Trixie had little regard for ponies’ sense of privacy. Coupled with her lack of subtlety, it led to a friendship Maud was seldom surprised by, for Trixie was a lot like her little sister. And like Pinkie Pie, it was more a byproduct of how she prioritized her friends overtop her self-image, which Maud, in a way, felt envious of. She often wondered if telling Trixie that would increase or satiate her ego.
Not that Maud would ever speak of it. Coming from her, Trixie would think it insincere, and further lessen her opinion of the stoic pony she (probably) considered a friend. What did that call those, anyway? Friends of friends? Side friends? Acquaintances was probably the right word.
Maud thought about this while anticipating Trixie to drop in out of nowhere. Before long, that sonorous crystalline pop twanged throughout the vastness of her home.
Within the reflection of her mirror, Maud watched as Trixie reoriented herself, spinning to face the right way in a whirl of silver mane. “Your escort has arrived, Madame,” she said with a bow.
“Wait. I’m getting ready,” she said before Trixie could teleport them both. Maud picked up her hairbrush, stroked once, and slammed it down. Hard. “Ready.” She turned in her swivel seat.
Trixie eyed her like a can of garbage. “You’re… really going like that?” she asked softly.
Maud crossed her forelegs, suddenly aware of her bareness. “I didn’t put my dress on yet.” She was rushing. She didn’t want to keep Trixie waiting.
“Oh.” Trixie blinked, and it was back to theatrics. “Well, I think you should. You look good without that robe cloaking your natural beauty!”
The day Maud willingly bared herself before her friends was the day she could do the same with her soul. Her true self. Ideally, that would be today.
But it might not be. Maud didn’t know.
She really didn’t know.
It all depended on her “believing in her friendship with Starlight,” as Pinkie summarized it. Maud did, but she was still afraid. Did that mean she didn’t, and if so, what did that say about her? Her faith in her best friend?
She breathed deep, soundless and motionless to anypony else’s eye, save for perhaps Pinkie’s and Starlight’s. “You look good,” she told Trixie.
Especially glossy today, Trixie was expecting to turn some heads tonight just for the sake of it. She bounced her mane of molten silver. “Don’t I? Aloe and Lotus did a phenomenal job yesterday. Worth every penny, I’d say! Which reminds me, I never properly thanked you for that.”
“You don’t have to.” But the effort to do so anyway was appreciated. That’s the key difference between Trixie and Starlight.
“Well, you really are generous, Maudie. More so than most ponies typically are, even toward friends.”
Thank goodness blushing was nigh-physically impossible for her. “I try.”
There was a beat of silence. Maud couldn’t deny it anymore: despite her near-flawless confidence, Trixie’s misaimed teleportation just now, and even yesterday before meeting Starlight, made the obvious all the clearer.
An obvious fact to Maud, who empathized completely with what she was feeling and why.
“You’re nervous,” they both said at once.
Maud blanched, as did Trixie more blatantly. She was going to ask how in the world could Trixie tell, but she was galloping across her home.
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” said Trixie breathlessly.
Maud nodded. “I…” I’m still angry. After everything and knowing she doesn’t know better, I’m still angry with her for choosing to hurt herself.
But she hesitated. She couldn’t say something so cruel. It was insensitive just to feel this way.
“If it’s about Starlight, then the feeling is mutual.” Bless Trixie. Bless. Trixie.
Maud nodded eagerly—twice in succession. She found the courage to at least admit, “I was up all night, thinking about what she told us.”
Trixie wrinkled her nose. “Oh, yeah, it sounded really painful. No wonder it was bothering her the whole spa trip.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Maud blurted out. Great. Now she had to explain herself. “Starlight thought it was preferable to suffer in silence instead of ‘disappointing’ Twilight. I don’t know why, but it makes me sad.” In truth, her mentality was disturbing.
Trixie just shook her head. “Tell me about it. That’s all I dreamed about last night! What if she does it again?“ She began pacing, muttering under her breath. “It never woulda gotten this bad if Twilight just said thank you and didn’t raise a stink in the first place. Oof, she’d better be right about this party!” Trixie growled. “If she’s not, if it goes sideways why I—! I’ll—!” She released what she’d do in a sigh, partly fear, part-frustration. “I don’t know. There’s nothing I can do, if I’m being honest. I’d be right. Which, I mean, is always a plus, but… Starlight.”
At least her priorities were in line.
“I know,” said Maud. “I’m on edge about it, too. But Pinkie thought of it as well, and if she thinks this is a good idea—”
“It’d have the same effect and less risk if it was just the three of us attending,” said Trixie.
No. Not the same. It wouldn’t prove how much everypony loved Starlight—quite the opposite. Much as it surely pained Trixie to think about, there were plenty of ponies who adored Starlight as much as she did.
A revelation Maud was not in the mood to make as she got up and approached her dress rack, holding her one self-made gown. “We’ll never know unless we try.”
Behind her, Trixie sighed. Exhaled—she inhaled deeply soon after. “I suppose,” she said lightly.
Maud threw the dull garb overhead, effortlessly sliding her head, forelegs, even her tail through the right places via half a lifetime of practice. A shake of the mane brought together a comfortable sense of familiarity, a plushness akin to Pinkie Pie hugging everything it touched, concealing Maud from all but familial eyes.
She turned, met with an impish smile from Trixie. “That was the most I’ve ever seen you move at once,” she joked.
“Don’t get used to it.” Doubtful they would ever find themselves in a situation that required Maud to exert herself. Pinkie’s friends only had the honor once. Starlight never. “Ready?”
“Yeah!” Trixie nodded. “Yeah, of course. You think I’m not? Hah! Just... Just give me a moment to, you know.” She avoided Maud’s gaze. “Compose myself.”
Maud smirked inside. “That’s the most genuine you’ve ever been with me.”
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, like I care!” At least she didn’t take it as an insult. As her horn lit up, Maud stepped beside her, who just realized she didn’t say ‘Don’t get used to it.’
Maud looked to Trixie, eyes shut tight and awash in the rosy quartz-like glow of her horn. She steeled her nerves and blurted out, “Thanks for being my friend, Trixie.”
“Mmf!” she grunted. “Yeah! Don’t mention it!”
Maud smiled to herself. That wasn’t so bad. Promising. Good practice for what was definitely going to happen tonight. Definitely.
As the glow intensified, enveloping them both, Trixie’s eyes popped open and devoured Maud’s. “Wait! You are?!”
“Yeah.” The light consumed her before she could elaborate. Trixie hopefully didn’t need it.
They appeared directly before Starlight rather than the foyer, their teleportation punctuated by a wince-worthy crash of glass.
Starlight gaped between them, either shocked or unaware of her broken dish. Radiant in spite of her endlessly stomach-turning injury. It only emphasized her diamond-like composure—strong in the moment to moment and, though Maud wouldn’t dare say this aloud, beautiful because of it.
Hopefully, tonight, she’d be capable of saying something. Just this once, she would speak from the soul.
No way was she about to break the tension, though. No way hosay. Even as it took several painfully awkward seconds for Trixie and Starlight to piece together the steps that’d led to shattered porcelain and scrambled egg shavings strewn about their hooves.
Only after locking eyes once again, did Starlight say, “You said five o’clock.”
They were a minute early. From the looks of their surroundings, she almost made it to the kitchen.
Trixie didn’t register any of this. “I’ll buy another.”
As if that mattered. “Way to miss the point.” Maud clammed up, but her thoughts were already out in the open.
Trixie gave a hairy eyeball. “And what is the point, I wonder?”
Maud merely looked to her. No way, with Starlight present, was she going to say, ‘The point is that Starlight is still getting used to this, and you’ve reminded her just how much farther she has to go before she’s confident again.’
“It’s fine,” Starlight said sharply. She was rubbing her horn stump. “It’s fine. Been a rocky road from the word ‘go,’ so don’t sweat it. Really.”
“Alright, alright. At least allow Trixie to clean this for you, though.” The broken plate ascended above their heads, every piece wreathed in a mass of pink light. Maud couldn’t help but imagine each of them wrapped in their individual glow of teal, so precise was Starlight’s magic.
“Thanks,” she mumbled. This was reminiscent of certain memory, with Maud in Starlight’s place and her in Trixie’s, the porcelain replaced with flourite samples, and their locale a genuine cavern instead of this magically-ushered Destiny-citadel.
“And I’m buying you a new plate, too.” Trixie turned and led the way swiftly. “No buts, no whats, none of that!”
Starlight and Maud followed behind their friend’s glossy tail. “It’d be a waste, y’know,” said Starlight, seconds later. “Twilight’s got dozens of plates just like those, which you won’t be able to find anywhere else. Castle came with ‘em, you see,” she told Maud specifically. Did she just remember having never informed her of that? How thoughtful.
Maud would have remarked this if she wouldn’t have sounded so insincere. Instead, she nodded. I doubt Starlight wants to delve into the nature of Destiny again. And over a broken plate nopony but Trixie cares about.
“I am sorry, though.” Trixie looked back, brow knitted.
“I know you are. It’s fine, trust me.” Starlight sure didn’t sound like it was fine; more like she wanted it to be fine.
Just like she has been all week—something Trixie, at the very least, picked up on as her concern deepened, eyes returning to the endless hall ahead. “You’re mad at me. Aren’t you?”
“No!” Starlight groaned, then sighed deeply. “No, no, Trix, it isn’t about you. It’s just another tally in a long list of Glim-ups.” A snort from up ahead. “I’m serious,” Starlight deadpanned.
“I know! I know. But did you have to call them something so silly?” Trixie chortled.
“I had to call them something only an incompetent like me would ever make the mistake of doing. Don’t go thinking this is a recent thing, by the way. I’ve been adding to it since I was twenty-two.”
Since coming into their lives. Maud’s chest ached in a manner it normally didn’t. She had to say something, but what that wouldn’t come off as weird, insincere, or just plain wrong? “Many of them shouldn’t be there,” she settled on, “I’m willing to bet.” Knowing Starlight, that was accurate.
“Yeah? Well, I won’t make that bet, cuz I’m not looking to take even more of your money.”
This again? It was so appalling that Maud couldn’t take another step. Not while Starlight still dwelled on this, probably was all night, too, despite their heart-to-heart after the spa. “I thought I made it clear,” she said to herself, “that I have money to burn. And that I wanted to repay you at least once, for—” Maud shut her eyes, mentally shaking her head. Not now, here, in one of thousands of hallways within this inconveniently big castle, and over a plate shattered like her confidence. Later. When the time’s right.
She regarded a wounded-looking Starlight. “I want you to stop thinking that you robbed me. We aren’t going to the party until you do.”
She turned fully, muzzle low in submission. “You work for a living, though. And you have your own needs. Paying for not one, but three full spa treatments should be at the very bottom.” Starlight lifted her head an inch or two, raising her stump into her hoof and massaging it. “I can’t stop knowing all of this, regardless of what you say. You’re generous, Maud, and I really thank you for yesterday, and I’m sorry I can’t accept it wholeheartedly but that kind of sacrifice, it hurts to think about! Because I know there’s nothing I could’ve done to change it...”
All of those said while avoiding Maud’s gaze, of course. Before losing her horn, this wouldn’t even have been a conversation.
It’s all because of those Tartarus-bound monsters. They broke more than her horn eight days ago. If Maud could have her way, she’d beat them deep into the earth where their powers would never harm another pony again.
“I-I’m sorry.” Starlight bowed even lower, even cocking her forelegs. “Unlike Twilight, I should be grateful instead of complaining. I’m sorry.”
“No,” Maud shouted (muttered, but she felt like shouting). “You shouldn’t be anything but who you are. I meant it when I said I wanted to give you a gift.” She resisted moving to lift Starlight’s chin and invading her space, that sort of contact being reserved for nigh-familial bonds least of all—and it had to be mutual, first and foremost. “We didn’t have to go to the spa, or do anything that involved the spending of money. But I wanted to. I still feel bad.”
A flinch. Recognition that she understood Maud’s reference to their little spat the other day. Maud would never forget looking across the market and just seeing Starlight, looking like the world was going to jump at her, forehead crowned in a violent-looking break.
But she still said nothing. Hardly moved a muscle. “Don’t feel bad. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
She looked away, chin crumpled, eyes shut tight. “I know.”
“If you know, then hy do you feel bad?” Maud yelled, in her own way.
A hoof fell upon her shoulder. “Maudie—”
She shook Trixie off. “Starlight.”
“Okay, I understand, can we go to the Hive now?” Starlight’s eyes glimmered, a cruel irony in how beautiful they were. “Please?” she stressed, massaging her horn. She’d done that twice now. Wouldn’t Twilight know that numbing spell the doctors had used?
No. Maud wouldn’t dare presume she still avoided Twilight after their talk yesterday. “Are you okay?” Maud fretted.
“Yes! It just stings a little, is all.” And Starlight started to whine, scratching her stump now. “Stupid thing!” Her picking worsened. The tiniest bit of red peeked through what was left of the thin, velvety outer layer of her horn.
Maud had never seen self-drawn blood before. Her heart rattled against her ribcage. “Stop it, Starlight. You’ll break the skin further.” Did Twilight actually forget to numb it with that spell?
“Yes! I know! I’m—! ...I’m sorry,” Starlight gasped, a harsher sob blasting forth. “I can’t do this tonight, girls. I can’t risk making a scene! Just go without me, please… Stop looking at me like that, I mean it, enjoy your night! I’ll continue practicing with this. That’d make me happier, honestly.” Her smile said otherwise.
While Maud was frozen, save the quickening thump-thump within her breast, Trixie scoffed. “As if! This party’s gonna be a slog if you’re not there.”
Struggling against whatever agony she was in, Starlight pried one eye open, looking past her upraised foreleg. “You’re friends with Thorax.”
“Yes, but you’re better friends with him. Plus he’s expecting you. You wouldn’t wanna disappoint your friend, would you?”
Trixie looked to Maud as if she knew that was a dirty card to pull, guilt-tripping Starlight like that. But leaving her behind wasn’t an option tonight.
“I suppose not,” Starlight sighed, her hoof falling, thudding against the carpet. It seemed her horn-pain subsided—meaning it was something other than that grisly-sounding injury she’d inflicted on herself the other day.
Still, though… Maud couldn’t help but think of Marble in Starlight’s place, saying what she thought they wanted to hear instead of what they really wanted, which was her honest feelings.
Maud knew better than to drag them out by force. Hopefully… hopefully, hopefully, Twilight and the others did, too. Pinkie did, of course, but she could get overzealous if her goal is impeded.
But not as overzealous as Starlight’s resumed scratching. Just seeing her stump messed-with gave Maud shivers. She couldn’t stand not knowing, even though knowing might be even worse: “Did Twilight miscast the spell?” she asked first.
“Um, w-well, you see…” Starlight’s smile lowered, but not her hoof from her horn, nor the intensity of her scratching.
“Did you end up not telling her like we told you to?” Maud wished Starlight could see her glaring.
“Oh, Starlight,” Trixie gasped, “seriously? Come on!”
And their best friend’s eyes bounced between the two of them, looking guiltier by the second. “You can ask her yourself if she was here, ‘cause I did!” she said.
Maud didn’t think twice about saying, “I find that hard to believe.”
For half a heartbeat she expected Starlight to snap at her, or get snarky. Something. Not for an immediate sighing of, “Yeah, I don’t blame you.”
At the end of their spa day, following one of many callbacks to her fight with Twilight (in justifying why it’s best to keep the prior day’s events to herself), Maud and Trixie pressured her incredibly strong, albeit deeply wounded, ever-prideful bullheaded self-punishing idiot self into revealing the truth to Twilight, lest they drag her personally. If not for them, then for the fact that she was complaining about her horn the majority of the time, and it was better than suffering in silence.
Evidently not, in Starlight’s mind, if she was still scratching now.
Maud felt her stomach turn, just recalling the incident, the betrayal Starlight regarded them with in spite of her mouth saying, “It’s fine, you’re right. I’m being an idiot.”
Because she wasn’t. They made her think she was, but she wasn’t being stupid. Just afraid, and Maud was scared all the time, so she understood.
One thing led to another before Starlight was blurting out everything about Tempest Shadow and accidentally teleporting with a broken horn. The act was incredible. It was more so scary. Maud had always wanted to ask her what it was like, wielding such power. The feeling of all that magic.
Now the question felt grossly inappropriate.
That was before Starlight opened up about how vulnerable she felt now, now that she knew how truly gone her grand abilities now were after a “simple” teleportation spell hospitalized her. The way she described it was spine-tingling, even now—’Like a black spiderweb laid across my skull.’
Toward all of this, Maud felt an ever-changing rainbow of emotions, chief among them anger. At herself for not being there to defend Starlight from Tempest (as if she’d actually have the courage to say anything, but the fantasy was there), and the villain herself. Frighteningly. Maud had never sincerely disliked somepony before, but Tempest was a bully, and Starlight could have been seriously hurt because of her.
“Look, next time you see Twilight you could ask her, so there’s no reason to doubt me,” said Starlight. “What’s weird is she did it around lunchtime, same as yesterday. But I don’t know what’s going on, alright? I really don’t. It’s just been bugging me all day, like an itch you can’t scratch instead of actual pain. So annoying!” she tittered, scratching.
Maud believed her. If they could just ask Twilight—
“Swear on our friendship.”
She looked to Trixie, eyes widened a millimeter.
“Wha—?” Starlight squeaked.
“Swear on our friendship that you aren’t lying to us about this, Starlight,” Trixie clarified, colder than clay in winter. “I’d be flattered if you think I’m bluffing about this, but I’m not: this is serious, Starlight. What you described to me yesterday…” Trixie’s entire being shuddered, just as bad as it did when bombarding Starlight with approximately thirteen questions, half of which leading to the same thing: ‘Tell. Twilight.’
“I’m not joking. What you described yesterday was serious, it could be dangerous to your health.” As far as Maud could tell, Trixie was dead-serious. To threaten their friendship like that…
Starlight was taking this a little less seriously. “Actually, it isn’t,” she deadpanned. “And I don’t intend to lose control like that again. I know when it’s coming.”
“Starlight, come on,” Trixie snapped. “Answer me, please. I believe in you, I know you’re strong, but anything can happen and if it’s not under control it sounds like it can really kill you—”
Starlight mumbled, “No it won’t—”
“I don’t care. I don’t care,” Trixie rambled. “I don’t care. The fact that you’re avoiding the question isn’t filling me with confidence though. That’s what I’m more concerned with at the moment… Starlight, look, I get that things are a bit tense right now. If possible, I’d avoid talking to Princess Sparkle, too. But even I know she’d drop everything over something like this, petty resentment be darned.” As she spoke, Starlight’s gaze lowered, her ears wilting. “So I’ll ask you one more time: Starlight, did you—”
“Okay, yes! I did!” she snapped. “And for the record, I’m only quiet because you girls don’t believe me and I’ve no idea what to say that will prove otherwise! So thank you, Trixie, for doubting me over something you could easily prove if you’d talked to Twilight yourself.”
“Fair enough,” Trixie answered lightly. “You can never be too careful, though.”
“Besides,” Starlight continued, “she already knew about the accident, too, ‘cause of course she did! She’s freaking Twilight!” Starlight started pacing to and fro. “And she didn’t say anything outside the norm, and neither did I. It was as awkward then as it was today. And you can ask her yourself, but she’s doing everything she can to avoid me like always, so no, I don’t know where she is!”
Maud was stunned. Starlight truly believed such a ridiculous notion. “You really feel like Twilight’s avoiding you?”
“Well?” Starlight snapped. “Does that answer satisfy? Or is our friendship still hostage?” She recoiled suddenly, scrubbing her eyes, face aglow like a ruby in the sun. “Stupid. Nevermind. I’m just—”
Your feelings aren’t stupid. They didn’t come from nowhere, either. “It’s for the party,” Maud murmur-shouted. To feel like Twilight was avoiding her... She didn’t need that, and Twilight was entirely to blame, but that was a tomorrow problem.
Starlight’s face, baffled and matted, lifted from her foreleg. She was dumbfounded as Trixie pulled her in a one-armed hug, glaring around her bouncy, curled forelock. “Nice one, Maudie,” she said, hugging her closer
Like Maud cared, or felt the slightest bit comfortable being a part of this plot, taking a risk in overwhelming Starlight for the sake of a surprise. Yes, Pinkie might know what Starlight loved, but the Starlight of yesterday also had a horn, and wasn’t doubting the bond of her own best friend—a sentiment Maud mentally apologized to Trixie’s delusions for.
“Twilight hasn’t been avoiding you,” she explained. “She’s been working with Ponyville to bring everypony together for the Gourd Fest.”
“This wasn’t our plan, just so you know,” said Trixie. Starlight was too busy reeling to react right away. “It was originally just going to be the three of us attending, but I suppose Mr. Lovebug couldn’t resist extending an invitation to Twilight after catching wind of her recovery.”
If Trixie were smart, or perhaps less irrationally afraid of losing Starlight’s trust, she’d have taken credit for an idea her best friend would love to pieces. That wasn’t the reason why it was supposed to be a secret, however.
But the crystal’s broken now. No use in fixing it. Best to salvage it. “Everypony you know will be there. Not just Ponyville.”
“They’re merely a fraction of your many friends,” Trixie added.
Starlight once again looked between the two of them. To Maud, who would never joke about such a thing, and Trixie, appearing more sincere than she ever had as far as Maud could remember.
Starlight bared her teeth, blinking hard. “D-Did you say ‘Ponyville?’”
“Yes.”
Her smile glowed strong. “As in, the whole town?”
“Yes.”
“Everypony?”
“Yes. Sorry for spoiling the surprise,” Maud continued. “I’ve been afraid it would be too much at once for you. I hope knowing this won’t make it as scary.”
“And prove to you how much we all adore you!” Trixie added.
Starlight kept searching the floor. “I… wow.” A smile, a real smile, shone across her face. “Everypony, wow, I-I can’t believe it! This is… big! And a bit much.”
Maybe Maud was fretting over nothing. But at least it got Starlight’s mind off of Twilight—for now. “Now I feel bad about ruining it.”
Starlight beamed at her. “Hey, don’t worry about spoilers, Maud. I don’t think anypony but Pinkie Pie will ultimately care.”
True. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Maud joked then, which even Trixie chuckled at.
“I really do appreciate it, though.” Starlight’s voice was as soft as her smile. It was real, realer than anything she’d said or done this past week. Maud was positive of it. “What you did here.”
“What?” Maud asked, baffled. She’d done nothing of value. “I don’t understand.”
Starlight laughed to herself. “For worrying about me! If I’m being honest here, I might have been just a little bit overwhelmed by this. And, honestly, I still kinda am! Normally I’d feel bad about everypony worrying over me, but if they all wanted to organize something like this? Well, it’d be rude to throw their effort back in their faces! Wouldn’t it?” Starlight sighed, her joy lingering still. She was really touched, wasn’t she? “Wow. Now I kinda can’t wait, even though I’m really nervous. Thanks for thinking about me, Maud. You’re a good friend.”
‘This is it!’ She could hear a little Pinkie Pie urging her just like the real pony did last night. This was it: Maud’s chance. The timing was perfect, they might never feel so close again!
Maud breathed in, prepared to speak from the heart… and that was terrifying. Her heart, her true self, could be judged and it could all go wrong. And now she was gaping like a fool. Starlight cocked her head, ready to listen… but maybe not receive. No way can I do that. No. No. No. Trixie will make fun of my. It’ll embarrass Starlight to say this in front of others. Just wait tonight. Wait until it’s just us—that’d be better, and she’d appreciate getting to absorb it at her own pace, too.
“Nevermind.”
As Starlight looked mildly disappointed, Trixie gasped and got in Maud’s face much like her own sister would. “Are you blushing?” she crowed.
Starlight, who’d been searching Maud’s face for a faint dusting of pink, leaned close with bright, mischievous eyes. “Ooh, I think she is!”
“Please, stop.” Any more teasing, and Maud’s head might catch on fire. “The timing’s off. I’ll tell you later. Okay?”
Trixie rolled her eyes. “Just say it now, for Celestia’s sake! It’s not like you were gonna propose or anything.” Trixie groaned laughing as two cherry-red ponies slammed a hoof into each of her sides. “Sorry-not-sorry!” she gasped.
“You’re too much sometimes, Trix.”
“Agreed,” Maud chimed in.
“Sheesh, the both of you,” said Trixie, turning for the corridor, “so serious.”
She somehow maintained her levitation field of porcelain shards and egg scrambles through a wallop by Maud. When Starlight commended her improving skill on their way to the kitchen, Trixie did what Trixie does and took all the credit—only to bashfully give Starlight a scrap of it under her breath.
Starlight merely rolled her eyes, shook her head. Smiled. She often smiled in their company, Maud had noticed. Even before she was crippled, her laughs came easier, her words flowed smoother, even Starlight’s feelings shone clearer, for better or worse.
It was comforting to be a part of that.
“Starlight.” She regarded Maud with those sapphire eyes. Those concerned, attentive, undiscriminating eyes—shaded like Maud’s favorite gemstone. Maud, who was just staring like a fool like always.
I love you, she wished to say. You’re my best friend. You mean so much to me that a lot of it’s embarrassing to think, let alone say. But that would be weird to say right now. Even if she’d appreciate it, it’d be weird. And stupid, too.
Like Maud felt as she asked lamely, “What is a Gourd Fest?” That has been on her mind since Trixie first posed the idea, thus making the change of topic not so transparent.
“It’s a party, ya ninny!” Trixie called to her magical cloud above.
“Duh. But what kind?” Obviously there would be lots… and lots… and lots of ponies. All looking at them as they arrived. Probably itching to talk to the Element of Laughter’s sister. They would be disappointed.
Maud could already hear Pinkie and Limestone admonishing her for thinking like this, despite history validating such low anticipation.
Starlight hummed beside her, scratching an itch below her stump now. “Hm. Think of it like a Ponyville party, though it’s a holiday, too.”
“Wait, so the changelings had this holiday before they got all cutesy?” asked Trixie.
Maud mentally rose a brow. “Didn’t you go to this last year?”
“That’s besides the point,” she quickly answered. “Starlight, did they?”
“Yeah, they did! Though they didn’t party like we did, the general idea carried over after they’d changed. You see, gourds are a lot like those snowflakes pegasi create in the Cloudsdale Weather Factory. Y’know: not one looks like another, and all that? The annual Gourd Fest was the one day where changelings could celebrate their individuality. This would be represented in the decorating of their own gourds.”
“Like, pumpkins? That’s what those were for?” What was Trixie expecting to make her so clearly disappointed?
“Muscat, squash, kuri,” Maud listed. “I’d studied the Hive before completing my rocktorate studies. They had fashioned shakers and drums out of gourds. They made for some pleasing sounds, though I prefer rock.”
“Bad. That was bad, Maud,” Trixie laughed, almost drawing a smile out of her. “So, our buggy friends decorate their gross fruit like a Nightmare Night lantern. I knew that, but after?”
“Then, well, they party!” said Starlight.
“I meant about the mess I found myself gunked in.”
“Oh! Well, yeah, they set their gourds on fire, then launch them into the sky, zap ‘em and pop ‘em like fireworks. I’m sure it’s symbolic, but it felt inappropriate asking.”
“Ooh, that sounds like a spectacle when you’re not underneath it!” Trixie cooed.
“A sloppy spectacle,” said Maud.
“As if you care about getting dirty.”
“I wasn’t complaining.” Dirt was nature’s finery, after all.
“If I may, girls, I shall annihilate your zucchinis or whatever once midnight comes around. Trixie has been getting pret-ty good at her aim, if I do say so myself.”
Starlight laughed warily, like Trixie just inadvertently insulted her. She probably did. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get there.” Knowing her, she didn’t want to lock herself into a promise.
Although, only one other pony could take Trixie’s place. “Twilight could offer the same.” Neither mare said a word to that. “Just saying,” Maud added bashfully, not that either could tell.
Starlight shot a worrying glance her way, reminding Maud that she did, but changed the subject to leading a magic-less daily routine, and seeking tricks Maud was more than happy to provide.
Maud doesn’t seem to suspect anything, but she never says anything aloud unless it’s important. Ever. So what did that mentioning of Twilight mean? Was she quietly communicating a feeling of loneliness, calling back to Starlight’s negligence while Twilight was sick? Or was she just reminding Trixie that she wasn’t Starlight’s only friend? It could be both. It could be neither.
Any were stressful to think about, but literally anything was less suffocating than worrying about tonight.
Honestly though, I’m still not sure about this... Starlight’s chest, belly, even her skin seemed to writhe at the thought of this party. The “flight” part of her “flight or fight” instincts were all screaming at her to grow wings and fly to the moon, where she’d never disappoint anypony again, and risk something doubly horrible at the Gourd Fest.
But that was the coward’s way out, not Starlight Glimmer’s. I can’t back out, I just can’t! Not while everypony took the time out of their lives to make this happen. I gotta at least see it through and pretend they didn’t waste it.
It was, at the very least, flattering. Unwanted, unnecessary, but flattering. Enough to convince her friends she was excited. So, less suspicion thrown on her, and that’s a good thing. The less they’re fretting over her, the more fun they’ll have with normal ponies. Now, she only had to fool the rest of her friends, the princesses, all of Ponyville and the Hive and, last but definitely not least, Twilight Sparkle herself—the amazing friend who’d been bending over backwards to bring this all together.
The polar opposite of avoiding anypony. You fool. Starlight clenched her jaw. You emotional, presumptuous, idiot fool. To honestly think—
“Starlight?”
“W’huh?” A dull ache pulsated along her gums. The hallway had become cramped, the violet crystal darkened, there was an iron stove, one garbage bin full of sharded porcelain—the kitchen. “Oh, s-sorry, zoned out a bit there. What, uh, what was that?” She bit her tongue, prayed to Celestia that her “zoning out” wasn’t currently being judged and analyzed.
“I was just about to ask, before we go, if you’re positive you wanted to do this.” Trixie’s eyes held nothing but concern, completely focused on feelings she—as one of Starlight’s best friends—knew she was feeling. “Like are you absolutely a hundred percent sure?”
Maud craned into view, a Pie through and through. “And you aren’t just agreeing because of peer pressure?”
“You guys…” What did Starlight do to deserve them? Not even Sunburst, bless his geeky, brilliant soul, knew her so well. Starlight wiped her eyes. Stupid, dumb emotions. “Yes, girls, I’m totally sure that I wanna attend this party.” Second guessing it wasn’t even on the table.
“Good!” Trixie bobbed her head. “‘Cause you know how annoying it was to get this town moving on such short notice?”
“Wait.” Starlight’s eyes widened. Her chest tightened. “Is… Did you mean everypony in Ponyville…?” She shook her head. This was insane, impossible even! “So, if I were to take a stroll through town—”
“It’s the definition of a ghost town,” Maud answered. Clearly in a rush to leave and get this night over with. Even she was making a sacrifice for Starlight in attending this party!
You… You don’t even like parties! You hate them!
No! No, stop. Stop.
“Oh-kay,” Starlight sighed, turning away. “Okay.”
Don’t get caught up in guilt, dang you. Don’t even start! Just breathe. Breathe. Deep breath… that’s it. Just play it cool. Think about it: they wanna do this—even Maud. Despite how I forgot about her entirely, despite her spending her hard-earned money on my spa treatment, despite how much of a dead weight I’ve been these past few days, even Maud is willing to sacrifice to put a smile on my face.
I can’t truthfully return the favor. But I can make them feel repaid. Maybe, if Twilight sees I’m having a good time, we’ll all finally move on and return to normal!
An array of pots and pans, reflecting different faces of Starlight, smiled back at her. “Wow. Everypony will be there, that’s amazing. Even if I didn’t wanna go, I can’t just up and waste everypony’s time.” All their jobs. Their free time. The lives they live, all put on hold for the mare-filly of Sire’s Hollow.
“Starlight…” She turned, and was met with Maud’s widened gaze.
Trixie was glaring at their stoic friend. “This is why we kept it a secret,” she muttered.
“What? What’d I say?” Starlight tried coming off as casual, but it only made her sound more guilty, probably. She didn’t know.
Maud replied, “That still sounds like peer pressure to m—”
“Enough yapping, girls! The night is short and Trixie isn’t getting any younger! She’d like to crystalize her blood into pure sugar by the time this night is done.”
A blinding, hurried flash of pink filled the world. “Sounds like a—” A sonorous twang cut Starlight off.
The crystal flooring vanished, the semi-sweet castle air whisked away by a cool spring night’s breeze, crickets singing upon it, and the very faint, very distant clamor likely from the craggy, orange haze neath a salted night.
Trixie hopped in the way, grinning like a filly. “Your great and generous friend shall meet you at the party, Starlight! She has to go… check on preparations, get everypony set.”
Starlight anticipated she would be by her side when the reveal happened. Just as a buffer. “O-okay!” You’re not a foal. You can do this by yourself.
“Sure,” said Maud.
Starlight very nearly forgot she wouldn’t be alone.
“And remember to act surprised, Starlight,” said Trixie.
“Yeah, yeah,” she chuckled. “Remind me of something a little less obvious next time, like breathing.”
Trixie stuck her tongue out. Then, with a grand wave of the horn, light splashed across the dust and stone like a lunar rose. The Great and Powerful friend had vanished.
The dryness and windstorms of the Bad Lands rendered it largely uninhabitable, save for the nutrition-light diets of various desert critters, rocks, and of course, the changelings—who made their own food and protected it. They were the unmatched rulers of the Bad Lands, much like the ponies who lorded over the green glades of Equestria.
As such, the plant life here was meager. Those present were stout in stature, erupting in leafy claws of all directions. So different from those back home, lush and green, closed within themselves. Content with their Cloudsdale-nurtured lives.
Here, everything, even the rocks, looked desperate for drink despite having adapted over millions of years to conform to the environment. Like ponies. And the land, too, in a way. Mostly granite: mottled and pretty, worn by centuries of unabated wind.
Though, much like ponies, there were some surprises here and there. Maud’s eye caught three now, the most recent in the form of a quartz deposit winking at her from a fracture in the earth. Intact, implying something natural instead of a maulwurf. The result of an earthquake, then. After all, Equestria’s Bad Lands and the uncharted territories south weren’t a natural piece of its initial land mass.
“You sure are chatty tonight,” Starlight remarked. “Something on your mind?”
Had she really been so obvious, yammering on about this stuff? “I like rocks,” she half-lied. Half, for that wasn’t the catalyst for discussion.
Maud’s heart was racing faster the greater and more monstrous that fiery glow loomed. The voices ahead had grown silent. So many ponies lurked within. Waiting. Ready to judge her, judge Starlight.
It’s no wonder Maud was so eager to distract herself. She jumped to the next topic, reminded of the quartz which comprised Twilight’s castle, as well as several of history’s most noteworthy charms and baubles—a magic-attractant if there ever was one, quartz stone.
“So you’re saying that it’s the mineral which offers different enchantments, and those are what gives clothing and jewelry special powers?”
“Kind of.”
Starlight huffed in surprise. “It’s my fault for having never studied those. I’d always thought any old rock would do, and it’s the spell cast which determines the charm.”
A shake of the head. “It’s a combination of both. You’re focusing too much on the power aspect, anyway,” said Maud. “It’s a dead art anyway, like consuming rocks for nutrients.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty archaic.” It’s nice of Starlight to act as though eating rocks was totally normal. “But some do practice it, right?”
Maud hesitated. “Few do,” she answered. Was Starlight seeking alternative ways to manipulate Equestrian magic (which sadly didn’t exist outside the Storm King’s machinations), or was she, too, trying to distract herself from anxiety?
This party’s not for either of us. It might be a mistake. I bet Starlight would be willing to head home right now and look at rocks with me if I offered. Then, she could speak to her heart’s content without fear of judgement from anypony. Maud banished the selfish notion before it sounded too appealing.
“Those rubies on the Royal Guards’ saddles?” Maud continued, drawing Starlight’s attention. “The entire set is weightless because of them. Not that it’s for anything outside of comfort.” Thankfully. Equestria hasn’t had a true conflict since it was first establishing itself north, and the dragons of old didn’t take kindly to their cute, weak-seeming neighbors.
“Well, if possible, I could use a pair of bedazzled horseshoes to magnetize everything to my hooves. That’d make my life a whole lot easier!”
Starlight…
“I’m afraid no such mineral would yield that effect,” Maud murmured. Hopefully she came off as sympathetic. Probably not. “Besides, you’ve forgotten how enchanted stones are passive. They’re always active.”
“Oh, right. On second thought, that’d make my life even harder.” She still sounded dejected by the notion, as if in this moment, she really thought she’d found an answer.
If only there was better help out there than “practice.”
“If something like that were to exist,” Maud continued, “you’d not make it five feet outside your door before tracking a road’s worth of dirt and gravel to your hooves.”
“Huh! Ten feet and I’ll be taller than Princess Celestia.”
“That was funny. I’d feel bad for the rocks though.” Maud looked to Starlight’s perplexion, slyly. “You never, ever wash your hooves.”
“They’re just gonna get dirty again!” she cried in defense.
“I agree. I’m the same way. I like the feeling of dust on my hooves.” She felt naked now with that layer sanded off by Bulk Biceps. “Still, rocks deserve better than becoming an accomplice to your height inadequacies.”
It was nice, the pleasant abrasiveness of Starlight’s sputtering laughter. Maud made that, and it was comforting to think so. However bad she was feeling, dry humor always delighted Starlight.
“Wanna know something interesting?” asked Maud.
“Shoot.”
“Even when destroyed, the enchantment lingers on whatever the gemstone was grafted into.”
Starlight looked to the stars, her eyes sparkling. “Interesting. That reminds of something I saw over in Flutter...” She shook her head. “Oh, forget it. It’s not important anymore.”
Maud really wanted to know. But she couldn’t ask when Starlight decided kindly not to pry when their positions were swapped before.
Maud avoided it whenever possible—the horn stump. Just a passing glance cut deep into her chest. I should’ve said something earlier. Wasted my chance to tell her how I really felt. I blew it. That’s that. Maud clenched her jaw. Saying it now would be random.
She would do better. Both of them could do better. Or they could spend the night away from all this, together. Pinkie, everypony, knew what Starlight was going through, they’d understand. Starlight would surely jump on the opportunity... These were selfish thoughts. Dark thoughts. Maud didn’t care; or, she did, but she wasn’t the one ultimately going to act on them.
We’re only here now because everypony’s making decisions for Starlight.
Maud halted in place, between two lumps of mottled granite, like salt and pepper. “Starlight.” She froze, reared her worried head. Or was it sympathetic? A desperate, lonely piece of Maud’s soul hoped so. “Are you absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent sure that you want to do this?”
Starlight turned completely, hornless head cocked with a fake smile to match. “This again? Maud, I promise you—”
“Starlight. I mean it.” Promises were just words, and words were nothing against actions, and Starlight has done so, so, so much more than what she’d been saying these past couple days. “I know you. Part of you doesn’t want this.” At last, she lifted her gaze from Starlight’s parted lips. “Everypony will understand if you aren’t feeling up to this. We just want you to be happy.” Starlight’s pupils shriveled. “What’ll make you happy?”
“I…” A thin finger of sweat trickled between her lowering eyes. “Maud,” she said quietly, “why’s this such a concern for you, huh? It’s my life. I can choose what I wanna do with it.”
It was impossible to read her emotion from this angle. Maud had to be honest. This was it. This is it: the moment I’ve waited for, the one Pinkie told me to look out for, it’s here. It’s us, alone, Starlight just invited me to bear my heart to her. I have to take it/
...Just say it. Maudileena, SAY IT.
‘I. Care. About. You.’ She’d love it. Starlight… would question it. She might. Actually, she’d take it as a joke, in disbelief. Then she’d be uncomfortable. She would ask if I was joking, because I would never say something so personal to her. Random. Just random. She already accepts so much of that from me. My fascination with rocks, Boulder, my tastes in food and leisure and conversation, my dress and my personality and everything and and and—
Everything. She already accepted Maud in her entirety, what’s one more thing? Everything. It took one well-placed strike to crack open a geode.
Starlight suddenly gave a hollow laugh. “Hey, I finally get why Tempest flipped on me the other day—like I did before, but until now, not on an emotional level. Isn’t that sad?” Her eyes gleamed, her smile wobbled. “Gosh, I’m sorry, Maud, I—”
She feels bad because I can’t talk. “I’m nervous…” Shame anchored Maud’s gaze to the earth, where it always should have been. “That’s why I’m concerned about you. When I’m around ponies, I get nervous. I thought you might be the same and was looking for a way out.”
She already shared this with Starlight, ostensibly, but still, nothing new. In fact, on their first day of being friends, Maud shared why she preferred the company of rocks to that of ponies. She didn’t judge her then, bless her, Starlight didn’t judge her at all.
“You understand, don’t you?” asked the coward.
A whole symphony of crickets encompassed them. “Maud, of course I understand. I know this isn’t your scene.” A hoof, chalky with dust and flavored in an earthy smell, rested beneath Maud’s chin and lifted. It took all her willpower not to lean into Starlight’s touch once it pulled away, instead diving into her pleading gaze. “I wanna know why it’s a problem now, though. You know everypony there, you know the changelings are upfront and naive and completely harmless… so what’s getting to you now?”
Now Maud was caught in a half-lie, stating truths but not what she was going to say, unable to get out if she tried. “I never know what ponies are thinking. They could be presuming I look sad, even though I’m not. Or that I sound emotionless and therefore am.”
Or they could be making assumptions about your happiness, even when it’s nonexistent. A facade you feel cursed to wear for the sake of everyone around you. Especially family.
Maud sighed shakily, soundlessly, through her nose. “It’s cold hooves. Don’t worry.”
“Oh. Are ya sure?”
She was so concerned it hurt. “Yes,” Maud answered, staring below her gaze.
Starlight hesitantly turned toward the point of no return, warmly aglow upon the horizon, hoof lifted, an eye on Maud preventing her from making a final decision. “Promise me you’re okay with this?”
Words failed her. She nodded her vow before they continued on, technically avoiding the promise—a pitiful justification for her conscience. One she didn’t amend even as Starlight led the way with the words, “Alright, Maud. I trust you.” Then a chortle. “You’re just about the only pony nowadays who means what they say to me!”
Now she had to really act like she wanted to do this. Not that it’d be difficult for a pony with the personality of a rock. How did Starlight put it that first day?
‘They’re beautiful and strong, but they don’t judge you or make you feel less than in any way. Huh! I think I’m starting to like rocks, too!’ A writhing made Maud want to squirm, to squeeze it from her belly and laugh, smile, thank Starlight Glimmer and do so much more she physically couldn’t. I need to stop being so afraid. I know it’s all in my head. So, why is it so—?
A flash of green and a harsh, “Hey, trespassers!” flanked them, catching Starlight by surprise while scaring the living daylights out of Maud.
“Ahh,” she screamed.
Towering and dark, the figure had to have been Chrysalis, the self-exiled queen who’d vanished without a trace. This was it, they were going to die. Maud would protect Starlight to her last breath!
“Woah, easy, Maud. It’s—I think it’s okay.” Maud blinked, feeling a pressure through her dress—Starlight was squeezing her shoulder, as hard as her words. “I think I know this jerk.”
Deep, harsh laughter mocked them from the darkness, a Thorax-esque pair of antlers pincering the moon at a second glance. “Yeah, you’d better know me!” He approached, antlers alight like a pair of rubies, ruddy glow splashed across his glossy, bug-eyed face. Cocksure and confident in his swagger, Maud knew his type before he made it evident: “Sheesh, even you?” he said to Starlight. “At ease, already! You ponies are too easy to scare.”
So he’s been frightening Ponyville all day, how “princely.” A charming representative of the Hive with a solid first impression.
Yet, Starlight just… grinned. Bared her teeth, somehow pearly despite her changed lifestyle. “Good to see you too, Prince.”
His confidence hadn’t slackened. “That’s ‘Pharynx’ to you, missy.”
Starlight sneered. “Why?” she mocked. “Is that what friends call you?”
“As if! It’s a sign of my respect, if you could even call it that.”
Maud loosed a breath as Starlight dismissed him entirely: a sigh, a roll of the eyes as she brushed past him and continued on for the Hive.
“Come on, Maud,” Starlight called. “In the ongoing tragedy that is my existence, I’d forgotten all about this annoying bug currently buzzing at my ear.”
Except Maud couldn’t “come on,” even if she tried. ‘In the ongoing…’
She couldn’t ask about it. Shouldn’t. Twilight would, but Starlight avoided her whenever she could, and Maud didn’t want the same treat. She could only follow—totally speechless. Something was wrong, but… That is not my concern. Starlight doesn’t even tell Twilight anything. She needs…
Starlight needed to talk. But she has to want to. She won’t accept it being forced out of her.
Ahead, two figures, one large and the other Maud’s size, walked side by side, aglow in ruby light. “Well, I’ll get it out of the way now: glad to see you still got some bite to ya,” said Pharynx.
Starlight laughed a bit on the uneasy side. “Yeah, well,” she said, “I only lost my horn. I’m still the same old Starlight!”
“No, yeah, I can see that! We’ve been worrying over nothing, far as I could tell.”
Starlight halted mid-step, squinting up at him. “Pardon me?”
“What else is there to say?” asked Pharynx, stopping with a baffled smile. “I’m happy I don’t have to guard my language on account of your injury. That would’ve been annoying! Don’t see what the fuss is about, anyway—I think it looks pretty cool. Like a battle scar or somethin’.”
Maud didn’t know what to think, what to feel, but anger.
“Nothing about my life is ‘cool’ because of this thing,” Starlight said in a low voice.
‘This thing,’ she called it.
“Uh, a-doy?” mocked Pharynx, turning. “As far as you’re concerned, you’re as good as useless now! Like a changeling with no wings, no horn…” Pharynx shuddered. “Just the thought makes me pity the fool that ever happened to. Me! Can you believe that, Starlight? My pitying for anycreature, let alone some suicidal fool?”
“A what fool?” Maud clammed up, but she’d spoken already. She was so mad. He was speaking so strangely. Yet he wasn’t saying anything wrong or outright hurtful and yet, Maud wanted to buck him straight into the horizon. She could do it, too.
“‘Su-i-ci-dal,’” Pharynx enunciated, blissfully unaware of how fast Maudileena Daisy Pie could move when she was serious. “It’s an old word we changelings use to refer to self-destructive behavior. You know, sleeping on the job, not keeping up with your training. Well, I suppose that’s suicidal for me, anyways. But Starlight here! She just went and had to play the savior. My respect has been earned, don’t get me wrong. But still, to deal with devils without considering the repercussions? That’s poor strategy, soldier.”
“Enough.” Pharynx and Starlight turned toward her. What is this? This burning in my chest? It was suffocating. It was maddening. And it flared proudly at the thought of her best friend. “Starlight is not a soldier. Don’t treat her like one or apply their mentality.”
“Ha! You’re telling me!” Pharynx leaned closer, eyes narrowed. “Who are you, anyway? Scratch that: what’re you? I taste love comin’ offa ya, but I bet ponies wouldn’t know that, lookin’ atcha.”
Not the point. Not the point. Ignore. “I don’t like you enough to explain myself to you. And I doubt you know Starlight enough to fairly criticize her choices.”
Twice as many stars as before twinkled in Starlight’s wide, stunned gaze. Maud wished she could muster a reassuring smile.
Pharynx scoffed. “As if anything excuses such blatant disregard for your own well-being and quality of life. That isn’t just stupid, it’s a direct violation of what it means to survive.”
There’s no way this changeling would ever know what it’s like to sacrifice.
Nor would Maud—not on the scale that Starlight had. “Sure.” In the corner of her eye, Starlight winced and looked ashamed. “But the difference between you and Starlight is she’d do it again, knowing what comes after.”
Pharynx’s eyes, a striking, dull violet even through his ruddy-glowing crown, widened to their limits. “Well fair enough,” he whispered.
“M-Maud,” Starlight laughed nervously, stepping forth, “you don’t have to go and embarrass yourself—for me—-I mean, I know you ultimately agree with Pharynx, so there’s no reason to—”
A hoof heeded Starlight’s advances, her words, everything but her racing heart. “Forget about how I’d reacted,” said Maud. “None of our feelings matter. Not even Twilight’s.”
She’d mentioned more than once amidst their hangouts, the depths of her ex-teacher’s disappointment in her; Starlight’s eyes, dry, with a smile on her face as she spoke of this. Outright bawling would have been equally obvious.
Yet her hollow eyes told of a failure to grasp what was just said. “Starlight?”
She blinked, returning, and shut her eyes, tearing away from all but Maud’s touch. “I can’t just ignore it like you do. Everypony else is thinking just like Pharynx. Even if they’re not, I’ve no way of not knowing.”
Her terror was palpable, and familiar.
“Learn to ignore them,” Maud told her. “Worrying about what other ponies think is no way to lead a happy life.” No longer was she speaking with her own thoughts, but Pinkie Pie’s, a culmination of many conversations they’ve had together and only with each other. “Their view of you don’t matter. They don’t know you like I do. It’s your choices that make you who you are—not the perspective of other ponies.” Say it now, while I’m upholding Pinkie’s advice for once.
“But—”
Say it! “I...” I can’t! “...I am sorry, Starlight Glimmer.” Ashamed, Maud shut her eyes, so only Starlight’s shallow, broken breathing existed to the song of crickets. “When I saw you in the market, I’d stopped thinking rationally. My emotions got the best of me in a way they hardly ever do. It was selfish, regardless if you care or not. It was my duty to be a friend, just as you’d do the same for me. I failed you though...”
‘Why didn’t you remember me?’ Maud flushed with embarrassment, even now. Bless her stony exterior.
“Maud, I’d forgotten all about you.” A part of her was tickled to realize her friend still regretted that. It meant she really cared. “You had every right reacting the way you did.”
No. She didn’t. Maybe in Starlight’s naive worldview, but Maud had zero justification making what happened about her instead of Twilight’s near-death.
Celestia. Harmony. How could anypony be so grossly selfish?
This wasn’t the time nor the place, or even the company, to amend for that. “Regardless, I should have noticed how you were behaving. It was scary. How casually you’d told me everything.” ‘Starlight, your life,’ she remembered thinking, ‘it’s been shattered like… like your horn, and you’re acting like it’s all still together. Snap out of it.’
That mentality had the opposite effect, and nearly divided them as it did Twilight and Starlight.
“I didn’t think about why you were like this,” continued Maud. “I took it at face-value—your disconnect, flippancy, all of it. I thought I saw a stranger when I was the one acting like it. And I’m sorry for that.”
This was the closest Maud had ever gotten to saying what she wanted tonight. My friend…
No. She shouldn’t hug her. Pharynx would mock them, then Starlight would feel embarrassed because of Maud and her weirdness. Best keep her at forelegs’ reach for now.
“Maud.” Through the din, Starlight smiled. Fractures twinkled upon her cheeks like diamonds. “You’ve no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
Maud felt it was over-the-top. “Really?”
A single, assured nod. “It’s nice, hearing you speak from the heart like that. And letting me see it. You should do it more often, if you’re comfortable.”
“Eugh, gag!” cried Pharynx, wings snapping wide, aglow much like his antlers. “You were the one creature who I thought didn’t get all sappy, Glimmer.”
“You’re still here?” Starlight wiped her flushing cheeks, smiling all the while. Strong. She was so much stronger than Maud, who would crumble and shut up in her place. “Sorry to disappoint you,” she laughed breathily. “Looks like you’re ready to ditch your post, Mr. Royal Aegis. Get some distance between you and all this feelings-junk.”
“You read my mind.”
Starlight gasped in mock-aghast. “And that’s more important than protecting the Hive: knocking back nectar with the boys?”
Pharynx snorted. “Yeah. Thorax insisted I be, ugh, ‘sociable,’” he said with air quotes. “So that’s where I’m headed.”
Starlight giggled into her hoof. “We won’t keep you, then.”
“As if you were!” Pharynx turned back, wings arced and ready to lift him off the ground. He hesitated. Posture slackened. “Hey,” he murmured, perking Maud’s ears as his eyes, twin sheets of amethysts, regarded her. “Sorry and junk.”
Dust and wind beat against them before Maud could make him redirect it. She didn’t flinch as the blast of cool-warmth hit. Wouldn’t dare. That guy who’d stooped to apologize to the wrong mare deserved to be watched as he shrank to a pinprick, vanishing into the horizon itself, where the Hive was nestled.
“Wow.” Starlight whistled. “Never thought I’d hear him apologize, let alone to a pony.”
Now it made sense. He just couldn’t meet Starlight’s eye and apologize after disgracing her like that. Maud had half a mind to catch him at the party and force him to do it again. Correctly. “It’s only because his respect for you doubled,” Maud explained.
“How?” Starlight laughed in over-disbelief. “It’s not like I did anything!”
“Not in the seventy seconds we’ve spoken. But Pharynx didn’t realize the depths of your loyalty to Twilight.” Her lack of hesitation, as much as Maud greedily despised it, was a wonderful trait not many ponies had. “Self-sacrifice is worth commending in any culture.”
“Y-yeah! Totally!” Starlight cast her gaze upon the ground. “I mean, no! I mean—!” She shook her head, and came back smiling. “No, you’re right! About a lot, Maud.”
“Aren’t I always?” she joked.
Starlight tittered. “Most of the time. But especially just now—about how exhausting it is, worrying about the opinions of every pony I meet… Let’s just say that I’ve been thinking about those more often than now, and you make the healthier alternative sound so… simple. I owe you for that… I owe you for a lot, honestly.”
“No, you don’t. Please stop seeing everything I do as a service to be paid for.”
Starlight opened her mouth to object, froze, then pressed her lips together with a quick, eye-averting nod.
Maud cursed herself. She could have worded that better instead of getting emotional again. I’m so tired of you seeing yourself as worth nothing, and a burden otherwise.
“I’m not mad,” said Maud. “But I can tell Trixie feels the same.” Not that she would ever admit it. But her unease was clear even to strangers like the Spa Twins, who looked equal shades uncomfortable and saddened to hear Starlight’s self-hate veiled in lightheartedness. “It’s upsetting to us,” Maud concluded.
“I know.” To the point. Aware of it. Why keep doing it, then? What drives her?
Questions Maud had no business asking. “Let’s not keep everypony waiting now. Pharynx was another signal for your arrival.”
“You know this?”
“It’s a guess. We’re still standing here, talking, Starlight.”
“Right! Right. My bad, I’ve totally held us up! Heh...” A laugh. A mask to appear lighthearted. Underneath, she blamed herself as if this was some great wrong. “Um, so, yeah! Let’s go…” Starlight powered on ahead.
Maud had to push a little to catch up. It didn’t matter. Starlight was clearly done talking.
“If you’re wondering why I’m not, uh, saying anything? ...It’s because I’m thinking about what you said.” Maud turned, sharply for her. Whatever flattery she felt was buried by disappointment and pity as she met face to face with paranoia, a lurch of fear once their gazes joined and promptly broke.
Starlight smiled ahead as if Maud was none the wiser. As if they were truly strangers. “I hadn’t realized you regretted all of that. Especially since it was my fault in the first place! For, you know, acting insensitive… forgetting about you, too, it’s—” Starlight caught herself rambling, or perhaps saying something she didn’t want to. “‘Thanks,’ it’s what I’m trying, trying and failing, to say, Maud. Thanks for being a patient and understanding friend.”
“It’s nothing.” She hasn’t done anything noteworthy. Nothing that Trixie or Twilight wouldn’t have done easily, more eloquently, in her place.
“No, yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” Starlight mumbled. “This is common courtesy you’re doing. I’m just being emotional! Don’t mind me.”
Maud desperately tried to recover. “You weren’t.”
Starlight raised her voice. “No, I’m pretty sure I am—” Sighing, she dropped her head, forelock falling beside her eye, concealing it. “We’re arguing about how I feel, Maud. Something I don’t even know myself half the time.”
“Starlight—”
“Let’s just... stop... talking.” Starlight muttered “Stupid” under her breath before adhering to her request.
And Maud said nothing. Couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Starlight would get mad. It wasn’t what their friendship was about, anyway. Not like Twilight’s or Trixie’s. It wasn’t Maud’s place to be a shoulder to cry on. Just be her rock. Rocks said nothing back. Rocks didn’t think of how to comfort friends. Rocks were just there, sturdy and reliable but little else.
Thus, they understood one another in total silence—total fear of saying the wrong thing—the rest of their walk.
It felt like old times.
Starlight’s insides squirmed. Stop it. They writhed in protest. Come on, I can’t act natural if you’re flipping on me! An ache infected her chest. Everything inside ached for no reason. It’s not like she completely lied to Maud back there. Nor had she any scruples before over lying these last few days, horrible as that sounded.
She was honestly thinking over their encounter with Pharynx, hearing the truths he laid, even now. As though he were right in the back of her head, calling her self-destructive, and by proxy dangerous. Maud’s voice would emerge when her heart was heaviest, defending Starlight. Her stone-solid shield, however misguided.
‘I took it at face-value. Like a stranger. I’m sorry for that.’
On second (actually fifth) thought, maybe a foul part of Starlight was bitter over being viewed as a stranger by everypony she knew. Maud saw her as a stranger when all she did was what any friend would do. What gave her the right to deem what was and wasn’t akin to Starlight?
Snap. Out. Of it, she told herself. It was no wonder Maud and everypony else felt this way. Starlight was pushing this insane narrative that she couldn’t care less about her magic, even to herself.
What stuck was that Maud believed she was more than that. ‘They don’t know you like I do. It’s your choices that make you who you are—not the perspective of other ponies.’ It was a nice, uninformed sentiment. Starlight was many things, but these past few days—years, really—have painted a picture of her that wasn’t very pretty:
Hasty, manic, whiny, dangerous, burdensome, exhausting—everything Twilight thought of her and likely more, if her constant avoidance were any indication. For what else could explain this bizarre unwillingness to mother Starlight the day after she awakened from her coma? Starlight half-expected this but it never came. She hadn’t seen Twilight in days!
Or perhaps it was just a series of misfortune and bad timing. She definitely lost sleep putting this together, and she wouldn’t put so much effort in putting this together unless it was for a friend.
Or she was trying to impress somepony. Like all of Equestria. That made a frightening amount of sense: what better way to prove your gratitude than hosting a huge party in that pony’s honor?
It made sense. It made sense. Starlight hated it, and it made her feel awful, but it made too much sense.
And that, like her, was Twilight beneath the surface. Similarly, many things could describe Maud Pie beneath her stony exterior: proud when it hindered nopony, totally humble when solely herself was involved, a Fluttershy around others.
It took Maud a lot—and Starlight stressed this up and down within herself—-A LOT of guts, standing up to Pharynx like that.
And it was all for her.
No, it wasn’t. Quit making yourself the center of the universe already. You know what happens when you get a big head… Disaster. She kept forgetting that disaster followed, and that was dangerous.
After all, Pharynx was just a bully. Starlight could handle them no problem. Maud simply took pleasure calling others out for their stupidity, and this was another in a long list of those she’d put down. Maud’s life didn’t revolve around Starlight. ‘It’s nothing’ She’d said it herself when Starlight dared presume otherwise. No use romanticizing it like some desperate creep—not when a whole swarm of familiar faces and a pony for every two had uprooted their lives just to put a smile on Starlight’s miserable face.
According to Twilight “the teacher’s pet” Sparkle.
Starlight was ready. All she needed to do tonight was smile, laugh like she’s having a good time, ignore the bad that is her life until everyone launches their pumpkins. You’d brainwashed yourself and a town full of ponies into thinking you were happy, she said. Just forget about your hardships. Forget about what other ponies think, like Maud said. It’s easy. Starlight could do this. She’s done things three times as hard and equally as time-consuming. She’d combined a slew of spells for a homework assignment, for Celestia’s sake! It’d take effort and energy on her part, but most ponies don’t know her so well as her close friends.
Upon entering the luster of the Hive’s enormous, jagged wall, a familiar king lay strewn within a lawn chair, of all things, and made her task, at least for the moment, totally effortless.
The changeling king perked up, grinning, to the sound of Starlight’s guffaw. He marched over, practically yelling, “Star-light! Oth-er friend! How do you do?!”
Best acting ever. Starlight snickered into her foreleg. If Maud hadn’t spilled about the party before, if Trixie’s sudden departure to send a signal, only for Pharynx to do the same hadn’t made it clear already…
“It’s unusually quiet for a Gourd Fest,” she laughed. “And you’re out here, too—it’s a little strange, Thorax.”
“Oh, you know me! Always dozing off… O-out here.” Starlight lifted a brow. “I was, uh, tanning!”
If it were anyone but Thorax, she might feel insulted. “Thorax. You’re green as an apple and lack an epidermis besides.”
“Good evening, by the way,” said Maud, dryer than normal.
“Eh, yeah, I panicked.” He sounded more like a kid than a king. But that was Thorax’s style, and his people were all the friendlier for it. “I don’t suppose you’d believe me otherwise. I’m a terrible liar.”
“That you are. That you are.” Starlight didn’t have the heart to dislike Thorax’s playing along regarding this surprise party. An ulterior motive was the last thing he would ever have. “Oh! Thorax, this is Maud. Maud, Thorax.”
The enormous changeling stepped closer, almost foallike as he jut out his hoof. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Starlight’s said a lot about you! I’m sorry we didn’t get to meet last time—ruling, heh, what can ya do?”
Maud didn’t take his hoof. “Likewise.” Somepony was a little shy.
“Ooh! You’re so interesting,” Thorax gushed, squishing his cheeks together. “I mean it! You are so different to other ponies, and yet so darn similar, too. Like, I can feel the love radiating from you, more so than most ponies I’ve met! Do you, Maud, do you think it’d be alright if we have a conversation later? I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better.”
Maud slid her gaze over. Starlight made sure she was grinning as eagerly as possible. Anything to widen Maud’s friend pool. Her friend looked up again and said, “Sure. I’m not a good conversationalist, though.”
Thorax laughed. “Oh, you don’t gotta worry about that! I’m not either. Normally I’m talking at changelings rather than to them. Just let me know if I’m rambling, okay?”
“Sure.”
Thorax danced with glee. “Ooh, I’m just so excited for this year’s Gourd Fest! We’re hosting so many—” He choked, glancing at Starlight. “Uh, just so many friendly faces! Eh, you two are gonna have a grand old time. Promise. Here, let me show you in.”
He led them four feet left to an archway, carved from a single, towering boulder. “The stonework is flawless,” said Maud.
“Yeah, we got an actual entrance now! Every-ling helped carve out this stairwell that encircles the Hive. They got to carve their initials into the step they’d made, it’s so cute, and…”
And he’s off.
Starlight didn’t care much that she was following her friends, or even that Thorax was so lost in Maud, he failed to notice her horn (thank Celestia). Watching him “talk at” Maud, noticing the subtle ways she listened in—craned her head closer, dominant ear perked fully, every so often swallowing or clenching her jaw—it was heartwarming to see.
I didn’t give it much thought, Starlight realized, her fondness for the newest duo growing by the second, but I think these two could really click.
Maud was curious, empathetic, shy, a good listener, blunt. Thorax was sweet, enthusiastic, courageous, decisive when he needed to be, albeit a little spineless when the crown was off, so to speak. They complimented one another in several quiet but crucial categories.
And unlike with me, Starlight realized with heavy heart, Maud will never get into an argument with Thorax.
“Oh, Starlight?” Thorax and Maud were looking over their shoulders, pressed against the stony walls reaching up, closing around them but not enough to block out a scar to the skyline, revealing a smattering of stars.
Starlight realized the rock had a distinct, speckled pattern to them like salt and pepper. “I already know diabase has a, quote, ‘interesting odor,’ Maud.”
“It really does.” Thorax nodded. “But that isn’t what we’re doing. We’re letting you go ahead of us.”
Starlight deadpanned. “Any particular reason?”
Maud answered, “We’re slow walkers. You want to get to the party.”
No one in their right mind would try arguing against that, especially with Thorax being an inadvertent gossiper. As she squeezed by, Starlight glared unblinkingly at Maud, screaming with her eyes, What are you doing? But there was little to glean. Or anything resembling a reaction.
In fact, Maud looked pretty done with all this “woe is me, everypony is worried and cares for me” nonsense. Starlight would too.
Heart in her hooves, she led the way around a bend and through a firebug-lit corridor. The sliver of stardust above widened, filled with them buzzing amongst each other, feasting on nectar from feeders strung about and alight with dozens more, like lanterns. This coupled with the nerds being nerdy behind her made it easy to forget what awaited her at the bottom of these stairs.
“I’ve been in the area before,” said Maud. “Slate and disabase take centuries to form, and despite their similar origins, the Hive’s foundations appear artificially formed.”
“And is that… insulting?”
“Not at all. I think it’s incredible.”
“Oh, well,” Thorax laughed bashfully, “we changelings have always prided ourselves on our work ethic and architecture. What we live in now was the old castle’s equivalent of a, ah, ‘basement.’”
Maud said nothing. And then, “Silence means ‘continue.’ Please.”
“O-oh! Right, okay. So, you know the castle was built from magically-mutated obsidian? And that our the throne was an enchanted slab big enough to suck up all the magic within a mile radius?”
Maud said nothing immediately, as if she was gasping with excitement. ”I’d heard some details from Starlight, but I didn’t know the full extent of it.”
“You mean the fact that it was obsidian?”
“Yes.”
Starlight chuckled, the only other sound their hoofsteps clopping against stone. Cool air floated up the stairwell. Down several steps, a right turn led into the warm glow Starlight recalled seeing from the Bad Lands.
Their entrance hall, she realized. Sitting above the catacombs where the families slept.
“Yeah! We even have some of its remains in our museum,” Thorax continued. “It’s inactive, thankfully. Something about it being destroyed eliminated its enchantment. I could show you, if you’d like.”
Maud mumbled something drowned out by Starlight’s thundering eardrums. She took a breath, rounded the corner, bracing herself for anything. Not just anything, a good time. That’s what this will be. Just avoid your friends, smile, play some games—
“SURPRISE, STARLIGHT! WE LOVE YOU!”
Cheering—stomping, clapping, whistling and hollering, as though somepony made the winning goal in a buckball championship except that pony was “Starlight.” They must be confused. Many, many were doing several of these at once, more than a few with a dampness on their cheeks—they had to be confused. Starlight waited for them to stop, to wake up and realize she wasn’t smiling but ten years later they were still going, going, going and going and going. Her brain recognized every face, alighting with familiarity only to be clouded by confusion; her heart was gone, exploded, unable to process it all as the screaming splintered into things discernible.
“We love you, Starlight!”
“Thank you so much!”
“You’re so brave, Starlight!”
“Starlight, over here!”
“Thank you for saving Princess Twilight!”
“Starlight, don’t cry!”
“We love you!”
“I, I look up to you, Miss Starlight!”
“Please, don’t be sad!”
“Somepony, go to her already!”
“Starlight!”
“I think you’re still really pretty, Miss Glimmer!”
“Is she laughing, or is she crying?”
“STARLIGHT I LOVE YOU!”
Starlight couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t real, they weren’t really. They were bought, they were told to say things, they… they loved her.
For some reason, they loved her. Despite all she’d done they still loved her! Starlight laughed. She cried. The absurdity of it all, the mountains moved to make this happen, wasn’t worth it.
But to them, it was.
She could feel it in the air, despite not being a changeling.
She couldn’t stop feeling it. She shook fiercely, waves of sound beating against her as the sea would a rock—holding, wearing away over time and constant hammerings: ‘Love.’ ‘Don’t cry.’ ‘Thank you.’ ‘Help her.’
Her actual rock was pressed up against her; Starlight just realized she lacked the strength to stand on half her legs. “They’re here for you,” Maud said.
“Yeah!” Starlight gasped wetly, beholding them all and just seeing more, more, and more. “No kidding!” Even her Our Town friends were here.
She didn’t deserve this. Any of it.
Maud was right—actions speak of one’s character, not mere words. These ponies demonstrated that tonight, right here, right now. And Starlight, deep down, was no different now from the pony who convinced that you needed to be broken, soulless, to have real friendships.
But she’d be no better trying to convince them they’re wrong. Not when they went through so much to make this happen. How would it be any better, poisoning everypony’s festive cheer, by speaking of her nasty presumptuousness and making them feel like garbage? Like Starlight herself?
It’s times like these where the real reason I’d sacrificed my horn is most apparent.
A mental cliffnote, hopefully to remember it better: it wasn’t to save Twilight.
A violet foreleg slipped underneath Starlight’s chin, squeezing her withers with a firmness akin to Hydia’s. A jolt like a blast of magical energy surged down Starlight’s phantom horn, splashing and spreading upon the singed surface of her forehead—oil hot off the pan, oozing outward. Starlight gasped, strangling on a cry.
And silence slammed down upon world, the cheering faces voiceless suddenly.
Twilight’s words in her ear became garbled, a mesh of two, no three… four voices in one, in both ears, in her very brain and the deepest, grimiest pit of her loathsome gut.
Claws wrapped around her throat, the quad-voiced monster snickered within her, ‘It’s getting close to that time, Starlight Glimmer.’
‘Time to collect what’s owed.’
The pony she owed to most flinched, as if somepony just shrieked. Starlight wondered if she would ever be normal again.