//------------------------------// // (Honesty) The Broken Life - III.I - The Coming Storm // Story: The Broken Bond // by TheApexSovereign //------------------------------// "I didn't want to be a disappointment to anypony, and I ended up being a disappointment to everypony...." III Honesty The Broken Life Twilight Sparkle was the Princess of Friendship. Spike was right. Not once did Starlight consider how Twilight would really feel about her now-crippled friend, about being the reason for it all. Within the shadow-drenched wall her bed was set against, Starlight envisioned Twilight at a party, surrounded by the damp, relieved faces of her Ponyville friends. Her smile looked painfully forced, as herself would be when plopped in the midst of a party comprised primarily of strangers, struggling to find something to talk about. Twilight, similarly, was trying desperately to acclimate, to lose herself in the revelry of her own party. But all she could think about was her ex-student back home—how she gave up her precious magic, crippled herself, all for her. How she was only here now, enjoying cake and punch with Lyra and Bon Bon and DJ-Pon3 and the rest, because of the sacrifice Starlight had made on her behalf. She was there, and Starlight was at home, learning how to open a door again. By herself. Starlight blinked, back in the void of her own bedroom. Why didn’t Twilight insist on staying home, if that was the likely case? There’s no doubt she would have done so if, say, Rarity or Rainbow Dash were in the same boat. Then again, Starlight wasn’t them. One of Twilight's best friends. She wasn’t Pinkie or Applejack, Fluttershy, or Spike or Sunset Shimmer or Princess Celestia or anypony as important as them. Starlight muffled a whimper into her blanket, in case anypony passed by. She could have sworn hoofsteps clopped down the hall around one in the morning. Stuck in this loop of fantasizing and griefing, light eventually bled into Starlight’s bedroom, painting the walls blue and bringing out the stars of her personal midnight sky, the kites she’d made with Maud, Trixie and Twilight; sharpening the greens of her various window fauna, and highlighting her now-overflowing wastebasket. Damp warmth stung icily against her cheeks at nothing, and everything, and she didn't know why. Get over yourself, Starlight. Get a grip. She had to if she planned on seeing Twilight today. But she couldn't help herself throughout the night. It was like touching a hot stove over and over again. Though, if that were literal, Starlight’s hoof should have been ash by now. Or in this case, her brain, though she felt it throbbing angrily in her skull as if ready to burst. Starlight tittered at the thought. It was a joke, after all! Just a joke. Her fantasies were simply that: fantasies. Obviously Twilight cared for her as much as any of her friends. She'd worked hard trying to break Starlight of this negative thinking. Starlight would be a failure on Twilight's part if her own, messed-up way of looking at things undid all of Twilight’s progress. I can’t let these doubts get to me, she recited. In the worst case scenario, Twilight was upset with her for being thoughtless. At best, she blamed herself. They were the only logical conclusions after going over her behavior last night ad nauseam: the evasiveness, the sudden need to leave. She might've felt so guilty over this mess, or maybe angry with Starlight’s flippant treatment of the whole thing. Of course Starlight insisted she attend the party, but wouldn't Twilight have said "to heck with this" no matter how much she assured her? It was looking more and more like Twilight was upset, as far as Starlight could see. Regardless, she couldn’t bring herself to be around last night. In either case, it was Starlight's actions that drove her away. In all likelihood, she was happy to have an excuse to leave. Twilight was just way too polite to let her true feelings show. Yes, this had to be the reason. Starlight's gut rolled around and around, knowing the truth. Her gut never steered her wrong, except about Our Town. And the bottling incident. Also the Pharynx near-fiasco. Her poor judgement of the Flutter Valley coven was also... poor... Grotesque, monstrous forms flashed in mind, and clawed down Starlight's back with a chill that made her shudder. Forget them. Twilight’s mad at me, I need to fix it. Not a big deal. She’d made Twilight mad before—her cheeks burned as that affair with the brainwashing and the friendship lessons came rushing back. Another reason that losing my horn was a good thing: I won’t be performing anymore dangerous magic all willy-nilly. That was the problem: Starlight was too far up her own butt to acknowledge anypony else’s perspective, just her own delusions. In a bizarre, kind-of-horrible way, losing her horn could very well be the best thing that ever happened to Starlight and Equestria at large. Starlight shook her head. There I go again, just sliding my head up my own rear-end! In reality, everypony seemed broken up about this, if Spike's reaction was of any indication. By extension, everypony must be more focused on Starlight than the fact that Twilight was alive to be upset with her in the first place! So sentimental, short-sighted, yet... amazing all the same. Starlight was incredibly lucky and she had the gall to begrudge any of it. She had to be stronger than she was last night. I have to be. For everypony’s sake. They shouldn't feel bad because of my mistakes. It just wasn't fair. The idea of having stewed mayhem within their circle, because of her own thoughtlessness one again, made Starlight sick to her stomach. These days made it especially unacceptable, what with everypony so busy. It didn't take a genius to know that running a fashion empire, keeping up with the greatest aerial relay team in all of Equestria, or maintaining one's family income left little time to act as a hypothetical shoulder to cry on. For a pony who brought this on themselves, no less! Especially one who was a foolish unicorn five years their senior. It's staggering, looking back. It truly made her head spin. Starlight had infiltrated the group at a time where every one of them was entering a sort of "transitional phase,” where their lives were in the midst of great changes. She’d spent a great deal of time across that first week learning about her new friends. Each of them had unique, awe-inspiring stories, filled with struggles internal and external. Applejack never asked for help managing her family. Rainbow grew from a competitor into a teammate all on her own. Rarity clawed through so much nonsense, trying to make a name for herself, and she did so on her own merits. Though Fluttershy had tons of help from friends, it was her own strength that helped her flower into a more outgoing pony. Even Pinkie Pie, who prided herself on making others happy, learned its many forms and applications outside of her “sugar-rush days,” as Twilight called them. Like all the others, it was through her own trials and tribulations did Pinkie learn to grow. It was a surreal experience, hearing of the children they used to be, and knowing the near-perfection they now were. For a time, they only accentuated Starlight’s own failings. She quickly got over herself, and used her inadequacy to meet their standards. I'm too old not to take care of this myself anyway. When stripped away of all the prettiness, that's what they were all about: growth through struggle. Starlight, in her own way, was no different. She'd lived most of her life alone—she learned magic on her own, started her village on her own, she modified spells on her own and saved Twilight on her own... ...This? This was nothing compared to those. Sweet Celestia were they making it difficult, though. "Oh! Starlight! Good morning," chirped a familiar, friendly voice. She giggled before rephrasing, "Or should I say, good afternoon? It’s practically lunchtime!" This was too weird. Obviously an act. Starlight could hardly care, much less keep her eyes wide open. "Sleep well?" asked Spike, shoveling what Starlight could only assume were gemstone pancakes. The turquoise blobs infesting it was a clear giveaway. "Hi. Fine. Too early for words." Starlight strolled to an empty spot at the table, squinting her crusty eyes. 'Zombie Glimmer,' her housemates often joked. When she rose from the metaphorical dead, Zombie Glimmer spoke solely in curt mutterings and the occasional grunt. Only the flaky, buttery flesh of toast, or the blood of a roast brew with sugar, could sate the beast and revive their friend. As per tradition, she bumped gently into the golden roundtable with a blunt, "Oof." She paid no mind to the snorts of laughter, because Starlight, in a change of pace, wasn’t a shambling undead trying to awaken, but rather stay awake at all. Two hours of sleep would do that to a pony. "So," began Starlight, smacking her lips, "how was everypony's night?" “Um, fine! Just fine.” Twilight seemed happy. “Slept like a baby!” cheered Spike. “Fine.” Huh, so Maud was joining them, too. Starlight blinked hard, uttering, “That’s great to hear," before opening her aching peepers again. The dining hall's amethyst columns had become less jagged, the blobs on top sharpening into hearts. The wall of emerald windows, glowing bright, focused, with their tree silhouettes thinning, growing individual branches akin to the Tree of Harmony. The small array of breakfast was far more unique, interesting, and appetizing. She spied toast piled atop a platter directly before her, and beyond that, a fluffy mountain of scrambled egg and a fancy bowl beside it brimming with applesauce. Starlight willed a ladle over to the starburst-printed plate before her. Or rather, she imagined it did. Her ears burned; hopefully, silence meant everypony was eating. Only then did it hit Starlight: Spike must have told Twilight everything that happened last night. He was a filly scout like that. And for Starlight, that meant… Well, it meant nothing good. She just had to play it cool. Starlight forced her eyes to open wide. Across the table was Twilight, who averted her gaze back to her plate, smiling. Avoiding. Play it cool, Starlight remembered. Though her stomach craved applesauce, Starlight didn’t want to make a show of clambering across the table and then flinging the bowl into her face with a misplaced step. The toast sat before her in reach—and was more delicious, besides. Starlight dropped her mouth open, awaiting that buttery softness to float inside. She closed her mouth, blinking another slow blink. "Right. No magic." The scrape of knives and forks stopped, suddenly flooding the room with silence. "Starlight, would you like some—?" CLACK! The unicorn slammed her face upon the plate before Twilight could finish. Starlight, ever so inconspicuous, straightened up, nibbling on half a piece of toast like a goat with a carrot in its mouth. “Um, Starlight?” The sharp, salty tang of hot butter was heavenly enough to drown out Twilight's concern. Couldn't she see that Starlight could handle this fine? She gnawed on her breakfast until the piece in her mouth was completely bitten off, and her toast fell against the plate with a soft, wet thump. “Yoohoo, Starlight!” “Give it a rest, Twi.” After a sharp scrape, Spike continued with a mouthful. “You’re not gonna pull her out of Nirvana.” Has she been trying to get my attention? Starlight opened her eyes and found Twilight’s daintily folded forehooves, then Spike’s breakfast, then back to Twilight and her spotless plate. "Yep," Starlight agreed, unable to think of something better. Like an idiot. “Did you sleep okay?” Twilight asked. Starlight barely had time to work out a less-worrying response (because what was better than absolute silence?) before she said, “I see you eyeing the applesauce. You want some? Here!” With a painful, magical whine, pulpy yellow sauce plopped upon Starlight's plate. “Here, have another." And she did. "Spike said you didn’t eat last night, you should keep your strength up and recover." “Twilight,” hissed her assistant. The mare grinned broadly. “Sorry, sorry!” “S’okay,” Starlight mumbled, wondering how the heck she was supposed to eat this stuff. She didn't feel like asking for a straw. “Starlight?” Heart skipping a beat, she gazed at Spike’s pale, green underbelly, remembering how much trouble she'd caused last night. “Is there something wrong with, uh, your applesauce?” He chuckled breezily—painfully forced, obviously. “You’ve been eyeballing it like it wronged you or something.” Starlight inhaled sharply. “Spike,” Twilight hissed. Then the tension-stiff forelegs propping her folded, dropping the princess with a smile Starlight only spotted in her peripherals. “Ah-heh, Starlight! Um, is there something you need help with? Feel free to ask! No biggie at all.” “Oh, nice one, Twilight. A-plus.” “Oh, like your little joke was any better!” “You both should be a little more conscientious." Starlight felt eyes on her. Eyes from all directions, judging her, thinking about her beneath their pleasant smiles. They all knew she was weak and fake. Oh, gosh! If they didn't think something was up before, they sure do now. She needed to eat this applesauce. They were waiting for her to make a move. But how? Starlight recalled the time they all had pancakes in the Map Room, how nearly everypony just buried their faces in and chowed down. Sticky and messy faces all around; it was so strange, yet none of them had any shame. They didn’t care. It must be relieving to live that way. “Hey, Starlight—” She tensed. Twilight’s going to ask again! Starlight slammed her muzzle into the plate of applesauce. “Nice job,” remarked a deep, raspy voice. “Oh, hush you,” hissed Twilight. “You’re really demonstrating the magic of friendship, Princess.” “I'm trying my best, quit heckling me!” “...Apologies.” Starlight barely heard the two argue over the sounds of slurping, and her own dignity shattering into fine dust. Eventually, a hoof touched her with a gentle, “Starlight,” coming from directly beside her. “Mmf?!” Flushing Starlight gulped. Across the table, Twilight’s seat was empty. "What? This is how I have to eat from now on!" She tittered at it, to (just in case it didn't fool them) prove she was just being silly and not actually serious. She must have looked like a freak. For one second, the most painful, silent second of Starlight’s life passed. ‘TiMe To PaY uP...!’ echoed from the depths of her memory. It was the most painful she could recall, actually. “Starlight," said Twilight, keeping a hoof on her, “haven’t you noticed anything different about this breakfast?” Starlight felt herself heat up. Was this a trick question? “Um, I’ll assume it isn’t the fact that I’m magicless?” Starlight grinned broadly to smother her heartache. Twilight let out a chuckle, brief and strained. “No, n-no. But you're so sleepy you haven’t even noticed that somepony's here to see you.” Her hoof extended into view, pointing left. At the end of it, Starlight found a large pony that wasn’t actually Maud Pie, who’d been sitting in what was usually her own spot at the breakfast table. “Oh. Uh, hi there.” Starlight grinned, trying to be polite. But Tempest Shadow’s reasoning for being here was so, painfully obvious, she'd have to be literally blind not to see it jutting from both their foreheads. Tempest nodded at her, about as emotive as a statue. She had an aura of wanting to be anywhere but here. Like this was beneath her. Intimidating, in a word, and it wasn't because of her past. Tempest was reformed, and therefore trustworthy. But Starlight never thought a normal pony could get as large as Cadance, especially one who was more lithe than any pony she'd ever met. Instead of that dainty, “glass” physique which made the Princess of Love appear as fragile as a porcelain doll, this pony was built from hard muscle like a puzzle. Something made of separate parts, cemented together to make one staggering specimen of a mare. Clearly the type who did extreme sports in her downtime instead of cuddling up with a good book, and that was but one of many difference between them that Starlight could sense. She only caught a glimpse of Tempest’s jagged little crown before forcing her gaze elsewhere—those world-worn hooves wrapped around a steaming mug. It was so unbelievably rude to have so much as glanced at it. Starlight wouldn’t want anypony gawking at her own maiming, after all. “Sorry I missed you at the Friendship Festival,” she said casually. “I’d heard you slipped out shortly after it was over. Some kinda soul-searching beyond Equestria?” “...In a way.” “That’s nice.” Starlight empathized. “Your guilt must have been a burden to carry, tryna find some kind of atonement. Am I right?” “Mhm.” A pregnant pause. Nothing more. "Cool, cool." Not super chatty, huh? Or maybe Tempest just didn't like her. It made sense, considering the purely empirical kinship they shared. Starlight must have been disgusting in her eyes. “Um, so… ho-how'd Twilight reach you way out there?" A cool smile eased to Tempest, or rather Fizzlepop’s, lips. "I was gone, but not forever," she purred, making Starlight almost wince—she didn't expect such a mature voice. This mare was old enough to be her mother! "It seems that no matter where life takes me, it always leads back home." It was impossible to tell if she was content with this fact. She wasn't straightforward like Maud, either. Beside Starlight, the soft clanging of silverware and two hooves upon the table resounded. "Fizzlepop only got in a week ago," Twilight explained. "You wouldn't believe the town she's been staying at." "Oh?” Starlight smirked at the mare in question. “Would I know it, by any chance?" "I should hope so, considering you built it!" said Twilight. Starlight felt her little heart shrink to the size of a grape. Oh gosh what did they say about me. To top it off, never could a smile be as intimidating as Fizzlepop's. "So you're that 'first mayor' they'd mentioned. Cute place, though a little too... smiley." A shrug of the shoulder. "Suppose that's Equestria for you." Her blue eyes pierced Starlight’s soul, as bright as ice under the sun. She just nodded, grinning wide. But Fizzlepop’s face was a book without any words, and dashed that in record time. How did she want ponies to talk to her? Did she even want ponies to talk to her? Did she like other ponies besides Twilight? How much did she know about Starlight? What did she think of her fellow crippled unicorn? Don't be foalish, Starlight. The world doesn't revolve around you. The tightness in her chest didn’t unwind. Oh Celestia I'm so awkward and she's just staring at me with those dang eyes! Fizzlepop blinked slowly, as if everything else was a waste of time. This was a mare who committed atrocities worse than Starlight's, and wasn't rendered meek as a kitchen mouse from the guilt. Twilight did say she was a truly strong pony, Starlight mused. I didn't know she meant mentally as well! "I am sorry for missing your party," Fizzlepop intoned. Starlight couldn’t believe that Maud was easier to read than this pony. "No, the blame's on me." Twilight walked behind Starlight, around the table towards Fizzlepop. "I'd forgotten to tell Pinkie Pie you were back in Equestria. Trust me, you would have been here otherwise! She'd make sure of it." Oh. That party. Not the one from last night. Fizzlepop hummed. "Perhaps it's best that you forgot, then. Knowing Pinkie, I'd zap her as soon as she 'surprised' me by accident." "I think she would have been fine," Starlight tittered. The ex-unicorn simply smiled at her before dropping a neutral stare at her empty plate. It was a pleasantry, that smirk. Starlight felt her face heat up. "So!" Twilight clapped her hooves together. "Starlight, Fizzlepop Berrytwist, now that you two are acquainted, why don't you become familiar with one another while I help Spike with the dishes?" The dragon paused midway in the midst of a shovelling. "But I'm not done!" Twilight didn't spare him a glance as she lifted Spike and his pancakes anyway, as well as everything on the table save for Starlight’s dish and the toast, in a cloud of magenta magic. "Come on, mister." She trotted away, casting a smile to her student, all while Spike swam toward his half-eaten gemstone pancakes as the door shut behind them. Fizzlepop gave a low, brief chuckle. "I like the dragon. He makes me laugh." Starlight forced one to prevent further awkwardness. "Yeah, same." Before a silence could settle, Starlight stepped away from the table. "Listen, Fizzlepop, I'd love to chat,” she lied. “Really, I do! Buuut I've got things to do today. Seeing some friends and whatnot, you know how it is! Or, maybe you don’t, heh. Heh. Um, uh, m-maybe I'll see you at dinner?" Her smile stretched wide—hopefully Fizzlepop wasn't as perceptive as Spike; hopefully she didn't grill Starlight for feelings that weren't there, or utter the dreaded platitude, ‘I know how you feel.' "Fine." Fizzlepop's head bowed. Starlight couldn't help but wince as a pang shot through her, despite the relief felt as well. Was Tempest not here to help her live without a horn? She had to have been. Twilight may be a genius, but she wasn’t particularly subtle. The reasoning behind Fizzlepop's random appearance was obvious. This pony's too cool to care about something like this. Starlight realized, and found she couldn’t blame her. Though that didn't make her feel any less hurt. How pitiful. Fizzlepop has had an unbelievably hard life, one nopony could hope to understand unless guided through a detailed recap of every day since she’d lost her horn. Surely that would last a week, and Fizzlepop wouldn’t want to relive any of it. She likely never had a problem with the quote-unquote "struggles" that Starlight now endured. Wasting not a second later, she galloped out of the dining room, down three corridors, down the stairs of the entrance hall, and, after heaving herself upon it, pushing through the huge, golden doors. Once outside, Starlight cursed out loud. She forgot a book. And there was no way she was going to just meekly trot back inside. Inhaling deeply, Starlight started down the dirt path to Ponyville, wearing a smile. “And you just let her leave?!” Bitter, lemon-tinted hot water washed down the dryness of her toast. “She’s a big mare, Princess,” Tempest answered, staring straight ahead. Twilight bit her hoof, looking so hurt and worried as she rambled around it. “But you didn’t even try to make her stay? What if she isn’t ready for Ponyville yet?” It was even harder not to be jealous of the support Starlight Glimmer had around here, though her evasion was almost frightening; it was like looking in a mirror. Tempest found herself unable to say a thing, for fear of uttering the wrong one. She was always weak, even under the Storm King. It took Twilight for her to realize that. But this pony still had much to learn, fretting like a doting mother. “So you’re going to decide when she’s ready?” Fizzle challenged. Twilight sighed, heavy with the weight of so much for one little pony. It was hard not to pity her. “I don’t know. Maybe you're right, maybe I am worried. I just hope she comes back for dinner.” “And not eat this dragon—I mean, Spike’s cooking?” It was madness. And that at least got a smirk out of Twilight, albeit a weak one. “Look at it this way, Twilight: forcing anything out of her is the very last thing you want to do.” Fizzle took a long sip of chamomile, held gently in both hooves. “Believe me,” she exhaled.