Chapter 1: There's Something Wrong with Dot

The Possession of Dot MacPherson

A My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic / Dot and the Kangaroo crossover fanfic
by McPoodle

Chapter 1: There's Something Wrong with Dot

It was on Christmas Eve when the artist O’Shea first learned about Dot.

Bea clearly had something she wanted to tell him. The way she practically vibrated throughout O’Shea’s account of his doings for the past three months made that more than apparent.

“…The, um…Trocadéro installation was unveiled, and…and I expect that it will be greeted with universal bewilderment. As usual.” And so O’Shea concluded, his delivery faltering. He had spent his speech fidgeting constantly in his chair, his shoulders perpetually hunched and his expression that of someone who expected to be punished at any moment for something he didn’t do.

O’Shea was a small man, uncomfortable in his own skin, the result of a lifetime of being distrusted by the world before he met Bea. His current attire of navy slacks and a checkered dress shirt was picked out far in advance by her, as was everything else he wore. His skin was extremely pale, and his short hair was a shade of orange so bright as to seem dyed.

“…So, how has life been treating you, Beatrix?” he finally asked. The significant pause before that sentence passed for a joke in the language of their relationship.

“How has life been treating me?!” Bea exclaimed, springing to her feet with a broad smile. (O’Shea instinctually flinched.) “It is completely insane—in the best possible way!” And then she popped a joker card into existence between thumb and forefinger—Bea had a habit of prestidigitating when she got excited. Or bored. Or pretty much at random.

Bea was a large woman, even more in personality than in body, the kind of woman who dominated any room she entered. Since O’Shea had come home while she was sleeping, she was in a flowing pale blue nightgown with a white woolen robe over it, with her initials over the breast pocket.

“Has ‘Mr. NYC’ snatched up another of your properties?” O’Shea asked in a low voice.

“Ha! But no,” Bea replied. She pointed at her smile. “Read the expression, Dear. This is good disruption. As in, I finally found a girl to adopt.”

“Oh.” A few seconds to quietly process this. “Congratulations.”

Bea sighed in exasperation.

“I, uh…hope you weren’t expecting more,” O’Shea said slowly and deliberately, spreading his hands out in front of him. “I…I don’t really do—”

“Emotions,” Bea said curtly. “You don’t do emotions. I know. I keep telling you: I know. I married you, didn’t I?”

“Sorry.”

Bea cut the air with a meaty hand, causing a couple more playing cards to fly off in random directions. “Forget it. I’m getting tired of establishing this every time you come back from one of your creations: I love you. You can’t love anyone. I’m fine with that. And I’m not leaving you, despite the fact that you can’t understand why I would want to put up with that.”

O’Shea’s eyes wandered the floor.

Bea walked over, and lifted the small man’s head with her big hand. “I shall repeat myself: I found a girl to adopt.”

“From that orphanage you built for precisely that purpose,” O’Shea said, looking up into her eyes in a way that he knew she loved.

“I didn’t built it for…”

He raised an eyebrow.

“…It was because I was an orphan once, like you, and I never wanted…”

The eyebrow went a little higher.

“…Alright, I built it to eventually find a daughter for us. But it did a lot of good in the meantime!”

“For…us,” O’Shea said. He turned his head within his wife’s grip to look away. “I…I couldn’t possibly be a good father to anyone, Beatrix. My visions… my creations take me around the world for months at a time. And when I’m here…”

“You’re incapable of love,” Bea said coldly, pulling his head back into her gaze. “For which I blame your foster parents. All of them. I’m aware that I’ll be raising this kid alone”—she said this with a secret smile—“and I am completely prepared. I’ve spent half a decade picking the best possible subordinates in my company and putting them where I want them. The same with the charity. I fully believe that they will survive on only a half-dozen hours of personal interaction a week. I’m ready for this, Dear.”

O’Shea blinked, taking in the sincerity and passion behind her words. “Then you have my blessing.”

And then he suddenly got up and started walking through their country villa, a curious Bea at his feet.

After a few minutes of walking and looking into various rooms, he turned and, arms wide, caught Bea before she could walk into him. (Three metal cups and a red rubber ball fell at his feet.) “What’s the holdup?” he asked, stepping back so she no longer dominated his field of vision. “I know you. You would have adopted her already by now otherwise, no matter what law or regulation stood in your way.”

“There…is a problem,” Bea admitted. “I need you to meet her.”

“Legally?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s Dot, Dear. I…I need your opinion on the girl I want to adopt.

“There’s something wrong with her.”

“You keep telling me I need to make friends.”

“Well…it’s kind of my thing.”

“…No. I’m sorry, but I can’t do it. I…I don’t want to lose somebody else, ever again!”

“Okay, I get it.”

“Do you? You’re a princess. Did you lose anyone when you were as young as me?”

“Not…not then. But one of my friends in Magic Kindergarten lost her little brother. What she went through…it was the worst thing I had ever seen.”

“So you know. Why I can’t have friends anymore. Why I can’t have anybody.”

“Yes, I understand. But that wasn’t the end of it for me after what happened. I decided, like you, that I would never let myself get hurt like that. I grew distant from my family, and my friends. I stuck to my books, because the characters in there didn’t die, or if they did, I could flip back a few pages and bring them back from the dead. And life got very lonely for me. When my immortal mentor tricked me into making friends, it was the best thing to ever happen to me, until…”

“Until?”

“…We’re not talking about that right now. On the whole, friendship has been a wonderful thing for me—I escaped a life of loneliness before it was too late. And I want the same for you.”

“Well…maybe I can make friends someday. But not today. Is that alright?”

“…Alright.

“There’s something else I’d like you to do. Something you can do now.

“Look out there. Look at all of the other orphans like you. Children who have lost everything. Some of them much younger than you. Some of them hurting much more than you. You don’t have to befriend them. But you could help them. Because you can. And because right now, they can’t help themselves. What do you think of that?”

“I like helping…. Yes, I think I can do that. Thank you, Twilight.”

“Don’t mention it, Dot.”

O’Shea took his time driving down the country road that led to the orphanage, early on Christmas morning. He left extra early once he had heard the story of the property from Bea, spending as much time examining the landscape as his paper map. He was looking for a vision.

Phillip Van Der Boek, a cousin of the famous Pieter Schuyler, founded the town of Boekstead in 1652 and built the mansion house of Gouden Eiken next to a magnificent oak tree. The family became quite powerful, not only in the Dutch colony of New Netherlands, but also in the English colony and later American state of New York, investing in the Erie Canal and later the railroads. But sometime after the original oak tree was struck down by lightning, the family turned against itself, conflicted by the evils brought about by rampant industrialization in eastern New York—a region safely out of sight from the front porch of Gouden Eiken. Finally the brothers Walter and Montgomery Van Der Boek, the last two members of the clan, faced off in a highly illegal duel that claimed both of their lives and caused the property to fall into bankruptcy. It took nearly two centuries before someone—namely Beatrix Platt—was able to stitch the various pieces of the property back together, renovating the long-abandoned mansion and converting it into Golden Oaks Orphanage.

As O’Shea approached the gates of the property, he saw something that caused him to pull his car off the side of the road. That road split to go around a large rock located right before the gates. To the uninformed eye, it didn’t make any sense, as the rock was easily small enough to remove and pave over. But this was the site where the Van Der Boek brothers died in each other’s arms. And this is where O’Shea found his vision.

There are certain people who can see things that most others cannot. They can offer no scientific proof of the existence of the various phantoms that they alone can see. In earlier ages some of them were locked away in asylums. In even earlier ages some of them were burned as witches. Nowadays most of them are artists, passing off their supernatural visions as products of their own imagination.

On this rock was a phoenix, aflame on its left side, a feral snarl on its right side. Not a living phoenix, but a sort of statue of smoke and shadow, a permanent monument to the fatal follies of the Van Der Boeks. O’Shea and the other seers had no idea how these visions came to be. Perhaps the tumultuous emotions of the dying brothers, the realization of where they had gone wrong, far after it was too late to do anything about it, was the spark that somehow summoned this fearsome object into being. O’Shea just knew that he had to share this vision with the majority of the human race who would never be able to see it. He got out his sketchbook and pencils and got to work.

The old familiar argument went through his head as he did so: Visions were part of his work, yes, but not all of it. He had the other kinds of “visions” as well, the non-supernatural kinds. The vision of the world as he wished it could be. The vision of what the world could become if it continued on its misguided way. He hated the fact that the visions he did not invent were always his most-popular works, and he feared sometimes that his normal visions would never compete with the ones he was merely witness to.

After completing several sketches from various angles, O’Shea looked up to see that he in turn was being watched by a colony of curious rabbits. He tried to sheepishly wave at them, but that gesture caused them to turn and run away from him. With a sigh, the artist got back into his gray Citroën DS and headed onto the property, parking and making his way to the main entrance of Golden Oaks Orphanage.

After quickly and quietly introducing himself to the staff member at the door, he made his way up the stairs and over to the balcony overlooking what was once the grand ballroom, a small paper floorplan held in one hand for reference.

The first sight to meet his eyes took his breath away.

“I, uh…saw the big Christmas tree you picked out,” O’Shea said several hours later, relating the story of his first setting eye on the girl he was sent to meet. “It seemed a bit much.”

This was not what had taken his breath away.

“Everything is a ‘bit much’ to you, Munchkin,” quipped Bea.

“I saw Miss Hathaway, the woman you hired to administer Golden Oaks when you’re not there. Whatever you’re paying her, it’s not enough. She looked like she needed a separate line item on her checks just for treating split ends.”

Bea rolled her eyes. “And did you see…?”

“Yes. I saw her. Dot MacPherson. The one with the reddest hair in the room.

“I saw her helping Miss Hathaway hand out the presents.

“The handing out was very fast, and didn’t really impress me that much. A small act of delayed gratification—that was all that the act symbolized, and possibly a way to gain the favor with the center of power when ‘Director Beatrix’ wasn’t around. No, what impressed me was what the little girl did afterward. She spent time with each of the perhaps dozen children who had responded to their gift with blank stares. In some cases I saw her explain what the toy was and how to use it. And in others I saw her simply sit with the child for a few minutes and talk with them.”

Bea nodded. “Christmas is rough. We both know that.” She looked off in the distance, remembering some of her past Christmases. “The presents…they always reminded me of what it was like before, getting Christmas presents and unwrapping them with the two people I could never see again. It was hard for any gift to make me happy enough to make up for that.”

She paused for a few seconds as she gathered her composure. “Then what happened?”

***

O’Shea made his way downstairs, and walked over to stand outside the open doors of the ballroom. As he watched, a little girl with a face scarred by fire burst into tears, and Dot gently took the girl into her arms, lightly stroking her back to show that she was there for her. And O’Shea could see that Dot was tearing up a bit as well.

“Being the husband of our sole financial support affords you a great deal of leniency, Mr. Platt. Please don’t make me regret extending it to you before I’ve had the chance to find out who you actually are.”

It was Miss Hathaway. She was a wiry woman of average height, disordered brown hair, and an old house dress. She scowled when she saw him take in her choice of clothing. “We are not supposed to have visitors on Christmas, Mr. Platt. Particularly visitors who do not call me in advance.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” O’Shea replied. “I thought that my wife would have called you. You see, there was a breakdown in communication.”

“The damage is done, Sir. Shall we discuss Miss MacPherson’s case in my office?”

***

“Mrs. Platt has instructed me to extend every courtesy to you, Mr. Platt. Including several which are quite…irregular. I do this under protest.”

“I…I understand,” O’Shea said awkwardly, suddenly finding himself feeling uncomfortable in his oversized chair.

“Please tell you already know the circumstances of the girl’s arrival here, so I won’t be forced to violate her privacy for a second time.”

“Yes,” O’Shea said, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and finding the pattern of its wrinkles more interesting than Miss Hathaway’s disapproving face. “The, um, circumstances of her parents’ deaths were, um, widely reported at the time, although the identity of their daughter is not known to most.

“The mother, Jessie, was a teacher at a public high school, and the father, Frank, was the administrator at a nearby junior high. One day, shortly after the mother had arranged the expulsion of a student for assaulting his girlfriend with her as the sole witness, the student commandeered a school bus, lured the three of them to the school after hours, and ran them over. Both adults were killed instantly, and the child was permanently blinded in her left eye.” The shock of the event seemed to only then reach him. “She was eight years old at the time, and, and, and…that was three months ago. She’s nine…years old now.” Only then did the man look back at the orphanage administrator.

Miss Hathaway sighed. “Yes, that’s essentially correct, Mr. Platt. The story is inescapable in Buffalo, and frankly I don’t think we’re far enough away here as it is. I fear the day when she overhears somebody on the street casually discussing the murder trial, and saying something stupid like blaming the parents not seeing through an obvious trap, or something else like that.

“Dot MacPherson has physical problems: her eye, the slight limp, her ‘sleeping condition’. But mentally, Dot is exemplary, Mr. Platt, exemplary in every way. She does not dwell on her loss, nor does she complain about her injury. She is a friend to every animal on the property, especially the wild rabbits. Only a week ago, she seemed to notice the other children for the first time, and already she has become friends with every one of them. I’ve had more than one of them confide to me that they were more sorry to say goodbye to her after they were adopted than they were to me.” She looked off into the distance and put on an ironic smile. “It’s like she’s got her own private therapist.”

O’Shea shivered, nodding, then steeled his nerve. “Can I meet her?”

Miss Hathaway seethed. “I’m not allowed to say ‘no’,” she hissed. “Could you at least tell me something about yourself?” She turned and picked up a large pile of pages, which she dropped on the desk between them. “Like your wife, you’re a public figure, but what I can find is completely useless. You’re a public artist, and you donate all of your income to some good charities, but what even is this?” She pointed to the monochrome illustration on the top page, taken from a Wikipedia article.

O’Shea looked over it for a moment. “It’s a sculpture of a Manchego cheese wheel,” he said simply.

“Yes, but why is it fifteen stories tall?” Miss Hathaway asked in an exasperated tone.

“It needs to be that tall in order to make clear the difference between the Spanish and American conceptions of ‘cheese’. They are very similar.” O’Shea said this with the air of one who had to offer this explanation many times, and was unable to understand why the reason wasn’t obvious from the moment you laid eyes upon the work.

“Yes, that’s what the article says. And cheeses taste different from one another. That should be obvious.”

“Not the taste. The concept. What a Spaniard thinks when he hears the word queso, and what an American thinks when he hears the word cheese.”

“I don’t get it. Spanish cheese is cheese.”

O’Shea slumped even more than usual. “But there is a difference,” he insisted.

“Not really.”

O’Shea sighed.

***

A half hour passed, and O’Shea utterly failed to communicate the meaning of Rueda to Miss Hathaway. But she did get a good enough read of his rather quiet character to determine that he could speak with Dot. But only if she was present.

O’Shea had no objection to this arrangement.

Miss Hathaway left, and quite some time passed.

After a while, O’Shea got up, and walked over to a poster for The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring that was prominently framed on one wall. A sign nearby declared when and where an upcoming “movie day” would be dedicated to this film.

From there he started examining various watercolors and finger-paints that had been posted on the other walls. Beside a photograph of a mother kangaroo in her native setting there was one drawing in particular…

“Miss Hathaway! Miss Hathaway!” A piping voice with a mild Australian accent cried out as the door behind O’Shea was quickly opened and closed. “You’ll never believe what I just…oh!”

O’Shea quietly turned around, shrinking into himself.

Before him was Dot MacPherson. She was a short girl with light skin and bright red shoulder-length hair that surrounded her head like a church bell. She had a button nose and dark blue eyes. She wore a white blouse and a pale yellow frock. Her legs and feet were bare.

Before either of them had a moment to say something, Miss Hathaway barged into the room. “Dot MacPherson!” she cried, causing the girl to turn guiltily towards her. “What have I told you about wandering the halls by yourself?”

“I know, Miss Hathaway, ‘only in an emergency,’” Dot said quietly, looking down. This lasted only a moment before her head shot back up. “But I saw the most wonderful dance on the television! It went like this…” And she raised her heels and began to gently spin around, stepping and bowing.

It was obvious to a bemused O’Shea that she was copying something from a ballet. It was a trifle clumsy, but you could clearly see the artistry she was copying, and was doing a fair job of reproducing.

“Yes, yes,” the administrator said awkwardly, tapping Dot on the head to still her movements. “But that’s not exactly an emergency, is it?”

Dot stopped, facing O’Shea, and dropped her head slightly, her right eye looking him over curiously. “No…”

“Nevertheless, it is good that you are here. Just this once. Dot, this is Mr. Platt.”

“Oh!” Dot’s head popped back up. She now looked him over with eagerness. First with her good right eye. And then, rather disconcertingly, with her bad left eye. That eye didn’t move on its own, so she would turn her head to make sure it was constantly pointed at him as she walked around him. And its pupil was gray instead of black.

“You have nice hair,” she finally said with a warm smile. “Does everyone think the color is fake?”

O’Shea nodded mutely.

Dot grinned broadly. “They do the same with me. So you’re the artist who’s married to Mrs. Platt? All the adults I ask about you say that you’re weird. Are you weird?”

She was clearly trying to provoke a reaction. Miss Hathaway, seeing this, said nothing and sat down to observe that reaction.

“Yes, I am ‘weird’,” O’Shea replied quietly. “It’s why I try to stay out of people’s way and make my creations. If Beatrix hadn’t insisted on…” He caught himself then. “I am known because of who my wife is. Although I’d appreciate the influence of my works, I don’t have that.”

A realization came to Miss Hathaway. “You wrote this article yourself, under an alias,” she said flatly, dumping her printout into the nearest trash bin.

O’Shea spent a few moments waiting for the awkwardness to go away. It didn’t, and eventually he was forced to resume. “The empty fame is not my choice. So you don’t need to worry about me. I am not the problem, Miss MacPherson, am I?”

“The problem?” asked Dot, confused.

“Yes, Beatrix…’Mrs. Platt’…sent me to ask what she had been doing wrong.”

Miss Hathaway sighed dramatically. “Coming on way too strong. I could have told her that.”

Dot looked between the two of them. “Does she still want to adopt me?” she asked.

“Yes,” O’Shea said.

“Even with the eye?” she asked, pointing at her creepy gray pupil. “Even with me sleeping half the day?”

“Even with those. She is quite fond of you.”

Dot looked away. “Yes, I know,” she said, walking over to a child-sized chair. “And…and I do like her. Honest. In fact, that’s the problem. I can’t let her adopt me, because I’ll just make her miserable.” She looked over to Miss Hathaway as she sat down, folding her hands in her lap like a proper lady. “You told her, right? I mean, she knows about me. Right?”

Miss Hathaway smiled and nodded her head. “Yes, yes, I told her.”

Dot rolled her eyes. “Well of course you don’t believe me, Ma’am. But you…I saw your sculpture in downtown Buffalo…” She struggled to remember the name.

“The Bunyip.”

“Yeah, I learned Jabberwocky from that. Anyway, you’ll believe me.

“Your wife can’t adopt me…because I’m possessed.”

“You see?” Bea asked O’Shea. “Did she lose her mind in the accident?”

O’Shea sighed deeply. “It’s not insanity, Beatrix. Dot has…an imaginary friend, that’s all.”

“That’s a rather dramatic way to put it, don’t you think?” O’Shea asked Dot.

“It gets the point across,” Dot said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

“So…a package deal, then?”

Dot sat up in confusion. “What?”

“We would be adopting the two of you: Dot MacPherson, and…”

“Twilight Sparkle. Princess Twilight Sparkle.”

“Princess Twilight Sparkle,” O’Shea said, nodding appreciably at the name. “Mine was named Billary.” He tapped the side of his head. “Commander of the Seven Armies, Billary McGillicuddy Turk.”

Bea sputtered. “I…what? ‘Twilight Sparkle’ is her imaginary friend?”

“Yes,” O’Shea said with what might be considered a very mild exclamation. “I had one too when I was her age. Very common for imaginative children who don’t have enough companionship in their lives.”

Bea looked at him accusingly. “I had a rather miserable childhood, and I didn’t have an imaginary friend. Are you accusing me of a lack of imagination?”

“No, I blame brain damage,” O’Shea said with a straight face, followed a split second later by a sudden cringe, as if he expected his own wife to hit him. “That was a joke,” he quickly added when she groaned loudly.

“Yes, I know,” she replied. She made no move to indicate that she would ever hurt him for anything he said.

“But, but you see how perfect it is: This girl loses her parents, and then within a matter of days a fantasy princess moves into her head, a princess who just happens to be the one thing she needs more than anything else in the world: someone who can never go away. Because this princess is immortal. Let me get to that part of the story.”

“My wife knows about you,” O’Shea said, pointing at Dot’s right eye. “She thinks you’re wonderful.” The finger then moved a bit to Dot’s left. “But she doesn’t know anything about Twilight Sparkle.

“There’s two kinds of friends like Twilight and Billary. Well…three, actually, but two of them are the same as far as this discussion is concerned. And if Twilight Sparkle’s the wrong type…well that would be trouble.

“The first type is there to help you do all the dangerous things you’re too scared to do by yourself,” O’Shea said with a frown. “Say the things you’re too scared to say to anyone, even yourself. Billary was that type for me. I’m glad I had him. I needed to have him. But… The type I’m speaking of is the kind who is always getting into trouble. Because you never do those things, knock over the cookie jar or blow up the neighbor’s car. It’s your friend who did these things. And that would make adopting you a lot harder. Now does that describe your friend?”

“No!” exclaimed Dot. “You nearly gave Twilight a heart attack with that ‘car’ thing alone!”

“Yeah. Good. Not for scaring Twilight, of course. I just don’t want to be replacing cookie jars and cars all of the time. So she falls into the second category, then: someone who is there for you, to be your best friend no matter what.”

Dot nodded eagerly. “Yes, that’s exactly it.” A second later she added, “And what’s the third type?”

“Someone who’s there to teach you. Help you with your homework and tell you when you’re about to do the wrong thing.”

“Oh. Can I change my answer? She’s Number Three, with some Two as well.”

“I’ll allow that,” O’Shea said with a slight smile.

Miss Hathaway sat quietly in the corner, nodding to herself. This was pretty much her own opinion of “Twilight Sparkle”.

“So that being established, I would like to know more about her,” said O’Shea. He opened his sketchpad, laid it across his knees, and used a pencil to start taking down pertinent notes about Twilight Sparkle. The sketchpad didn’t open flat, allowing Dot some glimpses of O’Shea’s earlier sketches. “Does she have an upstanding background?” he asked as he wrote. “My wife and I can’t allow just anyone to be your tutor-slash-friend.”

Dot giggled, putting her hands up to her mouth. “You want a job interview with Twilight? She really liked that! ‘Just what I would ask for, if our horseshoes were reversed,’ she said. And she has the best possible qualifications!” She stopped for a moment to address herself. “Yes, yes I already know. Please don’t get out the list. Would you just let me…! Anyway, she’s the Princess of Friendship on her planet. And you’re not born with that kind of princess title, you have it given to you because you’re already doing everything a Princess of Friendship should be doing.”

“‘Princess of Friendship’,” O’Shea repeated. “Should I be using ‘Your Highness’ when addressing her?”

“No, not really,” Dot replied. “She’s not into that kind of stuff. And you’re not a pony, so it wouldn’t even apply to you. She started out as a nerdy little unicorn in the capital city of Canterlot…”

“You don’t have to give me her entire backstory,” Bea said wearily. “Considering that she’s not real. You, on the other hand, appeared to have been riveted by a literal children’s story.”

O’Shea reacted with a start. “Oh, I was only paying attention to better understand Dot. I didn’t really care about the story…”

O’Shea leaned forward intently, a big smile on his lips, as he heard the end of Dot’s story.

“…And then Celestia and Luna retired, putting Princess Twilight in charge of everything. Having learned her lesson, she delegated, so the role of patrolling the dreams of ponies fell to Twilight, Rainbow Dash and Pinkie, all of whom had been trained in dream-walking by Princess Luna and solemnly sworn not to betray any of the secrets they learned as a result. And that proves that Twilight is the most trustworthy of ponies.

“Although…Twilight, why haven’t you been in any of my dreams since I stopped having nightmares? …Oh. She says that she wants to respect my privacy. You still should visit—my dreams are the best!”

“O’Shea?” Bea was snapping her fingers in front of her husband’s face.

“Oh! Hmm?”

“I was saying that that whole long story of yours really boils down to one thing as far as I’m concerned: Twilight can’t prove her existence.”

“Well…technically, I guess that part is important. She’s the Princess of Friendship-slash-Magic, and it just so happens that the nature of magic in this universe means that she can’t cast any spells without hurting Dot, so no spells.”

“Alright,” Bea said, thinking things over. “So, she’ll have a rough time with kids her age. Since they won’t believe her.”

O’Shea shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “The children at the orphanage seemed welcoming. And anyway, you’ll be there for her. Just don’t discourage her belief in the purple alicorn.”

“Wait, what? Is this princess purple? Why?”

“Why not?” O’Shea replied. “And ‘alicorn’ is Dot’s word for a unicorn/pegasus combination. But also an ‘earth pony’.”

“Wow, she never got that far into princess backstory territory with me,” Bea said.

“Well, she saw Billary.”

“What?”

“The statue I showed you in Buffalo. That was a portrait of my imaginary.”

“The giant spotted platypus?” she asked. “Or was it a bittern? It did look a bit childish. In a good way, mind you.”

O’Shea smiled. Slightly and shyly. “It was one of my first creations, although I didn’t realize it at the time. The, uh, imaginary friend. Not the statue.”

“It’s a shame it was defaced later with that Lewis Carroll poem painted onto the plinth.”

“Jabberwocky?” O’Shea asked. “That was me. Didn’t I tell you? I decided ten years later to add a secondary artistic statement on top of the first, about the power of absurdity.”

“So you sabotaged your own work,” Bea concluded, shaking her head.

O’Shea for his part utterly failed to consider what he had done to be “sabotage”.

“Getting back to the matter at hand…” Bea nodded to herself as she made up her mind. “So. I’m willing to go forward with the adoption. Assuming that she’ll have me. I just need to arrange a bonding session between the two of you in the meantime.”

“That…that won’t be necessary. We, uh, managed to find something in common.”

As O’Shea was completing his notes, Dot got up and walked around him to get another look at him—she had noticed that he had switched from writing to sketching at some point. “Let me see if you got her right,” she said. “Hey!” she then exclaimed, seeing something familiar on an earlier page. She flipped back to one of O’Shea’s sketches of the phoenix. “I drew that, too!” And she pointed at the watercolor on the wall that had earlier attracted his attention.

“You’ve…seen it?” he asked cautiously. There was a theory circulating among some of his artist friends that “the vision” was more common among redheads. …As was insanity.

“Not directly,” said Dot, switching from live eye to dead one as she examined the sketch. “Twilight saw it when we were looking for Puff the Rabbit—he had hurt his foot showing off for his brothers—and she shared the memory with me.”

O’Shea was intrigued. “Has she shown you any memories from her home?” He consulted his notes. “Equestria?”

“Oh sure. Hold on!” And she quickly ran out of the room.

“Well, there goes your afternoon,” Miss Hathaway said good-naturedly. She then checked her watch. “I’ll be able to get her to bed by three.”

O’Shea frowned. “Beatrix told me that she collapses after eight hours of being awake. Is that literally true?”

“More or less,” said Miss Hathaway. “I think it depends on her mood. If she’s stressed, if she spends long periods of time off in a corner talking to ‘Twilight’, then it might be seven or eight hours. If she’s happy, if we can distract her enough not to think about her imaginary, then she can last as long as any other child her age.”

“It sounds like Twilight isn’t good for her then,” said O’Shea. “Why don’t you encourage her to abandon—”

“—That’s not a very good word to use around Dot, Mr. Platt,” Miss Hathaway said very seriously. “‘Abandon.’ No, Twilight is clearly Dot’s inner counselor. At least for now, Dot needs Twilight in order to retain her sanity.”

It was then that Dot came back in with three thick sketchbooks under her arm. She looked at the covers of the three books carefully with her right eye, and then pulled out one. “I couldn’t draw at all when Twilight first showed up, so let’s skip the first book for now. I just had to teach myself drawing because the stuff she shared with me was so amazing that I just had to figure out how to share them with people. Even if they think they’re fake. Do you know what I mean?” She opened her selected book and shoved it into O’Shea’s lap.

O’Shea looked sadly at Dot, noting the fragility of her smile and considering the inner pain that might require the creation of a Twilight Sparkle. Then he paid attention to her words. “Yeah,” he said faintly. “I think I do know what you mean.” He looked down at a scene of a meadow and a giant waterfall.

“That’s Horseshoe Falls,” Dot told him. “Looking up at Canterlot from Ponyville is the absolute best, but that was from when I couldn’t draw.” She took the book back and flipped through a few pages. “This…this is a little scary, but…” She handed over the book again, open to a two-page spread of a haunted village. “Hollow Shades. That’s where Twilight and her friends faced the Pony of Shadows.”

O’Shea frowned as he took in the seriously evil vibe of the sketch before him.

Seeing his expression, Miss Hathaway came over to see the image for herself. Although it seemed to have nothing in common with the tragedy that shaped the girl’s life, what the administrator saw worried her. “Dot, I don’t think Twilight should be sharing memories like this with you.”

“Oh, she didn’t,” Dot said lightly, turning the page to a fractured portrait of Twilight, her dragon friend and her five closest pony friends. “Sometimes, I can see things in Twilight’s mind that she thinks I’m too young to see.” She pointed down at the portrait. “Like, there’s something about some of…” She closed her eyes suddenly and winced. “Yeah, yeah…” she whispered to herself. “OK, I won’t go there.”

“Dot?” Miss Hathaway asked with concern.

“It’s nothing,” Dot said with a shrug, snapping the book shut. “Twilight Sparkle and her neuro-osees.”

“OK,” said Bea. “She’s an artist, too. I knew about the sketchbooks, but she never let me look inside.” She nodded as she made another decision. “As long as Dot has her art…or her imaginary friend, you two have something in common that I will be forever excluded from. If she ever has any questions in that area, she’ll want to come to you, not me.” She checked her calendar. “So I’ll arrange to have you go with the orphans during their annual movie theater trip. It will be perfect!”

“Do I get a say in this?”

“No.”

O’Shea sighed. “I suspected that was what you were going to say.”

Chapter 2: There's Something Wrong with Twilight

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It was New Year’s Day, and the orphans of Golden Oaks were gathered outside for the trip to the movie theater in town.

But something was wrong.

“I gave you specific instructions, Mr. Hernandez,” Miss Hathaway told the bus driver/vehicle rental company owner in a dangerously low voice. “I warned that I would cancel the trip if you brought a bus of that color.”

But it was the wrong color, yellow instead of white, and so Dot MacPherson was paralyzed with fear, staring at it.

***

“Beatrix, you need to come out here. Now. It doesn’t matter about your ‘bonding’ plans. We’re having a crisis…. You will? Thank you. We’re at the front of the building. Bye.”

A dozen feet away, O’Shea stood alone. Having just finished calling his wife he was just standing there, expecting her to show up as soon as he had hung up. He looked awkwardly back and forth between Dot and the object of her terror. And then…

There was something O’Shea had left out of the account he told to his wife about meeting Dot MacPherson for the first time. He left it out because he feared that it might creep her out, that it might prevent her from adopting the girl. And he certainly wasn’t going to reveal it to Miss Hathaway. Not if he wanted her to think he was sane.

You see, when O’Shea set eyes on Dot MacPherson for the first time in that ballroom, he also saw someone else for the first time. He saw Twilight Sparkle. A vision of Twilight Sparkle. Semi-transparent, like all visions. But clearly there. If he could read lips, he wouldn’t have needed Dot to tell him what she was saying in their last conversation. Normally, Twilight stood to Dot’s left, her form partially overlapping with her. When he later saw them up close, he could see that Twilight’s right eye was usually also Dot’s left eye.

You might think that O’Shea would have seen this as proof that Twilight Sparkle was real. But there was some question in the visionary artist community if some psychics might have the ability to manifest their thoughts as visions. So that still left Twilight’s reality up for debate. And therefore, whether Dot’s “sleeping condition” was caused by Twilight…or by Dot burning her brain out creating Twilight Sparkle.

For if Twilight was a thought, then she was an extraordinarily complex one. Twilight Sparkle could be seen to have an existence independent of Dot. She expressed her own emotions. She sometimes talked at the same time as Dot. Also, she could pull her head out of Dot’s, and look places where Dot wasn’t looking. But apparently Dot’s eye was better for her, because when she really wanted to look at something, when she wanted to glare at somebody, she did it with Dot’s dead eye.

Like right now. At him.

O’Shea gulped audibly, and then walked over to Dot. He kneeled beside her—on second thought, he repositioned himself to be between her and the bus. He noticed that everybody else had left significant space around her, apparently shocked by the intensity of her emotions being displayed right now.

“Dot…” he said quietly. And then quite a bit louder: “Dot!”

Her head jerked away from the bus, noticing him for the first time.

“Would…would you like to go in my car? Instead of the…”

“Yes,” she said, in a strange broken voice. She held out a hand.

O’Shea got up, grasped that hand, and turned Dot around so she was no longer looking at the bus.

Everyone else let out the big breath of air they didn’t know they were holding.

Miss Hathaway ran over to join them.

“Miss Hathaway?” Dot asked. She turned her head to face her, but yet not look at the bus. “Could I go to the movie theater in Mr. Platt’s fancy car? I still want to see the movie. And Mr. Platt’s car goes ever so much faster than the bus.”

Miss Hathaway looked at Dot and saw that she was already a lot calmer. She then cast a critical eye upon O’Shea. “How much faster?” she asked.

“Not very fast at all while you’re in the car, Dot,” said O’Shea.

Dot frowned in disappointment.

“That was the right answer,” said Miss Hathaway.

“It’s the gray sports car over there,” O’Shea said to Dot. “I’ll join you in a bit.” He watched as Dot ran off towards his car. Then he turned to face Miss Hathaway. “Are you sure it’s alright if—”

“Of course it’s alright, Mr. Platt. After our session last week, I fully trust you. In fact, I expect you to be waiting for us when we arrive.”

O’Shea smiled. “So I can go faster.”

“But only a few minutes earlier. Understand?”

“Perfectly,” said O’Shea. He was about to walk over to the car, but suddenly stopped himself. “This has been a very emotional moment for Dot,” he said. He did not add, “For which I am woefully unequipped.” Instead he asked, “Is there anything I need to watch out for? Such as her sleeping condition?”

“No. I had her sleep in this morning.”

“Good.” And then he did walk over to the car.

Miss Hathaway then turned and walked back to the bus.

The driver was quaking in fear. “Oh drat, oh drat, oh drat,” he said, censoring himself to keep from digging himself even deeper into the hole caused by his color choice. “That was the Bus Massacre Orphan, wasn’t it?”

Miss Hathaway followed Mr. Hernandez’s eyeline over to the gray Citroën and back. “You’ll understand if I don’t wish to advertise her presence at this facility.”

“I’m refunding you half of the rental amount, and I swear on my mother’s grave that I will never mention a word about her until the day I die.”

Miss Hathaway raised an eyebrow. “We may have the basis of a long-term agreement, Mr. Hernandez. Depending on your driving, of course.”

Fifteen minutes later, Bea arrived at the orphanage, to find it abandoned.

“Hello, anybody?”

A bit of searching revealed that the orphanage was empty, and her husband’s distinctive car was nowhere to be seen. So, it was pretty obvious what had happened.

She sighed. “O’Shea, when will you remember to call people to tell them when plans have changed?!”

The Citroën drove down the country roads between the orphanage and the town of Boekstead. The car was driving five miles above the speed limit, but the top was definitely up.

Dot was sitting in the passenger seat. She was wearing a similar outfit to what she had warn the last time O’Shea had seen her, but with a yellow blouse instead of a white one. She was wearing white sandals, but only under protest.

Twilight was sitting to Dot’s left, which meant that she was sharing the passenger seat with her, and she was between Dot and O’Shea.

Twilight was the first to speak. “You don’t have to be ashamed of being afraid.” Her tone was caring, but also somewhat detached.

O’Shea figured this was to encourage Dot to be objective. He made a note of this. Actually, he was paying attention to the entire conversation, because he had absolutely no idea how he would have handled Dot under the circumstances if it had only been the two of them.

“It was stupid,” Dot muttered. “Not the same bus. Not the same place. Not the same…”

“Not the same man,” Twilight finished for her. “But the idea is enough.”

Dot stared glumly down at her shoes.

“Hey, aren’t those our rabbits?” Twilight said, pointing.

O’Shea glanced over, to indeed see nearly a dozen rabbits loping a few dozen feet away from the side of the road. The car rapidly passed them. Dot spent the whole time calling out to them by name from the now-open passenger window. She had apparently named every one of the creatures.

Seeing the rabbits did a great deal to improve Dot’s mood. Afterwards, she continued to keep her head out the door, looking out for any and all animal life that they passed, from hawks down to apparently an energetic earthworm named Paul, although O’Shea had no idea how she managed to spot anything like that under the circumstances. Dot’s fluffy hair blew about in the wind rather like a lamb’s wool, if said lamb was in Dot’s place.

Seeing the fun she was having, Twilight tried sticking her own head out of the window, having stayed inside the car up until this point. For reasons O’Shea couldn’t understand, her long mane was whipped by the breeze…directly into Dot’s face.

Dot sputtered and laughed.

O’Shea laughed even harder.

Dot and Twilight both pulled their heads in to look curiously at O’Shea. “What’s so funny to you?” Dot said, and Twilight mouthed, in near unison.

“You, Twilight,” said O’Shea.

He carefully pulled over for the conversation that he could see was about to happen. “I can see you, by the way.”

“You can?” Dot asked in amazement.

“Yes, the same way I can see that phoenix statue.”

Twilight nodded and mouthed something that might have been “that makes sense” before scrunching her features in concentration. “…n you hear this?”

“Yes!” exclaimed O’Shea. “I actually heard that! It’s a bit…echo-y.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t to be helped,” said Twilight.

“Are you talking to him now? You don’t sound any different to me. Why weren’t you doing that before, so everyone could hear you?” accused Dot.

“Because nopony…nobody could hear that before. Including you. I’m simultaneously projecting my voice for him and my thoughts for you. And, as we found out earlier, I can’t project thoughts into anyone other than you. Now it appears that only someone who can see those illusions can see or hear me.”

“Oh, OK,” Dot said, slumping in disappointment. Then she had a thought. “Hey! If you could see her, why didn’t you tell Miss Hathaway?”

“I was trying to prove myself trustworthy to her.”

“And claiming to be able to see me, while she could not, certainly wouldn’t help,” said Twilight.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dot said dismissively, before perking back up. “So, is there anything you two want to say to each other?”

“Well, I hate to start off our relationship with an accusation, but I’m afraid it isn’t to be helped. What effect is your presence having upon Dot’s health?”

“That’s none of your business!” Dot snapped, with a surprising degree of heat.

“Dot MacPherson!” Twilight scolded, causing Dot to wilt. To O’Shea she answered more calmly. “It’s a perfectly legitimate question, Mr. Platt, and I certainly don’t hold it against you. My manifestations take a toll upon Dot. I am capable of doing less: I could just sleep inside Dot’s head or appear as only a voice instead of a full pony. Either of these options would be less taxing for Dot.”

“But I don’t want that,” Dot said with some steel in her voice. “Twilight is my friend. I won’t have her hiding from me. When I need her, I want to see and hear her. Her smile makes me smile.” The energy quickly left her. “And some days it’s very hard to smile.”

“I am not causing her any permanent harm, Mr. Platt. I would ignore her wishes if that ever became the case. I am hopeful that with time, and with the care of your wife and yourself, that the need for me will diminish.”

“But never go away,” said Dot, a hint of fear in her eyes. “You’re never leaving me, right?”

“I’m never leaving you, Dot,” said Twilight, carrying out a strange ritual. “That’s a Pinkie Promise.” She then turned back to O’Shea. “With that out of the way, was there anything else you’d like to ask of me?”

“Well, I’d love to hear your opinion of humanity, Miss Twilight,” said O’Shea. “I’m afraid it will have to be the short version for now, if we want to get to the movie on time.”

The mare smiled indulgently. “Just Twilight, Mr. Platt. And, although I’m fully aware of your species’ flaws, I have not given up on you. For the most part I’m understanding of humanity’s plight. I’ve visited a human world before, decades ago.” Her eyes wandered, searching the western sky. “It wasn’t this world, unless you’ve got humans with green and blue and orange skin and manes…err, hair, hiding somewhere.”

O’Shea smiled, thinking of Oompa-Loompas. “No, we don’t.”

Twilight nodded. “But like the humans of that world, you humans don’t have the magic of harmony inside of you. And unlike my world, you don’t have an all-powerful demi-goddess ruling over you and telling you to stop it. So, you do bad things to each other.

“But not all of you. Some of you fight the darkness in your souls. And that light that you share with each other. That makes my time here worthwhile. And nobody has a brighter light than Dot here.”

Dot had been getting a little glum, as she knew of Twilight’s worst opinions of mankind. But she wasn’t aware of her more optimistic thoughts, and hearing those made her beam.

“Yeah,” O’Shea said with a small smile. “On my better days I think the same.” He started the car back up and pulled back onto the road. “We can talk more after the movie, on the drive back to the orphanage.”

“Alright,” said Twilight. “I am greatly looking forward to a movie about friendship.”

“Friendship…Oh, Fellowship of the Ring. Yes, I suppose with your title this will be a good movie for you.”

“Yes. Now afterwards, on that trip home, I’m sure I’ll have plenty of questions for you that now I don’t have to bother Dot with.”

“Sounds good to me,” said O’Shea.

***

The car was once again racing through the countryside.

Twilight was leaning forward, her hooves on the dashboard. This was so Dot and O’Shea could talk to each other.

Dot was not initially interested in conversation. She stuck her head back out the window, looking hard for cows, birds, and any other animals she could spot, but once they started passing by the stud ranch the view had started getting a little depressing. Not to mention the smell getting a bit strong… So that meant it was time for her to roll up the window and finally pay attention to the interior of the car. Specifically, the radio, which was playing some meaningless tune as it had been this whole time. “What is that?” she asked, pointing.

“It’s something called ‘muzak’,” said O’Shea. “They used to play it in stores when I was a kid. It’s designed to be completely inoffensive.”

“Why don’t you listen to regular music?”

O’Shea laughed. “I have a rather strong reaction to music. Always have. If there’s any emotion in a song, I feel it. If it’s happy, I laugh. If it’s sad, I cry. A lot of the time it’s a struggle not to sing along. I can’t help myself. It’s not very safe to be sobbing while driving. So More Sounds of the Department Store it is.”

“Oh,” said Dot. She looked down at her little sandals, and kicked her feet.

“Did you want to talk about something?” asked O’Shea. “I can talk while I drive.”

“You don’t want to talk to Twilight again?” Dot asked. “She’s way more interesting than me.”

“Maybe later,” said O’Shea. “I did mention a ‘package deal’ last time, and that hasn’t changed. I’m interested in both of you, Dot. Not just Twilight. Now, is there anything you would like to talk about?”

“Yes,” said Dot in a small voice. “But not about…before.” She turned around in her seat so she was facing him and could see him with both eyes. “Tell me…err, tell us about your art. Why do you do it? I mean, I get so frustrated sometimes when I’m drawing that I can’t get out what I’m thinking. Does that happen to you?”

“Oh, all the time,” said O’Shea.

“So why do it? Why not do something that doesn’t make you frustrated?”

“This…this is a rough world, Dot,” O’Shea said with growing conviction. “As Twilight seems to already know. You both know that fact more than most. I use my art to tell people, to remind people, that it could be better. Or it could be worse. We can make the choice. We can make it better. Make it more like that perfect world we all know, partially glimpsed and half-forgotten in our dreams. Perhaps…perhaps that’s the worst part: forgetting.” He slowed his driving a bit to keep control of his car. “I fear sometimes that if I don’t keep drawing, don’t keep sculpting, that I’ll forget. I’ll become cold, like the others. I trust that you still remember what it was like, before?”

“I’ll never forget, Mr. Platt,” Dot replied in a steely voice, and then her voice softened. “Twilight won’t let me.”

Twilight gave O’Shea a helpless shrug. O’Shea got the impression that it was Dot who was the one enforcing the “don’t let me forget” rule.

There is a lonely motel on the country road, located just before it merges with the highway that leads into town. There Bea was waiting for the bus. She had bought a room at the motel so she might have someplace to legally leave her car behind, a room that she probably would not use.

She was able to do this before the bus arrived at this spot because first, she was driving a good deal above the speed limit and was not restrained by any promise to Miss Hathaway and second, because unlike her husband she was able to drive at breakneck speeds while doing business over the phone at the same time.

She was busy rolling a quarter across her knuckles when the bus stopped before her and the doors opened.

“Beatrix!” Miss Hathaway exclaimed from the front seat as Bea boarded the bus. “I thought you were unable to attend this year. Something about ‘pressing business’?”

“Why Marnie, the children of this orphanage are my business,” Bea said with a broad smile as she sat down beside her employee.

“Dot’s not here,” Miss Hathaway informed her in a low voice.

“I know,” replied Bea. As the bus merged onto the highway, she turned around in her seat to address the children. “Why aren’t you singing?” she asked. “You usually sing on bus trips. Is it because of Dot?”

“No, Dot’s OK,” said one of the girls. “We just ran out of songs.”

“Oh,” said Bea. “Well, why don’t I teach you an Australian jump rope song I just learned?” She had learned the song to sing with Dot, but she decided to be generous and use it here instead.

The children, especially the girls, murmured their assent.

“Let’s see…” Bea said, theatrically putting a hand to her head in a thinking pose. “It started ‘I am a pretty girly, as pretty as can be-be-be.’” She started clapping with her words, and soon some of the children started clapping with her. She continued:

“And all the boys at my school, go crazy over me-me-me!”

(There was laughter from some of the children, as more of them started clapping. Bea smiled as she continued.)

“My boyfriend’s name is Tubby, and he comes from Sydney harby.

“That’s ‘harbor’ in Australian. Just be glad I’m not trying to use an accent.

“Got a lump on his nose and ten funny toes and this is how my story goes:

“One day when I was walking, I heard my boyfriend talking
To a pretty little girl with a chocolate curl and this is what he said to her:
‘I L-O-V-E love you, I K-I-double-S kiss you.’
So I threw him into a lake and he swallowed up a snake and he came back with a tummy ache!”

She repeated the verse, and a couple of girls sang along. She reached the chorus, and more children joined in, with everybody clapping. She started singing faster, challenging the singers to keep up. By the time she got to that last line she was going so fast that you really couldn’t make out the individual words, so when she reached the end and theatrically gasped for breath afterwards she had everybody laughing. She sat back as the children took over singing the song after that, even inventing a new verse of Tubby making up with the singer.

She looked over at Miss Hathaway, who was shaking her head with bemusement. “Dot will love it, Beatrix,” she said.

True to Miss Hathaway’s (earlier) prediction, O’Shea and Dot arrived at the theater before the bus. They parked in the lot behind the small building and waited.

Dot spotted a small squat man standing next to the designated bus parking spot. He was wearing an ill-fitting brown suit and frequently consulting his watch. As she watched, the little man appeared to remember something with a start. He then quickly replaced a large red button on his lapel with a large blue button.

(The red button advertised Mr. NYC’s real estate firm. The blue button advertised Beatrix Platt’s real estate firm.)

Dot prodded O’Shea’s arm and pointed. “Who’s that man?” she asked.

O’Shea took one look and scowled. “That’s Buddy Lignite,” he said. “That stud farm we passed on the way belongs to him. Along with the theater, the newspaper, a dozen other businesses and, about half the time, City Hall. He’s always after my wife to let him in on shady deals to buy up even more of this town.”

“So he’s not a very good man?” Dot asked. “Did…did he do bad things with his horses?”

“Nothing that’s been proven…yet. No, the thing I don’t like him for was the commercials. There was this one time when he bought up franchises for two rival burger chains, and then had each of them issue really nasty ads on TV attacking each other, just to trick people into picking sides and going to one restaurant or the other. So that way everybody would be buying their burgers from him.” O’Shea crossed his arms. “So to answer your question: no, he’s not a very good man.”

“Well, he looked at a folded up piece of paper while looking at you, and now he’s coming this way.”

O’Shea reacted to this by rolling down the window, pointedly keeping his eyes away from the approaching figure. “You know that I’m an orphan too, right?” he said to Dot, in a louder-than-normal voice.

“Yes?” Dot said with a confused frown. She could see that Mr. Platt was up to something, probably at Mr. Lignite’s expense. This was probably good, but she would have appreciated having figured out what it was so she could help.

“My ‘before’ was long before yours, so far back that I don’t really remember it at all,” said O’Shea, catching a glimpse of Buddy Lignite approaching in his rear-view mirror. “The funny thing is, I didn’t really exist before the nurses found me, abandoned in a cardboard box outside the hospital.”

Buddy Lignite and Dot MacPherson both froze for a moment in shock.

“I…what?” Dot stammered out. “I mean…that’s awful! Maybe it’s better that you don’t remember what happened before.” She then processed what she had just said, and was shocked again at encountering a situation where holding onto the past with both hands, kicking and screaming, might not be the best reaction to loss.

“Yeah,” continued O’Shea. “I had to get a complete identity when I was found. They guessed that I was three, and picked the date I was found as my birthday. As for not having an identity before that, I think I was born to a couple of criminals in some back alley or something. A den of international drug smugglers or something like that.”

Dot glanced over at Mr. Lignite, to see him seriously debating with himself whether to continue to approach the car. Clearly he was terrified of the effect on his reputation of being caught speaking with someone with such a suspect heritage. So he settled on knocking quickly on the door of the car and then stepping back several steps. “Mr. Platt? Mr. Bea Platt?” he asked plaintively.

O’Shea turned his head serenely to face the visitor. “Yes?” he asked.

“I’m Buddy Lignite, local real estate magnate and owner of this fine theater. I’m a big fan of your wife’s work in the area.” He pulled out a business card and, by stretching his arm out to its utmost, was finally able to pass it to O’Shea.

O’Shea glanced at the card, and then tossed it onto the back seat. “Nice to meet you,” he said cooly. “This is Dot. She’s one of the orphans here to see your movie today.”

“Hello,” said Dot. She took off her seat belt and rose to her knees so he could see her more clearly. “It’s nice t—”

“Is she going to be here soon? With the bus of the other…orphans?” Lignite seemed to have completely ignored Dot’s existence, and had paid no attention to her words. Also from the way he said the word “orphans” it was clear that he held that entire class of humanity as valueless.

O’Shea looked around. “Are they not here yet? Hmm…” He turned away to consult his watch.

“Your wife, Mr. Platt. Beatrice Platt? I was hoping to have a word with her about the Yellen property. The old lady’s nearly dead, and I was hoping that together we could find a way to force the geezer out and get the property away from her grandchildren. They’re…well, she and I both know that they aren’t really worthy of that property, being entirely the wrong sort, if you get my drift.”

Dot paused for a moment as Twilight helpfully told her what Lignite was implying (excluding O’Shea from the conversation), before turning away in disgust.

“Hmm?” said O’Shea, examining some lint he had discovered on his sleeve. “Oh, she’s not supposed to be here today. Had the day completely planned out.” His words was carefully selected in order to be completely accurate. “Isn’t that right, Dot?”

Dot turned back with an eager smile on her face, having now figured out Mr. Platt’s game. “Oh, I haven’t seen her at all today!” she exclaimed.

Lignite frowned, then consulted his watch. “Well…”

“Are you going to stay, Mr. Lignite?” Dot asked, leaning over O’Shea to get closer to the odious man. “There will be dozens of us orphans at the theater. Running up and down the walkways, and getting into popcorn-throwing fights and who knows what else! Would you like to stay and give us a speech?”

Lignite shuddered visibly. “Ah, no. I’ve got important business to attend to. Of course, your wife will be financially responsible for any damage inflicted on my theater.”

“Of course, Mr. Lignite!” O’Shea said brightly. “I will make sure she pays whatever invoice you send her as promptly as possible!”

“Good. Good.” He saw the bus come to a stop at the intersection right outside the parking lot. “Ah, I really must be going! I’ve got pressing business…as far away from those things as possible. Good day, O’Shea, and give my regards to your lovely wife.”

“And the orphans.”

“And the offal. I mean orphans!” He then scurried off to get into his own car and speed away before the bus could stop and he would be forced to deal with its occupants.

“I did not give you permission to use my first name, ‘Buddy’,” O’Shea muttered under his breath. “Oh God,” he then said, and began shaking. “They always seems like bright ideas when you think of them, and bluffing your way through them is so fun, but then you have to think of the consequences after the fact…”

“There, there, Mr. Platt,” Dot said, picking up his hand and stroking it gently.

“He’s having a panic attack,” Twilight informed Dot, with the air of somebody who had an intimate acquaintance with the phenomenon.

“Are you having a panic attack?” Dot asked, having forgotten that O’Shea could hear Twilight.

“Not quite,” said Bea, who had walked up to the car. She of course had not heard Twilight.

“He played a good joke on Mr. Lignite,” Dot explained.

“Ah, then definitely for a good cause,” said Bea. “Did you have a nice drive, Dot?”

“Oh it was lovely!” Dot exclaimed. “Can you see Twilight Sparkle?”

“What!” exclaimed Bea in shock, before recovering with a weak laugh. She carefully looked all around Dot. “Ah…no. Sorry. I can’t see her.”

“No that’s alright. Most people can’t.” She got out of the car and walked over to her. “I’m ready to see the movie now.” She put on a cultivated air as she opened the driver’s side door and said, “Shall we enter the theater now, Mr. Platt?”

O’Shea by this point had calmed himself down. “Ah, uh, yes. The theater.”

The Uptown was originally opened as an Art Deco movie theater in 1937, built as a passion project in his retirement by Laurence Lignite, a former crooner as well as a descendant of one of the miners so ruthlessly exploited by the Van Der Boeks. Like most passion projects, running the Uptown eventually bankrupted Laurence, and he was forced to sell to a nationwide chain in 1945. That chain upgraded the theater to Cinemascope in 1954, but in 1973, the beautiful theater was split into two screens, the result of declining attendance and a fading of the taste for larger-than-life cinema; this became four screens in 1986. By that time it was only playing second run movies.

It was Buddy Lignite’s father, Richard, who bought back the theater and restored it to its former glory, only to die of a heart attack on the day if its grand re-opening. Buddy Lignite mostly used the theater for corporate retreats and other functions. He never sold tickets for ordinary people to watch movies in the Uptown, because he believed the common people of the town didn’t deserve it.

Bea, O’Shea and Dot (and Twilight Sparkle) walked around the corner and stopped as they took in the grand marquee, red neon letters four feet tall, stacked vertically and spelling out the name “uptown” (with that exact capitalization—trust me that it actually looks better that way). Under that, the part of the sign that would normally announce what movie was playing was advertising Buddy Lignite’s contact information. Underneath the sign and making up the ceiling of the entrance to the theater was about a hundred bright yellow incandescent bulbs. Art deco designs decorated the walls on either side of the vertical letters. It was Laurence Lignite’s grand design, not Buddy Lignite’s petty application, that had the group in awe.

O’Shea looked over to his wife, noting her reaction. “Hey, didn’t you at least scope out this location in person before booking it?” he asked.

“No,” Bea replied, somewhat abashed. “I did my research online. I wanted to avoid having to meet Buddy Lignite in person, and had Ernest handle everything on my behalf.” She looked over at the front door of the theater, where a young man in a classic red usher uniform was waiting. Taking in his name tag, she addressed him: “Ah, Ethan. Is everything in readiness for the 1 pm showing?”

Ethan, who had been staring in morbid fascination at Dot’s dead eye, started, making a polite nod of his head. He was fourteen years old and had short dirty blond hair and gentle blue eyes. Even through his formal attire, it was clear that he was very physically fit. His back was ramrod straight. “Everything is in readiness for your group, Miss Hathaway.” He seemed to look right through Twilight, causing her to crane her head back to try and see what he was actually looking at.

At the same moment, Bea looked behind her at the actual Miss Hathaway and the other orphans, who had gathered behind her. “Ah, sorry. I’m actually Bea Platt, the sponsor.”

“You’re Mrs. Platt?” Ethan asked in surprise. “And you survived—I mean missed—my father?”

“He had other business,” Dot butted in, a big smile on her face. “Far, far away.”

“Really?” Ethan said in obvious relief, relaxing into a more normal, if still respectful, pose. “And, um…who are you? If…If I’m not exceeding my bounds, Mrs. Platt.”

“This is…” Bea considered for a moment. She decided that there were plenty of Dots in the world, and she wouldn’t be compromising her privacy for a small revelation. “This is Dot.”

“Hello, Dot.”

“Hi, Ethan. I promise that your dad is gone.”

Ethan looked over at the adults.

“And we don’t expect him back until after we’re long gone,” confirmed O’Shea.

“Well that will make things so much easier,” said Ethan in relief, relaxing his military posture. He raised his voice to address the entire crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Uptown, and our exclusive showing of the first film in the Lord of the Rings trilogy!”

The children caught on to his enthusiasm and cheered weakly.

Ethan Lignite frowned theatrically. “Well I hope Arwen gets a better reception than that. Come on in.” He opened the door, and ushered everyone in. “I can give you a tour of the theater after, if you’d like,” he said to Dot. He prayed that he wouldn’t screw this up.

Dot glanced over to Twilight before answering. “Sure!”

***

“Welcome to the Uptown!” cried the boy at the concession stand at the crowd that was gathering before him. He was obviously Ethan’s younger brother by his looks, and was aged twelve. He was wearing the same costume as Ethan, although he didn’t fill it out nearly as well. His nametag identified him as “Kevin”. He wore large eyeglasses with turtle-shell rims.

“I already said that!” Ethan called out playfully from the other side of said crowd.

“Oh,” said Kevin, dejectedly. “I don’t suppose any of you even want any candy.”

Nearly every hand shot up, with cries of “I do! I do!”

Kevin looked up hopefully.

“No candy!” declared Miss Hathaway, pushing her way to the front of the crowd. “Popcorn and water only.”

There was a general groan. Fifty young heads then turned as one towards Bea with looks of hope.

Miss Hathaway looked desperately at Bea.

“You heard her,” Bea declared. “Popcorn and water.”

Another general groan.

“Aw, don’t be glum!” Kevin declared. “The Uptown uses the original secret recipe for the perfect buttered popcorn from 1937! We also have air conditioning!”

General silence.

“Heh. That joke’s a little before your time.” He stepped out from behind the counter, pushing a cart into view. “Now normally you’d have to wait quite a while for me to pop up enough popcorn for all of you, but due to the magic of getting a call ahead of time…”

Bea stared fixedly at O’Shea.

“What?” asked O’Shea. “I didn’t call him!”

“I think that was the point,” commented Twilight.

“…I’ve already made up bags for all of you. Plastic bags, so you can take them home afterwards. Now step forward, one bag of popcorn and one bottle of water for each of you. And then you can follow my brother Ethan to your seats.”

As the kids took their bags and bottles, Ethan quickly sidled up to his brother to whisper the news into his ear of the absence of their father for the duration. Kevin responded by fishing a couple of new nametags out his pocket, with both boys put on top of their regular tags. Ethan was now “Nepot #1”, while Kevin was now “Nepot #2”.

Dot stopped before the poster of the movie, so Twilight could get a good look at it. Seeing the large ensemble of friends collected on the poster, the alicorn smiled.

Kevin stared at her in shock. He prayed that Ethan wouldn’t mess this up.

***

Before too long most of the children had been seated inside of the beautiful theater, the ceiling covered with the same abstract designs that were seen beside the marquee. A few kids took this in, or listened to some classic Korngold being played over the speakers, but most of them ate their popcorn.

It really was very good popcorn.

“So,” Bea asked O’Shea from beside Dot. “Are you going in?”

O’Shea looked inside and shivered as the score from Captain Blood made him contemplate giving up the life of an artist to become a Seventeenth Century pirate.

“No, I think not,” said O’Shea. “I’ve seen the movie before. Will that be alright?” He addressed the question to Twilight.

“That will be fine,” Twilight said.

Dot realized she should say something, considering that Bea couldn’t hear Twilight. “OK. Oh! If you’ve seen the movie, can you tell me one thing: do any animals get hurt in it? I hate watching that.”

O’Shea thought for a bit. “No animals…some people get hurt.”

“Well…that’s not as bad,” Dot said. “They might deserve it.”

Bea, O’Shea and Twilight all gave her a look.

“What?”

O’Shea sighed. “Oh, and there are some evil horses.”

“Ooh!” was said with excitement.

“Oh,” was said with dread.

I’ll let you decide which of Twilight or Dot had each reaction.

The three females then entered the theater, leaving O’Shea. He found a rather luxurious couch in the lobby facing the concession stand, looked carefully around for a “do not sit” sign, and, failing to find one, sat.

***

Inside the theater, Bea led the others to Ethan, who was standing at the front corner with a flashlight, watching to see if any of the kids needed any help. He had already assisted several children in the time it took Bea, Dot and Twilight to reach him.

“You’re doing a good job,” Bea assured Ethan.

Ethan smiled. “Thank you. This is a lot less frustrating work than Wonderbolt Ranch.”

“Wonderbolt Ranch!” Twilight exclaimed. “Where did that name come from?”

“Um…” Ethan started to say.

“Mister, why’s it called ‘Wonderbolt Ranch’?” Dot faithfully relayed.

“Wonderbolt was a famous racehorse from the 60’s,” Ethan replied, pointedly looking at Dot. “He won a ton of races, and the ranch was founded to take care of his children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and so on.”

“Oh,” said Twilight. Her tone was slightly exasperated.

Dot looked over at the pony, her expression communicating a desire for an explanation.

“That’s the second element of Ponyville I’ve encountered in this new life, after the ‘Golden Oaks Orphanage’. In both cases there were good, non-Equestrian reasons for the names.”

“Makes sense to me,” Dot said, seemingly in response to Ethan’s explanation rather than Twilight’s.

“I just don’t like coincidences,” muttered Twilight.

“Kevin and I spend most of our time there,” Ethan continued. “The horses seem to appreciate us, but Father always seems to blame us every time one of our horses race but don’t win.” He stopped for a moment to carefully choose his words. “There are a lot of…decisions…that my father makes regarding the horses that I don’t agree with. I hope someday that he…stops…what he’s doing.” He gave the two a tired look.

“I’ll make sure the ASPCA visits immediately,” Bea deadpanned.

Dot nodded energetically in agreement.

“And I think you’re doing great here today,” Bea said to Ethan. “Your father should at least give you a raise for your usher job.”

Ethan laughed out loud, attracting the momentary attraction of some of the kids. He turned away from the kids and pointed at his new nametag. “I think I would actually have to get a salary before I qualified for a raise in one.”

“He doesn’t pay you?” Bea asked in shock. She made a mental note to later inform that boy that in fact “nepotism” meant nearly the exact opposite of this particular scenario.

“Oh, he pays us,” Ethan said with a smirk. “In his words, he pays us ‘in experience’.”

“The experience of being ripped off,” replied Twilight.

Ethan suppressed a snort.

“Yeah!” exclaimed Dot. On seeing the reactions of those who couldn’t hear Twilight she added, “I mean, that’s awful!”

“That’s my father for you,” Ethan said. “Always pining for the good old days, before the minimum wage and the abolition of child labor.”

“That’s too bad,” Dot said, picking up more the tone rather than understanding the specific references. “Is your mom at least on your side?”

Ethan looked glumly at the floor.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Dot exclaimed. “Is your mom dead?”

“No, but we can’t see her,” Ethan replied. “My parents divorced two years ago. Things were so much better before then.”

“I don’t understand,” Bea said, frowning. “It’s my impression that your father despises children. Why wouldn’t he just let your mother have custody of you?”

“Because in his mind, that would mean that she had ‘won’ the divorce. As it is, he threw so much money around that now she pays palimony to him, despite him making about a hundred times what she makes every year.”

“That…that shouldn’t be possible. Or legal,” said Bea.

“This is a very corruptible county,” remarked Ethan. “Especially the judges.”

Bea sighed. She had first-hand experience in that very area, thanks to her frequent legal battles against her bitter real estate rival. She rested a hand on his shoulder and gave him a sympathetic look. “So how are you holding up?”

“Well I won’t deny it was bad,” Ethan said, still looking down. “Real bad.” He then looked back up to her. “But I had a change of perspective not long after the last time we were ever allowed to see Mother. You can’t always control what happens to you, but you can control one thing: how you react. I am determined to put on a smile and make everyone around me happier, because I can.”

He turned back to look out over the crowd of happy children. “This is my future, or least I hope it is,” he explained. “I gave up drawing for running. I hope to become the best 200 meter runner in the state before I graduate from college. But after that, I want to go into physical education, for students this age.” He looked Bea in the eye. “I can wait for my eighteenth birthday. Father can’t touch me after that. And I’ll do everything I can to protect my younger brother until he gets his freedom as well.”

“That’s a lovely dream,” said Bea. She handed him a business card. “I’m sure you probably want to succeed on your own terms. But if Buddy Lignite ever decides to play dirty, get in contact with me, and I’ll do what I can do to level the scales.”

Ethan teared up. “Thank you,” he said, pocketing the card. “It’s hard to find anybody in this town willing to stand up to that man. I, uh, better get you to your seats before my brother starts the projector.” He lit up his flashlight. “Follow me.”

As they walked up the aisle, Twilight turned to Dot. “I’m glad she’s going to become your new mother.”

“Me too,” Dot whispered, her eyes more misty than Ethan’s.

***

Out in the lobby, O’Shea sat for a while, looking around at the classic movie posters adorning the walls. He saw Kevin lock up the front door before disappearing through another, locked door to start the movie. A few minutes later Ethan came out of the theater and used his own key to enter the stairway leading up to the projector room. And a few minutes after that Kevin emerged to clean up the concessions.

Over the next two and a half hours, the two of them took turns looking after the movie and cleaning up the theater. On the occasions when Kevin was in the lobby, O’Shea noticed the boy glancing at him when he thought he wouldn’t be caught looking.

Inside the theater, Twilight eagerly watched The Fellowship of the Ring, taking comprehensive mental notes.

Friendship was her first priority in the things she told herself to look for. But magic was her second. She knew that to humans, magic was a fictional concept. And this was a film full of magic. Therefore, the magic was all made up. Twilight tried to see if she could figure out the system that the screenwriters had come up with for this fictional magic, so she could compare it to the true system of Equestrian magic, or the way that Equestrian magic had manifested in that other human world she knew.

After the rather awe-inspiring opening of the film, the action settled down with the hobbits of the Shire, and Twilight began assigning parts, as she often did when watching plays in Equestria. Gandolf was so obviously Star Swirl the Bearded that it momentarily set off her “coincidence alarm”. Frodo was her brother, Shining Armor, and Samwise was Spike, all grown up. She fondly remembered the imaginary adventures the two of them went on during her fillyhood, and thought that throwing a ring in a volcano would be the sort of thing they might think up. Pippin and Merry were Shining’s longtime friends Gaffer and 8-Bit. Arwen was her fellow princess Cadance, although it was very odd imagining the pony riding that gray horse. The character of “Strider” was initially King Pharynx of the Changelings until it was revealed that he was the royal claimant Aragorn, at which point he was re-cast as Pharynx’s predecessor Thorax. Thinking of Thorax’s last days on his sickbed made Twilight sad, but she cheered herself up by imagining her former friend as part of the Fellowship. This decision in turn meant that she wouldn’t switch Shining Armor’s part from Frodo to Aragorn, once she learned that Arwen and he were a couple.

By this time, it had become clear that most of the characters were males, as was common for popular stories in both of the human words she was aware of. So, Twilight stopped restricting the parts by gender. Saruman had already been assigned to Princess Luna, but that had only been because Twilight was unable to come up with any stallions with a similar serious demeanor. It made her feel guilty when that character ended up a villain, so in that case she did consent to a casting change, to the evil dictator Sombra.

Gimli and Legolas were Applejack and Rainbow Dash. Celestia was Elrond, with the option to re-assign her to a more imposing character whenever one came along. And Twilight herself took the part of Boromir.

This would turn out to be a mistake.

Eventually, Kevin gave up his pretense and spent some time looking directly at O’Shea, with trepidation.

O’Shea looked carefully around him, as he couldn’t possibly conceive of a scenario where he would ever evoke trepidation in another human being. He looked back to see the boy standing before him.

“Mr. O’Shea Platt?” Kevin asked.

“Yes?”

“I, uh, saw your most recent installation a couple of days ago. A Day at the Trocodéro. I, uh, snuck away from my Dad’s entourage to see it for myself, and I must say, it’s a masterpiece of dystopianism. I haven’t seen a lot of your work, but I think it’s your best one yet.”

O’Shea blinked. “Really? A Day at the Trocodéro? That one?”

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

“That was one of mine!”

That statement flummoxed Kevin. “Um, aren’t all of them yours?”

“Yes, but this one wasn’t from a vis—you know what? Thank you. I don’t get honest complements for those works very often.”

Kevin looked awkward. “I was being honest, but I’m sure you won’t believe me after this next part. Based on that work I’d like to someday…eventually…hire you.” He rubbed nervously at his lower lip with a thumb. “I really planned to wait four or ideally six years before I approached you, but here you are, with nothing to distract you.”

O’Shea smiled indulgently. “What would you like to hire me for? In a half-decade’s time?”

“I want to put on a play at the local playhouse. The Carousel.” He handed the older man an old playbill for a performance of The Music Man, turning it over to show a floorplan printed on the back. “It’s pretty small, but being a theater in the round, I need three-dimensional scenery, as opposed to painted backdrops.”

“Ah,” said O’Shea, taking the playbill and looking it over. “I was wondering why you were approaching a sculptor instead of a painter.” He noticed something. “This is one of your father’s properties.”

“But not one that’s making any money. I expect to buy it from him at a loss when I’m old enough.

“I want to be a Broadway producer, and the Carousel is where I hope to establish a reputation to later build on. I figure that one of us has to have a job that Father would approve of, and for a control-monger like himself, producer would be the kind of thing he would go for. That way Ethan can be free to go into education.”

“That’s a fine sentiment,” O’Shea said with an approving smile. “So what play did you plan to put on?”

“I was thinking of a newly-published adaptation of Kafka’s The Trial. Although I haven’t approached the playwright yet.”

O’Shea nodded. “And normally, you would have arranged that before approaching me.”

Kevin nodded his head quickly. “Yes.”

O’Shea nodded. “Well, The Trial is a fine choice. Although I was actually thinking of Cabaret when I created Trocadéro.”

Kevin snapped his fingers in realization. “Of course! That would work much better for the venue. This town has always shown a higher turnout for musicals than for serious theater—I have the research to prove it.”

O’Shea nodded once more. “A good trait for a producer. What else do you like about the job?”

“Well, basically the idea of helping a group of people to make their dreams come true,” Kevin said, dreamy-eyed himself. “But all the parts interest me. The sets, the music now that we’re talking about a musical. The choreography. The casting, the…yes, and of course I was going to mention the costumes!”

“Ah…yes,” O’Shea said awkwardly at Kevin’s suddenly-odd manner. “I’ll um, be sure to free up my schedule whenever you’re ready. And, well, considering who you’re up against, I would be happy to swing my and my wife’s fame around to attract whatever attention you need.”

“Is that offer on my behalf or against my father’s?” Kevin asked, with equal parts curiosity and suspicion.

O’Shea shrugged. “Does it really make a difference? Let’s say for now it’s B because I despise your father more than I know you. If, during production of your play or musical I discover that you have actual talent, then it will switch to more of A.”

“That’s fair, I guess. Shall we shake on it?” Kevin stretched a hand down towards the sitting O’Shea.

O’Shea grabbed the hand to shake for a few moments.

“Thank you so much,” said Kevin. “I’ll do everything in my power to be sure you don’t regret it.” He looked away awkwardly.

O’Shea looked pointedly at the hand that Kevin was still grasping. “Was there something else?”

Kevin realized what he had been doing and hastily released the hand. “It’s, um, something else entirely. And, well, I’m not sure how to say this without sounding like a creep.”

“I’ll consider it a separate transaction,” O’Shea said dryly.

“It’s about that girl with you. The one with the…” He pointed at his left eye. “Do you know her?”

“I might,” O’Shea said guardedly.

“There’s…something about her…” Kevin gestured to a space at his left side, of a particular height.

O’Shea raised an eyebrow. “Do you see visions?” he asked.

Kevin’s face lit up, and he made an enthusiastic reply. But O’Shea didn’t hear it.

Because at that moment his ears were filled with a cry of pure torment.

Twilight was really enjoying the film. The formation of the Fellowship was a fascinating tale to her, and she enjoyed seeing the differing personalities at play. Of course she focused the most on her assigned character, Boromir.

The loss of Gandolf was quite a shock. On an intellectual level, she recognized that his presence was making the completion of the quest too easy, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t mourn his loss along with the characters—and with the entirety of the audience.

But it was the conclusion of the film that shook Twilight to her core.

“Let me help you,” Boromir…Twilight told Shining. “There are other ways, Frodo…other paths that we might take.”

“No,” Twilight cried in her mind. “What am I doing?”

“I know what you would say,” replied Shining, “and it would seem like wisdom but for the warning of my heart.”

“Stop it. Stop it!” Twilight pleaded against herself.

“What chance do you think you have?” Twilight insisted despite her inner dread. “They will find you, they will take the Ring and you will beg for death before the end.”

Twilight began to weep, and her brother in the film turned to go.

“You fool!” Twilight yelled. “It is not yours save by unhappy chance…it might have been mine. It should be mine. Give it to me! Give me the Ring.” Twilight leapt atop Shining, using her superior magic to subdue her brother, to corrupt his mind… The One Ring began to wobble in Shining’s grasp…

Shining grabbed the Ring, and forced it over his horn. He was gone.

Twilight, frothing at the mouth, fought to retain control over Shining. She screamed out unforgivable things, condemning him to an eternal wandering undeath. But she failed to hold the invisible unicorn, and soon she was alone. And then she finally heard her inner voice.

“Frodo! Frodo! What have I done. Please, Frodo…”

Minutes later… “Forgive me, I did not see… I have failed you all.” And soon after Twilight Sparkle was dead.

A fate she richly deserved.

***

Dot MacPherson stood up at the climax of the film, watching with horrified eyes at what is going through Twilight Sparkle’s mind: scenes of Boromir’s betrayal, mixed with scenes of another, very personal betrayal.

If Dot was in a theater full of strangers, they would yelled at her for interrupting their viewing. But everyone in this theater was Dot’s friend, and all of them forgot the film to try and be there for her, to understand whatever it was she was going through. Hands reached out to grasp her hand, her arms and shoulders. Bea kneeled down, squeezing as best she could into the space in front of Dot, and gently shook her to try and break her from her trance.

Suddenly Twilight reached her breaking point, and wailed in pure despair. She tried to teleport as far away from this visual reminder of her failure as possible, but that only caused Dot to cry out in pain. She looked over in horror at Dot, noticing her for the first time during this whole ordeal. And then she winked out of sight.

But the memories could not be stopped.

Dot clutched her head. “No!” she cried. “No, no, stop it!” She turned and desperately made her way to the back exit, climbing over anyone that stood in her way. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she said in a brief moment of self-awareness. “I have to…I have to go!” Reaching the aisle, she broke into the lobby.

***

Shortly after starting up the last reel of the film, Ethan had realized to his chagrin that the women’s restroom had never been restocked since its last use—there had been a stag meeting at the theater in between, so he had put it off. Praying that the projector wouldn’t break down before he was done, he ran down the steps, through the door and across the hallway to the janitor’s closet.

On his way out, he had intended to send Kevin up to take his place, but he saw his brother talking earnestly with O’Shea Platt. Knowing Kevin’s plan, and how rattled he got when he was interrupted, Ethan extended the risk to the projector by not saying anything to Kevin and instead going into the women’s restroom with his supplies, putting up the “Out of Service” sign and calling out to be sure the room wasn’t occupied first.

It was while he was in the back stall putting in a roll of toilet paper that the door burst open. He poked his head out to warn whoever it was of his presence, when he saw The Girl scramble up atop the counter of sinks. She scooted up against the mirror, putting both hands on it and leaning the left side of her head against it.

“Twilight!” she cried. “Princess Twilight! I…I’m seeing everything! It’s…please stop, Twilight. Please stop!”

Thoroughly alarmed, Ethan quickly and quietly made his way behind Dot, slipping out of the bathroom.

***

Bea walked into the bathroom. While Dot had run under the wooden panel with the words “Out of Service” painted on it, Bea had to lift it out of the way to get in. Seeing Dot on the counter, she strode over. “Are you alright?”

Dot turned to her, tears running down her face. “She’s having a panic attack. She can’t stop herself from showing me her worst memories. And it’s scaring me!”

“Who are—?”

“—Twilight!”

After a moment of calculation, Bea walked over to the door, opened it to reveal an anxious O’Shea, and yanked him inside. “I’m giving you permission to enter No Man’s Land,” she told him. Behind him was Miss Hathaway. “Maud, Dot is currently still your responsibility. So come on in. And close the door behind you.”

Miss Hathaway appointed the oldest girl, Annie, to take care of the others for now. She was about to close and lock the door when she was approached by the two Lignite brothers.

“You’ve got to let us in,” said Ethan.

Miss Hathaway’s mouth opened in utter bewilderment. “Give me one good reason.”

The two boys positioned themselves on either side of the administrator and whispered their reasons into her ears.

She let them both in without hesitation. “This is about to get very weird,” she muttered as she locked the door behind them.

Bea didn’t even notice the two extra visitors as she pulled O’Shea aside to explain the situation. “OK, it’s something to do with—”

“—I know,” O’Shea said. “I heard her.” He looked around. “Dot, where’s Twilight?”

“She’s hiding, and she’s scaring me!”

“Uh…” said O’Shea, having a miniature panic attack of his own.

Bea looked back and forth between Dot and her husband. The man might know about imaginary friends, but he clearly was out of his depth emotionally. Whereas she had plenty of experience with dealing with panic attacks, not only in her husband, but in her co-workers. And in one significant case, their children.

She walked back over and grabbed Dot firmly, turning her around. She noted that Dot did not attempt to fight—she would have let go instantly if that were the case. Rather she welcomed the intervention.

Bea studied Dot’s face. Dot was not the one having the panic attack. She was scared, but for her friend. For Twilight Sparkle. Bea realized that this Twilight had grown to the level of an alternate personality, one capable of having a breakdown separate from Dot herself. Capable of hurting Dot with that breakdown. And that made her mad.

But first, she needed to reassure Dot. “Dot, dear, listen closely: I’m not mad at you. But I need to have some words with your Twilight.”

Dot nodded enthusiastically.

“In that case: Princess Twilight Sparkle! I demand that you present yourself! You’re scaring my future daughter. Twilight? Do you hear me?!”

“Hold on,” said Dot. “I’ve never done this before.”

And with that, her head suddenly jerked back. It slowly lowered, with a very bewildered expression upon its face.

Her pupils had gone from blue to purple.

Bea gasped in shock. She released the girl and stepped back.

“What? What did…?” Dot asked.

But it wasn’t Dot that was speaking.

“What did you do? Dot, what did you do?” she asked, in growing panic. “Put me back, Dot. Put me back! She can’t see me, Dot! She’ll think you’re crazy for sure!”

There was no trace of Dot’s Australian accent in this new voice. In fact the accent that she used was thoroughly Mid-Western. And her bearing was clearly that of an adult rather than a child.

She raised her hands to her eyes, which were clenched into fists, and slowly opened them out, looking at her fingers. Then she looked over at the Platts. “She won’t let me go back,” she said slowly, her eyes pleading.

Bea looked over at O’Shea. “Twilight Sparkle?” she asked.

“Yes,” O’Shea replied. The accent was identical.

“Alright,” said Bea. “Princess…Twilight.” The title was said in a conciliatory tone, but then she changed her mind, and the name was said with deadly seriousness. “Whatever those memories are that you’re thinking, you need to stop.”

“I know!” Twilight-Dot replied. “I…I can’t shut them off! I’m sorry, I…”

Bea sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Very well. Then we’ll have to walk through them.”

“I can’t! Dot’s too young, and she’ll see—”

O’Shea stepped forward. “She’s already seeing everything,” he said in a shaky voice. “You need to put her out here like you were earlier. That way I can at least see what she is going through.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” asked Bea.

Twilight-Dot nodded sadly. “Yes. That would be for the best. Hold on while I teach her.” She closed her eyes and began to concentrate.

Slowly, a form began to coalesce beside the body of Dot, on her right side this time instead of her left. The form of a second Dot MacPherson.

O’Shea walked up the semi-transparent form. “OK, I can see you. Can you see me? With these eyes, not those ones.”

The ghost’s head nodded.

“Now, can you speak?” he asked.

Dot-Dot’s mouth began to move, silently. Hearing something O’Shea could not, she then closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again. “…wait, Hello?”

“Yes, I hear that, Dot.”

“Hear what?” asked Bea. “See what…wait. No. No, are you saying…?”

“Twilight was a vision,” O’Shea explained, turning back to face Bea. “I could see her the whole time. I hope you’ll forgive me for leaving that part out of my earlier story.”

Bea sighed in relief. “I’ll take the time to be disappointed in you later. What’s important is that you can see Dot right now. Where is she?”

“There.”

Bea turned to look at the spot her husband had pointed out. “Dot dear, I have to talk to Twilight. This is—”

O’Shea waved his hand to interrupt. Pointing at the spot beside Dot that Bea only saw as empty, he said, “‘I know,’” using the higher tone of his voice to convey the fact that he was relaying Dot-Dot’s words.

Bea nodded as she took in how this arrangement was going to work. “Good. If we need to pause, let my husband know.”

“She nodded,” said O’Shea.

“Alright,” She then turned to Twilight-Dot. “Twilight, if I may be so blunt, what’s bothering you?”

Twilight-Dot sighed. “I…” She groaned, and sat down on the edge of the counter. “I’ll have to put this in context. I came into friendship late in life. I made six perfect pony friends, and I resolved the messed-up relationship I had with the dragon I raised. In the land of Equestria, friendship is literally magic, and we were able to use the power of our friendship to fight a whole host of dangers to the kingdom. The more I learned about friendship, the more powerful my magic became. Finally, it became so strong that it transformed me, literally transformed me, into a princess.” She looked back for a moment at wings that weren’t there.

“As the Princess of Friendship, I helped ponies, and eventually every creature on my world with friendship problems. I reconciled relationships that had been broken for decades. Ended wars. Brought every creature together in eternal peace. And on those rare occasions when that didn’t work, my small group of friends and I used our magic to subdue the threat, and in most cases convert enemy into ally. But I never had more than those seven friends. Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of casual acquaintances. Many, many individuals who would have indeed been good friends of mine. But I refused to reciprocate with any of them. I had no lovers, and no spouses.”

Bea began to fidget, as this was hardly the material of a mental breakdown.

O’Shea and Dot-Dot, knowing more about Twilight, waited patiently.

“Becoming a princess had made me immortal,” Twilight-Dot continued. “Now Spike…Spike was a dragon. He would live for hundreds of years. But ponies don’t live much longer than humans. Forty years passed. And when I needed somepony to fight beside me, it was still always those six: Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, Rarity, Applejack and Rainbow Dash. Even as they got older, they never refused my calls for help. Until one day…”

Dot-Dot shook as the memories once again began to flood her mind.

Twilight-Dot looked sadly over at her.

O’Shea reached out a hand. “Are you OK?”

Dot-Dot tried and failed to grab a hold of it. “Just…keep going.”

O’Shea faithfully relayed her words to Bea.

Twilight-Dot nodded grimly. “We were attacked by a demi-god. A being able to re-write reality itself. Its only desire was to see the tortured faces of its victims as they died senselessly. The first thing he did was banish the demi-god that Fluttershy had managed to reform into an ally with her kindness to another dimension. I don’t know if he ever made it back.

“It was a frankly impossible fight. Before this point the number of creatures who had died in our fights could be numbered on my four hooves. Including the most irredeemable of villains. But this…thing…didn’t play by the rules.”

Looking over at the suffering form of Dot-Dot, Twilight-Dot tried to speed through the rest. “I…I snapped when…when it dealt Rarity a mortal wound. Rainbow tried to avenge her, but she died, too. So…” She closed her eyes in guilt. “I teleported every creature from one side of the continent to the other. And I destroyed it. Nearly five percent of the planet, annihilated. It was the only way I could think of to end that…thing…and ensure that the only other casualty…would be myself.”

***

Dot-Dot had curled up in a little ball as Twilight-Dot recited—and her mind re-enacted—the worst of the memories, with O’Shea wrapping his arms in vain around her. In vain because Dot-Dot couldn’t feel him, and even with the bad memories no longer playing in her head, she desperately wanted to feel something. So desperate that as soon as Twilight-Dot had finished speaking, she seized control of her body once again with a great gasp.

***

Dot blinked, showing her blue eyes.

“Dot!” Bea exclaimed, taking the girl into her arms.

Dot immediately began to sob, crying ugly tears.

O’Shea joined the hug, unprompted. He was soon joined by Miss Hathaway.

Unnoticed, Twilight the spirit faded back into view. She sat down and covered her head with her hooves in shame.

After a few minutes, Dot managed to recover. She attempted a few times to say something, but the gasps and sobs got in the way. Finally, she managed to get out the words: “I’m sorry, Twilight!”

“I’m sorry,” Twilight replied. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“I hope Twilight refused to accept that, on the grounds that she was 100% in the wrong,” remarked Bea.

“You are correct,” said O’Shea.

“No, it is my fault!” Dot insisted. “I didn’t know you were dead, Twilight. I summoned you here. And…with the way you feel about humans…” Dot’s eyes went wide. “This world is Pony Hell, isn’t it?”

“It most certainly is not!” Kevin declared loudly from the back of the crowd.

Everyone turned to face him.

Only O’Shea could see that there was now a pony standing next to the boy, speaking in unison with him but with her own distinctive voice.

“R—!” Twilight began to say in shock.

Dot immediately shoved her back in charge of her body.

Twilight-Dot lurched. “R—Rarity?”

“In the flesh, Darling. Or perhaps ‘in the spirit’?”

A second pony appeared beside Ethan.

“And Rainbow Dash?” Twilight-Dot asked in amazement, hopping down from the counter to the floor. “How…?”

“Twilight Sparkle!” exclaimed Rainbow-Ethan. “Did you really think you were the only ghost-pony to end up sharing the body of a child who needed us?”

“I…well…” Twilight-Dot sputtered.

Dot-Dot meanwhile was beaming, as Twilight Sparkle was now sharing the fondest memories the Princess had of her two friends.

“Wait!” Twilight-Dot exclaimed. “Golden Oaks Orphanage! Wonderbolt Ranch! They were not coincidences at all! You! Kevin! Where do you work?”

Rarity-Kevin effortlessly switched back to just Kevin. “The ranch, same as my brother.”

Twilight-Dot scrunched up her features. “No. There’s got to be something else. Something Rarity.”

O’Shea, having been given a tour of Dot’s sketchbooks, spoke up. “That place you want to center your life around. Carousel Theater.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Twilight-Dot. “I was right! There are no coincidences!”

O’Shea, rolling his eyes, got behind Twilight-Dot and started pushing her through the crowd. Dot-Dot was trying to push her as well, in vain.

Twilight-Dot, taking the hint, pushed her own way forward, and Rarity-Kevin and Rainbow Dash-Ethan soon joined her, in a grand hug that included the ghostly forms of the two ponies and one human.

After a few minutes, Dot-Dot stepped away. “Look, I’ve got to say something,” she said.

Twilight-Dot gestured towards the crowd.

“Oh. Right.”

The two personalities switched places.

“Everybody? I gotta say something.”

All faces focused to her.

“Twilight, I was wrong. Your really-scary story taught me that holding onto a friend too long can be just as bad as losing them all of a sudden. Can even make them get lost all of a sudden. So from now on, you don’t have to be my friend forever. You can go to Pony Heaven.”

Twilight dropped the smile she had held throughout the group hug and turned to fully face Dot. “Dot, I’m not leaving you while you still need me,” she said. (O’Shea conveyed her words to the two women who couldn’t hear her.)

Dot smiled. “I…I was hoping you would say that. Even so, you don’t even have to be outside all of the time. I’ll let you sleep more, and just talk to me most of the rest of the time, instead of appearing.”

“That’s what we do,” said Rainbow-Ethan.

“We needed them a lot more after the divorce,” explained Ethan. “But nowadays they spend most of their time living rent-free in our heads and visiting each other in our dreams.”

“That’s right, Rainbow!” exclaimed Twilight. “That’s one of the dream powers that Princess Luna taught the two of us.”

“We would have sought you out if we had any idea that you were here,” said Rarity-Kevin. “Although the first thing I would have done is told you how disappointed I am that you threw away the lives of both yourself, and that draconequus.”

Twilight bowed her head. “You’re right. I thought of at least three different ways I could have resolved the situation with friendship. But I just couldn’t…”

“Perhaps we should go over this tonight,” said Rainbow-Ethan. “I know how to keep those conversations at least private.”

Twilight turned to her companion. “Is that—”

“Yes!” cried Dot. “That would be amazing! I can’t see Rarity or Rainbow Dash, and I want to. And I’d love to see you not all see-through.”

“Well,” Miss Hathaway said to no one in particular. “I was right. This did get weird.”

***

O’Shea put his arm around his wife, basking in the sight. He had been quite busy repeating everything that Twilight had been saying to Bea. “It appears that Dot might not need that shrink you had contacted,” he told her. He continued with a quip: “On the other hand, how hard do you think it will be to hire a psychiatrist for an invisible purple alicorn?”

Bea looked back at him, smiling triumphantly.

O’Shea dropped his smirk and stepped back. “Wait. What is that expression supposed to mean?”

“I’m not raising them alone,” she said mysteriously.

“What do you… Oh. Yeah. OK. I think I’m ready to try this ‘parenthood’ thing out after all.”

Bea hugged him fiercely and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Chapter 3: There's Something Wrong with That Kangaroo

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Over the next few weeks, Rarity and Rainbow Dash visited Twilight’s—and therefore Dot’s—dreams. On the first night, Rarity developed a color palette for Dot—two in fact, one for summer and one for winter. Rainbow Dash used her dream powers to give Dot wings and shrink them both to be a foot tall so they could race a couple of peregrine falcons. Dot rather preferred Rainbow’s idea of a good time to Rarity’s.

Some nights followed that involved all three ponies and Dot. And some nights followed where Dot was politely excluded from the ponies’ discussions.

Dot didn’t mind when she was left out. Most nights Dot had Twilight all to herself, and they had a great time wandering through Twilight’s memories. As for the pony-only nights, Dot figured they were talking about the nasty stuff they must have gone through, stuff like that final fight, although probably not as bad.

The days were involved with the adoption process. It was only a matter of time before everything became official, and Dot MacPherson would become Dorothy Platt. Her room at the villa was prepared, and she helped Bea write the invites for the adoption party.

Dot thought of it more as a going away party.

***

The night before the big event and the big party was not supposed to be a Pony Night. But Twilight called Rainbow and Rarity over anyway. She was standing atop the hill that was Dot’s default dream destination.

“Dot’s been taken,” Twilight told them. Rarity thought it odd that she was excited instead of worried. “I think this is it.”

“You do?” asked Rainbow. “Good. I wondered if it was going to happen at all.”

“What?” asked Rarity. “What’s happening?”

“Something Luna trained us for, Rarity,” said Twilight. “Something long overdue.” She looked around a bit with glowing eyes before pointing across an ocean that was now to the west. She dream-teleported them to a new location.

***

Rarity looked around. The three ponies were at the edge of a forest clearing, of a type that the fashionista had never seen before. Within the clearing, a wide assortment of animals was gathered, including a snowy owl, three Brolga (otherwise known as Native Companions), a kookaburra, a wombat, three koalas and a kangaroo mouse. While the clearing was well-lit, above it was a dark sky, with barely seen storm clouds roiling about. They were the source of the occasional roll of thunder.

“What is this place?” asked Rarity.

“I’m not sure,” said Twilight. “I’ve only seen glimpses of this place at the edges of Dot’s dreams. Perhaps it’s Australia—her family used to live there before they moved to Buffalo.”

Speaking of rolling, Dot suddenly rolled into the group of animals, causing a general uproar.

“Birds and mammals!” a voice of command called out. The animals looked fearfully into the darkness from which Dot had been thrust. “The Council of Animals is now in session!”

Stepping into the clearing was an angry red kangaroo. The burlap sack she had used to kidnap the child was draped over one arm.

Outside of Australia, kangaroos are usually seen as funny or harmless animals, because of their small hands and odd shape. Those with personal experience know the animals to be among the most formidable herbivores in Australia. They can stand up to five feet tall, travel over 40 miles per hour, are capable of disemboweling someone with the sharp claws on their feet and can break bones with a kick.

“Dorothy Platt!” the kangaroo declared, pointing at Dot with one hand.

Dot rose to her feet. She was significantly shorter than before, her age closer to six than nine.

The ponies gasped in unison.

“I take it that this was how she looked when she was in Australia,” Rarity concluded based on the girl’s changed appearance. “Still no shoes or stockings.”

“Dorothy Platt,” the kangaroo repeated, “I hereby accuse you of the crime of abandoning everything you are! How do you plead?”

“Is this a trial?” asked a drowsy koala.

“Yes! And you’re the jury!” The kangaroo pointed, and the other animals, cowed, quickly organized themselves in two rows at one end of the clearing.

Twilight recognized the kangaroo’s voice as being that of Miss Hathaway. The koala on the other hand was the groundskeeper at the orphanage. These may not have been their original voices, but with how many years had passed since Dot has last dreamed of these characters, she had forgotten what they sounded like.

Dot meanwhile looked downward guiltily.

“Have you nothing to say in your own defense?”

Dot said nothing.

“Well in that case…”

“I object!” Twilight called out, flying down from the dark sky. “If there’s a trial, then counsel needs to be present. I volunteer to represent the defendant.” She guided Dot to sit beside her behind a fallen log.

Dot looked over at her, still despairing.

“Are you the prosecutor?” Twilight asked the kangaroo.

The kangaroo seethed—she seemed as angry with Twilight as she was with Dot. “As the most aggrieved, yes,” she answered. She found another log to sit behind.

“Then who is the judge?”

From beside Rarity, Rainbow Dash took that as her cue. She leapt up above the clouds…

…And came back down in the form of Princess Celestia. “I…I will be the judge, if you will have me,” she said. That first flubbed “I” was Rainbow accidentally using her own voice instead of Celestia’s. She summoned up an appropriate robe and a lectern to stand behind.

Dot looked up at “Celestia” and nodded. “She will be fair,” she told the others.

The other animals looked at each other, and then collectively shrugged.

Even the kangaroo accepted the choice after a moment’s hesitation.

“You may proceed, Ms. Prosecutor,” said Rainbow-Celestia.

“Birds and mammals of the jury,” the kangaroo began in a kind voice as she stood behind her log, “the defendant grew up among us, in the bush. She was a friend to all animals, and frequently fought on our behalf.

“But then she left us!” And with this, the kangaroo’s usual ferocity returned. “She left the Australian wilds for the broken parks and meadows of America, where humanity reigns supreme! And did she do anything for us animals after that? She did not!”

The jury looked to Dot and Twilight, to see if any of them would speak out of turn at this point, thereby swaying their judgment against the defense. But Dot merely nodded her head as if she was agreeing with the accusation, while Twilight was calmly taking notes using a notepad she had summoned into existence and one of her feathers converted into a pen.

The kangaroo mouse leapt up onto the lectern, startling Rainbow-Celestia. “She was kind to me once, but then she left me to be rich and American with the Platts.”

Twilight looked up and noted that the kangaroo mouse had a face that had been scarred by fire, thereby connecting her with one of the orphans that Dot had befriended at her urging.

“When she left us, she vowed to make life better for all animals, from the smallest insect to the biggest whale,” the kangaroo continued. “And did she do anything to carry out that vow? She did not!

“She has completely abandoned who she was! She has abandoned her childhood! Her imagination! She’s giving up her name, soon to be followed by her accent.” The kangaroo sneered as she added, “will she next forget her birth parents, and call the Platts her ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’?”

Dot looked over at the kangaroo in a panic. And then, with a sad nod of her head, she buried her bleary-eyed face in her arms.

“The universe rests its case.”

Twilight rolled her eyes at the idea that the kangaroo’s argument represented the entire universe. “Your Honor,” she said, rising to her hooves. “The prosecution has grossly overstated its case. The defendant’s life is changing, in ways that she both does and does not have control over.

“She still cares about animals. The rabbits of Golden Oaks—”

“Objection!” cried the kangaroo. “Those animals are tame and need no protection.”

“They are not!” Twilight retorted.

“They were once tame, and therefore—”

“They were tame. And then they were bought from the pet store and released into the wild, for the specific purpose of being hunted,” said Twilight. She looked over at a startled Dot. “I didn’t tell you because there was nothing you could have done that you weren’t already doing.” To the judge she said, “and that is why I think they count as being wild, and why that therefore counts as Dot carrying out her promise.”

Rainbow-Celestia sat here.

“A ruling, Your Honor?” she prompted.

“Oh! Uh…objection overruled.”

The kangaroo grumbled.

“My client also intervened in the matter of the horses being exploited by Mr. Lignite.”

“Objection,” the kangaroo said calmly, but with certainty. “You misstate the facts, Miss Sparkle. The act of protection was entirely performed by Mrs. Platt. Dot approved of the action but did not initiate.”

“Oh. Yes, you’re right. But that does demonstrate that with the upcoming adoption, Dot will have access to the considerable power wielded by the Platts and is free to use that power to carry out her pledge.

“And that’s all I can think of, so the Defense rests.”

Rainbow-Celestia looked over at the other animals. “Jury, do you need to deliberate, or are you ready with your verdict?”

The koala, who had apparently been selected as forecreature of the jury, raised his paw. “Actually, could I ask a question?”

The judge pondered for a moment. “I don’t see why not.”

“Mrs. Kangaroo, you said you were the one most angry with the defendant. Is it because she plays with Twilight Sparkle now, instead of you?”

“That is only a small part of the reason.” Kangaroo stepped out in front of the jury. “Do you see this pouch?” she asked. “My joey used to ride in this pouch. And then I lost him.” An accusing finger pointed at Dot. “She promised to help me find him, and then she lied! It was our last game! What right did she have to stop playing with us? What kind of child leaves her previous imaginary friend behind for a new model, and leaves her bereft, suffering the pain of mourning for all time!”

Complete uproar broke out in the jury.

Dot sobbed openly.

Rainbow-Celestia pounded her hoof on a gavel several times, crying out “Order in the court! Order in the court!” until the jury finally calmed down. “Dot, is this true?”

“Yes,” Dot said in an utterly defeated tone. “Kangaroo, you said he could be anywhere in the world. But I never looked in America. And I did stop playing with all of you.

“So yes, it is true that I abandoned you, and the animals, and everything I used to be. I deserve whatever punishment you give me.”

“Dot!” cried Twilight.

The jury quickly conferred. “For that charge alone, we find the defendant, Dorothy Platt, guilty,” the koala announced with an apologetic tone.

Rainbow-Celestia sighed. “Then it is upon me to pronounce sentence. Dot MacPherson—”

“Dorothy Platt,” Kangaroo corrected in an angry voice.

Rainbow-Celestia rolled her eyes. “The defendant. She shall be…uargh!”

Rainbow Dash suddenly fell out of the sky, landing hard on the ground next to Rarity. And yet Celestia was still standing behind the lectern.

“What happened?” Rarity asked Rainbow.

Rainbow sighed. “Dot’s dream took back the character,” she said.

“She shall be punished…by being fed to the bunyip!” pronounced this new Celestia.

“What?!” cried Twilight, before she too was thrown out of the clearing.

***

All of the other animals were now gone, leaving Dot and Kangaroo alone in the clearing. But only for a little while. Soon a new presence made itself felt…the bunyip.

It was a large hulking creature, covered with a white sheet with large black dots. Two holes in the front allowed the creature’s large glowing yellow eyes to be seen.

It was shaped like a bus, and its panting breath smelled of diesel.

Kangaroo, now dressed as a waiter, bowed. “Bunyip, may I present to you…your meal.”

Dot stood before the monster, bowing her head in submission.

Rarity looked on in horror. She made to rush forward, to fight the monster before it could have its way with Dot, but was pulled back by the other two ponies. “Why are you stopping me?” she pleaded.

“It’s up to her now,” explained Twilight. “This is her mind finally coming to terms with the changes in her life. She has to resolve this herself. If we alone saved her now, saved her when she herself wants to lose, then she would become dependent on us forever.”

“Stop, fell beast! You shall not have my daughter!”

A form stepped into the light. At first it appeared human, but then it shifted…into a small creature in a blue cape and wizard’s hat, both adorned with light blue stars. It threw a couple of smoke bombs in the creature’s face, forcing it to back off with a black sooty cough.

“Who are you?” Kangaroo asked (sans costume).

The creature moved between the bunyip and its prey. “Do you not recognize the miracle in your midst? It is I, the Great and Powerful Trixie the Platypus!” In a more dismissive voice she quickly added, “And her assistant. O’Shea.”

“‘T’was brillig,” the voice of O’Shea intoned around them, “and the slithy tothes did gyre and gimble in the wabe.’ The Bush can be considered a wabe.” A second platypus presented himself. “Mr. O. C. Platypus, at your service.”

The bunyip, deciding to waste no more time, leapt up and over Trixie, pouncing down and apparently flattening Dot. But when it moved aside, there was no trace of her to be found.

O.C. stepped aside, revealing a surprised Dot.

The bunyip leapt again, and again landed upon nothing.

There was a tap on its hood, and it tried to crane its “head” around to see O.C. and Dot standing atop it.

“No fair!” cried Kangaroo. “How are you doing that?”

“That’s the ‘paradoxus’ part of my scientific name: Ornithorhynchus paradoxus,” declared O.C.

“Technically, it’s been Ornithorhynchus anatinus since 1934,” corrected Trixie.

O.C. pushed a banana cream pie into his wife’s face, despite being thirty feet away a half-second ago. “Stop spoiling my fun, Trix,” he quipped.

The bunyip tried to stomp Trixie out of existence while she was distracted, but she bonked it on the head with a giant mallet that had a half-life of approximately fifteen frames.

“Oh, very well,” she conceded. “For this dream at least, we are Ornithorhynchus paradoxus.”

The bunyip made another run at Dot. It was stopped by a half an orange thrown into one of its eyes. It turned to face the kangaroo mouse. “You may be leaving us, Dot,” she declared, “but that doesn’t mean I want you to get hurt.”

“Yeah!”

The other animals all emerged from the darkness, and Dot knew that they were her other friends from the orphanage. “Really?” she asked. “You all still care about me?”

“You were the best thing to ever happen to me after the accident,” the wombat told her. “Even now, a week after I was adopted, the memory of your words gives me so much hope.”

Dot teared up.

Nodding to herself, Twilight took this moment to fly back into the scene. “We are all here for you Dot. No matter your name, no matter who your legal parents are, we all support you.” She gestured towards the bunyip, who suddenly seemed to be cowering away from the girl. “You don’t have to face your fears alone.”

Dot walked up the bunyip, her heart pounding, carefully looking the frightened creature over. Finally, she got a firm grasp of the sheet that covered it and pulled it aside.

This revealed a strange sort of bus-creature. Its body…its body looked like somebody had used the “Erase” tool in Photoshop to remove parts of the walls in parallel strips, so that the remaining bands of metal looked like a sort of rib cage. Visible inside of this body were Dot’s parents, her birth parents. They got up from the floor of the bus and stared at her, grasping onto the “ribs”. Their faces were blurred out of existence. They were also as translucent as Twilight was in the waking world.

Dot flinched on seeing them, but proceeded to walk forward, to the front of the bus, which was also striped to allow its innards to be easily seen. Instead of an engine compartment, a teenage boy sat in the fetal position. Light shone out of his eyes and through the headlights, to be the eyes that were visible when the sheet was in place.

Dot stepped up to look at him. “Why…?” she asked.

Rainbow Dash concentrated.

A screen appeared before the bus monster, and the lights of the boy’s eyes became a film being projected onto that screen:

The boy, wearing a prison jumpsuit, was standing on a podium in a high school stadium, with everyone in the school watching him. The point of view was one of high school students.

“This is from Ethan,” Rainbow explained. “The killer made a confession to every high school assembly in the area, at his own insistence.”

“I had a rough childhood,” he told them in a dull voice. “I was beaten, and abused. I fell in with a rough crowd, one which judged each other based on the violence and outrageousness of their acts. I killed those two to keep from losing their respect. I expected them to praise me for what I did. I at least expected them to stand by me when I was arrested, to help me fight the police to a standstill.

“But they abandoned me. Ran away like cowards, every one of them. And I soon figured out something about myself: I was a coward, too. I hurt my girlfriend because I was afraid of her. And I killed those two because I was scared of them.

“But nothing compared with that girl, the one who survived. The look she gave me…that look of pain, of loss, will haunt me until the day I die.

“I had a rough life. But I didn’t have to be a rough person. I could have been stronger. I could have been braver. But I didn’t, and so I stand before you all, broken. All the promise and possibility of my life, thrown away for an act of petty revenge.

“Don’t be like me.”

The film ended. Dot reached forward to touch the cowering boy, but he faded away.

The bus and its occupants began to fade away as well. Dot ran back and reached out to her parents, who reached out of the bus’ ribs to embrace her one last time.

“We love you…” Their voices echoed as they faded away.

Twilight stepped forward for a hug.

Dot, shaking her head, walked past her to Kangaroo, pulling her into a hug instead. “I’m sorry, Kangaroo,” she told her. “I didn’t think you were strong enough to help me after I lost my parents.”

“I was strong enough for you that time you thought you were lost forever,” Kangaroo replied, still sullen. Her tiny little arms were crossed.

“You’re right. You’re right,” Dot replied. “But…” she looked back at Twilight.

Kangaroo followed her gaze and sighed. “Yeah, I can’t really compete with that.”

“I’ll play with you more,” Dot said, looking straight into her eyes.

“Did you just get taller?” Kangaroo asked.

In fact she was once again back to her current age.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Dot asked Twilight.

“Of course not.”

Dot, who had been hugging Kangaroo this whole time, waved one arm to invite Twilight to join the hug.

Twilight hesitated, until Kangaroo opened one of her own arms out to allow her in.

They were soon joined by the Platypi, the other animals, and then Rainbow and Rarity.

And here the dream ended.

Afterward: Loose Ends

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The next day was the adoption, which was a mostly happy affair. This was followed by the going-away party, in the same grand ballroom where O’Shea first saw Dot and Twilight.

Twilight was out of Dot’s body, in one of her first appearances since Movie Day. Ethan and Kevin were also attending, with their ponies out as well. The two boys and O’Shea could see all three apparitions; Dot could only see Twilight.

Having the boys over meant that Buddy Lignite needed to be present as well. Which meant that the occasion was not entirely a happy one. Buddy was quite insistent on his plans for stealing the Yellen property away from its rightful owners. Bea called him out on his callousness in front of the various other adults she had been forced in invite on account of their help getting the adoption pushed through. Buddy then twisted the situation around to make it sound like that nefarious plot was her idea instead of his, and walked away with his hands clean.

It was a typical tactic of his.

Bea for her part didn’t care much about the bridges she burned that day. Her true allies knew how low she was willing to go in pursuit of her goals. (Answer: nowhere near as low as Buddy Lignite.) And this particular goal served to make Buddy far richer than her, so the truth was obvious to them.

The day ended with Dot moving into the Platt villa for good. She fell asleep in Bea’s arms, and when she fidgeted when she attempted to put the girl in her bed, ended up sleeping with Dot in her own bed.

***

“Twilight?” Dot asked. It was her dream that night, and they were sitting atop their usual hill. The western ocean to Australia had returned. Perhaps it had become a permanent feature of Dot’s dreamscape.

“Yes, Dot?”

“Those times when you’re alone with Rainbow and Rarity, what do you talk about?”

Twilight sighed. “The rough times we shared. The sorts of things I didn’t think you wanted to know about.”

Dot turned to her companion. “You didn’t think I could handle it?”

Twilight shook her head. “I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“I do want to,” Dot said, earnestly. “I want to know everything.”

Twilight looked out over the ocean. “Very well.”

And so she did. She told of their nastier encounters. Toned down in the details, but with nothing essential left out.

She went on to discuss her doubts to the girl, her fears that she was never going to be good enough for her crown.

And for this part, Dot just listened. She knew that was all she was expected to do. She figured that Twilight was warming up for her eventual shrink session, once the Platts had found a willing doctor that would be able to see her.

And then she asked for permission to spend time with the previous companion of her dreams.

***

Twilight spent the next night’s dream with Kangaroo in dream Australia. The two of them traveled the world searching for her lost joey. They finally found him in New York City.

Kangaroo was very happy, both for the reunion and for the time with Dot. She made sure to teach Dot what her voice actually sounded like.

Dot promised that she would visit again, to see the rest of the Dream Bush.

***

For the next night’s dream, Dot took a list of bulleted questions with her from the waking world, questions she wanted to ask Twilight.

It lifted Twilight’s heart to see her latest student taking after her.

“Twilight, if you can’t cast spells, how come you’re able to bring your friends into my dreams?” Dot asked first.

“Well, it appears that my spells can be safely cast upon other ponies, but not on people or the physical realm,” answered Twilight.

“OK,” said Dot. “I want to ask you about that little filly you told me about from when you were young. The one who lost her brother. What happened to her?”

“Oh, I’ve told you a bit about you before, although I forgot to tell you that it was the same pony. Her name was Lyra Heartstrings.

“I’m afraid we all treated her awfully at first. The idea of somepony our age dying was so horrific that we avoided her after the funeral. But she managed to bounce back. It was like the lesson that Rainbow taught Ethan: a pony can control their reaction to bad things. And like Ethan, Lyra devoted herself to making other ponies happy, in this case with her music. The other fillies and colts soon befriended her once again, and she succeeded in lifting the spirits of many creatures. Eventually she found a mare who loved her as much as she loved the world, and they got married.”

Dot smiled. “I’m glad she got a happy ending. I’ve got one more question: what was the name of the brother who died?”

“Oh, um, let me see. I think it was Orange…Orange Creamsicle. On account of his white coat and orange mane and tail.”

Dot smiled in triumph. “Do you think he might have been called ‘OC’ by his sister?”

“I suppose so.”

Dot leaned forward eagerly. “And do you think he might have heard Lyra’s version of that as ‘O’Shea’?”

“I don’t see why—hey! Are you saying…” She paused a moment in thought as she remembered the name that O’Shea took in Dot’s big dream of two nights earlier. “I suppose it could be possible. But if so, he’s working on a completely different model than Rainbow, Rarity and I. For one thing, I have no doubt that he’s the only one in that body.”

“Maybe…” And here Dot’s enthusiasm drained away utterly. “Maybe something bad happened, right before he showed up, so that he ended up the only one in there.”

Twilight shrugged. “I suppose. It’s not like there would be any way to tell.”

“You could pull him into my dream,” suggested Dot.

Twilight shuddered. “And leave no one in his body? I’d rather not risk it.”

“Oh,” said Dot.

“And besides, what good would knowing that he once was a pony do him? I say we keep this a secret unless something changes.”

Dot nodded solemnly. “Alright.”

In the waking world, the next week consisted of Bea and O’Shea taking Dot to her new pediatrician for a complete check-up, followed by comprehensive visits to her new dentist and a host of other doctors, to get a complete list of everything the Platts needed to be aware of with her.

A physical therapist set up exercises to work off her limp.

The last visit was with the optometrist.

Bea nervously shuffled a deck of cards one-handed as she waited for Dot’s turn. If there was any one of the doctors who was likely to give her bad news, it would be Dr. Partridge. She had read one too many stories of ocular degeneration spreading from one damaged eye to the other, or even leading to permanent brain damage. She shook her hand, and the ace of spades, the king of diamonds and the queen of hearts popped up and then down into the deck on command.

“She’ll be fine,” O’Shea assured her. “Her vision has been stable ever since Twilight arrived. Perhaps even because of Twilight.”

Bea pursed her lips in thought as she looked over at her new daughter. Dot was sitting next to her, right side facing her. She was at the end of the rows of seats, her left side facing out, so that if Twilight needed to appear for some reason or another, there was a clear space for her to do so.

Bea leaned forward, staring into that space. Remembering Dot’s drawings and trying to imagine Twilight in that space, with the personality that she had seen displayed during her brief period possessing Dot.

Bea sat back, frowning. It wasn’t fair that her husband could see Twilight and not her.

Now Bea had spent quite a lot of time pondering how she should treat Twilight. She concluded that it didn’t matter if Twilight was a ghost from another world or an autonomous personality of Dot’s. Regardless of her true nature, Bea should treat Twilight exactly the same. And since Twilight being real was the less depressing and more fascinating possibility, she decided to just start believing in her. Having gone to all of this trouble, she decided that not being able to talk to her was an insult to both of them.

Well, she could talk to Twilight, in two different ways: she could ask O’Shea to repeat everything she said, or she could ask Dot to lend out her body to the pony. She had employed the first method several times. She did not intend to ever employ the second one again if she could help it.

She turned to O’Shea. “You know, it’s a pity that nobody knows more about how those visions of yours work. That way Dr. Partridge could tap my head in just the right spot with a silver hammer or something. Even if it only allows me to see her and not hear her, I could learn lip reading.”

O’Shea raised an eyebrow. “A silver hammer? As in Maxwell’s Silver Hammer?” he asked.

“Oh,” said Bea, recognizing the reference. And what that particular hammer did to people.

“Nobody knows anything yet about how some people can see visions, or what they really are,” said O’Shea. “Maybe we will, someday in the future. I don’t enjoy leaving you out of our conversations, you know.”

“I know,” said Bea.

“Dot? Dot Platt?” the nurse asked from the door. “We’re ready for you.” Her nameplate announced her as Melissa Cohl.

O’Shea and Bea both got up.

“I’m sorry,” said Nurse Cohl. “There’s only room for one parent or guardian.”

O’Shea sat back down. “Your turn,” he said.

***

Bea followed Dot into a little room dominated by a big chair with a big machine mounted in front of it for peering into eyes and displaying sets of tinier and blurrier letters (“A…or B? B…or C?”). A setup with mirrors facing each other on opposite walls allowed the large eyechart mounted on the wall behind the big chair to appear to be seen the regulation twenty feet away, for testing 20-20 vision.

At Nurse Cohl’s prompting, Dot sat in the big chair, while Bea settled for a smaller one in the corner. The nurse took digital photographs of the retinas of both eyes, pulling them up onto the two screens attached to a computer. The two photographs looked more or less identical to Bea. The nurse tapped her finger on the left-hand image and frowned. She then turned to go.

“Excuse me,” Bea asked. “I did a little research, and I was wondering if Dr. Partridge had a timetable for a replacement.” She was talking about a glass eye but didn’t want to be explicit for Dot’s sake.

Nurse Cohl checked Dot’s file. “No, as a matter of fact there are no plans to replace Dot’s left eye at all.”

Bea looked over at Dot to see if the subject made her uncomfortable. Dot shrugged. “Isn’t that unusual?” Bea asked.

“As a matter of fact it is. Dot’s optic nerve was severed in the accident. This almost always deprives the eye of most of its circulation, leading to decay. But other than the loss of sight, her left eye is just as healthy as her right. I have no explanation for this.”

Bea wondered if perhaps O’Shea was onto something when he said that Twilight was somehow affecting Dot’s health. It would assuage Bea’s worries that the Princess of Friendship-slash-Magic might accidentally be harming her with unconscious magic use, on top of whatever long-term damage might have unknowingly been inflicted from having Twilight manifest for three whole months.

Seeing her mind preoccupied, Nurse Cohl left to fetch Dr. Partridge.

A few minutes later, Bea heard an argument outside the closed door of the room.

“Oh no, not her!” A male voice said. “I swore I would never look at that cursed eye ever again!”

“You have to go in there,” the voice of Nurse Cohl insisted. “Whatever weird misgivings you may have, they are not the fault of that poor girl.”

“Nope! Not going to do it! Never, never—” The optometrist froze as Bea yanked open the door.

“Dr. Partridge?” she asked sweetly.

“…Yes?”

“Would you please see my daughter?” She swung the door open behind her so Dot could be seen.

Dot smiled widely and waved. “I remember you! You’re the funny man who ran away screaming after looking in my eye!”

Dr. Partridge looked wildly between Dot and the two women, neither of whom looked like they were willing to put up with his hysterics. Finally he sighed, slumping forward. “Fine,” he groaned. “I’ll look at her. But only on condition that you look as well.”

“Me?” Bea asked in confusion.

“She doesn’t believe he,” he confided.

“I have never seen anything unusual in that girl’s eye. Either one of them,” said the nurse.

“Then I won’t have need of your services, Nurse Cohl,” Dr. Partridge said curtly. He walked Bea into the room, closing the door behind them.

“Dot, could you sit over there?” the doctor asked. Once Dot had sat in Bea’s old seat, he sat himself down into the big chair. “Now, let me teach you how to examine retinas…”

Dot watched curiously over the next few minutes as Mrs. Platt—she had told her repeatedly that she didn’t have to call her ‘Mom’, now or ever, unless she felt comfortable doing so—was walked through the process of shining a blindingly-bright light into somebody’s eye and tracing the arteries and something called a “fovea” in the back. With how many times they walked through the process, Dot wondered if Dr. Partridge would ever see again. But he seemed to put up with it, so eager was he to find somebody who believed him.

Finally, Dot was put in the big chair, and Bea examined the retina of her right eye. It looked just like the photograph on the monitor. Dot of course flinched—it’s not pleasant having that light shone in your eye, even by somebody who now knew what they were doing.

Dr. Partridge crept up beside her. “Now…now the left one!”

She looked over her shoulder at him. He was way too close. He shrunk back, and sat himself down in the guest chair.

With a shake of her head, Bea shone the light into Dot’s left eye and took a look. Being a blind eye, Dot did not flinch this time. Bea got a good look, and then compared what she had seen with the photo.

It was identical.

Well…it was pretty close.

As a matter of fact…

Bea reeled as if she had been struck.

“There!” Dr. Partridge exclaimed, pointing back and forth between Bea, Dot, the monitor, and various other random spots in the room. “That! That right there! You saw it, didn’t you!”

Bea scratched her head as she tried to recall what she had truly seen. She looked at the screen. It was flat. Eyes are not supposed to be flat. Dot’s right retina was curved, but her left one…

She grabbed the machine, and peered again. Sure enough, the central area of the retina was flat, and as she watched, that flat area moved…just slightly. Wobbled around a bit.

It was a panel. A photograph, maybe a centimeter square, being suspended in front of Dot’s actual retina. Suspended…or perhaps held.

“Twilight Sparkle!” Bea addressed the little floating square.

“The imp has a name?” Dr. Partridge asked himself, his sanity further unraveling.

A little purple muzzle peaked over the top of the photograph, only a couple of millimeters across. The purple hooves holding the photo in place were at the limit of visibility, even with the magnification provided by the machine. The muzzle was followed a horn, and then by the rest of her face.

It was her. Twilight Sparkle. She was literally living inside Dot Platt’s left eye.

The situation was completely absurd.

Bea didn’t care.

“I see you,” she declared, beaming.