Twilight closed her bedroom door behind her with a soft click. The only sound accompanying her on the long walk back had been her own hoofsteps, and now even they were gone and the world was all at once so quiet. A familiar quiet.
“It’s rude to come into a pony’s bedroom without being invited,” she said to the shadows in the corner, where a chair sat, shrouded in the darkness.
“You’re one to talk,” said Shining Armor. “You know, the royal guard should have come to you to learn how you do that – you could teach them a thing or two. I’ve never been able to hide from you.”
“It’s easy,” she replied. “You’re too quiet.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“And that’s why you’ll never be able to hide from me.” Despite herself, despite everything, Twilight smiled. This was good, more like things used to be. It couldn’t last, but for just a moment they were brother and sister again – Shining trying to hide and jump out at her, Twilight pretending she hadn’t seen his hoof sticking out.
As if there wasn’t this time bomb separating the two of them.
“You promised me, Twilight. Right to my face you promised me.”
“What are you saying?”
“I know you and Dad snuck out together.”
Twilight dropped heavily onto the bed and sprawled her limbs against the soft, welcoming sheets. She didn’t need an interrogation right now, not after everything that had just happened, not with her father’s voice still ringing in her ears, desperately calling for her to come back to him. “We did,” she said.
“So you lied to me?”
“No. I didn’t even know he was coming until he showed up. And yes, I kept my promise. Nothing happened. Happy?”
Shining snorted derisively. “Nothing about this makes me happy, Twilight.”
Good.
The thought was so instant and savage that it even took Twilight by surprise. She shook it away, staring resolutely at the ceiling, murky grey in the dim light. “That makes two of us,” she said, unable to entirely keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“I’m not trying to punish you, Twilight.”
“Yes you are,” she replied, and the space between them grew ever larger, a yawning chasm stretching from the edge of the bed all the way to where Shining was sitting, so wide that only words could cross it. She sighed, and tried to sink deeper into her pillow. “But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong.”
For a long time Shining Armor just sat there, the only sound in the otherwise silent room the siblings’ breathing, and the occasional creak as he shifted in his chair. What was he waiting for, she wondered. For her to apologise? To apologise himself? Unlikely. More likely he had nothing left to say, no way to put what he wanted to tell her into words. Twilight knew all too well what that was like.
She almost wished he would just call her a bitch and be done with it. If he hated her for this, it would all be easier. She’d know where he stood, and quite frankly Twilight knew she deserved it. Call her a homewrecker, call her a deviant, a monster. Anything. The fact that Shining Armor was trying so hard not to be angry with her made everything so much more difficult.
“Goodnight, Twily,” he said eventually. Silence was his only answer.
She didn’t even look at him as he left, and that vindictive part of Twilight cheered at the sound of his soft hoofsteps against the carpet, the click of the door closing behind him
It was a small victory in the grand scheme of things, if even that. Not even a pyrrhic one, really, but Twilight relished it all the same. She lay there in the gloom, alone, and all she had left was that fleeting moment of satisfied vitriol. He was right, she knew he was right, and she hated it more than anything. She wanted Night Light beside her right then, to hold and hug and kiss and just be there, warm and safe. She wanted him to love her the way she needed him to, not the way he should. And yet she herself had pushed him away, had left him by the lake, shouting after her in hurt anger. It was her choice, her fault.
And so here she was – alone in the dark, glad that Shining had left so he wouldn’t hear the muted sobs into her pillow.
***
Twilight sat, and listened to the rain.
It was always so good at helping her think. She would sit in the library and listen to it splashing against the bark, and the leaves, and problems and equations that had seemed so impossible suddenly cleared and everything made sense. Sometimes if she was wrestling with a particularly difficult problem she’d bug Rainbow Dash to bring the rain a couple of days earlier. Sometimes Dash even did.
And so she listened to the rain crash against the windows and waited for everything to become clear, like it always did.
And waited.
And waited.
Earlier, Twilight had seen her father for the first time since she’d left him by the lake. He’d become even more reclusive since then, a whole day going past with him nowhere to be seen. Privately, she’d been thanking Celestia for that, but she also knew how much he was hurting, and an equal part of her wished she could take everything back. Could agree to his wild assurance that they could make it work, no matter how much they both knew he was wrong.
A lot of things had hurt Twilight these past weeks, most of them her own fault, but none had hurt more than her father’s reaction when they met in the corridor outside the bathroom, his mane still damp from the shower. She’d been expecting anger, she’d been expecting pain, she’d even been expecting hate, although that would have ripped a hole through her heart almost as badly.
But Night Light had shown none of those things.
Instead, as she looked up at him, hesitantly, Night Light just walked past her, refusing to even glance in her direction, instead staring resolutely down the corridor. Like she wasn’t even there.
And that had hurt far more than any of her imagined meetings had. As much as they would have stung, she could have dealt with it. She could have taken his anger, his hate, his hurt. She knew she deserved that. But with all those things, it would be okay because they would come from a place of love, and that could be fixed. Somehow, she knew it could be fixed.
She didn’t know how to fix this.
She didn’t know if she could.
And so now she sat and waited, and the rain kept falling, and her thoughts kept spinning round and round until it was impossible to think of anything but how much she wished she could take it all back. How much she’d fucked everything up.
The rain didn’t help. It sounded wrong, she decided. The splashes against the glass were too different to the warm pattering against bark that she was used to. That was comforting, encompassing, like a hug when one was most needed. This was hooves down a chalkboard.
And the answers remained ever out of reach.
Oh, but my little pony, said that faux-Celestia voice, returning from wherever it had been buried in her subconscious by Twilight’s brief happiness. Twilight was almost glad to hear it again. She deserved it. That’s not true, is it? You know exactly what to do.
Twilight scowled at the grey sky outside the window. No I don’t. If I did, I wouldn’t still be sitting here.
What do you do if the question you’re trying to solve doesn’t have an answer?
No. Twilight wasn’t going to give up. There had to be an answer, some way to come out of this without tearing their family apart, to fix what she’d broken. And maybe a way to fix how she felt, too.
You don’t have to give up. You just have to find a different question.
A different question? That didn’t make any sense. Well, at least as far as talking to herself had ever made sense. But no, she could figure this out. She always had done in the past, with enough time.
You’ve been so busy trying to work out how to fix things, you’ve forgotten to ask yourself the one question that matters. Stop asking what you can do, and instead ask what you should do.
That’s not helpful.
If there’s one thing I’ve ever tried to teach you, Twilight, it’s that being clever is far less important than being good. Don’t try to fix things. Try to make them right. Be good.
Oh. That.
That one, terrible, impossible thing. The one thing she wanted to avoid more than anything. The nuclear option.
The truth.
Shining had held it over her head, Night Light had insisted she keep it buried forever, and yet it had been burning a hole right through Twilight ever since they’d been found out. She could take away Shining’s weapon, tear down the wall her father had put up, shed the guilt eating her away, and all it would cost was ripping her family apart forever.
She remembered her mother, sitting there, tears coursing down her cheeks, telling Twilight that she would love her no matter what happened. Velvet had no idea, and Twilight couldn’t do it. Couldn’t bear to watch her mother turn from love to scorn, couldn’t bear to tell her that every member of her family had betrayed her in the most damning of ways since they’d come here.
And yet, Twilight had to. No, it wasn’t clever, it wasn’t a solution, in fact it would only make everything so much worse. But it was right.
Velvet had been lied to and betrayed, and yet she was the one blaming herself as her family fell apart around her. She didn’t deserve that. Even after what she’d done, she didn’t deserve that.
And, even if it was selfish, Twilight was done.
Done with Shining judging her with contempt in every glance, watching her every move to make sure she never crossed the line again. Done with seeing her mother tear herself up over unfaithfulness that was nothing compared to her husband and daughter’s. Done with sitting alone in rooms that felt all too big and empty like this one, waiting for answers that would never come, waiting to see if she would ever stop wanting to be with Night Light and nothing else. Done with the secrets, the guilt, the emptiness.
Twilight was going to tell Velvet everything.
And it would hurt, it would hurt worse than anything she’d done so far, but it would be a good hurt. A clean hurt.
The truth always was.
***
When Twilight finally found her mother, sprawled out on a chaise longue in one of the mansion’s many tucked away sitting rooms, a glass of wine in her hoof and a half-drunk bottle of the same on the floor beside her, Twilight’s resolve had mostly faded. It had been replaced almost entirely by fear, and the knowledge that what she was about to do was probably the stupidest thing she’d done since telling Night Light exactly which mare he’d fucked in those hoofcuffs all those nights ago.
And yet, faux-Celestia was right. This wasn’t about being clever. This was about being good. The state Velvet was in when Twilight found her showed what trying to be clever had accomplished.
Her mother’s mane was messy and matted, her fur almost equally so. She had curled up into a ball on the sofa, the only extended part of her the hoof holding her wine glass. It was shaking, and it took Twilight a moment to realise that was from Velvet quietly crying, her head buried against her other foreleg.
This was all her fault. Velvet’s entire life was collapsing around her and it was all Twilight’s doing. She’d done so much worse than her mother, and yet here Velvet was, blaming herself as the family disintegrated from the filthy secrets lying below the surface.
“Hey Mom,” Twilight said. She could hear the strain in her own voice – the nervousness, the sadness, the guilt. She just had to hope Velvet couldn’t hear it too, although she supposed it wouldn’t matter soon enough.
Her mother lifted up her head, eyes bloodshot. “Hey, sweetheart,” she said, her voice cracked and dry. The genuine smile she gave Twilight only dug even deeper. “Sorry, I’m… Do you want a drink?” Velvet lifted the wine bottle, giving it a little shake for emphasis.
Twilight nodded, settling herself in an armchair beside her mother. A drink would help.
“It’s good. I hope the Princess won’t mind; she has a whole cellar full of the stuff.” Velvet looked around for a second, then shrugged and topped off her glass before handing it over.
Twilight took a sip, and wrinkled her nose. She’d never really had a taste for a wine. Still, it might help calm her nerves, if anything could with the gravity of what she was about to do.
For a while they sat in silence, Twilight trying to build up the courage to say what she needed to say, Velvet staring up at the ceiling and periodically taking a swig straight from the bottle.
Eventually her mother spoke. “I’d take it all back if I could.”
Twilight was about to reply, to tell her she shouldn’t feel guilty, but Velvet soldiered on with that kind of doggedness that could only come from the wine.
“I kept asking myself if I would, but I know now. Not just because it all came out. I wouldn’t just take back the bit where I told Night Light. I’d take back everything. The whole thing was a mistake, and do you want to know the worst part?”
Twilight didn’t.
“I don’t even know why I did it,” said Velvet. “I knew I still loved Night. I knew it was dumb, that it could ruin everything, and I did it anyway.” She sighed and took another long sip from the bottle. “I keep thinking about it and I can’t remember why I said yes to that stallion. Why I kept saying yes. Why it had that fire. Did I just like the attention? Maybe I just wanted to feel desirable again. I don’t know. But I said yes, and kept saying yes, and here we are. Night Light deserves better than me. He deserves better than what I did to him, and I think I deserve this. Some mistakes can’t be fixed.”
“Mom, stop.”
“You don’t have to play nice, Twilight. Shining was doing that too, but I can tell he judges me. I know you do too.”
“I don’t,” said Twilight. How could she possibly judge her mother’s indiscretions now, after everything?
Velvet gave her a long, searching look, trying to find any hint of deception in her daughter’s face, then sighed and slumped back against the cushions. “Well, perhaps you should.”
“At least you would take it back,” said Twilight, quietly. “That has to count for something.”
“What kind of pony wouldn’t?” asked Velvet. “After I’ve seen how much it hurt every single pony I care about. Your father, your brother, you. I would never choose to put you all through this if I could change things. I wouldn’t be that selfish again.”
Twilight couldn’t even look her mother in the eyes now, staring down at the drink in her hooves, the gently swirling red almost hypnotic. “Mom, I need to tell you something.”
“What is it, honey?”
“I.. I…”
The words caught in her throat. The world slowed and blurred. Twilight didn’t even realise how badly she was shaking until her mother had crossed the room and wrapped her in her hooves, not understanding but instantly ready to comfort her, even if she didn’t deserve it. The glass dropped from Twilight’s grip, a splash of blood red staining the carpet. Velvet was holding her and stroking her mane, and muttering how it was alright, how everything was going to be alright, to just take her time and cry if that’s what she needed to do.
And maybe that was all she needed to do right then. For the first time since Shining had discovered them, she could just allow an embrace and let out all the frustration and guilt as she sobbed into her mother’s shoulder. There was no way she could keep hiding this – her mother deserved the only kind thing Twilight had left to do. She needed the truth.
When Twilight finally stopped crying, she found herself curled up almost into a ball, her head resting on her mother’s lap as Velvet gently stroked her mane and hummed softly. It was the same song she had always hummed for Twilight when she needed comfort, although the last time had been back when Twilight was just a little foal. Back when her only worries had been school bullies and impressing Celestia and not flunking tests.
And yet, despite the magnitude of this situation in comparison, Twilight still found herself relaxing as the wordless tune washed over her, clearing away the tumultuous thoughts that had plagued her and leaving her hollow and empty. It was a good emptiness, though, like being scrubbed so clean that it hurt a little.
By the time Twilight sat back up again, any last doubts had been cleared away with the rest of it. This was good. This needed to be done, no matter how much it would hurt.
“Are you okay now?” asked Velvet, her voice filled with gentle concern.
Twilight simply nodded, still not quite able to find her words just yet, rubbing her damp eyes with her hooves.
“Take your time,” said Velvet. “I can wait.”
And Twilight did, glad of every moment she could spend here, even if it was only staving off the inevitable. She closed her eyes, enjoying the peace of the moment, her mother’s love so unconditional, so kind. No questions, no judgement, just patience and support.
Twilight wished she had been this good to Velvet.
Wished she had been there to comfort her mother when she needed it just as her mother was here for her now. What kind of terrible pony would let their mother comfort the guilt of betraying her?
This kind, Twilight supposed. And, just this once, Twilight managed to push that nagging voice aside and just enjoy the moment. Because despite it all, despite that terrible guillotine of inevitability hanging over her, this was comforting. The smell of her mother’s fur, the gently soothing touch as Velvet ran her hoof through her mane, that feeling of security that was still just as nice now as it had been when Twilight was a foal. She was safe here. She was okay here. She could forget the world here, and just lie still and not worry about anything.
And this was the mare whose life she was about to ruin even more. The guillotine dropped. Twilight opened her eyes, shifting her mother’s hooves and feeling that warm comfort pour away like water.
She turned to her mother again, who sat there with a reassuring smile, waiting patiently for Twilight to be ready.
Twilight would never be ready for this, but it was time.
“Mom, I have to tell you something. Before I do, I want to say that I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t want things to end up like this. I still don’t know why I… I just wanted…”
Velvet hugged her again, pulling her in tightly. “It’s okay, honey. Whatever it is, you can tell me. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay!” Twilight shouted, much louder than she meant, and Velvet started back in surprise. “None of this is okay. Stop saying it is.”
Something in Velvet’s face changed then, from the calm concern from before to genuine worry as she saw the seriousness of her daughter’s anguish. “What is it? Is it about me and your father?”
“It’s about me,” Twilight said. This was it. She felt numb, the words beginning to tumble from her before she could think too hard about them. “Dad and me. It’s my fault. I just wanted…” She took a long, deep breath to steady her nerves, and then finally raised her head to look into her mother’s eyes. “After he found out about your affair, Dad came to Ponyville and-”
“That’s enough, Twilight.”
Twilight’s head turned so fast her neck jolted in pain. Shining Armor stood in the doorway, glaring at her, teeth clenched.
“Shiny?” asked Velvet, clearly even more confused and worried than before.
“It’s okay, Mom,” he said, hot anger filling his voice. “Twilight was done talking.”
“What?” Velvet’s gaze flicked between her two children; Shining Armor tense and furious, Twilight with her eyes still red from tears, although now her surprise had faded and Twilight could feel her own anger starting to boil up inside.
How DARE he? This was his own threat, and now, after all that righteousness of his, he was trying to stop her? “Go away Shining, I’ve made up my mind.”
“I’m not going to let you do this,” he said. “You’ve already done enough.”
Velvet blinked. “What are you talking about? What in Tartarus is going on?”
“Yeah Shining,” said Twilight, not even trying to keep the edge out of it. “What is going on?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he grunted. “Let’s go, Twilight.”
Before Twilight could even start to make a decision, Velvet’s hoof came to rest on her shoulder.
“No,” Velvet said. “My daughter came to me in tears, and you are not going to tell me that doesn’t matter.”
“Mom,” protested Shining, “you don’t understand.”
“No, you don’t understand. If Twilight has something to tell me then I’m going to listen.”
“I’m trying to protect you,” he said. “You don’t want to hear this. Twilight’s just trying to hurt you.”
“That’s not your choice to make. And don’t talk about your sister that way!”
The argument went on, and Twilight shrank into her chair, simultaneously the focus of the fight and being completely ignored.
“...going to have to trust me about this, Mom, you don’t want to-”
“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t want, and don’t tell me how to look after my…”
Twilight couldn’t bear to listen anymore. They were both shouting over each other anyway, their argument boiling over as their individual frustrations got the better of them. Shining’s anger at Night Light and Twilight, and Velvet’s anger at herself – that’s what this fight was really all about.
And yet as it went on, Shining’s resistance just dug Twilight into a bigger and bigger hole. Even if Twilight said nothing now, Velvet would just be on edge and filled with worry.
Unless… It was kind of horrifying how quickly such a fully formed lie came to Twilight’s mind. It had gotten too easy; she was so used to it now. All of this had ruined her.
She had a choice to make now. Lie, and appease Shining at the cost of keeping everything as bad as it had already been, or tell Velvet everything anyway, along with all the new problems it would bring. Neither were good options. The potential for a good option had been lost a long time ago.
As Velvet and Shining’s fight got steadily louder, Twilight took a deep breath, and then shouted loud enough to cut through their squabble.
“I told Dad he should leave you.”
The argument stopped dead. Velvet stared at her in shock, and Shining did much the same.
“What?” Velvet whispered.
“He came to me after you fought,” Twilight said, the lies dripping all too easily from her tongue, “and I said he shouldn’t give you another chance.”
“Oh.”
That single sound was one of the most defeated Twilight had ever heard. Any fight still in Velvet was gone now, as she sank back into her chair.
“I wanted to tell you,” Twilight continued, “because I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”
The room was still. Twilight waited, and waited, but neither Velvet nor her brother did anything except wait with her, letting the atmosphere sit, thick as mud.
“Mom?” Twilight ventured.
“I think I want to be alone for a while,” Velvet replied, after a pause. Her voice was low and monotone. Empty.
“Mom, I didn’t want to hurt you, I just thought-”
“Please,” said Velvet, in barely a whisper. “Just go.”
Twilight bit her lip, then nodded and climbed to her hooves. She wanted to say something to reassure her mother, to apologise again, but she knew that would only hurt more than it would help. The damage was done. No, the lie was nowhere near as bad as the truth, but Velvet couldn’t know that. It would be no comfort to her.
And so Twilight slipped out of the room, followed closely by her brother, leaving Velvet alone once more. The door clicked shut behind them, and Shining Armor rounded on her immediately.
“What have you done?” he hissed. “Why would you say that?”
“Keep your voice down!” Twilight gave him a pointed look. “Someone could be eavesdropping.”
“It’s a good thing I was, you were about to do something really fucking stupid.”
“Can we talk somewhere else? Right now you’re the one being stupid.”
Shining scowled, glancing at the closed door beside them, and then up and down the hall. With a grunt he gripped Twilight’s shoulder and pulled her towards a door a short way down the corridor, far enough that Velvet wouldn’t hear them at least. He flung it open to reveal… a closet. Before Twilight could respond with snark, however, Shining pushed her into it and squeezed inside after her, shutting the door again and plunging the two of them into uncomfortably close darkness. Twilight was immediately struck with the last time she had hidden herself in a closet, and everything that had stemmed from it. With a shiver she brushed the thoughts aside.
“Couldn’t you have tried any other door?” she asked.
“No one’s going to find us in here,” said Shining, all too close to her. “So now you can tell me what in Tartarus you were thinking, about to tell Mom everything.”
“I was trying to make it right,” Twilight muttered. “You’re the one who wanted to tell her anyway, why did you stop me?”
“I was never going to tell her, Twilight. I’m not that heartless. I just needed something to get you and Dad to stop.”
Twilight rolled her eyes – a pointless gesture in the cramped dark, but it made her feel better. “How am I the heartless one? Don’t you think Mom deserves the truth?”
“No, Twilight, she doesn’t. No one deserves to hear what you were going to tell her. But good job, you managed to break her heart anyway.”
“You didn’t leave me any choice,” said Twilight. “I couldn’t stay quiet after everything we’d already talked about, and you trying to stop me meant it had to be something really bad.”
Shining grunted and slumped back against the closet wall. “Now it’s going to be even worse if she finds out the truth.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Are you serious?” asked Shining, incredulously. “Yours, Twilight. All of this is your fault. Don’t try and pin any of this on me, all I did was find you and Dad in the middle of… you know.”
“Fucking?”
“Celestia’s sake, Twilight, you could at least show a little bit of remorse.”
Twilight couldn’t help but feel a small pang of spiteful happiness at Shining’s discomfort. “Why should I? He made me happy. That’s all I wanted.”
“If you can’t see that he was just using you in some twisted revenge against Mom…”
“Is… Is that all you think it was?”
Shining hesitated. “Yes.”
Indignant tears began to sting Twilight’s eyes again. “You’re wrong.”
“I don’t think he did it on purpose, I think he convinced himself it was something more than that. But Twilight, none of this makes sense otherwise.”
“He loves me!”
“No father who loves their daughter would do what he did.”
“Stop it.”
“Do you think he would have thought about being with you, even for a second, if all this stuff with Mom hadn’t happened?”
“Stop it!”
“He was lonely, and he was heartbroken. And then you come along, looking like Mom and desperate for him and I think he just couldn’t stop himself.”
“Shut up!” Twilight cried, pounding futilely against Shining’s chest. “You don’t get it, he needs me! And I need him.”
“That isn’t love, Twilight.”
“You’re wrong.”
“It’s been a few weeks. That’s not a relationship. This is not love, at least not the way you think it is.”
“You don’t get to tell me what this is or isn’t.”
“I’m not telling you, I’m showing you. This isn’t healthy for either of you, even before the fact that he’s your father. He just misses Velvet, and you… I don’t know, I think you’re just new to this.”
“If he wanted Mom instead of me, why is he avoiding her? She’s been right here the whole time.”
“Because it’s not easy to talk to someone you love who hurt you like that.” Shining let out a long, defeated sigh. “Twilight, listen. I can’t pretend to understand how you feel, and I sure as Tartarus don’t know how to fix this. But, as much as I feel like I’m going to regret this, I think I know somepony who can help you. Who can help us.”
“Who?” asked Twilight, although she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.
“My wife.”
“No,” Twilight said immediately.
“She’s the Princess of Love. This is exactly the kind of thing she can help with.”
“No,” she repeated. “Too many ponies know about this already.”
“You were about to tell Mom!”
“Yes, but not because I thought it would help. I just didn’t want to lie any more.” Twilight couldn’t stop the bitter laugh from rising up out of her. “So much for that.”
“Cadance can help.”
“She can’t. No one can.”
Shining’s hoof came to rest on her shoulder, making Twilight flinch at the unexpected contact. “She can. If anyone can, it’s her. Please, trust me.”
“Why should I? All you’ve done is try to break me and Dad apart. Why do you want to help now?”
“Because I love you, Twily. I don’t want to see you hurting any more. I never wanted that. I didn’t want that for anyone in this family.”
“Even Dad?”
Shining took a moment to answer. “Even Dad.”
“It’s not his fault.”
Another long pause. “Come on, let’s talk to Cadance.”
Twilight hesitated, then nodded. In the darkness, it was more to herself than anything. A way to steel her resolve for what was to come. She’d already mentally prepared herself for one confession today, and now she was gearing up to do it all over again.
Great.
“Okay,” she said, “but this is a bad idea.”
“I know,” said Shining. “But it’s all we’ve got.”