//------------------------------// // V.VI - Don't Fix What Isn't Broken // Story: The Broken Bond // by TheApexSovereign //------------------------------// I… I didn’t mean to say that. Much less like th—Starlight clamped her mouth, stifling the urge to howl. She nearly did it again, she almost told herself yet another convenient lie so as to wash away her guilt.  She was such an awful pony. Yet another reminder for her reason being here, because of course Starlight did mean to say that—otherwise, she wouldn’t have.  Tempest’s most recent words came back to haunt her, beckoning her to cease playing this game with her friends’ hearts. I am done… DONE… justifying my awful behavior and choices.  Exhaling, Starlight caught the tail-end of Rainbow’s indignant, “What?!”  Twilight mumbled, hundreds of miles away, “Starlight, I—Of course I don’t.”  Right. It burned, her lungs burned; she almost forgot to breathe, but breathing hurt so much that Starlight held it as Pinkie threw her hooves up, echoing from afar, “We love what you did, silly goose!”  “We’re in a debt that can never be repaid,” added Rarity, somewhere. “Whyever would you entertain such an absurd notion?”  The million bit question. Her throat closed on itself.  “...Starlight?” Fluttershy, the pony who couldn’t fake worry to save her life. “Is there something you wanted to tell us? I-I think that’s what Rarity was trying to say.”  “Precisely. That’s abso-lutely what I meant, darling, it’s just… so... sudden! To so abruptly realize that which has created such discomfort, when our honest intentions were to alleviate you of such burdens.”  “But there ain’t no rush,” added Applejack, waving over Starlight’s attention. She was smiling—smiling—-despite being labeled a degree lower than dishonest scum. “Ya don’t gotta tell us all at once. Or even one of us! We’re jonesin’ to help ya feel comfortable. Nothin’ more to it.”  Rainbow shot up from her seat, literally. “But don’t think for a second that we got a bone to pick with ya! Especially when you were the only pony around who didn’t give up on Twilight!”  And everyone collectively flinched, in their own ways: Pinkie cast her eyes and smile down, Fluttershy grimaced, Twilight blinked, her eyes glassier than before and doubly wide.  “Okay.” And that was that. They just poured their hearts out to this hopeless basket case before them. All Starlight could muster was a mumbled ‘gotcha’ for the effort. Her friends’ words echoed, their weight hitting with greater force as Starlight emotionally dissected them:  ‘Of course I don’t,’ because obviously Twilight, even if she felt just as betrayed as Maud, she wouldn’t detest Starlight’s sacrifice altogether.  ‘Love.’ They love what I did. In the end, they loved it. They loved that I saved one of our best friends.  ‘Absurd.’ Ridiculous. Outlandish. Starlight Glimmer in a single word, who had been wrong. Irrecovably, horribly wrong, and she had done nothing but give her friends heartache.  Their response felt right. It was right.  So why did it feel simultaneously, undeniably wrong? Like their words were at once a comforting hug and a thunderstorm brewing overhead, deep within Starlight’s gut, anchored to the endless depths of Tartarus.  It made a mare wonder. Did they rehearse this? Were they lying to make their feeble-hearted friend happy? Because that’s what Starlight would do. That’s what Twilight had done in the past, and the girls to each other! Even over something as irreverant as a Yakyakistan horn discovered by Pinkie the week before. It wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility.  And it began once more, dang it, it was happening again. The distrust and the horrible thinking. But it made so much sense and despite how painfully her heart twisted Starlight couldn’t blindly throw it into the fire, for it would feel even worse if she ended up being wrong.   Her gut was never wrong, though: there was something they weren’t telling her. “Liars.” The word hissed forth before she could stop herself, but once it was out, it somehow felt good. It felt thrilling to see those ponies recoil, caught red-hoofed.  “What?” Twilight uttered back at equal volume.  “If Maud had a problem with it,” she explained, “then you definitely had some problem—” “What?” Starlight’s gut jumped; she’d never seen Twilight react this way, so inanimate. Frozen. Spike peaked around her, reminding Starlight of his abnormally quiet presence as he looked to his statuesque caretaker. “Wh-wh-what do you mean?” stammered Twilight. “Starlight? What makes you think that we’re lying?”  It took an attempt for the words to emerge. “Maud had a problem with my decision.” They sat there, waiting. Juding, judging, judging. “Sh-she’s not the type to get entangled in another pony’s affairs, now, is sh—?”  “What is that supposed to mean?” Pinkie snapped, startlingly. “You thought she wouldn’t care about what happened to you at all? That’s loco, Starlight! You know her better than that! She lo—mm!” It took both forehooves to silence herself, and yet she herself spoke a few more syllables. Just Pinkie being Pinkie.  And Starlight wasn’t about to tell her that, no, she would never have thought so lowly of Maud, nor did she accidentally forget about her in the rush of things. Absolutely not, Starlight was too good a friend for that. “I didn’t think she would care as much as she did.”  “Uh, like, I dunno, not at all?” Pinkie slumped, ears following suit. “I thought you were buds.”  “W-we are!” Starlight wouldn’t be surprised if Maud grew tired of the whole effort—of being her friend. Especially after whenever Pinkie would regale her of this morning, and Maud followed suit. “This past week in particular has been, well, eye-opening. I’ve seen many different shades of Maud, like how much she cares about others, and what she’s willing to put herself through for those she does.” She still hadn’t forgiven herself for ditching Maud at the Gourd Fest, and she definitely hasn’t either. “Honestly, Maud is one of the best friends I’ve ever had.” And yet I forgot about her in my blind, bullheaded mission to repay Twilight. “I don’t deserve somepony like that.”  “You mean,” Pinkie squeaked, “you mean, you mean you don’t think you deserve a good friend? That’s… really, really sad, Starlight.”  Words tried and failed and tried again to manifest; that’s definitely what it sounded like. She blotted out the thought, refocused on the gross, comfortable feeling mustered at the prospect of these ponies lying, despite her being so honest and a request for the same. “That’s not the issue here. Despite my asking, you girls still—”  Pinkie, mouth agape, hadn’t registered what came after the feeble label, “‘Issue?’ Issue! Starlight, if there’s an issue here it’s that you tried to end yourse—mmf!” Applejack silenced Pinkie with a well-timed foreleg.  “‘Course we don’t love what happened, Starlight,” she said quickly, ignoring Pinkie’s wriggling within her iron bar of a foreleg. “Not unconditionally. For land’s sake, ya hurt yourself, and ya did it for Twi. Ain’t nothin’ changes what that says about your character, or what you gone and did. But it’s ‘cause o’ this that we feel a might guilty over the whole thing! Now, that don’t mean we ain’t grateful, so don’t go thinkin’ that.”  Regret came slithering up her innards. “It’s pretty obvious that you’re not un-grateful. And I’m not calling you guys total liars, either. Heh, as if that makes it any better,” Starlight muttered.  “But don’cha see why our hearts are a might conflicted?” asked Applejack. Yes. Obviously. Absolutely. “You don’t have to say it,” Starlight rasped, then swallowed, continuing clearly, “Maud made it abundantly clear that I was being a selfish numbskull who didn’t once consider how any of you felt. Just like now, as I trashed your goodwill with nothing but animosity.”  That was sudden. It was random for the Starlight they knew, for even Rainbow jerked back and blinked, replaying that to herself. “She really said all that?”  A shake of the head. “She felt it though. And I empathized, because I’ve been on the receiving end of that before. We all know how that turned out…” ‘In Our Town! In Our Town!’ Chills skittered down Starlight’s spine. “You could say I’m no different now from how I used to be.”  “Yes you are!” Twilight erupted, her chair screaming against the crystal floor, tipping, and being caught in a teal—no, magenta—glow before hitting the floor. “Starlight, it doesn’t matter how we felt about it,” she resumed softly, the chair rising on four legs, “all that matters is how you felt after the fact. And this, right here,” she cried, slapping the table, “this is exactly what I’ve tried so hard to avoid all week!”  The lying. The drama. The tears and the screaming. Starlight shrank within herself, suddenly the uneducated student she never quite ceased to be. “Does, heh, does it have anything to do with my making another mistake in yet another misguided effort?”  “That,” Twilight sighed, falling into her chair. “That, what you just said. This is what I mean, Starlight. It drives me up a wall. Because no matter what I’ve done, I only made your guilt worse!”  Starlight didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t expecting Twilight to address this herself, but she was so thankful that she did. “You’ve avoided me.” Her throat closed, but a single sob broke forth, and Twilight stood. “And I’ve avoided you! I’m sorry!”  “I am, too.” Twilight touched her heart, wings extended in their glossy, lilac glory. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like a criminal when, in reality, what you needed was somepony telling you that you did nothing wrong.”  ‘Nothing wrong.’ The words ensnared themselves around Starlight’s heart, weighing it heavily. She swallowed the chains they were made of, clogging up her throat. “I’ve done a lot wrong.”  “And so have I,” said Twilight. “My mistakes being far worse, I’d say. Because I know how you work, Starlight. I knew if you’d caught just a whiff of dissatsifaction, you would spiral and try and try to make it all better. And despite knowing this well, we lied, poorly. And me, I’ve obscured how bothered I was just so you wouldn’t feel guilty. After our discussion in the foyer, I didn’t truly listen to all that you said. Instead I sought to make your decision my mistake, refusing to see how that would have looked to a pony as speculative as you.” With deadly accuracy, her every word added a link to the proverbial chain, constricting Starlight’s heart until it felt blue, until it couldn’t beat. She was right. Everything she said was always so right. “But I was transparent. We were transparent. In our efforts to make you happy, we were blinded to what, exactly, that would entail to you, personally. Becuase in all the times you were telling me, ‘I don’t want to be commended,’ what you were really saying, I think, was, ‘I don’t deserve to be loved.’ That isn’t fair. The least you deserve is better than what you’re feeling right now.”  Gross. Naked. Obvious. Foalish.  How did they get here? Starlight vaguely remembered wanting to go off on them for lying. “It’s just,” she said hoarsely, “I just thought a point was made in asking for total honesty. That’s all, I’m sorry!” Twilight inhaled to speak, but Starlight’s words felt like some awful attack on them she didn’t intend, as usual. “This, among other reasons, sure, but this here is the heart of why I’ve been so weird lately. I know you girls like you know me…” And with those words, it was out: Starlight had accidentally confirmed Twilight’s fears, what she had just said, something they both realized as her best friend inhaled sharply. “Which is to say, not as well as either of us think. I was scared. I was guilty. I didn’t deserve motion and effort and I certainly don’t now. Take this conversation for instance: it’s clear you had more than one reason acting as you had, but I am too bad a pony to grok that when it really matters. And that’s what I wanted to know, I guess: I’m right to some degree, because that’s just how we are, doing things for more than a singular reason. But... I didn’t want sheer positivity and commendations. I never have. I wanted my friends, being as real with me as they’ve always been. I don’t regret what I did, and I’m not lying when I say I’d do it again. But I am sorry how I’ve conducted myself after the fact, and now.” Starlight bowed, lifting a hoof. An explanation bubbled up to her lips, but Starlight was done excusing herself. “I won’t lie either: I’ve been angry with you girls because of this. A part of me is, I mean. An ugly one. I guess, all this time, I just didn’t want it coming out.”  Fluttershy’s broken murmur broke the silence. “You did something that changed your life forever, because we couldn’t do anything except feel sad and scared of losing Twilight. There was something ugly inside me, too. I felt sorry and I regretted not being able to do anything, but a tiny part of me… of all of us… we were angry, too.”  “Why didn’t you tell us what your plan was, Starlight?” Rainbow asked, brows pushed together.  Starlight shot her head up; she understood them well, their emotions and their reasons for doing so. They had every right, dang it, and yet they had no right to feel angry when they were drowning in their pity party, waiting for Twilight to die instead of doing something about it.  “We would have gone through Tartarus and back—” said Rarity, Pinkie intruding with, “Ten kajillion times over!”  “For Twilight,” Spike finished.  The one who shot her idea down to begin with. “You basically called me desperate and crazy. What was I supposed to think? Twilight’s life was in danger!” Excuses, excuses, but Starlight had always struggled to break bad habits.  All eyes turned on Spike’s unusually quiet self, Twilight in particular raising a brow, indicating that he omitted this from whatever story he told her. “Don’t you remember, Starlight, when I told you I’d get the girls together so we could discuss your plan? I relented! That was me accepting what you were saying. I told you we were gonna do this together, but you ran out the first chance you had!”  That was... correct. That is what started all of this drama and heartache. This was stupid. This was dumb. What she did was stupid. What she did was really, really dumb.  No.  No.  This couldn’t have been solely her fault. It couldn’t have been. Because if it was, she’d truly be the worst friend to have ever lived.  Starlight’s thoughts scrambled, her reason for being angry with them at all hitting suddenly. Without thinking, she latched onto it: “Then why didn’t you cancel that stupid party immediately?” With those words, a tiny, buried flame was stoked, roaring to life in a raging bonfire. “That’s Twilight’s cutie mark on the Tree of Harmony, for pony’s sake! Above Celestia’s and Luna’s, even! How could you think she was going to die? You’re her best friends.”  “Hey, now—!” Applejack started, only for Spike to wave her off.  “So why were you the only one who could do it?” Spike panted, glaring through his tears. He shrugged off Twilight’s attempt to console and jut a claw at Starlight. “If you really believed this wasn’t the end, then how come you went and threw yourself in the fire without the other five Elements?” Because this was her debt to repay, but such an admission would have kicked the hornets’ nest. “I’ve been playing that conversation on loop. Over and over and over, Starlight.” He balled his fists up upon the table. “It’s bothered me so much, because what you said, it did make a lot of sense. And clearly it paid off… So why didn’t you want us to be a part of it?” Twilight touched her chest. “That’s all we’ve wondered about since it happened,” she said. “That’s all.” ‘And it has me worried sick about you and your twisted brain,’ she implied.  That was easy, though. “I wanted to avoid putting you girls in danger.”  She was met with sad stares all around. ‘Liar,’ they screamed.  “I mean, I didn’t want you to be hurt over my mistake if I was wrong. Like, can you imagine what a fiasco that would be? Eh-heh… um…” Twilight tilted her head, her expression unchanging, completely pitying. “Because, you know, I have been before! Clearly, a-and this’s what friends do! We sacrifice for the good of each other, even if it’s not in our best interests!”  But Twilight said nothing, did not look away. When she sighed, the force of it battered Starlight, almost to the ground she stood on. “There’s a lot I could say to you right now,” she said softly, “but my guilt is not the priority right now. It never should have been.”  “Need I remind you that I didn’t want you feeling guilty for me?” It was such a slap in the face that Starlight almost gave herself one—she would have—if Twilight hadn’t replied in an instant like it was nothing: “And was that, and all of this, in any way connected to your reason behind avoiding us? Denying our sympathy?”  Yes. Of course. Because Starlight, after all, was only doing this to repay Twilight. So she would stop feeling like a burden on her life. So she would stop being a castle squatter who contributed nothing significant but a higher food bill and the occasional migraine-slash-thrill. Look how far I’ve come from that.  “Starlight?” Twilight whimpered, lips wobbling. “Starlight, please tell me the truth. Tell me what’s bothering you, tell me what we’ve done to drive you so far from us.” The space between Starlight and the feast she had interrupted felt like a mile, so far away that her seated friends tilted slightly. “I love you so much, you’ve no idea how crummy, awful, n’ terrible this week’as been! Oh, gosh, I miss you, Starlight!” Spike stroked their choking friend’s wings. Starlight couldn’t even do that much. Not without getting close to the mess she’d made. “It’s so, so clear that there’s some pain you’re hiding from us, and I want to know why! I want to help you, do you understand me? I don’t care how hard it’ll be to understand, or that it’ll show me something you want to hide! You’re one of my best friends, I mean that from the bottom of my heart.” Starlight felt it too, tugging and warm. Like their old races. “Because why else would you call us liars, and then look like a startled filly as soon as the words left your mouth? Why else would you stand there now, several feet away from me with tears in your eyes?! Let go of your pain and your fear, Starlight, I beg you—!”  “Shut up.” Starlight clawed the blurriness from her eyes, only to make it worse. She couldn’t even do that right, much less have a conversation without somepony blowing up. “Just shut up, please.”  “Why else would you try running away?” Fluttershy asked. “Even now?”  “How many times is it now, darling?” asked Rarity. “Four? Five attempts?”   “Please, stop.” Starlight squeezed her eyes shut. “I want you girls to stop. This is all I wanted to say. I didn’t want this to be a big thing, I’m sorry that it did—”  “‘Stop?’” Rainbow was smiling. She scoffed, cocking a brow. “Stop? Stop!” she roared. “What the hay are we stopping, Starlight? You haven’t let us done anything!”  “Rainbow Dash,” Twilight chided.  “I just wanna know what she’s talking about!” Rainbow folded her forelegs. “‘Cause it’s sounding like you want us to stop caring about you altogether. Is it because of your horn? You feel so useless now that you don’t think you’re worth the time of day?! Seriously?! After what I’d told you on that hill?!”  “That’s a terrible thing to say to a friend, Dashie!” Pinkie cried, shooting up.  Rainbow turned right, towards her. “We’ve been bad friends all week, guys, but this we shoulda done from the start.”  This was going to be so much harder than she thought. “I just want you to stop worrying about me. About this. I’m…” This sounded so lame. “I’m fine. With losing my horn. Honestly, I am. And I love that you girls care so much about me. Really, I do. But I never, ever wanted a fuss to have been made about this—”  “Starlight. You began this conversation by saying you didn’t deserve it,” Twilight reminded her brilliant brain. “And that you were angry with us. On top of all that, a part of you has been fleeing from the prospect of your friends helping since the moment you left for Flutter Valley. Even if you’re being completely honest to us and yourself right now, do you really expect us to believe that you’re fine now, and leave it at that?” They were such good friends. Too good for broken adult ponies. “Just do what I ask. Please.”  A stetson hit the table, toppling a half-glass of juice. “Them witches take a part o’ your brain, too?”  “Applejack!” Rarity cried.  “No! Cannit! Starlight, you can’t just ask us to plug our ears an’ cover our eyes, an’ go on pretendin’ this whole last week—this entire back n’ forth—just hadn’t happened. We’d have to be the worst friends in Equestria to turn a blind eye to somethin’ like this!”  Such good friends. They needed to see, to understand. “This is exactly why I’ve been avoiding you girls all week.” Starlight rolled her eyes to the ceiling, to keep her tears in. “Because now you want to know everything, and you won’t rest until your nosy curiosity is satisfied after peeling me layer from layer. It’s annoying.”  “Starlight, listen to what you’re asking of us!” Rarity cried. “It’s simply unrealistic!”  “So were the Witches of Flutter Valley. Do the impossible—and believe me, it is—but that’s just it: believe me. Believe that I’m fine. Look no further than how comfortable I’ve been with Trixie all week. And if you’re so worried, take comfort in the fact that I’m dealing with my problems on my own, just like I always have—”  “Why won’t you let us help you? Let me?” Twilight asked. “You never have. Not until you erred and looked to me for guidance.”  “Because you have no reason to get involved! I’m fine!”  “And we’re back to this,” sighed Spike. “These are things entirely unrelated to my horn!” Starlight winced, and just to put a cherry on top Pinkie said, “Nopony mentioned your horn, ya know.”  “Somepony might think ya aren’t completely fine with it, sugarcube.”  Starlight clapped herself in the face. “Okay, that was bad. That slipped. But-but-but I’ve been seeing friends, and Luna, and Tempest, too, and we’ve talked about it!” Everyone looked doubtful at best, depressed at worst. “And I miss it, obviously I do, and yeah, I’ll be the first to admit that I was lying to myself about how much it affected me, but… But I’m getting better! I’m getting used to it!”  “Don’t you regret it, though?” Fluttershy asked. “Even a little? We completely understand if you do.”  Starlight’s smile dropped, and her heart froze mid-beat. “That doesn’t matter.”  “Of course it matters,” Twilight cried. “Starlight, you’ve been so distant and skittish since you lost your horn. You do everything you can to avoid talking to us, it’s like, like you’re ashamed that it happened at all! Hear my words, Starlight: you aren’t a bad pony for regretting your loss.”  She was ashamed for many reasons, none of which she was ready to tell Twilight, much less these ponies—all of whom barely knew the real Starlight they were attempting to uncover: I mostly regret losing my horn because of my own mistakes, and leaving you girls to pick up the pieces.  “That won’t happen anymore. I promise.” Starlight swallowed. “How do you know?” Twilight asked. No one could know for sure. “We’ve accepted what happened, we’ve talked. The air is clear, so let’s just move on already and get back to normal—” “What is ‘normal?’” Twilight erupted, standing in her seat, gesturing. “Starlight, what does that even mean anymore? If you mean the way things were before I got sick, then that’s never coming back!”  “Why not?!” Starlight screamed. The ceiling she had struggled to hold above her head, the remnants of her old life, was truly unsalvageable now. “Why can’t we at least try?!”  “Because not everypony can ignore their pain like you,” Twilight answered. “Because you lost your horn. For me. I can’t even begin to tell you how bad that makes me feel—” Starlight snatched the opportunity. “So you do hate it, you liar!” Salvation. An opening. A leg-up.  “What?! I wasn’t lying!”  “Now girls—”  Starlight cut Fluttershy off. “Yes you were, I knew it! I knew it! You were lying because you, Princess Twilight Sparkle, couldn’t possibly be known as the pony who took her second chance for granted!” She was looking more appalled and hurt and guilty by the word, and Dash ready to buck somepony. “Admit it!” “Is THAT what you think?! Is that it, Starlight?!” In a harsh flash, Twilight stood before the table, between her friends and Starlight. “That, just because I’m not a hundred percent fine with what you did, I’m suddenly not allowed to feel just a little bit responsible over it? Are you kidding me?!”  “You admitted to being transparent and I’d caught you still lying to me! Like I’m some little foal who can’t take a mistake—”  “A mistake?!” Twilight cried. Shocked friends regarded either one of them. “Starlight you’ve spent all this time boasting how you acted with every intention, that you don’t regret your choice in the slightest—”  “I admitted that I wasn’t being honest—”  In the most halfhearted way possible, as Twilight proceeded, “And then you turn around, casually admit what I’ve been saying for days, but instead of owning up to it in full, you decide to turn around and interrogate me for being dishonest?!” “Well am I right or not?!”  “Yes, you’re right!” Twiliht sobbed, horn spitting sparks. “You’re right in that I didn’t want to seem ungrateful! You’re right in that I lied to myself, and ended up hurting you worse, in my blind ambition of being the greatest Princess of Friendship I could possibly be!” She lashed the tears from her eyes. “You’re right in that I’ve been a terrible friend, and you have every right to be angry at me for letting it get this bad!”  “And by 'this' you mean me, right?!”  “OBVIOUSLY! Because like it or not, Starlight, you’re a troubled pony!” Everypony gasped, Twilight the loudest of all. Tears fell silently around her lip-sealing hoof.  But her true feelings were out. She had always known, and ignored, the fact that Starlight was a broken, messed-up mare. And yet, Starlight didn’t want this. She didn’t want this. She didn’t know what to say and she didn’t want this. She only wanted to know the truth and let them know how she felt. She got it, but she didn’t want it like this. She never had. The world would be better if she just shut her mouth and did nothing forever.  “Okay,” Starlight croaked. “Okay, alright, I understand. Thank you. I understand that you’re mad—”  “We aren’t mad about it, Starlight,” Rainbow cried. “Or at you, neither, we’re just upset! We’re miffed that you can’t trust us with whatever’s going on inside your head—”  “You don’t even know me!” Starlight recongized it as her voice, a hatred-regret mixture burning her insides. “How can I be so open to ponies who thought I’d want something as extravagent and embarrassing and motion-heavy as a massive party?”  “Well ex-cuse us for trying to do something nice for ya!” Rainbow snarled, cracking. “Next time we’ll just ignore you altogether, how about that?”  “You do that anyway, so it wouldn’t have been much different from before all this started...”  “Is that really how you feel, Starlight?” whimpered Fluttershy.  Rainbow squeezed her eyes shut, howled, “You JERK!” and flung a starburst-printed plate at Starlight. It missed her by several feet, but despite this Rarity magically yanked the ear of the pegasus behind her.  “There is never an excuse to assault your friends!” she scolded, to which Rainbow said, “I wasn’t tryna hit her!” before the two erupted in a verbal brawl.  Pinkie, comforting Fluttershy, shot Starlight a pitying glance. “Not for nothing, Starlight, but you didn’t go out of your way to spend time with us, either. We never wanted to pressure you, or be overbearing or annoying or uncomfortable. I guess this week proves why,” she croaked, sniffling into the pegasus pony’s mane.  Starlight was, again, speechless. They were right. Of course they were, and that Starlight was wrong—she was the one who avoided them. Always. And it’s because she didn’t want to be a burden. As if that was an excuse for being a lame friend, and then turning around and calling them such in return.  After everything they’ve done... After all these years of tolerating her and forgiving her... “I’m sorry for causing so much trouble.” She just wanted to crawl in bed and never come out.  Her voice was so hollow that Twilight tore from her own thoughts, to find her best friend and housemate of three years gawking at the floor, tears soundlessly dribbling down her cheeks.  “I think I’ll go now. Bye. Sorry again.” And she turned for the door. Tempest’s haunting words came surging back, once again, for the umpteenth time since this morning.  Starlight might or might not do something bad. Something irreversable. She might, but she also might not. Twilight ought not to mention it, but Starlight was about to leave, just like she left the party, attempted so a second time, and fled from Tempest before all of that.  “Starlight, wait.” She kept walking, fueled by whatever drove her to avoid them before today, when she set out for Flutter Valley, and before all of that, whenever she asked for forgiveness over the most frivolous of transgressions. “Wait!”  Starlight struggled to open the door with both hooves. She let out a cry. Twilight wanted to help her, but also not. A glance to Rarity’s gnawed lip, walled in mascara, indicated a similar internal battle. All of them were now standing from the table, the grief that had gripped them moments ago replaced by worry. “Starlight,” Twilight called.  “Running from your problems won’t solve anything! Just wait!” Rainbow flew forth, almost as fast as her words. “Please! I-I’m sorry for throwing the plate!” Pinkie dashed ahead, leapt, and wrapped around Starlight. “Please don’t go!” Tears flowed from her clenched eyes, as did Starlight’s, even as she struggled.  “Let me go already! Please! I’m sorry!”   “Why? Why, huh?!” Dash croaked, landing beside her. “So you could up an’ run away from us? Or do what you wanted the witches to, and end your stupid life?!”  Starlight went still, Pinkie prying her damp, matted cheek in an instant, donning the most heartbroken look possible as their friend began to hyperventilate. “It’s okay, Starlight.” She reinitiated the hug, to no effect. The room spun round and round. They thought that… Starlight wanted to puke. They knew. How did the know? No, they didn’t think... Tempest, she thought that, from what I… Last night… Tempest.  Told them.  That Starlight wanted to kill herself. Now they’ll never believe she’s okay, and it was her own damn fault. Perhaps Pharynx was onto something with that “suicidal” label.  “That’s enough,” came a rough, smothered voice, before the door Starlight tried so pitifully to open parted enough for a lithe albeit hulking mare to step through. “You’re all poor at this friendship thing, I must say. But I’ll admit that I’m worse.” Fizzle addressed Starlight with the same pitying eyes as all the rest. Even she cared, not for the betrayal, but for Starlight, the one pony in Equestria who seemed to understand her. “I had to tell them, Glimmer. You’re destroying yourself with self-pity, and giving up your horn was symptomatic of a serious mental health problem you can’t go on just ignoring as you have been.” ‘Mental health?’ Destroying myself? That would explain why everypony was so weepy. Starlight had to laugh; leave it to her big mouth to make a bad situation seem worse. It never ended.  She stopped her struggling. Whoever held her—from the sweet aroma, Pinkie Pie—loosened their hold enough for her to shrug out of it.  “Listen to my words very, very carefully,” Starlight uttered softly, then, with a sharp inhale, tore away from Pinkie, Tempest, all those gathered before her. Her audience, for the tragedy that was Starlight Glimmer.  “I don’t hate my life so badly I would do something so awful. I’m scared of dying, for pony’s sake!” They actually thought she wanted such a thing, just out of the blue. “How could you girls? How could you believe I’d feel that way without it being blatantly obvious!?” They really, truly didn’t know her: the most painful revelation all week.  “How can we NOT?!” Twilight cried. “You were willing to end your life! You regret everything you do—”  “So I’m penitent?! I have a conscience? I hold my mistakes close to my heart and my identity!? Piss off!” Starlight defended. Excused. It didn’t matter anymore—only keeping them at foreleg’s reach, away from her broken self. “I was only willing to go as far as I did because that’s what friendship is all about! Nothing more! And I wasn’t going to let any of you risk it too. That’s it. I would rather die before I let something happen to any one of you. Just the thought makes me wanna keel over! If any of you were ever hurt because of me—?”  “And you regret your mistakes so badly, that you have no problem escaping them through the Afterlife?” said Twilight. “Is that a healthy mindset in your opinion?”  Rainbow took a step closer. “How come you never told us you felt this badly?”  “I’m—”  “We’re your friends, you stupid jerk! If you did that, I—”  “BE QUIET ALREADY!” thundered Tempest.  Rainbow shut her mouth, stunned, then snarled silently as she scrubbed her eyes.  Embraced in silence, Fizzle exhaled gently, and became the only pony in the room to have regarded Starlight with the respect her foalish insecurity had always wanted. “Explain yourself.”  She had no choice. Running was not an option anymore, despite how badly she wanted it. “Twilight, you’re…” Starlight looked to her hooves, their owner sucking in air, certainly thinking she was the cause of this ‘suicidal’ mindset. “I swear… I swear, I swear… that losing my life is just about the last thing I wanna do. But even so, I was and still am willing to stare fearlessly in the face of it if it meant saving your life. There’s nothing more to it. You might deny it and cover it up but you’re more important than any of us. You’re worth it. Don’t you see that?”   Twilight closed her parted lips, swallowing. She blinked the tears from her eyes and hoarsely uttered, “That’s not true.” An inhale, and then, “I’m no more important than anypony.”  Starlight glanced toward the rest. “What do you have to say about that, girls?” They all balked. It said more than an outright denial ever could. When she settled on Spike, he couldn’t even meet her eyes—even he knew it. Fizzle actually nodded.  “Girls!” Twilight cried, betrayed for having her self-assured lie finally broken.  “I mean, she’s not wrong, Twilight.” Rainbow Dash landed between them. “You’re a princess, and… I mean, you saw how many bodies were at your last party. You’re a friend to a-lotta ponies.”  “I’m not more important than any one of you," she echoed like a broken record. “Fate would have you believe otherwise.” Starlight shrugged. “Why do you think this all happened the way it did, Twilight?”  A shake of the head. “No.” Faster. “No, I refuse to let that be reality!” she said with a stomp. “I didn’t want you sacrificing yourself for me, that’s not what I taught you!”  “Yes you did,” Starlight said, startling her teacher. “You saved me, Twilight. I mean that—you saved me. I could have lived the rest of my life bitter and hateful but believe it or not, you gave me something so special that it makes me, well, it makes me wanna cry honestly, whenever I think about it. You trusted me with your life, in your home, with your trust—me… somepony who inflicted misery upon hundreds of versions of yourself and your friends, all in the name of blind revenge for making me see a truth I didn’t want to believe: that I was woefully wrong, and that I was only hurting ponies. Not helping them. That’s… that’s a debt I was never able to repay, until now.”  “Starlight…” Twilight’s eyes welled anew. “I… I knew you were good. I knew you just needed a friend. It was-it was easy! But this? This, I-I-I never wanted this! I never wanted you to give up your life for me! If you did, I-I would’ve felt awf—”  “Awful, horrible, responsible, yes, but you would have lived. You would have been able to save tons of more ponies.” Starlight blinked her tears away, hardened her face so as not to look disgusting. “Stallions and mares,” she croaked, “fillies and colts who are much more salvageable than me.”  Twilight said nothing. Did nothing. She just shut her eyes, breast throbbing with muffled sobs. “I hate this,” she said. “I hate that you’re right about me and I hate being the cause of your misery. I hate that you keep talking down about yourself, and I hate… this. I just hate this so much, Starlight. What happened to us?” Starlight took a breath—”Is there no fixing this?”  “Like you tried fixing things with Draggle? Or dark magic?” She was a lot like Starlight in the worst ways possible—luckily, Twilight had true friends by her side to stop her from making such rash decisions, and they all glared to her as one.  But Twilight ignored them all as she stepped forward. “Tell me, Starlight, since you seem to have all the answers: how are we supposed to go on living normally, like you wanted, knowing you think so lowly about yourself?”  The half-a-million bit question. Starlight shut her eyes and donned a smile. “By getting a life and living it instead of butting into mine, of course.” When she regarded them again, they all looked mortified, save for Fizzle, who nodded once more. “Your efforts are always appreciated, I mean that. But they don’t help at all, if I’m being honest.”  “So, what?” Twilight stomped closer, glaring through her tears. “So we’re just going to move on, taking what was said today, all your emotional suffering, and just ignore it? Do you actually see how poorly that’s worked out for you this week?!”  Twilight was yelling. It was scary and yet she was doing it out of love. Starlight looked away, inhaled, hardening herself. “That’s been the plan, for most of my life, actually. But know that there’s a fine difference between being happy about something and just accepting it like the laws of physics. I was always being serious, you know, when I said I was ‘fine’ with my horn being gone. Not ‘okay,’ but ‘fine.’ Fine as in, if this is how it has to be, then so be it. I knew I could learn. I knew I would adjust. And even now I know that with time, the loneliness in being cut off from magic, and the utter humiliation in having to relearn how to live, would fade, too.”  “Just like your guilt?” Twilight sniffled. “Because that’s clearly faded.”  “What the hay are you trying to prove here, Princess?” This was getting tiresome—not just Twilight recoiling to every other response, but Starlight snapping and blurting out something thoughtless. “Are you trying to prove that I’m actually miserable, and that your efforts bothering me about it are all justified?”  “N-no!” Twilight’s stammering told the truth.  “I knew it. You girls were being just as desperate as I was, I can tell. Letting your grief blind you to the obvious: that I would absolutely hate making the Gourd Fest about me. That I’d hate how all of Ponyville had to uproot their lives just to make me happy, when I don’t even know half their names. Do you realize how awkward I felt last night? Having to pretend that they didn’t waste their time?” Starlight scoffed. This, all of it, was so very absurd. “And you’re appalled that I wanted to leave so badly. And this, right here is why I don’t want you girls helping me anymore. I’m broken. I can never not make a rash judgement when it’s imperative that I don’t. I’m just… like this. And I can’t help it, no matter how hard I try.” “Starlight.” A hoof touched her shoulder, and glistening violet eyes met her. “You are not broken. No matter your mistakes, or how much you fail, you keep going. You right your wrongs. You’ve become stronger for it since coming under my tutelage. I mean that. You’re simply flawed. Just like me.”  My flaws are greater. More damaging, and hurtful. Yet after all of this, she truly thought Starlight was a good pony. She was never going to stop. Starlight had to: “Do you promise not to worry over me? That things will just go back to normal?”  Silence. Exchanged glances. This wasn’t going to work, they were going to fight more, argue, scream and cry—“If that will make you comfortable, I guess we have no choice,” said Twilight, never breaking her stare.  All chimed in on their agreements.  And Starlight wondered why this somehow felt worse. Did she just exhaust them into submission? They would always remember how sudden and extreme Starlight could be, though. They’ll always worry about her, so long as she was around. When she was with them, they would walk on eggshells around her. This was so obvious, if they ever found out the truth about her: that she was a burden not worth their time. It was always going to change the nature of their relationship, and now it has.  It didn’t feel broken, though. Merely hanging by a thread. Time will tell, Starlight supposed.  “Thank you Twilight. You’re one of my best friends. I mean that.”  “I love you, Starlight.”  Starlight felt gutted, and her lips smiling. “Yeah, you too,” she said a little too quickly. And turned.  Now she had to walk away.  Face heated, Starlight left, heart hammering without pause.  And that was it. Just like that. A week of constant worry and sleepless nights, culminating in a single conversation where Starlight pointed out the obvious.  That they hardly knew her, because they never made the effort to understand her. To realize how uncomfortable she always was around them—at least, enough not to be as open as with Trixie.  Twilight wasn’t jealous, though. She was too tired for that. Simply put, she was the bad friend here, and that, intentional or not, had changed their relationship forever. Now, whenever they were together, Starlight would be walking on eggshells, wondering if Twilight was thinking her feeble, like she needed special treatment. An awful part of Twilight still wanted to give that, doubting Starlight’s incredible inner strength.  She cared too much, and it smothered Starlight. It hurt her. Damaged their friendship.  Perhaps, as she’d said, with time things will get better. But for now…  “Anypony else feel like we lost the big game?” Rainbow asked. Scanning their group, it seemed that Fizzlepop had slipped away without so much as a farewell. What did she think of all this? Whose side was she on?  Did she realize Starlight’s friendship with them was a lost cause? The thought was horrible, too horrible, so horrible that Twilight wanted to— “I can’t do this, girls.” She felt like she’d been stabbed angrily in the heart.  “I know,” Pinkie choked, flopping down. “I know, I know. This feels just so wrong, like this sort of thing shoulda never happened to us… Losing. But it has. I guess our luck was gonna run out eventually, right?” “Pinkie…” Even she, their ever-peppy relief, was despondant over this.  Only for her to leap up a second later, startling all present. “But ya know what? Ya know? Here’s some o’ that ‘perspective’ for all’a ya, and I just kinda got hit in the brain with it, too. Are ya ready?”  “Please, Pinkie-darling, say it. Say anything to lighten this dreary mood,” moaned Rarity.  “Right-o,” she chirped. “Well, even though we have each other, and we always pull through for the big win? We ourselfie-selves kinda… don’t. Not always! I sure don’t. And it’s usually one of our faults when something screws up, which I know you girls understand: that the seven of us, we fail ourselves a lot.” Applejack nodded, Rarity lowered her gaze and ears. “Yeah, it’s kinda awful. It stings bad. Cuz there’s nopony more disappointed in us than ourselves. And Granny Pie always told me that we’re our own worst critics, to make me feel better about that. But… it doesn’t change how scared we are. Of other ponies being just as mean as we are when failing ourselves. Starlight’s feeling this worse than anypony, y’know, and we failed as her friends in so many ways. But when we let ourselves down, whenever Starlight does, well, you’re my guest stars. What do we all do? Every time? Hm? Hm?”  Nopony said anything. And then, an inhale beside Twilight. “I move on. And try to learn,” mumbled Spike.  “Ding-ding, Spikey.” Pinkie reeled him into a hug, which he somberly, gratefully accepted. “We grow, that’s what we do.”  “Pick ourselves up by the bootstraps,” said Applejack, coming up and wrapping a foreleg around the two. “Yeah. That sounds about right. Didn’t ever wanna bother my family too much when we had our own hardships to worry about. And sometimes that was sorta my undoin’, just like with Starlight today. Why, mine was a might worse when Ma and Pa…” Her face fell, then the brim of her stetson, only for Applejack to realize she left it on the table, soaking in orange juice.  She smiled tearfully to Pinkie, who took her by the hoof. “We swallow our hurt as a lesson, to avoid it next time. We live and move on… In super-blunt terms, we get ourselves a life and live it. Just like Starlight told us to. And over time, things will get back to feeling normal, I think.”  “But what is there to save now, Pinkie?” Twilight wondered. “Starlight, she…” Hated them now.  “She doesn’t hate us.”  “Wh-what?” Did she mutter something without meaning to?  “I know what you’re thinking,” Pinkie explained. “Because I’m thinking it, too. And so are all of you. But I promise you, Starlight doesn’t hate us. She loves us so, so, so-so-much. She loves us so bad that it hurts. It hurt so bad, she got angry at us because we didn’t return it in full. And because of this, we damaged our friendship with her. Us. Not her.”  Twilight felt a little offended. “Now that’s not—”  “But it’s still there. She told us what she wants, girls, and so we’ll do what we always do: we’ll carry this with us forever, and never make that same mistake again. We move on, and we live. Cuz Starlight already has.”