop mine against my shoulder.

"Miss Rarity–"

“Rarity,” I say, savoring his touch against my coat. “Please. Just call me Rarity for tonight.”

“Rarity, I...” he says, replacing the shoulder strap of my dress. “I’m married to Cadance.”

I look up to him, half in fear and half in hope that my fear held no meaning.

"Nopony has to know." I lean in to him for a kiss, but he moves his face away.

"Nopony has to know because nothing will happen."

"B-b-but you came here... to me."

"I came here to make sure you got home safe." His hoof slowly, gently, pushes me away. "And to tell you that I will not cheat on my wife."

"You are tempted. Admit it. For why else would stop pause at my kisses, would you enter my chamber."

"There is only one mare whom I love."

"You do not have to love me." I plead to him. "Damn that Cadance! She doesn't have to know."

Shining Armor looks at me, fury building in his eyes. "After all she's said about you. How much she valued your friendship."

"I did it to get to you. If you knew what kind of self-pitying torment I have to suffer in her company just to get a glimpse of you, just so you would look at me... You would know what kind of courage it takes for me to stand here now and offer myself to you, against my morals and against my ruin."

"I haven't asked you to do such a thing."

"That is why the shame is mine, not yours. Take me without feeling guilty, for all the guilt is mine to take."

"I wouldn't have you burdened with such a thing."

He turns away and proceeds to the door. I panic, my heart racing. I do not feel the tears streaming down my face.

"Shining Armor!" I jump in front of him and grovel under his feet. "Ask of me whatever you want. I'll give you everything I have, my body, my soul. Just take me!"

He does not respond.

"During your wedding night, while you carved your name on the columns of immortality, while you in your carriage closed that historical night with Cadance, I was being raped! A lowly earth mare toppled me to the dirt, and there she forced herself on me and took the first kiss that I had saved for my prince. Since then, I have spent a countless lonely nights with nothing but your mirage to indulge my fantasies, all ending in tears and guilt and loneliness. Take me now, please, and make me forget her touch. Make me forget the pressure of her lips against mine with yours."

He closes his eyes and painfully turns away.

"You want me to beg? Do you need me to utter needless words of how desperate I am for you? Is that it? You want to see the great Rarity lick your hooves? I will do so, if you would only ask me. To you I will drop all masks, I will not pretend to be the sophisticated mare I posit before others. I beg to you as what I truly am: a whore, a seducer, a temptress filled with wanton. Moth to the fires of passion. Would you have me degrade myself to the level of a prostitute to give word to your wishes? No, you wouldn’t, but I will if that is what it takes: I want you to fuck me right now. Rut me mercilessly until I can no longer walk, ravage me until I can no longer speak. Use my body in any way you wish, to any fantasies you may so desire. Strike me with a hoof, but caress me with the other. Violate me as you would a ragdoll. Do to me that which you cannot do to your wife."

He takes me in his hooves and shoves me away. He marches straight to the door.

"For the love of Celestia, Shining Armor!" I scream at the top of my lungs. "In pity or in mercy, in lust or in anger, take me! Take me now!"

Shining Armor looks back once, eyes full of disgust. He makes his exit, slamming the door on his way out.

* * *

The monotonous cries that echo throughout the room are disrupted by the mention of my name.

“Rarity, ya alright?”

I did not hear her come in, nor did I see the slash of moonlight that cuts across the room as she enters.

I cease my cries as soon as I hear her voice. But the sobs would not stop. The moans of anguish and pain rises up and traps my throat, choking me. I try to hold on to my tears, but those, of all, could not be withheld.

“Oh consarn it. It’s worst than ah thought.”

Amidst the darkness, Applejack tries to pick me up from the floor of fresh tears. As her hooves touch my coat I turn and press my face against her chest.

Don’t look at me...

I try to speak, but only the choking sobs escape my lips. My hooves wrap around her, seeking refuge in her hold.

“Let’s get ya into bed first.”

Applejack gently cradles me in her hooves and places me on the bed. The mattress and the sheets feels warm in comparison to the frigid hard floor that refuse to soak my tears.

Her coat is the warmest...

My hold of the earth mare grows tighter. As though to press myself against her would render me invisible to everything she could sense in me. But it is impossible. No doubt she can hear my muffled cries, she can feel my teardrops against her chest.

“Ya don’t have to tell me nothin’,” she says, wrapping her hooves around me. “Ah’m here for ya, sugarcube. Ah’m here for ya.”

“D-d-d-don’t... go,” I say, barely above a whisper.

“Ah ain’t goin’ nowhere. Ah’m here just beside you.”

I do not know how long I stayed there in her embrace. I do not care. It seems immaterial now, everything.

Hours seem to pass. The pain in my chest evaporates and spreads across my body. My limbs slowly grows limp, lethargic. I feel my energy leaving. No, not energy, but that which energy is suppose to supply.

I feel dazed, spent and powerless. And for the first time since she held me, I caught a whiff of the scent of apples.

I just don’t care anymore.

I look to Applejack, her eyes set on me like a guardian figure.

I lean forward and press my lips forcefully against hers. My tongue leaps inside her mouth, swirling around like a fan.

The shock stills her body. The sudden sensation causes her to hesitate a second too long. Reason returns to her and she draws back in horror.

“Rarity, what are you–”

What does it matter?

I would have none of it. I grab her by her chest and push her down onto the bed. My body lies on top of her. I force my mouth against hers once more.

What does anything matter?

I push my hooves against hers, my marehood rooted on her stomach, and my hind legs between her sides. I try to hold her down as much as I can, but her strength outmatches my own.

Applejack lifts her hooves from my hold, freeing herself instantly. She breaks away from my kiss, a thin thread of salvation connecting the tip of my tongue to hers. Her hooves take hold of me, and, when I thought that she would take me all for herself, she throws me against the mattress.

She jumps away from the bed and steps away, wiping her mouth with her foreleg. “Rarity, what’s gotten into you!?”

I ignore her. After all, why should I answer. To whom would it concern? What consequence would it bring?

I go after her, leaping from the bed and once again reaches for her mouth with mine.

She grabs me by the shoulders and stops me.

“Get a hold of yerself,” she says as she shakes me. “Or ah swear to Celestia ah’m gonna buck some sense unto you.”

I emit an absentminded laugh. “Go ahead, Jacqueline. Don’t play the good gal. Fuck me to your heart’s content.”

At the sound of a crisp snap, my face flies black and I taste blood at the corner of the mouth. I turn to look at Applejack, her hoof outstretched. I emit another laugh that pains my swelling cheeks.

“Oh, Jacqueline. Don’t deny it,” I say. “Do you think I’m ignorant?’

“Ah don’t know what y’all talkin’ about.”

My body loosens itself free from all motion, and I lie on my back on the floor. “I see how you look at me. How your eyes follow my curves and my body. I can see through your most minimal gestures, your fluttering eyes and filly blushes.”

“That don’t prove nothin’!”

“Course not. The proof is that you raped me, Jacqueline. Rape, rape, rape! How you forced yourself on me in your half-drunken state.”

“Ah wasn’t mahself then.”

“Oh, dear. But you are. You are never fully yourself than when alcohol tears away the mask of social etiquette. What else would propel you to lunge and force your hooves on me. It showed you for what you are. A lusting mare.”

Applejack doesn’t respond.

“Do you deny it, Element of Honesty?’

“Ah’m sorry! Ah’m sorry for what ah did! Ah thought you believed me!”

“Oh, I did. I do.” I crawl to her. “But there is no such thing as redemption, only penance. You want to make amends? Here, take me right now.”

Applejack clears her throat.

“You know you want me. I know it as well. You lust for me, you want to taste me. You want to overpower me, you want me under your hooves.’

“It ain’t... it ain’t like that at all...”

“I don’t care!” I cry out. “Just do it. Or I swear you will never have me again. Take me now, or lose me forever.”

“Ra-Rarity...” she moans in despair, sweat collecting on her forehead. “...I-I want... to... I won’t deny it... Dear Celestia... I want to... But... B-But... Not like this... Not like this...”

She weakens. I make my move. I climb up to her, slowly, my hooves coiling around her body. My kisses make their way from her torso to her mouth. As our tongues touch once again, I push Applejack against the bed.

She feels pliable in my touch. Different from the solid clusters I imagined her to be.

I waste no time. Lying on her back against the bed, I kneel on the floor and lift her hindlimb.

With neither thought nor pause, my muzzle jumps in between her legs. My maw opens and devours her lower lips with the carelessness and reckless abandon of the ruffian I have always accused her of being.

My tongue lapses from one spot to another, shoving its way around the earth pony’s quivering marehood. No rhythm, no rhyme, no reason, no pattern; I continue to gorge on the taste of apples in her sex. Her juices become indistinguishable from that of my slobber in the act of pigging out.

I feel her entire body convulse and I ruthlessly drive my muzzle and the whole of my tongue into her entryway. Her entire body palpitates and shakes as my mouth welcomes the waves of liquid gushing from her.

Her body collapses and her breathing returns to normal. I press her my tongue flatly against her slit, savoring the taste of apples at the roof of my mouth.

I wipe the mixtures of liquid from my muzzle and stand to observe my handiwork of Applejack.

What I see tears my heart.

Applejack lies on her back, breathing slowly. Her mouth is slightly open and I can see a dribble of spit crawl down her cheeks. Her teeth clench against her hat to muffle all the ragged sounds coming from her mouth. Her forelegs shield both her eyes, where a stream of tears flows.

What have I done?

Here is strong Applejack. Crying like a heartbroken filly. The tears that, not an hour ago, I shed; and to which she comforted me.

I stand there in horror, distant from her. I could not touch her without shame gripping my heart.

She stops crying a moment later. She feels that I have stopped, and knows I watch her. She wipes her eyes and looks at me. "If that's what ya want... Ah promished ah wouldn't hurt ya; ah don't plan on breaking it."

I shake my head, but she could not have seen in the darkness.

She sits and takes me by the hoof. My body has lost all form of natural movement. She lifts me and places me on the bed. We bounce on the mattress and she cradles me. She whispers something to me but I am in no condition to hear it. I feel her hooves wrap around me in again and I am, for the moment, frightened. For I know what sheer power and brutality those limbs hold, yet I am surprised to feel the fluid sensual gentility of her touch. My body relaxes and I have never felt myself safer in her careful embrace than in that barbaric hold.

Applejack plants a kiss on my neck, my bosom, my belly button, then on my legs. She gently parts my legs, seeking permission in those pecks of her lips against my inner thigh. I offer no resistance, and allow her entrance to the temple of my femininity.

I feel her hot, impatient breath against my marehood, but patient is all she is. She applies pressure to my loins that reward her with my moan, as her dry lips seek water from my own. She presses her muzzle ever so gently against my entrance, as though to assure it with a kiss. I feel the movement of her lips massage me.

The heat of my body rises, all flowing from my loins, and from Applejack's mouth.

Applejack draws away and draws out her tongue. Again with permissions, she runs her tongue through the whole length my crevice.

She discovers my clitoris and, as soon as her appendage makes the intimate contact, every nerve in my body focuses on that single point. My body arcs, as though shocked by electricity. My eyes fly open and I grit my teeth. Applejack holds me down with a reassuring touch as she continues to nibble on the crowns. My body could not withstand the sudden awakening.

She parts her mouth and my lips. Her tongue finally makes its way inside me. Something in the back of my head snaps. I grab Applejack by the head and hold her in place, pushing her deeper into me. My legs move on their own and close in on her, locking her in place. Her enthusiasm increases and her tongue explores my insides. I feel it inside me, the slick and wet tendril touching the stern walls.

Her tongue retracts and Applejack gives a kiss to my slit. She slowly pulls herself away from me.

"N-No... Don't stop..." I beg. " Please..."

I needed not to. She looms over me, an orange silhouette of nothing but primal hunger. Her half-dazed eyes looks at me, eager and insatiable, still red from the tears she had shed moments ago. She leans forward and presses her lips against mine. I taste myself in her mouth. Lips locked, our tongues meet and fight for control. We taste one another in that oral exchange.

She draws back, a thin thread of saliva dangling between our lips. She reshuffles herself and takes my hindlegs to the air. Her eyes never leaving mine, she moves and adjusts herself over me. Then, with a shock of painful pleasure, I feel our marehoods against one another.

"Gah!" I cry out.

I cover my mouth with my hooves. Applejack parts my hooves with hers. She holds me down against my shoulder. There I lie, fully exposed for her eyes to feast on, as she starts moving.

The pressure of hers against mine ignites a spark. I bite my lip to suppress a moan. She does the same. Applejack moves again, harder this time. The moan escapes my lips. I turn away from her eyes, unable to let her see in me the reflection of pleasure I see in hers.

She moves again, for the third time, applying pressure as hard as she can in an attempt to force my attention on her again. It did not fail. The sensation is too much. I let out another moan and I feel a line of spit slither down the corner of my lips.

Satisfied, she starts moving on a steady rhythm. The heat gathers in our nether regions, the delicious friction of both our most sacred parts coming together as one. Applejack keeps on moving faster and faster. For every moan she utters, I give her two. It’s difficult to maintain one's consciousness, when all one can be conscious of is the pleasure that builds and gathers, seeking an exit from the source.

Applejack redoubles her efforts. The rising temperature of our bodies emanate from the other. Her sweat dribbles down her forehead, her coat, her chin. Her cost glistens. Moisture gathers between our legs.

"R-R-Rarity..." she pants in-between breathes. "Rarity!"

She licks her lips and closes in on me. I desperately open my mouth to welcome her tongue. She just leans there, our face inches apart. Her eyes look at me with such intensity, I cannot help but share it.

Her coat glistens with thick sweat. We reach our limit. “Ah’m comin’!”

I lean forward and kiss her.

The pleasure in our marehoods erupts as we moan into each other's mouths.

"Mmmphm!"

Applejack's body convulses and spasms, before it topples on top my small figure. The messy moisture that connects our bodies soils our legs, slowly dripping down my thighs.

"I-I... I love you, Rarity," she moans in my ear. "I love you..."

As I fade into unconsciousness, I whisper desperately to her ear. "I l-love you too..."

...Shining Armor.

Chapter 3: Spindle

Chapter 3:
Spindle

I wake up to the glow of daylight from the windowsill. The pecks and kisses of the sun’s warm rays on my eyelids beckon me to rise.

I open my eyes to find myself alone in the room. It is the same room where I had slept, yet somehow all too different. The ominous shadows of last night are gone, the morning has returned the bright vibrant purple colors of the bed sheets and curtains.

As I try to rise, I catch a whiff of the fragrant blanket draped over me. It is one of those new blankets that carry the scent of summer, fresh from the laundry, nullifying the smell of perspiration from the still-warm bed.

Over the drawer from the bedside table I see a brown Stetson hanging over the lampshade; and with it follows the memories of last night: the agrestic rhythmic motions, the heat from another mare’s body, the brush of her wet, smooth coat against mine, the sound of ecstatic moaning, the pornographic surrender to temptation, wallowing in the conglomeration of guilt and pleasure.

In one swift motion my hoof snaps and flings the hat aside as though it is a lethal object. I wrap my hooves around my shoulders.

My first time… My first time!?

With Applejack!

The sound of a knob turning makes me grab the blanket and cover my exposed breast. Applejack strides out from the bathroom.

“M-Mornin’…” she says.

I try to respond, but no words come out of my mouth. I nod instead.

She dries her wet mane with a towel, in a motion that seems too slow, too polite, than her usual demeanor.

“I… uh… used yer shower if ya don’t mind,” she says. “In case ya… Ah mean… just in case ya want me out... or somethin’.”

“...It’s fine,” I squeak out.

Applejack finishes with her mane and proceeds to dry her coat. She pauses for a second, looking back to the bathroom door from where she came. She turns her head to me, to the bathroom door again, hesitating whether she should return to the privacy of the shower in drying herself, but decides against it, staying in place. The silence returns and Applejack finds her hat on the floor. She looks at it for a moment and picks it up with her mouth. She considers putting the Stetson back on the lampshade where she had left it–and where I flung it away, but settles the hat on the coat hanger instead.

We both look around the room, to everything but each other, looking for some chore to do.

The silence becomes too heavy to bear for the both of us.

“Can ah–”

“May I–”

We both say at the same time. A long pause follows. We avert our eyes from one another and the silence grows heavier.

“W-What is it?” I ask.

“Nah… you… ya go first.”

“Well, May... may I use the lady’s room... for a minute... to... to wash my face?”

“Sure, sure… Of course.” She fumbles and stands aside. “Go right ahead.”

“Thank you.”

Once inside the bathroom, I lock the door close, quietly enough so she cannot hear.

Breathe… breathe…

I take long deep breaths as though I had resurfaced from quicksand. I rush to the sink and splash water all over my face.

“Breathe…” I tell the mare in the mirror. She has an untarnished complexion, the kind that flourishes most in the pinnacle of health and youth. Her wide and prismatic eyes indicate she had a good night’s sleep. Her stress is not physical, if any, and only her unkempt mane would arouse suspicion otherwise.

She dries her face with a towel and takes several more deep breaths. “Just relax...” I tell her, “just talk to her... She’s one of your best friends... the most dependable and...”

I return to the bedchamber feeling fresher than when I left, more confident at least.

But still not enough.

Applejack stands abruptly from the bed when she sees me. I must have done the same. Something falls behind her and a cheap 2-bit comb rolls onto the floor. We both look at it until it stops just under the bed. By instinct I look at Applejack’s mane and see a few loose ends still entangled with the morning daze and the remnants of tense sleep.

“Do you mind if I... brush your mane?” I ask.

Applejack blinks twice. She looks around her, as though searching for somepony to give her the answer she can’t. Finding no such ally, she turns to me and makes a quiet nod.

She sits to my small vanity, still as uncomfortable as I in the unnatural acceptance of what should just be a casual offer between friends. My horn glows and I levitate my brush through her mane. It takes a little more time than I had expected; the interwoven strands untangle loosely but some recalcitrant lock of hair forces the brush to a halt.

Twice or thrice our eyes meet in the mirror, and the both of us immediately turn away.

I open my mouth to say something, but hesitate. The pause grows heavier with every wasted second and the pregnant silence looms overhead, eating away at every thought and every awkward mumble.

Finally, the more courageous pony speaks first.

“Last night wasn’t a dream…” she says. “was it?”

“N-No,” I reply, taking my hooves from her mane. “It wasn’t.”

Applejack lowers her gaze. “You know ah–”

“Applejack, I’m sorry!” I blurt out, unable to control it any longer. I fall to my knees beside and below her. “I’m incredibly sorry for last night. The things I’ve said and done and–”

“Ah don’t–” she tries to say, but I cannot hear it amidst my outburst.

“What I made you do. It wasn’t right. I took advantage of your lo–…” the word was lost to me, caught at the back of my throat. I fear to say the word. Not because I do not know whether it’s true or not, but because I do.

Applejack is already beside me, her hooves around my neck in a friendly embrace.

“Ya don’t have to push me away,” she says. “Just tell me to leave and ah’ll go. Ah told you ah’ll protect ya. Even from mahself… especially from mahself. Say it, Rare. Tell me to go away, and ah will.”

I respond to her embrace with my own. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s awright… ah mean… We’re gonna talk this out, just like last time. But first ya need to calm down.”

“O-Okay.”

“We pulled through it then, we’re gonna do it again.”

She pulls herself away from me and backs off a few steps.

“But first, ah want to make something clear. I… uh…” she bites her lower lips and scratches her head. “Ah don’t want ya to get the wrong impression... ah don’t regret what happened last night… Ah mean… not as much as ah thought ah would.”

My hoof comes to my mouth in time to cover my gasp.

“The things ya said last night… ‘bout me... well, ah wouldn’t say they’re right but it ain’t all lies.” She prods on the floor with her hoof. “What ah’m tryin’ to say here is that… what you said and what ah said… ah mean… when ah told you that ah l-love ya… ah meant it.”

Applejack’s eye is downcast. She stomps on the floor.

“Consarn it! Ah meant it then and ah mean it now. Rarity, ah… ah love ya…” she immediately grabs her hat and covers her face. “There, ah said it… Ah couldn’t go with the rest of day knowin’ that ah didn’t tell you what ah should.”

“A-Applejack, I… I didn’t know.”

She peeks from her hat for a second. “But you said ya knew, right?”

“It was just my assumption. I was being conceited. I just… assumed… Believe me, if I only knew what you truly felt for me then I wouldn’t have forced you…”

“Ah believe ya, sugarcube. But now, ya know how ah really feel about ya and… if ya want to keep yer distance from me then ah don’t blame ya.”

Applejack places her hat back on her head and trots to the door.

“Wait!” I say, louder than I meant to. “I didn’t… say such a thing.”

Applejack stops almost immediately. She turns to me, a spark of hope brightening her eyes. For the first time this morning, Applejack smiles. “Well, that’s... Ah’m mighty glad to hear it.”

“Yes, we are on a… recluse to try to make up for our mistakes. Perhaps this would be a part of it. If I could… change the past–”

“Ah woudn’t,” Applejack admits. “Not this time.”

“You… You wouldn’t?”

“Call it shameful, but ah won’t. Ah wish it could’ve been better but… it was our… first time… If ya could call it that. Guess it was special… for me. With me, lovin’ ya and all.”

“Applejack, I–” I clear my throat. “I still haven’t told you how I felt about you.”

“Last night ya whispered ya love me…”

My eyes widen. “I did.”

“Ya. But I reckon ya weren’t yerself then so… y’know…” she shrugs, “doesn’t count.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was… uh… sweet to hear… and it made me happy to hear ya say it. Ah almost believed it mahself and… it felt good. Even for a moment.”

“Do you want me to… tell you how I feel?”

There is small movement inside Applejack’s mouth, as though she bites her tongue in preparation for the worst. “Ah wouldn’t force ya…’

“I won’t force myself either. But… to be fair to you.” I pause for a moment and take long deep breaths. “Applejack, I’m confused. I don’t know… I’m just… You’re a very dear friend of mine, one of the greatest mares I know. And… I never saw you as anything other than a friend… but after last night… I just don’t know what to feel any more. I’m very happy that you feel that way for me, I really do, but I can’t say I feel the same. I don’t know if I love you or not, I don’t even know if I want to or not.”

Applejack’s eyes remains fix to me, observant and forever patient, as though she is impervious to whatever I have to say, and my words would ricochet from off unyielding confidence back to sting the cowardice of my confused heart.

She knows what I feel about her, I realize, even when I don’t.

“But… considering what we have, I don’t think it is all impossible…” I try to assure her. “Perhaps, given time, it could work, the two of us. There’s a chance and maybe, just maybe, we could eventually—what are you—Hmpff!”

Applejack lunges forward presses her lips against mine.

The sudden movement, the sound of the perfume bottle breaking, the electrifying touch of Applejack’s mouth— all of my senses erupt in a sudden uproar and, just as quickly, fade away in the morning glow. An abrupt stillness is all that’s left, one that lingers in my chest.

My hoof presses against her chest. I know I can push her away, and that she will retreat at the slightest hint of resistance. But my hoof does not obey me, it slides down like the fallen pieces of an iceberg melting under the warmth of a kiss. My whole body eases in complete surrender.

Applejack draws back and I see a triumphant smile on her face. Whatever emotion she desires to raise from me, she’s won it.

“Did that help mah chances?” she asks.

“Applejack…” I clear my throat. “You’re only making me more confused.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

I turn away from her in shame. “…No.”

She kisses me again. More powerful this time, more gentle. Her hoof climbs from my shoulder to my neck, pulling my head closer. Slowly, my hoof responds and I pull her in.

“I-I’ve… decided,” she says in between kisses. “When you said that… I’ve got a chance… that it ain’t impossible… I’ve made my choice that… I’ll make you my mare.”

Applejack pulls away and laughs softly.

“We’re… we’re a mess aren’t we?”

I try to smile back. “Indeed, we are.”

“I’ve always believed that this was a long time coming but… now that we’re here… it feels like it’s happening too fast.”

“We can take it slow, darling.” I grab Applejack by her Stetson and kiss her. She does not resist.

But the passionate surreal quality of the moment is underscored by the incongruous grumble of my stomach.

Applejack and I draw back from one another. I can see her struggle to hold back the laughter, but she could not maintain it for long. She bursts out laughing.

“Well… that’s just…! Feeling all the blood rise up to my face. I briskly turn around.

“What do you…” she says in between giggles, trying to catch her breath, “what’d ya say we get ourselves some breakfast first.”

“Splendid idea.” I levitate a brush and comb my mane. “Just let me fix my mane for a minute.”

Applejack grabs me by the shoulder and turns me to face her, her hoof beneath my chin. “Hope ya can brush with yer eyes close.”

“Why?” But I needn’t ask. I knew, when she leaned forward, exactly what she wanted.

“Cuz ah ain’t done with those wonderful lips yet.”

* * *

“Mighty kind of ya to be invitin’ us to breakfast like this, princess,” Applejack says, taking a bite out of her sandwich. “What’d ya say are in these things again?”

“Fava beans,” Cadance answers, sipping on her Chianti.

“And that there is alcohol, right?”

“Yes.”

The small table in the kitchenette we occupy seems to have grown smaller with the addition of Applejack. The cowpony doesn’t mind much, feeling all the more comfortable in the small space and homely design. I like to think that it is because she enjoys the short space between she and I. From time to time, I feel her hooves caress mine under the table; not in a manner that hints perversion but, rather, a touch to assure herself that I am still by her side.

“Is that okay,” Applejack asks Cadance, “ah mean, so early in the morning?”

“A little red wine in the morning is fine.” She takes another sip. “It makes the rest of the day feel easier to handle. Would you like some?”

“Ah’m good.” Applejack finishes her sandwich in two bites, clearing everything down with a glass of water. “Ah’ve been wantin’ to cut my drinkin’ for a while now.”

“How about you, Rarity?” Cadance asks, playfully swinging the bottle as though teasing me with it. “It’s newly opened.”

“Oh, I’m fine.” I drink from my own cup. “The tea is uh… very good.”

“Are you okay, dear?” she asks, placing down the bottle. “You’re not one to refuse red wine, especially not a Chianti. Want me to open a bottle of Bordeaux?”

“Heavens, no!” I say with a laugh. “That’s unnecessary. I’m fine, really.”

“I don’t think so. You seem a little…flustered. Did something happen last night?”

Applejack and I unconsciously look at one another. I could see her blush reflect my own. We turn away from each other, towards opposite directions. Cadance assumes the first thing she can infer between two blushing ponies and jumps to the rightful conclusion.

“Oh my… Celestia,” she gasps, her pink cheeks turning as bright and vibrant as her wine. “You two–”

“Aha… Fine place ya got here,” Applejack blurts out in a desperate attempt to derail the conversation, frantically looking around the kitchenette. “Yup. Fine place. Very small but very cozy and uh…”

“You two! Together?” Cadance proceeds underailed, “I am so gonna open a Cabernet for this.”

Cadence moves to the lower cabinet behind the table and takes out a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. She pours herself a glass, downs it, and pours herself another.

“Tell me all about it,” she giggles, shuffling her chair closer.

I look at Applejack and she looks at me, as though we are both waiting for the other’s permission to indulge Cadance’s mistaken curiosity. She shrugs.

“Wait, first things first.” She waves a hoof. “Last night you two... did it?”

If etiquette does not compose the majority of my subconscious, I would have choked on my tea and spurted the liquid to the table. I take a long sip, trying to cover my blushing face with the teacup. Both mares in the table notices the gesture.

“Yeah... but... We aren’t exactly… together,” Applejack explains. I feel her hoof under the table hold mine. “Not yet, at least.”

“But you’re going there, right? Right?”

“Ah guess so,” Applejack says and looks at me, “Ah mean... ah want to.”

Cadance makes a triumphant and happy laugh. “...And after all those things Rarity said, about the scandal of it all.”

“Uhh… scandal?” Applejack cocks her eyebrow.

“Cadance, please,” I say before Cadance could explain, “I’m not at all comfortable with this conversation.”

“Oh... Where are my manners, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, I’m just still in a state of disarray.” I place my hoof on top of Applejack’s. “I know what Applejack feels for me but I–at the moment–I can’t say I feel the same.”

Applejack holds my hoof and nods. She understands, or, at least, hopes to.

Cadance shrugs. “Though I know it isn’t wrong, I guess I was too early in my assumption.” She holds her glass up and downs the drink. She wipes her lips and smiles. “But I can’t say it was too early for that.”

Cadance places the bottle on the top shelf, alongside other opened wines.

“But Rarity, permit me to advise this, as a friend,” Cadance follows. “Don’t let those high society snobs cloud your judgment.”

“Whatever do you mean, darling?” I manage to say. I did not know what infuriates me more: that she addressed my entourage as snobs, or that she persists on this conversation, or that she assumes I need her advice. I would have upturned this table and walked out, knowing I have no more reason to pretend I do not hate her; but it is the sight of Applejack, smiling and gentle Applejack, that helps me maintain my demeanor.

“If you do not mind me saying so,” Cadance continues, “I believe that the reason you are, as you have pointed out, confused about your feelings for Applejack is because you are worried what the those fancy ponies would think of you.”

Cadance speaks of the elite as though there is a small bad aftertaste left after she had gone home from the party.

Applejack looks at me, as though she’s waiting for me to deny it. I do not answer. My thought’s are elsewhere. Silence spreads over our table and it is Applejack’s resilience that finally breaks it.

“Ah for one don’t care what they think,” Applejack says. “Ah love Rarity. And ah won’t let any Canterlot ponies get in mah way.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Cadance says to her, lifting her glass.

Applejack grabs the bottle of Chianti and fills her own glass, sharing a toast with Cadance. They finish their drinks in one gulp and look to one another, then their eyes shift to the silent spectator.

“Ah swear on our princess of love,” Applejack says, grabbing me by the hip and pulling our bodies close. “That you’ll be head over heels for me by the time yer head clears up.”

A furious blush rises to my face.

“My, my. What a blunt statement,” Cadance says, eagerly watching us.

“It’s blunt cuz it’s honest,” Applejack replies to her, then to me. “Ah love you, Rare. You better get yerself used to it cuz ah won’t get tired of sayin’ it.”

“I… I know,” is all I can say.

I know how much Applejack wants to kiss me, it is written in her eyes, but politeness, perhaps, got in the way for once. And it opened the way for me. I lean forward and give her a small, quick kiss on the lips.

Cadance squeals and almost jumps in her seat. I try to ignore her.

“Love is in the air once again,” Cadance says. “First Fancypants and Ms. Fleur, now Rarity and Applejack. Perhaps we should get together some other time.”

“Ah’d like that,” Applejack says before I could decline, “specially that Fancypants. Very genteel, that stallion... But speakin’ of gettin’ together,” Applejack surveys the room, “where’s Shining Armor?”

And there, the feeling of being submerged in ice cold water; my whole body freezes and my eyes go wide. I have to cast my eyes onto the floor lest my two companions see my expression.

“He’s on duty, as always,” I hear Cadance say. “He won’t be back until tomorrow morning.”

“Ah still need to thank that fella,” Applejack responds.

“Why so?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell ya? Well, he came knockin’ on mah door last night. Ah think it was past midnight then and ah wouldn’t know what business anypony would be doing at that hour. Then he told me that he saw Rarity cryin’ her eyes out.”

Even without looking, I could feel the weight of their stares on my shoulders.

“He said that it’s ungentlecolt of him to enter a lady’s chambers,”Applejack continues. “So he called me instead and told me to go to where Rarity was.”

“So that’s where he was last night.” Cadance clicks her tongue. “I kept asking him where he’d been but he wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Ah reckon he doesn’t want ya all worryin’. Ah mean, if he told ya what was happenin’ then ya would’ve rushed to Rarity all the same.”

“Of course I would have.”

“Mighty thoughtful of him to care for a friend like that.” Applejack pauses for a moment, and I feel her foreleg around me. “Now that ah mention it, ya never told me why you were bawlin’ last night.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Cadance asks.

“I was…” I mutter. “I was…”

The echoes of my memories fill the silence.

…Let there be no mask between us. I want you in my bed, or I in yours.

…Make me feel what Cadance felt when you bedded her on your first night.

…For the love of Celestia, Shining Armor! In hate or in pity, in lust or in anger, take me! Take me now!

“I was… criticized,” I answer. “I heard somepony gossip that I make the worst dresses in Equestria, that my clothes are just a copy of… of others and that selling them was highway robbery.”

I can no longer hear what followed from the rest of the conversation. Applejack was saying something about how untrue that statement was, that I have proven myself time and time again to be the greatest craftsmare in Equestria and I have the Element of Generosity to speak for the latter. Cadance was saying something about how I should stop listening to petty rumors. She says that she hears gossips about herself too, about how conceited and vain they said she was, and that she’s chosen to ignore it.

* * *

“Ya sure ah can’t convince ya to come?”

“Can’t I convince you to stay?”

Applejack looks around and mumbles something.

The train’s engine rumbles to life. The ear piercing horn of the locomotive escapes the combustion. It does not have that playful choo-choo euphemism taught to kindergarteners. The sound is more akin to the whistle of an excited dragon rearing its head.

“All aboard!” the conductor yells.

“Hop on or the train’s going leave you,” I say to Applejack, trying to make her decision easier, but my hoof still holds on to hers adding confusion to the both of us. It seems impossible to let go even though we would only be apart for a day or so.

“Ah know, ah know.” She looks at the train, then back to me. “Ah just don’t want to make ya feel that ah bailed out on ya after last night.”

“You won’t,” I assure her.

“Ah love ya to bits and all, but the farm! And Big Mac! If we lose the harvest today…”

“You. Won’t.”

The conductor inspecting the train passes us and notices Applejack, saddles on and with her legs on the train with the other pair still glued on the platform

“Coming, ma’am?” the conductor asks to her.

“Gimme a minute!” Applejack snaps.

“Train doesn’t have a minute.”

“A few seconds then.”

The conductor glints his eyes and walks away towards the driver, shouting: “Hey Steampunk, give it a few seconds! We have one of those long cheesy farewells again!”

“Consarn it,” Applejack mutters.

“This certainly isn’t one of those long cheesy goodbyes,” I say. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“When’s that?”

“Tomorrow evening.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“But,” Applejack looks around and fidgets in place, “what do ah tell the others till then?”

“Tell them about what?”

“I don’t know; you, me, everything! Twilight’s gonna be askin’ where ya are, Rainbow’s gonna figures somethin’ up and what if Pinkie has some twitchin’ for this sort of thing–dear Celestia– then cat’s outta the bag.”

“You…” I clear my throat and hide the blush that glows on my face with my hoof, “I’ll go with whatever you want. You tell them whatever you wish.”

“Even… uh… last night?”

“J-Just… spare them the details.”

“Right. Details, gotta skip’em.”

Unable to wait a second longer, the locomotive churns and the wheels turn. Applejack feels the vibration and finally decides hop in. The long metallic vehicle begins its acceleration.

“Ah love ya!” she shouts from the steps.

“I...” and yet, here I am, unable to return the word. “Thank you.”

I make a slight wave and turn away. I could have sworn I could have given her a more dramatic farewell–perhaps wave a pink handkerchief?–but, somehow, I prefer the privacy of not having making the scene more sentimental than need be, that what Applejack and I have is too private to be publicly showcased for the nearby onlookers.

How long could it be? We would meet again in two days at most.

The sound of trottin increases until it is suddenly behind me. I turn, and to my surprise I see Applejack there. With speed to match a Wonderbolt, she reaches me in time to match my surprise with her kiss. The shock paralyzes me, and topped with her rushing speed I feel her forceful lips against mine. I feel I am in the furthest receiving end of a kiss in the impact of her body.

She draws back and smiles happily. Then she runs back and jumps in time to hop on the last railcar of the train, all the while shouting “yeehaw” at the top of her lungs.

I glance around, there are some Canterlot ponies giggling in my direction. They are not the elite, of course, but those who take delight in the embarrassment of commoners to pass off as one.

But to my surprise, I find myself neither embarrassed nor ashamed. The mark that glows my face to a fruity red is not to be seen as some foolish crush, but the proof of some devotion to a special pony. The social mask that I have worn all my time in Canterlot seems obviously fake. I hold my head up, with no shame that the scene with Applejack and I is as romantic as it appeared.

Romance.

The word stops me in the middle of the Canterlot street.

Do I love Applejack?

The thought makes me smile. I turn around, the train station is far into the distance and the train is farther still. I become increasingly aware of the distance between us and I realize that I have all my youth–all my vigor and energy–to chase and run after that damn train all the way to Ponyville just to be with her again. But I wouldn’t, of course, because I’m a lady and because it’s not me–but Applejack!–she’d run the distance into my welcoming embrace. Because we both know, somehow, that the next time we’ll meet I’ll tell her how much I want to be by her side.

I know it is my excited emotions overtaking me, but what I wouldn’t give for the train to break down and give us an excuse to return to our suite and spend some time getting to know one another, perhaps kiss twice or thrice or several more times.

The smile on my face molds itself into a grin, the kind that can’t be wiped off. I wear it, often time with a squeal to go, as I make my way back to my suite, my imagination running wild and blocking my sense of sight and sound. The prospect of living a life with Applejack fills my consciousness:

I will spend the rest of my life with her, the mare who will love me more than anypony and anything else in this world. As Fancypants had said, there is a rustic charm to it, to be a maiden of a regular farm mare in the far countryside, but to maintain one’s sophistication despite so. The image of Applejack bucking trees in the heat of the sun, sweat glistening the burnt sienna, fills my imagination. A powerful gust of wind will lift the hat from her head and send it to my feet; and I’ll fetch it back to her with a kiss. I would be there to tell her to take a moment’s break when she’s tired, but she’ll still continue to work on regardless, and her stubbornness will only make it more difficult for me to make her sit down and enjoy the picnic–yes, a picnic, because we are having a picnic there–and the afternoon critters as I listen to her talk about this year’s bountiful apple harvest . When the day is over and Celestia’s sun is setting down into the orange horizon, she’ll lay her head on my lap and listen to me talk about how lucky I am for being a part of her life.

The chain of thoughts follows me back to my suite. I find myself immediately wishing I could get Sapphire Shore’s commission over with just so I could return to Sweet Apple Acres.

If I machine-stitch all three pairs, I could make it back to Ponyville by this evening…

The end quality would be better than a professional hoofstitch, but Sapphire Shore’s policy that all dresses should not be machine stitched is grounded only on the basis of ‘authenticity’ or ‘application of craftsmareship’ or something like that.

I levitate the machine and materials to me, deciding to use the machine for the fells and a hoofstitch for the exposed seams. Surely, Sapphire Shores won’t mind the slight variation. If I am fast enough I would be able to catch the last train to Ponyville.

...and then what?

In the early night when the Apple family sleeps, I’ll stand beneath beside her house and throw gemstones at her window. She’ll wake up and I’ll see that riled expression slowly turn to surprise and joy. I’ll hear her trot down the house and burst out of a door. She’ll reach me in seconds, kiss me deeply, and whisper something in my ear that would make me flush and giggle. Without waiting for my permission, she’ll lead me–no!–she’ll carry me to the barn. There she’ll push me down on the haystacks and–

“Ouch!” I yelp, the needle pricking my hoof.

I see the needle through the fabrics, whereas the thread is not even attached to it. I shake my head.

Concentrate. Concentrate.

I levitate the tail of the thread and carefully aim it towards the eye of the needle. I am almost able to slip it in when a loud clamoring on my door robs my attention.

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

I throw the needle and the thread away and march to the door.

“Who is it!?” I say, more irritated than curiosity.

My horn flashes and I yank the door open.

I freeze in place.

Shining Armor!

He stands as a true testament to his profession, with the unrelenting and untouched flexibility of ruthlessness and honor. His face is as solid as the armor he wears, shown in his sunken cheeks and chiseled jaw line. Only the pulsing vein on his neck shows that this form is not a thing of marble, but a living breathing stallion. He enters, slamming the doors close with a kick and locking it with a blaze of his horn. He looks and stares me down with flaring eyes.

But only when he walks to me that I become aware of the diminished space between us. I try to say something. No words comes out. The air of the room thins, and I can smell my own fear, the fear of a cornered animal before a looming threat. I take a step back for every step of his, until I am stopped by the cold furniture of a vanity table.

The sound of the chair crashing against the tiles resounds across the room–and it shares the same incitement of a judge’s gavel.

Shining Armor jumps on me, his mouth forcing its way onto mine. My head draws back and he pushes in further. I feel the pain in my lips, the bone of his forelegs against the bone of my ribs, the toned muscles he uses to subvert me. He takes me by the flank, lifts me as he pushes forward. His hoof smashes against the mirrors behind and the sound of breaking glass echoes with the tinkle of infinitesimal shards.

I try to squirm away, twisting out of his immoveable limbs. My body has never felt more fragile and pliable, bending and flexing submissively to the force of his touch. He presses further and my lips take the shape of his brutal maw. I struggle to resist against subjugation. I turn away, just even to breathe but he grabs me by my mane and pulls me in harder, his rough tongue invading and exploring my mouth.

A different sense of euphoria overcomes me, one I have never felt before: a delicious state of helplessness to pleasance. As though I am a sin worth indulgment, to be conquered and put in place.

And I will not give it to him so easily.

I do not know whether to moan in pleasure or cry in pain; I know both came from the same source and I know that neither makes a difference; both are one and the same. I can shout for help, and no doubt help would come, but I would not do so–not for anything he could not give me. My silence is my proof, and his invitation. And we both know it.

I fight as though I fight for dear life. No beast or monster could put me in such a state of rabid ferocity; I do it to push him away, and to force himself on me all the more. I tug at him, kicking whenever I get the chance, flaring my forelegs about. I grab the lampshade on the drawer. He knocks the lampshade from me. I break free from his hold. He grabs my chest from behind and secures me in his hooves. My hoof connects against his face and I know, by the look in his eyes, that I have hurt him and that he knows I like it. He draws back and I feel his teeth press against the soft flesh of my neck. He could rip or bite through the skin if he so wanted.

Still in his hold he lifts me up and throws me onto the bed. I turn from him and crawl away. His hooves grab my hind legs and he drags me to him with savage brutality, like a colt pulling a ragdoll or a tiger reeling in its prey. He grabs me by the shoulders and turns me to my back, forcing me to face him. He undoes his armor and clumsily tosses it off, leaving him only with his tasset and baldric. He sees my eyes crawl all over him, from the armor below his waist to the ascetic ruthlessness of his visage, and I accidentally lick my lips. He firmly places his hooves on the bed, only inches away from my shoulder.

Then there is a moment of stillness. Even my heart, which beats against my chest like a war drum, stiffens to make room for the air in my lungs. I feel the chilling metal plate against my thighs; the last piece of armor that would expose all him, completely him, for myself to witness. I look up to him, his eyes fixed on mine.

Then I feel trepidation beyond lust and guilt, the feeling of dread that he, Shining Armor, would ask for my permission. That my sanction is the only thing that holds him back and that he does it knowingly–

Dear Celestia, just do it! Don’t ask me–just do it!

–to cast caution to the wind and end the façade, to have me beg for him, as he knew I would and knows I will.

But then he smiles lightly out of the corner of his lips, the only smile he could permit himself, as though he understands everything all too well. My heart melts under his smile, the first touch of tenderness, and my body releases all forms of binds from doubt.

He brushes strands of mane from my face. He pecks my neck with darted kisses, quick light taps that come and go.

My hoof traces along the outline of his broad shoulders and I pull him closer.

He nuzzles my neck and makes his way to my bosom and my stomach. His hooves caress the tender curves of my back and hips. He lifts me up and places me down comfortably on the bed.

I lay there waiting for him. He fixes the sheets over us and the pillow under my head. I lean back and open all of myself for all of him. He takes off his last piece of armor and settles it down the bedside. Satisfied, he levitates the cover over us as he positions himself over me.

My eyes go wide as I stare longingly on his pride. The sheer size of which brought up the three natural fears from threat: the fear of the unknown, the fear of immediate sensation, and fear of danger to one’s life. It is impossible to imagine how painful it will be, but there is no doubt that it will. The length alone would reach past my navel.

It is too late to realize that I cannot stop a trembling on my shoulder. Shining Armor notices and he places his hoof on my own, reassuring me with his gentleness. He knows, from the way I hold on to him, that this is my first time. He leans forward and kisses my cheek as his other hoof crawls down to the base of my nether.

Whereas his forceful kisses and embrace carries with it the warmth of passion, the first contact of him on my marehood sends a sudden jolt of electricity throughout my body. The currents coursing through my veins awaken me. My back arcs and I utter a moan. His astonishment for my reaction begets him a laugh–a laughter that has neither sound nor expression, not meant to be heard or to be seen, but to be felt. He knew that this reaction is my achievement– the first sound of my moan is the first proof of what has been so-far unnamed and what will soon follow.

He pauses and watches me gather myself together. I take a moment to breathe, feeling once again the movement of my lungs. Sweat drips down from every pore of my skin, all from his single touch.

He reaches for me again after another moment. His hoof strokes my marehood carefully, lovingly, and endearingly. The light touch returns the vibe of my nerves and it makes me convulse. My hind legs jerk each time he presses, a shiver crawls along my spine as he traces up my crevice. The movement of his hoof hastens and with it the pace of my breathing. I shut my eyes close. My heavy panting desperately tries to match the unsteady intervals of his rhythms. I feel a gradual accumulation within my loins, as though pleasure has taken its form in the physical realm and gathers to my innermost sanctum, for every churn and circular motion by Shining Armor intensifies the pleasure as he concentrates further. He touches my cheek with his other hoof, beckoning me to at stare him in the eye as I reach the apex of my lusts. He wants to bear witness to what kind of face I would show him as he makes me submit under the mercy of his touch. I beg him with my eyes not to look at me. I try to tear my vision away, but he grabs me still. I feel it welling up inside me– I can feel nothing else, every muscle fiber and nerve focuses in on the pressure. Finally, my body cannot hold it in any longer. The long buried desire, finally awake, seeks an exit. I gasp in the sudden burst of release flowing out of me. Shining Armor watches intensely with amusement, his smirk almost mocking, how I palpitate and spasm and shudder and shake and tremble. The moisture sullies him and the mattress. He takes his hoof from me and smiles.

He takes his time, patiently waiting for the waves of my pleasures to subside.

I take long greedy gasps for air. I wrap my hooves around his neck, inviting him to take me; I cannot wait as I know from his hungry eyes that he cannot either. I stare at him, begging as I did the night before, drowning in my own well of frenzied lust. Whatever fear I feel becomes irrelevant and immaterial. I cannot care for it, to even spare a thought. My whole body screams for him, every strand of hair on my coat on its edge.

He nods and prods the tip of his member against my delicate entrance. He can already feel my trembling as he wraps his forelegs around my shoulder. I clear my throat. I hold my breath. I brace my mind.

He moves forward.

The first few inches introduce the pain that is to follow. My folds resist him, but he gently makes his way inside me. I bite my lip and turn my face away from him. My entire breathing is turned off as he continues his entry. The motion slows the further he slides in, until he halts completely. The pain amplifies all over inside my nether. I could count every muscle with every stinging and electrifying sensation. I buck my legs and I shut my eyes. But I would not, for anything in the world, let him stop. He sees me throwing about and he fondles my cheeks. His hooves take ahold of me and, in one powerful singular motion, thrusts forward, driving as much of his length as possible inside. Something in my mind snaps.

As I scream, he acts fast to grab me and press his lips on mine, a long deep kiss that is the anesthetic to the splitting excruciation in my loins. He bites my lower lips with careful tenderness, running his mouth along the nerves of my neck. Still I struggle, still I am hurt, but the kiss makes it all easier to bear. I try concentrating on his kisses, focusing all my attention on the sweet taste of his lips, as he waits patiently inside me.

My consciousness is lost. I remain in a half-daze stupor where my world is nothing but him. That there is nothing else to think, to see and to feel than him: the shape of his steel frame, the texture of his coat, the softness of his mouth, the tempered rod throbbing within me.

He starts moving, drawing back slightly. I feel an instance of fear as I think he will exit entirely, until he moves forward once more. My heart comes to life as he thrusts forward, blasting with a percussive beat against my chest that is almost painful. He moves again, back and forth, my heart thumping in rhythm with each thrust. His pace gradually increases in steadying motions, still careful and still delicate of my fragility.

My mind goes blank, lost in the rapture of flames burning me from within. The flames kindled from the friction of flesh against flesh, fueled by passion and controlled in his embrace. My consciousness dwindles and flickers, prancing back and forth between the world in my womb and the world around us. The pain subsides and the moans locked in my throat finally escpae, filling the air in the room. Something inside me unlocks at the same same instant, as though the gates of ecstasy swing open and out pours the imprisoned wanton that has long been buried and denied. I want Shining Armor. I want all of him! Insatiable is an understatement, taste is too subtle and lust is too tame. I want to seal the moment, and lock the ever increasing height of exaltation to where the erotic reigns supreme. I want the thrust of my pain and his pleasure to last forever.

I grab on to him as tight as I can, not letting go. Shining Armor shuts his eyes and groans. He presses the length of his body over mine as his hips push deeper. I moan in his ear and his body responds with a shudder. The sweet smell of his cologne mixing with his sweat fills my nostrils; and the beautiful beautiful ceiling fills my eyes.

Our bodies lock in an embrace as he moves. Every hair on his coat brushes the moisture of my body against his. Each lunge carries me farther— far beyond than the carnal appetites of the hedonist, farther than the bounds that reason knows, and farther still!–to that state where one’s awareness is not of the mind, but exclusive to the world of hungry emotions.

I bite down on his shoulder. The heat of our body radiates as though we are aflame. His thrusts grow faster, harder, and deeper than the last until–!

Shining Armor pours himself into me, searing and alive like the still-boiling mercury from a furnace, blistering liquid fires of passion.

I shudder, spasming, reaching my own apex –immobile, unmoved, shaking in place within his embrace. I feel wave after wave of his warmth filling me.

Shining Armor groans as he nuzzles my neck. He tenderly kisses my lips.

* * *

I lie still on the bed, over the blanket, over the covers if that’s at all possible. My body feels all too pure and sacred to be touched by anything else. I lean forward, on Shining Armor’s extended limb, shuffling myself closer to him.

How long have we been doing it?

The question seems irrelevant even now. Time has ceased its monotonous tick. The sun is gone and the night has taken its place among the sky.

Moonlight enters, and so does its stars. The lightless room glows with the gentle luminance of the night, the pale-blue, pale-white glimmer that shrouds the smallest and simplest of furniture–from the windowsill to the bedsheets, the dressers to the shards of glass–with the orphic veil of the mysterious.

Even Shining Armor, bathed in moonlight, glints like his namesake. I press my face deeper into his ribs to gain as much physical contact with him as possible, lying on the soft cushions of his limb. The sweat of our still-moist bodies tingle together. I do not mind it. I trace my hoof along the lines of his broad chest as I give light taps of my lips to any part of him my muzzle can reach. He churns and mumbles something in his sleep. I watch, in quiet amazement, the slow motions of the steady rise and fall of his chest.

The sensations return: the small ache in my muscles, the pressure against my lips, the heat and delectable pain between my legs; all amplified by delicious exhaustion. Even my incorporeal soul, if such a thing exists, lies weary from having climbed the rites of passage.

But, ascending the ladders of maturity and past the gates of chastity, the reward within the temple of the feminine is not so immaculate; not when I who reaches for the treasure, pride, with hoofs sullied with guilt. The contained self-worth which every mare ought to find and hold for her stallion, that which plumes each other’s body for one’s pleasure, one’s enjoyment, and one’s happiness, is corrupted by the touch of adultery.

A single tear streams down my cheeks. Our guilt will choose to destroy us, I know. The omen shares the afterglow of elated bliss, like the seething aftertaste of poison deliciously indulged. As he wakes, seeing me on his bedside in place of his wife, the slithering memories will coil around his heart and envenom his conscience.

I cannot bear it.

I wrap my hooves around him in a tight embrace, pushing my body towards him as close as possible. I bite my lips, holding on to the groans and cries that threaten to escape. But I cannot hold it in for long. Like a dam unable to control its waters, the floodgate of my heart opens and pain flows out in pitiful sobs.

What made you do it? For all your chivalry and honor, what made you commit yourself to me?

Was it lust? The temptation to succumb to the excitement of another flesh, and eternally leave one’s mark on it? The appetite for a young untouched vestal? Yours for the taking, to do anything you wish. To be used, spent and thrown away until the next craving. To hunger for a mare’s chastity, to seized it as the spoils of conquest.

Was it anger? Knowing that I am the justified object of hatred? That I, having betrayed your wife and urging you to do the same, am punished with the rod, to be despoiled and begrimed of the innocence of my body. Where each thrust is a blow fueled by vengeance and justice against the seducer. To deject me, to put me in place, to force me into a state of submission and humiliate me thus.

Or, Celestia forbid, was it love?

How have I dreamt of it, my first night, from long ago: in a bride’s dress the night after my wedding, with commending smiles from friends and families, with flowers and sweet whispers? Not like this. Not behind sealed doors and shrouded by shut curtains, in broken glass and in the silence of the wordless conspirator, to be hidden from reality as an unpardonable sin.

I look at him, the face of the irreproachable found only in the innocence of slumber, knowing that this is the last time I will share him in bed. Knowing that I will never see him again like this. Knowing that, as the first rays of the sun touch his eyes, I will find him vanished from my bed as I wake, along with all my fantasies and daydreams.

But for tonight! But at least tonight!

I lean forward and kiss him on his lips. Then I break the seal of our silence with the first, and last, words spoken:

“I love you.”

* * *

The train back to Ponyville runs smoother past the caverns. The sun returns to fill the car and it becomes easier to redesign those dresses that Sapphire Shores commissioned.

It is convenient to have grown in the social pyramid since Fleur’s and Fancypants engagement party. In doing so, I have become a powerful enemy to make. Even Sapphire Shores, for all her popularity and position, would not dare risk incurring my displeasure by cancelling her order simply because of my tardiness. But that is exaggerating the matter. Before I set foot on the train, I sent a letter of apology to her, a mere convenience to make my carte blanche less obvious. I sent the dresses the night after and, with it, several more designs to compensate. She liked it so much that she asked me to redesign some to match the others for her second show in spring.

From the distance I can already make out the shapes of Ponyville’s buildings of cottages and cabins beyond the prairie while telephone poles race past my window. I absentmindedly levitate my pens and parchment of caricatures before leaning back against my seat, letting my head fall in a position where not even the modesty of sitting upright is given much effort. I close my eyes, wishing for a sleep that won’t come, wishing to keep riding the train away from the responsibility of thinking and being able to think.

I place my hoof just over my loin where the imaginary warmth still lingers. It is as though I can still feel him inside me, hard and throbbing. It has been two days since then, two days since awakening to an empty bed. Shining Armor had gone, as I predicted. The hours and minutes of the days that followed passed by without the slightest acknowledgement. I designed and stitched dresses, rejected invitations from Cadance and friends, spent lonely night lying restless and awake on a cold bed; all the while waiting, hoping, seeking Shining Armor’s shadow beneath the doorsill.

But he never came.

Perhaps this is all for the best? I remember thinking. The one night I had so begged from him, granted, never to be spoken of again. One night where Canterlot was ours and I was his princess and bride, and then stolen away at the first break of sunlight.

“Ponyville!” the conductor shouts as he goes to each car. “Station stop: Ponyville. Population: one thousand three-hundred and four.”

I replace my summer hat on my head and levitate the half-empty bottle of pills back into my luggage. Even before the train comes to a complete halt, thinning the odorless steam, I can already smell the meadows and greensward found only in the countryside.

As I exit the train, I am welcomed with Ponyville’s premier party pony and her namesake. A blast of confetti slams into my face, topped with the honk of a loud horn and an unnecessarily loud “Surprise”.

I stumble back, falling on my derriere.

“P-Pinkie!”

“Welcome to your Welcome Back Party!” Pinkie Pie yells at the top of her lungs.

With what senses available following a mini heart attack, I see Fluttershy and Twilight Sparkle behind the balloons and streamers.

“Hey, Rarity?” Twilight says, with a smile.

Fluttershy approaches me, helps me to my feet and offers to carry my luggage.

“My goodness!” I exclaim. “Have I been gone that long? What did I miss?”

“Oh, it’s us who didn’t miss anything.” Twilight gives a knowing look and a wink to follow.

For the love of Celestia! Shining Armor could not have disclosed our affair to her own sister!

“W-Whatever do you mean, darling?” I stutter.

“You don’t have to hide anything?” Fluttershy replies. “The whole town knows.”

“What!” I shout. Fluttershy recoils back.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, hiding behind her bangs. “It’s just that word slipped out and...”

“Oh, no, no, no. This can’t happen.” I say, stumbling for words. “If the rumors reach Canterlot...”

“I see nothing wrong with it, really,” Twilight says. “I mean, I never expected you two together, of all ponies, but I guess that’s how love works. In fact, I’m quite happy for you two.”

“You... you are?” I struggle on two things: observing Twilight Sparkle, and hiding my observation. I try to see if Twilight’s good nature is a façade or genuine, whether she will cast a spell to send me to oblivion or extend her foreleg in a hoofshake.

“Of course!” She claps her hoof together. “Though your relationship isn’t official yet, is it?”

“Of course not. After all–”

“Well, Applejack is bragging about how’ll get you.”

“Applejack?”

The name echoes in my head and I am reminded of the forgotten cowpony. The whole conversation replays and pieces itself together. I am able to breathe again; and laugh to the bewilderment of Fluttershy and Twilight. The two mares look at one another as though I have gone mad.

“Of course, dear Applejack!” I laugh.

“Who else could it be?” Pinkie Pie says suddenly, hopping on the spot. “I mean, it’s not like you’re smooching any other ponies.”

My laughter shuts off suddenly, without the momentum of dying out. I look at the pink pony.

She is not possibly referring to... Of course not. She’s just being Pinkie Pie.

As I turn to Twilight and Fluttershy, my head snaps back to the innocent smiling party pony.

I mean... she is just being Pinkie Pie?

She notices me looking at her and her hopping stops. “Yes, Rarity?” she asks, eyelashes fluttering.

“Yes,” I say, clearing my throat, “now, where’s the dear?”

“She’s in Sugar Cube Corner with Rainbow Dash,” Twilight says. “She doesn’t know you’re here.”

“And you know what that calls for.” Pinkie excitedly hops over to Fluttershy.

Despite my best efforts, I go with them to Sugar Cube Corner to surprise Applejack of my return. I try to tell them that I need rest after my trip, but Pinkie Pie’s constant blabbering does not open an opportunity to speak. In truth, I want to see Applejack, but, for now, I do not want her to see me. By the time we reach Sugar Cube Corner, it was too late. From beyond the door of the building I can already hear the country accent, and I am reeled to to see its source.

“Ah’m tellin’ ya, Rainbow. What if somethin’ happened to her? What if she’s been in an accident? What if she got ponynapped, or worse!”

“Keep your hat on,” the raspy voice of Rainbow Dash snaps. “The worst thing that could have happened is that she chipped a hoof.”

“That’s it, ah’m hoppin’ on the next train to Canterlot!”

“Hey, wait!”

There is the sound of trotting coming towards the door. Pinkie Pie slips behind me and, without warning, pushes me in.

“Wha–?”

I stumble forward, bursting in, right into the embrace, and lips, of Applejack. With our bodies crashing together we fall to the floor.

“What in the hay–” Applejack’s voice is cut off as she flips the hat from her eyes, giving herself an eyeful of me.

“Uhh... surprise?” I say, with a tilt of my head.

She stares at me for a long time, still in disbelief at me being here. Then, as though to prove to herself that I am no illusion brought by some premature separation anxiety, she pulls me close and kisses me. I gave her the proof when I kiss her back.

“Nice...” I hear somepony say.

I pull away and see Rainbow Dash looking at us with a huge grin plastered on her face. Our other friends enter in time to see me on top of Applejack. Fluttershy immediately covers her eyes, Twilight blushes and Pinkie Pie still hops in place as though nothing is wrong.

“Applejack wasn’t kidding when she said you two can make out,” Rainbow Dash says with a giggle.

“Ah never said that!” Applejack snaps at the cerulean pegasus.

Rainbow Dash just flies off into the kitchen without the snide remark I expected from her.

“Ah never said that,” Applejack says to me. “Honest.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” I say, kissing her again.

A shroud of magic envelops Applejack and I, sliding us from one another.

“Alright, alright.” Twilight says, her horn glowing. “As much as I want to see you two friendly again, I find it awkward to see you too friendly, too often and too public.”

Applejack and I make a sly giggle and turn away from one another.

“Is it over?” whimpered Fluttershy, peeking from behind her hooves.

“It can’t be over yet!” Pinkie says, whipping out her party cannon seemingly from thin air. “Cuz Rarity’s and Applejack’s party is just getting started!”

“What party?” Applejack asks, equally oblivious.

The answer came from the party cannon. Streamers, balloons and a banner with the word “RARIJACK” fill the barn. A second Pinkie Pie–what?–enters from the kitchen , dragging a heart-shaped cake with an icing that looks like ruby in the shape of an apple. Fluttershy turns on the phonograph, and polka fills the room.

Applejack tilts her head. “What in tarnation is ‘Rarijack’ supposed to –Oh!”

The party is typical Ponyville, like the hundreds of parties Pinkie Pie hosts every week of every month. There are candies and cupcakes for appetizers, and a cake for the main course. Soda pop and bottled apple juice line up on the tables, of every color and flavor conceivable. The hot-topic of conversation is, no doubt, the relationship between Applejack and I.

“You should’ve seen Jacqueline,” I say to Twilight and Pinkie Pie. “She was the star of the ball, Canterlot stallions were throwing themselves under her feet.”

“I hope she didn’t step on them,” Pinkie Pie says with a worried expression. “That sounds like it’d hurt.”

“Gee, this ‘Jacqueline’ must really be somepony.” Twilight winks to Applejack and laughs.

“Consarn it, Rare,” Applejack groans. “You promised you wouldn’t call me that again.”

“Sorry darling, I couldn’t help it.”

Applejack says something on how I should mingle with the others for a moment since they all have eager questions to ask me. That, and the fact that she’ll have me all to herself later.

“Thank you again for taking good care of Opalescence during my absence. I hope that cat wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Oh no, no, no,” Fluttershy says. “It was my pleasure.”

“To show my gratitude, I’ll be treating you to our next get together in the spa.”

“That’s wonderful!” Fluttershy says. “But uh... Don’t you think Applejack will get... jealous?”

I turn my head to the side. Applejack is talking to Pinkie Pie while eating some cake. She sees me looking at her and smiles back.

“I hope she will,” I giggle. “I’d like to see that riled up look on her face. It’ll be adorable.”

Rainbow Dash suddenly appears beside me. “Mind if I borrow Rarity for a sec? Thanks.” Without waiting, she leads me away from the earshot of the other ponies.

“What is it?” I ask, grabbing a drink from the table.

“So you and Applejack were... together... at least once, right?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Canterlot suite. Night, alone,” Rainbow Dash enumerates, and it starts to dawn on me. She continues. “Lonely mares, raging hormones, doing stuff, rubbing your–”

“I get it! You don’t have to go into details. Don’t tell me Applejack spread that out too.”

“She didn’t. But Pinkie and I cornered her until she confessed.”

“She did?”

“More like lied about it,” she said with a shrug. “You know that scrunched up face she makes.”

Ah yes, the face that confesses the contrary.

“So what of it?” I ask, taking a sip of the juice.

“Right. My question is...” Rainbow Dash surveys our surroundings, making sure nopony can hear. She leans forward and whispers, “Does she really, you know, taste like apples?”

I suddenly becomes conscious of the flavor of my fruit juice in my mouth, reminding me of the taste of a different kind of juice altogether. In a jolt of panic I spurt out the liquid from my mouth into a nearby plant.

Rainbow Dash blows up with laughter and flutters off. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Spike isolates himself at the end of the table. He sits with back turned to us, shoulders down, his claw lazily playing with his plate of emeralds. I approach him and give the baby dragon a little pat on the shoulder.

“Oh, hey Rarity,” he says wearily. “So... you and Applejack, huh?”

“Not yet, though. I haven’t completely... answered her yet.”

“So does that mean I still have a–”A spark of hope lightens his eyes, but dies out just as fast. He sighs. “Nah. Who am I kidding? Ponies and dragons can’t really work out.”

“I’m so sorry, Spike.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says inspecting his claws. “It’s me being a dragon and all.”

“That’s not your fault either.”

“Guess not,” he sighs again. “You go be happy with Applejack now, mares like her is a keeper. And if she ever makes you cry tell me and I’ll... uh... do something, I guess.”

It’s so cute of him to pretend to be not hurt that I have to pamper him just so. “Whatever happens,” I take Spike in my hooves and cuddle him, “you’re still my little Spikey-wikey.”

Some time later, the seven of us, Spike included, drawn in by more stories of Applejack’s antics in the ball, form a circle in the middle of the shop. It is just us here, I realize, and the privacy of our group restricts no shortage of laughter when I tell them how Applejack reacted to the stallions trying to grab her attention.

“...and then Jacqueline lost it and told the colt ‘mares back in my place are a lot tougher than the stallions in these parts.’”

The sound of our laughter rings throughout. Even Spike returns from his sour mood.

“Well it’s true,” Applejack follows.

And then, I sense it as soon as everyone else did: as the laughter slowly dies down, Rainbow Dash keeps on her guffaw. It is a loud, almost-chortle, almost-cackle kind of laugh, deliberate and consciously fake. When she finally stops, she finds all six of us staring at her.

“Problem there, Rainbow?” Applejack asks, more threatening than curious.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” the blue pegasus says, “I’m good.”

We resume our conversation, pretending nothing is wrong.

“What I can’t still get is the relationship between you two!” says Spike, in the tone of a question.

“Spike!” Twilight quickly reproaches his candid way of speaking.

I honestly did not think it was rude at all. Even as Spike said that, the others turn to me, hoping for an answer, as though the question is at the to tip of everypony’s lips and it is only courtesy that prevents them from asking.

“We ain’t marefriends,” Applejack says.

“But you said you made out like a lot of wild angry rabbits in mating season,” Rainbow Dash snickers.

“Ah never said that.”

“And you even had hot sweaty filly sex.”

“Ah didn’t say that one either.”

“So you’re denying you two had sex?”

“Well...” Applejack looks around to the eyes of her friends, “No. Just that part about it being hot and sweaty like.”

“How about the part of being filly?”

“What are ya–”

“Okay, let’s get back into the subject before Spike understands our conversation,” Twilight interrupts, sensing the increasing tone in the two ponies. She, too ,must have felt the sudden increasing tension as I have, knowing well enough how to evade the topic. “So, Applejack, as you were saying, if you two aren’t marefriends then what are you?”

“It’s fairly simple really,” the cowpony says, toning down her voice, “Ah love Rarity.”

All eyes turn to me, anticipating a response. “And I’m... I’m still...”

My voice trails off, unable to answer completely. Before the silence could overcome us, Applejack lays her hoof on my own. “S’all right,” she says. “Ah understand.”

“I don’t,” Rainbow Dash mutters. “Hey Rarity, I have a question: are you a stallion?”

“What!?” I gasp; the question came completely out of nowhere. “I beg your pardon.”

“Lay off!” Applejack snaps toward the blue pegasus.

“Guess not.” Rainbow Dash ignores the cowpony. “So if you’re a mare then you probably have some stallion parts with you, huh?”

“Shut it, Rainbow,” Applejack stands up, almost crashing her chair in the abrupt violent moment, “we’ve been through this.”

“Through what?” I ask, looking for an answer in the faces in the room.

Rainbow Dash takes to the air, ignoring Applejack and my question, yet still addressing me, “How else could Applejack want you, right? Right? Is it pure, heart-to-heart romance, love, or something like that? Probably, like that time she tried to rape you remember? Yup, complete platonic love. I mean, who wouldn’t want a piece of your completely platonic ass.”

Applejack almost flings the chair at Rainbow Dash, and would have if I had not held on to the cowpony’s hoof. Applejack’s body eases under my touch, but her eyes remains transfixed and hot with rage towards the blue pegasus.

“Ooh, I’m shaking.” Rainbow Dash mockingly throws her hooves in the air. “Hey relax, cowgirl, I’m just–”

“Just what?” Applejack barks.

“Just asking!”

“Listen here you rotten romp, next time ya speak to my mare like that again ah’m gonna bash yer head in, ya hear me! Now get the hell out of here while ah still let ya.”

Rainbow Dash snorts and folds her forelegs together. “RariJack? Pfft. What is that, anyway? This is a pretty dumb party.”

“Dumb... party?” Pinkie Pie repeats, her ears flopping down and her eyes tearing up.

“I mean–” Rainbow Dash almost apologizes to Pinkie Pie, but she immediately catches herself. “I’m outta here! Let’s go, Fluttershy.”

The singled out canary pegasus turns and seeks help from her friends, but she could find none from the eyes that stare at her from every direction.

“Fluttershy, let’s go!” Rainbow Dash repeats.

The canary pegasus turns and follows Rainbow Dash out. “Enjoy the rest of your party,” she says.

The five of us are left in the semicircle. The loud jubilant polka only weighs more on the heavy atmosphere that is the residue of exchanged yelling. I still hold on to Applejack, trying to help steady her breathing. Twilight says nothing, using her magic to fix the toppled chairs. Spike approaches and tries to comfort the crying Pinkie Pie.

* * *

I thought my weekly get-together with Fluttershy in the spa would take my mind off the ending of yesterday’s party. But looking at one of the principal elements of my curiosity, I am unable to do so.

Fluttershy and I do not breathe a word from one another. We make the subtlest eye contact and go on to our usual routine. We sit inside the steam room and allow the relaxing vapors open the pores of our bodies. There is more space between us than there usually is. Even Lotus takes notice of the silence, broken only by hissing vapor and the occasional cough.

After some time, Lotus withdraws to refill the bucket of water, leaving Fluttershy and I alone.

Knowing that Fluttershy will not in any way initiate the conversation, I take it upon myself to do so.

“Dear...” I say. “Applejack is not angry with you, and neither am I if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m just so sorry,” she answers, “I didn’t mean to leave the party like that... but Rainbow Dash called me and...”

“We don’t blame you, darling,” I say, rubbing my hooves together. “And I don’t blame Rainbow Dash, much to my own surprise. I just hope that I could say the same for Applejack.”

“How is she?”

“Just a little cross,” I confess. “I dare not tell of our get together lest I incite more than cute little jealousy.”

“Rainbow Dash is also...” she starts, and looses the rest of the sentence in a mumble.

“She did not receive it well, I take?”

Fluttershy only nods, but then shakes her head. “She’s just hot-headed that’s all.”

I notice how the canary pegasus shies away at the mention of Rainbow Dash, and immediately I suspect the only thing I could.

“Still, it was very friendly of her to single you out during her exit.”

Fluttershy merely nods her head.

“Tell me, with this... thing... happening to Applejack and I, is something similar happening between you and Rainbow?”

Fluttershy blushes furiously and stammers in place. “Well...”

“Aha! I knew it!” I jump as soon as I see the red color brightens her canary cheeks.

“No, i-it’s nothing like that...” she takes the towel off her mane and covers her face. “It’s just a... one time thing.”

I could not hold my gasp. “Y-You mean you two had a one-night–”

“No!” her voice cracks. “I mean, not like with you and Applejack, we just...”

“Yes?”

“Rainbow Dash and I just...”

“Yes?”

“I kissed Raibow Dash!” she blunders out in half a second, stamping the exclamation point with her eep.

“Oh!” I gasp “That’s very bold of you to admit. You the kisser and she the kissee–that’s unexpected. How daring!”

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone.” Fluttershy leans closer and would have almost knelt.

“Of course, darling. We learned that long ago.” Specifically, with that time with Photo Finish. “Keep secrets from the world but not from best friends, remember? So... do tell.”

“About what?”

“Rainbow Dash of course.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much to tell.”

“There’s always much to tell.”

“Like what?”

“For one, why did you kiss her?”

“Well...” she hangs her head down, avoiding my eyes. “I...”

The door opens and closes as Lotus comes in. She walks back to the coals and pours the scented water—it sizzles into steam that thickens the air.

“Go on...” I tell Fluttershy. “I’m sure Lotus can keep our secrets as well.”

I wink at Lotus and she winks back.

“It was that time... at that place...” Fluttershy continues, still unsure, “After the wedding... in my cabin. She was very sleepy and well... sleeping... and I was awake so... there...”

“...and?”

“...and?”

“Where did you kiss her? How did you do it? How did it felt? What made you do it?” I move closer to her with each question.

“It was for saving me–a thank you–from that changeling attack. And uh... well, I don’t know... I don’t have much to compare but it was just a light tap kiss thing... on the lips”

Both Lotus and I draw in breath.

“The first of many?” I ask.

“Umm... No... Just one”

“But you want to, of course?”

Fluttershy blushes furiously to the point that her color transforms to a bright pink. She turns away, and then makes a subtle nod. Too subtle in fact, as though there is no movement in her head and it’s just the wind blowing through her mane.

“D-Does Rainbow Dash know?” I ask, sensing her discomfort. “Does she know that you feel that way?”

She shakes her head.

“But surely you will tell her.”

She shakes her head again.

“Do you want me to–”

“No!” she blurts out. “I mean... I don’t want to trouble her. I mean, I’m just Fluttershy. And she’s Rainbow Dash. I mean, she so fast and brave. And I’m just shy and... scared. It won’t work out. She won’t like somepony as me. It won’t work out since we’ve been childhood friends and there’ll just be trouble and I don’t want to confuse her.”

“Don’t say that, dear.” I say placing my hooves over hers. “You underestimate yourself. You’re an excellent and fine mare of quality. Why, stallions would be fighting for you.”

“But not... Rainbow Dash.”

“Come now, don’t be such a pessimist.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not her type.”

“What on Equestria makes you say that?” I ask. “You haven’t even tried.”

“I know because... she...” Fluttershy stammers for a bit, looking at me, and then to Lotus. “I-I... I don’t know if I should tell you?”

“You can tell me anything. I promise it won’t make me think any less of you.”

“No, it’s not me. It’s... Promise you won’t tell anypony?”

“I made that clear just a while ago.”

Fluttershy hesitates just a little while longer. “It’s just that she... Rainbow Dash likes Applejack.”

The shock is not at all surprising; it was, after all, my first suspicion for Rainbow Dash’s bitterness and resentment towards me. But to hear it worded makes me fumble in my seat.

“B-But that was a long time ago!” she panics. “A very long time ago. She doesn’t... now.”

I clear my throat and maintain my composure. “But they were never together?”

“No.” Fluttershy tries not to smile. “Applejack turned her down.”

“Why?”

“I... I don’t know. She never told me.”

“I see.”

Lotus makes a wave at me from the end of the room, signaling that we have stayed long enough in the dry heat of the steam.

“Well, no wonder Rainbow Dash has been a little bitter as of late. At least now I know. Anyway, I’m sure she’ll get over it. In the meantime, shall we proceed to our mudpacks?”

I do not wait for her approval. I jump out of the chair and trot out the door, hearing Fluttershy’s light hoofsteps behind me.

* * *

The jubilant laughter of the earth echoes all around us; it is in the whistles of the wind, in the rustles of the earth, and in the sound of Applejack’s hoofstomps against the soil. There is an austere quality in her movements. Nowhere in her heavy heaving does she show weariness–far from it. As she walks to me, climbing to the top of the hill where I wait, it appears as though she is dancing to a symphony she alone can hear, hopping lightly with a smug playfulness and gaiety. There is a quiet joy in her, the kind that relishes one’s exhaustion after a hard day’s work, knowing she has earned the right to relax and rest.

My horn glows and I levitate a fresh towel to her from the picnic basket.

“Thank ya kindly,” she says, wiping herself clean of sweat. “Ya sure ya ain’t getting’ bored?”

“Of course not.”

“Heck, ah’d get tired of watchin’ me.”

“I don’t.”

She sits beside me, beneath the shade of our parasol. I take another towel from the basket and proceed to wipe the parts of her back and nape she couldn’t reach. She takes her hat and starts fanning herself.

“Are you done for the rest of the day?” I ask.

“Almost,” she groans, stretching. “Still need to buck clean three dozen or so apple trees down the east field.” She points beyond another hill where several trees glint and glitter their fruits like rubies. “See the orchards over there? That there where we grow the Cortlands. See, those apples need special care when ya plant them. Not too much sun or else ya the sugar in’em dries out, which is why we keep’em under that hill over there. Every year we dig a small channel from the river and...”

Applejack goes on speaking. She speaks for a long time. She talks about the apples, the proper placement of the trees, the irrigation system to make sure the land gets its moisture. Then she goes further by talking about the methods of storing apples and making cider. I try to listen to her, but the meanings of her words are lost to the sound of her voice. She speaks as though she’s commanding the earth and sky that she herself has tamed over the years, as though nature submits to the authority of her hard work. When she points to the barn or to the mountains, I do not move; rather, it seems she moved the earth beneath us. But it is unnecessary; my eyes stay on her, on the muscular shape of her figure, on the strict motions of her body, of the dance of her mane against the breeze. It’s the same pleasure I experience while I watch her work the trees, the rare sight of somepony in complete control of her life, work and happiness.

She suddenly stops talking in the middle of the sentence, and she looks at me staring at her. She smiles. Without my permission–she knew I granted it long ago–she grabs me, pulls me closer and kisses me for what seems to be the thousandth time today.

“Consarn it,” she says, as soon as our lips break apart.

“What’s wrong?” I kiss her on the neck, still within her embrace.

“I’ve been holding off all afternoon. Tryin’ to control myself.”

“And why is that?”

“Wouldn’t wanna be all forceful on ya.”

I smile at her. “That never stopped you before.”

“Sugar, ever since the mornin’ of our first night my instinct is screamin’ me to jump ya and smother ya with kisses. If ah don’t control mahself, I’ll be on ya twenty-four seven.”

A powerful blush reddens my whole face and I see it mirrored in hers.

“If. Ya know, ‘if’, right,” she says. “Wouldn’t wanna do anythin’ to lose ya.”

“It’d take a whole lot more than that.”

Before our stomachs grumble again, I take out the sandwiches I had prepared and give three pieces to my hungry Applejack and one for me. We eat in silence, listening to the sounds of chirping birds and watching the sun slowly inching down the horizon.

Afterwards, Applejack lies on her back, chewing on a wheatgrass, and using my lap as a pillow. Her eyes are closed, as though she is sleeping, as I run my hoof down her golden mane.

“Ya know...” she says, “Ah reckon this is the only thing I’ve ever wanted in life: livin’ on Sweet Apple Acres with Granny Smith, Big Mac and AB. Workin’ hard from sunrise to sunset. And when ah’m done ah’d be seeing my special somepony waiting for me on a hill with a picnic basket. She’d tell me to take a break and Ah’d tell her ah still got trees to buck but what the hay, ah always got time for’er. So we’d eat under the shade and watch the sunset. Then I tell her how much ah love her.”

“She must be a very lucky pony.”

“She doesn’t even know how lucky she is yet,” she said. She opens her eyes, smiles at me and caresses my cheeks. “But ah’m still the luckier one.”

“It could be anypony. Perhaps even Rainbow Dash?”

The smile on Applejack’s face stiffens. “Ya heard, huh?”

“In passing.”

“It was a long time ago, back in our first Running of the Leaves. She said she fancied me and ah said no.”

“May I know why?”

“Ah told her ah wasn’t into mares.”

My eyes go wide as she says it. But upon seeing my reaction, she offers an explanation.

“It wasn’t a lie then. Ah really wasn’t into mares. Ah always figured ah’d be settling down with some big young stallion, would be mighty useful to have around the farm. But Rainbow Dash and ah were fast to get over it. Ya know, we’re best gals now, bridge under the water and all. Only... sometimes when a storm's a brewin’, that water rises to high tide. Like that time in the party. Guess being with ya made her think that ah was lyin’ to her. Still, no reason to go and act like a jerk.”

“But, Applejack, I’m a mare.” I can’t even believe I said that.

“Of course ya are. You’re the marest mare ah know.”

“But–”

“But nothin’.” Applejack stands on all fours and embraces me. “Ah think ya still don’t know how much ah love you that it’s time for me to say it.”

She holds me down against the picnic blanket and the force she exerts throws my glass of juice off balance, spilling all its contents. I feel a tingle of fear in me, knowing that Applejack can take me right here and now; and knowing she won’t, because the more frightened pony is the one who is holding me under her hooves.

“Ah won’t say ah love ya, because ah think that word’s been overused too much to mean what ah do. Rarity, yer the only mare in the world who made me not give a darn over what’s right and wrong anymore. Ah don’t care if you’re no stallion or that ah’m a mare, ah want you; and ah want ya to want me. Ya made me feel somethin’ ah never felt for anypony else. It’s like there’s somethin’ in me that’s wantin’ to get out, waitin’ to scream, and wantin’ to be heard. Ah woke up one day to find the whole world had changed. Every musician’s singin’ about you, every book has you bein’ the heroine, every drawin’ and picture paintin' ya and nothin’ else. Every darn time in the lonely orchards my mind wanders to ya and it always feel like the air is always so clean and ... and the day’s always so fresh. When ah wake up, the first thing on my mind is tryin’ to find some excuse to meet ya; whether it’s goin’ to where yer goin’ or watching the apple stand and hope ya’ll pass by. And when by some miracle ah do see ya, the whole sky turns blue and sunny and everypony is mah best friend. Whenever ya speak ah can barely hear what ya say with the voice in my head shouting: ‘Wonderful! Dear Celestia, she’s wonderful!’ and ah just nod along like a foal. Then ah’ll go back to mah barn, mumbling curses to mahself of how ah might have said somethin’ stupid and ruined yer day or how ah tried to hide mah feelings by scowlin’ when ya offered to make me a dress. But I know deep down ah’d give half the farm for that dress, cause it’s from you to me; ah’d treasure it, embrace it, tryin’ to catch a whiff of yer perfume and start giggling when ah do. Then ah tell on mahself for lovin ya the only way ah know how: by bein’ selfish. I kept it inside but ah want ya. Want! Ya know what that word means? How much ah wanted ya. I want to grab ya and not let go. I want to buck anypony in the face who thinks they can take ya from me. I want to smother ya with kisses. I want to sleep with ya, just sleep, cuddlin’ in mah embrace with no other thought than how ah’d love to see the next sunrise holdin’ ya in mah hooves. But you ain’t like me, yer generous. Ya love everypony just the same and here ah am asking just a little bit more; that if ya were to share a hundredth or a thousandth part of mah whole feelin’ for ya then ya will... you will...

“Look, ah ain’t no prince. Ah’m just a regular country mare. Ah ain’t got no diamonds or bits in mah name. Ah can’t get ya no castles or expensive wine. Ah ain’t got nothin’ to show for my love but my word, but if ah could tear mah chest open and show ya that ya make my heart race then maybe ya could think that... that at least that this farm mare ain’t so bad after all. That this cowpony will treasure ya like nopony in Equestria ever will. That she’ll treat ya like the princess ya deserve to be treated. And that ya won’t ever regret lovin’ her back.

“So no more dilly-dallying! No more beatin’ around the bush. Ah want ya, Rare. Ah want ya more than anything else in the world. Ah want to take ya in mah life. Please, be mine, Rarity. Be my mare!”

I lay still, unmoving yet moved completely.

Applejack looks at me as though I will vanish the second she lets go. Her hoof around me tightens, pressing me against her thumping chest. She looks with the eyes of a pup, with nothing but true inviolable affection, almost pleading and begging to understand and be understood. With a touch of my hoof to her cheeks I can emit those tears she so desperately hides behind her crystalline eyes. I feel a wetness drip down my cheeks and I find that it is not she who is on the verge of crying.

It is I.

The purifying liquid streams down the corners of my eyes. There are neither sobs nor cries, only the gripping shame that squeezes tears from my chest, the shame of it, that it is I whom she loves. I, who turns whore to a prince, who betrays and bewitches, who sold herself to a stallion the eve just after our first night. I would be the object of Applejack’s affection.

“Applejack...” I mutter, “you should know that after our first night, I–”

“Ah’m gonna kiss ya now,” she interrupts, quietly, “maybe for the last time. Ah’ll kiss ya and ya tell me what ya feel.”

The kiss is altogether different from all those that preceded it. It does not feel that she is kissing me, Rarity, but that animating principle the shell of our bodies protects and keeps sacred. I feel, for the briefest of instants, that my heart has died and come back to life. Truth be told, I do not feel for her as strongly as she does to me. But in this kiss, in our first true kiss, a spark in my soul ignites while a firestorm rages in hers.

When I see Applejack again, I see my reflection in her emerald eyes. Whenever I am with her, I never feel more alive. It is as though that when I look at Applejack, it is inevitable not to look at oneself from the reflection of her eyes. And in seeing myself, I am never more real. All the plastic shenanigans and pretensions become irrelevant. To lie in the face of Applejack is to lie in the face of honesty, and to oneself.

Shining Armor...

And Shining Armor–what of him?–how shameful that I remember him now of all times. His name came from the same depths as the imaginary pressure between my legs. Shining Armor, the prince to whom I have given all of me for him.

Shining Armor does not belong to me, not anymore.

He gave me what I asked, a single night, a taste, of the world in his bed. A night never to be mentioned, uttered or even thought of again. It will remain, not even as a memory, but the most real of my fantasies. I know that he will see to it, with all that’s left of his integrity as a prince and husband, that we will never see each other again.

I look at Applejack, still patient, still waiting, and still hopeful.

She’s not Shining Armor; she’s not a prince, but maybe... Maybe I could learn to love her as much as she loves me–or as much as I love him. And I may have found my one true love, at last.

I hold on to Applejack’s hoof and lead it to my chest.

“Applejack...” I hold my breath and finally say the long-awaited words, “I love you. Of course I’ll be your mare!”

The smile on her lips reaches from ear to ear. The emotion takes hold of her body, of her very being. With neither warning nor precaution, she jumps off from me and starts running, galloping, hollering and howling like a madpony, screaming “she loves me!” to the mountains and hills at the top of her lungs. Flocks after flocks of birds of all colors fly in every direction from Applejack’s boisterous burst of energy. The trees sway and its leaves rustle as though cheering and congratulating her.

I cannot help but share in her delight with a laugh. I watch her, a noisy orange figure of love tracing a great arc amidst the greensward. She completes the arc twice and runs back up to the hill to where I am, still in full speed.

“Applejack, careful–” I try, but too late. She reaches me, seizes me in her arms and kisses me.

And I like it.

The momentum catches up to us and we tumble, rolling all the way down the hill, laughing in each other’s embrace. We crash down on a bed of white lilies and the petals dance around us.

“Applejack, you ruffian!” I say, slapping her chest and kissing her again and again. “You’d get my coat all dirty.”

“Told ya ah’m selfish.”

“I know,” I say. “I’ll always indulge your selfishness.”

We stay kissing on that bed, my heart fluttering like those butterflies in the near distance. Small critters are also looking, most leave us to our privacy while some stay and watch. Applejack and I paid them no mind, or we can’t, rather. All our concentration and focus–all our world–lies in the touch of the other mare’s lips. It is funny considering that most pleasures in this world eventually grow wearisome, but kissing Applejack seems so right, as if there is no shortage for the insatiable. We could keep kissing like this until our lips hurt, or at least until somepony decides to interrupt us.

“Uh... Excuse me?” a third pony says.

I look up and see Twilight Sparkle standing there, slapping her hoof against her forehead.

“I knew I’d find you both here but at least more... composed and less.. giddy,” she says, briskly turning away.

Applejack and I stand up from our salacious position and make a sly giggle.

“Anyway, Rarity, I came here to tell you some exciting news.” Twilight turns to us again, she smiles noticing the closer proximity between the earth pony and I.

“Not as exciting as ours!”Applejack says.

“I could make a guess.”

“Darn tootin’. Rarity and me are officially, undoubtedly, absolutely, and completely lovers,” Applejack exclaims. I nuzzle her neck as she says so. “Told ya she’d be mah mare.”

“Oh... really?” Twilight says, half in disbelief and half in disappointment.

“What? Don’t tell me yer against it.”

“What! No, of course not,” Twilight laughs. “I knew you two would eventually end up together but I didn’t expect it till next week. I even made a bet with Pinkie for fifty bits.”

“Well, I figured how much I can’t take my hooves off Jacqueline,” I say locking forelegs with my lover. “Sorry for your fifty bits, darling.”

“Anyway, this is great news! I am so happy for you.” Twilight jumps excitedly and shakes both our hooves. “I need to tell the others.”

“Right, but ah reckon we should tell them, Rarity and me.”

“I agree,” I add. “We would like our best friends to be the first to know.”

“Well, c’mon then. Pinkie and Fluttershy are in the library.” Twilight turns and starts to lead the way.

“Can’t this wait till uh... sometime later?” Applejack looks at the both of us, hope in her eyes.

Twilight makes an ‘oh’ with her mouth and sighs. “Fine. Just don’t get too... exhausted.”

Twilight is about to teleport away when I quickly interrupt her.

“Darling, wait!” I quickly remember. “What was that news you were going to tell us?”

“Oh right, I almost forgot with all this excitement,” Twilight giggles. “I have wonderful news: Cadance and Shining Armor are moving in to Ponyville!”

Chapter 5: The Fairest of Them All

Chapter 5
The Fairest of Them All

The tufts of grass beneath my hooves are drier than usual; the afternoon sun, as with the noon of yesterday, bathes the ponies, the roofs and the prairie with stark heat. I look around, there is no sign of the orange-coated earth pony amidst the trees, nor is there any other color but that of green leaves and brown trunks. There is not a droplet of the red fruit that gives the region its luster and color–it seems as though the sun too has dried the trees of their bounty.

I trot towards the farm where I hope to see her, but nothing is there save for the pigs in their pen basking in the mud to cool off. The swines stop their playing in their mire the moment they see me. One of the blasted hogs, an elderly looking porker, snorts and tumbles in a deliberate attempt to throw some muck onto my coat and soil my fur. I dodge in time before a drop can smear my pristine white. They snort again and squeal at me in those loud short gruffs made only by their species. I do not know why my presence arouses such animosity. But no matter what indignation I may suffer from such lowly creatures, part as they are of Applejack’s farm, I cannot but feel a justified hatred or vengeance from them. I take a step back and turn around before anything unwarranted happens to me or those foul mammals.

I finally resolve to Applejack’s house and there I am met on the front porch by a muscularly built stallion.

Big Macintosh sits in a rocking chair, his eyes on the mountains of White-Tail Woods, a wheatgrass in his mouth and a bottle of brandy beside him. Of all ponies, Big Mac is the most difficult to study. He appears as impervious to society as he is impervious to the threats of nature: The workhorse stallion archetype, as I have always thought of him, has ever only had one fixed absolute expression on his face. The only way to tell if he is smiling, or scowling in this case, is by the look in his eyes.

“Good afternoon, Big Macintosh,” I say. “Fine weather we’re having.”

He does not respond, not so much as a gesture. I know he hears me, and I know too that he chooses to ignore me beyond the glare of his eyes. He picks up the bottle of brandy from his side, bites off the cork and proceeds to take three big gulps from the container. He looks at me again and rocks his chair.

I clear my throat. “May I speak to your sister?”

“What business with?” he says, in a tone of a threat not inquisitive.

“It’s a personal matter.”

He continues rocking in his chair, unsatisfied with my answer.

“Can I see her?” I urge on.

“Don’t pretend that ya need or want mah permission.”

“I’m sorry, have I offended you in some–”

“She don’t live here no more,” he interrupts.

I look around me, the farm has not changed. It appears no different since the last time I was here–there still stand the apple trees with their ripening greens, and from where I stand I can see the small hill where Applejack and I confessed our love for each other. “Darling, this is Sweet Apple Acres.”

“Ah mean she don’t live in this house no more.” He raises his hoof and points to the barn several meters away. “She’s livin’ there now.”

“There?” I tilt my head, following the direction to which his hoof is pointed, “But... isn’t that where you keep haystacks?”

I expect to hear his ‘Eeyup’ but he only nods.

“What on Equestria is she doing there?”

“She didn’t tell ya?” Big Macintosh stops his rocking and glares at me–a glare that, to my astonishment, shows no indication of anger.

“No... I... I don’t believe she did.”

“She got in a fight.”

“With whom?”

“Granny Smith.”

I turn my head to peer through the window of the Apple’s house; the old mare is nowhere to be seen or heard.

“Day she came back from the train, she told Granny and me she’s fallen for ya,” Big Macintosh explains. “Granny would have none of it, called her a god darn filly fooler. Two shouted back and forth, became a yellin’ contest. Granny got fed up, made her choose between the farm and ya. She chose ya. Granny Smith kicked her outta the house. Barn there is mine, gave it to’er so at least she’d have a roof over her head. Ah told Granny about it after she calmed down and she was fine with it so long as she don’t get to see her. Two ain’t spoken to each other since.”

“Oh... Celestia,” I gasp. “I didn’t know.”

“Well now ya do,” he says, rocking his chair again. “She’s chosen ya over the farm she’s given her life, sweat and blood to, now that’s sayin’ somethin’. So when she came back home from yer place yesterday, bawlin her eyes out–”

“That’s what I came to apolo–”

“Shut up,” he says, and it makes me bite my lip. “So when she came back bawlin’ her eyes out, it makes me wonder what in Tartarus she sees in ya... Let me make something clear now, ah don’t approve of ya for mah sister. No, it’s not bout ya bein’ a mare. Ya ain’t good enough for her. Ya smell of trouble and somethin’ sinister. Ah don’t trust ya one bit. But you’ve made my sister the happiest ah’ve seen her since our parents died, and that’s why ah’ve kept mah own mouth shut till now. But next time ya make AJ cry like ya did yesterday... ah’mma chase ya outta town. Ah mean it.”

“I... I understand.” I look at him. He stops moving again, his muscles appear more ferocious all of a sudden.

“For yer sake, ah hope ya do.”

Big Mac’s stare returns to the distant mountains, signaling that the conversation is over. I want to speak to him more, convince him that I am good enough for Applejack but the words have neither form nor substance. I bow my head and trot towards the solitary barn in the distance.

The old building is not crumbling yet; a new well-placed set of beams supports the foundation and roofing. Several plywoods are boarded like band aid over the wall’s gaping holes, desperately hidden in a coat of fresh paint. I raise my hoof and proceed to knock on the door, but the wind is enough to hold the entrance open for me.

“Don’t ya start with none of that talk again,” Applejack’s voice welcomes me from the dark within. “Ah told ya ah’m gonna be workin’. Just gimme another minute.”

From what light of the sun that lacerates the darkness, I can see the shadowy figures slowly take form. Dearest Applejack is sitting on a lone bed in the middle of the barn, her head down, hat aside and hooves over her eyes. There is not much to see beside the hills of hays that surround the room; there is a bed, a drawer, a lamp and nothing else. She is not alone; a bottle of cider keeps her company.

“Dearest?” I say.

She immediately looks up at the recognition of my voice. Upon seeing me here, in her new ‘home,’ she leaps to her feet, grabs her hat, returns it to her head, and gives her mane a quick brush with her hoof. “Oh, hi there, hun. Sorry, thought ya were mah brother for a sec.”

I try not to look at her too much. Her mane is frazzled and her eyes are still red from crying the night before, or perhaps an hour before. My eyes move towards the bottle of cider, Applejack looks at it as well and kicks it aside.

“Applejack,” I ask, “have you been drinking?”

“Just two or three glasses, ain’t much,” she shrugs, turning away.

“I thought you said you were quitting. Not that I think that you have a problem with drinking, it’s just that…”

“Ah’m just coolin’ mah head off.” She prods the ground with her hoof and runs a hoof through her mane again. “Listen, are ya gonna start lecturin’ me cuz frankly ah don’t wanna hear it right now. Ah’ve already heard it from Big Mac last night and ah don’t want to be hearin’ none of the same thing two days in a row.”

“No…” I trot closer to Applejack, my head cast down to avoid her eyes. When I draw within distance of her hoof, I pull my head back up, brush my mane with my hoof and present her my left cheek. “I came here to be slapped.’

Applejack looks in horror, the first emotion since her amazement of my coming here, and retreats back. She looks at me again and, for some reason, begins to rub her eyes.

“You should have done so the second I entered,” I add.

She scowls. “Ya have another thing comin’ if ya think ah’m gonna hit ya.”

“You know I deserve it, dearest,” I say. “I do not even think that a slap to my face would suffice compared to the hurt I’ve dealt you.”

“Ya didn’t hurt me that much, ah just… got caught off guard. What was it ya said to me? ‘Get the fuck out’… I… Why would ya… say something like that…? Ah dunno… did ya mean it like in a joke or…”

“Desperation,” I answer, closing my eyes. “You wouldn’t leave… but you had to…”

Applejack breathes in deeply, as though the weight of the air is heavy in her lungs and it only strains her all the more. She closes her eyes for a moment, breathes out, and opens them again. “Rare… be honest with me… What was you doin’ on the other side of the door?”

Beneath the covers of my mouth, my teeth clench and I bite my tongue. It takes all the effort of my consciousness to make sure my dearest does not notice. “Applejack… I knew you would ask that question, but please don’t make me answer.”

“Answer it.”

“Very well, I was…” I close my eyes, and in the darkness of my own mind, I see images–of me and Shining Armor as Applejack would have seen us: the stallion of my dreams holding me in a death-grip, ravaging me mercilessly without pause, pouring his seed inside my womb, and she would have bear witness to my face warped not in guilt, but pleasure–that forces me to fake reality for her sake, if not mine. “I was… tending my... flowers.”

“Ya were what now?” Applejack tilts her head.

“A postlude to exaltation?” I explain, but no matter what euphemism I utter, I feel the weight of dishonesty in the palate of my tongue. “Solo concerto? Marehandling my own desires? Onanism? A private leisurely release?”

“Ah don’t…”

“Putting it bluntly,” I turn away and hide most of my face behind my fringes, “I was mast… masturbating.”

“Oh… Oh!” Applejack’s eyes go very wide, “Oh! That’s why!”

Applejack rears back. A smile edges onto her face, followed by a few a giggles until it finally becomes a loud hearty laughter. It is the happiest sound Applejack ever makes, and no doubt that Big Macintosh can hear it too; and the sound of her happiness seems to enter and sting my lungs.

“Oh, dear Celestia,” she laughs, trying very hard to catch her breath. “C’mere ya.” She grabs me by my chin, turns the cheek I had offered her to hit and kisses it.

“You’re… not angry?” I ask. The dance and the song and the act that accompanies the lie comes naturally to me; and it makes it all the more difficult to look at Applejack’s sincere emerald eyes.

Still holding me by the chin, she turns me to her and kisses me on the lips. “Still a little riled up for saying the F-word on me but not really.”

“You don’t think I’m… I mean, I didn’t want you to think I’m obscene!”

“Heavens, no!” she laughs again. “It’s normal… even ah do that from time to time.”

“You do?”

“Back then before we were together. I was thinking of you every time.” She blushes but makes no attempt to hide it.

"That’s… flattering.”

Applejack grins. She grabs me by my hips, lifts me up and holds me down ontop of a haystack. The grass rubs my back, I do not think of the dirt for the moment–though I’ll be sorry be that later. Applejack places her precious hat on my head and begins to nuzzle my neck. She moves down and slowly kisses my chest and abdomen. I raise a hoof to her shoulder.

“Want me to show ya what we cowponies mean by ‘a roll in the hay?” she says, kissing my bellybutton.

“Already?” I ask.

“Ya don’t wanna?” she looks up, hope and longing in her eyes. “We don’t have to do nothin’. Ah just wanna hold ya and keep on kissing ya, that’s all.”

“I want to, of course. Whatever you want of me, dearest. But, I did not think you would want me so soon. I mean... just after our first fight.”

“It ain’t a fight,” she shakes her head against my stomach. “Just a misunderstanding, that’s all. It’s mah fault, ah guess, for panicking like a snake in a barrel. Ah thought ah smell’d somethin’... and, m'well, mah imagination went wild.”

My heart skips a beat and I sit up on the hay. “What did you think I was doing?” I ask.

“Don’t make me answer that question, hun. It’s bad. Nothin’ good will come out of it. It was just me bein’ nervous and all.”

“Answer it,” I say.

Her eyes move to the sides. “Just promise ya won’t get mad at me.”

“I promise.”

“Well…” she bites her lower lips, “Ah thought you were with another pony in that room. Ah thought ah heard and smelled somepony else.”

“Applejack! That’s…!”

“Hey, ya promised ya wouldn’t get mad.”

“Of all the–! Why would you even assume that I’m cheating on you with somepony else. I wouldn’t do that! I love you; you mean the world to me. And I thought you trusted me!? I love you!”

“I do trust ya, hun, and ah love ya. Like ah said, just me gettin’ nervous and scared and all. Nothin’ to it.” She crawls up to me and gives a quick make-up kiss to the edge of my lips.

“Please don’t harbor such thoughts again, dearest,” I plea. “It’s scaring me. It makes me think that you don’t believe I love you.”

“Ah don’t doubt it, princess,” she says, smiling sweetly. “Ah don’t doubt it.”

* * *

Trottingham, 377 Stonehoof St.

At the end of the street, just before the corner, stands a lone, isolated hotel called ‘The Black Bridle’. I enter the establishment through its two swinging doors. The lobby is empty of guests and receptionists except for an aging desk clerk. From the outside, the hotel would have looked like a cheap and dirty penthouse for schoolcolts and their fillies, but the trimmings of the interior designs of red and gold-colored carpentry gives, at least, the illusion of a small degree of class.

I approach the elderly stallion behind the counter. He bows to me.

“Welcome to The Black Bridle,” he says, with a thick accent common to those born and reared in Trottingham, “can I help you ma’am?”

“Yes,” I answer. “My husband checked in earlier this morning. His name is Mr. Scabbard.”

“Yes, Mr. Scabbard, of course.” He takes a ledger from beneath the desk, flips a few pages and encircles something. “He is expecting you, Mrs. Scabbard. Now, if you may just sign your name...”

He pushes the ledger to me and hands me the pen. He points to a blank space where I sign the name Glass Slippers in neat and cursive script. I return both the ledger and the pen to him.

“Thank you, Miss Glass Slippers.” He kneels and rummages something from the drawer. “He’s staying in room 403.” He places a key on the counter.

“Is my husband currently in the room?”

“Yes.”

“Then the key won’t be necessary. We’re only staying for the night.”

“As you wish. Can I help with you with your bags?” He leans toward my shoulder, but there are no bags to be carried. He looks at me, makes a slight ‘oh’ with his mouth and returns the key from the counter to the drawer. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

I walk past him, ride the elevator to the fourth floor and make my way towards the third room on the left. I knock on the door three times and a voice calls out from the other side, “It’s open.”

I turn the knob, push the door open and enter.

Shining Armor is sitting in a chair, facing the closed window, a small glass of whiskey in his hooves. He stands, turns around and smiles.

“Lock the door,” he commands, walking towards me.

I lock the door closed with my magic and approach him. As soon as we reach each other, I wrap my hooves around his shoulders and start planting long, deep kisses on his neck. He gently pushes me back.

“Wait a minute,” he says, “I want to take a good look at you first.”

“Don’t make me wait too long.”

I stand still and he circles me, eyeing the tight black top of my dress with the plunging neckline that reveals the midsection of my chest and dorsum. Thick semi-transparent silken fabric clouds my hips down to my pastern, flowing the chiffon and tulle in the air at the slightest breeze, adorned with several dark-green patterns of spray branch stemming from the narrow black patent leather belt nipped around my waist. A long thin shoulder wrap, made of the same chiffon as my skirt, wafts around my neck and neckline. The white short gloves are the same, only much thicker in layer. A ring of small pearls serves as my choker, matching the pair of smooth lustrous gems that are my earrings.

“Dear Celestia, you look wonderful,” he whispers to my ear. “But you didn’t have to dress up.”

Still standing behind me, his hooves slither to my shoulders and he starts to unsheathe the transparent scarf to expose my bare nape and back to him. He grabs me by my chest, pulls me close and kisses my neck and ear; I let him. He caresses my stomach and I can already feel his stallion cock hardening against my backside. I reach for it, caressing him in turn. He responds by nipping the end of my ear, sending signals of stimulation throughout me. I can feel the shiver run down my neck, standing the hairs on my coat on their ends. He stops biting for a second and kisses my ear.

“And that perfume...” he whispers mid-bite. “It’s familiar.”

“Do you like it?” I ask. Knowing tonight is our night, I decided to wear the most expensive perfume in my collection: the one contained inside a heart-shaped bottle of carved diamond. “I bought it from a Canterlot perfumery last–Mhmpff!”

He grabs my head by the chin, forces me to face him and plants a long deep kiss. The awkward position of my twisted body makes me feel pliable to him, knowing that such a command from his limbs to mine is our prelude; that he can mold, bend and turn my body in any way he pleases, and I will not disobey him in the act of total surrender.

He breaks the kiss–I know I have no right to do so myself–and I see his eyes leave me and focus at the end of the room. I follow his gaze to the small impatient white bed beckoning us both.

“Shining...” I moan, “don’t make me wait...”

“Getting excited already?” he chuckles. “Don’t worry, we have the whole night. But I want to fix myself a drink first.”

I glare at him, not too hard, only as a form of comic relief in response to his joke. I do not expect him to respond, but he does.

“Kidding.” He shrugs.

His lighthearted joke is made necessary to repel the lingering air of tension that both of us refuse to acknowledge–or at least acknowledge in the act of denial. Unlike our two previous confrontations, tonight is not a result of unbridled emotion or wild passion. Tonight was planned, premeditated and calculated. I can already wonder what sort of lies Shining Armor told his wife; and it gives me great pleasure to know that he did so to be here with me tonight.

He tenderly kisses my neck again. “Shall we move to the bed?” he whispers into my ear, and I can feel his breath tickle my lobe.

I break away from his hold and, hoof in hoof, lead him to the bed. Before we can lie down, I start to undress. I can feel his eyes journey on my hooves as I peel off the gloves and slowly slip the black shirt from my shoulders. But Shining Armor presses his hooves to my my own, stopping me, and I let him strip me as he sees fit.

He removes my pearl earrings and, with a little struggle, my choker. His hooves slide inside my skirt and then to my thighs. I believe he will unclothe me entirely but, instead, he lifts me and lays me down upon the springy bed.

“Do you want to keep the lights on?” he asks.

“Whatever you wish, my prince.”

His horn glows and, with his magic, he turns the knob on the side, reducing the bright white color of the room to a soft orange glow. I do not like the color for some reason, but I do not protest it if this is what Shining Armor wants.

He climbs on the bed to me, over me. I start to remove the black top I wear but he stops me by the shoulder.

“Keep it on,” he says.

It is understandable that a form of sensuality is derived from clothing in the sexual act, especially when ponies do not normally wear clothes. I would always prefer to be in the nude for him, granting him full access to my body.

I lie on the bed, my head thrown back against the pillow, my eyes to the ceiling. His hooves slip down my skirt, exposing my smooth white thighs to him. He starts prodding the tip of his dry member to my slick entrance. My own hoof grabs hold of the bed sheets as he enters me further. It is easier, this time. There is no resistance from my folds, nor from either of us. He stops pushing as soon as he feels the first contact of the tip of his cock to the end walls of my womb. He stays still in there, relishing the sensation of himself wrapped in my inner flesh.

“I’m going to move now,” he says.

I nod; and then he did move, back and forth, sliding in and out of me in a series of controlled thrusts. Less gentle and less rough, he neither has the trembling precaution when he took me on our first night nor the barbaric ruthlessness when he took me in my boutique.

I finally look to him. That part which connects us together and makes us one, that which the steadily growing wanton flows and seeps, is rendered invisible by the obstruction of my silken skirt that blossoms out like white flower petals. Shining Armor sits upright, his head down, eyes focused on that part of us which I cannot see. I stare longingly at him, even though knowing that I have him, this proud, tall and muscular sculpture. He holds both my legs in his hooves as his thrusts increase in pace and power, and his eye still centers on our pleasures; eyes like that of a stallion passionately engrossed in his work.

He finally looks up to me, his neck moist and glistening with perspiration. He sees me smiling at him and he smiles back. He leans forward, pressing the whole length of his body against mine, plunging his member deeper inside me, as he pushes in for an open-mouthed tongue kiss. One of his hooves circles my hips, grabbing me by my tailbone, and pulls my waist closer to him. Bodies, mouths, hooves and pleasures locked, Shining Armor starts rocking his entire frame. He is not just moving his hips anymore, but his whole body, dragging my entire weight in the force of his movement. And then his whole body stops and shudders, and in the same instant I feel the pressure of his lips grow harder as I feel the first wave of his hot seed wash inside me. It takes him a few more seconds, a few more spurts, before he pulls himself out.

But I know, by how hard he still is, that he is not yet finished with me.

“More...” I beg.

He makes a dry chuckle as he grabs the garter of my skirt and pulls it down. He lifts me up to him as he slips away the drenched black shirt from me, and in doing so ruins my arranged coiffure. But the removal of the infernal top is a welcome gesture, as is the breeze of the night against my moist coat that cools the heat trapped in my body. Shining Armor eyes me from neck to navel, watching the heaving motions of my glistening chest. He smiles, content, and looks at me with eyes of pure lust.

He holds me down to the dampish bed and turns me to my side. He forces my leg open, lifting one up under his foreleg. He positions himself, half kneeling but still upright, as he moves towards me. He prods the tip of his cock again and pushes in as soon as the head is past my entrance. I bite my lower lip as I feel him slam against my wall and plunge deep through my narrow depths; but then I realize that I have no cause to remain silent–there are no outsiders who can hear or judge our cries or moans, no confused guilty feelings to render us mute.

“Yes, yes!” I moan. “Harder.”

I feel him twitch inside me, hardening into a burning spear at the sound of my high-pitched squeal. He shuffles to the side, and starts increasing his pace, driving his stallion cock deeper into my passage. He raises himself on one knee, carrying my hips with his powerful hooves into the air as he continues his mad thrusts. He makes three more jabs, all with a grunt, before falling still. He leans forward again, and he cranes my neck around to give a gentle kiss to my lips.

“Yes,” I answer his unstated question, “just like that... Harder, if you can... please...”

Permission granted, Shining Armor’s stallionhood lets go of all binds of doubt. Still in the same position, he raises my hips again and continues thrusting lustily. His hooves caress my thighs and derrière, using the soft muscles of my body to push and pull me into his cock in rhythm with his blows. My head thrown back against the pillow, eyes returning to the ceiling, both my forelegs grab hold of the sheets for support lest Shining Armor push me off the bed. But I know that is exaggerating the matter, not because he cannot do so–he can, in fact, if he wants–but because of how tightly he grabs me in his hold that not even the grip of Hades on Persephone could match his embrace. I squeeze my marehood tightly around his shaft, and I immediately feel the rough texture of the rings of his rod massage my inner muscles, lubricated only by the still-warm ejaculate he poured inside me not too long ago.

We continue, for hours on end, with him pumping me full of his semen in every position we can manage. I let him have his way with me: He turns me over, he lifts me, folds and bends me in any way he wish; and I submit to him and the rapture of his touch, as clay surrenders to the delicate molding of a sculptor’s hooves. He cums inside me three or four more times after the first, I can no longer tell. At some point, my vision blurs everything into a single congelation and it takes the form of a looming white apparition. The sound of a creature’s long rapt moaning echoes throughout and around us every time he thrusts. I feel lost between the world of pleasure and the solid world around me. Reality itself jumps to the demand of my voice, flashing the images of our embrace each time I emit the slow, dragging moan and plea of how I want my prince harder and harder and more and more. I do not know as to whether my consciousness is dwindling or if my soul is being lifted to the planes of exaltation; I only know that I have never felt myself more corporeal that in the absence of a body and that the state of pleasure has climbed itself from the grossly flesh to the higher levels of ecstasy.

When it is all over, hours later, I find myself back in Shining Armor’s hooves. We lie on the bed, relishing the heat and sweat we share with one another. We do not know what time it is, it could be midnight or minutes before the dawn for all we care. He lies still, looking at the ceiling–there must be something about that surface during coitus that makes it so attractive–with one hoof behind his head and the other draped around me.

“That was the best,” I say to him, kissing his chest. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes... Very much.”

We are both still wide awake, and it does not seem that the shadows of drowsiness will creep upon us soon. In the back of my mind, I thought that our post-coital afterglow would bask us in the guilt of having betrayed our lovers, but emotion, in time, can rust just as well as iron, and there is no sign of it in either of us. Not before, during or after. A quick introspection, and there is none, not even the feeling of guilt for not being guilty. Shining Armor’s liquid warmth is all that I find, and all that matters. I kiss him again on the chest in the victorious recognition of that fact.

“Let me fix you a drink,” I say, preparing to stand up. But his hoof gently presses on my chest and hinders my movement.

“I’ll get it,” he says.

He stands up, walks to the end of the room where a bottle of whiskey and two empty glasses wait on top of a lamp table.

“I hope you don’t mind but we’re out of ice,” he says, filling both glasses. He shrugs. “Melted.”

Were we at it for that long?

“I don’t mind,” I answer.

“Do you want a cigarette?”

“Do you want me to want one?”

“No.”

“I don’t want a cigarette.”

Shining Armor returns with the glasses and the bottle. He levitates my drink to me and the bottle to his bedside. He shuffles inside the blanket beside me, sitting on the bed with his back against the bed’s headboard. I take a sip of the whiskey, shift closer to him and lean my head against his muscular chest.

“Shining...” I say, swishing the whiskey in my glass.

“Yes?” he replies, his eyes in his own brown drink.

“You know... you don’t have to hold back with me.”

“Did I?” he chuckles.

“Yes. You know I’m yours, Shining Armor. You can do whatever you want with me.”

“I know,” he says, quite amused.

“You don’t have to keep waiting for my permission to do something. If you’d like, you can pull my hair or tail, or maybe... if you feel like hurting me I can even let you do that, or you could force me to... What’s so damn funny?”

“Nothing, go on.”

“Shining, I’m being serious.” I rise from his chest and look at him. There is a smirk on his face.

“I know.”

“I want you want to want me as selfishly as you can.” I levitate my glass down onto the floor and wrap both my hooves around his neck. “How do you want me? Tell me how you want me and I will be it for you. I don’t know how to satisfy what you want. I want to fulfill all of your fantasies, as you have fulfilled mine. Do you want me to be sultry? Erotic? Whorish? If you want you can tie me up, have me gagged, bound and blindfolded. Or maybe you can– You know, it’s not decent to laugh like that.”

I stop after hearing another jubilant laughter come from him. He grabs the back of my head and plants a soft but deep kiss to me. The kiss lasts for a minute before he finally releases his hoof.

“You really want to be colthandled like that?”

“I... I want whatever you want of me.”

He laughs for a third time, but softer this time, less insulting. His eyes survey the room, appearing to enjoy the simple act of looking at the furniture that, until now, has been nonexistent. Then, turning to me again, he says in the tone of a challenge, “Anything I want?”

“Anything you want.”

He kisses my cheek. “Next time, I want you to wear red.”

* * *

The breakfast includes several rolls of fine-toasted cinnamon buns topped with cocoa powder, a glass of extracted orange juice, freshly-roasted Columbmare coffee that melds its aroma with the air, scrambled eggs beaten with celery and double crème, potatoes mashed in butter and milk, steamed alfalfa and crisp Dawnnip petals that still glow a bright green: All of which are placed on exotic eastern willowware.

“Do you want a glass of red wine to go with that?” Cadance asks, eager to impress me with her new bottle.

“Don’t mind if I do.” I levitate a glass from the kitchenette and place it on top of my table. Cadance’s magic does the same, dragging with her magic an unopened bottle of red wine.

“When you told me you were going to visit, I bought this!” She lays down a bottle of Médoc, opens its cork and fills my glass.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” I laugh.

“Now, I don’t know what it tastes like. I haven’t tried it yet, but Bar Keep says this isn’t half bad.”

I lift the glass to my lips and sample several spoonfuls. I know that in judging a wine’s quality, one has to first consider the drink’s color and aroma, but, for Cadance and I, the taste always takes priority.

“Not bad,” I say, savoring the lingering flavor of the tannin on my tongue. “Not bad at all, though I still prefer Cabernet Sauvignon.”

“I agree,” she says, sipping her medical tea.

“Though I should ask you to refrain from too great a host,” I say. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“What do you mean?”

“These.” I motion to everything on the table.

“Is anything wrong? Did I ruin the alfalfa again?”

“Nonsense!” I gasp. “Everything is great, and that’s just it. If you keep serving a petit déjeuner every time I visit Canterlot, then I’ll find excuses to ride the train back and forth just to have an exquisite breakfast until your new home in Ponyville is finished.”

Cadance laughs. “Oh, Rarity. I know you won’t do that.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me,” I say, holding up a cinnamon bun. “But it’s not entirely a joke, dear. Also consider it as my warning. Somepony has to protect that sheer optimism and innocence of yours.”

“Warning?” She tilts her head. “Against what?”

“Canterlot.”

“Canterlot?”

“High society to be specific.”

She blinks for a few seconds before asking, “What’s wrong with it?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, Cadance. Rather, there’s something wrong in it.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“That, my dear! That’s exactly what I am talking about.” I place my glass down, louder than etiquette tends to permit. “How many parties have you been to since Fleur’s and Fancypants’s engagement party? Three or four, I believe? Well, I’ve been in twelve. And in all those twelve, I’ve been hearing nothing but disgraceful gossip from friends of friends about you. Of course I believe none of the thing.”

Cadance is wide-eyed, and her whole body halts to a pause. “But... but... I’ve never of heard such rumors.”

I wear a face of worried expression. “If you have never heard of it then that makes it much worse.”

“What... What are they saying... about me?”

“Well–are you sure you want me to tell you?–there was this mare, an ageing pegasus mare, saying how conceited you are for showcasing Shining Armor in their parties. And even Fleur somewhat agrees; she complains how you always try to steal the spotlight from everypony in the room even though it’s her party.”

“But I never–”

“I know, darling, I know. I’m trying my best to repel and correct them but it spreads like wildfire. I think somepony out there is deliberately trying to destroy your reputation. Why, the worst of it all is the rumor that your foal is... from some other stallion of the Royal Guard.”

Cadence’s hooves jump to cover her lips as she gasps. Her magic loses its focus for a second and the ebbing glow that suspends the table fork afloat loses its grip. The silverware falls and clatters on the plate.

“That’s so,” she mumbles, her head falling, “...wrong. I’ve never shared a bed with anypony else but Shining Armor, and he with I.”

I smile. “Of course, darling. We both know that.”

Cadance gently pushes her banquet of refuse to the center of the table. Head still down, she folds her hooves to her lap and eyes the hypnotizing liquid ruby in the wine glass. She raises one hoof but, instead of reaching for the delicate vino, helps herself up and proceed to grab a glass of clean water from the kitchen sink.

"I am so sorry for ruining your breakfast with this conversation. Please forgive me for bringing up this subject."

“It’s fine," she says, trying hard to smile. "I didn’t have much of an appetite anyway.”

“That’s unhealthy for the baby, please do eat. Let’s forget about the whole thing. In fact,”–I raise the bottle of Médoc to her–“have a glass of wine. It will help you relax.”

“What?” Cadance rears back from the glistening red liquid, wings and eyes widening. “But I’m already in my first month. I can’t.”

“Oh, don’t be so old-fashioned, darling,” I laugh. “Those research ‘findings’ about wine affecting foals are unsubstantiated, contrary in fact.”

Cadance still hesitates.

“I can show you some statistics if you’d like, or a dissertation on the subject by Dr. Vintage Vine, but I’m sure you’ll take your best friend’s word for it. Consider it a gesture that you need to ease up more and enjoy the little things in life.”

With my magic, I fill both our glass with the wine. I levitate her glass to her and, after a moment’s pause, we toast. The clink of the glass against glass sounds like a minute bell that makes her smile. We drink to our fill and the sweet taste melts like nectar on my tongue. Afterwards, we continue to eat in silence with each other's eyes for comfort.

“Hey, Rarity," she says, as soon as she finishes the main course and begins to lay down the desert on the table.

“Yes?”

"Thanks for being there for me." She smiles. “You’re a great friend.”

I smile and nod to her in turn, it being the most appropriate response that can summarize the recognition of our friendship. We eat our sweet cherry-flavored soft cream as we start to chat about our favorite desserts.

* * *

“Turn around and close your eyes,” he tells me.

I turn to the full-length mirror behind me and stand still. In the few seconds before I close my eyes, I see the reflection of Shining Armor's smirk as he closes in from behind.

Eyes closed, imagination feeds my vision.

What sort of fantasy would Shining Armor make me commit? Would he have me close my eyes like this for the rest of the night?

And then Shining Armor’s hooves gently move from the bone of my back, to my shoulders and around my neck. Something cold and metallic drapes down my chest and kisses my collarbone.

A choker? A chain? No... It’s lighter than that.

Shining Armor fumbles something around my nape and finally tells me, “Alright, open your eyes.”

I softly lift my eyelids, but at the first glimpse of the gleaming white object around my neck, my eyes shoot wide and my jaw drops. It is a necklace, a pure 24-karat diamond necklace held by a linked chain of glinting 24-karat gold. I touch the necklace around my neck, caressing it with my hoof, making sure that reality matches the illusory phantasmagoria in the mirror. And as I touch the crystalline object, scintillating with points of brief flashes of light against the gemstone’s carved surface, I draw in breath in disbelief. It strikes me, from what parcel left of my attention not robbed by the necklace, that the shape of the jewel is a perfect semblance to my cutie mark.

“Do you like it?” Shining Armor places his hooves on my shoulders. “It’s a diamond, just like your cutie mark.”

My mouth babbles open and closed, half-forming ‘thank yous’ and ‘yeses’ that have no form. I look at Shining Armor, the necklace, the pale-faced mare in the mirror trying hard not to faint.

“I’m not an expert on fashion,” he says with a shrug, “but...”

He holds on to my shoulders, studying me in the reflection–studying the cherry red floor-length cocktail frock he wanted me to wear, the gilded bracelet around my left hoof, the purplish mane of mine that, for a change, is loose and free to dangle and dance over my neck like a blanket–until our eyes meet. He flicks with his hoof the diamond necklace that is the finishing highlight of my ensemble. He whispers to my ear:

“...you’re beautiful.”

Without saying a word, I turn to Shining Armor and jump on him. I throw my body with such force upon his that the impact brings us both down to the floor. I grab his white evening shirt, pulling it in two opposing directions and watch the buttons pop and fly out as I expose his torso to mine. I dive in, planting deep quick kisses to his stomach, his chest, his shoulders, his neck, his cheek, his mouth.

He grabs my shoulders and holds me back. “Wow,” he chuckles. “You’re ravishing.”

“Shining...” I moan, like a beggar eager for the reward of an alm. “Inside me... Right here, right now.”

But then he smirks, that familiar mischievous smirk of his, a smirk that makes my blood run cold; a smirk similar to that of a colt about to demonstrate his authority over a helpless kitten. I know that he wants me, I can already feel him hardening under my leg, and he knows I know it, but nothing is more certain than the fact that he will not take me.

“Shining!” I cry out to him, trying to reach that well of lust he holds back.

He laughs meekly. “Last week you told me I can have anything I want, right? Well, I figured one out: I want to watch you.”

“Watch me?”

“You once told me how often you touch yourself at night, thinking of me. Now I want to see you do it, here. I want to see what you do and how you do it on those nights.”

“Not that!” The sound of my opposition reverberates in the room. I stand up. “No more of that, please, not when I have you here.”

“That’s what I want,” he says. “Do that and we can do it afterwards.”

“Do you... promise?” My voice trails off in the hesitation of even considering this absurdity, but I know I will eventually do more than consider and accept.

“I promise.” He stands up, moves to the end of the room where he drags a chair close to where I stand. There he sits, eyeing me, legs crossed and his head resting on his hoof.

I look around the room–I catch a glimpse of my reddening face in the mirror when I do so–and my eyes land on the bed. I walk towards it, but Shining Armor stops me.

“No,” he barks. “Right there, on the floor and in front of the mirror... and keep your clothes on.”

I turn my face away from him, too embarrassed to look at him in the eye in the act I am about to perform. My body melts to the floor and my hoof slithers to my crotch. I start caressing myself, wishing I can turn my back to him knowing only that he will just command me otherwise. My back on the floor, I open myself to him, and hope the sight of my slick anticipating sex will persuade him to pounce on me this instant.

But he does not; he does not even move from his chair.

My hoof hastily works on my delicate entrance, wanting nothing more than to get it over as quickly as I can in order to get him inside me as soon as possible.

“Rarity,” he says in a chastising tone, “I don’t think you normally masturbate like that. Do it properly.”

“Shining...” I plead again. “When I told you that you can do anything to me, I mean that you do something to me. I don’t like this...”

“I know, and that’s why. Now do it properly, or I’m gone for the night.”

“To threaten me with abstinence,” I bark, "am I as obvious as that?"

He laughs. It is his reply.

I submit, both in words and in spirit. The frustrating thought of him not touching me when there is nothing that stops him from so doing is nothing compared to the absence he threatens me with.

I return to moving my hoof again, slower this time but with the same intention of trying to get it over with. The cold hard floor is straining my back, making it difficult for me to position myself properly, but I try to ignore it. Shining Armor watches me intently with a face showing no sign of any emotion but the acknowledgement of an indifferent observer. I do not know how I will proceed.

Should I moan? Behave as sultry as I can? Should I scream his name, as I did during those lonely nights?

I consider faking an orgasm for once, but do not risk it for fear that I ruin his mood.

I shut my eyes and continue on with his entertainment, churning my hoof against my disappointed sex; whereas it had expected Shining Armor’s bulk, it makes do, in the meantime, with my inadequate touch. My womb finally begins to release that growing heat that signals the upheaval of upcoming pleasure. I hold on to that orb of lust welling up inside me. With every circular motion against the curved flesh of my slit, the orb grows steadily, and with it my anticipation. My hoof, already natural to its unstoppable movement, allows me to indulge and concentrate on the images in my mind; images of Shining Armor, of how hard he drove his cock into me two weeks ago and of how hard he will force it inside me again. My eyes open, Shining Armor is still watching me, but now with an amused smile on his face. I stare at Shining Armor’s bulging pride, the one and only I have known and yearned for; the object I once dreamed of and imagined in my fantasies. I have had it before, countless times in my illusions and thrice in reality, and if it means reducing myself to the level of the pornographic just to have it again, I am willing to descend to such vulgarity.

Finally, at the thought of Shining Armor taking me beneath his hooves, the orb overflows from the walls where it is contained, and the sweet painful release of my frustration erupts from within me. I shudder, for a few more seconds, after having reached the level of exaltation my prince wanted me to reach. I look down, between my legs: the tail-end of my dress is soiled from red to maroon with my juices. I do not give a damn if it means Shining Armor will take me this second. I look up to him, and Shining Armor says only one word:

“Again.” It is a command.

“Shining... please... I already did it. I want you.”

“Again,” he repeats.

I see little choice in the matter. My hoof returns between my legs, still sensitive from the previous orgasm not even a minute ago. But having reached a climax, it is not difficult, for a mare’s body, to bounce back from the state of plateau. My legs shut close this time, my knees firmly pressed against each other, in a small and obviously futile revenge of depriving him the sight of my drenched slit. It has no effect. I had hoped, at least, that he would tell me to reveal myself again; and hope, at most, that he himself will force open my legs with his powerful hooves and finally succumb to me.

Feeling the build up inside me for the second time, my assault in and out of me continues. My other hoof crawls underneath my shirt, caressing the steamy portion of sweat just below my belly button. I continue to imagine Shining Armor inside me, held back by the frustration that I even have to imagine it in the first place when I have him the in the same room here with me. The admittance of my fantasy, and anger of him, uncontrollably escapes the tightness of my throat.

“Shining Armor...” I moan unwillingly. I try to catch the words back, but his laughter has already acknowledged it.

Climbing once again to the climax, I reach the rapture of ejecting the pleasures from my lower lips. I start to shudder and palpitate in place, this orgasm more powerful than the last.

I take a moment to rest, lying down on the floor and breathing heavily, before I sit up and look at my stallion and his erect stallionhood. I so desperately desire to impale myself on him right now, in an act of total surrender. I am ready to beg him again, under any terms, to have him inside me. The feeling of his touch against my coat and the feeling of his throbbing pride inside me, making me his, making us one.

Could it be this state of longing that my dear Shining Armor wants to reduce me to?

He smiles at me, and says, “Again.”

My eyes widen in horror, and then I just nod in the acceptance that, perhaps, Shining Armor will not hold me for tonight. My hooves move again, just mechanical now, until I reach my third orgasm.

“Again,” he repeats.

I reach my fourth, my fifth and my sixth, still there on the floor for hours, feeding his vision. My imagination compels me, fueled by the memory of the first night he took me in bed, of how I serviced him in my room, of our most recent encounter just two weeks ago.

“Again,” he says and says.

By the time I reach my eighth orgasm, my hoof and shoulders are aching. By the ninth, there is a stinging pain in my swelling clit. On the tenth, I look in the mirror and see an intoxicated mare in its reflection–face flushing red, with her purple mane sprayed on her face, her red dress sticking to her coat with sweat, the pristine jewelry around her neck dangling with every movement–caring for nothing else in the world but to reach the next orgasm to pleasure her stallion. By my thirteenth orgasm my breathing has become precarious and my whole body has gone beyond the point of exhaustion such that I can no longer feel it anymore.

It is upon reaching my sixteenth orgasm that I start crying, and, though I can no longer hear his command, my hoof refuses to stop moving.

Finally, he rises from the chair. He moves on top of me, grabs my hooves, holds me down against the floor and, after the long tortuous onanism, he shoves his hard cock inside me.

The first reaction of my body is not to retract in pain, as the reflex of my flaring pussy tightening around him encourages, but to close my hind legs around his hips and lock him in place. All of my sensations are gone; I have lost my sense of sight, smell and hearing save for feeling only, with full consciousness and solid awareness, the familiar texture and throbbing that deepens within my womb. It is all that fills my mind and, knowing that it fills my mind and not contrariwise, it is real. It is Shining Armor’s hardening pride ravaging my insides, not an imagined fantasy or a phantasmagoria of frustration. My folds slither closed around him, tightening the friction in our organs. The fires in my womb burn hot all throughout my loins, fires lighted by the dissatisfaction of my lone hoof and illusions, kept alive by the hope that Shining Armor will fuck me hard as he does now. Nostrils flaring, his eyes go wide and he grits his teeth.

Shining Armor reaches the limit of his pace and, abruptly, pushes forward as hard and deep as he can and cums inside me. I scream aloud. I feel his cum squirt against and throughout my walls. My womb feels as though inflated by the sheer amount of the stallion seed he pours in me. A whole liter of semen must have quenched the fires of my frustrated lust. My womb cannot contain it all, and the rest spurts out of the edges of my pussy.

Shining Armor lets go of my hoof and pulls out, my pussy squeezing out more cum with the open space. I immediately roll to a fetal position, my hooves over my loins. I feel myself already pregnant with cum from the sheer volume he poured into me. I wipe the tears from my eyes. My whole body is palpitating. My breathing races with my heart and my vision blurs.

Shining Armor says something. At the back of my head, with what’s left of my awareness, I hear him rummage through the bathroom and drawers, looking for something. The sound stops, he returns to me, embraces me in his hooves and places a paper bag to my muzzle.

My breathing slowly returns to normal, and so does my sense of sight and hearing. I hear Shining Armor words take form: “...owly, breathe in and breathe out. Slowly.”

My breathing is calmed, and I try, with feeble limbs, to take away the paper bag. Shining Armor stops me and kisses my forehead.

“You’re hyperventilating,” he says. “Breathe into the bag.”

After a few minutes, he takes away the bag. He pulls me in and kisses my lips. In response, I slap his chest several times and hide my face against it.

“You’re so cruel...” I whimper. “You didn’t have to torture me like that. I want you, Shining Armor. The whole of you, the complete you. And nothing less.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t leave you hanging like that again.”

“But..." A humble smile makes its way to my face. "I very much enjoyed that last part. If you want we can do that again...”

“What? Like... right now?”

I nod.

“Are you joking? You need time to recover, you need sleep.”

I force myself up and slide down to him again. I am still angry with him, and no doubt he can feel it too by how tightly I squeeze around his cock. He smiles sheepishly, a little bit of nervousness lingering in the corners of his mouth. He knows that by the time I finish fucking him–exacting my vengeance for those long, wasted hours spent masturbating–he will be needing the rest more than I will.

A good fifteen times will do.

* * *

“Gummy used Hyper Beam!” Pinkie Pie yells, throwing her pet alligator like a spear towards Rainbow Dash.

“Tank used Super-Awesome Shell Shield!” Rainbow Dash yells back, raising her pet tortoise in the air just in time to intercept Gummy’s life-threatening gums. “It’s super effective!”

“Please stop...” Fluttershy squeaks out, “you’re hurting the poor things.” But she is generally ignored, or generally inaudible.

“Tank used Tackle!” Rainbow Dash yells again. Her pet just stands there, hiding its head inside its shell.

“Nice dodge Gummy,” says Pinkie Pie. “Now use Tail Whip!” The pet alligator rolls its head to the side and blinks twice.

“It missed.”

“No it didn’t. Tank’s defense fell.”

“It did not.”

The yelling continues, and so does the pet-wrestling, and so does the laughter.

Twilight sits on the park bench, reading a book with Angel bunny. Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash continue playing a game they call Pokemane or something. Fluttershy is just beside them, expressing her disapproval over how they ‘play’ with their pets. The other animals are somewhere along the same field, dear Opalescence is trying to catch Owlowiscious in the air and I can hear Winona’s barking somewhere.

I press myself closer to Applejack’s chest, enjoying our weekly Pet Play Date under the shade of a tree. I do not think she is asleep, but it is impossible to tell by the lack of her movements and the Stetson covering her eyes. I peer closer, looking for those emerald gems from below. She moves suddenly, tightening her embrace around my back, pressing our chests together. She raises the brim of her hat and smiles at me.

“I’m sorry, dearest,” I say. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Ya know, for some reason ah always get sleepy holdin’ ya like this,” she says, “but ah also can’t get no sleep. Anypony ever told ya that you feel like a marshmallow?”

“Anypony ever told you that you feel like a diamond in the rough?”

I lean forward and plant a gentle kiss on her lips.

“Speakin’ of diamonds,” she says, placing a hoof on my necklace, “Ya really love this, huh? You’ve been wearin’ it fer a month now.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

“Really?”

“Hmm... It’s a close one.”

She pulls me to her and she plants several quick deep kisses on my neck that makes me laugh and giggle aloud.

“Hey, Applesmack!” calls Rainbow Dash; she flies towards us with a hopping Pinkie Pie following her trail. “Geez! Can’t you two go find a room? Anyway, Pinkie’s saying something about Gummy being a Water-type and Tank being a Rock-type which is why she’s winning all the time. I need you and Winona in our tag team battle.”

“Ooh! Ooh!” Pinkie Pie says, head down and tail raised. “In that case I’ll get Owlowiscious, he’s a Flying-type.”

Without waiting for a response, Pinkie Pie bounces her way towards the lavender unicorn. Applejack turns to Rainbow Dash and scowls. “Ah don’t want Winona getting’ hurt in these games of yers.”

“Pfft. Does it look like those two are hurt?” Rainbow Dash points to the two reptiles in the distance. “They haven’t so much as chipped a tooth.”

“Those two ain’t got no teeth.”

“C’mon, we’ve had worse fights before. What’s the matter, you yellow?”

“Whaddya call me?”

“Yellow, Chicken. Hey Rare, your marefriend is afraid she and Winona will lose to Gummy and Owlowiscious.”

Before I can say anything, Applejack places me to her side, she rises and calls to the air, “Giddy-up Winona, time to show everypony why you’re the Ground and Fire-type.”

Winona runs up to her owner, wagging its tail. She barks aloud and follows Applejack to Pinkie Pie and Twilight.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Rainbow Dash says. She rears back, fluttering into the air to to follow Applejack, but then looks at me. She hovers in place for a moment, chewing for words.

“I am not about to let Opalescence participate in something as barbaric as fighting,” I answer the unmentioned question.

“It’s not that.” Rainbow Dash shrugs. She scratches the back of her head. "Hey, Rarity, I just wanna know something... everything alright between you and Shy?”

I bite my tongue inside my mouth for a second. “Of course, we’re great friends.”

“Yeah... Guess it’s just my gut feeling, that’s all.”

“Whatever made your gut feel such a thing?”

“No... It’s nothing.” She turns around, flipping in the air, and angles herself to dash back to the playing field with our friends.

“Wait!” I stop her, grabbing her tail with my magic. “Did she... say something... about me?”

“Uhh..." Rainbow Dash floats in the air, eyes in the sky as though searching for the memories there. She answers, "No. It’s what she didn’t say about you.”

“Elaborate, dear.”

“Well, how do I say this? Sometimes when we’re talking and your name comes up, her mood changes suddenly and she becomes real quiet. I asked about it but... meh...”

“Oh... But she hasn’t said... anything about me, right?” I can feel my grip on the pegasus's tail growing tighter. "Not a thing about me or Applejack, right?"

“Like what?”

“No... nothing. I just thought... Nothing...” I let go of the magical hold and toss my mane to the side. “I’ll talk to her. The darling is probably too shy to ask me to make her a dress or something. She does that sometimes. That’s probably it.”

“Oh,” she laughs, “for a minute there I thought you two were fighting or whatever.” Rainbow Dash flips in the air and her head moves to our group of friends in the distance.

“Speaking of fighting,” I say, “I cannot help but notice your particularity for Fluttershy these past few months.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you, daresay, romantically attracted to her?”

It is difficult to see it at first, but the cyan color of her cheeks slowly glows to a bright red like the maples of autumn. Then her wings shoot straight up to their edges, stiffening. Momentarily removed of her ability to fly, Rainbow Dash crashes face first into the grass. She springs up almost immediately. “What! No, no, no! Of course not. What gave you that idea? Pfft. Speed demon Dash falling in love and getting all mushy over some cute pegasus. Definitely not my thing. Gotta dash... I mean go. I mean... gotta go.”

Without waiting for my response, Rainbow Dash launches herself to where Applejack and Pinkie Pie wait.

It is good to see that Rainbow Dash and Applejack have returned to good terms. The pair, side by side with Pinkie Pie, rush into the more open space of the park to play their games. I see Fluttershy eager to join their company, flying towards them with her eyes fixed on the cyan pegasus. Before she can go near them, however, I call to her in a tone of a haughty malice that she alone can hear.

“Oh Fluttershy, darling, come sit next to me. You can get an excellent view of them from up here.” I tap on the ground beside me.

The canary pegasus, who until now had paid no attention to my existence, looks at me with eyes hidden behind the bangs of a lowered head. Without a ground to place her hooves on, all four limbs of her visibly shake. She nods and lands beside me. I shuffle closer beside her and she shuffles away.

“So,” I say, “how are things between you and Rainbow Dash?”

She hangs her head low and looks away, shaking her head after a moment. Ever since our ‘talk’ a month ago she has never uttered a full meaningful sentence to me, even during our obligatory get-togethers in the spa. I have grown accustomed to it, and prefer to keep the situation as it is.

However, the suspicions of our friends may complicate the situation.

I take a deep breath and exhale loudly, “Darling, can I ask you a question: do you hate me?”

Fluttershy turns to me, her eyes wide. No doubt she had not expected the question. After weeks of evading and denying any conversation that might lead to the topic of me and Shining Armor, the blunt statement caught her off guard.

“I... I...” she stammers, but cannot proceed further.

“I don’t hate you, darling,” I say, slithering a hoof around her neck and giving a sharp squeeze, not enough to be painful, but just enough to tense those scrawny little shoulders of hers. It never hurts to let her know I am watching her. “If you’re going to believe one thing I’m going to tell you, at least believe that. Do you believe me?”

She nods, meekly.

“Don’t lie, dear. I know you don’t. And I won’t think any less of you for hating me, quite the opposite in fact. I would hate you if you didn’t hate me; I guess it’s your only proper response for how we have been these past few weeks.”

“I... I don’t hate you...” She pauses for a second to make room for a small shake of her head. “I just... don’t really like you anymore.”

The words leave me with little to say, so I instead trace my hoof along the grass, letting the sharp blades tickle my coat. A small breeze picks up, playing with our manes. I bring my hoof up to my face and inspect it for dirt. Finding a smidge just under the tip, I wipe my hoof on the green herbage.

“Fluttershy,” I say, sliding a lock of my mane behind my ear, “May I be so frank? Afterall, if we are to speak cautiously in the privacy of the four walls of a sauna then a certain degree of directness is only proper under the open daylight.”

Fluttershy says nothing, her gaze elsewhere. She probably looks towards Rainbow Dash; I cannot tell for certain as I do not look at her as I speak.

“What happened, between Shining Armor and I, is an... accident of of my instigation. Because, you see, I love Applejack.”

My last three words grab her attention and she turns to me. She wears a blank expression; there is no contempt on her face, rather, it is in her eyes.

“Do you know why you love Rainbow Dash, dear Fluttershy?” I continue. “It is for the same reason why I love Applejack: It’s strength, darling. Strength. This is what makes us the true mares, we are desperately attracted to power. And who is its greater arbiter but the stallions?”

I rip out a few strands of grass from the earth and hold them up to the sun, letting the air come and take them away and drift them off down the side of the hill. Fluttershy watches in silence.

“We live in a stallion world; stallions are the powerful, the industrious, the capable, the conqueror of nature. And what are we, the true mares? What is our chance on this world that stallions have made? We are too... vulnerable for their exacting standards. We’re too emotional for the intellectual demand of work, we are too graceful for work, we are too weak for work. We cannot match against their world, it would crush us. Our conquest, us, is not nature, but those with power to command it. That is the hallmark, ambition and standard of our femininity: we rise only as far as the best stallions that have bedded us, quality over quantity. You do not know what it takes to achieve what I did in the person of Shining Armor. If the beauty of a stallion is in their power, then, for us mares, our power is in our beauty. So don’t judge me too harshly.”

“Conquest? Achievement? Do you... r-really believe that... what you said?”

“Whether I believe it, or not, is irrelevant. Whether it is true, or not, is.” I press my hoof against the dirt and I bite my tongue. Even I do not wish to hear the words I utter next because I know that, compared to what has been already said, this contains a small degree of truth. “I envy you, Fluttershy, your innocence. I really do. You have yet to discover the more intricate and mature dimensions of a relationship and of being a mare. For you, it is simply a matter of love. So long as two ponies love one another, it's a happily ever after made up of sunshine and gumdrops... What happened between Shining Armor and I, is supposed to be a single moment of passion. A single night of an accident I made happen. An instant never to be known, uttered, or even remembered again.”

“Y-You’re... justifying... yourself?” she asks, searching for shame or pride in my eyes.

“Justify?” I shake my head. “I prefer to use the word ‘explain.’ The difference is that I know that what I did was wrong and I do not expect to be forgiven. I expect to carry the burden of my sin... alone; and without the burden of knowing that somepony else carry it. Especially not you.”

I stare back at the canary pegasus who, for a moment, softens her expression as she sees the sympathy in my eyes. With my foreleg shaking as though in hesitation, I press my hoof over hers as I briskly turn away.

“You were my best friend, Fluttershy,” I say, barely above a whisper. “You still are. Why did you have to...”

“Do what?” she peeks down, the disbelief of what she is hearing nourishes the growing worry brought upon by her ignorance. “I... I didn't do anything... I—”

“I never wanted the both of us to be enemies.” I embrace my legs and—to hide my snicker—bury my face between my knees as I make the sound of what she recognizes to be that of an expression of sorrow. “You just had to do it, didn’t you? You just had to peek through my window, witness an act of obscenity and throw it back into my face, to remind me of that most shameful and disgusting act I had to commit in my desperation.”

“I-I’m sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean—”

“You left me with no choice, you had me under your mercy. I had to level the playing field to protect my love for Applejack. You were going to threaten to expose my accident with Shining Armor but I had to beat you to it, I had to hold Rainbow Dash against you. All that talk about plastics, you made me do it. You made me threaten you. You did this to us... Y-You were my best friend.”

Out of anypony else, anypony, I would expect an outburst of rage of forcing upon her a sin she did not commit and a guilt she did not earn; but out of Fluttershy, poor and stupid Fluttershy that bends ever so easily with the breeze, I wait for something else entirely: I wait for my words to break her.

"Rarity, I never— ...It was not—"

She begins to cry, and I let her for a few moments, just to let those thoughts of hers brew. Hiding her eyes behind her hooves, she shakes and shivers with every sob. At least she is not loud. None of our friends hear her. Eventually I inch my hoof closer to her and grasp her as so many tufts of grass.

"It’s alright... I’m alright,” I whisper to her ear. “You know how to make it all better, don’t you?"

She nods.

Forcing tears out of my eyes, I add: “W-We just have to carry the burden... together.”

...in those sturdy little plastics...

Fluttershy does not respond. She remains quiet for a long time. Finally, as the sun falls to the horizon, she says, “I won’t tell Applejack. Not if you don’t want to and not until you’re ready... Because I know that when the time comes... you'll be the one to tell her.”

Over my dead body.

“Thank you,” I say. I reach for her and embrace her in my hooves as I kiss her cheeks.

Applejack and Rainbow Dash climb the hill to where Fluttershy and I rest, having seen the both of us crying. Before the two of them can ask if there is anything wrong, or what happened, Fluttershy runs to Applejack and stands before her.

"Applejack," Fluttershy says, "R-R-Rarity is... Rarity is..."

For a second, for a brief second where I cannot stop anger from bringing a nasty grimace to my face, I begin to think that my plan to secure the secret of my affair backfired. But the second lasts only that long.

“Rarity is such a wonderful mare.” Fluttershy jumps and embraces the earth pony. "I... I'm so happy for you."

Several hours later, having returned to Carousel Boutique, my dear Opalescence cannot figure why I cannot stop laughing so jubilantly and triumphantly. I wish, then, that I can speak cat and share with her the joke that was, and is, a gullible little plastic.

* * *

I rub my head against Shining Armor’s shoulder as we exit through the backstage of the theatre. Nopony else, not those wearing sparkling gowns and tempered suits, would trot in the shadows of these dark alleys. Half of the sun has already gone into hiding, bathing the bricks and pavements of Manehattan in an orange hue. Some lampposts in the distance flicker to life, and the first snowflakes of the evening twinkle and wink by the fragments of light. We continue walking, just walking, hoof in hoof together past empty trash bins, tin cans and pieces of flapping papers to accompany my sparkling jewelries and his glossy tuxedo.

“It was nice,” Shining Armor says at last, breaking the silence. “Kinda boring at first but I liked the twist at the end.”

“Really?” I say. “I thought the transition was smooth until the twist—that ruined it for me.”

“Well, you’re the one who wanted go to the theatre.”

“You’re the one who chose the play.” I slide my hoof against the brick wall to the half-torn poster. It is a caricature of an old detective in a trench coat, the title The Murder of Saint Morgue is written in big red capital letters.

“Alright,” Shining Armor says, slapping my flank. “Why don’t you choose next time?”

“Very well,” I say, chin up. “I remember they’re planning to show Three Hooves and a Pillow after Hearth’s Warming Eve. Let’s watch that.”

“Three Hooves and a Pillow?” he says, rather than asks, with a raised eyebrow. “Isn’t that one of those cheesy romances?”

I lean forward and peck Shining Armor’s neck. He turns away for second, eyes distant, as though he is looking past the walls of Manehattan. I do not want to think, but I still do, that his hesitation to watch a romance with me has everything to do with Cadance. After several more seconds, Shining Armor finally answers: “Okay... we’re just... watching it anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t.”

It is a warning that I once again tread on thin ice. Our only rule, between Shining Armor and I, our unwritten, unspoken and unconfessed rule is that neither of us will remind the other of our loves, not by word, action or implication. With my silence, as I hold on with time, I return to the safe high ground.

Some time later, both my fur coat and Shining Armor’s body prove inadequate to deal with the snow beneath our feet and on our shoulders, and the both of us head toward our warm shelter in Manehattan’s Pearl Palace Hotel. But, several blocks from our destination, Shining Armor, without warning, tears himself away from me; he did it in the same abrupt motion of self-defense from a pickpocket. I stumble back from his push and recover on my feet. I wonder what I may have said or done to elicit such a reaction, but as I follow his eyes, to the other end of the street, I know that I would have done the same to him.

Pinkie Pie stands under the spotlight of a lamppost. Only I do not think that the pink mare is Pinkie Pie. Her mane, cut and flowing in sharp edges, falls straight and flat down her nape. Her face distorts to its center, wrinkling her nose, forehead and lip to reveal teeth and fang. In her hooves, she holds a bouquet of dry blue flowers, but she holds it in a way one would hold a knife: gripping, tight and ready to thrust; but then, it is not just the bouquet, she herself is a knife personified. Solid in her stillness, eyes sharp and cold, teeth gritting, I fear that she may lunge herself at me.

I retreat half a step. I know for a fact that she is Pinkie Pie, yet I have never seen her this way before. Not even during the incident long ago of her forgotten birthday party, which only summoned frustration and sadness at best, is unequal to the threatening and murderous creature before my very eyes now.

At the sound of a few clopping hooves, a carriage passes by, covering my view of her for a second. And, the second after, Pinkie Pie is... Pinkie Pie.

“Heya, Rarity! Heya, Shining Armor!” the pink pony shouts in sing-song, the curls of her mane bobbing up and down with the bounce of her body.

The transition is too quick, faster than I am able to think possible. The two Pinkie Pies flash in my mind, and I have to deny one to acknowledge the existence of the other. And what should be evident as proof, the sight of the Pinkie Pie I see now, I am unable, for the life of me, to dismiss the sight of her sheer hatred and contempt as mere imagination.

Regardless, forced to reply, I am left with no choice.

“H-Hello, darling,” I say, jumping to embrace my friend. “What in Equestria are you doing in Manehattan?” I take her by the hoof and lead her away from Shining Armor.

“Well, if you must know, I was buying a party present for...”

Pinkie Pie rattles off in a monotonous tone without a breath of pause or the integrity of logic. She mentions something about a party for somepony’s birthday, that leads to something about a cake, that leads to something about icing, that leads to something about the icy slopes of the northern continent. Of course the words are lost to me; I choose instead to listen to the sound of her voice, trying to find a hint of fakery in her tone to convince me that the pink mare I saw earlier, the one that seeped a miasma of contempt by her very features, is no illusion and that this babble is a façade. I do not know why I search for it, neither do I know why Pinkie Pie’s ringing laughter shakes my knees. At some point, Pinkie Pie conludes:

“...and I think that’s why they keep copies of birth certificates in Canterlot’s archives. Anyway, what about you, Rarity? What are you doing out here with Shining Armor?”

“I was...” I look back over my shoulder. Shining Armor is watching us, his eyes as steady as his body. “I mean, we were... buying a present. Like you.”

“You’re buying a birthday present for Bon Bon too?” Pinkie Pie gasps, jumping on the spot.

“Yes...”

“Really? I didn’t know Shining Armor knew Bonsy.”

“I mean no... It’s not Bon Bon. It’s Cadance. A birthday gift for Cadance.”

“A birthday gift for Cadance?” Pinkie Pie tilts her head. “Isn’t her birthday one hundred and twenty-eight days from now?”

“No... I mean’t... for Cadance...” I stutter for a moment, until past the color of pink I see a small snowflake glide down past Pinkie Pie’s mane. “It’s our gift for Cadance, for Hearth’s Warming Eve.”

“Oh,” Pinkie Pie trails on the syllable, making a giant ‘O’ with her mouth. “Well, I’m getting Carrot Top a candy cane this Hearth’s Warming Eve.”

I nod my head. “Good to know."

No... It is just my imagination. She’s just Pinkie Pie.

“So... Pinkie,” I grab onto her hooves, “I am wondering if I can ask you to do me a favor?”

“Ask me! Ask me!”

“You see... this present I plan to give Cadance–”

“What are you getting her?” she interrupts.

“A dress,” I answer with the most commonplace gift I give on such occasions. “So, as I was saying, this present, this dress, I plan to give Cadance as a surprise. Shining Armor and I want to surprise her. So, I want you not to tell anypony that you saw me and Shining Armor together. Can you promise me that?”

“I love surprises!” she says, jumping.

“I’m sure you do, darling. So... can you promise?”

“I promise I won’t tell anypony else that I saw you and Shining Armor together here in Manehattan today.” Then she makes gestures with her hooves across her body. “Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.”

Satisfied, Pinkie Pie and I part ways. I watch her bounce out of view to a corner at the end of the street. I wait for several minutes, making sure that she will not stalk me, before I finally return to Shining Armor’s side.

He does not say anything, not until we enter the Pearl Palace Hotel and the manager welcomes us at the receptionist's table.

“Good evening, Mr. Scabbard and Miss Glass Slippers,” the manager says. He is a gray stallion with a key for a cutie mark. “Did you enjoy the play?”

Shining Armor ignores the question, and signs both our noms de guerre in the open ledger. “A friend of ours may arrive later," he says. "She’s a mare with a pink coat and pink mane. She has three balloons for a cutie mark. Her name is Pink something–”

“Pinkie Pie, dear,” I add.

“Yes, that’s right. Pinkie Pie. If she ever enters the building do not, under any circumstances, tell her that we are staying here; also, notify us immediately, in secret.”

The manager stares at us for a few seconds, a second too long for propriety to one's clients, and says, “Understood, sir, enjoy your stay.”

Shining Armor and I take the elevator up to the eleventh floor. We enter our room labeled ‘1106’, it is the only room occupied in the whole story. The peculiar aspect of this room–along with the small fluorescent chandelier and a pair of Saddle Arabian rugs–is that it has a fireplace. I take off my fur coat and place it on a nearby sofa. Shining Armor unbuttons his tuxedo, walking towards the hearth at the end of the room. With a flare of his horn, a spark of magic ignites the fires on the wood. The warm heat breathes out the cold from the walls.

Having removed all of my clothes, save for the diamond necklace, I approach Shining Armor, who stokes the flame with lethargic absentmindedness. I lean on his back and wrap my hooves around his neck, watching his eyes hawk at the fires. Slowly, my hooves move down his shoulders to remove his shirt and I take away the stoking iron from him. I lead him by the hoof to the bed of purple sheets, and there we lie together.

Shining Armor is gentle, or at least as gentle as permitted by the weakness of inactivity. We lie alongside one another, my back pressed close against his torso. I kiss his foreleg that I use as my pillow and lead his other to my loin. Shining Armor continues the fluid mechanical rhythm of his hips, and cums inside me for the second time tonight. It did not explode, in the sense that he poured into me in the same manner would one empty the contents of a bucket. His cum flows inside me in the slow and steady trickle of a broken faucet.

Finally, he pulls out. He does not need to; at times we have slumbered together with him still inside me.

I turn around and face him, kissing his neck. “Are you finished?” I ask.

“I’m sorry... I–” He bites his lip and covers his eyes with his foreleg. “I guess I’m not in the mood right now. I’ll make it up to you, next time or in the morning. Whichever you want.”

“Is it... Is it because of Pinkie Pie?”

He does not answer.

“You don’t have to worry about her,” I tell him. “She’s a little special in the head. I don’t think she has what it takes to put two and two together. She has that sheer innocence to even assume.... and... And she made a promise not to tell anypony that she saw us. And if you only knew how Pinkie Pie is about promises, why she–”

Shining Armor sighs deeply, a sigh that heaves out a mixture of relief and frustration from his chest.

I shuffle on top of Shining Armor and kiss his mouth to breathe in some sense of relief to him. I kiss his chin, his neck, his chest, his abdomen, and finally his cock. I take him in my mouth, wrapping my lips around his shaft. The taste is different from the last time I remember, until I realize that, having plowed into me just seconds ago, it is my own sweet succus that I taste on him.

Shining Armor’s limp stallion dick slowly hardens to the beefy rod I know it to be. I take it out of my mouth, before it grows to its full size and hurts my jaw. I moisten my tongue before lapping the appendage up and around its musky base. The tangy tastes of whatever moisture is there fills my tastebuds, until the overall sensation spreads somewhere to the back of my throat. Shining Armor’s hoof caresses my cheek and I retract my tongue for a moment. He is looking at me, with a handsome smile that brightens his face. I place my head just beside his full erection so he can get an idea of how far and how deep it would reach if he jammed his full length down my throat. He wouldn’t do it, even after I begged him once; and my gag reflex prevents me from accomplishing the feat myself. I pull back and take his sac in my mouth, massaging it with my lips in the company of loud obscene noises. Shining Armor groans and tilts his head back against the pillow. My tongue runs against the wrinkly texture of his balls, and up to the shaft, stopping with a last lick as I reach the end ring of his cock. I move my head to the side of his dick and run my lips against the dry skin from the nether up, leaving a trail of spit on him. Some pre-cum salivates from the small slit at the tip. I quickly lick it up and play with the taste around my mouth.

“When did you get so good at that?” he chuckles.

“I’m good?” I say with a raised eyebrow. “Thank you for the complem–”

The last of the syllables muffle out as I slide down, filling the whole of my mouth with him. I shuffle in place, rotating my body between his hindlegs so that I may easily bob my head up and down. My mouth still full, I look up to him and make sure he is watching. The hard dick throbs and pulses inside, I can feel it in the muscle of my cheeks and the plate of my tongue. I slide in deeper, until I feel his tip touch the back of my throat. I gag and retreat, but not entirely. There is a large amount of my slobber on the length I have managed to down, but I am sure he does not mind it. I do not realize, until I decide to massage his balls, that my hoof has taken a life of its own and has been tending to the need between my legs.

“R-Rarity, I’m–!” shrieks Shining Armor.

He grabs me by the shoulders and tries to push me away, but I immediately clasp my lips tightly around his cock and bob my head faster and faster. Then Shining Armor shudders and his hoof move to caress my cheek. He pushes, unconsciously, his hips upward and cums in my mouth.

The hot bitterness fills me in one wave, puffing my cheeks. I swallow immediately, just before the second wave comes. Shining Armor holds my head down; I do not know whether he does it intentionally. More of his cum flows in, filing what empty space is left in two and three more spurts. I open my eyes, which I did not realize to be close, and look at Shining Armor. His eyes are shut and his face looks as though he is in pain. I tighten my lips around him, making sure that not a drop will overflow. I hold on to his slimy cum for a moment, relishing the rare bitterness of a prince’s seed. I wonder how many mares in Equestria can brag that they have drunk that delicacy, not even that cunt Cadance probably has. I pull my head back and swallow; it takes me two long loud gulps before I can pull out if him without spilling a drop. I slowly slide him out from my mouth, letting him pop out with a flop, sucking what’s left that might have stuck at the end. I accumulate the cum in my mouth, swirling it around my tongue to mix it with my teeth. Shining Armor watches me and I open my mouth to him, showing him the slime I have gathered. I pull my head back, swallow everything in one big gulp and open my mouth again to show him that I have drank to the last drop without loss.

“Wow,” he says, “You’re very... determined?”

“A lady always swallows,” I say, breathing heavily. My whole mouth feels sticky and my breath stinks of stallion cum. “Still think it’s adolescent?”

“Yes.”

I frown in response; he is teasing, of course. But after all the effort I have gone through, I expect a little more appreciation. I look at his now flaccid dick. I know that there is some more cum left to be squeezed out from those balls.

I jump in, taking the tip in my mouth and begin stroking him with my hoof.

“Again,” he gasps. “But I just...”

He groans. I press my lips as hard as I can, careful that my teeth do not touch him. The tip of my tongue enters the tip of his cock, and I feel it throb and try to retreat. I better remember to tell him later that his appendage is no match for mine. I stroke my hoof faster and faster. Shining Armor tries to pull away but I do not let him. His shaft pulses its veins, readying for the aftershock that is to follow. I draw back, slurping noisily. With my other hoof I caress his balls. His cock throbs and Shining Armor comes again at the sound of his grunt.

This time I withdraw entirely, pointing my face directly in front him. A long stream of fresh jizz erupts from his tip, landing all over my muzzle, cheeks, forehead and eyes. He has enough of that syrupy semen to coat my face entirely. He spurts one last time, this time it lands on my lips, chin and collarbone.

I lie just below his legs on the bed, not moving my head, feeling the warm cum trickle down my face. My eyes open just slightly, Shining Armor is panting as though he had just run a marathon. I lick my lips, trying to reach for some of his liquids that my tongue can reach.

“For Luna’s sake, Rarity!” I hear him say. “You don’t have to... I didn’t want...”

He grabs me by the hoof and sits me up on the bed. His horn glows and he levitates a tissue box from the bedside drawer.

“Why do you always have to be so... Hold still.” He wipes the cum off my face with the tissue.

“Let me,” I say, reaching for the tissue box.

“I’ll do it,” he says, almost barking as he pulls the box away.

“I’m sorry, did I...?”

“What were you thinking?”

“You were supposed to like it,” I answer. “It’s supposed to give you a sense of power: forcing a mare to taste your stallionhood and your seed, filling her stomach knowing you’ve put that warmth there. Then on her face... it’s like marking your territory.”

Shining Armor sighs and mutters an incomprehensible profanity. Having thoroughly cleansed my face, he tosses the tissue box aside. He says, “Rarity, I can’t follow these thoughts of yours. Why do you keep wanting me to... I don’t want to treat you like a p–”

He stops, suddenly. He eyes the diamond necklace dangling around my neck.

“Like a what?” I ask in a tone of a genuinely curious filly. “Like a prostitute? Like a whore?”

“I never thought of you like that... ever.” He casts his eyes down. “That is a present around your neck, a gift. Not a... payment...”

“Shining, I apologize. But I should have asked this question to you long ago: What am I to you?”

“You’re...”

“I’m your mistress, Shining Armor.”

“Yes...” he says. He is quiet for a long time. Then he says, “Yes... you are... that.”

We sit still on that bed, on opposite poles from one another. We both feel the cold. We sit for a long time, so long that our senses heighten and the ticking of the clock rings against our ears.

“Let’s... Enough of this talk,” Shining Armor says. “Let’s lie down... Do you want to cuddle?”

“Cuddle?”

“...if you want,” he leans forward and kisses my bellybutton.

“I... let me take a quick shower first.”

He nods. I stand up and go inside the bathroom. It takes ten minutes to finish the quick bath; it takes me thirty more to stop crying.

* * *

“Hold still,” I say. “Don’t make me poke you in the flank.”

“I can’t,” Fleur squeals. “This is so exciting.”

“Dear, you are acting like a filly.” I lean back and study my work so far. “Though I guess this is one of those situations where one can indulge in such luxuries.”

Fleur de Lis is standing on an improvised platform in her room made of used shoeboxes. Two cheval mirrors flank her on either side, and in front of her is a half-length vanity table, propped up as the third mirror. All of the curtains in the room are drawn closed and all doors are locked with the mounted chains; the only source of light comes from the mini chandelier hanging above.

The dress is entirely made up of hundreds of gems. The one-piece blouse and crinoline is of a light dimity, but the bright luster of white is hidden beneath a sparkling layer of amethyst. A gilded layer on the edges of the neckline, sleeves and hemline provides the supplementing color to highlight what exposed coat she chooses to display by means of the hidden zipper on the chest. A long violet and transparent cloth wraps around both her forelegs and neck, trailing and flowing several meters on the floor.

“This is usually the part where I tell a joke about how all those canapés are moving right down your flank,” I mumble, thread in mouth.

“What’s stopping you this time?”

“The fact that it’s not a joke,” I laugh for a moment and Fleur laughs as well after saying something I do not hear. “All right, give me a quick swirl.”

She stands on the edge of her hooves and gives a complete spin. The skirt from the hemline down dances alongside her movement in one smooth motion, flowing evenly in place to its natural position without as much as wrinkle or a gem out of place.

“Oh Fleur, you... look... fabulous!” I gasp. “Just fix that mane of yours and you’ll be perfect. Even I would marry you right... Fleur, will you take my hoof in marriage?”

“If I said yes, whatever would you wear?” she laughs.

“You’re right. Give me that, I’ll use it on my wedding. I’ll make you something else.”

Fleur playfully sticks her tongue out. I prick her with the needle on her thigh and she recoils back, giggling.

“Well, maybe I can consider trading it for that necklace of yours,” she says. With a flick of her magic she dangles the necklace in front of my face.

“Absolutely not.” My hoof snatches the necklaces back to my chest.

“That must be pure diamond." Fleur leans forward, eyeing the jewel. "You got it for Hearth’s Warming Eve, didn’t you? Who attempted to woo your heart this time? Diamond Buckle? Shoe Shine? Well, it can’t be from Oil Ore.”

I hold the diamond in my hoof and smile. “That’s for you to know and for me to find out.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”

“No, dear. Not this time.”

I climb behind Fleur and tend to her mane. I levitate a comb to my side and attempt to straighten her natural curls, oftentimes making me yank her head back due to the hair's resistance. It is playful, for a while, in the ensuing silence, until Fleur speaks again.

“So, what about you, best mare?” Fleur says, standing in the mirror and watching me work her mane.

“What about me what?”

“Here I am running my mouth about my plans for the honeymoon with Fancypants and you’ve barely gotten a word in. Tell me something new. When can I become the matron of honor to your wedding?”

“There won’t be one for a while. Still looking for the best.”

“There’s always Blueblood,” she laughs, and I intentionally make an unladylike belch just to sound my extreme approval. “Seriously though, how about that Applejack I keep hearing of?”

“Applejack?” My hooves stop on her mane. “I never told you about...”

“The rumors are full of them, no need to hide it. Even though you are both mares, nopony says anything against it. The relationship is scandalous no doubt, the refined and the rustic together as one. They say it is quite generous of you. Bringing–”

“Generous...?” I whimper, she does not hear me.

“–somepony from the countryside to our level of sophistication. The idea swiveled the spotlight toward you. We’ve–”

“But...” That was never my intention...

“–always thought you would go for the prince type, there were a lot of suitors waiting for you. It was quite a blow to the stallions of Canterlot when you chose Applejack. But in my personal opinion, if she makes you happy then what’s the disapproval of other ponies?”

My peers disapprove!?

The blood drains from my face. The words innocently uttered by Fleur brings me back to a dozen parties. Chatting mare were looking at me, whispering about me, biting their tongue once I drew within earshot.

What were they saying? Is my reputation in jeopardy? What rumors smear my name!?

To befriend the country ponies is tolerable, at best. But love, romance of all things! Unforgivable: the scandal of it, that I–the great Rarity of Canterlot–would prefer a farm mare of the countryside to the rich elite, will no doubt threaten everything I have worked for. For them, I will appear as a cheap mare of unorthodox tastes. I can see it now, snide smiles in parties, sarcastic commendations, they will speak and laugh at me as I turn away. Then the letters in my mailbox will vanish one by one, first the invitation to the auction house or the fund raiser, then to the cocktail parties. I will write a letter to them, and in it they will sense my desperation. But what would it matter if it means I will retain my connections and social stature? And they won't reply, and those who will shall take their time in the act of flaunting their superiority. And in those rare moments when I am invited, I will be an entourage to some and none, once the star beneath the spotlight reduced to a faceless admirer in the sidelines, the most pathetic of all celebrities; I as I was a mere bridesmaid to Cadance's wedding.

No, none of that again. I refuse to be cast among the commoners.

My head aches and the room starts to swirl. I turn to the only antidote to this nauseating pain.

“Fleur...” I clean my throat. “I... I have no relationship with Applejack.”

“You don’t?” She turns to me.

“N-no...I don’t.” My tongue feels heavy as I say the words. “We’re just friends, dear friends. We have no romantic inclinations whatsoever. We are both perfectly straight mares and have become close after tying our friendship.”

“Oh!” she gasps. “I am sorry. Of course you aren’t... uhh... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed. Of course you aren’t into mares and those rustic types are too rough for one of your tastes. Whatever was I imagining? I should have known better than to believe such petty rumors, I should have contacted you first.”

“It’s... alright. Those kinds of mistakes do happen.”

“It’s not just a mistake, dear, it’s practically scandalous and daresay slander.”

“Tell me, do you know who started spreading those rumors?”

She looks around and leans forward to me, “Cadance,” she says.

“What... exactly did she say?” The name makes me grit my teeth.

“Well, we were talking about you and I brought up the topic of a fine stallion you might like, I forgot his name, but she suddenly interjected that she knows for a fact that you are with Applejack. I think that was two weeks ago, during the New Year countdown...”

I remove myself from Fleur’s company and sit on the edge of her bed, my hooves moving to my eyes to make sure she could not see that I am not crying. I imitate the sound of a sob.

“Rarity, what’s wrong?” She jumps and stands close beside me.

“It’s nothing... I just d-didn’t think she’d go that far.”

“What? Who? Cadance?”

My hoof still held to my eyes, I nod.

“Don’t cry now,” she says, grabbing a tissue box and handing it to me. “I thought you two were friends?”

“I-I thought that too... I-I found out sometime ago that she befriended me so she... so she could have a stepladder to our circle of friends... You, and Fancypants and the others... All those parties... I in-invited her in, she actually forced me to invite her... or else... she said... she said she would exile me from Canterlot.”

“That bitch!” Fleur exclaims, her face contorting.

“I-I-I thought that she’s just... lonely... and wanted some friends... so I didn’t tell anypony... I didn’t think she would... spread bad rumors about me and Applejack like this, I...”

Fleur wraps her hard, confident hooves around my shoulder. “Don’t worry; your best friend is here. I’ll talk with our friends, Pep Talk, Mrs. Loud Mouth and the others, they’ll take my word for it and we’ll clear things up. Who the hell does she think she is, using you like that?”

* * *

The shower water sprawls down the length of my back, as Shining Armor’s kisses rise from my tailbone up to my nape. I stand, upright, with my hooves leaning for support against the tiled walls just below the showerhead. On our left stands a half-length mirror that reflects, conveniently so, everything from the waist up. I see Shining Armor in the fogged glass, his mane sprayed down by the lukewarm water, standing upright and pressing our bodies close; I can feel his full erection pressing against my coat.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispers into my ear.

“Only as much as you want it,” I answer.

He nuzzles the side of my neck and kisses my ear. “Tell me if it hurts, and I’ll stop.”

I nod.

Shining Armor’s hooves support me, cradling me by the chest and hips. He lifts my wet tail with his magic. He prods the tip of his cock into my ass.

My hips jerk away and my heart punches my chest. The instantaneous stimulus feels as though it stings me, like the kiss of cold metal against soft and naked flesh. Shining Armor’s hooves loosen for a second, just to open enough space for me to back away. He grabs me and again settles the tip of his throbbing member against the tight circular ring just below my tail. He lets it stay there until my body has calmed enough from the excitement of anticipation and fear.

“Rarity,” he says, “I’m gonna put it in now. I won’t be able to pull it out until I...”

“I know.”

“It’s going to hurt.”

“I don’t care.”

“Alright,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’ll do it slowly.”

Shining Armor moves his hips forward and his hard cock follows the same motion. I clench my teeth as I feel the head of his dick start to widen my open hole, already I can feel the seething pain of rupture and rapture. My sphincter is not meant to take in something that big, or that hard, or that delicious. My ring stretches wider as his first half-inch make its way inside. At one point of the vein-pulsing pain, I thought he could have torn the skin and muscle. I look down between my legs where the premature liquids of mine intermix with the shower water; there is no blood there. I do not even have to look; Shining Armor would have stopped his entry at the first sign of blood. So he does not. Shining Armor slides his hooves down my hips as he delicately moves farther in. Pain is not the proper word to describe it, but pain is the closest name for the extreme nerve wracking sensation, a combination of fire and electricity that shocks and burns what inner flesh I did not know was there.

“Damnit, Rarity,” he says, “tell me if it hurts. I can still pull out.”

“I-It does... it hurts so good,” I moan. “Don’t pull out.”

I grab Shining Armor by his thighs. He mutters something under his breath. His left hoof leans in on the tiles just in front my muzzle. I kiss the muscle of his foreleg and lean against it for support. It is necessary, even before I knew it Shining Armor did; my backlegs are already buckling and I am standing by the tip of my hooves. It is only by the help of his embrace, a warm embrace amidst the cold water, that I do not fall.

Shining Armor starts moving again, slower this time, through the tight passage of my canal. It feels odd, knowing that such a vulgar place tugs at the infinitesimal points of pleasure of one’s nerve endings. I had made sure, as I always have–and more thoroughly so this time–that my insides are clean, and I hope it strips Shining Armor of any hesitation to go further in. I can measure what length of him is inside me–three, four, five inches–by the friction of my unused flesh against the foreign matter. Finally, after an excruciating minute, Shining Armor stops, hitting what seems to be a wall within my channel. He stays there, bathing his dick in the heat of my body.

“H-how far?” I ask, turning my head to kiss him.

“Half, I think,” he answers.

“If you want you can...”

“No, it would hurt you too much.” He nibbles at my ear. “I’m going to move now.”

I nod.

The soft rippling movement of Shining Armor’s hips is matched only by the gentleness expressed in his tight embrace. Shining Armor moves our bodies; he cannot pull out, not with how tightly the ring of my orifice clasps around him. He hooks his foreleg beneath my armpit and grabs my cheek, he makes me turn to him and he forces his tongue into my mouth. His whole body moves forward, as though in a sudden jump, and I almost slip. He pins me against the bathroom wall and my cheek skids against the cold, wet tile. His tongue still rolling and spinning in my mouth, he starts to thrust his hips faster and faster. Sandwiched between the cold immovable wall and my prince’s thrusting frame, his cock has no choice but to keep smashing against the fleshly layer of my passage. Shining Armor hips quicken to short, brief stabs until he finally cums. The ejected spunk flows into my canal, absorbed and sucked in by my body. He thrusts three more times, unleashing three more spurts of his thick seed.

Shining Armor thrusts his cock deeper in my bowels after the last spurt and stays there. He moans to my ear, I think unintentionally, “Oh fuck... Why does this feels so good?”

Though Shining Armor has already pulled away from his kiss, leaving me panting for breath, my cheeks remain pressed against the tiles. It is clean enough, I suppose, and does not give me any more worry than having my anus plowed for the first time. My eyes remain transfixed unto the half-length mirror. My mane sprawls over my face and I do not know that I wear that dumb expression of my tongue lolling out.

Shining Armor throbs inside me, twice.

“Shining, dear,” I manage to say, “You’re... you’re still hard... very hard.”

“Rarity,” he whispers, “I know this is your first time at this but I want to go again... Can I?”

“J-Just do it... Don’t ask me. Just do it. Keep doing what you want to me. Even if I tell you to stop, don’t. Not if it pleasures you... J-Just shut up and fuck me...”

He moves, once again sandwiching my soft body between the cold tiles and his hot body. He is able to pull out now, the cum seeping out of the corner of my ass becoming the lubricant for his next mad thrust. Each blow of his cock inside me stirs up the cum in my rectum and emits an obscene squelch. Shining Armor punches the tiles in front of him, grunts and pushes up further, laying my whole body flat and upright against the wall. He forces my hooves behind my back as he kisses the back of my neck.

My head spins; I can no longer feel my legs, only that burning heat between them as he ruts me, ravages me! I bite my hoof, focusing my tears on that small bruise as I bend and push my body closer to him. It is worth it, the pain, just to have an inch more inside me.

I moan lovingly and the bathroom seems to moan back in time; the sound bounces across the tiles and glass and water. As Shining Armor’s thrusts grow faster, deeper and harder, my moans slowly turn to screams that could have reached the rooms of the other guests:

“Yes, like that!” I cry out. “Yes!”

Shining Armor presses my rump together, sandwiching his dick as he pushes as hard as he can–pouring his second load. He pushes in so hard that my own hips buck forward and my clit press against the cold concrete slab. The cum seeps past my fleshly walls, going straight through the spaces his cock cannot reach. I can feel it swirling and swishing in the depths of my gut. He stays there for a full minute, making sure that he has emptied his balls inside. When he finally pulls out, I lose my footing and slip. Shining Armor is fast to grab and cradle me in his embrace.

I lie on top of him, both of us sprawled out on the bathroom floor. The water from the shower falls down along my back, down to our legs.

“S-S-Shining,” I say, kissing his moistened chest. One of my hoof remains on my posterior.

“Yes?”

“My... my butt hurts.”

Shining Armor erupts in a loud boisterous laugh. Afterwards, after he has calmed down, he kisses my neck and says, “Let’s get out of here before we catch a cold.”

“I... I can’t move my legs...Carry me?”

He sighs. “As you wish.”

Shining Armor turns off the shower with his magic, scoops me from the floor and lays me on the large white hotel bed where we sleep, satisfied until next week.

* * *

“I know it has been months now since Hearth’s Warming Eve, but I want to make sure that you didn’t tell anypony. . . . No... I mean, about that time, in Manehattan, when you saw Shining Armor and I. . . . No, I meant–can you stop bouncing on that trampoline for a minute, Pinkie? Thank you–I meant, have you told anypony about Shining Armor and I? . . . There’s nothing about us! We’re. . . Look, Pinkie. I just want to know: did you tell anypony that you saw Shining Armor and I in Manehattan? . . . Who!? . . . No! I meant anypony but me. . . . I’m sorry for raising my voice I just... J-Just... don’t tell anypony else, alright. This can be our little secret. . . . Yes, Pinkie, secrets. . . Y-You now, Pinkie, I like secrets... I only tell my secrets to my best friend. And since you know my secret, that makes us best friends! Do you like that, Pinkie? Do you want to be best friends with me? . . . Great, you’re now officially my new best friend. And do you know what I do with my best friends? I give them dresses and presents and invite them to parties all over Equestria! . . . I know, this is so exciting! . . . I agree, that’s why it’s good that I’m your best friend, right? . . . As long as we’re best friends I can give you discounts at my boutique and you’re welcome to all my parties. But... but if you tell anypony about my secret–if you tell anypony else anything about Shining Armor and I–we won’t be best friends anymore, which means no more parties and dresses. . . . Thank you! I knew you’d understand. . . . I know, isn’t it wonderful? Say, are you a size twenty-six? Drop by my boutique later. I have a wonderful one-piece gown that will look marvelous with your color!”

* * *

The door bursts open as Shining Armor and I enter our hotel room, hooves and lips interlocked with each other. He slams the door closed, locking it in place, as I rip his shirt with my hooves and bite off his necktie to expose his breastplate of a chest. I try to back away, just so I can get an eyeful of him, but the way he forces his lips against mine permits me to see nothing but the lust in his eyes.

I open my mouth as wide as I can, tongue out, to welcome his inside. He seizes my lips and presses in so that my back winds up laid flat against the door. Some spit that has accumulated drips from the corner of my lips; I do not know whether it is his or mine, only that the liquid amplifies his taste of me.

Shining Armor tries to slide my red underwear from me but the upright position makes it difficult to do so. Instead, he kneels on the floor and bites off the fabric that conceals the nectar of my femininity. He stops for a second, eyes driving to the wet beautiful slit before him. He looks up to me for another second as a smirk crawls over his face; then he dives in, mouth open, feasting on the sweet treat that is my marehood. I feel his muzzle and lips press against my loins. His rough brusque tongue laps and twirls inside my folds, harvesting the sweet nectar I excrete. Both his hooves wrap around my thighs and, with his strength, he lifts me several inches from the floor and I press down on him all the more.

I moan in ecstasy, one hoof to my lips and the other on his head. I pull him in, hoping that that slimy and discourteous tongue snakes deeper inside me.

He retracts and wipes away the liquids on his muzzle with his hoof. His lips climbing my torso, I feel the wetness of his kiss crawl up my loin, my navel, my abdomen, my chest, my neck and finally to my lips. I wrap both my forelegs around his neck and both of his hooves bite into my rump and lift both my legs as he enters me. I see him smile at me as he does so, a smile reminiscent of a young foal enjoying his first time with the warmth of a parent. I whip my mane back and make sure he can see the lust in my eyes, the blush in my cheeks and my own smile in a subtle lip bite.

But Shining Armor sees little of my rare aesthetic sight, blinded by the pleasure of the mindless thrusting of his cock inside me. He shuts his eyes as he groans aloud and leans his body in again, sandwiching me against the door. I feel the sweat from his neck mingle with mine, the hot sudor trailing down our chest. In and out, up and down, the rhythm of Shining Armor’s hips coincides with the rise and fall of my body as it slams into the mahogany behind me.

I try to hold on to him, but my hoof keeps slipping from his neck and down his broad back. The other carefully tries to support my balance on the doorknob as he shakes me up and down with hard tremulous repercussions.

After a few more strikes, Shining Armor finally pours in his thick cum, the first of this long, long night.

* * *

The sound of our laughter is loud enough to match the volume of the party’s music, but contained enough that it does not go beyond our small circle. Pep Talk’s hooves jump to her lips and the gesture almost makes her spill the contents of her wine glass if not for the unicorn magic that keeps it in place. Lyrica is beside me, trying not to laugh too hard lest her wig plummet from her head. Fleur and I laugh as well, it would be insulting not to; afterall, nopony understood Basket Case’s joke.

I whip out a cigarette from my gilded cigarette case and three or four stallions race to set it alight with a blaze of their magic. I could have done the simple fire spell myself, but part of the enjoyment is having a stallion compete for the courtesy. Seeing me do so, the other younger mares are given the permission to imitate the gesture. They follow in a manner too quick and too exaggerated that their intention is made obvious, and thus rewarded with the indignity of having to light their cigarettes themselves.

“Oh!” ejaculates Upper Crust. “And speak of the devil. Look what the cat dragged in.”

The entire circle follow Upper Crust’s eyes toward the entrance. Sure enough, Cadance is there, standing by the doorway.

She sees me and waves. Scraping together a smile out of the muscles on my face–apparent to those near me, of course–I am compelled to wave back at her. She must’ve taken my beau geste as a form of invitation; she trots towards me. But, thankfully, a dowager, whose name I should have known by now, forces a conversation with her before the bitch could reach the first half of the room.

“Who invited her?” asks Jet Set.

This time, as I answer. I forge a sad frown to hide the smirk beneath. “I... I did.”

There is a collective gasp from those in the circle who know about the rumor. And in those open mouths I know I can so easily feed them a trail of breadcrumbs for them to follow.

“She didn’t... threaten you again, did she?” asks Lip Sticks, leaning closer as though to assure me that I have her unwelcome support.

“Oh no... no...” I make a stutter. “S-She didn’t, of course. We’re good friends.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of her,” Fleur says, frowning over her shoulder.

“No, no...” I shake my head. “She really didn’t... threaten me. She just said that... that... ‘I better be sure I get her invited to this party or else...’”

“‘Or else,’ what?” asks somepony amidst the fixture of faces.

“S-She didn’t say... But it’s not a threat... I mean... I don’t think it was.”

There is a growing murmur among them. As Fleur wraps her hoof around me, I hear the aggregates of whispered disapproval: “Who does she thinks she is?”–“She gives a bad name to Princess Celestia and Princess Luna”–“Just because she’s an alicorn? Really!”–“No wonder she doesn’t have any friends.”

“Oh, please don’t get me wrong,” I follow. It helps to remind them that I am close friends with royalty. “She a very... uhmm... good mare. Only she lacks the necessary savoir-faire and... she often has an inclination toward–”

“Is she drinking red wine again?” interrupts Pep Talk. “She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

The temptation is just irresistible.

“Is she now?” I look towards her general direction and turn back to my crowd. “Well, I guess she still does... drink... even after I warned her. I told her it was dangerous for her and the baby but she... I don’t know...”

“Doesn’t she even care?” somepony says, a little too loud.

“Of course she does. It’s her baby after all.”

“But,” Basket Case says, after a moment of silence. “Is it his?”

There is another collective gasp, but this time there is one that distinguishes itself with a hint of serendipitous fortune at the thought that this could not have gone any better.

“Well...” It is hard, so painfully hard as I say this, not to smile. “We all know how she’s recently been visiting me... Only that when she’s in Ponyvillle, she never... visits me.”

“D-Do you mean that she... she’s cheating on Shining Armor?” Upper Crust asks, her voice shaking in anticipation and excitement at the thought of the most scandalous and the delicious gossip yet.

“Heavens, no!” I do not disappoint her. “I’m not saying that she’s been cheating on her husband... I would never! I’m just saying that if her foal is an earth pony or a pegasus, and not a unicorn, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Several minutes later, our small circle disperses into several rumor-breeding hives, buzzing to the command of the queen they desperately try to appeal to; all of them eye Cadance from the corners of their eyes with scrunched brows and a snicker.

* * *

“...So you think she knows?”

“I don’t know,” Shining Armor chuckles, scratching his cheeks. “Honestly, I don’t even want to.”

“Don’t you even find it the least bit curious?” I move up, then down again, impaling myself a little deeper upon him.

“A little,” he says. He looks up at the ceiling, thinking seriously. Both his hooves cushion the back of his head. “I’ve never really thought about it until now.”

“Just run up straight to her and ask.” I bob again, squeezing him tightly. The leftover cum from his previous orgasm trails down to his balls. “How hard can it be?”

“For Luna’s sake, you want me banished to the moon?”

“That!” I say suddenly. “That too! You can also ask Princess Luna. I’m sure she’d know.”

“Why don’t you ask them if you’re so curious,” he says, moving his hooves to my cutie mark. “She won’t send you to the moon; you’re a bearer of an Element of Harmony.”

“She won’t send you to the moon either. It’s not like it’s a personal question. Just approach her casually and say, ‘Hey there auntie, I was wondering if you know that ponies scream your name during sex?’”

Shining Armor chortles out a guffaw. “No, no, no. She’ll definitely send me to the moon for that.”

I laugh aloud and I see Shining Armor smiling happily upon hearing such a sound. Once the laughter dies out, my prince’s gaze lingers in my eyes for a while.

“Come here,” he says, “give me a kiss.”

I lean forward, his cock pressing against my womb, and kiss his lips. I make sure that I am able to push my tongue into his mouth, and he receives it with a small sucking motion. I kneel upright, taking the familiar position where the control is mine. I run both my hooves across his chest and, as he watches, seductively lick my lips. He throbs inside me in response. I continue the random motions of my hips: moving up and down, twisting my body around, mirroring a smooth circular movement. I cannot, despite my position, force all of him inside me, all the way; such a feat would require his help. My own reflex upon the sharp bite of pain of having my womb forced open bars me from the accomplishment. But I try still, several times, pushing down as deep as physically possible into him, trying to make his cock breach through my cervix and fuck my uterus directly. It would be painful, I think; much more painful than losing one’s chastity, but not painful enough that I am not willing to bear it, even if Shining Armor won’t.

After several minutes of the repetitive motions of playing around with his cock inside me, I move at an increased pace, signaling how much I want another spurt of his thick load. I jump slightly with my knees, the springs of the bed aiding my movement. My hips pumping against the stallion dick as I ride him up and down, I clench my teeth and hold on to my moans, hoping I will be able to hear his, but only the sound of clinking metal fills my ears. My necklace dances around my neck, swinging the diamond jewel around with each bounce. Shining Armor throbs inside me and soon I feel the first spurt of fresh cum overflow the old ones that crust my vaginal walls. I descend tight and deep around him as my body, too, returns from the orgasm to the plateau.

Shining Armor shudders, his body growing weary for having cummed six times without pulling out. His hooves lay at the side of the bed and I topple down on his heaving chest. I fold my forelegs on his torso and lay my chin upon it, looking at him. Shining Armor runs his hoof down my mane and looks at me with a raised brow.

I move forward and plant a soft gentle kiss on his lips. “One last time?” I beg, feeling guilty already.

Shining Armor groans and throws his head back against the pillow.

“Please,” I beg again.

“This is the third time you’ve asked for a last time.”

“Just one more for tonight. I promise.”

“J-Just... hurry it up. I need to save my strength for tomorrows Recruit Supervision.”

“‘I need to save my strength for tomorrow’s Recruit Supervision,’” I quote, mocking his voice. I laugh and he frowns, but a kiss later his frown is replaced with a smile. “If you only use that strength of yours on me... Do you want anal?”

“What?” he says. Of course he heard me, I know by how he twitches.

“Anal,” I say again. “Or if you want you can deepthroat me. Soixante-neuf, maybe?”

Again, I feel him twitch; I do not think he did.

“Since when did you learn those words?” he says, furrowing his eyebrows.

Then the thought strikes me. “Why? Does it arouse you when recherché and soignée Rarity whispers the most immodest vulgarities to your ear?”

“What impertinence made you assume–”

“You’re blushing, dear–a rare sight.” I move my muzzle to his ear and give it a long lick. “I think it does turn you on... Very well, listen carefully...”

My breath tickles his ear as I whisper to him, in the sweetest half-moaning voice I can muster, the things we did and the things we have yet to do. My hoof traces across his abdomen, the other to his chest. I tell him how far he could reach inside all three of my holes if he would just force everything in. I explain how deliciously painful it would be for me, how tight I would squeeze him if he did it. Then I tell him that forbidden fantasy of mine, the one that involves a blindfold and a choker. I whisper all this to him in a string of the most profane obscenities that no Manehattan delinquent would utter, or a Baltimare tabloid would dare publish. By the time I tell him what I’m willing to do if we have a duplication spell, Shining Armor’s is burning a bright red, his cock stabbing me in its full size and his eyes squeezes shut.

Shining Armor’s forelegs lock me in place, one draping over my head, the other around my hips. He pulls me in, saying something I cannot hear amidst my whispers. He starts moving his hips upward, plunging deep into me. He bites on to my shoulder and I move my hips down to match the timing of his thrusts. I try to whisper more into his ear, but my voice trembles at the movement of his cock inside and how it quakes me. But Shining Armor seems to enjoy the sound of my voice, so I bite his ear and moan and purr.

More, more, yes, just like that—is the room moving or am I?—no, don’t stop! Don’t you dare stop.

His reaction is immediate: he cums–hard–for the seventh and last time tonight.

“...yes, like that. Inside me, in my womb,” I moan to his ear, giving it a long and slow lick.

Shining Armor breathes out, and his embrace lightens. His hoof moves to caress my flank and he kisses the part of my neck he bit earlier. I keep licking his ear and neck, oftentimes kissing his lips, until I fall asleep on top of him; and him softening inside me.

* * *

Cadance sips her coffee. Medically speaking, it is healthier than her usual red wine, considering her stage of pregnancy.

But the latter would have been more preferable, and appropriate.

She sits more dignified than usual in our private time, made by her reluctance to show and spare me the indignity of her troubles. Her belly has grown so exponentially in the last week that it seems to have borrowed the fat from her cheeks and shoulders. But she still holds those features curved upwards in a faint attempt at a genuine smile and posture.

Like most of our meetings, it is she who called this one, in the usual kitchenette in her bedroom. No doubt that she desires to speak to me of something of grave importance, but cannot do so without imposing me the burden of hearing her problems. So she waits for me to inquire, dabbing at some light conversation first. It is torturing her to wait–so I make her wait some more with my exorbitant stories: I tell her of how well everything in my life is going since her wedding, of how financially secure I am since Coal Mine's commissioning of her dress, of how Applejack and I went on a hayride from Ponyville to Appleloosa, chatting and giggling like lovers all the way, and many envious other things since her inviting me to this little hovel she calls home.

“...and at the party, I was not the star of the show,” I say, in the tone of a theater-narrator reaching a climax. “It was my post-Victorian dress inspired by Princess Platinum herself. All the mares came to me and wanted one. But, of course, I told them there was such a thing as supply versus demand, and I can’t make one for each and every one of them. So you know what they did?”

Cadance shakes her head, barely listening.

“All of them made a bid!” I laugh. “Madame Star Candy’s party suddenly became an auction. The one who eventually bought the dress was some wife of a Trottingham industrialist. She bought it for one-hundred thousand bits.”

I laugh happily, not at my story but at the sound of Cadance’s sigh that I pretend not to hear.

Her dull eyes stare, unfocused, towards the wall in the far end of the room. I remember that a picture frame hangs there, of a happy princess and even happier prince.

“By the way, dear, this cake is delicious.” I push the empty platter from me. “The sweet icing goes very well with café noir.”

Cadance magically levitates a knife and proceeds to cut another slice from the cake lying in the center of the table. I wait for her to float the slice over to my platter before I interrupt.

“Oh, enough for me, darling,” I laugh. “Another bite would go straight to my thighs.”

She levitates the slice back to its larger portion. I notice that she is using mostly magic, and less her hooves.

“Glad to know... things are looking very good for you,” she whimpers.

“Oh don’t get me started, dear,” I say, despite having done nothing but talk for the past hour and a half. “I still haven’t told you about that time Frontrow asked me to improvise his failing merchandise. Let me recall, I think it started...”

I stop. I see the look of wide-eyed disbelief in Cadance’s face, the look with all the suspicion and none of the courage needed to say it. Despite my schadenfreude, I finally need to acknowledge her dismay before her suspicion becomes any more substantiated.

“Darling, is there anything wrong?” I ask. “I do not want to ask because I do not want to pry into your affairs. I am trying to cheer you up with some of my stories. It’s not having the reverse effect is it?”

“Oh! It’s not... I mean, it is... I mean...” She shakes her head and hoof in denial.

“My apologies, I should have been more... sensitive. Now, go ahead, dear. It’s just the two of us here. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Well,” she starts in an unintended tone of excitement inappropriate for the nature of whatever she is going to say, “I... I need your advice.”

“Advice?” I shuffle closer. Although I hate her to my very guts, one of the few things I love most is, rather than giving advice, the knowledge that somepony seeks it from me.

“Yes,” she responds. “It’s more like relationship advice.”

“Is there something wrong with Shining Armor?”

“I... I hope not.” She hangs her head, and shoots it back up again. “He’s... he’s grown distant lately.”

“Oh...”

“We had a fight. I started it. I kept asking him about these ‘trips’ he’s been making all over the place that nopony else knows about. I asked the other guards and some of his friends but they don’t even know about it. He told me it’s a secret mission for the Royal Guards or something, only... every time I pry he gets angry. I know it’s not my place as a wife to pry in his business; I know that he’s doing it for Equestria and that it’s confidential, but... but...”

She holds both her hooves against her eyes. Crystalline liquid starts flowing down her cheeks.

Go on! Say it!

“But...” she says, “What if he has another mare?”

Then, on cue, I start laughing aloud. It is a victorious benevolent laugh one would have upon finding a good joke, and that is exactly what I have found.

Cadance looks at me, eyes red, angry, disgusted, insulted, all those angry little emotions nurturing in her crumpled expression.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I repeat several times, holding down my chuckles. “I know you don’t think it’s proper to laugh but believe me, I already have the answer to your distress. You see, I laughed because that’s just the amount of seriousness needed to take this dilemma.”

“It is...?” she asks, her face softening in trying to make sense of the unfathomable.

“Of course. Oh, Cadance, Cadance. You really, are new to relationships aren’t you? Tell me, is Shining Armor your... first?”

“He is! I've told you that before. I’ve never loved anypony else but him.”

“See! That makes this all the more clearer.”

“I don’t understand. What’s so funny about all this?”

I sigh loudly. “Darling, it’s called maternal anxiety.”

“Maternal anxiety?’

“Quite,” I answer, sipping on my coffee. “It’s common to all mares. When we get pregnant, it is said that we suddenly develop a sort of separation anxiety from our stallions, even paranoiac outburst. It’s supposed to be healthy, I’ve read somewhere. I’m guessing Shining Armor doesn’t know about this as well, otherwise he would have explained it to you. We start getting jealous, suspicious, impatient, clingy, all those stuffs that separates us from the rougher sex. It’s just hormones, dear.”

“Is it, really? Is it... just that?” Her eyes peer into mine, desperately searching for answers.

“Yes, Cadance... just that. Furthermore, it hasn’t even been one year since you two were married. You’d do more justice to such suspicions after six or seven."

"But... what if it’s not just that? What if we’re wrong? What if he has another mare? I don’t think I can– Just thinking about it makes me...”

She hangs her head low again and starts crying. She makes no attempt this time to cover her face that her tears flow freely down the table. I rise from my seat, kneel in front of her and take her hooves in mine.

“Hey, hey, hey... Listen to me, dear, don’t cry... listen:” I say, my eyes dead set on hers, “I swear, by our friendship, that Shining Armor has only you.”

* * *

Shining Armor fucks me on the billiard table; the violence of his movement quakes me and the entire furniture shudders back and forth.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I cry aloud, my voice echoing around the empty poolroom. “Harder! Fuck me harder!”

Shining Armor tears my hooves from around his neck and holds me down by the shoulder against the smooth green surface. He pushes his hard swelling cock inward and leans his body over mine. He grabs me by the back of my head and pulls me in to meet my mouth with his. The rough wet appendage of his tongue invades the insides of mouth, swirling and plunging within.

He pulls away and wipes his lips, still continuing with that fuck-motion of his body. His nostrils flare and it as though he possesses the beady red eyes of a rat. With sweat trickling from his forehead down to his chest, dripping onto my stomach, he wears that sly simper on his face familiar to a schoolyard bully indulging on overpowering a helpless victim. I try to sit up and kiss him, but he pushes me down against the table again.

That delicious time of the year, when mares emit those pheromones that drive stallions to think with their dicks, strips Shining Armor of any sense of control. Lust has finally taken full control of him, yanking reason off its throne.

I glance around the art-deco room, drinking in the intoxicating red walls and burgundy furniture as the ceiling, and the chandelier hanging from it, swirls around in my vision.

We had decided to test our skill in a game of snooker before returning to our hotel room. Aside from the company of an aging caretaker, Shining Armor and I found ourselves alone beneath the dim orange lights of the poolroom and we knew, when we both stared at the open green surface of the billiard table, what we both wanted. I licked my lips and I removed my scented black underwear from beneath my purple cocktail dress. The scent of a mare in heat must have struck away any hesitation from Shining Armor’s face. He ran to the corner of the room where the caretaker was busy cleaning furniture. Shining Armor flung the caretaker out the door, throwing a bag of bits at his feet to compensate, before shutting and locking it closed with his magic. He then jumped to me, lifted and laid me on the pool table where he forced me out of my dress, and there he fucked me, still fucks me, like a wild animal for hours.

Shining Armor bucks his hips, screwing me with long deep thrusts, fucking without rhyme or reason, no position or passion, just fucking with that animal desire to dump his stallion semen inside a mare’s vagina. And he does! Shining Armor cums inside me again, for the fourth time.

I moan aloud, not giving a damn whether we’re caught this instant or not, the sounds of my yearning do not reach his ears. My back arcs at that delightful sensation of being inseminated. The walls inside me quivers at the touch of more semen. It must have been drowning now, but delightfully so, after being in heat for the last week; like a desert wanderer whose dry throat is quenched by a sudden intake of two liters of sweet liquid.

I try to sit up, brushing aside some of my mane that sticks to my face. A damp spot on the green surface of the pool table is reduced to a darker pigment due to the sweat that salivates out of my dorsum. Just below my hips, between my legs where Shining Armor and I are still connected, a pool of his cum has already accumulated. It becomes apparent that this table won’t be used for quite some time; I already feel sorry for the caretaker who will have to clean up after us.

I sit up to kiss Shining Armor again, only to find out that those beady red eyes are still there. He smirks, holds me down against the billiard table, and starts moving his hips once more.

* * *

We lie on a canoe guided by a river that runs somewhere from Sweet Apple Acres to the mountainous regions further south. The paddle is by our side, unused for the time being. I lie my head on Applejack’s lap, looking up into the vast infinite expanse of the blue sky like the ocean of heaven. There are a few clouds, three or four, coming from the direction of the silver alps. A flock of white birds form a V-shape as they fly towards the northeast. I wonder whether the avian creatures know where they are going, or whether they are similarly carried by the wind as we are merely drifting by the waters.

The music from Applejack’s guitar flows with the same fluid tranquility as the river: High toned and oscillating between jumpy intervals and soft rippling diminuendo, all with a melody conversant to country music. I know Applejack can play the strings and the harmonica, but I never imagined she could sing with it as well. Judging from the lyrics, I can tell it must be a children’s song. Though dearest Applejack hums the missing parts, I can pick out some of the words, something about the south wind, pie, a black bird flirting with an old scarecrow, said scarecrow waving at the moon, meadows and pumpkins, and a catfish; the little things in the rurality that makes it colorful, sweet and innocent.

* * *

The bar is unlike those in Manehattan, filled with colts and fillies passing off as adults, or those in Canterlot, where matrons and rich widows flash their jewels and taste for cocktails and spirits. This is as secluded as a private cantina, perfectly cozy in its simplicity: The counter is made of a smooth brown shade of mahogany, topped with transparent glass, where red leather bar stools line up. A plant sways in the corner of the bar, facing a frozen ice sculpture of Princess Luna at the other end. There are a few ponies, all of them minding their own business; none of them knows us. Most of the customers have their attention towards the raised dais where the lounge singer sprays soft jazz into the air from her saxophone, complementing the warm glow of burgundy lighting.

Shining Armor and I sit at the bar, enjoying a glass of Champagne cocktail. He is wearing that gray long-sleeved evening shirt I gave him last month, the one that has two breast pockets to give him that sporty look. I notice that his black tie is a little loose and I fix it back up just below his collar. It is quite funny–even cute of him–that a stallion of his age still struggles to wear and fix a tie properly.

“Hey, stop it...” he whispers, half-blushing.

“Embarrassed that I get to pamper you in public?” I tease and I pull him by his necktie for a quick kiss.

“The bartender is looking.”

“Let him look.”

I kiss him several more times on his lips before I regain control of myself and retire my head to his shoulder.

“Mr. Bartender,” I say to the stallion behind the counter. He is still young, just a little older than Shining Armor, with a brown coat, a thin moustache and a shaker for a cutie mark. “A glass of Black Velvet.”

“What’s that?” Shining Armor says to me.

“Beer and champagne, darling. I hear it tastes great.”

“What a waste of champagne.” Turning to the bartender, he says, “A regular Bourbon for me.”

The bartender nods to Shining Armor, acknowledging his order, a gesture he had not given me. Instead, the bartender stares at me for a few seconds and, before I can inquire for his rudeness, finally speaks his mind: “Ma’am, I’m afraid we only serve Black Velvet on a flute glass.”

The bartender’s words widen my eyes; I do not know if he said it out of rudeness or sympathy. I try to control myself but it makes me bite my lip and turn away from both stallions.

“So?” Shining Armor tells the server, he notices my small gesture but the innocence of his youth leaves him clueless of the matter. “The lady asked for the drink.”

“Of course, sir,” the bartender answers, bowing his head. “Right away.”

“I... I change my mind,” I follow, just before the bartender can leave the counter. “I’ll have a cocktail of Merlet creme de fraise.”

The bartender nods and turns around to his glass shelf, grabbing a few bottles here and there to concoct the drinks. As soon as he does, I jump to Shining Armor and dip my tongue into his mouth, hoping it will distract his mind from the irrelevant matter of my preferences of drinks. I retreat back to my seat just as quickly and lean my head on his shoulder.

“Where should we go next time?” I ask him, finishing the rest of my cocktail.

“Where do you want to go?”

“I figure I want to take a swim.”

“Where to?” He looks up, eyes slowly moving over to the lounge singer as she changes the song. “We can go to Longmane Beach, I hear they have white sands there. Or the La’Colt Mayo bay, my troops tell me the waves are so high you can go surfing.”

“I’m more for the swimming pool than the beach,” I say, playing with the platter of salted peanuts.

“Well, I don’t know any place where there’s a private swimming pool.”

“Oh, I thought... I don’t know of any either. Maybe... just maybe...” I move my hoof away from his, “there’s one in C-Canterlot–”

“No,” he says. His voice flat and his tone abrupt. He turns away from me as he speaks. “Not in Canterlot... Not in Ponyville.”

“I... I’m sorry,” I mutter, casting my head down. “I’m sorry I said that... Please forget I said anything.”

He drapes a hoof over my shoulder. He pulls me close and gives soft kiss to my cheek and neck. “It’s alright... Hey, we should be having fun.”

As he says those words, the bartender lays our drinks before us. He serves the bourbon to Shining Armor and the strawberry cocktail to me.

“I couldn’t help but overhear, ma’am,” the bartender says, wiping the counter with a cloth, “but if I may...?”

“Yes?” I answer.

“I know of a good hotel with a private luxury swimming pool. It’s located in the Griffin Continent.”

“The Griffin Continent?” Shining Armor says. “That’s a week of travel.”

“Two days if we go by train,” I tell him, then to the bartender. “Please continue.”

He nods. “There’s a hotel there called The Cool Cumulus. Every room has its private open-air swimming pool and it’s accessible to ponies. The griffons couldn’t care less about the affairs of Equestrians, only that they ought to have enough bits to pay for the services.”

So saying, the bartender turns around to tend to another customer at the end of the bar.

I take a sip of my cocktail and press one hoof against Shining Armor’s thigh beneath the counter. “So what do you think,” I say, “I like the sound of it. We can go swimming at night, look at the stars, maybe share a cold bottle of beer or two. Nopony would get in our way. We don’t have to hide under names or...”

Shining Armor shakes his head, eyeing the golden liquid swirling in his glass. “It’s too... It’s too risky. Too suspicious. If the both of us left and came back at the same time...”

I cast my head down again. The sweetness of the strawberry is suddenly too strong for me; I lost all inclination to finish my glass. It is the thought of spending an entire week with Shining Armor that entices me the most. An entire week where the two of us could escape from the world and enter our own dream-like fantasy within each other's embrace, unhindered by whatever guilt that threatens to divert us from each other’s kisses. A week where I am not Miss Glass Slippers and he is not Mr. Scabbard.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says. “I’ll take you to Prance next time, I’ll buy you a new perfume there.”

“You don’t like what I’m wearing?”

His foreleg wraps around my hips as he pulls me close. He nuzzles my neck and takes a strong whiff. “I love it,” he whispers, as he kisses the soft sensitive spot behind my ear. It makes me tingle. “But you haven’t worn anything else. Let me buy you one, right now, just for the variety.”

He smiles, grabs his glass of bourbon and gulps down everything without even tasting it. “Excuse me, bartend,” he calls to the end of the bar. The bartender comes to us. Shining Armor makes a gesture of paying the bill and the bartender is quick to write down our expenses on a parcel of paper.

“Here’s your bill, sir,” says the bartender.

“Thanks, and hey...” Shining Armor throws several bits on the change plate. “Do you know any place that sells good perfume around here? Specifically, one that is still open at this time of night?”

“I am not so sure, sir.” The bartender rubs his chin. “Maybe you can try the mare’s store three blocks to the left from here.”

“Thank you,” Shining Armor says, removing himself from the bar.

Before I leave my seat, I reach into my purse and take out several bits. I place the golden currency on top of the counter. “Thank you for the information about that hotel you mentioned, It was invaluable,” I say, and, adding a few bits more, “And here’s a thanks for the warning on the Black Velvet.”

“You’re very welcome, ma’am,” he says, bowing courteously.

“Let’s go have a look.” Shining Armor grabs me by the hoof and helps me down.

As soon as my feet touch the floor, the bartender gestures our farewell:

“Have a good night, sir,” he says, “and the charming mare who is not your wife.”

Shining Armor freezes in place and, in the slow mechanical motion of an automaton, turns around to the bartender. As I look at him, as I look at Shining Armor, I thought I would have to run from the prince I have sought all my life; the crystalline blue eyes burned to a hot white that for once, and seem to have done so a thousand times, would kill. Against my instinct to survive, I jump to Shining Armor’s and embrace his chest, hoping it will calm him down from what is to follow.

I turn to look at the bartender. He is too busy wiping the glass surface of the bar with a piece of cloth to notice that the white looming threat may just about murder him.

“What made you say that... that I am not his wife?” I ask, hoping it would provide some explanation to derail Shining Armor’s anger.

“I’m a lot older than I look, ma’am. My coat color hides my wrinkles,” he says in a proud good-natured tone. He is still focused on his job. “And I’ve seen lots of couples in my time, yes ma’am I do. And married couples, even the newlyweds, don’t look at each other with the bedroom in their eyes. But if you want the image, ma’am, I suggest you buy a wedding ring, or anything that looks like it. They sell some for three bits a piece around the corner, just three bits. It’s not sure-fire but it helps.”

“What the fuck are you suggesting!?” Shining Armor would have jumped to the counter if I had not stood between them. His roar echoes throughout the room and all eyes turn to us. The music shuts off without the denouement of trailing off and the bartender, surprised as he is, jumps to his feet in an expression of innocent incomprehensibility, as though he did not believe his statement would warrant such a reaction.

“I am incredibly sorry for my presumptions, sir,” the bartender says, courteously bowing his head and body. “I am merely pointing out the... apparent obvious to what you may think to be... shall we say... unnoticeable. Consider it as a bartender’s advice to a generous customer. I’m not passing judgment of any sort, sir. In this world, we stallions are either virtuous or we enjoy ourselves. Not both, sir, never both.”

Shining Armor stands still, his white coat losing its luster to a pale color, like one of the marble sculpts I have always compared him to, only without the grace of equanimity. The whole bar is at a pause, looking at him, and we all see the small, almost imperceptible, twitch of his repugnant shudder. His screaming eyes are set forward, straight and through the direction of the bartender. But Shining Armor is not looking at him. It seems as though my prince has gone blind, eyes wide open, seeing only the flashes of memories playing back in his mind.

And Shining Armor, at last, moves. First it is his eyes, refocusing and burning hot, glaring with the intensity that seems to wipe reality away from his vision. Then the crooked grimace wrinkles to his muzzle and forehead, then his gritting teeth form a canine’s growl.

And, in a sudden explosion of bloody rage, his whole body moves.

Shining Armor grabs the bar stool, yanking it from the floor, and throws it against the wine shelf, shattering the countless bottles to pieces. The other customers leaps to their feet, scrambling away from the mad stallion in the middle of the room. He upturns tables. He kicks the counter inward. He shouts and yells profanities to everypony in the room. “Who the fuck do you think you are!” “What the fuck do you know!?” “I didn’t cheat on my wife!” He continues, yelling, kicking, and flinging random objects to anypony who would even dare look at him. The bartender hides under the counter; Shining Armor yanks him from there and punches him in the face. Once, twice and thrice, Shining Armor’s hooves crash into his pale-brown visage.

I fight the shiver in my spine, and the trembling in my legs. I throw myself to him, to his feet.

“Shining, stop!” I tell him. “That’s enough!”

Shining Armor stops, tosses the bruised brown stallion aside and turns to me. He glares down to me, the mare at his feet, his own foreleg shaking. I feel a sense of fear at the thought that he will strike me. But he does not. Slowly, looking at me, Shining Armor lays his hoof down but his breathing does not become easier. He yanks me from the floor by the hoof and drags me outside.

I did not sense it from the safety of indoors, but the city of Fillydelphia is robbed of its color by the downpour. The rain weighs down from the dark-gray clouds above. It does not seem to rain water but, rather, smears of black paint that bleeds the color from the blinking lamp posts and house lights to a dreary mist.

Shining Armor yanks me by the hoof, dragging me in the direction of our hotel. With each step of his, the water jumps from the pavements. Where his handsome face should be, the darkness of the night has placed a pale oval of white.

“Shining, please calm down...” I try, but my words do not reach him.

Shining Armor utters a profanity and yanks me again as his only reply.

By the time we reach the hotel my coiffure is ruined and my dress is drenched with rain water. Still he drags me, passed the doors and through the lobby.

“Good evening, Mr. Scabbard and Miss Glass Slippers,” says the manager. But he is generally ignored.

Shining Armor does not have the patience to take the pause of waiting for the elevator and continues to drag me to our room on the fourth floor. He pushes me inside, enters and locks the door.

“Shining, dear, please calm down. Forget what that–”

My words are cut off by the sharp crack of a hoof against my cheeks. I fall back, the floor beneath trying to shake me down. I look at Shining Armor, my lips quivering.

“Shining...?”

Shining Armor stands, his whole torso flexing in deep, long intakes of breaths that make his muscles contract and expand, seeming all the more menacing. His eyes are hidden beneath the bangs of his wet blue mane. Then I see his pale lips open, showing the gritting teeth at the corners of his mouth.

By the time I discover what is about to be done to me–by the time I feel that helpless blind stark terror of the knowledge of what is about to be done to me–it is too late. Shining Armor jumps on me. He forces me on the bed. He rips my pantyhose apart. He removes his belt.

“W-wait!” I cry out. “Shining, dear, I’m not ready–!”

But neither is he, and it does not matter for him. Teeth clenched and nostrils flaring, Shining Armor gores his hard dry cock inside me. It feels as though a jagged rock has just been shoved inside my sex, its rough texture scraping against my vaginal walls with searing friction. He starts moving back and forth, in the automatic motion of withdrawing just enough only to slam his cock back in with a painful grunt.

“S-Shining! Ow! ...I-I don’t like this.”

I hold him by the shoulders, trying to push him away. But I cannot move him. Not when he clings so tightly around my ribs that it makes it difficult for me to breath. Not when he is pounding me with the careless brutality of a savage after a cheap fuck. I try to look at him, at least, trying to find an explanation or apology in his eyes; but he hides his face from me, pressing close to me as he clenches his teeth around my neck. By the time my pussy moistens to ease the pain, Shining Armor cums, splattering a bucket of stallion spunk inside. But he is still hard, and his pacing does not slow down.

He continues bucking his hips, plowing forward into me such that I begin to choke out spurts of incoherent babbling–the pain trapped in my throat.

No! I tell myself. This is not Shining Armor. This is not my prince!

I shut my eyes, feeling my teeth clench down against my lower lips. I try to squirm away, kicking and throwing slaps to his body, knowing now that no words can reach him. But he holds on so tightly around my ribs that it becomes difficult to move. He holds me as one would seize a trophy animal or a victim, moving in the crude fierce thrust of a soldier violating an enemy woman. Shining Armor cums again, filling my womb.

“S-Stop!” I cry out, feeling more of his fluids inside me and feeling him buck his hips once more. “C-Calm down, please!”

Shining Armor unloads inside me for the third time, and the flesh of my walls seem to bulge at the fresh gush that comes too soon. He raises his torso away from me and I see his stone face still etched with an angry grimace. He refuses to meet my eyes, glaring at my crotch. He makes one last push of his hips, slamming his cock hard against the inner walls of my womb to the sound of a disgusting squelch. Then he pulls away completely, almost yanking me off the bed. I scream at the sudden sensation.

As soon as I am free from him, I bolt for the door. He grabs me, throws me down onto the bed, and bends me over. He holds my head down against the mattress and starts to tear off my clothes. I begin to kick him, desperately, a trapped animal squirming and battering for its life; but my blows have no effect on him, no more than I can hurt cold marble.

Shining Armor prods my cunt with the tip of his cock, before shoving hard and taking me from behind. The cum that has accumulated overflows and seeps out the edges of my pussy at the sudden entry. He does not move. He stays there for a moment, heaving long deep breaths. If it is hesitation, he does not hesitate for long. His hooves move; his left holds me down further against the bed, his right hooks my underbelly. He leans forward, pressing his torso down the length of my back as he places his head beside mine, face scowling. I do not know what he is trying to do, but as soon as I do–at his first forward motion–I scream.

“Shining, don’t!” I cry out in hysterics. “Oh, please don’t!”

He pulls my body in as he thrusts his forward. The tip of his cock slowly pushes up against the walls of my cervix, stretching the layer inward and outward. I find myself clenching my teeth against the bed sheets and a single tear trickles down from the corner of my eye. Shining Armor continues, trying to force through my womb, like a battering ram slamming against a temple’s bulwark with nothing but brute force and no sanction. My eyes dilate and my breathing ceases. I feel my insides slowly being torn open, the tip of Shining Armor’s dick ripping the small hole apart. He pushes on, groaning aloud, harder and harder until he makes me scream and–

“Take it out! It hurts! It hurts so much!”

–there is a sound of a pop–I heard it, a pop–in the sudden ocean of silence that drowns my screams. In the enduring silence, my breathing is shut off, my heart skips a beat, my eyes grow wide, my whole body trembles and, in my nether region just above my navel, my loin feels as though it is bulging out in the shape of the phallic object driven inside. The silence lasts only a mere two seconds before the pain arrives.

I scream. I scream as loud as my lungs can carry my voice, but it breaks off in sobs as the seething pain chokes me. Tears stream down my face and my vision blurs. I struggle to stop my eyes from rolling to the back my head. The full length of Shining Armor’s cock is finally inside me, down to the root and base, the pressure of his hips pressing against my buttocks. He grabs both my forelegs from behind, pulling at them upwards so that my head is pressed on the mattress, using my limbs as a handle to drive himself deeper than sanction permits. The first few inches from his tip rut the inner virginity of my uterus. He continue moving, thrusting, in an irregular senseless motion without the decency of care. He could have been tearing my insides too–and it feels as though he does–and still it would not hinder him in the slightest.

Then finally he cums again, injecting that slimy stallion juice directly into my womb. It stings, making me wince and collapse and shrink to a fetal position, like the touch of alcohol to an open wound.

“N-N-No more...” I manage to squeak out amidst the cries of pain. “I... I-I don’t... feel good... Shining, I... I feel sick...”

Shining Armor continues to fuck me, in a manner so hard and merciless that it lifts my hindlegs from the floor. My forelegs move aimlessly, frantically, on the beddings, trying to find any sort of leverage from the cloth to which I can pull or crawl myself away from the stallion ravaging my insides.

My throat singed by the constant sobbing and coarse shrieks, I mumble into silence. I do not, for several minutes, utter a sound. My pain is expressed only in the silent tears that smear down my face, and onto the growing stain on the bedsheets.

Eventually, spasming with the occasional whimper, I limp again for words.

“H-He... Help me!” I croak out, just above a whisper or a plea. “S-Somep... Somepony help me!”

“Isn’t this what you wanted, you filthy little bitch!” he shouts.

Shining Armor rolls my tail around his right foreleg and pulls hard on it. It makes me scream again. It feels as though something is trying to uproot my spine from my tailbone. My breathing has become unstable, matching the rhythm–or the lack of it–of his stabbing blows.

When Shining Armor cums again for the fifth time, I do not feel it inside me. Rather, I feel the trembling shudder of his body followed by an almost painful groan that crawls a shiver up my dorsum.

“C-C-Cadance...” he whimpers. It is as though a thought from the back of his mind has escaped from the locks of his guilt, a desperate confession in an attempt to explain, to be understood and to be forgiven.

My eyes grow wide and open at the gross revelation of fear–not fear for my own safety, but of something more significant–that Shining Armor commits this act of obscenity as an expression of his own self-disgust and self-hate, using my body as an instrument for his self-torture.

Applejack...

Her name comes to my mind from the same roots of his pain, that this debasing perversion is our just punishment for our subscription to the sin of adultery.

At some point, I stop resisting. I let Shining Armor use this body of mine for whatever punishment he wishes to place upon himself. I give in to pain, as Shining Armor has given in to remorse, tying pleasure to guilt and guilt to shame. Shining Armor does not disappoint, he continues to fuck without restraint, each blow hurting the both us in an act of sacrilegious desecration to a mare’s body.

The rest of the time, my eyes remain open, albeit reduced to haze, to the blank pale wall of the room in front of me. On that surface flashes the memory of the wonderful mare who loves me, and trusts me, and how I returned her feelings:

I’m sorry, dearest Applejack, was that picnic supposed to be today? I’m afraid I can’t go. I. . . I have to go to Trottingham. . . Yes, there’s a commission of dresses waiting for me there. I’ll make it up to you next time? C’est la vie.

Pulling me by my mane, he yanks me off the bed and forces me onto my knees. He holds my head up and, with his hoof, forces my mouth open before filling the orifice with his cock. My scream is muffled out into a few short groans as he rams himself inside. I can feel the tip of his member touching my tonsils and it makes me gag, choking and coughing out spit onto his tool. But, of course, he is not yet satisfied. Placing his hooves at the back of my head, he pulls me in and pushes in further, slowly dragging in his length down my throat. He meets more resistance, but nothing a few bucks and jerks of his hips cannot overcome. All the while I struggle to breathe, and what breath I can take is stenched with the odor of his dick as he locks my mouth around his base. It is finally in–all of it. I can feel the rings of his girth pulsing in my windpipe. I try to back away but he holds me in place. He grabs my fringes and starts to move my head back and forth, making sure his cock slams the back of my throat with each thrust. His member throbs and he pushes in with such force that my head is thrown back and is pinned against the mattress's side. His cum slides straight down to my stomach; I cannot taste it. But it is not yet over, not when he is still as hard as though we have barely begun. He moves again, faster this time, fucking my mouth against the bed like a pussy-hole, suggesting that, to him, the difference does not matter. By the time I can feel again, my jaw hurts and my throat aches and swells, Shining Armor cums again; this time he pulls back just slightly and his bitter seed fills and overflows my mouth. He does not stop his thrusts, the sound of gluk gluk gluk echoes in the room as he stirs the cum with his cock. The second wave comes shortly after, and the thick volume slams against the back of my throat. Finding no other passage, the cum climbs up my sinuses. A second later, as my eyes roll to the back of my head, a string of cum spurts out my nose.

A poem!? Wow, that’s so sweet of you, dearest. . . Oh, I’m sure it’ll be amazing, don’t underestimate yourself so. It comes from your heart, does it not? That alone makes it invaluable. . . I’m sorry, I can’t now. . . I need to catch the train. I’ll read it on the ride. . . Yes, again. Photo Finish has a proposition for me. . . I’ll be home tomorrow, I’m sure.

I am thrown down with my face pressed against the red carpet. Shining Armor tosses my tail aside to expose him the small vulnerable hole of my ass. He does not take his time. He mounts me and spears his cock against the opening. As soon as he can drive himself in, he does. His thick black cock ruptures open my sphincter and whatever muscle inside. I feel his hard meat in me like a tempered steel rod, recalcitrant to mere flesh and bone. I do not know whether I screamed or if I still do. The only thing I can feel is the vulgar humiliation of having my filthiness rutted to no end, and how the pain of it all is making me tremble and twitch on the floor. Dampness is all I can feel as his coat rubs against mine, and mine against the carpet that soaks the dripping sweats of our bodies. Droplets of my perspiration trail and collect into small globs down the edges of my body, serving as the lubricant for Shining Armor’s hold on me. He grabs me by my thighs, pushing my head down and raising my flank as the speed of his piston movement increases. As he does, my legs wobble, but always does he hold up my flank. When my hindlimbs finally succumb to the immense pressure placed upon them, my wobbling hooves lose their balance and I slip on my own moisture. My body falling flat on the carpet, Shining Armor’s follows. His cock sinks deeper, forcing itself in my canal, and it feels as though a thousand pinpricks of a thousand needles puncture all the nerve endings of my lower body. I scream, again, in pain, but the carpet is immune to my cries. When Shining Armor finally cums, it is as though the ropes of cum he shoots down my tunnel touches the cum he sent to my mouth, meeting somewhere in my gut or stomach.

I didn’t even know there was a three day wait. I’m sorry, dearest. Those Baltimore ponies don’t know how to keep a tight schedule. And after all you’ve been through, trying to set up our perfect date. I am so sorry. It won’t happen again.

At some point we are back on the bed, my whole lethargic body bobbing up and down upon him with each upward move of his hips. I can no longer tell if he’s fucking my cunt or my ass, the pain of both makes it difficult to distinguish, only that I can still feel his hard member inside me. He must have grown tired or bored of the repetitive motion–or perhaps he thinks that I am not hurt enough by it–which makes him inflict all the more injury. His foreleg coils around my throat, blocking the air out of my lungs. With what instinct to survive I have left, my hooves lunge and try to pry his away. But I can not remove his strong clutching limbs. The organs in my chests begin to burn and my vision blurs. I thrash about, desperately trying to free myself from him, all the while he continues to ram his cock inside me with savage vigor. When my hooves finally refuse to respond to my command, growing weaker and weaker with each passing second, Shining Armor finally lets go. My whole body jerks up, my lungs coming back to life as I take long greedy swallows of air. But it only lasts for a few short seconds. Shining Armor grabs me again, this time with both his forelegs wrapping around my windpipe. He forces me down against the bed and tightens his hold as he fucks me. I try to move, but I have no energy left. My hindlegs, which have been folded upright in my spams, drop lifeless as the air is choked out of me. It is impossible to scream. My vision turns to black and my eyes roll to the back of my head; if Shining Armor cummed as he suffocates me, I did not feel it. I faint.

What? No! I’m not avoiding you in the slightest... It’s just that... after Canterlot has established my popularity, I have been called all over Equestria to commission dresses. . . I’ll need to leave once every few weeks. . . No, you can’t come. What about the farm? And my trips couldn’t possibly interest you. I promise we’ll be spending more time together when I’m here.

When I come to, it is by malice of having my mane pulled–the sum total of my immediate senses coursing through all my veins. I feel the tug of each strand pulling against my scalp. If I am in pain, I can no longer feel it, nor give voice to it. I no longer have any idea how Shining Armor is fucking me, only that he does. I cannot even tell where I am–on the floor, on the bed, on the carpet or wall–or what position I am in. My mind remains in that floating stupor, perceiving nothing but the vague and fluid concretes of indistinguishability: a white coat–I do not know whose, something hard, something pressing against me, something flowing inside me, something moving, something red, something blue, something streaming down my eyes, something ringing in my head, whose voice I do not recognize and speaking words I cannot comprehend: “You’ll never be a princess!”–“You’re just a common whore!”–“You don’t know how to love! You have no right to love!”–“She loves you and you don’t deserve it!” There is neither pain nor pleasure, only the dazed and stupid motion of two mindless bodies struggling to drown their reason beneath a muck of the obscene.

I am so sorry! I know how terribly important this is but I cannot possibly attend the dinner with Granny Smith tonight. I know how much this means to you considering she’s still against us but. . . I-I... have a... a business proposition from Manehattan. I. . . Maybe next time I can be the host, and she and Big Mac and Apple Bloom can come to the Boutique as my guests and. . . I’m sure– I already told you I’m sorry! ...Oh, dearest, I apologize for raising my voice. Please, don’t be mad at me.

When it is all over, I am left still bent over on the bed, blistering in some places and cold in others. Ruptured, torn, and ravaged, I am unable to move. My body is as paralyzed as my mind, and equally numb. I have no thoughts in my head, not even of the indignation I suffered or of the justice of my penance. My stomach, guts and womb feel bloated, filled and viscid. I feel nausea stir in my belly, as though I am going to vomit at the slightest nudge.

From the corner of my eye, the sky has gone from black to purple, slowly making its way to orange through the slit of the windowsill. Shining Armor is no longer mounting me. He sits there, on the other edge of the bed, slouching and his hooves pressed against his eyes. He is crying, wailing, sobbing more than a stallion’s dignity should permit; there is no sound from him.

I crawl to my prince, dragging this ruined body of mine, just so I can hold Shining Armor. I want to embrace him and tell him that this is both of our fault, not just his; I want to tell him that I, too, understand. I reach him, I climb on his shoulders and embrace my hooves around his neck. He raises his hoof to touch mine, seeking refuge in my comfort. He nuzzles and kisses it as he apologizes.

“R-Rarity, I...” He bites his lips and turns away, “I... I love Cadance.”

I nod. It is the only thing I can do, or say.

“I care for you,” he says. “I really do... It’s true, what you said... long ago... it could have been us... But... It’s still Cadance... Even then... I would still have chosen Cadance over you. I mean... Rarity... Maybe I love you too, for what you and I could give to each other... but... but I can give you only because I love Cadance much more... Because you’re... you’re Rarity. You’re not... Cadance, she... She’s like a goddess. It’s like she’s too good for me. I... I look up to her... like she... Dear Celestia, I love her so much!”

He cries out his confession, like a last desperate justification for a crime to vindicate himself.

“Is... is that why,” I mutter, “why you went to me... that night, on our first night? What was it, Shining Armor, what was it that made you enter my chamber, seize me in your embrace, force yourself onto me until I submitted as you knew I would? After all your talk of chivalry, of romance, of true love... At the risk of your honor, your position, your life... What was it that made you carry me upon your bed? Was it anger, was it lust, or... maybe, just maybe... was it... love?”

“Why are you asking me now, after all this time?”

“I’m asking.”

“It was...” he turns further away from me, “...pity.”

“P-Pity?” I repeat. The word is heavy on my tongue.

“It was... I felt sorry for you.”

“Y-You... you felt sorry for me?” My hooves let go of him. “You felt sorry for me...” The second statement is not a question.

Shining Armor does not reply.

“Shining... I would have accepted anything... but pity.”

“I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry, he says. An apology, a renunciation of resentment and indignation from an act that was not meant to be. His words do not hurt me–no–rather, it fills me with a sudden awareness of being hollow, of being nothing but skin that contains a painless void. But it is not an emptiness that is shapeless, the form is in the shape of Cadance.

She, who is already raised upon to pedestal of the Empyrean, is to him a figure of white wings and a halo, too sacred to be touched by anything less; and yet, Cadance herself delivered both her body and soul to the hooves of he who is too afraid to revere with all the force of one’s conviction, in fear of defiling that which is already too lustrous for one’s eyes. To what recluse can he, the fearful, hide himself but to the illusion of his admirer–a whore to a prince–from the omniscience of his conscience. To what pleasure can he, the traitor, turn his clutch to but the lowliest of his reach–a moth to the fires of passion–to undermine that which he knows to be too holy to be within his grasp. To what shame can he, the guilt-ridden, punish himself but to the painful warmth of betrayal with the worst kind of mare–a seducer filled with wanton–as penance for his sacrilege.

He loves Cadance... More than anything...

I, the mud to which blood is washed, will never have him, that is the painful conclusion; not beyond our nights hidden in blind alleys and cheap hotels.

“Shining, I–” I bite my lower lip. “I... A long time ago, there was once a little filly. She was a happy little filly born and raised by a normal family in... in Manehattan, I think. She... she was a very happy delicate little filly who had a foalhood better than average. She had lots of friends and was... well-loved by everypony. Her father’s name is Diamond Dust, a jeweler, and her mother is a horseshoe designer... I forgot her name. A-And... and one day, her parents... they brought this filly to Canterlot a-and... while buying gems, the filly got lost and... somehow made her way into the castle. It was the Grand Galloping Gala that night and the filly saw... the filly... she saw everything: the lights, the dresses, the chandelier... everything! And... it took her breath away–or rather, it was like life was breathed into her for the first time. The ponies in that gala all thought that the filly was somepony’s lost daughter because she was so... at home. She belonged there. And the filly handled herself perfectly among the guests of the Gala. And that’s where she... where she got her cutie mark... When the filly and her parents–”

“What does it look like,” Shining Armor asks, “the cutie mark?”

“–and when the filly and her parents returned home, the filly asked her mother, ‘Mama, mama. Why don’t we stay there like a princess?’ and... and the mother explained something about being middle class and that there’s some places we don’t belong in. But... but ever since that night, the filly... she had a hobby, her favorite hobby... As soon as her parents are asleep”–A small humble smile makes its way to my face–“she would go to the basement and she would use a pair of scissors to cut some leftover fabric and stitch it back into a dress, then she’d take a cardboard box and, from it, she’ll cut out a small tiara, or a crown I think–no!–definitely a tiara. And she would wear them both. And then she would stand in front of the mirror. And for a few minutes, the mirror was so... so generous. The mirror reflected what the filly wanted to see. In the mirror the tiara is made up of gold and... and diamonds! and the fabric, of the most expensive and elegant silken gown. And the dusty basement would be a giant ballroom of marble columns and golden bricks, and the light bulb is a chandelier. She spent a lot of time in that world of hers–Celestia knows how many, days and weeks and months. And she loved every minute–every second–of it. It was like the make-believe was more... real than anything else. It was the happiest moments of her life... until... until... But one night, while she was playing, my... the filly’s father woke up from his sleep and went to the basement to look for his daughter. There he saw her dancing in front of the mirror, a cardboard box on her head and a ragged cloth as her cape, and he said... he said–I will never forget it–he said: ‘Lapis, darling, are you still dreaming?’ ... And then... just like the that, the illusion never came back. The filly... since then, the filly stopped her hobby... She never did it again... the make believe... ‘Lapis, darling, are you still dreaming?’”

I hide my face beneath his mane and sob.

“‘...Are you still dreaming?’” I repeat. “W-What kind of monster would say such a thing? She wanted to be somepony special... She wanted to be a princess...”

Shining Armor turns to me. He moves forward and takes me in an embrace within his gentle hooves. “R-Rarity...” he whispers to my ear. “Get some sleep. I’ll... I’ll be here beside you.”

“Shi-Shining... Please don’t leave me!” My voice squeaks, I grab on to him. “I’ll give you everything.... just... don’t leave me... I-I don’t care if I’m just your mistress out there but here... at least... in your bed... I’m your princess... I-I...”

He caresses my mane, the same mane he pulled so hard not long ago, as he plants a soft kiss to my forehead and cheeks. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

“D-Do you promise?”

Holding on to my shoulder, Shining Armor lays me down on the warm bed. He lies beside me, where on his chest I weep.

“D-Don’t leave...” I whisper.

Shining Armor looks down to me and, within his watery blue eyes, I see, for the first time, the look of sympathy. “I swear it,” he says. “I swear it by what love I have for you.”

And, beholden beneath those blue eyes, I fall asleep.

* * *

I find Shining Armor gone as I awaken.

The empty bed reeks of sex, tears, and broken promises. But, as with every nightmare, it washes away with some warm water and soap.

Chapter 6: Of Foxes and Grapes

Chapter 6:
Of Foxes and Grapes

My body remains and reclines in that position appropriate for a chair. Without it, the burden contained within my chest will drag my lethargic carcass down to the train's mold-stricken floor. Shoulders sagged, mouth half-open, eyes lidded towards the painful sunrise that scorches the gray horizon, I raise my heavy hoof and shut the blinds. In so doing, my elbow topples the handbag from my beside. It falls, disgorging its contents of a diamond heart-shaped perfume bottle, an expensive red lipstick, a diamond necklace, some bits, and an empty case of pills. I have neither the will nor energy to fix the mess on the floor.

"Ponyville!" shouts the conductor as he knocks on the door of my car. "Ma'am, we're here."

I am unable to feel the vibrations under my hooves, but the train has stopped moving for quite some time now. I may be the last passenger that has yet to leave her car, and the conductor may as well have been shouting beyond propriety for minutes, but no incentive, even the arrival to my destination, beckons me to move.

I remain there, in that half-stupor of mental paralysis, dazed and wishing that I was not alive–no, not dead, but rather diminished to that state of unrational nonliving, absolved of the responsibility and necessity of preserving one's life.

The door slides open and in wabbles the conductor. "Ma'am, your ticket says this is your stop," says the young coal-colored colt.

I do not respond.

"Ma'am," he sighs, "do you need help with your baggage?" He must have seen my things scattered on the floor.

I shake my head, but the motion is too imperceptible, so I give voice to it. "N-No..." But that, too, can barely be heard.

I kneel on the floor and pick up every reusable cosmetic with my hooves, cramming the items back into my handbag. It is already too late as I realize that I could have used my magic to do so, sparing me the act of groveling on the floor as a stranger looks down to me, but it is irrelevant by the time I refill my bag: the thought does not bother me in the slightest.

"Do you need help finding a... a hospital, ma'am? Ma'am?" the conductor asks.

I rise from the floor, shoving shoulders with the colt as I make my way out the door and step onto the boarding station.

There is nopony here to greet me, and the train seems impatient for its departure by the horn that blazes as soon as my hooves touch the platform. My vision travels westward, toward the hills where the sun's rays brighten the fields of apples and beckons the rooster to crow. I stare at the farm, for a moment, wondering why I have no inclination to move towards it, albeit knowing that, somewhere there, a mare will welcome me with open hooves.

I head east, to where the tall structure of Carousel Boutique casts its shadow upon me. I fumble with the key to my prison several times before the doors welcome me with its chime; but the door sways withotut the resistance of the lock, sliding open at the first touch of force of the wind that rushes inside to fill the emptiness.

I pause, as soon as light enters the darkness, and surprise, for once, breathes life into me. The room is not as I left it. The drawers are pulled open, fabrics and cloths scatters on the floor, tables and chairs lie upturned, and a dozen plastic mannequins are shoved against the corner of the room.

I enter and close the door behind me. The door creaks and slams, alerting the other pony in my house.

Rainbow Dash dives in from the stairs of my bedroom. Aloft in the air with wings batting furiously, she eyes me with bloodshot pupils, empty of all emotion save for pure, unrestricted anger. In her hooves she holds a case of pills she obtained from my room.

"How long!?" she almost screams. She throws the small canister to my face and it hits me on the cheek. It rolls down my body, spilling the small medical pellets, and lands to my hooves. "I asked you, how long have you been cheating on her!"

"I won't answer you," is my reply.

Rainbow Dash sweeps in the air and a blur of blue occupies my vision. A second later, I am pressed against the wall, Rainbow Dash's hooves snapping closed around my neck. I do not resist.

"What are you going to do, kill me?" I ask with a voice laced with the undertone of indifference, as though Rainbow Dash's actions does not matter, or need not to matter.

"I'm trying hard not to think about it," she says between her gritting teeth.

"Do it, you'd be doing all of us a favor."

"It's a stallion, isn't it? Isn't it!?" Her hooves around my neck tighten shut, and it makes my heart palpitate as the air squeezes in and out of my lungs. "Who is it!?"

"Who was it that told you," I ask, "Pinkie Pie or Fluttershy?"

"This is between you and me!"

"I see. Fluttershy."

Pain pulses in my windpipe. She holds me up, pressing me further against the wall. Her head is cast down, too disgusted to even look at me.

"Why..." she whimpers, whole body shaking,"Why!? Applejack loves you!"

"More than anything."

"She trusts you!"

"She does."

Rainbow Dash pulls me in by the collar of my coat and pushes me hard again, the back of my head hits and bounces against the wall. “Do you think this is a joke?”

“I never thought it was.”

She looks at me, with teary eyes that seem, at that moment, to flash the color of blood. She raises her hoof and strikes my cheek. My head snaps to the side; I lick my lips.

“Tell her!” she shouts.

The swelling pain on my face does little to me. I look back to Rainbow Dash, straight into those two magenta irises, slowly boiling red as her pained visage turns crimson. “No.”

“Tell her the truth, you... you...”

“I, what?” I say, tilting my head, “Bitch? Slut?”

She slaps my cheeks again, harder this time, as though the object of my insult was not myself but, contrary, her. I feel blood trickle down from the corner of my mouth and the taste of rust is on the tip of my tongue

“No,” I say. I turn to her and blink only once. "Applejack may find out... but–this I swear–not from my lips.”

Her hooves shake, but this time with the unease of nervousness, as she holds me further against the wall. “T-Then if you won’t, I... I’ll tell her. That’s right, I’ll tell Applejack that you’re cheating on her!”

But I see it, that which she so struggles to hide. The most easily detectable emotion dominant to all things living, visible in the minute perceptibles of twitching muscles and batting eyelids, like a worm that shakes the rubble from where it is buried: the emotion of fear.

“Go ahead,” I say, in the tone of a challenge.

“Huh?” she asks. She heard me.

“Go ahead and tell Applejack.”

“Are you... willing to risk it?”

I shake my head. “By coming here, by coming to me and addressing me first, you already made a mistake.”

I pry her hooves from my throat and push them away, just enough so that I can speak without the strain against my windpipe.

“No, you won’t tell Applejack, not if it’s slander against me. Not just after reforging your friendship after countless fights because of me. You know she won’t believe you, she’ll do her best not to believe you. She’ll drown herself in rationalizations and in my tears, as I grovel and cry beneath her hooves, before she'll even bother listening to you. And when she does listen, she’ll take my word over yours.

“But no, that’s not what you’re afraid of,” I continue. “What you’re afraid of the most is if, if by some chance, Applejack does believe you. What would happen then? She might break up with me, but I highly doubt it. Because she won't blame me, she'll blame herself for whatever shortcomings she can imagine to conjure. Regardless, she’ll despise you. She will hate you–she won’t say it, but she will–for taking away her unmarred love for me. Applejack, the mare you once loved, will then grow distant from all of us. And I as well. Twilight will discover that she was the only one left in the dark, that her friends were keeping secrets from her. Fluttershy and I will stop having our weekly visits at the spa. And who would appear in Pinkie Pie’s party without the fear and ill at ease of having to see one another? What would happen to our beautiful friendship, the six of us? How many more pet play dates or sleep overs or parties do you think we can withstand before one of us leaps from the stage of facade and screams her brains out?”

The red pupils of Rainbow Dash shrink and turn pale as more tears stream down her face. She lets go of me, as her will fails her limbs, and backs away two or three steps, head shaking and eyes wide in disbelief.

“This isn’t a threat, darling,” I explain. “This is plain causality. Your precious Fluttershy knows this all too well, only that cunt had a little too much optimism.”

“What the hell did you call Fluttershy!” she roars suddenly.

“Optimistic.” I almost laugh, but the humor is unaccomplished. “You see, she somehow believes that, given time, this is an incident all of us can look back to and laugh. But we’re not that naive, are we? We know there’s no recovering from this, it’ll only tear open all the more like that of a diabetic's wound. So I had some other means to make sure she would keep her mouth shut...”

“What did you do to her!?”

“A simple exchange of secrets.” I move towards the darkness and sit on the couch, hooves steepled. “Fluttershy didn’t say what she did to you, did she?”

“W-What...?”

“She raped you, Rainbow Dash,” I say. “She did, she told me all about–”

“You lying bitch!” she screams.

“She did. It was at that time we carried you home back from Cadance’s wedding. I saw it. I looked into the window. You were drunk out of your mind and she took advantage of it, thinking she’d never have another chance with her love. Fluttershy confessed to me afterwards. She felt so... guilty. So I decided to keep her secret, if she’d keep mine.”

“Shut up!”

“Why the hell do you think she’s grown so attached to you recently? That’s how it all started. Now, do you want to know what will happen if Fluttershy finds out that I told you? That you know she raped you?”

“No!”

“She’ll break! She’ll never look at you in the face again, in shame, in self-pity and self-contempt. Every time you try to talk to her she’ll burst into tears and spout countless apologies. She won’t look at you, and when she does it’ll be a reproach and a reminder of that assault on her childhood friend. To be blunt, you and Fluttershy will never be together... Why, I wouldn’t be surprised, if one of these days you’d come to her home to see her dangling from the ceiling or bleeding away in the bathtub. Note or no note, you, and I, will both know why she did it... and who’s to blame.”

Rainbow Dash backs away until she hits the wall, pushed by nothing but my words. She slumps down, and her whole body would have crashed on the floor if not for the lone hoof holding on to the edge of a drawer. She looks down on the floor, muttering something incomprehensible that she alone can hear. She takes several long deep breaths, like a fish out of water. Her whole body starts sweating and her other hoof presses firmly against her temple.

“From the start, I knew I was playing with fire. I am willing to risk everything, Rainbow Dash, our friendship included,” I add. “The question is: are you?”

Rainbow Dash shakes her head.

“Secrets are not those we do not say, but those we do not say out loud.” I move towards the pegasus. "Otherwise, it will be your responsibility. I’ve kept the secret; I’ve done my part. Nopony squeals, nopony gets hurt. Nopony cares what emotion is boiling so long as the cover is on, and that the cover is alright to touch. Don’t you see? It'll be loyal, very much more loyal, to keep your mouth shut."

I stop speaking as soon as I realize that my words do not reach her any longer.

Rainbow Dash and I remain there for quite some time. I wait for her to make a move, or to cry out–whichever comes first. I can see, behind and beneath her shaking pupils, how she tries to find a clink in the chain I hold all of us by the throat; and I can see–when she looks at me and then to her hooves and back–that to kill me is an option she seriously considers. Only, perhaps, she does not have the courage to do it; courage, after all, is all that is needed.

“W-What...” she tries to say, but the rest of her words come out muffled.

“Speak up.”

Rainbow Dash looks up to me, for once, without threat or indignation, only a simple curiosity in her eyes. “W-What do you want... from Applejack?”

Perhaps it is the honesty in Rainbow Dash's question, perhaps it's the monotonic expression in her voice, perhaps it is those quivering eyes, that produces the same result: the question strikes me with a peerless coincision, harsher than her steel hoof against my naked cheek. I am left with a powerless grimace, as that of a criminal before the evidence of her crime. But the evidence is not the question, nor the honesty, but the flash of images that I see only when I do not know I am seeing it: the orange-coated earth pony who smiles an endearing smile, who cradles me in the warmth of an embrace and she who told me, from beyond the thin wall of a door, that she loves me.

What do I want from her? The unwelcome thought pieces itself together in my mind. What do I need her for, if I can have Shining Armor? What is she but a farmer, a peasant, to my prince? He who has bedded me time and time again, who has given me more gifts that she can afford in three lifetimes?

Why do I cling to Applejack so?

Why do I love Applejack so?

Then I feel the slow hot rise of fury building inside me, made hotter by the fact that the fury is unjustified and baseless under any terms. I feel my teeth clench and my hooves press against the ground, my eyes set still on the cyan pegasus as the only outlet for such an emotion.

What do you want from Applejack? The words return.

“Get out of here, Rainbow Dash.” It is the only thing I can say to answer the question. “And don’t I ever catch you uninvited to my house ever again.”

Rainbow Dash picks herself up from the floor. She looks at me, with a gleam of a glare behind the tears of her eyes. She dusts herself for a moment and walks, shambling, past me without saying a word. My eyes do not follow her and, instead, remain on that spot at the corner where she slouched and fell defeated. I hear the lock of my door bolt open, and see the ray of sunlight that cuts through the darkness, as Rainbow Dash steps out into the open.

Before she flies away, Rainbow Dash says something that makes me turn, teeth gnashing and heart stopping, towards her glaring eyes:

"Keep your own secrets," she says with the unease of uncertain resolve.

Then Rainbow Dash flies away.

* * *

There is a knock on the door, and my first gesture is to remove the red glasses from my eyes and place it hidden beneath the drawer of my work desk. I run to the nearest mirror on the wall and there I fix my mane and dust off some discoloration from my coat. I run to the door and, sliding out the locks, pry it open with my magic.

As expected, Applejack stands in front of the backdrop of a solitary dusk; some of the orange rays seep into the room. There are a few bags under her eyes and her coat still glistens of sweat after a hard day on the farm. But, most of all, I heave a sigh of relief at the sight of her smiling face that proves her nescience and the emptiness of Rainbow Dash’s threats.

“This is a surprise,” I say. I levitate a fresh cloth from the laundry and help her wipe the perspiration from her coat as she enters. “Was work finished early?”

“Eeyup. Woke up earlier than usual today.” Taking her Stetson off, she grabs me and plants a quick kiss to my lips. “Wanted to get here as soon as possible.”

Under normal circumstances, I would be appalled by the touch of another pony’s work-sweat on me, but the fruity scent of Applejack perspiration is one I have become accustomed to over the course of our months. She kisses me again, deeper this time but gentler. I allow her to indulge on my lips, to caress my flanks as she pulls me closer, to push me against the wall as she bucks the door closed. She breaks the kiss, moving down to nuzzle my neck.

“Applejack,” I whisper to her ear. “You’re... kissing more... intensely than usual.”

“Uh... sorry?” she says, sincerely, and it makes me laugh.

I pull her mouth close to meet mine, harder and deeper than how she pressed our lips together. I sense a peculiar quality in me, here, as our hooves and bodies coil and intertwine, as I feel the warm breath of life enter me: the pleasure is there, as it always has been, only, with it, there stings an aftertaste of a nausea stemming from Applejack ignorance. The ignorance that she has yet to know the truth about me. I do not why I taste it now, on her lips, after Shining Armor–damn me for remembering him!–abandoned me. When I break the kiss, I cannot look her in the eye and I turn away, following with it a simple sentence to hide my guilt.

“Have you had dinner already?” I ask her. “We can eat out if you want.”

“Already ate,” she answers, leaning forward and aiming for my lips. “Though ah don’t mind eatin’ again, mind ya.”

“Oh, Jackie, you have the stomach of a stallion.” I run a hoof along the curves of her hips. “Just don’t gain too much weight, I’d hate to see you lose your figure... Want me to cook something for you?”

“Never mind me none. Ah’ll just be quick since we got another early riser in the farm tomorrow mornin’. So...” She stands a little bit farther, just the enough proper distance for a conversation, with her hoof not letting go of mine. “What is it?”

“What?”

“What are ya gonna tell me?”

“Pardon?”

“Rainbow Dash told me last night that ya got something mighty important to say.”

The name of the pegasus makes me freeze in place–no, not out of fear–but out of the cold precision of intelligent calculation. I clear the painful lump in my throat and try not to bite my lips. My hooves crawl from Applejack’s shoulder and back to my side lest she sense the minute trembling in them.

Surely, you have yet to know?

Not if she can smile like this to me.

“R-Rainbow Dash...” I pull the words from my chest. “She... She talked to you... last night...?”

“Uh... Yeah.”

“W-What... did she say?” I bite my tongue, trying to control my stuttering.

Applejack shrugs. “Nothin’ much. She woke me up, in the middle of the night, flyin’ through the barn’s window. Startled the hay outta me. Ah asked her what was it that couldn’t wait till mornin' and she said somethin’ like ya have a very important thing to say.”

“What did I have to say? About what?” But, of course, I knew.

“She didn’t say. Only that it’s mighty important.”

“Can you please repeat it to me, in verbatim, what she told you.”

"Uhh... Verbatim?"

"Word for word, dearest."

Applejack stares at me for a moment, an eyebrow raised. “Well, I was riled up that night, bein’ woken up and all, so ah can’t repeat it exactly... but, to the best of mah memory she said somethin’ like, 'Go talk to Rarity. It’s real important. It’s about your relationship. She...' then she murmured something so low ah don’t know if she herself heard it. She stopped talkin’ and just looked at me for a long time. And ah mean like a long time, like a minute or two. Just stared at me and ah couldn’t tell whether she was sad or worried about somethin’... maybe both... Creeped me out a little cuz it ain't like her to be doin' that. And then after a while of just starin and not talkin’ she... She just started cryin’ and dashed out of mah window... Poor thing, don’t know what’s gotten into that filly.”

I do not know whether it is fortunate or not that I don't share Applejack's sympathy for our friend. Instead, my mind remains focused on how detrimental my friend is to my relationship. “You... You haven’t seen her since?”

“Ah tried lookin’ for her but couldn’t find her nowhere.”

“I see.”

“So...”

“So what?”

“What was that important thing ya were supposed to tell me?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“But Rainbow Dash said–”

“Rainbow Dash did, not I.” Then, realizing the harshness in my tone, I soften my voice and expression. “Maybe I just forgot about it, dearest. If only Rainbow Dash had been more specific then maybe I can remember.”

“If you forgot 'bout it then ah reckon it ain’t important.”

“Yes, dearest. It isn’t important.”

I remain quiet for some time and expertly wear a worried expression, hoping that I can initiate a conversation that may convince Applejack to, for the time being, stay away from Rainbow Dash's company. But my dearest, who herself is genuinely worried of a certain matter, barely notices my enticement, and I am the one who is forced to inquire of her apparent discontent.

“Is there anything wrong, darling?” I ask.

“Hey, hun." She takes my hoof and leads it to her lips for a gentle buss. “Everythin’ is alright between us, right... Ah mean... we don’t have no problems right... with each other?"

“Of course..." I say, quite baffled. "Why would you ask that?"

“It just felt like... we ain’t spendin’ much time like we used to.” She adds, "Or supposed to."

“What do you mean?" I tilt my head to the side.

“Well..." She runs a hoof down my mane, nestling closer to my cheeks. "You know all’em trips you’ve been takin’ almost every week? Ah dunno... Ah feel like it’s driftin’ us apart. And... ya know that Granny Smith’s birthday is two days from now. She’s turnin' ninety-one.”

“Of course, dear. I haven’t forgotten.”

“And that, she ain’t still on good terms with me... Ah accept that this might be her last birthday considerin' her age, but ah fear to think that Gran and I will spend it like this... avoidin’ eyes and not talkin'."

“Of course,” I say, holding her hooves.

“Rarity, this is serious,” she mutters. “Ah want to patch things up with mah grandma and... this time... ah really, really need ya to be there for her. This is important for me. If Granny Smith sees how wonderful of a mare ah have then ah’m sure...”

Applejack stops. I see the small lowering of her eyelids as she stares at me, as though she sees something in my eyes. Something she had been looking for in a long time, found, and only caused her disappointment. She replaces her hat back on as she shakes her head.

“Ain’t no use for this...” she says suddenly, her tone deep, as she turns around.

“Wait? What happened?” Perplexed, I run to her and grab her hooves. “Dearest, what’s the matter? I haven’t said anything yet, have I? I promise I’ll go.”

“Yeah, heard that before.” She sighs. "It's alright, hun... Ya don't have to make no promises. Ah don't want ya feelin' guilty when ya can't keep'em."

“I said I will!”

“Yeah, ah know what ya said and next thing ah know ya get an invitation from Fancy Pants, Fleur, that Scabbard-fella or some other of yer rich Canterlot friends to some party or somethin’. Then ya’ll wire me in the last minute about cancellin' since yer already on the train.”

“It’s not all parties. They’re commissions, business gatherings and career propositions.”

"And it ain't just the date. The dates ah can ignore on account that ah understand that business comes first. But... the worst part was when Granny Smith got sick and all she wanted was to take a good look at ya before she thought she’d kick the bucket. Ya said you'd go but–"

"I told you I'm sorry!"

"–when ah came to pick ya up all ah found was an apology letter pinned to the door! A letter! Without even the decency of facin' me."

“I couldn't help it, it was an emergency!”

"Some emergency that Canterlot party turned out to be," she scowls. "Which explains why ya came home lookin' like ya had the time of yer life."

“I already apologized countless times!”

“Ya apologized countless times ‘cuz ya stood me up countless times."

The exclamation did not come in Applejack's voice, but in the way she reared back and stomped both hooves on the floor. It is not a threatening gesture, but I back away, one hoof folded against the other, to make her think that, somehow, her anger upsets me more than she hopes to. I regret that it is her love for me that makes it work.

"Look... Consarn it, Rare," she mumbles, calming herself down. "Ah already chose ya over the roof over mah head... Don't make me choose between ya and mah family cuz ah don't wanna lose mah family. We've been together for–what?–seven months now and every day after our first ah feel like yer avoidin’ me...”

"Oh, I see what this is all about!" I shoot back, taking advantage of her suddenly lowered guard. "You're frustrated because I still refuse to let you between my flanks. I told you I'm not yet ready and–"

"How did that get into the conversation?" The authentic shock shows on her face, a shock that stems from the unbelievability of what she is hearing. "That’s not even mah point! And if it was, ah’d go on to say that you’d never be ready until ah have enough bits to buy ya a diamond purse!"

“Of all the–!” I gasp. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t traumatized me with rape, we would’ve...”

The look on Applejack’s face stuns me more than my words stunned her. I take in a deep gasp of air, in panic of what I have said, in hope that I may swallow back the words I spew. But it is too late. Applejack is on the verge of tears, her eyes start as she draws back as though repulsed and insulted, and justly so.

“Oh, Applejack,” I say. “I didn’t mean–”

A knock on the door interrupts my apology. I turn to its direction, perhaps to avoid looking at Applejack's tears, but she does not. The entrance to my boutique opens uninvited, Applejack turns away and faces the wall to hide her face from the unwelcome visitor, to the bright smile of an ignorant lavender unicorn.

“Hey, Rarity... Applejack,” Twilight says as she holds up a letter and looks to me. “Got your mail.”

There is neither response from Applejack nor I. Twilight observes it and finally feels the heavy silence that weighs on the room. She looks to and fro the both of us, trying to discern which mare she can better address.

"Uhn... I'm sorry," the lavender unicorn says. Unable to choose of a proper interlocutor, she hangs a question in the air, hoping that either one of us will pick it up."Did I come at a bad time?"

“N-No, darling,” I am forced to say, taking the white burden from her hooves. “Everything’s fine. Did Miss Hooves put my letters in your mailbox again? At least she didn’t send it to Cloudsdale this time.”

I laugh. Nopony else does. Twilight looks to the pony behind me, who no doubt remains still in her position. “I apologize,” the unicorn says. “I didn’t know I was intruding... I’ll go now."

“I-It’s alright, Twi,” Applejack says from behind me. I cannot even turn to face her. “Ah was just leavin’.”

Trotting out the door, eyes hidden beneath the brim of her hat, she does not even look at me except–perhaps it is my own inclination to believe so–for a small turn of her head to my direction.

“Applejack, I–” I try.

“Ya both have a good evenin’ now,” she interrupts. I do not know if by intention. “G’night, ya’ll.”

Applejack walks through and to the darkness, as Twilight and I watch from the safety of my boutique. We can both feel the familiarity of the scene. For, six months ago, it was the prelude of that pivotal moment when Applejack forced herself on me, when the two us watched as the drunken earth pony trotted away from the carriage. Only then, I remember, that I was the one who chased Applejack in the hopes of comforting her from the injury I myself have inflicted upon her heart. I cannot chase her now. I close the door with my magic, forgetting that Twilight is still with me inside.

“I’m not going to pry the details of your relationship,” Twilight says, “but... shouldn't you go after her?”

With my eyes closed, I fix my mane in front of the mirror before answering Twilight’s question. I heave out a sigh.

“Whatever are you talking about, dear?” I turn to the lavender unicorn with a beaming smile that hurts my cheeks. “There’s no reason for me to chase Applejack.”

I do not care if Twilight believes the smile, only that she choose to accept it at face value in her refusal to deny what she knows to be a complete and utter lie.

“Now let’s see what came in,” I say, levitating a letter opener from my drawer. I pry through the thin paper and, from it, I unveil two silver tickets. Each states the following:

ADMIT ONE
VIP invitation:
Basket Case’s 1ST MASQUERADE PARTY
Canterlot, Grand Oceanarium, 2B

At the back of the ticket, a date shows that the party will be held two days from now.

“Are you taking Applejack with you?” Twilight asks, looming over my shoulder.

I look at the pair of tickets in my hoof. The paper seems too heavy all of a sudden. I remember Applejack’s words, of how she chose the farm over me. And yet, here I am, struggling to choose between her and another mundane and formulaic gathering. A party that, even if Shining Armor comes, no doubt Mr. Scabbard will be absent from.

I shake my head, crumpling those two tickets, before throwing them down the trash.

“I won’t be going,” I tell the dumbstruck Twilight. “Granny Smith’s birthday is in two days. I cannot possibly miss it. Not for my dearest.”

* * *

It is painfully difficult to smile, even if the conversation itself is most appealing to my taste. Still, I hold the curve of my chin upwards and try to enjoy myself at a party I already think to be irksome. Taking out another cigarette, the young stallion beside me, who just introduced himself and whose name is already lost to my memory, casts a quick flame spell to ignite the tip of the tobacco roll in my hooves.

“Thank you,” I say to the stallion, slightly pulling down my domino mask to bat my eyelashes to him. I smoke a quick puff before turning back to my conversant speaker. “You were saying?”

“Like I said,” says another stallion, wearing a traditional eastern dragon mask, “if the rumors are true that Cadance is... shall we say, adulterous... then this constitutes grounds for Shining Armor to file a divorce. And, in so doing, the entire estate would be split in half.”

“Interesting,” I say. “It’s very... democratic for Princess Celestia to make sure that princesses are not above the law... But, hypothetically speaking, supposing that it was Shining Armor who is charged of adultery and it was Cadance who filed the divorce, would the estate be intact or would it still be split down the middle?”

“Well, since Cadance is the original holder of all that property, and not his husband, and since it was his husband who was the offender, then the estate would remain intact. Shining Armor would not get a bit out of it, and he’ll most likely be stripped of his title as a prince consort and captain of the Royal Guards... Why are we discussing this again?”

“Well now,” I laugh. “I simply find it curious. Nothing more. Such information is invaluable to mares of my position.”

“In what position, Miss Rarity?” asks Jet Set who is listening, desperately trying to be noticed.

I answer: “The position of being vulnerable, darling. Mares such as you and I, whose hearts are as brittle as glass and as absorbent as cotton, have a weakness for the first stallion who shows us the first and briefest sign of kindness.”

I laugh, and so does my company.

The Grand Oceanarium of Canterlot is an inverted fishbowl the size of an average ballroom. The wall and the floor that seals out the water is of transparent glass, thick enough to withstand the pressure yet so thin and clear that it gives adequate visibility to the aquatic life outside, where hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of fish of all colors, shapes and sizes swim and spin around the sphere and amidst the deep blue. A strange place, and time of year, to hold a masquerade party, really. But, then again, Basket Case’s aesthetic taste has always been questionable. And so, in appeasement to those ponies she holds in contempt for expressing their disagreement–I among these ponies who evinced dislike in the realm of fashion–this gathering is quite a smart social move for her to show her tolerance of opinion. And no Canterlot pony, at least not those who count, would be caught dead without having attended a party where so much financial account has been invested, her father’s financial account to be exact.

“Caviar truffles, ma’am?” A passing waiter bows to me, holding up the tray of hors d'oeuvre.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I say, thanking the waiter as I levitate my glass of Fino Sherry Manzanilla to my red wet lips.

It is hard to observe the party when I compose its great majority and whereas the others are simply they who fight and scramble on top one another for my attention. Those few who know they may not get the chance to even receive my passing glance, settle their eyes to the fishes outside and their ears to the cello of the gray earth pony mare on the stage.

However, to the sensitive ears of decorum, a loud, almost mocking, gay laugh erupts louder from the middle of the dance floor. Those whose eyes can afford to stray from me moves to the object of that laughter. It is a loud, familiar and twinkling laugh, one I can enjoy hearing anyplace else but among the company of my peers.

“Didn’t you come here with that... earth pony?” asks Basket Case, pointing to the center of the ballroom with a tilt of her head. She already knows the answer to the obvious but she insists with the hopes that it will somewhat humiliate my position. I do not notice that it is she who is beneath that Masque of Red Death.

“Why, yes I did," I answer.

“Very ill-mannered for a friend of yours.”

“She is from Ponyville,” I answer. “And no, we’re not friends... I barely know her, really. She’s just another... You know... Element of Harmony... Laughter.”

“She certainly lives up to it.”

Pinkie Pie is in the utmost center of the ballroom, holding and dragging in her hooves a poor young stallion in an unorchestrated and improvised dance of tango. The pink earth pony wears the dress I gave her for the occasion: a ruched charmeuse gown with feathered skirt. If not for the interchanging red and gold color of the fabric, the ebony plumes that sways with her every movement, and the smooth ceramic mask of comedy that serves as her visage, one can easily mistake the whole ensemble for a wedding dress.

“Are you really associated with...those kind of ponies,” Basket Case adds.

“By decree of my being an Element of Harmony from the High Princess herself?” My stare remain transfixed on the boisterous source of the room’s laughter. “Yes.”

“Might I suggest, from one mare to another,” she continues, in a voice louder than necessary for me to hear, “that you disassociate yourself from such company when in public. I’d hate to see that others might think you’re friends with somepony of that... discipline. It’ll be detrimental to your position.”

“Well,” I clear my throat. “In that case, the burden of responsibility is not upon me but those others, as you’ve called them, who makes the assumption that there is some plausible way I can be friends with–”

I stop, seeing Pinkie Pie from the end of the ballroom. The mask with the permanent smile turns to me, as though the omniscience of her Pinkie Sense whispered the knowledge of my looking at her. “Hey-a, Rarity!” she shouts for all to hear, waving and hopping to my direction.

“Excuse me, darlings,” I say to my crowd, pulling myself from them with the hopes that I can bring to a private conversation whatever it is Pinkie Pie wishes to say. Several times now, her own misbehavior in high society is already enough to smear my repute, protected so far by my denial of our friendship to others. But it is her candid unpredictability that I fear may jeopardize my position the most; it only takes one mention of my affair with Shining Armor–and of my relationship with Applejack–that will cause my ruin.

I meet Pinkie Pie somewhere in the middle of our point of departure, still within the eyes of the onlookers but, thankfully, beyond their ears. Before I can say a word, the pink pony jumps in the air and grabs me in a tight embrace. Not once, before my affair with Shining Armor was temporarily discontinued, have I worried of Pinkie Pie’s behavior in the parties I invited her in; I let her gorge on food, take the dance floor or obliviously reject the invitation of Canterlot stallions who take a liking–or cathartic pity–to her personality.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Rarity!” Pinkie Pie says, pressing our cheeks together. “Thank you for inviting me! I’ve never been to a masquerade party before.”

The shortness of breath, as her hooves lovingly coil around me, I can tolerate; but, it is when I see the hidden chuckle of those socialites that my tolerance turn to panic. With more force than necessary, I shove Pinkie Pie away from me. The gesture throws her off balance–it does not make her tumble, however–and only leaves her dumbfounded at the sudden infliction of force.

“Rarity?” Pinkie Pie mutters. Behind the mocking smile of her mask, I cannot tell if she is on the verge of tears or erupting in anger.

“I’m sorry, darling,” I respond. “It’s just that...”

I do not finish. I do not find it necessary to even make up an excuse or justify myself. So long as I said the word ‘sorry’, it should do enough for her. I dust off whatever particulates she might have smeared on my black evening top and fix the creases on my skirt.

“Pinkie, dear,” I say, holding on to her hoof and leading her to a more private location. “May I have a word with you?”

“Sure-y, Rarity-ie!” she shouts, hopping all the while. Apparently, the instant of being pushed is all but remembered.

I lead her to the Jellyfish Room adjacent to the Grand Oceanarium. It is a room so dark one cannot measure its dimensions. The floor, the walls, and the ceiling seem to continue to an endless expanse of black. Of course, the illusion is made possible by architectural design and lighting, or lack of it, to mimic the effect of being submerged within the oceanic depths. The sole source of illumination, apart from the trail of a broken line which leads to the exit, are several giant fluorescent tanks randomly scattered all over, each filled with several jellyfishes that glow the water in them to a light pink.

"Ooh," Pinkie Pie moans, observing the aquatic creatures inside the nearest tank. “Oh, Rarity, look! Jellyfisheses! Do you really think they’re fishes made up of jelly? Or are they jelly that’s made up fishes? They don’t even look like fishes. They look like octopuses. That’s what should we call them: jelloctopus! ...But then they’d be made up of Jell-O, which is like jelly only it’s a dessert... ”

I approach the pink mare. She presses the pale-faced mask against the glass. It makes me wonder whether she can see behind those small slits for her eyes.

“Pinkie Pie, dear,” I say. “Do you know why I brought you here?”

“Nopey dopey...” she laughs. “Do you think jellyfisheses taste better with peanut butter?”

“I brought you here to talk to you,” I tell her, “in private.”

“Oh, what do you want to talk about?” Pinkie jumps from one tank to another, the translucent tentacled sea creatures in them frisking about. “I really wish there are peanutfisheses.”

“Do you remember how many parties I have already invited you to?” I say, following her.

“Including that dinner party with very, very rich stallions? Hmm...” she places her hoof beneath her chin as she seriously ponders. Then, as though struck by revelation, she hops in place, saying, “I know! I know!”

“How many?”

“Nine!”

“Correct.” I actually do not know or care enough to count. “Now, do you still remember why I invite you to my parties?”

“Because we’re best friends.”

“Of course, darling. Now... Do you remember why we’re best friends?”

“Is it because you want me to keep that secret that I saw you and Shining Armor going to a hotel together in Manehattan?”

This time my smile vanishes. As much as I knew that the conversation would lead to this, the fact that she said it so straightforward and so high-toned reminds me of the knowledge that I know, even if she does not, that she holds me under her power.

“Yes... Pinkie Pie...” I mutter. “That reason.”

“So what’d you want to talk to me about? I’m sure you didn't bring me here to see if I spilled the beans... or if I still have them with me to spill in the first place.”

I am stunned, for a moment, to hear her use the expression she was once unable to conceive of. Nevertheless, I go on to my point.

“Pinkie Pie...” I say, clearing my throat. “You know that I’m famous in Canterlot, very famous.”

“Are you,” she says in a tone and voice unnatural to what I know of her. It is not a question.

“Yes. I am... But the ponies here... in Canterlot... They don’t know that free-spirited nature of enjoyment and they can’t even comprehend the concept of fun. And, more often than not, they misunderstand you, and”–I continue to speak, studying her, looking for any hint of emotion in her still body. But it is futile, she does not move, not even in her breathing, and that damnable impertinent smile of her mask renders her visage invisible to me. I do not know if she is listening, and understands, or if I am wasting my breath as the thoughts of jellyfishes cloud her sense of perception–“I do not want them thinking ill of you. So, if I may ask, if you wish to continue to attend the same parties I am in, to please remain more... settled in one place and quiet.”

"Am I embarrassing you that much?”

“No!” My cry is immediate and involuntary, begging to be believed. “Goodness, no. I’d never sell out my friends for...”

“Who said anything about selling out friends?”

“I mean...”

“It was that mare with the red mask, wasn’t it?” she says, with the indifference of a shrug. “Have you been friends long before us? Longer than we've been? I didn’t see her face, or don’t remember seeing her face–or know if she has a face to begin with.”

“She’s the host of this party.” I scowl. “Why do you say things like that?”

“Do you like her,” she says, again, without the question mark in her tone.

“She once supported me, financially. And I am very grateful that–”

“Are you friends? Or friends of friends? Or friends of friends of friends?”

“She’s influential.”

“What do you think of her?”

I look around where I stand, hoping that nopony else is within earshot. The thick darkness makes the motion useless. “There’s a name for mares like her,” I say. “But it’s not relevant to this discussion... nor the vulgarity of the term is appropriate in the drawing room.”

Pinkie Pie sighs beneath the mask. What makes me to turn to her, in a sudden unfathomable panic, is the curious quality of that release of breath. It is as though she heaved her soul out from her mouth, leaving only an empty automaton of a carcass. And when I see, through the ebbing pink glow of the water tank, how her bubbly mane faded and died, deflating to a long sharp fall over her shoulder, I know I am looking at an entirely different mare.

“P-Pinkie... Pie?” I still managed to say.

She turns to me. I cannot see her face beneath the smiling mask.

“It is both ironic and redundant,” she says, the voice deep and hollow, with a somber tone akin to a eulogist, “this masquerade ball.”

“W-What?”

"Ironic, that is the literary quality of metaphysically undercutting an element of an existent with its direct, yet most adverse, incongruity." She moves around the tank, one hoof outstretch and tracing an invisible line against the glass. “Here we are, the faceless, wearing masks upon masks upon masks playing charades and hide-and-seek and musical beds. Tell me, Miss Rarity, supposing that, with a knife, you peel away the mask, and another mask, and another mask, and yet another mask, of any your friends here in Canterlot, what do you get? A face? Really? Now what's behind that? Peel that away and you are left with the skull. Now bash it open or break it to pieces and here–ah, here–what do you get, what do you see, inside of what that sturdy bone protects? Tell me, Miss Rarity, would it make much difference to you if we slosh all that skin, and muscle, and bone, and marrow, and–in its place–we put one full and faceless mannequin, as equally brainless, mindless, opinionless as any one of your retinue? Dress it up, from muzzle to tail and from mane to hooves, with the most expensive embroideries and jewelries brought from the nearest store that rejects a customer whose purse is cheaper than its contents. Would you still suck up to it? Appeal to its favor?"

I cannot follow Pinkie Pie's train of thought, nor could I even hear anything outside the deep monotonic voice. I question whether she still is Pinkie Pie but my mind cannot fathom an alternative. Who else can be behind that mask of comedy, a solid and unflinching visage with a permanent smile?

"You can only wear one mask at a time," she continues. "So don't make the mistake of interchanging one for the other. And make sure you remain distant from everypony lest they tear that mask off you and expose your real face to the world."

I stand still, but not as still as she. Pinkie Pie stands straight and unmoving, in a sudden stillness as though her whole being petrifies. Even her long sharp mane refuses to be carried by the same little breeze that shivers my spine. I do not what compels me to do so–perhaps it is because my eyes are unable to convince my mind–that, throat dry and wide-eyed, my hoof inches closer to the mocking mask of comedy worn by the unknown pink pony before me.

And, as I tear that mask away from that unmoving body, a blast of confetti hits me in the face.

"Ooh! Ooh! Heya, Rarity!" Pinkie Pie snorts and laughs as a shower of multi-hued streamers rain down on me. "So... what do you think?"

I cannot answer, nor do I understand the question. My mouth babbles in shock, not knowing what just happened.

"I said that if a peanutfish and a butterfish would have a baby, it'll be a peanutbutter fish," she says, jumping excitedly as though the thought itself is a cause of celebration. "And if the peanutbutterfish and the jellyfish get a baby it'll be a peanutbutterandjellyfish!"

My hoof touches the cold and solid floor. I am reminded that I am still in the plane of concrete existence and not thrown into some surreal dimension manifested by the trompe-l'oeil; where that which I have seen rages in conflict against what I see: Pinkie Pie stands there, hopping in place, as I know and knew her, the jubilant and harmless party-loving pony she is. She stops hopping for a moment and looks at me with one raised eyebrow. She extends her hoof and I reach for it, hesitatingly so, as she helps me to my feet.

“Are you okay, Rarity?” she asks. “You look like you’ve seen cheesefish! Where can I see it?”

“P-Pinkie,” I say, composing myself. “The.. I mean... Were you just...”

“Yes?” she asks, leaning forward and batting eyelashes.

“N-Nothing...” I cannot continue. There are no words to complete the sentence.

Were you just not Pinkie Pie? is a question too redisory that I cannot bring myself to say it.

“Let’s go back to the party!” Pinkie Pie screams, pressing her smiling visage against the glass tank. “I wanna dance!”

Surely, it is impossible. There is no other Pinkie Pie.

My memory traces back to that seemingly irrelevant event months ago when, having been discovered by that pink pony, I saw, for a fraction of a second, that same straight-maned creature wearing Pinkie Pie’s skin.

Is it a phantasm? An illusion?

Watching the Element of Laughter laugh as she exits the Jellyfish Room, I am left alone within the darkness, conceiving, and even considering, what I know to be absurdity.

Am I projecting my... guilt... onto Pinkie Pie?

I shake my head, shaking away the preposterousness. Standing amidst the emptiness, head throbbing and, somehow, a droplet of a tear in my eyes, I trot back to the exit to rejoin the party.

On my way, I stumble. Just below my hoof is a small piece of artifact that makes me coil away. Thalia’s smile is made real in silver ceramic, beaming and mocking in its permanence. I levitate the article to me with my magic as I ponder why, of all possible aesthetic and literary design, Pinkie Pie chose the face of comedy.

I look up from the artifact to see the pink earth pony standing in the distance, her head turned to me, smiling; and it seems, at that moment, that she still masquerades the mask I now hold in my hooves.

* * *

It is hard to sleep on the train. It is not because of the occasional bump that rock my seat, nor is it the ear-wracking screech of the engine, it is not, even, what's left of the painful sun rays that stab through the slits of the window blinds and into my eyelids; it is the peaceful sleeping of the pink pony in front of me.

Pinkie Pie is sprawling on the sofa of our private Pullman car. She snores, loudly, with her maw open, as she spins and turns on the spot for a more comfortable position. She mutters something incomprehensible, something about ice cream, and she rolls again on her magazine, her right hindleg dangling at the edge of the seat.

Forelegs folded against my chest where I hold on to my bag, my eyes do not leave her sleeping figure. Even though the other Pinkie Pie has not shown herself since the party, I no longer know if I can trust this seemingly innocent pony that, on occasion, knows more than she shows. Moistening my crusted lips, I reach for the pink pony–out of the necessity to prove the reliability of my senses–extending my hoof to touch her face and see, by some absurd hypothesis, if her face can fall off.

Then, in a sudden abrupt movement, Pinkie Pie shoots up, wide awake, standing on the couch. She stares blankly to whatever is infront of her and then, without warning, she clutches her chest and coils on the floor. Pinkie Pie starts screaming.

"P-Pinkie!" My earlier concern for her is flung aside at the sight of a pony tortured by an invisible physical pain. "Pinkie, what's wrong? Pinkie!"

Holding back her scream, she says: “I... I’m twitching... my heart... hurts...”

“What is it?” I move towards her. “What’s happening?”

Though I am among the skeptics to Pinkie Pie’s unusual ability, despite the statistical generality by which it is accurate, it is the sight of an agonized pony that forces me onto my knees andher into my hooves.

“I’m alright... It’s...” She pushes my hoof away. “It’s gonna happen... in Sweet Apple Acres... Applejack... We won’t make it.”

I look out the window, and the vast apple farm is laid across before me. There is no pony there in sight, except for a few pegasi pushing the dark clouds above towards an accumulation of miasma. A little farther, I see the train tracks circling the prairie of Ponyville to the train station at the end of town, dragging us farther from the supposed setting of Pinkie Pie’s impending premonition.

I jump back to my chair, grab my luggage and purse with my magic, and bolt to the end of the car to where the emergency break hangs on the ceiling. I pull on the line, and the loud screeching of metal against metal can be heard throughout. I feel the floor shake beneath my hooves as the train comes to a full halt.

Not wishing to delay myself, I follow Pinkie Pie who, sharing my intention, jumps outside the window. Racing towards the barn house, the first droplets of rain descend from the darkening sky. As we run, Pinkie Pie is once again felled to the ground where she clutches her chest.

“It’s happening…” she says, “We’re too late.”

I leave the pink pony writhing on the dirt as I run to the small speck of orange in the far distance. But there is another color beside that glint of sienna, a color that makes me stop momentarily, in fear, before trotting as fast as I can, from that same emotion that made me stop. The color is cyan.

Cyan and orange collide together, and I can hear the loud thud of their impact. As I near, whole body shaking, my suspicion is made true.

Applejack and Rainbow Dash stand in front of one another, their hooves wobbling and marks of black bruises litter the vibrant colors of their coat where sweat, blood and rainwater mix to an undefinable smudge. At a distance behind Rainbow Dash, a teary-eyed canary pegasus is on her knees, sobbing and begging the two ponies to a halt.

“Dearest!” I cry out, in time for lightning to cut through the clouds and for thunder to render us deaf.

Applejack charges Rainbow Dash and topples her to the dirt. But speed is to the pegasus’s advantage and, as she is thrown down, she drives her knee against Applejack’s stomach as they both hit the ground. Applejack’s face contorts before she crunches to her belly. Still on top of her opponent, the earth’s pony facial contortion turns to a grimace as she lunges and bites Rainbow Dash’s shoulder. Rainbow Dash screams. The pegasus uses her hoof and punches Applejack side, trying to shake her off. But the earth pony's weight and sheer fortitude makes it impossible. Her screams getting louder, Rainbow Dash’s right hoof crawls along the ground until she grabs hold of a black rock and smashes it twice against Applejack’s temple. The earth pony tumbles and rolls away from her opponent, writhing in pain as a viscous red liquid intermingles with the brown mud where she lies.

Another thunderclap erupts from the sky as Rainbow Dash glides, with one battered wing, over Applejack. She takes the earth pony by the collar of her coat and lands several punches on her muzzle.

“Stop it!” Fluttershy and I scream at the same time, but, again, the crack of thunder and howling rainstorms drown our words.

Rainbow Dash yells something to Applejack, something I cannot hear. The earth pony responds: she grabs Rainbow Dash by her nape and bashes her forehead against the pegasus’s nose bridge. Rainbow Dash steps back, twice or thrice, both her forelegs on her muzzle, shouting profanities in pain. Applejack takes advantage of the sudden pause. She stands, walks to the pegasus, and lashes out against the cyan belly.

Applejack falls forward, face first to the mud, collapsing.

Rainbow Dash is sent to her knees, one hoof on her muzzle and another on her stomach. She scrunches down and vomits blood.

We cannot stand the barbarity any longer. We run to our love ones; I to Applejack, and Fluttershy to Rainbow Dash.

I kneel to my dearest and I take her in my hooves. Her eye, her left eye that is not painfully shut closed by a bruise, grows wide as she finally notices my being here. She twists her body, withstanding every ache of every movement, just so she can wrap her hooves around my neck and plant a kiss on my cheek.

“Ah… Ah l-love ya, hun…” my dearest struggles to say.

“Don’t speak…” I tell her, “We’ll get you to a hospital.”

From the other end from where we sit, the muffled and half-choked pleading cries of Rainbow Dash thunders amidst a gust of wind. “S-She’s cheating on you!”

“You... shut yer f-fuckin'... mouth!” Applejack screams back, almost immediately.

Those two uttered sentences alone summarizes the entire cause of their conflict. Rainbow Dash paid justice to her warning.

“She’s…! She’s been sleeping with… with a stallion!” Rainbow Dash continues, coughing out more blood. “That... bitch h-has been lying… to you... the whole time.”

“Shut up!” Applejack screams. She picks up a bloody rock and throws it to Rainbow Dash. The rock falls several meters short of its target.

Rainbow Dash gnarls at me, teeth gritting, face crunching and eyes biting and shaking. “Tell her! ...Tell AJ the truth!”

Three pairs of eyes look at me at once. Among those teary orbs of pain and anguish, I avoid the ones that shine a bright green below me. “I… I have no idea what you’re talking about!” I cry out.

Applejack holds on to my shoulder. Fluttershy turns away from me. Rainbow Dash's eyes shoot open as she gasps in a full open expression of unbelievability; and, a second later, the scrunched face of a murderer possesses her visage.

Rainbow Dash pushes Fluttershy aside and lunges in our direction. Her eyes are set. She tears me away from Applejack with a thrust of her body as she pounces on me. In a second, I find myself on the muddy dirt, with nothing but the avenging face of Rainbow Dash to see in front of the backdrop of a black raining heaven. She forces me down by the throat.

“Tell her!” she screams, and I feel the reverberation of her yell in the trembling in her body.

I writhe beneath her, forelegs aimlessly and frantically thrashing about in an attempt to push her off. The air is locked out of my lungs as my whole body squirms. Blood pumps my face to a manic reddening. My mouth hangs open, desperately trying to cry out "Stop! Stop!"; but I cannot, with the voice she traps in my windpipe.

“Tell her!” she screams again.

Droplets of rain hit my face, blurring my vision. I force my magic, but my horn merely blinks on and off as the life is choked out of me. My limbs and heartbeat begin to falter. My sight darkens as my eyelids eclipse the world of what I am seeing.

Trapped within the dimness, my ears still twitch, picking up the sound of somepony screaming at the sound of a loud snap. The heavy weight on my chest is lifted and thrown from me, and I feel myself once again distinct from the darkness of the unconscious.

All I know is, that when I next open my eyes, all I see is Applejack's face hovering in place where Rainbow Dash was once in my vision; and the hooves that forced me on the mud is now replaced by the ones that lifts me from the earth to the comfort, and safety, of an embrace.

Sitting up, coughing out the blast of air that my desperation to breathe had forced into my lungs, I look to my love. A fresh wound cuts just above her right brow, where the blood that flows from it conceals her eye. But she herself does not notice the injury. I follow the trail of her vision to the other end where Rainbow Dash lay on her face, panting in pain, down the rain and tear-soaked dirt.

Hooves shaking, the cyan pony picks itself up from the ground, much of her color marred by the mud. She coughs, several times, before looking at Applejack and I.

“S-She’s... cheating on you...” cries Rainbow Dash, her shaking hoof outstretched towards us. “Trust me, AJ.”

Hearing those words, I clutch tightly onto Applejack’s shoulder as I press my face deeper against her chest.

“Ah... ah know what this is all about, RD,” I hear my dearest say. “Y-You’d... think ya’d win me by slanderin’ mah mare like this? Well, fuck you! Ah didn’t love ya before... and ah’m sure as hell... ah ain’t g-gonna love ya now! Not now, not ever! Ya hear me!?”

“AJ,” Rainbow Dash whimpers, “this isn’t... about us... I’m telling you... R-Rarity, s-she–”

“G-Get outta here, Rainbow,” says Applejack. She says it in the tone of a whimper, but in a volume heard by all amidst cries of the sky. “Ah don’t wanna see ya ever again...”

My head still pressed against Applejack’s face, I turn my head to meet Rainbow Dash’s empty stare. We hold each other’s glance for a moment and, even against the darkness of a stormy dusk, the distance of our bodies, the tears running down her cheeks, I can see the disbelief, and regret, in the imperceivable shaking of her dilated pupils.

Still holding her glance, invisible to Applejack and Fluttershy, I mouth the words–without anger, without contempt–she knew I will not let her part without:

I told you so...

Rainbow Dash rears back, head shaking back and forth, looking to and fro my mare and I. She stands. She turns around. Batting her only working wing, she dashes to the curtain of the darkness beyond.

Alone with what she might think to be her enemy, a sobbing Fluttershy follows the marred spectral of color into the gray weeping sky.

* * *

Big Macintosh and I sit in the center table of Carousel Boutique. It has already been an hour since we got Applejack into bed, and neither of us has spoken to each other since. Silence is our conversation, the tick tock of the wall clock fills the spaces in between. The coffee that is meant to shake away the cold from the rain remains untouched. It is cold now, as is the air in the room.

Big Macintosh raises a hoof to his muzzle and coughs. The silence grows heavier around us.

“T-Thank you,” I say, just to rid ourselves of the muteness, “for helping me carry Applejack here.”

“She’s only stayin’ here until mah sis is well enough to stand on her own,” he answers. “After that, ah’ll be carryin’ her out.”

“I-I understand...”

He breathes deeply, the steady heaving of his chest visible. “No, ah don' think ya do," he says, shaking his head. "Do ya know why ah insisted not to let her stay in Sweet Apple Acres, even after ya barged through the door of mah house?

I look away from him, and shake my head.

“Take a guess,” he says.

“Is it because... Applejack would prefer to stay here with me.”

Big Macintosh shakes his head in disgust. “Yer insufferable,” he sighs out. “It’s cuz ah ain’t want granny to see her like this. Even if those two’ve been bickerin’ for months now because of ya, they still love each like a granddaughter and grandmother would. Mere sight of Applejack like this will break Granny Smith’s heart... and for a mare of that age, broken things don’t get fix no more.”

“About Granny Smith, does she still–”

“Ya didn’t go to Granny Smith’s birthday yesterday,” he interrupts.

“I’m sorry, I was–”

“Don’t explain,” he interrupts again. “Ah don’t wanna hear it... D’ya know how much effort mah sis put into it? D’ya know that she swore on our parent’s grave that you’d be there for her... D’ya know that when ya didn’t show up she fought tooth and nail against Granny Smith for the both of ya? Ah guess you didn’t.”

The weight of Big Macintosh's words weigh on my back, sagging my shoulders. I cannot look at him, or at anything. My eyes remain stagnant at the edge of the table, shaking my head as my only response to answer his rhetorical questioning. I can see her, my dearest Applejack, pulled from my imagination and projected into the dark closure of my eyelids: she stands in her doorway, looking at the setting sun, pacing back and forth as she had just told her grandmother that she is in a relationship with the greatest mare in of all of Equestria. What could she have thought, finding me absent by her side? What could she have said, have begged, to her grandmother to grant us a blessing? What words did Applejack say when she fought for me?

My thoughts are silenced once the stillness of the room is broken by the sound of a creaking door. Immediately, I stand and run up to the second floor, if just so I can exclude myself from Big Macintosh's judging glare.

“Will she be okay? Is she alright? Can she still see through her right eye?” My barrage of questions strikes Nurse Redheart before she can even close the door to my room.

The white-coated nurse does not answer as of yet. “Let’s talk downstairs,” she says. “I don’t like repeating the same thing twice.”

Without waiting for my reply, Nurse Redheart climbs down the stairs and I follow her to where Big Macintosh waits. He lifts his head as soon as he hears the nurse and I, and straightens his back to take a position more appropriate for a stallion of his stature.

The three of us sit in the center table. I place my hooves on the furniture's edge, to hide my shaking. Big Macintosh rests his hooves against his side, but I can see the small worriment by how he presses against the floor. It is only the pair of hooves of the white nurse that have enough equanimity–or is it impertinence?–to reach for one of the several coffee cups laid out on the table and drink from it.

“She’ll be fine,” she says, as soon as she replaces the cup on its plate. “There is no permanent damage, and the injuries are nothing that a little earth pony regeneration can’t heal.”

“Thank goodness,” I sigh in relief. And I can also see how the broad chest of Big Macintosh eases.

“The contusions are temporary, it’ll take about four days for them to vanish,” she continues. She adds two more spoonfuls of caffeine to her cup. “She’ll have a hard time seeing from her right eye for two weeks. I managed to stop all the bleeding, but she lost so much blood that she won’t wake up till tomorrow night, approximately. However, there’s a deep bruise on her chest and I suspect it to be a fractured rib but I can’t be a hundred-percent certain as of yet. I recommend you bring her to the hospital for an x-ray as soon as next week.”

“Is... is there anything I can do, to help the process?”

“Plenty of bedrest,” she answers. She stands up, takes out a pen and a notepad from her brown windbreaker hanging from the coathanger, returns to her seat and starts to scribble something. “I know how Miss Applejack’s stubbornness will make it difficult, but I leave it to you as to how you’ll accomplish that.”

She rips a piece of paper from her notepad and places it atop the center table, leaving it to us as to who will take it.

“And that’s the prescription," she says, reaching for her coffee. "The medicine is already in her room. Make sure you stick with the schedule to avoid unnecessary deviation.”

Finishing her coffee, Nurse Redheart stands up again, and slings her windbreaker around her shoulders before buttoning it closed around her chest.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another patient to tend to.”

“Thank you,” I tell her.

She trots to the exit and opens the door to where the storm still rages. She looks at it for a moment before deciding to hide her nurse cap beneath her windbreaker.

“One more thing,” she says, turning back. “She winces every time I touch her manubrium,”–she points to the flesh between her collarbones–“if she’s staying here, make sure she digests nothing but liquids and soft foods. Otherwise, it’ll hurt her. She won’t say it, but it will. I’ll be back everyday for the next two weeks for a check up.”

Big Macintosh rises as well. "Ah guess ah'd better go," he says, more to Nurse Redheart than to me. "Ah got some explainin' to do to my grandma as to why she won't be seein' her granddaughter for a while."

I escort the red stallion to the door. "Big Mac," I say, "I'm sorry about what happened..."

"Ah know," he replies, standing side by side the nurse as the two exit. He turns back only once. "Ah'm sorry too."

The door closes as the the two earth ponies make their exit. I stand there for quite some time, just by the door, feeling that I have no right to open it.

I move to the center table and return the used cups to the kitchen to join the dishwash. I toss the cups into the sink, pour some stale dishwashing liquid on a pool of water, and begin to scrub each greasy brown stain from the porcelain. All the while I have no control over my actions. Rather, it is as though there is somepony else in my body to repeat the motions; it is the movement of an automaton or utter zombiefication: motion without reason or cause.

I continue to scrub, scrubbing that sponge against a persistent blotch, the force and violence of my scraping increasing with each hard scratch of the sponge against ceramic–as though the the stain is not just to be removed, but be killed and murdered as an enemy.

My hoof slips and the small cup scatters into a hundred pieces as it crashes on the floor. The impact and the tinkle of porcelain resounds throughout the kitchen, and it seems to echo louder than the thunder outside. The instant shared a moment in me, a reflection, that I refuse to identify; for the sight and sound of those broken shells seem to match the hollow remains in my chest.

It’s... my fault...

I fall to my knees, my hooves still over the sink, as tears breach through my eyes and flow down my cheeks. I gasp, bite my lip, and struggle not to scream out my cries for forgiveness. I pick up the shattered pieces one by one.

* * *

It is that time of night when the darkness of the sky has swallowed all constellations, making it impossible to discern the hour. Awakened by the small rustle of the pony in front of me, I open my eyes to the sight of Applejack just barely opening hers. She lies across my bed, bandages wrapped around her torso and shoulder. Her right eye is hidden by a medical patch.

“W-Where... am I...” she groans, struggling to sit up.

I lean over from my chair beside her bed and place a hoof on her chest, urging her to remain down. “It’s alright, dearest... You’re in my room. You’re alright...”

“R-Rarity...” she says. I can feel the tension in her body loosening. “Y-You there, hun? Ah can’t see nothin'.”

“It’s alright.” I rub a hoof against her mane. “It’s just darker than usual tonight... and your eye is a little... hurt. Nurse Redheart said it will be okay.”

She raises a hoof, searching for me, and I hold it on my chest to assure her that I am here. I lean forward and kiss her lips, hoping the gesture does not hurt her in more ways than one.

“H-Hun, where’s.... where’s R-Rainbow... D-Dash,” she asks. “She alright? Ah... Ah didn’t hurt her too much, did ah?”

At the sound of the name of that treacherous pegasus, I find myself wishing for the opposite of what I say: “She’s fine.”

“That’s... that’s... mighty... good to hear... Ah thought–” Applejack is interrupted by a grunt and wince from pain. Her hoof snaps to the side of her chest.

“Dearest, please don’t talk,” I hold her down on the bed, caressing the shoulder that pains her. It is all I can do. “You need more sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

I pull the blanket over her body, making sure the cold does not bother her in the slightest. Applejack touches my hoof as the cloth reaches to cover her neck.

“C-Can you do me a favor... hun?” Applejack says.

“Anything dearest.”

“Ah know... that this is yer room and all but...” Applejack looks away from me. “Can y-ya... give me some time alone for a minute... Ah... Ah need... to think of some things.”

I stop for a moment, and lean to the side hoping I can see her eyes, hoping I can find out why her voice trembles as she says those words.

Does she blame me for what happened to her?

"Of course, dearest," I tell her. "Whatever you wish."

I rise from my seat and walk out. As I open the door, the gentle light from the hall ebbs through the room, drawing a line of illumination between me and her. I look back, for a moment. I expect, as much as I wish, for Applejack to tell me to stay. She does not even turn her head to see me leave. I slowly close the door on my way out as her eyelids descend down her eye.

* * *

Three potatoes pulled from an old brown sack join the radish and leek stalk on the counter. The gruffy brown stallion takes all the vegetables and puts them in a white plastic bag in the same motion as his other hoof slides the waiting bits to the pocket of his apron. He hands me the plastic and I levitate it into the saddle bag hanging on my side.

“Have a good day, Miss Rarity,” he says.

I turn away and survey the small marketplace and its line of stalls for whatever else I can hope to buy for Applejack. Among the competing stands that showcase their motley articles of merchandise and feedstuff, Carrot Top's fresh harvest for the day–which I have read to produce miraculous regenerative effects on earth ponies–takes a liking for my attention. I would have no doubt brought three or four of the vegetables if not for the inconvenience that, standing in line of the booth, is a certain canary pegasus.

And, as though sensing my looking at her, Fluttershy turns around and her stare lands on mine.

She is expressionless, wearing a face without the cringe of fear or gasp of astonishment. We hold our glare to one another, from the distance, and I feel a silent rebellion in the way she challenges my eyes in her refusal to back down. She cannot, of course, have forgotten of my position over her.

However, it is I who first turn away, having noticed an ignorant Carrot Top wave to my direction. “Oh, Miss Rarity!” the earth pony calls out.

I sigh and trot to the ponies despite all inclination; the discourtesy of simply turning around and walking away would be too obvious.

“Good morning, Carrot Top,” I respond to her, then, turning to Fluttershy, I add, “...Fluttershy.”

“...Rarity,” she replies, her voice sullen.

Carrot Top’s own hurried motion of rummaging through the drawers of her stall renders her both blind and deaf to the tension between the two mares in front of her. “I have something for you,” she says, just before she looks up.

Stretching her hoof, she hands me a white envelope.

“Derpy was supposed to give it to you yesterday,” the earth pony says, “but she kinda left it in the house among other letters. I’m trying help her out.”

“Thank you,” I say.

The envelope is light on my hoof, the rough thick texture of which, as well as the embroidered borders of golden and pink curls, indicate some form of Canterlot origin. A faint fragrance perfume of what seems to be Hydrangea extract emanates from the piece. The red wax sealing the letter is embedded with a symbol of a crystallized heart. Turning the paper around, my suspicion is made real as the name of the sender is written in a neat and cursive script.

From: Cadance
To: Rarity

Fluttershy, too, can no doubt see the name written on the envelope.

Again, I lock eyes with the pegasus and, again, she refuses to cast her eyes down. We hold each other’s stare for a moment, a moment long enough for Carrot Top to cast her own eyes to and fro either of us, with no words being said.

“S-So... Miss Rarity,” Carrot Top finally says, unable to tolerate the heavy silence any longer, “would you like to buy something?”

“Three carrots, please,” I say, smiling at her. “I hear it somehow increases the regenerative effects on injured earth ponies.”

“It’s unfortunate that pegasi aren’t that lucky,” Fluttershy murmurs.

Carrot Top plucks three of the vegetables from her stash, securing them inside a sturdy white plastic. I levitate some bits to the countertop at the same time I levitate the merchandise to my saddle.

“Come again,” Carrot Top says. I do not know whom she says it to: I, who buys her product, or Fluttershy, whom the earth pony eyes as the pegasus leaves.

Following Fluttershy away from the stall and taking the privacy of our conversation to a nearby bench in the marketplace, we sit there, overlooking the ponies yonder move from one stall to the other. Even from where we are, and where those ponies stand or trot, we can hear their laughter in our silence.

I levitate the letter in my hoof into the saddlebag, Fluttershy’s eyes follow the white paper.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” she asks.

“Perhaps later,” I answer.

I wait for her to say anything more; she does not. She waits for me to speak and, only after the intolerable silence and my impatience, I address her first.

“So...” I clear my throat. “I heard Rainbow Dash is staying at your place instead of the hospital, as Applejack is with me.”

She nods.

“Why?” The word hangs in the air, so I change my question. “How is she?”

“She’s... she’s fine...” she says, her eyelids fluttering and unable to look at me.

“It’s that bad, huh?”

“It’s... her wing. She...” Fluttershy clears her throat. “There’s a dislocation... in the socket... S-She can’t move her left wing... Nurse Redheart said it’ll take at least one month before we can remove the splinter and then we... we have to put in the cast... and that'll take... longer.”

The silence remains, amplified by the bustle of the ponies in the plaza.

“Why did you have to tell Rainbow Dash about Shining Armor and I?”

I cannot see what face Fluttershy makes, but I can imagine it by the high-pitched cry she utters by reflex. “W-What!? B-B-But I... I didn’t–”

I feel my hooves press against my thighs as the words seeth from between my clenched teeth. “If you two had only kept your fucking mouths shut. If neither of you snitches...”

“B-But...”

“You see now, you self-righteous bitch!?” I shoot my eyes at her, I feel my face scrunching. “Nopony was supposed to get hurt.”

“But... B-But...” What are supposed to be words come out as mumbling nothings, muffled by a mare being choked by her own tears. A pale-faced Fluttershy sits beside me, her lips moving without sound as crystalline liquid flows from her eyes.

I do not bother to hear what excuses she may conjure. I stand up and trot back to Carousel Boutique where my injured lover is waiting to be nursed.

* * *

It is early morning when I come back in. I knock before entering the door to my own room, carrying with my magic a metal tray.

"Good morning, Applejack," I say, trying to make my voice as loud and cheerful as possible in hopes that it will scare away the residue of the eerie silence from the night before.

Applejack sits on the bed, her back resting on the headboard. It is amazing how fast she can recover in a matter of two days. The bruises on her coat are still there, but it has been reduced from a smudge of black and blue to a graying pigment of sienna. But I know that the most painful injury she bears is yet to even ease, the symptom of which is her refusal to speak.

"I... I made you some carrot soup." I move to her, pulling the mahogany chair beside the bed as I levitate the tray on her lap. "It has tomatoes and celery... with some cabbage stock and a hint of beer for taste. I hope you like it."

Applejack just nods.

I pull the chair closer as I sit, so that it seems that I am on the bed beside her. Using my magic, I stir the soup with the spoon. The hot fragrant steam rises into the air, carrying with it the strong aroma of the vegetables, to mix with the young daylight.

"Nurse Redheart says that I should give you soups and porridges for now," I say. "She said that otherwise it'll hurt your throat."

Applejack nods again.

Instead of using my magic, I hold the spoon in my hooves. I scoop up some of the yellow-red delicacy, give it a few blows, and hold it up to her. "Now eat up. I promise it'll be good."

Applejack turns her head away.

My jaw drops as I am left, still hanging, with my hoof raised with a spoon of refuse. The thought that Applejack rejects my attention is inconceivable, for even in our fights, that had grown more and more frequent, not even once had she turned away from me. It is always dearest Applejack that charges head first into any flood, landslide and quarrel.

My hoof goes down. The spoon drops to the bowl.

"I... I forgot I left the kettle on," I laugh. "I'm sure you can feed yourself."

I stand and trot, almost running, to the door. I try my hardest not to turn around and give away my distress, but I am unable to resist. Pulling the door open, I look over my shoulder. Applejack still does not look at me.

"Call me if you need anything, dearest," I say, "...please."

* * *

Having paced back and forth across the living room, it is relieving to hear the sound of a closing door followed by the hoofstomps of Nurse Redheart climbing down the stairs. I Immediately run to the white nurse. Before I can say anything, she raises a hoof that silences me.

"She's fine. Her recovery is impressive and she might be able to walk in two or three days."

"B-But... That doesn't make sense. Why won't she talk?"

Nurse Redheart shrugs and replies, in a tone of a professional stating a fact, without malice or ridicule or insult, "She doesn't want to."

“W-Why...?” I ask, hoping for an answer from anypony, or anything, in the room.

“Miss Rarity, I’m a physician not a psychiatrist,” Nurse Redheart sighs. “But if this continues, I heavily suggest that you transfer her immediately to Ponyville General. This isn’t the kind of environment I’d recommend.”

“What kind of environment?”

Nurse Redheart trots past me as she plucks away her brown windbreaker from the coat rack. She flings the jacket over her shoulders and buttons it up to her neck. “The kind that she doesn’t want to be in.”

* * *

It is night again, the hour in which time freezes in place and darkness reigns supreme. As I open the door, Applejack is sitting there on the bed.

“Applejack?” I call to the room.

She does not respond. It is as though she does not hear me beyond the twitching of her ear.

I open the door further, and the light from the hallway lacerates the darkness of the room, illuminating half of my lover’s face. I step in into the darkness, every hoofstep I make is inaudible.

I crawl onto Applejack’s bed and, without waiting for her permission, I wrap my hooves around her. She does not respond.

“Applejack...” I plea in a whisper, “Please... talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

It is a slow motion, at first. Applejack takes both my hooves and gently holds and pushes me away from her. Applejack looks away.

“R-Rare... Ah’ve been thinkin’.”

“What of, dearest?”

“Hun, ah want to start by sayin’ ah love you,” she says. There is no romantic indication in her face, rather, it is a cold seriousness that I feel in her voice. “Ah love ya more than anythin’.”

“I know, dearest. I love you too,” I say, trying to match her expression. She is unfazed.

“And ya know that... Rainbow Dash is mah friend, right? Mah best friend.”

My whole body freezes; It does not merely stop, I feel the coldness wash all over me: on the trailing sweat that suddenly trickles from my forehead, on the dryness of my throat, and in the stillness of my heart. I know, as soon as I hear the name of that damn pegasus, what troubles my love’s mind.

“Ah... ah couldn’t imagine it... her lyin’ to me like that...” Applejack says, and, for the first time, she turns to me, but it is now I who turns away. “Even if it’s... like ah said... she’s tryin’ for mah attention... ah couldn’t believe she’d say somethin' like that... After what she and me have been through... There’s just no way. And ah think that... that ah pushed mah best friend without even... hearin’ her out... ah got so mad at her and... ah don’t know anymore... Rare.”

My head feels so heavy that it is a struggle to face her. And, as I see her eyes, it is even more difficult to hold her glance. Applejack, dear and powerful Applejack who never shows weakness, makes no effort to hide the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“R-Rarity,” she whimpers, “ah gotta know... It's eatin' me alive not knowin'. Ah want ya to tell me the truth... Do you... Do you have somepony... other than me–”

“Applejack, I–”

“W-Wait a minute... Wait... lemme finish,” she interrupts, grabbing my shoulders. “Rarity... Ah want ya to know that ya mean the world to me. And that... if ya tell me that ya do have... somepony... I... Ah think ah’ll... ah’ll get angry and... and ah’ll get hurt... and ah’d probably cry mahself for days like the mare ah am... But ah’ll take it... Because ah’ll love ya still, like how ah always loved ya... But ah won’t ever, ever, for the life of me, abandon ya to anypony else... Ah’ll fight for the both of us... So that ah’ll keep ya beside me because ah’m too selfish and possessive to share the best thing ah have to anypony else... Ah’ll show ya that ah’m the right one, y’all see... Ah’m the one ya really love... Ah’ll do mah best... Ah just don’t... want ya lyin’ to me, Rarity... Ah want to know the truth... The truth, Rare... just that and nothin' less... Just like how true it is everytime we say ‘ah love ya’ to each other... So please... Rarity... just... just please... tell me... Ah swear on mah life that ah’d never stop lovin’ ya...”

My eyes shut painfully closed, stinging in the darkness, as the coldness of my body overwhelms me. I shudder, a trembling I wish my dear Applejack could not see or feel in her embrace. It takes me several seconds to answer her, several seconds in which the truth wrestles with the lie. The equilibrium in which reality and fantasy are placed, shaken as thoughts of my position in Canterlot–repulsive that I think of it now–and my relationship with Shining Armor is pitted against the safety of Applejack’s innocence.

What of Shining Armor and me now? The stallion who abandoned me?

Against dearest Applejack, who never will?

I open my eyes again, and pucker my lips. As I was to confess, a thought, a single thought, tips the scale:

Cadance...

“Applejack,” I hear myself say, “I’ve... never had anypony else but you.”

The lips on Applejack’s visage slowly curve upwards as new and fresh tears stream down her eyes. The tears, this time, are different than the ones she shed seconds before.

“Dear Celestia, ah knew it!” she says, her hooves wrapping around me in a tight and powerful embrace. “Ah knew it! Ah knew ya’d never... Ah love ya, Rarity! Ah swear ah’ll never think of anything like that again."

Cradled in Applejack’s warmth, the coldness vanishes.

Within the privacy of the confines of my own thoughts, amidst the hollow darkness, there I pray, I beg, to an almighty force that the words that escaped my lips would be the last lie–for the rest of my life–I will have to state to the Element of Honesty. I know, as well, that the prayer will not be answered.

* * *

It is night still when I walk into my room where Applejack rests. I trot towards her, coming from the cold shower, my hooves soundless. She turns to me and there is no smile on her face, only an austere quality of adherence. As I climb onto our bed, brushing a mane behind my ear, Applejack takes my hooves and pulls me to her.

She raises a hoof to caress my cheeks, and my face melts under the tenderness of her touch. She leads me closer, so close that I felt the warmth of her breath brush against my lips, until my mouth meets hers. The familiar taste of apples returns to me once more, a taste I had long missed and sought for, a distinct sweetness that can only come from her buss.

"Rarity," she whispers.

"A-Applejack," I respond in the kiss.

She holds me back, by my shoulders, to break the kiss just so we can breathe and see the furious blush in each other's face. My horn glows and I turn off the lights in the hallway, and all the other lights in my house, shrouding us in the privacy of darkness apart from the small illumination of the moonlight misting around us, beckoned into the room by every swift wave of the curtain.

I do not know if it is the magic of my delusion or the majesty of Princess Luna, the pale beam of stardust that pierces through the window glows her orange coat to a bluish hue. She sparkles a little, dearest Applejack, as the twinkles of the night reflect upon the smooth arrangement of her coat.

I, too, must have been transformed by the night in her eyes.

Beheld beneath those emerald eyes, I wrap my hooves around me in a sudden realization of my own nakedness; as though, for once, the sharpness of her stare pierces through my coat and skin, seeing straight through to my vulnerable and fragile spirit. I feel myself filling all of her vision, in her longing stare that takes in the form of the alabaster unicorn in her embrace. Applejack’s hooves gently explore the figure of my body, as how a sculptor would relish the touch of her statue. She trails the edge of her hooves against the curves of my hips, the polished line of my shoulders, the softness of my belly, the heaving in my chest that resounds a painful rhythmic beat. I close my eyes, letting her examine every minute detail of everything that is me. I want her to be sure that I am here; that I am no illusion, that here, in her hooves, is her Rarity, her mare.

Applejack breaths between her lips, in the same instant as her hooves take hold of my shoulders. She leads me down the soft cushions, placing my head gently on the pillow. She pins both my hooves against the sheets and leans forward, her muzzle inches from mine. Whereas I expected a kiss, her face instead nuzzles my ear as she whispers to me:

“Ya sure yer ready for this?”

I throw my head back against the pillow and finally say the words the both of us are aching, begging, to hear: “Yes, dearest,” I whisper back, “I’m ready for you.”

Her lips brush against my cheek as it reaches for mine. I respond, this time, to the invitation, pulling her close as she does to me. The kiss is altogether different from the one that preceded it, identifying the primal nature of our hunger for one another; it feels wet, real, physical, and the light tap of Applejack’s tongue inside my mouth sparks the first current to my nerves.

My eyes still closed, it is my other senses that devour Applejack. I can hear the sound of her frantic and impatient breathing as she kisses me, accompanied by the small enticing moan that escapes the confines of her repression. Her scent tickles my nostrils, that of spring water from her perspiration and of the fruity musk of her yearning exhalation. As my own hooves trace across her dorsum, fondling down the line of her spine, pulling her weight onto me, I feel the texture of her coat graze against mine.

I open my eyes as she pulls back, leaving me panting for breath and mouth half-open in demand for more. I try to say something, but it is as though she has drained every word from me in that kiss.

Applejack sits me up and turns me around, so that my back is resting against her chest as her hooves wraps around me. I face the blank wall of my room as Applejack’s words trickle into my ear.

"Rare...” she whispers to me, her voice alone sends a peculiar vibration running throughout my nerves. “Tell me if ah’m gettin’ too rough. Tell me... if ya want me to stop.”

I nod, but I know it is irrelevant. There is no force in the world that will make me ask my dearest to stop what she does to me.

My assurance is all she needed.

She starts, giving small nips and bites to the back of my neck as her right hoof caresses my stomach and dips in between my legs. My reaction is immediate: my hoof leaps over hers, both to encourage and stop the stimulation that makes me jump. My body jerks back, shuffling closer to Applejack’s torso. Her hoof proceeds to press further and harder against my lower sensitivity. The tinge of her first touch on my sex strikes shivers to my limbs; my hindlegs snap shut around her, dragging in the purple sheets beneath us. The tension does not let go. Applejack moves her hoof, running the pressure up and around the line of my delicate opening. My body coils to its center. I can already feel myself sweating profusely. The rubbing of Applejack’s hoof against my slit only hastens, and already I can feel the moisture collect from my crevice onto the bed.

Then, as though a nerve has been plucked from the back of my mind, my whole body convulses in a sudden awakening, shocked with an electric current, to a state unreached and untouched before. The knowledge that it is my Applejack, my dearest Applejack, the mare who loves me the most, who unlocks the secrets and sacred pleasure of my body, raises me to a new and unknown level of ecstatic invigoration. My heart palpitates. My breathing is precarious. My body burns so hot it feels as though I am aflame from within. I push myself as hard as I can against Applejack’s body, forcing as much contact of her to me.

The welling in my loin begins, a familiar sensation in which the energy reserved for my limbs is drained to the inner core of my womb. It pools in the depths of my abdomen, boiled by the heat of our love making.

I writhe on the bed, clasping on the sheets, as I try to tear myself away from the loving pressure of Applejack's hooves and, at the same time, to impose herself on me all the more. My dearest does not disappoint, she does not let go of me even as I squirm in her hooves. She grabs me tight from behind, fighting to control her hold as she churns and evokes the heat between my legs.

A small line of spittle crawls down from the corner of my lips. I try to moan her name between my clenched teeth but I am unable, reaching the first plateau of my ascent.

I scream in rapture, in release, soiling Applejack's hoof with my waters. I twitch, grabbing onto Applejack and nuzzling her neck, as I collapse onto her chest, panting for breath.

Still cradled in her hold, I crane my neck and kiss her, in thanks and in plea; she responds in the way her tongue coils around mine. I have never myself felt closer to her than I do now, with our bodies entwined together, sweat and heat intermingling, in the unyieldng lock of her embrace.

She holds me down on the bed, for a moment, so that I can catch my breath. I shield my forelegs around my eyes; even the full moon shining out the window seems too bright for me now.

I feel Applejack's insatiable kisses on me, pressing against my most vulnerable parts: I feel her lips on my cheeks, I feel it on my lips, my neck–twice, my collarbone, my chest, gliding down to my stomach, lower to my navel and lower still. Her lips stay there, on my loin, on the small soft space between my belly button and my sex, before she rears back and plants her kisses on my hindlimb. I feel the cold dampness of her salivation as her kisses press against my calves, running down my inner thigh.

I do not know if it is out of fear–or guilt–that my legs close in again, hiding the door of my femininity from her invading eyes. My resistance proves little against Applejack as she parts my legs with her hooves in a powerful, yet gentle, push. I can feel the weight of her stare against my dripping flower.

She stares at me, for a long time, with a humble smile on her face, before she looks up and says, "Yer beautiful..."

Her compliment alone renews the heat of my body and I almost climax again after just having heard the courtesy of her praise. It makes me smile.

Her muzzle inches closer, I can feel her breath first and foremost, and the first touch of her to my marehood is of her tongue. I can feel it, through the wracking sensitivity of wetness against wetness, trailing up a line that sends currents to my sex. The contact livens the fibers and wirings within the root of my inner flesh, as though each nerve sparks to life at the command of my dearest's lips. It makes my whole body jolt , and I suddenly sit up and hold a hoof against Applejack's head, ready to either push her away or pull her close. I collapse again on the bed in my inability to remain firm and composed with her inside me.

Withdrawing a few inches, I feel her breath again trickle across the slick opening of my folds. The sudden retraction releases the succulent liquids enclosed between the two moist lips and I feel it, the collection of her slaver and my own dew, slither down my inner thighs. But the pause is only a momentary relief, serving only to amplify that which comes next.

Applejack dives in again, her lips closing, wrapping, nibbling at the protruding bud at the tip of my blossom. Groaning and gasping, my jaw hangs open. I want to scream–tell her to stop, to not stop–but the nerve wracking strain in every fiber of my muscles renders me mute. I thrash about, one hoof over my lips, the other clutching the blanket. Applejack's forelegs circle my hips and thighs, wrestling me down and holding me in place.

Her lips turn to fondle and lap at my lower petals and her tongue buries deep within the depression in search for the sweet aphrodisiacal nectar of my concupiscence that spills from the cup from which it is contained. Again and again, heat and moisture condense inside me with each flick of my dearest to my most inner sanctum. Then I feel something I have never felt before–not even with him–as Applejack's kisses grow more and more furious; pleasure overflows from every pore of my skin–only it is not pleasure, for pleasure is the gross and fleshly–in a moment of exaltation. With each motion of her tongue, my heart trembles with all the blood in my veins–from my chest to the tip of my hooves–and pushes out my soul, only to have it slam back within my body after the repercussions. Both heart and spirit, working to the rhythm of Applejack's command, seem to pump and fill the core of my womb with all the emotion a mare lives in a lifetime.

Applejack's hastens, and so does my heartbeat. I writhe, under her mercy, and start to palpitate. I lose control of whatever else that remains of me: the eyes that refuse to shut closed, the precarious heaving, the hoof that pulls her closer to me. Even my breathing, lost to me, I cannot control. My whole frame curves upwards, my hips raised to the air. I hold my breath, with the ascending, spasming, tortured reification of surrender to the one whom I love the most in this world–

I cry out her name, as I reach my apex: "Applejack!"

The release outpours from my body, an arc of clear nectar streaming from my marehood. It exits, in time for Applejack to pull back, a white, almost sparkling, liquid ejection. For seconds that lasts for minutes and hours and forever, everything that is me–everything that I am: my love for Applejack, my desire for Shining Armor–quakes in the percussive echo of a loud and desperate spiritual wail.

I collapse, slamming, down on the bed, thrown to eternity and back. The tips of my hooves tremble, and my chest heaves out breaths of life.

I lay there–awake, unawake, breathing, not breathing–eyes wide open, staring blindly at the ceiling. I am muttering something, I do not know what, something about Applejack and something about love.

"W-Woah!" Applejack says. "Rarity, you just... Ah didn't know ya could–"

Applejack's voice comes to an abrupt halt, stopping with the paralysis of shock. I know, even without looking at her–for I cover my face with my forelegs–that she looks to me.

"Hun..." she says, as I feel her move to me. "Are ya cryin'?"

And, just like that, I come to the realization as to why I cover my eyes. I feel Applejack's hoof over my own and she pries my forelegs to reveal my tear-soaked face to her. I look away, shutting my eyes, and wipe the endless streaming lamentation from my cheeks.

"Y-Yer cryin!" she almost screams. She immediately slides next to me in the bed, taking me in her embrace. "Ah'm sorry, hun. Dear Celestia knows ah’m sorry. Did ah do somethin' wrong? It was too rough, wasn't it? Too rough?"

I shake my head.

"Was it because ya... you just... It's alright, hun. Ain't nothing to be embarrassed about. Not many mares can–"

I shake my head again.

She is silent for a while. Then, "Goshdarn it, this is all mah fault," she says. "Ah should've known better that ya weren't completely ready for this yet and ah took advantage of–"

"N-No... It's not that." I stop her, before guilt would cloud her judgement.

"What is it then?" She cradles me in her hooves. "It didn't feel good?"

"No! ...no." I wipe the tears from my eyes and force a smile for her. "It's great, dearest. It's the most amazing thing I've ever... felt. Even better than"–Shining Armor–"the ones before."

"Then why are ya cryin'?"

I shut my eyes and press my face against her chest. "I... don't know... I... I feel so... happy."

But it is not tears of joy that I shed on Applejack's chest, the emotion is not enough to bring me to tears. Rather, it is tears stemming from that pure bliss and happiness, of the guilt of having to feel and receive it from Applejack's love.

"It's awright, hun... Hush now." She rubs my head. "Ah know how ya feel. Ah feel so happy too, now that we're here... And ah feel like cryin'."

“I’m... I’m sorry. You still haven’t–”

“Don’t worry bout me none,” she says, smiling. “Only thing that matters is that yer happy and that we’re here.”

Her words make me cry all the more. "A-Applejack...I love you... I love you so much... P-Please... A-A-Applejack... I love you."

"I know, hun–”

“No, you don’t.” I pull away, gently. I see the horrified look in Applejack’s face, and the tear-drenched mare reflected in her eyes. “I love you... You don’t know how much. I... I want you to know that... that you’re the only reason I’m breathing right now, that I still choose to walk on this world is because you are in it. You’re the only one I want, I realize that now. You and you alone. In telling you this, I’m opening myself up to be hurt by you, because now you’re the only one who can ever hurt me. And here I am begging!–begging without recompense–begging for the charity of your love for me, a love that I cannot live up to.”

“No!” she yells. She grabs me; she holds tight against her chest. “Don’t ya say nothing like that! Ah forbid ya from sayin' somethin' like that ever again, you hearin’ me!? I forbid it! You deserve and earn every bit of mah whole feelin’ for ya. Don’t ya dare tell me yer not worth it, cuz you, Rarity, are the most wonderful mare that ever lived! And ah swear–dear Celestia, ah swear!–on every goddarn sacred and holy testament of everything that ah believe in, that ah will never–ya hear me, never!–ever leave you.”

“Oh, dearest!” I cry out, sobbing on her chest.

“Ah’ll always be by yer side, hun,” she whispers to me. I feel a droplet of her tear fall on me. “Lovin’ ya and nothin' less."

“I-I promise I’ll make things right, dearest,” I mutter, calming down. “I’ll do my best... It’ll be just the two of us. Nopony else will get in our way... It’ll be just the two of us...”

* * *

Perhaps I did not wake up, in fear that if I do then I will find her gone from my bed–as with my prince. I remain here, on my bed, still cradled in the embrace of she whom I have given myself to.

It is still night, the same ethereal night of our first. I watch the gentle sleeping face of my love beside me. She is smiling, no doubt, and it makes me flip through the blank pages of my memory as to where and when was the last time I have seen a pony smile in their sleep. I raise a hoof, caressing her soft cheeks and smooth mane. She mumbles something incomprehensible as her right hoof rises up and holds onto mine.

I lean forward, kiss her lips and toss the blanket as I climb out of bed.

I march down through my living room, snatching the opened letter from above a drawer and the black hoodie, as I make my way out of the house. I close and lock the door with my magic, as silent as my hoofsteps.

The darkest hour is just before the dawn; an hour when both the moon and stars sleep behind the darkness and the sun has yet to rise. Pacing myself through the night, not even the heavenly bodies can bear witness to me or that which I am about to commit. I head north east, just above Sweet Apple Acres and beyond the elementary school, to a small remote hilltop where an empty cabin stands unwary.

It is a relatively small and humble log cabin, the kind one sees in a thousand juxtaposed watercolor paintings. Complete with the thin rippling river on the left and the swaying summer trees on the right. The maple paint is still fresh on the roof, as with the glossy white finish on the walls. The trail of sands and slabs of rock that cuts from the main road, through the freshly trimmed grass, leads to the house’s heart-shaped door mat that says ‘Welcome.’

Applejack would love to have a house like this...

Perhaps someday the two of us will...

I shake my head. I cannot think of it now, not when my horn glows as I prepare to cast the spell:

It starts with a small spark–strong enough to light the end of a cigarette–that ignites the fire, slowly engulfing the lines and corners of the wooden construct. The trail of red crawls on the roof, on the windows, on that welcome mat, until all is swallowed in the conflagration. The towering inferno rages in a sudden combustion as the cabin crashes on top and on itself. The pristine white color is robbed of its purity, reduced to ash and coal black behind the flickering curtain of flame. The wooden beams and foundation crack, breaking into splinters and tinder, as it extends out the blaze like a burnt foreleg reaching for help.

It surprises me, when I fail to shudder, as the moment casts upon me a peculiar delusion: that the sound of the crackle and pop of blisters and the whistling of the fire appears, at the moment, as the sound of the house’s long cry of torment.

The wind fans the flames, and the flames seem to dance in celebration of its hearty meal. I let my spell go, satisfied that what’s left of the fire is sufficient to consume what cinders remain.

Before I cover my tracks and return to the bedside of my beloved, I stop on my feet, recalling the weight of an additional sensation on my chest. I unsheathe the letter–that which initiates my purpose here–from the pocket of my hood. I re-read its contents one last time:

Dearest Rarity,

I hope you don’t mind my writing to you :) I just can’t wait for our next meeting before I tell you the good news: you were right all along! It really just was my maternal anxiety getting worked up over nothing. This week had been the best week of my marriage so far! Shining Armor told me that he’s finished with whatever secret mission he’s been doing all over Equestria and that he promised he’d spend more time with me. And he did!

Last week we went out to go swimming, the day after that we went out on a yacht. Yesterday we went to go see the opera. It was boring as I expected but Shining Armor had his hooves all over me the whole time! Then tomorrow he’s taking me to a fancy restaurant...

I really wish I can share all this in person.

I guess I might be able to in no time. Twilight sent me a letter saying that my house cabin there in Ponyville is already finished and Shining and I can move in anytime next week. I’m so looking forward to it that my baggage is already packed.

Anyway, I got to go, I can see the post office from here (I’m in a ~~carrai~~ carriage, Shining Armor is sleeping beside me. We went to see a movie!) Hope to see you soon!!! :)

Your best friend,

Cadance.

PS. There’s an unopened bottle of Burgundy Pinot noir (sur lie of course), waiting for you when I get there.

My horn glows and the piece of paper is enveloped with the same magical aura. The white moth aimlessly flaps its wings, diving towards the crisp fire.

* * *

“Good morning, dearest!” I say, as I enter my room. “I brought you some bre– Applejack, I told you to stop doing that!”

My orange coated love stands from her prone and lowered position. “Mornin’, hun!” she says, smiling as bright as the morning.

The sun that sprays from the window glistens the fresh sweat she has already worked up. I pout and levitate a folded towel from the cabinet to her. She takes the cloth warmly as she drapes it over her shoulder.

“Seriously, Nurse Redheart warned me against this,” I sit on the edge of the bed where Applejack sits beside me. “It only takes one accident–just one!–before you hurt yourself again.”

“It’s mighty fine,” she laughs. “Ya don’t expect me to lay in bed all day, do ya? A few push ups never hurt nopony.”

“It might hurt you,” I levitate the tray of food onto my lap. “You’re putting too much strain on your shoulders... Now eat up before the food gets cold.”

“What are we havin’?”

“Oh, don’t mind me. I already ate,” I answer. “And these are potatoes mashed in milk with pickle relish and celery. This here’s the tomato soup where I also mixed in your medicine since I know how stubborn you are about it, but I added a spoonful too many of the seasoning to hide the taste. Now... That one’s sour crop with chopped carrots and–”

Applejack is not listening. As I talk, pointing my hoof over each delicacy on the plate, my dearest nuzzles my neck and kisses the small soft spot behind my ear for what she really wants to taste. She wraps her hoof around my hips and pulls me in closer.

“Jacqueline...” I moan, but then hold it back before I succumb to temptation in her still injured state.

“Aren’t ya gonna feed me?” she asks, pulling back.

“What?”

“Feed me?”

“You’re a grown mare," I pout, "you can do it yourself.”

“Can’t.” She flexes a hoof. “Can’t strain these muscles now, can I?”

“That’s not what you say every night,” I mutter. She laughs in response.

I glare at her, at the playful smile on her face, but only for a moment, as her smile is reflected on me. I chuckle for a second, to her own bewilderment. Without saying a word, I use my hoof and scoop up some of the mashed potatoes and hold it up to her.

“Say, ‘ahh,’” I say and, realizing the absurdity of the position, it makes Applejack blush as bright as her favorite fruit.

Her eyes not letting go of mine, her lips open just slightly apart as she leans forward and takes in the food in her mouth. I slowly slide out the spoon from between her closed lips and watch the motions of her chewing and the gulp in her throat as she swallows.

“Ahh... ya know, Rare,” she says, rubbing the back of her head and with her face lighted by a flame from within, “ah guess ah can... feed myself.”

A sly grin makes its way to my face. “Nonsense. Can’t have those muscles straining now, can we?”

I raise another spoonful for her and, after a little hesitation, she leans forward and takes it into her mouth.

“There we go...” I laugh.

“Yer enjoyin’ this aren’t ya?” she says, the food still in her mouth.

I let the spoon down on the plate where, for a moment, I play with the food and let it grab my attention. “Dearest,” I say.

“Yes, hun?”

“Y-Y’know that you’ve been here for... two weeks now.”

“Two weeks, three days, and”–she glances at the wallclock–“eight hours.”

“Yes, well...” I clear my throat. “And your... recovery is going great. Better than Nurse Redheart anticipated. You’ll be able to work back on the farm by Monday.”

“Yeah, so...?”

“So, I’m saying,” My stare remains fixed on my spoon, playing with the food in the plate, my hooves rubbing together, “with all that’s happened... with you and Granny Smith... and that you two are not exactly on the best of terms... and that part where you and Big Mac and... With you living in the barn and... Right now, while we're here... And considering we've been together for eight months now...”

“Spit it out, Rare," snaps Applejack.

I turn to her, and blurt out what I wish to say in response to her provocation: “W-Would you like to move in with me?"

Applejack stares at me, wide eyed and mouth hanging open.

“I-I’m sorry,” I yelp in panic. “It was too sudden, right? Sorry, it’s a big decision and I assumed–”

Applejack silences me with her lips, her body arching forward as her hoof pulls me even closer; our chests touch. I remain pliant and immobile, unable to take my hooves away from the tray on my lap.

As my dearest pulls back, breaking the kiss, she answers:

“Ah’ll have Big Mac move mah things here first thing tomorrow.”

I squeal aloud, my voice cracking, like an excited filly as I jump and throw my embrace around Applejack’s torso. My dearest laughs.

“H-Hey, careful," she laughs. "Don’t wanna spill our breakfast now.”

The morning passes slow and fast for us. So fast, that there is nothing but an empty tray on my lap after the first five minutes. So slow that, in the high and early morning, as the wind rustles the curtain of my room, beckoning in the glow of sunlight, as our legs dangle from the edge of the bed, as I hold up the spoon of a warm breakfast to her, as her crystalline green eyes shine and glint, it is Applejack’s smile, and the beating of my heart, that all I can see, and feel.

Chapter 7: What Big Teeth You Have

Chapter 7:
What Big Teeth You Have

With my last, long moan, I slam back down onto the pool of sweat that has accumulated atop the dining table. Applejack's own slick coat crashes over me, where I feel the rise and fall of her breathing heave against my chest. She settles her head beside mine; her panting is short and ragged, as strings of her fibrillose mane sticks to my face. I chew on the golden strand for a moment–a taste I can relate to that of grain and summer wheat–before she looms over me again, taking my chin by the hooves, and lands a deep kiss onto my open mouth, so hard that a line of our shared salivation dribbles from the corner of our locked lips.

When Applejack pulls back, she does so leaving the both of our faces flushed and smiling–panting for breath, but smiling still.

Our hunger satiated, the craving in her eyes eases. She leans forward, again, and concludes the morning's intimacy with a light tap of a kiss to the end of my muzzle. My forelegs coil around her back, pulling her body closer to press against mine, in the event that she might draw away from me before I have the chance to relish more of her warmth. Noticing the ever familiar gesture, she allows herself to stay there just on top of me.

"Dearest," I sigh, running a hoof down her loose mane. "I'm feeling guilty."

"Why's that, hun?" she asks, giving taps of kisses on my neck.

"It’s this lifestyle we have." I roll my eyes and flap a hoof about. "It’s like... we don’t restrain ourselves anymore. I mean, doing it everywhere in the house in the most salacious positions possible... every morning, every afternoon and every night of every day. There’s no sign of self-control anymore... or stopping. We’re like a pair of teenaged lovers who just discovered the pool of the promiscuous and have no further thought than to drain every last drop. We haven’t even had breakfast yet and here… on the table… Without holding back–"

"Ya look so wonderful when yer mane is down like that."

"–or control over ourselves, we're no better than very, very wild animals in constant heat. Why, this kind of debauchery should be– Hmpff!"

Applejack kisses me, I know she does it to shut me up from my rant; it works every time.

"Y'know, hun," she says, chuckling as she pulls her lips back, "just say the word and ah'll stop spoilin’ ya this instant."

"Hmpf!" I pout at her remark to my apparent eroticism. "Don't think I will."

She waits there, for a moment, smiling at me before she smiles and says, "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Say it."

Again, I pout. "...Later."

She laughs aloud and kisses me again, sprinkling "I love ya"s in between chuckles. It is curious as to why we find humor in it, considering the joke is a remark on my apparent insatiability. After she calms down, she slides her body away. The contact of our flaring lower lips tingles when she pulls back, and it elicits a short disappointed moan from me.

"Dearest...?" I groan.

"Sorry, hun," she says, getting on her hooves, "ah'd love to stay longer but ah gotta help Big Mac on the farm and work double time, ah'm late again cuz of ya."

"Can't we... cuddle some more?" I ask, sitting up from the table.

"Ya don't consider that pre-breakfast lovemakin' a cuddle?"

"Well..."

Applejack approaches me and holds my shoulder. "Hey, ah'll be back as soon as work is done." She runs a hoof down my cheeks. "Then ah'll take care of ya again tonight if ya want, ah promise."

"I'm sorry for being so–"

"For ya being so lovely?" she says, shaking her head. "Never apologize for bein' so amazing."

With one more post-lovemaking kiss on the bridge of my nuzzle, Applejack places her hat back on her head and–picking up some of the broken plates on her path–heads towards the door with her tail swinging from side to side. My eyes remain on her to watch her leave until she vanishes around the corner of my dining room. Several hoofsteps later I hear the entrance door open and close, finally making her exist and leaving me in a house that has recently become too big for me alone.

I sigh; I remain on top of the dining table, pulling myself together and savoring the warm tingles the remains of Applejack’s touch. It will be another several hours before Applejack marches back from work and hold me again.

Seriously, where does she find the energy?

After several more minutes, I finally rise from the table and dust off some of the smudge that sticks to my coat. I begin by first finishing my coffee and eggs florentine, before wiping away the bread crumbs and throwing out Applejack’s half-eaten toast. I make short work of the other messes, of the spillage of orange juice on the floor, of the shattered plate and glass, and of the chair that my dearest upturned in her frantic advances. I make a mental note to remind Applejack to restrain her rowdy behavior to our soft, less hazardous, queen-sized bed where we can at least limit the number of broken articles.

So aggressive so early in the morning... I think, levitating the shards of porcelain to the trash bin. Grabbing me from behind while I was making breakfast...

A small mischievous smile makes it way to my lips as my hoof presses on the still-warm, still-wet tabletop.

And then forcing me down here... to do with me as she wished...

Having thoroughly cleansed the dining room, I move to the sink where I rinse and wash the dishes. Then, afterwards, I proceed to sweep the floor and dust the corners of the already sparkling house. The motion of the simple act of cleaning–of wiping the cupboards or any of the aforementioned tasks–instills in me a strange pleasure which I cannot find elsewhere and, surely, my past self would remark upon with the scorn of an evil stepmother. It is startling to feel the sense of pure joy in the work of providing for the house, the kind of joy one expects, but seldom finds, in the art of dancing.

There is an intimate sense of privacy in our home ever since Applejack moved in–I have seldom opened the store these past few months. It is as though we are already a married couple where my dearest is the mare of the house and I am but her simple housewife. Though the place is my property, Applejack’s ownership of me–in delivering myself to her–also makes the boutique her own; that to clean this humble dwelling where we share kisses and eat and sleep in each other’s embrace, is no different than to wash my body for her to touch.

Not an hour has passed since Applejack left for work and I have finished my chores. If we are to have a foal–Oh, dear Celestia, it is too soon to think of this now!– then I cannot imagine how the completion of my household duties would be this easy. As it is, I find myself with nothing to do. I align some tilted photographs of Applejack and I–and Applejack with I–here and there, adjust a few late minutes from the wall clock, and check if the laundry hanging outside has dried already–which it hasn't. Sitting on the couch, I find myself wondering what it is that I used to do on my spare time before waiting for my dearest.

Then, as though to answer my boredom, the doorbell rings. I jump for it, hoping that it is Applejack, back from the farm, to take me here on the living room floor–quite possibly the last remaining place we have yet to make love in this house. But, knowing that such a fantastic scenario is highly improbable, my hoof stops inches away from the knob. I jump back, running to the nearest mirror, to arrange my mane to the appropriate proportions of its curls. It takes several more doorbells before I finish and finally attend to my guest.

"Coming," I sing out.

I pull the door open and, seeing the mare on the other side, resist the urge to slam it close if not for the fact that her magical prowess far surpasses my own.

"Good morning, Rarity," Twilight says. "I was ringing for quite some time, it took you awhile."

"I apologize. I was fixing my mane."

"Oh."

"You're early this time," I say, scowling.

"I was hoping I can catch Applejack as well."

"She's working on the farm."

She sighs. "May I come in?"

"Yes, you may," I answer, though it takes me a moment before I stand aside and grant her entrance to my house.

I close the door behind Twilight Sparkle as she walks in. My hoof presses against my temple, already I can feel this week's headache coming to me.

Her presence has an aspect that is too acquainted for an uninvited guest, and too business-like for friends. She surveys the house, particularly the photos of Applejack and I, hanging on the living room's white walls, and pictures of the six of us–all of which are of Applejack's property–that remains securely hidden in the corners where nopony would notice them. Twilight levitates one of the group photos, the one Pinkie Pie took after our first Winter Wrap-Up, and places it on display on top of the cabinet.

"There," she says, "much better, don't you think?"

"No," I answer. "I was planning to have a picture of our next date placed there. Applejack is going out of her way to take me to Neighagra Falls."

"Let it stay there in the meantime. You don't mind do you?" She moves to the cabinet and inspects the framed photograph. "Do you remember why we were all laughing here? It was my first Winter Wrap-Up in Ponyville and the first time in a long while that it was completed on schedule. Pinkie Pie wanted to take the picture to commemorate, but it was the first time she used your camera so she couldn't handle the flash timer well. When it started the countdown, Pinkie Pie ran to join us, but she slipped and fell face first on one of the last remaining snow. When she looked up she had a... had a... snow mustache. Then she said something that made all of us laugh."

"No..."

"What?"

"No," I repeat. "It wasn't a mustache, it was a beard. And she said something among the lines of, 'I'll dress up as Santa till this beard wears off' then added, when it immediately melted, 'looks like that's it this year for me. Ho, ho, ho.' Then that's when we laughed together in time for the camera to flash on."

Twilight smiles. "So you do remember."

I lead her to the center table in the living room where I pull up a chair for her. "Would you like some coffee, darling?"

"I'm alright, I just had a big breakfast."

Twilight takes her seat, but immediately turns around, towards the doorstep's shoe drawer, and looks at the hanging brown weaved basket that holds all of my mail. She levitates the hamper on to the table and rummages through its contents.

"Those are private," I snap.

"I'm just looking for–here it is..." She fishes out an unopened pink envelope. "Glad to know you got my letter."

She produces the missive's content, an invitation made from yellow art paper with the edges trimmed to a heart-shaped design. Crayon drawings of cribs, diapers and stars circle the text of comics sans in the middle. It reads:

Hello!
You are invited to:

FORMAL VIP INVITATION

PRINCESS CADANCE'S BABY SHOWER

"Pinkie Pie helped me make it," she mutters, "the drawings... The written invitations were also her idea."

"It's lovely, dear." I say, without even closer inspection of the letter, as I take the seat in front of her.

She shuffles on her chair. "So..."

"So?"

"It's the first time I'm hosting a party," she tells me. "Pinkie Pie will be there, she's helping me with the preparations after all. Last week Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy promised they'd come, even with Rainbow’s wing still... like that... and yesterday even Applejack agreed to go."

"So, I am guessing I'm the last link to complete the circle?"

I look at the yellow letter that she placed so firmly on the table, going to such effort that she extends her foreleg just so she can place it within my reach. I do not even look at the thing, much less show any sign of receiving it.

"Rarity," she sighs. "You know, I'm incredibly happy for you and Applejack. I really am, but–"

"Here we go," I mutter under my breath.

"–you need to fix– What did you say!?" It is not a question; it is an opportunity she gives me to change what I just said.

"Tell me, dear." I do not take the chance. "Did you have to write this one down? Or did you only have to practice in front of the mirror?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You started with the story of the photograph as an appeal to my sentiments." I point to the group portrait of her first Winter Wrap-Up. "Then to be followed with that half-practiced, half-memorized speech about all of us being friends and–"

"Well, aren't we?" Twilight almost shouts out. I notice that her hoof refuses to let go of the edge of the table. "Aren't we?"

I do not answer her.

"Alright, half-practiced or not," she says, throwing her hooves up, "I'm really happy that you and Applejack found each other, and that Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy found each other but... not like this! This... this silence! This constant avoidance and evasion! I can’t stand it anymore. It’s like the group is now torn between your two pair of lovers and I don’t want any part of it. I want to be happy for all of you, together."

"I suppose that you have forgotten but Rainbow Dash attacked my lover. I am not about to forgive her for that."

"From what I heard, Applejack struck first."

"Any self-respecting pony, stallion or mare, will take offense if his or her marefriend was called a slut!"

"Rainbow Dash didn't call you a sl– she didn't call you that!"

"She implied it when she claimed I am cheating on Applejack."

I do not notice, amidst the sudden eruption of inappropriate yelling, that Twilight and I are standing on our hind legs and with our hoof clutched on the edge of the table, ready to upturn it to whoever snaps first. I have a feeling that it is me, as I see the solid composition of her form and the trembling in mine. The both of us notices it, and the both of us turns away in shame; that every week of Twilight's visit, with her innocent intention of bringing us friends back together, would always have to start with a thick air of self-righteous superiority from both the of us and end with the silence from the residue of yelling.

Twilight Sparkle slumps down in the chair, rubbing a hoof against her foreleg. I can see, by the way she looks at the blank flat surface of the table, that she wishes she has taken up my offer on the coffee if only for it to serve as a momentary distraction. I sit down, calming myself as well.

"Darling, can I ask you a question?" I ask.

"What is it?"

"I’ve never asked you this before but... what Rainbow Dash said... about me..." I clear my throat. "Do you believe it, that I'm cheating on Applejack with some stallion?"

Twilight is quiet for some time. Then, forming a conclusion, she answers, "Of course not. You love Applejack, don't you?"

"More than life itself." I lean forward and extend a hoof, reaching for Twilight's own. "Thank you for believe in me. It means a lot that you're on our side."

"It's not about taking sides," she says, withdrawing her hoof from me. "It's about friends trusting one another."

"I'm still glad that you trust me more than you trust Rainbow Dash."

She sighs. "So... does that mean you'll join us for Cadance's baby shower?"

I remain quiet, for some time, before stating my answer in time with Twilight's gasp.

"Rarity!"

"I can't." I shake my head. "It is an unfortunate coincidence, a trick of fate even, that the schedule for the baby shower is of the same date as a prior engagement of mine."

"What could be more important than an opportunity to fix our friendship?"

"Fleur de Lis's wedding," I answer. "It's been delayed long enough and I'm the maid of honor. I've missed a lot of parties since my being lovers with Applejack, but I do not intend to miss this one. The letter is there, in the basket, so you know I'm not making up some sort of excuse."

Twilight does not reach for the basket; neither does her eyes move to container. Her stare, her glare, instead chooses to lock on my eyes as she gives her ultimatum: "Rarity, what's more important: the six of your best friends or thousands of faces you don’t know or even care about?"

I recline back in the chair, staring back at Twilight’s grimace. There is an atypical averseness in how her forehead scrunches and how the intervals between her blinking eyes shorten. Infinitesimal droplets of sweat form just over the line of her forehead. She knows the question is not as rhetorical as she makes it sound.

* * *

I recall that this is the same place where Cadance and I first became friends, in her definition of the word. The bedroom of the alicorn still brims with elegant regality of the luxurious even when hidden beneath the most childlike and childish of decorations. Pink and blue banners flow from one end of the ceiling to the other, the bursts of confetti already litter the tiles, multi colored balloons tie the curtains, and the mini table of the kitchenette is pushed to the center to accommodate the assortment of candies, tarts and cupcakes. The amount of light coming from the bulbs makes it seem it is still high in the afternoon.

"Oh, Applejack," moaned Cadance. She presses a hoof on her cheek, chewing on a baked sweet. "These are amazing!"

"I'd advise you not to have too many, though," I say. “We wouldn't want your baby to develop a sweet tooth as well."

"It's alright, hun," Applejack says, handing my second cupcake. "Ah cut down on the sugar, knowin' Cadance. Ah used concentrated cinnamon instead. So there’s also no need for ya to watch this flank of yers."

Applejack emphasizes her statement with a light tap of her tail against my rump. It makes me glare at her, and Cadance laugh.

"Thank you, Applejack," Cadance says, "this is very thoughtful of you."

The princess finishes her cupcake in two bites and, having wiped the crumbs from her lips with a napkin, she levitates three more from the baker's dozen. The treats floating in front of her, she trots to the other ponies at the end of the room.

"Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy," she calls, "you have got to try this."

Fluttershy's hooves reach out, then draw back, then finally reach out again to take the cupcakes.

Rainbow Dash shrugs, not making an effort to receive the fruits of Applejack's baking. "It's alright," she says, "I'm not hungry."

“Don’t be so modest,” Cadance insists. “I promise it’ll be good.”

Rainbow Dash looks to Fluttershy, as though seeking for further encouragement. Fluttershy, in turn, nods and extends her feathers against her lover’s bandaged wing. The cyan pegasus sighs, takes the cupcake from the princess and takes the bite.

“So?” Cadance asks, watching the pegasus chew.

“It’s... not bad, I guess.”

“Are you kidding?” asks Cadance. “These are great!”

“It’s too fruity for me,” says Rainbow Dash, a little too fast. “I’ve lost the taste for apples for quite some time now.”

At the sound of Rainbow Dash’s comment, I see Applejack’s ears perk up as she places a fresh tray of baked treats on the table. Still wearing that stoic and distant facial expression, her acknowledgment of the cyan pegasus changes her visage no more than if she is to recognize the persistent clattering of an all-too-visible poltergeist.

Fluttershy, by contrast with Applejack, is far too obvious. She glares at her Rainbow Dash and shaking her head in a show of disapproval to her crude statement. Rainbow Dash rolls her eyes and turns away, back towards the bowl of punch that cannot pass judgment.

“Maybe... Maybe...” Cadance says, smiling, “you just need to get used to it again.”

Something else passes through the room, the night’s cold chill in what was not said in Cadance’s words; and, as though by instinct, it makes Applejack and Rainbow Dash look at one another for a brief instant. There is not a hint of threat in the way the two ponies looked into each other’s eyes, only the shared embarrassment that preludes an apology. The glance holds only for a few seconds, and they both turn away again, head down, simultaneously.

It is Cadance's natural sympathy, and not her timidity, that allows her to read the Macbeth-ish atmosphere. She is not ignorant of the fact that a string of tension takes the place of air between the two mares standing at both ends of the room. She is also not blind to the fact that the two parties have yet to even interact since their separate arrival. The bandages that still crusts Rainbow Dash's wing is nothing compared to the dry wounds that bled the pair apart; it does not help either, that it provides Cadance a clue as to what may have caused the injury.

Before further implication passes through the minute gestures of the ponies in the bed chamber, it is Twilight Sparkle, finally coming out of the balcony to announce Pinkie Pie’s late arrival, that wipes away the monotonic silence.

“So according to the checklist,” the lavender unicorn says, eyes scurrying down a scroll, “now’s that part of the party where we’re supposed to shower Cadance and baby our presents.”

If Cadance can still fly, hindered, of course, only by the extra weight of the foal she carries, she would have leapt from her position back to the table in the center of the room. “I am so looking forward to this,” she squeaks out, her hooves rubbing against her cheeks. She does it to try and ease the tension, I believe.

Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy rush to one end of the kitchenette to take their respective gifts. Applejack and I do the same.

“I guess I’ll go first,” says Twilight. Her horn glows, and a flash of purple magic conjures a small pink box sealed with a pink ribbon. “You’ll never guess what I got you.”

As Twilight extends the gift, Cadance reaches for it. “Is it a book about foal parenting?”

Twilight’s hooves stop mid-air, her jaw hanging open.

“Oh, Twily,” Cadance laughs. She neatly opens the gift and produces the exact present she predicted. “I’ve been your foal sitter long enough to know you only ever give books on any occasion.”

The unicorn’s ears droop. “I thought I would be able to surprise you this time.”

“That’ll be incredibly difficult.” Cadance opens the book, smiling as she flips through the pages of pictures of foals. “Though I’m not surprised, it doesn’t mean I appreciate it any less. Thank you very much, Twilight, it was very thoughtful of you.”

The two mares embraced one another as Fluttershy walks up to them, holding her gift against her chest. She extends it with her shaking forelegs and her head bowing, as though she is offering a sacrificial lamb to a bloodthirsty deity.

“Uhm... Y-Your highness, this is from me.”

“Why thank you, Fluttershy,” Cadance says, receiving the present. She notices Fluttershy’s nervousness, and eases it when she bends her knees to match the pegasus’s level. “And please call me Cadance. We’ve known each other long enough.”

Tearing away the blue wrappings, Cadance’s smile widens as she unveils the thick empty photo album.

“I have a feeling,” she says, looking up to the canary pegasus, “that this gift of yours would last for years and years to come.”

Fluttershy is touched by the compliment. Her smile vanishes for a second, however, but comes back when Rainbow Dash hoof wraps around her shoulder.

“That’s Shy for you,” says Rainbow Dash. “Here’s my gift.”

Rainbow Dash takes a small barbell and throws it to Cadance, who catches the object with her magic.

“Oh, another barbell,” laughs Cadance. “I would have never expected that... but I don’t think my foal will be able to...”

“Go on, hold it,” insists Rainbow Dash, and Cadance’s magic guides the exercising instrument to her hooves.

As soon she feels its weight, Cadance laughs, squeaking the dumbbell. “Oh! It’s a squishy toy!”

“Yeah,” Rainbow Dash says, “I had something similar when I was a filly, couldn't take my hooves off it.”

Throughout the conversation of the pegasus and the alicorn, I can see how Applejack's eyes never leave Rainbow Dash, a small humble–perhaps apologetic?–smile creating an upward curve in the corner of her lips. The origin of that smile, I discover as I see the small twitch in my lover’s ear, is the genuine hearty laugh of her best friend.

When Rainbow Dash retires back to her place beside Fluttershy, it is my Applejack who next presents her gift.

“I... uh... don’t know if this here’s appropriate,” Applejack says, holding up a rectangular box. “Ah’ve planned on giving it to ya fer a long time now but...”

Cadance uncovers the box and takes out thin hoofwoven curtains made of white silk and adorned with red abstract stitches of apple simulacra. “Oh Applejack, it’s so... it's simply beautiful.”

“Shucks, princess,” Applejack laughs.

“Thank you.”

“Yer welcome..." She stops for a moment, scratching the back of her head. "Ah actually hesitated givin’ it to ya after ah heard of what happened to yer house. Real sorry about that.”

“Oh, you mean the cabin?” she says, more than asks, ears drooping down. “I heard it was stray cloud from the Everfree Forest that struck a lightning and started the fire.”

“Such a shame. Rarity and me was lookin' forward to havin’ you in Ponyville.”

“I’m having the house rebuilt, a little crisis conscious this time. But you know what they say, lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice.”

“Oh, ah saw that!” Applejack says, nodding furiously. “Did ah ever tell you that mah sister AB is helpin’ with the construction? She’s doin’ a darn good job at it too, even better than our pops did. Ah’d be disappointed if her cutie mark won’t show up once the house’s done.”

They talk, for quite some time, and it surprises me–appalls me, even–when I notice in all of my observations that not once had there been a hint of fakery in the genuine interest Cadance shares in the conversations. Perhaps I have grown too accustomed to the opposite, during my Canterlot parties where a yawn hides beneath a laugh, that I cannot believe anything otherwise. Still, in the middle of her talk with my dearest, her eyes happen to land on mine, and she notices me staring.

Clearing my throat, I approach her. "And this is from me, darling," I say, handing her my own gift-wrapped box.

She receives the item warmly, sliding the blue ribbon out of its knot. One hoof pulls the contents from the container and the other leaps to her lips. It is a white footie pajama and a cap, both of which made of fine hoofstitched silk.

"It's beautiful," she says, holding up the small clothing.

"It could have been better if I knew if it is a colt or filly. I could have overall improved it."

"It's gorgeous as it is."

"Still," says Twilight to Cadance, her eyes on the pajamas, "I think you should've taken the sonography. Pinkie says she's sure it's a colt, but I think it's a filly. Can't speak for the other's though, and the suspense is killing me!"

"We want it to be a surprise," Cadance laughs. "But speaking of our favorite pink party pony, I thought you said she'd be here by now?"

On cue, the sound of trotting hooves and rolling wheels resound from the corridor adjacent to the bedroom. The two large doors swing open and Pinkie Pie enters. Wearing a white toque and white apron, she pushes the dessert cart that serves a large vanilla-flavored cake. The cake, repelling to me, is in the shape of stacked diapers. On the flat surface of the lemon glaze, the following words are written in blue frosting:

ADVANCE HAPPY BDAY
xoxoxoxo

“Cake time!” Pinkie Pie shouts to the air.

"Wow!" gasps Cadance. "You made that all by yourself?"

"Uh-huh," Pinkie answers, clapping her hooves together.

The pink pony slices the cake–a diaper on each plate–and gives one to Twilight before she leaves the balcony. Serving more slices of the diaper cake, she gives one slice to Cadance and one for each pegasus.

"Uh... Pinks," says Rainbow Dash, taking an early bite. "Y'know, this cake is awesome and all but... the vanilla is just the frosting outside, right?"

"Right-o!"

"And the inside is... uh... chocolate filling."

"Chocolates don't have feelings, Dashie.” She snorts with laughter. “They'd be sad if they did because I eat them all the time."

Pinkie Pie laughs so loud that Applejack and Fluttershy are also affected with the contagion.

"No," continues Rainbow Dash, "what I'm trying to say is that, y'know, a diaper cake with chocolate filling? Don't you see how wrong that looks?"

"Nopie-Dopey," Pinkie Pie says, taking a massive diaper-slice in one bite. She swallows the whole thing, without even chewing. Then, cutting up two more slices, Pinkie Pie hands two plates to Rainbow Dash. "Pass this around, would you? Thanks."

I do not think it is by chance–rather, by discreet forethought and calculation–that, when Pinkie Pie hands Rainbow Dash the cake, everypony but Applejack and I already have a slice. Forced to comply with a friend’s request and deprived of any other options to whom that request may be fulfilled, Rainbow Dash approaches us, cake in hoof. She hesitates for a moment, as everypony in the room–even, I see, Pinkie Pie from the corner of her eyes–watches and waits in silence. Heaving out a loud sigh, Rainbow Dash extends the platter to Applejack.

“...Here,” she says, turning away.

“...Thanks,” Applejack replies, receiving the offered sweet, turning away also.

Left with one platter on her hooves, Rainbow Dash turns to me. The smile, which had appeared after my lover expressed her gratitude, vanishes the moment the pegasus knew she would have to extend the same beau geste to the mare she slanders. I wait for it, hoping that I will be able to receive the same gesture she gave to Applejack. But Rainbow Dash squints her eyes and leaves the platter of cake over the nearby davenport, waiting there for me to pick it up.

Applejack’s face scowls as she sees the rude indication, a sign she did not expect from her friend immediately after a display of compliance. As Rainbow Dash briskly turns around, my dearest extends a foreleg to grab a hold of the cyan pegasus, no doubt with the apparent reason to make her apologize to me. I block the hoof in time with my own.

“It’s perfectly alright, dearest,” I explain. Rainbow Dash continues walking back to the others, who stand as dumbfounded as my lover, unmindful of us. “Dash knows I’m keeping watch on my weight. I wouldn’t want a slice of cake to sit in my flanks now, would I?”

Applejack leans forward to me, still furious, and whispers, “If ya think ah’m gonna let that mare humiliate ya like that then–”

“It’s alright, dearest,” I assure her, running my hoof on her back. “It’s alright, please. No need to make a scene.”

Applejack looks at me for a moment, and sighs in surrender. “If you say so, hun.”

“Thank you.”

“But if she so much thinks about offendin’ ya again tonight, Celestia help me cuz ah swear ah’ll be on her face and–”

“Just... just please calm down, dearest. This is Cadance’s baby shower after all. Let’s all just please enjoy the par–”

The interruption comes from the only pony in the room who did not see the commotion. Once again, Twilight appears from the balcony, running this time in a hurry towards Cadance.

“He’s here!” Twilight shouts. Then, turning to Cadance, she says, “He’s running so fast. I told him you’re feeling the cramps and–”

“You what!?” Cadance laughs as well.

“Might as well surprise him!” Pinkie Pie follows with her own laughter.

And then, not even a minute later, with the sound of his galloping hooves raising their excitement, he does come in, bursting through the door, welcomed by a yell of “Surprise” uttered by five ponies in unison and by a blast of confetti that Pinkie Pie showers him with.

The immediate stimulus must have been too much, even for one such as he: the greeting of her sister and the other elements of harmony, the way his wife pulls him into her hooves and kisses, and the sight–from his peripherals–of a certain white coated unicorn mare. All of which renders him speechless.

“What’s the matter, honey?” laughs Cadance, kissing his husband. “Have you been so accustomed to the barracks that a baby shower is this shocking to you?”

“Uh... yes... I mean no,” Shining Armor says, shaking his head. “Twily told me that your water just broke and... Anyway, I was just so worried.” Then turning to Twilight, passing by me in his range of vision, he says. “And that’s in very bad taste, by the way. I panicked!”

“It’s alright. It's the only way I can get you to run as fast as you can from the mess hall.”

“And aren't stallions and colts usually not allowed to a mare’s baby shower?”

“I’m the host of this party,” Twilight says. “I can do whatever I want.”

As Shining Armor continues to speak, both Rainbow Dash and Applejack are drawn in by the courtesy to express their commendation to the would-be father. In the room, only two ponies stand in silence: I and the wide-eyed, hoof-trembling Fluttershy.

She stares at me, that pegasus, with her lips slightly open that I can see that tongue hanging in her mouth. She looks at Shining Armor then to me again, my watchful eye never leaving hers.

I approach her and immediately; she retreats to the punch bowl, as though the mechanics of apparently quenching her thirst would render her invisible to me. Standing on her left, where her bangs cover her face, I take a plastic cup from near the bowl and fill it with the pomelo mix.

“Rarity...” she whispers.

“Oh, so you have something to tell me after all,” I say, smiling for the others to see but she cannot. They cannot hear what I am saying, too preoccupied circling around Shining Armor. “Funny, and here I was planning to make sure you how to keep your mouth shut this time.”

“Rarity,” she repeats. “I... I didn’t tell Rainbow Dash... about Shining Armor.”

“I can see that.” I turn, looking at how the cyan pegasus is able to so easily converse with the stallion. “Otherwise she wouldn’t let her guard down around him.”

“No, I meant–”

“Thank you for telling me that,” I say, sipping the juice from my cup. “It’s good to know that you were willing to slander my name but are still courteous enough to protect Shining Armor and Cadance’s reputation... Anyway, enough of this talk. Surely this isn't the time and place in which I would suggest that you once forced yourself onto Rainbow Dash, so neither is this the aspect nor manner in which you would suggest that Shining Armor is cheating on his pregnant wife.”

“You don’t understand. It wasn’t me–”

“Oh, and by the way, darling,” I say, licking the traces of wet punch on my lips. “This drink contains some alcohol in it. Vodka, I’d like to think. If you’d like to rape Rainbow Dash again”–here she gasps, the breath she takes almost pushing her back and down on the floor–“I suggest you make her drink a lot of it. I still haven’t told her of what you did and she still trusts you. As always, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Fluttershy knows she can no longer hide the gobs of tears that smear her crumpled face, and so no longer bother to hide her eyes. Before she finally breaks out into those foul loud sobs to garner everypony’s sympathy, I beat her to everypony's attention. With a flick of my hoof, I slap away the cup of punch in her hooves. To the carpet the pink liquid goes, splattering all it’s contents in one big wave over the white rug.

“Oh dear!” I say, loud enough for the others to hear. “What happened? You made such a mess of the carpet! ...Oh, don’t worry, darling, I’ll clean it up.”

By the time Shining Armor, Cadance and my friends all join us, I am already cleaning the spilled fruit juice with a cloth I levitate with my magic.

“Oh, Rarity, you don’t have to do that,” says Cadance. “I’ll air it out in the morning.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Fluttershy is saying. But, to the bewilderment of everypony in the room, everypony else but I, the canary pegasus is apologizing, not to Cadance, but to Rainbow Dash. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she squeaks, again and again.

Inconsolable and out of breath from countless apologies, Fluttershy bolts to the door.

“Fluttershy, wait!” cries out Rainbow. She groans and winces as, in the process of her pursuit, her wings snap back from the tight shackles of her bandages as she tries to take to the air. She barely manages a few feet from the ground before she collapses. Without even waiting to recover from her fall, Rainbow Dash trots after the pegasus.

“Rarity!” yells Twilight, her heinous eyes spitting at me. “What did you do?”

“I was levitating her punch to her and, suddenly, her wing– Well, you know how... clumsy she is.”

Twilight groans and follows the pegasi out the door.

Applejack turns to me, taking my hoof. “Rare,” she says, “I know we still have that thing with RD and Shy but... ah need to make sure mah friends are okay.”

She waits for my answer, and I let a few more seconds pass, to make my hesitation more apparent, before I do. “Alright, dearest. Make sure our friends are okay,” I say. “B-But please... don’t be too friendly with Rainbow Dash as of yet... I still don’t trust her as much as I used to.”

“Ya don’t have to worry nothin’ bout that,” so saying, Applejack runs off.

A gust entered from the balcony and blew away the most naïve fillies in the room.

With half of the ponies in the room suddenly racing out through the Canterlot night, the four of us are left in the sudden bewildered silence of the predicament.

“Gee,” Pinkie Pie says, standing beside me. I had not noticed that she has been standing there the whole. “What a party pooper,” she laughs. “Speaking of poopers, would you like a slice of diaper cake, Shining Armor?”

Upon hearing her voice, it makes me wonder how is Pinkie Pie able to stay. I am confident to think that she, too, would have found something odd in the way Fluttershy suddenly ran out of the room and would have also followed in pursuit. The fact that she is here suggest she is either duller than what I give her credit for, or...

No, there is no basis for the alternative but for my paranoiac delusions.

I shake my head. I can no longer make sense of the wild card that is Pinkie Pie. Though I have not seen it in the last months, I am unable to rid myself of the replaying scene in the Jellyfish Room: the straight-maned mare wearing the silver mask of comedy. Even the proposition that what I saw is a mirage conjured by my guilt is downright absurd: I have nothing to be guilty about.

It is not my intention to have Fluttershy run off in a burst of foalish tantrum, nor to have Twilight, Rainbow Dash and Applejack to follow her in pursuit. I only meant to remind the bitch that even now she still cannot disclose of my affair without ill consequence to herself. The fact that her dramatic turmoil even occurred is a fortunate circumstance I could not have foreseen or expected.

Left alone with Pinkie Pie, Cadance and Shining Armor, those three exchange a few words, with the pink pony enlightening the couple as to the obscure details of the cause of our circle’s current unease. Again, I do not know if it is by Pinkie Pie’s sheer innocence or trust of me that she chooses to omit the reasons as to why Applejack and Rainbow Dash fought in the first place. It is also commendable that she plays her role splendidly. That is, if she knows she is playing a role in the first place, or her simple mindedness cannot conceive of the implication of what she knows about Shining Armor; to her, we may be nothing more but two ponies who entered a hotel together after a long night of searching for a Hearth’s Warming Gift for Cadance.

As the pink pony rants on, I steal a glance from Shining Armor. Neither Cadance nor Pinkie Pie could have seen it, of course; a single look from the corner of my eyes as I bat my eyelashes. The glance does not serve as a reminder to him that I am here–I knew well enough that he could not have forgotten my presence–but to show him that she who is here is not just Rarity, but Miss Glass Slippers as well.

Knowing that Shining Armor will no doubt follow me now, from the minute ripple of his legs–an imperceptible motion that is invisible to anypony who has not spent as much time as I pressed against those broad muscles–I head onto the balcony outside, levitating a cup of punch beside me. I lean over the railings, overlooking the Canterlot night, and there I wait for him. Sure enough, given several minutes, I hear Shining Armor excuse himself from the company and join me out on the balcony.

There is only a warning of a few hoofsteps before I hear his voice:

“What the hell are you doing here?” It is amazing how he can speak in the volume of a whisper and the tone of shout.

“Good evening to you too, Shining Armor,” I answer, turning to him. “And since we didn’t actually part on the, say, gentlest of terms during our last encounter, may you please be generous enough to at least humor me with the luxury of a polite conversation first.”

He has yet to remove his captain’s armor; looking back now, it would have been indecent to do so in front of so many mares in their pubescent primes. But I myself do not mind seeing the ribbons of moonlight make those hard silver glint and shine; there is a fulfilling quality to it, as the complete effect would have matched his name. I also remember that not even once, during our encounters, had he worn the peytral and flanchard.

“Answer my question,” he says.

“I guess not,” I sigh. “But please keep your voice down. Pinkie Pie and your wife may still be able to hear us.”

“I thought I made it clear that I never wanted to see you again.”

“And when, pray tell, did you actually make it clear?” I say. “You have to forgive me, darling, I am no expert in the hermeneutics of pony kinesics. Was it in the fact that you avoided contacting me for the last six weeks? Or was it that time when we encountered last, when you so mercilessly ravaged the living hell out of me–even after I begged you to stop–that, after which, I had to remain chained on the bed for the next day, enduring every sore muscle in my body? Or was it that time you swore, by your love for me, that you would be there when I wake up from the nightmare in which you left me stranded, only to find you absent the moment I opened my eyes?”

“If it's bits you want–”

My laughter interrupts him. I do not bother to tone down the sound. If either Cadance or Pinkie Pie heard it then let them interpret the laughter any way they wish.

Collecting myself, I answer him, “Please, don’t say that Shining Armor. It makes me feel like we didn’t have anything special.”

“We didn’t.”

“You’re a bad liar, dear,” I sigh. “Maybe even worse than Applejack. I even wonder how you were able keep our affair a secret.”

“I am living a happy life with my wife.”

“I’m sure. As I am with my dearest.”

"What the hell do you want, Rarity?" He grabs my foreleg, yanking me close.

My eyes stray from his, moving down the muscular tone of his chest to his biceps. I tap my hoof over his, easing his hold. Shining Armor complies, letting go. "I want the same thing you want, Shining Armor. I want us to stop."

He snorts, the stallion equivalent of rolling one's eyes. "...You'll have to forgive me if I find that hard to believe."

"It was not necessarily a compliment," I laugh. "But I love the fact that you have no illusions regarding your own… shall we say, allurement."

"I was referring to your lecherousness."

“...I’m sure you’d know that more than anypony else.”

“More than Applejack?”

What is left of the humor that I have hoped, at least, to put us both at ease in this awkward conversation is gone the second he placed Applejack’s name beside his. I turn away from him, leaning against the railings, and again overlook the breathing city of Canterlot, a dim hum rising above the spires. The sharp jagged columns of the horizon erupt from the pavements of silver bricks. From the clear line of the railings, my hoof slithers to his.

“I really want to stop, Shining Armor,” I say, “for Applejack's sake. As I've mentioned, Applejack and I are happy now. We're ready to get settled. Has Cadance already told you that Applejack moved in with me about a month ago?"

He makes a small nod.

"I expected as much," I say, smiling. "It's very troublesome for her, for my dearest Applejack, as she has to wake up half an hour earlier than usual to walk back to Sweet Apple Acres. Which is already very difficult in itself considering how late we sleep at night because of our... well... I don't need to tell you about that."

"Get to the point."

"I want to protect what Applejack and I have now," I say, the smile vanishing from my face. "There's an innocent charm to it, a particular spell from the sweet innocence of just getting away from it all–this! Canterlot and high society–and just live the rest of my days in the countryside. But it is impossible for us, the innocence, not after what we've done. You want to stop our relationship permanently, and I believe you. I want to stop myself. But we both know we both won't be able to."

"You're wrong about one of us," he says. "I plan to protect what I have with Cadance."

"And I don't doubt it." I lean forward over the railings, resting my hooves over the ledge. "But we can only plan so long and protect so much."

"What do you mean?"

"We won't be able to stop, Shining Armor. We can only delay the inevitable. We are drawn together, as I said long ago, not by something like love or lust, but something less innocent: our necessity to punish our guilt by betrayal and our betrayal by guilt. One of these days, we will push ourselves and be pulled by the other, succumbing to the temptation. Maybe not tonight, not tomorrow, not in the next few years but someday... a day when we realize how much we love those we do...”

Shining Armor shakes his head. “No, you don’t understand, Rarity. This stops now. There won’t be another instance of temptation anymore, no more risk of getting back together. I’ve removed it all.”

“Your denial is expected.”

“And so is your pose at omniscience,” he says. He grabs me by my shoulder and forces me to face him. “Never again, you hear me? If I can’t make that clear enough then I’m sorry. But nothing in this world or thereafter is going to make me sleep with you, or any other mare for that matter, and risk hurting the best thing that ever happened to me. And I hope you do too, for Applejack’s sake if not for yourself.”

I feel my magical grip on the cup tighten. “Don’t you dare uphold that self-righteousness after everything that you’ve done.”

“I’m upholding it, for what I’m doing for Cadance and I.” He lets go of me. “Rarity... we’re not strong enough to do the right thing. We’re not strong enough to expose the truth, but at least we’re strong enough to commit on no longer doing what we know to be wrong. I hope you understand.”

“No, I don’t,” I say, my voice rising. “This isn’t something you can brush under the rug. This isn’t something you can... you can decide on your own! You can’t just give me a false sense of... of hope and then take it away!”

“Hope?” he asks, genuinely baffled. “Hope for what?”

That... you’d choose me over Cadance.

As though reading my mind, he asks, with contempt in each breath, “If I take you, right now, would you be willing to leave Applejack for me?”

The question does not shock me as much as my answer. I know what my immediate response would have been, it came to me, instantaneously, as soon as he asked the question. But what I say, instead of the answer, is its emotional equivalent: “...you abominable bastard.”

“You see, Rarity,” he says, “none of this should have happened.”

I am unable to control myself any longer; I grab the floating cup with my hoof; I throw the contents to his face.

Shining Armor is unmoved, not even with the dignity of a shock as the cold liquid flows from his unrelenting visage. He takes a handkerchief from his breast pocket and proceeds to wipe his face clean.

“Don’t you ever say that,” I hiss between my teeth. “Say that you feel guilty, say that you feel ashamed, say that it is wrong but don’t you ever say that the best days of my life should have never happened.”

My prince stares at me, with the same eyes he had when he confessed that, of all things, it is pity that made him endure me on his bed. Pity–and mercy–as would one give to a wounded serpent, with all the care one can give without the blessing of either love or affection.

He turns away. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Without saying another word, I whip my dress to the air and proceed to return to the bedchamber.

I turn back, only once, to look at him. He leans over the balcony, with one hoof pressed against his forehead. He stands there, my prince, glinting with the moonlight between the grand city of Canterlot beneath and the starry heavens above.

* * *

I fumble with the key in my hoof. It is needless, of course, maybe even stupid. There are only two keys on the chain, one of which is for my suite and the other is for the suite's bathroom.

“Are ya alright, hun?” Applejack says. “You’ve been out of it for quite some time now.”

“I am fine, dearest. I just have... a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?”

"It's just... uh... it’s incredibly generous for Princess Celestia to give each one of us a private suite."

"Yeah..." Applejack sighs. "Mine's thataway, in the next wing of the castle."

I lean my head against her shoulders. "It's such a shame that you won't even get to see it."

I wrap my hooves around her neck. Applejack takes the key from me and opens the door to my suite, eager to get inside. "This is the same room, isn't it?" she asks. "The room when we first..."

"Yes," I answer. "Yes, it is."

Although each suite is exactly alike, it is the air in the room, once the two of us are together in it, that engulfs us the sense of familiarity. How many months has it been–almost a year now–since we have last entered these four walls? I have in my mind some vague semblance of this room which I expect reality to throw and toss about from my memory as soon as the two images coincide–nothing much, but a few rendition in coloring, positions, or shapes of furniture here and there–that I am startled to find that no such distortion occurred in my mental image. For better or for worse, the room is exactly as I remembered; making the memory of my first night here with Applejack replay in my mind more so with vivid clarity: I remember crying on this floor, her picking me up and placing on those same purple-sheets, where then I forced myself on her after I have brought her guard down with a reminder of her attempted rape, and even after my disgraceful attempt to humiliate her as an act of vengeance, she is able to give her feelings for me tenderly and lovingly.

"Ah'm not sure if ah'm comfortable with this," she confesses, no doubt seeing the same mirages that I do. "Don't get me wrong, though. Ah wouldn't trade anythin' to change what happened, it was our first after all and it's the night I got you. But... You know... it wasn't exactly the best night of our lives."

"All the more reason to make up for it." I turn my back to Applejack, heading towards the bed and wiggling my tail. "Can you please help me out of this dress."

She stands behind me, wrapping her hooves around my hips and planting kisses along my neck.

"Oh, dearest," I moan. "Can you please wait until I take a nice bath first? Cadance's baby shower took a toll on me and I'm not as fresh as I'd want to be."

"You're wonderful as ya are now," she says, nibbling on my ear. "And ah can't wait."

"Don't be in such a rush," I laugh, “we have all night.”

Applejack's hooves and teeth work their way in trying to unbuttoning the dress's backside. But as I feel the brush of her touch against the line of my back–sending a tingle all over me–the warm breath of her sigh blasts my neck the same second her body stops all movement.

"Anything wrong?" I ask. I crane my neck to look at her.

"Rare," she sighs again. "Ah can't get through this without telling ya... If ah slept with ya first then told ya later, ah'd feel like cheatin' the truth out of ya."

With how Applejack evades my eyes, I knew that, for her, what she wishes to say is of the utmost importance. Without saying a word, I sit on the edge of the bed and tap the empty place beside me. She complies, sitting as she takes my hoof and kisses my elbows and shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, she speaks, "Ah spoke to RD after Shy calmed down.”

"...Oh." I can only say. I run my hoof against the sheets, smoothening the crumple.

"She was still kinda confused when Fluttershy freaked out and she kinda needed a friend." Applejack stops for a moment and she clears her throat. "Twilight was comfortin' Shy so ah had RD covered. We made up and talked for a long time about some things. That's the reason we kinda took a while gettin' back to the party earlier."

"Y-You talked... to Rainbow Dash." I shuffle back and turn to Applejack. "About what?"

"Nothin' important. About Fluttershy and her, mostly. Then ah apologized for what ah did about her wing and she apologized for hurtin' mah eye–"

"Wait," I interrupt. "I have to ask, who apologized first?"

"What does it matter? We both said we're sorry for what happened."

"It does matter."

"Ah did," she answers. "Ah can't pretend how ah'm all healed up from our fight while she has one more month waitin' before that cast on her wing comes off."

"Did she... apologize for what she said about me?"

"We avoided talkin' bout it,” Applejack admits. “We'll discuss it one of these days."

"Discuss!?" I gasp. "Discuss what? She accused me of cheating on you."

"Ah don't believe that, ya know. Ah'm sure she made it up to hurt you and me, and ah know that soon enough she'll confess it." Then Applejack turns away, her hoof pressing against my knees. "But... that ain't what's eatin' me."

I look at her, and watch the way her whole body trembles and how she fights to open her eyes. I shudder to imagine what can make my dearest struggle to face me.

"I..." she clears her throat, her lips quivering. "Ah kissed Rainbow Dash."

"You what!?"

"Ah'm sorry, Rarity!" she jumps, kneeling below me. "Ah swear to Celestia ah meant nothin' romantic by it. It was just a friendly kiss on the forehead–just on the forehead–while she was leanin' on me. S-She looked really upset, and she was cryin’ her eyes out and ah just had to show that we're friends again and– hun, where're ya goin'?"

I am already on my feet, facing the vanity mirror and my back turned to her. "How dare you..." I mutter under my breath.

She quickly gets up and runs to me, reaching for my hoof. "Hun, ah'm sorry–"

"Don't touch me!" I shriek, before she can.

Her hoof immediately retracts. "Ah'm sorry," she pleads again. "Ah swear ah don't mean nothin' by that kiss."

I believe her, of course. Nothing in Applejack’s nature can even suggest the possibility of betrayal. Therefore, it is not the kiss that bothers me–which anypony can assure that, despite Rainbow Dash’s feelings, is nothing more than a friendly gesture–but the thought that Applejack, being friends with Rainbow Dash, risks knowing about me and Shining Armor. Though it is only Fluttershy who knows of my paramour, it is only a matter of time before she confides with her lover.

Rainbow Dash and Applejack... Their friendship is something I cannot allow...

"I've been faithful to you, haven't I?" I turn to her, my eyes squeezing out tears from my sockets. "I haven't so much as lusted after another. And yet you...! You! And Rainbow Dash of all ponies! She who accused me of betrayal!"

The full impact of the realization struck Applejack right in the face.

"Rarity," she pleads, "lemme hold ya? Lemme talk to ya... Ah'll hold ya now."

Her hoof traces along my quivering shoulders. Slowly, cautiously, she takes me in her embrace; I let her. Then once I am secure in her hold, her forelegs tighten to prevent me if I am to escape.

"Ah'm sorry...” she whispers, her muzzle brushing against my neck. “Ah swear ah didn't think ya'd be hurt that much. Ah'd take that kiss back if ah could... but RD is mah best friend."

"I'm sorry for being so... jealous." I hold her hoof. "Just the thought that you're kissing another...” Then, clearing my throat, I moan out in my most pained voice possible: “Please... please... stop seeing Rainbow.”

“What?” Her surprise does come from my words, but the fact that she knows I mean them.

“Please stop seeing Rainbow Dash,” I croak out. “I... I don’t trust her. She lied to you, to take me away and separate us.”

“Rare, she’s mah best friend.”

As I try to pry myself from her embrace, her forelegs only tighten. She knows, that if I am to look at her in the eye, my ultimatum will be absolute and questionable. Nevertheless, I still give it to her: “Y-You have to choose... between Rainbow Dash and I.”

“Hun...” she mutters. “Don’t ya do this. This is unfair to me.”

“I don’t want to do this either. But you leave me with no choice... I’m sure that even if she’s with Fluttershy now, Rainbow Dash still has some feelings for you. And... I don’t want to live the rest of my days thinking that... one of these days you’ll leave me for her.”

“That ain’t gonna happen!”

“I know! But I also don’t want to think of it happening. So please... if you really love me... forget about Rainbow Dash.”

“Hun,” she is pleading now, “Ah can’t just throw away a friend like that.”

“Then I guess... I guess you’ll have to throw me away–”

“What!? No!” The cry is sudden. Her hold on me tightens further that it is now hurting my ribs. “Ah don’t want to throw ya away! Ah love ya... S-So okay... okay... tell ya what... I... Ah’d stop seeing Rainbow Dash for now, but that ain’t gonna mean we’re not gonna be friends no more. It won’t happen again, ah promise. Ah’d stop bein’ with’er until she confesses herself, how about that? Just... please don’t leave me. Ah won’t be able to take it. ”

“Alright, dearest,” I tell her. I feel her body easing. “I’m perfectly fine with that... Until she confesses that she’s lying... And about that thing about leaving you... it’d hurt me too... more than you will.”

“Ah doubt that.”

At this point, I no longer care if it means that Rainbow Dash and Applejack will never be friends again. If they are going to be, it will mean that Rainbow Dash would have deny her accusation of me. In the end, my dearest has unknowingly given me a win-win situation.

And now, to remove any doubts from my lover’s mind and assure her that she chose that right mare...

I laugh softly, just to show her that my anger is gone. “I was planning to get angry at you for an hour, but your accent gets me every time.”

“Uhh... sorry?” she laughs as well. “Ah thought ah killed the mood.”

“It’s alright dearest.” I press my hooves against her chest and nuzzle close to her. “It was my fault for bursting in jealousy. I don’t like getting mad at you.”

Applejack takes my hoof from her chest; she yanks it, so that my body is pulled to hers. Her foreleg wraps around my neck and she drags my head to meet her lips. It is a hard kiss–still angry perhaps, or desperate?–apparent in the way she refuses to let me go until we are both out of breath.

“Applejack...” I mutter, as soon as our lips are parted. “If you still want we can...”

“Do ya want to?” she says. The blush in her cheeks, as well as the very small and very crooked crease in them, betrays the hesitation found in her eyes.

“If you’re fine with it then I’m more than willing.”

She nods. She takes my shoulders. She gently leads me to bed.

Applejack looms over me, pushing down further with her eyes and hooves, as my own are folded against my chest. For as many times and as long as we have been making love, it is embarrassing that I still maintain a form of timidity during the most intimate of moments. She takes great pleasure in uncovering me from the protective world of my hesitation; I always see it in her smirk and in her attempt to elicit the first moan from me. That I will not give in to her so easily is one of the most entertaining sports in our bed. She unfolds my hooves and pins me against the sheets. Her lips move forward, trailing from my cheeks downwards. I feel the gentle nips of her teeth against my neck. Her bites are softer than before, perhaps because of the recent fight that still gives her a cause for caution.

I find her gentleness, however, more awkward than arousing and, hence, less excitable. Again, I believe it to be caused by the still-lingering tension of our argument.

Feeling guilty, and with a desire to avoid a bad experience in bed, I know I have to initiate the sign that she needs not hold herself back from me. Hooking my hind legs around her hips and shifting our weight, I reverse our position. Climbing on top of her, I pin her by her shoulders down the bed.

“Oof!” she groans. Then, looking at me with a raised eyebrow and an uneasy smile, she says, “You...uh... want to be on top this time? That’s a first.”

I sit on her stomach and clip out the pins from my hair so that my mane is let loose down my shoulders, a style she has a particularity for. Applejack smiles at the sight. She raises her foreleg to my face and gently runs her hooves down my smooth satiny encolure.

My own hooves fondle her chest, her neck, and her shoulders, reacquainting myself with the already familiar texture of her form. There is a peculiarity in Applejack’s body, a distinctiveness that is almost alarming, present in the firmness of her muscles and the sturdy scoops of flesh on her flank; there is irony in that such a solidity of corporeal body must protect in itself something so valuable and so fragile. It is quite different, I realize, to Shining Armor’s own form, which is stout in its respect, yet is in its own right delicate and translucent in its vulnerable openness. I only realize the difference in them now as I search for a part of my prince in my lover; knowing that both are two distinct worlds, I found none. Whereas Applejack is made of bedrock and mountains, Shining Armor is of adamant and ice.

He has always been colder, harder... and more brittle.

I lean forward and initiate the kiss, one I have not given to her before but one I have planted many times to Shining Armor. My tongue dives past the threshold of her warm lips, exploring, with utmost vigor, the insides of her incredibly moist mouth. I hook one foreleg around her nape to pull her close, deepening the wet osculation. I feel tongue there, with mine, just lying flat so my own can twist and thrust unhindered.

With my other forelimb, I grab on to Applejack’s hat so that I can use it to pull her even closer to me; but it produces in her a reaction which I do not expected. In panic, while our mouth still meshed in a sloppy kiss, she muffles, trying to say something, as she extends a hoof to hold me back.

“Wait... w-wait...” she says, catching her breath. Though the light rosiness that lightens the color of her face is still there, Applejack suspends the blush to take her hat off–with both hooves, one on the side of the brim and other under the crown–and place it on top the bedside drawer.

The strange gesture captures my attention for a moment, until Applejack pulls me down against her body and returns us to that kiss which, for that matter, she has only become more enthusiastic to participate in.

At last, after a few minute, we pull back again, robbed of our breaths by one another. I remember when Shining Armor first kissed me as roughly so, when he came unto me in the very same room.

“Yer kissing very... uhh... passionately?” she says, laughing.

You will never kiss me like that, Applejack. One who is rough-hewn towards nature, you are much too gentle, much too loving, to your mare... Unlike Shining Armor...

Between my legs, a wetness already accumulates on Applejack’s belly. She can feel it, or smell it, as the moisture is hard to miss. I spin in place, turning my back to her and face the lower portion of her body. Brushing a strand of my mane behind my ear, I lay flat forward and impress my lips against her slick opening. Applejack moans as I continue to kiss and fondle her quivering crevice.

Soon enough, I feel her forelegs cup my tailbone and pull my rump closer to her face. Then I feel the light tap of her tongue stroking against the line of my sex, moving upwards and downwards, slowly, in that mild motion familiar to her tenderness. It makes me gasp, in turn, right into her slit, before I return the favor of that oral caress.

Shining Armor and I have done this too, I remember. It was that time when we enjoyed experimenting with each other’s body during our stay in the Chevaux-de-Frise Hotel.

I try to match her, returning the mastery of her exuberance. When she strikes her tongue inside, sending in me the vibe of my inner circuits, I do the same in hers. When she runs her lips up the lines of my folds, I follow the same motion in the same delicate affection. When her teeth carefully, oh so carefully, nibbles on my small protruding bud, it takes all my focus to ensure that she is returned of the same favor.

I do not realize when or how, but I find ourselves already lying on our sides. And so when Applejack shifts our weight, we roll together, still interlocked, on the bed, dragging the sheets with us, until I find myself now beneath her and she on top. My forelimbs circle around her flank and pull her closer as I continue to lap at the sweet succulent fluids that so conveniently drips into my mouth. Applejack buries her muzzle between my legs, as her own kisses grow more and more intense. When I feel the shudder in her spine, I feel it in my own as well.

“Rarity...” she groans, “I’m...”

“M-Me too...”

We moan, soundlessly, eyes screw shut and hooves trembling, having carried each other up that plateau of bliss. Captive in each other’s embrace, we continue suckling on each other’s love and wanton. It manifests, bursting in the warmth that both flows and drains to and from our enclosed lips. In this moment, there is nothing else but the circulation of our lust: mine into hers and hers into mine, an eternal cycle infinitum. The union destroys our individuality; there is no more Applejack and there is no more Rarity, there is only she and I, both but not either.

Applejack’s body slumps down to mine as she collapses from her ascent. I, too, am left flat on the bed in the aftermath of having been completely enfeebled. Lying there, feeling Applejack’s heaving chest against my stomach, only now when I have retired from the momentous effort that drained me, do I become aware of my senses, the strongest of which is the precious tangy taste of apples in my tongue.

This taste... I lick my lips, is not Shining Armor’s...

Applejack shuffles atop me and her orange silhouette takes the place of the ceiling that occupies my vision. The band on her mane must have slipped away, allowing the golden threads to spread down, sheltering my face. More than anything else, her femininity shines by the moonlight. She kisses me, in assurance that it is not yet over. We taste ourselves, in that brief kiss.

Gently running a hoof against my cheek and chest, Applejack lays me on my side where she raises one of my hind legs. She runs her kisses there, on my fetlock, moving down to my thighs to carry my attention there and not shock me when, positioning herself, she presses her sex onto mine.

“Ahh!” I gasp, feeling the buss of our lower lips.

I feel the tingle of sensitivity against sensitivity, of prickle against prickle, of the kissing swirls of our lower lips. Applejack pushes herself closer, bucking her hips up in a sudden jerk. It is as though our bodies snap perfectly into place as she does so.

She starts to move; her hips begin to gyrate in a circular motion. It is a slow and careful process, as how a forger would stir liquid metal to control its fire lest burned with a sudden heat. Applejack is careful, and endearingly so, that the sudden stimulation of a strength she exerts–a strength that I have tasted, time and time again, in bed and anytime I am within her reach–may prove too much for me.

Yet, for all her care, why does it feel so lacking where her love for me should fill all?

Heat gathered and lust reawakened, Applejack moves harder. Back and forth goes my dearest, thrusting and bucking her hips. The sparks of fire ignite where she mashes our folds. I see her, looming over me, with her eyes shut in rapture as she rocks us both.

But for all my passionate love for her, and all her violent love me, I cannot help but feel that something is missing, something that should be there inside me. Something like...

Like cock...

I gasp, her mound desperately shoving down mine.

Like Shining Armor’s hard cock rutting my cunt senseless. Yes, the missing piece, my prince’s large throbbing dick molding my inner walls in the shape of his rod. I cannot forget it, the delicious teeth-gnashing pain each time he slams the tip into my cervix; even the sound of it, a loud inner thud, is so loud that I can hear it amidst the squelch and echo in the back of my head.

“Yes!” I moan, “Harder!”

And he will, without restraint, pound me mercilessly as I scream at the top of my voice. He will fuck me so hard that he, too, will be in pain; but pain is not his reason to stop, not when it hurts me a lot more than it hurts him. Yes, he will continue, even after he turns my fuck-hole swollen, bruised and bleeding.

“R-Rarity! I’m almost...!” I hear Shining Armor scream, in the voice of somepony else.

And when Shining Armor cums–oh fuck, the cum! and how I miss it!–it will always leave me in an intoxicated spasm at the sensation of being filled and being completed. I will feel it thick and viscous, swirling in the cup of my marehood and overflowing, squeezing out of me.

I feel somepony slipping out of my body and crashing on top of me, showering me with kisses.

And what of afterwards? Shining Armor will take me again if he wishes, in any way he wants. Perhaps he will make good use of my throat–a fondness he has developed for in our last few nights–or shove my tail away to try and make me scream when he stretches the tight vulnerable hole of my vulgarity.

I feel myself again, when Applejack rolls to my side, behind me, and hooks her hooves around my ribs to pull me into a loving embrace. She pulls me, in that same instant, out of the thin veil of fantasy where my mind had been. And I do not realize it, not until I feel Applejack nuzzling the back of my neck and whispering, so sweetly, to my ear, “Ah love ya, Rarity... Yer wonderful.”

And there I find myself, with Applejack and without Shining Armor, in the bedchamber of my suite where they both have first bedded me.

...Why did it have to end, when it need not be? Why did he abandon me, his princess?

I lay there, wide-eyed, unable to comprehend both the shame and guilt of what I have done: as Applejack struggles to make sweet love to me, how sacrilegious it is that I fantasize of my prince. I take my lover’s hooves around me and wrap them tightly around me chest to assure her–and myself–that not once have I regretted her in my bed. I can only thank my own good fortune that my dearest is unable to see my face right now, for I know that streaked upon it is the remorse for my crime.

She will not understand it, of course. And both her innocence and benevolence would render her unable to imagine that I daydream of Shining Armor in her place. She will only, at worst, believe that the cause of my distress is the dissatisfaction due to our fight and whatnot.

It is dawn now, and I observe the sun rising. The firsts of its rays begin to stretch past the horizon and climb each horizontal step of the window screen.

“Dearest,” I mutter.

“Hmm?” I feel her moan behind me.

“Did you... enjoy it?

She shuffles up, her head leaning on her right hoof as her left runs along the line of my shoulders. “Yeah... Much.” She leans her head forward and kisses my cheek. “Why? Ya didn’t?”

“I did,” I answer almost immediately. “It’s just that... I think we can do a lot better next time... I mean, not that I’m saying you’re bad... It’s me.”

She makes an uneasy smile. “You... uh... wanna go again? Ah can do that if ya want.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I mean... Yes, I want to. But not now... As soon as... Maybe tomorrow night, but... not now. Anytime but now.”

The smile in Applejack’s face dissipates, and is replaced by a steady facial arrangement of one who is struggling not to frown. “Ah said ah’m sorry about Rainbow Dash.”

“No!” I sit up, and grab on to her. I already forgot about the filly. “It’s not that, trust me. It’s something else.”

I do not know why but Applejack’s second suspicion makes her turn her eyes away from me and to her Stetson on the bedside drawer.

I suddenly remember that seemingly irrelevant detail, moments ago. There had been times when, in the heat of the moment, Applejack’s hat will accidentally be tossed from her head and only afterwards will she pick it up. The careful and cautious way she took the trouble to take her hat off a while ago makes me curious about that article.

My horn glows and I levitate the hat from its placement.

“W-Wait! Rarity!” In a surge of panic, Applejack raises her hoof and touches my horn, instantaneously cancelling my magic.

The hat drops to the floor and, from it, something else. The small sparkling object rolls just below my side of the bed and, not until I raise it to the sunlight with my hoof, do I realize that is a ring.

“...Consarn it,” Applejack mutters.

I stare at it, for a long time. It is a silver ring with a small deep-yellow gem gleaming on top. Imbedded on the circlet are the following words: Till Death Do Us Part.

I look at the ring, then to Applejack, then to the ring again.

“Gimme that,” Applejack says, snatching the ring from me.

It takes a certain level of vanity to conclude the first and initial assumption that comes to my mind. Nevertheless, my amour propre and my mind cannot process any other alternative. I do not blame myself much. I know that mares of my age would only want and dare imagine the same romanticized notion.

“Applejack...” I mutter. “Were you going to...”

“A-A-Ah ain’t goin’ to propose!” she recites. Her face scrunches as she bites her lip, her eyes turning away from me.

“You... you aren’t?”

“Ah mean, I am... ah mean, not yet... ah mean... Darn it!” She plants both hooves on her eyes and shakes her head.

“You... you were planning?” I struggle to say. It takes me a moment to realize that I am as nervous as her, and it is only the shock that prevents me from losing it completely.

“Not today, ah mean... It’s uh... uh...” Before she can finish, she flings the sheets aside and prepares to jump off the bed in an attempt to escape.

“W-Wait, dearest,” I grab on to her, before she can leave the bed. “Please calm down, I want to hear this.”

Applejack stays in place. She could not have jumped with how I cling on to her or, if she could, it would mean I will be slammed down onto the floor, a risk I know she will never take. I grab on to her, for a full minute, until her breathing relaxes. And even after, I refuse to let go. I press my face against her broad back, so that our faces will not instill each other the unneeded nervousness that is already there by the sheer topic of our conversation.

It seems absurd now, that having been together for almost a year and making love every single night in the past few months, that the very idea of marriage strikes us as incredible. Incredible, but not unfathomable.

“Are... are you calm now?” I ask, clearing my throat.

Applejack nods, and answers. “Yeah...”

Taking a few deep breaths, I begin to speak: “That ring... Dearest, were you going to... propose to me.”

She turns to me. She will not answer such a question without looking. Her eyes close for a second and she breaths out, for the both of us. Gently holding me away, she answers: “Yes, hun. Ah’m gonna propose to ya.”

At hearing those words, my hooves jump to my lips to withhold my gasp.

“But not yet,” she continues, head shaking. “Not now, not tonight. Not after making great passionate love to ya. Cuz ah don’t want ya answerin’ with ya all fuzzy and getting’ all emotional. When ah pop the question, ah want ya–all of ya–to be there and not caught off guard in the spur of the moment. Ah want to know that yer sure ya want to spend yer whole life with me, and ah want the timin’ to be perfect... Ah don’t know when, but it ain’t now.”

“But...” I manage to say. “That ring? You’ve had it with you all this time.”

“Oh, this little thing?” She smiles, sheepishly. “Mom gave it to me before she passed away. She got it from Granny Smith, who got it from her mom, who got it from her mom before that. Ah brought it here to Canterlot to... uh... to sell it.”

“Sell it!?”

“Yeah,” she says, her eye not leaving the small jewelry in her hoof. “It’s just plain silver, and the gem on top is a fossil of a resin called amber. It ain’t no Celestia's crown but it’s got some value in the market so ah’ll get good bits for it. Then topped with mah savings from the farm, ah’ll be able to buy ya one heck of a purdy diamond ring that’ll make yer Canterlot friends jealous.”

“Applejack!” I almost scream. “You don’t have to do that! It’s a family heirloom. You–”

“Hush, now. No need talkin’ to me bout it. Ah made up mah mind long ago: only the best for mah mare.” She raises a hoof and caresses my cheeks. “And that best for ya will come very soon when a carriage will pick ya up from Carousel Boutique and take ya somewhere to a fancy private dinner with me. We’ll have the best meal of our lives and the best darn musician playin’ yer favorite music. Then when the moon is at its highest, ah’ll go down on one knee and open up a small box and there ya’ll see the biggest, most expensive diamond ring ya’ve ever laid yer eyes on. And then–then!–that’ll be the time ya can answer when ah ask fer yer hoof in marriage.”

My hooves are still pressed against my lips to still my gasp. If I were to lower my hooves down then I do not think I will be able to stop myself from screaming in glee. Looking at Applejack’s face, I can see the planned scenario play out in her eyes.

Clearing my throat, I try to say something. But every time I open my mouth the words are lost to me. I raise my hoof, suggesting that it is my turn to speak on the matter, to which Applejack waits patiently with that confident smile on her face. And I know that only honesty is the proper response to a smile, and tribute, of that kind.

“Dearest,” I say, somewhat coughing in my attempt to withhold a scream of delight. “If you were to... spoil me by unveiling so much of your secret and perfect night then I’ll have no choice but to spoil you myself by saying that... when I see you see there, kneeling before me, my answer will, undoubtedly, be Y–”

Applejack jumps forward and silences me with a kiss. Of all the kisses tonight, this one feels different: anew, awake and alive, as though carrying in it the taste of the dawn and the new day it carries. When Applejack pulls back from the kiss, she leaves me still yearning for another, my eyes still closed.

“Shh...” she says, holding her own hoof up against my puckered lips. “Don’t tell me, not yet.”

I open my eyes, slowly. “You know my answer, Applejack. More than I do.”

* * *

There is an eerie silence as I take my seat on the opposite end from where the hostess sits, even after she says her welcome:

"So glad you could make it. I was afraid you wouldn't come."

"You were always so cordial in your hospitality," I laugh. "I sure do hope you don't mind my coming here uninvited. I was here in Canterlot since last night, as you may not know, and I heard you were having a unicorn-only dinner party. I was hardly going to pass up the chance."

Basket Case answers only in that impish smile for which she is known for. I do not know why she, or her guests, might hint that this barging in of mine is presumptuous. Why, she ought to be honored that I have finally graced her mansion with my presence after those literally hundreds of invitations I ignored.

The waiters surrounding our table tend to us, each one placing a tray of truffles and goat cheese on our plate. A second group of waiters follows the first, placing a wine glass and a newly opened bottle of zinfandel for each and every one of us.

Basket Case continues to speak, in a tone of a preach, to an audience who long wish they have never joined the choir. Under the circumstances of any other sane dinner party, the guests would converse among themselves. But it is the host herself, speaking to everypony in the table as though we are a single pony, with names of Jet Set, Pearl Necklace and the occasional Ms. Rarity popping here and there to shackle our attention, who makes it impossible.

"...which makes such tastes in fashion passé," she says. "Wouldn't you agree Mrs. Ruby Rose?"

Ruby Rose nods eagerly, hoping Basket Case would accept the approval and that the unwanted attention will find a new victim.

It is difficult not to listen to Basket Case's speech, especially when only the sound of her voice, mixed with a few yawns from the others, is what fills the room. A year ago, I would have punched her face for saying the things she does–about beauty being too commonplace–but now I find myself more tolerant to such a difference of opinion, if that half-intelligent slandering of hers counts as an opinion.

I swirl the fluid red in my glass, carefully so that the liquid does not slosh in and against itself.

I wonder why the red wine reminds of my prince, of how he could have dejected me so unceremoniously night after night, encounter after encounter. I never received a farewell kiss from him, something I had imagined, at the very least, if we were ever to part permanently.

Will I ever taste him again, my Shining Armor?

I lift the glass to my lips and drink in the sweet inspiration. The taste, if anything, is of the color of red, and it makes me run my tongue within to spread the nectar in my mouth.

But isn't this what I truly wanted? To part with Shining Armor? So I can be with my beloved dearest?

Again, I lift the drink to my lips. But once the liquid reaches my tongue, I draw the glass away. For it is as though mud has replaced the wine, and the assault on my taste buds tempts me to vomit the contents.

I put the glass down, wondering what sort of insanity have I succumb to that even my perception is perverted. Casting my head down, it is only by my elbow over the table and hooves pressed on my face that I am still able to hold the position of sitting upright.

I sigh, in a deliberate expression of my boredom, running an eye up and down her. It comes as a surprise, a true surprise, to notice that Basket Case, who has recently become one of the more famous mares during my absence, has no feature worth remembering. I have seen her face before, on one of the countless lackeys that followed me so long ago. Her mane is arranged in such a way that she either follows the trend or the trend follows her. Her eyes, nose and mouth are so preposterously and frighteningly normal that one cannot distinguish it from anypony else’s; no, rather, it cannot be remembered through its sui generis. It is as if one is draw upon the average face of the sum total of every sophisticated mare in Canterlot high society, it is Basket’s Case that would be both the denominator and the result.

“...Miss Rarity?” she says suddenly.

My name slips into my mind at the end of the stitched sentences spouting from Basket Case’s mouth.

I look up to see everypony’s eyes on me. “Yes?” I ask forcing a smile.

“I was asking your opinion regarding the subject,” Basket Case continues.

I levitate a nearby napkin, pressing it against my moist lips. “I apologize, darling. The wine strained my attention. What was it you were talking about?”

I expected, to see, from the corner of my eyes, a few giggles and snickers from my undercutting Basket Case’s current position. It is usually the kind of humiliation these mares enjoy seeing. That is why it surprises me to find not one smile among their faces and, instead, scrunched foreheads and haughty raised snouts that nopony would have dared to flaunt on me.

Basket Case clears her throat. “Well, before you embarrass yourself with such absentmindedness, let me summarize that for the last fifteen minutes I have been talking about the superiority of unicorn's fashion sense compared to that of the earth pony.”

“Earth pony?”

An eyebrow of hers is raised. “Earth pony, I’m sure you’ve at least heard of the term there in your Ponyville schools–assuming, of course, your school wasn’t free.”

Before I can wonder as to what impertinence this bitch just suggested, I hear a few giggles from the sides of the tables. Giggles that vanish as soon as I turn to find out from whose source it comes from.

She continues, once the last of the snickers has died away. “You know, such as Photo Finish, Sapphire Shores and that stallion, Honky Tonky I believe his name is.”

“Hoity Toity.”

“Yes, that one,” she says, drinking from her cup. “I remember that he used to be your sponsor? He used to be famous a year ago. He’d be lucky if he has my window drapes to decorate now.”

Again, she summons laughter from all sides of the table but from me. No matter how tempting it is, no matter how close I am to smashing the wine glass against her muzzle, I resist the urge and settle myself with swirling the red fluid.

“So?” she asks.

“So what?”

“The subject matter? About earth ponies ...or should I repeat it again for the second time once more?”

I look around the table, searching for help. But all their eyes are elsewhere. Jet Set is eyeing her untouched plate, Mrs. Pearl Chops is speaking to the waiter, Pep Talk is going out of her way to cover her face with her hoof.

Not one of them does not know that I am affiliated with the Earth ponies that Basket Case has so slandered and that any defamation I may utter will no doubt reach my contractors and potentially ruin any future commission I may have from them. But to oppose Basket Case in her own home, who for some reason now holds the esteem of all ponies in the table, would guarantee a social black mark on my name.

“Well,” I clear my throat. “You know Earth ponies, they’re still in the process of evolving.”

The impish smile that returns to Basket Case’s face, a smile too big for her lips, indicates that she has won this trade of social approval. The others, too, share her grin—a silent laughter targeted at me that only the facade of table manners prevents from unveiling completely. I am amazed to think as to what sort of power struggle happened here during my absence that has suddenly removed me of my influence.

But Basket Case’s next words do not let me amaze for long.

“Speaking of evolving,” she says, “you must be wondering as to where Ms. Fleur currently is?”

“I believe she’s on her honeymoon–Celestia knows where–as her wedding was yesterday.”

“Oh, I’m glad you remember,” she laughs. “That saves me the absolute trouble of asking whether you have forgotten or not.”

“Well, why would you ask such a thing?”

“It was my–I mean, our–first reason to believe as to why the maid of honor would be absent from such a grand occasion.” She tosses her hooves up and a small spill of wine drops on the white tablecloth. “I mean, surely, it is not your intention to have delayed Fleur’s wedding for hours, aggravating her guests, only to turn out that you have no intention of joining the ceremony in the first place... Many of her guests left waiting for you, even after how Fleur boasted of how you were the maid of honor to the wedding... But I'm sure you probably have a good reason for your–ehem–abandonment."

"Excuse me?"

"My apologies. I meant to say absence."

"Well, yes,” I take a pause with the wine. “There is a good reason. A friend of mine is sick and I had to rush her to the emergency room."

"It must have been quite an emergency," she chuckles, "that you are now calm enough to be able to join us for tonight."

"It was a false alarm, a minor cardiac arrest."

"I am glad to hear that... for your friend."

"Is there any reason as to why you would interrogate me as you do now?"

"Again, my apologies," she says. "Consider it a hostess's curiosity to an uninvited–pardon–unexpected guest. Having not attended Fleur yesterday and, yet, having your presence here today would surely arouse some rumors I know we both would rather keep in clean taste. Why, not twenty hours have passed, and already there is gossip of you."

"What kind of gossip?" I remember that I believe once, in my youth, that ‘all publicity is good publicity.’ But, having entered high society, I realized that the phrase cannot be farther from the truth.

"Nothing but scandal and slander, Miss Rarity” she says, with a smile and a tone of a challenge, “I'm sure you've no reason to hear it."

"I'd like to hear it very much, before clarifying them."

"Well"–Basket Case smiles her biggest smile. Nopony in the room can deny that she is enjoying it–"There was this rumor that the reason you haven't been in Canterlot for these last months was because you've settled in Ponyville with your lover. And she's the reason as to why you couldn't attend Fleur wedding yesterday. Then there's that other rumor that yesterday, instead of the wedding, you were with that princess whatsername and her baby shower."

I have to laugh, and laugh fast and aloud, to undercut the seriousness the ponies in the table attribute to the actuality of the rumors. "Oh, dear, pardon me," I say, taking a few more moments to hold back my laughter. "I thought I've heard of everything, but really! Rumors beyond believability circulate in the higher circles of Canterlot? I must have given too much credit to anyone who began, and believe, such a thing!"

The look of half-open mouths and wide-eyed look in their eyes–specifically that of Basket Case–almost makes me laugh for real.

"S-So..." Basket Case sputters, "I... I mean we... take it that such rumors are baseless?"

"Of course, darling. Everypony knows that I have only ever been available as a prize to the bachelors of Canterlot willing to test their mettle in a contest of chivalry. And though no such gentlepony has yet to win my heart, I still have enough years left in me to buy the luxury of patience and being picky."

"B-But... what of Miss Jacqueline?" asks Chatterbox "We've heard that..."

"Heard from Cadance, I presume?"

"Well... yes–"

"That explains it. She, Cadance, has always been after my social ruin for any reason I wouldn't care to imagine. I am trying to cut ties with her–and yes, I did receive an invitation to her... baby shower... But she insists so much on my presence so that I may introduce you to her. But no, before you ask, I did not attend the party. As I've said, there's a dear friend of mine, another Element of Harmony, who had a slight cardiac arrest and whom I had to see in the hospital. As for Miss Jacqueline, she is just... a friend of mine. Yes, a dear friend of mine. We... have no relationship whatsoever."

Leaning back in my chair, I show them my smirk with each syllable that I hiss out. But, as I mention the denial of my Applejack, I am unable to hold the smirk for long, hiding it behind another sip of the wine glass. The fallout, however, is extraordinary. Most of the ponies now stare at Basket Case whose jaw is drawn towards the table. After a moment, she looks at her company at the table who, undoubtedly, expect a rebuttal from her. Having none, she does the unthinkable:

"My apologies," she says, "for being so straightforward in my approach."

At that gesture, I knew, even if she did not, that I have once again won the esteem of everypony in the room. If we were in my own home, I could have pressured her apology further with some humiliating remark about her rudeness. But, considering it is beneath her roof that we currently stay, I am compelled, by courtesy, to accept her apology outright and grant her a retreat without losing face.

"No worries, darling. Such straightforwardness is appreciated if we are to rid ourselves from harmful gossip."

"Thank you," she says. Then she makes a gesture into the air that makes the line of waiters and butlers to rush into the kitchen. Then, turning to me, she continues: "About what you said, regarding your availability, I cannot help but think of my nephew, Bronze Buckle, whom I'm sure you'd love to meet."

The waiters return, carrying in their trays a small plate of soufflé on each. I receive one warmly, quickly taking a spoonful of the sweet treat, before answering Basket Case, "A bachelor of fine quality and nephew to one of Canterlot's most popular hostess? But of course I would want to meet him."

"You're truly very generous, Miss Rarity," she says, taking a bite from her own dessert. "I look forward to–"

The two doors of the dining room burst open, cutting off whatever Basket Case has to say, and a certain pink earth pony dashes in with a multitude of house servants scrambling after her, pressing her leave. But as soon Pinkie Pie–whom I have already recognized more to the bouncing of her body than of the color of her coat–opens her mouth to call to my name, the house servants are forced to consider her as an eventual guest to the party and back away.

"Hey Rarity!" the party pony says. The sophistication of the dress she is wearing–a green gown I made especially for her–does not even compensate for the way she presents herself.

"Pinkie Pie," I say. Startled of this sudden and unannounced entry, I am already on my feet. "You’re not supposed to be here."

"Well," she tilts her head, "remember how you said you'll invite me to all your parties? I think you forgot to invite me to this– Ooh! Is that a cupcake?"

"That's a soufflé," somepony answers.

Pinkie Pie jumps on the table–on the table!–and sits there in front of Ms. Ruby Rye. "You gonna eat that?" Pinkie Pie asks the dumbfounded matron, pointing to her dessert.

"Uhh... No," says the elderly mare, standing from her chair and moving away. "Help yourself."

No sooner does Ms. Ruby Rye give permission that Pinkie Pie swallows the dessert whole, cup and all. "Yummy," she says.

Basket Case, whose expression of shock is now replaced with indignation, stares at Pinkie Pie as if she is about to call the Royal Guard to arms. She raises a hoof instead and a waiter approaches beside her. She whispers something and the waiter returns to the kitchen.

Before further humiliation can be dealt upon my repute, I extend my hoof and beckon Pinkie Pie down. "Get down from there, Pinkie Pie."

Pinkie Pie somersaults from the table and onto the chair where I originally sat. “Thanks for inviting me, Rarity."

"I didn't invite you." ...you little shit.

"You didn't?" Pinkie Pie asks, stroking her chin. "But I thought you said I'm invited to all your parties."

There is no indication, from Pinkie Pie's cheery tone, of a threat or compulsion. "Well, not every party, darling... There are exceptions, such as this one. Which is a unicorn-only party."

"Ohh..." Pinkie Pie's ears droop down. “Okay... I thought that... when you said every party I thought you meant every party.”

“I apologize, dear.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” she says, her ears popping up again. She turns to Basket Case and bows her head. “Sorry for barging in.”

“That’s perfectly alright, little filly,” says the hostess, desperately trying to be tolerant.

“That soufflé, by the way, was super!” Pinkie Pie says, hopping in place. “Do you mind if I ask the chef for the recipe on my way out? I’d like to make some for Rarity and Applejack’s engagement party.”

All eyes on the room, which had been expertly avoiding Pinkie Pie’s embarrassing antics, suddenly turn with unison of a “What?” And among those who voice the exclamation, Basket is the loudest.

“Oh, Rarity hasn’t told you?” Pinkie Pie says, tilting her head. “Well, I guess I get to! It’s a surprise, Applejack told me that even before she was going to officially ‘pop the question’–like balloons–Rarity already said a huge ‘yes.’”

“Applejack?” Basket Case inquires, standing up now. “You mean, Jacqueline. The Manehattanite earth pony and Element of Honesty?”

“Pinkie,” I say, “Maybe you should–”

Pinkie Pie does not hear me, excitedly answering the question. “Applejack is from Ponyville, silly. But Rarity calls her Jacqueline in Canterlot for some reason.”

“That Jacqueline is from Ponyville!?” somepony says to another. “And her name is Applejack?”

Another pony whispers aloud, “She must be a family member of those apple farmers!”

I grab Pinkie Pie by her shoulders and proceed to shove her out. My voice is already rising. “Run along now, Pinkie Pie, the adults are talking–”

“Please,” snickers Basket Case, and there I see the impish smile returning to her crooked face, “join us. I’m sure we can make an exception. Would you want some more of the dessert.”

“Would I?” Pinkie Pie exclaims, mouth watering.

The hoof that I am holding vanishes from my grasp. It is instantaneous; there is no transition of her slipping from my grip. It is as though the pink pony had just turned to air. When I look back, Pinkie Pie already sits in my chair as a waiter lays out several sweets before her.

“So, Miss Pinkie Pie,” chuckles Basket Case, “Rarity is going to get married after all... and she never told us.”

“Rarity likes surprises!” answered the pink little bitch.

“I’m sure she does.” The whole table laughs from Basket Case’s remark. “But when did this union first come about?”

“Oh, that!” Pinkie Pie says, swallowing several of the desserts in one bite. “Applejack and Rarity has been dating together for almost a year now! But Applejack said–”

“Pinkie Pie, I wouldn’t have anymore of this–” I try, but her voice outreaches my own. I no longer know if she chose to ignore me, or is merely unable to hear my words.

“–that she proposed last night.”

“Last night?” Basket Case gasps, in laughter, knowing what is to come next. "Miss Rarity was with Applejack last night!?"

“Yuppers! Last night, just after we went home from Cadance’s baby shower–”

“Enough!” I scream aloud. “That’s just about enough with you!”

The room shakes with stomp of hooves slamming against the floor. Amidst the sound of laughter her element has produced from the ponies in the room, I grab the bewildered Pinkie Pie and yank her from my seat.

"Ow," she groans, as the force I impose upon her sends her knee-first into the floor, scraping her legs as I drag her out.

"We're leaving!" I say. "Now!"

With my magic, I pull Pinkie Pie by her collar and sleeves and drag her, hauling her, out the door.

"W-Wait, Rarity," she says, "my soufflé!"

"Shut up!"

As I open the door, I hear Basket Case's apology coming down from her laughter. "Oh, I am so sorry, Ms. Rarity," she says to me. "As a sign of my apology, I invite your friends to join us in another party. They truly are... more entertaining than you give them credit for. And please bring Jacque– Applejack along. I’m sure we would all love to see your future husband."

I feel my whole body stop and tremble in place, as I turn to face them, those vile wretches of high society. The cackling that erupts from their maws seep and send the shiver to my back. I know the nature of that laughter. It is not the kind of joyous discovery of the serendipitous, that which honors and discovers the great, but the kind of snickering guffaw that debases which it knows to be great and cannot equal. And no form of such a laughter exist so authentically than when it is actualized in the public fall and humiliation of the high and mighty.

I see it, inside their mouths, crumbling like the morsels between their teeth, what stature I have left in Canterlot. From the tongues in them they will whisper of me, the once grand and respected, of how I am reduced to loving a mere earth mare when once I could have had a prince. They will, without the decency or respect of sublimity, point and laugh at me as the object of the sick joke in their parties and luncheons. And if I were to speak, then all will flee to avoid bearing the shame of being my interlocutor. And those who do will do only to amuse me, to humor me, to use me as the object of charity for their attention.

I find myself standing in the rain, imprisoned within the boundaries of the Canterlot royal castle and in the heart of the city. I do not know when or how I got here, or how long have I remained in place, soaked beneath the waters of the sky. Pinkie Pie, her hoof still within my death grip, is twisted behind me. Her mane, drenched in the rain, is a twisted product of curls. Her eyes, I realize, are in tears, and, when I see the bruise from where I hold, I realize that I am the cause.

Regardless, innocence or no innocence, justified or not, she becomes the victim of my wrath.

"Do you have any idea of what you've done!?" I roar at the top of my voice. "Do you have any idea what this will do to me!?"

"I'm so sorry–"

My hooves jump forward, shoving her down the gray pavement. "Do you know what I had to do to get to where I am!?"

I swoop down, before her, once again gripping her hoof. If I had the strength I will have no doubt ripped her forelegs off their sockets.

"Ow," she groans, trying to take my hoof away.

"You planned it didn't you!?" I scream at her.

"Rarity, you're hurting me."

"C'mon, you retarded little bitch!" I claw my hoof into her cheek. "Take that damn mask off! Show me your true self! I wanna see it!"

"R-Rarity?" she groans, as I press her face against the cold, uncaring sidewalk. "It hurts... I-I don't like this game."

Pinkie Pie sobs. Even from the darkness of the night, her tears are visibly distinct from the rainfall. I recognize those tears; it is one shed only by foals who are ignorant to such things as guilt, shame and regret, yet are all too familiar to the pain borne of physical injury.

I let her go and stand to her side. She immediately retracts her limbs from me–I can see a small purple bruise on one of them–before shielding herself back. She does not even look at me, only at her hooves where the pain I inflict must still linger and hurt.

“Pinkie...” I stretch a limb, reaching for her.

In panic, the pink pony recoils farther, as though I hold a knife in the hoof I offer. Wiping the wetness from her eyes, scampering on the pavement, she sprints away into the safety of the distance between us.

I choke on my words as I manage to withhold myself from crying out my friend’s name. But I realize–in brief unwanted flashes of Basket Case’s sneer–that after what she has done to me, I should once and for all disassociate myself from her lest my position in high society be anymore ruined than it already is, or will be.

I stand, desolate, in the dreary mists of Canterlot sidewalks, where no lamppost leads me a path and no moon shines upon me. The city lights have gone now, except for a few dim lanterns behind the fog that serves as a gloss semblance of stars in a crestfallen downpour.

Is this how I fall from the land of the high and mighty? My pride tattered to pieces in how I was so disgraced by the laughter that still rings in my ears? That will no doubt continue to echo in ballrooms and parties for days and weeks and months to come.

I look up, to the black sky. There is nothing there, not even the clouds from which the rain spills. Yet it is from that void where the droplets come to tip and tap onto my face.

If I am crying, I do not have the power to know it.

Have I really no place among the grandiose, the sophisticated, the rich and the elite? I ask, hooves outstretched, to the silent city that was once mine.

There is not a sound from the darkness.

Do I lack the beauty, the grace, the majesty?

A gust of wind howls from above.

Robbed of a castle and amended with a farm, has my dreams ultimately proven unattainable beyond my sleep? Pulled from the heights of the great and the unique, and thrown to the lowly level of the commonplace, the simple and the plain, has fate torn my wings and tied my hooves to the muck? Rebuked by a prince and pledge to by an earth mare, has destiny closed the doors of my life? Am I now to spend the rest of my days in–

“No!” I cry out, a shrill wail that cuts through the air. “No! No! No!”

No... I haven’t lost yet...

A violent shudder quakes my body, an internal tremor that emanates from the cold–but, no, it neither comes from the rainwater nor from the night’s chilling breeze; it is a coldness that can only arise from the lingering nullity of what was once there and now stolen from me.

I can still win, I think as I chew on my hoof, I still have a chance to take Shining Armor... I still have a chance to take it all back.

It’s only because of Cadance...

I taste blood on my tongue and still I do not realize how tightly my teeth clench on my foreleg.

Yes... Cadance...

...If she knew the truth about Shining Armor and I, then...

I walk, forward, to wherever it is I am facing, through the mist and through the blanket of the night. I walk and walk some more, aimlessly, mindlessly, past the mountains of bricks and trees of steel and cement.

...then...

I walk, with nothing but my thought to accompany me, creeping into the darkness where the light will no longer shine.

* * *

The air inside the castle is damp, I can taste the salty moisture by sticking my tongue out to the air. The sky continues to melt, down to Canterlot, in driblets of heavenly tears that weep for me. The drape of the black mass of clouds curtains what light still manages to penetrate the afternoon fog, giving birth to a premature night.

Climbing up the stairs, I find myself alone within the desert of marble tiles, red carpets and silk mantles. But notwithstanding the desolation of a tower that once bustled with a dozen maids and house servants and guards and princesses and princes, the silence is not omnipresent. My hoofsteps are lost amidst the splatter of every raindrop tapping against the granite walls and glass windows as they race in their descent towards this jagged earth. I feel pity for them, the raindrops, for being so infinitesimal and powerless compared to those who tread these great halls.

The red carpet beneath my hooves finally ends several more meters before the object of my destination. I have always felt it, in the back and forth come and go, from the room yonder and the hallway from where I stand, that this stepping out of the red carpet is the anteroom to the chamber ahead.

Not moving from where I stand, I look up, to a lone chandelier balancing just before the entryway. It is a chandelier of considerable size, gilded and embellished with diamonds. It swings, suspended by a light filigree chain, in the air, like the body of hanged pharaoh. I have passed this chandelier a thousand times, yet I have not truly seen it until now in all the rapture of its glory. It is as though the sun outside that is drenched in the rain has hidden itself here, manifesting itself in that chandelier to lighten me with hope for all that is éclat and splendid; It explains to me, whispering into my ear, as to why this sun had shone so dimly upon before. It had hung here this entire time, in this hallway, before the vestibule to Cadance’s room.

Waiting for me.

I hesitate for the last time. I pry my eyes away from the sun and take a step out the red carpet. I raise my hoof and knock on the door.

The knob creaks and the door swings open. Cadance appears from between the slit and gasps, seeing me on the other side. “Oh, Rarity!” she ejaculates, taking me into an embrace. “We were so worried about you.”

“May I come in?” are the words I utter. The tone, however, says: I will come in.

“Of course! Go right ahead.” She leads me by the hoof and leads me inside her bed chamber. She eyes me, from my mane to my hooves, before rushing to the bathroom to grab me a fresh clean towel.

She holds it in the air with her spell until I take the magical grip and proceed to wipe myself clean of the rainwater that soaks my coat. Afterwards, I fling the towel onto her bed.

“You didn’t come back after Basket Case’s party,” she says. “We all thought that something bad happened to you. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I answer.

“Please don’t scare us like that.” She rushes to her kitchenette and begins to boil water in a white kettle. “Applejack panicked and went out of her way to look for you all over Canterlot when you didn’t show up last night.”

She steps out of her kitchenette and looks out of the window, through the balcony, to the drenched city.

“She’s probably still out there,” she sighs, “worried sick.”

“She does that… Applejack, I mean… panicking so easily, as though I’m still a little filly who can’t take care of herself.”

“You should’ve told her, at least, that you’d stay the night elsewhere and be late. Where did you stay last night, anyway?”

“Where is everypony?” I ask, ignoring her. “Why are you alone here?

“Well, I gave the castle servants the day off last night,” she answers. “Most of them still haven’t come back because of the rain. The few who came back, well... I sent them out to look for you.” Stopping for a moment, she adds, smiling: “Shining Armor is in the barracks, training the new recruits.”

Cadance moves to her davenport at the corner of the room. She produces a piece of paper from the drawer, and begins to levitate a quill.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Writing a letter to Twi and the others, telling them you’re safe.”

“Do it later,” I say. “I need to speak to you.”

The raised quill remains suspended in the air as Cadance hears my demand. It stays there a second too long; a small glob of ink spills and blots the parched paper. Cadance puts down the writing implement and turns to me. “Is it important?”

I nod. I stand, and take my usual place at the table. The kettle starts to screech from the searing pain it has suffered over the fire and Cadance rushes to empty its contents into a pair of small cups. The steam wafting into the air carries in them the scent of coffee in one and tea in the other.

“Drink this first,” Cadance says, handing me the cup of hot coffee. “It will help you shake away the rain.”

I look down the porcelain, seeing my own reflection staring back at me in the fluid mud. I hold on to the cup, relishing the heat that steals the cold from me.

“Did you just walk all the way here from–Where were you again?”

I do not answer. My eyes remain transfixed on the drink.

“Rarity, did something happen between you and Applejack?” she asks. It is the first conclusion she can think of. “Did you two have a fight? You can tell me anything, we’re best friends. I’ll be there for you and I will do anything I can to fix whatever it is that–”

I raise my hoof to silence her. She waits for me to speak. But when I utter not a word, she is once again forced to inquire.

“What is it?” she pleads. “Did I say anything wrong?”

When she knows that I will answer none of her questions, she settles herself in the ensuing silence. Perhaps it is because she knows that I am the one who initiated the conversation on my own terms, initiated by my coming here, with neither her foreknowledge nor invitation. It is the first, since our year-long friendship, that I am the one to prompt our usual meeting.

The weight of the silence, we both know, only increases the tension and magnitude of what is that I am about to say; and from the premonition that such a silence, where a pin drop alone would echo in the whole castle, is made necessary, I see, in her dry lips and heaving chest, that Cadance knows that she does not want to hear what I am about to say, but needs to.

I lift the coffee to my lips and take the first sip. The warmth slides down my throat.

“Cadance,” I say, looking her in the eye. “I’m having an affair with your husband.”

Cadance puts down her cup. She places both her hooves on her lap. She looks down on the table, avoiding my eyes. She says only one thing: “…I know.”

The shock, the numbing, unfathomable paralysis of a shock I have so wished, planned and desired to instill upon her, to break her, to shatter her, to hurt her, instead whirls around and strikes me mute in those two words alone.

I lose my grip, the coffee I hold spills on the table. The brown liquid crawls and spreads throughout the white surface, showing the muddied reflection of a wide-eyed unicorn.

I look up, slowly, cautiously, to Cadance, who looks to me with a sad sympathetic smile that is all but hateful. A single tear escapes from the corner of her right eye. She wipes it away, with a flick of her hoof against her cheek.

“N-No, Shining Armor didn’t tell me,” she mutters, answering the unstated question. “I... I found out myself. It.... it was the perfume.”

Perfume?

“The one I gave you,” she struggles to say, “on my wedding day. My... grandmother made it for me and... and... there are only four bottles of it in the world. Two are still unpacked... One is in my drawer and... the last is... with you. A-And... I haven’t opened my perfume since my wedding.”

A diamond heart-shaped bottle...

“S-Sometimes...” she continues, “sometimes... when he gets home late... after... going away for some time... I always catch the smell... on his coat... especially on nights when he’s most exhausted and... sad....”

Unable to look at me, Cadance turns away. She levitates a napkin with her magic and begins to wipe her eyes that slowly turn red as it endures and withstands the pressure of the tears that threaten to flood out.

“I... I don’t blame you, Rarity,” she says. “Neither do I blame Shining Armor. You are my best friend a-and... and he’s my husband. I-If there’s anypony that's at fault... I think it’s me. If... I am unable to make Shining Armor happy then... that’s my shortcoming. If I have driven him to the bed of another mare then it means that I’m not... good enough for him. This is all my fault... I’m a such a failure as his wife. I... I even failed as your best friend when I didn’t put a stop to this sooner... when I first found out. Because... I was scared of losing you both.”

Cadance takes the napkin down from eyes and I see her face again. She is in pain by the smile she forces upon her tear-soaked face.

“B-But when you stopped seeing him... two months ago... and he came back to me, I was so happy. I finally had my husband all to myself again... and he was so happy too... like... like it was the early years in our lives when the two of us first saw each other and fell in love. And then I thought that if... if we can just let the entire affair be a secret and never speak of it then... there wouldn’t be a fissure in our friendship. But now that you’ve... that you’ve confronted me about this then...”–Cadance sits properly, taking a deep breath, straightening her posture upright onto the chair–“...then I would ask you to please stop sleeping with my husband.”

Leaning towards the table, she extends her hoof once again to grab onto mine.

“I-I don’t want you to have an affair with Shining Armor,” she concludes. “But... I don’t want us to stop being the best of friends. I want to say that... for this whole mess... I... I am so sorry.”

Slowly, excruciatingly, I retract my hoof from the gentleness and warmth of her hold. She is shocked, by the gesture, but not as shocked as I when I realize that neither her words nor action contains a hint of fakery. That her forgiveness, her understanding, the burden of shouldering the blame, the friendship she still extends, is as honest as it is sincere.

Cadance, she whose husband I had tempted to my bed, she whose friendship I have betrayed, she who still reaches out the hoof of friendship, has not once, or ever, borne ill hatred upon me. In spite her knowing, all this time, of my disloyalty.

It returns to me, in amplified waves of sudden realization: the still warm coffee she had served me and I have spilled on the table, the blanket she draped over my shoulder to shield me from the rain and I have thrown on the bed, the roof of the castle she provides to protect me from the rain and I wish to covet.

Cadance, the beautiful and benevolent princess of fairytales and children’s stories, the mare whom Shining Armor loves most in this world. The mare whom my own prince believes to represent all that is good and holy in the spirit of all of us, has not once betrayed her very nature. She, who is loved and adhered by all, is despised only by one.

Then I feel it, inside me, the white hot burning fires of rage and cinder that boils and spears my unmoving body. Somewhere in the darkness of my mind, behind my eyes, I see, and remember, a torrent of innumerable images flooding from the depths of my repressed memories from the last days, weeks and months that have passed. I am seeing Shining Armor and Cadance’s grand wedding, and how happy they were, how the world revolved around their happiness, and how I stood there, in the sidelines, holding on to the bouquet. I am seeing them, as newlyweds, beam every time their lips touch in gentle caress, and how I sat, tea in hoof, voiceless and panged with jealousy. I remember seeing the anger in Shining Armor’s eyes, the same anger I feel now when I seduced him. I am seeing the shudder of his spine and the imperceptible tear in the corner of his eyes when chivalry lay devastated against temptation. I am seeing the same chivalry reborn when, two nights ago, the brimming confidence gleaming in Shining Armor’s eyes as he severs what ties that binds us so to return to his most beloved.

I am seeing, right now, before me, Shining Armor’s goddess. If she is to be is the complete reification of the good that he adheres to, then what am I? I, who sits opposite to Cadance.

What am I? What have I always been to Shining Armor?

The answer, I knew, is the reason why he will always love Cadance, and never me.

“...Goddamn you...” I mutter beneath my breath, my hooves clenching against the furniture’s edge.

“R-R-Rarity!?”

“Goddamn you!” I scream out, upturning the table to her face. The violence and hate and anger can no longer be contained within stagnant stillness. “Who the hell do you think you are!? What gives you the right that you can shame me like this!?”

“What?” she draws back, slumping down her chair. “B-but I never... I-I don’t–”

“You, who have everything that I ever wanted, how dare you just let it all go!” Like a broken dam, the torrent of my soul outpours from me and drowns the air in the room. “Your castle, your title, you prestige, your own goddamn husband! How can you treat it so selflessly!? How dare you throw everything back to my face! While I climb out from the muck from where I came just to reach the dream where you are placed simply by the birthright of your horn and wings and crown! You don’t deserve any of it! Goddamn you!”–my hoof snaps, slashing across her right cheek–“Goddamn you!”–another, against her face–“Goddamn you! Goddamn you! Goddamn you!”–again and again, I feel her soft muzzle against the sharp edge of my hoof.

Then, taking her by the collar of her coat, I scream unto her:

“I want it! I want everything you have! I deserve to be called a princess! I don’t deserve that bouquet cast into the sidelines. I deserve a castle, I deserve a prince! I deserve Shining Armor! I don’t deserve that apple farm in Ponyville! I don’t deserve Applejack!”

My own words make me gasp a muffled scream and fall back, letting go of Cadance. I shake my head, trying to deny what I told her and what I told myself.

Mouth hanging open, I re-utter the true meaning of that statement: “I mean... I... I don’t deserve... Applejack...”

Looking down beneath my feet, Cadance is crumpled on the floor, between the tossed furniture and broken cups. A foreleg tries to shield the tears in her eyes and, the other, strokes her swelling cheeks. “Y-You...” she manages to say, barely above a whisper. “You can be happy together.... Applejack loves you.”

When she looks up, I see how the tears have spread to sting the red injury of her face. A speck of blood dribbles down the corner of her lips.

Clenching my teeth, I storm out her bedroom, shoving open the two grand doors with my magic.

“Rarity!” she cries out. “Wait, please! Let’s talk.”

I hear her scramble to her feet and run towards me. I stop and turn, glaring at her. And, for the first time, I see fear in her eyes.

There is no more emotion left. The wild raging fires of hate has burned down to the roots everything that is within me, and, for itself, has ultimately died out in a last puff of smoke. Only the shivering cold of emptiness remains, for I am now nothing more but skin, held together by the physical necessity of being stitched together. I do not even feel the blood course in my veins, nor do I hear the sound of my heart beating against my chest–but that, I knew, has died long ago.

“Rarity!” she cries out again. “We can still work this out. Please...”

I do not wish to hear her any longer. My horn glows and so does the thin chain above us.

“Cadance...” I hiss. “...I should’ve told you this before...”

The chain above snaps–

“...but...”

–and the chandelier crashes–

“...I’ve always hated you.”

–on top of the still-pregnant Cadance.

Chapter 8: Gingerbread House

Chapter 8:
Gingerbread House

The stainless white curtain that slides along the line of the long suspended metal bar serves the same purpose as that of a wall, and so does the orderly who holds me at bay with an outstretched hoof against my chest.

“You need to step back, ma’am,” he says. He is a colt with a light-blue coat and purplish mane. A straightjacket is his cutie mark.

“I can’t,” I say. “I need to be there with her.”

“We’re doing everything we can,” he replies, in a tone that sounds more genuine than rehearsed. “Please stay in the waiting room. A nurse will be with you shortly.”

Another hoof drapes over my shoulder and gently leads me away. “I know you’re worried about Cadance,” says Twilight . "It's... It's hard but we need to get back and give the doctors some room to work.”

“I-I’m sorry.” I allow myself to be guided, pulling myself away from the orderly as I myself am being pulled by Twilight, past through those two swinging doors of the emergency room and back into the adjacent lounge.

Twilight leads me to the long line of empty steel chairs just below the harsh red sign above the door labeled ‘ER’. I sit there, forcing my hoof against my eyes to squeeze the wetness out my tear ducts. I shake my hoof against the floor, making it seem that I tremble. Noticing that Twilight, however, is suddenly gone from my side–by means of teleportation, I suspect–for some reason, I stop the gesture entirely. I do not wipe away what few tears I managed to fake out; I still need those for her, and the others, to see.

As with the curse of every waiting room, there is little to distract myself with. What brings a small humble smile to my face is what I imagine going beyond those doors and beyond that curtain. After all, the same hospital is different for those who remain outside the surgical rooms, seeing nothing but these metal chairs, the artificial plant-life sitting in the corner, and the upright posture of every physician that passes by. It is a different reality altogether for those who lay their backs on that table–a table, it is called, as opposed to a bed–and see the sweaty brow of the nurse’s looming faces, blood-stained instruments, and a green fluctuating beep that slowly blinks away their heartbeat. Yes, perspectival as it may be, I and Cadance see, if her eyes are still intact, the two dichotomous halves of the same hospital. I only wish that soon, say, in a few hours or so, she will also see, as I hopefully will, that white blanket draping over her.

A spot of lavender leans out from the corner of the long narrow hallway, peeking out first from the white coffee dispenser. She trots to me, holding up with her magic a pair of paper cups containing coffee. As she nears, I wipe away the remnants of my grin and resume the trembling in my legs.

“Here,” she says, handing me one of the cups. “It’s not as good as the ones she gives you but we can’t be picky.”

“T-Thank you.” I receive the offer warmly and take a quick sip just to wet my dry throat.

“It’s just coffee…” Twilight whispers.

More than the rancid taste of such a plebeian three-in-one sachet, it is the aroma of this coffee–a smell powerful enough to waft the hospital’s reek of living death and antiseptic–that I find most reassuring.

“No,” I answer, shaking my head. “I was thanking you for being there and saving Cadance. If you haven’t been there… I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

“I heard a loud crash–”

“Oh! So did I.”

“–and ran to it. Anypony would’ve done the same.”

“But only you could have saved her.”

Twilight remains quiet for a moment, considering my flattery. She turns to me, now glaring. “When I got there, just outside her room, I saw you just standing there. You didn’t call for help. You weren’t even crying.”

“I was in shock!” I explain. “What would you do if you saw your best friend crushed and bleeding beneath a fractured and splintered pile like that?”

“I would’ve used my magic and–”

“Not everypony is as talented as you, Twilight!” I tell her, forcing tears out my eyes. “And it’s unfair that you use yourself as a standard where anypony less is a cause for blame.”

“But…” she tries but decides against it. She opens her mouth again, to say something, but hesitates once more. Shaking her head, she manages to let out some words from the lump in her throat. “You’re right… I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

We sit in silence for a moment, a length of time that, sitting here, grants us no measure. There are no means to discern the seconds we remain sitting side by side, faced towards the haunting blank wall in front of us; the clock is within the nurse’s station, and neither of us wants to exert the effort to stand and look at it. It is only when I reach for the cup of coffee resting by my side, and feel the stale coldness of the liquid on my lips, do I realize that more an hour, or more, has passed.

“Where are the others,” I ask suddenly, the silence of the past hour pricking my ear drums.

“I sent a letter to them,” she answers. “They should be here any minute.”

“…And Shining Armor?”

“I sent a letter to the barracks, telling him about the emergency. I… I haven’t receive a reply from him yet.”

“I see…” I take another sip of the stale coffee. “I’m afraid how he’ll take it.”

From the corner of my eye, I see how agitated she rubs her forehooves together. “Y-You’ve... really been great friends with them, haven’t you?” Twilight asks suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

“Cadance and my brother.”

“I wish I can be better.”

“R-Rarity, about what I said awhile ago,” Twilight shuffles in her seat, but still her eyes remain cast down to the floor. I cannot tell if she is bowing her head to me in apology, or is too ashamed to extend the courtesy of looking at me in the eye. “I want… I need to confess something to you.”

“What is it, darling?”

“You see...” She clears her throat. “These past few months I haven’t been completely honest with myself and you. While you and Applejack were avoiding Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash, and I came every week to your place to try and convince you to be friends again, you must have thought of me as some sort of crusader bent on trying to reunite all of us together.”

An irritant, to be more honest, I managed not to say, like a morsel between teeth that one can’t spit away.

“But actually,” she continues, “During those times... I’ve... I’ve felt some degree of… animosity towards you.”

“Animosity!?” A hoof of mine jumps to my chest as soon as I hear that word, such a blatantly vulgar word still sophisticated enough for the drawing room. “I do not think that aside from my stubborn pride, I have done anything to warrant such an emotion.”

“Well, of course, it’s not you!” She shakes both her head and hooves in front of me. “I know that you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s me. It… started sometime between you becoming best friends with my foal-sitter and, well, you having a fight with Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash. I didn't know why, back then, but I guess I know now. You see, I was… jealous. Jealous that Cadance was spending more and more time with you and less and less time with me. You’re the one she talks to about my brother, you’re the one she invites to dinners, and you’re the one to whom she tells her secrets. Even now, you’re here waiting for her beside me... Or maybe it’s me waiting beside you... Perhaps I’m still jealous. I… I imagine this is how you felt when Photo Finish chose Fluttershy over you. A small part of me–and this is what I couldn’t forgive–wants to end your relationship with Cadance. That same part of me wants to think that you’re the one who caused this accident and–”

“Twilight!” I leap to my feet, jumping back. I am not caught off guard, however. In fact, I had anticipated the accusation long before she had even considered it. “No matter what indignation may arise from something as innocent as jealousy, you know I am not capable of something like that.”

“Of course not, please calm down,” she apologizes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for even thinking of such a thing. Please understand that–”

The doors of the emergency room swing open. The nurse that comes out seems to have phased through the door, the speed of her trotting to us is not hindered by the obstacle. I notice then, looking up, the hot red light of ‘ER’ still refuses to fade out but remains there to blink.

“Are you in anyway related to Princess Cadance?” The nurse recites, in the span of a second, in a manner she would have said to whoever it was that sits in these rows of chairs. She is panting, the droplets of sweat collecting on her brow and thick-rimmed glasses.

Twilight and I look at one another. “I’m her sister in law,” Twilight responds. She points to me and adds: “And she’s Cadance’s best friend.”

“That’s close enough,” the nurse says, paying more attention to Twilight than to myself. “Have you contacted her husband yet? It doesn’t matter. Cadance will be fine. Contrary to popular belief, alicorns do not only possess that amplified ability of flight of a pegasus or the magic of a unicorn, but the regenerative ability of earth ponies as well.”

Twilights gasps in joy, and I in horror; the nurse, in her own exhausted and adrenaline-drugged condition, is unable to distinguish either. She raises a hoof, to save our apparent expression of relief for later, as she continues.

“However,” the nurse sighs, “as there have been very little number of alicorns that lived, complication such as these arises, namely: the unicorn foal. No hospital has treated a pregnant alicorn in over a millenia. There’s an internal hemorrhage in Cadance’s midsection and that same regenerative ability that is saving her life is applying too much pressure against the womb. The blood clot is pressing down against the foal’s cranium, which will cause permanent brain damage… To save the foal, we’ll need to perform an emergency cesarean delivery, and in so doing we risk... Princess Cadance. We risk that Princess Cadance won't be able to make it. ..The chances that both Cadance and her foal will survive is only about twenty-five percent... if we're lucky”

Twilight’s jaw hangs so low that it slumps her back into her seat. She is wordless, for that matter, and what words she can utter are not said, but either heaved out in the precarious breathing of her cheat or streamed down her eyes.

“We can’t afford to waste time,” the nurse concludes. “Usually, in emergencies like this, it is the immediate family who makes the decision, but in their absence and in the time we have left, you will have to decide.”

I look to the nurse and to Twilight, who is now unable to make the decision.

I breathe, not deeply but aloud, before I take the nurse’s attention. “So...” I say, clearing my throat, “please clarify this for me: what are the odds in the remaining seventy-five percent that Cadance alone will... not make it.”

“We are not sure. We are looking at somewhere between twenty to thirty.”

Only that much?

“I understand...” I hold the silence for a while, if only to increase those percentages with every passing second. “Please, proceed with the surgery.”

“Rarity!” Twilight jumps up. “How can you be so sure!?”

“It must be fate that... before the accident, Cadance and I were talking about how much it will mean to her to be a mother. That her foal is the best thing that happened in her life and she’d give up everything–even herself–to save it. So... with that said...” I turn to the nurse, “Please perform the surgery and prioritize the foal at all cost, even at the expense of Cadance’s life. I am sure that this is what she wants.”

The nurse turns to Twilight, disregarding my position as a mere friend to weigh on her judgment. “We will not be able to retract that decision.”

Twilight turns to the nurse and I, switching glances. To aid her decision, a hoof of mine slithers up to hers as I force more tears out my eyes to indicate that I somehow share the burden of choice. “Please Twilight," I say, "you know Cadance, you know what matters more to her.”

Twilight shuts her eyes. She wipes the tears off her face. She nods, turning to the nurse. “Please do it... Please save the foal.”

The nurse turns away, and trots back through the pair of swinging doors into the 'ER'. But before she can return to the emergency room, I call out to her, “W-What is it,” I ask, “the foal, I mean.”

“It’s a unicorn colt,” the nurse answers without turning back. She makes her exit.

I return to my chair and, seeing my friend there slumped in her seat, decide to shuffle next to Twilight to drape a hoof over her shoulders. It will be less suspicious, after all.

“This is so wrong,” Twilight says, her voice muffled by her hooves. “Cadance doesn’t deserve this.”

Perhaps she does.

“I... I still haven’t told you,” she coughs out.

I levitate a nearby napkin to her and push the cloth against her tears. “Hush now, don’t talk yet.”

“No, this is important.” She takes the napkin and lets it soak with the endless tears. “When I started hating you, I... started hating Cadance as well. I kept thinking to myself, ‘How come i-it’s Rarity that gets to be close with Cadance, and not me. Haven’t we been... longer than they have.’ I-I... I’m so horrible. I should be on that stretcher, not Cadance.”

I give her what she wishes to hear.

“Please don’t say such a thing and please don’t blame yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” she croaks out. “I am so... so sorry.”

“I am absolutely sure that Cadance and her baby will make it out of here alive and healthy, and you’ll be a darling aunt when you walk out of this hospital with them.”

I cradle Twilight in my embrace as she presses her head against my chest. I run my hoof down her mane and one to her back, feeling the small bumps of her spine. It is fortunate that, in our current position, she is unable to see how I stare at the red light above the door.

I find myself wishing for some freak accident, anything that will have that red light blink out and have a horrified nurse burst out to apologize how they are merely doctors and surgeons and not miracle workers.

How perfect would that be?

I can see it now—the bloody hooves of Twilight holding a red streaked blanket, the dark gory smears stained by her falling tears. She would then look at me, open her mouth and . . . but I would of course not listen, transfixing my gaze instead on the dead foal, and all that that implies. I cannot care any less for the creature’s fate; it will be inconsequential in the end. But the wish, fanciful in itself, hinges somewhere in that remaining twenty to thirty percent.

But if Cadance somehow makes it out alive then... Before she wakes up and exposes the truth, I will have to do prevent her from speaking... I will have to–

My thoughts are put to a stop as several trotting hooves come–not from the emergency room door–from the general hallway. Twilight pulls away from me, having recognized to whom those light steps belong, and turns to welcome the pair of pegasi coming our way.

“We flew in as fast as we could,” Rainbow Dash says to Twilight. She sees me, scowls, and adds, as a matter of necessity, “...And AJ is on her way.”

Before I can reply, it is Fluttershy who, out of concern for the mare in the operating room, immediately diverts the conversation to the subject at hand.

“How’s Princess Cadance?” the mare asks to Twilight. “Is it serious?”

Twilight is rendered mute for a moment, and I am the one forced to answer the inquiry. “The doctors are doing everything they can to save the foal... there’s a chance that Cadance won’t–”

Rainbow Dash darts to Twilight and takes her by the shoulders. It is apparent that she does not want to hear my voice. “Twi, tell us, what happened to Cadance?”

“It’s an accident!” I try again. “The chain–”

“Twi!” Rainbow Dash screams, rattling the unicorn.

Unable or unwilling to shake off the cyan pegasus, Twilight Sparkle finally answers in a string of words broken by a series of sobs. “It’s... an accident... the chandelier... fell... and she... If it wasn’t for Rarity and I...”

“Wait!” Rainbow Dash interrupts. She turns to me and there, finally, I have her attention. Reflected in her glare is the piercing glower of a hawk’s eye over its prey. “You were there when in it happened!?”

The world stops, for a few short seconds, when I see Fluttershy jump to hold back Rainbow Dash from pouncing on me.

I am piecing together, during this pause, the apparent inconsistency in my mind as to why Rainbow Dash would suspect me–despite rightly and accurately so–to have been Cadance’s failed murderess, whereas it has not been three nights ago when she does not even know of my affair with Shining Armor. I can only suspect that it was during–or after–Fluttershy’s hysterical theatrics that the rapist disclosed my secret to her rape-e.

“You did this!” Rainbow Dash roars. Under normal circumstances, she can no doubt break through anypony who tries to grab her. The fact that she cannot now owes more to the danger of hurting her deaf-mute lover in doing so, more than her still-crippled appendages.

Thankfully, before anger pries away reason from what’s left of Rainbow Dash’s sanity, it is Twilight Sparkle–in place of my absent dearest–who stands in her way between us.

“Calm down, Rainbow!” Twilight says aloud, in case she may not be heard amidst the profanities foaming out of the pegasus’ mouth. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s her! It’s Rarity! She tried to kill Cadance!”

“Don’t be absurd!” Twilight, moving forward, stomping her hooves onto the floor. “Rarity wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“She did this!”

“There’s no reason she’d hurt any of us, much less Cadance.”

“It’s because she–” something internal shocks Rainbow Dash into silence. She bites her lower lip.

“It wasn’t Rarity.”

What makes Rainbow Dash stop, I wonder. What is it that froze all that flame? Whatever it is, it manifested itself in Twilight’s face. I cannot see Twilight’s face, for her back is turned to me, but that visage is the full focus of Rainbow Dash’s attention. Did Rainbow Dash see, in Twilight’s eyes, how our friendship would end in pieces if the sister-in-law knew the best friend is fucking her brother? Or did the pegasus see the unflinching confidence in her statement that, to shatter it, would make the bearer crumble upon herself. I like to think, however, that the reason Rainbow Dash hesitates is because she saw her own reflection in Twilight’s still-red, still-crying eyes.

“...It wasn’t Rarity,” Twilight repeats.

Finally, in an act of surrender, Rainbow Dash places her hooves down to her sides as she rests her weight against Fluttershy. It is not an act of calming down, but of surrender, as how a puppet would grow languid if the strings holding it up would suddenly snap–snapping like the chain of that chandelier that crushed Cadance. But perhaps it is a bad analogy, the puppet, for I know that once Rainbow Dash fell to that state of helpless inactivity, it is from my strings that she dangles.

“Y-You’re right,” Rainbow Dash mutters. “You’re right, Twilight... It... It wasn’t Rarity.”

* * *

I run my kisses up Applejack’s navel to her collarbone, moving further somewhere along her neck and muzzle. With my hooves, I press against her shoulder to try and push her down to the bed where we still lay. But I am met with some resistance, and the expensive purple fabrics of the sheets do not even rustle under the movement.

Despite the enthusiasm of my savage kisses, I cannot help but feel the restraint in Applejack’s muscles. As my body quivers, I feel her shudder and tremble against mine; as I moan, it is the sound of pained groaning that breaches the confines of her dry crusted lips.

After several seconds of this exchange, my suspicion is made true when she holds me back by the shoulder.

“Ah’m sorry, hun,” she says. “Ah just can’t do this right now.”

“Dearest?” I ask, tilting my head.

“It’s just that ah can’t give ya the attention ya deserve.” She hits the mattress with her hoof. “Ah’m worried sick about Cadance.”

Even on her deathbed that bitch still manages to intervene with leisurely activities.

“She’s still on that stretcher,” she continues,“surrounded by a bunch of’em doctors and Calestia only knows what’s happenin’ there right now.”

“...Very well,” I respond, pulling away from Applejack. “As you wish.”

“Ah’d just like to hold ya now if that’s alright.”

“It’s alright.”

We sit up from our salacious position. I hold my forelegs above my thighs as Applejack wraps hers around my hips. She pulls me even closer so that our chests touch, even as she nuzzles her face against my neck.

“If that accident had happened to ya...” she mutters, “ah wouldn’t know how ah’d take it. Just thinkin’ bout that hurts mah chest, y’know.”

“I know, dearest.”

“Ain’t ya worried, hun?”

“I was... I mean, I am.”

“But ya seem kinda...”

“Kind of what?”

She pulls back, slightly, looking at the face I refuse to show her. “Forgive me for sayin’ this but ya seem kinda indifferent.”

“Indifferent?” Without offense to my dearest, I did not even know that such a polysyllabic term existed in her vocabulary.

“Yeah. Ya don’t usually want to take the lead unless yer feelin’, ah dunno, happy?”

“I’m sorry if it appears that way to you. I’m trying to cope after what happened to Cadance.”

“That’s some way of copin’.”

“Excuse me?” This time, I hold her back so that her hooves are removed from me.

“Ponies don’t usually wanna make love when their best friends are hurt.”

“Like how you accepted my advance a few nights after you beat up Rainbow Dash?”

Applejack’s face is not a blank, despite trying to be, as a glare still leaks out despite her attempt to hide it.

“I’m sorry, dearest. I shouldn’t have said that.” I push myself into her embrace once more.

“Ah’m sorry too.” She sighs, accepting the apology in the way she wraps her hooves around me.

A knock on the door makes Applejack and I look. We tear ourselves away from one another, dusting off the sweat from our manes and straightening the creases on our coats.

Pulling down the strings of the blinds, the layers of plastic lines fold up the window and the omnipresent sunlight floods the inside of my suite. With the same magic, I grab on to the door handle and pull it open to address the impatient knocking from the other side.

Whereas I expected a familiar Twilight or the rest, Applejack and I are met by the stone face of a royal guard.

“May I help you?” I ask the colt.

“Miss Rarity and Miss Applejack?” he asks, turning to each of us in turn.

“Yes,” Applejack answers. “That’s us.”

“A letter from Miss Twilight Sparkle about the condition of Princess Cadance.” Bowing his head, the guard produces a scroll from his breastplate. He hands the message to Applejack; I snap it from both of them.

Slowly, like that of a filly flipping the semester’s report card, I open the paper for myself to see:

Dear RD/FS/Rty/AJ,

Cadance and the foal both survived the surgery! But the foal needs to stay longer in the incubator. Please hurry and visit them as soon as possible.

-TS

PS: Cadance just woke up!

I suck in a cold gasp; I had never tasted the sting of ice in my lungs as in that moment, my eyes scrambling over that last line.

Cadance just woke up...

Impossible! So soon?

I look up from the letter, to the royal guard in front of me and the spear that rests on his side.

Am I to be arrested? Has Cadance already exposed me?

But the guard shows no indication of imposing his authority. He stands there, waiting for the both of us to comprehend the entirety of the message. As mine is already apparent, in the horror-stricken visage I cannot control, it is Applejack’s reaction that he waits for in the both of us.

“Why that’s great news!” Applejack says. “And here ah was worried sick just a minute ago.”

“Unfortunately,” the guard continues, “there is still cause for worry. You see, though the Princess has woken up, she is still paralyzed by the shock. The doctors don’t know as of yet if she will be able to talk or if she can’t, which is why Miss Twilight Sparkle is asking everypony to come to the princess’s aid alongside Shining Armor.”

“Shining Armor is there!” I try to ask; the sentence came out with an exclamation.

“He was. He left seconds before I did.” The guard flaps his wings, showing how he is able to reach us first.

“Well, so much for relief,” Applejack sighs. “We’ll be there lickety-split. Just let me get mah hat.”

I follow Applejack back into the room, giving a small nod to the guard before magically closing the door before him. I turn my back and lean against the door with the knob behind my forelegs and the slit parallel to my spine.

Applejack walks to my bed, passing through the hazy spotlight of the dark-gold sunbeams slanting from the window panes. A peculiar abreaction washes over me, stemming from the knowledge that Cadance has survive and amplified, most of all, the sight of Applejack, here in the privacy of my room. Standing there, the rays of the sun revitalize the bright orange of her coat, polishing it, even, in a shade of pristine aureate. And even the dust, dispersing around her within that light, twinkles in infinitesimal dots of white as they mirror the sun.

I know that, in a few days or even hours, I may never again be in seclusion with Applejack like this.

If Cadance tells everypony then...

“Jacqueline...” I call to her.

“What is it, hun?” Applejack responds, inspecting her hat before dusting of some motes and microbes from its surface. “Glad that Cadance made it. Alicorns like’em sure do so recover fast it’s scary. Scary in a good way, mind ya.”

“I... I’m not going.”

“What’s that?”

“I said I’m not going... to visit Cadance.”

“Why not?”

“I do not think I am quite ready to face her in her condition. It’ll hurt me too much.”

“But yer that gal’s best friend. She’s waiting there fer ya.”

“Jacqueline, please don’t argue. You wouldn’t understand. I myself have yet to recover from the shock of... the accident.”

“Well, if ya say so.” She sighs, then shrugs. “Still, it’d mean a lot to Cadance that you’d be there for her.”

“Thank ya, dearest.” Hugging Applejack, I give her a peck on the cheek. “I love you.”

“Ah know, hun,” she chuckles. “Ya tell me everyday.”

I lead her out the door, granting her my blessing, and her leave, with another kiss. I want to savor that soft embrace, which, at back of my mind, I know very damn well may be our last. But Applejack, innocent Applejack, does not find oddity in the gesture; for her, it is simply one of the thousands of kisses we have already shared. So she pulls back almost immediately, eager to see to the recovery of our princess. She leaves, waving back to me, with the guard-escort accompanying her back to the hospital.

Even when she is already yards away, I remain standing in the doorway, with one foot in the darkness of my room and the other stepping on to the broad daylight. I watch that glowing speck of beautiful orange shrink smaller and smaller until, around the far corner, she is lost somewhere amongst the towering concrete buildings of Canterlot.

As soon as she is gone, I am left alone in my suite. Sealing myself inside, I lock the door closed and shut the blinds. The golden spotlight, from which my dearest Applejack stood beatified and lavished, is shut off. The room languishes in a heavy darkness that is almost a miasma, and I sit on its center.

I have half a mind now to rush to the chiffarobe and pack whatever dresses and bits I can fit in a suitcase.

I remember doing that, once, long ago. How old was I then? I can no longer recall. Was it sometime around Sweetie Belle’s third birthday–or was it her fourth? I do not even remember the reason. I did it, perhaps, either to get attention or to escape from it, a rare motive for one with my egotism. And when I did go, back then, after having run away, no doubt that it was within Canterlot’s high walls that I sought my recluse, for it cannot have been any place but Canterlot. And I remember how I was there for a short dreamy while, before I woke up and found myself to be a seamstress in dreary Ponyville. How old was I then too, when I first looked back and measured time not in years, but in cities?

Where am I destined to next if I am to run this instant, while I still can?

But as I pry the layers of the blinds, risking in some light, city-god that is Canterlot breathes into me: a great host to all manner of jagged towers and spires of concretes, its colossal castleworks and mansion and palace, its living, breathing regality that sits atop all else; I know that no other city would be a substitute.

At last, having waited for so long, the door to my room opens. I do not need to turn to know who it is, the fact that he did not bother to knock is proof enough that it is him and no one else.

“To be honest, I expected you earlier,” I say. “Shining Armor.”

The room seems to shake as a loud thud echoes within when Shining Armor slams the door shut.

I turn around to see him, giving him the attention he so ruthlessly tries to evoke.

From the eyes of those whom are not ours, one may see a familiarity in the scene. I, too, can remember it as well. It is the first night of Shining Armor and I. And I cannot forget how, in this very same room, he stands then as he stands now: powerful, furious, menacing and merciless. He has the same face as he did back then, that which appeared, and felt, to be carved from the shard of a monolith.

But there is a significant difference, of then and of now. Of then, Shining Armor was fearful of what he can, he will, and he did to me; and I am but the frightened and excitable little virgin who quivers at the thought being subverted by a prince. Of now, Shining Armor holds in himself the confidence of being in the right; and I, try as I might, cannot find a hint of fear in me. I want to say to him how we have matured so much and traveled so far in only a span of a year since our first night, and this, now, is the unforeseen inevitability resulting from the mistakes of our younger selves.

“Good afternoon,” I tell him, “though I might say that I expected you sooner. This, however, saves me the trouble of looking for you. As I, too, have something of grave importance to say. So, who shall go first?”

Shining Armor marches toward me, his hooves making no sound against the tiles. Once within the reach of his forelegs, Shining Armor grabs me by the shoulder and pushes me against the wall. I feel my back slam against the granite, and the sudden motion pulls the string of the blinds.

“I see that you do not see me enough of a lady to permit me the initiative,” I smile. “Very well then, dear, speak your mind.”

Several thin layers of sunlight splay lines of yellow across Shining Armor’s front, inch-long levels of gleam that outlines what should have been a shadowy figure in the dark. The armor he wears sparkles under those layers, to a glinting hue of the shade’s color that permeates its wearer a saintly, almost angelic, beauty in itself. Even as he glares down, with the eyes of a manticore and the visage of an impassive judicator, I cannot help but think of how much I missed his touch on me, his hooves all over my body and my body all over his. I resist the temptation to kneel down and run my tongue against his wide chest, his broad shoulders, his sturdy–

“Did you try to kill my wife?” he asks.

“It makes me think,” I answer, “whether you would accuse Cadance of murder if I was the one who was crushed by that chandelier.”

“This isn’t a joke anymore!” he roars. “This is my wife’s life we’re talking about.”

What’s the difference? I’d like to say to him, if not that the humor is misplaced.

“Your wife!” I screech. “It’s always been about Cadance because she’s your wife, isn’t it? Even as you fucked me, you were thinking of her every time, weren’t you?”

Teeth clenching, Shining Armor grabs me by my foreleg and shoves me down to the floor. I fall on my knees with a thud.

“If she wasn’t your wife you wouldn’t care for her as you do now!” I scream to the floor.

“Did you try to kill Cadance!?” he roars.

Turning to him, teeth flared, I answer: “So what if I did!?”

Shining Armor’s hoof, reaching for my mane with an intention to pull, freezes into stillness as he hears my words. Before he can recover, I shout:

“What if I did?” I repeat, forcing tears out from my ducts. “Would you have come back to me? Would you have gone to me once Cadance died? What would I get with her death... So it wasn’t by her death that I’ll get you, but yours. If Cadance knew about us then, and maybe then–! ...But before I can tell her... the accident beat me to it. To be honest, I do not know if it was fortunate for me or not. But it happened... You see, no... I didn’t try to kill Cadance... But if somepony did, I’d like to write him a big fat check.”

Shining Armor raises the frozen hoof, no doubt to slash it against my face. I bite my teeth, in turn, showing him that I have no intention of hiding my cheeks. And he, looking down at me with rage fueling that raised limb, douses the hot fury when he shuts his eyes and moves down his shaking fist back to his chest. Breathing out the puffs of flame that had gone out, Shining Armor holds his hoof against his throbbing temple. He collapses, slumping down the bed, to a state of helpless inactivity.

Knowing that his moment has come and gone, along with the dangerous emotions it has elicited, I figure that now more than ever, while his heart is at its most vulnerable, is the apt moment for me to play my turn.

Standing up, I say to him, “Now that you have said–or asked, rather–what it is it that troubles you, will you now permit me to speak what I have in mind?”

Shining Armor does not reply. I trot pass him, back to those window blinds once more, shutting them close. Conversations such as this, after all, are not to be discussed in broad daylight.

“You know, Shining Armor,” I say, “As a filly my parents always heralded me to be a bright young unicorn, smart and with a good head on my shoulders. Even my father’s eventual customers–he was a jeweler, you remember–all praise me of having those necessary traits a mare must have if she is to survive in this concrete jungle: brains, beauty... and cunning. I just did not think that my conquest would be this great... or this difficult.”

I move to the nearby cabinet. I levitate from it my cigarette case and pluck out a stick. I tap one end of the roll on the surface, before sparking it to life with my magic and placing it between my lips.

“Shining Armor,” I say, breathing out a thick clump of smoke, “you will leave Cadance... for me.”

I said it, not as an imperative, but in the manner one would pronounce an impartial fact.

“Am I?” It is not a question, but a challenge.

“Yes.”

“What impudent conceit made you assume I’ll–” He stops. He looks up. “Unless you have some sort of blackjack you want to spring on me.”

This time I merely look at him. I take a long deep drag of the cigarette and open my mouth, letting out the curls of gray suspended between my lips.

“...the affair,” he concludes. “If I don’t leave Cadance for you then you’ll expose me.”

“In principle, yes,” I respond, “but not quite.”

“Nothing!” Shining Armor leaps to his feet. “And I mean nothing you can do or say will make me–”

“I’m pregnant.”

And there, plastered on Shining Armor’s face–in the sudden widening of his white eyes, of his jaw that parts and is drawn open, in the scrunched muzzle–is the absolute expression of repulsed stupefaction. The moment hangs, with me repeatedly emitting the room’s effluvium of tobacco-waste.

“Let me begin by saying that ‘yes’, this child is yours. I have not slept with any other stallion. I wouldn’t sink so low as to give any of them the privilege. Not after what I have achieved in your bed.”

I do not know if he hears me, as the phrase ‘I’m pregnant’ no doubt still rings in his ears. And as though the weight of those words alone drags him down, he sits, slumping on the bed.

Looking at him like that, struck with fear versus an inexplicable horror, I feel a growing contempt for his display of consternation.

“Oh, don’t sit there shocked!” I say, throwing my cigarette against the wall. “You have no right to uphold that innocent superiority of being shocked, you are in on it. This thing in my womb is mine as much as it yours.”

Placing my hoof against my navel, and making sure he sees the gesture and what it represents, I give him enough time to think before I proceed. The moment does not come, however, and I speak, hoping that my words will slip through the tangled webs of his mind.

“You may meditate on the further implication of this... revelation, but I only ever limit myself to the social dimension of the consequences. Specifically, when the news and gossip spread throughout Canterlot that I, the great Miss Rarity, was impregnated by Prince Shining Armor. No, dear, I do not intend to harm you. I will not have your honor smeared, as even I know that nothing I can do to you will make you come to me. So, I am telling you frankly that the object of this smear is not you...”

“...but Cadance,” he mutters, completing the sentence.

“I’m glad you understand.” I take out another cigarette from the case and light it. “If a scandal of this nature is made public–by professional manure slingers such as Miss Basket Case or Miss Pep Talk or I–it will do no actual damage to you or your reputation. Nopony will be surprised. In this day and age, society expects affairs such as this from every stallion. Beyond a few glances and raised eyebrows in ballroom parties, you will get off easily. Quite the contrary, now that I think about it, the scandal will produce for you the reverse effect. For having impregnated both an alicorn princess and Element of Harmony, you will receive among your fellow colts and stallions the prestige of envy and pride for the undertaking, and achievement, of a conquest of such magnitude; for the mares, you will receive an aura of sensual glamour, all of them wishing to be your next prize and be labeled among the ranks of Cadance and myself. You will be looked up to, admired and even lusted for...

“But what of Cadance? What about sweet and dearly innocent Cadance? Your love, saint and goddess? What about her image of reflecting the supposed romantic idealism? What would she be, in the eyes of everypony that meets her? Will she be branded as a failed lover? A bad wife? Sexually unsatisfying that you so have to cheat on her not a year since your wedding? I will leave all these questions for you to evaluate... and to consider.”

Without looking up, Shining Armor responds from what self-esteem that has yet to crumble. “B-but... if you make this public, then your own reputation would be in jeopardy.”

“Yes, it will.”

“And your own social standing means much more to you than ours is to us.”

“It does.”

“You’ll be humiliated, for whoring yourself to me... which you actually are.”

“I will go down; there is no doubt about that.” I answer, lighting another cigarette. “But, make no mistake, I’ll be sure to take Cadance down with me...”

“You’re insane–”

“Otherwise,” I interrupt, ignoring his insult. “I’d abort the foal and remove any evidence of our affair.”

“Y-You’d use your own child–”

“Not my child, Shining Armor,” I hiss, plucking the cigarette from my teeth. “Ours. Our child. Our foal. Our sin, finally made real, for the world to see—a breathing living reminder of what I am and what Cadance is not.”

“This is monstrous!”

“And there was a time–mind you–when monstrosity was called Machiavellianism, but now I prefer to call it blackmail.”

“Blackmail doesn’t even define what you’re doing!”

“For once, Shining Armor, for this once I am playing straight, and so should you. What I am counting on, is that you love Cadance more than I love my social position. You still need to make your choice: leave Cadance and save what you can of her halos and laurels; or watch her go down in the history of her immortal life as the princess of love whose husband was cheating on her. If you don’t love her, then just leave her and you can have me in her stead. But if you do love her, then leave her to protect her from the damage of what I can do. Either way... You will be mine in the end.”

Shining Armor is stagnant for a long time, still but not lifeless, a difference too difficult to discern until one sees his eyes. His eyes, remaining wide, see straight through the hooves that cover them. What is he seeing now, I wonder: His past with Cadance? His future with me? Regardless, reality is wiped from his vision, replaced in its stead is flashing slideshows of memory and imagination.

After I have finished my cigarette, crushing the cinders beneath my hoof, that statue finally moves. First, it is the small tensed quivering of his lips, dry now, in his attempt to speak. When it fails, he moves his hooves next, tearing them away from his watery blue eyes, hoping that, in those pearly beads he sheds, is the answer he cannot word. But knowing that I will not take his tears as an adequate response, he is forced to articulate:

“A-Alright, Rarity...” He heaves out a painful breath. “You... You win... I... I can’t.... I can’t let Cadance pay for my sins...”

“Good.” Try as I might, I cannot find it in myself to smile. His answer shows only how much he loves Cadance. “The sooner, the better. We’ll tell Cadance everything today.”

Shining Armor stands up, but I raise a hoof to stop him.

“No,” I say. “Not now. Twilight and the others are still there. Let’s wait an hour or so, and then we’ll go.”

I take a third cigarette in the case and light up once more. I do not remember when I had smoked so many in such a short span of time. At most, I restrain myself to one stick an hour. I levitate the case to Shining Armor; he does not accept the gesture. Tossing the case to the side–and only then did Shining Armor take one–I retreat back to the window and look up to graying sun above.

“It’s going to be an early night,” he says, facing the floor, “it’ll… it’ll be cold outside.”

“I’ll call us a cab. Should I wear my sable?”

“It’s just windy. Just... ready a muffler or something.”

We wait, in this darkness where even Celestia’s sun remains locked out of the window. Even with the blinds folded down, I slide the curtain close and trot to the kitchenette. From the wide selection of liquor, I take out a brandy from the lower cabinet, the shiny bottle of Cognac to be specific. I pour myself and Shining Armor half a glass as this is only a cause of premature celebration, after all. We cannot afford to get drunk; there is much work to be done.

I leave his glass on the drawer top beside him as I rest mine on the armrest of the ottoman where I sit, directly in front of him. I lean back, my legs folded, sipping at my drink and burning away the stick in my hooves. Shining Armor does the same, almost, as his own cigarette is barely touched; the tip is already a long line of ash, eating its way to the stub, ready to crumble at the slightest nudge. In this darkness, where the curls of smoke dissipate and collapse among the density of the unwholesome air, two dots of two flickering red lights dwindle with a wink.

* * *

Walking side by side, I return through the hospital’s hallways with Shining Armor. The eyes we attract from nurses and patients, all of whom know him undoubtedly, are all placed beneath a raised brow or crooked forehead. It is because, my conceit would want to believe, of my choice in fashion–a rich brown muffler and a pair of dangling earrings–in visiting an incapacitated patient; or because of how close, scandalously close, I stand beside the prince of Canterlot, purring as I nuzzle his neck. I can read it in their eyes—this is not at all inappropriate for the common propriety of such a place.

By contrast, Shining Armor acts decently in his unresponsive zombification. It makes me think, too, that his desuetude is what draws the attention of the nurses and doctors to think that he, the visitor, rambling in how he walks and shaky in how he stands, is a patient suffering from an inoperable illness.

As Cadance’s private room is presented before us, we are welcomed, by the doorstep, of the same nurse that addressed Twilight and myself about the cesarean yesterday.

“Can I help you?” the nurse asks.

“I’m Rarity, the best friend from yesterday, and this is prince Shining Armor.”

The nurse pauses, looking at us and the close proximity by which I press against him. “Ah, yes,” the nurse says. “Prince Shining Armor, Cadance’s husband.”

I believe that the nurse deliberately added emphasis on the word husband as a remark on my apparent indecency. I do not mind much; I know that middle-class ponies such as she, who would never amount to anything in the social ladder, never had an inkling of subtlety.

“How is Cadance?” I ask, as a precaution regarding the princess’s condition.

“Yes, Miss Rarity, she’s awake but still paralyzed by the shock.” The nurse adjusts her glasses. “She can hear and understand, we think, but she refuses to talk. We’re feeding her intravenously and–”

“That’ll be all, nurse.” Dragging Shining Armor by his hooves, I pass through the mare. “And please notify us if any of our friends were to visit. Tell them, too, that we are not to be disturbed.”

Giving such instructions, I half-expected the nurse to bow and say, ‘As you wish, Miss Glass Slippers’, like the hundreds of managers and receptionist of our hotels who received similar orders.

The nurse does not say anything. She turns around and walks to our opposite direction.

It is by sheer innocence, I believe, that there are no royal guards in constant vigilance of the room. Perhaps Shining Armor, from last night or earlier, or a physician with equal authority, has dismissed them, believing that the atmosphere they create is the not the healthiest for a recovering patient such as she.

Pushing the door open, as we enter Cadance’s private room, I am welcomed with a blast of color so pure that it is almost blinding. The whiteness makes me squint my eyes and almost makes me cover them with my hoof, repelled like a lamia under the day, or a kraken yanked from the dark oceanic depths and into the bright sunlight. It is as though Cadance’s soul, having stayed in one place for so long, had purified the room of any toxicity. Only a shade of the princess’s paling pink coat, peeking out of her still-blood-stained bandages, stands out against the pristine white walls, the polished white ceilings, the scrubbed white floors and fresh white sheets. And there she lies at the room’s epicenter, outstretched on the bed in a posture of genteel dormancy, looking up and her hooves on the side of her lap. But it is difficult to simply say that she is lying on a bed, for it is as though she rests on the cradle of an altar, exalted by the sunbeams that pierce the lenses of the window panes. The patches of her broken skin, still healing and still alive, is not a wound from an earthly injury, but stigmata from the almighty herself.

I walk close to the bed, observing the details of the broken features that I brought upon her. I have not read, or heard, the full report of the damages of her body, but it will pale in comparison to what I see now. A white patient’s smock, more akin to a saint’s robe, hides most of her coat. The bandages, white in most and red in some, wrap around the taut extremities of her legs. A small patch of her belly is exposed, and I can see, running through her midsection, the scar of the cesarean operation. Her wing, all bone and torn of feathers for now, is a skeletal-like hand outreaching toward the window. And, just above her unscathed cheeks, inviolate muzzle and uninjured chin, she is rendered blind with a thick layer of bandages circling around her eyes.

Shining Armor pushes one hoof forward and, with it, drags the rest of his legs and body in the slow arching shamble. He reaches the altar-bed where his saint and goddess lies bleeding, and there, placing his head against her bosom, he holds her forehooves and kneels, speaking in a misunderstood utterance of a confession:

“C-Cadance...” he whispers. “Honey... I’m here.”

There is no sign of response from the princess. We cannot even tell if she is awake or comatose.

“Honey...” Shining Armor mutters, louder this time. “I... I’m leaving you... for Rarity...”

And still, even as he says those words, I cannot find any form of reaction from Cadance’s dangling body. Even the pace of her faint breathing, which should have been still in shock, remains constant. If she can hear him now, the news is of no surprise to her.

“Cadance, love,” he continues, “please understand that... that I love you more than anything. And that I’ll always love you, above all else. And that... what I’m doing here... you might not understand... or... or forgive... but... remember that I’m doing this because... I... I love you... so much... If... If you can hear me now... then please believe... me... when I say that, given the choice, I’ll choose you over anyone else... but I don’t have that choice now... so... please... please understand... please know... that I love you...”

And even there, as Shining Armor pours his heart out, there is not as much as whimper from Cadance. I am forced to conclude that she, if not sleeping, returns to the safety of the unconscious.

Shining Armor makes the same conclusion. He stands up, wiping tears from his eyes, and shoves shoulders with me as he stomps out the door.

I am left alone with Cadance, for a moment, as I know I have to return again to my prince. But as privacy such as this seldom presents itself, I am tempted to make the most out of it. I will not smother her with a pillow–though the delicious idea crosses my mind–for the sole reason that no doubt I shall be the prime suspect to a crime I cannot talk myself out of. No, instead, I creep before her, sit on the bed, and lean my whole body across hers as I whisper into her ear:

“Shining Armor is mine now,” I say in between clenched teeth. “And if you try to take him away–his title as a prince, his rank as captain, his treasures, or his very self–then I swear by Discord, I’ll kill our child in its sleep.”

Wiping a lock of mane behind my ears, I stand up and march to the door, satisfied at the thought that, with this threat, I have finally got the better of Cadance. But, as I reach for the knob, I hear a voice behind me.

“R-R-Rar...rity,” it mutters, desperately, between broken coughs and sobs. “S-Shi... Shining Armor, he... he doesn’t like sugar and cream in his coffee... A-A-And... he... he still can’t... fix a tie... always help him dress and... and... he likes those hayfries very much... b-but it’s unhealthy so... please cook lots of green vegetables from and... and...–”

Slamming the door close behind me, I walk out of the room.

* * *

I knew I would find Shining Armor in his room, rather than mine. It surprises me still, as I did not expect even him to be courageous enough to re-enter the place where he spent many a fond moments with his wife, or enduring enough to bear the assault of memories from all sides.

Sitting there, on the floor, slumped against the balcony’s glass door, he holds his forelegs around his knees. He is aware of my presence of course, even without him looking–and even if he did look, I do not think that the tears in his eyes would depict me visible through his watery vision. He is sobbing, soundlessly, and disconsolate. More than pity, it is hate, or disgust, that I feel for him, that he can allow me to see this brooding side of him. This is not the proud figure of a crusader that I love. Even the beastly brutal side of him, brimming with power, that made him force himself on me, is more preferable than this display of weakness. But I permit him this release, despite my disapproval, as even I know that this is one of those rare moments in which one’s strength fails.

So, paying him little mind, I trot to their bed, which will soon be ours, and there I lay, pressing my muzzle against the pillows. The faint scent here that still lingers is of a familiar raspberry, her smell.

I worm against the smooth fabrics of the bed, rubbing my back against the silk and my mane against the pillow, savoring the texture of the sheets where Cadance and Shining Armor once made love.

“Shining, dear,” I call to the figure on the floor, though ‘Shining’ is the last of his traits, “this bed... still has Cadance’s smell.”

When he does not move, I rise from the bed and grab him by his forelegs, dragging him to the bed. There is little resistance in him, resistance made by the weight of lethargy.

But it is once that we are an inch away from the mattress, as I run my wet tongue against his neck, that life surges back into my prince. And surges it does, violently, gushing out with anger.

Shining Armor tears my hooves from him. He slaps my face. He throws me down the bed. He jumps on top me.

I do not scream. I do not feel a hint of fear or panic. The hot pain in my swelling cheek is, in a word, delicious, and it makes me run my tongue against my lips.

There, I lay, imprisoned between the brawn of his forelimbs, roofed over by his broad marmoreal torso, his nostrils flaring and his red eyes–red with tears or anger or both–looking down on me. And I quiver, neither in fear nor excitement, in a tense anticipation of my own victory over him, over Cadance! For I know, as well as he, that I will win him as soon he shoves that stiff throbbing cock inside, be it in lust or anger or hate or pity, and seal ourselves together in an act of concession to vulgarity.

And then, I win: Shining Armor pushes his whole shaft deep inside me with one painful, mighty thrust. The sudden invasion and the sensation of being filled all at once, makes me gasps, and wince, and moan, and shriek with a cackle.

I feel on him, on his back, a violent shudder, more violent, but less brutal, in the way he keeps pushing his cock. It is because of the sound I made, I believe, that gave rise to the emotion that made him quiver. But that emotion, fear or excitement, does not last long as his face, his grimace, turns to me.

I look up at him, directly in those red eyes, as though to challenge him. Do it, my eyes say to his. And I swear I can feel that weapon, hot and buried in me, bulge a little.

Anger, hate and contempt, then take complete control of his body. His muscles grow tense. Grabbing my chin with one hoof, he turns my face to his, making sure I can see the rage in his eyes, as he holds me down by the shoulder. His other forelimb coils tight around my frail figure to hold me in place as he pulls his cock out and strikes back in. I feel the tip of it slam against the end of my womb, tearing through the thin membrane of my cervix, where I feel once more the seething heat of pain that makes both my legs shake and coil in the air.

He continues fucking me like this–if fucking is even the word for how he subjugates me–shoving back and forth, vigorously, to inflict pain in me. And I do feel the pain, of him scraping my inside, and it almost, almost, makes me bite my lip. But I show him no indication, from my face, from where he can feel the least bit of victory. The victory, which is his every thrust and blow in me, is, after all, mine and mine alone, my victory over him and Cadance.

Harder, my eyes challenge him. And his strikes grow in power, in brutality, the savage and cruel lunge of cock that scratches the filthy itch around the edges of my cunt, as though to force me to bleed from within. He leans forward, weight pressing across me, as he opens his maw and bites down on my shoulder. I can feel his whole set of teeth break through my skin and a droplet of blood trickle down my coat and to the bed. But still, my face remains motionless, eternal.

Harder, my hooves beckon him on, for both the bite and the fuck. And though his teeth lets go of my shoulder–perhaps out of disgust of the taste of that bluish-black blood–the pace of his piston movement increases. Faster his cock slides in than it slides out. Perhaps there, too, drowned in the sea of overwhelming pain, my womb is bleeding already and, rather than marecum, it is the blood from my ruptured vag that serves as his lubricant. It does not slow him down, and only enforces him to go faster and deeper with each ugh, ugh, ugh grunt that accompanies the whapping sound of his ramming thrusts.

Harder! my whole body, already wracked in pain, still screams to him, it’s not hard enough! Already, from the push of his body against my body, I am forced back against the bed’s headboard and my frame is bent and curled upwards as he looms above me, hammering down with roughshod aggression. If this is meant to show what power he has over me, to humiliate me in the privacy of his bed, then a spit to my face would complete the degradation. Perhaps I would even be aroused with the gesture! But Shining Armor would not do so, even if he can wish it, for he still, at least, retains some dignity of proper decorum.

And here, writhing in pain, under the prince I have given all of myself too, thinking–perhaps wishing–of a way he can punish me further like the bitch I am, my mind inappositely flips further through the mental repertoire of my pretermitted foalhood, long forgotten but, apparently, still lingering in the outskirts of my mind. I do not know, for the life of me, why I remember this now:

As all young mares of my age then, I took a guilty sense of curiosity towards my sexuality the day I discovered what my pussy was for. It was not a perverted curiosity, for I still prioritized the dignity of being a lady and always did I excuse myself from public display of indecorum. But since that revelation, I have always looked at mares and stallions, in my mind’s eye, with an abject inquisitiveness as to what they did behind those barred doors and shut windows, and what sounds they made, and why they tingled and blushed as they get out. And it so happens that I was in my seventh summer, when my birth mother dragged me to Las Pegasus on one of her business trips, surveying, without her permission, through those midnight streets, that serendipity forced me to see the naked act without the filter of veils or adult supervision. There are no veils there of course, nor supervision, not in the dark alleys of Las Pegasus where I heard the long tortured moan of a mare. It attracted me, out of that unhealthy curiosity, to that corner where I saw those two adults engaged in their debauchery. One of them, a pegasus mare with red mane and yellow coat, bent over the garbage bin, and, from behind her, busying himself against her, a stallion with a black coat and green mane. The stallion plows quickly, as though something were to catch him if he slowed down, rubbing and pressing his hips against the mare’s flank; and the mare herself, melting in absolute surrender to the stallion, has her body hitting the lid of the trashcan. And only when the stallion pulled back slightly that I saw, in between their haunches, a long phallic article connecting them both. So this, I remember thinking, a lump forming at the back of my throat, this is what they do. Of course, the two of them saw me watching, studying them both, and the mare let out a loud hysterical cry while the stallion only laughed and humped faster and faster as he pulled on the mare’s wings. At last, when they finished, the stallion pulled out his dangling fifth leg out of the mare’s body and, levitating his saddle–I remember now that he was a unicorn–took from it some several corroded bits to which he nonchalantly threw on the mare’s back. As he exited the alley, he passes by me and rubs my mane with his still-moist hoof. I remember him saying something among the lines of, “That’s how it’s done.” I never told anyone of the scene I saw. My curiosity satisfied, I lost my taste for the sexual act until...

Until...

Shining Armor is on his back now, and I am impaled on top of him. I do not know, in my vivid recurrence of the past, how we changed our positions that I am now straddling him. He stays still, below me, in absolute surrender, both his forelimbs wrapping around his eyes. Perhaps he is crying again, at the thought of Cadance, which only makes me feel more indignation and disgust for him than how he fucked me not an hour ago.

I inspect my own ruined body, wracked with pain and nothing else, to see no bruises, only those red chafe on my limbs made when a hoof is pressed against them. Everywhere else, my coat is thick with beads of sweat trailing from my face or my chest. The red badge of the bite bark still flows from it a few dribbles of blood, splashing my beautiful white coat with a pink tinge from the shoulder down. Inside me, by contrast, is however dry. I do not know if Shining Armor has yet to splatter his stallion spunk inside, or he already did and the thick filament had just already crusted on my walls.

Has it always been this disgustful?

I place my forelegs behind me, pressing my hooves against his thighs, to be used as column of supports as I move my body up and down. I realize, when I first move up, that he already did cum inside me. Some of it drips out of my greasy snatch.

No... Not always...

There was a time, not too long ago, when this was the happiest expression of love she could commit to me...

She...

I throw my hips, as high as I can, so that his tip will stab my walls when I slam back down. Each time my cunt squeezes tightly around the root of his tool, creating a nasty squelch. I inspect my body again, more introspectively this time, and find, to my surprise but not disappointment, that nowhere in me do I feel an ounce of pleasure.

It seems senseless now, even as I bounce my flank upon him, when I feel nothing but pain. It is as though I have placed myself into this living torture device–as he does to me the second he rammed himself inside. But I keep on going, regardless, moving my hips about just for the sake of reaching another orgasm neither of us wants.

“Don’t be so sad, Shining Armor,” I say, laying myself flat on him as I stir the cock inside me with my gyrating movements. “I promise it won’t be as bad you imagine. All I ask from you is your cooperation in my occasional social gatherings; to stand and smile there beside me, and shake hooves with ponies you won’t know or care about, and bear it a little as they bore you to death about their yacht clubs and golf memberships. And... ugh.. in turn, you can fuck me like this every night for the rest of your life.”

I do not know if he hears me, but I do know that he is awake; as soon as I try to reach for his lips with mine, he immediately pushes me away, with his hooves that jump in the reflex of self-defense at the slightest hint of a kiss.

I lay myself flat on him, my hooves on his side, pressing my muzzle in against the concave integument of his bony ribs; I make do with light taps of kisses on his heaving chest. The kisses have little meaning in them now, no different to that of my springing hips that only hurts me with each successive blow. The gesture is a conditioned habit, perhaps, serving only as an additional stimulation to my stale dry lips.

I remember, too, when kisses were romantic, that such a thing as romanticism exists. It was not long ago. The last ebbing rays of it are gone, hours past, when she unwittingly left to care for Cadance.

She, again. She who made all these kisses and lovemaking so desirous and special, once. She who was always so lovely and so loving. She who I cannot rid from my mind, because I am seeing her now... there, standing by the door left ajar.

“Rarity?” Applejack says. It is not a question, but a statement of a recognition that wishes to be denied.

It surprises me, not so much at her bearing witness to my debauchery, but how utterly shocked she stands to see it. The dusk behind her draws the outline of her silhouette, and even in her shadowy figure, I see how one of her forelimbs raised to cover a gasp, or scream, in a gesture that cannot be anything else but feminine.

And even as she stands there, pale-faced as though bleeding out like the setting sun, mouth agape, bright hot tears streaming from her emerald eyes, I continue to ride Shining Armor like a slutty cowgirl. I do not slow down the rhythm of my rocking hips, hastening even as I receive a fresh new spurt of prince batter.

Even with him still cumming, I place my foot back on the mattress and stand back, dislodging myself from the cock. I can see, and no doubt so can Applejack, that a thin rope of white spillage connects my fuckhole to his erect dick. Shining Armor is still stagnant, by the way, utterly placid and unmindful, having completely lost all damn in the world. I place myself between his legs.

I slam my face down on the tumid cock in front of me, mouth open, as I lap and kiss and lick the throbbing organ. I hold and rub my muzzle between the base and his scrotum, sniffing the musky odor of his cock mixed with my own juice. I feel, here against my face, the warm-cold sheen of our fluids stick and drag a viscous and dripping imprint on my cheeks. I enclose my lips around the side of the cock, sucking in my mouth the salty liquids. I press my tongue flat against the root, before running it up to the tip, coating the length with my drool. Then I slurp back the mess, collecting it in my mouth, before spitting it back to the cock again. I repeat the motion, several times, without fail, before ultimately swallowing back the soup of cock-flavored spit back to me with a loud “Ahh...” With Shining Armor’s cock moist and ready, I open my mouth as wide as I can to stuff as much of the length. I feel it, deep down at the back of my throat, massaging my windpipe with each beating throb. The giant ‘O’ that are my lips pushes further down, circling around the very end. My nose presses down against his loin, signaling that I have reached the finished line; still locking my whore-mouth in place, I let my tongue out and keep lapping it against his balls pressing against my chin. A ring of his cock scrapes my tonsils, and I gag, coughing around his cock, as I pull back, feeling the whole thing slide out in my throat. But I do not eject him entirely. I leave the tip in, just between my lips, as I let a moment pass for me to regather my enthusiasm and force that cock back to crush my throat. How I wish he would cup his hoof at the back of my head and force me balls deep, to choke on his cock until I turn red. But his lethargy means I have to exert the effort myself. I began to work on it, moving my head up and down, letting it disfigure my face in how I make the cock bulge the shape of my cheeks and jaw. I continue to go on like this, making unnecessary loud gruffs and moans.

And all this while, in this profligate oral performance, in this pigging out on Shining Armor’s tasty meat stick, not once–not even for a split second–do I take my eyes off Applejack’s.

Yes, this is me, my whole display says to her, as I swallow Shining Armor’s massive load, pumped directly to my stomach, and as I pull out, letting the next hot wave coat my face.

This is your mare, Applejack.

The last arch of the sun sinks down, devoured by the encompassing darkness. Applejack rears back and shuts her tear-soaked eyes, droplets springing out of the corners as she does so. She turns around, and turn tails as though demons were set loose upon her.

With the object of my vision gone, I return to Shining Armor, still ignorant of the third-party that had watched us. He is still lying there, just barely breathing, whereas his cock, having concluded a fresh ejaculate, still beats and throbs in the afterglow. It seems at that moment that Shining Armor’s body has died, and only his beating cock, taking the place of his heart, is keeping the corpse alive.

I finish him up, licking the excess spit and cum pooling on his thighs and loin; as well as cleaning my own face by scooping up his funky cream and depositing the collection back in my mouth. Then, having cleaned us both, I give one tap of a goodbye kiss on the tip.

“I’ll be back,” I say, licking my hooves. I do not know if I am talking to Shining Armor now or his cock. “Then we can continue... I’ll just... take care of somepony.”

I stand up, wobbling, shambling, feeling like a cum bag, or bucket, for Shining Armor’s sperm. Still reeking of aftersex, with mustardy jizz and juices still dripping down my swollen fuckholes and down to my ankles, I make my way out the door.

As I trot out of the room, the chill of the newborn night bites my moist body. I see Applejack far away, though not distant, alone on the landing of the spire’s spiraling staircase. I have prepared to meet her, of course, only that I expected her to have reach her suite, after how fast she ran away from Shining Armor’s room.

I approach her, there beside the trash bin where she remains still. She is standing on her hind legs, leaning with one of her forehoof against the wall for support and with the other firmly clasped on her chest. She is vomiting, or dry heaving perhaps, expulsing disgusting sounds from her mouth. She looks up, seeing my shadow–an outline she no doubt recognizes–placed on the wall beside hers. Applejack briskly turns around in shock, both her forelimbs grabbing the lid of the trash bin behind her.

“R-R-R–” she tries, stuttering.

“Good evening, dearest,” I greet back.

I let a moment pass so that she may at least compose herself. The moment does not come.

Applejack raises one shaking hoof and points toward the room of the royal couple. “I... I saw you there... just there... up there... in that room... with S-Shining Armor.”

“Of course you did. I saw you too.” I whip back my mane. No doubt that if I can I smell the strong scent of cum still on and in me, then she can as well. Maybe my face is still dripping with leftovers for all I know.

“But,”–and here, she composes as much of herself as she can manage–“but how the hell do you explain what I saw there!?” she roars suddenly.

“Who said anything about explaining?” I ask.

“W-What...?”

“I apologize, Applejack. And no, not for what you saw–Celestia knows I am not sorry for something that feels so good–but for what you didn’t. I usually instigate events than permit them to happen to me, so I am sorry for not having told you this a fuck sooner.”

Applejack’s head jumps back at the sound of profanity. “T-Told me what?”

“That I’m breaking up with you.” I laugh. “Oh goodness, I hate putting it that way. It sounds so... hell, it sounds so adolescent.”

“B-But...” she babbles, “But t-this don’t make no sense.”

“Sense, dear, is that last of what I’d expect from you dense earth ponies. How could you have not seen it, Applejack?”

“S-So everything Dash told me...”

“Yes! It’s true. All true! All those parties I’ve been running off too were held, not in ballrooms, but in luxurious five-star beds of five-star hotels of countless stallions. Loud, noisy and fun parties, as messy as what you just saw there in that room!”

“A-And that time... in yer room–”

“In my room! Shining Armor and I! Ha! With that door! And with you not knowing what’s happening on the other side! and with us laughing at you all the while!”

“All this time you were cheatin’ on me...” she says, her head slowly falling down.

“I was cheating on you not with some harlot or some roué but with a prince! A prince, for crying out loud! Why, you should feel flattered.”

“Flattered!?” she looks up suddenly, unable to believe her ears. “I should feel flattered?”

“Oh, you ungrateful little guttersnipe,” I groan. “Talk about casting pearls before swine. Do you know I can buy tramps like you on my bed for the price of a meal? You should be thankful that I even let you have a taste of me so you wouldn’t resort to rape!”

“No! No! ...Ah don’t believe none of this!” she shouts, running aside, away from me, to the trash bin and the wall. She removes her hat and takes out from it a small ring with an amber jewel. “R-Remember what ya said to me, just last night... R-Remember it? When ya said ya love me and ya’ll–”

My hoof snaps forward, flinging the ring away from her hooves. The small circle of silver traces an arc in the air before landing on the ground. It spins there, for a few seconds, rattling on the floor until all momentum drains away and the rings falls flat. Applejack and I looks at it, her mouth wide open and fresh new tears flowing like river down her cheeks.

“Oh, ‘Love,’ I used to throw that word around like corn to a chicken coop,” I sigh. “Seriously, Applejack, think about it–and I mean really think about it–did you honestly believe that somepony like me, the great lady Rarity, would fall in love with somepony like you!? You, who is but a lowborn cowpony? Did you honestly think that I would spend the rest of my life in an... an apple farm!?”

“It ain’t true...” she muffles out, shaking her head. “What ya just said ain’t true.”

“I didn’t say anything. I asked you a question.”

“Ah’ve always... always–”

“You see, there is no plausible way you can make me happy. Financially, you cannot support me. Sexually, you don’t satisfy me... No, Applejack, I never loved you, not once. You were just an exciting little fling for me, a cause of ruckus and gossip and publicity to raise the eyebrows of my peers. Now the fashion has gone stale, and so have you.”

I stand still, in front of her, waiting to be slapped. Applejack does not move. Her head is cast down, so that I cannot see her eyes, only the star-lit liquid dripping down her chin. Her head makes small nods–or is it shaking like that?–in some sort of acceptance. I circle around her and proceed to the stairway leading to my suite.

“Oh, and one more thing,” I say, turning my head back. “I won’t be going back with you girls, so as soon as you get back to Ponyville, please pack and take your things out of my house... and leave the key under the welcome mat.”

There is no visible movement in her beside that series of sudden intakes of breaths, like internal hiccups, of a sobbing heart.

I continue to walk up the stairs, stiffening my neck, I cannot permit myself to look back now. Step by step, up this long narrow staircase, my destination seems to stretch on away from where I am, as though with each clop of my hooves against each step my suite shies away.

Finally, after minutes that dragged on like hours, I reach my room. I have no further desire than to rest, in an attempt to escape my thoughts before they catch me. Inside there, I see a mare with a dustpan and a broom. I ask her who she is. She says she’s the cleaning lady. I tell her that she better get the hell out of my room before I throw her out the window. She drops her tools and runs out.

I slam the door behind me and lock it closed. I feel that I am still in that staircase, running up, away from what may catch me from below. I cannot allow myself to stop. Then I continue, my hooves racing, to the windows, shutting it and the blinds and the curtains.

Then I run to the bathroom, and there I lock myself inside, before throwing myself against the sink where I vomit. I disgorge, painfully hard, into the basin, making loud disgusting belches that echo off the tiled walls. I turn on the faucet and watch the sick green-black puke wash down the drain.

I feel as though I spewed out my very soul in the revolting expulsion. It feels as though the whole weight of my past and my thoughts has finally caught up to me all at once as soon as I stopped moving, slamming against and into my core, holding me down this sink, and escaping out my mouth.

I lean against the basin, as though something is wringing my stomach, as I vomit once more, coughing out the foul liquid matter that flows to that small little void.

A limb-numbing exhaustion creeps all over me, a sense of displacement and vertigo. Putting my hooves up, I begin to splatter water to my face, washing away the tears I did not know were there. I reach for the medicine cabinet and take out from there a bottle of pills. The tight top does not come off until I start hitting it against the wall; and when the cap falls so did all the bottle’s contents. I drop on the floor, picking up three and four and five and seven of the pills and popping it all in my mouth, crushing the rest beneath my hoof. When I slam closed the medicine cabinet, the mirror reflects in it a sight that makes me jump: a white coated unicorn-mare, her make-up gone, her mane disheveled, black tears flowing like petroleum from the corners of a ruined mascara. She is breathing heavily, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide.

“No!” I yell, slamming my hooves against the mirror. The glass shatters to a hundred pieces, raining down on my foreleg and painting it red.

The pain now neither comes from the twist in my abdomen nor my bleeding foreleg, but to the pressure crushing my heart. The pain in my chest is an agony that is incomparable to all else I have felt in my life; the ache stings and burns and chokes so much it makes me slump down the tiles. Coiling with this anguish inside me, my body rolls into a ball. I feel it, alive, the guilt and the fear of guilt, crawling about like maggots and devouring what parcel of soul I have yet to regurgitate. With every panting breath I take, the pain grows further.

I scream a cry and cry a scream, the sound of my wailing hurts my throat and ears as the howl bounces around the walls and back into my skull. Tears, endless tears, keep running down my face.

Apple... Applejack...

I see faces, all of my faces in those reflections everywhere. There, on the water dripping down the corner of sink, is Lapis Lazuli. There, on the shards of broken glass, is Rarity. There, on the gilded door knob is Miss Glass Slippers.

“No! I don’t regret a thing,” I hiss to all and none. “Not a thing. I don’t love Applejack! I love Shining Armor!”

But... If I can run to her now, I can still...

The thought–or shed of hope–makes me leap to my feet, withstanding the pain; I know that my excruciating torment is nothing compared to what she is feeling.

I reach for the doorknob, and stop.

No... I’ve already gone too far to back down now...

My whole body falls forward, slamming on the door, with one hoof hitting against the barrier.

...I’ve already cut ties with Applejack.

...I’ve already got Shining Armor.

...I’ve already won against Cadance.

My teeth clenches hard enough that they might break. I keep pounding my hooves on the door.

I’m almost there... I am so close... So close to getting everything that I ever wanted...

I collapse, down the tear-soaked tiles.

It’s worth it! It’ll be all worth it in the end.

* * *

The jewelry is of Cadance’s property, but just the jewelry. I am polite enough, and humble enough, to borrow only those that are not excessive in size and quality. I only adopted those few just to match the dress I wear: a string of pearls around my neck to complement the naked breastbone of my purple blouse, cabochon amethyst earrings–in the shape of inverted hearts–to match the color of my mane and the black brooch, and an anklet made of dark-green jasper that peeks from the small slit of my maxi.

Satisfied that I am presentable, after running my hoof to fix a few creases here and there, I breathe out and wear my biggest smile.

I push through the two giant swinging doors. As of all the suites in Canterlot’s castle, there is no shortage of these swinging barriers from which one can make a grand entrance.

Inside Applejack’s room–as I have expected–I see them all there, centered to a single point around the crying earth pony. Even now, after several hours since our last encounter, she still has enough tears to shed down on her friends’ coat.

Applejack is in the middle of the group, of course, pressing her face against the consolation of Rainbow Dash’s chest. When the cowpony sees me come in, her eyes go wide and her heaving goes still. Shocked into stillness, she does not know if she is to run to me or stay there in the safety of our friends.

Unsurprisingly, Rainbow Dash is not at all happy to see me. In a word, she is gnarling; in another word, she is crying, too. But her body, invisible to the naïve, tells a different story, skewing sideways as she leans and wraps her opportunistic hooves around the orange earth pony she once loved. Her bloodshot eyes are ready to jump out of their sockets to attack me. She cannot let go of Applejack, of course, so I worry not about her pouncing on me and ruining the perfect arrangement of my dress.

Rainbow Dash’s rapist, Fluttershy, stands close between her lover and Applejack. Even if she knows that I am here, she does not look at me.

Twilight, standing behind Applejack, and joining her hooves around the others in a desperate attempt to join the group hug, now stares at me with a wrinkled muzzle and an open jaw. It is not a face of shock but, close enough, that of disgust.

Before any of them can say anything to me, as words are no doubt waiting on the tip of their tongues, I remove any illusion of my desire to even hear it and begin to announce the reason of my visit:

“Hello, darlings!” I say, my loud high-toned voice ringing around the room. “Am I interrupting something? I sure do hope not. Anyway... I have spectacular news! I cordially invite you all to tomorrow night! For tomorrow night is my wedding! Tomorrow night, I will get married... Tomorrow night I shall be a bride... A bride, to Shining Armor!”

Author's Note

There will be no more clop scenes in the last two chapters of All About Rarity.

Chapter 9: Then Strikes Midnight

Chapter 9:
Then Strikes Midnight

“Mademoiselle,” says the butler, addressing his master as he opens the door. “Miss Rarity.”

“At this time of night?” Basket Case spins in place on her leather chair and, placing down her book, turns to me.

“Yes,” I answer, stepping to the interior, “at this time of the night.”

The butler closes the door behind us as I walk in. He steps beside by the doorway, standing still like a royal guard and like one of the many furnishing in Basket Case’s office.

Unlike her parties, the office–which I heard to have belonged to her husband’s father until just recently–has yet to be invaded with her tasteless flamboyance. The room is still arranged in a geometric symmetry and looks as though it smells of shellac varnish. A purple Saddle Arabian rug, with embellish linings of gold-colored threads, covers most of the dark brown floor in a perfect angular square. The desk is of carved mahogany that shines somewhere between a Venetian red and sepia; a glass globe stands on its right side. The inscriptions on the wall, little touches of orchid engravings here and there, give the illusion of the room’s expanded vertical dimensions. The windows on my right remain wide open to serve as the room’s ventilation, but the curtains that hang still show no sign of wind tonight. Finally, behind and above the desk, hanging on the far end wall, is a giant oil painting of Basket Case’s recently deceased fourth husband.

She watches me watch the room, waiting for my compliment, drumming the book’s spine against the desk's top surface. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this late and strange visit, Miss Rarity?”

“Business,” I answer, pulling my eyes off the oil painting and back to her.

“Ahh, business,” she moans, giggling. “‘Business never sleeps’, my husband would have told you if he was here. But I am but a mere housewife, Miss Rarity. I do not know what sort of business I can offer you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, I’m the one who came here to offer you something.”

“Oh,” she challenges, as if to summarize the whole thought of: what can you possibly offer me as you are now? She taps the thick book on the desk again. “Is this one of those long and intense stallion-y negotiations?”

“We’ll try not to make it long.” From the pocket of my dress, I produce a cigar case. “Do you mind?” I ask.

“Not at all,” she says, taking a cigar of her own from a box on the desk.

I place the fat brown stick between my lips and light the tip with a spark of my magic. Basket Case does the same, only she uses a cigar cutter to amputate the filter. I look at her brand. Mine is more expensive.

Heaving out a smoke, she says, “May I offer you something? Tea or Coffee or... Anything?”

“Red wine,” I answer, releasing my own curls of gray into the air.

“Excuse me?”

“A Rioja, preferably, a whole bottle... If you can spare it of course.”

“Of course, I can,” she says, her smile stiffening. “Uhm... Silver Tray,” she calls to the butler, “be a dear and go to the wine cellar, fetch a bottle of our finest... uh...”

“Ri-o-ja,” I repeat, with the utmost syllabication of emphasis one articulates to a retard.

“Rioja, yes... for our guest here.”

The butler becomes animate once more. He bows his head in acknowledgment of the order, fixes his black bowtie, and steps out of the room.

Once the door shuts, Basket Case reclines back in her seat. “Won’t you have a seat, Miss Rarity?”

“I would rather stand, thank you.”

“It is very late at night, Miss Rarity,” she snickers. “I could’ve already been sleeping. Should we proceed to this penny ante or should we wait for the wine? ...That is to say, how can I help you?”

Trotting near the window, I release another drag of smoke out into the open. “Let’s spare ourselves the pretension that we are on civil terms and would like to help one another. Your butler is already gone, after all.”

The upward curves of her face droop down and she, too, sighs out. “Very well,” she says, pushing away the book and placing a metal ashtray in its place. “What do you want? After what happened at my party I thought you wouldn’t show your face again. But that was wishful thinking for somepony as conceited as you, is it not?”

“It is.”

“Begging me won’t stop that sort of scandal from spreading.”

“Did you really have such a low estimation of me?” I say, and she chuckles in response. “As I’ve said, I’m here for a business proposition.”

“I did not think you were so crude as to offer me bits to–”

“Bits?” I laugh. “Oh, no, no. That’s the currency of plebeians, darling. We’re not aristocrats of money. Our... rate of exchange is something money can’t buy.”

It is hard to form a proper facial expression between deals of expert conspirators. She wants to smile, no doubt, for being commended as one of those few who know this game of adults. But the fact that it is a game played only by cheaters, scoundrels and liars, it leaves little innocence to experience joy. The smile and the frown cancel each other out in her face, leaving only a blank face devoid of its emotional features.

“What do you want, Miss Rarity?”

I move away from the window and march straight to her desk. “I am getting married, tomorrow night, and I want you to pull your strings to assist me in making it the grandest wedding Equestria has ever seen.”

“Which strings?”

“All of them.”

Leaning back on her chair, Basket Case closes her eyes, and takes a deep drag from her cigarette. As she breathes out the smoke, I can see the smile slowly win over the frown and the manifestation of that famous impish grin of hers, the one that shows her chipped premolars in its broadness. And I know it is not a smile anymore, but a permanent smirk stapled to a pair of lips that readies itself to undercut anything it is afraid of with an ungracious laughter. Even as she takes another deep long drag of her cigar, the smirk does not vanish.

“I’ll pull my own strings as well,” I add. “I still have a group of faithful loyalist who are indebted to me: Pep Talk, Madame Chatterbox, and even Sapphire Shores. They’ll pull their connections when I tell them to. I’ll also finally contact Social Register, she and her small group have been itching to get my attention for quite some time now. Make sure you contact Lyrica and Upper Crust as early as tonight for their gossip column. Try to wire Oil Well, he’s a useless bore but his wife is in the Department of Internal Affairs and one word to her would be enough to reserve the castle’s ballroom. Once the stage is set, we’ll have Wet Ink and Newsprint and your what’s-her-name make–”

“Head Line”

“–Yes, Head Line. They’ll make the news of my wedding a front page event. As soon as The Hermes, The Canterlot Gazette and even The Royal Press is shouting and preaching the occasion, the small newspapers will follow with their own extras. By tomorrow morning, I want ponies jumping on the bandwagon. I want word of it to spread to every corner of Equestria. I want everypony to know about my wedding, from Celestia herself to the earth pony shoe cleaner in Baltimare. I want everypony tripping over themselves for invitation cards and blackmailing each other for a place on my guest list.”

“And you are to prepare this grand wedding of yours... tomorrow?” she asks. There is a tone of malicious amusement in the way she asks.

“Yes.”

“Miss Rarity,” she says, shuffling in her seat. “As splendid as this plan of yours might be, I am afraid it cannot be done overnight. And even if it can, springing something like this on Canterlot will not salvage your reputation if you are going to stand on the altar beside a... an earth pony mare from Ponyville.”

“Oh, but my darling Basket Case, whoever said I’m marrying Applejack?”

“Huh?” The sudden jolt of her reaction makes the line of cinders in her cigar crumble, missing the ashtray and spraying the gray dust on the desk.

“Tomorrow night,” I declare, “I will be married to Prince Shining Armor.”

I then wish that I had a camera in hoof to take a snapshot of Basket Case’s face. The portrait would look good hanging on top of my soon-to-be fireplace, a trophy to be triumphed before my future guests for them to laugh at.

She stands, all four of her hooves shaking in the excitement of fear and fear of excitement. She cannot stop herself from smiling now–smirking, rather–that I have a clear view of her chittering set of teeth. “Where is that wine?” she says.

Three knocks come from the door, the knob twists, and in comes Silver Tray, levitating with him a wine bottle and a pair of wine glasses. He places all on top of the desk and makes his retreat out the door at the hoof signal of his master.

Basket Case pours herself a glass, downs the first shot without tasting it, and pours again for the both of us.

“To be honest,” she says, gurgling the wine in her throat in laughter, “I do not know if you’re joking or not, but that caught me off guard.”

I take the glass, swirl it in my hoof for a few seconds, and nip myself a taste. “And so will the whole of Canterlot.”

“But–”

“You have a lot of questions,” I interrupt, “and that is what I want to prevent. Do you know when Fleur will be back from her honeymoon?”

“I lied,” she says, placing her glass down, “she didn’t leave for a honeymoon.”

“You lied to piss me off?”

“Yes, I lied to... piss you off, as you put it.”

“So where is she?”

“She’s still loitering somewhere here in Canterlot before they leave for Neighagara Falls next week. I heard she’ll have a small tea party at her house tomorrow afternoon.”

“Perfect. We’ll rip her guest list right under nose. Nopony will have any party whatsoever on the day of my wedding.”

“You’ll invite Fleur, of course?”

“No, I will not.”

“But she’s one of the more popular mares right now, especially just after her wedding.” Remembering that she has a cigar waiting, she takes in another pull of the tobacco. “And she’s friends with Parti Pris, Silver Tongue, and other influential ponies. You wouldn’t dare make an enemy out of her.”

“She has power; she either doesn’t use it or knows how to. Parti Pris is best friends with Silk Chiffon, who’s a stooge for Cherry Chime, who’s a stooge for me. I’ll have Parti Pris on my side before sunrise. As for Silver Tongue, he’s a snob; but he has always proudly said that his influence is for sale. And no, Fleur won’t be invited to my wedding, and I’ll make sure it’s known that she’s the only pony who wasn’t invited and that her closest associates deserted her, for me. So when rumors start popping out that I stole Shining Armor from that bitch Cadance, or that I’m a gold digger–and no doubt those rumors will come–then we’ll start screaming our brains out saying all those nasty scandals are vicious lies made by an envious trophy wife who wasn’t invited to the wedding.”

“You’re... You’re using Fleur as a scapegoat?” she asks. Whereas I expect her to laugh, the humor is lost somewhere between a choke. “She was your friend wasn’t she?”

“Don’t be naïve, Basket Case, friendship is foal stuff.” Then pausing momentarily, I add, “There’s no place for friendships in the world of grownups.”

“Oh... yes. Yes, of course! I only concluded as much because of Fleur’s foalish attitude. Well, the beau monde is easy but what do you do about the middle-class? Unless you have a hold in each and every one of them–”

“They’re all posing to be our equals. They’ll believe what I tell them to believe.”

“And the lower-class won’t buy it, that’s for sure.”

“They’re mostly earth ponies. Firstly, they can’t think. Secondly, they don’t want to.”

Basket Case laughs. I knew she would like that joke. “But we seem to be forgetting something: if not bits, what is that ‘bits can’t buy’ proposition you wish to offer me?”

“‘We’ didn’t forget. Isn’t it implied in each of our sentences? You knew it the moment I told you what you have to do.”

“I want to make it official by your words.”

“Very well,” I sigh, “you will get my string to pull. Upon marrying Shining Armor, I will become a princess, even by extension. And nopony, not even Cadance, would dare cross me with the hold and influence I will have on everypony then. But you would have the strings on top of my head, for you to pull or hold or make me dance; if you slip in the word through the pipelines that you put me where I am then that’ll be the end me. They’ll believe you, of course, because they know it. Only nopony among them has what it takes to say it. And they’ll see how I do my best to kiss your flank in holding parties and toasts in your honor... Basically, I’ll be your bitch.”

“Don’t be so vulgar, Miss Rarity. It shows how desperate you are.”

“If I am not desperate, I wouldn’t have knocked on your door in the first place... So, would you do it?”

“Would it ruin you if I said no?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me why I shouldn’t just ruin your carefully stacked deck of cards and pick up what’s left behind.”

“Because you’re not an Element of Harmony, and you don’t have a princess to use as a stepladder. Right now I still have both, but it’s only a matter of time before I lose them. So if you ever want to climb the last few steps of this pyramid of ponies with crab mentality, then you will need a princess in your pocket. Right now you have two choices: we both pull each other up, or I fall and you remain where you are for the rest of your life... But it’s not much of a choice, is it? We both already know which one you’re going to pick.”

Basket Case flicks her hoof against her cigar, not bothering to aim for the ashtray anymore, so that the burnt residue adds to the previous motes collecting on the desk. “So...” she hisses in between her teeth, “your strings, huh? Truly, something bits can’t buy...”

She takes out a whole set of writing pads from the desk’s drawer and places them on the top surface, unmindful of the ashes. She sighs, one that contains a hint of laughter and amusement. “Looks like I won’t get much sleep tonight,” she says, giggling, “with all these wires I need to send... Shall we have an early toast to your wedding, Princess Rarity?”

Princess Rarity, the title cannot but give me a shameless and shameful smile. I march toward Basket Case, and snatch the Rioja from her hooves. “Perhaps next time,” I say, inspecting the red wine’s brand. “We have a lot of things to do tonight. I still have ponies to contact and banks to visit.”

“With the amount of bits you plan to loan, do you think they’ll give it to you?”

“Gold has its weigh in gossip. Once news of my wedding spread, they’ll be throwing bits in my pocket.” Heading to the door, I add: “And I plan to pay my debt using your next husband’s income tax.”

Basket Case howls in laughter, rising to her feet and giving me an applause. “Marvelous!” she laughs. “Marvelous.”

“Was that joke so funny?” I say, looking back over my shoulder.

“No... It’s this.” Still clapping her hooves, I do not know if this demonstration is out of sheer mockery; it isn’t.

“This, what?” I ask.

“All of this, high society, culture and interrelationships of ponies. I remember my sociology professor telling me–damn him for failing me in class, by the way–that society is some sort of super organism and that each and every individual is but an irrelevant microbe in this suprastructure. But looking at you now, Miss Rarity, you have proven him wrong. These...strings... as we have put it are so complex and intertwined a system of pony interaction that everypony has a pull on everypony else, and nopony moves because nopony knows who’ll crack in what direction and when. The stakes are only getting higher and higher and it get so twisted that the strings now looks like a very intricate web. And you, Miss Rarity, are the spider weaving everything into a perfect trap. But what is it that you would like to snare? Surely not Shining Armor, he’s just the bait. There’s something else behind it, something you’re after, a principle maybe... But I’m not drunk enough to find out...”

“What are you saying?” I ask. The question came out as a challenge, to dare her to speak out loud what it is she is implying.

“Did you try to kill to Cadance to get her husband?”

I turn around to her, ready to break her face with the wine bottle or break the wine bottle with her face, whichever comes first.

“Don’t answer that question because the answer does not matter,” she laughs. “Whether you tried to kill her or not is irrelevant. What the majority of ponies choose to believe, is.”

“I did not try to kill Cadance,” I hiss.

“As I’ve said, you don’t need to answer. Society is the most complex organism after all: dog-eat-dog, snakes in grasses on a rat race towards gopher holes, all of them tangled on a spider’s web. Yes, that’s society. I just figured it out, whereas you have known it from the start.”

How should I react, to such a statement. I cannot summon a smile at a compliment of that nature. When evil compliments evil, does one derive a sense of pride and self-esteem? I do not know; neither do I wish to find out anymore.

“Thank you very much for the Rioja,” I say, returning the bottle to my side. “I’ll be sure to hold my first party as princess in your honor.”

“I look forward to it.”

“I don’t,” I say. I slam the door closed to block the sound of her laughter as I walk out.

* * *

Canterlot awoke with a jolt and a shot of adrenaline. Before Celestia raised the sun, wires and letters and telegrams ran through the deep roots of the capital and in and out of the networks of the suites and houses of the most influential ponies. Straight from the top, the letters trickled down the tree of society, pushing back feasts, meetings, dates, and deadlines, to accommodate the event that fell on them from the sky. It is as though another day of the year sprang somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow, to be labeled as Rarity and Shining Armor’s wedding.

As early as five, newspapers rolled out of the printing press with the precision and speed of a Las Pegasus card dealer, stacking the presses eight feet high on newsstands.

At six, an army of papercolts sped through every nook and corner of every house and alleyway of the city with an alarming tempestuous hoarse of “Extra! Extra-ay!”

Around seven, ponies of all races and status held the crisp and fresh papers that proclaimed the headline of my marriage, the still-wet and warm ink dripping on their hooves.

Come eight, the shopping districts opened earlier to welcome wave after wave of mares rushing in to buy the most expensive dresses and perfumes they could find, whatever it was.

At exactly nine, word of my wedding is on everypony’s lips. It becomes their greeting, their icebreaker and their entrustment of good faith. Although, there is a peculiar hint of desperation in the way they express their excitement and commendation to my wedding, as though they are incessant to find a confidant to which they can convey not what they say, but the fact that they had said it. “Yes, I am on Rarity’s side,” they seem to say among one another, to be followed by a mixture of a challenge and threat, “Are you as well?”

Though the questions still linger on the tip of everypony’s tongue–“Why is Rarity marrying Shining Armor?” “Isn’t this too sudden?” “Isn’t he still married to Cadance?”–the words never pass further than their teeth. Everypony asked; nopony asked aloud, which was safer than mutism.

And those few among the lower class who dared utter the slightest of protests were met with such arrogant hauteur from their superiors: “Do you have to poke your nose into everything?” “You know nothing of the affairs of high society!” “You must be friends with that scandalmonger Fleur de Lis, aren’t you?” “Why don’t you just let those two be happy, you cheap gossip!?”

At precisely ten, I am already in Canterlot’s grand ballroom, overseeing the preparation:

“What!?” I scream at the young brown-coated colt.

“I-I... I’m sorry, Miss Rarity,” he stutters, holding his hat against his chest. “But... but... Coal Adit said there’s... no way for the train to make it here with the supply of gold... and... it’s not possible with the amount of time before the ceremony...”

“Make it possible!” I yell, stomping my hooves.

“B-But... We can’t...”

“Damn you all! What the hell do you think I’m paying you for?”

“I’m sorry. P-Please don’t blame me. It was Coal Adit... he said...”

“To hell with Coal Adit! If he thinks I’m gonna put a chandelier made of ormolu and rhinestones in my wedding then I’ll destroy his business. He’ll never have another contract with anypony else. Now go tell him that or you’re fired as well!”

“O-O-Of course, Miss Rarity,” the colt says, galloping away.

I have already exhausted all of my sighs. I lean my head against one of the marble columns of the grand hall of the castle. I no longer care for any pretense of tolerance. It should be understandable even for them, they the lower class, that a bride has rights she may administer and demand in keeping the standard of her wedding. I bark at them, with words a few letters short of profanity, for every causeless mistake they make. They do not work for me, I know; but they know, as well as I, that they work for those who enslave themselves to my call. Today and tonight, pulling all my influence and gathering all my power, my word is more absolute than even that of Celestia herself.

Around me, the ponies, mostly the uninvited working for those who are, scatter all over the ballroom to finalize the last touches of decoration. A flock of pegasi fly from one corner of the ceiling to another, from one marble column to the next, tying the knot of the silk taffeta curtains to the colossal windows and hanging the vermeil candelabras on the high walls. Some earth pony stallions and some unicorns carry a stained window–a gift from Glass Blower–towards the far end behind where my table will be; whereas most busy themselves covering the glass tables with rich gilded linen, and effloresced Casaflanka Lilies and Hydrangeas.

“Miss Rarity?” says a mare from behind me.

“What?” I turn, recognizing her to be one of my several wedding planners.

“There has been a... complication about the cake.”

“What is it?”

“Well...” she says, eyes avoiding mine, “it turns out that... both Miss Pine Leaves and Mister Hoity Toity hired a patisserie to make the wedding cake and we need you to choose which one–”

“Choose the most expensive one,” I answer, almost immediately.

“E-Excuse me?”

“Did I stutter?”

“I’m sorry... of course,” she says, but does not yet leave. She waits for a moment, until the group of stallions carrying the silverware and fine china pass by. “A-And the... the centerpiece fountain–”

“Oh, don’t tell me the ice sculpture melted or I’ll have Ice Pick’s head for this.”

“N-No... The sculpture is fine but... Mr. Wheat Barrel would like to... confirm your order here. I mean... H-He’s asking if you really want to... to have champagne flowing out of the fountain...? Because he thinks it’s... it’s... –Oh, please, understand that he used this word, not me–he thinks it’s... prodigal.”

“What!?”

“In his humble opinion–”

“Tell him that I’m paying him for his liquor, not his opinion!”

“Oh, yes! I mean, no! I mean... He... he just wants to make sure...”

“And tell him I want pure champagne in there. I want my guests to be able to hold their cups to it. If he so much as thinks of diluting the wine, rumors of his bootlegging–true or not–will reach the Royal Guards.”

Yes, the top of the social pyramid, to which all of them look up to.

Slowly and surely, it feels as though all the wealth of Equestria is flowing into the bottleneck entrance of the castle as ponies after ponies enter through the colossal twin doors, carrying in their hooves or magic every manner of glinting gold and polished glass. The caterers, who dragged with them the silver tanks and silver trays of an ample supply of beluga caviar, blini, buttered truffles, mushroom salads, and other such recipes, resign themselves to the corner, ready to serve meals to the earliest and most impatient of the guests. On the opposite side, several bars stand far remote from the tables as I believe that, later, there the guests will flock to sample the wide selection of vintages if the mountains of wine already stacked on their tables do not to suit their tastes or drinking habits. The first group of the orchestras, which my guests would have normally paid thousands of bits to hear a note from the cellist alone, ready the arrangement of their instruments to fill the grand hall with their stringed concerti grossi. With a flick of my horn, a small fire lights inside every glass bulb of the raised lanterns. The light that shatters from it bursts forth into a kaleidoscope of brilliant white and gold rays that shower the room, and all its decorations, to an opulent scintilla. The flooring, carpets and tablecloths, glitter like sand dunes beneath the whiteness of the sparkling sun and stars hanging on the walls and ceiling.

But it is not yet complete. Soon, hours from now, the lasts of the decorations will take their place at the table. All of them, raffish stallions in black ties and heron-like mares in gown, will be deposited from a long line of carriages, and race for the nearest seat to my dais. And there they will be, glistering like rubies, emeralds, topazes, and sapphires, popping champagne corks and flashing wives that flashes ornaments, will surfeit themselves in the overindulgence of my beauty as I–the great Rarity of Canterlot!–shall be heralded as this jewel box’s most precious and most prized treasure.

* * *

I wake up–to the sound of a loud pounding on my door–sometime around six or seven in the young evening, having caught what sleep I could for the few brief hours after having finished my wedding dress. Perhaps it is because I am still exhausted after a night of sculpting the perfect bridal gown, on top of scurrying between mansions full of important ponies and contracts, that I am in no mood to rise from the work desk where I rest my head.

It is insulting to myself, that the very day I have yearned for is now here in my hooves and, yet, I do not have the stomach to live through to it. Even the magnificent reception that I single handedly constructed this morning, undoubtedly now welcoming the first of my excited guests, arouses a feeling of tempting displacement, as how a drunkard is drawn to the bar. I rationalize it to be my own repletion towards beauty; I need for myself a moment’s reprieve prior to my finale.

For what else can it be?

A marriage with a prince! ...What more could have I ever wanted?

I press my face against the work desk still, covering my eyes with my hooves. I feel neither the energy nor the enthusiasm to rise; but I know I have to, sooner better than later. I heave my body up, straining with the burden of having to live, and open my eyes as I sigh.

It is the perfect afternoon that precedes the young night. The pegasi have accomplished the temperate sunny day as I have instructed Sky Wiper. I close the window and the curtains.

Running to the kitchenette, I draw out another bottle of red–I do not bother to look at the name or brand–and pour myself two glasses to sip. Shining Armor is at the table beside, still refusing to speak, with a glass of bourbon in his hoof. He is trying to get drunk, I imagine, with two and a half empty bottles of whisky before him. But he cannot drown his reason with wine, not with his anger still there to give him enough focus.

“Get some sleep, dear,” I tell my fiancé, circling around him. “Our wedding is just a few hours from now. I’ll take care of the rest.”

I wrap my hooves around his shoulders from behind, leaning my head on his shoulder.

The pounding on the door continues. I have forgotten it is still there, believing it only to be the throbbing in my temple.

“Brother! Open up!” Twilight’s voice erupts from the other side. “I know you’re in there! I need to speak to you.”

Before Twilight’s anger makes her resort to the use of her black magick, I open the door for her with a flick of my horn. As soon as the opening is made, the room breathes out the trapped dense air and inhales the fresh gust from the outside.

Twilight Sparkle enters, stomping her hooves about, marching towards I and my dear.

“Good afternoon, Twilight... Sparkler, was it? Or Sparkle?” I say, cuddling Shining Armor. “How can I help you today?”

“You can start by getting your hooves off my brother,” she barks.

I lean forward him further, wrapping my hooves around his docile head, and run my flat wet tongue against his cheekbone for Twilight to see.

“I said get off him!” she practically shouts.

“Such violence,” I laugh, pulling my hooves away and raising them as to show my innocence. “Can I get you something,” I ask her, moving towards the shelf.

“Don’t start the nice sister-in-law act. There’s nothing here that you can get for me,” she says, scowling. “This is Cadance’s room, not yours.”

“Some of the reds here are actually mine, and not Cadance’s.” From the second top shelf, I drag out a bottle of claret. “Such as this Bordeaux. I’ve had a lot of time to put some of my own vintages here.”

“Was that before you stole her husband the second she’s in a coma, or after?”

“Please don’t talk as if my fiancé is not here listening to us.” I lay down a fresh glass, pour in some of the red wine and push it to Twilight.

Twilight looks at the glass. She does not touch it. “I didn’t come to drink or celebrate. I came here to talk to my brother.”

I pour some more wine for myself, just a tad bit, and gesture to her with my glass. “Go ahead.”

“Alone,” she hisses.

“There’s not a thing you can tell to a stallion without telling his soon-to-be lovely wedded wife.”

“You are not going to be his wife!” Twilight yells, slamming down a newspaper on the tabletop. “He’s still married to Cadance.”

On the fresh and crumpled front page of the newspaper, half-covered with pictures of monochromic photographs of I, the front page headline proclaims, in big fat bold letters, the highlight for tonight.

RARITY AND SHINING ARMOR’S WEDDING TONIGHT!!!

I sigh, “I told them to write down Prince Shining Armor.”

Twilight ignores my commentary and marches closer to my fiancé. “Brother,” she pleads, half kneeling to look at his face. “Tell me what’s happening. Tell my why you’re marrying... marrying somepony like her! You love Cadance, don’t you?”

For the first time today, I hear Shining Armor’s voice, muttering with what excess strength left of an anemic wan body: “I do... more than anything.”

“Then why are you marrying Rarity!?” Twilight peers in closer.

Shining Armor, unable to look at her own flesh and blood, turns his head away. “It’s complicated Twilight,” he squeaks out. “It’s not something you... I mean... You can’t understand it.”

“But–”

“Please, Twily,” he says. He is not shouting, but his voice is slowly growing in the desperate need to urge. “Just... let Rarity and I go.”

“W-What?”

“I said... Just let Rarity and I get married... and get everything over with.”

“But you don’t love her! Don’t you remember Cadance?” she insists, tears now forming in her eyes. “Remember when she and I were being teased by bullies because of Smartypants and you came out of the bushes to protect us, and you got your cutie mark, and she said that you’re the bravest stallion she ever met! And just weeks later, while I was playing, I saw you two kissing in the park. You were lovers since you were foals, since we were foals! It’s always been Cadance, isn’t it!? Don’t you remember her?”

I know I cannot fight Twilight by sheer force of magic, but this influx of memories she spouts risks having Shining Armor find renewed motivation to try and get back to Cadance. And in the surge of panic that flows from that same blabber of razbliuto, I would have no doubt contested against Twilight if not for Shining Armor’s faithfulness in me, proving that no such battle is necessary or possible.

“No, Twily,” he says, “I’m trying not to remember everything.”

Her eyes, which have been skittering about to and fro Shining Armor and the newspaper, then focuses on me. “What did you do to him?”

“I? Whatever are you talking about?” I shrug, laughing. “Do you take me for some sort of Changeling queen sucking out thy brother’s love? Well, I do suck something out of your brother, but it’s not love. That I can tell you.”

Twilight winces. Bookworm as she is, she cannot be ignorant enough not to know what it is I refer to.

“But Cadance! She... She’s gone!” Twilight says again to his brother, standing up. “I went by her room just now and she’s missing! The nurses tell me she must’ve flown away, nopony can find her anywhere; I don’t know!”

Even my attention is captured with this sudden revelation. Shining Armor too, perking his ears, feels a visible shudder running up his spine. But it is not a shudder of fear, as one who does not know him might think, but that faint illusion of hope to which he still clings. A hope that, somehow, we will not be wed and Cadance will return to him. A hope to which he ties the rest of his sanity. A hope anchored to nothing.

But as I run my hooves against the tight brawn of his forelimb, the shudder is gone.

Has Cadance regained her strength already? I think, looking out the window. Is she coming here to put a stop to me and my night? No. She knows the consequences if she chose to. And if she did chose to, she would have been here by now before Twilight.

“You see, darling,” I say, acting upon the conclusion, “this is why you don’t understand anything. What makes you think that Cadance does not consent to Shining Armor and I being together?”

“What!” It is not a question. She exasperates, not believing it of course, thrown aback by the preposterousness of my lie.

“There, you see, such foalish naivety. You’re still a foal, Twilight, albeit all your knowledge of the sciences. This is why Cadance loves and trusts me more than you. There is no conspiracy here, little filly. Cadance approved of me for Shining Armor. She’s on my guest list, if you care to take a look. And I am willing to gamble that right now, as we speak, she’s already in somewhere in Prance to buy herself a dress.”

“I don’t believe you! This... This doesn’t make any sense!”

“It’s superfluous to discuss now. So, if you don’t mind, I still have to oversee the preparations below. There is still much to take care of before my wedding tonight.” I take Twilight by her hooves and yank her from the floor; with doubt clouding her mind she will not dare harm me.

But then she shouts, “What the hell happened to you?” She throws my hooves away from hers. “Why are you doing this? You’re not Rarity anymore!”

“Oh, contraire, I’ve never felt more of a rarity than I do now.”

She has stopped crying, but the remnants of tears still remain in her eyes. She does not wish to wipe them away, I believe, in her refusal to acknowledge its presence. “I believed in you,” she says, between gritting teeth. “I believed in you! All this time, you were lying to all of us. You looked all of us in the eye and lied to us!”

“Perhaps I did.”I shrug. “What of it?”

“And you were lying... to Applejack even when she–.”

Tsk “I think it is best that you leave now, Twilight.” I cannot hide the indignation from where such words come from. It is to my frustration that she, to whom I do not hide my contempt, also triumphantly sees that I failed to hide my contempt from myself.

“What’s the matter?” she says, taking advantage of my sudden lost of control. “Did I strike a nerve when I said Applejack’s name?”

I turn my face away, unable to look at her or Shining Armor. Not even the darkness, either from my closed eyes or the dark lightless spot in the room, can shroud the utterance of the name from which I have closed off my mind, and now has ultimately pierced its way back.

Applejack, still my dearest Applejack...

No, not anymore. Shining Armor is my dearest. Shining Armor is my one and true love.

I turn to him, to my prince. Having seen my lowered disposition to hearing the name of that...

That lowborn simplistic earth pony...

...he turns away, stabbing vengeance to me–causeless and mistaken vengeance!–with the solid stare of his eyes.

“Will it strike another nerve if I ask you whether you just tore out her heart, or just spat on it?” Twilight continues.

“I said get out.” I manage to contain the tempting yell.

“You don’t own this place!” she answers, trying to outshout me. “This is Cadance’s castle. And if you think that I’m gonna let somepony like you steal my brother from her then–”

“Get out of here, Twilight!” The thunderous pained bellow comes from Shining Armor. “And... and don’t ever come here to see me again.”

Caught off guard, even I am shaken by the force of his roar. When I turn to Twilight again, having fought off the shiver from my spine, she is paralyzed from the neck down. In her wide-eyed expression, she is only a slap away from crying again; and I wonder whether I should make it happen. Has Shining Armor yelled to her like that before? That I do not know. But the impact of his voice is a punch to her gut which, surely, is something he had never done to her until now, and which he does now in order take his stand beside me, against his own sister who had done nothing but muster the courage to fight for the rest of her brother’s life.

When Twilight turns her eyes to me, shaking her head, I am not smiling anymore, showing her the gravity of the situation which she is too eluded to grasp at face value. After rubbing away the reemerging painful throb in my temple, I place a hoof around Twilight’s shoulder and lead her out the door. She no longer resists, or has no resistance to offer.

“But please do come to my wedding,” I tell her, forcing a smile for her at least. My words now feel heavy, taking great effort to lift them up from my stomach. I even fear that it is not word, but vomit, that will spout out my mouth next. “And please bring the girls along. You are my bridesmaids and best friends after all... Encourage them to come... And tell... tell Applejack to be a sport and mature about these things...”

Closing her eyes, Twilight nods. With her ears down and her tail drooping, I have to watch her make her way down the stairs lest she trips, falls, and break her neck.

Did I just think that? I think, rewinding my previous thoughts. Did I just want Twilight to fall and die?

No, I shake my head, I did not.

I return to the room, taking a tiger-skin sable from the coat hanger.

“I’m going back to my room to get myself ready,” I say, putting on the fur. “We’d be wed in two hours. In a few minutes, I’ll send some servants to come here to help you get ready. I’ll meet you in the altar, dear.”

I approach him and kiss him, again, only on his cheeks. With this victory, I want to whisper to him in the kiss, do you still ‘feel sorry for me,’ my prince?

But I do not wish to hear any answer.

Turning back, I head to the castle of my city.

A few hours more... Just hold on for a few hours more...

Looking to my right, past the bleak horizon, the sun is setting again. Already, the dreary lights of Canterlot illume from the spires and towers. There is much more this time of the hazy lights as guests from all over Equestria, and perhaps past that, arrive for the reception of my grand wedding. To my left, where the weary night crawls and wash over the rest of daylight, I hear a small pop, followed by a splash and scatter of an iridescent luster of lights. The firsts of tonight’s trigger-happy firework is already visible against the blackened sky.

* * *

“...Isn’t it more comfortable like this?” I ask, staring in front of the vanity mirror as I attach my eyelashes. I blink into the reflection twice. “Lots of elbow room and breathing space. But I am still dying to know what are in those bridal-gifts. A new perfume perhaps? Dresses? That biggest one–from Mrs. Fund Raiser–must be a carriage, isn’t it? I mean, what else can it be?”

Until my entry, my room cannot be called a ‘living quarter’ as it was more appropriate to call it a storage room. As I entered, all around me, literally–and I mean literally–thousands of presents of all shapes and sizes and boxes and wrappers and ribbons are stacked together. Even just outside before I came in, the numerous gifts, which can no longer fit through the door, waited to be opened. I had to ask several servants to move all of which down the hall, just beside my table, and arrange them to a compose pile for my guests to admire. No doubt, the collection will be big enough to occupy most of the dais and touch even the ceiling.

“I need to get my wind together too,” I blabber about. “Did you see how many guests are there outside? When I go down later, they’ll be fighting for my attention. And if words can pull, why, I’d be dismembered after the first minute.”

In my mind’s eye, I can see–or hear?–the tick-tock of an invisible clock tower that counts the seconds of the last half-hour before my wedding. I sit now in front of the vanity, enjoying the seemingly expanded space after the haul, and flattering myself with every glance of my reaction.

I am wearing on me the dreams of a million ponies: a pristine wedding gown of diamonds. It is not a gown made with diamonds, but is, in fact, a gown of diamonds. The dress, the dream, made real and eternally aglitter. The ne plus ultra and the fare-thee-well stitched together to the ideal ensemble. From the bodice to the train-tip, the hemline to the collar, every inch of it is a sprinkled dust of a mare’s best friend. And the veil–no, there is no veil,–the tiara holds in its center piece the biggest one I have even seen in my life, an egg-shaped diamond almost a pound in weight, which in itself is also surrounded by dozens of the same smaller jewels circling from its crown.

Yes, I think, running my hoof against the dress, this is what makes a mare happy. Not the bits or the diamonds, but the grandiose superiority they signify, the demonstration that one has conquered the hardest and most precious children of the earth, and worn them for display. That one no longer belongs to the mud, but to the stars which they sparkle so alike. One more minute of looking at the diamonds, I tell myself, and I will feel happy. A minute pass; nothing happened. I imagine how convincing I can describe this scene to my friends–no, not those bunch of backwater fillies! What do they know?–to see them squirm and turn green with envy. A mare, who climbed from ragged Ponyville to rich Canterlot, wearing a diamond dress and diamond tiara, accompanied by her best friend and bridesmaid, to ready for a wedding with a prince.

Yet why is it that I myself am not convinced?

How ponies have bled and died to reach where I am. I have everything there is to have. I want riches–and the royal treasury of Canterlot is for me to dispose of. I want power–every pony is subject to my will. I want fame–and my name is on every lips and newspaper. I want love–and she...

To our left, the small open window shows the crackle of fireworks lighting the sky. Even in my own suite, the light of the fireworks reach, illuminating the expressionless face of Fluttershy and throwing the prism to my dress which it similarly reflected.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I say, looking at the fireworks. I am referring to how the colors reflect on my dress.

If there are any other ponies in this room, Fluttershy would not have nodded, hoping that question is addressed to somepony else. She has yet to say a word beside a few half-chewed ‘yeses’ since I have demanded her in my room.

“It’s just such a shame that you girls couldn’t throw me a bridal shower,” I say, putting on my eyeliner. “These are busy times, I know. But it still means so much to me that you can make it here to help me dress.”

Fluttershy nods again, trying not to listen to me, as she busies her hooves against my mane. She is unneeded beside me right now to help me dress, of course. She is aware of it; that is the problem. Dear Celestia knows I can do a finer and more thorough job with my magic than the pegasus’s own absentminded, if not careless, dexterity of her hooves.

Does she even know why did I invite her here, to my room?

Her silence says she does.

“Fluttershy, dear, “ I try again, “you don’t know how much this means to me.”

I wait for her to ask what it is I refer to. She does not ask.

“This wedding, I mean.” I turn to her and her hooves stop running the comb down my mane. “You know, Fluttershy darling, that this is the most important night of my life and I want express how glad I am that–”

“Rarity–”

“–that you and the others are–”

“Rarity,” she squeaks out again, and this time I allow her to interrupt me. “Please...”

“Please what?”

“Please... don’t talk,” she says, hiding behind her fringes. “I... really... just... don’t want to hear your voice right now. Let’s get your mane done... so I can go.”

“What do you mean? Am I speaking too loud for you?”

She peeks out, a little cautious, from the slits of her mane. “You know what I mean.”

Of course she does, and I do as well.

I half believed, and half hoped, that she will at least entertain me with a polite conversation. She, after all, is the only bridesmaid whom I have invited here to my room.

I turn around, back to the mirror, watching Fluttershy move her hooves against my mane. But as soon as the light pull of the comb tugs at my scalp, I turn around again, facing Fluttershy once more. I swear I hear her sigh as soon as I look at her.

“Fluttershy,” I say, my head up. “I would very much like to explain myself to you.”

Her hooves, which had remained raised in the air, refold back to her sides. She turns away from me, her eyes darting to the floor.

“I know that you think that...,” I sigh, “that I might be some sort of conceited opportunist. It might be... forgivable that I have been sleeping with a married stallion but I know that it is hard to forgive me for what I’m doing now... That I’m taking Cadance’s place as soon as she meets an accident... B-But I’m just being pragmatic about this... I want you to know that I feel guilty about it too. Honest. Like you, I wish life can be fair and all good. But life isn’t like that. It’s not simple good versus bad, either-or, and sunshine and gumdrops... It’s very complex.”

I hold my tongue for a while, looking for some sort of reaction. There is none.

“About what happened, between you and our Dashie,” I continue, “I want you to know that... even if you did told everypony about Shining Armor’s affair with me, I wouldn’t spread any rumors about what you... did with Rainbow Dash. It was just an empty threat, believe me. That’s why I don’t want any ill feelings between us. You see... It’s like... –Look, why don’t you let me talk to you for a second.”

“You are talking to me,” she answers, her tone flat.

“But... I want you to talk back.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“I want to clear some misunderstanding.”

“There isn’t any misunderstanding.”

“I want us to remain friends.”

“I don’t want to be your friend.”

Fluttershy remains composed, her lower lip between her teeth, her face still away from mine, desperately trying to maintain control of her limbs that do not try to cover her ears. There are no grounds for me to think this, and nothing in Fluttershy’s character would have given me reason to invent such a thing except in what I see. But, as I look at her now, I almost believe that rather than fear it is anger which restricts her movements. Her forehoof, which had been shaking, does not shiver in nervousness, but in tense readiness to inflict the avenging strike of a slap to my face. But she will not do so, not for all her benevolence, not for her intention to prove to the both of us that she is the better mare.

Fluttershy, finally, looks up and straight to me. Her eyes are not serious, dejected perhaps, but still confident of her words:

“After tonight you’ll be living here in Canterlot…” she says. “In that case, please don’t visit me in Ponyville anymore. I... We don’t want to see you again.”

In the ensuing silence, the blood-red light of a firework seeps in from the window.

I leap from my chair, the furniture tumbling to its side. “You self-important bitch!” I hiss between gritting teeth. “You think I give a damn about your approval?”

She remains standing there, unfazed.

“Do you think I give a damn about what you think of me!?” I shout. “Look at me! Look at where I am! I’m a princess! Do you know I have thousands–literally thousands!–of ponies worshipping me and showering me with gifts?”

And, even as I take a bottle of perfume and propel it to pieces against the wall, Fluttershy remains unmoved.

"Oh, where have you been all these years!? What sort of world do you think we live in?”

“I’ve always thought that... we choose to make our world.”

“You have no right to blame me, goddamn you! I didn't make this world! Don't look at me like that. You can't judge me!"

"...Don’t you have a wedding to get ready for?"

"Oh, get out of here you rotten moralistic cunt!"

Fluttershy nods, out of courtesy. She turns around, leaving the bright gold comb on top of the dresser, and walks towards the door.

"And don't forget to write down your best mare speech," I add. "I don't want you stuttering in front of my guests."

She opens the door, stops, and looks over shoulder.

"I... I think I get it now..." she mutters suddenly, “those mannequins... all faceless and no soul... just dresses of jewels and gems... they’re... they’re made up of plastics, aren’t they?"

"I said get the hell out of here!" I scream at the top of my voice.

I slump down on the vanity, pinning my hooves against my eyes. Then I realize that doing so might ruin my make-up. I stand again, briskly, flinging another perfume bottle on the floor with a violent whip of my hoof. The bottle shatters to pieces with a crash, and the strong scent concoct to a stinging mixture in the air.

"Goddamnit all," I say. There is nopony to hear it, not even I.

I sigh again, fighting the urge to smash every breakable in this room. What do I see, in these bottles, that infuriate me so? Or perhaps it is what I do not see that arouses my anger.

And I realize that it is not just the perfumes, but everything in the room is repulsing to me. The bottle of expensive wine on my vanity–which has remained untouched after the first sip–had a taste so rancid it took all my will not to spew it out of my mouth. The perfumes, which until now had existed only in the cutouts of my magazines in Carousel Boutique, is nauseous to the lungs. And even the brightness of the diamonds–the diamonds!–is a needle to my eyes. I do not wonder why these treasures of mine aroused vexation. No, it is wrong to put it that way. I, in fact, know why I detest the very same riches delivered in my name. I deserve this, don’t I!? But I do not try to think it; I fight not to think it! Every scurrying thought that dares to question the value of my material belongings to me is preemptively blocked by a wall, a blind alley of evasion made of cowardice to truth.

In the next instant, there is a knock on the door that makes me rise. I do not notice that I have slumped down to my vanity. The knock is not a pounding, which removes any suspicion that it belongs to any of my friends. Quite the contrary, there is a pattern, a musical melody even, in the way the pony on the other side insists entrance to my room.

I clear my throat, make sure that the arrangement of my mane remains perfect, and smoothen whatever creases there is on my dress and lips. I assume it is an impudent guests, Basket Case perhaps, to be conceited enough to interfere with a bride getting ready in her dress.

"Come in," I try to sing, my voice comes out as a croak. I pull open the door.

"Hey-a! Rarity?" Pinkie Pie laughs as she hops in.

What is this now?

"Oh, it's... you,” I manage to say, quite thrown aback. “I'm quite surprised... I mean, I didn't expect you."

"I didn't expect me here either."

When was it, the last time I have seen her? It is three days ago, I remember, a length of time that seems so far back. But the aftertaste her presence reminds me of gives me a clue that we did not part in the best of terms.

"So... what brings you here?"

"Oh, just wanna see my bestest friend before her bestest wedding." Then she bobs her head up and down. "And I need your help to fix my mane, I can't seem to get the right zap and bounce."

"Zap and bounce?"

"You know, zap as in like zappy!”–she darts across the room–“And then like bounce as in bouncy!"–then starts to hop on the bed, which is inadequate considering her hooves already have springs somewhere in them.

“Your mane?” I fix the bed from where she jumped as she hops down. "Is that all?"

"Yep, that’s all.” She squeaks out a smile.

"I guess I can spare some of my time.” I smile in turn. “I mean, because you are my bridesmaid after all.”

“I’m your bridesmaid,” she repeats, her tone higher than mine.

“I'm sure I can fix your mane into a... zap and bounce in a minute or two." I stand aside and point to the vanity where I just sat. "Please, have a sit."

With one great leap, Pinkie Pie somersaults and lands on the chair as gently as how would a feather kiss the surface of water, without as much as a ripple.

"Thanks Rarity," she laughs, before making faces on the mirror. "I knew I can count on you."

"You're welcome." I approach her from behind, comb in hoof. "Now let's get the mane fixed."

As I run the comb against Pinkie's mane, it becomes apparent that it is not only dexterity, but strength as well, that is needed to groom her encolure. It is as though each strand of her forelock is a twine of nylon, recalcitrant to resistance and elastic. With each movement, every strand springs back to its original position with a twang. I wonder if even a crimping iron or a straightener would do anything against the rebellious nature of her mane. But still I try, if only to keep my mind away from my wedding.

"Ooh! I'm so excited for your wedding," she says, clapping her hooves. "It's gonna be the biggest, bestest, most hugest wedding party of all time in the whole universe ever! Aren't you excited? I’m so excited."

Her head looms down, chin touching the desk, as she prowls the perfume bottles. The dreaded silence returns again, as she relaxes her muscles in the pleasurable sensation of being groomed. The genteel atmosphere she lets out, be it in her snorting laughter or her bubbly giggles, washes away the air of Fluttershy’s presence.

And the same infectious easiness in how she vegges out, grants me the same security of lowering down my guard.

"Pinkie Pie...” I say, the weight in my chest melting. “I really want to ask–"

"Nu-uh.” She shakes her head. “I'm not gonna use my Pinkie sense to tell you what’s in your presents."

"No... I just want to ask: do you really... feel happy for me?"

Pinkie Pie's bright blue eyes look into the mirror, and the stare, with its raised eyebrow, is reflected back to me.

"Let me... rephrase that," I turn my face away from the mirror. "Why aren't you... angry at me? Why are you actually happy to be my bridesmaid? You know... the things I did... to you and everypony. You know what I’m doing now, with Shining Armor, just because Cadance is sick... or missing. You know that I've hurt... Applejack... and..."

I stop.

In shock, I realize, with the sudden somatic looseness of my muscles, that the comb that I run down her mane is no longer met with any resistance. It slides down, evenly, smoothly, parting each strand with firm consistency, like a rock against water. And I look, in horror, to see what it is that caused this sudden change.

I retreat, almost jumping. Pinkie Pie's mane is no longer permed to its wavy curls, but flowing like a blood-red waterfall, evenly sharp on the edges as though it was sliced by a knife. I know then that I am not looking at the back of my friend, but at that unknown persona wearing Pinkie Pie's skin.

"And you were doing so well," it sighs.

From my vantage point, having backed several hoofsteps, I cannot see the face, even from the reflection, of that creature sitting in front of me.

"Why did you have to drop off your mask, now of all times?" it says, grabbing a random perfume and spraying herself with it. "I thought I have warned you against it already?"

"W-What?"

"But I guess it is fine, then." It reached for a hair clip, and pinned a small parcel of her hair. Observing the change, she decides against it and throws the pin aside. "It is just the two of us here, after all. Even we, at least, deserve some form of temporary respite from the platform and retire for a few bleak minutes behind the backstage."

She stands up, giving one last brush of her mane, and finally turns her face. Where I expect to see another, I do not know what to make of what I am seeing. The face which had once hidden itself beneath the mask of comedy, is now revealed to me. On the surface, it is the same face as that of Pinkie Pie only that Pinkie Pie never had such a visage. Her figure, elegant and dangerously poised in its caution, holds a felid quality in its movement that is precise and baleful. She is smiling, this figure in front of me, in such a way that Pinkie Pie would not: with an upward curve that shows the glare of the fang, a cheek wrinkled by a small sunken bony depression. Her eyes and eyelashes are sharper, intelligent, half open in an aspect not of exhaustion or a glare but a combination of both and neither. A firework exploded, and the color that seeps from the window bathes the prim posture of her outline in a brief shade of green, which, for a moment, camouflaged the icy blue of her carnassial irises and the pale blood-red mellow of her mane.

"W-W-Who are you?" is all I can ask.

"I’m the face deformed beneath a mask worn too long and too tight.” She tilts her head.

"W-What do you want?"

"What I want is to not see your face," she hisses. "I cannot stand it, but I have to learn to, from time to time, if just to keep the both of us sane. But, as a trade, you’d have to get use to my face as well. Wouldn’t you agree?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Seriously?" The shape and movement of her mouth indicates that she should be laughing, but there is no sound coming from her lips. "In that case, I must have overestimated you. But I didn't. You know what I'm talking about, even if you don't have the words for it now like I do. I can see it in every careful gesticulation of your body and in the escapism of your euphemisms."

"Don't talk as if you know me." I say it, because everything she said is true.

She trots close. "But I do know you. I know you more than anypony else, more than Shining Armor, more than yourself... and more than Applejack."

There is something in the way she looked, in the way her irises holds up my eyes. Before she can come any closer, those pair of icy blue knives inching closer to me with each step, the same paralyzing shock that renders me immobile now propels me to the door. I turn around and run towards the exit.

"Stop, Lapis," she says.

And, on impulse, my whole body freezes, my hoof drawing back as though the knob is still scorching fresh from the foundry.

"Something told you to do what I said, didn’t it? That's the proof of the fear I just talked about. Cherish that fear, Rarity, it’s worth millions. If you look back, you would notice that all your achievements here is grounded upon your paranoia."

"Fear?” I bark, whirling to her. “What do I have to fear against you?"

"You who just scrambled for escape, and found none, dare to ask me that?" she laughs. "That's another proof of that fear; like that of a cornered animal between a wall and its predator, resorting to fight back. Very well, I don't enjoy putting it this bluntly but if you insists... You have nothing to fear from me, except for what you fear in yourself. Which is what exactly?”

“Nothing!” I hiss curtly.

“Oh no. It’s everything.” She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. Then closing her eyes for a second, she opened it again, this time brimming with unforgiving intelligence. “First off, your real name isn't Rarity, it’s Lapis Lazuli."

"H-H-How did you...?" I can no longer control the muscles of my face. The blast of appalling memory contorts my muzzle, and the polarity is reflected in the amused frown forming in hers.

"Well, I am one of your wedding planners after all–or didn't you know that?–that I just had to take a peek in the Canterlot archives for your records to complete the form of your wedding papers. And strangely enough there isn't a unicorn pony named Rarity. What kind of name is that even? Rarity? It reeks of desperate egotism. Even after hours of searching, I still can't find it. So I searched for Sweetie Belle’s instead and here I found a startling discovery:

“Sweetie Belle's mother, Pearl, was a widow to a stallion named Diamond Dust before remarrying a unicorn quarterback named Magnum. Diamond Dust, however, was a widower to a mare named Sleeve Stitch, who gave birth to a pristine-white unicorn filly. It is also interesting to note that this filly’s birth certificate is two months earlier than her parent’s wedding documents. And that’s because it’s a forced marriage when Diamond Dust knocked up his first wife. That white unicorn filly is unplanned; she is an accident."

I clear the lump from my throat.

"So, basically,” she continues, “what happened was when the filly’s biological mother died, the daddy remarried. And when daddy died, the foster mother remarried. Leaving the filly to be a mishap orphan to foster parents who dutifully and silently carried her around like the leftover baggage she is. Isn't that right, Lapis?"

"What of it?” I say, holding my chin up. "What of it!?"

"But then your foster parents had Sweetie Belle and you saw how they loved her like they never loved you; and more than your real parents loved you, I’d like to think. You were unwanted, after all. So you ran away at the age of eight, and there Miss Rarity first came into existence down the ledger of Canterlot Blue Stable hotel. But you were thrown out after three days as your meager stolen bits ran dry. And you can't return to San Franciscolt with your name and face on every milk bottle. So you secluded yourself in little ol' Ponyville, working as a seamstress until the storeowner died and you revised the will to give you Carousel Boutique."

"Lies! You have no proof! That doesn't prove anything. Miss Carousel wanted to give me her boutique; she just forgot to write down my name in her will, that's all!"

"Maybe, maybe not. But your past is insignificant so I didn’t bother to double-check. But what is significant and shocking... is that these events happened before any of us were even born–"

"No!" I scream. "That’s not true!"

"That's right: you're not twenty-four years old, you're thirty-five!"

I run, bursting myself through the door to my bedroom. I slam the door close. She pulls it open. I push myself against the very corner, seeing her trot in.

"How pathetic can you be, Lapis?” she says. “Having to hide your age like that beneath a thick layer of powders and perfumes and fake eyelashes, and pretending you don’t need glasses when in public. Is that why you spend so much time in the spa?"

"I'm not Lapis!” I shriek. “I'm Rarity."

"Not to me you're not. Why, it got me thinking, you probably gave your virginity to Shining Armor, didn't you? You were a virgin on your first night with him, weren’t you?”

“Don’t ask me that!”

“Ha! So you were. I knew it. A thirty-five year old virgin, past her prime, preserving her chastity as a last desperate stranglehold to cling on to some fairytale happy ending with a prince."

I throw myself on the bed, shutting my eyes against the sheets and covering my ears.

"But a noose around the neck isn’t enough. You’d have to have stepladders, like Cadance for one, or mountains of corpses to climb like the mangled remains of your friends. You kept Twilight in the dark, turning her to the outcast among the six of us where she’s concerned the most.”

“I was going to tell her,” I cry out, “I swear!”

“You bribed me with your dresses and parties.”

“That- that was never my intention!”

“And you blackmailed Fluttershy with–"

"That's not true!” My scream is muffled by the bed. “Fluttershy and I are best friends, I wouldn’t do that to her."

"I talked to Fluttershy! Like all introverts, she told more in what she didn't say. You manipulated her with maudlin acts of self-pity with the subliminal overtones of a threat. You took her sympathy and choked her with it. I never felt so sick in my stomach that I had to do something: Fluttershy didn't tell Rainbow Dash about you and Shining Armor; I did!"

A gasp breaks out of me. "You swore! You swore you wouldn't tell!"

"Yes! I swore that I wouldn't tell anypony that I saw you two in Manehattan. But not when I saw you in Fillydelphia, in Baltimare, in Mustangnia! Why, you probably fucked your way throughout Equestria. And though it was smart of you, Miss Glass Slippers, to hide under names, you were stupid enough to use the same name over and over again on every cheap hotel you can find that any hosteler, luggage boy or pulp-beaten bartenders can identify you from a mile away."

I cannot respond anymore, my tears drowning me. She twists my foreleg and yank on my mane, pulling my face close to her vicious grimace.

"But worst of all,” she says, her voice rising, “you tried to kill Cadance!"

"No! No! No!”–I try to pull my hoof away from her–“I'd never resort that far."

"Wrong!" She pulls on my mane again, and I feel the slash of her sharp hoof against my cheeks. "When Twilight mailed us about Cadance's chandelier accident, I didn't rush straight to the hospital. I knew I have to run back to her room! And, lo, there I found those broken plates and upturned table where a fight broke out. And the accident is starting to look less of an accident, especially when that chain looks more torn than worn out. You tried to get Cadance out of the way so you can steal Shining Armor from her. But she survived! And you know that the only way you can get Shining Armor now is if you trapped him into marriage before she wakes up. He doesn’t love you. He never did. There’s only one reason why he’d marry you. And that’s because he got you pregnant, isn’t it? Isn’t it!?"

"Yes!" I cry. “Yes! I admit it!”

"Wrong again, you lying bitch!"

She runs to the bathroom and tears through the medicine cabinet, producing a bottle of pills. She takes the case, opens the cap, and throws its contents all to my face.

Screaming, I frantically jerk away the pink maggot-sized pills from my diamond dress.

"You're not pregnant! You wouldn't dare get yourself pregnant because deep down in that rotting core of yours, you still have the shameless impetuosity to love Applejack!"

"I don’t love Applejack!” I shout, covering my ears. “Don't say her name. I love Shining Armor! I never loved Applejack! Why do say that!?"

"For the same reason that you don't, because it's true." Then she laughs. "And–oh!–I almost forgot. Your cutie mark, I just figured it out–"

I feel my eyes go wide. "No! Don't say it!"

"So you know, huh? Those shiny things on your flank, they're not really diamonds are they?"

"I said don't say it!" I beg, in a hysterical cry.

"It makes perfect sense now. No... They're not diamonds. They're rhinestones."

I shut my eyes. I bite my lip. I cover my ears. But it is too late, even before she says those words. The truth is in me, it is my very destiny, my soul given form.

"That's what you are, Lapis, and that's what you want–the nothing, the zero, the unreal, the lie. Beneath that dress of diamonds, all you really are is one big rhinestone. The day you figured you couldn't equal what Cadance earned, loved and created, you wanted her dead, gone and reduced, in body and in spirit. You didn't envy her, envy is an understatement. You don't want bits, bits are too innocent for that. You stole Shining Armor, the thing she loves the most, and used it against her. You never loved Shining Armor. You just wanted to destroy Cadance. You want destruction! Destruction for destruction's sake. Destruction of the great and beautiful you couldn't be. Like a punk destroying a statue to proclaim himself superior to its sculptor..."

"Enough..." I whisper, a last plea of mercy. "No more... I can't stand it anymore... Just... stop... Please stop..."

"You have nowhere hide to now–no tears or sugar-coating–I’ve torn all masks. You can’t hide from me no more than you can hide from your own aging skin. Why so afraid, Lapis? I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”

I lay weeping on the bed, for a span of time I cannot know. The images are all forced into my head, shrouding my consciousness of what is real and what are thoughts.

Then I feel her, on the bed beside me. "You asked who I am, Lapis?" she whispers to me, gently this time. "I'm Pinkie Pie. I'm Pinkamena Diane Pie. Like you, I played this game of masquerade. And I'm sick and tired of it, but I have to keep playing. But unlike you, I played honestly, without any illusion to my wrongdoing. Inasmuch as they couldn't see you, you can't see me; except in these brief exhausting moment where I am too tired of all these posturing and want some freedom of relief.

"What I want is the exact same thing you told Rainbow Dash and what she didn't believe in, but I do. I want all six of us to be friends together... and... be together. It doesn't matter what we're feeling on the inside as long as we're all smiling. We'd still be friends, no matter what. That's why I hid myself behind the curtains. I pulled my own strings in the same darkness where you pulled yours. I thought I had you, that you'd give up once I cut off your last connections with Canterlot gentry when I humiliated you in public. But I didn't think you were black enough on the inside that you'd try to kill Cadance for Shining Armor, just to get back on the game; on their game of masked puppets foxtrotting the dance macabre. When that happened, I knew I lost. We'll never be friends again, the six of us. But at least on the surface... on the surface of it all! We... we can still smile to each other. If I can manage that at least... then..."

I feel her hoof petting my mane. She shakes her head.

"We are not abnormal ponies, you and I. We are, in fact, the original displaced simulacrum of cognitive dissonance; and it is our friends: the honest, the kind, the trustworthy, and the loyal, who are the aberrant in this world. But there is one thing I can never understand about you, Lapis. There may be some self-defensive psychological excuse of a rationalization as to why somepony like myself would prefer a beautiful lie over an ugly truth. But you, Lapis, you chose an ugly lie over a beautiful truth. Why did you do it? What were you trying to prove? Is this your alibi against life, or your indictment against the world in which you live? To pursue as something as petty as being a princess...”

“I-I-It’s not... petty.” I slap her hoof away and scream, through the open space and through the years, to them: to Applejack, to Lapis Lazuli, to Rarity, to Miss Glass Slippers, to Cadance, to Shining Armor, to all my true friends, "It’s not petty! It was my dream! Mine! D-Do you know what it was like... spending nights after nights crying myself to sleep? How lonely... how dark... and disappointed those nights were? Wishing of a dream that will never come true? Of true love, of castles, and of... of... true love: Of a prince, any prince, that will come and sweep me off my hooves and... and show me that my life is... is much more than dark alleys, muddy farms and... and making dresses I’ll have no right to wear. That there’s a place of beauty, of elegance, and I belong there and no place else. T-That I... I deserve something better than being treated like baggage or... or... rhinestone... That I’m... wanted and... and loved... Should I have stayed there, in Ponyville, as my young life bled by, drop by drop, each day, slaving away before a sewing machine for a day's meal, waiting for some fairy godmother to wave her wand to do what I cannot? I had to do something! Anything! I’m supposed to be a princess, goddamnit! And you–all of you!–have no right to judge me, you commoners, servants, evil stepsisters and stepmothers. So what if I hurt others!? So what if I have to climb corpses!? So what if I have to reduce myself to a whore!? I had to pursue it, even at the cost of everything. ...And maybe–maybe!–after the Gala, I could have forgiven this world if my dream never came true, only it did! But not to me! But to Cadance! To Cadance! It was her fault! Suddenly, from nowhere, my grand royal wedding! What did she ever do to deserve it!? It was supposed to be my night! my prince! It was mine! I have the right to it, haven’t I? I dreamt of it! I wanted it! I begged and sacrificed for it! I’d sell my soul for it! I even gave up Applej–”

I stop, her face coming to my mind. There is a long silence.

“I... I even gave up the only one I ever truly loved...

"All... I really wanted was..." I mutter, "was somepony to tell me that... that… ‘I-It’s okay, Lapis. You don’t have to be a princess to be loved’… that… I don't need to be a princess to be happy. I don't need to wear a tiara to be special. That I don't need to be on a throne to be wanted and loved."

"And to the only pony in the world who gave you all that,” she said, “you stabbed her in the back."

The weight is lifted from the bed, and I hear her trotting out the door. As I look at her, she stops, turns around and stares down at me.

“Help me!” I scream unto her.

"Don't worry you pathetic little–” she catches the insult between her teeth, deciding against it. “When the judge asks if anypony opposes your union with Shining Armor, nopony will speak against you, not even me. But I'd advise you not to throw your bouquet to your bridesmaid because we'll avoid it like a plague.”

“No!” I scream again, leaping to my hooves and throwing away my tiara. “You don’t understand! This isn’t what I wanted!”–I dive down, my body to the ground, grabbing her hooves, begging–“Help me! Expose me! I… I’m begging you!”

“I understand all too well.” She shakes her head. "And no, I won’t help you. Nothing can help you now. This is your night, your dream, your happily-ever-after. You’ve fought for it. You’ve wished for it. And here it is. So brush your mane, retouch that make-up, fix your dress, and put on that mask. Your wedding is in a few minutes. And I have a best mare speech to get ready for."

* * *

“…Believe me when I say that a mare like that is one of a kind.

“So, on behalf of the Elements of Harmony, we welcome you as a part of our circle of pony friends forever! That’s why I believe this wedding is not an end, but a new beginning. Chocolate toasts for everypony! To Rarity and Shining Armor: forever and ever and happily ever after!”

Pinkie Pie grabs a glass of chocolate syrup seemingly from nowhere and downs the entire thing. As she finishes, the crowd once again erupts into a storm of applause and standing ovation, toasting in my honor with glasses of cognac and champagne.

Fluttershy is idly playing with her food, pretending not to listen. Rainbow Dash breathes deeply and painfully, as though the air stings her lungs. Applejack shakes her head and takes another swig of her bottle. Twilight Sparkle, still with that dazed expression, blinks once or twice.

But only I could see through and between the jokes and humor. The blood drains from my face and tears struggle to breach my eyes.

“And for the wedding’s closing speech,” Pinkamena was saying, “who better to give it than the bride herself!”

Two dozen photographers dart, sit and squat just below the stage. Flashbulbs from the cameras pop and sparkle from every direction. The brightness painfully shocks my eyes and my vision blurs.

As reality congeals itself again to a whole, I see Pinkamena standing in front of me.

“Take it away, Rarity!” she says.

The pink pony looks at me and winks. I look at the microphone, then to her, then to the microphone again. Her smile stiffens and it makes me clear my throat.

My whole body shaking, I take the microphone from her hooves to deliver the night’s closing toast.

“I... I am proud...” I say, clearing my throat, “and honored... that you are here with me tonight, on the night of my wedding. Ladies and gentlepony, my honored and esteemed guests, what is there for me to say? That you are here right now says it all. I cannot thank you enough, all of you, for coming here to celebrate with me in my union with my new beloved husband. In this gathering, this celebration, that is said to have existed only in childhood fairytales, stories of chivalry, and... and dreams, could not have been possible without each and everypony in this room. In good faith, I must give credit where credit is due. To my best friends, whom without them this night could not have been possible:

“To Twilight Sparkle,” I call. The lavender unicorn looks up, her attention summoned, blinking only once. “She who has always known of my love for her brother and who has always encouraged me with her continuous support.”

Stomps of clapping hooves flows from the crowds. Twilight Sparkle closes her eyes, as though to shut them is to shut the sound of lauding.

“To Rainbow Dash,” I say, once the applause dies down. The cyan pegasus heaves all the air contained in her chest out of her flaring nostrils. “She whose words never once stood in my path and whose actions kept reminding me that the pursuit of love, of true love, is the noblest undertaking of them all.”

The crowd breaks into another cheer. Rainbow Dash grits her teeth. She raises a hoof and almost, almost, crashes it against the table. She places her shaking forelimb down, safely back to her side.

“...For all her understanding,” I say, looking at the canary mare, “her compassion, her cooperation, her obedience and complete faith in me, how can I ever thank my best friend, Fluttershy?”

This time the crowd rises up, giving a standing ovation once more to the signal of flashing cameras. Fluttershy hides herself beneath the curtain of her long fringes, doodling on her plate of refuse.

“And to Miss Pinkie Pie,” I say, looking at the crowd, avoiding the look of the pink pony waving at me, “she who keeps–”

Then, just then, a loud metallic sound interrupts me, a screech of metal scratching against marble.

Applejack is standing up, having pulled away her chair. She is looking at me.

“She who keeps...” I try to continue, “who k-keeps a secret a-and...”

Applejack, mouths something. Something nopony is able to hear. She puts her hat back to her head and turns around, walking towards the door.

“...w-who keeps a secret... secret... a-and who...” I stutter, but it no longer matters. Nopony is looking at me. Nopony is listening to me, not even myself. All our attention is locked towards the single earth pony making her way down the aisle.

Passing through the long open alleyway between the wall of eyes, hanging jaws, fluid faces of make-up and gems, Applejack steadily walks, under the hot white light of chandeliers and amidst the sea of gold and jewels. Her head is slightly casts down, concealing her eyes beneath the brim of her hat, as she makes her way to the door.

“W-Wait...” I whisper. The word barely escaped by lips.

Applejack continues to march.

The lull hangs, prevailing over the grand hall that even the orchestra had muted its music. Sound cease to exists but for her light hoofsteps that rings throughout the high ceilings. At that moment I feel, as we all do, an overpowering awareness that is almost a sensation; a feeling of our own pliability, as though our hooves and bodies are all fluid and plastic against Applejack notwithstanding obstinance for the truth. My vision blurs, so that the wall bends and the crowd, with all their jewels and gems, dissipate underneath a sea of mist where they melted, and only Applejack, dear and dearest Applejack, in her intolerance for the fake, the unreal and the lie, remains solid, compact, real and visible. With each and every inch she takes away from me, I can see from the white veil how she carries with her, and her only, the brief instants of our memory. Then I see it too, in brief flashes that come and go, with each resounding step she makes: Our moments, for ours alone, of how we kissed–the sweet caress of her lips every waking morning and every sleepy night–, and embraced–her protective hold from where she shielded me from all else–, and loved–her everything–, to be lived again no more and to be locked away only in her nostalgia. At that moment, the hall stretches through finite eternity, narrowing to a tunnel to which the end point, the goal, the ending, is Applejack herself.

“A-A-Apple–...” I try to say. The lump of gems, jewels, bits, fame, and peers in my throat block out the word.

Applejack reaches the door. She stops. She raises a hoof and touches the knob.

“Appleja–...”

Applejack pulls the door open and–

With one loud and violent outcry, my voice shatters the silence as I scream my true loves name: “Applejack!”

Applejack stops. She turns around, and looks up to me. Her green eyes waiting.

“Applejack...” I say into the microphone, the sound screeched against the walls. “Applejack, I...”

Thousand of ponies shift on their seat, looking at the two sole standing figures on both ends of the grand hall: I, the princess, who stands trembling on the raised dais, and Applejack, steady and calm, who stands with one hoof on the knob and another already out the door; and when they figure that she will not say a word, that is when all eyes, with the small gradual drag of a cumbersome weight, turn to me.

And now, here–standing here in this grand pause–alone, finally on top of the world, the whole of Canterlot waits for me in total stillness and silence. The moment which I had dreamt all my youth for, the moment where I have struggled with all my life for, to be the object of everypony’s unflinching eyes. Not a word, not a sound from them, just the world of Canterlot–and myself–waiting for the ultimate conclusion.

The moment’s delusion overwhelms me in sudden ecstatic revelation. It is for a flash of a second, just a flash and just a second, where all of them look at me with an endearing and beloved smile. A smile they found, in reflection to mine, as though they are to say, “Congratulations, Rarity.” And I know, in this illustrious and illusory second, is the only place where I can have everything that I have always wanted. I turn to look behind me and stare into the eyes of my husband, my prince, my Shining Armor. He too, watches me, and I tell him only the final words I can speak for us: “Shining Armor,” I say, barely above a whisper. “This... this is enough...Thank you.”

And the last second pass, the enchantment–the delusion–wears off. The clock tower strikes midnight.

I turn to the crowd one final time, my smile gone, as I throw my mask away and unveil the wool from everypony’s eyes.

“Yes!” I shout into the microphone, to everypony and to everything. “I tried to kill Cadance!”

All of the sudden, as gasps of horror ripples throughout my audience, the crowd felt the life of a throbbing heart punch their chest.

“I, Rarity, to whom you offer your commendation, to whom you’ve sold your better judgment, is the failed murderess of the princess. It is I who wanted to kill her; who wants to kill her! It is I who stole Shining Armor. It is I who lied, and threatened, and blackmailed everypony to bring us to this very moment! It is I who–”

But Rainbow Dash is already in the air, and Twilight on her feet. Fluttershy is shocked, a second away from screaming. Pinkie Pie drops her masks, showing her true face grit her teeth.

“I am the witch of Canterlot!” I scream.

My horn glows and once again the chain above snaps. The chandelier falls, crashing down on the fountain. Its fires spill into the wine. The infernal combustion from the centerpiece shatters the windows and sends the burning chandelier reeling through the aisle and tables, leaving a trail of dancing flame in its wake. With another flick of my horn, the flame spell set the front row tables alight. Everypony is on their feet. The mares scream. The stallions jump out of the way. The pegasi who can manage is in the air. Everypony is racing to the door. The fires jump and crawl on the cloths and curtains, dispersing with each fabric they eat away. And the flames, having reached the bar and wallow on the intoxicant, erupt in a blind drunken rage. Whereas the flowing champagnes and cognacs spill liquid fire, it is the bottles of rum and gin that bursts to a fiery explosion like a Molotov cocktail.

Tongues of flame sprawl from the windows. The smoke fogs the ceiling, dimming the room.

“Twilight!” Shining Armor shouts, pushing me aside and jumping from the dais to her sister. “Help! Help!” another pony is screaming, “somepony help!” “No! No! Don’t say that, Shy! Wake up!” Another came from the center table. “Stop it, Rarity!”

The rest of the screaming is lost to me; I am already running, galloping, through the spiral staircase of my castle, laughing and bawling in delirious hysterics.

* * *

I neither know nor care if the flames followed me, or if I had set my room alight myself. Somewhere in the room, the gramophone made the cello sing a symphony in a solemn key, and the fire, entranced by the sound, dances to the melody as they bid their time nibbling on my curtains and carpets. The dresser is all consumed, as is the cabinets that house my dresses and shoes.

I stand, in front of the cheval glass, still in my full wedding gown and tiara, pressing my hoof against the clear transparent projection. But the mirror, which had been unforgiving all these years, feels pity for me one last time. For it did not reflect me nor where I am, but seem to open a portal to a long dreamy past of who I was, and where I had been. Behind the surface of that glass, I see, with vivid clarity, a small little filly. She is a very small and very gullible unicorn filly with pristine dove-white coat and lush violet mane. She is in a basement. She is wearing a crown made up of cardboard cutout and a cape of torn canopy. But most of all she is smiling gaily and superiorly happy; she dances, spinning in place, as though she in a ballroom, and she takes bows as though she presents herself to the most important ponies of the world.

“I-It’s alright now, isn’t it?” I tell her, kneeling on the floor. “It’s okay now... isn’t it? We were a princess... even for a... for a second... And we were... were great, weren’t we, Lapis? We were great, weren’t we? We were so important and... and famous and... popular and... everypony loved us... We were wanted... We were… we were... wanted… B-But I... I’m sorry... We have to be the witch now... P-Please, don’t look at me like that... It was worth it, wasn’t it... Even if... for a second... just a second... just... a... second... we were a rarity... And I’m glad to have given my life for that...”

Standing up, I wipe the tears from my eyes with a white napkin.

“It’s okay,” I say, chuckling so she wouldn’t have to worry. “I... won’t be a witch for long... Witches like me–no, not you, just me–we... we don’t get happily ever afters. I’ll… I’ll make it so that your friends will.”

The fires have swallowed most of the furniture and the bed is now a flinching color of orange and red. I look up, to see the ceiling is being devoured by the burning ivies.

I trot to the end of the room, the last place the fire has yet to reach, and open the two swinging glass doors to the wide alfresco balcony. I adjust the tiara on my mane and fix the creases of my dress before, overlooking the city of Canterlot, I stand on the balustrade’s ledge.

“Rarity!” A voice behind me boomed and a pair of hind legs crushed the lock of the door as it is blown open. “Rarity!” Applejack calls again.

I do not even turn my head, my eyes still on that lighted city of Canterlot. A small cool wind brushes against me, flapping my diamond gown’s white train to a long wavy flag in the breeze. If I am any more romantic, I would have spread my forelimbs wide like an eagle. But one hoof of mine remains on top my head, against the tiara, to shield it from the wind. If I am to die now, I will at least keep the tiara on.

“Rare, what are you–” She stops, abruptly, seeing me where I stand. She shouts, “Get the down from that ledge!”

“I’m sorry,” I say, “I can’t.”

“To hell with yer sorry!” she shouts. “If ya don’t get down from there ah swear ah won’t forgive ya. Now c’mere!”

Something crackles from behind as the fire whistles, and the sound of the bed frame giving way to the flames can be heard.

“I can’t,” I whisper. I turn to her and watch the dance of the wall of fire between us. “This is how it ends: with the witch dying by her own fault. Nopony feels guilty, nopony else get blood on their hooves, and everypony can tie their knots, right every wrongs, and close the curtains in a celebratory merrymaking… Yes… That ending is perhaps my last parting gift to all of you.”

“Goddarn it, hun,”–hun, to be able to hear that word again from her lips– “Don’t take the coward’s way out! Ah didn’t love ya for that. It don’t need to end like this. We’ll get ya yer happy ending too! Just... Just come back and we’ll fix everything! Like how we always fixed everything! Just–Goddamn it!–don’t ya dare jump!”

“I’m sorry. I can’t anymore,”–I raise my forehooves to my face, staring at the invisible blood in them–“I already… jumped. And I’ve been fallin… for quite some time now,”–then putting my hooves down–“ Goodbye, and I’m sorry for everything…”–I smile to Applejack one last time–“...Dearest.”

I hold my hooves against my chest. I lean back. I fall.

“No!” Applejack screams.

There is no sense of fear in me, even as I lift myself from the touch of ground and felt nothing but air on my hooves as I descend into the open mouth of the abyss below. I feel no sense of release. No redemption from penance. Only the awareness that, in a few eternal seconds, my life and all pain it has contained will be gone.

But then a speck of orange follows me from the ledge where I threw myself. And horror strikes me that she will share the same fate as I. Some of her coat is lightly scorched, having charged through the fire, and a small speck of flame burns bright from the edge of her hat that is whipped away by the wind.

I do not know what it is she wishes to accomplish. She races for me, against the air and current, both hooves outstretch in reach for mine. I do not know what, too, made me reach for her. Perhaps it is because, more than death itself, I regret to see those streaks of tears streaming from her emerald eyes. And more than anything, I want to wipe her tears away as a last assurance that it will be okay.

Stupid Applejack... You can’t fly, silly.

Our hoof inches closer, closer and closer still until, as we are about to touch, salvation pulls Applejack away. There, from behind my dearest, a cyan pegasus holds my love aloft with one desperate batting wing.

“Not me!” Applejack screams, struggling to free herself from the hooves saving her life. “Save her! Save Rarity!”

Thank you, Rainbow Dash.

...Take good care of my Jacqueline.

Contended that my love is safe, I lean my head back and throw my hooves about.

I see, through the tunnel of my racing vision, the stars, the colossal marble towers of Canterlot, and the last image of Applejack reaching out to save me. I close my eyes, feeling the whips of wind slash against my back in my descent, and submit the lasts of my dwindling consciousness to the repercussive echo of the past and the world of our dreams:

“Lapis, dear, are you still dreaming?” “Save the dreams for when you’re sleeping.” “Ah swear on mah grave, on mah parent’s grave, that ah won’t let anythin’ hurt ya.” “I want you, Shining Armor. In every way a mare could want a stallion.” “Ah want ya, Rare. Ah want ya more than anythin’ else in the world.” “Plastics. You know what plastics are, of course...” “I swear, by our friendship, that Shining Armor has only you.” “Have a good night, sir, and the charming mare who is not your wife.” “I–I don’t care if I’m your mistress out there but here... at least... on your bed... I’m your princess...” “Here we are, the faceless, wearing masks upon masks upon masks, playing charades, hide-and-seek and musical beds.” “Tell her! ...Tell AJ the truth!” “If I take you, right now, would you be willing to leave Applejack for me?” “Cadance... I should’ve told you this before but I’ve always hated you.” “...It wasn’t Rarity.” “I’m pregnant.” “Tomorrow night, I shall be a bride... A bride to Shining Armor!” “Beneath that dress of yours all you are is one big rhinestone.” “It was my dream! Mine!” “I am the witch of Canterlot!”

I do not fall with grace, as I have not lived with grace. Spiraling, tumbling, and turning, I fall.

And as I reach the end, fate and destiny prepared the the safety net below with an enveloping embrace of her large pink wings.

“Got you,” says Cadance.

Chapter 10: "What A World! What A World!"

Chapter 10:
"What a world! What a world!"

The circular room is a condensed five meters in diameter. Though it is in one of the highest towers of the castle, as a former chandlery this stowage is spared of the regal decorations adorning the others. The interior walls are an unpainted brickwork where layers of masonry broke out of alignment. The low pressed ceiling hangs from it a lone oil-burning lantern, serving only to trap the scent of dry wax within the room's constricting ventilation. Boxes upon boxes of half-used candles are stacked on one corner, harnessed on the wall with cobwebs and puddles of some moldy green liquid oozing from the wall.

I sit on the foot of the bed–there are no chairs–admiring the pink flowery curtains. It is the sole furnishing in the room, an ironic touch considering that the window it drapes over is sealed with three metal bars. Beside me, still on the bed, lies a plate of untouched millet cereal, a banana, and a glass of distilled tap water.

There is a loud pounding on the door. I hear the wooden beams barring the entrance–or exit, as it may seem to me–creak and unlock out of place. The tinkling sound of keys and chains fiddle on the knob. How many locks they put there, I wonder, that it takes so much of their time just to unseal the door. It is as though the metal ring on my horn, hindering my magic, is insufficient enough to hold me in place.

A royal guard, an earth pony with black coat, barges in without the ceremony of a greeting.

"Hey!" he thunders, stomping into the room. "You need to eat your food or we'll have to throw you in the sweatbox."

I do not answer him. He marches to me and kicks the bed to take my attention. The bed moves; I do not.

"Hey!" he barks again. "Are you listening to me?"

I am not.

It is a week now since my wedding, a week since they have dragged me from the courtroom–with their corroded bangle and anklets–and into this makeshift cellar. The succeeding days passed by unnoticed, measured not in dawns and dusks but in the uneven intervals of guards throwing commoner's food on paper plate to my table. But it is only this morning, when I exhausted the last of my eyeshadow, that the slightest sense of urgency strikes me again.

"Would you like to fuck?" I ask the guard, it is the first words I have said in days.

"W-What?" he stammers. He has not misheard me.

"Y-You can, if you want," I assure him. "You and your friend over there... with me... In exchange I want you to get me some eyeshadow... and some face powder and some blush... and a proper comb."

I remember having to save using a plastic fork just to be able to use its teeth to fix my hair.

"...and maybe a cigarette," I follow up, before I forget.

I do not see what face the guard makes, as I am not looking at him. But I see his shadow, on the floor, shakes its head and turn away. I hear him throw back profanities at me, as though my suggestion is in itself an insult to his character. But perhaps it is to himself that he spits his cusswords; that is, at the temptation of the thought. It is a free lay, after all, with the small trivial price of cosmetics for a mare of my quality. He would have no doubt taken my invitation if not for the fact that the other guards are waiting for him to place his bet on their gaming table.

But in one sudden sweeping motion, he briskly turns back to me, kicks the tray, and launches the foodstuffs to my face. The wooden plate strikes my cheeks as the cold wet grain splashes all over me. I draw back, shrinking, on the floor and against the wall, with my hooves raised to cover my head and my eyes shut, my whole body shaking in terror. But, as I slowly open my eyes, I just him there, standing with that look. That look... which I have seen in all their eyes. Contempt in one eye and disgust for another, leaving no room for pity.

Still glaring at me, he spits on the floor. “Fucking slut…” he murmurs.

He walks out and shuts the door close. As he fumbles with the key to the lock, I hear him speak to his partner, unmindful whether I am to hear it or not:

"Can you believe that bitch actually offered to have sex in exchange for makeup." His voice, like his shadow, creeps from the doorsill.

His partner, an older stallion if I am to judge by the voice, responded with a hoarse laugh, "You didn't take up the offer, did you?"

"Do I look that desperate?"

The second batch of laughter is followed, and then accompanied, by the sound of rolling dice and coins. When the need for conversation that plays along with the game finally arise, I hear the older stallion say, "Kinda feel sorry for the bitch, don't you?"

"What?" responded a third voice. I did not know there are three guards now keeping watch of my cell.

"I don't feel sorry for her," responded the first guard. "Why? Do you? After what she did?"

"Maybe a little..." For a moment, I thought I heard the sound of a shrug. "She's kinda broken in the head."

"Kinda? Hell no. The shrink said she's mentally sane. She's just twisted and rotten to the core. I'd first stick my dick in a mincer than in somepony like her."

"Seriously?" asks the youngest among them.

"...No!"

The laughter that broke out from the three temporarily interrupts their conversation back into silence. But as the need to converse returns again, the second guard resumes:

"Look at this way," he says, "remember all those mares we picked in the bar last night? All of them are wearing makeup to get laid. This one's willing to get laid for some makeup. Now what the hell does that say?"

There is a long ensuing silence from outside the door. It seems as though they are seriously pondering the question. The silence is broken at the sound of a coin tinkling on the floor. Then the third voice said suddenly: "That she's a very cheap whore?"

Laughter bursts once more. The laughter and their voices fades away as the sound of shuffling cards and rolling bits takes the place of their conversation.

Once silence becomes my sole company, I am once more aware of where I am. I do not know why I cannot cry–this is justice, perhaps?–or think myself worthy of any other position than where I am in. Here, in this cell, caked with foodstuffs, frightful of the unhygienic stallion spit on the floor.

With my hoof, I wipe away the mess on my coat. I stand up, turning to the bed to fix the creases of the yellowing brown-white sheets. I pick up the mess on the floor, food and plate and all, and set everything to a decent arrangement on top of the cardboard boxes. I lie on the bed and force myself to a sleep that will not come.

* * *

"She can't possibly be in there?" A mare's voice comes from the other end of the barred door. I do not know if it is the words or the voice that wakes me up; nor do I know if I did wake up or had simply returned from the lethargic passivity of my consciousness.

"By Celestia's order," a guard answers, "I'm afraid she is."

"Please open the door," the voice insists.

"B-But we're not authorized to–"

"I am."

"Of course... Uh... Will you be taking responsibility, princess?"

"I will."

Before the door opens, the chains and beams clamor aloud. The guard on the other side does it to stir me awake, or to forewarn me to be on my best behavior for my visitor. I already know, and expect, to see Cadance on the other side.

She does not enter yet when the door opens–she means to–as she stops in horror to observe the cage in which I am contained. She gasps aloud, her hooves jumping to her lips, as she eyes my confinement. It is an exaggeration for her part. Surely there are worse places to imagine, but Cadance reacts as though I am secluded in a whorehouse or a torture chamber. Her expression of shock changes to that of horror the second she notices the unfashionable bracelets strangulating my tumefied hooves to a pale purplish red.

"Please take those cuffs off of her," she orders one of the guard.

The guards hesitates, if only to show his disapproval to the command. He walks to me, takes out the key ring, and unlocks my manacles loose. "You better not do anything funny," he mumbles, "or else..."

I barely hear the threat, which I would have ignored eventually, my focus concentrated only on Cadance.

"What is she doing in a place like this?" she asks to the commanding officer. "I told the guards to get her in a room."

"Well... when you said room," the youngest guard responded, eyeing his superiors for help, "we all thought you meant a prison room."

"Nevermind," she sighs. "Please talk to Seneschal and tell him to have one of the castle suites ready for Miss Rarity."

"A suite, princess?" the second guard asks. "For Miss Rarity?"

"Yes, a castle suite... the best one available."

The guard is quiet for quite some time. He turns to his subordinates, nods, and responds back to Cadance. "Very well, princess. Would you like a guard to keep you company during your visit?"

"That won't be necessary. Please leave Miss Rarity and I alone for now."

"But princess," one of the younger guards says, "considering what Miss Rarity has done just a week ago, we highly recommend that–"

"Please don't speak of Rarity as if she's not here," Cadance says, looking at me in the eyes for the first time. "And please leave now, I assure you that nothing will happen... to either of us. Otherwise, any more noncompliance will be duly noted and notified as insubordination to your superiors."

"Yes, princess!" the guards responded in unison, a bit too quickly. That this is the first time she has threatened to exercise her authority against her subjects surprises them into a security of abrupt and blind obedience rather than silence.

Once the guards have gone, Cadance finally enters the room. She unfolds her wings–fully bloomed of its feathers now–and unveils, from her sides, a small green box. She levitates the container on top of the table before standing in front of me.

"Do you mind if... I sit beside you?" she asks, trying to reflect a smile on me.

I do not respond.

She remains standing there, looking for a place to sit as she runs a hoof down her full pink mane. She finds no chairs inside. An idea strikes her and she goes outside for a few second, then returning with one of the guard's white deck chairs. She places it at the opposite end of the table and there sits.

"I..." she tries, but pauses to clear her throat. "I brought you something."

With her hooves, she removes the cover of the green box and takes out from it a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

"I-I brought us some glasses too."

With her magic this time, a pair of wine glasses floats from the box before she sets the container aside. She places all three items on the table.

"Cabernet is your favorite, isn't it? Remember?" she asks. She pries open the cork with her magic and begins to fill my glass. "I've aged two of these bottles myself for a year now... since the day of my wedding. The wine is still very young so it might not be as good as the ones we used to have. But I'm confident this tastes great since I got the grapes from Vintage Vine."

She lifts her glass to her lips and lets the liquid scarlet inside her throat. She takes two small gulps before putting down the glass again. She looks down on the wooden table, one hoof on her glass and the other around her bottle. She holds the bottle up to me but decides against it when I do not reach out. Placing the bottle down, Cadance forces a meek smile.

I look to the window outside. It is a bright sunny afternoon where the sun is at its highest. From the height of my cell, there is a clear unobstructed vista of the sky. Even the other towers of Canterlot erect short from touching upon the open canvas of my view. Here the sun is large ball of orange, glinting and shining in its brilliance, as it lay resting on an ocean-blue sky. It makes me feel as though I can simply extend my hoof outward and, upon doing, I may be able to touch the beacon of light. Perhaps–a fanciful thought even–to peel away its skin and taste to see of its sweet-sour citric flavor.

"To be honest..." she says, smiling, "I placed this bottle in my cellar the night we became best friends hoping that... in fifty or sixty years we'd be able to share the taste of friendship together. But I guess... It's very important to take a first few sips for now... because I'm afraid of what were to happen if I lose you."

And the clouds, too, is a bountiful blanket of pillows. White fluffs of cotton that lay afloat on the sky. They move slowly, drifting a mere inch a minute, towards beneath the sun. The rays shine upon them, polishing their color even more to a bright white. But not is not to say that the color underneath had grayed. Quite the contrary, for the sun which pierces through the cumulus had opened up a spotlight of luminance. I have read it is called ‘Angels Stairs’ as it is to this beams of purity where the seraphims descend to pay us humble ponies a visit.

"About your... trial..." she says, waiting to be slapped. When my hoof does not crash against her cheek, she continues, "I am... almost finished with the proceedings. I didn't press any charges and I was able to pay all your debt to the last bit. For the other... accusations... you will be glad to know that I was able to plead with Aunt Celestia to extenuate your punishment under grounds of your previous accomplishments as an Element of Harmony. It's not exactly an official mitigating circumstances by law but... you know..."

A small bird enters the open field, flying upwards as though to trace the arc of the sun beams. Then it spins around, trying to circle ray of light, it seems. Then the small flying creature, having seen a resting place from all its aerial aerobics, suddenly flies towards my cell window. It nears until I see it clearly. I am not well versed in the taxonomy of avian creatures and am not familiar with this particular species. It is a small brown bird with a red wing and a black tail feather. It perches just behind the curtains, between the two cylindrical prison bars.

"You are... currently stripped of your title as the Element of Generosity until further notice. It's only temporary, I promise; I made them promise. They'll give it back when... things quiet down a bit.

The bird and I stare at each for quite some time. It tilts its head from side to side in sudden erratic movements whenever it blinks. Its eyes are like two marble orbs of onyx, so crystal clear clear that I can see it reflect the entire room–and myself–on its pupils. Then the bird, having grown tired of me, turns away and, still perching on my window, starts pecking its beak on the cement.

"But for now they said we still have to keep you detained until... all the paperwork is completed," she says, in the tone of an apology. "It'll take a week or two, but I'm trying to push the process. B-But you don't have to worry, I won't make you wait in this place. If you haven't heard what I said to the guards, I'll have you transferred to one of the castle suites. That'll be a much better place, don't you think?"

I look up to her and, as I open my mouth, feeling the crusted numbness of my dry lips. "What is my supposed sentence?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

"We... we don't have to speak of that."

"I'm speaking of it."

Cadance turns away and answers, "A fine of five million bits worth of damages in addition to six months to three years of exile from Equestria. Should you choose to come back, you will not be allowed to step foot in Canterlot ever again. And there’s... a restraining order to me and Shining Armor... But, again, please never mind all that! I paid your fine and I'm trying to make it so that you're not exiled–"

"Shut up."

“I… I’m sorry."

A gust of wind, swaying the curtains, disturb the silence. The bird is still there, wasting its life one peck at a time. Has it come here to enjoy my humiliation before Cadance?

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"...I think you know why."

"Don't expect any gratitude from me."

"That wasn't what I was talking about." Then she smiles. "But some gratitude would be nice." There is neither sarcasm nor demand in her tone. Her statement is both a request and a plea.

"You weren't supposed to save me," I hiss.

"I did."

"It was supposed to end for me that night." I glare at her. "I'd rather die than be saved by you!"

"Please don't say that..."

"It should have ended on my terms," I say, turning away. "Now what am I? A witch trapped in a princess-guarded castle."

Her eyes squints. Then, her eyes to me, she shakes her head. "I won't apologize for saving your life, Rarity."

"Why did you do it?"

She pauses for a moment, then says. "...Rarity, we live in a world where ponies don't ask each other that question."

"I'm asking it," I say. Without forethought, the following words comes out without hesitation. As though my question is but an innocent inquiry. "Does that disqualify me as one of your omnibenevolent subjects?"

Cadance does not answer. She must think it to be a rhetorical.

"I'm not the kind of princess you are, Cadence," I press on. "I don't trot through an enchanted forest, humming with the mockingbirds to call deers and rabbits to my side.”–I turn to the bird for a second–“But for that one night... that one night where I was at least able to fake it for real... even for a brief second..."

It seems the words themselves are strangling me. I stop, for a moment, when I realize that my voice is slowly turning to a high-pitched squeal.

"And your next step," I continue, collecting myself, "is to tell me that you'll forgive me."

"I... I already did."

"Oh," I groan, "your self-righteous vanity is intolerable."

"I do forgive you, Rarity. For both our sakes, and for the sake of our friendship."

She pauses, taking a deep breath. She rubs both her hooves together.

"You... You hurt me, Rarity. You really did. Right now, my son's in an incubator... fighting for his life. The doctors... they don't know whether he'll make it or not... He's so... so small. A-And he hasn't made a sound yet."

Her eyes are red, but no tears are coming from it. She must have exhausted all these past few days.

"I... I want you to know that now, while I still can, I forgive you for everything that you've done. You put me and my son in harm's way... but still... This is the hardest and most painful thing I've ever done in my life but,"–she breathes in, pulling back tears–"I do forgive you."

Cadance sniffs and wipes away a phantasmagoric tear from her eye. Then her smile finally appears, proud of accomplishing the arduous of task forgiving. She tries to laugh, but the air is only lifted from her side.

"Because I... I'm honestly convinced that you're not a bad pony, Rarity," she says, as though I have asked for her reason. "You're a good mare who just... just made the mistake of doing bad things."

"Do you honestly believe that, after all I've done?"

"Yes." She clears her throat. "I'm the princess of love. I know that... envy, hate, anger, revenge... all of it are such a waste of emotion."

"Even to those that deserve it?"

"I... I don't believe anypony can really deserve to be hated," she says, looking down to her glass and rubbing her hooves together. "The bad things we ponies do... We do it because we don't know that they're bad... or because we're scared... or because we want to protect something. Those things don't deserve hate. I... I think they deserve understanding, sympathy... and forgiveness."

The two of us remain silent for a long time. Where I expect her to speak, she only blinks as she stares in my eyes. Her purple irises are crystal clear now, made rounder by a small smile curving her cheeks. Despite the constant pauses in her sentences, her eyes has not once trembled.

A whole minute pass, with the wind brushing the curtains against the gray brick walls and that damnable bird chirping. Cadance finally notices it, and she extends her hoof. The bird flies inside and perches on to Cadance’s shoulder.

"Ha!" I shriek, cackling, "And I thought I was the only witch."

Cadance is unshaken. She says, "You will please kindly explain yourself."

"Quite," I answer, leaning back on the wall. "So this is your plan, huh? My underestimation of you surprises me. I didn't think you would be this cunning."

"Do you think I have some ulterior motive?"

"Every motive is ulterior, darling." I laugh again. "And the genius of yours lies in its subtlety and its patience. Alright, you forgive me. What happens next? It will be incredibly easy to dance your way from party to party, having cleansed your name from my slander. How easy would it be to say, 'Ah, yes, Miss Rarity did try to murder me but she couldn't. But I forgive her; after all, I am the all-compassionate all-merciful saint.' Then what? Having absolved me, I'll be invited to your parties as a sign of good faith. And you'll sit on your throne and hide your snicker as your guests point and laugh at me like the sideshow freak you've turned me to!"

Immediately, I grab the wine bottle by the neck and smash its bottom against the table. There is an explosion of red and shattered glass. The bird flies out the window. The liquids spread through the flat surface. Still holding to the bottle, I point the sharp jagged tip to the princess.

"Well, guess what!?" I scream in sounds no longer different to that of a foaming dribble of a drowning mare. "Your plan won't work because I don't accept your forgiveness! You think I’ll let you flaunt your moral superiority over me!? I don't regret anything that I did; and I'll do it again, damn you! It's not a lapse of judgement or... or some more confusion. I'm not a teenager delinquent yearning to be loved. I hope your son makes it out alive in the hospital because I swear by Discord that the day I get out of here I'll finish what I started! I'll kill you! Then I'll kill your son. Then I'll kill Shining Armor! Then I–"

The sharp jagged point of broken glass still pointed to her throat, Cadance leaps to her feet towards me. The chair behind her crashes backwards in the sudden movement, yet she herself has not lost her footing. I feel my weapon shaking in my hooves as she walks near to me. And for once–for this once–I see anger in Cadance's eyes. But it is not anger that is contemptuous. It is an anger that is also a plea, ultimately realized in the way she raised her hoof and, resolutely, slapped my face.

The echo of the slash of her hoof against my cheek resounds throughout the room's sudden silence. Then, tears in her eyes, she grabs me by shoulders and screams:

"Stop doing this to yourself!" she shouts, at the top of her voice, shaking me by my body to stir my soul awake. "You're my best friend! You're not some witch. All this time you were just hurt and confused. You wanted to belong in some place you don't. Because you're a lot better pony than this! You deserve someplace better. You don't belong among those self-flaunting elitist. You belong with us. This isn't you... This was never you! You're... You're a good pony, Rarity."

My foreleg comes down to my side, removing the sharp object now pressing against Cadance's chest. I let go of the bottle and it falls on the floor with one last clink. With my other hoof, I reach up and touch the swelling cheek Cadance struck. There is no pain, despite the hot stinging sensation. The burn is warm, tender, and heartfelt.

Yes, I don't belong to them, I admit, they belonged to me.

I do not know when or, more so, why do I start tearing up. Nothing in Cadance's action–even that slap–could have elicited a teardrop from my eyes. But perhaps, rather, it is in her words that affected me so: for her to still be able to say that I am 'a good pony'–after all I have done and everything I threaten to do–shows an optimism so beautiful that it cannot be anything else but naive...

...and so painfully mistaken.

"Your conscience misguides you, Cadance," I find myself saying. "We both know that I'm guilty, that I am beyond forgiveness. And, for this whole mess, the only mistake that I made is that I didn't succeed... Even now, If I have killed you, then I would not hesitate to throw my life away in order to steal yours. The only reason why I am sitting here–and you, there–is because I have failed."

"I refuse to believe you." Cadance shakes her head.

"Shining Armor did. He felt it, the second after he first had me... and that's why he kept coming back." I press my hooves against my chest. "Do you know why Shining Armor cheated on you?"

"I never thought it's my place to know."

"You're still so young, Cadance," I say, as a compliment, smiling a little. "Shining Armor went to me because he loved you so much. He loved you so much that he spared you the desecration of an act which he inflicted upon me. For him, you were too holy to be defiled by his touch. And in your place, he put me there. He pitied me. I was his lust, his weakness his temptation, his passion, his remorse, his sin, and his guilt. You were his love, his strength, his absolution, his hope, his promise, and his goddess. I have received from him nothing but his worst, and to you he has given nothing but the best of himself. You see, Shining Armor had me–all of me–but, not once, have I ever had him. Now, all that I am is the faults he poured into me."

She remains quiet for a time. Then, responds: "I still refused to believed it."

"That Shining Armor never loved me?"

"No. That you're beyond forgiveness."

"There are no more grounds for the alternative. Look back at the muck and broken spirits I have left behind and tell me if there has ever been a desire for me to right my wrongs."

She says, aloud, "If that's so, then why did you cry out for help?"

Cry out? I want to ask. I do not answer.

"You were already at the top," she explains. "You could've had everything you wanted. Why did you have to confess in front of the whole world and throw everything away if–"

"Get out of here, princess," I interrupt, calmly.

"No!" she shouts, eyes closed and shaking her head. "I... I heard it from you. Your wedding speech. Your confession. Your cry for help. I was there. If what you said about you being the witch is true then why did you do it?"

I turn away from her. There is no place to run. No place I can hide myself in, except in words:

"Do me one last act of kindness and get out. I don't care what happens anymore: believe whatever you want, set me free, leave me to starve, or send me to gallows; but just... just get out of here."

Several minutes of stillness pass, with neither of us saying a word. So long as I can see her shadow there on the wall, I refuse to turn and to speak. Then, a few minutes more, Cadance finally stands, with the chair she sits on clamoring beneath her movement. The shadow moves to the door but stops there, turning back one last time before vanishing completely.

But, as I turn, I find that small bird perching back on its window, watching me with blinking sympathetic eyes.

* * *

I pack the last of the dresses inside the suitcase, beside where what's left of my pitiful jewelry are bundled inside an étui. With my magic, I nudge the lid down and fasten the zipper close.

I look up, out the shattered window, at the first sound of a crowing rooster. It is not yet dawn, the sun has not yet come. The sky is a starless milky blue, awaiting the morningtide. There is not much time left, and I know I will have to leave now if I am to catch the first train out of Ponyville.

Turning back to the room, the pair of broken windows stared back at me like half-lidded eyes. Two black rocks remain on top the remains of glass, untouched and undisturbed. I walk out and lock my room close before descending to the store proper.

The shop is stripped of its clothing. What has not been sold has been given away. What was thrown back to my face was left to keep the house warm in the fireplace. Only the lifeless piles of mannequins remain. There, on the storefront behind broken mirrors, naked bodies of plastic lying on top of one another. And they glare at me, with their empty eyes, as though they know that I am the cause of their plight. I pay little attention to them, no more than I do to my house.

As I walk out of Carousel Boutique, I turn back to the building one last time. I remember Miss Carousel, the shop's previous owner before I had taken it over, telling me that beauty on the outside is beauty on the inside–it is by such premise that I have lived my years, thinking about it now–but the desecration the shop has suffered on its exterior outmatches what it contains within. Toilet papers run from the walls and over the roof's eaves. Half-burnt and termite-ridden plywood is barricaded along the windows by one or two rusty nails. And vandalisms of black paint spelled profanities such as 'witch', 'slut', and 'bitch' across the door. A new defacement, this time written in red paint, spells out 'Element of Whoring' around the overhang.

I stop for a few minutes too long, thinking whether I should put Miss Carousel's legacy out of its misery and just burn down the damn thing. Why ever not, I think, It is not as though I will return here in Ponyville. But as I begin to charge the fire spell, my better reason decides against it. I remember that, after everything that has happened, I of all ponies haven't the right to it.

Another alarm from the crowing rooster and I turn south, towards the train station. What a strange insulting coincidence that any of the shorter path I take will lead me straight to the houses of those who once believed me to their friend.

Nevertheless, I go on, cutting straight to the heart of the town. I run across the early risers, salesponies and the like. As soon as they see me, the hum of silence spread among them like a reverberating echo of a preemptive hush. Then the turbulence follows shortly, seconds after I have passed by some. I hear them, whispering aloud: "It's her, isn't it?" "How dare she show her face out in the open like this!" "Now my morning is ruined." "She tried to kill the princess of love... of love! What kind of pony does that!?" "Not even Discord resorted to murder."

Then, I realize, that Fluttershy is among them. Unlike the others she is not speaking ill of me. She just stands there, saddlebag on her side, falling in line for Carrot Top's merchandise. We lock eyes for a moment as I pass by her. She knows, I trust, that with the luggage I am carrying, I no longer intend to return here in Ponyville. Still, she says nothing, not even a goodbye for old time's sake. She shuts her eyes and turns away, hoping I will be gone when she next opens them again.

With my head held up high, I expect somepony to throw a tomato at me. Perhaps that will get Fluttershy's attention. But nothing comes. Why not, I wonder, surely if the delinquents can spare paint on my house then they, at least, can spare a fruit or a vegetable to the local murderess.

Passing by Twilight's treehouse, the first rays of the sun break from the horizon and begin to awaken more pony than I would like. The door of the library is thrown open and I am reminded that not all residents of Ponyville are ponies.

Spike marches out the door, hauling a large black garbage bag. He sees me standing by the side and he stops as I do. Slowly, his cute groggy morning face turns to a wrinkling glower. I hold the anger in his eyes as he heaves the bag and hurls it to the trash heap. He turns back to the house and stomps the ground on his way back. But before he returns inside, he stops again. Clutching the door with one claw and pointing at me with the other, Spikey-Wikey puffs his chest, wipes the tears in his eyes, and yells out: "I'm sorry for myself that I even had a crush on you!"

He jumps back into the library.

From inside the building, I can hear Twilight react to the commotion: "Spike, what happened? Why are you crying? ...No, you're crying. You're definitely crying."

I do not wait for Twilight to come out. I head straight to the train station.

The terminal in the early morning is filled with dawn. But the stretch of orange is cut to a divide across the mauve heavens, the pivotal second in which both Celestia and Luna holds the same power. To the east, the sun inches further to the sky by the second. To the west, the remnant of the night blooms with its twinkling stars.

The cool mist is still damp to the touch of my coat. Even as I enter the station,

"One ticket," I say, once I am in front of the ticket booth.

The booking clerk stares at me for quite some time before shaking his head. "Where to?" he sighs. "...End of the line, we hope."

"Yes, dear," I respond, tossing some bits on the plate. "End of the line."

I receive my ticket. The dispatcher and the local brakepony are the only other ponies in the station; on any other day in the past, they would have been enthusiastic to help me with my luggage. Now they merely exchange a few words between themselves–and with the booking clerk once I am past the gate–to leave me to attend to my belongings.

I hop on to the platform and look at the wall clock hanging on the wall. I am earlier than I expected. If the schedule is unchanged, Ponyville is the first stop from the rail yard and the first train of the day is the pullman coach nopony in this town can afford to ride. In ten minutes, I expect the carriage to be here and take me someplace else.

The only thing to do now is wait, and pretend that I do not notice she is here beside me.

"Rarity," she says. "Ah reckon she was right when she told me ya'd be here."

And standing there before me, her sun-streaked coat blazing like orange fire under the dawn, her glistering mane a waterfall of gold, her hat tipped, emerald eyes brilliant, is dear and dearest Applejack. She is no longer the weeping heartbroken filly I have hurt, nor is she the panic-stricken suicidal who jumped after me in desperation. No, this is she of my mind made real, my idealization of her concretized. A pony incapable of standing idly by or moving irrationally. Applejack, as I have always loved her: stubborn, beautiful, gentle, and powerful more than anything else.

In another life, it might suffice to say that if this is the first time we have met, then I would have fallen in love with her this instant.

Maybe right now, I think, searching for my feelings, I am falling in love all over again.

"Good mornin', hun," she says, in that thick familiar accent I have grown to adore.

"Good morning,"–And I find myself unable to pause, and helpless against the invisible force of the past, to speak of another word for her but–"dearest."

What are you doing here? I feel the need to ask. How did you know where I am? The questions does not come in surges of panic, but of mild curiosity. I do not care for the answers to these questions now. What will you do? is what clouds my mind.

"You're uh... set to go, huh?" she says, glancing at my luggage.

I nod.

"Permanently?"

I nod again.

"You... got some bits saved?"

"...Some."

"Got any place where ya can stay?"

"I'll find one."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

We remain quiet for some time, with Applejack eyeing me and I, unable to look at her, prodding on the wooden boards with the end of my hoof. Right now, I feel an inexplicable and unjustified indignation towards her, even more than I did for Cadance. Of her being here–of her simply existing–with me knowing that any and all emotion I may ever have again will only be invested in her. There is nothing more that I want, and not want, than for her to vanish this instant before my eyes.

"Ya don't have to go, ya know," she says. "Cadance already bailed ya out and yer already back here in Ponyville. Ya can start fresh and all."

I remain silent, indifferent to the technicalities.

Knowing that the words had no effect on me, Applejack tries again: "Rare, what if ah tell ya that ah want ya back?"

And to this, I have to answer, "You have no reason to want somepony like me back."

"Ah have every reason. Want me to tell you each one of'em?"

"No," I respond. "Rather, I want you to tell me why did you bother to come here."

"Ah came here to tell ya that ya ain't goin' on that train."

"No?"

"No!" she shouts, making a step forward. "Not while ah'm here to stop ya."

"What do you plan to do?" I cock my head. "Get your lasso, tie me up, and rein me back to Sweet Apple Acres? No, Applejack, you won't. And unless you do, there is no way you can stop me from leaving."

"Ah ain't gonna do nothin' like that," she sighs. "But ah will if ah have to. Ah've heard it said that 'if ya really love somethin' then it's best to let it go,' but that that's the biggest rubbish ah ever heard cuz if ya really love somethin' then ya'd do everythin' ya can to take it. And Rarity–"

"Stop. Just Stop!"

"–ah love ya... Ah love ya so much."

Regardless of what it is that I feel, I cannot bring it to myself to return the words she wishes to hear. "Don't say that,” I whisper. “Just... please, don't."

"Ah'm the Element of Honesty, Rare, ah can't lie about somethin' this important. Neither ah can just shut up 'bout it."

"You... You don't even know who I am."

"You're Rarity. You're my Rarity."

"My real name is Lapis Lazuli," I say. I see, suddenly, a flashing image of a little filly dancing in front of a basement mirror, wearing nothing but a ragged canopy for a dress and a cardboard box for a tiara. "Rarity is a fake... an imitation... a rhinestone."

"You're one and the same pony, and ya ain't a fake. And what we had wasn't fake."

"How can you be so sure, Applejack?" I snap. "How do you know I'm just using you no differently than how I used the others?

"Then just tell me!" she yells. "Tell me right now that all those sweet days we had together was fake and ah'll leave ya alone. Just tell me that you didn't love me for real and ah'll let ya go. C'mon, say it! Ah dare ya."

I cannot speak another word. The unwanted memories knocks on the threshold of my mind. The sunny mornings made brighter each time we wake up to each other's smile. Our afternoons spent in parks and in picnics and in each other's embrace. Our nights together where we giggle at our playful frolics. Can I lie to myself and to Applejack that all those smiles and laugher and kisses are unreal? I ask myself. Can I get away with denying something so evident, so manifest? No. I cannot deny it.

"See, Rarity?" she says, responding to my thoughts. She smiles. "You did love me."

"I... I still do," I confess. "I love you more than anything."

She gasps, her eyes sparkling, "So that means we–"

"It means nothing, Applejack." I respond immediately, undercutting what hope she has. "My love means nothing."

She gnarls, and stomps both her forehooves on the floor. "How can it not mean anythin'? We love each other, that's all that should matter."

"You misunderstand me, dearest." I say. "I love you, but I do not want you to love me."

"You're lying."

"I am."

"Then why do ya have to say somethin' like that?"

"Because you're young, you're naive, and you're stupid."

Applejack is unshaken. The insults, coming from somepony like me, sounds more of a compliment than a smear.

"How old are you, dearest?"

"Ah'm twenty-two."

"Quite forgivable," I sigh. "You'll outgrow these immature notions of quixotic romanticism. Well, as for me, I'll be thirty-six in two months. Thirty-six, I'm already pushing forty. So I have been there in the young foalish age of twenty-two. I know what you're feeling, Applejack. I've felt it long ago. You feel so young, so powerful, so full of energy that you can fight and win against what behemoths and juggernauts the universe throws at you; the world is your oyster. It seems so pure and beautiful now, isn't it? Devoting your life to the cause of your true love that society at large has rebuked. 'Two against the world,' you'd like to say to yourself. But do you know what will follow after that? Years of enduring the consequences of your youth's impracticality? Years of a lost cause? Do you know how many days are there in twenty years? Do you know how long and what happens in those days?"

"You don't want to speak of that."

"No," I breathe out. "I don't want to speak of that, but I will. So let us do say that you take me back and let us do say that I do go with you. Alright, happily-ever-after, scream yeehaw, and ride off to the sunset. But what happens then? Well, first and foremost, you'll probably have to take me in as I am severed of what connections my work has given me. Carousel Boutique has lost its reputation, I am penniless, and in debt. There will be days when you'll have a fight with Granny Smith, for having another mouth to feed. Not to mention that this mouth can only ever spill lies and slander. Alright, you can laugh at that. But then what would Rainbow Dash say? Or Twilight? Or Fluttershy? Do you think anyone of them will approve of me for you? Then what about the other ponies of Ponyville? Do you think they'll forgive you for harboring a murderess!? You'll be hated and despised. Rumors will appear, one by one, about you being my conspirator, about the whole Apple family being in on it. There will be days when you'll bear standing behind the apple stand as each passing customer snort and glare at you. You'll coax them to buy the fruits of your labor, and nopony will even spare you a passing glance. They'll say that they have no bits or... or that they've lost the taste for the fruit lately. But that's not what you'll hear! You'll hear them say that you're a cuckold! A dense wittol to a gold digger! Then you'll go back to the barn, dragging a whole cart of unsold half-rotting apples. And none of your family will saying anything–they've already said all there is to say–and they know who to blame! They know! What will happen to Sweet Apple Acres then? What will happen to Apple Bloom, to Big Macintosh, and to Granny Smith? And all for what? For my sake?"

Applejack remains there, unmoved.

"Not enough?" I ask. "Very well then! So one day ten years from now you'll wake up with an old forty-six year-old mare beside your bed. Her beauty has gone, her charm has gone, and whatever it is that you fell in love with is trapped inside an old wrinkling carapace. That oh-so-magical feeling of love you have in your youth has abandoned and betrayed you. Every morning you'll force yourself out of bed and make breakfast, but we both know that's just an excuse because all you really want is to stay as far away from me as possible. You can't stomach looking at me anymore: my coat has lost its luster and my wrinkles are showing since we can't afford that expensive brand of make-up I've been nagging you to buy for days. Then while you're breaking your bones at work, you'll drown yourself in rationalizations that I'm not trying to seduce your brother like I already did with half the stallions in town. And later that night you'll have a fight in your nightly bar because you heard somepony say that I'm the town slut. And you'll get angry, teeth-gnashing angry, and not because you heard a lie, but because you heard what truth you've been trying not to say. Then one day you'll find a young and lovely pony you've taken a fancy to, and you'll... you'll take her to your bed and embrace. And before you feel shame, you felt the satisfaction of release and reward, because you know you owe yourself that much at least after torturous years of putting up with me. And when you go home, you'll confess the deed–proud of it, even!–because you're still honest. And then what will I do? I'll scream! I'll tear my mane out! I'll bitch about it for hours. And we both know I haven't have the right to after what I did all those years in the past: fucking Shining Armor behind your back. Then later that night, when we lie together in bed, our backs turned to each other, you'll hear me sob and cry and you'll do nothing about it. You'll lie there, awake, haunted by thoughts of what irredeemable sin have you committed that you deserved to have lived a life like this. And there–right there, Applejack!–that will be our future! That's what in store for you. Now, do you still want it!?"

When I tore away the tears from my eyes, my vision clears and I am once again returned from the world of my morbid imaginings to the train station. Applejack is still there, silent.

A small rumbling sound makes it way behind me, followed by a loud blast of a horn. From where the sun drags itself arose, the train arrives, screeching beside the long platform, its long steel scales brown with rusts. It then comes to a halt, maw opening before me. There is nopony who got off. It is waiting; and it will wait there for the few eternal, and decisive, minutes to come.

And with all the earnest sincerity, the seriousness, and the honesty one can muster, against the premonition, the warning, and the risk of losing everything else, Applejack answers: "If it means we'll be together... then Yes. That what ah want."

And what more can I say to a devotion of love of that kind? No words can convince her otherwise. No words can stray her from the only path to me. What remains now is for myself not to be convinced. It becomes apparent then that neither of us will yield our love to the other.

"You... You know I can't let you do that to yourself, dearest," I choke out. "Just... forget about me. Go live the rest of your life here in Ponyville and find yourself a young colt or filly who'll make you happy."

"What in tarnation' do ya think ah'm doin'?" she asks, tilting her head.

The locomotive churns its engine; its thick white fumes hisses out of its belly, beckoning me.

"Rare," she says, almost pleading now. "Yer not the only one here who's dreamin' of a happily-ever-after. And ah promise what ah want for us won't be just a dream."

"Don't make promises... you can't keep."

"Ah can keep this one," she says, stepping forward. "Because ah know you will too, right? Right? Ah know the look on somepony's eye when they're so full of regret that the only thing they want is to make up for it. And you want to, don't ya? ...Ah think ah know why ya did those things, hun. Ya did those thing cuz ya knew ya only have one life to live, and if it's only life then ya'd do anything to make sure it's the best goddarn life possible. But that ain't what happened, because yer wrong. Yer wrong to think that ya ain't got another shot at life, because here ah am goin' to give it to ya."

"I... I can't," I say. "Somepony who did something that evil doesn't deserve another chance at life."

"Ya gave me one, remember? Almost a year ago, when ah forced mahself on ya. And ah did right with the second chance ya gave me to love ya back, didn't I? Now ah'm givin' ya yer chance to prove that you're a good pony–a great pony. And if ya have to spend the rest of yer life trying to amend what wrong you've done in the past then... then ah'll be there for ya! Ah'll be there for ya all the way! Because ah love ya that much, Rarity. Because yer worth the years of struggle. And if nopony approve of us then... then to hell with'em. Ah'll fight for the both of us. Ah'll prove'em wrong... Ah just... ah want ya, Rarity."–she steps forward, hooves open to welcome me back in her embrace–"Ah want ya to be a part of mah life. If ah let go of you now... ah'd be lettin' go of mah own happy endin'."

Applejack is not crying. She looks as though she is. And around the silence, the constant churn of the train's engine thrives.

There are no words from me, nor any action to pass off as a response.

She marches towards me, closing the distance between us.

"Stay back," I say. "Don't come any closer."

As I try to shield myself with my hooves, she takes them in her own. She pulls me, our bodies slamming together that I feel the heat of her chest. Then she does something she swore she will never do again: She cups my neck, and forces her lips against my unwilling own.

I try to squirm away from the warmth of her hold, of the gentleness of her kiss; I want to–but I just can't. I find myself once again in that trance of tranquility, that stillness of solemnity, that only the security of love–of true love–can provide. That the pursuit of one's longing is all true and honest and without risk. To love somepony like Applejack, and be loved back, is that all which everyone yearns for. That this is the true fairy tale happily-ever-after I, and every youth, lady, princess, and witch, have always sought.

And what more can any mare want–and should want–than this?

The engine hisses again, the torque unlocks, the gears stir the wheelwork alive, and the train slowly drags its mighty head along the infinite track towards the endless horizon.

Applejack pulls back from our kiss; she sees the etched smile on my lips.

I know now–am sure!–of what is to be done.

"Rarity?" she asks, seeing the newfound resolution in my eyes.

I take a deep breath, and answer: "Yes, dearest! I want to be by your side again. Please, take me with you!"

Applejack smiles from ear to ear, she jumps and wraps her hooves around me. "Thank you, hun! What ya said... It means the world to me."

"Well... yes. Thank you too."

"We'll live happy together now wouldn't we?"

"Yes," I reply, "we will. But... can we continue this back to your house."

"Our house. It'll be ours from now on. And if Granny says otherwise, I'll build us our own-"

"Yes, yes. I'll like that... very much. But for now... can you please help me with my luggage?"

"Sure thing," she says, laughing. "No problem, hun."

She trots to my baggage and heaves all the bags to her back. But just then, the morning gust sweeps through the station and Applejack's Stetson is blown from her head.

She raises her hoof, trying to reach for the hat, only to miss the precious article by mere inches.

"Consarn it," she mutters. "I got it," she said, placing my luggage down.

She runs after the Stetson, which suspends above her in the air. The wind carries her hat to the roof, hanging it above a water shoot. I watch her jump, trying to reach for it, but the playful wind seems to match the rhythm of her movement, dangling the hat every time she is about to reach for it. Frustrated, she climbs on a nearby crate and jumps, finally catching her beloved accessory in her hooves.

But only then, and just then, has Applejack's immediate expression turns from annoyance to shock, and finally to horror. Because she realizes then that it is not the wind that distracts and strays her from me, but my magic.

When Applejack turns back to me, I am already looking back at her from the moving train.

I'm sorry, Applejack.

She jumps from the platform, tossing her hat aside, and darts through the railroad. She is screaming something. I cannot hear it amidst the train's churn.

I'm sorry for this one last lie.

She is crying already, tears streaming down her eyes. She picks up speed, but her blurred vision, and her clumsy hysterics, made her trip on the track. She lands and hits her muzzle on the dirt. But the pain does not stop her. I do not even know she can feel it. She forces her buckling legs up and sprints again towards me.

After all the evil things I did, I can't be rewarded with your love.

But there is already too much distance between us. Just when Applejack's speed makes it seem she can catch the train, the locomotive accelerates and stretches the distance between us.

"Don’t leave me!" she shouts, at the top of her voice. "Rarity!"

And after all the good things you have done, you can't be punished by loving me.

Applejack gallops faster and faster but the train is just too fast. Slowly the distance between us inches further apart, as how it should have been from the beginning. I cannot see her face anymore, the dot of orange shrinks by the second as the train reaches its full speed, until it is gone forever.

Nothing is left there on the horizon but the tracks leading back to the infinite. Somewhere there a poor little mare had better stop chasing now; I know not even she can chase the train to the next stop. And I shudder how painful will it be for the dear to try.

I remain standing here, for an hour almost, as the earth and sky whirls from the sides, long after she is gone from my vision. Somewhere in my thoughts I expect for the curtains to have fallen over the theatrics of this melodrama. But life is not so merciful, perhaps. My story has ended, but I am left to carry the burden of my character's sin to the sidelines where nopony will see or know.

I turn around, finally, and enter the back entrance of the train's last car, immediately bumping to a surprised train conductor.

"Ticket, ma'am?" the colt says. He does not seem to know who I am–quite an oddity–or else he would not have welcomed me so warmly.

I reach in my purse–the last of my belongings, as I have left the rest on the platform–and give the ticket to him.

"End of the line, huh?" he asks, receiving the ticket. "That's three days of travel to the Griffin Continent."

"Is it? I guess so."

"Long vacation?"

"No."

"Running away from something?"

"No."

"Set out to start a new life?"

"There's no such thing as a 'new life', little colt. Even if we want it."

"Uh..."

"My ticket?"

"Oh! Of course... Well, let's see, you're in car B-27, private and luxury. Just past there, ma'am,"–he points to corridor ahead–"and second door to your left."

"Thank you."

As I walk pass him, he calls out, "And oh, ma'am!"

I turn around. "What is it?"

"Are you... uh... Alright?"

"No, I'm not," I answer. "Why do you ask?"

"Well... You look kinda pale," he says, shrugging. "If you need a doctor or something, there's a small clinic in this train in car A-18. Feel free to go there or call a-"

"I appreciate the concern," I interrupt. There is a momentary pause. I add, "...Thank you."

The keys given to me, I enter my room and lock it close.

My pullman is a chocolate-brown compartment that is too large for one pony alone. The polished wooden frames is coated with much varnish that it hides the rims and edges of the beams, giving the illusion the walls and floor is of cement. Hanging from the ceiling is a small chandelier of brass and bronze. It does not produce any effect on me; the more modernized sharp cubic plating and the smallness of the thing, does not merit it enough grandeur to remind me of regal.The queen-sized bed in the middle, covered with a satin blanket,rests just parallel to the window. In front of the bed, just over the maroon ottoman, is a half-empty half-full wine shelf.

I walk to it, levitating one of the wine glass from the gueridon, and pulls out a random bottle; it is red wine, a Cabernet. I hesitate for a few seconds before eventually pouring myself a drink.

I finish the first glass in three gulps and enjoy every sweet long sip of the second.

I put the half-finished glass down after seeing my reflection in the red liquid. I remember the colt telling me that my face is pale, and I see it in the staleness of my coat's color.

Albeit the sun emerging from the skyline, the dawn has yet to catch up to me; except, for a few seconds from the train's turbulence, the slanted strips of orange sunlight cutting across the wooden compartment.I rise and move to the windows where I open the shutters before finally moving to the vanity.

There are some make-up on the dresser but they are mostly those cheap disposables from Manehattan. I levitate my purse on to my lap–and the glass of red wine on to the table top–and, from it, take out my own expensive brand of cosmetics.

Then, sitting here on the vanity, as I take out my materials one by one, I begin to laugh, ungracefully, at the mere impertinent thought of comparing this compartment of mine–barely lighted, enclosed–to that of a confessional kiosk; and if I am to be in a place of worship to profess my sins, then who is to absolve me? She, that hysterical, laughing, mare in the mirror?

After a few seconds, I am able to catch my breathing from all that unwelcome laughter and finally attend to that mare in the mirror:

The first is always to wipe away those motes of dirty and leftover make-up that cakes upon her face; she uses a disposable napkin and proceeds to slowly, oh so slowly to peel off the layer of excess that once beautified her visage. Then, her face a fresh palette, she begins the addition with the concealer brush, to even the tone of her face and hide the blemishes of those dark under-eye circles. An expensive liquid cream is her foundation and she begins to spread a thick layer all over her cheeks, temple, chin and neck. With the bristle brush, she adds the setting powder to remove any glistening sheen. She fiddles with the assortment of make-up, looking for the highlighter, her hooves shaking somehow. She finds the powder and begins to apply some to her cheekbones and cupid's bow. She levitates the eyeliner before her and, with tense hooves, begin to draw around the sharp and curvy contours of her eyes. She applies the primer and the eyeshadow, followed by the fake eyelashes, and meticulously coiling each strand with the eyelash curler dibbed in the black mascara. Then she takes the rouge, applying the young red blush to her cheeks. Finally, for the finishing touch, she runs the red lipstick against her lips.

She leans back on the chair, staring at me.

She looks beautiful.

And she will look this beautiful until she starts crying again.

Her makeup is ruined.

THE END

A/N: Acknowledgements, Deleted Scenes, Alt. Endings, etc.

//Author's Notes//

"This is a gorefic," I tell myself, sitting at the desk, "not of bodies but of souls."

During the conceptualization of this fanfic, the original title was All About Fleur de Lis. As you'd think, the supposed mane character is our trophy wife. The plot, essentially, remains the same, with Fleur trying to seduce Shining Armor. In this version, Shining Armor is more likeable as he is able to resist the temptress. Fleur then resorts to scandals, rumors, and gossips which practically ruins Cadance's life. The intention here is to tear the reader to two sides: whether Shining Armor would stay faithful to her "goddess", physically hurting her in the process, or whether Shining Armor should commit an act of adultery to spare Cadance the pain of suffering. Given the theme, this idea is meant to only become a one-shot or two chapters at most.

The original fic is eventually discarded when I decided to give the mane role to Rarity, originally to cash-in on Rarity's dream of marrying with prince (S01E03). The fic, again, was meant to be a one-shot and, at that time, was not meant to be a Rarijack story. But during the post-conceptual phase and I was actually starting to write, I decided to further dramatize the theme of obsession, lust, and infidelity by making it a full novel. It is by the end of Chapter 2 that I decided to insert Applejack (and the others friends, consequently) to expand the theme even further. The theme transformed from "the portrayal of obsession, lust, and infidelity" to "the effects of succumbing to obsession, lust, and infidelity, to oneself and others."

Once the theme has been established, I re-wrote the first and second chapter and revised the character list into the following:

Rarity/Lapis Lazuli - The witch of Cupid. The tragic villainess. Pandora, Delilah, and Morgan le Fay combined. Her weapons are not knives, swords or evil curses, but love. She uses the love of others (romantic, sexual, friendly, intimate, etc.) and turns it against them. What does she want? Everything and nothing. To get her fairytale happily-ever-after, of course! What girl wouldn't? Castles, riches, fame, and a grand royal wedding. How many have wished for that? How many succeeded? So what was her chance, she of humble origins? She didn't just have to do something; she has to do everything. She couldn't let her ideal, her dream, her fantasy, her apotheosis, be nothing more than vain hope.

Cadance - The princess par excellence.

Applejack - The romantic at heart. She believes that so long as two ponies love together then all is right in the world; that is the happy ending and there'll be no more (serious) conflict after which. Her fault, if at all, is her overoptimism which, even at the end, she did not betray and was eventually rewarded for.

Shining Armor - The contrary notwithstanding. He thinks that sex is a form of mere hedonistic weakness, depravity, and degradation, to which he will not inflict upon his goddess. He can't tell the difference between fucking and lovemaking, thinking that both are the same, which was the weakness exploited by Rarity. Therefore, he thinks that sleeping with somepony he doesn't value is much more forgivable than sleeping with the pony he values the most. By the time he learns [rape scene, Chapter 5], it is already too late.

Pinkamena Diane Pie - Pagliacci. The world is a theatre. There are no such things as faces, only comedy and tragedy. So it doesn't matter what we're feeling on the inside as long as the surface is untouched and then, only then, should one must react. Accepts everything at mask-value.

There are certain drawback that I did not foresee during the writing process which, admittedly, weakened the fic in my opinion. Instead of rewriting it here, I'll simply paste these visible drawbacks that I wrote in response to afakebrony's criticisms (which I am very grateful for):

First of all, Applejack's lack of characterization is because of her linearity. She has one, and only one, purpose in the fic and that's to serve as Rarity's guilt by her unflinching and unquestioning love for the tragic villainess. If I were to add any more characterization here then it would detract from her original role. If she starts doubting Rarity, and Rarity comes to know, then Rarity's guilt wouldn't be as much as when Applejack does not doubt Rarity. But you are right about one thing, and that's the part where I could've better written the scene where Rarity broke up with her. I should've further given more resistance to Applejack and more monologue for Rarity's part to best express her guilt. For one, I share your evaluation here in saying that Applejack is weak as a novel character, but I wouldn't say that she has a weak moral character (I equate her romanticism to that of Cadance's innocence.)

Secondly, yes. You are absolutely right about Twilight. In fact, this fic was written without Twilight in mind. But I can't remove her completely so I used her to fill in the gaps. She isn't a major character here (I don't think she's even a minor). Rarity can only remove friends through certain ways via threat (Fluttershy), bribe (Pinkie), emotional blackmail (Rainbow Dash). Giving out another speech for her to "get rid" of Twilight would not only be preposterous in its frequency but it will also be redundant. When I re-write this fanfic to an actual novel (yes, that was my plan from the start) I'd most likely be removing Twilight Sparkle from the equation.

Thirdly, I think you missed a criticism. The chink in Shining Armor's character. The flaw in Shining Armor's character is that his psychology is merely "told" (by Rarity mostly) rather than "shown." SA's prime motivation, i.e. his reverence for Cadance, which is a major thing in this fic, is not dramatized. For the moment, I blame this to the limitation of a first-person present tense. I never allowed a break from Rarity's point-of-view to show the more important part of SA's character.

One thing I forgot to point out is that I recognize that there is a lot of subplot potential to insert Twilight's character in the fic to make her become a constant reflection of Shining Armor (being siblings and all). However, I decided against it as there is too much potential that anything less that what is necessary will fall short and anything more will the detract the fic to the main theme of the fanfic.

Another drawback which I have failed to notice until it was too was the delay in-between chapters. At first, starting fairly well, the fic was released every 2-4 weeks at most. I thought that the pacing would be consistent until Chapter 5. From then, as the chapters started getting longer, and with real life interfering with me and my editor, the delays in-between chapters spanned 7-10 weeks. This is a major factor as it would occasionally displace the reader from the content and would most likely make them miss, or forget, some of the essential Chekhov's gun I planted from the preceding chapters (e.g. clues about Rarity's real age and maturity, as well as clues about Pinkamena). Due to these delays, some of my "big twist" might end up being thought of as a "big reveal"

<>

The following are condensed scenes which were overall removed from the fic, either due to irrelevance or redundancy.

Chapter 10
PP vs Rty
Setting: Castle Suite. Night.
Pinkamena Diane Pie appears from the shadows
Pinkie Pie gives Rarity a ticket to the express train away from Ponyville.
Rarity takes the ticket
"You should've looked out for me Pinkie, just a little bit. Remember that night you came into my room and said 'Princess, this isn't your night. We're putting our love to Cadance.' My night! I could have taken Cadance apart. So what happens? She gets the prince and I get a one-way ticket to the Griffen Continent."
"What are you talking about, you had a taste of that prince."
"You don't understand! I could've had class. I could've been a princess. I could've been somepony. Instead of a bum, which is what I am. Let's face it. It was you, Pinkie. It was you."
(Obviously this fic was conceived just for fun because I simply wanted to copy the famous scene from Marlon Brando.)

Cdc vs SA
Chapter 5 (just before the bar-rape scene)
Setting: House. Night
Cadance picks up the perfume's scent on Shining Armor's coat
Cadance begins questioning, innocently at first
Shining Armor is very evasive and defensive
Cadance becomes more suspicious, and angry, and a marital argument ensues
Cadance realizes who it is who she smelled on Shining Armor
Cadance pretends that nothing happens
SA can see that something is hurting in Cadance but does not admit there is
the scene ends with Shining Armor admitting that she loves Cadance
(I removed this due to the previously mentioned conflict in POV)

AJ vs RD
Chapter 6
An "innocent" Pinkie Pie "hints" about seeing Rarity together with another stallion
with the same nonchalant "innocence" Pinkie Pie says that "Rarity dropped this. Please bring it back to her."
Pinkie hands RD the bottle of pills
RD pieces everything together and confronts AJ resulting to their fist fight
(Again, POV conflict and this gives A LOT of clue about Pinkamena.)

Chapter 6 (or 6.5)
Clop: Nurse Rarity
Nurse Redheart advices that under no circumstances should Rarity instigate her "nightly frolics" if she wants AJ to recover faster.
Rarity finds a loophole in this
Rarity dresses as a nurse and "inspects" Applejack all night long.
(According to my editor, the scene is too lighthearted and too funny in nature to be included in the fic. I agree. So I won't write this as a part of the fic. As an extended one-shot clop perhaps?

<>

Actually, to say that there is an alternate ending planned for the fic is wrong. Since the beginning, I have only planned one ultimate conclusion to this: a happy ending. For personal and psychological reasons, I have to write it so that there is still a chance–if even a small chance–for redemption despite what wrongs a person has done in the past. The ultimate challenge of the last Chapter is to be able to make it convincing that Applejack (and Cadance as well) and pull Rarity back from the moral event horizon. Personally, I do not know if I have accomplish the odorous task I have set for myself.

These alternate ending scenarios therefore were never put into writing until now. They were just conceived in my idea after hearing too much about how most of my readers would want Rarity dead. I thought to myself that if I were to kill off Rarity, then by what means should I do it? Two answer popped out:

ALT ED1
After Rarity delivers her wedding speech and AJ, not wanting any part of the facade, stands up to leave, Rarity shouts her name as in the original
But here, after much introspection, Rarity does not admit to killing Cadance and proceeds with her wedding speech (thanking both AJ and PDP)
AJ leaves
The wedding ends, Rarity greets and shakes hooves with the Canterlot elite
As the guests starts to leave, Rarity looks at her friends one by one and they say something in turn:
Twi: "C-Congratulations Rarity..."
RD: "I hope you live a long life, Rarity. I mean it... A very long life."
FS: "I hope you're happy... wherever you are."
PDP: "Don't worry about your friends in lil'ol Ponyville. You can always put that tiara where your friends ought to be."
Instead of going back for their honeymoon, Rarity, feeling tired, decides to go back to her room
Rarity slumps on the couch, crying hard, hating the mare in the mirror
Suddenly, AJ comes from behind with a rope and strangles Rarity
Rarity is shock, resists, until she realizes who it is that's hurting her
Applejack is crying non-stop as she tightened the rope around Rarity's neck.
Applejack is continually shouting "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
Rarity knows that this is the only way Applejack can relieve her of the pain they both know that'll only follow
Rarity knows AJ doesn't want her to live a life of a lie
Rarity knows AJ is doing it out of every love she has
Rarity knows AJ is hurting more than she is
Rarity is thankful to AJ
Rarity dies
AJ hugs Rarity's body and cries non-stop
The whole fiasco is disclosed and AJ confesses to the murder
Epilogue: Years later, AJ is finally released from prison
AJ lives the rest of her life in Sweet Apple Acres alone and in isolation, still in love with the one she put out of her misery

ALT ED 2
(Almost similar to the one stated above)
Rarity returns to her room instead of going to her honeymoon with Shining Armor
Inside she sees Sweetie Belle
Sweetie Belle is wearing a crown/tiara made up of cardboard, and a cape made up of torn canopy
Sweetie Belle is happy to see her sister
Sweetie Belle discloses that she was invited by Pinkie Pie to the wedding
Sweetie Belle doesn't stop saying how beautiful, how regal, how elegant, how pure, and how happy her sister is
Frightened out of her wits, Rarity steps back, away from Sweetie Belle, screaming "it was worth it!"
Sweetie Belle moves closer
Rarity is in hysterics and moves back
Rarity hits the ledge and falls down the balcony
Rarity screams as she falls
But then her dress is suddenly caught in a pole–hanging her there for a few painful seconds.
In those few seconds, flashbacks about her pasts.
the dress rips,
Rarity falls, and dies.

<>

My deepest gratitude to my editor SerenityViewer for the time he spent editing, polishing, reeditng, repolishing, critiquing this work. Without him, All About Rarity cannot be what it is right now. Thanks man, couldn't have done this without you.

Also, I express my thanks to Schizoid Nightfall, one jumped to kick start and polish Chapter 1 and 2.

StealthIsPower, for helping SerenityViewer and I with the rough 1st-draft editing as we were struggling with real life.

To crenair, now clasherz, for letting me use the cover wonderful cover pic.

To my consistent commentators and readers who ventured with me in this fic, whose post I always look forward to: Tailsic, TwiPieCheese (formerly TwiPieDash), Raistlin, BrinnyTheBrave, The Great Derpsby, GrayFox2510, Resonanceize, Articun's Bitch, Silver Infinity, Brony2893, A Fistful of Apples (whose insightful comment filled my inbox every chapter), MyCutieMarkIsAGun, The Princess Rarity, ShrinkyFrod, Seether00, and the many, many more others.

And, of course, thank you finally to you! The anonymous reader who decided to give my fic a chance. I may not know you, and/or you may not choose to be known, but regardless of whatever it was you thought of my fic, the amount of attention you gave is my reward.

Epilogue: "All About Rarity"

Epilogue:
All About Rarity

I zigzagged in the air. "Swish!"

Breaking the current, fighting against the wind, I leave a trail of colors amidst the ocean of blue. Doing a Sonic Rainboom right now might clear the sky in an instant, but Spitfire was strict, is strict, that I only ever use it for an emergency or during our performance.

Gotta do it the old fashion way, I guess.

I jump from one cloud to another, from cumulus to stratus to citrus, chopping and karate-kicking them to a puff of nothing. As soon as I see one that balloons in my peripherals, I am already dashing towards it and, a sec later, bang! Another tries to ambush me from behind. I summersault and deliver a downward spiral head butt attack. Gathering the momentum, I propel myself to an impetus towards some cloud clusters, and then “swoosh!”

They never saw it coming.

Dash: 99; Clouds: 0

A small cloud, just about the size of Tank, floats idly by towards me. I puff it away with a slap of my hoof.

Maybe I should at least give these things a fighting chance?

I remember back in flight school how my profs all argued among themselves about the things they taught us. I never bothered to know why they bothered to teach us what kind of clouds are there, they all puff out like cotton candy the same way. The only thing they needed to tell us was which was a simple, "White clouds, puffs. Gray clouds, rain. And black clouds, lightning." Which pretty much sums up two semesters in flight school. Heck, even I can teach that to colts and fillies. If that’s all there is it then I can probably work in the academe like Twilight.

Not!

Sure, those ivory tower armchair professionals can bicker and lecture all they want, but none of them can make a sunny day like I can. And it’s not like I’m gonna give up the sky for a boring egghead classroom.

I zipped up my blue suit and finished up my work. Rolling and twisting in the air, I dart through clouds after clouds like a dart. The cool moisture feels good against my suit, which protected my coat from being stickily wet.

After a few rounds, the last of the cloud wisps out against my wing. I look up, to the warm sun, eyes squinting. Sure enough, sunny skies for Sweet Apple Acres all day long.

I stretch my limbs and wings, hearing them slightly pop for a second as my bones snap in place. The easy feeling of release it always gives me is a small reward in itself.

I glide upside for a moment, my hooves behind my head, basking my underbelly to the heat of the afternoon. My wings relax a bit and my body lets itself be carried by the wind, falling and gliding down like the autumn leaf. But then I yawn, and then I sigh. I have time to waste before I leave, hopefully by napping, but I know that is not gonna happen today. A friend’s gotta do what a friend’s gotta do.

Well... I think... Time to have another fight with Applejack, I suppose.

Below me, every fully blossomed apple of Sweet Apple Acres takes their share of the sunshine. Each red fruit shining to a bright white like cluttered beads of pearls. And moving between those green clumps of leaves is an orange coated earth pony.

I still my wings and descend to a free fall, exactly to the next tree Applejack is just about to buck. I land in the thicket of the branches, quiet as a squirrel I am. She nears; and as she rears her hindlegs for a tree-shaking kick, I pop out from my cover of leaves, shouting:

"Heya , Applejack!"

A distracted Applejack loses her concentration and balance, the momentum of her kick folds it on itself. Her focus gone haywire, she slips and falls sideways.

I burst out laughing.

"That ain't funny, Rainbow," she says, scowling. "Ah coulda hurt ya."

"Yeah," I reply, plucking out an apple from a branch, "says the mare who got her face on the ground."

She stands up and brushes a mane aside. "And that apple's worth two bit."

"Just put it on my tab," I say, taking the first bite from the fruit. Though we both know that since Applejack is the bestest friend ever, she never actually keeps a real tab.

...I hope.

She dusts a few dirt on her coat and picks up a few dropped apples. Even now, she still’s the gorgeous mare I had a crush on all those years ago. In fact, is she getting sexier? I know for a fact that she doesn’t work out but she must be straining herself very hard here in the farm if her flank is toning up a bit.

That flank...

Dash! Don’t think that. I mentally shout to myself. You already have Fluttershy, you’ll make your mare cry again.

That flank! that flank! that flank! that flank! that flank! dat flank!

Damn it!

Applejack turns around, sees the look on my face, and asks with a raished eyebrow, "So what can ah do ya for?"

She means, ‘What can I do for you?’ you little perv! I tell myself.

Finally gathering some self-control and common sense, I give myself a slap on the cheek. A gesture that raises another one of Applejack’s eyebrow. "Oh, you know,” I say, “just saying goodbye before I leave for Wonderbolt training again."

"Oh." She puts a hoof to her chin. "Sorry, was that today? Thought that was next week."

"Yeah, it was supposed to be next week but I wanted not to be late for once."

"If ah knew ah'd have ask Granny Smith to make you some of that apple pie ya love." She wears the hoofgrip of the applecart to her sides and pulls the entire thing to the next tree. "How long will ya be gone this time?"

"I dunno. Nine days, maybe. We have another show in Manehattan so it might take more than that."

"Well, look at you,” she laughs, “starting to become a busy and responsible member of society."

"Hey!"

Applejack bucks the tree and the branches shake their fruits directly down the cart. "Just don't be gone too long too often or ya'll make yer Fluttershy lonely."

"My mare can take care of herself."

I watch as Applejack moves toward the next two apple trees, meanwhile finishing my apple. She knows what our silence means, and what’s gonna come up next. So before she can reach and kick the next tree, I dart through the air and perch on its branches. Before she can grumble again, I beat her to it.

"So…” the word comes out as a sigh, “You're gonna search again, aren't you?"

Applejack casts her head down and heaves out a breath, "Rainbow..."

"Yeah... we're gonna have to go through this again."

"It's useless, Dash. We're just gonna have another fight and we’ll just be in a sour mood for days."

“If that’s what it takes.”

“It’ll take much more than that,” she spits. “No matter what happens, ah’m goin’ on a search again.”

I throw my hooves up. "AJ, it's been three years. Don't you think it's time–"

"No!"

"But you've already searched for her all over Equestria–"

"Ah know, Dash. So this time ah'm gonna look for her in the Draconian mainlands."

I want to laugh, to laugh so hard to throw her words back at her. Because she can't be serious. Even if she says it with a straight face, without batting an eye, she can't seriously consider going to the Draconian continent.

"Look, Applejack," I try, smiling apologetically. "I can rush back here tonight if you want. Or I can leave tomorrow, that works too. Why don't we drop by the bar? I'll buy you a drink. And maybe I can hook you up with somepony–"

"Ah'm still gonna look for her."

"What the hell!?” I erupt. “To Dragon-land? The only thing crazier than that is walking through Tartarus and coming back alive."

"And if she is in Tartarus, then ah'm climbin’ down that hellhole to pull her back here with me."

"Forget about her, AJ! She’s an unfaithful cheating–"

I forgot what I am supposed to say. Applejack unsaddles the hoofgrip of the cart and lets it fall on the ground with a deafening dull thud. It actually feels more like she threw the thing on the ground; the axletree detaches from the cartwheel, tipping the wooden platform to the side, and the hard-bucked-for apples spill on the dirt.

"Don't force me to get physical on ya, Dash,” she threatens, eyes glaring. “Say somethin’ like that again and ya’d be goin’ on that trainin’ of yers with a black eye like last time."

“Oh, yeah?” I answer back, not letting her threaten me unchallenged. “We’ll you’ll be bucking trees in a wheelchair... like last time.”

It starts, as it always did, with a staring contest. Then I take to the air, my wings batting furiously to show her I’m serious.

Yeah... we’re definitely gonna rough up each other.

I am ready to pounce on her again, to push her to the ground. And she might wrestle me down the dirt and hit me a couple of times before I can slide out and give her a few punches myself. Yeah, I can see it replaying all over like the last three dozen times we’ve fought. I even wonder how we can still be best friends with constant repetition of this. A lesser friend would have been an enemy by now with how often we fight. Strangest routine for bestest friends, I guess.

But something stops me, and I don’t lunge at her as we both expect. Instead, I just remain there, aloft in the air, looking down at her. I don’t know what stops me. Maybe because I know that another fight won’t change anything. Maybe because the look on Applejack’s eye, a look of three years of consistent and unflinching determination, shows me how futile I am. Maybe because after three years, three whole goddamn years, I want to stop fighting with my best friend.

“Pfft!” I belch out, throwing the half-eaten apple to the side. "Whatever."

I turn around, ready to abandon the both of us to our confusion. But something, again, stops me. “Goddamnit,” I shout to the sky. “Son of a–”

I come flying back to her face, confrontational but nonthreatening.

"You know what," I say, pushing my muzzle against hers. "Every time, every darn time before I leave for training I risk a bad taste in my mouth and a brawl with you just to be that good straightforward friend who'll dish out the truth. Honesty’s supposed to be your line, AJ. She won't come back because she doesn't want to, and you don't have an obligation to look for her. You probably won't see her again and it's high time for you to move on. And I won't stop saying these things until it comes through that dense numbskull of yours."

I see her eyes squints. "Ya done lecturin' me for the month, Rainbow?"

"Yeah... Probably..."

"Well... Maybe yer right,” she pushes me away, not shoves, to put some distance between us. “But I am still gonna look for her. Ah won't stop, Dash."

"Damnit, Applejack! You're..."

"Crazy?"

"Stubborn. It's that stubbornness of yours that made me fall in love with you back then."

"If Flutters hears you she'll cry for sure."

"If you really plan to go just... just...” Oh Damn it! “Damn it, They’ll hate me for this! Alright, alright! You wanna go to Draconia, fine! But I’m going with you, and we'll bring Twilight and Pinkie along. No way you’re going to lizard-land alone."

“What!?”

“You heard me.”

“B-But... yer Wonderbolt show...?” She stops, shakes her head, and rephrases her sentences. “Ah never asked ya to stick yer neck out for me.”

“Hey, too late now, bub. If you’re going, I’m going too. The only way we’re not going is if you’re not going.”

“Don’t be foalish, Dash,” she hisses. “Ah don’t approve of it.”

“Approval not needed.” At least with this, she won’t leave if she doesn’t want to risk all of us in danger; and if otherwise, there wouldn’t be risk of danger if she’s with us.

Applejack sighs, seeing that there’s no way I’m gonna let this one up. She knows she doesn’t want me to go for the same reason I want her to stay. She picks up the fallen apples, tosses it back to the cart, and attaches the entire thing to her side again.

"You're a good friend, Dash,” she says, walking to a nearby tree, “even though you make me mad lots of times.” She bucks, and the apples fall to a compose pyramid in the cart. “Speaking of Pinkie, the gal was looking for ya last night. Why not drop by her house later?"

"Fine," I sigh. "...And you give me lots of headaches too."

At least this went a lot better than another fight.

* * *

Entombed. Enwombed. The unborn abomination. I am awake.

Beneath the canopy of a sunny day, my windows are shut tight against the sky. Yet still, chinks of the afternoon steals itself from the slits, in slanting strips and pieces, and, by Lady Luck's mischief or Discord’s twisted humor, falls to my still dreaming eyes. A narrow needle, parchment light, that cuts across the verticals of the room.

I awake, squinting my eyes open as I yawn and curse the brightness. It is dark here. Around me are a hundred silhouettes of a hundred phantoms: balloons, balls, dolls, candies, and furniture, the darkness molding itself to the contours of my room. These inanimates, faceless as they are, become faceless even more when lurking behind the omnipresent shadow. Shapes without entities. Forms without function. Somethings without things. The cold pale womb lacks in it the warmth of a place, and it is only the persistent ray of light that shows I am not trapped inside my own mind–or, as an effusive romantic may put it–inside my own blackening heart. Heart of an artichoke.

I rise, feeling my bladed mane glide down my shoulders. Like the inner blood before a wound, the darker pigmentation of its color is the shade of pale darkness around me.

Beside me, Gummy, wet and alive, feels my waking and he uncoils his tail from its embrace around my hips.

Slithering. Massive. A dormant carpet of scales and maw. Frightening sea monster. Swimming here in my womb.

Cold like me. I, like the cold. I like the cold.

I run a hoof down to his snout and watch as the several slick shutters of his eye folds open to unveil those jagged pupillary fangs. He smiles, or snarls, or whatever the hell it is that reptilian creatures such as he does with his mouth.

The world around me stirs, sending my heightened sense of things to its vibe. Something falling? Opening doors?

No...

Something. A pony. Heading to my room.

Rainbow Dash.

I sigh, wishing to at least wash my face first before the day catches up to me. Regardless, I take a hooffull of jellybeans from a jar and scatter it across the floor. I turn on the lights, and the lights hurt me.

There is a knock on the window.

Hide! Hide now! I wear Thalia's smile on my face and puff my mane again to its round curls. Bracing myself for the intense searing light that will flood the room, I burst the window open to greet my friend:

"Good afternoon, Rainbow Dash!" I shout, forcing a chortle from my smile.

“Afternoon Pinks. How did you know it was me?”

A posteriori noesis via meta-epistemic bypass. “Lucky guess.” I shrug. “Me and Gummy are having a candy eating contest. Wanna join us? I’m winning.”

Looking past me, she sees the jellybeans spread out across the floor. “I’ll pass up on that contest."

“Awww...”

“Rain check, though.”

I smile as wide as I can. “I’ll hold you to it.” I jump beside Gummy, grab him by his neck, and lift his head to Rainbow Dash. “Wanna play a game of catch the hoof, instead?”

She backs away almost instantly, looking at the face of the six-feet two-hundred pound reptile. "Uhhh... No thanks," she says, shaking her head.

She still cannot forget about that time Gummy caught her hoof in his jaw and wouldn't let go for ten minutes. In those minutes, Rainbow Dash might have actually thought that she'll be gummed to death.

"AJ said you had something for me," she sighs, an expression that betrays the cheery mood she tries to portray.

I frown. "Dashie! Did you try to pick a fight with Applejack again?"

“Hey, I didn’t pick a fight with her,” she says, hooves in a defensive cross. “She picked a fight with me.”

Semantics. “Well at least neither of you got hurt this time,” I say, finding no bruises on her coat.

“It was close. We almost... y’know...”

I try not to sigh, and instead maintain the cheeriness my friends love. "So which one do you want first?” I ask, my tone leaping high. “Pinkie-consolation-o-matic or the apple cream pie."

"Apple cream pie, please." She flies in to my room and sits on my bed.

"Sorry, it's still in the oven.” Preconditionary foresight. “In the meantime, you can tell me all about your fight again."

"I'd rather not... again."

I know, as the rest of us does, that Rainbow Dash and Applejack has been constantly fighting. Though fighting is not the best word; I would prefer to call it theatric psychodrama, either an outlet of angst or the only Dionysian means by which they can communicate what is too feminine to be said. At least once a month or so, the two will encounter each other, in Sweet Apple Acres mostly, and engage in a brawl over the simplest of things. I do not worry for them; they worry about each other enough. These affaire d’honneurs they have is nothing more than mutual beatings of restrained punches and careful kicks, enough to inflict pain without the injury. Nothing compared to the death match they had three years ago. Rainbow Dash always instigates it the day she is about to leave for a show or training in order to allow ample time for the distance to mend what wounds they open.

Perhaps, I am wrong too. Rainbow Dash could just well be acting out her subconsciously opportunistic and repressed desire to sexually grope her ex-love in a completely physical confrontation.

"Don't be like that, Dashie. Think of it this way: if you keep this in your chest, it'll weigh you down during your Wonderbolt practiceses.”

"No! I don't rant. That's girly stuff." She crosses her arms, and stares at the wall for a minute or two. Then, throwing her forehooves about, she says, shouts actually, "It’s just that... Applejack is such a bonehead!”

Here we go.

“She actually plans to search all over Draconia this time looking for her dearest,” she says. “And here I am just looking out for her and–..."

Rainbow Dash talks; I listen with one ear, contributing a little using the same phrases and obvious questions expected of a friend. Like that of a customer uttering the same complaint about the same thing about the same merchandise, Rainbow Dash rambles on her half-inculcated rant, inculcated through year-long repetitions.

To summarize Dash’s speech, she speaks mostly of Applejack’s stubborn persistence and how she, as a loyal friend, only has AJ’s best interest at heart.

But it is interesting to note, during these rants of hers, a peculiar abnormality in the workings of her mind: not once–in three years of me listening to her–not once had she mentioned the name of a certain somepony. The same somepony whom I have initially thought to believe to become the object of her curses and denunciations. The same reason and cause for each and every one of Applejack’s expeditions throughout Equestria. The love of Applejack’s life and the ‘Witch of Canterlot.’

As of yet, I cannot conclude if Rainbow Dash is purposely, carefully, and cautiously, omitting her name; or whether this avoidance is but an automatic self-defense mechanism to refrain from speaking of a topic too sensitive–too taboo–even for her.

How to know? I wonder.

"...if she comes home hurt and injured–"

"Do you forgive her?" I interrupt.

"What?"

It is accidental. I slip, in my sudden inquiry, as the curiosity to Rainbow Dash’s state of mind has filled my thoughts and escaped to my lips. It is seldom that I interrupt a friend in her speech, and if I were to do so it is only in the spirit of being comical in its divergence. But, too late now, I have no choice but to press on.

"I mean... She said she was sorry, didn’t she?" To absolve? To condone? Or to pardon? “At least, I think she was.”

"Who,” she asks, shrugging, “Applejack?"

Feign. Evident. "You know who I'm talking about, and it isn't Jackie."

And here, compensating for a lie detected, she blurts out a truth. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. What does it matter?"

"Maybe it's because you won't forgive her that she won’t come back."

“How does it even relate? It’s been three years, what does it matter if I forgive her or not. Things have stayed the same, haven’t they?”

I am sure she intends to make that last sentence sound as though it is a good thing. True, that things have remained the same. No special event–thanks Celestia for that–has yet to cause the necessity of having to use all six Elements of Harmony, leaving all of us to a current standstill. Things have stayed the same: Twilight still works–or lives–in the library, Applejack still with her apples, I in my mask. The somewhat noteworthy occasion of Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy finally moving in together has caused little change to either pegasi. Rainbow Dash still practices with the Wonderbolts–ah! that I forgot to mention–and Fluttershy still consistently, religious, attends the weekly spa.

There is no more progress in this circle of friends, is what I believe Rainbow Dash fails to mention. What’s left of us are five rusting cogwheels that desperately spin on its axis, too disconnected by a missing sixth pinion to let the hours pass. We, five, as a whole, are trapped to the same second when she left.

Foolish Pandora who closed the box too soon.

"Maybe it's because we won't forgive her that we can't move on," I say. Blood under the bridge, after all.

"What are you talking about?” she says, not asks, aloud. “Why is it like we’re the bad guy here? If we don’t forgive her, so what? We have the right to get angry after all she did to us. And I've forgiven her for lots of things: I've forgiven that SOB for lying to us, for blackmailing my marefriend, for turning AJ and I against each other that one time. Hell, I can even try to forgive her for trying to kill Cadance! But what I can't forgive her for is that she broke her promise!"

My ears perk up. Curiosity. New information. An agreementt? She hasn’t’ told me of this before. "What promise?" I raise a brow.

Rainbow Dash floats down back the bed. Neither of us notice that her anger lifted her a few feet from the floor. "It's... It's a promise she told me...” she explains, “long ago before this whole mess, back when she and AJ were just getting together. She promised that... she'd take care of AJ for me."

Rainbow Dash sighs.

"What I can't really forgive her for," she heaves out, "is that she... still won't come back to AJ."

"So does that mean, you'll forgive her if she does?" My question came out abruptly, as a consequence of trying to comprehend Rainbow Dash's logic.

"I..." she bites her lip, stopping. "M-Maybe I... You know what, Pinkie," she says suddenly, "Maybe you need to rant out some of the time."

That's quite a change of subject. Poor execution though, making her more obvious. "Why'd you say that?" I ask, simply to humor her.

"Well... obviously, you don't need to bottle anything up."

"I don't need to bottle buttermilk when I'm churning butter?"

"What? No! I mean..." she scratches. "I don't really have anything to back up what I'm to say so go ahead and call me weird later on... But... I think, like her, you're hiding something about yourself from us."

For a second, for the briefest of second, I drop my mask and my smile vanishes. Quod Erat Demonstratum. How can Rainbow Dash have seen me? Is my mask slipping? Is me, the real me, have been perceptible to my dearest friends for a while? No... I have been all too careful. Rainbow Dash's guess is pure ungrounded intuition.

"You can talk to us, you know," she continues, seeing that her words are having an effect on me.

Seeing Rainbow Dash now, somewhat hurt and blindly groping to help one whom she may not know or understand, risking ridicule from acting upon an assumption so incredible, I cannot bring myself to undermine her and her sincerity.

Bringing my mask back to my face again, I present Rainbow Dash the smile she wants to see. "That's so sweet of you, Dashie," I giggle. "But don't worry about me. She and I... If we're ever hiding something... it's because it's the ugly part of us we never want anyone to see."

Curtains. That should suffice, I hope.

We stand in the silence for a long while, in these minutes when neither of us move. The silence is broken by a loud ringing snap from the baker's oven.

Ting, the machine goes, spraying out a rain of confetti on the side. The aroma of apple cream pie wafts to the air.

I hop to it, slipping into the woolen mitts, and place the pie in a woven wicker basket.

“I’m... thinking of not going to training this week.” She confesses suddenly, her eyes on the pie.

“What? Why?”

She tells me of Applejack’s intention of going to Draconia, and the only means by which she can slow it down–as we both know she won’t be able to stop it.

“Alright, then,” I say. “You can just explain to your Wonderbolt friends and give this pie as a sign of apology. I hear Soarin’ loves pie.”

“Yeah... he does.” He receives the basket in her hooves. “Sorry for ranting on you... again."

"Anytime, Dashie," I tell her. "And you better go now before this gets cold and you turn in late."

"Rainbow Dash is never late!" She turns to the window, flares her feathers and darts to the outside. "See you later tonight!"

Returned to my isolation, I shut the window blinds close. Almost immediately, I return my mane to its natural and straightened crestfallen flow.

I turn to a locked chest peeking from under the bed. Lock the windows first. First thing first, I insert a wooden stick–Gummy’s control stick–between two of the window’s handles.

“Grab that box for me,” I say, moving to a nearby chair.

Gummy slithers on the floor, buries his snout beneath the bed, and grabs the box’s handle with his maw. He heaves out the container from beneath and behind a camouflage of confetti and deflated balloons and drags it to me. I reward him with a small pat on his pout.

I stop for a moment, not hesitating but remembering. Trying to recall what it is that made decide to open this box now. Surely this is not the first time Rainbow Dash and I have talked about her, albeit sparing the name she neither wishes to hear or mention. But there is something in what Rainbow Dash said–somewhere between forgiveness and coming back–that seems to melt a frozen memory in my mind.

I sigh, finally unlocking the chest with a hairpin, and uncover its contents of paper clippings. The indictments against innocence.

Printed in black, gray, and white are three-year-old documents, records, and newspaper articles.

It shows pictures of the dubbed ex-Element of Generosity, with the media tagging her as the 'Witch of Canterlot.' It covers her trial in the exaggerated bellowing of a tabloid, excluding anything that is less than controversial and scandalous.

Vae victis.

But a next most amusing series of newspaper clipping was published a day later when a certain unknown mare hiding under the nom de guerre of Miss Diane P. mailed the press an entire file cabinet of documents detailing Basket Case's involvement in the planned wedding–which she initially denied–that was less financial and more influential in its pulls. Knowing her status was in danger, Basket Case ratted on her scapegoats to save herself. But the stakes were too high, and the scapegoats ratted on their scapegoats until the chain explosion of the loudest, noisiest blame game resounded in Canterlot. The fallout that followed had the Royal Guard questioning every gossip columnist, rat, and whistleblower involved. When the dust cleared, half of Canterlot's cigar-smoking cocktail-swirling high society are charged of extortion, tax evasion, slander, and blackmail. And it is the purest and untarnished names of Cadance and Fleur de Lis who now resides at the top of the social pyramid.

For the historical dialectic had now reached another apex, and once again the meek shall inherit the earth.

Cadance, however, would not want anything to do with the subculture, deciding instead to devote her next years taking care of her healthy colt named Joyous Gard.

Who is it, I wonder, who chose the name?

Cadance’s immune and unsullied benevolence, for that matter, is one I always thought to be unfathomable. Amidst the howling refrain of, kill her, kill her, kill her, that echoes and echoes from the lips of the omniscient watchers who weighs the soul of each of us, Cadance alone begs for her absolution. To forgive her murderess like that, to forgive one who has not and would not atone, to forgive one who does not deserve forgiveness, wholeheartedly, after what was done, demands a trust in the best of ponies that I cannot conceive. Is it an act of naive stupidity? Or the most sanctified of virtues? A lesser creature would have licked its wounds, planned vengeance or renounced faith in ponykind. But to forgive, to forgive!?

To forgive so is unforgivable.

Perhaps it is less of my lust for poetic justice and more of my enmity towards the world, that makes such a prospect implausible. I am left in the dark for far too long; it is dark here, after all, behind the mask.

To what premise may one subscribe herself to such a faith? Are the mask not enough? Is it sin in itself, for she and I, to vie Cadance’s radiant purity?

Must we be damned so, like Phaëton with his chariot, like Arachne with his spindle, like Icarus with his wings?

There is a simple curiosity that has been growing in my mind these past few years that, until now, had been nothing more than irrelevant gossip. Though Cadance has refused to press charges, and even went as far as paying for the damages of the whole affair, why was it that ‘The Witch of Canterlot' have to leave? There is no–shall we say–practical reason for it. She could have very well secured herself in Applejack’s open embrace instead of vanishing to nowhere.

Applejack, for her part by the way, could not have known that her love was bound to leave that day, and leave by train, if not for me. Why did I have to tell Applejack that? I think to myself, remembering that hazy day three years ago. Why did I hope, then, for her to stay?

Perhaps it has something to do with Cadance’s benevolence that I, like her, envied as well.

And perhaps I, too, wish to partake in that disposition of forgiving.

But envy, I conclude, is all I can do. There are no such things as faces, only masks. Who is it, that poet, who once said, ‘Ah the world is a stage. And all colts and fillies are merely players’? I have taken the quotation a little too literally perhaps.

And finally I take out from the box the object of my current unease, the–cliché–missing piece in the puzzle that may–cliché again–complete the whole picture in my current mental inventory: the sanction of the judge who oversaw her trial. And here it is said, in black and white, that she is to...

At most, compensate two million bits worth of overall damages...

and...

Three years of exile from Equestria.

I look at the calendar hanging on the wall.

Three years to the date...

It takes me a moment to process everything, and a moment longer to accept it.

Then I stop and immediately, even without the mask, I burst out in laughter. Laughing, giggling, making merry in the serendipitous and benevolent overturning of it all. The laughter in me burst out like a surplus of energy. I stand up, grabbing the documents in my hoofs, and begin to scatter and hammer them all over the room in my boisterous girth. Gummy too is caught off guard with my sudden outburst of mirth. I laugh and laugh some more, laughing like God, laughing like Discord, laughing like the Element of Laughter that I truly am. Laughing with the world and all who ever lived in it.

I understand now. She does not believe in redemption, only penance.

* * *

"So... there's nothing else I can help you with?" I ask, stepping closer.

"Nnope."

"Are you sure?" I ask again, stepping back.

"Eeyup."

"Well... if you need anything... I'm just there... by the desk... waiting for you...” I bite my tongue. “I mean! I mean waiting for you if you need anything... with something."

"Eeyup," Big Macintosh says, still not looking up from his book.

I turn around and retreat to the kitchen, my heart pounding and face turning as red as a tomato. Or a cherry. An apple? Anyway, my face is red.

Because I ran... to the kitchen.

Is he blushing? I think to myself, and peek around the corner. His face is always red. At the center of everything paper and wood, the big red stallion sits there quietly with his book. He flips to the next page and scratches his chin. He looks up for a moment, absentmindedly, just to wait and ponder before returning to his book again.

But then he moves–did he see me?–and I immediately return to my hiding, back pressed against the wall.

“Big Mac is looking beefier by the week, isn’t he?” a voice beside me says.

“Yeah...”

“And he’s still a cutie!” the voice says. “I bet he’s good at smoochin’.”

“I wouldn’t know... I–” I bite my tongue again, realizing that there’s another pony by my side. I turn to Pinkie Pie, standing there beside me, holding popcorn as she also peeks around the corner.

I grab Pinkie by the shoulders and hold her back. “Pinkie,” I hiss, “how did you– what are you doing here?”

“Oh, watching you watch Big Macintosh.” She extends the junkfood to me. “Popcorn? We can watch him together if you like.”

“Shhh!” I hiss, my hoof to my lips. And I take and whizz out the popcorn from her. “And foods aren’t allowed here.”

“Right, I forgot this is the library. Even if we’re in the kitchen part of your library.”

“And I’m not watching him, I’m just checking him out! I mean... checking out if he needs help... with checking out books.” I rub my temple. Not only is Big Macintosh is already under the same roof I’m in, my most obnoxious friend is as well. I’m predicting my stress level piling up. “So why are you here? Do you want to borrow a book?”

“I want one with pictures,” she cheers, hopping high but silently.

“With pictures... right. I’ll try to find something you can read.”

“And also, I came here to invite you and Fluttershy to a party later.”

“Me and... Fluttershy?” I look around; there is no sign of the aforementioned pegasus anywhere. “She’s not here yet.”

“She will be. In the meantime, we can play with Big Macintosh while we wait.”

“We can’t play with Big Macintosh.” Purposely increasing my voice so he can hear me. “He’s busy reading.”

“He’s not. He’s standing right behind you listening to me tell you how he’s not reading.”

Pinkie Sense or not, I know that facts are not something Pinkie Pie plays with. Or maybe she can’t play with it–Celestia knows she will if she can. If she says that Big Macintosh is behind me right now then it can only mean...

"Miss Sparkle?" another voice calls from behind.

Immediately, before I can even compose myself, I turn to him. "Y-Yes?"

"Where'd ya keep yer books on water dynamics and the siphon principle?"

"Oh... Hydrophysics? I can show you where–”

“Oh, you mean Archimaredeses’s On the Principles of Buoyancy and Liquid Displacement?” Pinkie Pie asks, tilting her head. “It’s ISBN 403-1122. Just up there on the second floor, under ‘O’. Second shelf on the right.”

Damnit, Pinkie Pie! Why do you have to be so omniscient at the most random and inconvenient of times.

Big Macintosh blinks for a few seconds. He looks at me and says, “Mind showin’ me where you keep it, Miss?”

"Yes!”–Take that, Pinkie–“Yes I can! Cause that's what I am... curator and all... of the library."

I smile from ear to ear to hide my blush as I flick a hoof. Big Macintosh does not look impressed with my gesture, as he still stares at me with that blank gaze.

"Uh... Miss Twilight?" he says.

"Oh, you mean show you now. S-Sure I can. Please follow me."

I lead Big Mac to the second floor of the library where the more advance books are kept. I almost hesitated because these are very, very technical literature on pony studies and the more advance sciences; and I’ve never seen anypony else remotely touch them but me–sans the occasional Pinkie Pie who borrows some to make toy train tunnels. And Big Macintosh isn’t really an academic. I’m not saying that he’s slow but... his constant silence never gave me any reason to think otherwise.

That’s wrong, Twilight. I say to myself. You can’t affiliate verbosity with intelligence.

I turn back to see Pinkie Pie mouthing 'go get him, tigress' while making enthusiastic cheering with her hooves. I use a dab of magic and cause an avalanche of Stephenie Mare novels toppling over her.

Once Big Macintosh and I reach the shelf upstairs, I pull out the intended book and present it to him. Looking back now, I could have done so by my magic from below but...

Well, he did tell me to show it to him.

And I would be missing the completely professional pleasure of his company.

Big Macintosh takes the book unceremoniously, without as much as turning the pages or reading the title. His eyes, lovely green eyes that they are, fixes on me.

And oh Celestia, it's making me blush!

Is he blushing too? I think, pulling my head away lest he sees the color of my cheeks. Damnit, I can’t tell with that coat color of his.

"Miss Sparkle?" he says.

"Y-Yes?"

"Mind if we sit for a spell here for a minute? Ah wanna exchange a few words with ya without the risk of anypony sneaking in on us."

Believe me, if there’re two ponies who can always–and I mean always–sneak up on us, it’ll be Pinkie Pie with her weird antics and Rainbow Dash with her breaking through my room all the time.

"Sure we can," I find myself saying, “sit... and talk and stuff. I mean, you do want to talk, right?”

"Eeyup."

"Is it... personal?"

"N-Nope."

"Oh..."

He sits on the floor and leans against the shelf. Imitating him, I sit by his side with our shoulders just barely–barely!–touching. I can still shuffle closer to him. But I won’t. It’ll be too awkward... because it’ll be too obvious.

"So what do you want to talk about?" I ask. I’m already gathering and thinking up everything I know about botany and water dynamics.

"It's about yer brother," he says.

"My brother?" I reiterate. I do not expect to hear this.

"Shining Armor,” he affirms, “ah reckon his name is."

"Yeah... That's his name. What about him?"

"Ah want ya tell me somethin' about him, if ya don't mind. Ah heard he's happily married back to Princess Cadance. What's he like? Is he a good stallion?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"This aint about nothin'. Ah'm just askin'."

"Well I don't appreciate it when ponies ask about my family without telling me why." Did that come out too strong?

He takes a long look at me for a moment. He blinks twice, and apologizes, "Pardon. Ah guess ah'd best go back to mah readin' then."

Oh, damnit. Don’t go yet.

"Well." I follow up after him. "If you just tell me why you need to know then I don’t mind telling you a few things about him."

"Ah don't wanna force ya, Miss Sparkle,” he says, standing up. “And ah don't wanna make ya feel yer gossipin' out yer brother."

"I-It's not like that at all.” Seeing him already start down the stairs–Oh to hell with it–I run up to his side and grab his shoulder. “So if you can tell me..."

He stops, halfway down the stairs. "It's just this ol' stallion's curiosity and all. Nevermind ya none. Ah just can't get mind over the fact that she... cheated on Applejack with yer brother."

"She? Oh... You mean her."

"Eeyup."

Big Macintosh continues his descent down the first floor.

I rush up to him, but this time following him from behind, just far enough for him to hear what I need to say and far enough to get too close for comfort. “Hey Big Mac,” I call, my voice soft, “we’re not on... bad terms are we?”

He turns around. “Why’d ya ask?”

“Well,”–for one thing, I can never tell just by looking at you–“Your sister’s marefriend cheated on her with... my brother. Shouldn’t you be...”

“What? Cursin’ yer ancestors and threatenin’ to chase ya outta town?” he asks. It isn’t sarcasm.

“Well, no...but...”

“Ya did nothin’ wrong little Miss. Maybe yer brother did, and ah’m not afraid to pass that judgment, but ah’m not about to hurt somepony for the mistakes of somepony else. Ain’t right... And besides,” he continues, “too many ponies been hurt enough by this whole mess.”

‘This whole mess’, he says. He didn’t say: ‘that whole mess’.

"Well... I don't really know what to say,” I answer, looking down on the long levels of steps below. “First off… my brother never remarried Cadance because he and Cadance never separated in the first place. My brother is the best brother anypony can ask for. He's brave, kind, and always looks out for us. He’s doing very well as captain. And now Cadance won't stop writing about how he's the best father in the 'whole white world'. I still don't understand why he would cheat on Cadance like that. I mean... he knew the consequences, he has the self-control of a puritan, and he loves Cadance more than anything else in the world. I just don’t how he can... or why would he... I dunno. It’s been three years and I still haven’t asked him. I guess I'm still ignorant with all these relationships thing."

“Wait…” he stops. “If yer brother and Cadance never got separated then how did his second marriage with–”

“Those two were never married,” I answer, shaking my head. “It all happened too fast, overnight even, before any of the forms and papers and documents were processed. Suddenly, a grandiose wedding struck the world like a bolt from the blue. It was not legally binding or anything, despite all that ceremony. It was just… just fake… Just some game of make-believe played on the most expensive makeshift doll’s house ever.”

After a moment of reflection, Big Macintosh says, “She went through alot of trouble for a game of make-believe. ”

“No…” I answer, knowing better. “She went through a lot of friends for a game of make-believe."

"How desperate was she?" he whispers to himself, shaking his head. Then, louder, he asks, "Who'd ya think she was tryin' to fool with a stunt of such... magnitude?"

"I... I don't know. Who's worth fooling, really? Worth risking literally everything she had? Who? The world? Her friends? Shining Armor? Maybe the almighty herself... Whoever, or whatever, it was, she probably believed that if she can fool it for a night–or maybe even for a second–it'll make the whole fiasco real..."

Big Macintosh closes his eyes and shakes his head. "And yer brother," he says, “he’s hurtin’ too?”

“Kinda. He doesn't show it. And Cadance barely talks about it, mention in her letters once that ‘Shining Armor is still amending and compensating with work’ but with the peace in Equestria right now there’s little work for a Lieutenant of the Royal Guards to do but train new recruits. And, oh yeah, I remember he’s doing some investigation of some sort. Some anonymous Griffon from halfway across the continent has been sending Cadance bits for some unknown reason… It just reached two-million and a half bits.”

Yet again, Big Macintosh is unimpressed. He is looking straight to the wall, his min distant somewhere.

"So is that enough?" I ask. "Sorry... that’s all I can say about my brother for now. Or do you need me to tell you something specific?"

"That's enough ah guess."

Finally, after stopping for almost a minute on the same steps, we finally make our way back down to the reading desks.

"You asked because you're looking out for AJ, aren’t you?” I ask taking the seat right in front of him.

"Every big brother looks out for his little sis."

“Yeah.” I wait for him to open up the book we just brought down. If he do so, I know it means it’s time to end the conversation. But he didn’t yet. So I ask him further, “Does AJ still...? She still loves her?"

"Eyup," he answers, without the long drag on the letter ‘E’.

"And AJ’s still hurting."

"Funny how you saw that. Mah sis been tryin' awfully hard not to show it."

"She has that look on her face... sometimes... when the five of us are together and we all feel there's something missing. Nopony feels it more than Applejack."

"Mah sis is strong," he says, looking to the side. “She can take it.”

“She never had to.”

There is no response in him. No ‘Eeyup’ or ‘Nnope’ to affirm or deny. Instead, he finally opens the books and turns to the first page. As part of the library’s etiquette, I’m supposed to leave him now to the privacy of his reading. But, for this once, I decide to just press on a little further:

"So... Big Mac, I'm curious. Suppose that AJ really does find her hiding somewhere. And the two of them comes back and live together... here in Ponyville... Would you still... approve?"

Big Macintosh is silent for a long time. He doesn’t put the book down, but his eyes has stopped moving. "Yer askin' the wrong question, Miss Sparkle. Ya see, like yer brother, ah only have mah own little sis in mind. Whether ah approve or not doesn't matter none cuz ah know mah approval won’t change nothin’. Ah can only give her support to what she choose to do. But what matters most is the same question ya shoulda ask: 'Will it make mah little sis happy?' If yes, then she can live back here for all ah care."

There is a knock on the door, and Fluttershy comes in before I can ask anything more.

"Uhm... Twilight?” the canary pegasus asks. "I'm here to return Dashie's Daring Do book."

* * *

"Uhm... Twilight?" I ask. "I'm here to return Dashie's Daring Do book."

"Fluttershy, is that you?" She stands up from the desk and waves a hoof. "Hold on, I'm helping Big Mac."

Big Macintosh looks up from his book and we make eye contact for a second. He makes a gentlecolt-ly nod to me in acknowledgment and returns to his book. Twilight, with her hooves under her chin, leans forward over the desk and says something to Big Mac.

In the meantime, I wait here...

Just me... here... prodding my hoof on the floor... waiting for the librarian.

Not that I’m complaining... or blaming.

She’s with Big Mac after all, my second... crush... after Rainbow Dash.

So I just run my eyes around the library, reading through the alphabetically-arranged books on the shelf. From where I’m standing, I can already see the line-up of the Daring Dash series.

I-I mean… Daring Do series…

I wonder if she read all of this yet.

Just below it are some other romance light fiction that has covers foals and I can’t stare at. On the corner, there’s a messed up pile of Stephanie Mare books.

And suddenly, right in front of my eyes, the pile just made a shudder.

"Eep!” I shout; nopony hears it.

The pile of books shuffles again, but this time it moves as though it’s a single creature... towards me. I think I hear it growl.

I… I knew there was something unnatural about that novel series...

"Uhm... Hello?” I squeak out. “Mr. Book of Fairies, sir? ...You’re crawling...”

I take a step back, and two, and three more. But the pile crawls faster and faster on the floor, just behind Twilight where she can’t see it move to me... menacingly.

My breathing starts to rise up, heaving with my mouth, as my heart races and pounds against my chest.

"T-T-Twilight?" I try to call. The book is just a few meters away from me, and much more it’s shaking weirdly like a jell-o of papers, dog-ears and bad writing.

"Just a sec," she says, leaning forward Big Mac and pointing something on his book.

"T... Twilight!?" I call out. The books are inching closer.

"Coming."

Finally, with a flash of her magic, Twilight teleports just between me and my assailant. But just in time, the pile stops moving altogether and comes to a complete halt like the inanimate object it is–and should be.

"Twilight, please help me,” I beg, “those books..."

"Calm down, Fluttershy." She tilts her head. The books shuffle again behind her. “What’s wrong?”

"That’s what’s wrong..." I point to it. "Those hardbounds are alive."

The books shuffle again for the last time, slowly, and thankfully this time Twilight sees it. She observes it for a moment until she sighs and says, "Pinkie... get outta there."

And just like her confetti, Pinkie Pie pops out of her camouflage. "Hi, Fluttershy!" she shouts. A party horn appears between her lips, and as she is about to blow on it, Twilight pries it away with her magic.

"Pinkie...” Twilight sighs, “what are you still doing here? I thought you left already."

"Oh, I was eavesdropping your bonding moment with Big Mac."

"We weren't bonding–"

"A-a-a-and..." Pinkie Pie says, burying her head back to the pile of books. She reappears her head to us with two cards in her lips. She spits them out. "Now that you’re both here, it’s time for me to give you girls your invitation for a ‘Welcome Back’ party later."

“Didn’t Rainbow Dash just left training today?” I ask. “Wouldn’t it be too quick to hold another ‘Welcome Back’ party for her?”

“Nopey-dopey,” Pinkie answers. “And it’s not Rainbow Dash. It’s somepony else. Rainbow Dash will be back here tonight.”

I look at the card:

You are cordially invited to:

“Mystery Guest’s” Welcome Back Party

7:00pm–11:59pm

Sugar Cube Corner, Ponyville

"Oh, a party," I say, placing the card in my saddle. “How wonderful. Who’s the mystery guest?”

“I can’t tell you that silly,” she laughs. “Otherwise, it won’t be a mystery. Oops! Almost forgot, gotta go to Cloudsdale right now to give Rainbow Dash her invitation.”

As soon as she says that, Pinkie Pie hops out of the room through the main door. When Twilight and I peer out the window to look at her, the both of us find her vanished already. I look at Twilight and raises a brow and a question as to where’d she could’ve gone and Twilight just rolls her eyes with a shrug.

Twilight returns inside the library and levitates the Daring Do book back to its home. She asks, nonchalantly, "So whose party do you think it is?"

"Beats me."

Just then Pinkie Pie comes hopping down the stairs and lands gently beside Big Macintosh. She gives him the same invitation card she gave us and hops out the door. Twilight and I follow her with our eyes, not saying anything.

Once Pinkie Pie is gone for the second time, I turn to look at Twilight who is busy glancing over her shoulder to look at Big Macintosh read the invitation. Having no business in the library any longer, and wishing my friend the best of luck with her own romantic pursuit, I give Twilight a small pat on the shoulder and say: "Well, I guess I better get going."

"Any plans for today?" she asks, her eyes still on her crush.

"Just the spa. It's... that time of the week."

And at this, I am able to steal a moment of her attention. "Oh, I forgot,” she says, her expression changing to an astonished surprise. “You're still going to that place. Force of habit, I guess."

"Not really. It's because…” I shrug. “it was our thing."

"Right. Your thing... with her."

Twilight and I remain quiet, this always happen when we talk about our lost friend. This normally lasts for a minute or two, with me hiding under my mane or prodding my hoof, and with Twilight looking to the sides. I don’t know why she never says anything during these moments of awkwardness... I just remain quiet because I have nothing to say.

But, thankfully, I didn’t wait long. Big Macintosh, steps out of his desk, approaches Twilight, and says, “Miss Sparkle, sorry to interrupt. Can you help me look for a book about irrigation?”

"I've got to go,” Twilight says to me, his body already leaning towards Big Mac. “I'll see you later in the party?"

"Alright,” I say, leaving the two alone. “See you there."

I finally leave the library and head towards the spa. I pass through the marketplace, waving to friends and acquaintances along the way. Since I have a few more minutes to spare, I decide to take a look at the laid out merchandise of things laid out. I buy some light reading materials for some manecare tips, some hoof polish and… and I remember that I need some perfumes too. As the magazine instructed, I also buy some of the branded mane conditioner exported from Canterlot.

I sure hope Rainbow Dash will like these new scents… I think, trying hard not to blush.

It took a moment to bargain the new bottles, but in the end I got it for a lesser price than what the magazine said. I read the long words in the label that I didn’t understand, and finally tuck them in my saddle.

Excited to use my new softeners, I flip the magazine open again to read what else I can buy to best fix my mane in the spa.

Hmm... That looks good... I think, as I take a look at the long list of brands sponsored by famous and beautiful models.

And suddenly!–without warning–something bumps me–or I bump it?–and I crash on the ground.

I'm so stupid! I'm so, so stupid! My head screams at me. You’re so careless, Fluttershy!

My shampoos roll on the ground. Out of a defensive reflex, I hide behind my mane.

"I'm so sorry!" I apologize. I do not know whether I'm apologizing to a pony or a brick wall, but I have to apologize because it's my fault. "I'm so, so sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going."

"That's perfectly alright, darling." The mare I bump to says. Her voice sounds strangely familiar.

Still hiding my face beneath my bangs, I go on all fours and scramble for my bottles. "I was just so eager to go to the spa and–" a magical purplish hue envelops one of the container and levitates it up for a moment before handing it to me.

"Oh, I know! I know, dear. These spas have so much magic in them they can reverse your years with the right pampering... Although, might I make a slight suggestion? I recommend you buy Photo Finish's Springmane Series. It's cheap, and the oriental cherry blossom in them will revitalize your mane to a glossy shine."

By the time she says 'Photo Finish', I now remember to whom that voice belongs, and that accent belongs, and that magic belongs.

“Nice bumping into you again,” she says. “Ta, ta.”

But by the time I look up, she has already trotted past me.

I turn back, to her: a dove-white unicorn with a beautiful purple mane. She is wearing a sundress, a summer hat and a parasol. Beside her, she is levitating a small luggage and a smaller picnic basket.

My jaw drops, and once again I let go of the shampoos on my hoof in my sudden paralysis of seeing whom I thought I’d never see again.

At least now I know whose Pinkie Pie’s ‘Mystery Guest’ is.

A smile eases its way to my face.

Fresh from the spa, she's trotting towards Sweet Apple Acres.

* * *

With one powerful kick, I slam my back hooves against the tree. The apples fall, all inside the cart. When I look up to the tree, it nods to me with the sway of the breeze. As if to tell me that it has given all it can for the season’s harvest in payment for the family’s care. I tip my hat to it and proceed my way deeper to the woods.

I drag the apple cart under the roof of leaves. Of all parts of Sweet Apple Acres, this place, where the trees are thickest, is a favorite and personal resting ground after a hard day’s work. The ground here provides a nice earthly scent every time the south wind passes by to sing birdsong, and the cool shade, letting in only some droplets of almond-shaped sunshine, is an umbrella from the hot afternoon

Several minutes later, I finally arrive to a small secluded clearing. Here, the green and rosy trees of Sweet Apple Acres shake branches with those of brown and maple of White-Tail Woods. The air smells of fir, apples, and toadstools so fresh that it makes me yawn. And just a little below them, the moist soil opens up to a small crystal clear stream.

It is only every time that I’m here that I’m able to remember, and believe, a story that Granny Smith once told me: that one day, about this same time of this same year, as she was exploring this young land in her days as a filly, she saw a herd of alicorns galloping to rest in this very clearing. The sun-bearer Celestia, she said, was among them. Granny Smith followed them here, and there she saw dozens and dozens of them of all sizes and colors–some fiery red, some crystal blue, some sunflower yellow–grazing upon the dew of the grasses and playing with their young, and each of their cutie marks seem to represents the things that made this world.

I place the cart down from my sides, and my hat on the apple cart. I give my limbs a few stretches, before I ultimately throw myself into the running cold.

The fresh crisp water welcomes me into its cool embrace. A million needles seem to pierce my pores and pluck away the stress, sweat, and strain from my sore muscles. I open my eyes, seeing the green glinting pebbles below, and swim upwards. Breaking through the surface, I welcome the sunshine on my face and the air in my lungs. I dip my head back beneath and take in several mouthfuls to quench my thirst.

I pull my head back and let my body drift afloat the surface. My eyes closed, I can see the sunny day Rainbow Dash has laid out for me. I know she does it as an early apology if we ever got into another fight. I just never had the heart to tell the gal that, though my trees enjoy Celestia's crown, I myself personally enjoy a more cloudy and windy day. It is in such days that I always feel like the apples and hills of Sweet Apple Acres are alive, and where the gust of wind feels like the mountain is breathing in on me.

Dash...

It's a good change of pace that Rainbow Dash and I didn't fight today. What changed that gal's mind, I wonder. I was certain we'd be rolling on the dirt and roughing each other up this afternoon. It kinda messed up the routine, as by now I'm usually back in the barn, licking my wounds, instead of enjoying the river here.

I remember that I haven't taken much trouble to thank my best friend for what she does. If it isn't for her, I would've resorted to my original plan to not come back here Ponyville until I've searched all over Equestria, and the world maybe, and find her. It's thanks to Dash and this constant brawls of ours that she's able to knock some sense to me. Now my year is split between harvesting and planting, and journeying to parts unknown.

I'm like a Demeter or something, Pinkie once said to me... whatever that means.

I know what the other ponies think of me and this new lifestyle I have. Stupid, is the only word they mean but they never say: picking a fight with my best friend every now and then, and searching the world for a loved one who might not love me back. They think I'm gullible for not have seen unfaithfulness, that I'm naive for loving her as much as I do, and that I'm foolish my for my hope that I'll never see her again.

I'm the first to admit that I'm no genius like Twilight, but I can never understand this line of thinking that seeing the best within all of us is a form of weakness.

Frankly... Maybe because I do not want to understand.

I do not accept it as gullible to expect only honesty from others; I do not accept it as naive for loving with all the fires of one’s heart; I do not accept it as foolish to believe true love won't find itself. To anyone who thinks otherwise, let them damn me for whatever standard they hold; these are mine.

And I'm willing to cross continents to prove it true.

With one powerful movement of my hoof, I spray a jet of water to the sky. The fountain rises up, like an arrow to the sun, where it captures the sunbeams and reflects a rainbow. The droplets sprinkle down and it makes me laugh.

I swim back to the land and shake the water from my coat. I place my hat back to my head, my apple cart to my side, and march back to Sweet Apple Acres.

"Almost done," I yawn, stretching my limbs as I walk, "just need get these ones down the cellar and–"

The world around me stops. For a second I see something from the wide-open window of my peripherals. A sight too far, too small, too early, yet too unmistakable.

A glass of wine in her hooves, she is sitting on top of the hill–our hill, where she first returned my feelings–over a checkered picnic mat and under a small flamingo-pink parasol. Her back is turned to me. She is looking at the horizon where the sun aims its descent, an alabaster silhouette between sky-blue and a curve of grass-green. Her mane, a vibrant mauve purple, is no longer set on its curl but is cut short just below her round smooth shoulders.

A powerful breeze then sweeps the whole continent that every branch and every blade of grass sway to her direction. The trees nod their heads and the leaves ride the wind, fluttering like nature’s feathers.

But the encouragement of mother earth is not needed; I am already running, galloping, with all my strength, up that hill. Somewhere I lost the cart and the hat from my side. Somewhere further I lost my thoughts. There is only the never ending drive to move forward, to climb up. Already I am short of breath, as though for three years I have not stopped running since I have chased her from the train that stole her away from me. With every step I feel my knees are ready to buckle, that my hooves are ready to splinter, but the pain can only propel me forward.

What is the first thing I’m gonna say? Something funny like, ‘You’ve been here all this time?’ Should I be angry and say, ‘What took you so long?’ Or something like, ‘Time to make up for all the wasted years?’

Or something honest and generous: ‘I love you,’ I’ll say. ‘Let’s get married.’

But as I find myself suddenly standing behind her, I’m already short of breath, panting heavily and unable to say a thing. But I know that all those words that I mean to say have already been said simply by being here.

And her, sitting there, still staring at the endless blue sky above, gently turns her head to me. From where she sits and where I stand, her eyes are hidden just beneath the brim of her summer hat.

But all I can see is enough for me: her smile, lovely and meek, humble and apologetic, promising and fulfilling... and, most of all, happy.

I kneel, taking her shoulders in my hooves, and secure her now and forever in my embrace.

Preface

Preface

The truffles, after all, are stale and cold, but I try to enjoy them as best as I can. In the end, one has to make faces accordingly. And no face is better suited for a wedding than a bride's wonderful smile.

Fluttershy is speaking in front, just beside me. It is not important to hear what she says or how she says it.

What is important is that she is delivering this speech as the best mare of my wedding. She speaks of my generosity, of how we first met, of our weekly get togethers at the spa; things that bears little to no significance to me anymore.

My table is placed on a dais for all the audience to see. Tonight is my night, and it is important that I am much more distinguished than my guests.

Me, the Golden Mare. The cover mare. The mare next door. The mare of princes and castles. The mare of stories and fables, who climbed from rags to riches. Who knows not my story?

I have been profiled, reported, covered, revealed, and gossiped; everypony knows of me: where I eat, what I dress, whom I know, where I was and where I am going. Time has been good to me. Equestria goes where I go. My name passes from ear to ear, all dripping with envy with each passing syllable. My name echoes and resounds throughout Canterlot’s walls; it is a social sin not to know me.

On this evening, I own the night.

On my table towers the wedding cake, chocolate with vanilla layers and frosting that seems too sweet for my tongue. The white, lush color makes it almost invisible against the backdrop of my dress. Light pink flowers climb every tier, each adorned by the thousand twinkling sparkles of infinitesimal rubies. I take a knife and cut out a slice for my husband.

He shakes his head.

I look on, admiring the setting of what is perhaps the grandest wedding Equestria has and ever would see. The tables are covered in linen that shine luster and class beneath the pristine silverware and fine china. Several of these tables carry bronze statuettes of me and my groom, resting on a nest of Casaflanka Lilies and Hydrangeas. A solid ice sculpture of me stands proudly atop the centerpiece fountain, around which the majority of the tables are arranged. Snow-white curtains of silk taffeta, held together by cerulean pearls, cover the windows, occasionally flipping in the air to beckon in the moonlight. Fastened on pillars of marble are lanterns made of vermeil and polished glass; each lights the room with further luminescence. To the anterior, just behind the altar, the window has been replaced by an iridescent stained glass artwork of me and my cutie mark.

And watching over us all, at the heart of the great hall, like the very eye of the sun, lay suspended a giant chandelier made of ormolu and rhinestones.

My eyes settles still to that pendent for a moment, and how it swings almost imperceptibly. The ornate prisms hanging from its arms bounce and tinkle against one another, like the chimes of whispering bells. Whispers and murmurs of a snitch, that, although inaudible to the oblivious, ring painfully to those whose heart are as guilty as mine.

I tear my eyes away from the furniture.

But no ornamentation can best those decorations which appreciates its own, and my, presonal beauty: the guests, esteemed members of the Canterlot high society, all express their exorbitant, and perfectly justified, enthusiasm and interest. Their eyes, too, pass to that suspended pendulum to express their silent judgement.

They do it to torture me, I know.

They come here, not to share with my victory, but to be recognized in it. Only the fairest of the fair could come, and those who had not risked a social black mark on their reputation. To be here was not an act of gratitude, but a token of popularity. But it is to these furnitures and their pale comedic smiles that I dedicate this night.

One table stands apart from the rest. It is a distinguished table placed at the very front, exclusively awarded with greater space. The ponies sitting there are what the socialites believe to be my closest of friends. They are the most honest ponies I know, offering neither celebration nor congratulation.

Twilight Sparkle is the first among them, never tearing her eyes from mine in the slightest. She still holds that wide-eyed disbelief, as though she is watching something apart from the rest of us: a masquerade of plastic smiles, or an unfolding tragic melodrama. She waits, in vain hope, for somepony to climb onto my platform to shout, to yell, to scream the words she is begging to hear: “None of this is real.” She waits because she does not know whether it is I on the stage that is surreal, or if it’s the audience that applauds me from their seats.

Rainbow Dash's expression is more apparent. She grits her teeth at me, hoof pressed firmly against the tablecloth. Her magenta eyes burn bloodshot with rage.

I do not worry about her.

Applejack is avoiding my eyes at all cost, burying them instead on an empty bottle of Calvados she cradles in her hooves. I could no longer tell whether she is still capable of hearing or listening at this point. The grandeur around her seems immaterial, nothing exists and matters except for her drink. Pinkie Pie offers a glass of water to her. The cowpony looks at the glass, and then to Pinkamena, as if the pink pony just offered her poison. Applejack leans forward on the table and grabs her fifth bottle.

Pinkamena Diane Pie sighs and put the glass down. She is dressed quite presentably, with her mane neatly combed, flowing down like a blood-red waterfall. Our eyes make contact for a second, and her lips part in a very big smile as she waves her hoof to me.

I tear my eyes from her and turn towards the canary pegasus.

Fluttershy, having covered in rigorous detail her gratitude, nostalgia and best wishes, finally concludes her speech. "...A-and that is why Rarity is my best friend. Congr-Congratulations... I am so happy... for you both."

I stomp my hoof on the ground, initiating the applause. The guests follow my gesture.

Fluttershy holds her head down and draws back, trying to hide behind her bangs. She looks from one corner to another, eagerly looking for an escape from the prying eyes all around. I think she would have cried if not for an enthusiastic Pinkie Pie taking the burden from her hooves.

Fluttershy slumps back into her seat in the table while the pink pony takes her place on the dais beside me.

"Good evening, everypony!" she practically shouts into the microphone, her high pitches reverberating throughout. "How's everypony doing tonight? I dunno about you but I'm feeling fantaseriffic! First of all, a big congratulations to my dear friend Rarity and her new husband, Shining Armor. I know I speak for everypony when I say that we couldn't be happier for you. Now, best mare speech... best mare speech... I’ve read somewhere that a best mare speech should be as long as the time it takes for the bride to make love. In that case I think I’ll be here till sunrise. But since Fluttershy had already said everything there is to say, I’ll probably only last as long as Shining Armor.”

Pinkamena jokes. At least the guests were quick to respond with boisterous laughter. It became apparent that the delivery of her speech is more fitting for a stand-up comedian than a best mare.

She continues.

“So, anyway, a best mare is supposed to be the pony who will make the most awkward and embarrassing speech for the bride. But I can’t do that since Rarity has nothing to be embarrassed about. And I also have a problem with the term ‘best mare,’ since if there’s anypony who’s the best mare around here, it’s Rarity, and I’m just the Pretty-Good Mare; which is better than Okay Mare and the Kinda-Alright Mare.

“I first met Rarity when I first came to Ponyville; and we haven’t able to get rid of each other ever since. She’s super duper nice to me and told me how beautiful I am the first time we met and how I would look even more beautifuler in her dresses. She always takes care of me and dresses me with the best she can give! Like this dress I’m wearing, she gave it to me just for this occasion. She’s always so, so generous and that’s why she became my bestest friend. Which still makes me wonder why she chose Shining Armor over me. Anywho, she always makes it a point to say that dressing up is the best way to make us shine like diamonds, and I can see why this crowd is like a long buried treasure chest with what everypony is wearing. That’s why Rarity dreams to belong in castles and kingdoms and Canterlot, since these are the most beautiful places there are. Just a few hours ago, she was crying because all her dreams had come true... though I wouldn’t know why ponies cry if they’re happy, but that’s Rarity for you. Like this one time, she forgot to bring plates to our picnic and she goes all ‘this is the worst, possible, thing’ before swooning over a drama couch.”

Pinkie Pie imitates the gesture with utmost exaggeration. She falls over and lands on her flank with a honk. The audience hollers with laughter. She lets the moment pass and speaks again.

“But seriously, Shining Armor, since I know Rarity more than anypony else, I’ll give you tips on how to live with her. I suggest you write this down and hang it on a wall since it’s good ol’advice from aunt Pinkie Pie... ehem... Husbands are always wrong. Yup. That’s the truth. Whatever the wife says is always right since the wife always gets the last word in any argument. Whatever the stallion says after that is the start of a new argument. Don’t bother consulting the books, too. Encyclopedia’s are useless now that you’re married. Just ask Rarity; the wife knows everything except for what she wants. Just make sure you always keep a good stock of gems and diamonds and chocolates and sweets and you can bring her down from any tantrum. She has a habit of making dramatic moments for every little thing. You need to get used to it, fast. I know we did.

"But Rarity is always more than what she is and what she says she is. She may not look like it, but she always thinks of others before herself. Even though she tends to make faces, she toughens up when the tough gets tougher and she’s not afraid to get her hooves dirty. She’s filled with determination and she'll do anything and everything to get what she wants. Believe me when I say that a mare like that is one of a kind.

“So, on behalf of the Elements of Harmony, we welcome you as a part of our circle of pony friends forever! That’s why I believe this wedding is not an end, but a new beginning. Chocolate toasts for everypony! To Rarity and Shining Armor: forever and ever and happily ever after!”

Pinkie Pie grabs a glass of chocolate syrup seemingly from nowhere and downs the entire thing. As she finishes, the crowd once again erupts into a storm of applause and standing ovation, toasting in my honor with glasses of cognac and champagne.

Fluttershy is idly playing with her food, pretending not to listen. Rainbow Dash breathes deeply and painfully, as though the air stings her lungs. Applejack shakes her head and takes another swig of her bottle. Twilight Sparkle, still with that dazed expression, blinks once or twice.

But only I could see through and between the jokes and humor. The blood drains from my face and tears struggle to breach my eyes.

“And for the wedding’s closing speech,” Pinkamena was saying, “who better to give it than the bride herself!”

Two dozen photographers dart, sit and squat just below the stage. Flashbulbs from the cameras pop and sparkle from every direction. The brightness painfully shocks my eyes and my vision blurs.

As reality congeals itself again to a whole, I see Pinkamena standing in front of me.

“Take it away, Rarity!” she says.

The pink pony looks at me and winks. I look at the microphone, then to her, then to the microphone again. Her smile stiffens and it makes me clear my throat.

My whole body shaking, I take the microphone from her hooves to deliver the night’s closing toast.

Chapter 1: The Bouquet in the Boutique

Chapter 1:
The Bouquet in the Boutique

It is amazing how fast Pinkie Pie could turn a private bedchamber into a small ballroom. Ten minutes ago, I had asked the princess and my friends to try on the newly made dresses when, out of nowhere, Pinkie gave her wedding gift in the form of a party.

“This is the best bridal shower ever!” Pinkie Pie shouts as she bounces on the bed.

The others are with her, expressing their agreement as they dance the polka.

I remain observant from afar. It seems most polite of me to keep my distance from the bride-to-be. After all, this is her wedding, and I would not have it spoiled by my presence.

She is a wonderful mare. There is no reason for me to hate her.

I keep the smile, as always. It is the most appropriate ornament for an occasion such as the princess’s wedding.

And even to the preludes of such occasions.

The bridal shower is harmless enough, I suppose. Though personally, due to the commotions and all the inadequacies, I would not advise it given that the wedding is an hour from now.

It is enjoyable, at least, watching from the sides. I do not think of myself above dancing—goodness, no!—rather, my friends are too free spirited for me to join them right now. I join them in the simple act of tapping my hoof in rhythm with the beat.

“Punch?” a voice asks beside me.

My view of Princess Cadance is replaced by the smile of an orange-coated mare. I force a crooked smile to my lips in return.

“Why, yes. Thank you,” I say, taking the cup handed to me.

“Long day, huh?”

“Quite possibly the longest." I shrug. "Or perhaps the shortest. Both.”

“Was beatin’ up changelings that fun for ya?” Applejack throws a punch in the air, mimicking my earlier behaviour.

“Hardly. Soiling my hooves is unbecoming of a lady such as myself. I just hope no distinguished pony saw me engaging in such...barbarism.”

Applejack laughs. “Well, that ‘barbarism’ ya refer to helped us save Canterlot.”

"It could have ruined my reputation."

"Still, yer a natural."

"Please elaborate, dear."

"Well, you did buck a manticore in the face." Applejack observes my oblivious look and imitates a high-pitched Manehattanite accent."'Take that you ruffian!'"

Oh, the fight with that manticore, yes. "Why, Applejack, that was over two years ago."

She smiles and playfully tosses her mane. "Does 'Fighting is not really my thing, I'm more into fashion. But Ah'll rip you to pieces if you touch one scale on his cute little head' ring a bell?"

"H-How did you...?" I grind my teeth, thinking of the only one who could have spread the rumor. “Spike.”

"...Rainbow Dash."

Ahh yes. The pegasus who seems to be no more mature than the baby dragon.

I plant my hoof on my face. My head starts to throb.

"Eeyup. Don'tcha worry about it none. Ah got lotta respect for mares who can hold their own."

I roll my eyes and catch a glimpse of Applejack looking at me. I turn to her and she immediately faces the other direction.

“Ah mean, not that ah think less of a mare that prefers otherwise.”

“True,” I say absentmindedly as I take a sip from my glass.

My attention once again focuses to Cadance. Right now she is lifting the pair of dumbbells Rainbow Dash gave her a few minutes ago.

My gaze hardens on the princess. No royalty should be caught dead lifting those things.

“Something on your mind, sugar cube?”

“Huh?” Again, I am reminded of Applejack’s presence.

“You’ve gone quiet.”

“I only stopped talking for a second. Or are you, daresay, implying that I am quite the chatterbox on other occasions?” I meant my words in jest, but Applejack must have missed the humor in them.

“Nah. It’s just that… how do ah say this… Listen, why don't ya join us and have some fun?"

"I am here with everypony, am I not? And I am having fun. Though, admittedly, not as much as Pinkie." I look over. The pink party pony has taken it upon herself to make a makeshift trampoline out of the bed. Her wistful laughter and tune fills the room, amusing everyone save for...

I sigh, reminding myself I need to enjoy myself despite weariness.

"Yeah, but... Ya haven't said no word since we got to Cadance's room."

"I was minding the interior," I lie, surprising myself. The lie came out of nowhere, the moment Applejack mentioned the bride's name, with no sort of premeditation.

"And why don'tcha go chat with the princess? Ah'm sure you two–"

"I'd rather not."

Applejack gives me a puzzled look that asks for some form of explanation.

"I couldn't,” I answer the unstated ‘why’. “It'd be too awkward."

The cowpony maintains her expression, as though waiting for me to continue.

I use the safest and humblest excuse that comes to mind. "I'd be such a bore to her. I couldn't possibly be interesting enough for a princess, now could I?"

"Rarity," she sighs. "Ya do realize she’s sort of our friend now, right? Yer not gonna bore her."

"Enough of Cadance," The words snap like a whip. I quickly catch myself and tone down my bite. "I mean...she's not the cause of my current feeling of displacement"

I snap, and Applejack recoils before my words as if she were avoiding a lash

Did I lie? Truth be told, I do not know. I did feel like I stated the truth, if only in part.

"So ya admit that yer feeling uh... out of place?" Applejack asks.

“Are you saying that I should take my melancholy elsewhere?” I say with my snout raised. “Well, pardon me if my seemingly disturbing silence is a hindrance for you enjoying the party. Pay me no mind then, I will be off.”

I did not intend to raise my voice enough to be heard by anypony else. Fortunately, only Fluttershy glances up from her punch

I trot away, but Applejack’s grip lassos me to the spot.

“Now wait a minute here. Ah didn’t say nothing about ya leavin'.”

"I need not your permission.”

“Nah, Ah mean...If ah offended ya that’s the last thing ah intended.” Applejack takes off her hat. “Pardon. Ah didn’t want that. Ah'm just worried ah guess.”

I tilt my head, giving a quick run-over of her features: the wavering smile, crumpled Stetson and lonely eyes. Perhaps she did indeed mean no harm. Regardless, I start to feel the other's eyes would move upon us. I need to end this now without drawing any more attention to myself.

“In that case, what were you implying?” I tone my voice down and notice that Fluttershy seems glad that the spat did not escalate any further. The others were too busily browsing Twilight Sparkle’s gift to notice.

“Well…it's like this." Applejack clears her throat. "Remember that fancy fashion stallion you made dresses for?”

Hoity Toity. Yes. How could I forget the fashion show…both of them.

“When yer sad ya don't keep it to yerself. Ya tend go drama queen about it.”

I glare at Applejack.

“Now hold yer horses. Let me finish–”

“I’d rather not Applejack.” I say, cutting her off. “I was going to give you the chance to explain yourself but I cannot hear it now. You need to word your sentences properly, and I am referring neither to your accent nor your vocabulary, but your terminology. Euphemisms, dear. Also, I appreciate your concern. I really do. But I highly doubt this is party chat. I say we save it for a rainy day. Don’t you think so? In the meantime, why don’t we just enjoy ourselves.”

Applejack remains unresponsive for quite some time. She looks down and says, “That just it, Rare. Ah was worried ‘bout you cuz yer not enjoyin' yerself. Ah figured ah might cheer ya up, but ah guess ah figured wrong. Guess ah’m not cut out for talking, huh? Ah’ll leave you to yer lonesome now if that’s what you want.”

She smiles as she turns away, and I see her ears slightly droop along with her shoulders.

Oh, Celestia. Was that too much?

I had only wanted to end the conversation, not hurt the poor dear. She who had only my best interests at heart.

This time it is my turn to grab her. But before I can do so, Pinkie Pie appears, blocking every corner of my vision.

“Hey Rarity!" the party pony says. "We’re playing pin the mule on the tail! Wanna join us?”

“Umm…I would rather not.”

I shuffle to the side to take a peek of the cowpony but, once again, Pinkie Pie blocks my view.

“Awww…why not?” she asks.

“If you would excuse me, dear, I need to make an apology to—”

“Care to join us, Rarity?”

There are few things in this world that can cleave right through my heart and splatter my soul on the wall behind me. Cadance’s appearance beside Pinkie Pie manages to do just that.

“C-Cadance!” I do not think she knows she interrupted me. Or if she did, she certainly was not trying to be rude.

Through the small gap between Cadance and Pinkie Pie, I see Fluttershy talking to Applejack. The cowpony seems distant now, irrelevant, compared to Cadance.

Well, if Applejack can smile like that I think I overreacted worrying about her.

Disregarding Applejack completely, my mind resettles to the bride-princess.

“Though I adore Pinkie’s games," I say with a stiff smile. "I do not think I am quite up to it now.”

Cadance blinks. “Is anything wrong?”

“Oh heavens no, far from it.” I wave a hoof and fake a laugh. “It is just that, after fending off all those changelings, I need to conserve what’s left of my energy lest exhaustion takes its toll on me for the rest of the evening.”

I look at Pinkie Pie who tilts her head. How that mare survives off so little sleep, I may never know.

“Well, I do hope you are not too tired for tonight.”

“I was about to say the same of you and Shining Armor.”

Cadance draws back with a flushed face. Soon, the implication of what I just said dawns on me.

“Oh, goodness. I must apologize, your highness. I don’t know what has gotten over me. I was referring to the magic barrier you both uhh...It was not my intention to hint at your–”

“It’s alright,” she laughs, her face still flushed red. “I know you meant no harm.”

“I don’t get it,” Pinkie says. “Why apologize for the after-wedding party?”

“Well, it’s more of an adult party, Pinkie,” Cadance giggles, winking. My eyes go wide at the princess’s own hint of her honeymoon.

“Not the kind you are quite accustomed to,” I add.

Thankfully, Pinkie Pie's innocence is there to protect her.

Me and Cadance look at each other and share a laugh.

“I still don’t get it,” Pinkie says with a raised eyebrow.

Twilight and Rainbow Dash join us just in time; before Pinkie could ask more questions.

“So you’re gonna join us anytime soon?” Rainbow Dash asks. She is flying in the air while lifting the small dumbbell she gave to Cadance.

"Rainbow Dash, put that infernal thing down right now," I scowl. "I won’t have you work up a sweat in that dress."

"Hey, chillax! It isn't even that heavy," she says, juggling the object. "See?"

“But seriously, darling? A barbell for a bridal shower? That is hardly fitting.”

“Do you know how cool this is?” The cyan pegasus balances the weight on both hooves. “At least the princess likes it.”

“Indeed, I do. I thank you for it, Rainbow Dash,” Cadance says with a smile.

“No prob. I’ll get you a bigger one on your birthday.”

“Still, something more elegant would be apt,” I say.

Rainbow Dash snorts. “Referring to your present again?”

I smile at Dash’s remark. She was able to see through it clearly. “Hmm…Quite possibly.”

Parallel to the bed, affixed to a life-size doll, is the new wedding dress. Pristine in substance and color, the dress is almost translucent. The neckline runs down the shoulder of the mannequin to expose most of its ceramic skin. A golden plate covers the edge of each hem, matching the maize roses on the headdress and the chest. Finally, a large pink ribbon is pinned to the back by a pearl.

“Big deal,” Rainbow Dash says, “it’s the same thing you gave to that changeling queen.”

“Hardly. I’d be damned if I’ll have her royal highness wear a gown that has been desecrated by something so hideous. Obviously, this had to be better.”

“It’s. The. Same. Dress,” Rainbow Dash says with utmost syllabication.

“Not quite,” Cadance says cheerfully. "The dress Chrysalis burned was made of satin. This one is silk charmeuse, a very fine material that gives the dress luster.”

I feel my eyes make the most subtle twitch at hearing Cadance's remark to the wedding dress I have so painstakingly poured my soul into. She continues.

“The gusset in the seams is elastic, allowing a tight fit so I wouldn’t have to worry about size. The same goes for the armscye. The lining hides the seams of each godet, while the general folds and flow of the fabric is laid-back to prevent awkward movements. The chiffon skirt narrows by the side and adds depth to the bottom, giving the illusion for a slimmer figure. Not to mention that it feels and breezes as comfortably as a cloud. The engraving on the beaded neckline makes it appear as a makeshift necklace on a mermaid dress from the front. Not only that, every patchwork is hoofstitched.”

Clearly, I have underestimated Cadance appreciation and knowledge of the craft.

“Truly, I couldn’t thank you enough,” she says to me.

“Well…ehem… why of course. Only the best for the princesses of the kingdom,” I say as I bow my head.

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time,” Twilight says to me. “If only you could have made something similar for my brother, then he’d be wearing something better too.”

“You want me to make a wedding dress for your brother?” I say in jest. Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie and even Cadance laugh. Twilight and I join in as well.

“Well, that would be at least better than a captain’s uniform,” the lavender unicorn says.

“Twilight…” I sigh. “If you really wanted one for your brother, then I–”

“I was joking.”

“Well, I’m not. Come to think of it, I guess he could use an or two ornaments to go with that uniform of his.”

“He’s cool as it is.” Rainbow Dash nods.

“Yeah, I mean it’s not like you can make a full suit in twenty-seven minutes, thirty-three seconds and counting.” Pinkie says while rolling on the floor.

Everyone stares at her.

“...Before the wedding,” she adds, pointing at an imaginary watch on her arm.

Immediately, we all turn to look at the wall clock. True enough, the wedding proper is twenty-seven minutes away.

Twilight Sparkle jumps and gasps. Every hair on her coat and mane seems to stand on its end. “It’s three minutes past five-thirty already!? Oh my gosh! How could I have missed the time?”

“Oh, that was me,” Pinkie Pie confesses, but she is generally ignored.

“The wedding is in thirty minutes and there isn’t ample time to prepare!”

“Prepare for what?” Rainbow Dash throws her hooves in the air. “All the changelings have been dealt with and all the fancy thingshave been set up. You’re just being worried about nothing again.”

“Yeah, everything’s ready but my brother. That goofball is probably still playing cards in Spike’s bachelor party. I need to make sure he's ready.” Twilight Sparkle runs out the door, then runs back in and says to Cadance, “No offense,” before vanishing again.

“Don’t worry. She’s always crazy like that,” Rainbow Dash says.

“I know,” Cadance replies with a giggle.

Rainbow Dash flies off following Twilight.

“Wait for me!” Pinkie shouts in sing-song as she hops after them, floating on unseen clouds.

Pinkie’s midair ballet should be, by all extension of logic, impossible. Yet there she is, and even Candace, an alicorn that’s seen everything, can’t look away. How does she do it? I’ll have to remember to—

Applejack is looking at me.

Though it lasted only for a second, I saw a gaping, dark hole where her eyes should have been. The earth pony says something to Fluttershy and the two trot off in pursuit of the others.

There is something in the way Applejack left, the way she beckoned Fluttershy to follow her, as if contempt was written in every step for my eyes and mine alone. Where the thought came from, I have no idea. Somehow she is intentionally walking out on me.

No, it is simply my absurd imagination.

Then, hearing her voice, I realize with shocking revelation that I am left alone with Cadance.

“Since we’re alone now,” she says, “do you mind if we talk?”

I prefer not to.

“If that is what her highness wants,” my lips say.

“Please don’t be so formal, it’s just the two of us here. Call me, Cadance.”

“As you wish… Cadance. But we only have half an hour before the wedding. Don’t you wish to get ready?”

“We can talk as I get ready. That is, if you don't mind.”

“Of course... I mean, of course not.”

“You can help me too. I mean, if you like.”

“I would love to.”

In truth, I do not. It was a difficult process, helping Cadance into her dress. Not because I found it awkward that I, an impersonal subject, would be given the task to ready her for her wedding. It is something else entirely, an emotion too ugly and profane to be named outright. My body seemed too heavy to move alongside Cadance.

Full wedding dress on, she stares at her vanity mirror. It sits on a rosy pink piece of mahogany with cabriole legs and a shining coat of finish. The three large cylindrical mirrors of vermeil fill the cold, lonely chamber with a princess.

"The bridal shower was fun, was it not?"

“I truly could not fathom what Pinkie Pie was thinking." I finalize the dress with a few more stitches, before biting off a loose thread. "A surprise party, of all things, an hour prior the wedding.”

“I believe it was very thoughtful of her.”

“I doubt that hardly a thought was given. Partying is within that pony’s nature, bridal showers included.” I levitate several of the perfumes from the vanity table. Expensive scents that, until now, had only existed within the clipped pages of my Cafe Society magazines.

“I mean, if she hadn’t thrown me this bridal shower, I wouldn’t have. It only happens once in a lifetime right?”

“Yes,” I say, my eyes on the perfumes. “Once in a lifetime.”

I took a small whiff of the fragrances, making sure that I get the exact aroma appropriate for the celebration. There are a lot of factors to be considered: Cadance’s own natural scent, the color of the wedding dress, the locations of each of the particular events. Everything has to be perfect.

“Rarity?”

“Yes, your highness?”

“Just call me Cadance.”

“Very well...Cadance.”

“Is there something troubling you?”

I feel a needle strike my heart as she says those words. The thought that she might be able to read my mind strikes fear unto me. My concentration is lost for a moment, making the magic loosen its grip. Two perfume bottles fall from my hooves and shatters on the floor.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Cadance says.

“No, no. I apologize I was being careless. Let me clean it up.” The scent of the liquids overpowering my muzzle is so thick and strong that it makes me cringe.

“No. Let me.”

“Please. The bride should not be troubled on her night.”

I levitate the glass shards, dropping every piece into a nearby trash bin. Then I took some leftover fabric from under the bed and wiped the liquid off.

“I am so sorry, princess. I promise to pay for all of this. It was due to my carelessness and my inattention.”

“It’s alright. Please.”

“It’s very troublesome for you, especially on your wedding day. If you want me to leave then I completely understand.”

“I said no such thing.”

“Only your natural modesty has prevented you from saying so. I’ll take my leave now.”

“As princess, I order you stay,” Cadance says. I turn to face her, and see a playful smile trying to mask the hopelessness in those purple eyes. “It’s a joke. I don’t have that kind of authority.”

I turn back and walk to her, for no other reason than leaving now would be a display of discourtesy.

“I don’t like saying that word: ‘order.’ It sounds too impersonal to me.” She sits with her back to the mirrors and hides her eyes. “I’m sorry. My jokes always did have questionable tastes.’

“I apologize if my stubbornness caused you such discomfort.”

“Oh no, please don’t apologize,” she says, “I genuinely want your presence. However, if I offended you in any way, then I would not have you endure my company.”

“I have no reason to harbour enmity towards you, princess.” I try to be honest.

“Then I would like to apologize.”

“Whatever for, your majesty?’

“Cadance.”

“Yes,” I smile, “whatever for, Cadance?’

“For my presumption earlier that you were uncomfortable.”

“I cannot forgive you on account that you have nothing to be forgiven for,” I say with careful wording. “The fault is mine. I was just caught off guard, that is all.”

“All things considered then... Would you consider brushing my mane? Not that I’m–”

“It would be an honor.”

I walk behind her, levitating a pearly white brush. We see each other in front of the mirror and smile as I run the brush against her mane in long curly strokes. It was an honor, really, to be brushing Cadance’s mane. For somepony else to groom oneself implies a deep mutual trust.

“It’s true what the rumors say,” Cadance murmurs, her eyes closed. “You have a fine eye for detail.”

Rumors...? Ah, yes. Canterlot’s gossip.

“Rumors tend to exaggerate.” I say.

“Not this one.”

I blush slightly at the compliment.

“I can see that in this dress.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, isn’t there?” I immediately panic.

She only laughs meekly. “Oh, Rarity. You underestimate yourself too much. Aunt Celestia couldn’t have made a more perfect ensemble.”

“That’s too much of a compliment,” I say in respect of the superior majesty.

Cadance looks back at me and places a hoof over her mouth. “Don’t tell the others, but your wedding dress is the best present I’ve ever had. And to think... I got it from someone I never knew.”

I remain quiet. I detect some tension in her voice. It is an expression of joy, I knew, but the kind that seems to have squirmed its way out of loneliness.

“I heard you want to escape from Ponyville and join the Canterlot elite.”

“I do not want to escape Ponyville, as the rumors might have implied,” I explain. “Simply, I believe that the life here is much more, shall we say, fitting for somepony of my preferences.”

“My, my,” Cadance says, clearly amused, “though I have to warn you that it is not as glamorous as its light.”

“I know it. From firsthoof experience.”

“If I may ask, how old are you?”

“I’d rather not.”

Cadance laughs. “My apologies. That was unladylike of me. You are still very young though... and I see promise in your future. You are quite, dare I say, mature for your age. More mature compared to your friends, if I may.”

“Thank you,” I take the compliment. Maturity is a difficult attribute to express when age is the counterbalance. Age to maturity is like the seams woven into a dress: Skillfully hidden, yet it holds everything together.

“Perhaps that is the reason I was so curious of you–Curious, goodness! It’s such a bad word. I make it sound like you are some sort of decoration to be observed.”

“I find the word quite genuine.”

“Yes. That’s what makes you interesting for me, Miss Rarity... This might be too forward of me but I would like to be more acquainted with you.”

The strokes of the brush pauses for a second, an instant too short to be perceivable. “I would like that as well,” I say.

The door clicks and opens. Before we could ponder on the rudeness of entering a lady’s bedchamber without knocking, my lips gasp the moment I see who stands in the doorway.

“Shining!”

We both said it the same time. Mine was barely audible beside the princess’s exasperation.

“Hey there honey. Sorry to interrupt,” he says. Then he looks at me, but only for a moment, and nods.

“Hello...” I say meekly, the comb pressed against my thumping chest.

“What are you doing here?” Cadance says to him with a light blush. “The wedding is in... five minutes!”

“I know, I know. Tradition or not, I’d be damned if I’m not the first stallion who looks at you in that wedding dress. You look wonderful.”

Cadance blushes heavily. “Well, if you have somepony to thank it’s Rarity.”

“Thanks.” He says without looking at me, his eyes not leaving his wife. “So... You’re ready?”

“In a minute.”

“I can’t wait that long.”

Shining Armor closes in on his wife and takes her in his hooves. My heart stills as he pulls her face close and leans in for a kiss; and then, before their lips touch, the door bursts open.

“There you are!” Shouts a panic-driven Twilight Sparkle. Her horn flares and Shining Armor’s plate glows to a deep purple. “The groom isn’t supposed to see his wife getting dressed!”

“Wait, Twiley. I’m just–”

“You’re coming with me. Celestia’s waiting.”

“See you at the altar, honey,” Shining playfully says to Cadance.

With that, Twilight Sparkle drags his brother away.

“Rarity,” Cadance says. But my mind was elsewhere.

My name floats somewhere beyond my reach. Rarity . . .

Was someone calling my name? It didn’t matter; my mind was elsewhere

My eyes follow the siblings, heart fluttering in relief as I watch Shining Armor depart. He looks back just once, eyeing his bride, as Twilight’s magic shuts the door close.

“Rarity.”

I turn, realizing that the princess has been calling for my attention.

“Yes, Cadance?”

“Again, I can’t thank you enough for what you have given me.”

“Your majesty, it’s only a dress.”

“Don’t lie, Rarity. We both know how important a dress is to a bride.” Cadance opens a drawer with her magic. From it she levitates out a heart shaped bottle made of carved diamonds. Inside it is a clear rosy liquid. “I want you to have this.”

My eyes are dazzled by that bottle. Whatever is inside pales in comparison to the bright precious gemstone.

“It’s not a love potion is it?” I ask with a hint of hesitation. I know what Cadance’s magic is capable of.

“Of course not,” she chuckles. “It’s just a perfume... My grandmother gave it to me.”

She levitates the bottle and it lands directly upon my outstretched hoof.

“Don’t break this one,” she says playfully.

“Oh, Princess, I couldn’t. Something so... precious.”

“It’s fine. I have two more in my drawers.”

My eyes remain transfixed on the small vial. The tenuity of the essence inside might truly be valuable, but still it is the precious stone that holds my attention.

“My grandmother told me to give it to my dearest friends,” Cadance continues, “this one was actually meant for Twilight but I don’t think she would appreciate it as much as you will. I figure I’ll just give her a rare book about love. That would be more fitting. What do you say?”

“Your highness, this is too much.”

“It’s nothing compared to this dress you made me. Now, don’t think of it as a payment. Consider it as token of our newfound friendship.”

I hesitate still.

Am I imposing on her generosity a bit too much?

“Very well then. I will cherish it.”

“...And one more thing.” Cadance smiles. “I’d like you to stand as my maid of honor.”

I could not hide my gasp. But it was not a gasp of grateful astonishment, but of something else entirely. It was a shock of fear, anger, hate, of a primal emotion that has been buried and let unnamed, only to resurface at the mention of an unpardonable insult.

Me, Rarity, the maid of honor to your wedding?

“Indeed,” she says happily as though she read my mind. “I would have you stand closest to me when we make our vows.”

“But I thought that I–" I stammer, struggling to maintain decorousness. "That it’s for your personal friends.”

Cadance laughs. “Oh Rarity, I don’t have any friends.”

My smile drops. But Cadance’s doesn’t.

“I have acquaintances," she explains. "Lots of them. But more because of my being royalty. I don’t have anyone I can call a friend. That’s why I’m envious of you and Twilight. To be honest, Miss Rarity, you’re the first friend I ever made...” Cadance hides her eyes. “Anyway, I think this isn’t the best thing to talk about before–”

“I am glad,” I say as I drape my hoof over her shoulder, “to be considered your friend.”

Cadance looks to me with a stunned expression. Could it have been too forward of me? But her smile broadens. I knew I made no mistake.

“Thank you,” Cadance says as she places her hoof against mine.

We remain in that quiet position for quite some time.

Then, a knock on the door snaps us back to reality. My heart stops and I pull my hoof back, expecting Shining Armor, but instead see only to see Fluttershy there. I sigh in disappointment and relief.

“Umm...” says Fluttershy, poking her head in, “Princess Cadance... Celestia said that it’s time... Not that you’re late or anything but everypony’s already is waiting.”

“Oh my goodness, I’m late.” Cadance looks up to the wallclock, then back to me.

“A bride is never late,” I say. “You go on ahead, princess. I’ll be quick. I just need to get my hair done.”

“I won’t walk down the aisle till I see you there.”

“Very well. I shan’t be long.”

Cadance walks to the door and says something to Fluttershy, and together they leave.

I find myself alone in the middle of the bedchamber. The pain is my chest lingers, and refuses to die into the evening. I know I should be glad for Cadance— I am truly!

But why do I feel so...

Cadance’s words come back to haunt me, echoing throughout the chamber. ‘That’s why I’m jealous of you...’

The pain in my chest intensifies. It is a distasteful feeling, and I do not like it. I do not want to like it. I found myself wishing something bad would happen to her wedding: a misstep on the stairs, a toppling furniture, anything! Just anything!

What am I thinking! This isn't me.

I shake my head and groove my hooves against my eyes. I know this emotion. I, more than my friends, know it best. It was the same feeling I felt back when Fluttershy outshone me when she became a model. But this time the emotion is uglier, more buried and more denied.

Comb in hoof, I trot to the door, pull it close and secure the lock. I return to the princess’s vanity table, and brush my mane.

* * *

“...Two hearts, becoming one. A love that cannot be undone...”

The party is reaching its climax. Twilight Sparkle’s song reaches throughout the Canterlot Gardens, pulsing around the newlyweds in the middle of the dance floor. Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash are dancing comfortably close, while Applejack appears to have completely recovered from our little spat earlier...an encounter from which I have yet to heal.

The music trails and the dance grows, and I notice that a crowd has joined us on the dance floor. With everypony dancing all over the place, it is apparent that nopony in particular is the center of focus. It becomes easier to move without all the attention.

I look over my shoulder, and notice several stallions talking to Fluttershy. The poor thing declines them in a very approving manner.

Meanwhile, Rainbow Dash is now dancing with the Wonderbolts, or rather, a Wonderbolt. His name is Soarin if I am correct. Another Wonderbolt joins them: the yellow mare with a fiery mane.

"Quite a glorious night if I do say so myself.”

I look towards that familiar voice and see none other than one of my dearest friends from Canterlot.

“Fancypants!” I run to him and we arrive at an embrace. “The pleasure of my trip would’ve been halved if I had missed your company.”

He spills out a hearty laugh. “I as well.”

“Where’s Fleur?”

“Ungentlecoltly of me to have lost her. I came to get her a bowl of punch and, well, she’s probably been dragged away by some small group. Being as popular as she is.”

“You think it’s alright to leave her?”

“I believe she is more than capable of handling herself. But enough about me... You and your friends, you all really are quite something.”

“What?”

“Elements of Harmony. Having beaten Nightmare Moon, Discord and those Changelings. Really my dear, you needn’t be so humble.”

I laugh meekly. “Well, I always wanted to keep those to myself. Don’t want the others thinking I’m... uncouth. Unladylike.”

“Too late for that. Gossip is society’s wildfire.”

“All good I hope.”

“Most outstanding to be exact. I daresay your popularity has doubled.”

I could not hide my excitement. The possibilities returned to me: the parties, the trip to museums, the regal and the exquisite— all at once. I’ll have those once again. Perhaps even more.

“You might even outshine me when the time comes,” he says.

“Oh, don't exaggerate.” Though I admit that the idea is very tempting to entertain. “But when I do I’ll try to remember you.”

We both laugh at the joke. I hope simply that he didn’t take offense to it, but his expression shows no hint of having been offended.

“Picture ma’am?” a young colt said to us. He had a camera film for a cutie mark.

I close in on Fancypants in time for the flash. Satisfied, the young colt moved on to another pair.

“That’s one for the history books,” Fancypants says, “I’ll have to ask the lad for a copy.”

I nod in agreement. I would also like a picture of Fancypants to commemorate our friendship. It just occured to me that I have no memorabilia of him other than pure memory.

The music grows louder and more upbeat. The musician has monopolized the turntable. Pinkie Pie is lying on the dance floor, enjoying a slice of cake.

“Rarity!” Another familiar voice, and another dear friend.

From the crowd appears one of the most beautiful mares I have ever seen. “Fleur!”

The two of us join together in a hug just in front of Fancypants.

“You are as lovely as you ever were,” I say, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

“And so are you,” then to Fancypants, “honey, you sly puss, you were hogging Rarity all to yourself the entire time.”

“No, no,” Fancypants grins. “Only for a short time dear. I was to lend her to you in a moment.”

“We have so much to catch up on,” Fleur say as she takes my hoof.

“I assume the rumors got to you too.”

“Oh dear, who hasn’t. You have so much to tell.”

“And so little time to say it.”

“Indeed. This revelation of your adventures and triumphs could not have come at the most improper time. You owe me a story.”

“And you owe me yours. I have been gone from Canterlot for far too long that I do not know what is going on anymore.”

Fleur de Lis gives me a knowing a smile that seems to hide all the secrets high society has to offer. I know that somewhere behind that smile of hers lies the juiciest of gossips. She looks at Fancypants, then back to me, then back to Fancypants again.

“Should I tell her?” she asks.

“It could wait.” Fancypants grins. “But I can see your excitement could not.”

“Do tell...” I say.

I lean in closer to Fleur and lend her my ear. She nuzzles close to me and whispers, “Fancypants and I are getting married.”

“You’re what!?”

“I know, isn’t it exciting?”

I grab both their hooves and shake them. “Why, this is great news! I am so happy for you both.”

“Not so loud,” Fleur says with her other hoof on her lips. “You’re the only pony who knows.”

I lean in forward to Fleur. “So... when’s the wedding?”

I have placed my voice low enough for a whisper but it seems that Fancypants is still able to hear it. “We’ll be announcing our engagement in two months," the gentlecolt says, "and the wedding will be held four months after.”

“Six months from now?”

“Shhh.” Fleur calms me down again with a whisper.

“Why so long?”

Again, it is Fancypants who replies. “Wouldn’t want to be overshadowed now, would we?”

“With what?”

“These,” he says, tracing his hoof across the garden.

From every direction that party is only getting bigger. Even Princess Celestia and Princess Luna are dancing in their most princess of ways.

“Six months ought to be enough time,” Fancypants says with a laugh. “Fleur always wanted the second grandest wedding in Equestria.”

“Honey...” Fleur blushes, and the two nuzzle close together.

“Well that’s the ol’ chap for you,” Fancypants says. “We’ll give the details sometime in the future. Wouldn’t want to monopolize you for ourselves now, now do we? Just expect some invitation as Fleur’s maid of honor.”

“I look forward to it.”

“But who knows. You might get married even before us.”

Fancypants winks to me, or at something beside me. He nods, turns, and leaves. Fleur does the same. I look behind me to see the object of Fancypants's mischievous gesture.

“Heya, Rare,” Applejack says, tipping her Stetson.

“Excuse me, Applejack.”

I ran from her and chase after Fancypants and Fleur before they disappear into the crowd.

“Fleur!”

Fleur de Lis turns and smiles to me.

“Anything wrong?”

“Before I forget, I need to tell you something,” I say. She waits patiently and Fancypants stands beside her and listens. “It is in six months, yes?”

“Uh... Yes.”

“Six months... Then promise me one thing. Until that time do not buy a wedding dress.”

“Why on Equestria not?”

My smile broadens in reply. Fleur turns her head to look at Cadance, and looks back to me and nods. “Six months. Alright. I’ll be expecting it.”

“You will not be disappointed.”

“I know I won’t.”

We say our farewells and she leaves. I turn back just once to see Fancypants trying to decipher our conversation. Fleur only shrugs and giggles.

I see. So she intends to make it a surprise for her fiancé.

I return to the party and see Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy sharing a glass of what seems to be some brandy. Though I have heard that pegasi are a ‘lightweight’ when it comes to alcohol intake, I do not think that the amount they have consumed would be enough to make them see pink elephants.

From the other side of the table, where the other two drank and toast, was a figure an orange earth pony holding onto a violin.

Didn’t Applejack want to say something to me?

I approach Applejack, and she sees me coming towards her. She puts down her instrument, smiles and waves a hoof, beckoning me to join her.

“There you are,” another voice says to me. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

I’m quite popular this evening.

“Hello, princess Cadance. You’re quite the dancer.”

“I wish I could say the same.”

We both laugh. “It’s no secret,” I reply, “the music does not really suit my tastes. It’s not bad though.”

“I understand. It was a joke.”

“Of course.”

A passing earth pony with a barrel for a cutie mark approaches the both of us and offers a glass of champagne. We each take one in our hooves and thank the waiter.

“Somehow you can’t drink champagne without a toast to go with it.” she says.

“Something of the wedding?”

“The usual ‘to the bride and groom’ that everypony’s been saying?”

“Something more original would be preferable.”

“Very well,” she says, raising her glass. “To the maid of honor, whose friendship I look forward to in life.”

I look at her for a moment, not responding. With the motion of an automaton, I clink my glass against hers. “...Cheers.”

I drank only half the glass. The wine had lost its taste.

Shining Armor arrives and stands beside her. I almost drop my glass the moment I notice him smiling at me, particularly at me.

“You must be, Rarity,” he says.

“You’ve met before, darling. Don’t be rude.”

“Really? When.”

“In the bed chamber, specifically when you barged in while I was changing. You remember that too, I hope. Or were you too struck by revelation to notice?”

“Oh, I remember.” He looks at me again with his crystalline eyes. “I apologize, must’ve slipped my mind. I didn’t intend it as rudeness.”

“It’s perfectly alright. A groom on his wedding day does have a lot on his mind.”

“I’ve only seen you in passing so far. This is our first formal meeting, yes?” He takes my hoof and kisses it. “Let me reintroduce myself. My name is Shining Armor.”

What’s left of my blood seems to rush up my face at the sudden contact. I had not imagined that his lips would feel so tender. "C-C-Ch... Charmed."

Curse this white coat of mine! I’m probably blushing like a schoolfilly right now.

I look at Cadance, who in turn looks to me with curiosity. Then, with smug playfulness, she shoves her husband aside. “Stop that, honey. You’re embarrassing her.”

“Sorry,” Shining Armor apologizes to us both.

“Thank you,” I say in response. Then I immediately realize the implications of what I have just said. “I’m... You’re welcome... I mean... It’s perfectly alright.”

“Cadance told me about you already. You have her very impressed with what you did with the dresses. We can’t thank you enough. To be honest... If you weren’t here, and with the Changelings invading and all, I thought we would have had to postpone the wedding. So I guess... your dress actually saved our most special day.”

A stab of regret comes, and vanishes just as quickly. “You flatter me. Anypony would have done the same thing.”

“Not just anypony. Your reputation as the Element of Generosity is well earned,” he says, wrapping a hoof around his wife. “I speak for the both of us when I say that if you ever need a favor then don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I’ll hold you to that offer.”

We toast our glass, and down the champagne in one gulp.

“Shall we, dear?”Cadance says to Shining Armor.

“You go on ahead. I still need to talk to my sister.” He looks at me and kisses my hoof again, “It was a pleasure meeting your acquaintance, Miss Rarity. I hope we meet again sometime soon.”

“I as well.”

I watch Shining Armor trot to the carriage where Twilight Sparkle waits.

Cadance sighs. “Ugh... Forgive him, Rarity. That stallion tends to get into a mare's personal space.”

“That’s not a very healthy thought for a newlywed.”

Cadence looks at me, pauses, then laughs. “You’re right. After tonight I’ll make sure he knows he’s no longer a bachelor.” Cadance smirks and winks at me. “If you know what I mean.”

I unconsciously make a choked laugh. “That’s more than enough detail.”

“Will you be back in Canterlot soon?”

“I will try. But not, perhaps, in the foreseeable future.”

We both hug. “Till next time, then.”

“Go get him, tigress.”

She enters the carriage and is immediately followed by Shining Armor. The crowd gathers as the two prepare to leave for their honeymoon.

I look around and see everypony. There are all so happy for those two, genuinely happy to have been a part of the greatest wedding Equestria has ever seen. Nopony in Canterlot doubts that this evening will go down as one of the most celebrated nights in history.

It will be written down and spoken of for countless years; to be passed on to generation after generation, inspiring tales of romances, chivalry and love. Each stallion and mare here would have a story to go along with this night. It was the mythical ‘Happily Ever After' made real. They all knew it. That’s why everyone appeared so fabulous and so happy: the dresses, the lights, the music, the glamour of it all. Perfected for this closure. The wedding of Prince Shining Armor...

...and Cadence.

I see Cadance appear out of the window. Looking at me, she throws something in the air. Her eyes beckoning me to catch it.

It traces an arc through the vast expanse of the night sky; over the shimmering lights of twinkling stars and above the confetti and balloons. My body moves on pure instinct. It is everything that I could see in that brief moment; it was as though that object represented everything that belongs to me: The guests! The carriage! The dress! The vows! The ring! The wedding! The groom— I throw aside the ponies in my path and jump—“It’s mine!”

I caught it, the bouquet.

For the bridesmaid.

* * *

The carriage ride back to Ponyville is too quick. We could have stayed in Canterlot until the morning, where we could have waited for the train, but Celestia’s recommendation to leave tonight was well grounded. The last thing we need right now, after fending off Changelings, is to be swarmed by the equally persistent paparazzi and Canterlot elite that hounds like coyotes.

Princess Celestia was right when she said that we need to take some time off to let the heat of the moment cool down.

I cannot agree more...

Inside the carriage, Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy snuggle close together, barely aware of their surroundings in their sottish state. Perhaps it is not a rumour that pegasi have a low tolerance for alcohol. Rainbow Dash is saying something incomprehensible; I wonder if she can even understand herself. Fluttershy is more sober, but barely, she admits to drinking one glass of champagne. I do not believe her.

Pinkie Pie is just as animated sleeping as she is awake. Her body spreads out like an eagle and is taking the most space of anypony inside the carriage. She shifts from one side to other, trying to look for a comfortable pillow to lay her head on. This time, my shoulder is the chosen headrest.

I remember Rainbow Dash saying that Twilight Sparkle ‘took one for the team’ by not drinking. The lavender mare went outside to lead the carriage after mentioning something about constellations. I imagine her looking up the stars, taking notes like the academic she is.

That just leaves me and Applejack- correction: A drunk Applejack. The cup lies empty beside her chair, long devoid of its contents. She’s content with staring out the window, occasionally blubbering something indiscernible accompanied by a look. Every now and then she turns and looks like she’s going to say something.

Based on the seething glares she bulldozes my way, it’s not anything good. I sit and wait for the first words to fall.

They never do.

Instead, Applejack eyes me from my neck to my heels. From the way her eyes crawl all over me, I do not think she particularly fancies the garment I chose to wear.

“Is something the matter?” I ask her.

“Just tipsy...congrats there,” she says without commendation. “Who in tarnation are ya marryin’?”

“Excuse me?”

Applejack motions to the bouquet in my hooves.

“Oh, this old thing?”

“Ya can’t marry a bunch of flowers,” Applejack snaps. “Maybe rich unicorns might be more your type.”

“Excuse me!”

Applejack glares at me angrily. She takes a swig from her bottle.

“I must ask you to stop drinking now before further inebriation makes you too obnoxious for propriety.”

“Don’t use ’em fancy Canterlot words on me.”

“I reserve the right to use whatever words I deem necessary.”

Applejack mumbles something incoherent. I hear the words ‘goody four shoes’ and ‘flank kisser’ somewhere there. I pretend not to hear it.

“So?” she asks.

“So what?”

“Ah asked who are you marryin.’”

“Supposing that such an assertion is true, I hardly believe it to be your business.”

Applejack seems to have taken offense to my statement. “Yeah, yeah. Dumb old cowpony has no business with you.”

“I said no such thing!”

“Well that’s what ya meant!”

The carriage comes to a halt, the peek hole from of the carriage slides open and we see a coat of lavender and a pair of eyes from the small window behind the orange earth pony.

“Everything alright girls?” Twilight asks.

Before I could say a thing, it is Applejack, twisting the angles of her body, who retorts. “Everything’s fine and dandy. Just old friends going at each other’s throats is all.”

“Uhh...Should I be worried?’

“No!”

I look to Applejack, then to Twilight. I point to the bottle of alcohol that Applejack is holding. Twilight is quick to follow and makes an ‘Oh’ with her mouth. She returns to her seat and the carriage moves again.

“Ah saw that,” Applejack says to me.

“What of it?”

“Ya think ah’m drunk.”

“Well dear, you aren’t completely sober.”

“Alright, what is yer problem!?”

“My problem?”

“Yeah. Your problem.”

“I’m not the one in a complete drunken rage!”

“Well, I’m not the one who goes all flirty with every rich stallion she sees.”

Oh, Celestia. I nearly sneered.

“I hardly believe that’s your concern,” I hiss.

“It is mah concern!” Applejack shouts, throwing her hooves up. “When ah thought that you were feeling sad and lonely I felt nothing but concern for ya! Ah tried to cheer ya up but ya shut me up every darn time! Ah tried to git yer attention but you ignored me like ah wasn’t there! Probably cuz ya don't want them fancy Canterlot folks to see ya with somepony as... as... uncouth as me."

A lump leaps into my throat, but I shove it right back down. “It is not that I was ignoring you–”

“Bullshit.”

"Watch your language."

A sleeping Pinkie Pie, too dim to be aware of her surroundings, groggily lays her head on Applejack's shoulder. The frustrated cowpony pushes her away.

"Lay off!" Applejack screams at the pink pony, then brings her attention back to me. "If you can say whatever you want, so can I."

“Well, go ahead and say it!" I yell back. There is no way I will let her outvoice me. "You said you were worried about me. Well, go on then! Be worried. Here I am.”

Applejack looks at me for a minute too long, eyes intense with a look of what seems to be disgust and contempt mixed into a dangerous concoction.

“Pfft. I don’t need this,” Applejack says. She looks out the window and shouts, “Hey Twi, pull over.”

The carriage stops and Applejack bucks open the door. She jumps out of the carriage, takes her bottle and trots in the general direction of Sweet Apple Acres.

I jump out after her.

Twilight looks at me, waiting for an explanation.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“Home,” she says over her shoulder.

“You’re walking all the way to Sweet Apple Acres?” Twilight butts in.

“Ah ain’t spending one more minute with that... that mare over there,” Applejack says groggily, pointing a hoof at me.

“Rarity, what did you do?"

“Apparently, not stopping Applejack from drinking.”

“C’mon, we have to get her back.”

We chase after Applejack, several yards ahead by now.

It is hard to chase after the earth pony. Neither Twilight nor I are very accomplished runners, but we do have the advantage of being sober. Applejack, on the other hand, trips over a piece of rock up ahead and lands face first into the dirt, disappearing beneath a puff of dust.

“Applejack!” Twilight and I shout at the same time.

“Consarn it...” the earth pony mutters between her teeth. She glares scornfully at me. “What in tarnation are ya doin’ here?”

“Trying to make you look less of a fool,” I respond.

“Ah ain’t no fool.”

“Well, this stubborn immaturity you’re displaying says otherwise. Get up before you hurt yourself.” I approach her and lend her my hoof.

“Don’t touch me!” Applejack slaps my hoof away. “We earth ponies don’t need help picking ourselves up from the ground. Especially not from a bunch of prissy unicorns.”

Though the insult is targeted at me, I see Twilight also take offense at Applejack’s remark. But the lavender unicorn remains steadfast. I can see how she finds comfort with the thought that the intoxication has taken its toll on Applejack’s better judgement.

She approaches Applejack and eases the bottle from her hooves.

“Let’s get you back home, AJ,” Twilight says softly.

“How bout you, best mare?” the earth pony says with a hiccup. “Happy to know yer brother’s been ruttin’ the babysitter behind yer back since you were a foal?”

Twilight draws back in shock and tosses her hooves into the air. “Oh, Celestia. I can’t believe what I am hearing!”

This last is just too much. Even I am hurt by the accusation. Anger lashes against my lips, which cannot hold back the poisonous tide any longer. “Why you vile, inconsiderate, ungrateful—”

“At least ah ain't a loose pony!” Applejack yells back.

I gasp. “How dare you, you commonplace simpleton!”

“Stop it! Please,” Twilight shouts to no avail.

“You are utterly unsophisticated,” I move in dangerously close in between words. “No taste! No class!”

Applejack stands on all fours and plants her hooves on the ground. "And yer just jealous cuz Cadance got a prince and you got nothin’!"

My hoof moves on its own, cracking like a whip upon Applejack's face.

I hear Twilight gasp from behind.

Applejack bites her lower lip. She looks at me, her eyes as red as her swelling cheek.

“C’mere you!” she roars.

I did not think she was actually going to do it. No. I never believed she was capable of doing it. In one fell swoop, Applejack jumped, grabbed me, and forced me down.

And then I felt her lips against mine.

I feel Applejack all over me. My entire mind goes numb, paralyzed by the sudden influx of sensation all concentrated on the single earth pony who imprisoned me in her hooves: Applejack’s color, Applejack’s touch, Applejack’s scent, Applejack’s taste.

It was only a moment. I snap back to reality.

I struggle and squirm away from her powerful hold. Her lips press against mine with almost brutal force. It is a kiss not to pleasure or be pleasured, but to physically hurt. I feel her tongue carving its way into my mouth, carrying with it the rancid taste of cider. I try to fend her off, frantically throwing my hooves about just to push her away.

Then I feel her hoof press against my loins. My hind legs snap closed in reflex, but it is too late. I feel Applejack touch my marehood, and the sensation overwhelms me. Her violent hoof over my fragile part awakens every nerve in my body.

Applejack breaks away from the kiss and sends her muzzle directly on my neck.

Immediately, I shout.

“Help! Twilight, help!”

Twilight Sparkle, who had been too stunned to move, snaps back to reality. She charges her horn and fires a bolt towards Applejack, flinging the earth pony meters away.

I did not hesitate; I run to Twilight Sparkle’s side and hide behind her.

Twilight Sparkle glares at Applejack. “What the fuck is wrong with you!”

The profanity catches Applejack and I by surprise. And I see how, as the earth pony's eyes went wide, the monumentality of her crime dawns on her.

“Oh Celestia... What have Ah–” She moves forward. “Rarity, Ah’m sorry. Ah didn’t mean–”

“Stay back!” I shout instinctively. Twilight’s horn flares in defense. Applejack just stands there, shaking.

“Ah'm sorry. Ah'm sorry!" she pleads. "Ah don’t know what’s gotten over me.”

“Back away,” Twilight says. “I think it’s best if you walk back home now.”

“Ah swear ah’m sorry! Rare!”

I do not say anything.

“Applejack!” Twilight commands, louder this time.

There was a moment of silence. There was nothing to hear but the rustling of dry leaves against the wind. Then I hear hoofsteps growing softer and more distant. I look over my shoulder to see Applejack leaving with her head down.

“Are you okay?” Twilight comes into view. “You’re not hurt, are you?"

I shake my head. Somehow it feels difficult to talk.

“Can you stand? Walk?”

I nod. Twilight helps me back to my feet. It is unneeded of course. My injury is, in no way, physical.

“Are you alright? Do you need anything.”

“A napkin," I respond meekly. "If you have one.”

Twilight Sparkle conjures a white napkin from thin air. She levitates it over to me. I take it in my hooves, thank her, and proceeds to wipe off the tingling taste of apple left on my lips.

“Can you make it back to the carriage on your own?” she asks.

“I-I believe so. Where are you going?”

She casts a long look in the earth mare's direction. “I’m going after AJ.”

“W-Why?”

“As much as I hate her for what she said and did, I don’t want anything happening to Applejack. It’s too dark, she’s too drunk and it’s a long way back to Sweet Apple Acres.”

“You’re taking her side?"

Twilight angrily glares at me. “I’m not taking anypony’s side. You two will fix this. But not tonight.”

“I’m the victim here.”

“Maybe... But after hitting her like that—" she stops and shakes her head in disapproval. "No...We'll settle this in the morning."

Twilight turns and follows Applejack.

“Go back to the carriage, Rarity,” she says without looking back. “Applejack and I will probably arrive late. Make sure our friends get home safely.”

* * *

I am the last to leave the carriage. Rainbow Dash was too drunk to fly, so she settled in Fluttershy's cabin. Then I had to wake up the Cakes in the middle of the night to deliver one incapacitated Pinkie Pie.

I give my thanks to the royal guards and wait for the carriage to leave before entering the door.

The boutique seems darker than when I left it. No. I have never seen it as dark as I see it now. The moonlight gives little luminance through the windows, casting shadows onto the lifeless porcelain ponies garbed in extravagant ensembles. The eyeless and blind marionettes follow me with their empty stares as I climb the stairs to my bedroom.

My first instinct is to go straight to the washroom and shower away the lingering feeling of hoofs and tongue against my coat.

But I can’t.

A certain powerlessness creeps around me, as though I am still held in Applejack’s ruthless grasp. I cannot move.

My hooves let go of the bouquet and the bottle of perfume, letting the two objects clamber to the floor. I climb into bed and hold my hooves to my eyes.

What happened?

I take the blanket and wrap it around me.

Wasn’t tonight supposed to be the best night ever?

The wedding. The event comes to me in flashes: The wedding dress. The dance. The smiles. The glamour. The perfect wedding and the perfect night.

For Cadance…

The pressure returns, along with the taste and the scent and the hold of the earth mare. A drunk earth pony reeking of alcohol and stolen purity.

If it had been Shining Armor…

The image sparks in my brain. Shining Armor: The ideal stallion. The white knight who slays dragons and saves princesses. A pony with the strength and power of a mountain, but with a refinery and sophistication fit for unicorns. He whose sweet lips could awaken eternal slumber.

Right now, Shining Armor and Cadance are probably…

My hoof slowly makes its way between my legs. On instinct, my thighs close, remembering the pressure that Applejack left...the frisson that had sent a shock from my crevice to my spine, unattended and demanding attention.

I pressed my hoof painfully against my quivering marehood. It was not a release of desire. It was to conceal it from the world.

My eyes shut close and I see in my mind’s eye a flash of Shining Armor, of how he looked at me tonight: Serene, so adult, and yet so...capable.

My hoof slowly circles my delicate entrance and I can feel the moisture seeping.

“Gah…!” I gasp in an intake of breath.

My lips feel dry and my vision blurs. Shadows overtake me and imagination prevails over the darkness.

And he appears. Like the white knight in medieval romances, Shining Armor comes to save me from the grim reality.

I find myself looking up to the stallion I would have given my life to have. The shape of his figure takes form the pride of his stature. It is the proper posture of a pony who has nothing to hide and has no cause to be hidden: Upright and headstrong to whatever his eyes seek to conquer. Sapphire eyes of such shimmering determination, polished by the pressure of ruthless innocence. He appears as though he could depart at any moment, with nothing but his strength and confidence to take him to the heights of giants and to come back with his invincible pristine coat untarnished and untainted. His mane, a bright aquamarine that resembles the waves of the deep, flows evenly to complete the vibrant prism of light that would not forgive anything short of purity. The form to which sculptors carve immortality in marbles. So young and so masculine, so full of potential and promise!

I force myself to see him. Shining Armor, climbing into my bed, planting kisses on me, his words dribbling nectar to my ears, words that I have longed to hear from princes and nobles. He whispers my name and I feel him bite my neck ever so gently.

My hoof moves faster, the wetness creating obscene noises that echoes in time with the pants of my hot breaths. My mouth dries and I feel my teeth biting against the pillow.

But it does not matter. Shining Armor is here. He takes me in his hooves, forcing me to face him, entrapping me with a stare as he moves closer. His lips touch mine. He pushes further and he pulls me in tight. His kisses, so gentle and so patient, leave me panting for breath as he pulls away. Then he looks at me, smiles, and tells me he loves me.

My hoof moves violently. Short quick breaths are all that I hear. A bead of sweat runs from my forehead down to my chin. I can smell the scent of my sex. The heat leaves my body and gathers around my loins.

But Shining Armor is with me. He’s here to protect me, to save me, to caress me and tell me he loves me. He takes his pride and, with it, takes all of me for himself.

“Shining! Shining!” I pant out in between breaths. “Oh, Celestia!”

He moves back and forth gently. His hooves guide me, caressing my bosom and curves. With each thrust he carries me with him. He tells me he loves me again. Then he leans in for a kiss and I comply. I offer no resistance. I am his mare. With this communion, I give myself to him.

“Shining Armor!” I moan aloud to the darkness. “I love you!”

My foreleg sores in the unstopping rhythm against my marehood. My whole body jerks and twitches, every muscle tenses in anticipation, hoof taking ahold of the covers. The pressure builds. I reach climax. My body arcs, my eyes widen, and then–

‘I love you too,’ I hear him whisper as he lowers me back into the gentle embrace of the sheets.

‘Cadance.’

“No!”

–my body releases all the pressure it could hold.

“Ahhh–!” I shut my scream off with my hoof against my lips. “Hnng!”

Wave after wave of pleasure erupts from me. A gush of liquid exits the stern walls of my folds and leaves me helplessly spasming.

“S-Shi... Shining... Ar–”

I collapse onto the moist mattress. A soft tingle lingers as the liquid dribbles down my thighs and swollen lips.The adrenaline subsides and I feel myself breathing once again. The fluid gathers between my legs and sullies the rose-red sheets.

I open my eyes, seeing darkness instead of a prince. I lie still, a lonely mare drenched in sweat and guilt. Indulging in the afterglow of fantasies and broken dreams of a newlywed stallion that, just hours ago, had pledged his life to a mare who is not me.

Then, without warning, a pain grows steadily in my chest. With it come tears from the depths of my heavy heart. I don’t bother asking why. My breathing breaks into half-choked sobs.

I roll over to my side in a fetal position.

And cry myself to sleep.

Chapter 4: Rumplestiltskin

Chapter 4:
Rumplestiltskin

Dear Twily,

How are you doing these days? With the letters you’ve been sending Princess Celestia, you haven’t sent a word for me and Shining Armor. Getting too busy there? For shame :P

Shining Armor and I are doing very well here in Canterlot, he’s still a goofball as always. I mean honestly, sometimes I feel like I’m married to a colt. He says hi!

Anyway, I’m writing this because I want to tell you that Shining Armor has long thought about it and we plan on moving to the countryside. Ponyville to be exact! Can you believe it? I’m not really much of a castle princess anyway. We’re gonna be spending lots of time together, just like the old days and ~~hopefully, I can still baby you like I used to~~. Also, has Rarity returned from Canterlot yet? I haven’t heard from her since she left. And don’t forget to tell her I’m moving there, I’m sure she’ll love to hear it. Tell her I’ve got a fresh new bottle of Beaujolais (imported) for her when Shining and I come to visit this Tuesday. Say hi! to your other friends for me.

Sunshine and Lady Bugs,

Cadance<3

PS. Guess who’s going to be an aunt soon!!!

* * *

I run my hoof against the fabrics, the motions of my body as mechanical as the sewing machine. The snips and snaps of the needle through the cloth echoes in my mind, as though the source of the painful throbbing in my head stems from the pinpricks. There is no dress being made, the thread follows the needle as it rips and punctures through an indiscernible motley assortment of rags, torn fabrics, and paper. The sound fills the hollow emptiness of my thoughts; nothing exists but the monotonous snipping of that damnable machine-no boutique, no dress, no Rarity.

“Ack!” I cry. A seething pain stings the end of my hoof. Even before looking I know that blood has broken loose from my skin. I jerk away from the contraption’s needle, shameful and angry of the careless stupidity I bring upon myself; I blame it on the machine. My horn glows and the infernal device jumps from the table and goes smashing against the wall.

Shining Armor is here… in Ponyville!

But the silence that follows is no better. The thoughts the noise is meant to drown resurfaces, one by one, from the repressed depths of the responsibility to think, remember and judge. I place hoof to my mouth and lick at the seeping blood.

Did he come for me? Did Shining Armor come here for me!?

My head drops to my hoof, eyes shutting close. I cannot bear to look at anything right now. I bite my lip.

I only notice my heavy sweat, slicking down my chest, the moment that a coarse dryness corrodes my throat and lips. Out of my control, my hoof slithers down to the source of the heat.

Will he come for me as he did the night before?

“Shining…” I whisper.

My marehood was already wet even before I felt it. That first touch to my quivering weakness overtakes my whole body and thought. I know what I want, what this body of mine yearns for. My legs loses strength, giving all their energy to the one extremity that refuses to stop moving. I collapse, leaning against the drawer where leftover fabrics lay unused. The heat of my body rises again, different this time, but not imaginary. The juices running down my calves run hotter than usual; the thick viscous liquid dripping down my thighs feels like its simmering the fires of my loins from where it seeps. And here I melt to my own frustrated desires, falling to my knees and then to the cold, hard floor.

To save me from Applejack!

My body slowly curls to a ball, centering towards that growing pressure in my womb. My eyes painfully shut close, my teeth clenching onto my foreleg. A small puddle pools beneath my feet.

Images of a smiling cowmare flashes before me. I try to ignore them, deny them, replace them with my prince, as one would ignore self-hatred and self-disgust. Guilt or no guilt, shame or no shame, my hoof would not stop moving, desperately trying to quell the seething fires, but only working to fuel it all the more; like a desperate virgin in heat, craving only the dross fleshly discharge.

“Shining... A-Armor...” I moan.

There is a knock on the door and my attention snaps. I freeze, suddenly; for a moment all that heat and rising temperature is extinguished by cold terror. My hoof stops, but the pressure between my legs and in my loins will not let go. It remains there, waiting to be released. The knocking on the door continues and I look in horror.

Is it him? Is it Shining Armor!?

It is a struggle to lift myself from the floor, to wobble towards the door, to open it, not knowing if he’s there. I open the door just wide enough to see who stands on the other side.

“Rarity?” Fluttershy’s face appears from the narrow opening.

I hold on to whatever good reason I have left not to close the door on the pegasus’s face. I clear my throat, but the tension still lingers. “Y-Yes... darling, how can I help you?”

“I was wondering if we could talk to you,” she says in the tone of a question.

“We?”

Fluttershy steps aside and another pegasus comes into view through the narrow opening. It only takes a glance to know to whom that spectral mane belongs.

“Hey,” says Rainbow Dash.

“Good afternoon, Rainbow Dash,” I say, clearing my throat once again. “What is this about?”

“I came to apologize for what I said at the party,” she says, half-sincere and half-memorized, “can you let us in for a minute?”

“T-That won’t be necessary. Apology accepted.” I push the door close, but Rainbow Dash’s hoof comes through the doorway.

“Hey c’mon, Rarity,” she pleads. “I’m not good with this sort of thing but I’m trying to apologize properly and you’re–”

“No. I-I believe you. I accept your apology.” I try to push the door close again but Rainbow Dash’s hoof will neither budge nor let go.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. “Too busy to spare a minute of your time for a friend trying to make things right?”

“Rarity...” Fluttershy says, in support of her foolish crush.

Right now, there is nothing more I want than to hide in the privacy of my room and finish the heat in between my legs, and perhaps afterward, and only then, would I be willing to entertain my guests. But I see little choice in the matter, not when I cannot afford to risk a rift between me and my friends in exchange for a temporary carnal outpour. They are my friends; Rainbow Dash saying so made me remember. It makes me wonder, too, when and why do I forget.

“Alright...” I say, “but wait for a minute... the place is... The place is a mess.”

Rainbow Dash pulls her hoof from the narrow opening. I close the door and begin to work in the room. The place is not in a state of disarray as I have suggested, but neither is it organized chaos. There are some cloths and fabrics here and there, but nothing unnatural; except for the pool of lust in the middle of the room and the distinct scent of sweat and pheromones. I take the nearest cheapest bottle of perfume and spray it all over the room. I drag some cloths from beneath the cabinet and use it to cover the stain on the floor.

“Come on in,” I say, unlocking the door.

The two pegasi make their way into the parlor and head to the center table. They try not to make it obvious that they wish to look around the room. No doubt the both of them have already caught the unnatural, strong aroma of the perfumery, but neither says anything of it.

“Rarity, are you okay?” are the first words from Fluttershy mouth.

“Of course, my dear. Why did you ask?”

Fluttershy almost steps on a broken sewing machine. She takes it in her hooves and places it on top of the nearest platform. She looks at me and says, “Is that a bite mark on your foreleg?”

“Opalescence,” I lie. Fluttershy knows.

“And your face is flushed.” She flies to me. “Do you have a fever?”

She moves her hoof to my forehead but I draw back from her. “No. I’m fine.”

“If you say so.”

Fluttershy flies back to Rainbow Dash, standing a few feet from us. The canary pegasus whispers something to her and Rainbow Dash mumbles something in response. Fluttershy flies in to my kitchen, to give Rainbow Dash and I our needless privacy.

“So...” I say, wanting to get it over with as soon as I can. But then, it doesn’t really matter now. The heat between my legs slowly dies down, and so does my desire to release it.

“Rarity,” Rainbow Dash says, taking a few steps forward, “I want to apologize for acting like a jerk back in the party. That was very uncool of me and... well... I’m sorry.”

Too practiced and too artificial; Rainbow Dash’s tone is sincere, her words, however, are not. “Did Fluttershy tell you to apologize?”

I do not know what made me say the words I did. It is not out of genuine interest but, rather, more of the desire to put Rainbow Dash to shame, if it would help making her leave.

“Yes... and no,” she answers. “She talked to me and helped me clear my mind of some things. She gave me advice on what to say and... I’m here to say it.”

I managed a smile. “I’m glad she could help you. As I’ve said, apology accepted. Now, if you two could be so kind as to–”

“Aren’t you gonna ask?”

“Ask what?”

“Why I was acting all riled up.”

I know by the self-flaunting look in her eyes and the small curve in her lips that Rainbow Dash has some sort of half-memorized speech that she could offer as a sort of explanation. I do not even want to humor her at the moment, but her next words left me no choice.

“It has something to do with Applejack,” she says, scratching the back of her head. “I don’t know if she told you already but I once had a crush on her.”

She looks to me, searching for some sort of reaction. Finding none, she continues:

“It was a long time ago, back in the Running of the Leaves I think. I told her I liked her the second I felt it. You know, keeping it straight like I thought she wanted. But she said that ‘her barn door doesn’t swing that way’ or something. I remember urging her to give it a try but she didn’t even want to. She even went as far as to say that if I were a stallion then she’d be head over hoof for me. So... with that as a reason I couldn’t blame her. And then you came along, and Applejack telling us that you two... together...” Rainbow Dash turns away. “I felt like I was being played with and I got so angry I didn’t know which of the two of you I was gonna hit first.”

Fluttershy returns from the kitchen, carrying with her my first-aid kit. She flies to me, takes my hoof and begins to bandage the small cut made by the needle. It hardly needs treatment, a cut not even large enough to be called an injury, but Fluttershy’s extensive worry exaggerates the matter. Rainbow Dash looks to the canary pegasus for a moment and then back to me.

“So, anyway,” Rainbow Dash continues, her head lower this time, “I hope you understand why I acted like a complete ass. Again... sorry.”

“Am I right to assume that you don’t fancy Applejack anymore?”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it, but no.”

Outside Rainbow Dash’s line of sight, I see Fluttershy release a long-repressed sigh of relief.

“I take it then that I have your blessing?” I say to Rainbow Dash.

“Only if it works out,” she says. She immediately shakes her head and bites her lip. “I mean, Applejack and you are like whole continents apart. I... I don’t want it to happen, but I won’t be surprised if you two break up in the near future.”

“We’re trying to make it work, Applejack and I,” I scowl. “We’re not ignorant of our own polarities, we’re doing our best for one another.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong.” Rainbow Dash smiles for the first time. “I’m glad she bagged you in. Honest. It’s just this gut feeling of mine. Sure it’s gonna be bumpy with your being high classy all the time and her being a cowpony and all, but... I couldn’t ask for a better mare more her.”

“Thank you, Rainbow Dash.” The weight on my chest is lifted and I am able to return my friend’s smile. “You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you say that.”

Rainbow Dash flies close to me and gives me a hug. I accept it warmly. She pulls back a little and says, “Man your sweaty. Working out? Anyway, if I could ever help you two with anything, then don’t hesitate to ask. I may not be the easiest pony to deal with but I’m always loyal to you guys... But if you ever hurt Applejack and make her cry, assuming you even can, I swear by Celestia’s holy plot I’ll fly straight back here with Pinkie and make her throw a college party.”

“Okay, now that’s just too mean.”

Rainbow Dash and I stare at each for a moment until a grin breaks free from our faces, followed by a laugh that fills the room. Fluttershy is not laughing, but she is smiling all the same from the result of Rainbow Dash’s endeavors.

“Nice that this ended up smoother than I thought,” Rainbow Dash says, recovering from her laughter. “I’m going now, wouldn’t wanna keep you from your work.”

“No, it’s fine,” I say. “Stay. I don’t really have that much to do anyway.”

“Can’t.” Rainbow Dash flies into the air and stretches her muscles. “I still have one more place to stop by today, and this one’s gonna be tough.”

“Applejack?”

“Yeah, I’m saving her for last in case things end up ugly and we end up rough housing each other.”

“Oh, Celestia!” I gasp. “That won’t do. I’ll come with you.”

“Thanks, but... uhh... I’d rather do it by myself.” She shrugs. “I’d appreciate it if you could talk to her afterwards... but not now. You know: my fault, my mess.”

“Well, if you insist. But if you two end up fighting, don’t make it physical. I’ll be glad to talk to her.”

“I’ll try.”

“I want more than that,” I say. “If my dear Applejack comes back to me with as much as a black eye, I’ll–”

“Alright, I won’t. Pinkie Promise.” Rainbow Dash makes a sign with her hoof across her heart and eye. “C’mon Flutters.”

Fluttershy, who had been watching the unfolding conversation the whole time, stands up and follows the cyan pegasus. “Thanks for having us, Rarity.”

“Wait a minute, Fluttershy,” I say to the canary pegasus, then to the light-blue mare. “Rainbow Dash, do you mind if I borrow Fluttershy for a minute? Just a quick mare chat.”

“Why are you asking me?” she asks, obviously oblivious.

“Oh.”

“Sure,” she says, flying out the door. “Meet you outside Shy.”

As soon as I am sure that Rainbow Dash is outside hearing distance I turn to Fluttershy and whisper to her, “So... Any progress?”

“Progress?” She tilts her head. “With what?”

I point with a nudge of my head to the door. “Your Rainbow Dash of course.”

A small blush lightens Fluttershy’s face and she quickly turns away, hiding behind the bangs of her pink mane. “Rainbow Dash isn’t mine...”

“Not yet, at least. So anyway, progress?”

Fluttershy looks out the door, seeing Rainbow Dash wiggle her tail to Opalescence. “Well, last night–”

“Oh my Celestia, last night you two–”

“No!” she yells by instinct. She immediately turns to look out the door again. Thankfully for her, Rainbow Dash had not heard her cry.

“So, you were saying?” I continue again.

“Last night we were ... well, she couldn’t sleep so she stayed awake.”

“Obviously.”

“And then we... uhh... read Daring Do together.”

“Ignoring the fact that it’s one of those crude escape fictions, it’s romantic,” I say, and Fluttershy nods slightly. “Together, beneath the blanket, lightened only by a sole dying candlelight, your eyes not on the pages but on one another, and as the night wore on and the fire dies out, your Rainbow Dash will pull the covers beneath you two, take you in her hooves and–”

“Rarity!” Fluttershy shouts in denial. “That never happened.”

“Well, it was supposed to.” I shrug. “Make sure you make it happen in your future endeavors.”

“Future... endeavors?” Fluttershy shrinks in place, “I’m not really trying to... I mean... I can’t... I’m...”

“Hey!” shouts Rainbow Dash from afar, still playing with Opalescence. “Hurry up you two!”

Fluttershy looks at Rainbow Dash, blushes, then turns away before the light-blue pegasus can see it.

“Good luck, Fluttershy.” I wrap my hooves around her. “I hope you find your true love as I did with Applejack, and don’t forget that you have your best friend here to support you.”

Fluttershy looks up to me and makes a nervous smile. “Thank you, I’ll do my best.”

Long after the two pegasus had gone, I still stand by the doorway, my eyes following their trails to Sweet Apple Acres. Finally, when time grew impatient, I retire back into my house, locking the door.

I trot back to my sewing machine, levitating it back on the drawer along with the rags of what is meant to be a dress. Below me, just under my hoof, a square purple cloth lies on the floor. I pick it up. It is moist, having absorbed the wetness on the floor. It smells of a mare’s lust.

I hope you find your true love as I did with Applejack.

“I love Applejack...” I tell myself.

My own words sting me.

I take a bucket and a mop and clean the mess from my floor. Once done, I return to my work of running the cloth and fabrics on the sewing machine, the sound of its snips and snaps filling the silence.

* * *

The four of us sit in the middle of the library, sharing stories over a bottle of fine Beaujolais. The wine melds perfectly with the taste of dark chocolate, helping the sweet treat melt in our mouths. We laugh gaily, sometimes to the top of our lungs, with the alcohol loosening our tongues, more drunk with joie de vivre than anything else. It makes Twilight worry that we might wake up the sleeping neighbors at this time of the night, but not worry so much as to hold back her own laughter.

I sip my glass and continue: “...and then somepony in the back shouted ‘spill some white wine on it.’ Really, it was embarrassing.”

Cadance and Twilight laugh, signaling then that I can share in with a laugh of my story.

“And then what happened?” Cadance asks, sipping her glass.

“Well,” I take a small bite of the chocolate, “after the party I talked to Pearlchops and apologized. I promised him I’d pay for that rug but he insisted that I shouldn’t be bothered. Half of me was glad to hear it, to be honest, since that carpet was from Saddle Arabia! It’s pure pile and nap made from a white tiger’s coat. But the better half of me doesn’t want to run away from my own mess–what would the rumors say!–so I took that carpet and brought it back with me all the way to Carousel Boutique.”

“You stole it!?” Twilight almost gasps.

“Heavens, no! Let me finish. So I washed the living Tartarus off that carpet, cut it to pieces and used its material to make the best damn jackets and tuxedos you’ve ever seen. I showed the set to Sapphire Shores and she loved it. She bought everything and–”

“Wait, you made clothes out of a carpet?” Cadance doesn’t need to answer; she ends up laughing.

“I washed it!” I laugh as well. “And then I used the profits to pay back Pearlchops–and here’s what I can’t forget: when I came back two weeks later to hand him the bits he was wearing those carpet-made jackets. He’s wearing his own rug!”

Cadence, Twilight and I laugh together.

“He doesn’t know to this day,” I conclude, catching my breath. “He has a new carpet this time, exported from Tall-Tail Town, so I guess all’s well that ends well. That story has certainly taught me a valuable lesson, such that I even considered writing a letter to the princess.”

“What did you learn? Maybe I could write it.” Twilight smiles, her attention taken at the thought of her mentor. “Always look at the positive side of a given situation and act accordingly?”

“No.”

“Always be resourceful with your labor and materials while at the same time learning the risk versus reward consequences of every investment?”

“No.”

“Then what is?’

“Be careful drinking red wine over a white carpet.”

Cadance almost spews out the wine laughing. Twilight too falls back in laughter.

“Well, who knows,” Cadance says, pouring herself another glass, “with enough red wine and enough carpet you might make a fortune selling jackets and tuxedos.” She giggles a little and leans on to her husband. “So careful where you buy your clothes, honey. It could be made out of somepony’s living room rug for all we now.”

Shining Armor smiles meekly. “I’ll be careful then.”

Cadance pouts and grabs Shining Armor by his cheek. “Honey, what’s wrong with you? Why so quiet suddenly? You haven’t said a word since Rarity came in.”

“I just don’t want to get in the middle of the story,” he says.

I was aware of him of course, more than I was aware of anypony else in the room. And I know, as well as he, that I have his full uncompromised attention. I know because not once since having entered have I see him lay his eyes on me.

“Oh, I apologize if I’m intruding, Cadance dear,” I say. “I know you three have a lot to catch up on and here I am running my mouth about my old Canterlot gossips.”

“We enjoy it,” Cadance laughs. “Hope I don’t get used to this before we move, right sweetie?” She takes a bite out of the chocolate bar and levitates the rest to her husband. Shining Armor shakes his head, declining.

“I hope that as well,” I remark.

“How do you mean?” Cadance asks.

“I mean that among other things,” then I add, before she can fully grasp the nature of my words, “but speaking of moving, I’ve been meaning to ask, are you a hundred percent sure you’re going to move here to Ponyville?”

“Of course,” she says triumphantly, “have I told you already, about how much I want to live in a small cabin on top of a hill? Oh wait, I just did.” She laughs for a moment. “It’ll be a great place to raise the foal.”

“And I can’t believe I’m gonna be an aunt!” Twilight almost squeals, slamming both hooves on the table.

“I know right, it’s great!” Cadance lunges and the two mares hold both their hooves together and do some practiced personal hoofshake. “I’m so excited.”

“The castle will be lonely without you,” I say, my hoof tilting the edge of the table. “Tell me, what would you do to your private keep if you really do move to Ponyville? It would be such a waste to simply abandon it.”

“Oh, to Tartarus with it,” she replies, then laughs haughtily. “That castle is too big for me anyway. Why’d you ask? Want me to give it to you?”

Calm down... She’s not insulting me... It’s an innocent question...

I like to think that as much as alcohol inebriates one’s judgment, it also, as a consequence, loosens one tongue. It may perhaps be the reason why I asked Cadance’s my question–with the subliminal tone, even to me, of a beggar asking for leftover alms–that threatens me the second she noticed its real intention. A few more swigs of wine in my system and I will have no doubt tested the fragility of the glass against Cadance’s muzzle.

“So where exactly in Ponyville do you plan to have that house built?” I ask, but regretted my question, having grown weary of any more discussion. I think of a method to end the night before the wine takes full control of me and I do something I may later regret.

“I still don’t know. Twilight’s going to accompany us tomorrow to look at some good places. Wanna come?”

Our first instinct, Shining Armor and I, is to look at each other. An instinct we both resisted.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” I say, leaning against the chair, “I have a date tomorrow.”

“With Applejack?” the bitch asks. “Where are you two–”

“Ah, we’re out,” I interrupt, shaking the bottle of Beaujolais albeit knowing it to be empty. A small spill and a few drops fall into my glass.

“Already?” Cadance says, disappointed. “And I thought we were just getting started. I’m sorry, Rarity, that bottle was supposed to be for you alone and here Twi and I are downing the hatch.”

“It wouldn’t have tasted half as good if I hadn’t shared it with you.”

“Oh, I knew I should’ve bought two.”

“I guess that’s Princess Luna’s way of saying that it’s time to turn in for the night.” I fake a yawn. “Where are you two staying? Twilight’s library isn’t really fit for sleepovers.”

“Hey!” snaps the lavender unicorn. “You and Applejack had a sleepover here long ago.”

“We weren’t a couple then,” I smile, and then turn to Cadance. “But if you’d like, I have a spare guest room in my boutique.”

Cadance’s smile broadens. “That would be lovel–”

“We’re staying in the inn,” Shining Armor says, almost snapping. For the first time in the night our eyes meet, and I emit a triumphant smile. “We wouldn’t want to impose.”

I do not know whether the words are meant for me or Cadance, but the tone, the harsh whipping tone, is no doubt targeted to me.

The latter, however, is too inebriated to notice. Cadance nuzzles her husband on his neck and Shining Armor returns the gesture to his wife with a protective embrace, protection from my knowing gaze.

“It’s no trouble, I insist,” I tell him.

“We already paid for the room.”

“We did?” Cadance looks at Shining Armor with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes,” he replies.

“Regardless,” I say, in almost of the tone of a whistle, shifting my eyes to Cadance, “if you’re up for some late night drinking, you know where to find me. I believe I have a bottle of something in my cabinet somewhere.”

Though I look at Cadance, Shining Armor knows my words are not addressed to his wife. He lours, glaring at me. Nopony else notices it.

“I’ll hold you to that offer,” Cadance says.

Cadance and Shining Armor both rise from their seats, the former wobbling in an attempt to maintain her balance, and proceeds to the door.

“But really Cadance,” I say, following them to the doorway, “drop by my boutique sometime. I’ll love to size you up for an ensemble.”

“Count on it.”

By the time we reach the door, Cadance and I give each other a small friendly peck on the cheek and wrap our hooves around one another. Standing outside the library, just a few feet from us, Shining Armor is staring at me. In front of him, he sees the wife he betrayed embrace the mare he betrayed her with. I do not know if he is angry or disgusted–I am guessing both–as there is no indication in his face except the acceptance that he, too, is part of the façade. He knows how much I hate Cadance to my very guts, and how I still do.

“Very glad to see you again,” I tell the princess.

“Me too,” she says, “and tonight was so much fun with you around. Let’s do this again some time.”

“Save it for when you get your cabin.”

“Bring Applejack too.”

“She’s not much into drinking these days.”

Twilight exchanges a few more words with the two of them, and the married couple leave into the night among the lightless houses in town.

“Wow,” Twilight exclaims as soon as the pair are gone, “I didn’t know you and Cadance were close.” We return to the kitchen where she hands me a glass of water to dilute the strong leftover burn at the back of my throat.

“Best friends, darling,” I say, wiping my lips with a napkin.

“Really?” Twilight gasps, smiling. “What really happened during your stay in Canterlot? You come back with Applejack as your lover and now my foal sitter is your best friend.”

“Oh, you know, just one of those serendipitous happenstance in life.” I yawn, a genuine one this time around. “Darling, do you mind if I spend the night here? I’m too tired to walk back and I have a big day tomorrow.”

“Sure. Spike won’t be back from Pinkie’s sleepover till tomorrow afternoon anyway.” Twilight manifests a blanket with her magic and hands it to me. “So where’s Applejack taking you? Candlelit dinner in a restaurant? Canterlot opera house?”

“Climbing.” I ascend the stairs to Twilight’s bedroom. “Mountain... climbing.”

* * *

The unnamed mountains past Sweet Apple Acres are not at all savage–thank Celesitia for that–but neither are they civil in terms of cleanliness. At least it is fortunate enough that the path is crawling with things that do not literally crawl: innumerable stones, rocks, wet dirt, dry leaves and the occasional snapping twigs, their dark blue hues in the shadows and moonlight making them barely visible; I can only feel them, more consciously so, beneath my hooves, staining my horseshoes and recent hooficure.

The last rays of the sun descended behind us an hour ago, giving me an estimate of the time and the hours we have already spent walking. The walking, I do not mind much. It is the upward ascent taxing my energy and the stepping on unidentifiable objects that exhausts my patience.

“Are we there yet?” I say, trying not to make it sound like I am whining.

“Rarity, ah love you for a lot of things in spite of others. And one of those others is asking the same question five times in the same minute.” Applejack is in front of me, leading the way and making sure to clear out any obstacles—bushes and boulders—from our path.

She was keeping count?

“I’m sorry, dearest. I don’t want to be a nag.”

“It’s fine. Want me to carry ya?” she asks, despite already carrying both our saddles. She sits on her haunches and points to her back. “Best seat in the house.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why? Are ya heavy?”

I pout. “I most definitely am not!”

I trot past her with my head held up high. She laughs as she catches up to me. I levitate a small tree branch and wave it in the air to draw away the mosquitoes flying towards her.

“Wherever you’re taking me better be worth it. I swear this might be your way of getting back at me after I made you go to that Canterlot party and kept calling you Jacqueline.”

“It is.” She looks to me, smiles, and then giggles.

“Aha! I knew it.”

“Ah got a chance to see yer world, now’s yer turn to see mine. Lucky for ya ah didn’t take ya apple bucking or to a rodeo where ya’d have to wrestle a bull. Though ah couldn’t think of a good nickname to tease you with... Ah’d call ya Fairity or somethin’.”

“Eww...” I groan, stepping on some mush I do not even want to look at. “Lucky indeed.”

I remember that day in Canterlot when I dragged Applejack store to store, fitting her into every kind of dress, gown and ensemble to go with that coat and hat of hers, trying out hundreds of perfumes, pushing her in to have her hooves polished, and giving her private lessons on how to speak ‘fancy’ as she called it; all in a day’s work. I remember her belching quite a few times then.

“Bear with it, hun,” she says, “Almost there.”

“Pardon, dearest, but where is ‘there’ actually? Can you at least give me an idea so I’ll know what to expect.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if ah’d told ya,” she says.

“Try me.”

Applejack turns around and smiles deviously, and says, in her dare-you-believe-it tone, “My castle.”

“What?” I stop on my tracks, ears perking up.

Did I hear her right?

“Told ya it’s mighty hard to believe,” Applejack laughs. “Ah was plannin’ to surprise ya but ah don’t want to give ya no heart attack. Ya high society unicorns have yer castle, we Apples have our own.”

“Darling, did you say you have a castle?” I march towards her, hooves tingling, “I mean a castle castle. Not some sort of figurative symbolic castle. I mean a literal solid castle.”

“Eeyup.”

I blink a few times. “You’re... you’re kidding, right?”

“Nnope.”

“Oh my Celestia, a castle!” I squeal. “As in a big and beautiful, sparkling shiny castle?’

“Passed down from the Apple family,” she says proudly, “gift from the princess for the invention of cider and made by Equestria itself, or so the legend goes.”

“How come you never told us?” I jump on to Applejack, wrapping my hooves around her, showering her with kisses. “I love you so much.”

“Woah, there nelly,” she laughs, pushing me back a little. “Don’t get starry-eyed just yet. Save it fer when we get there.”

“Let’s go!” I lock forelegs with her and began to drag her to our general direction, mindlessly galloping over the small nuisances earlier.

“Wait, Rare, wrong way!”

Applejack overtakes me and we run, almost breaking into a full gallop. It was dark but the moonlight lighted just enough of the orange silhouette. I need to do nothing more than let it guide me. I try to control myself, yet I cannot stop squealing.

What kind of castle is it? Crystal? Ruby? Maybe even gold?

I shake my head, trying not to get my hopes up. Goosebumps climbs my legs. I feel like a filly on her first trip to the carnival.

It’s probably just like every castle in Equestria, bricks and limestone... But then again, dear Applejack says it’s a gift from Celestia so... marble maybe?

How big is it? Fifteen floors? No, I’d give it a five or ten. It’ll be enough for Applejack and I.

“Just through here,” Applejack says, making her way to a cave entrance at the foot of a mountain.

In there?

From the outside, the cave looks like a canal to Tartarus. Dead and dying branches of trees are climbing towards the opening. A thicket swaying against the wind hangs just above the mouth of the cave where all sorts of vines and ivies are crawling towards the surface of the pale walls and jagged ceiling. The entrance is thick with an odorless, dark miasma that the moonlight cannot penetrate.

Is this Applejack’s idea of a joke?

“Ah know how it looks,” she says, as though she hears my thought. “Nopony goes into these parts, not at this time of the night. That why the castle’s here—so nopony will find it.”

Applejack turns to me and I shake my head. She stands by the entrance of the cave, waiting for me. I cannot move. She approaches me and holds on to my hoof.

“What’s the matter, hun? Ya scared?” It was a sincere question, not the kind that espouses a challenge.

I answer with a nod.

“Awright, just bear with me,” she says, nuzzling my neck. “Let’s go. Together.”

I try my best not to make it difficult for her. It takes courage to enter that cave, not knowing what matter I may be stepping in or what castle-guarding dragon might step on me. The cave is too dark; I can not even see Applejack, nor as much as my own hoof in front of me, but I know she does not leave my side. I know she is beside me, her hoof does not let go of mine and I can hear the sound of her breathing.

Bear with it, Rarity, the castle is just beyond these walls...

The light at the far end of the cave shows itself a few seconds later. From where that light emanates I can already hear the sound of flowing water.

A fountain?

“Just out there,” confirms Applejack. I can tell, by way of her intonation, that she is smiling. “Ya’d be the first unicorn to see this place, nopony else knows about this place ‘cept Mac and Granny Smith.”

My hind legs tiptoe the ground, the hair my coat on its end and I can almost squeal. Moonlight enters and Applejack’s frame forms before my eyes. She is as excited as I am. She smiles to me and drags me by my hoof, out of the cave and into her castle.

“Behold, my princess, our castle,” she declares, moving in front of me and tracing her foreleg across the scenery. “...Ya like it?’

But when I finally break through the cave, past the darkness, uneven floors, dripping ceiling and cold walls, I see nothing but a clearing. I look around, looking for some sort of large distinguished mansion and there is none. I turn to Applejack, hoping for some answers.

We are at the heart of the mountain; a clearing enclosed by a giant smooth wall of ivory rocks. There is neither ground nor earth; the entire glade is a still-blooming garden of night-hued bluebells, hydrangeas, appleroots, roses and sunblossoms tended by the pale light of ignis fatui. A small waterfall flows from an opening in the wall where crystal-clear water fills the two sparkling ponds that nourish the floras. I try to figure the origin of that sparkling stream, and I look up; above the garden the enclosure opens to the cool whistling breeze and to the thousand twinkling stars scattered on what would otherwise be an empty night. It is as though we are inside the crater of a volcano that, instead of liquid fire, is alive with nature’s most quiet and simple fairies. At the very center of the glade, surrounded by hundreds of dancing fireflies, is a lone apple tree.

“What’s the matter, hun?” Applejack says. “At a loss for words?”

“It’s beautiful, dear Applejack but–” I hurriedly catch myself, almost to the point that I was about to bite off my tongue.

“But what?” Applejack asks, her glance moving down.

But... but it’s not a castle.

“But you’re more beautiful,” I manage to say. I grab Applejack, turn her to me and kiss her cheek. “Thank you, it’s lovely.”

Applejack laughs meekly and breathes out. “Glad you like it. Ah was worried ya wouldn’t since ah know this kind of place isn’t really yer hammock but... y’know.... glad it worked out.”

“You’re my hammock, Applejack,” I say, hiding my face in another kiss.

“Make yerself comfortable, I’ll start with the tent.”

“Yes... of course... a tent.”

I spend the rest of the time watching Applejack work. She unpacks her saddlebags and raises a small yellow tent on a small tuft of grass just below the apple tree to avoid damaging the flowers. She plucks dry sticks from the branch and starts the fire. All the while I just stand there. I asked Applejack if there is something I could do, but she replies, “Don’t ya worry about no work, princess. Just feel at home and lemme take care of everything.” However, I have no idea how to relax in such a setting. I sit by the campfire and mindlessly weave a wreath from the petals of blue roses. As soon as Applejack finishes securing the tent, she sits beside me, the wreath barely finished.

We sit beside one another, our bodies touching. Applejack speaks for the both of us. She talks about how this place was passed down from the first Apple family settlers down to her, how Granny Smith eventually forgot about the place and how it was Big Mac, in his young adventurous coltish days, who rediscovered the ‘castle’ again. I do not follow the conversation; I hear the words, but not what is being said. I make approximate safe responses of yes and no, I laugh when I do not hear what she tells me, hoping it isn’t a question. I try to listen, I really do, but the disappointment, perhaps, clouds all the attention Applejack deserves.

“Ya awright, hun?” Applejack says. I had not noticed the prevalent silence until she says those words.

“Why, yes, of course.”

“Ya seem a little... Ah dunno, am ah borin’ ya?”

“What? No.” I say, wrapping my hooves around her. “What made you assume such a thing?”

“Well, ya haven’t talked much.”

“I’m fine, I assure you.”

“No, you’re not.” Applejack looks down. “Just tell me, what’s the matter? Ya ain’t comfortable? If ya don’t like it here then... ya know... feel free to say so. Ya don’t have to pretend ya like it to spare mah feelings. Ah understand. Next time, if ya’d like, ah’ll bring ya out to a fancy restaurant in the city.”

“Oh, Applejack, I like the place, really,” I say, caressing her shoulder. “It’s special for you, is it not? That makes it special for me too. But, well, I guess I’m too tired from the trip to appreciate it at this point, at least not as much as you appreciate it. And, I admit, although I am not really used to these kind of environments, I can always learn to love it.”

“Ya really think so?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, hun, means a lot to me to hear ya say that.” Applejack stands, and stretches her limbs. “Whaddya say we both go for a dip?”

“Swimming... As in... in the pond?”

“What can ah say, feels good. Ah promise ya won’t regret it.”

“I’d love to Applejack but... but as I have said, I am too exhausted from our climb,” I say, and Applejack’s shoulders sags. I try to assure her, however, “But that shouldn’t stop you from enjoying yourself. Go ahead.”

“Whatcha gonna do? Just watch me?”

“With pleasure.”

Applejack hesitates for a moment, and then finally decides to jump into the pond. I follow her and sit on a rock by the shoreline, the water cooling my hooves. I take Applejack’s hat from the rock where it is carefully placed and hold it against my chest. I watch her, I watch Applejack enjoy the coolness of the waters, a pale-orange silhouette. The pond, so crystal clear that it mirrors the stars above, made it look as though she is floating among the celestial bodies to which her golden mane shines like the sun. She would glide through the water, she will let herself be carried, then submerge and swim back up through the still surface, where she would turn to me, smile and wave.

Then I cannot help myself imagining, regretfully and shamefully, that each time Applejack swims beneath the water, away from my vision, it will not be her who shall emerge but, rather, Shining Armor.

Shining Armor, surely he has a castle... A real castle, not this–!

I bite my lip and hold on to the Stetson against my chest.

Will I ever see Shining Armor like this? Will I ever see him swim, knowing that I am watching him? To see him smile to me and wave?

I shake my head. “I love Applejack...” I mutter to myself.

When I look to the pond again, the mare I said I love is nowhere to be found. I stand up, place the hat aside and look for an orange figure amidst the star-lit field.

“Applejack!” I yell, hoping for a response.

Suddenly, the waters beneath me bubbles and out bursts the cowpony from the depths. She grabs me by the forelegs and pulls me into the pond before I can even scream. The splash of cold water washes away all the weariness throughout my whole body, I feel my limbs animated once again. I hold my breath and open my eyes, the water is so clean and transparent that I see everything the night illuminates: the multihued pebbles at the bedrock, the ribbons of moonlight piercing the water, the orange-coated earth mare that is my lover. Applejack smiles to me, her watery figure shimmering in the thick liquid. My hoof still on hers, she leads me to the very center where we resurface.

“Applejack, you brute!” I say, catching my breath. “What if I couldn’t swim?”

“All the better,” Applejack laughs. “Ah would’ve still dragged ya out here to make ya cling to me.”

I pout and feign temper, but I cannot feign it for long. I swim to Applejack and hold on to her as she wanted. “There, hope I don’t drown you with me.”

“Would ya believe me if ah say ah’d be the first to drown before ya even have to hold yer breath?”

“I don’t want to believe it. I’d prefer we drown together.”

Applejack looks at me and frowns. “Now, don’t ya say nothing like that. Don’t even joke about it none. Ah’d be damned before ah let anything happen to ya.”

A kiss and her frown is gone. “You’re too serious, dear,” I say. “I was just trying to be romantic.”

“Well, that’s some fine taste ya got there.”

“Yours isn’t better,” I respond, splashing some water into her face. “Really, hurting yourself for me? As though I’d let something like that happen.”

Applejack splashes some of the stars back and I knew, by the sly grin across her face, what is coming next. We start splashing that pale-blue water to one another, the fireflies drawn away by our laughter. I fling my hooves in quick succession, but Applejack’s powerful hooves seem to throw a gallon for every liter of mine. Slowly, as Applejack moves towards me, the laughter and splashes dies out. She grabs me, her hoof around my hips, and pulls me close so that our chests touch.

“Ya know,” she says, “yer absolutely beautiful with yer mane down like that.”

“My coiffure!” I suddenly remember. I grab my mane spread on the surface of the water, and look at the disastrous mess I had spent hours brushing before the trip. Applejack laughs at my reaction.

I levitate her mane and pull out the rubber band from her ponytail. “There! Laugh at me... will... you...”

My voice trails and when I expect laughter there is only the silence of astonishment from the both of us. I look at Applejack, I know she’s a mare but never have I seen her femininity as I do now. Her golden mane, free from the obstruction of that Stetson and her coils, flows evenly down her nape. The cute freckles below her emerald eyes stand out the most when she smiles. No, it’s more than femininity, it is as though she is a different pony entirely–no, not even a pony. She is more than a farm mare; she shines of the divine, Olympian even, the half-daughter of Demeter. And here she is, bathing in the moonlight. And she is mine.

“Jacqueline,” my hooves move to her shoulder and I brush the mane behind her ear, “I know you’re the stallion in this relationship but looking as lovely as you are now, well... you bring out the colt in me.”

“Don’t ya get used to it,” she laughs.

I move forward, pulling her head, and press our wet lips together.

Applejack leads me by the hoof as we glide on the surface of the night, relishing the purifying coolness of the water that washes away the worries of the outside and the distinct warmth of each other’s bodies that seem to alight us awake and animate. She holds me so close that I feel the beat of her heart against my chest.

We return to the campfire several kisses later when the cold has finally caught up to my spine. When I told her, Applejack only giggled and led me straight back to the camp where the crackling fire awaited.

She wraps me in a clean towel and hands me a comb while she, after shaking the water off her coat from a distance, begins to roast some beans in a small makeshift kettle she brought with her. She returns the Stetson to her head and the band around her mane.

“Hope ya like coffee,” she says, pouring some into a small wooden cup.

“I don’t hate it.”

Applejack sits beside me, and I levitate the towel to wrap it around us. I drink the coffee and it’s warmth melts into my bones; but the taste is so-so. It must be some unbranded coffee harvested somewhere. It is nothing compared to the coffee Cadance once gave me.

Cadance...

Shining Armor... what are they doing now? They’re probably at the inn and...

It should be me with Shining Armor tonight.

The kisses we shared in the pond give rise to the idea of what the both of us want from each other for the rest of the night. I do not know what Applejack is waiting for; I expect her to take me as soon as we have made our way to the campsite. I look at her, from the corner of my eyes; she’s watching the fire die out. Applejack grabs the kettle and fills it with water from the pond. She returns and extinguishes what embers remain.

“Why don’t we get some shuteye?” she says. “Go take yer rest now. Be with ya in a minute after ah’m all done here.”

I enter the tent as ordered. It is a small shelter made of the usual canvas, too big for one pony and too little for two. There are no sleeping bags, only a portable thick fabric that is meant to be a mattress and a thinner one meant to be a blanket. I lay on my back on the beddings, my head on the pillow, and wait for Applejack. I know what will happen next, I can smell it in the air. Two lovers isolated in their own world, hearts racing. My chest tightens and the ever familiar heat between my legs rises in anticipation.

Applejack enters the tent, earlier than I thought her patience would allow her. I neither quiver nor shake, lacking a sense of fear or excitement—only a quiet acceptance of what is going to be done to me. Applejack moves forward, on top of me, careful that her weight does not crush my fragile body. She starts by planting a long deep kiss to my wet lips, then small quick pecks on my neck.

Then she lies behind me on the beddings and wraps one foreleg on top of me while the other takes its place as my pillow. I feel the light pressure of her lips on the back of my shoulder and neck. I wait for her to touch me more. None comes.

“Goodnight, hun,” she says.

Did I make her angry for some reason? No, of course not.

Unable to believe what I heard, I turn to her. Her eyes are peacefully closed.

“Applejack...” I whisper, “you don’t want to... with me?”

Applejack opens her half-lidded eyes. “Do what?” Then the revelation strikes her and both eyes open wide. “Oh... Oh! I’m sorry. I thought ya said ya were tired. Do ya want me to?”

“I’m your mare, dearest... I’ll let you do whatever you wish.”

“If you want... y’know, I can. Are you in the mood?”

“Oh, never mind me,” I say, blushing. “You know I’m always willing. I just thought that you wanted to... with you bringing me here alone and all.”

She smiles. “That ain’t got nothing to do with it all. It’s our first night sleeping together as a couple and ah just want it to remain like that, just sleepin’. Me hugging ya until morning.”

“Just hug?”

“Yup, just hug. Why? Ya don’t believe it?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just...” I didn’t think it was possible. “It’s nothing.”

Applejack smiles and shifts her weight; she offers one her foreleg as a pillow and I take it, turning my back to her so she could hold me all the better. I shuffle close so that we make as much contact with our bodies as possible. There is a distinct warmth exclusive to Applejack and absent to all other ponies; as though beneath her coat and skin there lies an inextinguishable fire that burns brighter with every pump of her heart. She moves closer, nuzzles my neck, brushes my mane over my ear and pulls me closer.

“Goodnight, Rarity,” she says. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Applejack.”

Would Shining Armor ever cradle me like this? Would he touch me as softly and as gently as Applejack does? Would he bring me to his castle and kiss me beneath his chandelier? Lay me down on his bed of satin and expensive fabrics?

Several hours later, still nourished in Applejack’s warmth, I speak again.

“I love you, Applejack,” I repeat.

She replies, “I love you too.”

I turn to her, our face inches apart. She, too, is wide awake, not in the sense of one who cannot sleep, but one who does not wish to.

“Can’t sleep?” she asks.

I shift my weight and gently climb on top Applejack. She is startled for a moment but then takes a pleasure in being pressed by my body. She wraps her hooves around me and I nuzzle her neck.

I do not love Shining Armor.

“I love you, Applejack,” I whisper to her ear. “Do you believe me?”

“With all mah heart,” she says.

“Then...” I sit up over her and hold both her hooves, “make love to me... please.”

Applejack shuffles in place, still not letting go of me, but making enough space so she can get a good look at me with the dim moonlight.

“Hun, look at me,” she says.

I turn away. “I love you.”

She grabs me by the chin and forces me face her. I thought she would kiss me, as she is often fond of, but she does not. Her eyes, austere, fix not on me but on my eyes as though she searches for the truth in them; as I can see my own truth, and lies, in hers.

“Applejack...” I whisper. “Let’s make love right now.”

Applejack does not say anything, her face unchanged.

“I love you,” I say, for the third time. “Don’t you believe me? I love you, Applejack. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved–and ever will. So please, take me, right now. Make love to me. Let this be our real first night. Everything’s perfect, don’t you see? It’s all perfect and beautiful and everything is so right. It’s just the two of us here, nopony will disturb us. You can do anything you want to me, I won’t resist; I’ll like it. What’s the matter? Don’t look at me like that. Are you mad at me? Don’t you believe me when I tell you I love you? Please believe me because otherwise... otherwise...”

“Otherwise,” Applejack sighs, “ya won’t believe yerself...”

I bury my face beneath Applejack’s coat in shame. I do not notice until she tells me: I’m crying.

“Rare, don’t cry now. Ah didn’t mean bad by it. Ah know ya love me fiercely, and ah believe it, honest, only not as much as ah love ya. Ah know cuz it’s tough to beat, it’s comparin’ a molehill to a mountain.”

“You...” I sniff and make a small giggle, “you know I love you more than something like a little molehill.”

“Ah know, hun, so forgive me if ah’m not good with’em words but ah say what ah mean and ah mean what ah say. Rare, ah already know what ya feel, maybe even before ya did. Ah don’t want ya to make love to me just to prove something. Just hearin’ ya say it is proof enough. If ah didn’t love ya like ah do ah wouldn't give two bits ‘bout yer feelin’ and jump the gun this second. Ah already took advantage of ya twice now and ah’d be damned if ah’m gonna do it a third time. It ain’t right. Let me grow on ya and we can take it slow, we can have all the sweet time in the world. Ya understand me, hun?”

I make a small nod.

“If it’ll help ya feel better, ah confess that ah can’t wait until the time comes and yer ready. Then ah'll be on ya every second of everyday of the week... ah mean... oh jeez...” She slaps her forehead and shakes her head.

“It’s alright, dearest,” I say, taking her hoof away from her face, “It does help me feel better.”

“Ah promise ah’ll take good care of ya.”

“I know.”

She starts to rub my mane with her hoof and kisses me on the cheek. “So... ya wanna sleep on top of me like this?”

“Oh, my apologies.” I slide down to her slide, but her hooves restrain me in place.

“Not that ah mind though.” She shrugs and pulls our bodies closer.

“Jacqueline...”

“Oh, not that name again,” she groans.

“I like it,” I giggle. “Applejack, can you just promise something then?”

“What is it, mah princess?”

“Promise me that no matter what happened, or what will happen, you will believe me that right now, this night, in this very moment, me looking at you, and you looking back at me, that I love you with all my heart.”

“Mah princess,” she says, “ah swear it.”

Our hooves interlock, we stare into each other’s eyes in total stillness. We both know that no more words will be spoken for the rest of the night, that no more actions beyond our breathing will be done, that there is nothing there to experience but the company of each other’s warmth; and despite the motionless suspension in which Luna’s magic often visits, sleep would not come so soon.

* * *

“What are you doing here!?” I shriek. It is the cacophony of two sounds: one of a delighted surprise, and one of a cry for help.

Shining Armor frowns. “I came here to buy something.”

I stand on the door, barring his way to my boutique. With one hoof I want to push him away, yet the other wants to pull him in. I tremble in place. ‘I love Applejack’ I want to say to him, but I cannot do so.

“May I come in?” he asks.

Turn him away, shut the door in his face! You love Applejack, don’t you?

I step aside and let him enter.

He does not look at me, or the room. His eyes are distant, fixed on everything he cannot see. He is naked, for the lack of a better term, unclothed. There is no movement in him, in the way he enters, except for the mechanical locomotion of his legs. His face returns to that ruthless stoicism one uses to put the lid on boiling emotions.

“What can I help you with?” I turn away from him and proceed to the other side of the room.

“A dress...” he says, “for Cadance.”

“Of course,” I say. “Do you know what you want? Cocktail dress? Evening gown?”

“Anything... whatever.”

“Of the half-dozen four-bit retail joints here in Ponyville you walk into mine.” I absentmindedly move my hoof to and fro the rack of anythings and whatevers. “You’re not really here to buy a dress, are you?”

“Not really.” He moves to the nearest window and stares out, far into the distance. “Should I tell you what I came here for or do you want the polite conversation first?”

“I’ll go with whatever you wish.”

“Alright, damn the stalling,” he says, without the necessary harshness demanded of swearing, “I’m here to tell you that you will stay away from my wife.”

I nod in acceptance, searching for an ensemble in the array. I begin to wish I have in stock some cheap off-the-peg factory-made clothes. Deciding it does not make any difference to me whatsoever, I grab the one I have in hoof with my magic and place it in a blue plastic bag.

“How do you do it?” he asks, marching to me all of a sudden.

“Do what?”

“That!” he snaps. “How can you pretend that...”

“Pretend what?”

“That nothing happened.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t play with me!” he yells. He grabs me by the shoulder, turns me around and shoves me against the wall.

“Am I?” I respond, as calmly as I can. “I apologize; I thought this is how you want it to be. I believe you stallions call it a one-night stand, a temporary outlet of your discontent: not a word exchanged, before and after‒ never to be mentioned again, hidden behind the veils of fabrication as we were hidden behind closed curtains.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It never is.” I shove his foreleg away from mine and walk away from him. “You’re not the one who woke up in bed, your precious virginity gone along with the stallion whom you’d given it to. But then again... do you I have the right to demand, or to expect, anything more?”

My eyes turn downcast, towards the plastic bag. It has the initials ‘CB’ imprinted golden letters. Carousel Boutique, my home and prison, the closest thing I can call my castle.

“I’m not pregnant if that’s what you’re afraid of.” I shrug. “Is that why you came here, to make sure? I took a precaution the night after, just in case... some pills... It’s safe.”

Shining Armor is stunned for a moment, nothing about him moves but a small flicker in his eyes. “I came here to talk about Cadance.”

“It concerns Cadance, does it not? At least it would have.”

“Are you still going to pretend you’re friends?” he asks.

“You don’t want me to answer that question... Neither response will be pleasant.”

“Tell me all the same.”

“Friendship is immature–I’m the first of the six to say that–and has no place in the world of adult mares... But yes, I’ll keep pretending no more than she’s willing to believe. I’m good at that, the pretending. She’ll be a helpful stool in the social ladder.”

Eyes and nostrils flaring, Shining Armor raises his hoof in the air.

“Don’t hit me!” I cry, covering my face with my forelegs. The self-righteous pose I have held crumbles. Not at the fear of any physical pain, but at the thought of being Shining Armor’s object of righteous and justified anger.

There is a moment of stillness.

I wait for the impact. None comes. I peek from my hooves. Shining Armor is motionless, teeth gritting and hoof shaking in air, ready to slap me in the muzzle. The slap comes in the form of words.

“Vile... two-faced... traitress...” he mutters. “You... you... Don’t you ever go near Cadance again!” he repeats, placing his hoof down on the floor and sighing contemptuously.

“I won’t need to.” I gather my composure and push the plastic bag to his chest, and turn away from him. “She’ll come to me.”

Shining Armor inattentively lifts the plastic bag onto his back. “How much?” he sighs.

“Don’t pretend it matters,” I say. “Just... just go.”

He does not move for a moment. His horn glows and levitates a pouch of bits to the counter. He briskly turns away and trots toward the door.

Is this it? Is it over? Is he leaving me?

Of course he is!

He’s leaving because I love Applejack.

And then I feel it in my soul–only it’s not in my soul because one’s soul is not to be found in one’s guts–a nauseating sense of vertigo, a foreboding dislocation growing greater with each step my prince takes away from me. The slow inches of space stretching between us tightens the barbed tendril coiling around that beating object in my chest.

“Shining–” I shriek. I do not know why. It was in the tone of a beggar and I could have, at that same time, no differently thrown myself beneath his feet.

He stops for a moment and makes a small turn with his neck, wanting to look at me if not for some invisible force pulling his muzzle to the other side. I know then that I can say something to him, to deter him, to apologize. He waits for a minute too long until it becomes apparent that he will not leave until I say what I need or want to:

“I just want to know... Given the chance, would you–” I stop, biting hard on my lower lip.

“Yes?”

“No... It’s nothing. It’s just...”

Out of words and conviction, I recite a memorized line:

“It comes in pairs...” I clear my throat, “the dress... with a black suit for a stallion... two hundred and ninety-nine bits.” The volume of my voice trails down from the high pitched confidence of a saleslady to a whimpering monotone.

I do not expect a response, I expect him to ignore me and leave outright, but Shining Armor’s next word surprises me. “Alright...”

I look up to him.

“Just so Cadance won't plan on coming here and buy something for me.”

“You don’t have to... D-Don’t explain.”

I move to the other end of boutique and rummage through a workable selection of black tie dresses. My eyes move back to Shining Armor, trying to get an approximation of his size. He is roughly the same as Big Macintosh in height, but is less broad than the workhorse. I return to the selection again and find one of the few sizes that would fit him. I bite my lip and return it to the pile.

“Shining...” I clear my throat. “I... I need to measure you.”

“...make it quick.”

I approach him, tape measure in hoof.

“I-I can’t use my magic to hold it... I’ll have to use my hoof.”

He does not say anything.

I move to him, starting on his side. I press and pull the length of tape against his coat; from his hips to his neck, his dorsum to his chest, the muscular mass of his shoulder and thighs down to their hooves. At some point, I stop looking at the numbers and focus only on the texture of his steel frame. My hooves flow over his body in a careful caress, as a sculptor would conjure the image of a statue in his mind by sheer physical contact.

I move in front of him and wrap the tape measure around his neck, my hooves working their way down the line of his throat, his collarbone and to his broad chest. Then our eyes, which have been expertly avoiding one another, finally gaze into the mirror of his eyes; a little unicorn stands there, behind his irises, her small body shaking in tense anticipation of that which will not come. We remember, the both of us, at that same instant the memories of that pivotal night that turn us to this moment: he came to my suite, he grabbed me as one would grab a trophy and victim, he forced me to submission, and he made passionate love to me. My whole body remembers him, the touch of his hooves in the way he held me, the texture of his coat and the scent of his mane. We remember that no matter how much he may despise me, there was a night when we were lovers; I was his mare, he was my prince, and no amount of denial or rejection can change that.

My mouth opens slightly and I feel my hot breath escape the torturous prison of my throat. I do not know whether it a cry or a yearning for a familiar kiss.

A kiss!

Just one tug, just one tug and I can pull him to me, taste his lips for the last time as a parting gift. Our muzzles inches apart, I am close–so close–to take that kiss, but I do not.

What if he rejects me!?

No, what frightens me the most is not if he rejects me–but if he doesn’t!

She flashes before me, I see her upon the throne of conscience, as I saw her two nights ago: a lovely, loyal and dependable mare, swimming in a sea of stars, her golden mane glowing like the sunrise amidst the darkness, she who loves me and trusts me more than anything else. She whose touch has never been gentler, whose words have never been sweeter, whose love has never been more sincere.

I love her! I love Applejack!

And then, I feel the pressure of Shining Armor’s lips against my own, and the image of Applejack is dimmed beneath the lights of a golden chandelier in a prince’s castle.

Shining Armor’s hoof grabs the back of my head and pulls me in and, just as quickly he grabs my shoulder, he gently pushes me away. I see him; there is a stark of terror in his eyes. I can almost hear the cries in his thoughts, loud protests of a conscience and the condemnations of guilt and shame. He can bolt of the door this instant, if not for what remains of his honor preventing him from such the obvious act of a coward.

“I... I’m sorry...” he mutters, taking a step back. His hooves press on the floor, ready to gallop.

“No!” I jump and grab him with what might I can muster. “No... You’re not sorry.”

He stops— his body towards me, his eyes towards the door. His whole being stills: his heartbeat, his breathing, his world. He knows the final decision is his to make; I made my choice the second I leapt to him. Every slow excruciating second that ticks as he hesitates between the door and me—between conscience and temptation—tears him apart like a spiritual rack pulling him in opposing directions: it is scribbled on the twitching muscles of his legs, still pointing towards the door, and the painful tension of the look on his face. I look at him, the internal raging violence evident in his inability to move.

And then he does move—the choice has been made—bursting in the violence of how he seizes my hips, pulling me closer and forcing my soft lips against his. It is a fierce painful kiss, half-pulling and half-pushing, dragging me in the direction of his mouth. I can feel his teeth against the corners of my lips and the movement of his tongue. We pull back, after a minute, panting heavily, our faces flushed.

“Upstairs,” I say, catching my breath, “...m-my bedroom.”

He pushes me up and I pull him to me, mouths as locked as our hooves, almost slipping, as we ascend the stairs to my private chamber. He bucks the door open and slams it closed with his magic.

I do not know whether I fell or he pushed me, but suddenly he is on top of me and I am lying on my back against the floor. He lurches forward, his mouth half-open. He starts with my lips, tasting the tip of my tongue, then moves to my cheeks, shoulders, neck and chest. I feel the edge of his teeth in his kisses, as though there is a restrained desire to bite down through my skin and inflict punishment upon the object of his hatred and pleasure. The heat of our body rises and I can already smell the sweat of our bodies in the moisture of the hot afternoon air. My back arcs for a moment and a drop of perspiration drips onto the floor where I lay.

“Wait...” I say to him, my tail flickering.

“What is it?”

“The floor is cold... and hard. Let’s move to the bed, please.”

“Alright.” He stands, a motion that seems painful to him, and helps me up. “Sorry for being impatient.”

I smile at him, not daring to say that I do not want him any other way in fear of what he may suddenly do, or not do, to me.

He sits on the bed and waits for me to join him there, but instead I kneel in the front and squeeze myself between his thighs, in front of the fully erect stallionhood. Never have I seen one in all its details: the dark pigment, the pulsing veins, the solid rings and the viscous liquid dribbling from its tip. I clear my throat and lean forward—no contact yet—to the throbbing extremity before me. The smell fills my nostrils, an odor that cannot be described as anything else but masculine, and it makes me salivate. Until now, my femininity could not comprehend the chauvinism stallions attribute to their pride, and why they would call it so in the first place, but now, in front of Shining Armor’s own, I find myself helplessly attracted to virile dominance. I extend my tongue and touch with it the base of the waiting member; the salty flavor spreads throughout my taste buds almost immediately and it makes me–and Shining Armor–draw back for a moment from the sudden electrifying tinge. I lick my lips, exploring the taste, and finding myself eager to have more. I shuffle over, the equine rod pressing on my chest, and I bend my head down to take the tip into my mouth. Shining Armor groans, as though in pain, and I retreat.

“Is it... alright?” I ask.

“Really,” he chuckles, “in your mouth?”

“I’m sorry, I’ve always read that stallions like... I thought it’d feel good for you.”

“It does, very much. I’ve just always thought of it as... adolescent.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No–oh dear Celestia, don’t!”

I try not to laugh, but fail. I fear I may have insulted him in doing so, but the smile at the corner of his lips shows no sign of being offended. He takes a hoof and caresses my cheeks and mane as though to encourage me to proceed. I do not disappoint him.

I reopen and my mouth and take in the tip of the tasteful stallionhood before me. Careful with my teeth, I widen my jaw as much as I can. My tongue remains inside my mouth, caressing the rough texture of his pulsing member. The salty taste remains on my tongue, but it is the odor that fills what space is left in my mouth. The musk of his shaft makes my head numb, dispelling all thoughts. It must have been shameful, sucking on a stallion’s phallus–adolescent as Shining Armor put it–but I cannot think of it now. My sense of sight becomes useless at this point. I may very well be in a daze, aware of nothing else but his shape, smell and taste. I pull out, lest I drown in the sea of sensations clouding my consciousness. I tilt my head back and swallow what mixture of salivation, sweat and precum has accumulated in my mouth; the aftertaste tingles the back of my throat. I take a long good look of the slobbering mess I have made and find, to my surprise, that I have only managed a third of his whole length. I return to it, running my tongue from the base up, licking clean the drool trickling down the whole shaft. I move my head closer in, almost nuzzling his pride as my tongue gives a long slow lick on his scrotum.

I finally look up to Shining Armor to witness what kind of reaction my indecency has produced in him. He does not even look at me. His head is laid back; his eyes would be staring at the ceiling if they were not shut closed. The unsteady heaving in his chest shows that the sensation is overpowering him as well. It becomes apparent to me that not once has Cadance done this; the thought granted a sly grin across my face.

“Watch me,” I tell him. “Don’t take your eyes off of me.”

As soon as his head moves, and his eyes move to me, I dive once again on him. I run my lips along his length to further dampen the already moist member. The smooth member slips into my mouth again, first the tip and and the rest slowly sliding down. There is an unmentioned challenge between me and Shining Armor’s size; I push in farther, trying to draw in as much as I can. It is impossible, of course, to take in his whole length, it would have to reach down my windpipe, but I am determined. I shuffle in place and push in further. My mouth stuffed, anything I may say will just come out as a muffled groan. I close my eyes and all of my sensations focuses on the base of my tongue and the roof of my mouth. It becomes a daunting task just to breathe, and, every time I do, it is his scent that fills my nostrils. Suddenly, the tip of his member connects to the back of my throat and I immediately pull away, gagging, coughing and catching my breath. I hear Shining Armor chuckle and I ignore him. My mouth feels dirtied, soiled, and I feel like spitting. But I do not; it would be such a waste and the act itself is most unladylike. I return once again, more determined, more aggressive, trapping the tip of his member in my lips. My tongue moves expertly and slides to the slit of his head. The reaction is instantaneous and violent: Shining Armor jerks back, and forward again, groaning, his hoof almost pushing me away. I feel a small sense of victory in eliciting such a reaction from him, a small revenge from the chuckle he made. His eyes move to me and–as I bob my head up and down, tongue wrapping around his dimensions, slurping, sucking, and pressing his bulk, from the edges of my lips to the elasticity of my cheeks, going faster and faster–my eyes never leave his.

“Ra-Rarity!” he groans all of a sudden. “Wait.”

He grabs me by my shoulder and gently pushes me back, his shaft sliding out of my mouth with an obscene flop.

“Wha– I’m sorry,” I say. “Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No... It’s... uh... great,” he says, blushing lightly. “It’s just that... if you didn’t stop I would’ve came in your mouth.”

I smile just a little, happy to hear what he said. “It’s fine. You shouldn’t worry about me... I mean... if you wanted to... in my mouth... I wouldn’t mind...”

I plant a small kiss on his tip and he makes another short chuckle; it makes me start to wonder if a stallion-part is ticklish.

I give him another lick, stroking him with one hoof, and, with no forethought, I say what most occupies my mind in an attempt to impress him further: “She’s never done this to you, has she?”

It has the reverse effect as intended. Even without saying her name we both know who it is I refer to. Shining Armor knows her more than anypony else. The cheerful ambiance in him dies out instantly, replaced by the gloomful aura of menace.

He glares at me. He grabs me by the shoulder. He hurls me hard onto the floor.

“Listen well,” he says, teeth gritting, leaping to his feet. “You don’t talk about Cadance, you don’t say anything about her and you don’t so much as mention her name! Understand?”

“I-I’m sor–”

“Understand!” he thunders, nostrils flaring. It is not a question.

I nod.

“Now stand up and turn around,” he barks.

I find myself powerlessly under his command. I stand on all fours, legs trembling in excitement and fear, and turn my back to him as he ordered.

“Lift your tail.”

I do so, exposing my slick anticipating marehood in front of him. The waters of my concupiscence drips all over my floor after having served him for so long. It is still hot in the afternoon, but it feels as though a cold breeze passes between my legs the moment he takes a full look at me. I hear him stand up and trot close to me. His hoof starts caressing my flank, pressing it firmly against my cutie mark, and onto my back. I feel his weight shuffle to me and the hot air of the impending appendage inching closer to my entrance; I know how it will feel, I can imagine. I’ve licked it long enough to know. But instead of lurching forward he grabs me by the hips with one hoof and pulls me in.

He enters me, in one smooth slow movement, my folds pliant to the rock-hard shaft it worships. He stops the moment his tip touches the edge of my cervix, signaling that he has already filled all the solid space he could. He stays still, relishing the hotness of my inner flesh, and I, too, feel the fiery embers burning me from within. My whole body melts from my womb outwards. I struggle to maintain my footing over my trembling legs–that I carry his weight on my back makes it difficult to stand. But it is a lie, I know that it is the thought of him ravaging me on the floor that tempts me the most. I feign exhaustion and collapse, but he holds on around my hips and starts moving. My head grinding against the floor and my hips raised to him, he pulls back to allow enough space tothrusts back in with a grunt. Every push, every slam, every vicious stroke against my walls echoes in the back of my head, shutting down all thought. It is different, compared to our first night–then he was gentle, solely focusing on my pleasure, but now, as though to reclaim what he has given me, he shoves back and forth, brutally, painfully and deliciously, to use my body as an instrument of his desire. That he can use me as he does so, that my body can deliver him to unimaginable heights and satiate his hunger, is a token I take pride in. I could ask him what he wishes for me to do, but we both know it to be unnecessary. He’ll take me in any way he wants, and tell me his desire in a pleading request or the bark of command, and I would not resist him in the slightest because I am his property and prize.

“Hey, Rarity!” comes a voice from below the boutique. “You home, hun? It’s me.”

The ice shattering impact of her voice resounds in me. Ice, that is the word, that which replaces the blood in my vessels , freezes my heart and chills my bones, from my legs to the root of my spine, that which countervails the warmth of my womb, harbinger of the blind unfathomable terror of being divulged.

“Applejack!” I do not mean to scream her name, but it cannot be contained in my thoughts any longer.

“Ya in yer room?” she shouts from below. “Ah’m comin’ up.”

“W-w-wait!” I yell. I do not know to whom.

The sound of hoofstomps climbing the stairs is all I hear. I squirm away from Shining Armor, painfully tearing myself away from his embrace and protrusion. The door to my room opens slowly, slightly. Before it opens further I jump, throwing all my weight, and shut the door closed to Applejack’s face.

“Hey!” the voice says from behind the door, “What gives?”

“Y-You can’t come in,” I say, catching my breath. And it seems too that my unsated marehood is breathing in as well, eager to return to Shining Armor.

“Why not?”

“You... you just can’t.”

Then Shining Armor moves towards me, his hooftsteps light and his face blank. He grabs me from behind by my hips, pushes me against the door and slowly, so carefully, thrusts his throbbing shaft through my delicate passage. I bite hard on my lower lip, forcing myself not to moan. My forelegs remains against the door, making sure that Applejack cannot push herself in.

“Hurry up and lemme in,” the voice in front of me says. “Walked all the way here to see ya.” The knob turns; I lock it in time.

“D-don’t... C-come back next time, dearest...” I stutter. “Not now... Ju-Just leave.” Shining Armor grabs me by my navel and pulls me in, pushing me at the same time and pressing me against the door. I can feel his broad chest against my back, wedging me between the door and him. His thrusts grow stronger, deeper, as painfully pleasurable to me as he possibly can. He wants me to moan, or scream, or cry, knowing that it is my reluctance that fuels him. I cannot oppose him; I cannot want to, we both know it. My silence is my last form of rebellion, and he intends to break it as much as he is breaking my inner walls. My folds tighten around him at the thought that he holds not only my body under his mercy, but also what’s left of my dignity that I have yet given him. He knows me, he knows my wanton more than he knows his, and more than I know it.

“Ya don’t sound well. Ya sick?” she says. “C’mon now, something’s ain’t right with ya. Open up.”

“No!” My eyes on the ground, I see Applejack’s shadow through the doorsill. A droplet of sweat slides down my chest and drips onto the floor, sullying the white color to gray. Shining Armor lifts me by my hips as he starts moving faster and faster. His breathing becomes precarious, nostrils flaring, his hold clings tightly around my belly. I feel his member throbbing and swelling inside me–

“Rarity, ya open this door right now or ah’m gonna buck it to next week. Ah’ma gonna give ya a count to three... One–”

“Get the fuck out of here!” I shriek at the top of my voice.

My eyes go wide, my whole body numbs. I do not know what sends me into a state of shock: the profanity I uttered to the mare who loves me the most–or the hot blast of thick stallion seed pouring inside me.

I quiver in place, all four hooves shaking, clenching my teeth against my hoof to hold in the moan of my climax. My eyes remain fixed on the door. There is no sound behind it except what seems to be a whimper that lasts for a few painful seconds.

“A-awright...” the voice finally says. “If that’s what ya want. Ah’m goin’ now.” There is another silence, and then she follows: “I love ya...”

She is still there; I hear her breathing, waiting for my reply. I do not respond. Shortly after, I hear only the sound of hoofsteps trotting downstairs and of a closing door without the justice of a slam.

Shining Armor pulls out of me and I collapse onto the door. I remain there for quite some time, not moving and wishing I do not have to move any longer. I have half a mind to chase after Applejack and apologize to her, grovel for forgiveness beneath her feet, but I eventually discard the thought.

How would I do it? Like this? Reeking of recent sex, Shining Armor’s seed still dribbling down my thighs?

I savor the lingering hotness inside me, over the pink ebbing glow just below my navel as though a small flame is lighting me from me within. I move my hoof between my legs, the entrance to my womb is swollen, seeping out the white viscous liquid of Shining Armor’s mark. He is sitting on the floor, his back resting against the bed, his head downcast. I stand, almost falling down in the process, my hind legs drained of all vitality and my flaring marehood aids me no better.

“Aren’t you going to cry?” he asks, genuinely sympathetic. “I did.”

“I’m trying, desperately.” I move towards the cabinet and take out a small case. “Do you want a cigarette?”

“I don’t smoke,” he says, his voice sullen. “Do you?”

“Sometimes,” I answer. “Depends on my company...”

“Don’t.” His horn glows and he levitates the cigarette case back into the cabinet. “It’s unhealthy.”

I still take a cigarette from the case, levitate it to my mouth and light it with a spark of my magic. I stay standing for a few seconds, puffing tobacco smoke from my lungs; there are no nearby chairs in the room. The bed is unoccupied, but I would not dirty it with the juices of my body. I decide then, not so easily, to sit on the floor beside Shining Armor, my head leaning on his chest.

“Applejack...” he whispers, to sting me with her name. “Tell me, were you already with her the night you offered yourself to me?”

I shake my head.

“...now you know what it feels like to betray a loved one.”

“I’m not proud of it,” I answer. I wait till I exhale another breath of smoke. “Is this your intention, to make the two of us even?”

“We became even the second you loved her back.”

“I love Applejack,” I say, solemnly. “At least I think I do. But even so I cannot want her. I still want you, Shining Armor. Remember what I told you back in Canterlot, in the balcony and then in my suite? It still stands, every word. I’ve never had a chance to thank you for that night... the night you bedded me... And for the painful release you have given me now. You do not have anything to fear from me, we both know I can keep our secret better than you ever can. I am not doing it to protect your marriage or my reputation, but because I believe that whatever it is we have is too private to be shared with anypony else. Call it guilt, call it a moment of weakness, however you dress it up it is still ours, and should not involve anypony else. I want you to know that I care about Applejack, sincerely, deeply and passionately. I want you to use this knowledge against me. I do not want her to know about us, not for my sake but for hers. I care for Applejack as you care for your wife, maybe even more; but who am I to say so? How does an honest pony measure love? That I do not know. We are dishonest, and so we measure our love for them by how much we hide in order to spare them the pain and shame we prefer to keep to ourselves. If one of us slips, the other catches us by a rope around the throat. I do not want to put it as bluntly as I do, no contracts are necessary between conspirators, but we have each other in our mercy...

“It’s redundant telling you this, my prince; I do not usually tell ponies what they already know. It would have made no difference either way if I went to your house and told you to stay away from my mare, we would have still succumbed to one another and you would have told me these things I am telling you now. We are drawn to each other, Shining Armor, not by something as innocent as love or sex, but by self-contempt and guilt. We hate each other, and we hate ourselves for what we commit behind closed doors. That this promiscuity is done in the name of pain and not pleasure is a temporary respite from weeks and months of deceiving those whom we love the most. We’re each other’s priests confessing sins of adultery in bed, wanting forgiveness whilst caught in flagrante delicto. It’s wrong but... Shining Armor... I do not want to stop.”

“Rarity.”

“Yes, my prince?”

“Shut up.”

I obey him. I do not say anything more. I toss the cigarette aside and crush the flickering flame to a smoldering ash beneath my hoof. I crawl in front of him and work my mouth back to his hardening cock.

* * *

“You still remember the place?” he asks.

“Yes,” I reply. “Trottingham, 377 Stonehoof St. The Black Saddle.”

He nods. He grabs me and gives a quick open kiss, his moist tongue dipping inside my mouth. In the brief contact I can smell the scent of fresh shampoo and soap on him. He pulls away, levitates the bag of clothes onto his back and exits through the front door. Without looking back, he makes his way to the forthcoming dusk.

I close the door and return to the act of drying my mane with the towel. “Becoming as popular, as popular la-la-la...” I hum. “The pony everypony should know...”

There is a knock on the door and I turn briskly to its attention. I forgot the Carousel Boutique is still open, but I disregard the thought that it is a customer. Not at this time of the day.

Did he forget something?

I wish he did not. I fix my mane and tail to its usual curls and take my time. I do not want him to think I’m overly excited. The knocking continues.

“Coming,” I sing.

I open the door, and almost sigh in my disappointment.

“Oh... It’s you,” I still manage to say. “Is there anything wrong, darling?”

Fluttershy’s face is pale, too pale to be healthy for one as young as she. Her eyes are wide, showing in no way that there is any form of exhaustion in her, only the denial to see or be seen.

“Oh my stars, what happened to you?” I say, genuinely concerned. “Did something happen? Was it Rainbow Dash?”

I move a hoof towards her, to gauge her temperature in case she is sick. But then she recoils back and shrinks to her haunches with a sound of an eep. It is there that I realize that Fluttershy is not being shy more than usual, but she is, in fact, terrified.

“What’s the matter with you, dear? Anything wrong?”

“Rarity...” she squeaks out. “Y-you... you didn’t come to the spa... today.”

“Oh! Is it Friday already? About that, I’m sorry. I was busy making dresses and–”

“–and... so I-I... I looked for you... here... and... Shining Armor...”

The icy terror returns to me again, I feel my hooves firmly pressing against the floor. “Oh, him! Yes, you just missed him. He came to buy an evening dress for himself and Cadance.”

“I-I-I.... I heard... sounds... from your room and... I looked through the window... and I saw you... y-you and... Shining Armor...” Fluttershy further shrinks, hiding behind her mane. She makes a step feeling I might jump on her at any second. She is right to feel it.

Never in my life I have thought myself capable of murder, nor harbored any such thought to my fellow ponies. I have always imagined that the mad passions which motivated the most corrupt of killers were blind teeth-gnashing emotions. The thought, the feeling that I can kill Fluttershy right now, comes to me in the expressionless and stillness silence of a stoic.

Fluttershy shivers in place, her wings snapping shut to her sides, ready to flee at the first sign of danger.

“Fluttershy,” I clear my throat, “would you like to come in? I feel this conversation is more appropriate indoors.”

Fluttershy looks around as though searching for the words she can use. “I-I’d rather not... I mean...”

“Get inside,” I say. There is no emotion in my tone, only the lack of it.

Fluttershy looks past me, to my boutique, and over her shoulder, to the vast expanse. She knows she is cornered. She knows, by the way I look at her, that the consequences of disobeying me are worse than otherwise. Finally, after a full minute, Fluttershy gulps and enters. I flip the door sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed’.

“Please have a seat.” I motion to the center table. “Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee? I have a bottle of red wine if that’s to your liking.”

The canary pegasus remains seated, looking away from me. She does not answer.

“Red wine it is, then.”

I enter my kitchen, pull out two wine glasses and an unopened bottle from the lower cabinet. I return to the living room; Fluttershy lifts her head and turns away just as quickly.

“I wish you could have joined us Tuesday night,” I say, laughing. “Cadance brought a bottle of Beaujolais and we drank it to the last drop. I mean, sure, it is not exactly healthy for a pregnant mare like her but she promised it would be her last bottle until her delivery.”

Fluttershy nods meekly.

“Now, this isn’t as good as a Rioja, but a Cabernet isn’t bad.” I lay the two glasses on the table, unscrew the cork of the wine bottle and proceed to fill both containers. I levitate my glass, playfully swish the red liquid around and give myself a small taste. “Indeed, not bad at all. Mind you, I’m no connoisseur but I can dare say that I appreciate wine and spirits more than the next pony.”

“R-Rarity...” she finally mutters.

“Yes, best friend?” I say, punctuating those last two words, my eyes not leaving the red liquid sloshing in the glass.

“You and... Shining Armor... but... he’s with Cadance and you’re with... Applej–”

“You know, darling, as an artist and fashionista there is one material I hate most in this world.” I finish the rest of my glass and fill it again. “Plastics. You know what plastics are, of course. Those synthetic things that have no definite shape and can be molded and twisted into filaments and wrappers, taking the form of anything you throw in it. Yes, those plastics. You can’t use the material properly outside exhibitionism. That’s basically the only thing they’re good for, bags to throw garbage in. Plastics are trash and trash bags... There’s something very funny about the material, specifically on how you can stretch it to its limit effortlessly. But then go further and it will be recalcitrant until it tears apart. So when handling plastics, one ought to be careful with how far one is willing to test its elasticity. But what happens, suppose, when you need to put enough of your garbage in it, only to find out you couldn’t fit it all in and the plastic breaks? You know that when it rips apart it’ll vomit–pardon– it’ll spill out all that trash back to you. So what do you do? Simple: you take another plastic and fill it with the rest of trash. Plastics are cheap after all; you can get them on almost any corner. Such is the nature of a plastic.”

“Rarity, I don’t–”

“I’m not done. Plastics are principally snitches, once it can’t do its job of keeping what’s it’s supposed to keep it starts spilling all that dirt on to what should have been a clean place... Like, for example, if a certain snitch–excuse me–plastic were to scatter such filth as, say, one mare is having an affair with another mare’s husband, then it dirties the whole environment. And when one part of the environment gets dirty do you know what happens? Others become careless, especially those whose backyard you’ve spilled your trash on, they start not using plastics any longer. They throw their garbage all over the place one piece at a time like–oh, I don’t know–nasty rumors about a certain canary pegasus mare who, taking advantage of a certain childhood friend's loyalty and drunkenness, dragged her to a home and rapes her–”

“I never did that!” Fluttershy leaps to her feet in horror, “I would never do anything of the sort to Rainbow Dash!”

“Oh, darling, I never said any names,” I laugh. “We’re talking about plastics remember? Now, where was I? Oh yes! What do you think will happen to that cyan pegasus upon knowing she was molested by her childhood friend? Oh, molest! the words I use. I’m sorry my dear, I have no euphemisms. That’s how dirty rumors work you see, the word kiss turns to the word assault, assault turns to molest, molest turns to rape and so on, until the truth of the matter is buried beneath a muck of lies long before the subject of the rumors even hears about it. Going back to my example, do you think that cyan pegasus, whom shall remain nameless, would return the feelings of that canary mare? I personally do not think so. I mean just imagine it! I can already feel the shivers running down my spine: what would I think if I heard that the friend I trust the most, whom I grew up with, whom I thought would take good care of me in my most vulnerable state, would suddenly climb me onto the bed whilst my judgment and good reason is inebriated by alcohol and then violate my purity; I’d most likely think that’s she’s an unkind, disloyal and opportunistic little slut!”

“You promised!” Fluttershy cries, tears flowing from her eyes. “You promised you wouldn’t tell!”

“Tell what? Darling, you’re confusing me.” I take a small sip of the wine; it is deliciously sweet. “I won’t tell such a harmful and disreputable thing to anypony... because I know you won’t either.”

Fluttershy remains in the air, her wings batting slowly as she descends to the table. She wipes the tears from her eyes with her forehoof and turns away from me. “I... I won’t say anything...”

“Of course you won’t, dear. Because there’s nothing to tell, right?”

No response.

“Right?”

She makes a small nod.

“Say it.”

“...right.”

“Oh, I’m glad we understand each other,” I say, my tone high and cheery as though singing. “Have a drink, dear, it tastes great. What are you so scared about so suddenly, you look like I’ll jump you any second. We’re best friends, remember?”

“Yes...” she mutters, “best... friends...”

“And since we’re such best friends, I’ll make up for my absence today by going to the spa tomorrow. You will be there with me, of course. My treat.”

There is no movement in her.

“Fluttershy... I said you will be there with me, in the spa.”

She nods.

“Great, I’m so excited.”

“...Can... can I go now... please?”

“Oh, darling you make it sound like I’m keeping you here under threat of divulging your dirty secret, of course you can go.”

I use my magic and open the door for her. Fluttershy, without looking at me, gallops to the door, wiping the tears from her eyes. But before she can exit entirely, I call her attention one last time.

“Oh, and Fluttershy dear, one more thing,” I say, she stops in her tracks. I levitate the bottle in front of me and make it look as though I’m reading the label. “Do you know what else is good about plastics, aside from being cheap?”

I turn to Fluttershy, her face looking similar if not worse than when she entered a few minutes ago. She nervously shakes her head.

I look at her, studying her small figure from top to bottom.

“They’re disposable.”

Author's Note

WARNING: The next chapter, "Chapter 5: The Fairest of Them All", will be an equivalent of two chapters, spanning approximately 30,000 words (half of which are clop scenes).