> Den Fjerde Væg
>  by Meta Four
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Act I. Walls of Darkness
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You’re absolutely sure you want her help?”

“We promised Broad Strokes we’d help him. I don’t think we should do it halfway.”

Bridle Boulevard was crowded this afternoon—crowded by Ponyville standards, at least. In the midst of the bustle, two figures stood unmoving, rocks in the stream of ponies.

The first figure, Time Turner, sighed. “Very well, then. And what do you know—speak of the trickster, and she appears.”

The second figure, Ditzy Doo, gazed down the boulevard. She had no trouble picking her target out of the crowd. The mare’s coat and mane, both arresting shades of pink, would have stood out even if she weren’t the only pony who traveled by bouncing.

Behind Ditzy, Time Turner said, “One-two-three, not it!” A flash of green magic and a miniature clap followed his declaration. Ditzy knew without looking back that he was gone.

Ditzy rolled her eyes, then called out, “Hey, Pinkie Pie!”

“Hiya, Derpy Doo!” Pinkie said as she bounced past. “Splendefarious day, isn’t it?” 

“You got a minute? I need ask you something.”

Pinkie moved so abruptly that Ditzy almost thought she had changed direction in midair. A second later, Pinkie’s smiling face was inches from Ditzy’s own. 

“But you already did ask me a question, silly!” Pinkie patted Ditzy on the head. “And I’ve got ... one hundred sixty-seven minutes, give or take a few. Why? Do you want one?”

“No, I  just ...”

“Because I’m always happy to share with my friends!” Pinkie wrapped Ditzy in a crushing, but mercifully quick, hug. “But if it’s time you want, you know who’s an even better pony to ask?”

“Pinkie, I need some professional advice.”

Pinkie tilted her head. “But I don’t know anything about the mail. Half the time, I can’t even remember which way the little flag on the box is supposed to go!”

Ditzy shook her head. “No, Pinkie. A party, or something a lot like a party.”

“Oh!” Pinkie slapped her forehead. “My job, not yours. Silly me! So what kind of Something A Lot Like A Party is it? A half-birthday bash? A demi-cutieceañera? An I Can’t Believe It’s Not A Welcome Home Party?”

“An art show.”

Pinkie furrowed her brow and tapped her chin with one hoof. She looked ... serious. “Tell me more.”

“It’s for Broad Strokes, from Manehattan. He did me a big favor, so I’m repaying him by setting up a show for his art.”

“Interesting, interesting,” Pinkie said, nodding. “I’ve never heard of him. But there are lots of art ponies I’ve never heard of!”

“Hardly anypony’s heard of him. That’s what I’m trying to fix.”

“Wait, wait, did he do that painting of the dogs playing poker? I love that one! Or, or, did he do that Pona Lisa with the mustache?”

Ditzy shook her head.

“Phooey. Well, I guess I just have one more question: what is an art show?”

Ditzy blinked. “It’s when somepony sets up a bunch of art and invites everypony to come look at it.”

“Like a ... museum?”

“Sort of, but smaller and temporary. And I thought maybe we could get more ponies to come if we had music and snacks, too.”

“Oooohhh.” Dawning comprehension lit up Pinkie’s face, and her smile slowly returned. “You mean it’s an art party! Why didn’t you just say so, Derpy Doo?”

Ditzy remained puzzled. “But it’s not ...”

“There’s gonna be a bunch of ponies getting together with food and music! That makes it a party in my book!” Pinkie pulled out a large book, flipped it open, and shoved the page in Ditzy’s face. “See?”

“Well, what do you know …” Ditzy yanked her head away seconds before the book slammed shut—releasing a small shower of glitter and confetti as the pages slapped together. 

Shaking the confetti out of her mane, Ditzy continued, “And there’s gonna be art.”

“Of course! What kind of art party would it be with no art? Not an art party at all, that’s what!”

“Yes, exactly. So, what I wanted to ... ask you ...” 

Pinkie, a huge grin plastered on her face, was vibrating—her entire body rigid, yet shaking in place. Ditzy wondered if Pinkie might jackhammer a hole into the ground if she persisted.

“You want to set up this art show yourself, don’t you, Pinkie?”

“Oh my goodness, how did you know? I’ve never hosted an art party before! Omigosh omigosh, are you as excited as I am?” Pinkie rushed forward and grabbed Ditzy’s face with her hooves. “Probably not, because I’m pretty ding-dang excited!”

Ditzy flinched, but didn’t struggle against Pinkie’s grip. “Yeah, probably not.”

Pinkie released her. “Well, don’t you worry one bit! I’ll make this the most artrageous party Equestria’s ever seen, or my name isn’t Pinkie Pie and yours isn’t Derpy Doo!” She began pronking away.

“Um, it isn’t,” Ditzy said. 

Pinkie stopped—this time Ditzy definitely saw her halt in midair—and rushed back. “Oh, you silly filly.” There was a slight twitch in her eye. She still smiled, but the smile looked just a bit forced. “I know what my name is! You can’t pull one over on Pinkie that easy!”

“My name is Ditzy Doo. And some ponies call me Derpy Hooves. You’re the only pony in Equestria who calls me Derpy Doo.”

Pinkie’s face contorted in a fashion Ditzy had never thought possible. Her jaw hung open, and the corners of her mouth moved up and down, completely independent of each other. Her eyes alternately blinked, scrunched nearly shut, and flew wide open. Ditzy couldn’t decide if Pinkie was wrestling with a sudden avalanche of conflicting emotions, or in need of medical attention. 

“Um ...” Ditzy said. “It’s, it’s no big deal. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry! Look at what I’ve done!” Pinkie rushed forward and threw her forelegs around Ditzy, resting her head on Ditzy’s shoulder. “What kind of friend am I, when I can’t even get my friends’ names right?”

“I really don’t mind, Pinkie.”

“I mind!” Pinkie leaned back to look at Ditzy, her eyes huge and watery, her bottom lip wobbling. It was an expression of such overblown sadness, Ditzy’s gut couldn’t decide whether to cry along with her or just laugh. So Ditzy did neither. 

Instead, she wrapped one of her own forelegs around Pinkie and pulled her tight. “Well, what day did I arrive in Ponyville?”

“March 11th.”

“When’s my birthday?”

Pinkie sniffled. “One hundred thirteen days from now. I know because it’s exactly fifty-seven days after mine!”

“And when is Muffin Monday celebrated?”

“First Thursday of August.”

“You see?” Ditzy patted Pinkie’s back. “Would you know all that about me if you were a bad friend? And you do that for everypony in Ponyville!”

“I guess ...”

“So what does it matter if you get a name or two mixed up?”

“Huh. You’re right!” Pinkie suddenly returned Ditzy’s hug with enough strength to knock the breath out of her. “Thanks, Ditzy!”

“Urk …” Ditzy choked out. 

Pinkie loosened her grip. While Ditzy gasped for air, Pinkie continued, “I guess that’s why Twilight Sparkle didn’t say anything that time I called her ‘Twilight Twinkle’!”

“Heh,” Ditzy said, regaining her breath. “Well, they mean almost the same thing. I can see why—”

“And you know what? Sometimes, I think the name of our town is Fillydelphia! Can you believe it?”

“Ha! Have you even been to Fillydelphia?”

“Only technically. Oh, and sometimes, sometimes when I’m really, really, reeeeally tired, I’ll forget I’m an earth pony and fall on my face when I try to fly!”

“Ummmm ...” Ditzy’s eyes widened. “Are you implying …”

“Not like that, you goober! I just ... just ... Ooooh, what’s that?”

The flap of Ditzy’s saddlebag was up. Pinkie’s hoof shot into the open pocket and pulled out a medallion. It was a hexagon, painted as an impossible cube.

“So pretty!” Pinkie said. “Where’d you get it?”

“From, uh ...” Ditzy looked back and forth. “It was a gift. Technically I’m not supposed to have it yet, so please don’t tell anypony.”

Pinkie tilted the medallion. As it caught the sun, the light revealed an etching: a stylized picture of the sun and the moon.

“Oh!” Pinkie said, as she shoved the medallion back into Ditzy’s pocket. “Oh my goodness, oh my goodness!” She leaned into Ditzy’s ear and somehow managed to whisper and sing at the same time, “It’s only a paper moon, hanging over a cardboard sea ...”

Without thinking, Ditzy whispered back, “But it wouldn’t be make-believe, if you believed in me.” Then her brain caught up with her mouth, and she took several steps back from Pinkie. She stared, slack-jawed. 

Pinkie smiled. “Looks like we’ve got catching up to do! My place, or yours?”





Pinkie slammed her door and fastened three deadbolts. Then she secured the flat latch with a padlock.

“Pinkie,” Ditzy said, “is there supposed to be a small alligator on your bed?”

“Don’t worry about Gummy!” Pinkie said as she placed a thick wooden beam across the door. “He knows how to keep secrets.” She ran a thick chain back and forth across the door, looping it through reinforced eyehooks on each side. This she held in place with another padlock.

“Huh,” Ditzy said. She blinked at Gummy. The baby alligator blinked back: first one eye, then the other.

Pinkie shoved a bookcase, loaded with massive tomes, in front of the exceedingly locked door. “Just one more thing ...” she said as she grabbed a small gem from the bookcase. She tapped it, then tossed it into the air, where it hovered and fired a fan of blue light that swept the entire room.

“Room secured!” Pinkie chirped. “So, Ditzy Doo, how long have you been in the Service?”

“Not very long. Technically I don’t have a position yet, because I haven’t finished the classes. But, remember when Town Hall blew up? I took my oath right after that.”

“Ooooh are those two related? Are you in the Explosives Division?! Oh, oh! Maybe you know if it’s possible to—” 

“There is no Explosives Division.”

“Officially ...” Pinkie wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Right ...” Ditzy rolled her eyes. “Besides, I don’t think I’m authorized to tell you any more about that incident.”

“Phooey. Dumb old Need To Know policy ...” Pinkie said under her breath. Louder, she continued, “So, what division are you in? I didn’t recognize your badge, and I know everypony’s badge, even the ones I’m technically not supposed to know, so that must mean you’re in a completely new division!”

“Yeah. I’m the newest member of the Khôraguard. Also the only member.”

“Oh, boy!” Pinkie wrapped Ditzy in another hug. “We can be I’m the only member of my R.S.S. division, oh Celestia I’m so lonely buddies!” She leaned away to grin at Ditzy. “And you know what that calls for?”

“Um ...”

“B.R.S.S.F.F. party! Here, hold these!”

Pinkie shoved a baking sheet of unfrosted cupcakes in Ditzy’s direction. Ditzy grabbed it, and Pinkie commenced decorating them, squirting intricate frosting designs out faster than the eye could follow.

The bedroom had transformed. Streamers and balloons that had not been there seconds ago, now decorated the walls and ceiling. A party hat rested at a jaunty angle on Ditzy’s head. She hadn’t even noticed Pinkie place it there. Pinkie and Gummy were similarly behatted. Gummy stood atop the spinning turntable, but no music came from the machine. 

“Done!” Pinkie whispered. “Sorry there’s only one color of frosting, I didn’t have much time to throw this together!”

Ditzy said “Why—” before Pinkie’s hoof cut her off. 

“Gummy?” Pinkie asked, still whispering. “Trouble picking out the music?”

Gummy continued spinning, so Pinkie bounded over to that side of the room. “Hmm, The Hay LF’s greatest hits? No …” she muttered to herself as she poked through her record collection. “Balepusher? Baguette’s Feast soundtrack? No, no. Ooh, here we go!” 

Pinkie pulled out an album with a teal cover. Gummy flopped off the turntable just in time for Pinkie to pop the record on. Jaunty accordion music played as she bounded back to Ditzy’s side. “There we go! Can’t have a party without the music,” she whispered.  

“Why are we whispering?” Ditzy whispered. 

Pinkie grabbed the baking sheet from Ditzy and flung the cupcakes into the air. “Because this is a Classified Top Secret party, and I don’t want anypony without proper clearance feeling left out!” She jumped back, balancing a serving tray on her haunches, wiggling her rump to catch every single cupcake before any could fall. Pinkie’s perfect balance continued as she danced in the middle of the room, without spilling a single pastry.  

“But—” Ditzy whispered. Pinkie cut her off by bucking just right to send two cupcakes flying into the air. One flew towards Ditzy, who dove forward to catch it. The other landed on Pinkie’s outstretched tongue, and she devoured it in a single bite.

Clutching her cupcake, Ditzy continued, “But we’re not the only agents in Ponyville. Aren’t you forgetting somepony?”

“Oh yeah, him.” Pinkie’s mane bounced as she tossed her head back and forth. “He always has important paperwork to do at the same time as my Service parties. It’s uncanny!”

“Paperwork. Riiiight ...” 

Ditzy looked at the cupcake in her hoof. The frosting on top was a surprisingly accurate recreation of her Khôraguard badge. She took a bite, and found it was a rather savory spice cake.

Pinkie tossed another cupcake her way. This one bore a design that Ditzy didn’t recognize. It most closely resembled a window with its curtains drawn, but it had an odd arch above, and no window panes. 

“Is this your division crest?” Ditzy asked. 

Pinkie now had the tray balanced on her head. “Yep-aroony! I’m in Den Fjerde Vægvagt.” 

Ditzy blinked. “I definitely don’t remember that from any of my classes.”

Pinkie stopped dancing. “That’s right! Because ... I! Do not! Exiiiist! Woo-oo-oo-oo ...” She reared back and waved her hooves as if playing an invisible theremin. 

“Okay. Pinkie, are you sure you’re actually an agent, and that wasn’t just a particularly vivid fantasy?”

The record player skipped. The stylus bounced out of the groove, scratching as it slid across the record’s surface. 

Pinkie looked slightly hurt as she planted all four hooves on the ground. “Please don’t joke about that.” The cupcake tray wobbled but did not fall as she reached into her unruly mane, far deeper than should have been possible. 

“Oh,” Ditzy said. “I’m sorry ...”

“Oh, it’s okay! I know you didn’t really mean anything by it. So just don’t do it again! And here you go!”

Pinkie pulled her hoof out of her mane, bearing a medallion of her own. Ditzy still didn’t recognize the crest, but it had the proprietary etching of the sun and the moon, so it was unmistakably an R.S.S. badge. The design was not a window after all. It was a stage’s proscenium.

“You see?” Pinkie shoved the badge back into her mane. “Totally an agent!”

Meanwhile, Gummy reset the record player stylus. The music resumed. 

“Huh,” Ditzy said. “So what does the Veg ... What does your division focus on?”

Pinkie lowered her head slightly. “I’m not supposed to tell anypony outside. I gave the Princess a Pinkie Promise and everything!”

“Wow,” Ditzy said. “The Service is keeping secrets from itself now? How deep does the rabbit hole go?”

“Oh, you should ask Fluttershy about that! She knows more about rabbits than I ever will!”

“No, that was a ... Nevermind.”

“Anyway, the Princess said I need to keep it a secret because the cra-a-a-azy stuff I see would cause most ponies to get down in the dumps! I think Luna called it an ‘exit stencil crisis’, and she sure made it sound serious!”

“Wait a second, what was that you said?”

“And I don’t get how a lack of exit signs is that bad, but I’m not gonna contradict Luna when she’s—”

“Pinkie!” Ditzy grabbed her shoulders.  “Did you say you can see things nopony else can?”

Pinkie looked to the side, apparently considering her answer carefully. “Yyyyes. I can.”

“So can I!”

“Really?”

Ditzy pointed at her misaligned eyes. “The Service didn’t just hire me for my pretty face, you know.”

Pinkie pushed the tray of cupcakes towards Gummy, just before she slumped back and sat on her haunches. “But that doesn’t ...” she muttered to herself. “Why would you have a physical side-effect if ...”

She leaped back to her hooves and leaned into Ditzy’s face. “What kinds of things do you see?”

Ditzy smiled. “Magic. Spatial anomalies. Portals to higher dimensions. Eldritch beings from those dimensions. Exotic forms of energy. You know, that sort of thing.”

Pinkie furrowed her brow and nodded. “Those eldritch beings ... are they watching us?”

“Some of them, yeah.”

“And those portals ... No, better idea!” She grabbed Ditzy and turned both of them to the side. With one foreleg slung over Ditzy’s shoulder, she pointed straight forward and said, 





“Ah,” Pinkie replied, “but what kind of wall?”

“Drywall, I guess? Same as all these bedroom walls. No, wait, if this room is supposed to be R.S.S. secure, then it’s probably reinforced somehow ...”

“Darn it.” Pinkie released Ditzy and stepped away. 

“Not the answer you were looking for?”

“No. Not at all.”

Ditzy turned. “Now, if you had asked me about that wall, I’d have mentioned this crack right here ...”

“What crack?”

Ditzy stuck her head through the higher-dimensional crack and emerged from the opposite wall, near the ceiling. “This crack.”

Pinkie glanced at Ditzy’s face, then at Ditzy’s body. Then she whipped back to gape at Ditzy’s face—a double-take so fast, Ditzy wondered how she didn’t give herself whiplash. “Whaaaaaaaa …” Pinkie somehow vocalized as her mouth fell open, her jaw landing on the floor.

Ditzy pulled her head out of the crack. “I guess we’re not on the same page after all. Heck, we’re probably not even reading from the same book.”

Pinkie pulled her jaw off the floor, snapping her mouth shut. “Oh! But maybe Twilight has an extra copy ... Gummy!” Pinkie spun and scowled at the alligator, who was trying in vain to devour one of the cupcakes. “What have I told you about eating things bigger than your head?”

Gummy blinked at her.

“Smaller bites, silly!” Pinkie pulled the slightly soggy pastry out of his mouth, deftly sliced it into wedges, then placed them on a napkin before the alligator. As she did, a new song began, this one a mariachi tune.

Ditzy’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness, is this ‘Sibponey’? It is! I haven’t heard this one in years!”

“Oh?” Pinkie said. “You like it?”

“Like it?” Ditzy grabbed Pinkie’s forehooves, reared back, and stepped forward. This left both ponies standing on their hind legs, leaning on each other for balance. Ditzy took one step back with her left hoof, and Pinkie matched, stepping forward with her right. Without another word, they fell into the traditional steps of the danzón.

The greatest dance-fighter of all time, Spruceling, once said, “I don’t fear a pony who’s practiced a thousand dances once. I fear a pony who’s practiced one dance a thousand times.” Pinkie Pie was a pony who had practiced a thousand dances twice, maybe three times. Ditzy Doo was a pony who had practiced one dance five hundred times, five years ago. At the end of the first verse, Ditzy lingered too long with her rear hoof extended back, then Pinkie mamboed hard to the right. Ditzy double-stepped to get back in time with the music; Pinkie slipped into a cha-cha-cha and stepped on Ditzy’s hoof. 

Ditzy tilted her head in the direction of the record player and smirked. “I didn’t know you liked mariachi.”

“It’s party music!” Pinkie giggled. “Maybe you didn’t notice, but parties are kinda my thing.” 

Ditzy smirked. “Oh my goodness, how did I miss that?”

“It’s okay, Ditzy, we all make mistakes from—Whoa!”

Ditzy stepped forward to pass Pinkie on the left. Pinkie stepped in the same direction and crashed into her. She stumbled and grabbed Ditzy for balance—and just pulled Ditzy down to the floor with her. 

Both ponies flailed to disentangle their legs and wound up lying on their backs. Pinkie broke out into laughter, and Ditzy quickly followed. 

“Wow, that takes me back,” Ditzy said in between chuckles. “My dad used to dance the danzón with me, when I was just a filly.”

“Better than that, I hope,” Pinkie replied.

“Usually.”

“Haha! Sounds like a swell guy.” Pinkie grew pensive. “I wish my dad taught me Sugarcuban dances. Or waltzes. Or tarantellas. Or fandangos. Or pandanggos. Or clogging. Or …”

Ditzy reached over to place a hoof on Pinkie’s shoulder. “Your parents didn’t approve of dancing?”

“Well, sort of?” Pinkie stood up, and helped Ditzy off the floor. “They only believe in one kind of dancing: the traditional Maremenian saber dance.”

Ditzy blinked. Behind her, the record player began a new song: a lively, shrill number with a flute, lyre, and zither.

“Omigosh, omigosh!” Pinkie bounced in place. “And that’s a traditional Maremenian song!”

“Heh,” Ditzy said. “What are the odds?”

“I wonder …” With light steps, Pinkie walked over to her bed. She stuck her head underneath the mattress—and emerged with a large, curved sword gripped in her mouth. “Still got it!” she proclaimed, her words only slightly muffled by the handle in her jaws.

She set the sword on the floor, where it balanced perfectly on its guard, and spun it. “Whaddaya say, Ditzy? Are you up for a few turns?”

“Ummmmm …”





Time Turner’s office door announced Ditzy’s arrival with a loud creak. 

“Ah, how was the discussion with Miss Pie?” he asked, turning away from his desk.

Ditzy levelled her harshest glare at Time Turner as she stepped in. “Paperwork? Really?”

“... I don’t follow.”

“Every time Pinkie’s tried to throw a party for the Service, you said you had paperwork and didn’t go.” 

“Oh brother. I was afraid this would come up …” Time Turner grabbed a crystal from his bottom desk drawer—a twin of the crystal Pinkie used earlier. As it swept the room, Ditzy closed the office door behind her. 

“Well,” Time Turner continued, “surely you’ve noticed by now just how much paperwork this job involves …”

“It’s not that much.”

“Look … When you put Pinkie and I, alone, in one of her parties … I tried attending, once. It … it …”

“I know she can be a little intense, but it couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Well …”




Two years ago ...

“Can you turn the music down?!” Time Turner shouted, trying in vain to make himself heard over the thumping bass drum from the record player. 

“What?” Pinkie Pie shouted back. 

“Aaaugh!” future Time Turner shouted. “There’s an alligator in my hair!”

“What?”

“For the love of Celestia!” future Time Turner, number two, shouted. “Why is my tail on fire?”

“What?” Pinkie’s eye twitched. 

“Oh, for crying out loud …” future Time Turner, number thirteen, muttered. “How is the punch bowl on fire?”

Pinkie wore a rigid grin, and Time Turner noticed for the first time that her mane had gone straight. “Is everypony having fun?” she asked. “I’ve got cupcakes!”





Time Turner shuddered. “Never again.”

Ditzy rolled her eyes. “Right. But why didn’t you at least tell me she’s a fellow agent?”

“Because you’re better off not knowing. She’s dangerous.”

Ditzy raised one eyebrow. 

“Scoff all you want, but I’m serious! Look, your instructors in Canterlot stressed the importance of keeping to your lane and not sticking your snout in other divisions’ business, right?”

“Didn’t stop you from learning about the Eyeless King.”

“Exactly! Because, for the most part, Luna and the Service senior leadership don’t actually care whether we stay in our lanes or not. They just want us to be discreet about it. But with Agent Pie and Den Fjerde Vægvagt, it’s different.”

Ditzy sat down. “Different how?”

“After I met her, professionally, I went digging to find out what exactly she did. It took me months to get my hooves on a single folder. The documents were magically encrypted—literally unreadable by anypony without the proper clearance. In contrast, do you know how long it took to me to read the files on the monsters you deal with? One week.”

Time Turner sighed before continuing.  “I don’t know what Agent Pie deals with. But whatever it is, Princess Luna is very serious about it not falling into the wrong hooves. And that scares me.”

Ditzy furrowed her brows. “That sounds serious, all right.”

“Of course.”

“So if you wanted me to avoid learning too much about Pinkie for my own good—” Ditzy stood back up. “—why did you make me talk to her about setting up the art show?”

Time Turner’s eyes widened, his pupils darting to look at every corner of the room. “I … well … It was your idea to consult her in the first place! So—”

Ditzy leaned in closer, poking his chest with one hoof. “I get the impression you’re really just avoiding her because you don’t like her.”

He snorted. “And so what if I am? That’s not a crime.”

Ditzy stood back, her expression softening. “She’s lonely, you know.”

“What? Her? I don’t believe it.”

Ditzy began trotting a circle around the room. “As soon as she heard about my division, she insisted on throwing me a party. She called it an ‘I’m so lonely because I’m the only member of my R.S.S. division’ party, or something to that effect.”

“Oh.” Time Turner’s ears flattened. 

Ditzy stopped at his side. Smirking, she said. “So the next time she throws one of her Service parties, we have to attend.”

“I don’t see how … Wait, ‘we’?”

“Of course. Us, together.” Ditzy hooked one wing over Time Turner’s shoulder and pulled him into a side-hug. “I’m not going to abandon Pinkie to … whatever she’s facing, but I’m not abandoning you to her Pinkie-ness, either. We’re all in this together.”

Time Turner smiled. “I guess that doesn’t sound so bad.”
> Act II. Walls of Doubt
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The floorboards of the train station creaked beneath Twilight Sparkle’s hooves. They sounded real. The sunset’s light looked real as it glinted off the crystal ponies milling about. The station bakery put out a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls, and if that sweet aroma wasn’t real, then Twilight didn’t know what was.

Twilight spared a glance at the spires of the Crystal Empire, then scanned the crowd around her. As she adjusted the bulky pack on her back, a voice caught her attention. 

“Excuse me?” A crystal mare stood in front of Twilight, looking at her hopefully.  “Are you Twilight Sparkle? The Twilight Sparkle?”

Twilight resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I certainly don’t know of any others.”

“The assistant of the Great and Honorable Spike, the Brave and Glorious?”

Twilight chuckled. “Yes, of course.”

“Oh my goodness! My name’s Razzle Dazzle, and it’s so great to meet you! Can I take a picture with you?” She produced a camera, and Twilight nodded. They took five pictures before Shining Armor arrived. 

“Twily!” he called. He effortlessly balanced a pack on his back, even larger than Twilight’s. 

“Shining Armor!” Twilight quickly returned Razzle’s camera and rushed to her brother. She threw her forelegs around him, and he returned the embrace far more gently. Even in his relaxed state, Shining Armor’s muscular neck barely yielded as Twilight squeezed. She inhaled, wrinkling her nose at the odd mixture of scents: Shining’s sweat and vanilla shampoo, no doubt one that Cadance talked him into using.

“Hey, Twily?” he said.“You’re squeezing kind of tight ...”

“I am? Sorry!” Twilight released her grip and stepped away. “Just making sure you’re real, haha!”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m not gonna do the ‘Sunshine, sunshine’ dance, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll trust you ... this time.”

“Awww, that’s so cute!” Razzle Dazzle aimed her camera squarely at Twilight and Shining Armor. “Can you two hug again so I can get a picture?”





Twilight and Shining both smiled as they trotted away—not into the city, but towards the tree-covered foothills of the nearest mountain.

As the bustle of the train station faded into the distance, Twilight turned to look over her shoulder. Then Shining spoke. “So, what’s the occasion, Twilight?”

“Oh, no reason. Something just made me realize that we really don’t see each other enough.” Twilight faced forward again, and noticed her brother’s smirk. “Hey! Didn’t you say we should do something together that doesn’t involve me saving your rump? I’m just taking you up on that offer.”

“Sure, but ... camping?”

“I like camping!”

Shining telekinetically unzipped Twilight’s pack, then reclosed it. “Then why does all your equipment look brand new?”

Twilight blushed. “Well, I liked the camping trips we used to take. You know, with Mom and Dad.”

“I distinctly remember, on that first camping trip, you spent the entire walk to the park trying to convince us that reading about nature would be safer, more efficient, and just as much fun.”

“But I didn’t do that on our second camping trip, did I? Besides, I’ve done a lot more outdoorsy stuff since moving to Ponyville. You know, I joined the tri-county Running of the Leaves the last two years.”

“Pfffft.”

“And you like camping. I wanted to do something you like.” Twilight glanced over her shoulder again. 

“Still, you’ve got your serious face on.”

“I do not!”

“I know that face, Twily. Smile all you want, but there’s still that old look in your eyes. I know what you’re thinking: something like ‘Oh my goodness, this homework assignment! Clock is ticking!’”

Twilight looked at her brother, her brow furrowed. Shining continued, “And that’s your face from that time you read the Summa Philosophiæ and took a week to digest it.”

“Alright already!” Twilight snorted. “Yes, I’ve got something on my mind. But it’s something strictly need-to-know, so I can’t really tell you about it.”

“And helping my little sister deal with stress isn’t enough of a need?”

Twilight bumped her shoulder against Shining Armor’s. “You already are helping, you big lunk.” She glanced over her shoulder yet again.

“What are you looking at?” Shining asked.

“Nothing!” Twilight looked back at Shining. “I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye, but it was nothing.”

“Okay ...”

The path ran through a creek. Twilight stepped carefully across the largest stones, so the water barely touched her fetlocks. Shining Armor charged through the deeper waters just downstream of the crossing, emerging on the other side soaked up to the middle of his shoulders.

“Ahhhh ... brisk!” he said, shaking the water off his limbs and tail.

Twilight leaped from the last stone to the shore. “Shining Armor, do you ever think about how things could have been if I hadn’t been born?”

“What?” Shining paused to give his sister an incredulous look. “Where did that come from?”

“Oh, I don’t remember.” Twilight resumed trotting down the path. “Something just got me wondering what it would be like, to be an only child.”

Shining, still dripping, caught up to Twilight. “Yeah, but that doesn’t make any sense, Twily. I was an accident, but Mom and Dad liked me so much they they decided to have another foal. Who turned out to be you.”

“Yeah ...”

“So me, without you, wouldn’t really be me. And the other way around.”

“Yes ...” Twilight scrunched her face in concentration. “But use your imagination! Pretend it were possible for one of us to exist without the other.”

“Nah, I’d rather not.” Shining shot her a smirk. “Really, is there any practical benefit to this mental exercise?” 

“Um ...”

“Didn’t think so.”

Twilight sighed, then smiled back at her brother. The sky darkened as the two trotted side-by-side, deeper into the forest. A gust of wind rustled Twilight’s mane and made Shining Armor shiver.





Last week ...


Time Turner tapped the dome.  “That’s glass, all right.”

“Good old Ponyville ...” Ditzy gazed at her hometown with a wry smile.  “Can’t leave you alone for two weeks without something like this happening.”

Ditzy and Time Turner stood on the road leading into Ponyville—which had been aggressively redecorated in their absence. Underneath the massive glass dome that cut the town off from the outside world, statues of a caped unicorn lined the streets, and most buildings bore black-and-red banners.

Time Turner said, “How do you suggest we get inside?”

Ditzy scanned the dome for spatial irregularities. “Well ...”

Magic washed over the glass surface. The entire dome rose into the air, then winked out of existence. Both Ditzy and Time Turner blinked at the empty space. 

A light blue unicorn galloped out of town, shouting, “Get out of Trixie’s way!”

Ditzy and Time Turner jumped back.

“Hi, Dizzy! Bye, Dizzy!” Trixie called as she sped past.

Ditzy and Time Turner watched, slack-jawed, as Trixie made for the horizon with all possible speed. Shouts of joy could now be heard from Ponyville. 

“Oh, dear,” Time Turner said. “I’m getting thrown under the bus, aren’t I?”





“I’m fine, Twilight!” Rainbow Dash whined. “I told you, Trixie’s spell just tickled a bit. I’ve had noogies that hurt more.”

Twilight rolled her eyes as she cast one more spell across Dash’s body. “Yes, of course you’re too tough to get hurt. I’m just making sure there weren’t any unnoticed side effects.”

“What about Pinkie? She needs your help more than I do.”

Twilight gasped and spun to face her other friends. Applejack and Rarity were both busy washing bodypaint off their family members. Fluttershy, still disguised as Rainbow Dash, was deep in conversation with Angel bunny. All around Ponyville town square, excited groups of ponies pulled down Trixie’s banners and hung up much more festive ones. Squads of weather pegasi were already at work clearing the storm clouds from the sky. 

There was no sign of Pinkie. 

“Where is she?” Twilight called out. “Did anypony see where Pinkie Pie went?”

All the ponies who looked back at Twilight were confused or apologetic. Rarity spoke: “I’m sorry, Twilight, but I’ve just been so distracted with cleanup, I completely lost track of her.”

“Don’t worry,” Twilight said. “I’ll find her myself.” She visualized two spells, mentally linking locate pony to teleport self, then she cast. A few seconds passed, but the locator spell detected nothing. Furrowing her brow, Twilight pumped more energy into the spell, extending the search radius. Nearly a minute later, she finally detected the distinct, rubbery blue of Pinkie Pie’s magical signature. 

Space warped around Twilight—Ponyville appearing to explode into individual atoms—then, an instant later, reformed. Teleportation was easy now, but Twilight suspected it would never become boring.

Twilight didn’t recognize this place at all, but Pinkie Pie was right there, and that was what mattered. 

Pinkie faced the side, looking into a portal unlike any Twilight had ever seen before. She tried to say something but, with her muzzle erased from existence, her words came out as, “Mmm hhmm, mmm-hhmmm-hmm!”

Surprise lit up Pinkie’s face as Twilight stepped forward. Twilight smiled, her horn glowing with magic. She had seen Trixie’s original spell at work, so it was foal’s play to reverse it. With a quiet pop, Pinkie’s muzzle reappeared on her face.

Pinkie smiled and inhaled deeply. At that precise moment, the portal winked away. “Omigosh, omigosh, omigosh,” Pinkie exclaimed. “Twilight, this is amazing! I can’t believe it, only I can believe it because I see it right now and, and ... omigosh!”

Twilight blushed slightly. “Thank you, Pinkie, but reversing a spell like that really isn’t anything special ...”

“What?” Pinkie glanced down at the tip of her snout. “Yeah, thanks for giving me this back. But that’s not what I’m excited about! I’m super-duper mega-ultra psyched that somepony else in Ponyville knows about ...” She reared back, extending and waving her forelegs to encompass all the surroundings. “... this!”

“Yeah, about that ...” 

Twilight looked around, but there was absolutely nothing to see. Unbroken blackness surrounded her and Pinkie. The floor beneath her was just as black—with no horizon visible, she and Pinkie seemed to hover in a void. In spite of the darkness, both ponies were as brightly illuminated as if the noon sun shone on them. 

Twilight thought she saw a white glow from the corner of her eye, but when she tried to look straight at it, it moved, hiding in the very edge of her peripheral vision. She wrote if off as her mind playing tricks on her, and she turned back to Pinkie. 

“Where is this?” she asked. 

“Whaaaa?” Pinkie fell on her back, wiggling her legs in the air for a few seconds before righting herself. “Oh, this old place? The other side of The Iris, I guess. It really isn’t much of a ‘where’ at all, if you ask me!”

“And what’s The Iris?”

Pinkie’s smile shrank slightly. “Twilight, you’re asking silly questions. Shouldn’t you already know that?”

Twilight shrugged. “I don’t know, should I?”

Pinkie stepped forward and placed one hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. “Well,” she said, her ears folding back, “how long have you known about the Fourth Wall?”

Twilight furrowed her brow. “The separation between the characters of a stage play and their audience? We talked about it in high school literature class. But what does that have to do with this?”

“But …” Pinkie raised one eyebrow. “How did you get here?”

“I just used a teleport spell to follow you here, Pinkie. I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh no.” Pinkie’s eyes went wide as she backed away from Twilight. “No no no no no!”

“Pinkie, what’s wrong?”

Pinkie tripped over her own rear hooves. She made no attempt to rise, instead curling into the fetal position. “The fastest way to lose a friend ... the fastest way to lose a friend ... the fastest way ...” she muttered to herself.

Twilight knelt down and wrapped the hyperventilating pony in a hug, pulling Pinkie’s head against her own chest. “The fastest way …” Pinkie continued. “Broke a promise ... the fastest way ...”

“Shhh ...” Twilight said, hoping that she sounded more calm than she felt. Somepony needed to be level-headed in this situation. “I’m here for you. Whatever’s happening, we’ll get—”





“—through it together,” Twilight Velvet cooed, holding her sniffling filly tight against her chest. “It will be okay.”

“No, no, no,” Twilight Sparkle muttered, staring into the distance. “This is the worst. I can’t fix this.”

Mother and daughter rested on the kitchen floor. Little Twilight’s saddlebag slumped against the wall, the corner of a report card poking out of the open pocket.

Twilight Velvet ran her hoof through Twilight Sparkle’s mane and said, “Your dad and I can help you.”

“You can’t fix a C on my report card. That will never go away.”

“Dear, look at me.” When the filly obeyed, Twilight Velvet continued, “Your father and I will never stop loving you. You are our child, our only child, and no letter on a report card will ever take that away.”

“Even if I got an, an ...” Twilight Sparkle struggled to spit out the letter. “... an F?”

“Of course, dear.”

Tears formed in the corners of the filly’s eyes as she nuzzled her mother’s chest.

“Now,” Twilight Velvet continued, “it’s true we can’t make this one grade go away. But, with hard work and help from your father and me, you can make all your future grades the best they can be. Then nopony will care about one little old C!”

“But ...”

“What’s done is done. But your father and I can—”





“—help you get through this ...” Twilight Sparkle said.

What an odd thing to think about now, Twilight thought. And that wasn’t how it happened. 

“Yes ...” Pinkie’s voice shook Twilight out of her thoughts. She pushed back against Twilight, then stood up on wobbling legs. “Yes, you can help me, Twilight!” Pinkie bounced up and down. “I need coffee!”

“Of course,” Twilight said, standing up herself. “Coffee can be a great way to clear your head. I always feel better after drinking a cup.”

“I don’t need a cup.” Pinkie smiled—a grin so large, so devoid of joy that it almost hurt to look at. One of her eyes squinted until it nearly shut. “I need all the coffee you can get me! All the coffee in Equestria! I’m going to stay awake forever!”

Twilight took a step back. “Pinkie, I know I haven’t set the best example when it comes to healthy sleeping habits, but what you’re suggesting—”

“I can’t sleep again!” Pinkie grabbed Twilight’s shoulders and shook. “Never, ever, ever! Don’t you get it?!”

Twilight telekinetically pushed Pinkie away, then lifted her a few feet in the air. “No, of course I don’t get it! You’re—”





“—not explaining anything, dad!”

Night Light and little Twilight Sparkle stood on the back porch, a large telescope between them, unused. There would be no stargazing tonight, until this discussion was resolved.
 
Night Light gave his daughter a goofy grin, so large his teeth stood out even in the starlight. “Come on, would I ever mislead you?”

Twilight Sparkle scowled back. “You told me once that bees are baby birds! And that soccer balls grow on trees!”

“Yes,” Night Light said, “and if you wait too long to pick them, they mature into—”

“Pangolins,” father and daughter said together. 

Smiling in spite of herself, Twilight gestured at the telescope. “So how am I going to be an astronomologist like you, if I think your telescope works because of ‘breezie magic’?”

“Pfffft!” Night Light waved a hoof dismissively. “Astronomy’s for chumps, like me. What kind of father would I be if I let my favorite foal grow up to be an astronomer, eh?”

“Da-a-a-ad, I’m your only foal.”

“Sweetie …” Night Light’s smile disappeared, and he closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. When he looked at Twilight again, he wore a serious expression. “You’re very smart, but there’s still so much you haven’t learned yet. And if I explained optics to you now, it would just sound like a bunch of gobbledygook.”

“No, it wouldn’t! I want to know!”

“Well ...” Night Light scratched his chin. “Do you know what a tangent is?”

Twilight beamed. “Yeah! It’s when you and mom talk about something, and then five minutes later you’re talking about something completely different, and you can’t remember how you got there.”

“No, not that kind. I mean the math kind of tangent.”

Twilight tilted her head, looking confused. She opened her mouth, but was interrupted. 

“Honey ...” Twilight Velvet stood in the porch door. “Isn’t it Twily’s bedtime?”

“Just five more minutes!” both Night Light and Twilight Sparkle said, simultaneously. They looked at each other and giggled, while Velvet walked back into the apartment, shaking her head.

“How about we make a deal?” Night Light said, smiling once more. “I’ll tell you all about how the telescope works, as soon as you can tell me two things.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Twilight leaped in place. “What two things?”

“First: what a tangent is, and how to calculate it. Second: tell me what light is made of.”

Twilight stopped bouncing, her eyes wide. “Light ... is made of something else?”

Still grinning, Night Light leaned forward and ruffled Twilight’s mane. “That’s what you need to find out. Then I’ll give you—”





“—a full explanation!” Twilight said. She shook her head to clear out the unwanted, clearly erroneous memory.

Pinkie, still hovering in Twilight’s telekinesis, grabbed her own head in her hooves. “I broke my Pinkie Promise! And now she’s going to think I’m the worst secret agent ever, and she’ll probably hate me for the rest of her life”—her eyes widened and she flailed all four legs in the air below— “and oh my goodness that’ll be centuries and centuries! Twilight! What if she gets so mad she turns into Nightmare Moon again?! What if—”

Twilight placed her hoof over Pinkie’s mouth, silencing her. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down,” she said, shaking her head. “You … made a promise … to Princess Luna?”

Behind the hoof, Pinkie stopped flailing and nodded.

“And you broke that promise.”

Pinkie nodded again, tears in her eyes.

“And me being here, has something to do with you breaking that promise.”

Pinkie closed her eyes.

“But …” Twilight pulled her hoof off Pinkie’s muzzle, and scratched her own chin with it. “You didn’t bring me here, Pinkie. I came here on my own.”

Pinkie raised one brow. “But, I ...”

“No, Pinkie, none of this is your fault!”

She released her telekinesis, and Pinkie landed awkwardly, falling forward until Twilight caught her. “I did this,” Twilight continued. “I used my magic to follow you here. So you didn’t break any promise! Right?”

“I ... I ... wow, Twilight, you’re right! Yaaaaaay!” Pinkie leaped backwards, landed on her rump, fell back, and proceeded to roll back and forth on the black ground. “Oh my goodness, that is such a relief! I thought I would have to organize my own ‘Going away from Ponyville forever’ party, and I didn’t like that one bit!”

Twilight gave a weak chuckle. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have liked that, either.”

Pinkie leaped back to her hooves. “Now, instead we can—”





“—eat all these marshmallows?” Twilight Velvet shook her head. “Are you crazy?”

“Come on, live a little!” Night Light said, hoisting the “Jumbo-Deluxe Family Size” bag he had bought.

Twilight Sparkle spared a glance at her parents, then focused on her own marshmallow, roasting over the fire.

The forest was truly dark now. The thick canopy blocked out the moon and the stars, so the fire was the camp site’s only illumination. 

Night Light continued, “We’re gonna hike all these calories off tomorrow anyway ...”

“And candies like these always go straight to my thighs.”

“Yeah ...” A smile spread across Night Light’s face as he stared into space.

“Honestly, I planned to indulge a bit on this trip, but this much? It would throw off my meal plan for the rest of the ...” Velvet trailed off as she noticed her husband’s vacant expression. Waving a hoof in his face, she said, “Honey? Helloooo?”

His mouth opened slightly, but he gave no answer. 

“Hey Twily, look at your dad. Twily? Twilight Sparkle!”

“Huh, what?” The filly looked up from her stick, rotating the marshmallow over the fire with mechanical precision. 

“Your dad spaced out again.”

“Haha! His face looks funny!” Twilight Sparkle glanced back at her stick. “So what’s he thinking about?”

“Well, I had just mentioned ... oh.” Twilight Velvet’s face flushed, and she bit her lip. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Twilight Sparkle flopped her ears. “Another subject that I lack context to understand?”

“Yes, something like that. Anyway, I think it’s time he came back to the land of the living.”

Twilight Velvet leaned forward and kissed the tip of Night Light’s nose. His mouth snapped shut, and he blinked twice, his eyes refocusing. He looked at Twilight Velvet and said, “Ummm ...”





“... Twilight, say something!” Pinkie prodded Twilight Sparkle in the shoulder. “Now is not a good time to play ‘Shhh’!”

She reached for Twilight’s nose, but Twilight caught her hoof. “Sorry. Did I zone out there?”

“I’ll say! Are you okay, Twilight?”

“I guess?” Twilight shook her head. “I don’t know. These memories are all wrong!”

Pinkie furrowed her brows and opened her mouth, but Twilight spoke again before she could. “When I got that bad grade, Shining Armor was also there, trying to console me.”

“So you’re saying—”

“He and I had an argument over whose turn it was to use the telescope that one time.”

“You mean he’s—”

“And Shining Armor went camping with us! That was the trip where he taught me how to make s’mores!”

“Uh oh.” Pinkie sat down. “Twilight, I think you’ve seen too much. You can’t go back to how things were before.”

“The way what was before?”

“You’ve always had an older brother, right?”

“Of course. He’s older, so by definition—”

“But have you always always had an older brother?”

Twilight scrunched her eyes shut. “Pinkie, are you serious?”

“The most serious! This is something I would never joke about! Cross my heart, hope to fly—”

“Okay, okay. But I really don’t understand what you’re implying.”

“Okay ... um. I’m sorry, Twilight, I’m not as good at this complex stuff as you are. Hey, let’s go back to my place! That’ll help, right?”

Pinkie reached down, then raised her hoof. A piece of the blackness lifted with it, like an impossibly dark curtain. Through the exposed space, a completely ordinary sight was visible: the beige interior of a house. 

Twilight opened her mouth, then closed it again without a word. When Pinkie beckoned her, she walked through the opening and found herself in Pinkie’s bedroom. 

Pinkie followed. Of the opening to that other place, no trace remained, not even a magical residue. There was just an ordinary wall, with photos, and a very modern painting that appeared shredded, and a poster for the Ponyville Community Theater’s performance of Baguette’s Feast. As Twilight glanced around the rest of Pinkie’s room, her stomach sank with the realization: the white glow was still in her peripheral vision. She had no more luck than before locating its source, and Pinkie’s voice drew her away from the fruitless effort. 

“Want a cookie?” Pinkie asked as she trotted over to her nightstand, which bore a plate stacked with cookies: peanut butter and oatmeal raisin. “I can never do any hard thinking while I’m hungry.”

“No thanks, I’m good.” Twilight smirked. “And do you ever do anything hungry?”

“Hmmm ...” Pinkie considered that carefully. “Well, I can eat just fine!” She slammed her hoof on the edge of the plate, flipping it and its contents into the air. The cookies, she caught and devoured in seconds. 

Twilight glanced around the room, fidgeting and biting her lip. However, she said nothing and waited. Meanwhile, Pinkie grabbed a small gem from a bookcase.

“Pinkie,” Twilight said, “where did you get that thaumoscopic stone?”

“The what?” Pinkie replied as she tapped the gem. 

It rose from her hoof and began a standard magical scan. As its light swept over Twilight, it tasted like orange and chili powder. 

“You know, that.” Twilight pointed at the gem as it fell back onto Pinkie’s hoof. 

“Oh, this old thing?” Pinkie tossed it over her shoulder. It clattered on a bookshelf, eliciting a grimace from Twilight. “It’s standard issue. You know, to make sure meetings aren’t bugged. Oh! And before I tell you any more, you need to read this.” She slid a stack of paper over to Twilight. “Initial every page, fill in your personal information where indicated, then sign and date the last page.”

Twilight recognized these forms: official Equestrian authorization for access to sensitive information, with a thorough list of the penalties for compromising the same. The corners of her mouth curled up slightly as she devoured the words before her. Twilight had just visited a place that violated her mental model of the universe, and she now had reason to distrust her own memories of her family—so it was comforting to see some things were still the same. Bureaucracy? Bureaucracy never changes.

“Done!” Beaming, Twilight stamped the final page and levitated the stack back to Pinkie. 

“Whoa! That was quick. Like, pshoooooo!”

“Well I do already have Top Secret clearance. But this is the first I’ve heard about the ‘Top Secret: Den Fjerde Væg’ category.”

“Yeah, well ... ‘Need To Know’ and all that ...”

“So, what does this have to do with my brother?”

“Well, imagine a super-duper unicorn wizard could cast a spell that created a pony from nothing.”

Twilight opened her mouth, but Pinkie raised a hoof and cut her off: “Yes, I know that’s impossible. That’s why we’re using our imaginations!”

Twilight shut her mouth. Pinkie continued, “Or, how about this? Imagine there’s another Mirror Pool that can create original ponies, not just copies. Either way, how do you tell the difference between a pony created by magic, and a pony born the normal way?”

Twilight had unconsciously assumed her classroom listening posture: seated, with her fore hooves directly between her rear hooves. At Pinkie’s question she started to raise a fore hoof, then caught herself. “Well,” she said, “first I’d look for the magic residue from the spell or Mirror Pool.”

Pinkie walked to the right. “And what if you haven’t seen either firsthoof?”

“Hmm, good point.” This time, Twilight did raise her hoof, gesturing idly as she spoke. “Without a reference, I couldn’t distinguish between the residue and a pony’s normal ambient magic. I guess I’d have to check the records for holes. Missing birth certificate, missing academic transcripts, missing medical records, that sort of thing.”

“Yes, yes.” Pinkie spun and walked to the left. “But what if the wizard made fake versions of all those records?”

“We have ways of testing for forgeries.”

“But what if the fakes pass the tests?” Pinkie spun once again, this time stomping the floor as she walked right again. “What if there’s no way to tell the difference between the fakey-fake and the real thing? How do you detect this phony pony, then?”

“I guess eyewitness testimony is my next best bet. If nopony’s ever seen this magic-created pony before a particular date, it would be suspicious.”

“Yes, very suspicious, indeed.” Pinkie reared back and waved her hooves in the air. “But what if the wizard’s spell could change memories? So everypony remembered that pony being there all along! Even though they weren’t.”

Twilight leaped to her hooves. “Pinkie, that’s even more impossible than the rest of this absurd situation! Mnemosynaptic spells are finicky enough already, so if you tried to cast one over that many ponies at once ...” Twilight shook her head. “Every pony’s mind is different. For at least one pony, the spell would not work on them.”

Pinkie rushed back to Twilight. “Bingo! And can you guess who that pony is?” Pinkie leaned forward and spoke-sang into Twilight’s ear, “Here’s a hint: her name starts with a P ...”

Twilight stepped back and stared.

Pinkie continued, “And now there’s a new one who starts with a T ...”

“I thought you said this scenario was just hypothetical.”

“No, I said imaginary!”

“That’s the same thing!”

“Oh. Then ...” The smile fell from Pinkie’s face as she said, “You remember, um, the day you got that invitation to Shining Armor’s wedding, right?”

“Of course!”

“Well, that was the first time I ever heard about Shining Armor. Can you remember anything clearly about him before that day?”

“Of course I can! We played Book Fort together when I was six ... I think? Actually, now that I think about it, I’m not so sure. But, but there was that time I broke my leg, and he carried me to the hospital on his back. Or, was it Dad who did that? Aaargh!” Twilight clasped both fore hooves to her head and fell to the floor. 

Pinkie crouched and placed one hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. “You’ve got two sets of memories, right? And they don’t fit together at all?”

“Am I going insane?”

“No, no, no!” Now it was Pinkie’s turn to hug Twilight. “You’re going through a perfectly normal reaction.”

“Reaction to what?”

“Discovering the world is insane!”

“That’s the opposite of reassuring,” Twilight grumbled. 

“Umm ...” Pinkie leaned in and whispered, “I’m not very good at this! Haven’t had any chance to practice.” She leaned back and continued in a normal voice. “Wait, did I say insane? I meant cuckoo! Or loco! Or ... coco! Hey, Twilight, do you wanna drink some cocoa? That always makes me feel better!” 

Sighing, Twilight pulled away from Pinkie and stood up. “Pinkie, are you implying that the reason I have two contradictory sets of memories is because ... my brother didn’t actually exist before I came to Ponyville?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘before’!”

“What?”

“Ugh ...” Pinkie threw her hooves to her forehead and scrunched her eyes shut. “Why does retroactive conjuration have to be so hard to talk about?”

Twilight began pacing the room. “Pinkie, just tell me: Which set of memories is real? Do I really have an older brother?”

Pinkie opened her eyes. “Of course you really have a brother, silly! Princess Cadance can’t marry an imaginary stallion, can she?”

“But what if Cadance isn’t real, either?”

“Then how is she the ruler of the Crystal Empire?”

“But what if that’s not real?” Twilight flailed a hoof without interrupting her pacing, somehow.

“Pssh!” Pinkie leaped into Twilight’s path, blocking her from any further pacing. “Why would the Equestrian railroad run to an imaginary city?”

“Oh.” Twilight sat down. “Yeah, that would mean a lot of wrecked trains, wouldn’t it? So, my memories of life as an only child—those are the fakes?”

“No, those are real, too.” Pinkie sat down as well, then rolled onto her back. “Or, at least they were real. Until reality fundamentally changed. You just ... remember how things were before the change.”

Twilight sighed. “I think we’re overlooking another obvious explanation for all this. It’s not a pleasant idea, but it’s much simpler—”

“You think it’s just in our heads, don’t you?” Pinkie scowled.

“Well, yes?” Twilight said, slightly taken aback by Pinkie’s tone. “Which is easier, a spell that just affects your memories and mine—or one that affects the memories of everypony in the world except us?”

“I used to wonder about that, too. But we aren’t the only ones!” Pinkie wiggled on her back, slowly waving all four hooves in the air. “All the princesses remember the way things were before, too!”

Twilight blinked. 

Pinkie continued, “And there was also this random minotaur I met once. But still, the princesses!”

“Oh no, oh no …” Twilight shook her head. “This is bad, Pinkie. Do you have any idea how much power it would take to affect Princess Celestia’s and Princess Luna’s and Princess Cadance’s memories?”

“More than it would take to change everypony else’s memories?”

“Yes! Oh … I see.” Twilight looked down. Suddenly, the wood grain between her fore hooves was the most interesting thing in the world. “And those of us who can remember before the change … our memories are all consistent?”

Still on her back, Pinkie scooted across the floor until her mane brushed Twilight’s hooves and she could look into Twilight’s eyes. “Sure. But Shining Armor didn’t affect my childhood at all. So I remember a bunch of other stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Like ...” There was a pink blur, and suddenly Pinkie was back on three hooves. With her fourth, she pointed behind Twilight. “Oh my goodness, Twilight Twinkle! What’s that over there?!”

Twilight craned her neck to look. “Over where?” Then she snapped back to face Pinkie. “Wait, what did you call me?”

“That was your name, a long time ago. Remember?”

“Huh. That does sound familiar ...”

Pinkie extended her hoof. “It’s so nice to meet you, Twilight Twinkle. My name’s Surprise!”

In Twilight’s mind’s eye, another pony suddenly took Pinkie’s place: a white pegasus with a blonde mane. Yet the smile on her face was exactly the same as Pinkie’s, and the cutie mark on her haunch was still a trio of balloons. Twilight scrunched her eyes shut, then opened them to find she was shaking Pinkie’s hoof.

“Pinkie, you used to be a pegasus?”

“In a version of the world that technically never existed, yep!”

Twilight dropped Pinkie’s hoof and turned away. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand. How is this happening? We both agree that no unicorn magic can create a pony from nothing ...”

“Because it’s not unicorn magic, or any pony magic! It’s not not even from Equestria, so we don’t really know what it is!”
 
“What? Where is it from?”

“It’s from there.” Pinkie pointed to the side. Twilight’s gaze followed that direction, and she stared directly at the object that until now had been hiding in her peripheral vision. It was another portal, like the one Pinkie had been looking at on the other side of the Iris. Now that she could look directly at it, Twilight could distinguish different colors and shapes that made no sense. 

“The Fourth Wall,” Pinkie said. 

“What is it?”

“I dunno.”

“You know what?” Twilight turned away from the portal, back towards Pinkie. “I think that’s enough paradigm-shattering weirdness for one day.”

“What? Are you okay? The Twilight I know would have a million more questions about this!”
 
“Oh, I do.” Twilight sighed as she stood up. “But they can wait for now. What I really need is some time to process what you told me.”

She walked to the bedroom window and looked out. “And as soon as we’ve cleaned up Trixie’s damage, I think I need to take a break and visit my brother.”

“That’s a great idea!” Pinkie fiddled with the numerous locks on her bedroom door. “Oh, and you can expect a visit from one of the Princesses to talk about this.”





Next week ...


“And it took a whole day to clean up the parade grounds!” Shining Armor said.

Twilight chuckled. Her marshmallow rotated methodically over the campfire, but she wasn’t watching it. She spared a glance at the orange sky, with its bright blue stars and purple clouds, before looking back at her brother. Shining pulled his own marshmallow away from the fire and levitated the ingredients to make his s’more. 

“Still eating double-decker s’mores, huh?” Twilight said with a smirk. “What would Cadance say?”

“What do you mean, ‘double-decker’?”

Twilight pulled her own marshmallow—roasted to a completely uniform shade of brown all over—away from the fire. “Turns out most ponies think one marshmallow, one chocolate square, and two graham crackers are enough.” 

Shining Armor’s s’more already had four graham crackers, two marshmallows, three chocolates, three strips of hay bacon, two tomato slices, and a small pile of parsley leaves. “Philistines,” he muttered, as he balanced a hard-boiled egg atop the concoction. 

Twilight drizzled some vinaigrette dressing over her own s’more and took a bite. As she chewed, green fire washed over Shining Armor. When the flame receded, a black-carapaced creature—a shocking mixture of equine shape and insectoid features—sat in his place. Twilight gulped, but the changeling simply took another bite of the s’more and chewed.

Twilight’s limbs froze. She tried to scream, but her lungs failed her, and all that came out was a faint whine.

“Is something wrong, Twily?” The changeling wore an expression of genuine concern. In fact, his eyes looked just like Shining Armor’s.

The changeling disappeared in another spurt of green flame—and Discord sat in his place. Twilight struggled harder against her paralysis, to no avail. The s’more fell from her grasp.  

“Ooooooh, are you going to eat that?” Discord said, but he spoke with Shining’s voice. “Mind if I finish it off?” He snatched the s’more out of the dirt and shoved it—and his entire talon—into the base of the fire. As the treat caught fire, he snatched the flames off with his free paw and popped them into his mouth.

More green flames washed over Discord, leaving nopony in his place. Shining’s uniform—the distinctive barding and helmet befitting the Captain of the Royal Guard—was there, hovering in the air as though somepony were wearing it. But it was completely empty.  

The empty space in the armor devoured the rest of Twilight’s s’more. “Really, Twily,” it said in Shining Armor’s voice, “you need some more carbs for all the hiking we’re gonna do tomorrow.”

“Twilight Sparkle!” 

This was a new voice, which sounded nothing like Shining Armor, and she spoke with enough authority to break Twilight out of her paralysis. Above the fire, the smoke took the shape of an equine face, whose eyes stared right through Twilight. More smoke coalesced, forming her neck and mane, then her powerful shoulders, and then her wings. When her entire body had taken shape, she darkened and solidified into a night-blue alicorn. 

As she landed next to the campfire, a name leaped into Twilight’s mind: “Princess Selena?”

At that, Princess Luna blinked twice. “Well, then.” Folding her wings back against her sides, she stepped towards Twilight. “I had hoped Pinkamena Diane Pie was mistaken, that she had simply misinterpreted some remark of yours. But there can be no doubt about that now.”

Twilight shook her head. “This is about that ‘Top Secret: Den Fjerde Væg’ stuff, right? Is it safe to talk here? In front of ...” She gestured at the empty suit of armor. It stood still, with a single horseshoe hovering near the brim of its helmet—Twilight took a few seconds to realize the armor was saluting.

Luna said, “At ease, Captain.” 

The armor collapsed into a formless pile of metal plates.

“Okay, then ...” Twilight said. “Princess, I understand this is a matter of national security, but can we possibly wait a few days? I went on this trip with Shining Armor so I could stop worrying about this for a bit.”

Luna picked up the helmet in her telekinesis. “But you are still worrying, Twilight. Nay, I did not come to deal in the crowns’ secrets ...” She slipped the helmet onto Twilight’s head, covering her eyes. “I came on account of your troubled dreams.”

“Dreams?” Twilight angled the helmet back until she could see again. “You mean this is just a dream?”

“In the waking world, do you normally eat your ‘s’mores’ with salad dressing?”

“Oh.”

“Now, I have many other dreams to visit tonight, and I’m sure you can figure most of this out on your own, Twilight, so I’ll spare you the full speech. But heed this!” Luna struck a pose, flaring both wings and raising one hoof, like a statue of an old warhorse. “Retroactive magic doesn’t work quite like you fear. It can conjure, but it cannot unmake.”

Twilight’s eyes went wide before she released a sigh. “Thank you, Princess Luna,” she said, looking down at her hooves. 

“Now, as you wish, we will speak at length of what you have learned in a few days.” With her hoof, Luna raised Twilight’s chin until their eyes met.

“You do know it was my fault, not Pinkie’s, right?” Twilight asked. 

“Haha!” Luna’s laughter was a quick bark, sharper than Celestia’s laughter ever had been, but the mirth in her eyes was unmistakable. “Nay, Twilight, neither my sister nor I see any reason to assign fault here. When next we meet, we shall not discuss punishment, but a new research assignment for you. Celestia assures me you enjoy those ...”

Twilight opened her mouth—but before she could reply, her eyes snapped open. She was awake, lying in her sleeping bag and looking straight up at the ceiling of Shining Armor’s tent. The faint starlight was just enough for Twilight to make out the shape of her brother, only a few feet away. She tried to reach for him, but the sleeping bag held her fore leg tight against her side. All her tossing and turning in her sleep had left the cover twisted and wrapped around her.

As she rested in its embrace and listened to Shining Armor’s breathing, Twilight pondered Luna’s words from her dream: “It can conjure, but it cannot unmake.” It was a comforting thought. Even if the past was mutable, her brother would not go away. 

Well, if his duties as Prince of the Crystal Empire took him out of Equestria for an extended period, then he’d go away. Or if his duties simply made him too busy to see his sister. Or—Celestia forbid—if something terrible happened to him ...

Twilight frowned. This retroactive conjuration may have changed things, she thought, but it didn’t really change anything. My time with Shining Armor has always been ... uncertain. 

Twilight wriggled and kicked herself free from the sleeping bag. So there’s really only one thing I can do, she thought. Quietly, she crept over to Shining Armor’s side, then she shook his shoulder.

“Hey, Shining Armor?” she whispered.

“Mwuuuh?” Shining mumbled. He lifted his head from the pillow and turned towards Twilight, but didn’t open his eyes. “Whannow?”

In a slightly louder whisper, Twilight said, “I’m really glad that you’re my brother. I just want you to know that.”

That made Shining open his eyes. He looked puzzled as he studied Twilight, but she just smiled at him. 

Finally, he smiled back and wrapped his fore leg around Twilight. “And I’m really glad you’re my sister. You know why?” He hugged Twilight, then, with his free hoof, gave her a noogie. “Because you’re such a sentimental dork!”

“Hey!” Twilight said, but she smiled as she pushed away from Shining. His embrace held tight, but his hoof on Twilight’s head slowed, then stopped. Somehow, he had fallen asleep again. 

Twilight started to wriggle free, but stopped. Instead, she drew closer and wrapped her own fore legs around her brother’s barrel. The two of them slept soundly for the rest of the night.
> Act III. Panic Button
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was delicate work, traveling with a phonograph balanced on her back, so Pinkie Pie kept both eyes open as she bounced down Mane Street. She hummed along with the record. But as she rounded a corner, both her humming and hopping came to an abrupt stop as Pinkie felt the first twitches.

First, three of Pinkie’s hooves tingled and tickled. Then followed the “pancake emergency” signal, but with only two leg twitches, and an extra shudder along her spine. It ended with a complex pattern of eye flutters and ear flops—a mix of the “I left a cake out in the rain!” and “Hey, what’s that over there?” signals, with a backwards version of “Somepony is wrong about bees!” tacked on the end.

When it ended, Pinkie had just enough time to catch the phonograph before it hit the ground. The song continued playing—it hadn’t even skipped.

“Pinkie Pie ...” A mare approached, wide-eyed.

“Hiya, Daisy! Isn’t this the best song, ever?” She shoved the phonograph bell into Daisy Wish’s face.

The flower mare pushed it away. “Was that your Pinkie Sense just then?”

“Yup-a-roonie!”

“What did it just predict?”

Pinkie rebalanced the phonograph on her back, not looking at Daisy as she said, “Well ...”

Daisy grabbed Pinkie’s shoulders and shook. “How much should we panic right now?”

The record skipped. Frowning, Pinkie reached back and moved the tone arm to the beginning of the song. She resumed smiling as she said, “Oh, that twitchy-twitch? I’ve had it before.”

“And what happened?”

“Nothing at all!”

“Oh.” Daisy’s breathing slowed down. “Wait, you have a Pinkie Sense for ‘nothing is going to happen’?”

“I know! Isn’t it crazy?”





Three days later ...


The faint light of pre-sunrise illuminated two small figures perched at the foot of the bed: a baby alligator and a rubber chicken. Gummy, staring intently at his pony, blinked twice. The lump under the bedsheets stirred and groaned in response. 

“Just five more minutes ...” Pinkie mumbled into her pillow. 

Boneless fell off his post and sprawled on the floor. 

Pinkie Pie’s energy reserves were impressive, but not infinite—and the previous day would have exhausted even an alicorn. There had been Rainbow Dash’s birth-iversary and, to celebrate it, one of the most splendiferously elaborate parties Ponyville had ever hosted. Then Cheese Sandwich had helped make the party so awesometastic—but also skipped town just before cleanup. And meeting Cheese had prompted Pinkie’s own existential crisis—Twilight Sparkle was right! These big words were fun to use!—which had drained Pinkie in an entirely different ...

Pinkie bolted upright, standing up in bed so quickly she flung the sheets into the air. “Omigosh, omigosh, omigosh!” She rushed away before the sheets landed on Gummy.

She arrived at the staircase and grabbed a framed photo from the wall. Her eyes widened as she examined this precious memory, which should have been familiar. It was a picture taken years ago, mere minutes after Pinkie had earned her cutie mark. The scene was the interior of a barn, livened up with colorful decorations and a table of snacks. Six earth ponies smiled at the camera.

Six ponies. Momma and Daddy Pie, then four fillies: Pinkie and her sisters. One of the sisters stood apart from the group, almost halfway out of picture. Pinkie had glanced at the photo yesterday and seen her, but she hadn’t truly noticed her.

“So that’s what that twitchy-twitch meant …”

Pinkie’s rear legs gave out, and she sat on the floor for a while, staring into space. Eventually, she furrowed her brow and twisted her lips into a small smile. With her Serious Face in place, she rushed out of her room, pausing only to free Gummy from the bedsheets. In the process, Boneless somehow landed on Pinkie’s back, and remained slumped across her withers as she galloped out of Sugarcube Corner, onto the pre-dawn streets.





Pinkie was a professional. Without even calculating, she knew exactly how many balloons it took to lift a mare of her weight to the height of a second-story window.

This window was the one above Time Turner’s Timepieces—specifically, the bedroom window. It was only after her hooves left the ground that Pinkie realized the potential downside of appearing at a bedroom window, unannounced, at this hour of the morning. She might catch the inhabitants doing something naughty … like eating snacks in bed!

Fortunately, there was no naughtiness in this bedroom. There was just Time Turner, sprawling across the bed, with the covers tangled around him, and Ditzy doing wing-ups on the floor.

Pinkie rapped on the window, and waited patiently for Time Turner to fully wake up. As soon as he opened the window, she sang, “Weightless, I drift, sometimes I dip down …”

Ditzy answered, “Underneath the weight of my doubts …” 

Pinkie climbed through, tying her balloons to the latch, then closing the window behind her. But before Pinkie could say another word, Ditzy pointed a hoof at her and declared, “You!”

“Yep! It’s me.” Pinkie beamed. 

“No, not you.” Flying over, Ditzy snatched Boneless off his spot on Pinkie’s withers. “Him. This chicken and I need to have a little talk.” She glanced between Time Turner and Pinkie. “Will you two be okay if I step out for a bit?”

Pinkie nodded vigorously. Time Turner clenched his teeth, but also nodded.

“Great!” Ditzy glared at the rubber chicken in her grasp as she turned away. She slipped to the side, in mid-air—and disappeared completely, as if rounding an invisible corner.

“So cool,” Pinkie said, staring up at the empty air where Ditzy had just been.

“So …” Dr. Hooves scratched at the floor. “How serious is it, Pinkie?” 

“I dunno. Shouldn’t you ask Ditzy that? Sometimes a pony just has to talk to a chicken.”

“That’s not what …” Dr. Hooves shook his head. “I mean your problem. Whatever Service business that made you come to us, of all ponies.”

“Oh, yeah. That. I … I don’t know. It’s not urgent but …” Pinkie closed her eyes and sighed. “Why can’t Equestria just stay saved?”

Dr. Hooves gave her a small smile. “You know, sometimes I wish that’s how the universe worked, myself.”

“Just think!” Pinkie continued. “How many times has Ditzy Doo saved us all from icky-squicky things that break the laws of physics? A lot!” 

“Um, that’s not how physics works.” 

Clutching her head in her hooves, Pinkie looked straight at Dr. Hooves. “And how many times have you stopped big, dumb meanies from the future from dumping trash in the time stream?”

Dr. Hooves rolled his eyes. “That’s not how time works.”

“Oh, right. Dr. Hooves, how many times will you have-been-to-stopping big, dumb meanies from the future from going-to-already-dumped-ing trash in the time stream?”

“That’s not how grammar works.”

“But the universe doesn’t care about how hard any of us work!” Pinkie waved a foreleg in the air for emphasis. “You could fall asleep on the job just once tomorrow, miss a warning sign, then Blammo!” She clapped her hooves.  “No more Equestria, no do-overs, and not even a ‘Thanks for the hard work—real bummer how it ended, huh?’”

“So you find yourself wondering,” Dr. Hooves said, “what’s the point?”

“I guess.”

“Well, to begin with, your implied argument is based on a premise that is itself unproven. When you say that our work only has value if it is permanent—you’re also claiming that old things are inherently more important than new things.”

Pinkie squinted at him and tilted her head. 

“For example …” Dr. Hooves glanced around the room. “Give me a second.” He disappeared in a flash of green light. When he reappeared a second later, he was holding a rock. “Do you have any idea how old this rock is?”

As Pinkie looked at the stone, a memory surfaced—a volcanic eruption from her subconscious. She spoke along with the monotonous voice in her mind’s ear: “Lewisian gneiss. Mean age 2.4 gigayears, with a 95 percent confidence interval of plus or minus 0.7 gigayears.”

Dr. Hooves blinked.

Pinkie perked up and flashed him a big smile. “Did I ever tell you that I grew up on a rock farm?”

“Oh.” Dr. Hooves held the rock up. “So we both agree this lump of minerals is exceedingly old. Older than any pony, even the Princesses. So, is—”

“So, is that rock more important than a pony? That’s what you’re gonna ask, right?”

“Yes. Took the words right out of my mouth.”

“Well, your question kinda doesn’t prove anything! I mean, sure, nopony is as old as that rock. But rocks are made of atoms, and those atoms are made of quarks and magic. And ponies are also made of atoms and quarks and magic.” Pinkie giggled. “Quark. That’s such a great word. Quark, quark, quark! Three quarks for—”

“Ahem,” Dr. Hooves interrupted. “Is there a point to any of this, Pinkie?” 

“No, quarks are round, I think. And Twilight tells me that sometimes they turn into waves when nopony’s looking at them! Tiny things are weird!”

Dr. Hooves sighed.

“And they’re old! Most of the atoms in the world date back to the mixing of the galactic supercluster in Princess Nebuloso’s great cauldron. So from a certain point of view …” Pinkie grabbed the rock and held it inches away from her face. “We’re all just as old as this rock.”

“Yes …”

“But that still doesn’t help!” Pinkie tossed the rock back to Time Turner. “Atoms don’t care if Equestria is a beautiful place full of happy ponies, or just a crater where nothing lives. And, and, oh! And what if we have immortal souls?”

“Pinkie …”

“That’ll just make it even more complicated! Nopony knows when souls are made. And what about reincarnation? What about—” 

“Oh, no, no, no …” Dr. Hooves threw the rock into the air and put that hoof to Pinkie’s lips. “We’re not going down that rabbit hole.” 

He kicked his rear hoof and struck the falling rock in midair. With a green flash, the rock disappeared back to whenever the doctor had originally found it. 

“Look, forget about the age argument. You’re right, it’s not terribly useful. Instead …” He pulled his hoof away from Pinkie’s face. “Let’s consider reductio ad absurdum.”

“Ooh!” Pinkie smiled. “I like the sound of that reductio!”

Dr. Hooves smiled. “You wonder what’s the point of saving Equestria if it’s just going to fall back into peril again. Well, you could use that logic to argue against doing anything. Why take a bath? You’re just going to get dirty again.”

“No, I don’t think—”

“Why bother eating? You’re just going to get hungry again.”

“Yes, but—”

“And why throw a birthday party for somepony? They’re just going to have another birthday next year, right?”

Pinkie lunged forward until her snout was mere inches away from the doctor’s. “You take that back!”

He didn’t flinch. “Look, I’m just saying—”

Pinkie grabbed his shoulders and leaned even closer. “There’re so many things wrong with what you said, I don’t even know where to start!”

With deliberate slowness, Dr. Hooves pushed her forelegs away. “So, you won’t argue against my point … or you can’t?”

“No! Stop it! Stop making my words mean something else!”

“Alright!” Ditzy Doo was back. Both Time Turner and Pinkie turned to look at her—their cheeks were practically touching, so close together they were.

Ditzy landed and held up the rubber chicken. “As I suspected, Pinkie, your new friend, ‘Boneless,’ is really the infamous Gah Lus the Boneless. But he got an early release for good behavior, and now he’s doing strange aeons of community service. And Xanthorgh vouches that he’s turned over a new leaf, so …”

Ditzy noticed Time Turner and Pinkie’s postures. With a groan, she tossed Boneless to the floor in front of Pinkie. “Really?” she said. “I can’t leave you two alone together for even a few minutes?”

Pinkie jabbed a hoof into Time Turner’s chest. “He said birthday parties don’t matter!”

Time Turner retorted, “No, she misinterpreted a perfectly innocuous statement!”

“Yeah,” Ditzy said, glancing between the two of them, “both of those sound completely plausible.”

“What I was getting at,” Time Turner said, “is that the logic for saving a birthday is analogous to the logic for saving the universe.”

“But, but,” Pinkie said, “birthdays aren’t like the universe at all! You have birthday parties inside the universe, and you can’t …” She gasped. “Can you have a birthday party inside a birthday party?”

Ditzy and Time Turner exchanged glances. Ditzy said, “Dare I ask?”

“A recursive birthday party ... A brecursiveday party!”

“I have no idea,” Ditzy said. 

Time Turner gave Pinkie a wry smile. “And wouldn’t it be a shame if the universe were to end before you could answer that question?”

Pinkie’s eyes went wide. “Oohhhh. You’re sneaky, Time Turner. Sneaky, sneaky, sneaky!”

“Thanks, I guess?”

Pinkie returned Boneless to his place on her back, then pranced over to the window. “Seems like I’ve got a lot to think about. Thanks a bunch!” She opened the window and leaped out. 





Pinkie knocked a bunch on the big tree library door. Then she shook herself one last time, dislodging as much of the remaining dirt from her coat as she could. 

Spike answered the door. He had on an apron—a white one with pink hearts on it and a matching pink frill—and it took all of Pinkie’s self-control to refrain from scooping him up in a hug and gushing over how cute he was. And now he was looking askance at Pinkie, so she spoke first to cut off the inevitable question. “Morning, Spike! Is Twilight awake?”

“Yeah …”

“Morning, Pinkie!” Twilight called from inside. “Come on in.”

Seated at the kitchen table, Twilight was jamming a spoon into a halved grapefruit. When she looked up at Pinkie, her spoon slipped, and grapefruit juice squirted onto her face.

“Morning, Twilight. That looks really yummy!” Pinkie grabbed the other half of the grapefruit and smashed it into her forehead. “Mmmmm, juicy!”

Spike groaned. “Pinkie …”

Ignoring him, Pinkie sang, “Seedless, I drip, sometimes I dip down …”

Twilight gulped. “Under my crepes and blueberry sauce.”

Spike glanced between both ponies, incredulous. “What the hay?”

“Heeeey, Spike,” Twilight said. “You know what I’m suddenly real hungry for? Your pecan pancakes! And I bet Pinkie would like some, too. You mind whipping up a batch?”

“Sure!” Spike wasted no time rushing over to the pantry and pulling ingredients out.

Twilight said to Pinkie, “And while Spike’s getting those ready, why don’t we go up to my room for a bit? We wouldn’t want to get in his way.”

“Sure!” Pinkie pulled the rubber chicken off her back and placed him on the counter. “Hey, Boneless, can you stay here and help Spike?”

As soon as the two ponies entered the bedroom, Twilight cast her bubble of silence spell, making it large enough to contain nearly the whole room.

“Alright, Pinkie, what’s the problem? You look like—”

“Oh, this?” Pinkie Pie was covered in scratches and the smudges of dirt she hadn’t been able to shake off. “I jumped out of a second-story window without my balloons. No big deal, just tuck and roll!”

“No, not that. Your smile was off. Like you were faking it for our sakes.”

“Oh.”

“Is it related to this Den Fjerde Vægvagt business?”

“Yes …” Pinkie sighed. “Twilight, are we real?”

Twilight squinted. “What do you mean by ‘real’?”

“Way back when you saw the fourth wall for the first time, didn’t you say it was a …” Pinkie made a swirly gesture with her hoof in the air. “... a theater word?”

“Well, by now the concept has broadened to literature in general, but yes, it did originate in theater.”

“So that means we’re all just characters in a play or a book, right? Like Little Orphan Hinny, or Chancellor Puddinghead, or Daring Do!”

Twilight shook her head. “Puddinghead was a historical pony, and we met Daring Do.”

“Oh, right. They’re as real as you and me.” Pinkie fidgeted. “So, how real are we?”

“It’s hard to say.” Twilight sighed. “Not long after I learned about the fourth wall, I asked the Princesses everything they knew about it. It was more than I knew, but less than I hoped. It’s … just not conclusive. But there’s no evidence against your hypothesis—that we’re fictional characters, and our author is on the other side of that wall.”

Pinkie raised one eyebrow. “So, is that a yes or a no?”

“It means we don’t know. Isn’t it crazy?”

“Uuurgh.” Pinkie flopped to the floor and splayed there. “There’s good crazy and bad crazy, and this is the bad kind.” Her neck also went limp, dropping her head to the floor.

Twilight sat at Pinkie’s side and scratched the back of her head—Pinkie’s mane and behind her ears.

Pinkie continued, muttering into the floor, “Does anything we do matter? All the good times and hugs and parties—did we really do any of that? Or did we just follow what the author planned for us?”

Twilight opened her mouth to reply, but Pinkie lifted her head off the floor and spoke first: “Are you and me only talking about this because some jerkface with a typewriter wants us to?”

Twilight gave a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring. “If everything really is predetermined, I don’t think it’s as bad as all that.”

Pinkie looked at Twilight’s face and broke into a giggle fit.

“What?” Twilight asked, quirking one eyebrow. 

“You would like it if everything in the world was planned in advance,” Pinkie said in between giggles. “Especially if it was a huge list!”

Twilight smiled a bit wider at that. Then she threw one hoof to her forehead and feigned wobbling. “Oh, dear, is that the biggest list in the universe? Oh, my stars!”

Pinkie laughed a bit more at that, but the smile eventually fell from her face. “Twilight, how are you so calm about all this?”

“Well, aside from that breathing exercise that Cadance taught me …” Twilight stood up. “All these implications you’re worried over are things I had to work through back in college. Solipsism is just something that every Philosophy 101 student has to learn to live with.”

“What’s solipspspsism?”

Twilight froze. A few seconds later, a huge grin spread across her face, while she stooped to help Pinkie off the floor. She asked, “How much philosophy have you studied?”

Pinkie shrugged. 

“That’s no problem at all! We can just start at the beginning.” Prancing in place, Twilight pulled a blackboard and chalk into the bubble of silence, then a three-legged stool for Pinkie. 

Pinkie sat on the stool, scooting as far forward as she could without falling. She wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but Twilight could be strangely compelling when she went into lecture mode.

Twilight wrote on the board as she spoke. “It all started in the Preclassical Era. The philosopher Pinto believed that the physical world is just an illusion, and that only ideals exist. He even had an allegory about ponies chained up in a cave …”

Twilight could be strangely compelling, but this wasn’t one of those times. Pinkie waved her hoof frantically. “Ooh! Ooh!”

“Yes, Pinkie?”

“Do you have this as a rap song, or a music video?” Pinkie bounced on her chair. “I could follow along a lot better, then!” 

Twilight chuckled. “Oh, no. Trust me, you don’t want to hear me rap.”

“Aww, phooey.”

“Hmm …” With a smirk, Twilight pulled her turntable into the bubble. The record began spinning, and Twilight tapped her foot along with the synthesized, new wave melody. As her chalk flew across the blackboard again, she burst into song:

“Staring at the shadows on the cavern wall.
Is anything outside the cave, like Pinto saw?
Is this flesh and blood for real, or nothing after all?
‘I think therefore I am,’ as old Hayscartes once said.
The world might be hallucinations in your head.
If you can prove that you exist, is that enough, instead?

“Weightless, we drift.
Sometimes we don’t exist.
Caught in the shadows 
of the fourth wall.
And we don’t know if it’s meaningless,
but don’t let go just yet, don’t let doubt win.

“We might be disembodied brains in alcohol,
or the dreams of butterflies sleeping through the Fall.
Are we the dreamers or the dream, and who can make that call?
But somewhere in the distance is a reason to care,
the blessing and the curse of being self-aware.
Hold onto your doubt and step into the shadow if you dare.

“Formless, we twist
ourselves into some
shape that makes us 
feel right inside.
We hope that there’s some point in this,
so make your own reason, let go...
Weightless, we drift.
Perhaps we don’t exist.
Perhaps that doesn’t
matter at all.
We all make our own happiness.
Now make your own reason, let go, and dive on in.”

“Wooo!” Pinkie bobbed her head in time to the outro’s beat. “Such a cool song! What does it mean?”

Twilight drooped. “It’s … what we were just talking about. What part wasn’t clear enough?”

“Well, how do we ‘make our own reason’?” Pinkie fiddled with her forehooves. “If we don’t exist, don’t our friendships and parties and everything we call important also not exist?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean …” Twilight rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes. Upon reopening them, she pushed the blackboard away. 

“Let’s come at this from a different angle,” she said as she walked around Pinkie. “What’s your favorite story? One you come back to, over and over, because it’s so good?”

Pinkie put a hoof to her chin as she thought. “I know! Baguette’s Feast!”

“Yes, that’s a good one.” Twilight smiled. “So, why did Baguette spend her prize money on that feast?”

“Because that’s the best way to spend that much money, of course.” Pinkie wiggled in her seat, causing the whole stool to rock back and forth. 

“Better even than a whole battery of party cannons?”

“Well … that’s an awfully tough decision. But you can share feasts a lot better than you can share party cannons. And Baguette wanted to share, to show the whole village how much she loved them.”

“So Baguette made that decision herself?”

“Yep!”

Twilight stopped smiling. “So she didn’t do it because the author made her?” 

Pinkie stopped wiggling in her seat. “What?”

“After all, Baguette’s a fictional character. Maybe the author’s a food junkie who wanted an excuse to write dozens of pages about an extravagant meal?”

Pinkie looked down at the floor. Twilight continued, “Maybe Baguette had no choice. The plot demanded a feast, so she was going to have one, whether she liked it or not.”

“But Baguette felt real.” Pinkie jerked back up, looking directly at Twilight. “Sure, it’s all just a story, and it only happened that way because the author wrote it. But inside the story, Baguette was a real pony. She made her own choices. She had hopes and dreams, and birthdays and funny habits and favorite songs and … everything!”

“Yes, yes …” Twilight’s mouth wasn’t smiling, but her eyes were. “And she made a real difference to her village, didn’t she?”

“Yep!”

“She made a big impression on you and everypony else who read her story, right?”

“Yep-a-roony!”

“Well, then …” Twilight walked back to Pinkie’s other side. “As we were saying before, it’s entirely possible that you and I are actually fictional characters—like Baguette.”

Pinkie’s face was blank, while the gears in her brain rearranged themselves, grinding against each other as they shifted. Suddenly, they snapped into place—a configuration that ran even more efficiently than before. A huge, sincere smile broke out on Pinkie’s face, and she leaped across the room to tackle-hug Twilight. 

“Thank you thank you thank you!” Pinkie exclaimed. “You’re so smart, Twilight!”

Twilight gasped for breath then replied, “Hey, now. You already knew all of that. I just helped you put the pieces together.”

“That is smart, silly!”

“Well, when you put it that way …” Twilight chuckled. When Pinkie released her, Twilight stood back up and continued, “If you don’t mind me asking, what got you thinking about this? I’d have assumed that you worked out this issue years ago.”

“Oh …” Pinkie pulled the photo out of her mane and held it to her chest. “I showed you that picture from the day I got my cutie mark, right?”

“Yes …”

“And I told you how my whole family was there when I got my mark, right?

“Oh, Pinkie …”

She passed the photo to Twilight. The unicorn scanned it, comparing it to the photo from her own memory. “Yes, she definitely wasn’t there before,” Twilight said, pointing at the purple-maned filly in the corner. “A new sister who you’ve just found out you always had?”

“Yeah …”

“When did this happen?”

“Just a few days ago.” Pinkie swished her tail back and forth. “My Pinkie Sense told me when it happened, but I didn’t know what it meant at the time.”

Twilight set the photo down, then hugged Pinkie. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Now I will.” Pinkie rested her head on Twilight’s shoulder. “You know what would really help? Pancakes!”





Two days later ...


In the heart of Manehattan, in a dormitory hallway, Pinkie glanced up at a door number, then back down at the paper in her hoof. She turned the page upside down, then on its side, then folded it into an origami flower and stuffed it back in her saddlebag. She took a deep breath, marched up to the door, and knocked.

The door opened, and a gray face peered out with an utterly impassive expression. 

“Hiya, Maud!” Pinkie proclaimed. “I’m Pinkie Pie, and I’ll be your sister for the rest of forever!”

“You’ve always been my sister,” Maud said. She didn’t sound happy as she said it, or sad, or annoyed, or distracted, or melancholic, or even vaguely content. She didn’t sound like anything.

“So …” Pinkie continued, her enthusiasm deflating slightly. “Aren’t you surprised to see me here in Manehattan?”

“No.” 

Maud’s face was like a stone. This seemed oddly appropriate, for reasons that Pinkie couldn’t quite put her hoof on.

“Umm.” Pinkie lowered her head and took a step back. “Is this a bad time? Should I …”

“Aren’t you going to come in.” The words formed a query, but Maud’s monotone completely swallowed the question mark. She opened the door wider and stepped back inside. Pinkie gulped, then followed.

Once inside, Pinkie boggled at the sight. At one point, this had been a standard student dorm suite, but Maud had transformed the living room into a geological shrine. Every flat surface was cluttered with rocks—some mere pebbles, others as large as a pony’s head. Diagrams of geographical surveys adorned the walls. A tall bookcase was filled with rocks, and books about rocks. The only splashes of color in the entire room were a small number of geodes and rough, uncut gemstones.

“Wow …” Permitting herself to smile, Pinkie turned in a circle to take it all in. “It’s just like home!”

She turned back to Maud—who held a small rock up to Pinkie’s face. “Boulder’s almost as excited to see you as I am,” Maud said. Yet the rock seemed the more expressive of the two.

“Awwww …” Pinkie reached out and petted the rock. “It’s good to see you, too, Boulder! And …” Pinkie’s eyes darted to the side, then she reached into her saddlebag. “Look, I brought someone for you to play with!” 

She pulled Gummy out of the bag and set him on the floor, at Maud’s hooves.

Maud held the rock against her chest. “Boulder and Gummy don’t play well together,” she said.

“What?” Pinkie leaned into Maud’s face. “What does she have against Gummy?” Then she leaned into Boulder’s face. “How can you possibly dislike such an adorable, toothless baby alligator?!”

“He,” Maud said. “Boulder’s a he.”

Pinkie’s ears folded back. “Oh, right. Haha …”

“And the last time they played, Gummy tried to swallow Boulder and started choking.”





Panic was written clearly across Gummy’s face as it grew paler by the second, but Pinkie was in that adrenaline-fueled mindspace beyond fear. Unfortunately, her clear mind wasn’t helping at all. Again and again she squeezed the alligator against her own barrell, but she couldn’t dislodge the rock from his throat.

“Set him down,” Maud said. “On his back.”

Something in Maud’s inflection—or lack thereof—compelled Pinkie to obey. Maud stepped forward, until she stood over Gummy. She raised one hoof, then brought it down on his belly, almost too fast for the eye to follow.

Gummy made a hork sound and coughed up Boulder. As he lay there, alternately coughing and pulling in big gulps of air, Maud remained completely impassive: a monolith of indifference, towering over the alligator she had just saved.

Pinkie, however, finally let herself cry as she rushed forward to embrace Gummy …





A hoof against Pinkie’s forehead brought her back to the present.
 
“Odd,” Maud said, withdrawing her hoof. “Your temperature seems normal.”

Pinkie shook her head. “Well, yeah! Why wouldn’t it be normal?”

“Your behavior is unusual. Are you feeling well, Pinkie?”

Pinkie blinked at that. Had she heard correctly? Did Maud just inflect?

“Maybe you’re hungry from your trip,” Maud said. She slowly trotted towards the kitchen. “Come here. I made an extra serving of sandstone soup.”

Pinkie perked up at that. “Sandstone soup! Oh, gosh, that’s my favorite!” She scooped up Gummy and pronked after her sister.

The geological theme from the living room continued in the kitchen. Rocks decorated every space that wasn’t necessary for food preparation. A stone served as the centerpiece on the kitchen table, and three of the four chairs were occupied by pony-sized boulders.

Maud waved a hoof at the table. “Why don’t you sit down. Make yourself at home.” 

Pinkie stepped up to the nearest chair, then paused. “Hey, Maud, how old are these rocks?”

Maud glanced between her sister and the chair. Without a word, she picked up the rock and threw it out, into the living room. The other two rocks quickly followed, and all four chairs were free. 

“Make yourself at home,” Maud repeated.

Mechanically, Pinkie sat down and set Gummy on the table. As she watched her sister trot over to the pot of still-warm soup atop the stove, her mind was elsewhere. Pinkie racked her brain, desperately seeking some explanation for … well, everything about Maud, really. 

And then she remembered.





“Ponyville sounds like great place,” Maud said, completely monotone. “I’m very happy for you.”





“Pinkie, I’m feeling a sudden avalanche of conflicting emotions.” Exactly the same tone. “I could really use a hug.”





“Did you hear, Pinkie. I’ve been accepted to study geology at the Manehattan Institute of Research. This is a dream come true.” Impassive, yet again. 





“Are you okay?” 

Back in the present, Maud set the bowl of soup in front of Pinkie and stared at her sister, with exactly the same expression she wore in all of Pinkie’s memories. But that change in tone—so slight, somepony outside the family would never have caught it—was unmistakeable to Pinkie now.

Maud was concerned. Maud was concerned for her.

“Oh, Maud!” Pinkie dashed forward to wrap her forelegs around her sister. Maud’s entire frame tensed briefly under Pinkie’s embrace, then relaxed. Pinkie continued, “Yes, I’m okay. In fact, I’m better than okay! I’ve got the best sister in all of Equestria! That’s gotta be worth at least a super-duper mega excellent or two!”

“Ahh.” Maud said. She reciprocated Pinkie’s embrace—the force of her hug at once familiar and brand new to Pinkie. “Now there’s the Pinkie I remember.” 

This was their first hug, and it was their seven thousand, six hundred sixty-fifth. 


Fin.