I would like to say that this mistake was yours.
I would be more than delighted to sit here, levitating a warm cup of tea, and tell you that your first mistake when starting this fairytale was to make that assumption.
And I can. I could. But I won’t.
I won’t because I made that mistake too.
I too thought that the great heroine of this story was me. I too thought that as I ventured into forbidden forests, as I convinced ponies that no, I’d not yet gone mad, as I told myself time and time again that this was my story, my adventure and my grand tale of rescuing princesses of old.
And yet it never was, was it?
This was always Twilight’s story, even as you and I both thought the opposite.
And here we are now, if only because I’ve missed you. Or missed the attention? It’s hard to to tell, I must admit, though I’m fairly certain that you, my darling, have missed me too. Was it strange? To follow my thoughts and emotions and now follow hers? Or was it easy, like this story had finally taken its proper course?
I always did play the part of the mysterious incidental character better.
“You are a strange mare, Rarity,” said my dear North Ridge, whom I wish you could get to know better. North who drinks black coffee, speaks like sandpaper rubbing on sandpaper, and who loved his beloved more than life itself.
A trait we shared.
You are a strange mare, he’d said to me as we walked through the forest in the light of the moon, walking and walking aimlessly towards somewhere that made sense.
“Why, North, I’m a perfectly fabulously normal mare,” I replied, my eyes set on the winding path ahead of us.
“I’d debate that!” He laughed with gusto, his hooves burying into the muddy ground with every step. “I think we’re all strange,” he added next and his eyes turned up towards the sky sprinkled with fresh new stars.
I followed his gaze and voiced a stray thought.
“Is it almost time?”
He grunted, reached into his saddlebag and took out a worn-out golden pocket watch, the name Frost Flower inscribed on the back. He squinted at it under the moonlight and answered my question by frowning gravely.
“Any minute now.”
Curious how three little words still managed to suffocate me. Curious how this strange little ritual had taught me the true meaning of toxic dependency. It hurt every time it happened, and yet if it didn’t, I’m sure it would hurt even more.
We came to a stop, North and I, and waited. We waited, and waited, and waited, my eyes set on the night and his eyes set on me, and after five whole minutes, nothing happened.
“What time is it?” I asked and failed rather miserably to not sound strained.
“Seven five.”
“Ah.”
“There must be a hold up,” he said jovially, even if I knew he was already trying to anticipate and relax my nerves.
“I’m sure,” I replied.
And we walked, he and I, and the more the minutes trickled by, the more my dread grew. Half-past seven went by, half-past eight arrived eventually, and it was terribly hard to focus after half-past nine hit the clock.
We set up camp at half past ten, and by the time it was eleven, North’s snoring filled the forest and left me to my thoughts. I sat alone by the burning fire, the flames dancing before me, and I spoke to the wind.
“You’ve given up on me, my darling,” I said, and I did not blame her. Certainly, I did not feel sorry for myself, either, nor was I consumed with guilt as she was prone to.
And then, finally, barely six minutes past eleven, the necklace hanging from my neck began to glow four hours later than it did every single day. I didn’t realize I’d started to cry until the tears blurred my eyes.
“You are a strange mare, Rarity.”
I looked up to see North staring at my from the ground, a terribly cheeky grin on his lips.
“Am I?” I asked, looking back down at the pulsing necklace, now knowing an answer wasn’t expected even if I could provide one.
“You are for thinking she’d ever give up on you after what she did with your nightmares in Hollow Shades.”
I laughed, lifting my hoof and pressing it against the pendant. “I suppose I am a strange mare, after all.”