All Sisters Go to Heaven

Dear Sister,

Prior to anything else, I’d like to apologize for the rather abysmal state of my penmanship. Thanks to months of physical therapy I’m actually writing with my own horn again — while it’s certainly an improvement over previous by-hoof doodles, it’s still nowhere near my usual level of flair.

I bought back the Boutique in Ponyville. After much deliberation I’ve decided the gargantuan, self-perpetuating monster that is Carousel Professional will continue placating the masses in my absense; Kerfluffle will see to that. The plan is to eventually bring her on as an official partner as I have no intention of returning to that line any time soon

That being said, it feels odd working out of Ponyville again, almost counter-intuitive: moving forwards by trotting backwards. Writing is one thing, but my leylines are still too unstable for any coordinated detail work, or so I’ve been told... repeatedly. Honestly, the first few weeks back at it were so miserable they nearly broke my resolve altogether. Fluttershy and Pinkie have been helping a great deal, but even with their assistance the process of adjusting to hoof tailoring has been an ongoing exercise in self-flagellation. Work that would have taken mere minutes before now drags on for hours, to the point I often forget what I had in mind originally. I hated it... at first.

It’s taken months, but I’m finally beginning to see the upside. Designing in Canterlot was all about speed and efficiency - Identifying the most popular trends and outputting product before those trends became obsolete. Lucrative? Naturally, but perhaps at too high of a cost. Considering the amount of effort that goes into every last stitch of my projects now, I don’t think it would be possible to detach myself from my work even if I wanted to. I’d forgotten the joy of designing simply to forge something wonderful and new, motivated by nothing other than spontaneous inspiration. “Creating from the heart” - a sentiment I long thought to be impractical, idealistic foolishness - is now an everyday endeavor. Most of what I make goes on display without a pricetag; If I sell anything, it’s custom work for the small number of clients I take on a month, yet I find more satisfaction in it now than I ever did in Canterlot.

I have you alone to thank for that.

I’d be lying if I said there are never bad days, days I can’t bring myself bring myself to get out of bed. They grow less frequent over time, but when they hit, they hit hard. Sometimes it feels like I’m stuck in a nightmare and if I simply close my eyes long enough the dream will fade to the smell of a burning breakfast and sounds of you running around the kitchen in the panic. I’ll lay there for hours until it begins to settle in that I’ve mistaken dream for reality. On those days it’s like an impenetrable fog settles over me, constricting my thoughts.

You’ve made it very difficult to justify wallowing around in that self-pity, though. I still don’t agree with your decision to keep everything from me, but I’m beginning to understand. You chose to live your life to the fullest regardless of the time you had left. You wanted the same for me, which inconveniently enough, means I can’t wallow in depression for too long without feeling like I'm failing to honor your wishes. That was your intent, I think. Always too clever for your own good.

Learning to live for myself is hard. I honestly don’t know if I can. Sometimes when the fog encompasses me I want nothing more than to exist purely in the past, sustaining myself with old photo albums and an unhealthy amount of denial. But a wise pony once told me that living is the very act of moving forwards.

Even if when it feels insurmountable, I’ll try, little sister. I can give you that.

Yours Always,

Rarity