Rarity had had enough.
The world was not perfect. That much was clear. That much was understandable. It was not desireable, but she could see the truth when it was before her, and she could accept it. Things would not always be precisely as she wished them to be. But there were limits.
There were limits to what she would accept. A thing that was different from how it should be, but that groveled and sought forgiveness might in turn be forgiven. But this failure, this defect in the world personified, it had done nothing to atone for its sins. It flaunted its failure. It would not do. It simply would not do.
And so, one day, she got up from her desk. She walked down into the kitchen, and found the small toolbox under the sink that her father had given her. She picked up the hammer out of it, and walked back up into her creative space.
Then she picked up the clock on her desk, and smashed it into splinters, one heavy blow at a time. She hit it until the gears ceased to turn. She hit it until the last spring was bent out of shape. And then she hit it until the casing shattered, and every individual part was broken.
She missed once, and dented her desk, but that was okay. The desk was sorry.
Rarity stopped by Twilight’s library to pick up a few books. She brought a set of saddlebags to carry them.
“Sonic Enchantments and You?” Twilight read through Rarity’s wish-list aloud. “Principles of Metal Fabrication? Chronomancy: The Lost Art? Principles of Mechanical Engineering?”
Rarity cleared her throat. “I’m building a clock.”
“A… clock.” Twilight folded the list. After a moment, she cleared her throat. “You know you can just buy a clock, right?”
“The noise level is wrong.” Rarity explained. “A personal clock can be totally silent. Or it can be of a moderate volume, so that the distinctive ticking noise marks the passage of time in the ears of the user without distracting them overmuch. What it may not be is just quiet enough that you can’t consciously perceive it, but that it still niggles at the edges of your awareness. And since that is what most of the ‘silent’ clocks sold in Ponyville truly are, I’m building a clock.”
“Tell you what,” Twilight offered, “how about we go buy a clock right now, and I will put a silence charm on it for you? Not the slightest bit of noise.”
“Oh, thank you, Twilight.” Rarity demurred, with a warm tone and a soft smile. “But I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Oh, it’s no imposition,” Twilight waved the concern away.
“I couldn’t possibly.”
Twilight met Rarity’s eyes. Her face narrowed. “I insist.”
Their eyes met across the way, and a silence hung between them. Rarity took in a breath. “I appreciate the offer, Twilight. But it won’t help.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not about the noise.” She pointed at herself with a hoof. “I’ll still know that it’s wrong. I don’t want to cover up the noise. I want it done correctly.”
“Chronomancy is an extremely complex discipline, Rarity. Even the basic level of proficiency required just to make a device that tells the time of day takes over a year of focused effort to master. Not to toot my own horn, but even I needed four months to get it down.”
Rarity set her jaw. “Then I’d better get started right away.”
“So Rarity being totally unavailable on weekends is the new normal then? We should all just get used to it?” Twilight frowned. “Rarity…” She softened her tone. “Look, I didn’t want to bring this up, but obsessive behavior can be a consequence of exposure to dark magic. It’s usually a sign you’re not…”
She let out a breath. “Sorry,” she lowered her gaze to somewhere around Rarity’s hooves. “But it’s usually a sign you’re not dealing with it well.”
“Yes.” Rarity said the words simply. “I know.”
Twilight’s head snapped up. Her eyes refocused on Rarity, and she needed a moment to find her words. “Well, that…” She straightened up. “That’s good then! That means there are things we can do to help you. Maybe even make some time with Luna. Her own recovery from being Nightmare Moon has…”
Twilight trailed off as she watched Rarity’s face, and slowly, Rarity shook her head. “But…” Twilight frowned and lifted a hoof. “Why? You don’t have to do this, Rarity.”
“No, Twilight. I don’t. That’s the point.” She lifted her head, her back straight and her pose just so. “There’s not a thing in the world preventing me from walking away and just buying a travel clock in the market. Except, of course, that I will know that it isn’t supposed to be that way. I’ll know it every time I see that wretched miscarriage of a timepiece sitting on my desk. I’ll know that somewhere out there is a beautiful dream that wants to exist, but that it can’t, because I left it to be mutilated by Ponyville’s sniveling idiot clockmakers.”
“Rarity, I want you to listen to yourself.” Twilight stepped across the library, until she and Rarity were face to face. “You’re proposing neglecting your friends to build a slightly quieter clock. Does that sound like a decision you’d normally make?”
Rarity let out a sharp breath, and her tone sharpened as well. “I appreciate your concern, Twilight. But I am a grown mare and I will make my own decisions about how to spend my life. I make time for you and the girls in the evenings. I’m afraid you’re going to have to be content with that.”
“This isn’t healthy.”
“Your concern is noted.” Rarity’s chest was tight as she delivered the final word. Twilight could see her chest shake with each breath. “Really though, aren’t you blowing this a tad out of proportion? It’s just a better clock.”
It wasn’t a better clock, though. It wasn’t correct.
The correct clock—the one in her head—chimed when she needed to know the time. Its little alarm went ding-ding-ding when it was time for her to get up and she sprung out of bed awake and refreshed. Its hands kept her schedule, so she could always make it to her appointments on time and always keep her deadlines.
Her clock didn’t do any of that. Its chime was like an icepick through her temples when she opened her bloodshot eyes. Its lying hands constantly told her how far behind schedule she was. It told her that she wasn’t progressing fast enough in chronomancy to have a new prototype ready in time. It told her that the start of the new fashion season had passed, and her new line was barely half finished. It told her that it had been months since she’d spent time with Sweetie Belle.
So she lined up her clock frames, and clock parts, and her guides on chronomancy and fabrication, and made them all watch as she fed it into into a wood chipper. That served as a warning to the others. Her next iteration on the clock, while still not correct, at least had the decency to beg forgiveness. It suggested she close the Boutique on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so she had more time to work on side projects.
It seemed a reasonable suggestion, and the first week she tried it, she really did make much better progress. But then, she had new ideas for dresses. They were beautiful, beautiful visions, and she couldn’t love them any less than she loved the others. So the next week, she worked at the Boutique clear through the weekend and into the evenings, realizing the rest of her fall line. But then her other projects fell behind.
It was impossible. The Boutique’s schedule became erratic. There simply wasn’t enough time. The visions came on too fast. Each one was glorious, and her weak hooves and useless horn and empty, half witted mind simply were not their equal.
She had some dark moods, during the fall. Her dresses lived in fear. They shook when she passed. Ponies who visited the Boutique on those days that it was open always remarked how beautiful it was. Every dress was perfect. They wouldn’t dare do otherwise.
But it wasn’t enough.
The Boutique was dark. Rarity had pulled the blinds down over the windows. But she shut her eyes anyway. It helped.
If she could not manifest her visions directly, she would manifest the things that would allow her to fulfill her visions in turn. Her mind was troubled and chaotic, and it took her some time to clear it. But eventually, her thoughts were calm. She could feel things again.
She reached out to her desk, and picked up a book that didn't exist. She ran her hoof over its cover, and opened it. She imagined what the book would say, if it was really there before her.
After a moment, it all snapped into focus.