Ask any one of her friends, and they’d usually describe Twilight as “the girl who loves books.” And it was true; Twilight loved to learn for the sake of learning. What most never considered was the other side of the equation, namely that Twilight loved to learn because she so disliked not understanding something. From an early age, she found the very idea of not understanding the hows and whys of a thing disturbing. A world where things happened with no explanation would be chaotic and frightening.
In books, however, she found order to it. There were no mysteries that could not be solved, no problem immune to rational analysis and observation. A library for her was a model of existence, carefully organized and made comprehensible. Inside of one, she felt safe.
And in many ways, she found other ponies to be like books. Every one, a facet of the world that held new knowledge to be discovered. Every one, offering a different point of view and different experiences. Every friendship begun was like the start of a new story to be savored.
And then there was Starlight.
As dear as her other friends were to her, Twilight had never lived with any of them, nor grown as close as she had to Starlight. And yet, much of her past remained a mystery. If she were a book, the first few chapters were torn out. There was so much about her that she didn’t understand.
And if there was one thing that she disliked, it was not understanding something.
Twilight let her hoof fall back to the floor as an awkward silence grew. She wasn’t sure how to approach the problem. Maybe play it light?
“So, any idea why Trixie’s being especially Trixie today?” Twilight ventured.
“No,” replied Starlight with a hint of a smile as she looked up. “This is rare form for her. She managed a self-teleport, broke the dining room table, ruined breakfast, and came up with possibly the silliest idea ever.”
“Yeah,” Twilight snorted, suppressing a laugh. “I mean, the two of you, turning into kids and running races and stuff? What’s up with that?”
“I have no idea,” Starlight laughed. She thought for a moment. “You know what? Pinkie Pie mentioned they were filling a big order for Field Day snacks over at Sugarcube Corner. Maybe this is all an elaborate plan to mooch free cupcakes.”
Twilight guffawed.
“I could almost see her doing that!” she gasped, then looked thoughtful. “So, she’s never mentioned wanting to do anything like this before?”
“Nope.”
“No apparent desire to relive her childhood?”
“Not that she’s ever told me,” Starlight replied.
“Unlike a certain other pony sitting not a million miles from me right now?”
Starlight turned and looked at her sharply. Twilight silently waved the scroll she’d been reading. Starlight sighed.
“Darn it,” she said. “I almost thought you were going to let that drop.”
“I don’t think we should,” Twilight replied, softly.
Starlight turned away, her gaze falling back to the floor. Twilight cautiously extended a wing around her friend and drew her closer. There was a moment’s resistance, then Starlight relaxed. They sat for a moment, both of them silent.
“What happened downstairs?” Twilight asked. “Why did you react like that?”
“Because Trixie was being ridiculous and wouldn’t stop. Like you just said, she was awful.”
“Except you weren’t just mad at her,” Twilight pressed. “You actually seemed scared. Why?”
“I don’t know. Does it really matter?”
“I think it does. Because I don’t get why someone who values childhood memories so much that she’d write a spell to relive one wouldn’t jump at the chance to do something like this.”
“Maybe I don’t value my childhood as much as you think I do,” Starlight replied.
Twilight looked around the bedroom again. The stuffed bear in the corner. The kites. The butterfly poster on the wall.
“I don’t think that’s true. You always tell me how much you loved being with Sunburst back then.”
“True,” said Starlight. “Did you ever stop to consider the other side of that equation?” Twilight thought about it for a moment before the answer dawned on her.
“You’ve said you were only happy when you were together. So, I guess the other side of that is that you were always unhappy when you were apart.”
“That would be an accurate guess on your part,” Starlight quietly replied. “When Sunburst came to visit, I was so excited. My oldest friend was coming, and then I discovered that all I had in common with him were things he’d long outgrown.” She was silent a moment. “I couldn’t relate to him as an adult, so I thought ‘Maybe we could recapture what we had when we were children.’”
She raised her gaze and turned to Twilight.
“I was scared that my one happy memory from then was going to die.”
“Scared like you were downstairs with Trixie?”
Starlight quickly looked away.
“Maybe,” she said. “I don’t know.”
“But why?” Twilight asked. “You had no problem pretending to be a foal with Sunburst. Why not with Trixie?”
“Like I said, with Sunburst I was trying to recapture something. With Trixie and me doing that field day thing? It’d just be like actually being little again.”
“And that scares you?”
“Yes! No! I mean...!” A note of defensiveness crept into Starlight’s voice as she turned back. “It’s silly! I’m an adult now! Anyway, who would ever want to be a child again?”
Again, Twilight looked around Starlight’s room. The kites, the stuffed bear, the butterfly poster. She was close to something. She could feel it.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I imagine some ponies would think it would be fun to be a little kid again. No big responsibilities, having others to take care of you… You have to admit, it sounds appealing.”
“Not to me!” Starlight retorted, growing more irritated. “You know what being little is? It’s being weak! And helpless! And being…!” She broke off, stifling a sob.
“Being what?” asked Twilight. Starlight tried to turn away, but Twilight caught her face between her hooves and forced her to look her in the eyes. “Please, talk to me. Being what?”
Starlight swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut. Twilight saw the hint of a tear escape the corner of one. “Being scared,” she said softly. “Of everything.” Twilight lowered her hooves and touched them to Starlight’s.
“I can’t go through that again,” is what she’d said in the kitchen. “That’s what it is with you, isn’t it?” thought Twilight. “You had one friend in childhood, and when he left, you got scared of making another. You get scared of being abandoned. You’re scared of what others think of you, and scared to open yourself up to them. Like, inside, you’re still...”
The thought hit her like a bolt of lightning. Twilight had an epiphany.
The kites, the bear, the poster. The fear. The recklessness.
Starlight, quite possibly the most powerful unicorn of the age, and yet who still felt small and helpless. Starlight, who would panic so easily when dealing with others, and then overcompensate with grandiose magical schemes. Starlight, who tried to use her powers to hold her world together because so often it felt like it was coming apart.
She’d founded a town based on a notion of harmony through absolute equality, using her magic to remove the cutie marks from her followers, removing what made them unique, making them all the same. But all having the same mark was like having no mark at all.
She was trying to make a place where the inhabitants would be trapped in an eternal childhood, where she would never be abandoned ever again.
“Once upon a time, there was a little filly named Starlight Glimmer,” Twilight thought. “The world was a scary, confusing place, and it broke her heart. She got bigger and learned a lot, except how to grow up.”
“So, let me see if I’m following this,” said Spike. Trixie had finally picked the plates clean of leftovers, and was now trying to make herself some tea to drink. The kitchen stove seemed to be flummoxing her. “Your plan was basically to be really annoying and then hope Twilight could fix things?”
“Not quite,” Trixie replied, struggling with the heavy firebox door. “How does this silly thing open? It needs more wood!”
Spike sighed. “Just sit down and let me do it,” he said, again donning his tiny chef’s hat.
Trixie gave the stubborn door a kick and then sniffed back to the table.
“My plan was to let Twilight see what has been obvious to me for a long time,” she continued.
“Which was what?”
“That Starlight isn’t what she appears to be.”
“What, like, she’s a changeling or something?” asked Spike.
“No, more like…” Trixie paused, searching for the best way to put it. “She’s pretending to be what she thinks she should be, not what she actually is.”
Spike kicked the firebox door open and threw in more wood, then turned to face Trixie, shutting the door with his tail.
“You just lost me.”
“I’m sorry. If I knew what it was, I’d help her myself,” Trixie replied. She brought her right fore hoof to her mouth and began chewing it idly as she thought about it some more. “It’s like she’s playing a role. One that she’s been playing for so long, she’s forgotten she’s doing it.”
Spike furrowed his brow, then shrugged. Trixie let out an exasperated sigh.
“See, this is why I needed Twilight,” she said. “She’s so much better with this heart to heart, touchy-feely stuff than I am!” She paused. “Like she is with most things,” she added, sadly. “I can feel what’s wrong with her, I can smell it, but I just can’t quite put my nose on it! There’s something about Starlight’s childhood that just haunts her like a ghost, and she’s scared of it all the time.”
Spike reopened the firebox to fan the flames with his own fire breath. The tea kettle wouldn’t be long in heating. He turned back to his demanding guest.
“And why didn’t you just come to Twilight and tell her what you thought? Why this whole weird plan to fool her into helping someone she’d want to help anyway?”
“Because she doesn’t take me seriously, that’s why!” she shot back. “She’d think I was trying to trick her or something. And anyway, she’s so stupidly sincere that she’d probably just go and ask Starlight straight out, and that wouldn’t get us anywhere.”
Spike boggled at her.
“Let me get this straight,” he said incredulously. “You were afraid she’d think you were tricking her, so you decided to trick her?”
Trixie considered his reply.
“Well,” she said, “it sounds silly when you put it that way.”
Shaking his head, Spike turned his attention back to the stove, preparing to steep the tea. The kettle was nearly ready. Trixie sighed, slumping down into her seat cushion.
“Starlight’s lying to herself about something,” she said quietly. “Trixie knows all about pretending to be someone you’re not.”
The kettle began to whistle.
Twilight felt that she’d made an important discovery about her former student. She just wasn’t sure what to do about it. If the root of Starlight’s problems was that she was still essentially a child in her mind, then wouldn’t she naturally leap at the chance to pretend to be one again? Twilight thought about it for a moment.
“No, wait,” she thought. “Of course she wouldn’t. As she’s grown and learned what’s expected of being an adult, she’s just gotten used to playing one. Transforming to look like a child would be like facing a part of herself she’s worked hard to hide from everyone, especially herself. And besides, like she said, being a child without Sunburst just made her miserable.”
The problem was that the scared little filly was still in there, whispering in her brain, driving her with her old fears. So, how to make little Starlight inside feel safe? How do you calm a version of someone they didn’t even want to admit existed?
Taking a deep breath, Twilight dove in. She couldn’t just let this lie after making such a breakthrough.
“Why was Sunburst your only friend when you were little?” she asked. “Didn’t you try to make any others before him?”
Starlight paused a moment, trying to compose herself.
“I did, but nothing ever seemed to last,” she finally replied. “It’d always start well, but then they’d just stop playing with me. I never knew what I was doing wrong.”
“And how did you get along with your parents?”
Starlight flinched, a tiny bit, but still enough that Twilight noticed. Not a good sign. Little Starlight was probably warning her away from talking about any of that. If only she could calm the child inside…
Twilight froze.
The thought she’d just had was absurd. It was… It was practically Trixie League absurd. It was also the only idea she had. She just hoped that Starlight would agree to it. She looked her friend in the eye.
“Starlight,” she said carefully. “I want to try something. It might help you to talk, but you’ll need to trust me. Do you?”
Starlight’s silence seemed to last for ages, then she finally nodded her head.
“I do. What do you want?”
Twilight prayed she wasn’t making a terrible mistake.
“I want you to cast your spell. Right now.”
“What, on both of us?”
“No, just on you. Please, if you feel uncomfortable, just change back. But I want you to do it for me.”
Twilight levitated the scroll back to Starlight. It hung in the air, until Starlight’s horn glowed and took it up. She stood and walked a few paces away, into the center of the room. The scroll rose into the air above her. Starlight’s horn flared as she gathered her magic, then loosed it at the scroll. It blazed with light, producing a glowing whirlwind that descended onto her, enveloping her with the enchantment. A moment later, the whirlwind dissipated.
Where a grown unicorn mare had stood, now stood a small foal. She looked to be about eight years old, her purple and teal-striped hair shorter and tied in bunches, one on either side of her head. Her cutie mark was now gone. She sat down on her haunches and spread her now tiny forelegs to either side, mimicking Trixie from before.
“Ta-daa,” she said with a shrug.
“Hello, little Starlight,” Twilight thought. “I haven’t seen you in a long, long time.” She looked her now shrunken student over. “So, how exactly do you fit a grown-up brain in there?”
“That was the tricky part,” Starlight replied, her voice now matching her childish stature. The mismatch between the body and the words coming out of it was almost hilarious. “I’m smaller, but I’m heavier than I should be for this size. My head is also a little too big now, but that’s covered over as part of the illusion. If you cast clairvoyance, you can probably see for yourself.”
Twilight nodded, her horn glowing as she cast the spell. Clairvoyance gave her sight beyond sight, and she could see the illusion cast around Starlight, the real proportions of her body appearing as a hazy outline. It was the same spell Starlight had used earlier to check to see if Trixie had broken any bones.
“Okay, now what?” Starlight asked.
“Now, hop up on the bed.” Twilight stood and walked to a bureau next to it. “Where is…? There we go!” she said, levitating a hairbrush into the air.
Starlight looked dubious, but did as she was asked. The bed was now higher than she was used to, but she still managed to hoist herself onto it. She sat down, facing Twilight. Twilight walked to the other side, climbing onto the bed behind her. Starlight looked back at her, puzzled.
“Eyes forward. Just relax.”
As she did, she could feel Twilight loosening the hair ties holding her bunches. Her mane fell free around her neck.
“So,” Twilight began, “when I was little, there were times I’d get upset. So upset and so angry that I just couldn’t talk to anypony. I’d stomp around the house and mope. And so my mom would see this and say ‘Twilight, you need your mane brushed.’”
Starlight sat as still as stone. Twilight raised the hairbrush and began gently pulling it through her hair.
“Now, my mom wouldn’t ask me what was wrong,” Twilight continued. “She wouldn’t say anything to me at all. She’d just brush, and I’d just sit. And after a while, I’d start to talk. About anything. It didn’t have to be about what was bothering me. It just felt good to talk.”
She paused, hoping she wasn’t pushing things too far.
“It made me feel safe.”
They sat silently a while, Twilight gently brushing her hair.
“Please, Starlight,” she thought. “Talk to me. You’re safe here. No one can hurt you. I’d never let them.”
It was quiet in the room, the silence only broken by the whisper of bristles through hair.
“What was it like for you, Twilight?” Starlight asked softly. “What was it like for you growing up?”
“My childhood?” said Twilight. “Well, let me see... “ She thought about it a moment. “I had a really loving family, for one thing. My dad is quiet and gentle, but kind of a goof. My mom, on the other hoof, is the type who has to find the scariest ride whenever you visit an amusement park. Oh, and she also told the best bedtime stories.”
“Really?” asked Starlight.
“Oh, yeah. I think she’d work on them all day, just so she’d have a good one for us at bedtime. My brother would always act like he was too old for them, but for some reason he’d always be hanging around outside my room when Mom would tuck me in.”
“I’ve met your brother. I can see him doing that.”
“Yeah,” Twilight laughed. “Shining Armor and I used to play knight and princess when we were little. Then he grew up to be in the royal guard and I grew up to be a princess, so that worked out, huh?”
Starlight giggled. “Yeah, pretty much,” she said.
“And what else?” Twilight paused, a faraway look in her eyes. “I had a foalsitter who always had songs to sing and games to play. I used to wish she was my big sister. Then she grew up and married my brother, so I guess I got that, too.”
Starlight smiled and nodded, then suddenly looked confused. She turned to look back at Twilight.
“Wait, your brother is married to Princess Cadance.”
“Yeah.”
“Princess Cadance, the alicorn.”
“Yes.”
“She was your foalsitter?”
“Yes.”
Starlight furrowed her brow, seemed to quietly debate herself, then shook her head.
“How does that even work?!” she demanded.
“To be honest, I’m still not clear on that, myself. She just went to school with my brother and had a foalsitting service.”
Starlight quietly turned back around, still looking dubious. Twilight resumed her brushing.
“Oh,” added Twilight, “And I forgot that part where I was also accepted into the best magic school in Equestria and became Princess Celestia’s personal protege.”
The two sat silently, the hairbrush bristles whispering.
“So,” Starlight finally replied. “A really tough childhood, huh?”
“Oh, the worst!” Twilight looked thoughtful. “I had every advantage anyone could ever ask for, with a bunch more sprinkled on top, for good measure.” She sighed. “And I still managed to mess it up.”
“What did you ever mess up?”
“I was so full of myself,” Twilight replied, “so much in a hurry to be Princess Celestia’s prized pupil that I didn’t actually learn the important things she was trying to teach me.” She stopped brushing and turned Starlight to face her. “Did you ever meet Moondancer?”
“I think so. She’s the mare with the glasses and the frumpy sweater, right? I think I saw her with you a couple of times.”
“Yeah, that’s her. Did I ever tell you about her, though?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
Twilight looked down at her feet. It was never easy to admit the mistakes of your youth.
“We went to school together. She was in my class. She was in my circle of friends there.”
“I thought your friends here were the first ones you ever made.”
“That’s what I thought, too. For a long time. The thing is, when I was little, I actually had a group of friends, except I never noticed.”
Starlight cocked her head to one side, looking confused.
“How could you not notice you had friends,” she asked. Twilight finally looked up.
“I guess you could say that I just took it for granted that there were other fillies who were always around me,” she replied. “I suppose they were curious about who the star student was, and they just learned to expect me to always have my nose buried in a book. Except for Moondancer.”
Twilight swallowed hard. Starlight could see this was difficult for her to talk about.
“Moondancer apparently really looked up to me. All she wanted was for me to just acknowledge her, to show that I noticed how much she cared.” Twilight sighed. “And I didn’t. I didn’t care about anything that wasn’t in one of my books. And then I left school without even saying goodbye. I hurt her, and I never even realized it, because I was just...careless.”
Twilight sat silently, then Starlight touched a hoof to hers.
“Well,” Starlight said, trying to lighten the mood, “you come back after you enslave a whole town, and then we can talk about messing up.”
“I don’t know, in some ways, what I did was worse.”
“Oh, really?” said Starlight, with not a little sarcasm. “How?”
“You started your town because you wanted a place where everyone would be equal, and nopony would ever leave you. You did it because you cared too much about friendship. I didn’t care about it at all.” Twilight smiled bitterly. “I think the worst thing about who I used to be was how I just didn’t care.”
“Huh…” Starlight slowly turned back around. “I never really thought of it like that.”
Twilight resumed her brushing.
“So,” she continued, “aside from Sunburst, what was your childhood like?”
Starlight thought for a moment.
“Oh, it was awful,” she joked. “I sold matches in the street and would freeze to death in a doorway every night.”
She laughed nervously. Twilight silently continued to brush. Starlight’s laughter died away.
“Why do they tell little kids stories like that? I think I cried all night the first time it was read to me.”
Twilight didn’t answer. Starlight sighed.
“I grew up in a town outside of Vanhoover,” she finally admitted. “It wasn’t big and it wasn’t small. My family wasn’t rich, but we weren’t poor, either. We were just kind of average.”
Twilight only brushed.
“And for almost as long as I can remember, I just felt like nopony wanted me,” Starlight continued. “Like I said, I’d try to make friends, but nothing would last. Even the grownups didn’t seem to like me. I never understood why.”
“You never mention your parents,” Twilight said.
“I can’t really tell you about my dad. He hasn’t been in my life since I was about five years old.”
“Did he…? You know...” Twilight trailed off, afraid to finish the thought.
“Oh, no! He didn’t die or anything. He just left.” Starlight paused. “I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”
“Oh…” Twilight couldn’t imagine her father ever doing anything like that. She couldn’t imagine what that would be like. “And what about your mom?”
Again, Starlight flinched. She didn’t answer. Twilight continued to gently brush, until at last, the little unicorn spoke.
“Maybe one day I’ll be able to tell you about my mom.”
Twilight stopped brushing, and began regathering Starlight’s mane into bunches.
“I think your hair’s brushed enough for now,” she said, refastening the ties she’d removed. She suddenly looked puzzled. “Where did these come from?”
“What?”
“The hair ties. You didn’t have your hair in bunches before you cast the spell, so where did these come from?”
“Oh!” A smug smile crept onto Starlight’s face. “That’s a little extra I worked into the spell. I used some of my own hair to make them.”
“Clever,” said Twilight as she retied them. “So, how do you feel now?”
“Better.” Starlight leaned back, closing her eyes and resting against her. “You feel warm,” she said. “And you smell nice.”
“Oh, well, you can put that on my gravestone. ‘Princess Twilight Sparkle - At Least She Didn’t Stink.’”
Starlight snorted out a laugh, then looked thoughtful.
“What is wrong with me, Twilight?” she asked.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, but I think you do have a problem.”
“What?” said Starlight, sitting up to face her teacher.
“Her,” Twilight replied, nodding towards a mirror on the wall. Starlight turned to see her own reflection.
“That’s me.”
“It’s the little you. The one who was hurt so long ago.” Starlight stared at the small, sad-eyed child in the mirror.
“She’s long gone, Twilight,” she said softly.
“No, I think she’s still inside you. She’s still sad and still scared. And I think she’s the one who makes you feel the way you do.”
“So, what do you think I should do about her?”
“I think,” said Twilight, as she climbed off the bed, “that you need to grow up.”
“Maybe you’re right…”
There was a long silence in the bedroom.
“No, I mean, I think you need to break this spell and make yourself big again, Starlight.”
“Oh! Right. I just thought…”
“I know, it works both ways, but I think we should get back downstairs before Trixie starts cleaning out our ice box,” said Twilight with a laugh.
“Sure thing,” Starlight replied as she climbed off the bed.
“Oh, wait!” Twilight exclaimed. “One last thing before you do!”
Starlight turned to ask what she wanted as Twilight hugged her tight in her forelegs. “Hey!” she squealed.
“Sorry! You’re just too cute. I want to pick you up and cuddle you all day!”
Teacher and student looked at each other and laughed. Twilight stepped back. There was the same rush of light as before, and then there stood Starlight, her adulthood restored.
“You know, if you just wanted to brush my mane, you didn’t have to have me make myself little first,” Starlight teased.
“I dunno,” said Twilight thoughtfully. “I think the important part was being little and feeling like there was someone there to make you feel safe.”
“Maybe.” Starlight smiled.
“Now,” Twilight continued. “I have a proposal. I’d like you to hear me out.”
“There’s just one thing I’m still not clear on,” Spike said as he washed the breakfast dishes in the sink. “Why do you want to do this field day thing with Starlight?”
Trixie sat at the table, sipping her second cup of sweet tea.
“Oh, I don’t,” she replied.
Spike stopped washing and turned to look at her, doing a double-take in the process.
“Then why…?”
“Trixie’s plan was to simply force Starlight to admit there was something about her childhood that was bothering her, and then get Twilight to talk to her about it. I thought asking her to teach me her spell would be a good excuse to force the issue. The problem was that she was right. I’m nowhere near good enough to do that.”
“So, the field day thing was…?”
“I had no idea that was even happening till Twilight mentioned it,” Trixie explained. “So, I made a slight change to my plan, along with a brilliant bit of improvisation, if I may say so. Especially that whole ‘If you’re my friend’ bit. I knew that would really set Twilight off.”
“So…” said Spike. “You don’t actually want to do field day as a foal?”
“Of course not!”
“But, what if Starlight had said yes?”
“That’s the greatest and most powerful part of my plan!” Trixie said with a smug smile. “It’s so ridiculous that I knew Twilight would never allow it.” She levitated the teacup to her lips and drank the last few drops from it. “You just watch. They’ll come through that door, and Twilight will say how they had a long talk and Starlight has a problem that they needed to work out, and then she’ll say how awful and absurd I was being. Then I, the humble and magnanimous Trixie, will pout a bit, then offer my sincerest apologies, and then…” She paused. “I don’t know. Twilight will probably want to sing a song about it or something.”
Hoofsteps approached from the dining room.
“You just watch!” Trixie whispered, then struck the most casual pose she could as the kitchen door swung open. Twilight entered, followed closely behind by Starlight. Twilight cleared her throat.
“So… Sorry to keep you waiting,” she began. “Starlight Glimmer and I were up in her room, and we had a very long talk.”
“Oh,” Trixie replied, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Do tell.”
“Yes,” Twilight continued. “It’s very clear that there are some problems from her childhood that she still needs to sort out.”
“Ah,” said Trixie, looking smugly at Spike, who rolled his eyes and went back to his washing. “Go on.”
“And you really upset her before!” Twilight chided. “Before anything, you should say you’re sorry.”
“Oh, I guess so,” said Trixie, climbing to her feet with an expertly-executed pout. She turned to her friend. “Starlight,” she said, flashing her most dazzling stage smile, “Trixie is so very, very sorry for upsetting you before. How can I ever make it up to you?”
“Well,” said Starlight, first turning to Twilight and then back to her friend. “Twilight and I decided that you might have had a good idea before.”
The smile on Trixie’s face froze.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked.
“Well, Twilight thinks that my problem is that I have too many bad memories associated with my childhood.”
“Yes, and…?” Trixie said nervously.
“And she thinks that maybe I can overcome that by making some good experiences as a child now.”
Trixie’s smile remained fixed as her right ear began to twitch.
“So…?”
“Well, she and I both agree that maybe the two of us doing field day together would be good for me,” Starlight announced. “So, we’re going to do it! Isn’t that great?”
“Oh. Yes. Great,” Trixie replied, practically choking out the words.
An awkward silence fell over the kitchen, broken by the sound of sputtering laughter. Everyone turned to look at Spike, who was struggling mightily to contain himself. He looked at Trixie, then clapped both claws over his mouth to contain his guffaws as he hopped off the stool by the sink.
“Spike, what’s so funny?” Twilight asked.
“Nothing,” he gasped. “Excuse me. I have to go...mop...some books.”
“What?” said Twilight, looking baffled.
Spike walked to Trixie, then patted her on the back.
“Nice plan,” he said. “It was really great.”
He walked quickly to the door, still barely controlling himself, then turned back to her one last time.
“And powerful.”
And with that, Spike quickly made his exit. The three mares stared at the door, then turned back to each other.
“So, anyway—” Twilight began.
From outside the door came the sound of Spike’s howling laughter, receding as he ran from the dining room. Twilight listened in utter bewilderment before turning back to her companions.
“What’s got into him?” she asked Trixie.
“I have no idea,” Trixie replied through clenched teeth.