As Twilight entered through Canterlot High’s double doors, she found herself in its enormous front hall. The school was nearly deserted, given that it was a Saturday, and the silence reminded Twilight of the first time she had stepped into this building, so long ago. If only she had realized back then what a toxic and damaging place it truly was. Maybe if she had, Sunset would still be alive.
Twilight shook her head. She had to stay focused. She remembered what she and Applejack had just discussed, about how anger and spite would only deepen her despair. And yet, true as it was that Twilight didn’t want to hate anyone, it still seemed an impossible task to let go of her emotions. How was she supposed to just not be upset with the people responsible for Sunset’s suicide? To deny her anger would be to deny the reality of what had happened to her friend, right?
It didn’t matter. She needed to find Sunset’s locker, and the journal that lay within. Princess Celestia deserved to know what had happened, but there was no way Twilight was going to leave Sunset alone in this world again. The journal seemed like a good compromise to her self-imposed ultimatum.
Only after stomping aimlessly through the halls for a good ten minutes did Twilight realize she had no idea where Sunset’s locker was, nor how to get in. Just as with her visit to the hospital, Twilight had neglected to plan ahead, and now she was paying the price once again.
Twilight stopped in an intersection of halls, glancing down each one to see endless rows of lockers. How was she supposed to find which one of these was Sunset’s? She let out a groan, her clenched fist striking the wall of lockers with a muffled clunk.
“Twilight?”
A voice called out behind her. She recognized it, and looked down one of the halls to see Flash Sentry looking from around a corner.
Just great, Twilight thought, her expression souring. The last thing she needed right now was awkward flirting. And yet, when she looked at Flash, there was no hint of blushing or a sheepish grin. He just stared, looking somewhat confused. Finally Flash spoke again.
“What are you doing here?” Flash asked, his tone entirely flat.
Twilight paused, unsure of how to answer. Did he know about Sunset? Probably, given how fast information seemed to spread in this world. If he didn’t, though, Twilight did not want to be the one to break the news to him. She also wondered how much of a role Flash had played in the torment that drove Sunset to take her own life. Despite having no facts one way or the other, Twilight felt a pang of disdain run through her, only to find it tempered by a sudden realization—Flash probably knew where Sunset’s locker was.
“I’m, uhm... I’m looking for Sunset’s locker,” Twilight said.
“Oh,” Flash said. “You’re looking for her journal, right?”
Twilight blinked. “Uh, y-yeah. How did you know about—?”
“It's over here,” Flash said, then he disappeared down the other hall. Twilight hurried after him.
As she rounded the corner, Twilight saw Flash standing before an open locker. The floor around him was covered in various books and binders, each neatly labeled in Sunset’s own swirly handwriting. Dozens of index cards and scraps of paper with curses and threats were scattered all over. Beside the pile of papers was Flash’s backpack, as well as a bucket of soapy water with a couple of big sponges floating at its surface. Looking up, Twilight realized that the locker door was absolutely covered in various insults and jeers. They were scribbled across its surface, and everywhere Twilight looked, she saw faded lines of ink spelling out even more cruel taunts.
Traitor.
Liar.
Back-stabber.
Freak.
Monster.
She-Demon.
“People started tagging her locker pretty soon after the first few secrets went up,” Flash said. “The school was cleaning ‘em off every day, but people kept writing more. When Sunset stopped attending, the school just gave up.” He slammed the locker door shut. “They weren’t the only ones.”
“So now you’re cleaning up her locker,” Twilight said.
“And cleaning it out,” Flash said, gesturing to the notebooks and paper scraps littering the floor. He picked up one of the sponges, squeezing the excess water out. “Someone has to. Might as well be me.”
As Flash began scrubbing the ink off the locker door, Twilight found herself in the throes of doubt and anger once more. Why hadn’t he bothered to do this before Sunset died? What good was cleaning off these horrible words going to do now? If anything, they ought to stand as a reminder, a monument to the torture these people had put Sunset through. Maybe he was doing it out of guilt. Maybe he was trying to erase what he’d done.
“Did you write some of these?” Twilight asked, her voice cold.
Flash looked at her, his face completely blank. “No,” he said, then turned back to scrubbing.
“O-oh,” Twilight stammered. “Sorry.”
“Whatever.”
Twilight berated herself. How many times was she going to stumble into blind rage and say something hurtful and stupid? Had she always been this capable of saying awful things? As she glanced at the words on the locker once more, Twilight wondered how many of the people who’d written them were feeling the same guilt as she was right now.
“So you, uhm...” Twilight spoke, the taste of lashing out still bitter on her tongue. “You know where Sunset’s journal is?”
“It’s in my bag,” Flash said. “Why?”
“I need to contact someone back in Equestria,” Twilight said. “I would go through the portal, but I just... I don’t want to leave Sunset alone here.”
Flash glanced over at her, his blue eyes hardening. “Hasn’t stopped you before.”
“Excuse me?” Twilight said. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re too smart to pretend you don’t know,” Flash said.
In an instant, Twilight found herself back in the boiling depths of rage. She slammed her fist against the locker. “You’ve got something to say to me? Say it.”
Flash gave her one more glare, then turned away. He crouched down and opened his bag, pulling Sunset’s sun-emblazoned journal from within. He stood, opened the book to a page in the middle and handed it to Twilight.
“Explain this to me,” Flash said, his tone as harsh as Twilight’s had been moments earlier.
As Twilight’s eyes scanned the page, she recognized it as the final message she had written to Sunset.
Sometimes all you can do is stay strong.
The reminders of her failure came rushing back. When Sunset had reached out for help, Twilight was caught up in her work as a princess regarding the Hearth’s Warming Eve celebrations. In response, she had sent some generic advice and assured herself, and Sunset, that everything would work out in the end.
Stay yourself.
Twilight had been convinced that the girls she had met in Sunset’s world were the same has her friends in Equestria. She had no doubt they would return to Sunset and welcome her with open arms and heartfelt apologies. Twilight had paid such little mind to the details of Sunset’s crisis that by the time of her final conversation with Sunset, she had forgotten about it entirely.
And find your family.
That’s exactly what Sunset had been trying to do when she first reached out, Twilight realized. And in response, Twilight had brushed Sunset’s concerns aside and left her to suffer. And when Sunset never wrote back, Twilight had thought nothing of it.
As she looked over the words again and again, Twilight felt even more sickened than she had when reading the insults on Sunset’s locker.
“She never wrote back after that,” Flash’s voice broke her out of her piteous stupor. He turned through the pages in Twilight’s hands. Every single one following Twilight’s message was completely blank.
“I-I...” Twilight stammered. “I should written h-her more.”
“That’s not what I...” Flash turned away. “Y’know what? You got what you came for, and I’ve got work to do.” He picked up his sponge and resumed scrubbing the locker. “See you around, Twilight.”
Twilight bit her lip, tears stinging her eyes. “I understand if you hate me,” she said.
“I don’t hate you, Twilight,” Flash said. “I just... I don’t get you.”
“What do you mean?” Twilight asked.
With a sigh, Flash plopped the sponge back into the bucket. “What I mean is, you worked so hard to turn Sunset’s life around. You put all this effort into helping her become a better person, find friends, all that stuff. But when she kills herself, you show up and start attacking anything that moves, without even acknowledging who’s really to blame for all this.”
“You mean Scootaloo and her friends?” Twilight asked. Rainbow Dash had told her who was behind the account that had wreaked so much havoc. “I’m sure I'll talk to them soon enough, but I’m not going to scream at them or anything, if that’s what you want. I’m sure they feel terrible enough as—”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Flash interrupted her.
“If I don’t get it, then explain it to me,” Twilight said.
Flash took a deep breath before turning to face her. “Who killed Sunset?” Twilight could hear the faintest of cracks in his voice.
“I don’t... What?” Twilight blinked, unsure of what to say. Wasn’t it obvious? “The students who tormented her,” she said.
Flash shook his head.
“And the girls who framed her,” Twilight said. When Flash shook his head again, she continued, frustration creeping into her voice. “And the friends who abandoned her.”
Flash shrugged and turned away. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Feels like I’m the only one who’ll really say it.”
“Say what?” Twilight felt a sense of unease permeate her as she asked.
“Seriously?” Flash spun around, suddenly shouting. “Sunset! She’s the one who decided to throw herself off a building, Twilight! Nobody forced her!”
All at once, Twilight’s head was spinning. “You can’t be serious,” she said. “She was consumed by depression! I hate that she’s gone too, but I’m not going to blame her for how she was treated!”
“I don’t blame her for how she was treated,” Flash said. “I blame her for what she did about it. There were a million other options she could have chosen from—asking the principal to do something, getting the police involved, transferring to another school...” With every word, Flash’s voice grew louder and shakier. “But instead of doing any of that, she chose to leave, just like she always does!”
“Flash...” Twilight spoke softly. She wanted to scream at him, just as he was screaming at her. And yet, in his blue eyes brimming with tears, she saw a sincere grief that she couldn’t bring herself to scold. She reached a hand forward, only for him to step back.
“And you!” Flash kept shouting. “She trusted you, she reached out to you!”
In that moment, Twilight realized something.
Flash's face was red. “Where were you, huh? Why weren’t you there for her? Why was no one there for her? Why wasn’t—!”
His cries were silenced as Twilight pulled him into an embrace.
“It’s not your fault, Flash,” she told him. When he answered with silence, she continued. “I mean it, okay? It’s not your fault. And it's not my fault either, or Sunset’s. Trying to figure out who to blame is only going to make us hurt even more.”
“I d-don’t understand,” Flash finally said. “How are you not angry...?”
“I am angry, Flash. I’m angry at myself, at Sunset, at her friends... I’m angry at everyone I see. But...” Twilight pulled away, looking up to see Flash’s tear-stained face. “I have to remind myself that people acting out of anger is what started this whole mess." She looked at the graffiti-stained locker, and Flash's gaze followed.
"Y-yeah," he said. "I guess so."
"There’s a difference between feeling anger and acting on anger," Twilight said. "Nothing is going to get better if we just repeat the same cycle of blame and hatred that took Sunset away.”
Flash said nothing, his gaze squarely on the floor. Twilight looked at him, and then at the locker, then at the bucket on the floor.
“C’mon,” she said, reaching into the bucket and grabbing one of the sponges. “There’s still a lot left to clean up.”
Twilight saw the faintest of smiles on Flash’s face. Without a word, he picked up the other sponge, and the two of them resumed cleaning Sunset’s locker.
As morning passed into afternoon, Twilight said her goodbyes to Flash. With Sunset’s journal in hand, she made her way back to the front of the school.
Now, she realized, came the hardest part. She sat on a bench in the front hall, and opened the journal to a blank page. With a click of a pen Flash had given her, Twilight’s limbs tensed, and she began to write.
Spike,
I need you to do exactly as I tell you. On the page opposite this one will be a letter to Princess Celestia. Send it to her as soon as you can, and let me know once you’ve done so.
Twilight lifted the pen and thought for a second. Were Spike to learn of Sunset’s suicide, it would leave him devastated, and one of two things would happen. Either he would come running through the portal immediately and not send the letter to Celestia, or he would wait all alone until Twilight could return, stewing in confusion and misery. Neither seemed preferable.
And Spike, before I write that letter, I need you to promise me that you won’t read it. I know how strange that is, I really do, and I wish I didn’t have to ask that of you. Just please trust me on this, okay? I promise I’ll explain everything when I come home.
With that, Twilight shut the book and sighed. Her own journal in Equestria was in her library, so with any luck Spike would notice the buzzing book soon enough. In the meantime, she decided to stay at the school. As much as she appreciated Applejack waiting for her, and as much as she had taken her words to heart, Twilight was still not in the mood for company or conversation.
Just then, she heard a familiar buzzing sound. Scrambling, Twilight flipped the journal open and read the message inside.
I understand, Twilight. As soon as you send the letter to the princess, I’ll send it off and I promise I won’t peek. Oh, and Princess Luna is still here. She asked me to tell you that if need be, she can handle the Sun for Princess Celestia, whatever that’s about.
I hope everything is okay over there. Stay safe, okay?
Twilight couldn’t help but smile. She could always count on Spike, no matter what. She quickly wrote a response.
Thank you, Spike. You’re the best friend and assistant I could ever hope for. I’ll see you soon.
And yet, as Twilight held Sunset’s journal in her hands, something clawed at her from within, and her smile faded. When Sunset had used this journal, she had probably believed that she could always count on Twilight, too. And when Sunset needed her most, Twilight had let her down.
No, she told herself. It wasn’t her fault. And she needed to stay focused. Twilight clicked the pen and began writing.
Dear Princess Celestia...