The butterfly flew about, fluttering its way outside of Canterlot and over tremendous fields of grass, trees, and flowers—over rivers and by hasty waterfalls. It flew past ponies conversing in dark tones, most of them clothed in gray green clothes making them blend in with the environment. Wagons, carts, carriages holding boxes, crates, sacks, and more ponies.
It flapped its wings, flitting about for as long as it could.
After a trip down the mountains, the butterfly reached the town of Ponyville.
A broken Ponyville.
The butterfly flew past boarded up houses and shops, all bearing the stench of dust and the lack of anyone. Weeds had overgrown, flowers had withered—a boring brown, a drying gray.
The butterfly traveled far, and it rested upon a bush by the fence of Sweet Apple Acres.
Which was currently not in operation. Not a single whir of a machine, not a single puff of smoke coming out of the smokestacks, no barrels were out in the open today.
For Applejack, without her work uniform and wearing her country hat, sat on a chair in a little pond of chairs, surrounded by few.
In attendance: Apple Bloom, wearing her big ribbon on her mane and a sad face drenched in tears on her head; Pipsqueak, sitting beside her, holding a wet hankerchief and reddened eyes; Silver Spoon, with her braided mane and her glasses and her solemn look with only an open mouth; Golden Harvest, with brushed caramel hair and a couple of tissues; Mayor Mare, forehead creased and with a wilting red tie.
The mayor stood up, seeing the couple standing before the chairs.
Big McIntosh, the groom. Clothed with his yoke, his burly figure towering his love.
Cheerilee, the bride. Dressed with a white hat, her graceful figure sweetening the air.
Mayor Mare smiled.
Walked up to the couple.
As the audience of five watched.
Big Mac choked up, holding Cheerile's hoof.
"Y-Yes—uh, I mean...I, Big McIntosh, do take you, Cheerilee, as my wife, but not just my wife. I do take you as my life-long friend, my forever partner, the provider for our children in the future. I love you for who you are, and I do anticipate the rest of our years together, loving you more each day until death do us part."
Mayor Mare nodded, book in hoof, and faced Cheerilee. "And, do you, Cheerilee, take Big McIntosh as your husband?"
Cheerilee nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Faced Big Mac.
"I, Cheerilee, do take you, Big McIntosh, as my husband, but not just my husband. I do take you as my companion always, my lover enduringly, the provider for our family in the future. I love you no matter what, and I do anticipate the rest of our years together, my love for you never abating until death do us part."
The mayor nodded. "I pronounce you...husband and wife."
A feeble cheer came from the five seated ponies. Applejack and Apple Bloom shouted the loudest for the groom, while Pipsqueak and Silver Spoon yelled the noisiest for the bride. Only Golden Harvest remained subdued in her applause, looking upon them with mournful eyes.
Big Mcintosh and Cheerilee...
Into a kiss.
As the cheers continued, surrounding them in an expanse of love.
Applejack sighed, looking beyond.
Out the window, the barren hills. Over there, the town of Ponyville, destitute and desolate—a somber feel descending over it like a flock of invisible vultures. Not a single light was on. The guards hovered about the town, protecting it and defending merely with their presence.
Applejack sighed.
She turned around and saw her bedroom, the same it ever was. That neat bed, fixed up; the night stand with a lamp; the painting of a pony frolicking in the flower fields hanging over her pillows; lassos and hat hanging on long nails; a narrow shelf of books and flower vases; and, of course, the basket of apples at the end of the room.
Creak.
She turned to the door.
Saw a faint ray of light, the figure of Apple Bloom. "Granny's gotten worse. Do you think we need to give her another drop?"
Applejack nodded. "Go. I...I need some 'lone time."
Apple Bloom cringed. "A-Are you sure?"
Nodded again. "Go."
Apple Bloom scurried off and closed the door with a bang.
Applejack sighed.
Faced the window.
Faced the outside.
The cold, chilling, freezing spring night outside.
She looked at the table.
There, a photo.
On the photo, there she was along with her family: Apple Bloom, Big McIntosh, Granny Smith. But, a great many were there, too, including Golden Harvest, Mayor Mare, Lyra Heartstrings, Diamond Tiara, Filthy and Spoiled Rich, Thunderlane, Rumble, Toe-Tapper, Sandbar, Blossom Delight, Crusoe, Mr. and Mrs. Cake, Davenport, Octavia, Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle, Rarity....
All standing before the town hall, smiling for the camera.
Applejack snorted, looking cross. "It just ain't the same anymore, isn't it? Almost everypony I know an' love's gone, some of them good as dead, an' I'll never see 'em again!"
A tear forming, welling up.
"Leavin' us here, to suffer, to writhe in pain an' agony! Everypony's dyin', and nothing's goin' but back an' forth!"
Heaving.
"Let this end now!" she screamed. "If not me, then give Apple Bloom a good life! Don't let it consume her, don't let it make her mad—spare her, you monster—you evil monster!"
As the tears flowed down her cheeks.
Baring her teeth.
Barely holding her chokes.
Lowered her head by the window.
Howled into the night.
Closed eye, flooded with tears.
Looked up.
Misty, blurry-eyed, yet she could see, up there, the moon.
Looking upon that same moon was Fine Print, a dashing stallion with scruffy mane and a disheveled scarf around his neck. Sitting on a taxi carriage stumbling away from Ponyville, he groaned.
"I shouldn't have let the poor colt go there!" he said in a twangy, urban voice. "You know him, don't you, sir?"
The driver rolled his eyes. "Can you make it quick? I'm trying to focus."
"Oh, ah, he's an orange colt—yeah, he's orange—and...oh, why do I forget his name so often? He's always on the list, but...yeah, yeah! I got it! New Record—that's what his name was. You know him, you really do know him!"
"Uh, why?" the driver asked, confused. "I've never seen him before."
"Ah, 'cause, you see, he's the colt our boss sent around when we got word of the war the night before. He started in Canterlot, then to Ponyville, then went as far as Light Doze—all before the morning was over! Always shouting, 'Extra! Extra! War is ahoof!' But, yesterday...shouldn't have let him snuck out on his own, trying to join his father."
"Sneaking out to the military, huh?" the driver said. "Have I seen my share of sneak-outs before...."
"Well, that's the answer to those questions the posters are postin'," Fine Print said. "The Princesses wanted effective propaganda, they got effective propaganda. Too effective—even the kids are gobbling it up! Soon, we'll have no kids, no parents, nopony to talk to but you and me against the world. The two of us, the final rebels, the last survivors of Equestria!"
"Don't get ahead of yourself," the driver warned. "I'll be going underground. I heard they're making a whole system of underground passageways in case Sombra wins. That way, our resistance will continue."
"Good, good!" Fine Print said, pointing at him as if he won a contest. "Too bad I already wrote an article about it! Got them through reliable sources, great sources!"
The driver shook his head. "You Manehattanites...."
"Hey!" Fine Print glared at him. "I know a thing or two about self-defense!"
"I'm not even fighting you!" the driver said. "You're getting aggressive on me."
"Aggressive?" Fine Print said. "Why, I'll show you what aggressive is—"
A swash.
The driver stopped.
With Fine Print yanking ahead, almost falling off his seat.
"Hey, hey, sir! What's goin' on?!"
The driver shook his head. "Pegasus couple tryin' to relive their honeymoon days." Looked at the two quivering pegasi on the dirt road. "Aren't you supposed to be flying? Leave us non-wings alone! We're trying to get on with our business!"
Mr. and Mrs. Shy shuddered. "N-No, wait!" Mrs. Shy said, raising her voice above a whisper. "W-We can explain!"
Mr. Shy took out a picture of a blue pegasus—their son. "We haven't heard from Zephyr for a long time! He's our son, so c-can you please help us—that is, if you've seen him, and if not, I'm sorry—"
"Hold on!" Fine Print shouted.
Leaped out of the carriage and on to the dirt road.
Took the picture out of Mr. Shy's hooves.
Examined it. Rotated it. Turned it around, upside-down, sideways, flipped it like a coin, then placed it back on its normal orientation.
Hoofed it back to the father.
"You're very close!" Fine Print declared. "I was just at the new Mazory base near the Crystal Mountains last morning, and I saw that exact same pony over there! Must've run away from you—sad, isn't it?"
Got up to the carriage.
"But, I'm terribly sorry for having to go!" he said. "Print Run needs me at six o' clock sharp—that's when the sun rises today, right? Well, nevermind!" Faced the driver. "Onward, dear sir!"
The driver winced, gave the Shy's a pitying look, and galloped onward.
Leaving the two Shy's alone under the moonlight.
The two of them silent.
Then, Mrs. Shy patting him on the head.
As they looked up to the night sky.