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// III.IV - I'm Yelling Because I Love You 
// Story: The Broken Bond 
// by TheApexSovereign 
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Not a day went by without some new crisis being thrust upon her. Everyone thought Twilight was the only capable pony around, but… 

Twilight’s cheeks ached from smiling so hard. Lyra and Bon Bon waved back, blissfully unaware of the painful reality thieir resident princess was fighting to mask.

But a schedule had to be made tonight.

Twilight remembered a time when the prospect would elate her, but pushed those thoughts out of mind as she wondered how Spike should be approached. She wasn’t exactly sparking with excitement at the prospect. Maybe they could squeeze scheduling in between their—Twilight’s chest convulsed at the thought—bouts of intense emotion. 

If the evening were smartly paced, then Twilight could have plenty of time for a good night’s rest after some quality time with Starlight. Twilight perked up at the thought; she felt like she could fly. Maybe she didn’t have to move that promised lunch with Ponyville’s cutest couple tomorrow. 

There was no way in Tartarus that Twilight would let a friend down, and do something as heinous as reschedule. 

Of course, her friends would understand if she had to change plans. But canceling one immediately gives the impression that this pony was worth less than others. Preventing anypony from feeling this way was of the utmost importance. 

Ooh, it’s going to be so nice, scheduling all of this! Hopefully, whatever Rainbow needed to cover up wasn’t too bad. 

Speaking of which, why exactly did she need to go? Obviously, something unfortunate had happened at the castle earlier, which meant that a certain somepony was only tagging along to alert everyone when the castle’s proprietor was coming home! And because Rainbow was the one to tag along, it must not have been for her ability to deceive, well, anypony—let alone Twilight ‘Basically-Raising-a-Child’ Sparkle. 

Therefore, Twilight found herself entangled in yet another instance where her friends’ shenanigans perfectly suited her favorite idiom: time was of the essence. 

Which meant they were trying to hide some big problem that she couldn’t know about, especially when Twilight was being as daringly spontaneous as deciding when she’d be going home. 

Whatever it was, Twilight didn’t care. Everything was back to normal, and that was all that mattered. 

It was an uphill battle, trying not to smile further. Twilight had been losing that war all day; her cheeks ached even more than they did at Starlight’s graduation. 

Starlight, Twilight remembered with a start, even scaring her passenger. 

“Twilight?” 

“I’m going, Spike! I’m going,” she stammered, hoping her face didn’t glow as hot as it felt. “I was just thinking.” 

“Twilight, you’re fine,” Spike assured her, definitely seeing her blush. “But what were you thinking about?” 

“Oh! Just scheduling stuff. You know how it is.” 

She could feel her passenger sway as he shook his head with amusement. “Of course.” 

Twilight smirked. ‘Of course,’ as in, ‘Of course you’re swinging right back into scheduling.’ “You know me, Spike! There’s no time-wasting for this princess! I’ve got a lot of responsibilities to attend to now that I’m at full-health!” 

Spike grunted, amused. “The first of which being Rainbow Dash, I’m assuming.”

“Of course,” Twilight whickered. Rainbow’s weird behavior brought a smirk to her face. “Actually, you want to know something funny?” 

“What?”

Twilight shrugged. “I can’t bring myself to care. I mean I care, don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I’m apathetic. But what exactly they did, how bad it is… I’m not getting all worked up about it.” 

“Woah, yeah, I noticed that,” breathed Spike. “Why d’you think that is?” 

“Well, clearly,” snorted Twilight, “I’m experiencing the psychological aftermath of being given a second chance. While it makes no sense, and there’s zero evidence justifying it, by all definitions, this is a miracle. And now? When I really think about it? The idea of getting worked up over extraneous details, minor inconveniences, it just feels so petty to me now. Isn’t that funny?” 

“Hilarious,” Spike deadpanned. 

“Whatever, buster.” She graced her charge with one eye. “So what do you say, Spike? Should we give them a few more minutes and go straight to Starlight?”

A light breeze stirred her mane. Only then did Twilight realize they were the only ones present. 

“You know,” Spike’s voice was oddly soft, “she can be with the others, too. Helping them with w-whatever happened? Maybe?” She felt him squirm upon her back. “Hopefully?” 

“Good,” Twilight answered suddenly, surprising even her. She felt a blossoming warmth in her chest. “Good. That way, we can have a complete group hug.”

And show our friends that whatever they’re worrying about is so trivial now. Plus, it was just detestable that Twilight had been so excited before that she’d forgotten that she could have simply teleported Starlight over. Twilight made a mental note to make it up to her later, maybe write an apology. 

“Well, just in case she’s alone,” Spike spoke up, almost mumbling, “I’ll… give you two a second to get caught up.” He laughed nervously, no doubt thinking about how embarrassingly emotional it would be. 

“Oh. Well,” Twilight looked back, “should I just zap us home, first?” 

Spike shook his head. “No way. It’s a really nice evening, perfect for a walk! Like I said, I’ll catch up.” He winked, assuring Twilight that he was absolutely fine with being left behind. 

She would never stop being proud of him. 

Despite worrying over Starlight all day, Spike didn’t hesitate to consider her and Twilight’s bond before himself. She kissed her nose to his. “I’m hugging you extra hard the next time I see you.” 

Spike batted her away, his adorable cheeks a light pink. “Yeah, yeah,” he smiled weakly, “go have your sappy little moment with Starlight.” He looked off, sighing for whatever reason. 

He did have a lot to think about, after all. 

“I will,” Twilight shot back like a foal. “And I’ll enjoy it, too!” She smiled as Spike hopped off her back, and started walking. 

“Bye, Twilight!” He waved to her over his shoulder without looking back. 

A sinking feeling settled in her gut. Twilight shook off the feeling at once before getting to work. As she’d done countless times since seeing the sun rise this morning, Twilight shut her eyes, envisioning a place.

Or in this case, a pony. Starlight Glimmer, she thought, imagined—one foreleg rubbing the other with a sheepish grin. Her way of greeting ponies. 

The pressure in Twilight’s forehead swelled, then burst outwards in a brilliant flash. She felt the ground beneath her hooves shift, seeming to vanish in one instant and then rematerialize in the next. In the blink of an eye, she was in Starlight’s bedroom. 

It was a smell she noticed first. No, not a smell. An oppressive something, like ozone in the air after a lightning strike. Like an itch in her horn, so powerful that she almost saw stars flash before her eyes. It felt like getting a face-full of Tempest Shadow’s scary, hornless magic. An energy forced into creation, but formless and unfocused.

Was Tempest here? With Starlight? Well, that would be a pleasant surprise, and those were never bad things. Twilight eagerly swept her gaze around the room, past AJ and Rainbow. She vaguely wondered what they were doing here before her eyes settled on Starlight, standing in front of a mirror.

“Starlight Glimmer, look!” she cried, as Starlight’s head turned. “I’ve no idea how, but I’m all—!” 

Twilight choked, beholding Starlight’s crown of splintered, pink bone. 

All… b-better… Everything went numb. 

In the distance, a wardrum boomed. Then once more, its punch soft against Twilight’s ribcage as sickness crept up the back of her throat, burning. Scorching. Liquid filled the back of her throat. 

What… happened…? 

Her lips parted. 

WHAT HAPPENED?! Twilight gasped for air, desperately trying to keep herself upright as her friend looked away, mane shielding her gaze from sight. 

A million words danced along her tongue, but not a single one felt good enough, appropriate enough, to be spoken. Twilight tried willing her forelegs, to approach Starlight and give her the hug she so desperately needed, at least. 

Starlight, your horn. 

She couldn’t move. It was broken. 

Starlight, your horn… 

Twilight’s throat closed so tight she felt as if she were suffocating. No, her breath was racing—her throat was just so very tight. She watched as Starlight’s horror lifted towards the mirror seemed to morph into total panic. She gritted her teeth as her breast began to heave.

“Starlight,” Twilight mouthed. “What. Happened. To you?” She enunciated each word carefully, as though fighting against her contorting innards. “What happened, Starlight? What happened to your—?” 

“They took it, Twilight! They took my horn!” 

Everypony present winced, but that didn’t matter. 

Exactly who had taken it didn’t even matter right now. She knew that. It was as clear and obvious as a cloudless sky. 

Twilight was so good at knowing that stuff. 

“They took my horn,” Starlight repeated, explaining everything and nothing. 

Twilight knew that already, but she always failed when it really mattered—like comforting a friend who’d been irreparably violated. All she could possibly do was hug her. Be there for her. 

As if that would somehow fix Starlight’s broken world. 

Twilight took a second to imagine herself in her place. 

“They,” Starlight squeaked, tears spilling down her muzzle, “th-they took… m-my—,” Twilight didn’t wait for her to finish, storming towards her hyperventilating friend to embrace her a second later. “NO!” Starlight pushed feebly, slurring in delirium as Twilight hugged her. 

She squeezed even harder. Twilight would never let go of Starlight. 

She heard Trixie mumble “It’s okay” from the back. Starlight looked up, first to the others standing around her and then into Twilight’s eyes, before her face crumpled into a heartrending wail. 

Starlight’s horn was broken—her life, her passion. It was gone. She screamed all the while. Hurt, broken. 

Twilight asked herself again why this had happened when she knew exactly why. I’m a disgrace. She’d flounced about Equestria without a care in the world while her student was being attacked, defiled by something even she couldn’t defeat. She must have been alone, then. If anypony else was around then maybe… 

Starlight wailed like a foal without her mother, hugging herself. It took all of Twilight’s strength to simply look at the tears trickling down Starlight’s cheeks. ‘This is all your fault,’ they jeered. ‘You could have prevented this.’ 

They needed to be silenced. Quelled. Fixed, cured. Starlight needed help, and there was nothing Twilight could do to give it. 

Just herself. 

I’m sorry, she thought as a warmth upon her forehead blossomed into a magical inferno. I’m so sorry. A lilac star bloomed before Twilight’s eyes, so bright it was she had to squeeze them shut. The struggle against her finally calmed as Starlight succumbed to the sedation spell Twilight had cast. 

Together with a snivelling Trixie, they lowered the now-snoring Starlight to the floor. 

I am so sorry, my student. Maybe if she just closed her eyes, this would all turn out to be a bad dream.

“Twilight?” uttered a voice, directly in her ear. 

She felt her heart attempt a prison break from its ‘cage. “Spike, don’t scare me like that!” A second later it hit her in the chest: she was doing it again. Twilight’s cheeks burned as Spike informed her anyway:

“You had that ‘thousand-yard’ look again, I’m sorry!” 

‘Again…’

“...No, I’m sorry,” sighed Twilight. “I’ve just been...” Obsessing. Stressed. Thinking a lot. All of the above. Twilight shook her head, sighing whatever her brain was ready to parrot this time. “A mess,” she decided, laughing, as that’s what Pinkie did whenever she felt the same. 

It didn’t make her feel any better, though. “I’m sorry,” was all Twilight had the will to muster. Silence, allowing her facade to crumble away like sandcastles in the sun. 

‘Sorry.’ The word was just a platitude by this point—giving sorries never made the guilty feel any better, because sorries never actually fixed anything they’d done. And yet, Twilight hoped like a naive foal that those two words fully-embodied her remorse for failing Spike, because Celestia knows she’d said everything else at least a dozen times. 

Sorries especially couldn’t take back what she’d said to him, following that often-dwelt moment: the instant where everything changed. 

Where Twilight narrowly escaped one nightmare, only to enter one far, far worse. She denied it was reality as best she could. ‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously, Spike, go to your room!’ She tried her best to control it, hoarding a desperate drive to mother Starlight—a mature and capable mare. 

“You know what? I don’t even care,” Spike cut through the silence with inspiring, aggravating calm. “I’ve read this a thousand times already,” he waved the comic in his claw. “Besides, it’s my fault for thinking a book would distract you, anyway.” 

He spoke as if he was impossible to help. But reading was more than a good idea, it was a great one! “It was a good idea, all things considered.” 

“‘All things considered,’ which I clearly hadn’t taken into account.” Spike’s smirk assured her it was in good humor. 

“Of course you had,” Twilight argued anyway. “This was your last resort for a reason.”

“Could you let a dragon wallow in self-pity? Jeez.” Twilight chuckled into her foreleg as she watched Spike slap his comic book shut and stand from his beanbag chair.  

The lightness inside of Twilight weighed the more her admiration of him grew. 

Whether it was a draconic sense of pride or just plain maturity, Spike’s ability to brush these annoyances aside like they were nothing just… reminded her of Starlight. That’s how she was. And Tempest observed after breakfast something very interesting: ‘She feels like she doesn’t have the right to complain.’ 

Gret. Now Twilight was thinking about her again! But just how accurate was Tempest, considering the similarities in Spike and Starlight’s recent behavior? 

Was this something they’d always had? The implications such a thing would wrought were enough to encourage curling up in a ball of failure.  

Yet, the researcher in Twilight couldn’t help but obsess over Tempest’s accuracy, who possessed an eye for inner turmoil like it was her special talent. Twilight felt she knew Spike better than anypony, however. If their newest foe-turned-friend was right about Starlight, then was Twilight’s Number One Assistant hiding inner turmoil, too? Or was Twilight obsessing over nothing like she probably was for Starlight?

Spike’s claw crept into view, reaching for the book open and propped at the end of Twilight’s bed. He was just going right back to helping her. Again. And she was to just sit back and let him, with something so inconsequential? 

Twilight threw herself on top of it. “Let me shelve these for you, Spike!” He clasped his claw to his chest like Twilight was about to snatch that, too. 

I’m really was out of it, aren’t I? The one thing stopping Twilight from just howling at her own absurdity was the fact that Spike, finally, could take a break from babysitting his caretaker all day. 

She just needed to talk Spike out of helping her, first. “I can just teleport these back to their shelves.” Starlight taught her how to be so precise, to ping something to and from a separate room as though present in said room. 

Spike leveled a doubtful stare. Of course he didn’t believe her reasoning was the sole driver, but that wasn’t going to stop Twilight from convincing him that it was.

“Fine. Alright, yeah, go ahead.” 

Twilight reminded herself to blink. Where was the argument, the back and forth, and eventual relenting from Twilight? She tried but couldn’t quickly recall a time where Spike backed down from one of his duties… 

...At least, not until now, a whole day of obsessive Twilight later. It’s not like he didn’t try to help! He worked just as hard as her other friends—but whether the next distraction was cooking, board games, reading, or even voicing her concerns, nothing kept Twilight occupied for long before her mind fell back on Starlight. 

Was this how Princess Celestia felt every time she sent Twilight out on a mission, wondering how she was? 

Did she feel tight in the chest with terror, too? Was there incidental fear for her student, and did she later feel just as guilty for disrespecting her student’s abilities? 

“Wanna talk?” A pat on the foreleg, the sympathy in those emerald eyes, reminded Twilight that it never mattered what she’d say to persuade him; Spike could read her like a book. “Is everything okay, Twilight?” he asked, adding a beat later, “Or is that book just really comfy?” 

Spike smirked at the Daring Do novel she was till splayed over. Feeling ridiculous, Twilight had to laugh at herself. Pinkie Pie would advise surrendering to that feeling; to not let the frowns win. 

“Yeah.” Twilight crossed her forelegs over the closed book, Spike’s comic teleporting from his claw to the top of it. “I think I’m going to just stay like this for a while. You know?” 

“Absolutely not,” Spike leaned over her bed, “you weirdo,” he chuckled. He rested his cheek against his arms, gazing somewhere across the room. “Huh, it’s almost eleven,” he observed. “I wonder what Starlight’s up t—W-wait! I mean—!” 

“Oooh.” Twilight sat up, scrubbing scrubbed her mane frantically. “I was just thinking that, Spike! Where is she? How is she?” Twilight started hyperventilating. She was only vaguely aware of Spike’s voice as she gasped in, then shot it out. In, then out. In, out, in-out-in—BOOM, a crash of thunder shuddered the castle’s crystal foundations, all the way up to Twilight’s bedroom. 

Spike and Twilight froze like gargoyles, eyes locked and breaths caught. 

Only the front door could make such a distinct sound. 

A faint, mature-sounding mare cried out, “I’m home!” and a high gasp tore through the tranquility of the bedroom. 

Spike slapped his reddening snout anew. “Um, Starlight’s home,” he mumbled into his claws. 

Yeah, you can’t hide it, Mr. Tough Guy. You were worried, too. Twilight smirked, and opened her mouth before Spike spoke again. 

“Go to her.” He laid a claw on their selected reading material. “I got this. Really, I do.”  

Twilight was so relieved already, she couldn’t take this too. Just a teleport away, and I’ll know how her first day really went. A swelling pressure burst within her chest. Twilight laughed wetly. “I love you,” she gushed, squeezing her amazing little assistant against her. 

Once upon a time, Spike would blush and give a ‘C’mon, Twi,’ while trying to push away just hard enough to trick other ponies into believing he didn’t love the affection. 

Twilight remembered this as Spike reciprocated fiercely. “Y-you too,” he stammered, smiling against the fluff of her coat. “Now get out,” he pulled back, claws flat against her belly, “go give her a piece of your mind and mine.” 

Right. I swore that a few times. Maybe Spike was kidding here. Though Twilight wanted to be furious with Starlight for worrying everypony, what good would that even do? What would she learn from that? Besides, Starlight never responded well to guilt, and she was already suffering enough without apparent disappointment from her mentor. 

As magic coursed through Twilight’s horn—a collection of channels convening upon her forehead—she pictured Starlight Glimmer, crippled but happy. 

Her smiling face brought a bittersweet one to Twilight’s lips, just before the bedroom around her shifted into the foyer, and her chest was so tight it was ready to burst from the tension. 

Twilight reappeared on the foyer stairwell, scaring Starlight to jump back and land hard upon the ground floor, dropping five whole stairs and a sharp cry between them. 

“Are you okay?” Twilight fretted, then bit her lip realizing how patronizing she sounded as Starlight snapped, “Fine… I’m fine. Just startled me, is all!” She rose to her hooves, rubbing her flank with a wince. “Sheesh, did ya have to come in so close?” 

Twilight felt her face heat up. “I’m sorry. I forgot to take that into account, I was just eager.” 

“Oh,” Starlight replied, as if expecting more. “Why eager?” 

Smiling, Twilight tilted her head. “You’ve been gone all day, Starlight.” 

“I know that,” she said irritably. 

“Well, what did you do? Tell me about it! It must’ve been quite a day.” 

Starlight didn’t look any less annoyed than she did a second ago, glaring to the side and never looking Twilight’s way. 

Her expression dropped, and she picked it up slightly, looking thoughtfully to the ground. “You think we can let this wait till tomorrow?” Starlight yawned to the heavens. “It’s kinda late, and I agreed to meet Trixie for lunch again, so…” She put one hoof forward, upon the first step. 

A muffled clop thundered in Twilight’s ears. She’s leaving. She’s leaving again, and she’s lying about Trixie. Is this what Starlight has been up to? Avoiding her? Was that what her end goal was?

...Why? “Starlight how are you?!” 

Twilight’s voice and probably her blush, too, rang in the vast, cavernous entrance hall. Starlight just blinked owlishly, finally looking her mentor in the eye. 

“I've been wondering where you’d gone,” Twilight explained, softly, like her old mentor would. "You had me really worried, Starlight Glimmer."

Her entire being winced upon hearing those words, as if Starlight had just realized what she’d been doing to her friends. 

Twilight’s heart sank as that all but confirmed Starlight’s avoiding of Trixie, for whatever purpose that served. 

“Starlight?” 

"Yeah,” she hissed, gazing aside with a head-rub, “sorry about that. I’ve just been thinking, lately. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.” 

Twilight smiled, feeling lighter already. “It’s okay.” 

Sweat unshed glistened upon Starlight’s forehead. Underneath her splintered crown. “I’m really sorry for worrying you.” She smiled sweet and pleasantly. Twilight almost thought it was real until it collapsed into a sullen look, and shoddily rebuilt into a thin, painfully fake smirk. 

‘She seems fine…’ How could I’ve been so blind?

Those were Twilight’s first thoughts as soon as she left for the party last night. What a naive foal she was. Then again, this was Starlight Glimmer—born leader. She could probably convince Celestia the sun was made of egg yolk if her heart was in it. It was last night, but now…

She seems fine… but she really isn’t. Twilight was a desperate, irresponsible fool to believe her friend. She shouldn’t feel this way yet Starlight was dishonest with her, and whatever the reason, it most certainly wasn’t a good one. Applejack taught her that. 

Twilight could barely hear herself think over the frantic breathing across from her. 

Is Starlight... afraid? Of me for that matter? She wasn’t even looking Twilight’s way as she continued to softly hyperventilate. 

Twilight only ventured to hypothesize something so awful because of her friend’s eyes, looking everywhere but towards her. At dinner, Fluttershy’d suggested that Starlight’s behavior meant she might’ve been afraid. Twilight, in all her wisdom, laughed at the idea of somepony being afraid of Fluttershy, and wrote it off as Starlight’s nerves—guilt for scaring Fluttershy to nigh-inconsolable levels, even though it wasn’t her fault, and everypony else knew it. 

But now that Twilight was experiencing the same behavior...

Starlight was a totally different pony yesterday, she realized. Though clearly denying what had happened, Twilight spoke with the confident, casual Starlight she knew and loved yesterday, only minus a horn. 

Whether it was a facade or not, both seemed to know its truth, now, and only a shuddering, antsy mess was left behind. 

What happened to her today? What changed? What was going through her head?

Why are you afraid, Starlight? Talk to me, please… Something heavy nailed Twilight’s questions to her gut. 

“Well anyway, goodnight!” And Starlight practically galloped up the stairs.

“Wait!” Twilight rose a hoof. 

“Oof!” Starlight rubbed what she’d ran into Twilight’s hoof. “Hey, what’s the big idea?” 

Twilight’s tongue poked through her teeth. "I just thought that… I mean...” Wanted to ask—no, Twilight! Don’t be a burden. Sighing politely, Twilight took the spell to compose herself. “I just wanted to check and make sure you didn’t have anything on your mind before turning in. You know how I am.” She says, Twilight thought, as I do something I’d never been so insistent on before. 

Starlight stared and saw right through her all the while. 

A second of absolute silence passed. Starlight’s eyes, wide and wild as ever, danced between Twilight’s muzzle and the ends of her forelegs. She was thinking really hard on what to say, which shouldn’t be an issue if she was just recapping her day! 

"Please Starlight, talk to me."

“Why do you want to know?” Starlight blinked once, looking Twilight right in the eyes. "Wow, that was a rude response! I’m sorry, I was just thinking, you know?” 

“Thinking?” 

“About what happened today, and stuff,” she finished quietly. 

Twilight didn’t immediately move to hug Starlight, purely out of respect for her personal space. She was happy to remember something that was otherwise routinely disregarded or forgotten about. "Do you want to talk about it?" she offered, hoof upturned to be grabbed.

Starlight shook her head. "No! I mean, no, there’s nothing to talk about!” she shouted in a sing-song voice. “I mean, all I’ve done is spend the day with Trixie. You know, she actually made me feel okay with some stuff I got hung up over! L-like learning how to do stuff magicless again! She offered to teach me a thing or two about living normally.” 

As Starlight laughed, Twilight almost forgot to breathe. “I thought you just met for lunch?” she asked, hiding how flustered she was in thanks to hundreds of tedious royal banquets. 

“And we hung out after! Come on, Twilight,” Starlight whickered. 

She’s… lying to me even more. Twilight licked her lips. She has to be. Trixie left only two hours ago, but… 

But why lie in the first place?

Starlight gave quite the rehearsed alibi. What was she doing that was so bad, she couldn’t tell Twilight about it? 

Starlight continued, believing she’d fooled her teacher. “But before that, I ran into Maud. She's back, by the way! I don't know if you remember, since, you were sick... Um... W-we talked for a while. And after that I hashed things out with Fluttershy." Starlight beamed. "She's doing really well! I stayed for tea and we talked about what happened. She totally understands."

‘Talked about what happened.’ As if you had an order mixup at Sugarcube Corner. Twilight swallowed hard, nodded, all while wearing a smile. So many little lies… How Starlight could stand it was a mystery—Twilight couldn’t, and she wasn’t the one lying to her own… her… whatever she was to Starlight now! 

"I'm sorry about missing dinner by the way,” Starlight added, completely blind to Twilight’s rigidity, her wide, toothy smile as she nodded in reply. “See, I lost track of time and grabbed a, another bite with Trixie, but now, I'm stuffed! So, yeah, I think I'm just gonna hit the hay early tonight." She circled around Twilight as she spoke, climbing sideways up the stairs, and then looking down on her. “Say goodnight to Spike for me, would ya?” Twilight’s hoof fell away as Starlight stepped back, up the stairs. 

What was this? Was this even real, or was Twilight now in the final stages of her illness, and she was dreaming a vivid, worst-nightmare scenario. 

Twilight’s hoof felt detached from her body as it thunked heavily against the stairs’ red carpet. “S-Starlight, wait.” 

“I’m fine!” 

“Starlight—”

“No need!” Starlight whirled around, her scraggly tail swaying limply. 

I’m not letting us fall apart. 

A pressure swelled upon Twilight’s forehead, and in the blink of an eye she was once again looking down upon a startled Starlight. So she wouldn’t escape again, Twilight unfurled her wings hard enough to snap thickly, stirring her student’s unkempty mane. 

Emotions bubbled up the back of her throat, and Twilight was prepared to let them all out as Starlight suddenly scrambled away and tripped off the stair. Twilight reached out toward her cry of terror an instant before Starlight hit the next step. 

“Are you okay?” she panted. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!” 

Twilight quickly spun her to her hooves. “I said that, woah,” Starlight staggered over where she was dropped, “I said, that I was fine. Alright? I don’t need you in my face, Twilght! If I had a problem I’d go to you, okay? That hasn’t changed over the years.” 

Hasn’t it? “Starlight, I’m merely acting from a place of caring. And I want you to answer me honestly, is there truly nothing that’s bothering—?” 

“Oh, for the love of—Could you ponies please, stop asking me that? Nothing is the matter! And you’re all looking at me like I’m crazy for saying that!” 

“You are not ‘crazy,’ Starlight! Nopony thinks you are!” 

“Then why are you hovering over me, prying into my business—” 

“It’s because I’m worried.” Twilight clapped a hoof over her mouth but the damage was done—Starlight was scowling. Had she messed up? Was she wrong the whole time? “I am so… worried about you, Starlight. All day I’d been wondering about you, worrying, resisting the urge to just teleport and check on you! Because I know you wanted your space. But even so, I can’t help but feel…” Frustrated? Guilty? Crestfallen? Twilight groaned, growled, and moaned all at once, barely encompassing the emotional rainbow smoldering in her belly. 

Long before moving to Ponyville, Twilight considered words one of her closest friends and lifeguides. She doubted they had much effect here, but Twilight hoped her actions said more by the time they parted for bed. 

“Twilight…” Five seconds later, Starlight shut her mouth like a disciplined foal, complete with wilted ears and averted gaze. “I’ve no idea what to say except that I’m sorry, but even that’s…” She shook her head. 

Twilight mustered her most comforting smile. “It’s okay, Starlight. I want nothing more than to help you. If you don’t want that, then I’ll respect it...” 

“...But?” Starlight ventured. Even now, like this, she was as sharp and instinctively cynical as ever. 

It was so Starlight that a smile danced across Twilight’s lips. “But how am I supposed to be the Princess of Friendship if a friend doesn’t want my help?” Her smirk died. “What can I do to help you, Starlight?” It was really the best she could come up with at the moment—an offer that was easily pliable, to avoid pressuring Starlight if she already felt so.  

“Heh,” she chuckled uneasily, “you wanna help? Then think before scaring the crud out of me next time.” For her sake, Twilight sighed amusedly. “You popped out of thin air and started pelting me with questions, like you were a palace guard or something!” Starlight chuckled, and for one, blissful moment, Twilight was deaf to its hollowness. 

“Well,” said Twilight, “at least on some level, we know how one another feels.” She remembered that Starlight responded well to lightheartedness as she spoke. 

Her friend’s hornless head was cocked for a moment before realizing what Twilight meant. “Oh!” Her ears wilted. “Oh, right. Sorry. Totally my fault...” She smiled wide. Crookedly. Uneasily. 

It was so Starlight that it almost brought a tear to the eye. I’m sorry, she’d said, apologizing, because for whatever reason she thought she was at fault on some level here—maybe even all of it. What a shuddering thought! Just how deeply did this affect Starlight if that was the case? 

And yet, Twilight didn’t realize she wore a smile until her cheeks began to tingle. What brought that on? Had that one moment of levity really tricked her into thinking everything was okay? Again?! 

“Um, Twilight?” 

How many times had she heard that: her name spoken as a question? Last night’s party was a veritable choir of “Twilight?”s. Any who’d not shared a moment with Twilight on her joyous traipse through town after she was cured got it then, sadly having waited several days for her to be availible... Some of them hugged her. Others cried in some cases. Twilight didn’t hesitate to join them, Starlight and her new crown plaguing her thoughts all the while. 

None questioned why she’d wailed so hard, presuming it was in shared relief. Twilight’s words caught in her throat as she’d recall her own vow to Starlight, and instead excused herself to the delectable snack table. But amidst the cakes, chips, sodas and goodie bags that were suddenly so unappetizing, no one was around to distract Twilight from dwelling on Starlight’s words. Her behaviors. The ticks and what she said, the language she used and how… reassuring it all seemed. 

“Arrre you OK? You’re just… staring. At me…” 

After that, she started thinking about Starlight for the first time since leaving home. To really think, too, not just shoot a mental glance her way and think, Starlight’s fine.

Or, Starlight’s got this. 

I’ve been worrying over nothing. 

I can’t believe Starlight would do something like this for me. 

Starlight just needs some adjustment and a little practice, but that’s no biggie.

Starlight’s got this. 

Starlight is strong. 

Starlight’s fine…

All while ignoring the fact that her horn was gone because of Twilight’s incurable ailment. 

Once she acknowledged that, Twilight wept over the snack table. It must have been a sight, because Pinkie had suddenly, in a second, roped the whole town into doing ‘The Cheer-Up Song.’ Of course, that only made her more emotional. 

“Twilight! D-did I say something wrong? I’m sorry!” 

What kind of a Princess of Friendship let themselves become such a mess? To be so emotionally supercharged she couldn’t even read her the pony who’d lived with her for almost three years? 

“T-Twilight? What’s wrong?”

The first thing Twilight does with her second chance? It was almost too horrible to believe, even Discord wouldn’t be so dense: he wouldn’t believe that Fluttershy was, in some semblance, okay after such a traumatizing encounter. 

At least her failure was clear-cut. Evident. Not at all like this level of trauma Twilight’s yet to comprehend, or this antithetical logic of Fizzlepop’s that advised against questioning. Prying. Getting right up in Starlight’s face, grabbing, her by the shoulders and screaming why, why, “Why, Starlight?” 

Why’d you do this to yourself? 

For me?

“Twilight?” cried Starlight, directly in her ear. 

The princess cried out, torn from the town party and gazing into the depths of a dessert table. She fluttered her eyes, watching as Starlight reared away with unease. 

Away from Twilight, once again. 

“Oooh!” Twilight moaned, scratching her cheek. At a glance, she could see her hoof glisten slightly. “I am so sorry,” she rubbed her cheek again, harder, all the way up to her eyes. “I was just thinking, don’t mind me,” she said quickly, scrubbing the other. 

“Why were you crying?” Starlight asked lightly, as if halfway to drowning in her own thoughts herself, desperately trying to keep her head above the surface. “Twilight?” 

“Why, Starlight? Why… why are you acting like we’ve not been friends for years?” She gave a moment. “Did I do something to break your trust?” Twilight pursed her lips, knowing another twenty questions were ready to come pouring out. 

“Um, I-I, ah, uh...” Starlight sputtered what felt like an entire foreign alphabet made purely out of befuddled stammering. 

Perfect start. Just go right for the throat, why don’t you? Twilight could almost hear Spike muttering, ‘Claws up, Princess. Claws. Up,’ from his perch on her back. “Look, let’s... let’s just... sit, and talk,” Twilight groaned, rubbing her forehead. 

Starlight sagged, exhaling out her nose. Was it with relief, or defeat? Which one was worse in retrospect? 

Twilight plopped down, sighing all the questions from her system before she could obsess over those two, too. “Twilight?” she heard Starlight mumble. 

“Please, take a seat, Starlight,” she urged, looking nowhere but the space she patted beside her. 

Using verbal force was heart-wrenching with Starlight in this state. But this, whatever was going on between them, was ending tonight. And to do that, Twilight needed to put her hoof down.

Starlight stared hollowly at the seat, probably wondering why they didn’t pop just over to the princess’s bedroom.

Twilight had to agree with her friend’s hypothetical pondering. It was definitely more comfortable, both in terms of seating arrangements, and the sophisticated atmosphere she felt it offered. However, building suspense would just raise tension and wrack Starlight’s nerves, possibly fortifying her defensive walls that were only now beginning to crumble. She might panic, and clearly Starlight wasn’t above trying to outright flee if it meant avoiding a confession. 

Plus, the idea of repeating the same, faux-smile dance, in the same chairs, with what was likely—and unfortunately—another stream of confidently-spewed lies all but warranted a different backdrop.  

“Well,” Twilight perked up to the other’s voice, “you’re not gonna leave me alone unless I talk. Is that it?” Starlight snarked, her smirk faint. 

Something about her smile didn’t feel fake. Only buried under a myriad of grime, or whatever was going through that pony’s mind. 

Twilight felt comfortable sniping back. “You know I’ve got an otherworldly work ethic. I take my role as the Princess of Friendship very seriously.” 

Starlight humphed. “Makes up for the two of us, that’s for sure…” She muttered the last part of her sentence off to the side. 

Twilight almost reared back in surprise. “What are you talking about? You’re a hard worker!” 

“Was.” 

Starlight’s tone caught her off guard. “H-huh?” 

She narrowed her eyes. “I was a hard worker, Twilight. But now I’m just… a thing, I guess.” 

“A… thing?” Twilight gasped. “H-how do you mean?” Had Starlight been ruminating on this all day? Is that where she’d been, with nothing but herself and such poisonous thoughts?!

Twilight schooled her breathing; she was just overreacting again, that’s all. Overthinking. She needed a clear head to help Starlight here, that’s what mattered. It’d be selfish to make this about Princess Twilight. 

A heaviness crashing down beside Twilight made her jump but it only turned out to be Starlight’s butt hitting the step. She didn’t look her way, only scowling down the stairwell. 

At least she was being cooperative now. 

‘Don't fail again, Twilight,’ urged a little voice in the back of her mind. ‘Don't you DARE fail her.’ She couldn’t be Twilight Sparkle, Starlight’s loving and patient friend, but the Princess of Friendship, now: composed like Celestia, wise, insightful. 

She shouldn’t fail. She had handled friendship problems bigger than this. This was Starlight, for Equestria’s sake! One of her best friends! 

As gently as possible, the Princess asked, "Starlight, I cannot begin to imagine,” a sharp, irritated groan overpowered her. Twilight immediately forgot what she was going to say, or where she was. She stammered, burned, then crashed and burned for real: “H-how come you’ve been lying to me? Ah! I mean,” Twilight wiped sweat trickling down her temple, “I mean, I only ask because you mentioned Trixie before and—” 

“I’m sorry… okay?” Starlight’s eyes shut. “I’m sorry for, f-for lying, a-a-and…” She pursed her lips, a blunt breath pushing out of her. Starlight shook her head. “I’m not crying,” she muttered to herself. “Not crying, Starlight. Not crying, not crying…” 

She looked to the ceiling, pooling her eyes. 

Twilight’s wing snapped out and hugged her tight. Admitting it was a great step in the right direction. “It’s OK, Starlight. But… might I ask, why? You know you can talk to me about anything. You’re my friend, and I’m here for you. 

“I know that, but…” 

“No buts.” Starlight stiffened. “You go to bed two hours after emerging from a three-day coma. That’s not the behavior of somepony who’s ‘totally fine,’ and I’m quite sure you know that.” If they were going to start somewhere, it might as well have been here. 

Starlight remained stiffened. “I was tired,” she informed the stairs. 

Twilight’s inner know-it-all cried out, ‘Lies!’ In this moment, all Twilight cared about was giving her friend the benefit of the doubt.

But she did that last night already. 

The Princess of Friendship dropped her muzzle. "We both know you’re a late-nighter, Starlight. Even when you shouldn’t be up.” Before Starlight could interject, she elaborated forcefully: “That, plus how you got up and left the castle without even saying 'goodbye' or telling Fizzlepop where you're going.” Composed like Celestia. Twilight took a breath. “And in the last four days, no, I'm sorry, five—because apparently you didn’t even attend my party—in the last five days, the only thing you've had in your stomach... was a single bite of toast." 

“Maud and I had Hayburger!” 

“Oh! Hayburger, now that’s reassuring.” 

“Okay, fine.” Starlight shouldered her, lips curving. “Though you’re one to talk, High and Mighty.” Twilight could only sit back and watch as her friend’s genuine, lighthearted grin died seconds after locking gazes, where they broke away at once. 

Twilight couldn’t feign humor now, not even for Starlight’s sake. Not when she had to pretend that Starlight wasn’t utterly famished all the while. 

“S-sorry,” said her friend. “I didn’t mean that, I was just making a joke. I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not mad or anything, Starlight.” Twilight looked to her sadly, which earned a sideways glance from Starlight. "But you should be starving. That’s my point."

“But… I’m… not?” Starlight drawled, looking everywhere but here, at Twilight. “I’ve not had an appetite for weeks, if I’m being honest here. This isn’t really that unusual.” 

It wouldn’t have been in retrospect, if for “weeks” Twilight wasn’t hacking her life out into a metal bucket. 

“And why do you think that is?” Her friend just gave a blank stare. “Starlight, come on. You know this isn’t normal. I know you love eating—” 

Starlight groaned, shooting up to her hooves. "So I’m not hungry! Ooh!” She spun around, stomping up the stairs. “Is that really worth the stomach ulcer, Twilight?” 

“I know you’re being rhetorical, or,” Twilight stood, “maybe this is an instance where you’re being utterly serious.” She turned her head, “But I only ask because I’m your friend and I worr—hey!” Twilight fired up her horn. 

Starlight’s swaying backside was already at the top of the stairs. 

“What?!” she snapped as soon as her teacher teleported in her path. “Seriously, Twilight? Seriously? You’re getting on me about my eating habits now? Are you really that paranoid—?” 

“Are you joking?!” Twilight cried. “This is serious if it continuously affects your eating habits! And if it’s happening under my roof—” Starlight lunged, pushing with all her might against Twilight’s extended wing, “—would you stop?” One of the most powerful ponies Twilight had ever known bounced off her wing, a foal to her great alicorn strength. “Starlight!” She suddenly whipped right, circling for Twilight’s unprotected side. A shock flashing through her, her wings flared on their own, punching Starlight straight across the face. 

“OW! Hey!” She gnashed her teeth at Twilight.

“I’m sorry, but stop trying to get away! I’m—!” Starlight suddenly pulled back, puffing and glaring while Twilight took a moment to compose herself. Sighing, she said, “I’m really scared for you, Starlight. That’s all.” 

“What for?” laughed Starlight. “What happened to trusting the word of your friends? Trusting that I got this, huh?” 

The enormity of her ignorance made Twilight gasp. She couldn’t actually believe what she was saying, could she? Starlight had to have known she was lying her butt off. 

“Starlight, for Celestia’s sake, you’re standing here starving right now, and you still have the gall to deny it. How can I—” Twilight scrubbed at an annoying tickle on either of her cheeks. “How could you stand there, and,” she gasped for breath, “and proceed to berate me for mistrusting you?!” 

“‘Berate?’ Really?” groaned Starlight. “So I snapped! How’s that any different from how I normally am?” 

Twilight barreled forth, blasting any hesitation to ash. “You’d yelled, Starlight, and you’re still yelling. You continuously avoid the truth, and while I respect your privacy, it concerns me when you opt to lie instead of being honest and telling me you don’t want to talk!” Starlight, stunned for a moment, sagged aside. “And that’s ignoring the fact that you are so much smarter than this. These half-baked lies, what’s up with these? You could do better than this, Starlight, you’ve done better than this! ...Not that I condone this sort of behavior.” 

“So, what?” Starlight glared. “I’ve lied. I know, and I’m sorry for doing that. I’ve… done a lot of dumb things today.” 

She’d sounded so ashamed it ached Twilight. “Tell me about it,” she gently urged. 

“But, just because I don’t wanna make you worry,” Starlight’s voice rose, seemingly ignoring her teacher, “that immediately means I’m hiding something bad from you? Oh, sorry, ‘concerning.’” Her voice dripped with bitter sarcasm. “And because of that, what, this suddenly calls our friendship into question? Are you kidding me?! You’re the one with the problem, Twilight!” 

Starlight could’ve smacked Twilight across the face, and it wouldn’t hurt nearly as much. “Then why are you actively trying to avoid me?” she snapped. 

“I’m not avoiding you.”  

“Then what do you call this?!” Twilight shouted, gesturing to all the foyer, the last several minutes, with her wings. Starlight opened her mouth, perhaps ready to bring up the fact that she was totally hanging out with Trixie all day.

“What do you call Trixie,” Twilight winced, her steeliness fractured, “what do you call your friend coming by an hour dinner—which you had with her, by the way—shouting for me from this very room?” 

“Oh, so now you’re—” Starlight’s name belted from Twilight’s heart, effectively silencing the mare. 

“Trixie was never with you today, wasn’t she?” Starlight’s stunned expression, the depressive slump that followed, told all she needed. “I didn’t even know it was her at first, you know,” Twilight hissed. “I mistook her for Pinkie Pie—they both scream for me at the same heartstopping timbre! Did you know that? But… she was to my left, so, with no idea what was in store, I went to the foyer.” Twilight shut her eyes; Trixie’s anger, borne of fear to be sure, was so full of hatred. “It was like everything she ever disliked about me, past and present,” her chest writhed with guilt, disbelieving that Trixie held onto these feelings deep inside, “she just let them all out at once. I’d thought something terrible had happened to you, Starlight, she was alone, crying… on the spot I assumed she’d begun yelling out of terror.” 

“Okay, okay,” Starlight said defensively, “I get it. I hurt her.” 

Twilight had a feeling she understood. But Starlight was going to know what Twilight felt today, too. “A second later, I was afraid the two of you had a falling out, and Trixie came to me for help. For a second, a part of me was actually proud of her for taking that step,” Twilight’s fondness died as quickly as that fleeting feeling had, “...But what I discerned from her ranting, revealed something so much worse."

Twilight took a moment to compose herself. "W-which isn’t a problem! Scary, sure, but I don’t hold it against her, considering the circumstances. I’m… sure you know how Trixie can be. For better or worse, she’s a passionate pony!” Her smirk died, not that the carpeting between Starlight’s hooves cared. “However, that also makes her intense when angered. Immediately she began tossing accusations left and right and—did you know my questioning got her so angry, she fired off a bolt of magic? She was that angry.” Starlight winced, intimately familiar with what she was talking about. “I could only stand there and listen and, yet, all I heard were these ‘demands’ to see you… something about a talk with Maud and, somehow..." 

"Somehow, through her own skewed perspective... I was the one who ‘made you go’ to the Ladies of Flutter Valley. That I'm the reason you...” Movement from the corner of her eye snatched Twilight’s attention. “Starlight?” 

The crippled unicorn lowered her face, her eyes as wild and cloudy as a monsoon at sea. 

Twilight’s brows and heart knitted as one. “Starlight, surely this wasn’t a version of the story you told her. Goodness, I’ve no idea what drove that pony to think I’d ask something so awful of you… I don’t even want to consider the idea. But this is what happens when you act,” Suspicious, “evasive... Ponies get curious, then they start making assumptions. And then I start getting these awful thoughts I don’t want to have, but when the evidence adds up, it just—!” 

Her friend wrenched away. 

"Starlight?" Twilight cupped her chin, though she refused to open her eyes. “I'm not angry with you, Starlight. Not even a little,” she said sincerely. “...Starlight?” She tried turning away once more, feebly. Twilight could only tell because of a pressing into her hoof. 

Twilight fought gently, urging her head to turn back to her. “Please, look at me.” She wouldn’t. She’d already been caught. There were no more lies, not after Trixie spoiled her biggest one for the day.

“I know that this is a rough time for you, and I know you're hurting right now. I know you’ve lost…” Twilight’s throat tightened at the sight of her friend’s eyes squeeze with pain, “I know you lost your horn, and that is awful, and I’m sorry. I want nothing more than to take all your pain away and make it better. But I can’t if you don’t let me help you. So, please, don’t shut me out of this Starlight, please!” 

“...Please.” Twilight leaned to tap her forehead against Starlight’s, horn notably un-grazed. An emptiness opened within her. "Talk to me." A second of nothing passed. “Please.”

"...I'm sorry for worrying you, Twilight.” Starlight pulled away, training her gaze on the stairs behind her former teacher. “And for lying. I shouldn’t have even tried, yet a part of me thought I could actually succeed for once.” She laughed humorlessly. “Par for the course, I guess.”  Her voice was so dead, eyes so glazed over. 

You sound so miserable, my student. What happened today? Twilight pressed her cheek reassuringly.

"To tell you the truth," Starlight's gaze fell and stayed there, "I don't know what that even is anymore, but… you’re right, Twilight. You’re absolutely right like always. I didn’t wanna share because of, well, everything that happened. I didn’t want to add more to it, you know? ” 

Twilight blinked, comprehending the fact that this was suddenly happening.

“Maud is mad at me, and I've no idea why,” Starlight continued, a dark dusting on her cheeks. “I just told her what’d happened, and now, she won’t speak to me. She hates me." With a snarl she dropped down upon the stair. 

Twilight didn’t hesitate to join and wing-hug her. “I’m sure a good sitdown would do wonders.” 

“How do you think all this started, how I tried to fix it?” Twilight frowned, concerned, as Starlight explained, “I went to Maud's to patch things up earlier, because, well, I had nothing better to do! Nor could I stop thinking about her, what she’d said…” Starlight shut her eyes, shook her head. “But, when I did the thing where I knock my hoof against the tunnel wall, and she does it back so I can find her, she just didn’t reply. I knew then that she wanted to put our friendship on hold. A-At least for now!"

The desperate hope in her tone was like a dagger to the heart. As if Maud Pie were capable of breaking up with her first non-familial best friend? “I have a feeling you’re misreading her,” suggested Twilight. “I’ll talk to Pinkie Pie. See if she can get through to Maud.” 

"And ponies?" Starlight pulled away from her touch, pacing slowly down the stairwell, lost in her own head. "Heh, they've been giving me weird looks all day! Like I'm some kind of a freak!" She stopped three steps down. Twilight said nothing, so she could finish venting. 

Twilight knew she was being ridiculous, but it hurt to know that’s how she felt. "No one thinks such awful things, Starlight,” she said after a pregnant pause. “Ponyville's just not like that." But ponies can be, and Twilight knew that's all her student cared for in her current, sensitive state. 

Sighing, she admitted, "I didn't intend for ponies to find out this way. I was going to propose you and I make a public announcement today..."

"But I left the castle before you could,” Starlight finished. Great, more guilt for her. “Heh, should've just ignored my gut for once, eh?" She hooted like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Twilight managed a smile, just to assuage any awkwardness. How Starlight greedily hoarded all the blame chilled her to the bone.

As if this sort of mindset was no big deal, no burden upon her, she continued. "Of course I expected all this: the stares, the misunderstandings. That’s not the problem though, it’s the pity that I hate. Treating me differently, like I’m a fragile eggshell that needs to be handled with care or else I’ll break." Starlight expelled a frustrated growl-sigh. 

"Ponies here don't assume what you think they do, Starlight." In the back of her mind, Tempest’s criticisms of her “demeaning” town sounded scarily close to Starlight’s opinion of such things.

"I thought I knew what I was getting into. I did!” said Starlight. “But there’s a big difference between fantasizing about something and actually living it.” She chortled humorlessly. Twilight wondered if she was now referring to her own predicament, or her anticipation of the town’s reaction. 

"I couldn't stand it," growled the unicorn. "The stares, the judgement, the stares... just how badly I messed up with my friends. I couldn't be around anypony! So… I ran, of course. I ran to the farthest border of Sweet Apple Acres, found myself some shade and... slept."

Twilight's eyes bugged out of her head. "The whole time?"

"Um, yes?" Her student smiled uneasily. It held before abruptly crumbling with a sigh, Starling becoming morose at the drop of a hat. "And I did some thinking, too, about… You know, how life's gonna be difficult. F-for a little while, at least, you know? Re-learning how to do basic stuff, like…” Starlight, whose voice had become incredibly small by now, never looked in Twilight’s direction. 

“Starlight?” wondered her mentor. 

“There'll be an adjustment period, just so you know.” She spoke as if preparing Twilight for a dirty job. 

She knew from Spike’s description that it wouldn’t be easy, but Starlight acted as one who knew it would be much more than that, and already wrote it off. 

And Twilight knew what that sounded like, because she’d heard a despondent Starlight Glimmer several times in the early months of their friendship. 

"O-Of course. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Adapting to a whole new lifestyle is bound to be difficult, maybe even scary.” Twilight hoped Starlight found sympathy in her smile when she looked over. 

Twilight had to tell herself that as Starlight returned to the descension before her, stiff as a gargoyle. “I shouldn’t be, though. I mean,” Starlight stammered, “it… shouldn’t be. Difficult, a-and...  I dunno. I dunno, Twilight, I’m sorry, I’m just talking to fill space.” 

That could only mean one thing: she was toeing the line between admitting something and withholding it. Twilight sidled closer, reaffirming her wing-hug. “Is there something on your mind?” 

“Nah. Just gabbin’.” Twilight wanted to pry, even as Starlight’s morose face fell in her peripherals. “Thanks,” she said, suddenly. “For listening.” 

Starlight hadn’t admitted much, but Twilight smiled anyway. Any progress was good progress. “My ear is always available. I’m just saying, and this is only me feeling the need to throw it out there, but, this isn’t a burden you should bear alone.” Or have to in the first place… She tightened her wing around Starlight.

“I didn’t want to leave before, I just… ran,” she suddenly admitted. Starlight breathed deep. “I panicked. I felt awkward and I didn’t know what to say, but after thinking I realized… I don’t want Tempest Shadow to help me, Twilight.” 

Twilight opened her mouth to speak. 

“I know what she’s here. A-and it’s not like I don’t appreciate it, because I do. Really, I do!” Starlight waved her hoof assuredly. “But I tried using magic today, Twilight. And you know what?” she asked with strength Twilight hadn’t seen in a month. “I have enough self-respect to know when my body is just no longer capable of doing what it was… fated for, I suppose.” She shrugged. “Magic is no longer for me. It was fun while it lasted, but, you know what they say! Nothing lasts forever.” 

Starlight’s chin crumpled, her simper followed. It was painfully clear she wasn’t okay with this. “And I’m fine with that,” she said anyway. “But I don’t need Tempest Shadow’s help. What she does isn’t even magic, it’s—”

“Pure magical discharge, I know.” Twilight swallowed. She blinked away the dampness threatening to gather. “She told me after you left.” And that wasn’t the only reason I asked her to come. It was always in her peripherals when talking to Starlight—mocking her. A brand announcing to the world that Twilight let her friend do this to herself. For her sake. 

Starlight cas her gaze aside. “I know it was because you care, Twilight, but I wish you’d asked,” their eyes met, “if I wanted that help, first. I didn’t want Tempest dragged all the way out here just for that!” Starlight cried, worriedly. 

“Fizzlepop wasn’t dragged,” said Twilight, as she remembered the look of apprehension she’d been regarded with since Fizzle turned down her first, rushed request. “She came of her own volition, because she wanted too…” Fizzlepop now looked at her the same way as Starlight. 

Twilight’s heart sank at the speed of Starlight, turning that wary stare at Twilight. “Did she really?” the mare asked bluntly. Perceptively—her eyes twinkled knowingly. 

Those two were alike in so many ways. Twilight hoped they would become friends. 

And forgive her for her constant idiocy. “I feel like I’d twisted her hoof… manipulating her,” Twilight said with disgust, “into doing something she didn’t want to do. Without even realizing it.” She glanced aside, glimpsing Starlight’s pupils before they’d fled the opposite direction. “But before that, I’d wanted her to help you with something else.” 

Starlight looked appalled. “No.” 

“Oh, Starlight…” 

“Don’t ‘Oh, Starlight’ me! Come on, Twilight, how would you feel?” she cried, exploding into animation, into her old Starlight-isms. “To need somepony else to sit there and teach you how to do teeth-brushing and mane-brushing and coat-brushing and manure-taking—” 

“Starlight, language!” Twilight snapped on instinct, forgetting to tell her student she was overreacting. 

“Oh, who cares? It’s just us!” 

“But I hate that kind of talk. It’s gross. Antagonists talk like that.” 

“AJ talks like that all the time.” 

“Some of the time,” Twilight corrected, “and Applejack was raised in a different household.” 

Starlight looked dubious, though comfortable at last beneath her mentor’s all-encompassing wing. Twilight’s insides tickled as she said, “That was a fun back-and-forth.” 

“Gosh, have your standards become that low?” 

They have, because they hadn’t had one in a month, and Twilight burst out laughing because of that. “I guess so!” Starlight couldn’t help but join in after that

Twilight had her on the reel—now to pull her in. It was no thanks to me, though. All she’d done was press her and pressure her. 

Just as she’d done with Fizzlepop. And I’m afraid I really messed up and hurt her, too. Maybe even worse than I did with Starlight, since we’re such good friends already. Poor Fizzlepop must feel so used, like their friendship was no different than that of the Storm King's. Why, oh why, was Twilight always so bullheaded under stress? 

And now she couldn’t stop thinking about the other friend whom she’d inadvertently offended. One pony at a time, Twilight. 

"Starlight," piqued said mare’s attention, "you're strong, you know that? I never once doubted that." She reacted bashfully. Twilight smiled, pressing on, "You are kind, and wise, and just… unbreakable,” she blurted out. Starlight’s eyes were big and round before looking away, likely trying to hide a blush. “Honestly,” Twilight continued. “You’ve gone through so much, Starlight… so much I wish you hadn’t.” 

“Twilight…” 

“But I want you to know,” Twilight turned and both their eyes locked at once, “I admire you for that. I truly do. You bounce back from everything, even something as horrible and terrible and tragic—” 

“Twilight.” She scrubbed her cheeks, turning to Starlight with a snuffle. Her friend was smiling kindly, reassuringly, with warmth on her face and love in her eyes. “You’ve no idea what that means to me. I-I mean it, really. It makes me feel terrible for how I acted today.” Starlight was always too hard on herself. 

“You’ve done nothing wrong, I… I understand. I mean, I don’t presume to fully understand, but—”

“Again. Twilight.” 

“Right.” She smiled sheepishly. “I’m doing it again—being pushy and rambly. I’m not thinking straight, clearly...” 

Starlight cocked a brow like she was crazy. “Twilight, you’re just being a concerned friend. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s no wonder m-my… my behavior drove you to do this. I should be the one apologizing profusely, not you!” she laughed. 

“Starlight, we’ve both made mistakes in the handling of this… situation. I’m willing to work past it together if you are.” 

“Of course I am. I’m really sorry, though.” 

Twilight smiled. “I forgive you, so long as you forgive me, and we can move past this.”  

“Um, yeah!” Starlight grinned shyly. 

It’s time. She’s comfortable now. There’s no better time to bring it up than right now! 

“I can’t even begin to describe how much it hurts that this’d happened to you,” Twilight began. Starlight’s ears perked as she continued, “You may be strong, you might be able to take this in stride, but not everypony can do so.” Twilight gasped for breath, matching Starlight’s gaping gaze. “Just the fact that this happened to you is destroying me,” she sniffled. Twilight desperately scrubbed her eyes. 

“What did you have in mind, exactly?”

“I came up with a plan, Starlight.” Twilight faintly noted how she looked terrified by the prospect. “One that’ll restore you to your former, powerful self!" Starlight undoubtedly mourned the loss of her incredible ability the most. 

Yet, she just looked even more gutted. “Aaand… what would that be? I mean,” Starlight snorted, lifting her hoof with eyes to the ceiling, “unless you’re thinking of getting my horn back, and that would be a mir—!” She choked upon her laughter, seeing the grin that’d spread across Twilight’s face. “...I was joking,” she squeaked. “Twilight, what is this ‘plan’ of yours, exactly?” 

Of course she would be apprehensive, Twilight realized, but once she explained, Starlight would surely see her logic. She would see that this was Destiny, just as her first trip to Flutter Valley was (at least, according to what Spike repeated from Starlight, but Twilight had no reason to mistrust his word again).

"Okay, think about it Starlight,” she said excitedly. “You, me, and all of our friends go to Flutter Valley. You take us to where those witches are. Together, we’ll negotiate to get your horn back. Whether they agree or not doesn’t matter,” Starlight snapped her gaze to her, “because this will end the same way it always does: we use the Elements of Harmony to turn them to good.” From beneath her wing, the soon-to-be-unicorn looked oddly dubious. “Don’t you see, Starlight? You were onto something! Everything that’s happened? My friends and I meeting, embodying the Elements—reforming Discord, and meeting you? This was all meant to happen, and so is me helping you, right here and now!” Twilight’s eyes stung; everything just hit her at once like a stampede of Buffalo. 

Starlight, she saw between passes of her foreleg, had her uncovered eye fixed to the floor, gaping like the abyss itself. 

“It’ll go like it always does,” gasped Twilight, fighting, forcing her trembling features into a smile like Celestia’s. One that always assured Twilight that it’ll be alright.

When practicing this sales pitch in her head, she anticipated the most likely possible reaction from Starlight, factoring in her feelings for Twilight, the stage of their friendship, and current circumstances. 

Starlight, therefore, would burst into tears and tackle her in a hug. She likely won’t be able to fully process the reality of getting her magic back, considering she’s mostly resigned to her fate. 

An excellent time-filler for the balloon ride, Twilight decided. 

“Do the others know how dangerous this is?” Starlight asked, gazing hollowly down the stairwell. 

Chills shuddered down Twilight’s back. “I relayed it to them over dinner. Yes, they know.” 

“Really?” Starlight’s voice was immediate. Loud as her head lifted suddenly. “And they still wanna go?” She didn’t look Twilight’s way. 

“O-of course. They’re all on board, Starlight. They’re in this for you—” 

“Well I don’t want their help!” she snapped, turning. 

Twilight didn’t jump, solely because she didn’t want Starlight feeling worse than she already seemed, her head shying away with shame. “There’s no way I’d let them do that,” she said, voice thick, but unwavering. “This is way too dangerous. And besides,” Starlight snapped her gaze, shooting deep into Twilight’s soul, “my life is perfectly fine, and yours, well, it wasn’t.” 

And I’m afraid of you decaying as well, my forever-student. “Starlight, even so, I’m surprised you don’t see how fate has played into our hooves. This is our chance to get your magic back! Don’t you want that?” 

“I gave that up in a deal, Twilight,” Starlight stressed, as if she didn’t already understand. “The bargain is fulfilled and it’s one I’d gladly pay again!” Twilight felt like she was about to collapse. “I made peace with my mistake and moved on. I’d like it if you and everypony else did, too. That’s what would help me.” 

She really doesn’t want us risking our lives. “I’m pretty sure the Elements will work as they always have,” Twilight said with confidence. 

Starlight chortled scornfully into a foreleg. "Twilight, where do you think the Elements of Harmony even came from?" she asked on the verge of laughter. 

"The Pillars, Starlight. You know that.” What was the point of this little game? 

"Uh-huh. And whose magic was used to create their seed? Hmm? Whose magic transfigured it from a force for Good into one of Harmony? Because it came from somewhere, and it definitely wasn't the Pillars themselves. They didn’t have their own magic, it was borrowed. All of it is borrowed, Twilight—yours, mine, Celestia’s, it all comes from the witches themselves!"

“Blasphemy!” Twilight reeled away. She didn't mean for herself to appear so disgusted, but it was more in reaction to the enormity of these half-mad assertions. "Starlight, this is absurd. Everypony knows that magic comes from the soul—Equestria's soul, at that—even you! By assuming this, you're telling me these evil, malicious grotesques are, at the very least, extensions of our land."

And then it clicked, and Twilight’s gut plummeted a second later. 

“Twilight?” Starlight fretted, seeing her reaction. 

“Or they’ve used dark magic to graft themselves to it. Starlight, that gives us even more reason to stop them!” 

"Urgh! You're assuming things again,” Starlight snapped, flailing a hoof at her. “They’re exactly what you don’t want them to be! You gotta believe me, Twilight, I felt them. Not just in my gut, but from what they actually said, how they acted..." She breathed shakily; unspeakable horror glimmering within those piercing, blue eyes.

What in Equestria did Starlight see? Twilight felt grasped in cold, feeling uncomfortable with her safety for the first time in her life. She felt… vulnerable. She’d truly no idea what these creatures appeared like, let alone what they were capable of! She really did just rush Fluttershy! Twilight’s heart pounded hard and fast. Fluttershy couldn’t even describe what it was she saw, she barely even remembered the encounter it was so horrifying!

"These things are dangerous, Twilight,” she heard Starlight over the roar of ocean waves. “They're more powerful than all of Equestria combined. To be frank, I think they are all of Equestria combined. That’s terrifying! We can’t go up against that, they’re like, like gods!” 

Twilight was caught, entranced by her friend’s gaping stare. Was it terror or madness looking back? Twilight’s stomach turned and her eyes prickled with thousands of little needs. 

Starlight, her poor, sad friend, needed so much help. More than just Twilight alone. Then again, she thought with a rise in her heart, what was the Princess of Friendship without her friends? 

Twilight looked back to Starlight, startled by her fixed gaze. It begged Twilight not to go. 

So she's serious. Twilight gulped. She genuinely believes this. I don't have reason to deny it, nor the sense to accept it... But I don’t want to be a bad friend by dismiss—NO! No, you're not dismissing her, Twilight. Remember Cadance's wedding, remember what happened and how awful you felt. This is different. You're not abandoning your friend because you think you know better than her. You aren’t disregarding her insight…

But there was so much more to consider than Starlight's feelings here. Too much to take what she said at face value. 

After all, in a way, she still had a duty. Whatever the truth behind these witches were felt hidden, and quite possibly blasphemous as far as the magical world was concerned. 

"I'm sure they're every bit as serious as you make them out to be,” Twilight said carefully. “The thing is, it’s not that I mistrust your information, Starlight. I mistrust their's. Whatever they told you and made you feel. When you get down to it, these are just impressions. From what I understand, these beings aren't... normal ponies."

"They're not ponies."

“That much I’d already gathered.” It was all Twilight had of the creature Starlight deemed “Hydia,” and Fluttershy's vague, two-word description couldn’t possibly paint a picture. “They’re like the humans from Sunset’s world, apparently.”

Starlight nodded gladly, as if relieved Twilight was ‘finally’ accepting this part of her description. “They’re disgusting, Twilight,” she said with a shudder.  

Twilight leaned against her, tightening her wing. “Hey, relax. They aren’t anywhere near you.” 

Starlight only shook her head. “Mhm. Totally.” Inch by inch, she took in the ceiling.

Twlight bit her lip, wracking her brain for a way to comfort Starlight. Whatever these beings were, Starlight was terrified of them beyond measure—so much so that she couldn’t even bring herself to describe them in detail. 

It’s impossible to fathom Hydia and her underlings as anything but their pony counterparts. Yet, her two eyewitnesses spoke of them in the same vein as some unspeakable, eldritch horror. One of them claimed they’re vaguely similar to the Humans of Starswirl’s mirror dimension. 

So much didn’t make sense, yet, what did Starlight see? An illusion designed to scare ponies? A vision? Her descriptions were too vague to go off of. 

“Starlight, there’s just something about all this that just gives me a skeptical feeling. I can’t shake it. And I’m not calling you a liar!” she quickly assured her, though Starlight didn’t move a muscle. “But if these beings ‘barely resemble,’ as you put it, the species I’d classified as Technicolorus Bipedilus,’” Starlight still had the audacity to groan in dislike at a time like this; Twilight proceeded with a tenseness she couldn’t squash in a second, “and yet, are as powerful as you described, they could be hiding their true forms beneath a terrifying mask. To unease ponies who approach them. Doesn’t that make sense?” 

It sure did to Twilight. What other explanation could there be? 

“Twilight, none of this matters. What I’m telling you, is I’ve felt these things. I’ve felt their power. It’s real.” 

“I don’t doubt that, Starlight. But that doesn’t mean they’re…” Twilight smile died as she realized what she was about to say. “It doesn’t mean they’re gods,” she said calmly. Surprisingly. 

Chills raked her back up and down, down and up. Grasped her legs and around her barrel. 

“Twilight, they stopped my magic and then laughed about it.” 

Utter silence, save for the battering of Twilight’s heart. “You mean,” she swallowed what felt like a thick ball of cotton, “they deflected a spell? O-or—” 

“No,” Starlight snapped, clearly not at her though. “It was like an invisible claw held my horn, severing its connection. It ached just from being there,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “like they were already in the midst of breaking it… It was horrible. I felt so defenseless!” She never sounded so fragile. 

Twilight craned over to nuzzle her wing-clad student. In doing so, she saw that at some point, Starlight had wrapped her forelegs around her barrel, as though suffering a bellyache. 

She was inches away when Starlight opened her eye, muttering, “If they’re not gods, then they’re something that’s a league way beyond anything you’ve faced before.” 

“Starlight, what about our duty to protect Equestria?” Twilight rose her voice, more in shock of her headstrong friend’s sudden defeatism. “If not for yourself, then that’s fine. But what about Equestria and everypony in it?” 

Starlight laughed bitterly. “Their lives aren’t in danger.” 

Twilight would never have the confidence to make such a claim after everything she’d heard. Starlight couldn’t be in the right mind if she truly believed that... “Forgive me, Starlight, but I don’t trust your judgement enough, at this moment, to accept that claim. How can you be sure these ‘witches’ didn’t, say, lure Cerberus from his post, allowing Tirek to escape and nearly ruin Equestria? Not to say that they did, but if they’re truly omnipresent—”

“We’re safe because they don’t mess with ponies for fun, or because that gives them power, or whatever! Not,” Starlight hesitated, and sighed miserably as she finished, “not all evil is like that. These things, whatever they really are, are only kept at bay thanks to these weird, arbitrary rules they seem bound to play by. How do I know that? Because they’d rule the world if there wasn’t something keeping them in check.” 

The weight of a full-grown stallion laid across Twilight’s back. Could Starlight be correct? 

Better question: had Twilight ever had reason to question her friend’s judgement before losing her horn? 

And did she seriously consider, even for a moment, that Starlight was crazy?! 

She gasped to stay afloat and upright. “So, you’re going to just sit here and let other ponies suffer as you have?” 

“Don’t do that to me, Twilight, I mean it.” 

“What, tell the truth? Starlight, how can you stand by and let these monsters exist in our world?!” 

“They’re part of it, Twilight, whether you like it or not,” Starlight told her tersely. “I know what this is really about. And I’m telling you one, last, time: I’m flattered you’re so willing to help me, but it wouldn’t feel right putting your lives in danger over what I consider a fair trade—”

“‘A fair trade?!’” The frightened stare from Starlight cut, deep and swift. “These monsters tricked you into a deal you couldn’t refuse, how is that even remotely fair?!” A tiny voice begged Twilight to stop yelling, but the rest screamed that it wasn’t enough. “You said as much—they pigeonholed you into a verbal agreement you had zero say in! That isn’t even close to fair, and you know it!” 

“But I don’t care about that,” cried Starlight, rising as well. 

“Then why are you justifying this, this… injustice?!” she cried. “Why aren’t you getting angry?!” 

“Because I don’t care if that’s what it took to save your life, alright?” she snapped, proving how foalish Twilight was acting. “I’m not gonna want my horn back if it puts that in jeopardy, or any of our friends’ lives for that matter. So, once again, I’m sorry Twilight. Thanks, but I’m gonna have to decline your offer.” 

And Starlight, nose upturned, peeked open a single eye as if daring Twilight to hound her again. 

“Well maybe—!” she choked, at a loss for words. “Maybe… maybe I don’t care about the risks! Maybe our friends don’t, either!” She flinched, and looked to her stunned with realization. “Maybe it just destroys us to see you like this, Starlight! Or we don’t like the thought of you being absolutely miserable without your horn!” 

“F-for the millionth time…” Starlight gathered the will to sound angry. To puff herself up and look intimidating. 

“Then how do you explain the lying?! The hiding, the same, constant reassurances over and over?!” Twilight cried, stomping toward her. “You’re not yourself, Starlight, that’s for sure, and it all begins and ends with that on your forehead!” Her hoof jutted towards the depressing little stump. Starlight’s crown for this marvelous act; maybe she’ll grow wings soon, too. 

Starlight slapped her foreleg aside, fury alight in her glare. “No, Twilight,” she bellowed. “It begins and ends with you! You’re the one on my back. You’re the one insisting I have a problem, and once I finally do you point to it without ever realizing that you’re its danged architect!” 

“I-I—” Twilight could barely think beyond the ache drilling through her chest. 

“You’re impossible to deal with sometimes! But this plan of yours? This dumb, shortsighted, stupid, life-threatening ‘plan?’” 

“What about it?” Don’t cry. Not here, not because of this. Starlight would feel so awful. Why did Twilight have to care? She was only the Princess of Friendship. Starlight was only lashing out, understandably so. Why was all of this getting to her? Twilight blinked the blurriness from her eyes as Starlight merely rocked back, chuckling. 

Laughing at the absurdity of it all, of the plan, of Twilight’s stupidity. 

“I didn’t think you could top that weekend we spent cleaning up Hollow Shades, I gotta say. But this takes much more than just the cake, you’ve gone and robbed Sugarcube Corner and emptied the royals’ pantry along the way! ...Twilight, what in Equestria’s possessed you to talk our friends into such an awful plan? I mean, I’m the queen of terrible plans and even I can tell this one’s reaching for the sun.” 

Twilight heard every word as they passed through her ears, deaf to all but how they sounded. 

The entire world was breathing, it seemed, and it was trying its best not to cry. 

Stop making this about you, dang it. Her heart hardened, a swell of love surging through her. You’re doing this for her. Break through to her! 

“I’m sorry, but we've made a unanimous decision.” 

“Really?” she asked flatly. “Everypony is in agreement with you. They all know exactly what they’re getting into?” 

Twilight shook her head. “About as much as I do. Which isn’t much, to be fair, but we’re no strangers to insurmountable odds.” Especially when stacked against the likes of Tirek and Sombra, a few entities masquerading as fictional characters weren’t as intimidating. “That doesn’t mean we’re rushing head on, though, I was kind of hoping you could tell us what to expect.” 

“You’ll leave broken and crying.” 

“Starlight!” cried Twilight, horrified. 

“You think I’m joking?! These t-things, they’re no laughing matter! I’m serious! They’ll eat us for breakfast if we make the wrong move!” 

“And so we’ll leave together, whole, and happy! Just like we always do!” 

Starlight grimaced as though in pain. “This won’t end like those times, Twilight. Why won’t you believe me?” 

“Because we can do this, Starlight. I know we can. Just trust in friendship, and trust in me… Don’t you?” She touched Starlight’s cheek, gently urging her to face her once more. “Don’t you trust in my judgement? That which had guided you to where you are today?” For what that’s worth. Twilight’s innards sunk like a rock in water. 

Yet, her student bit her lip, considering… knowing, deep down, that Twilight was right. Right?

“Starlight, I am afraid,” Twilight told her truthfully. “But nothing in this land will keep me from helping you. Nothing, because that’s what friends d—”

“Save it.” 

“W-what?” Starlight looked dead-serious, and Twilight was caught obsessing over where this tonal shift came from.

“Save that, this ‘Because that's what friends do,’ spiel,” she explained simply. “I’m not gonna dance around this—you’d give your life to save mine, if it came down to it. Because you’re the ‘Princess of Friendship,’” Starlight squealed, eyes fluttering; she dropped the act abruptly. “They’ll make sure it comes to that, I guarantee it. And you’d have forgotten about the hundreds of other friends who want you alive, happy, and whole.” 

I can’t be happy knowing you’re falling apart at the same time. “Starlight, I would never let them—” 

“You know I had the same, self-destructive mentality before going to Flutter Valley myself?” Her smirk hadn’t dropped an inch. “Gotta say, it’s different hearing it from another pony… Less ‘inspiring’ and more ‘infuriating,’” she chuckled. “I mean, I mean I knew why before, but now, well, now I really empathize with Spike’s desperation.” 

Spike… Twilight didn’t question his silence during supper; while everypony was talking up the plan, her assistant and childhood friend sat there, spooning his fried rice until it was cold and gunky. Twilight had asked him to speak his mind. They all did, even Tempest, surprising Twilight. But not even the offer of a few, private words with Rarity made him budge. Not even when the others voiced their doubts, he never spoke up. 

If he fought with Starlight so “desperately,” what did his behavior at dinnertime mean? 

“Starlight…” She was rambling, lost in her thoughts. Desperate. 

Of course Twilight would put up just as fierce a fight. She’d wonder Starlight’s approach if the roles were reversed, but the depth of her conviction was on display for all the world to see. 

To judge the result of Twilight’s teachings, what Starlight had gathered after a couple years of teaching. 

“Starlight, wait.” Whatever she was saying caught sharply in her throat. Twilight gazed through the wall of navy-blue mane blocking Starlight’s eyes. “Just wait, please… and understand. I only want to meet your standards… to repay all you’ve taught me.” Twilight didn’t try to be discreet with her stolen glance at Starlight’s maiming, too lost in the memory of when they freed the Pillars, and even further back, when Starlight took her hoof in friendship. “Because if I don’t, if I don’t meet your standards, then…” Then I don’t deserve my title, “...then, what kind of a friend would I be?”

Starlight, staring with wide, hollowed eyes, dropped her gaze to Twilight’s hooves as she strode across the step, closing their distance. “Starlight?” No answer, not even a response as Twilight touched her chest. “Do you now understand my stake in this? Why I have to do this?” 

“Twilight.” Stiff, sharp, her name rung throughout the hall. “My points. Stand. All of them. You’re still acting like you’re in control of the situation, that it’s fate to go down there, just like I did.” Starlight turned her face, eyes rising, glaring into Twilight’s soul icy-blue. “So I’ll fight fate if it keeps you from going there,” she swore from the depths of her soul. 

Awe. Heartache. Heart-pounding terror. Twilight quivered in her skin. Starlight flinched, showing shock for a moment, perhaps at with what she’d said, then scowled at Twilight with determination. She was going to do whatever she physically could to stop Twilight from going… 

What in Equestria was she about to do? There’s no way she had an actual plan. Right? 

“Starlight—.” Suddenly she was in Magic Kindergarten again. Suddenly she was narrow-minded again. Suddenly, there was only one thing on her mind—one thing that mattered to her, and she was going to reach the sun no matter what it cost her. 

“Starlight, I am going to Flutter Valley, with or without your help. A-and you know what? I’m not going to let you not stop us!” Twilight had never defied somepony so loudly, so strongly; especially not a friend. She wasn’t going to let her friend suffer, no matter what it cost her. 

She might be a little afraid of Starlight at this very moment. 

But Twilight was terrified for Starlight, a thousand times over. 

And she clearly did not appreciate being defied. "You aren't listening to me! You think this is like all the other times you’ve beaten the odds, but it's just not! It won't be! I know it sounds crazy and I sound crazy right now, but unlike you, I actually know what they are. They aren't good, they aren't evil. You can’t bargain with them, you can’t beat them, you can’t trick them because, guess what, they already know how this is gonna end!”

Starlight was so scared for her, it was almost heartwarming. Almost. Terror gripped Twilight’s drumming chest, tight. 

"...Starlight, listen to me," Twilight pleaded, because Starlight was never going to look at her for more than three seconds. "You've done a wonderful thing in demonstrating your devotion to a cherished friend. Believe me when I say that I couldn't be prouder, nor as thankful, to consider you the same. But I don't want you to forget your lessons; remember that friendship is a two-way street. Therefore, I’ve made my decision final. Like it or not, you can’t stop me,” vowed Princess Twilight, her voice stern, but not unkind. 

"Twilight," said Starlight, one tense moment later, "I swear to Celestia, Luna, Cadance, yourself and even baby Flurry Heart: you do this to me, and I will cut off our friendship."

The enormity of her threat hit where it hurts. Twilight cried out, slapping a hoof on her chest, as if actually shot with a bolt of magic. 

But such a thing would never hurt as much. "How could you even threaten such a thing!?" she cried. “You can’t mean that!” 

"If this is what it takes to keep you from doing anything stupid, then yes! I do!"

Twilight’s hooves moved. Paced, all on their own. They needed to do something, Twilight couldn’t just do nothing and stand there totally useless! "No, Starlight, no!” She paced up and down the stair. “You've no right to do this to me, no right at all! Yo—you can't go, and, a-and make me feel indebted to you! And then go on to—"

"Indebted!?" Starlight cut in, unbelieving. "Twilight, you owe me nothing."

"Except my life!" she hoarsely squeaked, slapping her physically, mentally sound person. 

Starlight wheezed for air, a strangled laugh as she drowned in tears. "Need I remind you of your own Friendship Journal? Specifically the fourth lesson of Spike's chapter?" she asked, her voice quivering a mile a minute, proving this wasn’t easy for her. 

"I know the fourth lesson in Spike's chapter." Twilight knew exactly where she was going with this. 

"Then you'll remember how he felt indebted to Applejack for saving his life?" Starlight's eyes couldn't maintain contact for longer than a second. "How Spike got on her nerves? I recall AJ herself was uncomfortable with how obligated he felt to repay her for that."

"This is entirely different."

"How?" Starlight’s eyes flashed. "Because it involves you, personally? Twilight, I’m not bashing you over this, but you’re letting your own feelings impede on logic and sense. You can’t afford to do that, you’re just more important than I am. Think of everypony and how they’ll feel should something terrible happen to you!” 

Twilight, the world, her tummy, everything felt monstrously heavy. She could barely moved, breathe, even think. Everything was just squeezed out of her by this crushing reality. 

Starlight was right. She was absolutely right. 

“And guess what?” she asked. “There are ponies out there who need your help more than me. So why not consider them first, huh?" She wasn’t berating Twilight now, but it sure felt that way.

“Why did this have to be the way it is?” Twilight croaked. “That’s what I don’t get. That’s what bugs me so much about this and makes my stomach turn everytime I think about it!” 

“W-what’s that?” 

“THIS!” Twilight hollered at the shrinking fool. “Everything about it, it just drives me up a wall!” she cried, clasping her ears. 

Starlight stomped forth, bringing their tearful gazes inches apart. "Alright Twilight, so what!? What!? You're telling me I did this for no reason?"

Twilight was appalled - how in Equestria could she reach such a conclusion? Did she not know her teacher at all? "No! I would never-!"

"Then what, Twilight!?" Starlight screamed. "Why are you so mad at me!?"

"I'M NOT MAD! I'M UPSET! I'm upset that this happened to you on my behalf! I'm upset that you're hurting and I don't know why. It’s terrible that this had to happen and there’s nothing I can do to feasibly change that! But worst of all, it's torture to see you like this and it’s made all the worse because I’ve no notion of how you're hurting, because you just aren't talking to me!"

And there it was. Out in the open, and it will never be in again. 

The Unicorn's eyes flared. Her teeth grit and stared Twilight down. "I told you, I’m not—"

"Yes you are!" Twilight sobbed. "You look like a mess, you've barely eaten, you've been acting like you got something to hide since it happened—you can barely look at me when I talk to you!"

Her voice rang in the vastness of their home.

A shameful display. Everypony who ever knew Twilight would be embarassed to be affiliated with her if they’d just witnessed all that. 

And Starlight… 

Starlight saw how scared she was, and not angry. Right? She understood the reason for Twilight’s tears, the cause of them? "We're worried about you, Starlight. All of us, especially Maud and Trixie. Nopony is mad at you, we just want to make sure you're okay."

Starlight said nothing, did nothing, but plop to her haunches with a vacant stare. “I’m fine.” 

Twilight joined her on the floor. She didn’t know why, it’s not like she was about to be so thoughtless as to touch Starlight after saying all that. 

Neither said a word. Both began rubbing their eyes, sniffling periodically. This went on for a moment. 

"I was perfectly fine until everypony else made my business theirs." Starlight croaked nothing further. Twilight was at a loss on what to say. She never felt so useless in all her time as a princess. 

And yet, Starlight was clearly not "fine." She wasn't "okay." Starlight could deny and deny, but an obvious fear was constantly buried underneath a casual, lighthearted demeanor. It took Twilight years to learn it, but she recognized the pattern, the cycle Starlight suffered whenever this deep-seated terror resurfaced.

She'd likely fostered it for years, assuring the few ponies in her life that she was fine. She was fine that Sunburst left for Celestia's. She was upset, sure, but not because he was gone, of course not!

If anything, she was more upset that it was a cutie mark which ended their friendship.

After changing her ways, guilt plagued Starlight for months. She was able to accept it and move on when she had to, and for good. But before leading her ragtag team through the Hive, Starlight would lock up and shiver at the notion of interacting with others. 

It was not solely a fear of leading the drove her away from such things, of falling back on old habits. It was judgement that kept her at bay, the "true feelings” of others once they got to know the “awful” pony that she was.

She had trouble seeing the mare that Twilight had—a pony with a lot of love in her heart. One worthy of redemption.

After defeating Chrysalis and her own inner demons, Twilight hoped her student finally knew that. Now, as she realized the last ten minutes actually happened, Twilight wondered if Starlight ever did in the first place.

And little things peppered throughout their years together—instances where Starlight, after a streak of making Twilight proud, would stumble upon a lapse in judgement. But instead of owning up to it, or confessing the truth to its occurrence, Starlight would deflect it if she had a stable argument, or worse, wave it off and never address it again. Every one of these mistakes stemmed from a hard truth, one that Starlight's own soul couldn't bear to confront because it was too painful to acknowledge, to admit that it’s real.

If the same thing was happening here, Twilight had to find it and rectify the cause of this mental sickness. 

This inferiority complex. 

That was the first step towards helping Starlight put herself back together. 





“Twi, Starlight is so lucky to have a friend who’s this worried about her.” Spike dunked a dirty plate into the soapy washbin. “She’d have to be crazy not to realize that. You’re worrying too much about her.” 

‘This worried.’ Obsessing over her all day, all week, like a crazy pony was sound appraisal. Definitely. “You’re right. She may not have come to dinner, but that doesn’t mean she’s avoiding me. I’m sorry for worrying so much today,” Twilight said, for the umpteenth time that day. 

Spike replied in kind, "Don't be. I get it." He leaned in, snuggling against her neck for a moment. Twilight pulled away, smiling as she levitated a stack of dishes away. 

Starlight would normally be doing it, but in her absence Twilight had dish drying/stacking in addition to table clearing. 

Twilight nuzzled his scaly cheek, pressing with all the fear balled up inside her. "I'm so scared for her Spike. It's like I'm split into thirds and I don’t know which is right. One doesn't want to deny Starlight the support she needs, while another is torn on whether she even needs it. If I act on the latter, then Starlight may believe I don't care about her at all. To counter that would involve indulging in the former, which she’d hate. Then, Starlight would feel crushed that I assumed she was weak, and even worse if I just rub her obvious heartache in her face! That could end up driving us apart, when it would’ve been avoided had I been a better friend! So no matter what I do, I'm being a bad friend!" 

With her nose now pressed against Spike’s, he nasally asked, “Um, and the last third?”

And the last third...

Twilight shut her eyes. “I don’t even want to think about it.” 

“That doesn’t sound very healthy.” 

“Yeah, well,” she dropped his soapy-clawed self back upon the ground, “it’s just me being me. Nothing more.” 

“And,” Spike quirked a brow, “that was meant to be reassuring?” 

Twilight looked away, levitating another stack into two within the cabinet. “It means that this feeling has nothing to do with the situation at hoof. So it doesn’t matter.” 

“Twilight, you can’t ignore how you feel about this.” Water sloshed away behind her. 

“Maybe not,” Twilight agreed. “But I can’t let that cloud my judgement. Starlight is the victim here. Not me. I’m not going to lose sight of my purpose again.”  

The dunking stopped. “Your ‘p-purpose?’” Twilight ruffled her wings, not turning to see his reaction. "I can't fail again, Spike.” Those blaring alarms in Seaquestria still hurt, even a year later. The images of her hurt friends was even worse. “Especially now. Starlight’s on the line here."

Her foreleg prickled with claws sinking into it, Spike’s soft cheek against it well-worth the minor discomfort. "You won't. You’ve learned from your mistakes. You're a wiser princess now because of it." They’d spoken at length of this many a night since. 

"But I'm not infallible,” she reminded him. 

"Twilight—”

"Spike..." He needed to understand what this meant to her. "I won't. Fail. At friendship. Again,” she said, boring deep into his stunned gaze. “I can't let that happen."

A beat later, Spike blinked back to life. He held her hoof in both claws. "We won't let that happen—me and all our friends, we’re right behind you, Twilight!”