She knew exactly what happened the day everything started. She knew, because she spent a great deal of time trying to retrace her steps and figure out what on Equestrian earth caused all this. Like she’d always been told. When you lose something, or something’s broken, you have to retrace your steps.
She tried, and the only thing of any significance was that new radio.
What happened was, Vinyl was having a yard sale, hocking a bunch of her old equipment to pay for a new speaker or turntable or something. And Lyra had been looking for something to make for background noise while she wrote, keep things from getting too quiet while Bon Bon was out minding the shop, and Vinyl had this really neat-looking vintage radio with wood paneling and golden knobs. It was exactly what she needed.
So Lyra haggled, forked over twenty bits for the radio and a singing tea-timer, and brought them home. It was a late Wednesday afternoon, the sky just starting to turn orange behind her as she scuffed her hooves on the doormat and walked in.
She loved their house. Bon Bon had this habit of getting a whole bunch of knick-knacks and filling the house with them—little drinking birds, clocks shaped like cats with little swinging tails, paintings of ponies with fruit for a head, weird stuff like that. She hounded garage and yard sales like a bargain hawk—that’s why Lyra went, she knew Bon Bon would be too busy in the shop, wanted to pick something up for her. Thus, the tea timer. She put it next to the kettle and went to her office to set up the new old radio.
Her study had a nice view when she opened the curtains, looking out over their generous backyard, the tree they planted together and Bon Bon’s little flower garden. She took a moment to drink it in, then cleared a space on her desk and set the radio up.
It only took a little tweaking. Vinyl kept everything she owned in tip-top shape. PVCR buzzed to life, Baritone’s smooth voice coming in beautifully on the old speakers as he discussed something about bridge repairs. Boring, but that was the point. She swept her tail out from under her, pulled up the chair and scooted up to her typewriter…
… and that’s when she saw her for the first time. Standing out under the tree.
She was short and skinny with a round face, choppy green-and-white mane that hadn’t been cut in a while. Big, golden eyes, fresh green coat.
In other words, she looked exactly like Lyra. Save for one detail.
She was smiling wide and broad, big enough to put dimples in her cheeks, but it didn’t reach her eyes at all. It felt like on the other side, she was deeply unhappy, maybe even miserable.
When Lyra smiled, as she had been doing a moment ago, it was often very small and kind of private, and a lot of the time ponies thought it was forced. It was easy to tell that sometimes, on the other side, she was deeply unhappy, maybe even miserable.
She stared at her, and she stared back. They both blinked exactly twice.
Lyra got out of her seat and shut the curtains. Then she stared at those for a bit, and opened them again.
Still there. Still smiling. It still felt exactly the same as it did, like it was a big fat lie.
She shoved the window up and leaned out. “What’s your problem?”
“What’s yours?” she responded.
“Are you a changeling, or something?” she asked.
“No, are you?”
“Answer my damn question!” she shot back.
“Answer damn mine!” she fired in return.
They went quiet again for a moment, and blinked in unison. But before Lyra could get another word out, she cut her off.
“Nah-na-na-nah-nah!”
Lyra slammed the window shut and drew the curtains.
This was going to be a problem.