//------------------------------// // Chapter Nine 【Sunset】 // Story: A Sparkle-ling Perfection // by Cast-Iron Caryatid //------------------------------// Waking up with my face stuck to a tacky mess of resin on the floor has to be one of the most horrible experiences of my life. Discovering that the tacky mess of resin extends halfway down my throat is worse and leads me to wonder if there is active schadenfreude involved in leaving me to wake up in these positions—not that I have any reason to expect any of the changelings I’ve met to tuck me into bed at night, but… I’m still getting used to the idea that there’s nopony else actually looking out for me now. The process of working myself free from the mangled mass of resin attached to the floor and twisting down into my esophagus is awkward and painful, involving me rubbing my cheek raw on the floor, trying to push and pull myself parallel to it with little opportunity for grip or leverage. It’s only when I finally manage to worm myself free, gagging and coughing as I observe the tangled sculpture that was previously inside of me and consider how to get rid of it so that I can pretend this never happened, when it finally occurs to my sleep and panic-addled brain that I am perfectly capable of expectorating a solvent that would have made this whole thing little more than an issue of changeling morning breath. I consider keeping the sculpture and mounting it as a monument to my hubris or something more applicable that isn’t coming to me at before-breakfast-o’clock, but that’s dumb and I have mouthwash, so the evidence of my lapse in common sense lasts only as long as it takes me to remember which bits of my innards to tickle to get the right mixture of gunk to erase it—not long, considering how it had piqued my interest to discover that the substances could be mixed to produce a greater range of materials. That interest had since been snuffed out—and not because I’d had to learn about it in order to correct mistakes I’d made in magic-proofing the dragon’s egg. You wouldn’t think that there would be many mistakes you could make when all you had to do was cover a shapeless, oblong object with goop; neither had I, which is—predictably—how I ended up making said mistakes. Okay, so maybe making a chore of it is a part of the reason for my lack of interest, but it’s not the only part, nor is the fact that as a second-class changeling without access to the hive mind, all I can do is mix and match existing formulas—though that’s closer to the mark. In the end, it all just comes back to the same issue that’s been plaguing me from the start: just… what’s even the point of learning about any of it when I’m only going to be a changeling for a month or so? Not that I, in any way, shape or form want to be a changeling, but this middle ground just kind of bites. If Princess Celestia were here, I’m sure she would have some pithy story to encourage me to ‘learn as much from this unique experience as possible,’ but I wouldn’t listen to her any more than I listen to the snark I’ve been getting from Twilight Sparkle with basically the same message. Just about the only saving grace of the matter is that my drudgery has actually been productive. Once I’d finished with the egg, I’d been browbeat into actually fixing the wall I’d damaged, then convinced to add storage pods for the magic I’d insisted we stockpile. The result was a dozen head-sized pods stacked vertically and recessed in a dozen of the gaps between the rib-like structure of the hiving, making it a gross in total. Yes, that was intentional. Of course, of the one hundred and forty-four pods, only a few were filled—now one more than last night as I wipe the glowing green liquid magic from my muzzle. This was going to be my job for the foreseeable future; filling up on love—either from the excessive stock of it we’d had shoved down our throats the night before last or straight from the source—digesting it into actual magic and filling these pods with the liquid form, where it will slowly condense into hoof-sized balls of crystalized magic that I can later channel directly into the egg. If I wanted to, I could combine the hoof-sized crystals and fit all the necessary magic into a single one about the size of the egg in question, but there’d be some loss in the process and it shouldn’t be necessary with the amount of storage space we have now. After disgorging myself of my digested magic, I dutifully fill up on the disgusting, saccharinely-sweet love that I can’t make myself hate and head upstairs in search of some real food… and a bath. I get as far as the stairs before I realize there’s nobody to help me up them this time, and my face twists into a look of disgust at the dusty, grimy wooden stairs. I am definitely going to need that bath. It occurs to me halfway up the stairs that my changeling form has wings… if I knew how to use them or change back afterwards. The latter I should be able to manage since I’m in no shortage of magic now and Twilight Sparkle did show me how, but I’ve still never actually practiced it and I’m already filthy regardless. I probably wouldn’t get much mileage out of bug wings anyway; even assuming they come with the necessary instinct to use them, I’d only be allowed to use them down here in the basement—not exactly my idea of flying free. Two stairs of laborious climbing later, I remember the faux-alicorn form Twilight Sparkle used to lure me in and it hits me that I could get her to show me how to do that—or just a pegasus form, more likely, since we really don’t need any more scrutiny from Princess Celestia than we’re already getting. The point is, I could fly—outside in the open air—even if it’s just for a little while. Suddenly, the time I have as a changeling seems much shorter. Sure, I’ll have wings as a dragon eventually… and that’ll be great, but… damn it, I’ve been dreaming of being an alicorn for so long, I deserve to indulge at least this much. I’m so distracted by a little voice in the back of my head telling me what else I deserve in a much less kindly manner that I don’t even register the pony in the kitchen before she picks me up and sets me at the counter next to ‘Shimmering Armor’ and pours me a bowl of cereal. I stare at the bowl, unblinking, then turn my attention to Twilight Velvet, who is going about her business cleaning the kitchen and humming a tune with a smile. I haven’t had much chance to really interact with the changelings posing as Twilight Sparkle and Shining Armor’s parents, primarily because there hasn’t previously been much there to interact with. “You’re not Twilight Velvet,” I blurt out about as eloquently as the majority of diplomats I’ve had the pleasure of meeting during my years as Princess Celestia’s student. “Oh, of course I am!” she beams with the cheery disposition of a perfect housewife. “I’m hurt that you don’t remember me, little sis.” The mention of being her ‘sister’ tickles something in my memory and I vaguely recall a much more animate version of Twilight Velvet pushing me in a stroller and chatting with the neighbors the very first time I woke up after becoming a changeling, but this is the first time I’ve actually met her. “You meet a lot of narcoleptic infants that recognize you when they’re adolescents?” “Aw, you do remember me!” she coos, ruffling my mane with her magic. I ignore the invasion into my personal space, as I’m a mess anyway and don’t have the energy to care. “And more than you might think, since that used to be my job.” “Used to be?” I ask, raising an eyebrow as I work on getting a spoonful of cereal into my mouth. “Given the unique brand of attention we’ve garnered,” Shimmering Armor says, glancing upwards as ponies are wont to do when talking about Princess Celestia. “We’ve been upgraded to a permanent pair of infiltrators for parents.” “Ah…” I say, pausing and then just taking another bite of cereal. I’m not sure what to think about the fact that two completely new changelings just came in and replaced Twilight Sparkle’s parents… but it’s completely okay because they were already changelings in the first place? “I don’t think I actually knew what kind the old ones were?” “Just basic, low-class collectors,” Shimmering Armor says with a shrug. “Decent at playing a part, but not a whole lot of individuality and they essentially just shut down when they’re not needed in order to preserve what they collect.” “Huh,” I grunt, looking around as I begin to wake up a bit more and ask, “So where’s the ‘brother in law,’ then?” while making sarcasm quotes with my hooves. “Or Twilight Sparkle, for that matter?” “‘Night Light’ is at work, for however long that’ll last,” the changeling now known as Twilight Velvet says, casually sweeping a stack of banana slices off a cutting board into my cereal bowl without question or comment. “And junior is at school, of course; we do have lives to live, you know.” Willfully ignoring Twilight Velvet’s choice in appellations for her ‘daughter,’ I focus on the other half of her response. “You don’t know how long his shift lasts?” “More like I don’t know how long he’ll last at his shift,” she says, turning my words around with a smirk on her face. “Ol’ Nighty doesn’t really have the temperament for pediatrics like his predecessor did; he takes the term ‘infiltrator’ entirely too literally—and seriously.” I stop and check between the banana slices to make sure she didn’t add anything else to my cereal before giving her an incredulous look. “Then isn’t it… I dunno, completely asinine to give that changeling the assignment, then?” I ask as deadpan as I can manage given the circumstances. “At least, the way I understand it, the point was to be less conspicuous.” Twilight Velvet gives a carefree shrug, as if to say, ‘what can you do?’ “Eh, ponies are conspicuous, unique snowflakes just living their day-to-day lives without being secret changeling agents. We’ve already got the great holy goat’s attention, so conspicuous is fine so long as it’s a believable conspicuous.” I choke on my cereal, nearly inhaling a whole slice of banana. “The great holy what?!” “What, you don’t see it?” she asks wryly, gesturing with a wooden spoon in her magic. “Think about it—the wispy mane, the proportions of those legs? Blatantly goatlike!” What? “Princess Celestia is not ‘goatlike,’” I say through gritted teeth. “She is tall and elegant and graceful like a… a… a swan!” “Hrm, so she’s the grander gander?” she says, turning back to whatever it is she’s working with on the stove. “A gander is a goose!” I snap, following up to reiterate, “A male goose!” “Oh?” Twilight Velvet cocks her head. “What’s a female swan, then?” she asks, not even looking at me now. “A pen,” I automatically respond before realizing that any response I give will just encourage her. “What, really?” she says, looking genuinely caught off guard, though it quickly slides into a sly grin. “So then the pen really is mightier? She always struck me as more of a sword, if you know what I mean.” I… what? My face grows hot at what she’s implying and I’m not sure if it’s in embarrassment or anger; either way, I have no words but I’m sure the scowl on said face is legendary. “You were close, right?” she prods, glancing over her shoulder at me. “You’d be the one to ask if your picturesque pen pal has an equally picturesque pen—” “That’s enough!” my voice interrupts unexpectedly—unexpected because it’s not actually me who speaks up, but Shimmering Armor in the seat next to me. Coming from her, it’s more of a scolding than the scalding I’d prefer, but it mollifies me a little and prevents me from beaning Twilight Velvet with my bowl to make her shut up. “Hrm?” Twilight Velvet asks, turning to look blithely at us as if she didn’t even realize there was anything wrong. “Ah, I suppose it is.” Whoops, I guess my hoof slipped. Sadly, the bowl shatters on the frame of the window over the sink, but at least I manage to land a banana slice stuck on her muzzle, so I consider it a win. There’s a single moment of silence as she stands there covered in milk, cereal and banana before I all but throw myself off my stool, barely managing to keep myself on my hooves as I half run, half stumble out of the kitchen in a huff. My first instinct is to retreat back down to the basement where I’ve spent most of my time since becoming a changeling, but a flash of indignation reminds me that half the reason I even came upstairs in the first place was to take a Celestia-damned shower, and that sounded like a really good idea at the moment. I immediately come to regret my decision when Shimmering Armor catches up to me while I’m struggling with the second step going upstairs. Without a word, she effortlessly lifts me in her teal-colored magic and carries me up to the second floor. I definitely know the emotion behind the heat on my face now. To my relief, she doesn’t hold onto me any longer than necessary and I soon have carpet under my tiny white hooves again when she gently sets me down at the top of the stairs. She remains several steps down, resting her chin on her forelegs so she’s at eye level with me. Lying there silently, she gives me a chance to either leave or say something. Admittedly, I do kind of want to say something, but it’s probably not the something she’s waiting for. I try to work myself up again to give her a piece of my mind, but I just… can’t make myself do it. “Tartarus, what happened to the hardass I could scowl and yell at,” I say, dropping dejectedly to a seat barely three hooves from Shimmering Armor’s muzzle—three adult hooves, anyway; it’s a much larger distance for me than it is for her. “I swear, I never used those eyes with half as much doe-eyed innocence.” “I'm just doing my part to keep you from seeing yourself when you look at me,” she says, exuding a feeling of warmth and understanding to hide the snark. “Ha ha,” I say, dryly mimicking a laugh… though entirely to myself I admit it’s actually working. “Look,” She says, scooting a little closer. “I’m not saying she wasn’t out of line, but you really shouldn’t take what just happened too seriously.” “What, because of ‘cultural differences?’” I ask, making it clear exactly how good I think that excuse is. “Believe me I've experienced a lot of people with ‘cultural differences’ living in the castle and none of them involved suggesting Princess Celestia has a—a—” I actually can't even say it. I did not need that image in my head, damn it! Shimmering Armor shakes her head. “Again, I'm not excusing what she said, but there’s more to it than her irreverency getting out of hoof.” “Yeah?” I say, sitting up and crossing my forelegs as I wonder just how getting into this is ‘not taking it seriously.’ Buck, I should have just gone off to take my shower and that would have been it, but no, I can’t help but talk back and now it’s frigging lecture time. I get enough of this from Twilight Sparkle. “Look, Sunset, you already know what it's like to know how a pony is feeling from the emotions they’re feeding you, and for the rest of us the hive mind serves a similar-but-different role when we interact with other changelings,” she explains. “You; you’re a changeling so we don't get any emotions from you the normal way, but you’re not normally connected to the hive mind, so we don't get anything from you that way either unless we’re touching you, which you… understandably try to avoid. Aside from ponies in your situation, which you’ve already been told isn’t normally a very amiable relationship, there's really only one other way that happens, and it's…” “Changelings from other hives,” I finish for her, burying my face in my hooves. “Who you have an instinctual hatred for.” Shimmering Armor rubs the back of her neck with one hoof. “I wouldn't call it hatred or say that one causes the other… but yeah, that's pretty much how it inevitably goes nine times out of ten.” “Great. As if I needed another problem caused by this damn nymph body,” I grumble, trying not to get worked up over just one more thing. “I supposed that nine times out of ten is actually better than Twilight made it out to be, at least, but just the fact that I'm considering an immunity to bug mind reading to be a handicap is pretty messed up.” “You know, the point of telling you about it was so you wouldn't worry about it,” Shimmering Armor says, shaking her head. “Yeah, well, you’ve done a shit job of it, haven’t you?” I bite back. “So, give it to me straight; how much do I have to worry about one of you coming into the lab at night to kill me in my sleep?” Shimmering Armor raises one eyebrow at me. “None? The hive isn’t going to get on anyling’s case for banter, but noling is going to actually hurt you—the hive mind will see to that… not that Twilight always listens to it, but you’re here on her say-so and… uhh, you know, forget I even said anything about that.” I give her my best unamused glare. “Second,” she continues. “It's only vaguely like you're a changeling from another hive. We aren't newborn drones with no sense of object permanence. Twilight and I may not always understand you, but we have connected to you over the hive mind in the past, so it's not like we're going to suddenly start seeing you as something alien.” It takes exactly zero seconds for me to pick up on who she didn't mention. “Fuck,” I curse, looking away from Shimmering Armor, oddly embarrassed for it. “Look, I respect Twilight Sparkle, and I even kind of tolerate you, but that doesn't mean I'm going to host friendly sparkling rainbow fun times in my head with any changeling that walks in the door—let alone ones I don’t even like.” Shimmering Armor shakes her head and lets out a heavy breath of exasperation. “I wasn't even going to suggest it. It probably wouldn't make much difference anyway; she's a snarky one regardless. If you want to be antagonistic with your ‘sister,’ then be my guest, though I might remind you that she’s your only option if you want to go outside any time in the next week.” I puff up my cheeks in a pout before I realize I’m probably just making myself look cute rather than indignant. “The other one isn't going to be any better?” I state more than ask, remembering how my ‘brother-in-law’ had been described as a gruff and serious pony. Shimmering Armor recognizes it as a rhetorical question and gives a lackluster shrug. I throw my arms in the air, flop over onto my back and say “Wonderful,” in my best deadpan sarcasm. A moment later I perk up my head, craning to look over my chest at the mare lying on the stairs. “What?” she asks, recognizing the glint in my eye as something mischievous. “You know, there's no reason I couldn't show you how to actually dye your mane and coat,” I say, letting the rest of my suggestion go unsaid as I roll back up to my hooves. She gives me a flat look. “Aside from a complete lack of mane and coat dye?” she suggests. I wave the issue off with my hoof. “Send ‘sis’ after it.” “You think I trust her as far as I can throw her?” she counters. “Well,” I say, tapping my chin in faux thought. “You can throw her pretty damn far in that body using my magic—just saying, in case you wanted to try—but no, you're right; best not to involve her at all. Besides, I just had a much better idea,” I add with a grin. She drops her head into her hooves. “Do I even want to know?” she asks. “What?” I give her my best innocent look. “Don’t you trust me?” “No,” she responds flat-out. “That’s fair,” I say, completely unsurprised. “But seriously, if you’re gonna take me outside, you’re gonna need an identity. You already look like me in every other way, so I might as well bleach you white and call you ‘mom.’” She stares at me like I’m crazy, which, I admit, is pretty normal in this house. “Sunset, you are fourteen years old. This body is fourteen years old—is there something you want to tell me?” “Oh—I—uh—right…” I say, blushing and stammering at my mistake. “L-look, you are like three times my height, thirty times my size and probably at least half again as mature as I am; you can’t expect me to notice that you’re still half a hoof shorter than what passes for actual adults around here.” “Remembering what stage of life you were in three days ago should not require visual observation,” she says with dry disbelief. “Wait, back up a second, did you say bleach?” “Yeah, sure,” I say, somewhat absently as I’m still recovering from inadvertently making insinuations about myself. “Twilight Sparkle has more than enough down in the lab; she won’t even notice if any is gone.” “Yes, she will,” she says. I begin to automatically object, then my mind catches up with the conversation. “Okay, yes, she will, but we’ll be asking for forgiveness instead of permission, so it doesn’t matter anyway.” Shimmering Armor chews at her lip, hesitating before she asks, “Did I piss you off without realizing it? Because I thought we were having a moderately amiable, if occasionally embarrassing conversation and now you’re offering to douse me in toxic chemicals.” “Pissed off is kind of my normal state, but that’s not relevant here,” I say, dismissing the accusation for the distraction it is. “Look, I swear to you, bleaching hair is a legitimate thing ponies do—especially here in Canterlot, where everyone wants to look like the great holy goa—buck!” I point at her with my hoof and snarl, “You heard nothing!” Shimmering Armor looks like she’s in pain, but I’m pretty sure she’s just trying not to laugh. Once she has recovered, she lets out a disgruntled groan. “I don't suppose I can swing that into a begrudging apology so we can just smooth this over?” “Apologize for what?” I retort, ineffectually stomping my tiny hooves on the carpeted floor. “Being a hypocrite?” She blinks at me, dumbfounded. “Um, yyyeeeesss?” she says, drawing out her affirmation as if it should be obvious. I give her a flat look. “I thought you knew me better than that.” “I do,” she says with a put-upon sigh. “I was just expressing a wistful dream.” “Yeah, well, stop it; it's distracting,” I say, attempting to pretend it never happened. I fail almost immediately, as I can't help but add one more last word. “Besides, calling the princess an old goat isn’t what made me bowl her.” Shimmering Armor buries her face in the carpet for a moment, before returning to the matter at hoof. “Right, whatever. I’d rather know where you're going with this anyway. Does bleach not blind and/or kill ponies?” “No, it totally does,” I tell her, enjoying being on this side of the drawn-out exposition for once. She has no words, which makes me smile. “You just have to be careful,” I clarify. “Okay, now I know you're just screwing with me,” she says, narrowing her eyes at my amusement. “Little bit,” I say. “But it really is true. Ponies do it all the time.” “You do realize you can't actually touch me right?” she says. “You wouldn’t actually be much help.” That holds me up for a second then I glance down at my tiny hooves and shrug. “At this size, I was never gonna be much help anyway unless I actually got up on your head and danced a jig. I could still do that, actually, if I had a raincoat and galoshes or something.” “A raincoat?” she asks. “Yes?” “To protect you from the bleach?” “Yes, obviously.” “Which you want to douse me in?” Ah, I see her point. “You’re right, better if I just help out with my magic; I should be able to handle at least that much with it.” Shimmering Armor presses her lips together in a show of consternation. “This had better not be a plan to blind me to keep me from getting too familiar with your body.” Really? I can’t help but roll my eyes at her. “I pretty much told you to get familiar with my body, so long as you don’t talk about it, so stop talking about it. ” “Ugh, fine,” she grumbles. “But I’m still not convinced.” “Hey, I have zero ulterior motives, here,” I insist. “Honestly I'm surprised you're still even entertaining the idea.” “Yes, well, it's not like I enjoy being cooped up here any more than you do,” she admits, looking a little uncomfortable. “And as tidily as picking up those roleplaying books went for you, it turns out I do kind of need to go buy the actual franchise I was supposed to get the day before yesterday since Twilight really was that specific when she was inventing my backstory with the princess.” “Wait wait wait,” I say, somewhat alarmed. “What do you mean inventing your backstory with the princess?” Shimmering Armor blinks at me. “Oh, I guess you didn't hear the whole story. Yeah, when Princess Celestia stopped by that day, she ran into Twilight who… doesn’t pay the best attention to the hive mind and the two of them spent the better part of an hour bullshiting each other to collectively come up with a personality and life story for her goofy, protective older brother.” “Oh, jeez.” I spend a moment just trying to imagine that. “I remember you saying that she was creative in describing you, but I didn't know it was like that. I didn't even think the princess knew about those kinds of games; that must have been some impressive bullshitting.” “More than you know considering the fact that Twilight didn’t know about them until then,” she points out. I have to bury my face in the carpet for a moment. “I forget sometimes that you guys are actually good at this shit as an evolutionary prerogative.” “There wouldn’t be much point if it were obvious,” she points out. “Yeah, yeah,” I say, not wanting to get into it. “You do you—or not-you, I guess. It's not like it was super subtle when your personality did a complete one-eighty, but whatever. It's no different from most of the ponies I met growing up, except you tend to actually know when you're being assholes and you do it anyway. I can respect that.” She looks me over and shakes her head. “You are a very strange pony, Sunset Shimmer. I think I see why Twilight didn’t want to see you wasted.” “Heartwarming,” I drawl, stretching my legs. “Anyway, I want to go outside; you want to go outside; we have a solution that satisfies both of these issues, so are we doing this?” Shimmering Armor lets out a groan as she gets up and pats herself free of detritus from the stairs. “Fine,” she begrudgingly allows. “But we both need to shower and I’m not letting you anywhere near the bleach beyond telling me what to do—not even with magic. No, especially with magic.” “Oh come on,” I grouse. “What—do you need my sworn oath over the hive mind or something? I said I’m being honest and I said I could handle it.” “I don't doubt that,” she says, looking down at my tiny form as she walks past me towards the bathroom. “Well, I doubt it a little, but that's not the point.” “And the point is?” I ask, struggling to keep up. “You do remember when it was that I connected to you over the hive mind?” I frown thinking back to that day again. “It was when you picked me up in your magic to bring me up the stairs,” I recall and immediately get the point. “Oh, damn, magic is a conductor for the hive mind,” I say, wincing in remembered distress. “I didn't feel anything when you helped me up just now, though.” “That's because I used pony magic to do it,” she says. “Your pony body’s pony magic, to be specific. The changeling magic you have now, on the other hoof, would be no better than touching the neurospast directly. You've expressed your feelings on that clearly enough already.” “You're damn right I have,” I agree with conviction. “Wait,” I say, holding her up. “Twilight Velvet ruffled my mane with her magic during that conversation—she had to have at least recognized the connection.” Shimmering Armor halts in place for a moment, considers that, then shrugs and continues on. “Guess she’s just kind of a bitch then,” she says with a shrug. “Though really, I’d have thought you'd have a thicker skin than that. You are the same Sunset Shimmer who continually insists that you don’t have any problem with a member of the opposite sex walking around in her body, aren't you?” “Yes, and the pony who keeps telling you not to talk about it,” I sourly gripe. “I'm also in a preadolescent body as Twilight Sparkle was so kind to remind me, and Princess Celestia was my teacher and the closest thing I had to a… Look, just forget it. You have no idea how disturbing it is to have the image of an icon like her defiled by that kind of thing when you remember all the disgusting details but your appreciation for it is just gone.” “Your appreciation for the image of your mentor with a—” “Don’t—even—start,” I growl, getting sick of this now. This is more attention than I’d get from storming out on the princess. “Fine, it squicks you out,” she says, accepting it with an amused smirk. “Still not really worth a bowl of cereal to the face, is it?” “Yeah, well,” I say, huffing and puffing as I catch my breath. “It's her fault for being like that when I’ve just woken up, and I didn’t actually hit her.” A flimsy assertion followed by an even flimsier excuse, but I never claimed to be sensible, even-tempered or even likable, and if it’ll end this conversation, then I’ll own it. Shimmering Armor chooses not to comment, finally letting the subject die, instead seeming to suddenly remember what she was doing and in turn reminding me what she was doing and why I was heading this way after her other than needing to get the last word in. She looks at the bathroom door then looks at me. I look at her and we both look at the bathroom door. “Hey—no—I was on my way up here when you stopped me,” I say defensively. “It’s been two and a half weeks an a nightmarish body-swap-slash-disgusting-parasite-birth since I had a hot shower; like tartarus am I letting you use it all up—you can wait.” She gives me another long look of consideration before finally letting out a heavy huff of breath, opening the door and dragging me alongside her with her magic. “Buzz it; you would probably just end up drowning yourself and I have ‘questions’ about this body anyway,” she says, a slight bit of color in her cheeks.