“Oh, horsefeathers,” Rarity muttered.
Twilight stifled a yawn. “Wazza matter?” she asked sleepily.
Rarity gestured at the garment bag she had draped over her back. “I had hoped that I would have been able to debut one of my new designs today, but it appears you’re a little too far along for that, Princess.”
“Sorry,” said Celestia, looking at her in the mirror of Twilight’s vanity.
“Not your fault, Darling,” Rarity said. “It just means we’re going to have to take more drastic measures, is all.”
Celestia swallowed. She felt the pressure in her throat slide down her neck, hitch briefly as it passed under the chitin, and continue down into her chest. Rarity’s dress was beautiful, she was sure of it, but, for some inexplicable reason, her transformation had accelerated. No dress could hide what was happening to her now.
She had woken just an hour or two before to a bedful of freshly-molted feathers. Her mind, still fuzzy from sleep, thought her wing had fallen off—and, as it turned out, she wasn’t exactly wrong. The chitin plates had grown up over her left shoulder and consumed her wing, leaving her with one wing of white feathers, and one of red-gold gossamer. The plates had even spread up onto her neck and onto her back, where they were turning turning a brilliant sunset-orange.
To say nothing of her Cutie Mark. Almost before she’d noticed, it was half-gone already. If it had happened, any other time, that alone would have been enough to almost break her—but now, it was simply one more horror upon all the rest...
She had tried to keep her transformation in check, but it had happened too fast. And now, they were out of time: the clock read 3:37, on the morning of the Summer Sun festival. Sunrise was at six, and Canterlot was an hour away by train. She had about an hour and a half to figure out how to hide the fact that she was, rather swiftly, turning into a monster.
Rarity turned and left the room without another word. Twilight rubbed at her eyes. Celestia permitted herself a little smirk; Twilight rarely woke before noon if she could help it. Admittedly, she probably couldn’t have slept through the morning’s racket if she’d tried, the fact that she was here at all still helped Celestia feel a little better.
“Have you tried transforming?” Twilight asked sleepily.
Celestia shook herself from her reverie, then turned to stare. “Sorry?” she said.
“Transforming,” Twilight repeated. “Changelings do it all the time… if you can just turn into yourself, you could… you could...” she trailed off into another yawn.
Celestia swallowed uncomfortably. “I’ll try,” she said, then turned to the mirror again.
She could change. She was sure of it. She knew, objectively, that it could be done. But to actually do it was another matter entirely. If she did transform, that would be proof positive of what was happening to her. She’d have to admit to herself that, despite the molted feathers, despite her coat falling out, despite the egg-laying, that she really was something different—regardless of what she was desperate to tell herself.
But there wasn’t really an option now, was there? She had to keep what was happening a secret—and today was the one day she could not allow herself to hide.
Celestia swallowed, then turned her gaze inward. She could feel her alicorn magic inside her, though it seemed smaller, dimmer, than it had been, once—maybe that was just the nerves talking, though—but beside it, beneath it, behind it, there was something else—
Suddenly, the room exploded with a flash of red-orange fire. Celestia shrieked, and Twilight yelped and scrambled backwards.
Twilight looked up and, despite herself, giggled. Celestia still sat on the floor, staring, wide-eyed, at herself in the mirror. Great patches of her coat were still the ethereal, shimmering ivory they always had been—but, wherever her plates had spread, her coat had turned to a sickening, electric-green plaid.
Celestia turned to look at Twilight, her eyes wide. “I didn’t know it would be that sensitive,” she muttered.
Twilight stood and dusted herself off. “Maybe… try again?” she suggested.
Celestia nodded, then turned back to the mirror and screwed up her face in concentration. Another flash of fire, and she turned brown-and-white; another flash, and she was powder-blue-and-white, then lilac-and-white, and finally a sort of vomitous yellow that, with the rest of her coat, looked like nothing so much as an old mattress stain.
Celestia hung her head, panting, sweat dripping down her forehead. “I can’t—”
“Of course you can’t,” said Rarity. “And no one expects you to. That’s why the cosmetics industry stays in business, after all.”
Both Twilight and Celestia looked up to see Rarity closing the door behind her, carrying an elegant wooden case in her magic. She set the case on the vanity besides Celestia and opened the lid. She produced her reading glasses from somewhere and perched them delicately on her nose, then began to lift little jars from the case and set them on the counter. Twilight picked up one of the jars Rarity had set down and squinted at the label. “Mmmee My-Quill-Age?” she read carefully.
“Madame Maquillage,” Rarity snapped, taking the jar from her and setting it down with the others. “Twilight, Darling,” she said without looking at her, “be a dear and do your best to not disturb an artist at work, please?”
Twilight glanced stupidly between Rarity and Celestia. “Coffee,” she said, turning away. “I’ll go make coffee.”
“You do that, Darling,” Rarity said, distracted, as Twilight closed the door behind her.
Celestia watched Rarity uneasily as she opened a jar of Mme. Maquillage, shot Celestia a critical glance, then emptied an enormous white glob of it into a small dish. She searched through her jars again, this time surfacing with a red and a yellow.
“If you could, please,” she said over her shoulder, “turn into something light-colored, if you can manage it. Preferably with a pegasus wing, too—I can’t imagine the spells it would take to give you a new set…”
Celestia bit her lip, then gently prodded the magic inside her. Rarity yelped at the first flash of vermillion flame, but turned quickly back to her work—even though she still flinched a little every time Celestia tried on a new color.
After something like a dozen changes, Celestia managed to settle on a sickly, bubblegum-pink shade, almost bright enough to burn your retinas. With the pink blotches mixed with her white coat, it almost looked like she’d been badly scalded. At least it had a wing, though.
By this time, Rarity was rapidly mixing her creams with a wooden spreader. She wiped the spreader off on the edge of the bowl, set it down, and then picked up a foam beauty wedge. She dipped the wedge in her concoction, then held it up, glancing critically between the wedge and Celestia. Finally, she rolled her eyes and let out a little sigh.
“It’ll have to do, I suppose,” she said. She grabbed the dish in her magic, then stepped forward, and, with a free hoof, picked up Celestia’s right foreleg. Below the knee, it was still white, but the rest was painfully pink.
Rarity stuck her tongue between her teeth, then dabbed gently at Celestia’s leg with the wedge. As Celestia watched her, her eyes widened: the pink began to disappear under a thick coat of white that matched her own shade almost exactly.
Celestia watched her for a moment, then swallowed nervously. “Are you sure this will work?” she asked.
Rarity made another few passes with the wedge before she spoke. “For a few hours, at least,” she muttered.
“Are you sure, though?” Celestia pressed.
Rarity glanced up at her, then back down. “Not all of us are born with perfect coats, Your Highness,” Rarity said carefully. “In fact…” she dipped the wedge in the bowl again, then resumed her work. “You are speaking,” she said distantly, “to one of the most successfully incognito [url=https://derpibooru.org/images/998001?q=artist%3Advixie%2C+rarity ]dapple grays in Equestria.”
Celestia’s mouth fell open. “You have spots?” she blurted out.
Rarity grinned a little. “Only a few,” she said, “down the back and across the flanks. Let’s just say that Madame Maquillage and I have had quite the lengthy professional relationship…” She dipped the wedge again. “...and she is the very best at what she does.”
“A-and no one knows?” Celestia spluttered.
“Mother and Father, of course,” Rarity replied. “And Sweetie Belle, too. Applejack is starting to suspect… after all, we got caught in a downpour once, then had to spend twelve hours cooped up here in the library with Twilight… though, I’m not entirely certain how much she knows…” she sniffed daintily “...or indeed cares. But enough about me,” she said, stepping back suddenly. “Take a look.”
Celestia lifted her foreleg and examined it closely. Under the white, her coat was pink—she knew it was—but she would have bet her very life on the fact that she was the same she had always been.
“Try not to touch it,” Rarity cut in nervously. “It’s still drying, and…”
Celestia looked up at her. “How?” she breathed.
Rarity tossed her mane. “Practice, Your Highness,” she said, grinning. “A lifetime of practice. Can’t beat that sort of training. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” she grabbed a fresh wedge then squeezed around to her other side. “Your color is the Mme. Maquillage #7 Flat White, with a little smear—one-to-twenty, I think—of Burnished Gold and Sunset Ruby. Nice and easy. Buckingdales in Canterlot should have a nice selection, though I’d suspect you’d rather send one of your maids than go yourself…”
“Rarity,” Celestia began.
“Now, until this dries, try not to move around too much. It’ll be fine once it sets, but it makes funny little patterns if you mess it up while it’s wet.”
“Rarity…”
“Of course, once it’s dry, it’ll last for hours. Just try not to get water on it, and that includes sweating too much…”
“Rarity.”
Rarity looked up, beauty wedge still in the air. “Highness?” she said nervously.
Celestia smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “I… I really don’t know what else I’d do, if it weren’t for you and Twilight…”
Rarity smiled, gave a little bow, then turned back to her work. “Don’t mention it, please,” she said. “At least you haven’t lost your mane or tail just yet… I can’t imagine what it would take to re-create a tricolor mane like that, much less to make it wave on its own…”
Celestia could see her smiling, even as she complained.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Twilight pushed open the door and backed inside, carrying a tray laden with sliced oranges, a stack of buttered toast, and a steaming pot of coffee. “I made breakfast,” she volunteered.
Celestia glanced up at her, but Rarity, carefully tracing Celestia’s cutie mark with a grease pencil, said nothing.
Twilight plunked the tray down on the other side of the vanity, loaded a small plate with toast and oranges, and passed it to Celestia.
“Here,” she said, “It isn’t much, but you’ll need it.”
Celestia eyed the plate, then slowly shook her head. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’m not all that hungry.”
Rarity finished one of the solar rays with a little flourish, then glanced up at her. “No need for stage fright,” she said. “I know you’re nervous, but you will need your energy today. Try to eat a little something, at least…?”
Celestia sighed, then took the plate from Twilight. She picked up a piece of toast and nibbled at the edges as Rarity started another ray, but soon set it down again. Twilight, halfway through adding cream and sugar to their coffees, looked up in irritation, but Celestia shook her head.
“Really,” she said, “I’m not being shy, or coy—I’m actually stuffed.”
“But you haven’t had anything since dinner last night,” Rarity protested. “And you hardly ate then, either…”
“I know,” Celestia said, slightly bewildered. “But it’s true. I really don’t think I could eat another bite.”
Rarity opened her mouth again, but Twilight interrupted.
“Leave her alone, Rares,” she said. “She’s done this a thousand times—literally,” she added with a giggle. “If she says she’s fine, then she’s fine.”
Rarity shot her a glance, then closed her mouth with a snap. “Fine,” she repeated. “But don’t come crying to me if she faints dead away in front of those thousands—”
“Thousands?” Celestia repeated sharply.
Rarity, halfway through a stroke, gave a small, indignant squeak as Celestia stood and turned to stare her. “What do you mean, thousands?” she repeated.
“The Summer Sun Celebration is one of the most popular events of the year—” Twilight began.
“I know,” Celestia snapped. “But I thought I gave explicit instructions for Luna to downplay this year's’ event—no advertising, restrict the number of tickets—”
“You did,” Rarity replied. “And I’m sure she tried. But as I’m sure you know, everypony is quite curious about your disappearance…”
“And,” Twilight interrupted, “at this point, most ponies would do anything to see if the rumors are true…”
Celestia whirled on her, making Rarity squeak again. “You knew?” she shrieked.
Twilight shrank back, but Rarity stepped between them. “She did,” she said firmly. “It’s been in the papers for weeks. Both she and I decided it would be best if we kept quiet. After all, you—” she gulped, then looked down. “You have enough on your plate right now,” she said quietly. “And we didn’t want to spook you any more than we had to…”
Celestia stared at the two of them for a moment—then, she sniffled, and reached out an arm to pull both of them in for a hug.
“Ah ah ah!” Rarity squealed, “no hugging! And no crying, either! The foundation isn’t dry yet, and so help me if I have to do this all over again.” She pushed herself away from Celestia’s grasp, then reached out and patted her shoulder. “There’ll be time for a good cry later,” she said firmly. “But for now, there’s work to do.” She pulled herself away, then reached for her pencils. “Now, get that flank over here and let me finish.”