Starlight,
I am so sorry.
I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry you are, at the moment (relative to your time), alone. I’m sorry I put too much into my dormitus simulus, because now, nopony knows when you’ll wake up.
And I am so, so sorry for that.
I am so sorry about everything. I know I’ve bungled the teacher role in the past, but I promise this will be the very last time.
I will help you, Starlight. We all will. Our friends will be by your side on the road to recovery, every step of of the way.
You’re probably all wired up and sick of sleeping. But I also know I can’t stop you! As much as I’d like you resting, you can find me in the Map Room. Princess Cadance and Princess Luna will be here, too, helping me find your attacker.
Don’t look at the darkness behind you, Starlight. Not without me.
Love,
Twilight
A dark blob loomed ahead. Some kind of eldritch horror, hopefully?
With a hard blink, then another, the bleary world sharpened into clarity. Starlight’s heart skipped a beat. She remembered gazing up at canopy stretched overhead. She knew that shade of deep violet.
This was definitely not her bed.
It was her bed.
“Twilight!” she cried, flinging herself upright. Twilight was alive. She was actually better! Starlight bit her hoof, giggling. The alicorn’s purple complexion, the life in her eyes, the warmth when they hugged… It hadn’t been a dream.
It was the last thing Starlight remembered before something familiar took hold of her. A magical something she’d taught Twilight for the time Spike was molting, designed to pull a pony into a deep, pleasant sleep.
And no wonder. She’d been screaming like an absolute maniac when Twilight cast the spell to sedate her. From the pain when…
Starlight brought a hoof to her head and gingerly felt something scrape against her hoof. No, that hadn’t been a dream, either.
They took my horn… Her guts twisted into a knot. But Twilight’s alive! I did it, yes! A warmth filled her. “In your face, Spike!” she shouted into the empty room, pumping her hoof in the air and laughing.
So what if she didn’t have a horn anymore? Big whoop! The potential good in saving Twilight from succumbing to her illness vastly outweighed the absolutely terrible alternative. How many more misguided, friendless ponies were out there, in need of Princess Twilight in their lives?
They needed her far more than, well, anypony needed Starlight’s horn. She’d learned the secrets of magic better than anypony! It would be simple to learn to live with... out… it.
A sinking feeling pulled her innards down. The quiet didn’t help, abnormal in its silence. It was nothing like sitting in a quiet room with nopony but yourself. Instead was a quiet, pressing void instead, like a padded enclosure that muffled everything invaded Starlight’s personal bubble.
She lifted her blanket to her chin, its rustling like a roll of thunder. Twilight’s room looked the same as it ever had, sure, but it felt totally empty. She felt the plushness of Twilight’s bed beneath her, but it wasn’t real, somehow. Something about it was fake, like a replica swapped places with it when no one was looking.
Her eyes zipped about the room. Twilight’s desk was there, and her vanity table. Her fireplace and the two tall, velvety reading chairs facing it. But in Starlight’s gut, nothing felt there.
She hugged her forelegs around her.
The walls and bed were cold. Not cold like a winter’s chill, but more like a brick oven gone dark—a cold stone box housing a pile of ash, the last embers long extinguished, rendering the thing an ugly, present thing. The bed, the walls, even the very air had this unique atmosphere about them, their own individual sensations Starlight could once recognize by their magical signature alone. But now a terrible, ponderous mundanity shrouded the world. The things in it were all there, solid and real, but that was all they were now. Utterly unremarkable. It was simple: crystal floors, crystal ceiling. An extra-oversized featherbed. Some furniture.
Before now she remembered feeling free, for lack of a better word. She’d shared a connection with something greater than anything she could actually touch. Through her magic, Starlight had bonded with the world. It was like their hearts beat as one. Now, the walls were cold, the bed was cold. It all felt dead, like Flutter Valley became her home.
A pit opened in Starlight’s chest—a horrible burrowing, clawing her heart in as the realization hit her: Twilight and I will never practice magic again, she thought. We can no longer bond over it. Our friendship is—!
“I-I…” Starlight hugged herself tighter and pretended it was Twilight, pretended she was whispering to her. ‘Our friendship will never be weakened,’ she’d say. ‘I don’t care if we aren’t connected by our magical bond. What we have is stronger than that. I love you, Starlight.’
She gasped sharply as the silent void seemed to pierce her ears. “C-calm down, S-Starlight. Don’t freak out now!” she urged herself, absolute confidence in her tone. “That little lapse of sanity just now was right. Our bond won’t be broken.”
And at some point, perhaps she’d stop talking to herself, too.
Besides, that part didn’t really matter in the long run. She just had to get used to the quiet. Adapt to it. Numb herself to it.
This is nothing compared to the spells I’ve mastered.
Starlight spat into the crushing silence. “Buck up, Glimmer,” she whispered. She still had her hoof-loving life! How could she be so selfish?
That weight she felt in her gut must have been guilt.
She had just discovered that Twilight was safe, and she had the gall to regret it? At least those witches had let her live. Really, the worst part about all this was her cutie mark. It was completely meaningless now.
Starlight peered underneath the covers. Those two wisps of magic sprouting from her starbursts might as well be party streamers now. They meant nothing. Wisps of magic don’t come from broken horns.
And I did it all for Twilight. Starlight’s stomach turned at the thought—It was definitely surreal! She never thought her life would lead her to play such a critical role in the fate of Equestria.
Again.
The witches had vowed that Starlight would be content. She looked inside herself, felt the warm tingle of realizing that Twilight was saved. No way was she upset.
Sure, she didn’t have a horn anymore, but that was a small price to pay.
In fact, the witches were right about another thing: Destiny brought Starlight into Twilight’s life. She was here in order to save her.
Destiny demands that Twilight live, and that I live, too. I’m the reason for any of this happening, after all, Starlight reasoned. So, if the witches knew all of this would happen, then this must be the path Fate had set for me! My story isn't over yet, which means—! Well...
She still had a future! What with the catalyst of her initial Fate being ripped away from her forever and all, it was only fair they don’t completely scam her.
Starlight rubbed her chin. Now, how to ease everypony’s foreseeable worries? Twilight’s would be especially challenging. That pony could be too emotional sometimes. This time around, Twilight had no reason to treat Starlight any differently than she had before.
After all, she’d only done what a good student would do.
A crack of light suddenly cleaved the darkness, and a familiar voice called out to her.
"Starlight?”
Twilight’s soft voice shivered through the quiet, pricking her in the chest. The door opened wider, and there she stood, silhouetted against the darkness.
She’s here! Starlight flailed out of bed, took one step, and fell flat on her muzzle. Trying to rub the pulsing ache from it, Starlight fought to free her legs from the tangle of bedding.
"Oh, my goodness!” Twilight murmured. “Starlight!” Her hooves sounded hurried click-clacks through the shadows.
Starlight scrambled to her feet, at attention in spite of the blanket swallowing her hindquarters. Her curly little forelock hung limply between her eyes. Starlight huffed it aside, then grinned a loose smile.
Whatever words she hoped to say were stillborn upon Starlight’s tongue. She stood silent, simply listening to soft, frantic breathing filling the silence.
Twilight’s breathing.
Twilight was actually breathing, right in front of her! Healthy, not shallow and broken. And her coat, even in darkness, was clearly a soft, healthy purple instead of brittle and grey. Then, Starlight found Twilight’s eyes, glistening in the darkness.
"Oh, Starlight.” She swallowed. “I... I just don't know... wh-what to say!" She yelped as Starlight tackled into her, sobbing. Twilight’s warmth pressed even harder against her as two strong forelegs wrapped around her.
“I knew it,” Starlight blubbered indiscernibly. “I knew you weren’t a goner, I just knew it!”
“Oh, Starlight, I’m so sorry!” Twilight squeezed her even tighter.
“Spike didn’t believe me, Twilight! Nopony would’ve believed me but me and I did it! I—” A wave crashed into her: She’d saved Twilight’s life. Starlight squealed, planting her burning eyes into the alicorn’s neck. Blushing, she swallowed a sob, but another bubbled past and Starlight coughed, choked, and cried all at once as she rubbed her face into the alicorn’s comfortable, living warmth.
"Oh, Starlight. My Starlight…” A dampness matted the fur of Twilight’s neck. “I'm sorry.I'm so, so sorry..."
The dull ache in her chest swelled, but it was a hurt she wouldn’t trade for anything.
Starlight propped her hooves on Twilight’s chest, pushing back gently to look her in the face. But she immediately turned away, her eyes squeezed tight.
“T-Twilight?” Starlight smiled uneasily.
But the moment Twilight peeked her eyes open they flitted up and down, searching everywhere but Starlight’s face.
Where her horn was. This must be a horror to look at. Starlight put on a smile, wide and toothy.
“I can’t—” Twilight shook her head.
“What?” Starlight snuffled, smiling despite the sting in her chest. “Don’t I look dignified?” She must have looked pretty ridiculous, standing in a puddle of lavender blankets.
A blank sheet of paper would have conveyed more emotion.
Starlight rubbed her foreleg. Her lips wobbled, taking all her willpower to maintain a pleasant facade for Twilight. Hopefully the shadows concealed her embarrassment.
In the silence, Twilight suddenly whispered, “I’m sorry.”
She sure was saying that a lot. “It’s okay—”
“No, it’s not!” Twilight snapped. “That’s what everypony keeps telling me, but this isn’t okay. Nothing about this is okay. A monster has gotten away with crippling my friend. We’ve no idea what it was or where it even came from! And the worst part is, I can’t even think of something to say to you, Starlight!”
Way to go, Glimmer. She couldn’t have kept it together long enough to ease Twilight’s worries. Now she had been worrying herself silly over nothing.
But that begged the question: why didn’t Spike tell her yet?
Twilight looked away, rubbing her cheek. “I’m a terrible friend,” she declared.
“No, you’re not!”
Twilight looked to Starlight, her eyes wide with only one emotion.
Fear.
Of Starlight.
Of another emotional outburst. Of what I could do. She was probably expecting her former student to collapse into a second freakout. Starlight would, too. It didn’t matter, though. The most she could do now was clobber somepony.
On reflection, that made Twilight’s wariness understandable, though it didn’t hurt any less.
“You’re a great friend, Twilight. You are not ‘terrible.’ Don’t think that about yourself.”
“That’s what everypony keeps telling me, too,” she echoed sadly. Twilight wiped her eyes. “But I won’t accept it. I just can’t get it out of my head, Starlight. You were hurt, and all I’ve done is fail you.”
Her guilt was unbearable. Why should sweet Twilight shoulder such an unfair responsibility, when it wasn’t even necessary?
I’ve failed you too, Twilight. If you’d only known from the start…
Starlight perked up, realizing. “So, success equates to being a good friend? Huh, I must’ve missed that lesson.”
“That isn’t what I meant.” Twilight lowered her head, searching the floor. “I wasn’t here to protect you. And now I can’t even help you. I’ve failed you as a friend.”
Starlight had just failed too, and she didn’t feel any different. “So, after all this time, you’ve apparently been teaching me the wrong thing!”
Twilight stood motionless. “Tell me, Starlight...” Her voice wavered. “Remind me what I’ve taught you.” Her face lifted, revealing a miserable-looking pony. “Please. Because I could really use some of your wisdom right about now.”
Starlight choked, surprised. Twilight had never outright asked for her “wisdom” before—it just came up when it needed to.
“Well…”
Come on, Glimmer.Why’d you throw yourself into the jaws of Tartarus for Twilight?
The obvious hit a second later. Starlight brightened, to her somber teacher’s wary surprise.
“Forgetting the sincere flop that it was,” she began with a titter, “I seem to recall a certain lesson from the Friendship Journal—one that Spike learned from Applejack. From what I gathered, the strength of friendship isn’t weighed by a success rate, but by the lengths we go for one another. Because that’s what friends do.” That’s what I’ve done for you, she thought.
And you’ve done for me...
Forgiving her crimes, then teaching her friendship. Tolerating her failures, letting her laze about the castle a year after graduating...
Starlight waded through memories. “And… the lengths to whichyou’ve gone to help me, it’s…” There were no words to describe it—no obvious ones, at least. “Well, it’s more than anypony’s ever done for me, I’ll tell you that!”
Twilight bit her trembling lip. “So,” she murmured, “even if I failed to get your horn back, you wouldn’t be upset with me?”
Starlight’s face fell.
Hope lanced through her, like the stupid, naive pony she was. “Of course not!” Starlight smiled reassuringly, ignoring the awful hollowness inside her.
Tears filled Twilight’s eyes, and a smile spread across her face, which only made the pain worse. All at once, the feelings they both had overflowed, spilling out at the same time.
“Oh, Starlight,” Twilight whispered. “What did I ever do to deserve somepony like you...”
“I mean,” Starlight laughed, not even realizing that Twilight was speaking, “I gave it up for you, after all!”
She’d barely realized that she’d just spoken over Twilight before both lapsed into a shocked silence. Twilight’s eyebrows seemed to float up to her hairline as her eyes widened.
Twilight’s mouth hung open, frozen. Had she been speaking? The room itself seemed frozen, its chill seeping into Starlight’s bones as Twilight’s brows ascended to her hairline, her lips curling into a frown.
“What did you just say?” she asked, equally as slow and deliberate.
Does… she really not know?
“Uh, my horn? Remember?” Starlight circled a hoof at her forehead. “Spiraled, adorable… Uh, great and powerful?” she laughed. Has Spike really said nothing?!
“I-I know what it is,” Twilight replied, her panic barely concealed behind the calmness of her tone. It seemed to scream in the silence between them. “I know…”
Another failed attempt at levity, by Starlight Glimmer. “Well,” she began, “there were these—”
“But I…” Twilight suddenly lurched over, uncomfortably close. “I think I’m gonna need you to repeat yourself, Starlight.”
“Uh, o-okay?” She took a tiny step back.
She was being way too peppy all of a sudden, which meant one thing: imminent freakout. Starlight didn’t bother wondering why, instead mentally preparing herself for an emotionally distraught, and therefore unreasonable, princess.
“As you and I’ve debated hotly in the past,” Twilight squeaked, “one of the possible lingering effects of dark magic is auditory chicanery. Now I’m still not a believer of its more adverse effects, particularly with the lighter stuff we’ve been using, of course, but considering how abusive we’ve been—Cadance and Luna that is—in using it, well…” She snorted like a pig. “I don’t quite trust my own judgement at the moment!”
Starlight nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Not worrying at all,” she joked, to no effect.
Why she’d been doing it was unfathomable. Nopony was foolish enough to willingly expose their souls to corruption. So was Twilight a fool now? And why bring it up? Was she implying something? As in, ‘I opened my heart to hatred and fear to help you, so are you now telling me all that was pointless?!’ That was her fault, not Starlight’s. It was her decision.
Wait, no.
It didn’t even matter. The Princess of Friendship knew what she was doing. No reason to worry. Besides, Twilight would never be angry with—
“Starlight?”
She blinked. “Sorry, what?”
Twilight’s brow creased. “Are you okay?” She stepped forward.
Starlight didn’t want her burning face to show. “Yep, never better.” Her rump suddenly hit something—”Eee!”—the bed. “Sorry! S-sorry, I… I kinda zoned out when you mentioned using, uh, dark magic and…” She let that hang. Such foolishness demanded an explanation.
Silence churned all around.
“I said that I was going to help you, Starlight, and that meant finding your attacker and bringing it to justice.” Her face lit up pink, and a beat later something papery slapped Starlight in the face. “Remember, from this note? You must have seen it. I mean I don’t know how long you’ve lain here, but...”
Starlight was half-listening, scrambling to catch the paper in her forelegs. She tumbled back, crushing it against her. Nailed it.
“But I digress,” Twilight continued, “and none of this matters. I’m just curious! See, I was confused by what you’d said… You know, since Fluttershy told me you, uh, you were actually attacked, by a… um...”
Starlight peered at the paper, but even with it touching her snout, the cursive print blended with the darkness. “Hold up, I can’t read this.”
Twilight was droning on as a gentle magenta glow illuminated her bedroom, and the letter Starlight had missed.
Her eyes skimmed the page.
‘Starlight, I am so sorry. I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry you are, at the moment (relative to your time), alone. I’m sorry I put too much into my dormitus simulus, because now, nopony knows when you’ll wake up—
So Twilight put “too much” into her spell, as if she was in a rush. Basically, her goal was to silence the shrieking mare. That was the unspoken truth amidst all these “sorry’s,” and Twilight was so desperate to do it she didn’t even take one measly second to channel her magic correctly.
“Starlight?”
It was impossible to blame Twilight, though. As much as it hurt. After all, Starlight had been screeching like a maniac. Nopony would want to hear that, especially Twilight. She depended on Starlight to keep a steady head when it mattered, and she ended up making a bad situation even worse.
“Starlight!”
She probably thought she was stupid now. And Twilight had been using dark magic to help, somehow. Starlight basically told her that the risk, the effort, was all pointless. No wonder she was so intense right now. Way to go—
“Starlight!”
“What?” Her gaze snapped to Twilight’s, whose horn continued bathing them in pink light.
“Please, work with me here!” she cried, as though it were another day where she was zoning out of a lecture. “Oh...” Twilight clapped a hoof to her muzzle. “Oh, my goodness, Starlight, I… I’m so sorry!”
“Um… It’s fine?” It was the best she could offer. Starlight rubbed the back of her neck. “I think I sprained something from all this mood whiplash, though.”
Something about her hooves must have been very interesting to Twilight. “Right, yes, sorry. I am, really, I just—”
“I-it’s okay, Twilight.”
“I’m sorry for snapping!” She tensed up. “I’m sorry for failing!”
Oh, gosh… Starlight forced a smile. “You don’t have to keep apologizing, you know—”
“I’m so stressed right now! I-I can barely think straight!” A glimmering traced the length of her muzzle. “Everything’s, been falling apart these last couple weeks, I’m just so, incredibly stressed, but I can’t be, a-and now, just the idea that this is all on purpose—” A hoof impeded her words.
Starlight’s hoof. Twilight continued speaking as if it weren’t there. Immediately, Starlight jerked away, popping out of her best friend’s mouth.
“S-sorry.” Twilight snuffled, gawking at her. “I think these last couple days are finally getting to me,” she laughed uneasily. “I’m just a little cuckoo right now!”
So I’ve been out for, like, two days. That’s not bad! But poor Twilight’s been reduced to this. And Starlight only had herself to blame. She took a deep breath, then exhaled all the guilt twisted in her chest.
“Okay,” she said lightly, “first of all, I would love it if we could stop apologizing.”
Twilight only lowered her stunned gaze. Smooth as ice, Starlight. The glowing orb upon Twilight’s horn continued humming softly.
“I get that things are a bit… tense, right now.” Understatement of the century. “But let’s move forward with our heads held high, right?” Twilight looked to her, seemingly aghast. “Okay?” she pleaded. “Why’re you looking at my like I’d grown a second horn?”
“That’s not funny.”
Starlight’s sheepish grin crumbled on the spot.
“I,” Twilight squeaked, voice wavering, “I… Oh, Starlight…” Her eyes squeezed shut, her lips trembled. “I can’t believe this.” Tears sprang forth, shocking Starlight’s soul. “I think I need to throw up...”
“Please tell me what’s wrong,” Starlight begged.
“I…” Her bright, violet eyes looked Starlight up and down before she turned away. “I’m afraid to, Starlight. Yes or no, I’m not sure which answer is worse!” Magenta light swished to and fro across the room with Twilight’s animated gestures.
“Then what is it?” The suspense was agonizing. “What’s even the question, Twilight? I don’t understand!”
Her violet eyes flashed, wet and angry… and terrified. “Why are you acting like nothing’s wrong?” Starlight swallowed—she couldn’t think of an answer faster than Twilight fired off another question: “How come everything’s completely normal in your little world?”
Starlight gulped a yelp as she was yanked forward several feet before slamming into the forehooves of Twilight Sparkle, her eyes wide and intense and filling her vision.
“Did you give up your horn, yes or no?”
It was so quick that Starlight had to process it.
"I mean," Twilight rambled, eyes rolling, "me, and the princesses—Luna and Cadance—we’ve been up for hours on end scrubbing the Cutie Map for traces of your attacker. But there was nothing! Absolutely nothing!” she snarled. "And this has been bothering me all afternoon! Whoever popped in and out of here was using some kind of advanced teleportation spell. It didn’t leave a magical footprint or anything! Anywhere! In all the wide world of Equestria! Oh, are they lucky I haven’t found them yet...”
Dread settled on Starlight’s forelegs, a gripping chill upon them. She needs to know now. I need to tell her. To break the news. Spike came to mind, and the first of several questions.
“T-Twilight, I don’t think you don’t unders—”
“I under-stand, that Fluttershy had said, that something attacked you!” Twilight stomped her hoof, asserting, “She doesn’t lie, Starlight, not about something like this. You know she’s at her home right now, crying and shutting herself away from all our friends? She blames herself for not helping you!”
And Twilight’s tone was accusing Starlight.
“And so I refuse to believe that Spike...” Her voice faded again.
Starlight could scarcely breathe. How could she have forgotten about her friend? Oh, my gosh… Poor Fluttershy. Why, out of everypony in Equestria, did she have to be caught in the crossfire of Starlight’s recklessness?
She saw Twilight drag a foreleg across her eyes. “This is different from everything we’ve faced. I know it is. I know whoever did this was trying to get to me—because nopony would ever want to do something so horrible to my friend, m-my student, my… my…”
“Twilight!” It was agony, knowing she felt so broken up over this, and that Starlight was entirely to blame.
“They stole your horn,” stated Twilight, staring right at her. “They stole it, and I’m getting it back. But I have been sitting on this for days, Starlight, and I can’t stand it! I can’t stand this unscratchable itch for another second!”
“Uh, what?” She got what that meant, but it was strange, even for Twilight.
“I’ve got to know the truth,” she pleaded quickly. “Tell me, Starlight, I promise I won’t be angry. I won’t. I just have to know the truth, now.” Truth? What truth? Who’s been telling lies? “Please, tell me, Starlight!”
Flinching, Starlight could barely stand the thought of the horror Twilight’s felt these past, agonizing two days. “Wha-what do you mean?” she asked, playing dumb
“I mean, who exactly stole your horn?” Twilight prowled closer. “Why were you acting nonchalant with Trixie, like it didn’t even happen?”
“Alright, hey, in my defense, I thought it was a dream—”
“Please, Starlight, talk to me.” She panted softly for a moment. “I don’t know what your game is now, if you feel afraid or what, but you’re acting like you haven’t even lost your horn. And I heard you...” A shudder wracked Twilight’s body. Quietly, she disclosed, “I heard you screaming the other day, Starlight. It was the most heartbreaking thing I ever heard.”
“Oh, what? What?” Starlight snapped. “You want me to start crying over it?”
Twilight blinked sadly. “No. Your reaction told me enough.”
“Well, I don’t! Miss it, I mean!” Starlight shook her head. "Look, I don’t care about it, Twilight. I mean, yeah, it stinks that I don’t have magic anymore, but I don’t care! Because you know what? I’d lose it all over again. Yeah! I really would!” Starlight didn’t realize how fast her heart was racing until it ached. “W-well? There’s your answer!” she chirped.
Twilight just kept staring. “So you…” Her horn’s hum was deafening. “Excuse me?” She still couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge it.
There was no turning back; the band-aid was already peeled halfway, might as well rip a few hairs out and get it over with.
“I think you know the answer,” said Starlight. “I think you’ve known this entire time, haven’t you? I mean...” She laughed nervously, because it really was amusing. “Something Celestia herself calls ‘incurable’ doesn’t just go away, does it?”
The way Twilight stood statue-still, then scrambled back in an attempt to absorb some invisible map laid out before her, said enough: this had been on her mind, and Spike was to thank for that. He had told her, at some point, and Twilight had denied it. She’d never allowed herself to dwell on it until now.
But why?
“I’m afraid to ask,” Starlight began uneasily, “but how much did Spike tell you, exactly?”
Awash in her magic’s glow, Twilight looked absolutely demonic. “What’s the secret behind my miraculous recovery, Starlight?” she asked, her voice as monotone as Maud Pie’s.
Starlight gulped. Why was her heart racing? Twilight already knew the answer, clearly. She only wanted…
She wanted to hear it from Starlight’s own lips. No bells, no whistles, no jokes. Just yes, or no.
Oh. Suddenly this was so much harder. No matter what Starlight would say, or how, this was totally going to end with Twilight angry at her.
She didn’t even know why. Asking Twilight to clarify was beyond out of the question—it was completely stupid. Starlight should know why.
Right?
Wait, I can just explain why I did this! Two birds with one stone!
“So you see this thing, right here?” Starlight spun a hoof at her forehead. “I could live with this. I know it’s going to be difficult, adjusting, but I can adapt. I’ve done it all my life,” she muttered, smiling sadly.
“But…” Starlight swallowed, “losing you, Twilight? I… I couldn’t even bear the thought.”
Keep it together, Starlight. Don’t get emotional on her again!
“So I’m willing to play my part. After all, look at what I’ve done to save you!” she announced, equal parts proud and loud. “I didn’t even hesitate. I saw a chance and I took it, like a true friend would.”
Twilight merely blinked.
“Uh, surprise,” Starlight weakly cheered, jazz-hooves and all.
But Twilight just stared.
And stared.
And stared.
Starlight Glimmer burned and burned, then shook it up a little, cleared her throat, and burned some more.
Not even a ‘thank you.’
“That’s just a foal’s story,” Twilight uttered in a weird, hollow voice. “Stop playing games. How could you even joke about this…”
She is furious. “I… They’re real, Twilight,” Starlight strongly replied. “The Ladies of Flutter Valley are real, and I traded my horn to them so you could survive.” She smiled warmly. “And I’d do it again, without a second thought.” Though in truth, it was an accident, and Starlight hadn’t known what she was giving up. But this version was a lot more epic.
But Twilight merely dropped her gaze.
She still didn’t say ‘thank you.’ She just made a small, indiscernible sound.
Fear gripped Starlight’s heart tight. Why was Twilight reacting this way? She advanced, ready to pull her former teacher into a hug. “Hey...”
She stopped when Twilight’s head began to turn left… then right. “No,” she whimpered, barely a whisper, then in an actual whisper, “No… No,” Twilight declared in a normal voice. “No!” She slammed her hoof down. “No, no, no! I won’t believe it, I refuse to! They’re just a foal’s story, Starlight! And Spike’s got a lot of nerve—” Twilight gasped, swiftly bringing a hoof to her mouth. “I… I grounded him to his room,” she breathed, as if now realizing. “With no gems! I punished Spike for telling me the truth!”
Starlight staggered back, her mind spinning with all this new information crashing into her reality. This wasn’t what she was hoping for. None of this was meant to happen. Twilight, Fluttershy, anypony involved with this fiasco of a mission wouldn’t have been if Starlight kept it together and told the truth however many days ago.
She’d been expecting Twilight to wrap her in a hug and shower her with thanks. How stupid was she?
"Twilight?” Her horrified gaze shifted in her direction. “Are you... mad at me?” I wouldn’t blame you if you were. I’m mad at myself right now! Starlight wanted to laugh, but that would demand too much strength.
A couple feet away, Twilight turned her body, her open mouth closing. She blinked, stammering, “N-no… No, Starlight, of course not. I’m just… surprised, I guess! Eh, not to mention a little bit concerned—”
"Please, Twilight!" Starlight snapped stiffly. "Whatever you're about to say, just,” Starlight choked, and all the tension in her muscles fled. Her very bones ached with exhaustion. “Just don't. Please. Whether it's, 'I'm sorry for your loss,' or 'you must be feeling devastated,’ whatever you feel like you have to say to me, I assure you, it isn't necessary. This is all fine.” A moment of silence boomed thunderously. “I’m fine."
"My goodness, Starlight..." Tears sprung to Twilight's eyes. "Here, come here."
Starlight stuck a hoof between her and the advancing princess. "No, stop! Stop. I want you to listen to me, Twilight." Although a hug sounded heavenly right now, this needed to be said. "Twilight... I did this all for you. I wanted this."
“I... I know. N-now.” Twilight blinked. Twilight swallowed. Twilight opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it without uttering a word. "Starlight, you lost your horn.”
"I did."
"I heard you scream!" Tears flashed in Twilight's eyes. “I keep hearing you scream, Starlight. When I’m alone I hear you, begging me for help when I’ve no idea how. I haven’t even slept because when I try, I see you gaping beside the mirror, trying to process what had even happened! You were devastated, Starlight. I thought you were devastated. Everypony else does! But now you’re telling me you… exchanged it on my behalf and I…”
Twilight shook her head, exhaling quietly.
“It’s a little much to wrap my head around,” she finished lightly.
“I can imagine why,” Starlight laughed. It was quite the story, after all.
A smile tried its way to Twilight’s face, but crumbled halfway. If only she knew the truth beforehand, all of this energy spent unnecessarily fearing for Starlight could have been avoided.
“Look,” she sighed, “I get it, I know how you feel. Anypony would.” Starlight evaded Twilight’s dubious, albeit pitiful gaze. “You’re taken aback by the fact that I gave up something valuable for your life,” she stated.
“‘Valuable’ is an understatement.”
Starlight shrugged. “Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe. Point is, guilt’s got you trapped like a pit of quicksand. You can’t get out, you fight it, only to sink deeper… Yeah, I know what that feels like.”
Silence fell, as Starlight couldn’t think of what to say next. What should she say?
Twilight chortled feebly before she could decide. “I appreciate your empathy, Starlight, I do. But I’m not exactly feeling a hundred percent at the moment...” She gazed off to the side, brow knitted. What was she thinking about?
“Hey now,” Starlight lifted Twilight’s chin, whose guilty gaze fell back to the floor, “Twilight,” she said slowly, drawing the pony’s attention. “I’m not asking you to be happy about this.”
She imagined their places swapped. Harmony knows I wouldn’t be.
“That would be unreasonable,” Starlight continued. “But I am telling you not to feel responsible for my choices. I made them. I wanted to make them. Now I’ll have to live with it, but I can do so with a clear conscience, knowing I’ve repaid you.”
Twilight’s solemn gaze yanked back, colored with surprise. “Wait, what does that mean?”
“That this is what friends do. A certain princess taught me that,” she added, winking.
Twilight blinked before shaking her head. “Starlight, you... are taking this far better than I am,” she gushed. Her sudden smile faltered.
Starlight chuckled, sensing the mood lighten just a little. “I’ve gotten good at it,” she grunted, stretching each foreleg as though it were a rigorous exercise.
“It’s just,” Twilight stammered, “you love magic. It's your whole world, and you just... just... I don't even know where to begin with that!"
Twilight’s accuracy was deadly, nearly piercing Starlight in the heart. “Well, it’s just another bag I’ll have to carry, so to speak. Pretty used to it by this point. What’s one more?”
“I wish you didn’t have to.” Twilight stammered. “I mean, I wish you never had such a past that made this normal.”
Starlight shrugged. It wasn’t a big deal. Besides, she deserved as much as she could carry and then some…
Her teacher’s eyes watered again. “Oh, Starlight.” The alicorn stepped forward, and wrapped a foreleg around Starlight’s neck. She did the same, tightly. “If you really are okay with this,” said Twilight, “then I am, too.”
Warmth tickled her from within; smiling was finally easy again. “Sheesh, Twilight. Emotional much?” Starlight wondered shakily. She chuckled deeply at the hoof Twilight thumped into her side—it tickled so much.
After a few moments, Twilight patted her back twice before retreating, rubbing her eyes. “You’re...” she snuffled, “You’re such a strong pony.” Her voice sounded thick as glue. “You’re a kind pony, generous, and loyal, too. I’m proud of you, Starlight.”
“Oh, it was nothing,” she replied casually. “I kinda see it as like giving up a kidney! Except, you know, we both get to live to a ripe old age!" she said with a nervous laugh.
Twilight frowned, sternly. “Ponies don’t lose years after giving up a kidney.”
“Oh! Then it’s exactly like giving up a kidney.” Starlight snorted at Twilight’s reaction: an exasperated headshake. “So how are you feeling?” A beat. “Health-wise, that is."
Twilight huffed, as if annoyed by the question. "Like a newborn filly, though, that's the least of my concerns."
Shadows chased the light back into Twilight’s horn as its glow retreated into a shimmering sheath. All at once, Starlight whooped softly, feeling her body tingle as the blanket untangled from her flanks and lower back, the ground falling away at once.
In a single flurry of movement, Twilight had stretched the disheveled blanket across her bed, set Starlight down, and piled logs from the stack beside her fireplace. With eyes drawn shut, a gush of white sparks hissed from the alicorn’s longer horn, igniting the logs with a gentle blaze. A jittery, ruddy glow awashed the crystal floors, walls and ceiling soft and glowing.
Magic sure was useful. “Speedy,” Starlight remarked.
“I’m pressed for time. Sorry, by the way. For using magic.” The minute a groan slipped from Starlight’s lips, her former teacher scrambled to add “Sorry! Sorry. I can’t help myself sometimes.”
“It’s fine,” said Starlight, waving it off. “Just don’t treat me like an eggshell you have to trot lightly on.”
“Yes. Of course.” With a glow of the horn, the two big reading chairs spun towards one another from where they sat upon the fireplace. “Would you like to sit?”
Starlight stuck a hoof out, prepared to take that offer, when a thought struck her stiff. “I thought you said you were pressed for time?”
Twilight actually rolled her eyes with a scoff. “It can wait. This is more important.”
“Right.” Starlight grinned, trotting to the farthest chair. It had been two weeks since the last time they’d shared a normal conversation. Yet, this was so unlike Twilight. It was a little awesome hearing her buck obligations for once, but also concerning.
The last thing Starlight wanted was to be the cause of more trouble.
Wait… A familiar guilt returned, pricking her heart sudden and deeply. I’m the reason somepony in particular is suffering at this very moment.
As Twilight climbed up her seat, it suddenly hit, body and soul, like a runaway stagecoach.
“Fluttershy!” Starlight staggered away from the chair. “I... I need to see her! I need to tell Fluttershy I'm okay!" And that it’s not her fault.
“Starlight, wait!"
The teal bolts crackling from Starlight's horn flickered off midway through her cry, a sharp burn clawing into her skull.
"F-forgot," she gasped, collapsing. Starlight held her head with one hoof while the other extended towards a fast-approaching Twilight. After the pulsing quickly receded, Starlight lifted her miserable face and regarded her best friend’s.
Twilight looked miserable despite her assurance of, "I'm alright."
She smiled, despite how clearly heartbroken she was by the sight. "I know you are," she said, gently.
Starlight smiled back, despite her headache. She’s actually respecting my strength.
The pain reminded her of Hydia, and a sudden twisting in Starlight’s chest made her grimace. She imagined Fluttershy, beholding the matriarch in all her gargantuan horror. Watching, as she strangled Starlight in one boiled claw as she broke her horn off with the other.
The mental image was bloodcurdling.
“You think I can go now? It’s not too late, is it?” Starlight climbed up her chair, propping herself on its arm to squint across the flickering, orange bedroom. The curtains were drawn, but their solid violet coloring said the outside was just as dark.
Behind her, Twilight giggled a soft, feather-light sound. "You're a great friend, Starlight. But we’ll go tomorrow. We'll go together. Stop, right there! No compromises. This is final." Starlight clamped her mouth shut.
"Fine," she sighed, emphasizing how much she hated this. From the corner of her eye, Twilight smirked knowingly. A similarly wry smile came to Starlight before it was crushed under the weight in her chest. “I just feel bad,” she confessed.
“Me, too. Poor Fluttershy’s just been inconsolable.” Twilight pursed her lips, thinking. “I’m hoping,” she carefully began, “that when she sees you, and talks to you like I have, we can help her move past this."
“Mm-hm!” Starlight nodded, grinning broadly—forcefully.
“Is something wrong, Starlight?” Twilight wondered, in that, ‘There’s clearly something wrong, please tell me,’ tone of hers.
At that moment, Starlight only knew that Fluttershy felt guilty, for whatever reason. As if she could have done anything against a monster like Hydia? Nopony could.
Starlight briefly considered brushing Twilight’s concerns aside. “When I say, ‘I feel bad?’ I’m really saying, ‘I feel completely horrible.’ Fluttershy was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why did she have to be there, out of all our friends?” Just the thought of Hydia’s cloaked, eyeless face prickled her back with goosebumps.
“I really couldn’t tell you. Cruel things happen to good ponies sometimes.” Her smile was audible, its warmth reaching through that of the fire. “We just have to be there for those who’re hurting.”
Was she alluding to Starlight? No, that couldn’t be it. They’ve gotten past this already. Starlight looked away from the flames and found Twilight similarly entranced by them.
“Spike... He tried to tell me what had happened. I mean..." Twilight almost gagged on the word, it was utterly preposterous, "Witches. Like actual, cauldron-squatting, omen-reading, deal-making witches. The real things from my actual storybook.” Twilight stared at the fire, her ears wilted and face fixed with concentration.
“You think that’s hard to believe? I couldn’t begin to tell you what they really are. I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Fluttershy could only describe what she saw as ‘big’ and ‘scary.’”
Starlight snorted, realizing too late that it was because her friend was too traumatized to elaborate further. “Well,” she laughed uneasily, “that’s not exactly inaccurate. To be honest, I can hardly believe they’re real.”
“What were they like? How close were they to the source material?” Twilight tapped her chin. “Except, I suppose they’re the source material, and the book is the adaptation.”
“Ah, now I see.”
“See what?”
“I see that book adaptations of historical events and figures are never a good idea.”
Twilight giggled at the flames, which was easier to laugh with instead of an awkward silence. The Friendship Journal was a vivid memory. Poor Twilight had her heart set on the thing, and it backfired like some sort of divine tragedy.
“I take it they were completely different?” she asked.
A shudder rippled through Starlight. “In ways you truly can’t imagine. I’m just glad I’ll never have to see them again.” She grunted with disgust as another shiver shot through her.
Twilight didn’t seem to get it. “I’ve been reading Tall Tales ever since I was a foal,” she said wistfully. “It’s mind-boggling to think they’re real.” Her hooves clopped together. “Who knew out of everything in that book, it was Hydia and her daughters that got the Nightmare Moon treatment!?”
“Makes you wonder how many of them are the same,” Starlight offered. Maybe there was a loose adaptation about the Crystal Empire’s downfall. “Hey, Twilight—”
“I should have believed him,” she murmured, her voice faint and dead. Starlight looked and found her eyes shut. “A lot of arguing and worrying could’ve been avoided if I had. Retrospectively speaking, Spike had offered the only logical explanation for everything that’s happened, but I just refused to listen. I didn’t even want to entertain the idea that he was right.”
Willfully ignoring a hypothesis out of fear? That doesn’t sound like Twilight. Starlight shifted in her seat, nestling into its plush depths. “I don’t mean to sound prying, but, why didn’t you?”
“How could I, when you—?” Twilight suddenly caught herself from revealing something. She began mimicking Spike’s voice. “‘Oh, hey Twilight. So, the reason you got better and why a monster attacked Starlight was because she struck a bargain with the characters of a foal’s story.’” She shook her head, grimacing with shame. “I doubted Spike. I disrespected his age and maturity because a part of me was too scared to believe him.”
What heartless gargoyle would wholeheartedly accept that they were the reason a tragedy had befallen their friend? Except this wasn’t a tragedy, of course, but it looked that way to Twilight.
“I was being totally irrational!” she continued. “It got to the point where I accused him of, of treating this like a game, that he wasn’t taking this seriously, that he should stop reading those silly comic books.” A smile of disbelief flitted across her muzzle. “As if they were the source of such a horrible theory? And Spike would never concoct something so horrible all on his own, so...” Twilight shook her head once more. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You just weren’t.” Twilight huffed, smiling at that. Except Starlight was being serious. “I know exactly how you feel,” she explained. “Emotions make us do stupid things sometimes—all the time in my case.”
Twilight turned to her, her grin as soft as the orange glow dancing on her coat. “I take it you’re something of an expert,” she quipped.
Starlight’s hooves rose to the heavens. “Tis the curse I bear, O Princess Twilight.” The pony across from her snickered politely into her foreleg. “Don’t beat yourself up though, alright? I’m sure that Spike understands.”
“He wouldn’t talk to me last night. I knocked on his door and he wouldn’t answer. And he didn’t every time I brought him meals,” Twilight listed.
The reality was cringeworthy. “Yeah, well, what I meant was he’d understand once you explain it! Spike’s a reasonable little guy, and I’m willing to bet he feels the same for you as he did me. ‘Desperate’ was the word, I think.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’m serious! I mean, the whole thing did sound totally far-fetched.”
Twilight shook her head. “I get what you’re saying, but it’s more than that. I pushed Spike away, deciding once again not to trust a friend. My best friend, at that. He’d push back, and all I’d hear was the sound of your…” Her eyes briefly squeezed shut. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll tell him he’s ungrounded before I leave.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it! I gotcha.”
Twilight cocked her head. “Are you sure?” She really did always put others before herself—even when she didn’t need to.
“Of course.” Starlight waved it off. “You’ve got a thing to go to! Plus I need an excuse to confront Spike, and this’ll force me to now. Whoof, that’s gonna be a conversation.” Starlight didn’t even know what kind it would be—only that it would be a conversation. “Out of curiosity, what’s the thing you’re going to?”
“The thing? Oh, a real break from the status quo.”
“Town-wide party?”
“Yep!” Starlight threw her head back, cackling. “Hey, be nice. It’s for a good reason.”
Starlight continued snorting into her hoof. “My, oh, my. What could the excuse be this time?”
“The Princess of Friendship’s miraculous recovery.”
Starlight was silent a moment, before she simply replied with a nod. She wondered what narrative Twilight would weave—the pity party for her broken friend, or the one where Starlight Glimmer was strong enough to shoulder this burden like a grownup.
“Don’t worry—”
“So! You, uh, gonna tell them how you got better?” she chuckled.
Twilight said nothing, but her eyes blinked slowly, as if to say, ‘Really?’ A smile eased onto her face. “I’ve lucked out,” she said, “in that this is a Ponyville party.”
“Right,” Starlight agreed.
Twilight nodded. “So, everypony’s just looking for a reason to celebrate. Plus a lot of my friends want to see me. I’ve not had a single pony ask how I got better, so I’m going in, hoping they still won’t.”
“And if somepony does…?”
Twilight snuggled into her seat. “I’ll play dumb,” she grunted, rolling onto her back, “unless you don’t want me to.” She ended up splayed across the chair, hind hooves propped on the arm facing the fireplace. Two thin shadows cut down her face.
“Oh, just tell them. They’ll all find out eventually.”
Silence fell between them
‘Everypony will know what you did. Everypony will love you for it. Except the one who matters most.’
Starlight refocused, realizing she’d been just staring at the lounging alicorn.
“We'll discuss this tomorrow over breakfast.” Twilight turned her head. “Unless you want to come with me—”
"Yeah, um... I'm good, on the party scene for now.”
Although she loved a Ponyville party, Starlight’s heart didn’t rise at the prospect this time. It was snug in her gut, heavy with anxiety. A feeling, or something. At the very least, a reminder that she wasn’t utterly heartbroken from the initial reaction two days prior.
Really, she just felt tired.
“I think I wanna spend the next day or so learning to live with this.” Starlight gestured to her stump.
Instead of easing Twilight’s worries, she bit the tip of her hoof worriedly: her ‘deep in thought’ quirk when there was usually a quill or pencil instead. “Maybe I shouldn’t go…” she pondered.
Starlight threw her head up, groaning. “Twilight!” to the flickering orange ceiling.
"Okay! Okay," her friend laughed. "I’m sorry. I know that I can be a little overwhelming as a mentor. But it's because I care, not only as the Princess of Friendship, but also your friend."
A warmth swelled within. Don't you see what I see, Twilight? Why you're worth this sacrifice? Starlight kept her mouth shut, wishing to avoid another pity party. Her belly gently writhed, fluttering warmly. Sighing, Starlight felt truly, finally content. “This was nice.” The fire crackled between them, its glow warming Starlight’s coat.
“Yeah?” Twilight’s voice was quiet.
“Since we’ve sat down, this conversation’s been exactly what I’d needed after these last couple weeks.”
“You’re telling me,” said Twilight, crossing her hind legs. “While our conversation has maintained a relevant link throughout, the rest of the last two weeks had never crossed my mind. Not once.”
“Same.”
“Not since you started distracting me,” she teased.
Starlight shook a hoof at her. “Curses! You’ve figured out my plan.”
“Hey, I said nothing about wanting to foil it.” Twilight grinned, readjusting the foreleg slung across her chest. “Anyway, I completely understand: no worries, no pain, nothing bad hanging overhead. I’d forgotten what it feels like.”
“To not be totally and utterly stressed?”
“Mm.” Twilight gave a nod. “My pure, stupid euphoria from the other day comes the closest, but I only remember how I felt at the end. But this has been… normal,” she decided, to Starlight’s delight. “And I’m oddly glad for that.”
Starlight allowed herself to fall, a plush embrace swallowing her back for the first time. “I’m glad we can still talk like everything’s normal. B-because it is.” A short sigh. Smooth, Starlight. Very smooth.
“Look,” she clarified. “I know things are gonna be different now. But the parts that matter are still the same—that’s what’s been nice this whole time.” Starlight swallowed, gathering her thoughts. “How we act, treat each other? I don't want that to change—our dynamic, I suppose you’d call it. Not because of this,” she concluded, gesturing to her forehead.
“It won’t,” Twilight said immediately. “I promise.”
A warmth swelled inside of Starlight.
It tickled her so badly she couldn’t stand to be far from her amazing friend for a second longer. Starlight pranced the short distance between them, saying, “That’s all I ask.” Twilight simply watched her, smiling broadly. Her lazy, grinning face rose as Starlight bent, the ponies encircling their forelegs around each other’s necks.
They embraced, tight, warm. Starlight felt a soft, rapid drumming upon her fluffy bosom, as well as within it.
"I can't make any promises for myself, though,” Twilight warned her teasingly. “It’s gonna take some time getting used to all this.”
“You’re telling me,” Starlight laughed, pulling away.
Twilight gave a pointed look, smiling wryly. “Thought it’ll be an adjusting period for some,” she sat up, “I’d nearly forgotten how strong you are. I am so proud of you, Starlight.”
Those words tickled a titter out of her. “Jeez, Twilight, stop! You’re embarrassing me.” Starlight brushed her mane. “It’s not that big of a deal…”
“Yes, it is! Come here!” Twilight demanded. Starlight whooped as solid ground fell away, and she was thrown into the alicorn’s wide, open-winged embrace.
Feathers and softness closed around her like a blanket, toasty all around. Strong with love. Starlight buried her muzzle into Twilight’s neck.
Oh, yeah.
She wouldn’t trade this if her life depended on it.