The purple filly glared at Sunset, a sour expression plastered across her face as she was slowly rotated in the grip of the older mare’s magic.
“Diagnostic spells aren’t showing anything too unusual with her biology,” Sunset muttered, a glowing quill twitching and writing on a scroll next to her, transcribing her words. “There’s some sort of faint aura, but it’s less like an active spell effect and more of a lingering trace of something already done.”
“I’m right here,” the filly said. “You don’t have to talk like I’m in the other room.” The quill added her comments, scratching across the page.
Sunset glared at the quill as if about to yell at it, for all the good it would do.
“She’s fairly normal for a filly her age,” Sunset continued, circling the floating filly. “Or at least her apparent age, since she’s only a week old at this point. Average height and weight. Magical talent seems exceptional, maybe an order of magnitude or so more than most foals.”
“Mom, put me down. I’m getting dizzy,” the filly complained, trying to free herself. Unlike Cadance’s grasp, Sunset’s was unbreakable.
“I’m not your mom,” Sunset said, almost automatically. She’d been saying it a lot. It wasn’t the type of phrase most ponies got practice with.
“Please put me down?” the filly said, more quietly.
“I just want to run a few more diagnostic rituals,” Sunset said. “I think a reversed version of one of the normal healing spells will let me draw out some of your life energy. Then I'll know if you're a construct, a changeling, or a clone. In theory.”
“I don’t like this plan,” the filly said, struggling harder. “I don’t wanna!”
“Just stop moving,” Sunset snapped, getting annoyed. “This won’t hurt. Probably. It’s an improvised spell. Actually, tell me what it feels like, for the record.”
“We’ve been here all day! I wanna get breakfast!” The filly groaned as she flipped over again. “I’m gonna be sick if you keep doing that!”
“It’s a good thing you haven’t eaten, then,” Sunset said, getting more annoyed. None of her other test subjects had complained this much. Except maybe that one study partner a teacher had assigned her, Fancy Slacks or whatever his name had been. He’d complained a lot when he was on fire. Sunset really hadn’t been assigned a partner since then, which was probably best for the other students, who generally learned better when not studying the finer points of stop, drop, and roll.
“You’re supposed to take care of me,” the filly grumped. “Not make me starve to death.”
“And you’re not going to starve to death in a few hours! I sometimes don’t eat for days at a time when I’m busy!” Sunset snapped. “It’s part of being a scholar! If you hate it so much, maybe I should tell the Princess you’d rather go to the orphanage!”
The little filly froze up.
“Or maybe go and live with that pony that you’re a copy of. Her mother must know how to keep a foal from complaining so much.” Sunset huffed. “What was I thinking? This is even worse than the goldfish…”
She dropped the filly. She hadn’t lost her concentration, Sunset was just too annoyed to keep scanning her. A solid week of getting nearly nowhere with her research was fraying every nerve she had left.
“I bet Celestia already knows what’s going on, and just refuses to tell me or point me in the right direction!” Sunset snapped. “I should go and make her tell me just what she knows…” she kept grumbling, sitting on the floor looking away from the fallen foal and grinding her teeth with frustration.
The room was quiet for a few minutes. Slowly, Sunset became aware of a sound from the other side of the room. She turned to look at the soft noise.
The little purple filly was crying in a heap on the floor.
“Please don’t send me away,” she whispered. “I-I didn’t mean to be bad…”
Sunset wasn’t a heartless pony. She yelled a lot, she got annoyed easily, and she was better than the common pony and wasn’t afraid to show it - but she wasn’t a monster. Making a filly weep like that definitely fell more on the monstrous side of things than she was comfortable with.
“No, look, I didn’t mean…” Sunset sighed. “Just stop crying. I didn’t mean to make you upset.” She stood up and walked over to the filly, looking at her. “I have a lot of really important things I need to do. Celestia wants me to study you and…” She stopped, groaning and collapsing to the floor, hooves over her face. “And to take care of you, which I’m screwing up.”
“I’m sor-” the filly started, looking up with tears in her eyes, until a hoof covered her mouth.
“No. I’m sorry,” Sunset sighed. “And don’t tell anypony I said that, because they won’t believe you. Sunset Shimmer doesn’t apologize to anypony, not even the Princess.” She uncovered her face and smiled sadly at the filly.
“Then why are you apologizing to me?” The filly sniffled.
“Because I should be taking care of you, Twilight. I’m not so stupid I don’t know that the Princess is testing me. She wants to see how I manage trying to take care of you, and I couldn't even go a week without messing it up.”
“Y-you’re not messing up. I know your studies are important, and I’m just an accident…”
“Don’t ever let anyone tell you that,” Sunset said, sharply.
“But I’m literally an accident,” the filly said.
“No,” Sunset stood up. “There was an accident, but you aren’t an accident. You’re a pony, and if anyone thinks you aren’t, you should punch them in the snout and ask them if your hoof feels real.”
The filly snorted, halfway between a laugh and a sob, and rubbed her eyes. “But I’m not real. I’m just a copy of Twilight Sparkle. I don’t even have a name.”
“Well, we can fix that,” Sunset smirked. “I’m great at naming things.”
“You can’t call me Stormageddon,” the filly huffed, glaring at Sunset.
“Why not?” Sunset demanded, annoyed. She threw the doors ahead of them open with just a little too much force, knocking over an unfortunate guard recruit who wasn’t able to get out of the way in time. She trotted past the fallen mare, not even looking at her. The filly glanced at the recruit and paused for a moment before trotting quickly to catch up with Sunset.
“Because it’s a dumb name!” The filly was struggling to keep up with Sunset - the older pony’s longer stride aside, the foal was just incredibly awkward on four hooves.
“It’s a great name!” Sunset countered. “There was a pegasus general named Stormageddon during the Rebellion era.”
“I’m not a pegasus. And that sounds like a boy’s name.”
“Fine,” Sunset sighed. “You don’t like Stormageddon, you don’t like Mega Twilight, you don’t like Lavender Unicorn. What do you want me to call you?”
“Well, um, maybe I can have a name like yours?” the filly ventured, sounding hopeful.
“Twilight Sparkle is already a lot like Sunset Shimmer,” Sunset said. She stopped in her tracks, thinking. “Actually, they mean basically the same thing. That’s kind of a strange coincidence…”
“You’re going off on a tangent again,” the filly said, headbutting Sunset’s front leg. “I don’t want her name. I want my own name, but still something like your name, because you’re…” she trailed off, blushing.
“Okay, okay, I get it, I am pretty awesome,” Sunset said, smiling a little. “How about… Midnight Twinkle?”
“Yes! That’s way better!” The filly started bouncing on her hooves, hopping around in a circle until her clumsiness caught up with her and she tripped, falling on her face. “Ow…”
“Careful. These floors are slippery.” Sunset picked her up, setting her back down on her hooves. A thin trickle of blood trailed from her snout. “Looks like you hit your nose pretty hard…”
“I-it’s nothing,” the filly said. “But I really like Midnight. Can you- can you call me that?”
“Yeah. I think I can remember that.” Sunset poked Midnight’s nose, the filly wincing in pain. “Hold on. I think I can take care of that. Healing spells aren’t exactly my specialty, but…”
Midnight flinched as Sunset’s horn started to glow, the soft light hardening to a point at the very tip before she brought it down to Midnight’s face. There was a wash of tingling cold, and the pain faded.
“There. Not bad. I think it’s a little crooked now, though.”
Midnight gasped and ran over to a window, trying to see herself in the reflection on the glass. “How bad is it?! I can’t see!”
“I’m only teasing you, squirt,” Sunset snorted, roughing up her mane with a hoof. “You’re fine. I wouldn’t cast a healing spell on you if I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“But you don’t even know what I am!” Midnight said, spinning to face her. “What if it made me explode, or, or turned me into a monster?”
“What do you think I was running all those spells before?” Sunset motioned for the filly to keep following her. “I was making sure you’re not going to fall apart or catch on fire or turn into a demon. As far as I can tell, you’re a normal filly.”
“Just normal?” Midnight sounded almost disappointed.
“Well, stronger than average,” Sunset corrected. “And reasonably intelligent. I have very high standards on that, so you should be flattered.”
“I don’t think anyone would be flattered about being ‘reasonably’ intelligent,” Midnight mumbled.
“Then you’d better get some factual evidence to back up more praise,” Sunset said. “People will always look for ways to put you down. You have to be the one to show them how great you can be.”
“So you’re never going to praise me?” Midnight’s ears folded back.
“I’ll praise you when it’s honest praise and not just making you feel better,” Sunset said. “If I always tell you you’re great, you’ll never know when you’re really improving.”
“I guess…” Midnight sighed.
“Come on. We still need to get you some food.” Sunset walked into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind her.
Midnight ran after her, just stopping short of the door and avoiding a painful collision. She pushed at the door with her head, struggling to try and get it open.
“Come on, you stupid thing…” she huffed, trying to get traction on the marble floor. The kitchen door swung open suddenly, and she stumbled with the motion, going right into Sunset Shimmer.
“Kinda forgot you’d need help,” Sunset said, nodding to the heavy door. She ushered the filly in. “Now the good thing is, with this palace, we can get you just about anything you want to eat. Celestia’s always in meetings at odd times, so they kind of adapt to her schedule. We can get you breakfast, lunch, a five-course dinner, whatever.”
“I hope you aren’t planning on ordering my staff around,” growled a voice from within the depths of the well-stocked kitchen.
“Midnight, meet Black Kettle,” Sunset said, as an earth pony stepped into view, the sheer coal black of his coat contrasting the white hat and uniform he was wearing. “He’s the head chef here, and the only pony in the world that can give Celestia orders.”
“And don’t you forget it,” the pony snorted. “Miss Shimmer here likes to come down and yell at them until they get her absurd dinner requests absolutely right, and as such she’s banned from the kitchen, which begs the question of why you’re here and why you’ve dragged a filly along with you.”
“She’s hungry,” Sunset said. “Don’t tell me you’re going to deny a foal a meal just because you don’t like me.”
“Seems to me more like she’s suffering from your bad habits,” Black Kettle countered.
“E-excuse me,” Midnight interrupted. “What’s that smell? It smells really…” she sniffed at the air. “Really, really good!”
Sunset paused and sniffed. She wasn’t sure if she’d categorize it as good, exactly. It was savory and peppery with some kind of undertone that she couldn’t quite place. Maybe a mushroom?
“You don’t want that,” Black Kettle said, trying to get in front of the filly as she trotted over towards the source of the smell. “We’ve got a griffon ambassador, and he’s got sort of unique tastes-”
Sunset realized what it was. Meat. No wonder she hadn’t been able to place it.
“Can I try some of it?” Midnight asked, looking at Black Kettle.
“You won’t like it. It’s meat.”
“Yeah, but… can I try it?” She pressed, trying to rear up a little to look at what was cooking on the stovetop behind him.
“It’s not good for fillies,” he said.
“Is it poison?” Midnight asked. “Will it make me sick?”
“No, it’s just… not a normal thing to eat.”
“But it smells really good! Please?” She looked up at Black Kettle with the kind of tearful expression that every foal instinctively knew would get them what they wanted.
“Fine. A little. But don’t blame me when y’ hate it.” Black Kettle sighed. “Go sit over at the staff table. I’m not gonna have you sick up in one of the dining rooms and walk all the way back begging me for oats and fruit.”
“I won’t,” Midnight said.
“Bring some oats and fruit anyway,” Sunset said. “I could use something simple like oatmeal.” And, though she didn’t say it, it would save him a trip later and let the filly save some face.
“Just this once, and I expect a please and thank you next time!” Black Kettle said.
Sunset rolled her eyes and sat down with Midnight at the wooden table tucked off to the side of the kitchen, close enough that people sitting at it could keep an eye on what was cooking, but far away enough from the action that they wouldn’t be in the way. It looked like a simple table, yet a discerning eye could tell it had been there for centuries. There were stains older than some countries.
“I usually eat with Celestia,” Sunset said. “Or at least she usually reminds me to eat when we’re having lessons. I forget and skip meals if ponies aren’t there to get me away from my studies.”
“And she’s a Princess, so she’s really important?” Midnight asked. “And so you must be really important too. Are you her daughter?”
“No,” Sunset said, her expression falling. “I’m just… a student.”
The orphanage was cold. It was always cold. Canterlot was high up on a mountain and the building was old. Sunset didn’t know much about the ancient heating system except that it was rarely working and even more rarely turned on.
The other foals sat by the fire. On the worst winter nights they’d gather everypony up into one of the main rooms and have them sleep in front of the fireplace. Whenever Sunset tried to join them, the older foals forced her to the back, so far from the flames that she was still left shivering.
She couldn’t even remember her parents. She’d been brought here as a newborn, and had to endure year after year of watching all the other foals get picked first. She was unwanted from the moment she came into the world.
Sunset tried getting along with the foals. She tried making friends. The few successes she had vanished from her life as quickly as they came, the colts and fillies being adopted and leaving her behind. The rest bullied her, just a blank flank with no special talent.
When she learned how to make her own fire with her magic, she stopped fighting for a spot in front of the fireplace. She didn’t offer to share, or to help others. They’d never helped her, and the only pony she needed was herself. The other foals could do whatever they wanted, and if they decided to bother her, they’d be reminded that fire didn’t just keep you warm, it could burn.
“Just a student,” Sunset repeated, looking down at the table. She coughed, regaining her composure. “Well, that’s sort of understating it. I’m Princess Celestia’s personal student, so you could say I was selected as the only pony in the world worthy of being trained personally by a Goddess.”
“Oh wow…” Midnight gasped.
“And since you’re my….” She had no idea what the right word was. Germane had an unwieldy compound word that described her situation perfectly, but Sunset didn't know it. “My responsibility, I’m going to make sure you don’t make the same mistakes I did at your age.”
“But you’re really important, so you must have done a lot of stuff right, too!” Midnight smiled up at the older pony. Sunset felt her face grow hot. She liked praise. She was used to praise from professors that were just doing their job, from other students at the School for Gifted Unicorns who wanted to ride on her coattails.
This felt more like the very rare times Celestia praised her. Not just for getting a question right or performing some new spell, but the warm, quiet praise she gave Sunset when she was genuinely proud of her student. It felt like basking in the sun on a warm day.
Midnight’s praise was that same kind of… Sunset wasn’t sure what to call it. A genuine quality, maybe.
“I’ll make sure you get that stuff right too,” Sunset said. “I want you to remember this as the best time of your life. You shouldn’t have to deal with the same horseapples I did.”
Midnight tilted her head and was clearly about to ask for specifics on that when a plate was put down in front of her.
“For the filly, one small portion of steak.” It was just three bites, each no larger than a bit. Sunset was surprised that he’d given the filly even that much. Steak was prohibitively expensive, not just because the Equestrian market for it was so small but because only a small number of cows donated their bodies after their deaths. In some other nations it was much easier to get as long as you didn't ask where it came from.
“And for the lady, a pot of oatmeal and some fruit salad. With an extra bowl in case your ward here wants some.” Black Kettle put the pot down on the table. He’d easily made enough for both of them. Before she could even ask, a bowl of sugar and cinnamon joined it.
“Thanks,” Sunset said. She spooned out some oatmeal for herself and watched Midnight as the filly stared intently at the steak, sniffing it. Midnight grabbed a fork with her hoof and awkwardly speared one of the beef tips, juices trickling out onto the plate.
“This would be a lot easier if I could use magic…” Midnight mumbled. She raised the fork to her lips and bit into the steak.
“Now if you don’t want to eat that, you can have some of my…” Sunset trailed off, blinking. She’d expected the filly to make a face and spit the beef out. Instead, she was going back for a second, larger bite. The second piece of meat disappeared after the first. A few moments later, the plate was empty, and Midnight was licking her lips.
“That was so good!” Midnight said, happily. “Can I have more?”