The Love Song of T. Sparkle
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The Love Song of T. Sparkle

Twilight

The mist is curling like a cat around my hooves in the preternaturally quiet morning and I am perplexed.

Canterlot’s streets are more quiet than I remember them—probably because I grew up near the wall in the Old City, and this is the Solar District, on the Celestial Tier. It’s a bit calmer here, a bit more upscale.

This translates to it being dead when the day begins, my teacher’s magic guiding the burning sun as it begins its slow journey. I wish I could see it, but I can’t. The clouds obscure the sky.

My muttering retreat takes me through the empty cobblestoned paths, by closed shops and little restaurants, the soothing escapes of a beautiful city. For me they mean little. I ignore them as they pass, and could not describe them. I am aware of them and nothing more. I do not read their signs, though the words tug at my eyes and beg for me to parse them and remember them.

I am not perplexed about why I am reminded of a cat by the mist. That is perhaps the easiest part of this. It’s the burden of reading, really, as well as the blessing. To be able to give words to experience and have context for new things can be wonderful! But... at the same time, to have that insight isn’t always great. I am painfully aware of how much I mirror Prufhock and I do not wish to. He loses, doesn’t he?

So I think about how the fog is not yellow but still seems to curl around my hooves. And about how the stay in my old room was both one night and restless and how funny it is. Clip clop clip clop on the old streets of newer Canterlot, just me all by myself, no Spike. Usually, I would be fine like this. I enjoy a bit of solitude now and then. It is nice to have room to think and to be alone, to recharge for a good long day of friends and fun. Or studying. Or whatever it is I’m about.

But I spent the night turning over and over under my old sheets in my old bed. It is smaller than I remember. My parents have turned it into a shrine to my childhood self and while I do not mind it is rather odd to sleep there.

I wonder and wander, past benches and alleyways, past a cat who licks his paw and a bakery that’s open and a young stallion with a bit of scruff setting some pastries in a window. He smiles at me, and I nod in greeting. Because it’s harder to ignore ponies, they are texts which cannot be simply navigated around with the eyes. They are important.

I am skirting past the issue at hoof, of course.

I come into a square with an ornate fountain at the center, of a pony holding a tall banner. I successfully resist the urge to read the commemorative plaque. If I do I will be there far too long. I have places to be, places to see. Things and certain ponies not to think about even a little bit as long as I live. Or maybe to think about a lot, until I just roll the ideas up into a ball and kick them down a hill so that they go crashing into something and make some noise. Words swirl around like the fog that I daydream is a purring beneath my hooves and they coalesce into seas that roil.

Rarity’s party is not for hours yet. I have plenty of time to walk, and I want to walk a lot. I don’t know why. I like the feel of my hooves on the cold stone, it keeps me awake. That and the jarring feeling of my legs meeting something that will not yield. Reminders.

Endless streets grow tedious. I am glad for the open space to wander in and fill with my hoofsteps, all alone in the morning.

Rarity. I have walked with Rarity before in the morning, on the packed dirt of Ponyville, on the little road that leads to Sweet Apple Acres, past trees and water, underneath a canopy and eventually a sign. There’s less mist, less hard surface beneath your hooves. And Rarity is there beside me, in Ponyville, talking. She is a morning pony and I am not, but I don’t mind her clear voice breaking apart my silent mornings with coffee and my desk. I don’t mind at all when she coaxes me out from my treehouse on some errand or to some get together. I don’t even mind when she wants to fix me up, for I bear it as I bear the mist which curls and slips into the drains.

I forget what the occasion is. Rarity has been away from us, in Canterlot, away from me and my tree, and from her work bench and counter. I have missed her and her smile. Ponyville loses some of its realness to me, devoid of the heart it had.

But I’m rambling, as my feet are wandering. I really shouldn’t be up and about this early. It’s probably not healthy.

Rarity’s party starts around dinnertime, but we’re all meeting her for lunch. I have nowhere to go until then. As I leave the square heading towards the market district, I know I have at least an hour or two to kill before I can safely show up at Rarity’s new townhouse without looking... weird, I guess.

One wonders. How obvious am I? Not at all, or laughably so? I have no idea, with nothing to measure against. There’s no control group.

I have never been in love before. If that’s what this is. What is it, what is it, let us go and make our visit. Just me sing-songing and parroting an old poem.

My head is full of poetry and Rarity’s beautiful voice as I walk under an ancient gate into the market district.

Macintosh

I watch my step as Applejack and I leave the train. It’s early in the morning and I’m plum starvin’. Applejack assures me that there’s plenty to be had and I believe her, because gosh this place is still mighty impressive. I’ve been here before, of course. When I served my short stint with the guard, I was stationed in Canterlot as a trainee for a spell. Never got to see much of the city, unfortunately. I was a bit busy. Had other things on my mind back then.

But now I’m on another kind of mission. And this time, it’s for my own good.

I ask Applejack about breakfast again—probably the third time in an hour—and she rolls her eyes at me, but I don’t mind. My sister’s got all of those sort of expressions that she’ll pull out an’ ya just get used to ‘em. She’s gonna talk a lot and you pay attention and nod and then tell her why that’s near well the dumbest thing ya ever heard. Or not. Who knows? Applejack is strange to me, as I must be to her. Sometimes I wish I were not quiet at all. But it is who I am. Speech is a strain, putting words into proper orders and sendin’ ‘em out into the world alone. It’s like riskin’ something and I don’t like it.

But on paper? On paper I’m fine. Right as rain, true as gold. I take a deep breath of the morning air and smile. It’s a good day. Sure, not the prettiest I’ve ever seen, but it will be good regardless. Later.

But I’ve been far too quiet. I let her go off an’ leave us, withdrawin’ from all of her friends, and it ain’t right. Someone is gotta say somethin’. And I definitely should say somethin’, because I’ve got something to say. I don’t know how she’ll handle it.

Ponies mill about, talking and collecting their luggage. We didn’t bring anything with us. Simplicity! It’s a good thing, y’know. Apples value it. Always have.

We leave the station and Applejack starts talkin’ an’ of course, I listen. It’s what I do. She’s just fillin’ the silence. It’s nothing important, really, but I don’t mind. I do enjoy talking with my sister. By that, of course, I mean I enjoy listening and occasionally offering some little morsel for her to use to keep goin’.

She says she’s not excited for this get together Miss Rarity has planned, but I know better. She is. Applejack was always more willin’ to put on a dress then she cared to admit. An’ she’d never admit it, I know she wouldn’t! But she don’t mind in the end, even likes it. If nothin’ else, she’s missed her friend.

An’ I missed a certain pegasus.

It’s been hard on AJ, I know it has. All her friends startin’ to grow older. Not quite growin’ apart, thank Celestia that would crush her! But definitely farther apart physically than they were before. Fluttershy doesn’t come into town much at all these days. Rainbow has been off with the Wonderbolts until recently. Twilight was always kinna a shut in without her friends. And Rarity, of course, is here. In Canterlot.

An’ I can’t say I don’t miss ‘em around the farm. It’s kinda nice to watch, y’know, from a distance. To see AJ smilin’ and laughin’. It warms my heart. I miss those days, when they would be over for dinner or come for cider tasting.

Applejack says there’s a place up ahead where we can grab a quick breakfast and I hear my stomach growling. She laughs, and I chuckle. My voice is low and strange in my ears.

She’s just as hungry as I am, so I know I’m safe.

Thinkin’ about paper and being able to talk on it reminded me. I reach under the yoke on my neck and pull out the envelope. It’s red, like myself, best I could do under the circumstances. I didn’t want AJ to see me writing it, after all, and I didn’t want to linger finding materials to write it with. No suspicion.

I’m glad to see it made it here safe, though I never doubted it would. I wonder idly, as I slip it back underneath my yoke, if AJ knows about the pockets I have on this thing. An’ ponies wonder why I like it. Can carry all sorts of things where no one can see! Like a saddlebag, only I can reach stuff with my hooves easier. Convienent.

I just hope it works. That she thinks about it. Hay, I’ll take a “I’ll sleep on it.” Anythin’ but outright rejection. I’d bear it, of course, a stallion should, and I was raised to be pretty darn sturdy. But it doesn’t mean I ain’t afraid of it.

Applejack is orderin’ something at a little vendor’s. No idea what that unicorn is pullin’ out, but I bet it’s some sorta pastry, which is fine by me. Celestia, I’m hungry.

Yep, pastries. I take mine and eat it, following my sister once more throug the busy streets of Old Canterlot. Ponies mill about us, but part ways for me. I’m used to it. In all the uproar, I feel like a giant. It’s odd. At home, I don’t feel so large, but Canterlot is a unicorn town an’ they don’t grow ‘em like they do at home. I feel too large. Out of place, like any moment now I’ll break some fancy thing an’ be exposed as a fraud, wanderin’ into the wrong place.

I think about the letter again. What will she say? What will happen? I have no idea.

It’s not like I’ve done this before. She ain’t gonna see it coming, I know. She wouldn’t. Miss Rarity might, but my pegasus won’t.

Rarity

I am coming and going, talking of Coltangelo and flower arrangements. My ears droop, my eyes dart from place to place. I will be grateful for company, true company. Quiet company, even. This attendant I have on loan from Fancypants is a rather dull companion, and though she is helpful I long for good conversation. Quiet talk over tea with Twilight or Fluttershy, if I can find a few moments after lunch. I have missed them all, my friends, scattered to the four winds.

And my residence is quite ready for them. The places are all set, the paintings straight, the furniture and mantles dusted, the crystal and silverware polished. The food will be ready and the wine selected by my own hoof with careful consideration.

I am glad that the girls are coming for my first party as a true Canterlotian. It means the world to me, to have them all here as I first try my hoof at entertaining. Applejack honestly offered to help serve or decorate, and I simply had to turn her down! Though I appreciate the sentiment. She is kind, and I find her rusticism charming. It is certainly no surprise that she was chosen by the Element of Honesty, in the end. She is true to... well, the truth.

Ah, but my mind is wandering as the soft carpet gives way to the cool, smooth stone tile. I look down at them momentarily, and note the bold colors. I have enjoyed this place. It has been my own place, and I have made it in my own image, as a lady should. Alas, there’s only so much one can improve such a space with my customary methods! Only so many places for diamonds and tapestry and painting.

It is a refined space for a refined mare, if I do say so myself!

I am very glad, though, that the girls are coming. A refined space it might be, but it is rather empty. Fancypants and his lovely wife have visited a few times since I moved, and they are delightful company, but I miss the meaningful friendships of home. Most of my contacts here in this city are friendly enough, but in a rather surface way. They are good for work, and amenable for lunch, but I cannot discuss things of the heart with them. We have no memories to bring up and play with, no shared words and language to use as guiding candles in the night. I set my hoof against the couch or the table, in and among talks of things and ways, next to tea and a saucer of food, and am not warmed.

I perhaps miss Twilight and Fluttershy the most. We had such wonderful dates at the spa, and such intimate conversations. There was no preparing a face to meet the faces of others then, it was only the two of us. Or the three of us. It was such a joy, convincing Twilight to come out from her treehouse and into the sunny world. She opened like a flower, grew up like a shoot, and it was an honor to see her expand her horizons.

I frown as the attendant leaves me. I feel strange. I had not realized I missed our librarian so much.

Standing alone in the dining hall, I see an empty table set for ponies to come, and I imagine that they are there. Talking, smiling, laughing. Faces set to meet other faces. And do I become uncharitable? I fear I do. Oh, but has Canterlot made me unkind or has isolation? It is not a bad place, really. It is a lovely place.

But I do miss Twilight. She had a way of thinking about things like this, measuring all the evidence out and reporting on it in her enthusiastic student’s way and I miss that.

Fluttershy

Rainbow Dash, Pinkie, and I left our hotel room in Old Canterlot a little bit before lunch. Pinkie wanted to go right away, but I didn’t want to be in Rarity’s way. Rainbow just didn’t want to be there when it was “boring and stuff.” And so we waited.

Rainbow doesn’t like all the fuss of parties, though she enjoys them when they get started. It’s more that she doesn’t really like the way ponies fret and run to and fro. Rainbow Dash is all about fun, and I love her for it.

She’s hovering, talking animatedly with Pinkie, beating her beautiful wings against the air as we stand on Rarity’s front steps. I am on the ground, as is it always with us. Rainbow above and I below, Rainbow flying and Fluttershy plodding along. Even when we’re both flying I feel like this.

But I don’t mind. If anything, I love it. Rainbow is big, Rainbow is safe, Rainbow is always going to be in the sky to run to and I accept this.

Rarity greets us at the door and I am very happy to see her. We all are. Pinkie hugs her and begins to talk and I try to keep up. I really do! I would never ignore anypony but it is hard to keep up with. Rarity is laughing, prying Pinkie from her, dusting herself off. She greets us all with hugs, and I am a little surprised. Rarity is no stranger to hugging, but she seems different. A bit more needy about it, a little bit more lingering. She kisses us all on the cheeks, already beginning to talk about the party. Pinkie is excited, even though she has to know this isn’t her kind of party. I think she does. Maybe. I don’t say anything, I only smile. Rarity tells me that she has missed me and I tell her that it is mutual. Rarity reminds me of Rainbow. She knows what is going on and what she’s about. Where Rainbow is easy, Rarity is determined. It can make me nervous sometimes, but sometimes it is wonderful because I need it. I think.

Regardless, I am glad to see her.

Twilight is also here. She smiles at us and it is a different smile. Not a worse one, just adifferent one. There’s less time there, and less distance. Ten minutes’ walk instead of a day or two’s walk. A lunchtime date instead of a vacation.

Rainbow is smiling, and I know she is happy too and it makes me happy. My eyes are with her, watching like a gambling pony watches the racer she’s picked. Her eyes are lively rose, her smile is bright. I love them.

Twilight fidgets and I know she does and her eyes flick to me as Rarity leads us through her home. She knows that I know. I do not know what it means. But I wonder.

I do not talk much. And that is alright with me! I like to watch and I like to listen. I don’t go into town much these days, but I used to and I used to see Twilight a lot. I assume from her look that she has a secret. I gather some evidence.

Her eyes rest on Rarity. She addresses Rarity the most. She gravitates around Rarity.

So I suspect.

But I don’t have time to pay attention. Rainbow is talking, and that demands my attention. She asks where Applejack is, and Rarity tells her that the Apples had to arrive this morning, not wanting to abandon the farm any longer than they needed to. Rainbow nods, her beautiful mane shaking and my eyes are caught by it. But my ears are not and I hear Twilight speak.

Twilight asks about her phrasing. Why “Apples” plural? Big Macintosh is coming, Rarity replies brightly. She was surprised as well, though she is glad he wished to come.

I wonder why he is here.

I am ill at ease. Silence knows silence; deep knows deep. I have seen Macintosh’s nature and he has seen mine and we are friends in our way. I have also seen his eyes, and how they are like mine, watching.

Watching her.

My breath catches in my throat. I feel hot and cold, like something is pressing down on me and I don’t want it. There’s no guarantee that’s why he’s here! I have to know that, have to believe it. It’s true. This is no place for confessions. No time for them.

Besides, would he even open his mouth?

Oh, that’s so cruel of me... am I not the same? Unfair. I shouldn’t say such things, or even think them.

Rarity is talking to me now, asking me about Ponyville. I feel lightheaded, and I try to answer. She catches on immediately. Rarity is sharp like that, she catches things. Rainbow does not catch things, and she doesn’t see and I feel alone. But I don’t blame her! Never, I wouldn’t. She can’t help who she is, and I like who she is.

But Rarity is asking me if I am alright and I say that I am. I do not know. I suppose I am. It is, after all, only in my imagination. It isn’t like Macintosh will try anything. Oh, of course not, this is simply in your head, Fluttershy, all of it. Fears.

But I keep looking at her and wondering. At Rainbow.

Rarity is not convinced, but Twilight is talking to her. It is time for lunch soon, and I am glad for the distraction. I will sit next to Rainbow, as it must always be.

Rarity

Between talk of you and me, Fluttershy, I pick up strange things. You look nervous. What could it be? I have no idea, but Twilight is pulling me away.

And then Applejack arrives, I can hear her knocking, and I’m off to meet the last of our party. As I open the door for them, she doffs her hat (I appreciate it!) and I embrace her. It has been far, far too long since I’ve been able to enjoy that. I do the same for her brother. While I don’t know Macintosh quite as well, I am glad to see him again. He is a gentlecolt, and I do appreciate him. With that out of the way, I lead them back tothe others.

Oh, but where is Fluttershy? Perhaps using the restroom. I am about to ask, but Twilight is asking me about something. I have to ask her to repeat it, I’ve quite lost her meaning. It’s lunch she’s wondering about. Oh, but now I’m famished.

But where is Fluttershy? For that matter, Twilight seems a bit fidgety. Did she notice Fluttershy’s strange behavior? I hope the poor dear isn’t’ sick! I ask Twilight about it, and she shakes her head. She has no idea what’s wrong, but she noticed it too. How her ears drooped. Her eyes going wide.

Twilight wonders if she’s feeling alright, and I’m glad that we’re on the same page. She offers to go looking for her after a moment. Twilight was always a dear, and I appreciate generosity when I see it. I tell her to hold off a moment, as Applejack has just arrived and surely we should at least try to make her comfortable! Oh, where is that servant? Perhaps he saw Fluttershy. In any case, I’ll take them out to the garden first, all of my dear friends. We can eat there, and Twilight and I can help Fluttershy if we can.

I talk about my house as we go, showing them my things, my precious baubles. My heart isn’t in it. I am thinking about Twilight and Fluttershy. I mention, of course, my Coltangelo. I am rather fond of it, and I know Twilight enjoys the old masters. I know she’d appreciate it, though I wish she could see it under better circumstances.

In the garden, the servant brings trays and I thank him. I whisper to Twilight to go looking for Fluttershy and tell her where the restrooms are. I thank her, for this way I can continue being a hostess and we can be discrete. A lady gives her friends privacy in distress, if she can. If not, then at least she uses her discretion about the matter! I’m sure it is nothing. In any case she is off and I look for my tea.

Macintosh is a loud pony when he wants to be. His voice is low like the rumblings of a mighty earthquake. As he clears his throat I swear that all sound ceases. There is a strangeness in the air, a waiting, and when I open my mouth to say something (I know not what) he begins to move. He sighs and then he reaches under his yoke, and I see a flash of red. I blink, startled, and almost miss him laying it out on the table. In front of Rainbow Dash.

It is an envelope. He stares down at it, and I realize he is shaking. My heart stops in my chest.

He looks back up and he starts to speak. He says that he’s sorry, and that he hopes she has a good day. Calls her, Miss Dash, and he leaves. We all stare after him, confused.

We all stare at the envelope.

Rainbow Dash

I don’t know what the hell this thing is that he gave me. I mean like, yeah, it’s an envelope I get that, but...

What is this? All of this?

I stare at the red envelop and then I fumble with it for a second, trying to open it with hooves. You can do it, it just takes... effort. There it goes. Open. I slide out a letter.

I don’t read it yet. I feel strange. It’s like feeling sick. I wanna see what’s in there, but I don’t. I feel like I already know. I think I know. It’s crazy, it’s out of nowhere, but who writes a letter and just hands it to you? And why? I can kinda only think of one reason and I don’t know what to do about that.

I’m not sure how long we sit there. However long it is, it’s quiet and the quiet only ends when Twilight and Fluttershy wonder in. I don’t even have the energy to wonder where they were or ask about it. I just sort of stare at them. This is weird. Not what I’m used to. You can’t outfly words.

Twilight asks what’s going on, and Rarity tries to tell her. Fluttershy is staring at the letter and I feel really small because the look on her face is like nothing I’ve seen before. Wide eyes.

She asks me what it is and I tell her I don’t know. But I guess I kind of know?

Read it, Rarity says, and I look down at it and I try to.

And this is not what I expected at all, when I woke up this morning. At all. It goes on and on and on and I feel my cheeks burning. I had no idea. None. This is not what I thought he would say at all. What the hell is this?

I never knew he felt like this. That he wrote like this. I’m not an egghead like Twilight. I don’t know a lot about this kind of stuff. I mean... I mean, I could like him? I do, sort of? I always thought he was alright. He’s handsome, nice, my type. At least, my type without wings and stuff. What the hell am I thinking about?

I stop reading it aloud. I look at Rarity and I have no idea how she must see me right now. How my face must look. Celestia, I don’t know what to say. This is private. This is... I don’t know. It’s not pretty. It’s like beautiful and I don’t know what to do with it or what to feel about it and I just don’t understand.

There’s noise and I glance over. Fluttershy sounds like she’s choking, and her wings flare out. We lock eyes and then says she’s sorry. She runs.

This isn’t what I thought at all.

Twilight Sparkle

Of course I shoot right up and follow Fluttershy out.

She runs fast, her hooves beating out dashed hopes on the red carpet. I’m losing her, and for perhaps the thousandth time in my life I wish I’d not been quite so much of a shut in. I just can’t keep up, as she turns in a hall and finds a stairwell. She climbs quickly, taking the steps two at a time. I have no idea if she even knows I’m chasing her, but she’s doing a good job of keeping away.

I’m glad she’s not Rainbow or I’d never catch her. She’d be up in the air in a heartbeat.

But Fluttershy isn’t Rainbow. I follow her up the stairs, and slow down. A door hangs open down the hall. I sigh, and trot over to it. I hear her inside, sniffling.

I sit heavily beside the open door. What can I do?

Of course, it was kind of obvious. When did Fluttershy stop coming into town quite as much? True, Rarity leaving did give her less social opportunities, but Rainbow leaving really did her in. We all kind of knew. We just never talked about it, really. Fluttershy never said a word, she was far too shy for that. None of us wanted to prod her, after Rarity left. None of us were really equipped. Pinkie is good at cheering up. I can analyze a problem. Applejack will tell you what’s what... and none of that is what she needed. She needed Rarity.

Because Rarity is the one who knows what to do. It’s Rarity that understands, beautiful and kind Rarity. I close my eyes and lean against the wall. I can hear her in there, but still I hesitate. I want to help her, but what can I do?

Because aren’t I Fluttershy? Aren’t we the same? Staring up at this one pony, waiting, never saying anything even though it’s probably obvious? Maybe I’m less obvious. I don’t know.

I can’t just sit here, my head against the wall, my ear flopped up against the cold stone. I look ridiculous and I’m acting ridiculous and Fluttershy needs me. I can sort out my own pathetic insecurities later.

I ease into the room. It’s a guest bedroom, unadorned and obviously not really ready for guests. She lays in a tight little ball in the corner of the bed in the corner, as far from me as she can be. It has no sheets or pillows. I sigh.

I call her name.

No answer. I expected none, but it was worth a shot.

I walk over and sit on the bed. Fluttershy coughs, and as I scoot closer I can see she’s a wreck. Her eyes are already red, and I know if she keeps up like this she’ll be gasping for air soon. I’d rather her not, it’s hard enough seeing those damp cheeks as it is. I run a hoof through her mane softly, whispering that it’ll be alright. That I’m here, that I’ll stay with her. I already know what’s wrong but I ask her anyhow, to give her an invitation to tell me if she wants to.

She doesn’t take it at first, but that’s alright. It’ll stay there. I know enough of things to know that it helps to say it aloud, after all is said and done. To let the ropes come undone and let the derelict drift.

I keep stroking her mane, shushing her, continuing my soft mantras of comfort. It’s all I can do, really. All I know how to do. I feel powerless, and I suppose I am. I can’t change Fluttershy, and I can’t change Rainbow. I can’t change Mac. There’s not much I can change. I feel like I’m a filly again, back on the beach, and I’m trying to build this sandcastle. I’m just a child, I don’t know any better, and I build it by the water and the waves roll in inexorably and it’s no use. I keep rebuilding a sea wall and the water keeps eating away at it, biting chunks out and carrying them away. Erasing the hoofprints I left.

Fluttershy grows quieter, and I shift on the scratchy mattress without sheets. Her body grows still, as I stroke her back between her hooves. I think it’s helping, but I don’t really know for sure. There’s no way to. She unfolds a bit, and brushes her mane away from her face. One sad eye stares up at me.

I smile at her as best I can, whispering that it’s alright. She tries to nod, but it ends up being just a little shake and a storm of sniffles. She tries to speak, but coughs. I ask her what happened down there, though I know. And she knows I know, I think, but it doesn’t matter. It’s what she needs, I think. I wish Rarity was here, doing this. I wish it could be her. I wish I was like her.

She tells me what I already know. That she loves Rainbow. That she waited and waited, and now everything is different. That she can’t compete with this. That now it’s over.

And she doesn’t know that for sure, of course. But I don’t say so, because it’ll serve no purpose. I just let her continue, and she does. She sobs out that she has no chance... and what if she’s right? That Rainbow would reject her now. And can I say it’s not true, not with certainty.

And I can’t help but see things. See Fluttershy trying to confess at last, and it’s too late. But the scene changes. It’s me, sitting at the table, and it’s you, Rarity. It’s me rolling up all my questions and my doubts into a ball and pushing them along the table, past your hooves and unto your empty plate, past sparkling wine and polished silverware. To tell you that perhaps there was something there under my smiling, underneath our talks in spa rooms and over tea on quiet afternoons.

And I stop speaking. I close my eyes, but the scene plays out in full. There is time for you and me, and all we have is time. A moment frozen there, and I open my mouth and... do I dare? Do I dare disturb the universe, and our peace? And you look me over and won’t you be thinking that I look so plain, that I am not to your taste. And do I even know what you prefer? What if you sigh, and rest your head on a hoof and look at me, and I have nothing to say to you and that dismissal?

I swallow, and try to calm myself. Fluttershy is still now, quiet and spent. I stroke her mane and try to compose some measure of comfort.

But she sighs. She asks if I can go back down, and tell them she is alright. I hesitate, but she smiles and says that it is alright. That she is glad I came after her, but could she be alone for a moment? She feels like a fool. I tell her she isn’t but she just shakes her head.

So I leave her behind and I go down the stairs. I descend, and stand at the base of them, thinking.

And should I presume to ask anything of you, Rarity? I’m just a librarian, really. Put aside being Celestia’s student, because it’s cheating to consider that, I’m just a librarian. I’m just a bookish mare who measures out her life in coffee spoons, and you’re a lady. Graceful. Beautiful. Shining and perfect. But I’m being stupid.

I shake my head and trot back to the garden. Rarity is sitting there, distraught, her face frozen in a frown. Rainbow is scarlet. Everyone looks rather uncomfortable, especially Applejack. AJ looks rather angry, actually.

She growls that she’s mighty sorry about Big Macintosh. She doesn’t know what would possess him to make a show like that, and that it was right rude. She looks embarrassed, and I don’t blame her.

I tell them Fluttershy is fine. Rarity, of course, is the first to express relief. She cares about Fluttershy a lot, always has. I love how she’s always looked out for Fluttershy. It’s really great of her, really generous. But isn’t that what Rarity’s all about?

I take a deep breath.

Rainbow looks at me, and I think she understands. I tell her that when Fluttershy comes out, she should have a talk. And Rainbow agrees with me. She is quiet. I think this is a bit too much for her, honestly. The usual brashness is simply not there.

My eyes wander back towards Rarity, and I bite my lip. The idea of telling her won’t leave. I see myself doing so. I see success. I see failure.

And would it be so bad? Fluttershy, I realize, is not crying because she lost. I mean, she is, but I think it’s more that she never got to try. And would it be so bad? We are always friends, I think. No matter what. Just like Fluttershy, I think, will be friends with Rainbow. Because we were friends before, and we had a connection. What could break it? Certainly not earnesty.

So when Rarity massages her forehead, around her horn, I sit beside her. I lay a hoof on her hindleg and smile. I reassure her, and she smiles at me and I just... melt. I smile back, and I know how obvious this must be, but she doesn’t call me on it. It’s not the time for either of us to say anything.

But the world moves on, and I think there will be time for you, Rarity. Time for me. Time for questions and answers. I’m alright with that. It’ll have to be enough. There’s little to lose.

If anyone will let me down gently, the Element of Generosity is the pony who would.

Author's Note

RainbowMac. Sorries Bronius it sucks.

Based loosely off of "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot, one of my favorite poems. There are several quotations from the poem within the body of the story, such as the first line--I pieced together a few ideas and lines to make a singular sentence, etc. Points for you if you find 'em!