//------------------------------// // V.III - Good Pep Talk // Story: The Broken Bond // by TheApexSovereign //------------------------------// Starlight popped her eyes open, and knew something was wrong when she felt warm and comfortable. Like she was laying belly-first on a blanket hot off a laundry line. Starlight peeled herself off, the surroundings different from the greenery of the Hive but rather a cozy living room, lit by the gentle glow of a lantern beside her. The dead of night, her gut realized, the utter seriousness of it. Starlight looked to what she was propped against, only to come face to face with a cable-knit sweater she had a feeling would be there. The stallion above it… “Daddy,” Starlight choked, her mind pounding like a drum. The scene was familiar: she’d been crying again, and ran into his work room instead of sleeping it off—again. “Daddy, I’m so sorry!” “Punky-Wumpkins, you have nothing to be sorry about.” He hugged her close, because that’s what Daddies do, no matter what. Starlight tried pushing away despite lacking the strength; he didn’t need to keep doing this, she wasn’t worth the constant effort. Especially when it’s been a month since Mommy died, without any change in Starlight since. Even though he said, “I love you to pieces, Starlight,” she didn’t feel like he did. Only like that was a part of the routine. “Don’t you dare think that way again, you here?” he said when she’d told him as much. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” “I can’t be happy,” Starlight pointed out. Daddy laughed wetly. “Neither can I, Sugar Plum. I’m pretty sure we won’t be for a while.” “You don’t cry about Mommy.” Starlight regretted her disrespect the moment it passed her lips. Her mouth was always getting her in trouble with the teacher, but never had she used it against Daddy. But he just laughed like it didn’t matter. “Oh, Starlight, Starlight, is that what’s been on your mind?” Sometimes; she choked on the word. “Sweetie, of course I’ve cried about Mommy. I’ve cried more than you have!” “No way! Then how come I haven’t seen you do it?” “Because, well, I want to help you more.” That seemed so simple. He cared more about her feelings than he did his own? Starlight clasped his broad belly tight. “I love you, Daddy!” she cried. He squeezed her back, smile audible as he said, “And I love you, a gazillion times more than just ‘making you happy.’ Because that’s not what would make me happy! Know what would?” Starlight scratched her cheeks across his Dad-Sweater. “Being with you, and talking to you. Knowing what’s on your mind.” Mommy, Starlight thoughts. Always Mommy, and this sad feeling making a chew toy of her heart. “You’ve been so distant, lately, always locking yourself in your room. I’ve been worried sick and feeling like a pretty poor father, wouldn’t you say?” But he was the “World’s Greatest Dad,” Starlight’s present last Family Appreciation Day proclaimed it so! “Daddy!” she could only cry, despairing. She made him feel bad in trying not to make him feel worse with talk about Mommy. But he just hugged her, happy to have at least this after days of disappointment. Starlight blubbered out sobbing again. Daddy hushed her, rubbing her back in pleasing little circles. “You’re my world, Starlight,” he said. “I only want to be a part of it. If you’ll have me.” Yes! Yes, yes, yes, of course she wanted him in it. “Would it,” Starlight gulped, “would it be a, a nice place to li-live? M-my, my world?” The second it took Daddy to answer felt like a million years without breathing. “I love you, my little Light. Even the grossest, most expensive world to live in will be worth every penny, every second, if you’re a part of it!” She loosened her breath, but… “B-because I have Mommy’s name?” She let out a sob, remembering how many laughs they had when Daddy would call their name and they would both respond. Daddy grabbed her “chipmunk cheeks” and swiftly pulled her snout to his, saying as he gave her nosey-noses, “It’s because I love you to pieces, you silly goober!” Starlight giggled, first in being tickled, but another burst forth as his love seeped into her heart, and his words really hit, warming her through and through. “I love you, Daddy!” He pulled away, red-eyed, but smiling. Sad, but happy because he had her. And she him. “You read into things a little too much, kid,” Daddy said, mussing up her hair. Starlight laughed, partially in delight, but also because she did. She really did, and deserved to be named a silly goober. “But you’re a hard worker from what your teacher tells me, and definitely more clever than me when I was your age.” She looked away, holding a burning cheek. “No…” Starlight couldn’t believe that. Daddy was the smartest pony in the world. Objectively, even! He scrubbed her mane vigorously. “Yeah, yeah you are!” he gushed. Starlight shrieked, trying to bat him away until he stopped as soon as he began. He smiled, leaning into the sofa. Starlight, panting, grinned back. “You wanna tell me what’s on your mind now?” he asked, teeth baring still. “I’d love to hear it.” Starlight was still scared, but, if he really did... “It’s dumb,” she warned him softly. “But I miss Mommy. I keep missing her, even though it hurts to think about her.” Starlight hugged herself, pain beginning to burrow in again. Starlight ought to stop now before she cried, but Daddy said he wanted to hear it and didn’t care about how happy she was compared to how much he loved her. He wouldn’t be disappointed in her. “It keeps hurting and hurting,” she croaked. “But then, I can’t stop hurting. Because then I think about other ponies who might feel this bad!” Like Daddy. Like her classroom seat buddy, Sunburst, if he lost one of his parents.   “I understand,” said Daddy. “Somepony could be feeling and thinking exactly the way you do, right now, Sugar Plum.” “How do I make it stop?” Her heart seized with hope. “Is there a way to stop thinking like this?” Daddy frowned, but tenderly touched her shoulder. “Now why would you want to lose a wonderful power like empathy?” “‘Power?’” Like her magic? “You’re empathetic,” Daddy enunciated. “That’s a rare trait to have.” “I don’t know what that means.” His eyes boggled out of his head. “I know something you don’t?!” he crowed, and Starlight couldn’t help but giggle. “Well, my dear, it means that you can feel what other ponies do. You’d imagine yourself in their place and experience genuine compassion for them. Not a lot of ponies know how to do this, sweetie—” she leaned into his touch as he caressed her face, “—and some just simply can’t. But you? Well, you’re special, Starlight, and I don’t mean that because you’re my little Punky-Wumpkins,” he said, drilling his hooves into her belly. “Daddy!” Starlight laughed, batting him away with success—but only because he let her, of course.   “I’m serious though,” he continued, smiling still. “Empathy is a powerful thing to have, Starlight. If you can help it, never stop seeing with the eyes of another. Or hearing with someone else’s ears. Understand their perspective, and you’ll be able to feel with their heart, too. You’re a good pony, Starlight. Don’t ever think otherwise. At the core of your being, you are a good pony.” Good. Because if she could help it, Starlight never wanted anyone to feel this bad. Never ever! But if she herself made them, especially in her very efforts to prevent that? Not that it would ever happen, but Starlight was never going to forgive herself for that. She didn’t know why her heart felt like exploding, as if she’d already committed such a horrible, thoughtless deed. Starlight awakened with a start, gasping for breath. She shouldered the stickiness from her eyes, her fur clinging as though ensnared in webbing, tugging her eyelids back shut. She was still seeing Dad, though—one of the last ponies she wished to think about right now. The rest of her dreams’ contents were fading, and fast, but one thing was unmistakable: Mom, weirdly enough. I haven’t dreamed about Mom in years, Starlight thought, rubbing across her eyes. It was disappointing as a daughter that she couldn’t recall what Mom looked like. Ever. Dad, though, he was a stallion who seldom let things put a damper on his spirits, but if he knew that… If he knew just everything, about what his little girl had reduced herself to, “disappointing” wouldn’t begin to cover it. At least Starlight was comfortable—hugged in every curve and contour by a soft, warm ocean. Cold only nipped her snout and the tips of her ears, beside the unbroken song of… of a waterfall? Not that it was deafening, nor so soft to be considered a trickle. And when did she instill a purple canopy to her bed, by the way? Or invite Maud to be snuggled from behind like a big teddy bear? Starlight’s thoughts ground to a screeching halt. This… is Maud Pie, right? A stupid question with an appropriate answer: obviously, and Starlight’s muzzle—her everything—was closer than she ever thought possible to Maud, especially the dusty, earthen smell of her mane. Starlight hardly minded this, the rest of her senses alight with fur-on-fur contact, molded by Maud’s firm muscles. She had muscles. She had muscles and Starlight could tell because she was touching her! And worst of all, Starlight couldn’t even move. Nor breathe. She wouldn't dare in case Maud awakened to this. It was so gentle, though, pressing and falling away against Starlight’s form. It was tender, warm, and a little bit arousing—it was Maud, and Starlight’s face combusted with how depraved she was being. Even if it’s because she’d never been so close to anypony before, and much preferred this to the horrors of last night groping her stomach, none of that was any excuse! Here Starlight was, taking advantage of a sleeping friend who… who pitied the mare that freaked out so badly, she fainted, apparently, over a little joke. A nasty one, but a joke nonetheless at the claws of Reeka and Draggle. Who told me that my horn wasn’t even payment… that losing my friends was what I treasured most. So either that’s a lie and I value my magic more, or they’re right and every second I stay here I’m putting them in jeopardy! And then everything came surging back, hitting harder than before: the party for her she didn’t want but couldn’t refuse, lying this way and that, attacking that lonely little changeling Ocellus and… and just blurting out that she was going to run away? To Fizzlepop? Seriously?! And she didn’t hide it from Rainbow or Maud, either, and now—Oh, oh Celestia everypony knew. They all knew! They knew how desperate and miserable a pony she was! And they either loathed the time wasted throwing that party together, and now saw Starlight as the lost cause they ought to or they didn’t see that yet, in which case they would try even harder to make her normal when she simply couldn’t. Starlight couldn’t decide which was worse. But who would want to waste their time on her, now, when she so clearly rejected it without giving them the grace of saying so to their faces? And that was all before everything exploded: Fizzlepop, the witches, nearly the Hive and Maud, who was speechless throughout it all. Maud was probably second-guessing their friendship as she lied in bed last night beside Starlight. Maybe wondering if there’s some way of getting out of it. Because now she was forcing herself to share a bed with Starlight. They slept together. And Starlight was back in reality, almost forgetting about the little spoon to her big one. She was still violating Maud’s personal space! A respectable friend would let go, but… Starlight honestly didn’t want to. This warmth embraced her and wouldn’t let go! A swelling, blurry pressure filled her eyes—Starlight didn’t want to be deprived of it, pathetic as that sounded. Within it she felt safe, secure; there was no lies to spin or truths to hide, no way of the witches coming to get her like this. And besides, her foreleg was caught between Maud’s plushy barrel and the bed, so, she couldn’t move if she wanted to! What, I have to wait for Maud to wake up and find us like this? A second into that scenario, and Starlight was shrieking internally, tearing herself away before Maud could awaken and beat her to a pulp before never feeling comfortable around her again. Starlight’s hoof slipped free, her elbow bashing against something soft that cried, “Ow!” A slender warmth snaked across her belly was suddenly cold, weightless, and its owner muttering under her breath: “Starlight, watch where you’re—!” she gasped nasally. “Uh, I mean...” Starlight spun around, coming face-to-face with Trixie. Herself, somehow, she could understand what drove her to embrace the nearest pony. But sharing a bed with Trixie? Especially after that disastrous road trip they attempted to Saddle Arabia? They cried out each other’s names at once, Trixie being almost completely red. “I-I can explain!” she said aloud. “Quiet!” Starlight hissed. “And there are a million different ways you could have started this conversation, but you chose that one?” Trixie growled, her cheeks inflated like rage-filled sores. “Well,” she whisper-hissed, “you try coming up with something thoughtful on the spot after getting bashed in the muzzle.” She gestured to her perfectly-fine albeit tomato-red face. “This is one of my most valued assets, you know!” “It literally looks no different from almost every other pony’s.” Starlight went rigid. “M-Maud?” “Good morning.” Was that a good-natured greeting, or an annoyed one at having just been awakened? “D-did, uh, did you just… just, wake up? Just now?” “...Maybe.” Trixie propped herself up on her forelegs, cooing like a warhorn. “Maudie!” she cried. “You’re a bad girl!” “I said nothing,” she said as Starlight sat up, hearing the denial between her words. “Oh, yes, but your actions speak aloud of a pony who vied to cuddle up to Starlight.” Trixie gasped softly, smiling behind a hoof. “How scandalous. And yes, fairly cute! I’m in full support of that marriage proposition you were ready to give before leaving for the party.” “Be quiet.” “My! What would your parents say to you, having made a decision without the Choosing Stone’s blessing?” “Stop it, Trixie.” Maud was lying on her back now, staring into the canopy. Nothing dusted her cheeks. She wasn’t embarrassed, which meant her willingness to let Starlight hold her wasn’t borne of romantic affection. “You got it all wrong.” Curse you, Trixie. If last night didn’t happen, Maud would have socked Trixie in the gut. Twice. Once for misreading her pity for Starlight, and again for planting bad notions in their friend’s head. “Oh, Starlight, relax! I was just teasing… like always!” she added with uncertainty. A seed of dread Maud had been entertaining—obsessing over how this morning would go—began to tremble deep within as she looked aside. Starlight sat up beside her, hoof to her heart, inhaling and exhaling, breathing in and out, in-out-in-out-in-out— Starlight pressed her racing heart, trying desperately to slow it down. What in Equestria’s happening? Maud let herself be touched and hugged and held long after waking up, just so Starlight could sleep better? That went way, way above Maud’s comfort level, it had to! They hardly ever engaged in physical contact! “Star-light!” Trixie yelled. “AH!” Starlight yelped, glaring at her currently-annoying friend. “What?! What’s with the yelling?” Trixie furrowed her brows. “I’ve been trying to get your attention, but you weren’t answering.” “I wonder why. She was being a terrible joker as per usual, Starlight. Don’t read into it.” Trixie pointed around Starlight, at the prone pony on her left. “You, butt out! I was just trying to make her comfortable! Unlike you. What made you think that was a good idea, anyway? You know she hates touching!” “Better than making everypony in the room uncomfortable.” Starlight didn’t want this. Anything but this. “I’m right he—” “I’m sorry, Maud,” Trixie sneered, forelegs bent into her sides, “but my barrel of material is fairly exhausted in the morning, especially after what happened last night!” She meant Starlight’s meltdown. “Girls, pl—!” “And you continue to shock without much awe. As usual,” Maud muttered. Trixie gasped, offended. “I awe plenty, thank you!” “I’m in awe of your perpetual thoughtlessness right now, if that helps. Because no matter what’s happening, regardless of how bad things get, in your head, you’re still number one. It’s truly amazing.” “No I’m not! I mean, I am amazing! But this nonsense about being thoughtless and selfish? Whatever Pinkie Pie told you about me, it’s not true!” Maud droned aloud, “I hardly spoke to Pinkie, but good to know whatever insight she had was most likely accurate.” “Would you two stop?! Stop!” Starlight dove across the bed, and spun round to address the two of them—Trixie, with wild silver hair and… distraught across her face, clear as day, and hitting like a buck to the heart. And then there was Maud, sitting up straight with her pillow as a cushion. “Just look at yourselves, girls. You think this is what I want to hear right now?” And Starlight was at a loss for words, having just blamed her friends for trying their best to comfort somepony so undeserving of it. She groaned at her stupidity. “This’s exactly why I didn’t want anypony making a fuss! Because it’s always the same. Because when two or more ponies disagree over a common goal, no matter how right you personally think you are, there’s another who feels just as passionately as you, thinking they’re just as correct! And your ideas clash and you fight and the whole reason you’re even in this scenario is because of me! I don’t want this, girls! I hate this sort of nonsensical conflict! I hate being doted over when I don’t need it, and no one, not even my closest friends, are listening to what I want!” “Tell us what you want, then.” Maud’s face was utterly unreadable. “Please, Starlight. I truly want to know what will make you feel better.” ‘Truly.’ Maud hardly ever fluffed up her dialogue. She was dead serious about this. Starlight couldn’t forget that she was speaking under the belief that her friend wanted to run away and leave her behind. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I’ve no idea what will make me feel better, Maud. What I’ve got going on is way, way above anything I’d ask of the two of you—” “Bull-pucky!” “Trixie,” Starlight gasped, alongside Maud’s wide-eyed, “Wow.” “Pardon my Fancy you two, but Starlight, what you’re telling us right now is absolute crud!” Trixie slammed her hoof into Maud’s brown comforter. “I cannot speak for everypony, but Maud and I? Well, we’re up for anything! Trust your best friend like you did at the Hive all those years ago.” Trixie smiled assuredly, sweetly, as she could be in the darkest of times. “Even if you think we don’t want it, no matter what it is, we wanna be a part of it so we can suffer together! Right, Maud?” “Yeah,” she drawled for emphasis. Starlight looked between the two of them—she couldn’t bear Maud and her confident little smile. She’d never worn such a thing, especially at some random pony like Starlight. She didn’t know what to say. Her mind wasn’t changed, but her friends’ weren’t either, despite last night. Starlight was speechless, despite one thing racing through her mind over and over. “I… I almost left everypony,” she told the bedding. “Very true,” replied Trixie. “Last night was quite, quite the hot mess.” Sudden movement to the right, punctuated by a magical hum coupled with Trixie’s indignant grunting implied Maud was about to throw a hoof into her side, and that Trixie was expecting this. “Yes, I-mean-it!” Trixie grunted. “A hot mess! Last night was a sucky hot mess for ev-ery-po-ny. Not just you, Starlight! All of us had a bad time, because all of us messed up, too!” That was a laugh. Starlight didn’t even see Trixie all night—perhaps that is where she felt she messed up. “Not compared to me.” “Who cares already?!” Trixie cried over the end to her magical exertion. “Starlight, everything you did just isn’t worth crying over! You’re our friend, and most of all you’re my best friend. You might not have been totally honest with me—which is crazy I know,” she laughed, “because, you and I trust each other like no other—but that’s okay, because, you taught me it’s never too late to improve!” “Whether it be our skills or ourselves,” Maud added. “Right, right,” Trixie gasped wetly. “Starlight, come on. Can’t you see you deserve the same treatment, more so than anypony?” She really, really didn’t though. “How can you sit there and tell me that with a hundred percent honesty? As if you don’t care what I did? And don’t you go telling me that nopony cares, because I know they do!” And suddenly, all of that just felt incorrect. But at the same time it did. Starlight didn’t know, nothing was certain except that she was sorry, which she said. “But they really don’t!” asserted Trixie. “Nopony cares! Starlight, honestly, for all the shade I’ve been throwing her way, do you really believe that Twilight is more worried about the scene you caused, or the friend who wouldn’t normally make one?” Except there were many times when Starlight had, especially this past week. She dropped her gaze, seeing before her the disdain on Twilight’s face that she felt deep down—the sprout of annoyance that would inevitably blossom the more she failed. Perhaps when Twilight, frustrated with her failures, would direct them at the source, believing it was in some way wrong. That was usually part of her “Twilighting” process. It was only a matter of time. Starlight didn’t answer Trixie’s question. The nerve! The answer shouldn’t be so hard! “Twilight’s obviously worried about you, Starlight. This behavior isn’t exactly normal for you, and coming from me that’s not her paranoia talking.” “You have a way with words.” “Shut up,” Trixie hissed back. “At least I’m saying something.” “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Knowing Maud, that didn’t mean she was going to say anything. And Starlight needed somepony to open up to—like her best friend, whom Princess Perfect believed she hadn’t. How preposterous! “Star-light!” Trixie cried, and her gaze clarified in the blink of an eye. “You can talk to us. You can talk to me. You know that, right? We’re your girlfriends!” “I...I know.” Starlight swallowed, trying frantically to catch her breath again. “You girls,” she gulped, “are some of my best friends.” “Then talk to us, please,” Maud muttered. Starlight was shaking like a leaf, bedhead flouncing erratically around her. “Starlight?” Trixie looked to Maud, and met with a face as worried as she felt. This was not Starlight. She wasn’t supposed to be afraid of talking to Trixie like she was Twilight! She was supposed to have been nakedly honest with her from the start, she’d done nothing wrong to Starlight and now something that happened last night broke her! Whether it was that lousy Tempest, or… Bottom line: Trixie was Starlight’s best friend. She knew her best, and it was that strong trust they shared that allowed Starlight to be most honest with her. Without that, Trixie was nothing special. But she knew she was, because of said bottom line. “Stop being weird,” Trixie demanded. “And heed the wisdom of your best friend for once.” Starlight glanced up briefly—good enough. “We don’t blame you for feeling this way. Alright? Nopony does, but the two of us least of all. We know you aren’t normally like this, Starlight! But, not only have you lost your horn, you’re also feeling dogpiled by everypony while meatheads like Tempest mess with your head and... and nopony listened to Trixie about why the party was a stupid plan! So, yeah, sure, you ran. It wouldn’t be the first time—remember the Sunset Festival?” Starlight cringed, and so did stupid Trixie. “Look, my point is, here, you didn’t actually run! Nothing happened! You let all this stress get to you instead of, you know, talking to me about it. So, please, Starlight. Let’s change that already,” Trixie finished lamely. It was because Starlight’s eyes had widened until they couldn’t further, and snapped to meet Trixie’s gaze. “I don’t want to.” She swallowed, shook her head. “I-I can’t. Thank you. Both of you. But I don’t want to bring that upon you. I can deal with it myself, Trixie—that’s what everypony but you failed to understand.” So Trixie was right all along, and Twilight the fool. “If that is what you wish.” She ignored Maud’s indignant staredown. “I always knew you were strong, Starlight, even if other ponies doubt your strength. Very well! Your great and powerful friend will respect her equivalent best bestie and her boundaries!” “Thanks Trix! You’re the best!” “Are you serious?” Maud asked. Her wide-eyed look moved from Trixie to Starlight, who jumped from the bed, hoofbeats upon the stone softened by the perpetual roar of the waterfall. “Starlight,” Maud said aloud. “Starlight.” Please leave me alone. She didn't stop, didn't turn around. “I don’t want to talk about anything," said Starlight. "Girls, please, respect that, and leave me alone about it. Please.” Starlight’s heart tingled; it was she who’d spoken. It came so easily, too: the truth. Instead of another in a dozen lies, she silenced her friends thoroughly with the truth. No angst or drama. No emotional baggage weighing them down. “Well, okay!” Trixie cheered from what sounded like the tunnel leading to a separate cave entirely. “How about some breakfast, then? You still like pancakes, Starlight?” “I don’t have pancakes. And Starlight...” She turned in answer, only for Maud’s expression and current feeling to be utterly unreadable. Starlight’s hairs stood on end. “What? Maud?” But she just blinked. Starlight drawled out an ‘ok’ as she returned forward. “I’m going home, gals. I feel like a zombie, still.” Starlight made her way for the door. “Bye-bye, Starlight!” Trixie waved. “Come by my wagon soon, and don’t forget that our offer still stands!” “I don’t have pancakes,” Maud informed them. “And Starlight…” She looked to her like she was about to be attacked. She never, ever looked at Maud that way. Last night, Maud mused once again. It was becoming a mantra for her. Last night, I should have told her everything. The cool draft from the waterfall played with Starlight's messy mane, tugged at Maud's with the gentlest of touches. Nothing much was gentle in her life. Nothing simply was a thing at all. The waterfall, though, waking up to that sonorous crash of nature, constantly beating the earth without ever stopping? One of the reasons she fell in love at first sight of this place, beside Starlight. She loved it, too, and understood why Maud did so: for its naturally made, history-laden walls, the close proximity to a beautiful quartz deposit. She understood Maud's love of the place for its distance from Ponyville and Pinkie, and simultaneously, its closeness there, to Pinkie, and to Starlight especially. Starlight, who wanted to run away from them. Starlight, who was running now, or close to it: running from her feelings she was so obviously bottling up. And worst yet, Maud’s reservations last night only validated Starlight's drive to run from them. As if they were some ugly beast the world was not ready to see. Starlight. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you to react to my words. My… weird declaration. It really was odd, like a confession of romantic love to a special somepony. But it’s me, and Starlight might have loved it and accepted it instead of being driven to leave as though I didn’t. Maybe, if she had half her sister’s courage to be ridiculous, Starlight wouldn’t have broken down like she did. She wouldn’t have cried herself to sleep—something thought impossible, but her best friend often surprised her with casual impossibilities. Such as understanding Maud Pie instead of just tolerating her, like Pinkie’s friends, or finally dropping this narrative that she was fine by making it clear, now, that she wasn't, but deep down she didn’t want Trixie or Maud knowing the true depths of her heart. Trixie took offense to this, because of course she did. But it was clearly out of fear of rejection. Sounds familiar. And now Starlight was at the tunnel, about to make the same mistakes Maud had always made. She couldn't let this happen. “Starlight, wait!” cried Maud, lunging from her bed. Trixie’s impressed “woah” neath the waterfall was ignored, followed by Starlight turning at the cave mouth, her shock dawning by the rapidly shrinking distance that lay between her and Maud. And then her shock was all the stood before Maud, halting without breaking a sweat. “Um, wow,” Starlight laughed, shrinking back. “Uh, hey there, Speedy!” That’s right. Neither she nor Trixie had ever seen Maud really move before. Now wasn't the time to be getting flustered. “Relax," she began, for the both of them. "We’re not going to make you stay and pour cereal and milk down your throat.” Trixie might, and that was an actual fear moments ago, before she so desperately believed Starlight’s method of coping was in any way admirable. That poor, stupid pony. “But there’s something I want to say to you before you go. Something I should have yesterday.” “Okay, Maud. Just… don’t keep me in suspense, now!” She still thought a tongue lashing was at hoof. Over what, Maud had no notion. “Starlight…” You’re my best friend. But that felt too small. And sudden. And Trixie might cause a scene. “You’re a meaningful part of my life. I enjoy your presence and company. And your insight. Your jokes, too. And how you treat me—” “Okay! Maud! Thank you!” Starlight bit her lip. Probably thinking of a nice way to telling Maud to stop rambling. “You… don’t have to reach for the stars to make me feel better. I-it’s fine. Really!” Starlight cleared her throat. “I mean it. Thank you, Maud.” She bowed. “You’re kind and patient. But you don’t have to do this for me, really.” The waterfall roared, screeching for help. Actually, it was Maud’s brain. She’d failed this utterly, and worse still is that Starlight wasn’t truly listening. Or she did, but she just didn’t care. Or maybe she did care, but Maud’s words had little to no effect because they were so terribly delivered in her awful emotionless deadpan, so it made her seem insincere. Part of Maud felt she was expecting too much of Starlight right now. Her stomach turned no matter what, and Maud took a breath to still it—this wasn’t the time to be second-guessing herself. Starlight was in pain. She needed somepony with a clear mind and calm heart, neither of which Trixie could provide. “Starlight, I’m trying to say that I care about you. A lot.” For emphasis, Maud moved to touch Starlight’s shoulder. Hard, accidentally. “Oof. Unique form of tough love,” Starlight remarked, wincing. “Sorry.” Maud was terrible at this, and dropped her awkward attempt at affection immediately. “Just know that I worry about you. It would be sad to see you leave.” It would destroy me. I really don’t know if I could go on living normally without you being a part of it. No way would she drop that gushy emotional bomb, though. Make Starlight feel like a prisoner. That’s what Trixie would do, never considering the impact her words have on Starlight. “That’s all,” Maud concluded. “Please don’t be afraid of opening up to me, Starlight. I know what I said in the past, but I’m willing to make an exception for you now.” Starlight was wide-eyed midway through that. She blinked at last, shook her head loose of all the information now cluttering it. “Uh, wow,” she said. “I’m sure that took a lot for you to say, Maud. But I would never ask you to put yourself in discomfort just to make me feel better.” Of course she wouldn’t. Doubly obvious she would deny herself healing and attention, knowing Maud would be fairly awkward plunging so far from her element. It only made her love Starlight more. “I want to, though.” Her friend smiled sadly. “And what’s that?” “To help you,” Maud answered. “Now why?” This was obviously building toward something. “Because you’re my friend. You would do the same for me. It’s honorable, and it’s right.” Starlight shut her eyes, her smile crumpling, painful to maintain. She nodded brokenly, hesitantly. “Finally, h-ho-how?” she exhaled, glistening eyes piercing Maud’s soul. “How’re you gonna go about doing that?” Maud thought she just explained this. “Listening. Being there for you. Giving my own perspective if asked, all without judgement or criticism.” “S-so sp-spending your li-hife—!” Starlight gasped, clapping her muzzle quiet. The glimmering of her eyes snaked around it, down her cheeks. “You’re amazing,” she croaked, muffled by her hoof. “But you say that now, wait till—” “I say what I mean,” Maud cut in, killing the thought before it could take root in Starlight’s heart. “Regardless of what you’d done or what you believe you’ve done, I’m your friend. You’re one of my only friends. Abandoning you isn’t something I planned on doing.” Maud held her breath waiting for a response. Until Starlight dropped her head, ears wilting, before turning around. “Thank you, Maud. I’ll keep that in mind as I make my way home.” And she moved down the tunnel, as if nothing of note happened. That was it. Maud had just bared her heart for nothing, almost died from it for nothing. And Starlight barely understood that, too focused on whatever she’d done to look outside of it, or her own perception. “Starlight, wait.” Maud even took two steps into the tunnel. Whether that or both or even the slight, slight, slight desperation in her tone brought her friend to a halt, almost tripping as she whirled around, eyes wide and bright with twinkles. “Don’t leave us. Please.” “Are you trying to guilt trip me into staying here now?” Starlight accused, looking wholly betrayed and likely feeling only that, not out of annoyance. “Is that what you’re doing here? Guilt tripping me so I talk about my feelings to you?”   Maud shook her head. “But you were never afraid of me. You were the only pony who was never afraid of me.” “Yeah? And I’m not afraid of you now, am I?” “You’re afraid of what I’ll think of you. That’s why you’re leaving now.” Starlight cringed, hearing this, and Maud knew she hit the stone’s weak point; one more good swing ought to crack her open. “Your reaction tells me I’m right.” “So what if you are, huh?!” Starlight marched over, even scarier without her horn, for she was only this volatile because of it. “If I don’t wanna share, then I don’t wanna share! And there’s nothing you can do to force me.” “I started this conversation telling you that I wasn’t going to force anything,” Maud reminded her. “Well, ya seem to be doing everything you can to make me talk!” “Maud, just leave her be!” Trixie called, useless as always. “Only because I’m worried, and you’re clearly avoiding us because you think whatever’s said will change that. I assure you, it won’t.” “I know that, but—!” Maud, for the first time since this started, felt her anger flare like a wildfire. “Then why are you doing everything you can to leave us?” Part of her hoped Starlight could feel the rage pushing every word. “Why did you try running away last night if you knew you could talk to me?” “Because you don’t know anything about me!” Starlight snarled in her face, only to immediately recoil in shock. “I-I didn’t mean it like that.” Regardless, the damage was done. Her thoughts were known. “Maybe not,” said Maud. “But I would like to.” Starlight sighed, groaned, and sobbed all at once. “Trust me, Maud. You really don’t.” This couldn’t be happening. Starlight didn’t care about her friendship and was convinced the pony she truly was couldn’t sustain it. Then why try in the first place? Why string Maud along all these years if nothing was ever going to come of it? Part of Maud was screaming, crying to slam the proverbial door in Starlight’s face and call her a liar. But then, she was crying harder at how starkly similar she herself once was. Still was, in some ways.   “So you’re just going to leave us.” Maud’s dead, flat tone matched her inner spirit for once in her life. “Oh, sweet Celestia, no!” Starlight groaned. “I’m going home to absorb last night without anypony breathing down my neck!” Maud lowered her gaze to the ground, because that is all she had done here and Starlight despised the attempt, and thus tolerated her even less. Never had their dynamic been so thoroughly skewed in the span of a single conversation. “And even if I was, which, let’s just theorize for a moment here, if I’d actually wanted to live somewhere else, or pursue something out of Twilight’s all-encompassing shadow, what would our conversation be like now?” Maud forced herself to meet Starlight’s pained gaze. “If that’s what you’d wanted, then I would miss you, but nonetheless encourage you to follow your dreams. It would be the same if the roles were reversed, I imagine.” “Ah, but you see, this situation’s different, Maud. In your answer, you forgot to account for my quality of life suddenly questioned by everypony who thinks they know me better than I do. Sounds annoying, right?” Then how would she rate its quality this very moment, and after that, would she still be snarky? “Starlight, I would never want to hold you back,” said Maud, pouring every word with the emotion she could muster. “But it’s clear that you were planning to run because you’re trying to handle this on your own. I know because I’ve done that my entire life.” It was far, far more complicated than that, Maud knew—yet Starlight, by some miracle, winced with emotion. "Oh, Maud..." “Everything is easier with a little help. Pinkie was my rock growing up. If I didn’t have her, I’d probably never have gotten my rocktorate. Nor would I've grown the courage to meet her friends, or spend time with you.” “Stop it, Maud. You don’t understand and you’re just making it harder,” Starlight quivered. Maud couldn’t stop. Part of her wanted to, but that was the quiet, lonely rock farmer who felt her world began and ended with her own two hooves. She couldn't stop because of her; not when she was finally chiseling away at Starlight's resolve. “I thought Pinkie Pie…” Maud hesitated, curse her, but she had never told another pony this, not even the sister in question. “I thought Pinkie would be disappointed that I was afraid of her judgement. I thought it wasn’t worth muddying her exciting life of bringing smiles to ponies who could actually do that. I think you know her well enough to ascertain my foolishness, but I realized it was all in my head. That sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Starlight touched her forehead, covering her eyes. “Maud, stop, please.” “Listen to her already, Maud!” But she had to understand… “I’m okay with feeling your pain.” “Maud, stop!” Starlight’s eyes flashed, wet and furious. “Don’t you get what I mean by stop? Stop! Jeez, you talk more than your sister!” She still wasn’t getting it. And Maud was getting really, really annoyed now. “Did you not hear what I just told you?” Starlight shrunk a little, eyeing her furrowed brows. “Trust me,” she huffed, “I could do nothing but. And I’m telling you again, Maud, that you have no idea what I’m dealing with here. You’re a great friend, don’t doubt that a bit. But you are being weirdly, and I mean weirdly, emotional about this—you’re usually so much smarter and practical.” Starlight was trembling before her. Messy of mane. No breakfast in her belly. Eyes wild with distrust and pain packed tight behind a look Maud truly couldn't call sane. “Fine.” Emotional was a nice way of putting it. More like stupid, naive, a waste of time: Starlight, despite Maud’s suffocating fears last night of how she would react, hardly showed any care at all. Maud was nothing much to her. Just another boring rock on the side of the road. “Go home if you want. Just don’t forget what I said.” Starlight stiffened her upper lip. “Right back atcha.” She turned, and walked, and soon, Starlight Glimmer was gone. And when she determined enough time had passed for Starlight to have left, Maud reeled back a foreleg and sent it flying into the cavern wall with a teeth-rattling crash. Dust and debris skated across her home, many pieces plopping soundlessly into her lower and mid-level pools. “I’m sorry that didn’t go well.” Maud turned to find a silver tail fall unto the bed. She'd almost forgotten Trixie had spectated the whole thing. And rather quietly. “That was what you wanted to tell her, wasn’t it?” Hardly. Maud rubbed her forehead, the Starlight-shaped ache where a horn would protrude. “I don’t know how you can stand her suffering in silence like that.” Trixie sat up, smoothing out her mane. “I don’t know how you can even think of trying to force anything out of her.” “I forced nothing but my feelings on the matter.” Maud hopped up to her mid-level pool. “The rest is up to her.” Trixie smiled sardonically, knowing of a ludicrous punchline she took a breath to utter: “So you did nothing, in the end, but listen to Sparkle instead of me.” Maud still didn’t understand what constituted “Sparkle’s” way. “Your way of helping doesn’t actually help Starlight, and you know it.” Maud sat, hind legs touching the water's surface as she scratched her sides. Maud suddenly realized her own nakedness. Shocking. She finished her thought, "Your way helps you, from realizing the ugliness of your soul.” “Jeez, Maud, somepony’s cranky. Okay, look, Starlight doesn’t need helping! She’s always helped herself, just like me. You girls just gotta respect that.”   “Keep telling yourself that when she’s gone, and you’re wondering what you could have done differently.”