//------------------------------// // (Generosity) The Broken Body - II.I - The Waking Nightmare // Story: The Broken Bond // by TheApexSovereign //------------------------------// “Because friends are always there for you~” II Generosity The Broken Body “Starlight Glimmer, good morning!” “Hey.” “Come in, come in! Sit! Spike made pancakes for breakfast, he’s just—Hey, what’s wrong? Didn’t you have fun studying with me yesterday?” “Ye-yeah! Of course I did!” “Wait, wait… my friends didn’t say anything to you, did they?” “No, they didn’t say anything! Nothing’s wrong, Twilight!” “I can tell that there is. You’ve been nothing short of happy these last several days, getting to know each of my friends and—” “And yeah, they’re great! They’re amazing ponies, and they’re the first true friends I’ve had since Sunburst moved away.” “They why do you look so upset?” “I don’t! I had a rough night, okay? Nothing’s wrong, Twilight, so quit suffocating me like you’re my mom or something!” “I-I’m sorry.” “Oh, gosh…” “I didn’t mean to pester you. I’m just concerned.” “No, I know. I know. I’m sorry, Twilight. You’ve been so kind to me, and I’m just… ugh, I’m just getting caught in my own garbage head again.” “Don’t talk about yourself that way, Starlight. Come here, come on… There we go, doesn’t that feel better? ...Starlight?” “N-no.” “Starlight?” “No, it doesn’t feel better. It makes me feel worse. It feels like this is too good to be true, that I’m waiting for you guys to pull back the curtain and laugh in my face. Well, you can cut the games, Princess, because I know you’re all acting this way so I don’t ‘snap’ and return to being the crazy, power-hungry pony you know I am—!” “Starlight Glimmer! ...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. But there’s no ‘acting’ in our friendship, Starlight. None of this is fabricated. The bonds you’ve made are as real as the seven ponies who’re now your friends. Your family. That’s something you can’t make up, no matter how strongly you believe it so.” “But… But everything I’ve done… How can you even like me, let alone trust me?” “...Starlight, I want you to make me a promise.” “O-okay? What?” “The road to redemption? It isn’t going to be easy. You’re going to doubt yourself. You’re going to stumble and fall. There’s going to be days where you feel like the worst pony who ever lived.” “Gee, thanks for the pep talk, Twilight.” “So there’s one thing I want you to promise me, Starlight: no matter what comes next for you, I want you to never, ever doubt your friendships. Do not think we’ve befriended you out of fear, or worse, a desire to use you for some secret purpose. We’re your friends, now. Your family. Okay?” “...Y-yes, Princess.” “Friends call me Twilight.” “Right. T-Twilight. Thank you, Twilight...” “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. We’ll do everything we can to make sure of that. I promise.” Starlight Glimmer shot up, gasping, slick with sweat and gripped in an icy caress. She rippled with a shudder. Starlight nursed a splitting headache, threatening to crack her head open like an egg with an ache just out of hoof’s reach. She massaged her temple. What… was that? Pulling aside her lavender blanket, Starlight found her legs, belly, forelegs, everything spotless, albeit heavy. Matted.   What a horrible, awful dream. Her aching forehead told the rest—Starlight had indulged in sweets again. It must have been a crazy Pinkie Pie party last night if she couldn’t remember it at all. There was only the dream. It was only a dream. Starlight swallowed, panting softly, her splitting headache forgotten as she absorbed reality: she was in her bed, soft and warm. Adjacent, slightly to the left, her beloved mirror decorated with now dozens of photographs featuring herself and her small army of friends. They were real. They were precious, every one of them—especially Twilight. Celestia above she didn’t ever want to lose any of them. The lengths she was willing to go to save one of them, to save Twilight... At least it was just a dream. A very vivid one at that. It was nice of Starlight’s brain to assume her bravery, to confront truly horrific monsters for a friend. If ever given the choice to sacrifice to save one, would she really go through with it? Was she that selfless? It was comforting to think so. However, the last time Starlight assumed such things, she was the mayor of a brainwashed cult she failed to realize as such. Who’s to say she wasn’t that same, delusional pony? I would do it for Twilight, she assured herself. With everything the princess had done for her, Starlight would be selfish not to. "Starlight?" squeaked a familiar voice. A shock speared through her as she whipped her head left. A silhouette—veiled by the shaft of morning sun beaming through the window—shot up from Starlight’s work desk. She was so soft-spoken. Was that Fluttershy, rocking a new manecut? Gentle clip-clops danced amidst the quiet, the silhouette bobbing towards her before a deep, beautiful azure was awash in sunlight, and “Fluttershy’s” manecut included a silvery dyejob. Her best friend’s eyes were huge, bigger than they were after she realized the changelings had replaced the Elements of Harmony. "T-Trix?" Starlight croaked, to her surprise. Whoof, rough night indeed. She cleared her throat, then asked clearly, lightly, “Why’re you in my room?” Starlight pulled the covers closer to her chest. “Watching me sleep?” A beat of silence. “Again?” she added dryly. Trixie’s shock melted away with a smug smirk, her hoof waving in dismissal. “Well,” her voice quivered slightly, “it isn’t your birthday, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Starlight simply rolled her eyes. “Darn.” The last time she awakened to find her bestie ogling her, Trixie’s job was to keep her distracted and in the castle all day while everypony else put together a townwide party for her birthday. Trix took her job so seriously she didn’t even consider the prospect of Starlight firing a spell at the shadowy intruder watching her awaken from across the room. Her logical fallacy: ‘Who wouldn’t be overjoyed to wake up and find the Great Trixie in their bedroom?’ “And here I thought—!” Starlight gasped, a sharp flaring in her forehead, “nhg, I thought you were giving me another.” Pressing against the pain, she peered aside as Trixie stopped at her bedside, smiling comfortingly. “Otherwise, you’d better have a good reason for being weird and scaring my coat off!” “Trixie is not ‘weird,’ she’s ‘friendly,’” the showmare snapped. “Consider yourself grateful to have a friend willing to sit at your bedside for so very long!” Starlight chuckled; somepony was prickly. “Right, right, totally grateful.” Then Trixie’s eyes lowered, her head sagging and ears wilting. She struggled to meet Starlight’s gaze in frantic succession. “Hey, is something wrong?” Starlight leaned forward and put a hoof to Trixie’s cheek. The unicorn picked her head up slowly, then looked into Starlight’s eyes. She struggled down a breath, walloped by the emotion swimming in Trixie’s gaze. “Before now, all I could think about was how you’d feel,” she croaked. Starlight swallowed—Trixie really took this ‘watching you sleep’ thing seriously. “Yet here you are, making jokes! You’re… you’re so strong, Starlight.” The showmare smiled wobbly, her chin crumpling, eyes overflowing. Starlight’s ear twitched. “Uh, thanks? It’s really not a big deal though, Trix. I’m just happy to see you.” To her smile, the showmare pulled back, seemingly frozen mid-gasp. “Just, if you’re feeling the urge to do something like this, Trixie? Perish the thought and just hang with Spike or something until I’m up, okay?” Trixie’s gaping eyes twitched up Starlight’s face, searching. What, did she grow a second horn or something? “Okay, what’s with the face? Did I break you?” She waved a hoof in Trixie’s face. Which lasted all of two seconds before she was swatted away. “Oh, Trixie’s fine! I-I just… didn’t expect you to be so peppy after last night!” Trixie laughed, strenuously. “Yeah,” she chirped, hoof flicking out, “we really went to town at sugarcube last night! R-remember?” Right, her forehead was an egg ready to hatch. Starlight gripped it tight, belting a long, loud groan: “Ahhh—That explains so much it’s not even remotely funny—aaahhhhhhh.” “Oh, dear,” Trixie squeaked. Sugar never agreed with Starlight in overwhelming quantities. Her birthday last year ended in a ‘race’ around Equestria between her and Pinkie Pie, who was trying to catch her. It almost tore a hole in the fabric of time. “Eh.” She scratched her mane. “I’ll deal with it, like always. I’ve gotten pret-ty good at that.” Trixie smiled warily, nodding, “Mh-hm! My head’s bothering me, Trixie, too. I don’t know why we listen to Pinkie Pie when she suggests these things.” “She’s a great hype-pony,” Starlight explained. Trixie’s smile looked sad—in desperate need of the party pony, though she was nowhere close by. “Well, how about it, Trix?” Starlight smirked. “You up to gorging yourself on more of Pinkie’s cakes until you puke?” A chuckle bounced softly in Trixie’s breast. “Hard pass. Trixie cannot even look at cake without getting flashbacks.” Starlight tittered, spiting her headache. “I was like that for a while.” Just how much did she eat? “But I’ve learned not to withhold big mistakes and bad memories.” This hurt way more than last year’s accident! And Twilight had to accompany Discord into his dimension for special ice. “Really improves my quality of life.” “Mm, impressive skill,” Trixie said with a hint of envy. “Nay, Trixie’s yet to make peace with her new rival, Chocolate Cake.” Starlight felt her stomach turn. Yep. That’d do it. “Now a birthday party on the other hoof, well, I think that’s something that could be arranged. Wouldn’t you say?” she wondered softly. “Uh, maybe? That doesn’t seem really feasible. For a number of reasons.” Trixie chuckled. “Well, Trixie could probably get the princess to pull a few strings.” She leaned close, disclosing to Starlight, “I’m very ‘in’ with the royalty, you know: best friends, even! With the wingless princess!” Her hoof swung in an arc overhead. “Oh? And what, pray tell, is she the princess of?” “Why, the Princess of… Trixie!” she sputtered. “Not only is this pony an amazingly close friend of the Great Trixie, but she’s also quite, quite headstrong when there’s something Trixie wants.” Starlight put a hoof to her muzzle; only Trixie could steer a conversation towards Trixie Land. “And besides,” she continued tenderly, “...I’m positive there’ll be an exception for you. I’d make it so. Nopony resists Trixie,” she finished sternly. It was kind of adorable coming from the typically boisterous unicorn. And weird. Why take this hypothetical scenario so seriously? “Well, when you see your best friend, tell this princess she’s gonna have to circumvent several laws, social norms, aaand nature itself to do this.” Starlight got three titters in before choking on the fourth—Trixie was staring again. She felt the embarrassment of a flopped joke burn close to her eyes. “Hey, I work with what you give me, alright? This banter thing is a two way street, Trix, come on.” Her best friend blinked, her eyes bright, aware, and darting about. “What were we talking about?” she asked, her voice strangely light. “To give a pony two birthdays in one—! Ugh, you know what? Forget it. I’m up now! And whatever you’ve plotted today, I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.” Trixie paced back a step as Starlight slid off the bed, her eyes suddenly bugging out. “Um! Hey, Starlight!” Trixie slowly pushed her back into bed. “Why don’t we sit and talk some more?” “In my bedroom?” “...Obviously.” Trixie rolled her eyes. They’d certainly done weirder things over the years. “Alright, Trix, you win.” A smile eased to her face. “If this is part of your plan, I’ll play along. I’ll starve myself for you,” she tittered—a smirk broke in on Trixie’s face. “I can get you some food. J-just stay here, promise?” She got really close. “Alright! Sheesh.” Starlight pushed Trixie away, returning to pull the covers up. She winced again—her agony worsened. Thick, clogging, like hot, melted butter pouring down her horn. It made her sick, and the room collapsed to its side. “My head's killing me,” she said, massaging her forehead. “I'm just gonna pop over to the bathroom and grab something, okay?" She envisioned the bathroom, "Wait,” Trixie started, as power crept from Starlight’s soul, surging to her forehead, “Starlight—!" Her horn exploded. Teal light erupted forth, and Starlight’s horn was flash-crisped in fire, her entire world flaring white before it strangled her horn. "AUUUGH-HAGH-HAAAAGH!" Fire filled the air, melting Starlight and her horn and her very being like wax of a candlestick. Starlight tried smothering it, tried extinguishing the burn, but it raged on, raging, roaring. Devouring her. “AHH! AHH! AHH! AHH!” Starlight’s legs kicked hysterically, the covers flying above her. The searing burn crept down her horn’s length, stopped, and sat there. Smoldering. Starlight collapsed into bed a sweating, panting mess, one foreleg slung across her pounding chest. A thin finger of smoke danced above. It smelled like burnt mane. Starlight didn’t care. It felt like hours before the burn cooled. "Ugh..." The groan was followed by a heavy plop. Starlight battled lethargy, dragging her gaze left until an arrow speared her in the chest: Trixie, peppered with burns, was staggering to her hooves, an indentation of her likeness carved upon the wall behind her. “S’okay, Starlai!” Trixie’s foreleg gave out, and she dropped like a stone. “Triskie’s been just practicin’!” "Oh, my gosh." Starlight galloped to her dizzy friend. "Trixie, I am so, so sorry! Are you, egh, okay?" Pain throbbed around the base of her horn. Starlight tried ignoring it until it prodded her forehead sharply. “AGH!” She massaged the spot. “Starlight!” Trixie’s soot-covered face filled her vision, suddenly recovered from her injury and looking worried. “Are you okay? Did that hurt? Are you—Do you—? I mean, oh my gosh, Starlight,” her friend gasped for air, “I can’t even imagine what you must be feeling right now!” So many questions. Too many, all of them clenching her brain in a vice grip. “Trixie,” Starlight groaned, turning away. “Ooh, was it too much? I’ll shut up now.” Every second enduring this was an effort. “Tell me what happened first,” Starlight moaned in a single breath. Trixie was silent for a second. “TRIXIE!” Her ire was like a whip, making Trixie wince with what must’ve been fear—she started whimpering; no tears came but Trixie was well on that road. “What? Come on, Trixie I’ve yelled at you way harsher, and for way worse, than this!” The showmare swallowed. “I, I… I don’t know what to say.” Her head vibrated left and right. “I… I’m, I can’t…” Something heavy rose up Starlight’s gut. “Trixie, come on,” the pain was forgotten; she was looking her friend in the eye, “what’s happening to me? Why’s my magic not working right?” Burning pain lanced the length of her horn. Starlight yelped sharply, turning away on three hooves as her fourth massaged the base once more. “S-Starlight, can’t you just figure it out—?!” "What is-with this-stupid-thing!?" she snarled. Starlight collapsed to her rear like a foal and started massaging her forehead with both hooves. “I’m sorry Trixie,” she breathed, “but this is really really horrible! How much sugar did I have last night?!” She probably looked ridiculous to her brasher friend. Starlight squinted through the pain to get an idea. Trixie’s lips hung open, her eyes wide, bugging out of her skull as if beholding Thorax for the first time all over again. Was it shock? No way, she'd seen that in Trixie many times before. She had never looked as if Starlight just swore off their friendship. “Starlight, your horn is—” A hoof clapped upon her muzzle, and Starlight’s heart shot forth as tears rushed down her cheeks. "Trixie?! Hey!" Starlight attempted to crack a smirk, but her headache rendered it a grimace. Something was seriously wrong here. Trixie’s mouth opened, but her jaw hung there, staggering up and down. “...I can’t do this, Starlight. I’m so sorry, but I can’t." She clenched her eyes as Starlight’s flared open; Trixie needed to get a grip. “This isn’t fair!” Trixie snarled at her, choking Starlight. “This isn’t fair to you, Starlight! You weren’t even supposed to wake up yet!” Starlight couldn’t move. "Trixie, what is going on?” she wondered shakily. “Why are you suddenly all tongue-tied and—” "What in the name of rhubarb pie was that explosion!?" Applejack cried upon arrival. “Trixie?” She stepped further into the room, fully facing the stage magician. Her expression hadn’t changed. “Applejack,” Trixie croaked, eyes welling, “Applejack I’m so sorry, she just got up and I was…” Applejack followed her gaze, and her face curdled as she whirled around completely. “S-Starlight, hon—” “She doesn’t know yet.” Trixie’s voice was hollow. “What?! How in tarnation—?” She caught herself, regarding Starlight like she was a crazed animal. Apparently, “realizing” something was so stupidly obvious to everyone but her. “Somepony,” Starlight laughed, “had better stop building the suspense… right now!” “Alright, Ah will.” Applejack yanked her hat off and slapped it upon her chest. And then the same breathing problem of Trixie infected Applejack—her eyes became glassy. Her words came even faster: "Oh Starlight, sugarcube, Ah-Ah'm so, so sorry you had to find out this way!” Was this cool and collected Applejack, or Thorax playing a prank? “W-we didn't intend for ya to wake up so soon, a-an' oh... H'oh gosh, hon, Ah'mma mite sorry you had to find out like this. Truly Ah am, but..." Starlight held her breath. Applejack opened her mouth. Rainbow Dash appeared above the farmpony, her brow matted with sweat. "There you are! Come on, AJ, Trixie’s got Starlight covered! Ugh, look, bad news: I tried distracting her as long as I can, but we can-not wait for Princess Celestia to get here before her! She says she'll head home as soon as she finishes this last ques—! ...Oh, no," Dash whispered, but Starlight barely heard her. "Where's the horn?" she wondered. An utter stranger stood in the mirror, in desperate need of a face wash. She was caked in dirt, pale-brown and cracked, like a rash stretching from beneath her eye, down the length of her throat. She was pink, like Starlight was, and her mane, though bedraggled and messy, had traces of teal-blue highlights as well. Starlight Glimmer’s friends surrounded her, but she was not that pony. Starlight Glimmer had a horn, not an ugly, pink stump on her forehead. This poor soul could never cast magic again. She could, but not properly. It would blow up in her face without a proper catalyst, a complete horn, like Starlight’s just did. This pony might as well be considered magicless. Starlight was magicless. She brought her hoof up, just to make sure—the gawking pony in the mirror mimicked her. Starlight’s heart rose, anticipating the gentle prick of her horn. It kept falling, unimpeded, until she felt a jagged stump sink into the soft flesh of her frog, then her rock-hard hoof upon her forehead. She never should feel it there. No unicorn should. Their horn was in the way. Her horn was in the way. It was always awkward to scratch behind it, because it was in the way. No more magic. There was a constricting inside. No more teleporting or levitation. She felt like an empty tube of toothpaste—her insides all squeezed out. No more magic lessons with Twilight. Her hoof thudded against the desk, motionless. No more learning new magic. No more making new magic. No more pushing myself. “No more improvement, no more learning no more magic—” “Where is my horn?” Starlight asked lightly. “Where is it?” Her voice, posture, heart, everything was feather-light. No more magic lessons with Trixie. It was sound logic—Starlight couldn’t possibly tip and shatter into a million pieces if she was lighter than air. A grin spread across her muzzle. “Girls, what kind of joke is this?” She started panting. “Where’s my horn? Girls,” Starlight gasped, “where is my horn?!” This was a growth. It had to be. This ugly little thing couldn't possibly be her horn. Horns didn’t just fall off! Whatever happened must have been an accident, or— “Starlight!” cried a scratchy-voiced pony. The world spun around her as a pair of hooves grabbed her by the shoulders. Rainbow Dash was in her face. “We’re going to get through this, okay?” Her words were a garble shouted half a mile away. “Okay? We’re gonna help you through this, all of us. Together.” “Don’t give me any of that!” Starlight shoved Rainbow away. “I can’t do this everypony, I’m sorry, but I can’t! I can’t live the rest of my life with any magic, I just can’t!” Trixie just had a hoof stuck to her mouth. Applejack’s face was drawn, wrenched with pain as she hobbled closer. “Starlight, hon, Ah feel yer—” “SAVE IT!” The farmmare winced. “You’ve no idea what it’s like, Applejack! No idea! Can you imagine if you’d lost your apple-bucking legs?” She pointed to Rainbow and her. “Either of you?!” “That’s exactly—!” Rainbow choked at Applejack’s hoof upon her leg. “Just let her get it out.” Like she was a dang child. “I’m right here, you know!” Starlight roared. Your horn is gone. There’s no getting it back. You brought this on yourself. I brought this on myself. She could scarcely breathe. Starlight trembled, like a horn ready to fire. “Th-they, they t-t-took it…” Hydia and her daughters— A flash of purple light and a cork pop heralded Princess Twilight Sparkle, her wings snapping open as she cried, “Starlight Glimmer, look! I’ve no idea how, but I’m all—!” Total silence. Starlight shied away—what in the name of Equestria could she be thinking right now? Seeing this? Disgust filled Starlight like the most awful kind of bellyache. What could she be feeling? Starlight’s eyes twitched to Twilight’s—wide, her mouth cupped. Shock. Disgust? It made sense. Maybe she pieced it together. Twilight was a brilliant pony—she could put two and two together easily. The equation certainly added up to something ugly. Ta-da! I did this for you, Twilight! “What. Happened. To you?” Twilight enunciated behind her hoof. “What happened to you?” She started pacing closer. “What happened, Starlight? What happened to your—?” "They took it, Twilight! They took my horn!" Twilight’s eyes welled, compassionate as ever, and a monstrous, heavy weight dropped in Starlight's gut. "They took my horn," she breathed. ‘That which is most precious to you…’ She wrenched away. "They..." Starlight’s vision blurred, her eyes flooded, the fur upon her cheeks cut through with warm, wet trenches. "Th-they took... m-my—” Starlight nearly fell back as a pair of forelegs latched around her. “No!” She tried wriggling away. “TiMe To PaY uP, sTaRliGhT gLiMmEr!” “NO!” She felt Hydia’s claw wrap around her throat. “It’s okay,” cooed a mother, maybe. There were a thousand twigs being snapped at once drowning her. Two more masses piled upon her, suffocating Starlight. Then a third. She managed a sob; it was like somepony came and cut her heart out. Starlight felt the void, felt it ache. It needed to be full, but nothing came forth. Maybe she could establish a connection with Equestria one more time. It was only fair. Starlight didn't know her final time using it—to lift bed sheets, no less—would be the last one. She wanted to make up for it. More than anything, she wanted to make up for it. Just a spell, any spell. A teal spark and pain made itself sharply known, a sharp ache in her broken horn. Another howl belted forth, and even after the pain was gone she screamed once more. You lost your horn, and you don’t even care that Twilight’s okay. Starlight roared, so long and hard she felt her head and lungs racing to explode. Her voice cracked like nails on a chalkboard, breaking, and the beautiful hum of magic sang close by. The world’s entire weight sat upon Starlight. And it was warm. Maybe living without magic won’t be so bad. Or maybe this really is just a bad dream... Starlight thought, darkness falling like a great, warm blanket.