//------------------------------//
// So Many Roads Still to Know 
// Story: So Many Words Never Said 
// by Snowmanmelting 
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“I don’t get how you do it.”

Twilight Sparkle stopped in her tracks, pen in one hand and head resting on the other, to look back at her friend sitting opposite of her. Sunset's words were stifled by having her face buried in her textbook, surely still on the first page of the chapter assigned to read.

“Do what, exactly?” Twilight asked, frowning in confusion.

“Understand this guy!” exclaimed her friend, raising her head to put her reddish hair with golden locks in a bun. Which would most likely last less than a second in the absence of an elastic band to hold it. “Between the time jumps and the anecdotal comments, I think my head is going to explode.”

“It’s not that bad.” 

Sunset arched an eyebrow, and her hair untied on its own with almost perfect timing. 

“Okay, yes, it’s unbearable and it also exasperates me. But after the second reading you get used to it.”

“How many times did you read it?” The redhead arched both eyebrows this time.

“Only two. This one is to synthesize the most important parts and from there make a coherent timeline. I’m not that nerdy.” A nerd would probably read it three more times until it was completely memorized on the same day. She was only diligent.

Sunset rolled her eyes in response, taking a sip of her coffee. Students weren’t supposed to bring food or drinks to the library, according to the small cardboard posters on each of the tables. But as long as you were friendly with the librarian on duty, the tables were kept clean, and no type of chaos was unleashed, that rule was technically nonexistent. Besides that a dose of caffeine at three thirty in the afternoon was always useful, as well as extra necessary.

“I noticed. Never thought you would fall asleep after Rainbow Dash did in the literature screening,” Sunset commented with a smirk.

“In my defense, I made a report of that movie last year at my other school,” Twilight said, moving the pen from one imaginary tip to the other. “And I slept about four hours... I think.”

Remembering how little she had managed to sleep the night before, Twilight felt the need to take a sip of her own coffee. Both to suppress a tired yawn and to soothe, with the heat of the drink, the uncomfortable tingle that ran up her spine when remembering why, exactly.

“Did a new documentary come out?”

“Two, actually,” Twilight answered, cleaning the lenses of her glasses with the edge of her sweater. This morning, to top it all off, she had gotten up so late that the idea of wearing contact lenses didn’t cross her mind until an hour later. It wasn’t that the glasses were uncomfortable, but they held so poorly on the bridge of the nose that sometimes she would catch herself pushing them back on by force of habit.

“You know, one of these days we have to do a movie marathon.” Spoke Sunset, already distracted on her phone. They definitely wouldn’t achieve much today. “I haven’t seen a quarter of the so-called classics yet.”

“Sounds good. I know a few that I’m sure you’ll like.” A pause. “But you know what sounds better?”

“...Going to the movies?” Sunset offered, already knowing where her bespectacled friend was going.

“No. Finishing this thing.”

Again, her classmate buried her face in the book with a whine. And after accepting defeat, she gathered the will to start reading.

Taking advantage of the fact that the teacher of the last hour had been absent, they decided to come to the library to do some of the assigned homework in a subject they both shared. Not that Twilight wanted to be a party pooper or that she liked to answer thirty questions based on a tedious test. But if she managed to advance with at least the first part now, maybe when she got home, then she could get some rest.

A couple more minutes of silence passed, with only the occasional sound of some students here and there, since they were in the quieter part of the library. Not to mention there wouldn’t be that many students on a Tuesday afternoon two months away from the exams.

Until a short vibration that spread across the table alerted Sunset Shimmer of a new notification on her phone.

“Did something happen?” Twilight asked upon seeing her friend typing with a frown.

“It’s Twilight. Uh, the other Twilight.” Sunset looked at her for a second and then back at the screen. “Is it okay if she comes now? She told me she wants to talk to you about something.”

Oh, the other Twilight Sparkle, the one who came from a parallel world of... sapient equines? She had been so stunned the moment she saw her coming out from the base of the school statue she had to listen to the explanation three times to actually process it. 

At first, Twilight started laughing and considered calling an ambulance for the psychiatric hospital. The second time, she felt that the boundary between reality and the fictitious had become so increasingly absurd that she asked for a third explanation, after which she bombarded her doppelganger with questions. Not that she seemed to have any trouble answering them.

“Sure, I guess.” Twilight shrugged. 

“Though I don’t know what she would want to talk about.”

Sunset returned the gesture.

“I have no idea.” Another message notification, more intense tapping. And Twilight realized an inconsistency.

“Wait, I thought there was no advanced technology in Eque...stria?” It always happened that in spite of her good memory, simple names or everyday facts sometimes escaped her. But a nod from Sunset confirmed that she was pronouncing it right.

“Nope, there isn’t. She’s been here doing I-don’t-know-what since this morning. But I had to get her a phone when I told her she couldn’t investigate mine. You know how Twilight is when she wants to research something.” Sunset smirked. That comment referred to both her and her doppelganger. Both were quite different, yet the curiosity and desire to learn were shared characteristics.

Twilight replied with a simple ’aha’ and an eye roll, her own lip corners lifting up in a small smile. With Sunset, she always felt comfortable enough to loosen up a little more than usual. Maybe it was the fact that their first conversation was during a dual task in Advanced Calculus, and not every day did Twilight meet someone who could follow her train of thought.

They spent a few more minutes chatting about nothing in particular. Until Sunset waved to get the attention of the other Twilight Sparkle, who, upon seeing it, returned it with her typical enthusiasm. 

She slipped between the tables, taking care not to disturb the rest of the students, and taking the seat next to Sunset.

“Hey! How are you doing?” the supposed Princess greeted, taking off the hood of her hoodie to fix her hair. It was a little precautionary measure to avoid confusion or problems. At first glance, both might look the same, but when they stood side by side, it was easy enough to notice they weren’t exactly two drops of water. One of the most notable differences was the variation in height, Twilight being three centimeters shorter than her Equestrian doppelganger, who also somehow looked a little more mature, as though she had struck her last growth spurt. Even so, the white lie that they were slightly different twins worked without any problem when necessary.

Another way they found to avoid misunderstandings, was changing their names when both were together. Her clone took the first name of both, while she became Sparkle by her own choice. She always preferred her second name before the first, even if most people still called her that way.

“Suffering.” Sunset grimaced in disgust, looking at the book.

“Suffer—? Do you have an exam soon? You should have told me. I can come at another time, really. I don’t want you to lose study time because of me. I know how important it is to appro—”

“Sunset said you wanted to talk to me about something?” Sparkle interrupted. And Twilight, her doppelganger, looked at her for a second, as if she had forgotten what she had come to do in the first place.

“Oh, right! I just... realized something that we never analyzed when we considered the parallel spectrum between our worlds.” When Twilight noticed the curious look of both Sunset and Sparkle, she knew she had their full attention. “You’ll see, the other day I went to visit my mother and looking at the family albums it made me wonder...”

The ex-unicorn breathed in through her nose slowly. Well, here we go.

“You live with your biological family, right?”

Sparkle blinked, quite confused, but nodded anyway. 

“Uh huh. I live with my parents. My brother moved out when he got married. But I think we’ve talked about this before, why?” 

Indeed, they had already discussed that last topic. Sparkle’s brother and sister-in-law seemed to be quite similar to their counterparts in Equestria, and even followed a line of events of similar temporality. However, that wasn’t what Twilight focused on, but rather the chances that this conversation would become much less pleasant than it already was.

“Wait, you said parents.” Now it was Twilight’s turn to frown in apparent confusion. “You mean that Night Light is still alive here, right?” It was more an affirmation than a question, one that she hoped sounded as casual as she meant it.

“Yes,” Sparkle said, imitating the expression, “...did your father die in your world?” she asked with genuine caution, so as to neither offend nor let her morbid curiosity escape her eyes.

“When I was about ten.” Twilight lowered her voice a little, only to reaffirm her seriousness about the subject. She felt Sunset take her hoo— hand under the table in an attempt to comfort her, and she responded with a little squeeze, but said nothing else, focusing instead on Sparkle’s reaction.

Her human counterpart seemed to forget to blink for a moment, and in spite of her inert expression, as if she had realized something, her eyes twinkled with a strange brightness. One of hate, or maybe one of envy. Sparkle’s shoulders tensed. For some reason, she didn’t look comfortable at all with that idea.

However, it was likely that good manners dictated that she had to give some kind of condolence for being the one who encouraged the response. So when Twilight realized that her counterpart was going to do just that, she interrupted her. She didn’t need to hear something that would be a lie, especially because she couldn’t care any less.

“You don’t need to say anything.” I’m not sorry, either. “It was a long time ago, really.”

Twilight gave her a small smile of comfort, and Sparkle seemed to accept it, still trying to decipher the intentions of her counterpart.

Ten seconds of uncomfortable silence passed, where none of the three said a word. And surely it would get worse, judging by the horrible feeling that was forming in her stomach. It wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

“I still don’t understand,” began Sparkle, slowly, with real curiosity in her voice “Why are you asking me all of this?”

According to the little information Twilight had been able to collect from her friends, she didn’t talk much about her family, and always had an excuse to avoid any type of get-together in her house. Of course Sparkle would find strange that she was trying to address those topics. Not to mention that Twilight avoided going directly to the point the first time. Now that she asked again, it was better to give her an answer, or Twilight was sure she wouldn't be asked a third time. 

“Like I said, it made me wonder about something.” 

The former unicorn inhaled slowly, feeling an uncomfortable tingling in the middle of her back. Her free hand tightened the paper in the pocket of her hoodie almost unconsciously. She wished she was wrong. Wished this was all a damn misunderstanding on her part, and that within an hour Sunset would be giving her a lecture about why it was wrong to ask what she was going to ask.

“Does Night Light keep going to your room, at night?”

The question was as soft and subtle as a sudden blow to the face could be. Still, Twilight was sure that it had a load of fair and necessary meanings to be understood perfectly. Said in some other way, she would fall victim to previously planned excuses or would end up with a throbbing cheek. This girl was smart enough to know when to protect herself, even if it meant taking shelter in her own injustice and justifying it. For that reason, the best thing was to act directly. Without losing sensitivity to not generate a defensive attitude, but also without deviating from the point in question.

“What are you trying to say, Twi?” Sunset muttered under her breath. Twilight only raised a hand under the table to let her handle the situation, as she had asked before.

If she based this on her own experience, she would still hear excuses and justifications. But body language never failed, and that’s where she got authentic expressions. Sparkle lost any sign of good humor, with surprise lasting longer than expected, judging from the quick transition of a slightly wrinkled forehead to a frown of indignation. And Twilight’s human counterpart held her gaze, trying to find how such information was obtained, to then realize that it was her self from a parallel dimension.

“Where did you get such an idea?” Sparkle finally responded, with an indignation that wasn’t as well executed as the tone of offense. The latter, Twilight supposed, should be real for more reasons than she could get to speculate. “I’m fine.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Sunset relaxed her tensed shoulders. Only a little, though, as if she wasn’t entirely convinced by the obvious response. One could say that both agreed that it was an answer they expected to hear. The difference was that, while the redhead hoped that her friend really was okay, Twilight understood it was just an automatic defense mechanism.

"Are you sure about that?" asked the Equestrian under her breath, with genuine concern. If Sparkle really was in a healthy family environment, then the surprise would be as real as the disgust, and answering that nothing happened would have been a natural response.

However, when seeking for her gaze Twilight found a defiant one. One who warned her that if she continued to play with fire both would end up in ashes, and at the same time contradicted itself by begging her to do so.

“No one is going to judge you if you say no, Sparks,” Sunset spoke softly, the ghost of a smile adorning her lips. Twilight wasn’t sure exactly what she meant; she supposed it would have to have been something personal between the two. They were friends, after all.

Be that as it may, Sparkle turned her still fiery gaze towards the redhead, possibly offended by the fact that she had decided to take sides. Sunset had no problem sustaining her, calm but intense, to show her that she was serious.

She took off her glasses, and in spite of her blurred vision, she could see how the figures in front of her looked a little more relaxed. She filled her lungs with air and let it out in a heavy sigh. Sparkle had no idea how the hell she didn’t see this conversation coming. Though she expected something more subtle from her clone. Who would say that the one who articulated with a straight back and carried her dignity like the Queen of England, could be as direct as... as Sparkle would have been were the situation reversed. Of course, the latter would happen the day she could sleep in peace, and it was probable that she had to be dead first to achieve it.

Whatever. Time to change tactics.

“It has nothing to do with that, Sunset. I... Look, I appreciate the intention, really. But you don’t have to worry about anything, ok?” she chose to speak calmly while massaging the bridge of her nose to ease her headache. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the whole situation or the damn lenses. Probably the second. 

“Nothing… happens at home, seriously.”

Pff! Sparkle was always very good at lying. She even dared to say that more than fifty percent of her daily activities involved lying at some point. But for some disappointing reason, she found herself very unconvincing. Even so, the primary objective wasn’t to tell lies with a certain degree of accuracy, but to convince.

“I’m sorry if I reacted badly.” That was true, though not her fault. She set out to find the tissues to clean the lenses, another bad habit. “It’s just... yesterday I started a new project that took me most of the night and I couldn’t sleep much so—”

“Sparks…” Sunset interrupted her in a tone she couldn’t recognize at all.

“...What?” Sparkle stopped blinking at the red figure, tissue in hand, glasses in the other.

“You said you stayed awake watching documentaries.”

You had to be stupid. Sparkle was good at lying, especially when it came to spontaneous falsehoods.

A bit of fogging in the glasses, a couple of horizontal movements with the tissues — never circular, that scratched the anti-reflex — and they were neat and polished.

“Documentaries or magazines are triggers of my research projects. I don’t see the inconsistency.” What she could see, with her sight again clear, was the little conviction that her words created. She tried to look casual and take a sip of the coffee that was getting cold. Too bitter.

Several moments passed as the silence became palpable and uncomfortable. And somehow, the looks towards her person made her feel smaller than usual. She looked at her phone to check the time. 

About twenty minutes before the end of the school day. Maybe it would be best to pick up her things and leave, to end the conversation where it should before she ended up doing something stupid.

“Sparkle, please look at me.” When she looked back at Twilight, she again found her trying to engage her in staring games.  “Look at me and tell me nothing happens and I promise that you’ll never hear me say another word on the matter. Even if you want, don’t ever speak to me again. But please be honest.”

Sparkle had to dig her nails into her palms until her forearms shook. Didn’t she know when to surrender? Or did she like to see her lose?

Sparkle crossed her arms, leaning on the back of the chair with the dignity that she always liked to pretend to possess — if her clone looked like that with so little effort, it was likely that she would too, right? — when she realized Twilight’s intention to stretch an arm towards her.

Sparkle wasn’t so stupid, nor transparent and much less fragile.

But deep down she was sure that Twilight was right, and she couldn’t say anything to her face without sounding like she was trying to fool her. Who would have the courage to lie to their mature and beautiful mirror? What could she do?

For a moment, a mere moment, Sparkle set out to challenge her with a look that invited her to make an introspection to her own life as a pompous Princess. But she ended giving up when realizing that this time, there was a different shine in her eyes.

An exaggerated shimmer that moved swiftly between white corneas and violet irises. A twinkle of impotence. A spark of despair. A reflection of anguish. A shine of empathy. 

A resplendence of one’s own experience.

For some reason, giving her the benefit of the doubt didn’t seem like a bad idea. So, in the absence of a white flag to admit defeat and openness to negotiations as a war commander in the middle of the Han Dynasty, Sparkle decided to turn the page in her notebook, leaving up with a sharp blow all the blank pages waiting to be used.

“What are you trying to get at?” Sparkle inquired softly looking back at Twilight, who seemed to understand the message  — Sunset still gave them curious glances — and finally relaxed her upright posture when speaking again.

“We want to help.”

Sparkle stopped short, processing the sentence she had just heard. It was something so incredulous and stupid that it made her want to laugh, no matter how forced it was. Help? What? Twilight had previously said that her father died as a child. What could she do, then? Magic? Go back in time? Every idea that occurred to her was more absurd.

There was nothing to do.

“There’s nothing you can help with,” Sparkle tried to control her voice, to avoid sounding too sharp or too displeased, tried a normal tone. But all she achieved was a low and mediocre one.

There was nothing more to talk about either. Because deciding to lose didn’t necessarily mean admitting, much less accepting.

Again, another disturbing and perceptible silence and, in a certain way, the contemplations towards her person made her feel smaller than usual.

She looked in her jacket pocket again to check the time. About twelve minutes to end the school day. Maybe it would be best to pick up her things and leave. To end the conversation before her tongue loosened up and ended up doing more stupid things. Yes, it was definitely the best thing to do.

“I’ve been investigating all day,” started her doppelganger, but now with a new plan underway, it was easy to pretend she wasn’t listening. “And if at any time you change your opinion..."

Sparkle didn’t understand those people who used too many things and therefore took decades to put away their school supplies. She liked to be practical. A small pencil case with the bare minimum, a notebook or folder according to the subjects of the day along with the books following the same utility, and perhaps a book or magazine in case she had some leisure time to spend. Practical, concise, structured, simple, fast.

A hand, with her same skin tone, slid a multi-folded paper across the surface of the table. It was small and easy to put in the pocket. As if it was valuable, secret information.

“I made a list of trustworthy help centers and websites from which you can access useful information. Everything has twenty-four hour assistance.”

The white rectangle of paper was on the table, on its own, contrasting with the dark and polished wood.

Sparkle looked up at Twilight, and for a moment, she proposed herself to challenge her with a look that invited her to make introspections of her own life.

However, she gave up when she realized that in Twilight’s eyes was that different shine.

That shine of empathy, of one’s own experience.

“You don’t deserve this; you don’t owe him anything.” There, in her voice, was something else. Fear, or maybe despair.
Be that as it may, Sparkle still stood up to leave, her backpack on her shoulder and jacket in hand.

She took the paper anyway and put it in her pocket. Only for courtesy.

“That’s something neither of us has the power to decide, Twilight.”

Her figure disappeared hastily behind the shelves. There were seven minutes left until four thirty in the afternoon, until the end of the school day.

Sunset Shimmer stood up, ready to follow her when a hand on her forearm stopped her. It was a weak grip, not even firm.

“She’s not going to listen, Sunset.”

She looked back at Twilight, surprised. The determination she had five minutes ago seemed far off in comparison to her drooping shoulders and her look of remorse, fixed on the corner in which Sparkle turned and left.

“If I speak to her like you did, probably not.”

The redhead advanced anyway, with a firm and hurried pace. She had no idea what she was going to say since Twilight asked to let her handle the matter, but she wasn’t going to leave it at that. If something was really happening, whatever it was, Sunset wanted to help. No, she had to help. Sparkle was her friend. She couldn’t leave her just like that.

Sparkle was where Sunset supposed she would find her: her locker. Therefore, she approached slowly so it didn’t seem like she wanted to generate any pressure.

“I didn’t throw the paper away if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Sunset blinked, confused.

“I... didn’t come for that, actually.”

“Uh-huh. Then?" Sparkle finished putting on her coat and closed the locker with more force than usual. She wasn’t looking back at her.

“Sparks…” Sunset didn’t even have time to put together a coherent sentence, seeing that the girl with the purple hair, already with the backpack on her shoulder, was starting to march towards the front door.

“What happens in my private life isn’t your problem.” The redhead hurried to keep up with her. They weren’t too far from the entrance, and though she didn’t understand the sudden change of mood and similar defensiveness, she at least had to try to insist one more time.

She managed to reach her once outside the institution, at the foot of the stairs at the entrance — Sparkle, when forced, could be much faster than she appeared to in P. E. — and for a moment considered putting a hand on her shoulder. But given her sudden moodiness and the fact that she never seemed too comfortable with physical contact, she decided otherwise.

“Sparks, if you’re going through some kind of uncomfortable situation, whatever it is, we can help, okay?” Insisting sometimes proved to be the best tactic with Sparkle, who almost always ended up saying yes, though this sounded more like a plea than anything else. “You’re our friend. We care what happens to you.”

This wasn’t the case.

“Don’t you understand? There’s nothing to do, Sunset!” Sparkle exclaimed with desperate distress. Sunset could see it in the breaking of her voice. In the slight tremor of her arms that didn’t go unnoticed when she dropped them to her sides with heaviness. “Stop getting involved in what doesn’t concern you.”

Then Sunset watched her turn around and head towards a vehicle that seconds ago wasn’t there. She didn’t have the slightest knowledge about cars, but managed to recognize some models, and that was enough to know that it was brand new and sophisticated. Night Light used to drive it. She had seen it a couple of times when he picked her friend up from group meetings and such.

Sunset clenched her fists. Sparkle was right to be angry if all that surrounded her were dead ends. If she lived constantly in despair.

There was nothing to do. Because they couldn’t do anything.





It was seventeen minutes past ten o'clock at night. A night young even for a Tuesday, with the traffic on the avenue still frequent.

Sunset would probably be asleep; Twilight couldn't say so with certainty because both of them had turned their backs on the shared bed.

What she could say was that, on the other hand, she wouldn't sleep tonight. Or at least, wouldn't do so in peace.

It hadn't happened for a long time. It was a long time ago that certain uncertainties and feelings didn't come out from where she had buried them. It was a long time ago that closing her eyes and giving in to exhaustion didn't scare her. That she wasn't involved in the uncomfortable tingling that provided little electric touches all over her body and made her hair stand on end.

It was weird, or cynical, maybe. Even as a filly, temporalities were always confusing to her. She had to find some event to remember how old she was in a certain year, and still, remembered in detail sensations and fears that were over —relatively— at least six years ago.

Would her human counterpart feel the same? Would she also be involved in paranoia and adrenaline? Maybe she didn't care anymore, maybe she didn't feel it anymore. Twilight recalled that at some point, as a child, all these things ceased to be significant and became day-to-day. It was like always making a wound in the same place. Why bother to cure it if it would eventually open up again? If the efforts were independent of the facts, then again, why bother?

Her stomach churned just thinking about it. The nausea was present just thinking about it.

And she felt so stupid about today. Sunset wasn't happy with her way of handling things and Twilight couldn't say she felt any pride, either. In fact, it was the opposite.

"Twi..."

That conversation was reproduced before its execution more than ten times inside her head, all with possible different reactions and scenarios. None was easy. Reality showed her as clumsy and sentimental in the face of the situation, unable to convince her other self to at least stay and listen to her for five more minutes. It was true that Twilight was the Princess of Friendship and not of Psychology for obvious reasons, but still...

"You awake?"

Twilight looked over her shoulder, at Sunset’s attentive and curious cyan gaze, somehow highlighted with the reflection of the city lights that slipped through the thin curtains of the window. The purple-haired girl sighed and turned her gaze from the French balcony to the ceiling, shifting to lie on her back.

"I don't think I can sleep.”

"That makes two of us, then.”

She wasn't happy with her way of facing things.

"I'm sorry," Twilight mused, both for Sunset and for the whiteness of the ceiling. "I did everything wrong. I'm a disaster."

She felt a hand upon her left, unclenching the fist in which it was tensed to intertwine their fingers, and Twilight returned the gesture with a little squeeze. Suddenly, it was comforting, a small hint of heat in a body, that despite being wrapped in sheets, felt its temperature getting lower every time.

"...I'm not angry, Twi." The aforementioned looked at the redhead, who had spoken as low as her. As if there was something in the air that kept them from raising their voices. "Only that I would have liked some kind of... I don't know, warning?”

Twilight blinked, confused.

"How? I mean, we talked about it beforehand and I told you by phone.”

This time it was Sunset's turn to sigh with heaviness.

"I know. And I agreed when you said there was something strange going on there. It's just that I thought it was something... More lightweight, I guess? That it could be solved by talking to her parents.” Another sigh, followed by a pause. "I just realized that you were referring to... Well, that."

"A situation of abuse?" Twilight suggested, taking the liberty to add a degree of self-cynicism.

Sunset nodded on the sly. Knowing her, she didn't want to mention it with the fear of triggering her. But when it came to a childhood like hers, from a past that had already happened, it was difficult to feel restrained by a simple term. Twilight gave Sunset's hand another squeeze, just to reassure her.

Things stayed that way, silent, for a good couple of minutes. She wasn't sure exactly how many, and didn't want to go back to the bad childhood habit of counting them, as well as the steps and its rhythms. Sometimes Twilight got sick at herself for trying to have some kind of control over the stupidest things possible.

"What do we do now, then?" Sunset's concern brought her out (again) of the inevitable self-absorption of the last few days. "Call the police? Or are there any special places to make this type of reports?"

Twilight only looked at the ceiling. Knowing the redhead, her reaction to what she was going to say would probably not be pleasant.

"We wait,” she stated without further ado.

Three, two, one…

"How do 'we wait'? We wait until what, Twilight?" Sunset leaned on her elbows, staying over the ex-unicorn's field of vision knowing it was exactly what she wanted to avoid.

"Until she decides to ask for help." She returned the glare and before Sunset could retort, Twilight spoke again. "Do you think she's not going to defend him if someone makes sudden accusations?"

She recalled a similar situation in het first years at Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, when classes still were as diverse as what was called here elementary school. A teacher had tried to talk to her in an effort to know what was happening at home, and Twilight was so scared that the number of excuses she used to justify herself was ridiculous.

"Why defend someone who hurts you?" Sunset frowned. As if Twilight was saying things that brushed the border between reality and ridicule, but at the same time somehow had a coherence of meaning. She might not be the Princess of Psychology, but the years of therapy helped her understand many things.

"Because it's not easy, Sunset.” Maybe she had used more emphasis than necessary and maybe she also chose to stop lying inert and rearrange herself until seated. "It's not easy to admit that some things happen. There's much more at stake than you think and probably more than I know since I come from a parallel world. And I dare say that she must believe that she's alone, that she has nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Or why do you think she left today?"

She couldn't blame Sparkle for her reaction, it was logical. Who would accept right away that they had no control over their lives, over their body? That there were things beyond self-control, either by imposed feelings of guilt, or shame, or the betrayal of trust, or helplessness, or anger. And the list could go on and on in an endless way, because mentioning three or four lines wasn't enough to describe a whirlwind that changed according to each individual.

And maybe Twilight had also sounded harder than intended when she raised her voice, because Sunset seemed to deflate, trying to read between the lines of something that was clear as water.

"But she's not. She has us. All of us," the tone of discouragement was as visible as the usual gesture of running a hand through her hair when a situation somehow overwhelmed her.

"That's something you can see, and that I understand after much more time in therapy than I like to admit." Twilight tried to be softer this time, and speak with less force. She knew that the redhead had the mere intention of helping her friend, not to complicate things. "If we intervene directly without permission, the only thing we'll achieve is her to move away. Through her own will or not."

In her personal case it was enough with another citation after school, but this time with her parents. They didn't take long to feel offended and change her from school shift. Well, actually Night Light was the one who decided, Twilight Velvet always chose to follow him.

She never crossed paths with that teacher again. And if she did, it was many years later, because she couldn't even remember her face.

At that time she was too innocent, too little to understand that telling someone could have made a substantial change, that there were other options. And Twilight wanted to give Sparkle the opportunity she had never had, the opportunity to decide.

Her particular case wasn't exactly a close, it was just a strange luck that —somehow— she unconsciously wanted. One where she had to adapt to the normal, to a supposed and shocking daily life that she didn't know. A new reality where there was no place for counting steps, for insomnia or for showers in the late morning. A reality where giving in to exhaustion shouldn't scare her, where being wrapped in an uncomfortable tingling that provided little electric touches all over her body and made her hair stand on end was absurd, as Velvet used to tell her sometimes.

It was absurd because the closet monsters were a figment of the imagination, she said. And yes, it was irrational to fear monsters, they didn't exist, they were products of the collective imaginary of children. The only thing that existed with certainty were beings that made decisions, positive or negative, moral or vicious.

Sunset sat reluctantly by her side, saying nothing, not being entirely convinced. Or maybe it had to do with a certain anger towards something in particular, judging by her snort. Twilight wasn't a hundred percent sure.

"In my experience, it wasn't about the violence, to put it in some way. I... I don't remember violent situations in particular." Among the many insights, she found her tongue betraying the rhythm of thought. "It was more than anything about this... this huge manipulation. All my merits, all my virtues, all that I had, were thanks to Night Light. And if she came to enter the picture, thanks to my mother too."

It could be the fact that once she started talking about certain things she was always subject to the impertinent need to say certain others. Or that she had never told the whole story to the redhead, and it was a good opportunity to take away some of the guilt for having told her half-truths. Or maybe she simply wanted to convince her of her point of view. Or all of the above. Twilight didn't have the slightest idea, more than the fact that she needed to make some kind of venting.

"To be able to go to the best school, to have a house to return to, food, a family... Everything, everything was thanks to... thanks to him." She was gesturing too much with her hands, like every time she got nervous. This entire situation made the nervousness bloom on the skin to the point that if she didn't make some kind of catharsis, she was going to have an attack. And she wasn't even sure of what, exactly. "And I... and I had to show my gratitude in some other way besides getting the best GPA in all my classes be-because that wasn't enough and though s-sometimes I couldn't distinguish some things from o-others in some way I kn-knew it was wrong but you know that you ca-can't do a-anything and the boundaries become c-confusing and-and--"

And Twilight Sparkle broke. Broke into little pieces that fell through the eyes like the sand flying in the desert. In tremors that lashed against its corporeal structure threatening to take her energies. In a whirlwind of emotions that by mentioning three or four lines weren't enough to describe it. And Sunset was there to hold her, to keep her from collapsing. She hugged her firmly, stroked her hair the way she liked best, whispered comforting words in her ear as often as they were necessary until she could breathe with some regularity again. Until the sand stopped moving in the desert and in the distance it gave shape to what appeared to be a small oasis.

"Did you ever... tell anyone? At that time?" She asked slowly, whispering. As if there was something in the air that prevented them from raising their voices.

"Once." She took a breath, or maybe four, she couldn't count them at that moment. "Once they called my attention, at school, but I couldn't say anything. I was scared, you know? I thought my family would leave me on the street. That I would lose everything... That no one would want a little girl like that."

Through the corner of her eye, she noticed Sunset turning her head in her direction. Twilight was still with hers resting on the redhead's shoulder, staring at a small mole she had at the beginning of the neck.

"I think... if I had known that things wouldn't be as bad as I thought, then maybe I would have said something sooner. Though I don't know if it serves much to speculate now," she mumbled. And paused, trying to think about how she had gotten here and what was the main point of the conversation. "What I was trying to get at, I think, is that we have to let Sparkle do her own process and be there when she needs us. We already meddled a lot, I don't know if keep insisting is a good idea."

She heard Sunset sigh heavily over her heart rate. It was calm and sedative at the same time, it inspired a strange feeling of confidence and security.

"To be honest, I'm not entirely convinced. But I trust your word, so okay." Twilight knew she would get an answer like that. Neither of them liked the idea too much, but at the moment it was their best option. "But if there's no change, then we take some kind of measure. Whatever it has to be, I don't plan to keep my arms crossed."

Twilight made a noise of affirmation. For now, they waited, and if nothing happened, then they would take action on the matter as subtly or directly as possible.

A few more minutes passed until she dared to undo the hug. Until her breathing took an acceptable pace and until, between fleeting kisses and soothing caresses, her emotions managed to settle in a more appropriate, more controllable place. It took another pair for them to back to bed, Twilight with a clean face void of any sign of having been crying for more than ten minutes and Sunset with a different sweatshirt, since the previous one ended with a side soaked in tears.

As a result of this, the redhead had to dismiss the wave of apologies from the purple haired girl when she noticed the change of clothing, interrupting her with a brief kiss on the lips since small distractions always worked. Twilight found herself smiling at the action, and returning the gesture with pleasure.

It was thirty-two minutes past twelve o'clock at night when both decided to give up on the small talk and try to sleep. The streets were silent, with barely any traffic left. 

Twilight, feeling safe in the arms of one of the people she loved the most, was certain that tonight she would rest just a little bit better.

And she wished with all her heart, her counterpart could also sleep in peace.





In this way, we can argue that the theories of conception both of the world and the human being are based, according to the philosophers of the V century before--

The incessant typing of her fingers on the computer keyboard was interrupted by the din of the little creak of the wood, which seemed to rumble in her ears from the beginning of the corridor, from the beginning of the stairs.

The heart rate increased its frequency in warning. It only remained to count.

...Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eig--

There wasn't an eighth step.

The world stopped.

The third hinge on the door produced a squeak. Its null maintenance was intentional. A kind of subtle alarm that she had been allowed to keep even though she could recognize the sound variations in the pace of the steps according to who produced them.

"I thought you were in bed already," her father commented, probably raising an eyebrow judging by the circumstantial tone.

Twilight already knew that she was stretching her luck by staying two hours and thirty-five minutes —and counting— past her curfew, at ten o'clock at night. But she didn’t want to sleep, she needed to finish a series of questions within three days. If she didn’t finish it now, then it would stack with the endless pile of assignments to do both this and next week, and she needed to use those margins of time, for more reasons than she liked to admit.

Inhale, exhale, casual tone.

“I'm a question away from finishing a report; it took more time than I thought. It’s due tomorrow morning.” She tried to keep the tension of the shoulders hidden in the incessant typing, ignoring the acceleration of the heart rate that began to ride faster and faster on the edge of the eardrums. Luckily she was used to it, so doing the latter was as simple as breathing.

“All the more reason then, Twi. Go to bed now and finish it tomorrow morning, ok?”

Twilight swallowed hard, tensing her forearms to control the sudden trembling of her hands.

She wasn't going to get out of this one, at least, not the way intended.

Inhale. Exhale. Casual.

“Yes, Dad,” she said with a slight and part fake annoyance. “Goodnight.”

Sometimes she liked to pretend that her life was as normal as everyone else's; that sometimes it didn't turn into an insufferable ordeal.

Twilight finished writing the sentence, saved the file, closed it with all the browser windows and set about restoring her desk back to the immaculate order it was intended to, while the laptop was turning off.

At no time did the little creak of the wood recede in its footsteps, after the door to the end of the corridor or the stairs. In no second in which the digital clock located in her desk destined for the immaculate order, changed the last digit, did the third hinge of the door, whose null maintenance was intentional, squeaked again.

Inhale, exhale, casual.

When she turned her father was still there, impassive.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, without any pressure, with affection. Was it Sparkle's shoulder? No, no, it was Twilight's.

Bile rose quickly through the esophagus up to the throat.

Sometimes she liked to think that her life routine was normal. But Twilight liked to think about too many things.

Whatever, I'm used to it.

So many, that she didn't understand why she put effort into doing so.





Part of Twilight's everyday life included going to the pharmacy. Or rather, the chain of pharmacies that sold from perfumery to even sweets and protein supplements, and had a shop every ten blocks. Her mother had asked her to buy a few things and, taking advantage that she had left about twelve minutes before the end of the school day, she resolved to go to one of the said pharmacy shops, less than two blocks away.

She decided to go first to the drug section, where luckily only two people were waiting to be assisted before her. It was likely that no one else appeared until after five in the afternoon, but she didn't want to leave her father waiting on the school front for too long.

Her mother always seemed to have an excuse when it came to driving her somewhere, but not to ask her to run errands. Not that it bothered Twilight. Normally, she would buy something useful for her too. Although sometimes, the idea of not being criticised for a day as remuneration didn't seem so bad. However, that always remained the same way: an idea.

Once attended and with the security bag with the medicines ordered in hand, she went to the perfumery section. According to the second text, she had to buy toilet soap, tissues, and a toothpaste. Would it be enough money for some peppermints? Perhaps for some of those diet chewing gums that were always on clearance, they served equally well when it came to appeasing anxieties. Though she was almost certain that she still had a couple of those left, then as a last resort she could wait unt--

“Ow!”

Definitely, colliding with someone wasn't on the list.

Since she was looking at the cell phone to corroborate the specific brands, she let go of the latter and everything else in her hand. That included the wallet and the security bag, so she bent down to pick her things up as quickly as possible before someone else did while apologizing to whoever it was that crossed her.

"I'm sorry," Twilight began, already with the peace of mind of having her wallet and cell phone in hand. The other person took her safety bag and, when she looked at their face, she understood why the sleeves of the leather jacket looked familiar. "I didn't notic-- Are you following me?"

Sunset Shimmer frowned, confused, her gaze directed at the medications in the bag.

"I guess this is yours?"

Twilight huffed softly and took it from her hands. She didn't need more lectures than usual, less with the counted minutes.

"It's for my mother," she said without further ado, finally turning the corner where she intended.

Once again, she confirmed the brand, took the corresponding product and went on to the subsequent one in the minimum list.

"Your mother sends you to buy contraceptives?" The use of the pretended casualty made her blood boil sometimes, however hypocritical that feeling was. Sparkle wasn't stupid, she understood where the redhead was trying to get at and she wasn't going to let her.

"It's none of your business, Sunset."

Check brand, take the product, next.

"…I was just asking." Ok, maybe she had made a mistake with the intention of the tone. It could happen, she was human, too, wasn't she? She could be wrong. But that didn't mean that she had to accept an outsider meddling to give her an opinion about her life, or to tell her what they thought was wrong and what was not. By what right? They had not the slightest idea of anything.

"And I'm just telling you to no stick your nose into other people's business." She hoped that the hostile tone was enough to account for it. Twilight didn't even turn around to see her, much less with the counted minutes. "I told you before. And if you can't leave that aside, then don't bother speaking to me."

Brand. Product. Nex-- Checkout.

Under what right did they come to speak to her? She detested those little staring games, the visual wordiness, those made-up phrases with which the other Twilight approached her last week. As if everything was so easy and could be resolved with a snap of fingers. What could she do? Magic? Go back in time? Even now, every idea that came to mind was still more absurd than the previous one.

At the end of the day, she ended up taking those damned mint diet chewing gums, which served to appease the anxieties and cheat the stomach. They were disgusting, with more of a toothpaste flavor than eucalyptus and for that same reason, they were on clearance all the time. She still ended up putting three together to the mouth while walking back to the school's entrance. Anything was welcome to calm the sudden moodiness, calm the nerves that bloomed on the skin, soothe the bile that rose quickly through the esophagus up to the throat. Anything was welcome at the time of appearing calm in front of her father before she was pestered with questions of why the long face.

Luckily he was on the phone when she slowly knocked on the car window to get him to open the door. She had time to settle both physically and mentally before giving explanations as to why she had taken too long.

What could they do? What could she do, even? To be honest, sometimes she wished she had been abandoned at the door of an orphanage, but neither the family nor the destiny could be chosen. Things had always been this way. Or maybe not always, but a little more than a third of her life. Enough to get used to the dynamics and understand that they would continue to develop that way beyond her will. And if you can't beat them, join them.

At this point, there wasn't much else to do.





Days later, hours later, at who knows how early in the morning, Sparkle lay inert on her bed of thorns.

It wasn't as if it possessed some kind of distinction to the normal bed because the latter wasn't uncomfortable, but the normal bed wasn't either, so they were technically the same. Besides, when had it not hurt her? Figuratively, of course, the bed didn't really have thorns. Thank heavens no.

Or maybe yes, and from there the origin to the bruises with which she sometimes got up to turn off the alarm of her digital clock located on her desk destined for immaculate order.

She had already showered. Had already scratched the areas around the bruises under the burning water until relieving herself of the pain caused by those small open and bleeding wounds. Had already threw up everything ingested at dinner until the only thing that remained was a stomach devoid of even gastric juices. Had already taken a bath to pretend to eradicate the impurities rooted in the skin. She had already showered.

Her hair was way too damp and way too thin, it soaked her back, the old shirt she wore at the lack of real pajamas, the pillow of her bed of thorns.

She thought, for a moment, to search for some way to induce terminal pneumonia and die. Just to get out of the hellish routine of life.

No, no, bad plan. Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) never got sick. Sickness was synonymous with staying prostrated on the bed of thorns, with a pressure that caused the latter to puncture the body and pass through the organs and--

And she remembered that it hurt. Though it was a bed made of fictitious, figurative and by logic, unreal thorns. It still hurt.

She turned once, twice. In a rotation of one hundred and eighty degrees (figurative, too). And once her head was buried in the pillow and held even more in the suffocation of polyester fibers (with twenty percent of cotton) thanks to her hands, Sparkle screamed.

And screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Again and again, until her lungs started to burn and she was forced to stop. Stop, to continue unleashing her fury in a torrent of tears that soaked her as if it were the boiling water of the shower, the hair way too damp and way too thin.

It had been long ago since the last time she shed tears, to the point that she believed that her lacrimal glands had become obsolete within her system. It had been a long time since Sparkle had cried because Sparkle wasn't fragile, transparent, or much less stupid.

But now, Sparkle was sick of the hellish routine of life.

As much as Twilight was. But Twilight was the fragile, the clumsy, the socially secluded, the one who had to accept whatever came to her because that's the way things were. Her father always looked for Twilight, and very occasionally Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) when he got too angry. However, he never looked for Sparkle.

But Sparkle felt Twilight’s pain. Because they were the same person, because they merged in body and soul but not in essence. She felt her pain, felt her anguish, felt her disgust, her disappointment, her low self-esteem, her bile rise from the esophagus up to her throat, her urge to vomit, her--

She shouted again on the pillow, fury to the surface.

Damn Princess of pompous life that lived alone in a castle of pure crystal that had risen from the earth like a schizophrenic fairy tale. Be damned her perfect posture and her way of carrying her dignity as if she were the Queen of England. Be damned her charisma that charmed everyone. Be damned her mental stability and be damned her happiness. Be damned her stupid little staring games. Be damned her speeches of a promising and bright future.

Be damned her deranged fortune where her father had died when she was a child.

Sparkle was tired. Exhausted. Destroyed.

It was who knows what early morning hour. Her corneas needed to rest, they had dehydrated so much that now they felt dry.

Tissues, tissues, she needed tissues to dry her face, to blow her nose. She came out slowly from the sheets that wrapped her bed of thorns in polyester fibers with twenty percent cotton, wet with way-too-damp and way-too-fine hair, to the coolness of her room. There were no tissues inside the drawer of the nightstand, neither in the desk meant for immaculate order nor in the multiple pockets of her backpack. Her pulse quickened with annoyance.

Twilight always had tissues with her, how could Sparkle not find them?

Still, without giving up, she decided to check all her coats hanging neatly inside her closet, sorted by level of cold protection. It was the season of half-season coats, so she started there with the certainty that Twilight in her stupidity had forgotten them in a pocket.

First one? Empty.

Second? Empty.

Third? A paper.

What paper? A paper of many folds, that when opening it tripled in size until it took the shape of a sheet that was torn from a notebook. In blue ink, vague handwriting and trembling pulse but equal to her own, appeared a series of letters that in its wholeness formed words, constituted addresses, created websites, established telephone numbers.

In the fourth pocket, she found the damn tissues. Sparkle sat on the edge of the bed of thorns, the light of the nightstand on confirming the origin of the writing in her trembling hands.

It was the list of places her clone had made.

‘I made a list of trustworthy Help Centers and websites with useful information to which you can access if at any time you change your mind.’ She said, sliding the multi-folded paper over the surface of the table. As if it were secret, valuable information. ‘You don't deserve any of this, Twilight.’

She thought, for a moment, that she could search for some way to induce terminal pneumonia and die.

Just to get out of the hellish routine of life.

Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) was sick of the hellish routine of life.





“Which one do you like more?”

Twilight blinked, coming out of the sudden self-absorption. It began to be daily from the time she had left the library furious, or angry, maybe. No, no, those were synonymous, technically. Restless or demoralized perhaps would fit more.

Be that as it may, she took her sight off of some colored tiger plushies. They had eyes so anatomically impossible that they seemed ready to eat her soul (useless and destroyed, but a soul after all) and directed it towards her mother who was holding in each hand a stuffed animal. Both were equal and cat shaped, without exaggerated or creepy details. Made in a patchwork of soft and baby-friendly fabrics and with a cord lined as a tail that, when pulled back, played crib music.

In the left hand, she had one in different hues of pink and in the right one, a replica in lilacs and violets.

"Why do you ask me if you're going to choose the one you like the most?"

Twilight's responses were limited in all aspects of her life because her parents directly opted to ignore her. Her father, when he wanted to ask her opinion, normally took the minimum work of respecting it —again, when he felt like it, but at least he did. Velvet, on the other hand, when she asked for contribution on Twilight's part, it was to perform the opposite action. What flavor of ice cream do you like the most? Then I'll take the other one and I still'll force you to eat it in front of the guests because I know that you'll throw it up later. Sometimes Sparkle thought she was doing it on purpose because it gave her some kind of joy or something.

Therefore, her oh-so-collaborative answer. It was always the same, and maybe Twilight was tired of repeating certain things.

"If you answer me like that, then of course I'm going to do so," refuted her mother offended. Twilight bit the inside of her cheek so as not to roll her eyes in annoyance and decided to play along.

"The pink one. It was the first that caught your attention and is more feminine." If a newborn baby couldn't see more than thirty centimeters away, much less could distinguish the alleged color assignments by gender. It was a stupid plushie. "But most the important thing should be that it plays music for a prolonged time."

Her mother stared at both animals, looking for which had the fifth leg to take the opposite, surely just not to agree with her.

"If you're not convinced we can go to some other baby store, or come back another day..." Twilight offered. The faster they finished buying, the longer she could lock herself in her room and not have interactions until dinner.

Velvet this time looked at her as if she had said a great stupidity or great nonsense, either of the terms fitted.

"Twilight, the Baby Shower is this Saturday.”

Definitely the first one. She chose not to comment and bite the inside of her cheek with more force than before. She was sure there were two weeks left, were they not two weeks away? How was it that suddenly they were days away? How many exactly, she wasn't sure either. If they were two, or three, or five, but they were days away and she had no idea how many because she was locked in this sudden self-absorption.

"Ah." Was the only thing she could say, if she spoke out loud her doubts she would gain a lecture. "Then we should buy this one and in any case Cadance can change it--"

“Twilight…”

"I mean, it's not like she or Shiny would want to change it because it's ugly, maybe someone gifts them the same thing, a portable stuffed toy that plays crib music is a good idea but also very used, I think, though it's not as simple as it could it be a teething ring or a baby rattle--"

“What day is today, Twilight?”

The store aisles were high enough to cover the hand with which her mother encircled her forearm when she made the motion of trying to walk away to escape. It was a firm grip. It didn't hurt her but it did cause pain thanks to the bruises and the scratches in the areas surrounding them under the layers of clothes. It was invasive, sudden, annoying. But if she tried to get free like every time, things wouldn't end well and the truth was that she didn't need more fights to add to the daily routine.

"Thursday." If this Saturday was the Baby Shower, then today should be... "Thursday, May twenty-fifth."

It was Thursday, right? Today she had advanced calculus classes, and those were on Wednesday and Thursday morning. The problem was that she wasn't sure if that pattern had been repeated yesterday. Now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure if she had done certain tasks, such as starting the first summaries for the upcoming history test.

Her mother released her. Her forearm silently thanking it because if Twilight tried to rub it then it would seem that she was exaggerating on purpose.

“Tomorrow is the twenty-fifth, Twilight, today is Wednesday.” As predicted, Velvet left the pink doll on the nearest ledge and decided on the lilac one, but not before sighing heavily. “How late are you staying awake?”

How do you answer a question that you don't know? Because really, Twilight didn't have the slightest idea. Surely it was at dawn, she no longer checked the time on the clock every time she left the shower and entered her room. Showering at the wee hours of the morning was a bad habit, but a habit after all.

"Twilight, I love that you work hard in school, go out with your friends and also decide to follow our steps and do your own research." Oh no. No, no, no. A lecture. "But there’s a world around you."

That was just the beginning of a monologue so long that that lasted even until they left the shop. About why she should stop being so self-absorbed and expect people to follow her rhythm (at this she only chose to look at her mother out of the corner of her eye, just like the cashier at the store did) and why resting hours were important with all the supporting biological arguments.

For a moment, an instant, the rebellious idea of answering her was born. Answer why, how, when and where. She imagined throwing something to the floor as in the movies. She imagined that she was making a catharsis where she shouted so many things that she was left aphonic and some State organism like the police ended up interrupting, and everything ended well as, again, in the movies. But that was nothing more than the product of her imagination, a stupidity, a lie. Reality couldn't become idealized fiction.

And maybe, sometimes, she liked to think that her life routine was normal. However, Twilight liked to think about many things, many lies.

So many, that she didn't even understand what the hell she kept trying if they were going to come down anyway.





Many days later (or weeks, the temporalities only served to receive lectures), at who knows what time of the wee hours of the morning, Sparkle was sitting on her bed of thorns.

Or maybe it was Twilight, to be honest at this point she wasn't sure anymore.

As she wasn't sure if the thorns on her bed were ever as figurative as she pretended to think. Maybe they actually were hands, hands with sharp ends that punctured her body and pierced her organs and--

And she remembered that it hurt. Because the thorns really weren't as fictitious or figurative or, by logic, unreal as she wanted to believe. It really hurt.

Her back was bent but not enough to form a hump, with only a slight curvature of the spine. A... discouraged posture? It sure had a complex technical name that Twilight had surely read in a book, but Sparkle couldn't remember right now.

Twilight was the researcher who lived through scientific paradigms and theories, following the footsteps of her parents. Sparkle liked the arts, philosophy, social sciences. All those things that were opposed to the exact Sciences par excellence and that for her parents, especially her father, were considered banal and stupid. Why make existential proposals when you can always be one step away from a Nobel Prize for research? Well, maybe Sparkle had the right to want to be stupid and banal from time to time, just to annoy. She had the right to be annoying, too.

He was there to her left, at who knows what time of the wee hours of the morning. She wasn't going to raise her head to check the digital clock because then she would see him. And all that Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) wanted, was to see him burn.

Her imagination was enough to calm down a bit. Even if her hearing betrayed her with the catastrophic reality of the sound of the rubbing of garments (made of mostly cotton fibers and probably mixed with an unknown percentage of polyester, nylon, or elastin) when being rearranged.

With her arms glued to her sides to affirm that the sheets hid her bare chest from the cold, Sparkle played to tear the split ends of her hair way-too-horrible and way-too-thin, which would soon become way-too-wet. And that in a matter of minutes it was also going to soak her back, the old t-shirt that she would find in the drawer of the closet, the pillow of her bed of fictional thorns.

Meanwhile, it fell down her back and shoulders in a mediocre attempt to protect her from the cold air of the room, from the unbearable tingling of the spine.

"Are you going to take a shower?"

Why the hell did he always ask her that?!

Inhale. Exhale. Casual. Twilight nodded, still playing to crush the strands of her hair.

She felt a kiss on the top of her head, followed by an affective caress along the shoulders that lasted five seconds of Hell on Earth.

"Alright. It'll help you sleep better, honey."

Twilight Sparkle would dare to give an opinion on that matter the day one of them ended up with a knife buried in their chest.

Inhale.

Exhale

Casual.

"Good night, dad."

The squeak of the third hinge on the door, whose null maintenance was intentional, seemed to make a roar in the palpable silence of the room.

One, two, three, four, five, six... Seven.

Undoubtedly, the little creak of wood on the floor returned to the end of the corridor.

Twilight Sparkle dropped to the thorns, looked at the white ceiling for a few seconds, gave a kind of semicircular turn of one hundred and eighty degrees and then buried her head in the pillow and without further ado shouted.

And she screamed and screamed. Over and over again until her lungs started to burn and she was forced to stop. Stop, to continue unleashing her fury in a torrent of tears that soaked her as if it were the boiling water of the shower, as if it were the hair way too wet and way too thin.

After the screams of catharsis that gave balance to the soul because philosophy did have utility. After wiping the tears and blowing her nose with tissues, Sparkle got close to the edge of the bed. She probed with one arm under it, towards one of the internal sides of the legs. Attached with packing tape there was a paper of many folds, whose real size revealed to be a sheet of a torn notebook. In blue ink and calligraphy similar to her own only clumsier and trembling, appeared a set of addresses, websites, telephone numbers.

Once again, as she was sure it had happened many days ago, many nights ago; she sat on the edge of the bed to observe with greater clarity under the light of the night table the writing between her trembling hands.

It was the list that her clone had put together.

It was her way out of the hellish routine of life.





Today was Saturday, June tenth. At some hour in the afternoon, maybe four or five, judging from the sunlight and the singing of the birds on the neighbor's tree.

She knew it from the calendar hanging on top of her bed, against the wall to her right, the past days marked with a cross. The first had been on Thursday, May twenty-fifth. They went with Velvet to the mall in search of clothes for the Baby shower and then, since it was in the same place, to buy a couple of groceries in the supermarket. Twilight stayed in the book section while her mother looked a few things in the linens section when she suddenly surprised her with the blessed calendar. After the lecture the day before, she thought she was going to ask her every morning at breakfast what day it was or something like that.

She even sat down with her to write down important dates or exams. Twilight, in general, had them written on a small separate agenda, which she lately revised with the same frequency with which she went running —never. Therefore it wasn't a bad idea to get up and have a reminder in front of your nose every day. Sometimes her mother worried about playing her role.

Now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure if she had finished the summaries for the History exam, but according to the calendar, it was July eighteen so she had thirty-eight days to study.

Or rather, thirty-seven. Today she wasn't thinking of doing much more than reading a novel or watching documentaries. Or continue looking at the list as she had done the last ten or twenty minutes.

She didn't have the slightest idea why she was doing it; reading the contents of the paper of many folds, over and over again, and again, and again. To the point that Twilight was almost certain she could recite it whole from memory.

Her parents had gone to buy several things at the supermarket since she couldn't accompany her mother. Feeling a bit feverish, if she went outside now, she would likely end up with the flu that would take days to cure. She had to start drying her hair at the wee hours of the morning or at least try to make it as dry as possible. Ending with terminal pneumonia sounded good only in theory.

Therefore, she was alone in her house. No need to worry about noises that could trigger sudden alarms in her system, with a headache that was beginning to subside thanks to the medication that had been given to her an hour and a half ago, and an empty cup of tea on the nightstand. On a Saturday afternoon, with pleasant weather, the singing of birds seeping through the window curtains and a pair of real pajamas made with one hundred percent soft and comfortable cotton like the sheets on the bed.

Sometimes the excuse of being sick wasn't so bad. Only sometimes when there were no thorns to hurt her in the way, when she was alone in her house with a slight fever.

Though technically it was a lie, considering thirty-six degrees didn't qualify in the "sick" category. But would perhaps memorizing a list with a set of addresses, websites, telephone numbers count?

At first, it seemed absurd. Things were done a certain way and had to be respected, and it she was already used to the dynamics. And when she reached the legal age, she would do everything possible to move to another place. And many other reasons that at the time didn't finish forming in concrete ideas but roamed the unconscious. However, at first, she didn't know that these places existed; she didn't know there were options, that maybe she didn't have to endure it until eighteen.

She didn't know she could do something.

Even though the idea crossed her mind a thousand times, she had to admit that the consequences scared her. In those ‘what if...?’ In those illusive speculations everything always ended badly for her, not the other way around.

The list gave her too much curiosity. If everything always went wrong, then why would all of this exist? Why did her doppelganger appear with it?

The other Twilight had a fairy tale life (she was going to believe those things the day she could see them, really). Had perfect posture. Had a charisma that everyone loved. Had mental stability and happiness. 
Why bother, then? The streets had real names and phone numbers and the websites seemed too elaborate to be fake. It couldn't be a joke.

Maybe, perhaps, at best, she could do something.

Routines were practical, synthetic, structured, simple to follow. As well as they were exhausting. And maybe Twilight was tired, destroyed, sick of always having to repeat the same actions.

Maybe Twilight had the right to want something different.

She had the right to be annoying, too.





A significant number of days later (or weeks, the temporalities were confusing and insignificant at this point), early in the morning, Twilight was sitting at the kitchen table.

One hundred and fifty cubic centimeters of coffee, without any additions of more than fifteen grams of sugar, were contained in a ceramic cup to her left. It was white and simple, devoid of generic drawings or children's caricatures, too boring even to apply a disqualifying adjective.

To her right was the latest issue of a science and technology magazine that had arrived this morning, along with another pair that was specific to her parents' field of work. It always had curious facts or news that were interesting to read to pass the time or encourage research.

Behind Twilight was her mother, concentrating on cooking things with strong smells in the pan to the letter of the recipe or otherwise ‘it would spoil them’. It wasn't as if Twilight was bothered by the silence, it was easier to pretend to be nonexistent if nobody tried to have a conversation with you.

The small, sudden sound of cracking wood seemed to rumble in her ears. The world stopped, just for a second.

However, the percentage of probability that the intentions were transformed into effective results was very low. Most of the things that happened in her life proved it.

Three paragraphs and fifty characters inside the first article of the magazine, she felt a kiss on the top of the head that unleashed the gallop of the heart rate on the eardrums. She still remained undaunted, pretending to be absolutely concentrated on the rest of the sentence but without really understanding its meaning. Her system had transferred the focus around the conversation that was taking place around her, looking for a sign of some anomaly.

"I didn't think you were really going to get up and cook, Vel. Much less scrambled eggs.”

"Before any complaint, don't forget that your friend the toaster isn't going to have a problem listening to you, dear.”

The constant gallop in the ears came down at a slight trot when she noticed that her parents were in their typical good mood where light jokes prevailed. Fortunately Twilight was the only one with a deplorable state of mind, like most of the time.

Usually, the arrival of the new fascicle lifted the spirit, now it only served as a means to isolate herself from social interactions with whom she most detested. She couldn't wait to get to school and exercise her (conditional) freedom as much as possible.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Night Light sit to her left, at the head of the table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a medium plate with toast in the other. Her mother took the place in front of her, finishing placing sliced fruits and orange juice on the table in an attempt to imitate the so-called American breakfast.

Velvet said it was a good way to vary, to Twilight it seemed like too much food for two people.

"Aren't you going to eat anything, Twilight?" inquired her father more casually than accusatory. It wasn't the first time that coffee was her only meal. It wouldn't be the last either.

"I don't feel well," she answered, in a way that even to her it seemed too mechanical to be credible.

The back of one hand, invasive, sudden, rested on her forehead for three seconds of insufferable fire. Twilight refrained from making any gestures of discomfort or combing her —now ruined— bangs with her fingers while working to lower the bile at the base of her throat with a sip of coffee. Too bitter.

"You don't have a fever," Night Light commented both skeptically and decisively. She didn't understand why giving the benefit of the doubt if he still would leave her in evidence, she wasn't going to stop hating him for that. "And you already used that excuse last night."

Velvet, with her expressions as subtle as her daughter's animosity could be, sighed in exasperation.

"Twilight, we've had this conversation a thousand times,” she spoke in a tired voice, like someone who doesn't feel like repeating for the umpteenth time the damn speech about why skipping meals was useless and stupid.

Twilight didn't want to hear it either, so before her mother could utter another word, after an annoying and intentional sigh she took a slice of toast and gave it a violent bite. And ignoring the exchange of glances from her parents, she set out to resume reading about the detection of lymphatic vessels in the brain.

If resigning to eat meant that they ignored her for five more minutes, without sudden touchings or useless lectures, then Sparkle would eat the entire table if necessary.


By the time she managed to get to the third article in the magazine, she was already on her way to school, in her father's car. Velvet had the perfect excuse for a meeting on the other side of town. Twilight would have preferred more than a thousand times to take the bus forty-five minutes earlier to arrive almost on the minute the bell rang, but her parents insisted it was an unnecessary expense when possessing two vehicles.

Probably it was, as well as her (conditional) freedom and that's why she wasn't allowed to take public transport to one of the best public schools in the area.

Luckily it wasn't yet seven thirty, so the traffic traveled with the necessary fluidity to reach its destination in approximately twenty-two to twenty-five minutes or even smaller numbers.

All this was made less tedious thanks to the commentators on the radio and their discussions on political, social, or economic topics of the moment. The galloping heartbeat was still there, in its apparent and uncomfortable naturalness, as she tried to process the words written in front of her. Concentrating became increasingly difficult when her entire system was on automatic alert.

"You've been very quiet lately." An ambulance rushed by in the opposite lane, a roar of lights and sharp, repetitive noises in its path. Or maybe it was her unconsciousness. To be honest, she wasn't sure anymore. "I'm not saying that you talk too much..."

...But?

Was it strange? Something bad? What? Since when?

Night Light left the phrase in the air as if that would make Twilight stop pretending to be too concentrated on the same five lines since three minutes ago and deign to give an answer. Even though it was probably a futile and childish fight.

She turned to the next page only to pretend.

The vehicle took a turn to the right, reducing the speed to be in neutral at the traffic light which coincidentally had three different times and seventy seconds.

A sudden, invasive hand landed on her left leg at the start of it, almost over the beginning of the quadriceps; as an unbearable fire that went up through bones and nerve receptors to the spine, to dissipate to the rest of the body in an uncomfortable tingling.

Bile went up through the esophagus to the throat, or maybe it was more than that.

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

Twilight put aside the magazine for a moment, to turn her head in his direction and blink as if he had said something very strange but very obvious at the same time. She quickly nodded.

She knew that his intentions were real, she knew that he was really willing to listen to everything she could have to say, that he wasn't going to ignore her. That he would act like a father that came out of a film, unnecessary examples to express clear ideas and cliché phrases included.

However, she was also aware that everything involved a price, one that until today was still paid thanks to the number of times she thought 'what does it matter?’ In which she decided to give the benefit of the doubt and trust.

This wouldn't be one of them.

Twilight looked back at the traffic light, there were still forty-three seconds left.

Forty-two, forty-one, forty, thirty-nine...

"What's wrong, Twi?" Night Light inquired in a tone that reflected genuine concern. "Is someone bothering you at school? Did you fight with one of your friends?"

However, when her father wanted a response from her, he always found a way to get it either by discarding, insisting, or playing the fortune-teller.

Sparkle shook her head again in confusion, somehow surprised at such suggestions. She was about to say some kind of excuse —with a certain percentage of truth— in an attempt to end the conversation, but it wasn't her who was leading it.

"Does it have something to do with something we did, like at breakfast?"

Twilight sealed her lips, looking anywhere but at the origin of the analytical sight on her person; who was also responsible for the uncomfortable tingling in the spine, the seconds of hell on Earth of the moment.

It was a reaction both intended and real because maybe it was one of the (three hundred or two hundred, a long time ago she had stopped counting) reasons why her mood in this last time was more deplorable than usual. She was sick of the talks about why eating was important to human biology. It was always the same lecture with different words about how she was ruining what was already destroyed, and why she should feel guilty about it. At the beginning that had been effective, now she couldn't care less.

Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen...

"I know that your mother can be a bit crude to say things," he started. Twilight kept her eyes wandering between the traffic light and the dashboard of the car. "But her intention is to take care of you; she's worried about seeing you like that. We're both worried about seeing you like that because we love you, Twi."

Seeing her like that how?

A little paler? More ‘scrawny’ as Velvet said, when in fact she only lost a couple of kilos that barely could be seen in the clavicles? Or with hair way too awful and way too thin? Or with scratches in the areas surrounding the bruises? Or with impurities rooted in the skin? Throwing up until she had a stomach devoid of even gastric juices?

Like that? Or how the hell they saw her?

It was the most magnanimous and stupidest lie she had ever heard towards her person. Also the most ridiculously reiterated. It caused a kind of nausea that wasn't easy to put up with.

Six, five, four, three...

Her legs were again her property, as well as the feeling of relief that with each time became increasingly strange. The car returned to the march of the control of changes in first. If she was fortunate —an unusual thing— in less than ten minutes they would arrive at school and the uncomfortable conversations would end for a couple of hours.

Meanwhile, Sparkle offered no response. What did he expect her to tell him? That she loved them too? That now all her problems had disappeared like magic, before illusory words? She had already lost her temper even to try to pretend that she felt some kind of guilt for what she had said. Or to lower her head in embarrassment. Or to do more than look out the window at the sunny day and the enviable unconcern of others.

Surprisingly, Night Light seemed to understand the message and didn't utter a word other than to greet her when they reached their destination as did Twilight. Or maybe he just continued in his role of the person of good mood just to antagonize her. Surely she would find out at night.


About twenty minutes left for the bell to ring, the school was with the doors already open but almost devoid of students. Many chose to wait outside, sitting on the grass of one of the green areas of the school, as if every extra second they spent inside the building would take an hour of their lives.

Twilight somehow felt protected within such an imposing and ancient building, especially in the library. However, her first stop was the bathrooms on the second floor, empty as most of the level, where no one would notice her presence in any of the cubicles to question why she was throwing up the entire breakfast. 

With the bile again in its place, with nausea difficult to endure eradicated and that strange feeling of relief of an empty stomach, she went to the sink to soak her face with cold water in order to collect herself a bit of all the tension of the last hour.

She proceeded to look for the toiletry bag with items of personal hygiene inside her backpack, standing out among the books and notebooks for its bright violet color with a golden zip--

She stopped in her tracks. When had she put the city guide in her backpack? A small mental recount of what she had done this morning reminded her that she had decided to bring it with her at the last moment. And if she opened it backward, on the inside of the back cover should be... Aha.

The paper of fourteen folds ("many" was already becoming redundant) was stuck there. With what little remained of the adhesive of the packing tape. Suddenly the reason for carrying both things together in her backpack made such perfect sense that she resisted hitting her head against the porcelain of the sink for forgetting.

With renewed energy, she reached for the toiletry bag, and after brushing her teeth, using a mouthwash, and two peppermints just in case, she headed for the stairs to the third floor. Her first class of the day was advanced calculus: methodical, easy to understand if adequate attention was paid, and no need to wander within a range of answers.

Of course, since there were still fifteen minutes to go before the bell rang, the classroom was totally empty. Added to the fact that the teacher always arrived around three to five minutes late, that gave her a total of eighteen to twenty extra minutes of leisure.

After settling into the third desk located in the first row next to the wall, she quickly accommodated the things she would need for the class. Usually, she would use the time to finish reading some of the articles in the magazine, both to distract herself and not have to start any kind of uncomfortable conversation. Now, with a guide in hand, priorities were different.

Opening the fourteenfold paper (fourteen divided into two was seven, and seven was a lucky number in many cultures) she found a set of addresses, websites, telephone numbers in a calligraphy similar to her own but more clumsy and amateurish.

The first address that caught her attention was one whose street was the same one where the bus used to turn the few time she used took it to her old school, only that she had not the slightest idea at what exact number. But it was a good starting point. Her doppelganger had said that they were trustworthy places, right?

With that idea in mind, she set out to look in the city guide. In addition to being more comfortable thanks to the numbering system, the alphabetical orders and the grids, Twilight's phone wasn't the most technological of the time. Her friends always laughed saying it looked more like a brick than a phone because it didn't even have color on the screen. However, it was small for any pocket, comfortable; the battery lasted a whole week, was one hundred percent anti-theft, and fulfilled its function of sending messages and receiving calls almost perfectly. Not to mention that until a few months ago she didn't use it more than to speak with a very limited number of people.

The classroom door creaked and closed in what seemed like a rumble thanks to the echo generated by the silence on the whole floor, it was likely that more people were gathering outside at the entrance. Twilight decided not to pay attention, it was surely another student who arrived early.

And she was forced to do the opposite when, out of the corner of the eye, she noticed Sunset Shimmer take the other seat available on the table.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Good Morning," Twilight answered mechanically while continuing to search for the street address in the alphabetical list of the corresponding county.

Don Trovador... Are the articles taken into account for the alphabetical orders? I never understood that.

A heavy sigh. Tired? Exasperated?

"Sparks, I understand that it bothered you the fact that we had meddled in-- is that the list Twilight gave you? The other one, I mean."

Twilight stopped short, blinking a couple of times.

"...Maybe?" Somehow that sounded more inquisitive than intentional.

Silence. The air seemed a little stiller and heavy.

"...Do you need a hand in knowing how to get to any of the places?" she spoke softly and slowly as if it were an uncomfortable topic. Or it was that in fact most of the students in the class liked to arrive five minutes earlier.

"That's what I'm figuring out." In an attempt of emphasis, Twilight continued looking for the street on the list to find the map number with it.

More silence a couple of other students began to enter the classroom. It wasn't exactly the kind of subject that was going to recruit thirty-five teenagers, though the university carriers created enough interest to reach a solid fifteen.

"You want me to accompany you? It’s no problem." Again, the tone was low enough that no one but Twilight would hear her.

The aforementioned turned her head to observe the redhead completely when she heard that. Sunset held her gaze, showing that she was being honest and that a simple ‘yes’ was enough to make her leave her school activities to accompany her on private life matters. It was strange, that someone would care to help her without having out any personal benefit.

Although if she thought about it, Sunset always did that without any further motive, just like the rest of her friends. They didn't have any obligation to invite her anywhere, and yet they were looking for ways to make her participate in their little get-togethers at which she was allowed to go.

Still, she had the imperious and strange need to do it on her own. Without the help or dependence of anyone else.

"Thanks, Sunset, really. But I think I prefer to go alone." Twilight tried a smile, one that she was sure seemed more like a crooked grin, or at least one that was very uncomfortable. It had been a long time since she smiled, it felt weird.

"Ok. But if you change your mind just tell me, okay?" Sunset nodded without any kind of resentment, which reassured Twilight a little, who knows why.

A couple more minutes passed, and almost fifty percent of the students were already in their respective places. Both of them resumed their activities, Twilight analyzing the bus route to locate exactly at what stop she should get off.

At a quarter to eight o'clock, the bell rang.

When she was already writing down the address in a small pocket notebook, Twilight felt something touch her shoulder.

She looked to her left, Sunset held a small piece of paper between her fingers, folded in half and with irregular edges since it came from her notebook. Twilight looked at it for a moment and then turned her gaze towards the redhead, curious.

"If for some reason you need to stay for a while somewhere, or you just want to talk at five thirty in the morning, there's my address," she explained with her usual lopsided grin. "And I'm sure the girls would offer you the same."

Twilight took it in her hands as if it were secret, valuable information. Indeed, in blue ink and large calligraphy, Sunset’s characteristic neat and rounded, was the address of a department. She watched it closely for a few seconds, with a bit of difficulty as her eyes were blurring. A strange sensation built up in her chest.

This time Twilight felt that the muscles of her jaw naturally moved to form a smile, one she was sure she had not been able to do for a long time, even when she wanted to.

"Thank you.”

It was a natural and genuine smile.





Inhale, exhale, casual.

No, no, not casual. Firm. Serious.

Night Light had gone to a meeting with friends and wouldn't be back until night time. So only her mother and she were alone, for the rest of the afternoon.

This was her chance. The only one at the moment.

In another instance of her life, she probably would have used the time to rest a couple of hours and recover lost sleep. However, lately, she was sleeping worse than usual, if she got around closing her eyes for more than sixty seconds in a row. Besides that there were other priorities in her head.

She had managed to visit a couple of the places that were on the list and investigate a little on her own. One of the tips she was given when asked what she could do, in addition to a complaint with a juvenile lawyer —which she wasn't sure she wanted to do, to be honest, was to tell someone she could trust. To start from there to decide what would be the steps to follow.

Even so, they gave her forms to fill out and pamphlets with protocols and/or useful information in an attempt to convince her, which she ended up keeping and after a selection filter based on the content and discarding the rest. If she got caught, she would get into serious trouble, and the hiding places in her room couldn't hold as many things as it seemed.

Besides, Twilight didn't want to make those scandals that made it on television where journalists piled up outside the courts, she simply wanted to get away. It could be a few thousand kilometers or her brother's house, but far away after all.

This was her chance. And she wasn't sure at all. However, she didn't have the time to prepare mentally, and if she thought about it, Twilight never had the option to do it in many situations. Even when she could, it ended up proving to be in vain. She lost nothing in trying because there was nothing to lose. In the broadest sense of the phrase.

She took a breath, let it go slowly one more time and finally knocked on the open door of the study. Before it was at the back of the living room, but since her brother left they decided to use the space and move it upstairs. The initial plan was actually to move to a more comfortable house, for the third time in four years, until their parents realized how unnecessary it was at the last minute and chose to stay.

Sometimes they had good ideas.

When Velvet answered from the desk, a minute or two had already passed. She had to inherit that total concentration from someone, right?

"What happened, honey?" She didn't even turn around to see her, and Twilight couldn't thank her enough for that. Her mother would probably scold her for biting her nails, claiming that it wasn't behavior for a girl her age. However there was a fairly long list of things that a girl her age shouldn't do and here she was, leaning against the door frame as if she were going to recharge her with energy to talk.

Inhale. Exhale. Come on, firm. What's the worst that could happen?

Twilight inhaled and exhaled for the umpteenth time. There was nothing to lose, in the broadest sense of the phrase.

"...Mom, can I talk to you for a moment?" Her mother had told not to bother her unless it was something urgent since she was preparing to give a conference within the next few days. This went into the emergency classification, right? If there was a hierarchical order it would probably fit into the lowest category, but still qualified. "It's important."

"Do I need to call an ambulance?"

Should she? No, according to the pamphlets it was best to go to the hospital.

"…I don't think so."

"Did you hurt yourself with something, then?"

Twilight blinked, confused.

"No.”

"Do you need a bone marrow transplant?"

What the hell?

"No, but--"

"Then it can wait, Twilight."

She frowned, as if with that she could keep her eyes from clouding against her will.

"B-but--"

"I'm busy, honey. Later."

Twilight had to dig her nails into her palms until her arms shook, had to bite her lip so hard not to say anything stupid. Surely it would leave a mark for the rest of the week, but at this point it would be one of many, not to mention that she had other priorities at the moment. Did her life have to be at risk to get her mother to pay attention to her? Just because Twilight thought it was important didn't count as such? 

Her father for his part kept repeating that same speech in a thousand different ways, from the ‘conversation’ that other time in the car. Because he knew that Twilight knew she would end up giving in on telling him what was bothering her. That was what usually happened, past tense. Now she opted for not to answer at all. Nor is it that, in case she wanted to, Twilight could do it. It was like telling the fire to go out and stop burning everything. Stupid, foolish, illogical, incongruous.

As a result, the payments to her debts ended up being a little more annoying, yes, but barely a little. The insufferable ordeal of life remained as usual, the routine remained the same and all those etceteras that made the consequences not matter in the least.

She never understood why her parents always told her that they loved her, that they cared what the hell was going through her head, that they didn't want her to isolate herself in her room all day if then they were going to do things like this. She didn't understand why so much interest in reciting magnanimous lies. Keeping appearances? It was nothing new that they wanted Twilight to introduce herself to the world in a certain way. wasn't it better to tell her, instead of trying a thousand ways to give a lecture?

Twilight wrapped herself with the sheets of her bed. After locking herself in her room with a slam of the door, screaming in the suffocation of the pillow until her lungs burned, and unleashing a torrent of annoyed, frustrated tears. The little positivism was now buried underground, as her spirits and desired to interact with the world. Was it wrong to ask for things to come out as she had expected? Was it wrong to consider something important, even though it might not be?

Was it wrong to want to trust her mother for once?

Maybe if she talked to her brother...

No. She dismissed the idea when she got to his name on the contact list, thumb on the green call button. Shining was working twice to be able to take a few extra days when the baby was born. Cadance was about eight months pregnant and had a date for some number in July. She couldn't disturb him during working hours for trivialities.

With no other option available, suddenly, as if by magic, Social Services didn't seem as scary as before. If she was sent to an orphanage, Twilight could lie saying her parents left her there, period. They didn't have to exist. Surely all her projects and investigations would go to hell, as her friends because she would have to adapt to another school again and who knows if she could meet her future niece. Maybe they would send her somewhere too far and--

And maybe the consequences still gave her a bit of panic. However, it was a matter of investigating her possible options, right? There were several sites and places on the list. If she organized herself well enough to put together a precise plan, she could get to visit them all and elaborate as many hypotheses as necessary to get the best conclusions.

She had to thank her doppelganger someday for looking for so many options knowing that she wouldn't settle for just one. Maybe they did have something in common after all.

With new ideas, disappointments, and mixed feelings in mind, Twilight tried to close her eyes for more than sixty seconds in a row. She could at least make use of the only time her mind was at peace from sudden alerts and try to recover a minimum percentage of lost sleep.

Twilight had too many doubts and ideas in her head, but the only thing she could say that she possessed some kind of certainty of, was that the distance she always had with her family and —in spite of her efforts— her parents, now seemed to become more of a physical demand. She just felt the need to get away, a few thousand kilometers or just around the corner, but to be far away.

Suddenly, Social Services didn't seem as scary as before.





Sparkle had been so lost in temporalities that it didn't matter what date it was. The day did. Her plans had to be carried out on one of the school days. It was almost six in the morning on a Thursday. Or so the clock said on the board of the taxi driver's car and so confirmed the tango radio announcer.

She checked the address once, twice, three times. The numbers and letters captured in all the splendor on the glass portal of the building matched with those written on the paper in large, neat and rounded calligraphy. The street also matched with the post at the corner of the street. Not to mention that the taxi driver should have a minimum sense of location, it was the basis of his work after all. Even so, she still made sure and checked being in the right place two more times with the pocket guide.

She had already arrived here, she couldn't retrace her steps. Sparkle advanced three steps of polished stone (it couldn't be marble, that would be too expensive and too old) she checked the last number with the last letter for one last time and put her finger on the doorbell for five counted seconds.

There was only waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting.

Sunset had told her she could come at five thirty in the morning, so if it was almost six there would be no problem, wouldn't it? Would she be angry about not telling her beforehand that she was coming? No, no, no. Sparkle had to try, she couldn't retrace her steps. She didn't have enough money to pay for another taxi and even if she did, she was sure that her debt would multiply by two million.

No, correction: it multiplied the minute she stepped out of the house.

It only remained to wait and perhaps pray to some deity with impromptu prayers (since communion and catechism classes had been left behind like exact timing and dates) for Sunset to attend the gate.

So she waited, and waited, and waited.

Until a sleepy voice spoke through the speaker of the doorbell, heavy, confused. "Who is it?" 

"Sunset? I'm Twilight, uh, Sparkle." It did sound like Sunset. When she began to mutter nonsensical things the moment someone tried to wake her up from some class too boring.

After a yawn and a ‘coming’, Sparkle stayed again waiting under the gate of a huge building, less than half a block from the main avenue.

One or two people who left the building at that time gave her looks as rare as the taxi driver’s, and once again, Sparkle verified her appearance. She was in real pajamas, covered by a winter jacket because the mid-season ones no longer served against the eight grades at morning, with common sneakers in order to disguise it a little better. And for more comfort or something like that. It had been a while since she remembered what that word meant.

About fifty seconds later Sunset jerked open the front door and it took her two more before she threw herself towards Sparkle.

Any thread of thought was undone when she felt arms that held her with despair. As if she would break, as if she had not seen her in a long time.

It didn't feel like the insufferable fire, it didn't rise through bones, nor through nervous receptors up to the spine, nor dissipated to the rest of the body in an uncomfortable tingling. Sparkle frowned, puzzled. All heat belonging to another living being always translated into her skin as fire. Perhaps it was because she was in that other state. So untidy, so inanimate. Where she had not revived herself with small, burning and bleeding wounds. Where all touch on the skin was nullified by insensibility.

When Sunset released her, she felt a kind of cold that she didn't remember being there, and it was even more unusual. She supposed that doing different things, getting out of a routine, guaranteed to have uneven body sensations.

"Why the tenth?" Sparkle asked when she saw Sunset press the elevator button. She needed to change the subject, whether mental or real. She didn't want Sunset to ask her questions that she wasn't sure how to answer.

The redhead just shrugged, leaning against the mirrored wall.

"It was the last one available. And I love the view, I guess.”

Did you really need so little criteria to rent an apartment? She wanted to get one. One on the other side of the country. Or at least on the other side of the city, that was enough.

Two seconds of almost uncomfortable silence passed until Sunset rubbed her eyes, remembering something.

"Oh! Uh, Twilight's at home." She pointed with her thumb toward the elevator doors. "She's helping me study for the History test on Tuesday."

Ah, the other Twilight Sparkle. The one that came so far that it didn't appear on the maps, the one that lived alone in a castle of made of pure crys...

Wait. Priorities. The Pompous Princess didn't matter now.

"Is there a History test on Tuesday?we a month away?"

Had a month gone by? In which one where they currently in? She remembered to write the dates according to the blackboard in each upper right corner of the page, where it belonged. Not the numbers, the numbers were numbers, they passed again and again combined in the same way.

The elevator doors opened, Sunset stared at her as if she had discovered a malformation on her face but didn't want to tell her. Sparkle went out anyways to wait outside. The corridor looked gloomy without the morning light that had not yet made its presence, but she had gone through worse.

"...I think it's been a little over a month, Sparks." Sunset went ahead and led her to the first door to the right of the left side of the corridor.

Sparkle kept the urge to ask what date it was. Maybe a year had passed and she had not noticed. No, no, in the middle was the summer and the holidays, and it was still cold. They were still in the southern hemisphere, right? Since when did she forget so many stupidly basic things?

Again, the train of thought was interrupted by her friend telling her to feel at home —which she decided to take figuratively— and inviting her to sit wherever she wanted. She was also assaulted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and the other Twilight Sparkle peeked through the doorframe of the kitchen to greet and offer her such a drink.

Sparkle accepted, knowing that she would need as much caffeine as the human organism could resist if she wanted to stay alive for the rest of the day. Though, dying didn't seem like a bad idea.

No, she dismissed it instantly. Priorities.

Five minutes later, both she and Twilight were sitting on the sofa, Sunset on a small bench by the coffee table in front of them. The redhead was stirring her cup with the enthusiasm of a punished child, for having to use powdered milk in the absence of one made of almonds. Twilight looked at her with a small smile, which was well hidden if not for the small shine that Sparkle caught dancing in her eyes.

There were still no signs of the dawn.

"I'm sorry for waking you up,” she murmured, guilt gnawing at a corner of her head from even before she arrived.

In an absurd synchronization, Sunset rolled her eyes in her typical way of saying ‘sometimes you're too much’ and Twilight shook her head, waving her hand as in a sign that it didn't matter.

"Actually, you woke us up from a rather uncomfortable four-hour nap." She rubbed her neck in emphasis. "So don't worry."

Sunset seemed revitalized by such answer.

"Hey! Don’t speak ill of Filomena." The redhead scolded her, waving her spoon in the direction of the victimizer. Who blinked until the caffeine woke her up enough to understand what she was talking about.

"...You named your sofa?" Twilight inquired, her expression blank. Sparkle was sure that both of them must have been doing the same gesture, in those parallel coincidences, because Sunset looked at both of them before shrugging her shoulders as if it were obvious.

"Of course! What kind of person would I be if I didn't name my material objects?"

Two seconds of silence passed.

"A normal one?" Sparkle suggested softly, with the shyness of a girl who suggests some little evil.

Twilight almost choked on the coffee with a laugh, Sparkle hid her own by biting her nails, and Sunset complained about her right to free speech that had nothing to do with anything. Which led to another round of comments without direction, to casual conversations that are held with friends.

It was fun, and Sparkle found herself participating as if nothing had happened, forgetting for a while why it was that she was there. Why she had decided to leave her house in the middle of the night. Why she had been working out a plan for hours. Why debts had been multiplied. Why she felt indecent and impure. Why it would be a good idea to induce terminal pneumonia and die.

Why she was sick of the hellish routine of life.

Maybe the corners of her mouth were a little bit more upwards than normal, maybe she was smiling naturally as it didn't happen long ago. It was fun, forgetting for a second the crappy things of life to chat without measured behaviors and get distracted for a while. In the last time it had been difficult due to the fact that if she wasn't skipping classes, she would sit in automatic mode at lunch with her friends. Or simply her essence wasn't in tune with the real world, with the body, and she had not the slightest idea what she was doing exactly. Like with the temporalities.

Between the cultural conversations, the ping pong of light jokes, the critics to the red head's null home decoration, and endless comings and goings in multiple directions, the day began to sneak through the curtains of the sliding doors of the balcony.

"By the way, Sparks. Why did you decide to come at six in the morning?" Sunset asked, once the casual talking seemed to be over and the coffee that was left in the cups was cold. "It's not that it bothers me, on the contrary, but... uh, something happened?"

Twilight cast a furtive glance at Sunset, who responded with one of the same caliber.

Sparkle used to drink anything in sips as it gave her more satiety than a single drink. But when she went to take one she found that there was nothing left but the bottom.

There was no more coffee, much less time to keep forgetting things.

Pff! Her doppelganger knew perfectly, and therefore Sunset had a pretty clear idea. There wasn't much to hide, much less when she showed up at six in the morning and they still offered her a cup of coffee.

"After we spoke, I’ve been thinking and... I, uh, I decided to investigate," she started, slowly. She didn't feel too secure and it was likely that if she took off the sight of the mug in her hands, she would back out. "I went to several of the centers on the list, read pages, spoke with different people. I even got invited to group talks..."

She had been coordinating the days with the different school subjects so that they didn't influence her attendance. Nor did she lower her grades too much to avoid having any kind of attention call. Somehow it was fun. Getting out of the line, missing classes, arriving home and reading a book, forgetting about essays and tasks even if it was for a moment. Maybe it wasn't the rebelliousness of the movies, but it was she who chose to do it on her own.

"I always... I always do the same. It's always the same damn routine." Sparkle wasn't sure if what was shaking were her hands, or it was the cup because of the force exerted on it. But if it broke she couldn't care less, at this point the wounds were inherent to the skin, the body, the being, everything. "And I hate it. It disgusts me, it makes me nauseous. I didn't choose it. I didn't make it."

She wanted to be able to choose which sciences to study. Wanted to be banal and stupid for as long as possible without worrying about the hour limits or what her tongue would let off. Wanted the bile to stop going up the esophagus to her throat. Wanted the damned rhythm of her heartbeat to stay where it belonged and stop going up to her ears. Wanted to remove the impurities rooted in the skin. Wanted the thorns to stop hurting her again and again- Wanted to stop paying for things that she never asked for and could never afford. Wanted to stop having to scratch the areas surrounding the bruises under the burning water to relieve herself in the pain caused by those small, open, and bleeding wounds. Wanted to sleep without the perceptions and alarms blooming in the skin. She wanted to rest. She wanted to rebuild herself.

She wanted that bright and beautiful future that everyone talked about but had never come to see.

She had the right to want something else, no?

"So I grabbed my things and I took a taxi here. I'm sorry, I know it was bad-timed but I didn't know where else to go and--"

A pair of hands stopped the tremors of hers, equal, in a firm grip but not strong and much less hard.

"Don't apologize for deciding not to continue in a situation you don't feel comfortable in." That strange brightness in Twilight's eyes somehow it comforted her a little. With some truth in them but also like someone who sees in another a lost opportunity. "A part of me wished I had the courage to set foot outside my house without permission."

Was she envying her? For being a coward? For escaping?

"I don't think running away counts as something to value, Twilight."

Sparkle placed the empty cup on the coffee table in front of three of them, then reclined on the sofa. Her body sank between the pillows, and if it weren't for the fact that now her head was riddled with tensions for renewed caffeine, she probably would have fainted on the couch.

"I know that maybe I'm not the best example." Sunset rubbed her neck nervously. "But Twilight's right. I mean, you really have to be convinced to decide that you want something different from what you were taught as correct. And even more convinced to abandon it for what you think is right, or fair. It takes a lot of courage to do that."

In that, perhaps, Sunset was right. It wasn't an easy decision. She hesitated until the very last minute, after investigating who knows how many exact days and taking information from all kinds of sources. Calculating variables, margins of error, possible results...

Everything ended up telling her that the best thing she could do was leave and to hell with everything else.

The conversation ended in some way in that little speech of the redhead. It had encouraged her a little, in some way. It was weird that a couple of words said with emotion in the right place would determine the mood in a positive way, but since it was working she didn't want to question it too much. She supposed that doing different things, getting out of a routine, guaranteed to have uneven sensations.

Or so she thought when her doppelganger spoke again. For some reason, she wasn't as lively as always, looking crestfallen. Or at least with her head tucked into some hidden corner of her own mind.

"What do you plan on doing now?" Twilight inquired softly as if it were a sensitive question. But those were of a totally different kind.

"I read the protocol." So many times that she was sure she could recite it by heart. "...I didn't take a shower."

It took multiple attempts, multiple times until this last time. Where she left the boiling water running until it became the Antarctic thaw. Where she unleashed her fury in a torrent of silent tears. Where she threw up everything eaten at dinner until all she had left was a stomach devoid of even gastric juices since there was no other way to get rid of the nausea.

No, she had not taken a shower. Had not scratched the areas around the bruises until she revived herself with pain caused by those small, bleeding wounds. And the impurities were still there, inherent in the skin as if they were born with the cutaneous tissue of her wounds. Her hair was still way too horrible and way too thin, instead of way too damp. And she was wearing real pajamas, real pajamas covered by a winter jacket because the mid-season ones were no longer useful against the eighth grades in the morning, with common sneakers in order to disguise it a little better.

Sunset and Twilight exchanged a look of alert, of understanding, of implications and meanings that Sparkle wasn't sure what they wanted to convey. But immediately they turned their attention to her, to listen attentively to what she had to say.

She took in as much air her lungs allowed.

Inhale. Exhale. Firm. Serious.

It was already decided.

Definitely, she wasn't going to retrace her steps.

"I want to go to the hospital."