//------------------------------// // V.V - A Change in Perspective // Story: The Broken Bond // by TheApexSovereign //------------------------------// At the top of the entrance hall stairwell, a muffled crash froze Starlight cold. The painful nostalgia of simpler days hurt terribly, how she once whipped a baseball through Dad’s window with Sunburst. Twice, actually. Dad was never angry. “Windows can be replaced,” he always said. Actions could not, though. That never erased what Starlight had done. Rainbow’s hoarse cry yanked her back to crummy reality: “Donuts? Seriously?! That’s the first thing she wanted to hear from you after last night?!” “Well, pardon me, but I thought it polite to offer a refreshment before she’s bombarded with reminders of that awful soiree!” “Oh, yeah, bravo on the attack plan: immediately follow up with a question whose answer we already know!” “Not everypony can be as level-headed in the moment-to-moment as you, Rainbow Dash! At least I’ve tried! I’ve tried,  and I’ve tried, and yet anything I say to her seems to annoy the poor dear! It’s like, it’s like we haven’t spent the last several years being friends, and that Starlight perceives me as your superficial Canterlot pony!” Silence, and then… “My word, is that… is that how I’ve always come off to her? For all these years?” Rarity moaned. “D-did she even want her new haircut? Did she simply relent out of a desire to please me?” Absolutely not. Starlight loved it. To have a genuine friend, one willing to give her, a true villain, something wonderful, and free of charge at that… In truth, Starlight didn’t know why she had been so hostile towards Rarity. She knew Rarity wasn’t a judgemental mare. And yet, she, like everypony else, had her gut reactions to whatever she came across. There wasn’t a soul who didn’t, and Rarity’s, however patient and generous, was highly critical of a great many things concerning one’s demeanor and appearance. What, Starlight sometimes wondered in bed, would she think about Starlight, however slightly, regretting the ultimate act of generosity: self-sacrifice? She’d probably think nothing of it if she’d lost her horn for Twilight’s life! And suddenly, Starlight’s hostility made a lot of sense. It was a defense mechanism, just like now, her running away, just as avoiding the girls had been all these years. And because of it, instead of putting them in danger, I’m stirring disharmony in the last ponies who need it— A cacophony of quarreling voices erupted behind the banquet hall door. Starlight tore around the corner toward East Wing before the result of her latest short-sightedness could burrow in her heart. If she fled before it did, then it didn’t really happen, did it? They weren’t about to start fighting because she was too cowardly to answer their questions. No siree. No, no! I’m in the right! They’re the ones thinking I’m still hung up about my horn, as if THEY barely know me! But Starlight was even more cowardly not to lay it on them, to tell them to stop wasting energy believing her horn was the problem, and they themselves were making it worse. But if I do that, then I make it all the more obvious that I’m my own problem. They cannot, and will not, know about that. It they do, they’ll never leave me alone and live their own lives. I’ll never leave their thoughts in moments where I should. A burning irritation pinched Starlight’s temple, over and over and over until she wanted to scream. AGH! This is so horrible! But if I tell them even half of what the witches tried to do, their will to find Flutter Valley’ll skyrocket—no matter how clearly I express that I don’t want them to, they’ll do it! They had no choice but to accept reality: Starlight didn’t want their help, something they wouldn’t insist upon her lest they feared the strength of her friendship. What scared Starlight the most, out of everything, was knowing that it would only strengthen her love for them. It scared her so bad Starlight slowed, propping herself against the wall, massaging the ache in her chest. I want to tell them everything. I want to tell them so badly. I want to scream this feeling out and let them hold me as I just cry from my system this past week. Heck, my whole life would come pouring out for sure. The same sob story I’d grieved about up and down until overthrowing Chrysalis. And what would come after, besides? Nothing good, that’s for sure! No internal growth, most importantly, for Starlight had gained none these last three years—a fact that would surely not be lost on them... A-and, besides, who knows if Reeka and Draggle were telling the truth, that my real payment is their friendship? Did that even exist anymore? Would they tell her? Was that even the truth or was it all part of last night’s joke? How much of those girls were driven to acting out of obligation, anyway? Rainbow, definitely, and Applejack. Maybe Rarity. Twilight… Oh, gosh, Twilight… The pity, the heartbreak on her face; this was killing her and yet Starlight still doubted who she was, her drive in doing this. Sh-she cares about me, I’m her friend. Her once-magical friend, which was the basis of everything we’d done together… And now they had nothing, they both knew the reason why, and Twilight loathed the decision she’d made and the mess left with that was Starlight herself. Starlight’s heart writhed with views conflicting between what she’d hoped was the truth, and what might have been the awful reality. The day she got over all of this couldn’t come soon enough. It’d come faster if the girls realized their lives needed living, which should be any day now, once Starlight quit acting so blatantly troubled. How many times have I told myself this? To act ‘normal?’ Starlight galloped around the bend of Corridor “C” (cleaning closet hall), face burning with her ever-rising volume of failures, breakfast and Maud being two recent ones. Why can’t I pretend everything is normal, for their sakes? If she did, then Twilight could go back to helping ponies plagued with friendship problems, saving wounded souls, and tend to the worldly issues she’d dreamed of solving—a dream she’d bashfully revealed to Starlight many times across many late-night reading sessions, to which Starlight truly believed she could and would solve, even if Twilight doubted her strengths, her importance. And if this mess was fated to end the way Starlight deeply feared, Twilight would at least be okay. She would heal, grow strong, just as Starlight’s first heartbreak did herself. Then, it’d only be a matter of time before Twilight’s next redemption project filled the hole Starlight left behind. Hopefully both would have finally learned from their mistakes, and forged healthier friendships than their current one.   It hurts so much though. To call what they have unhealthy; parasitic. Healing for everypony would come faster if Starlight left for good, but… Part of me, a piece of my heart, it’s screaming as if not wanting this. Vying to make it work. I want to ignore it, I should ignore it, because it’s not what I really want, but… but I…  I d-do, kinda— The columns and doors were zipping by. Starlight couldn’t feel her legs, barely see them. There was only the emotions she felt a little over a week ago. How maddeningly she ached and yet loved, hated this and even more so herself for falling this far, even if for the worthy cause of saving Twilight. It made her self-pity totally undeserved, but she couldn’t fight it. Just like Rarity couldn’t, nor Twilight herself for the regret she now feels and hatred of Starlight for thrusting it upon her. And for that, Starlight hated a bit of the pony who was indirectly responsible for all of this. Twilight. But also, not really, because at the end of the day Starlight was the captain of her own fate, and she had none to thank but herself. She should have known better. I should have paused for just a moment and thought about the ponies in my life, how they would feel and if my destiny in Flutter Valley included them. It evidently didn’t, but that, too, was part of the larger problem. Starlight rounded another bend, the third from the final before reaching her corridor. Tremors of feeling shuddered her legs in time with the muffled clops, drumming a distant four-beat rhythm. Starlight had walked these halls dozens of times since this all started. She shivered with loneliness—not a soul lived in the mile radius Ponyville covered who loved her as much as she did them: her friends, those who still think themselves her friends, the ponies of this town who’d wasted yesterday attending the Gourd Fest for her. And Twilight, too. The pony who’d risked her life to befriend the one who tried to destroy it, and Equestria, and could easily do so again if she wanted to. While I’ve been pushing and distancing myself from Twilight, from Maud especially… Starlight yanked her door open, only for her horn to disobey her. N-no matter how annoyed any of them feel—which, I guarantee, are at all-new heights—they’re willing to take time out of their days to try and take care of me. The knob wouldn’t turn. And I keep pushing them away but they keep coming back!   I… Starlight would sooner paw through the door than ask help with it—just one more thing she failed at. I don’t…  know what to do! ...And I don’t want to lose them… Oh, Celestia. Oh, gosh, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost a single one of them—! The door didn’t give. It was getting harder and harder to keep up the act, now, and back there especially. Toward Maud, even. Starlight couldn’t lie anymore, hurt them, she couldn’t even sit down and humor those girls because all she could think about was how they almost got blown up because of her! Starlight collapsed, weak in the legs. She couldn’t think beyond that, couldn’t feel for anything but the horrible, famished gnawing in her breast. “Glimmer,” accompanied a sudden prod into her back, making her shriek in fear as she believed Draggle and Reeka had returned to deliver the punchline. To tear away the false hope, her friends, finishing their deal—”Starlight! It’s me!” hoarsely assured Fizzlepop, gripping her by the shoulders and shaking her as Draggle had when she grabbed Starlight’s belly— “GER’OFF ME!” She flailed and connected with something she sent snapping left. A grunt yanked her from the depths of fear toward Tempest, clutching her jaw, smiling, bizarrely. “You’ve the strength of a foal, you know.” “Yeah?” Starlight swallowed, reacting, “Ever heard of the unicorn who worked out?” Quips; it was always straight to jokes with her. Genuine emotions were frightening with how damaging and unsightly they could be. “Only once,” said Tempest, her smile knowing. “She could navigate these halls without breaking a sweat. As if she had somewhere, anywhere, to be. Sound familiar?” “Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m out-of-shape,” gasped Starlight, not catching the mare’s falling face. “Wasn’t going there, not that you’re unshapely by unicorn standards. You’re below-average, I’d say. Average for pegasi.” Starlight felt relieved to breathe easy. It’s been so long since she last worried about her weight, the last time was long forgotten. “I, uh, wasn’t exactly a supermodel a month ago.” Tempest’s smile faded. “You and Twilight were healthy and happy a month ago.” Her elation died, squeezed to death by fear again. “I also enjoyed the taste of food back in the day.” And now, before Flutter Valley but especially after, the thinnest orange wedge went down like a small boulder. “Never thought I’d see the day where I have to force food down my throat.” Starlight’s attempt at lightheartedness died as she really looked into Tempest’s eyes, and found pity gazing back.   Pity. From Tempest, despite disgusting her. “That answers my first question, Glimmer. You didn’t have breakfast, did you?” Starlight read between the lines. Because of course Tempest had a hoof in that after last night. “No, I didn’t feel like talking to my friends. I didn’t want to. And you know what? I have that right. And you’re strong, Tempest.” But her face fell a tad, despite the compliment. “Like I don’t think there’s ever been a mare in my life as fit as you.” “Nor the, ah, recent generations, I imagine,” she proclaimed, chest puffed a little. “So unless you’re in the mood to fight with a full-grown mare, an’ drag her down all these halls all the way to the dining room, well, you aren’t gonna make me spill my guts out any other way. If I even get to that point.” “Careful now,” she warned, “I might take that as a challenge.” Starlight chuckled, seeing Tempest upholding that for the sheer sake of it. Anything else, though, Starlight couldn’t maintain a facade against—a surefire breakdown first and foremost, as everything ugly she’d hidden from them finally burst. Tempest was frowning again. “So you didn’t say a word to them?” she said, astonished apparently. “N-not strictly speaking!” Starlight defended. “Uh, a-anyway, y-you shouldn’t be so surprised! It’s not the reason I’m avoiding them, not exactly… but-but, with how I’d been acting, you would feel ashamed to be in the same room as them, too! I know you would.” Tempest’s eyes widened. “I hate how brutally real you can be sometimes.” It’s because ponies weren’t typically equipped to be slapped with a hard truth. They always became attentive to whatever comes after—more easily manipulated. “It’s my claim to fame, what can I say?” “Your reason for avoiding the girls would be a nice start.” Starlight had no choice but to swallow her guilt and shrug. “A multitude of reasons I’ve no reason to share with anypony.” “I respect that,” Tempest said with a bow, “as well as your ironclad will to suffer in silence. That takes real strength from a pony I’d honestly written off at that other awkward breakfast.” The smiled, as did Starlight, until both were reminded that any word before the word “but” ended up being horse manure: “But do you honestly believe this to be a healthy course of action? Bottling it in? You’ll explode.” Part of the reason I’m not saying a word to them. At least Tempest wasn’t calling Starlight a coward, though she definitely thought it. “I’m not going to explain my reasoning to you.” The safest route. The safest route. The cowardly route. “Then you’ll be making the same mistakes I made,” seethed Tempest. Starlight bit her tongue so she wouldn’t cry. There was nothing more she could do. “Glimmer, you’re hurting your friends with this behavior. You realize that, don’t you? Isn’t the guilt unbearable?” Starlight was about to say yes, for lying of this felt like it would smash her heart to pieces, only for a cry to burst forth, condemning her anyway. “You’re clearly miserable, Starlight. Everypony sees that.” She actually called her “Starlight,” the painfully obvious pony who could win a contest for ‘Most Miserable-Looking Soul in Equestria 24/7.’ “So what?” she croaked. “Do you honestly think they’ll care by this point? After? That anything good will come of it, besides? I’ll ask again, Tempest: so what if I’m unhappy? So what?!” “‘So what!’” Tempest stomped forth, and Starlight shrank against the wall. “So, if you’re this dead-set on alienating the ponies in your life, then give them a courtesy heads up instead of jerking them around! You owe them that much.” Her voice ringing briefly in the corridor’s crystal expanse, Tempest’s eyes bore wildly into Starlight’s. Into the windows of her disgusting, short-sighted, arrogant and ignorant soul. And there, at last, Starlight realized what she had to do. As she nodded, and nodded, and couldn’t stop nodding because she would truly start crying if she did nothing else, Tempest’s expression changed, or rather, it had before, and Starlight failed to notice—flashing from concerned to puzzled, her brow quirked up. “Alright.” Starlight’s voice sounded as dead as she felt. “I’ll go back. I’ll talk to the girls. And I’ll be honest with them.” Completely honest—including what she wanted of them after sharing. And then, after this... Best case scenario: Reeka and Draggle were lying, and Starlight’s new life was not the most precious thing to her. The girls would accept her, keep her, despite how toxic she was. Despite how toxic she was they would respect her wishes, and live their lives without sparing a thought to her. It was horrible, this reality. For Starlight’s gross heart longed to live with magic instead of friends. She missed her bond with it dearly, even now, her heart panging against a monstrous, empty void squeezed around it. Starlight loved her magic. But not as much as the ponies she adored so much it hurt, and she hurt them back in her exact efforts not to. It was time to take another risk and set things right. Destiny or not, every choice Starlight made walked her down the path she ought to. She had no reason to be afraid, none at all.   This was all she could tell herself as Starlight mustered her strength, hardened her will, and rose, rose, and rose—higher, she felt, and more fearless than she had these last three years. And she began making her way to the dining hall. Starlight had forgotten to bid farewell to Tempest. To thank her. She knew from experience, better than Starlight’s, of what was more important than one’s own shame and fear. Starlight only remembered her role in this as she muttered, “One push is all it takes.” Tempest Shadow followed in Glimmer’s hoofsteps with a hallway between them. She was glad to avoid dragging Starlight there by force. She didn’t let herself dwell last night on the necessity of this. She might have very well done so had throwing brutal honesty back failed as well. I just don’t want you making the same mistakes I had. You’ll thank me later, Glimmer.   These ponies, everypony, really, they needed a push to get anything done. But no matter the place, of all the peoples Fizzle had encountered, one thing remained the same: Everyone had a tendency to cower in their own mindset. That is what’s most familiar, and therefore more trustworthy than the words of anyone else. It is why Tempest herself lived the life she had, and Glimmer, too, if her historical pattern was anything to go by. But wail them with another perspective, a sound one, and no matter the pony, things were guaranteed to get messy, different—the breeder of conflict—and thus vulnerable to change. A deep, raw ache emerged in Tempest’s chest, ensuring she never forgot the power of just a mere few words: ‘Wh-why are you saving me?!’ Because it still made little sense, this little princess risking the fate of her home for that of a traitorous too—‘Because this is what friends do,’ answered Princess Twilight. And Tempest understood what was so special about this pony, right then and there. How Starlight could have possibly forgotten that with stakes so much lower… a mystery for another time. A happier time. The tail-end of Glimmer marched left at an intersection, head upheld with purpose. Amazing. Despite how indescribably terrified she was probably feeling right now, she’d sworn to pony up and face her friends. No hesitation in her eyes back there, no fear. Just regret, realizing how misguided she had been. Tempest recognized it all too well. And knew of the volatile self-loathing that was surely fueling Starlight’s drive. She didn’t even know what the girls knew, did she? Tempest’s heart writhed. I hope that, by the end of this, as pathetic as it feels, I hope Glimmer’ll still want to call me “Fizzle.” And that… that she’ll still want to be friends with something like me.   When in Equestria was the last time Tempest felt so afraid? Not general fear, but in an existential sense—the longevity of her current status quo? The heart-splitting roar of an ursa shivered down her spine. Rarity’s little meltdown was the signal for all of them to step back, the ensuing group hug a security blanket sorely demanded after such a friendship failure. The worst part? None of them knew what to do. Nothing except to look at their situation from an outside eye. Twilight wasted no time making this known from the center of their pileup. “H-hey, girls?” she began, the soft weeping of Fluttershy subsiding last. “If... Starlight, if we're wrong about how she's feeling, even a little? Then, we’re only feeling so bad, and acting as a result of it, because our imaginations are running wild. And in tandem with our emotions.” “Gosh, ya make it sound so cold n’ calculated, Twi. What we’re feelin’,” Applejack piped up, hoarse from underuse as opposed to the others. "It can't be that simple, y'all, we can't be so darned simple." “W-we have to be,” choked Spike. Twilight released her stranglehold, blushing as he gasped for air she was too emotional to be conscious of. That, and what he said next were emblematic of their flawed approach: “Girls, we’re really, really close to this issue. Too close to handle it the way it needs to be. I mean, I wasn’t much help either—I was too afraid that I’d say something wrong to Starlight. But if she’s gonna get the help she needs, we have to take a breath and step back. Not just from ourselves, but from her, too.” “Yes, yes, Spike, that’s exactly what we have to do,” said Twilight, snuggling him again. Assess. Regroup. Plan. This turn changes nothing as far as I'm concerned. “It feels like anything we do will make it worse,” Rainbow rasped, embraced between Pinkie and Fluttershy above. “Doing nothing will be worstest,” said the party pony. “Exactly,” said Twilight. “I feel the exact same as the two of you. But it’s precisely these feelings that are tripping us up. It's what as they had before, all week, and because of that we made it all the harder for us to get through to Starlight." If Twilight had stepped outside of her grief, understood things from Starlight's perspective, then maybe... "At the end of the day, until we hear something concrete from Starlight’s mouth we’ll just be making assumptions on top of presumptions. Acting based on those, like we have been, heck, even this morning, it was all in reaction to what we’d learned.” How Starlight was willing to end her life, to make herself unhappy, for the sake of them. The cause driving this behavior, the small choices such as shutting everypony out, even Trixie, urged Twilight to ponder the deeper "why" of it beyond friendship. There had to be a reason. An explanation! Ponies who understood friendship as Starlight had relentlessly assured did not behave so erratically. “This is all so hard,” whispered Fluttershy. “I… I-I just want Starlight to know that we don’t think badly of her. If she did, i-if she knew that we loved her too much to be so judgemental, then maybe—” “But she doesn’t know! And she is unwilling to let us get a word in, edgewise!” croaked Rarity. “It’s horrible, it’s selfish of her to have lied to our faces for all these years about believing us and yet…. And yet I do not blame her for thinking this way!” “Rares,” AJ breathed, "it's gonna be fine. One good, sincere talk'll clear things right up." “Puh-lease, darling, how many personal conversations have you—have the rest of us—shared with Starlight? ...Hm? With each other? And, mind you, prior to the fallout of our next interpersonal conflict like always?” A horrible, guilty silence answered Rarity. “I know our downfall here. How despite being her trusted friends, Starlight doesn’t believe she can be so open because nopony ever is. Not even us. And she’s forgotten the first lesson we’d taught her in spite of this and I hate it because we did not meet her halfway like we promised!” “‘Because friends are always there for...’” Twilight remembered. And Rarity fell apart, crying anew in a staggering breakdown. Laid on top of her, Pinkie shifted, wrapping her other foreleg from Rainbow's withers to around her neck. Sniveling her cries in, Rarity touched them, relieved seeming as her face tilted to the high ceiling. Twilight bit her tongue so she wouldn’t snap, break down, or say anything that would only worsen their situation. Only because Rarity was exactly right, curse her. Curse her for being so perceptive while Twilight, too blinded by grief, missed the obvious that had lived under her roof for three-plus-years now! Starlight in general, in the way she seldom spoke of her old life, and whatever much she did share were ever-brief tidbits, concluding with a promise to never bring them up, which Twilight had always respected, and wanted to continue doing, but really, truly couldn’t now if it risked Starlight’s future well-being and mental health. Twilight had to let go of her reservations if they were to save her. “Come on,” she mumbled, shifting, her friends jostling with alertness, “c’mon girls, let’s get some food in us. Take a breather.” A gnawing hunger reminded Twilight that she had been without a meal for almost twenty-four hours. “At the very least, we’ll go talk to her bedroom door. I won’t let her sleep another night uncertain if she’s still our friend.” “Really? Her door?” whined Rainbow, dejected by the certainty of Starlight denying their presence. And it was after this when it happened: heavy-hearted, forcing breakfast into their stomachs, licking their proverbial wounds without much spoken as a heavy groan tickled the back of Twilight’s racing mind. The widening eyes of Rarity, Fluttershy and Spike across the table almost drove her to break her neck from swiveling a near one-hundred eighty degrees. Everypony’s chewing ceased as the groan ceased, silverware and porcelain clattering their last. All eyes were on Starlight, and her eyes, least shocking of all, were on them. No. On Twilight’s. “Th-there is something I would like to say to you all,” she began, strength wavering by the word. Starlight took one, hesitant step forward. Then another, barely any more confidently. “A lot, actually. A-and I understand if you don’t want to hear it—” “We do!” Twilight felt small, over-eager, ridiculous under Starlight’s stunned scrutiny. “W-we do, Starlight, th-that’s all we want, is to talk—” “Great,” Starlight cut in, smile feeble. She didn’t move another inch, not to her seat at the breakfast table. Something felt… off. “That’s great,” she sighed. “So… just so flipping great. ‘Cause if I’m about to be honest, here, then I’d appreciate it if you gave me the same courtesy.” “You’ve no cause to expect dishonesty from us, darling.” “Ex-actly,” agreed AJ, nodding beside Twilight. But Starlight’s eyes never left Twilight’s, their icy glaze frigid as ever as she smiled kindly. Dread gnawed anew as one of her best friends uttered the words, “I-I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” And then, blinking, whatever courage held Starlight was overcome with fear she added, “I… I just have no idea where to begin.” She tittered. Hard. And for one full second. “M-maybe this was a mistake!” She began to turn. “Starlight—” Twilight began, forgoing her own terror. Only for Starlight to reinstate it tenfold as she brought her hoof down, anchoring herself to this spot, this moment, her eyes screwed shut. “You hate that I gave up my horn, don’t you?!” she cried.