“I was afraid I might go back to the pony I used to be. But I realize that, sometimes, you don’t have a choice. You have to step up. And I have changed! I can handle it.”
VI
Magic
The Broken Bond
Starlight’s gone.
She ran away.
She ended all her friendships.
I wasn’t a pony she could talk to honestly.
Starlight’s gone because of me.
She’s alone because of me.
She’s suffering because of me.
I don’t deserve this castle, these wings or these friends.
I don’t deserve her happiness, her horn, or a second—
A crash of thunder rolled overhead. The front doors. Someone must have forgotten to shut them. Fizzle must have seen and slammed them with all her might—she’d left upon realizing Starlight had been long-gone.
That she’d left hours ago.
Twilight left her for hours instead of comforting her after such a horrible fight with Maud and Trixie, preferring instead to fester in her own guilt.
Was Starlight so different? She, like Twilight, believed themselves to be acting in the interests of others, when the town’s worth of crestfallen, saddened ponies said otherwise. It made Twilight think, would she end up like Starlight down the line? Was she ready to carve out her wings as recompense for this surreal nightmare?
The thought sent prickling-hot terror surging down her legs, hitched her breathing. Goodness, no. What would her friends think?
A second, even more chilling though, struck Twilight: Was that the one thing keeping Starlight in my home? A slew of others galloped forth, a byproduct of an analytical brain juiced by pressure of society expectations: Was it after losing her horn, or even longer? Did believing she lost those friendships egg on this behavior? Could we’ve done more to lessen these fears? Did our avoidance exacerbate them?
Twilight clenched her teeth, swallowing despair, refusing to let it out.
Muffled hoofbeats erratically pummeled the silence, dogging Twilight as she led them… somewhere. Wherever this corridor took them, her hooves walked them. Who knew, who cared? There was nothing left them, nothing but the gutted feeling Starlight left behind.
Why did they still follow? Why her? Why was she worth so much to Starlight—?
“Twilight.” Spike, soft of tone, pat her barrel. “Twi, somepony came into the foyer.”
She didn’t hear what he said. She did, but she wasn’t listening. It was probably important. “Okay.” Twilight glanced behind her, where five pairs of eyes pointed to the floor, as ruddy as dying coals with about as much luster. Rainbow wasn’t even flying. Pinkie’s mane hung heavy, a greyed curtain.
Exhausted. Heartbroken. Regrettable. These were the words a foal would use to describe their faces, but a surface level was all Twilight could manage before focusing on the crystal maze ahead, pushing their pain out of mind for the sake of competently leading them to wherever she was going.
A soft flutter of gasps resurfaced behind her. “I can’t believe she’s gone… If, if I just—”
“Consarnit!” Applejack had demanded back outside, then she asked. Now, she begged Fluttershy, “Quit fussin’ about it, t’ain’t nopony’s fault! She chose to move on, for corn’s sake, nopony made that girl leave!”
“Have a little heart, Applejack!” Rarity, as furious about it as she was, and just as heartbroken as Fluttershy, kept herself confined to ladylike weeping. “We don’t all boast a heart of stone, you know.” Those two were the only ones who cried audibly, and stopped upon completing what felt like a years-long journey to the castle.
“S’not like she’s buried six feet under. Y’all’re actin’ like she’s gone-gone.”
Fluttershy’s crying became wailing. Twilight wanted to join her, to just sit down and let loose, but her hooves wouldn’t stop moving, and if they did they might never move again. Rarity scoffed. “Must you be so insensitive?!”
“I ain’t tryin’ to be! But that pony’s been one tangled ball o’ demons since the day we met ‘er. I love our friend, I really do. But the day she slandered our good will was the day I realized that this was only a matter o’ time. She hated bein’ here, gals. Hated our efforts, hated the imaginary manure she’s been shoveling about us to justify it… She wanted out. It stings. Stings like nothin’ else, not since Ma and Pa passed. But this’s just like that time. My advice? These things happen, and it’s easier for everypony the quicker you move on.”
Nopony objected. Fluttershy snuffled her cries. And then, a soft, squeaky little voice piped up. “Starlight hurt badly enough to wanna hide her feelings, too.” Pinkie’s, it had to be, albeit as sharp as used sandpaper. “Look where she is now, Applejack.”
“Somewhere alone and despising herself.” Muffled hoofbeats followed Twilight’s uplifting remark, or perhaps Applejack was disquieted by Pinkie’s haunting allusion, and the rest submerged into reflection.
What a mess. They were a mess. “Twilight Sparkle!” Starlight was a mess, and she left with the intention of never, ever being found. Nothing was going to be right again, Twilight couldn’t see herself ever forgetting this. “Hey! I’m talking to you, Princess!” How would she carry on with her duties, pretending her disastrous attempt at healing Starlight wasn’t hanging overhead?
“Twilight,” Spike muttered with a pat. Startled, she realized he kept in pace, never letting his claw leave her side. But he stared behind them, alongside everypony else, to where Trixie stood at the corridor’s threshold. Baggy eyes and a star-spangled nightcap suggested she appeared straight from bed. But who told—?
Maud. Arriving last by virtue of her “Maud Sense,” she was truly speechless after Twilight broke the news to her, but far from emotionless—her eyes wide, disbelieving, didn’t lessen as she simply turned and left. Pinkie was little more than a fly to her after that.
She couldn’t believe what she heard, yet she didn’t question it once, or object to it either. Notions which hurt, but Twilight would be lying if she said she didn’t feel the same. None of us are surprised.
But it hurt, worse than anything Twilight felt before.
“I said,” Trixie told the heavens, “How DARE YOU STAND THERE LOOKING SORRY FOR YOURSELVES, when STARLIGHT IS OUT THERE, feeling HORRIBLE AND ALONE?!”
Six pairs of weepy eyes turned to Twilight. I guess I have to say it. Sighing, her bones screaming, heart wailing, Twilight’s hooves dragged her towards Trixie. “You’re more than welcome to prove that dedication to her yourself.” She stopped between Rainbow and AJ.
Trixie snarled, stomped the carpet. “For Celestia’s sake, you’re not even going to try?”
“I’ve tried for weeks,” said Twilight, enunciating every word. “I’ve done everything I could think of. The reality is Starlight’s done now, with this, us, I suppose her life here, too.”
Trixie knit her brows. “So, that’s it, then? You’re just writing her off as a lost cause?”
“She did for you. For all of us.” Twilight groaned, shutting her eyes as an ache blossomed beneath her horn. “I don’t have the will, the energy, the anything to spar with you right now, Trixie. I’m done. I’m done. Understand?”
Trixie closed her parted lips. Eyes glistening, she said, “I don’t, if I’m being honest. Starlight consulted a ridiculous foal’s story, was lucky enough to have her crackpot theory confirmed, all so she could save your pitiful self. I can’t believe you’re giving up on her after that.”
It felt like Trixie was right, but Twilight felt horrible as opposed to apathetic. She loathed herself to the last atom, hearing that.
She still cared. And part of her hated it, the waste of energy and tears. The rest screamed Starlight’s name, her memory, her smile and her laugh, her sacrifice, her fears, the thought of how awful she must have felt, right now and earlier—to be driven to this level.
Twilight forgot all the rules of social politeness, and screamed for Trixie Lulamoon to shut the hay up. “I have not! I will never forget about Starlight, nor would I give up on her if there’s even a chance of getting her back! But we live in reality, Trixie. And in reality she left us without so much as a letter. Not even a goodbye. Not to me, and certainly not to you. She had a ridiculously honest clone take her place, as if I’d have never realized it after one conversation! This is the reality, Trixie: Starlight is somewhere out there, feeling awful, yes, and yes, completely alone… and she, who felt like a burden on you and me and everypony who knew her name, wanted it that way. That was preferable in her mind than us spending our time caring about her.”
“But we do! We do care about her! How can she think otherwise?!”
“That, I’ve been wondering for about a month. I really, really have. My best theory, my only theory, is Starlight didn’t think so. And the reason for that, at its core, is we made her feel this way. All of us. And we tried to help, but our good intentions were, at best, scripted lines she didn’t allow herself to buy. I’m sorry, Trixie. This was the end result of our efforts—we didn’t understand Starlight, and our hubris, our fear of that reality, blinded us to the signs that she was, and always has been, a dark and troubled pony.”
Still as stone Trixie stood, lips parted and trembling. “You,” she breathed, “you shut up right now…”
“Scout every corner of Equestria if you want, you certainly have the freedom to do that and I encourage it. If nothing else, it might prove to Starlight just how much you care about her.” Twilight exhaled. “But I’m just done, Trixie. I have nothing left in me, no room for tragedy, no more heart left to break, as melodramatic as that sounds… I’d just go crazy if I put myself through more. And that would do nothing but make her feel worse.”
Sniffling, Trixie held her head up high. Technicolor stars from the crystal mobiles strung about glittered in her eyes. “Lucky for all of us, the Great and Powerful Trixie is severely lacking in the sanity department.” Twilight didn’t get a chance to process that before she vanished in a flash of pink light.
“Trixie…” Whatever she had planned, Twilight hoped her unbelievably strong spirit would persist if she failed. It’s no wonder she and Starlight made such a strong pair.
A prickling, blurring sensation overtook her vision. Twilight whirled, stormed ahead, eyes squeezed shut. “Go home, girls.”
Rainbow scoffed. “Yeah, right.” They followed, refusing to leave alone Twilight like this, or perhaps they themselves didn’t want to be. Neither did Applejack—it was telling.
Either way, Twilight was thankful. She would set beds, but perhaps a warm “cuddle puddle” was sorely needed.
So Twilight walked. She didn’t know where, but it wasn’t the place she spent most of her time instead of Starlight’s bedroom, or even her door.
Oh, gosh. A cry exploded forth, and her legs paddled in a full gallop. What am I going to do about her bedroom?
“Uh, why are we here?” It was as much a bafflement to Twilight as it was to Spike.
“There ain’t no mission we gotta go on, right?” So what if they did? And when has Applejack ever begrudged hard work?
“Is… is it possible you can find Starlight via the Map, Twilight?” asked Rarity. “Is that why you brought us here?”
Rainbow spat laughter. “That thing’s never been helpful! You think it’s suddenly gonna do something for us now?”
“It’s worth a try if nothing else,” said Fluttershy. “Maybe… I don’t know, maybe the Elements could work, if there isn’t a spell Twilight can use?”
“Yeah, I think I got a ‘rainbow laser’ in me,” said Pinkie. “That’s what we’re doing, right? Rainbow lasering it? Those are at the Tree of Harmony, Twilight. We gotta get ‘em, first.”
A buckball-sized lump refused to go down. Nothing Twilight could say felt sufficient, or worthy of their dedication; even now, they clung to hope more so than her. Yet, some part of her still approached the crystalline double doors. Is my subconscious desperately trying to save Starlight?
The smooth, gleaming doors parted suddenly. Twilight’s mane stirred from a sudden draft, flowing towards where Rainbow appeared before her bolt-emblazoned throne.
“Hold your horses, Dash,” said AJ.
She shook her head. “Can’t,” she rasped, clearing her throat, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Trixie’s right.” Rainbow laid her hooves upon the Cutie Map’s smooth surface. “Starlight would move mountains for us. Yeah, she’s made a big stupid mistake, but who hasn’t? We suck just as hard.”
“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Rarity muttered, Pinkie adding at equal volume, “I would, personally.”
“And even then, Starlight’s loyal to the core,” said Dash. “And I’m not gonna roll over and accept that she’s just gone forever without a fight. So, Twilight, do your thing!” But Twilight didn’t have a—”Girls? Are you with us?”
I don’t have a “thing!” A small, cheering army rose up behind Twilight, enveloped her in words and warmth as marched ahead, taking place at their respective thrones. A warm, gentle weight lingered on her back, combed her mane.
“Trust ‘em, Twi. Whatever you had planned, it’s worth a shot,” said Spike. The girls nodded, every one of them smiling despite the pain radiating from their eyes.
Waiting.
For her to do her “thing.” Her brilliant, well-thought-out “thing.”
Rarity’s face fell. “Twilight, darling?”
“Is something wrong?” Fluttershy approached two steps.
Following her their hope died, one after another. Twilight couldn’t bear the sight, the thought that she gave them false hope. “I… I’m sorry, girls. I don’t actually have a thing.”
“Twilight,” started Rainbow.
“I don’t even know why I brought us here!”
“Yo, Egghead!”
“What?!” Twilight slapped a hoof over her mouth.
Rainbow either hid it well or she didn’t care that Twilight just snapped. “Don’t start. Don’t even. Start. There’s no way I’m gonna become a sad-sack like when you got sick.”
Rarity flicked her full, gleaming mane. “Nor will I. Trixie’s conviction has moved me. I don’t plan on spending the rest of my evenings upon my Fainting Couch, regretting not having done more when Starlight surely would have.”
“And me neither!” said Pinkie, her mane beginning to curl. “We’ll spend the next forever or two looking far and wide for that silly-filly!” A short, sharp gasp. “I’ll bring snacks!”
“I’ll help, too.” Fluttershy propped herself upon the table. “Though I hope none of you mind me having to leave to feed my animal friends, or if I bring a critter or two back with me.”
“Aw, shoot.” Applejack flicked her stetson up, her eyes bright and green. “The more the merrier. I’ll lend a hoof on the ground, round up some folk when we got a direction to go in.”
What did they think they were going to do here? “You girls do realize I don’t have a plan, right?” And even if she did… the Map wasn’t going to be of any help.
“Why so hopeless?” Rainbow cried. “You heard all that destiny malarky Starlight was spouting! How can we just accept that this is the end? That we walked here for no reason?” Twilight couldn’t believe anypony, let alone Rainbow, was the one making the most sense out of this.
Every instinct, every ounce of logic, was screaming for Twilight to turn around and go to bed. But the weight on her back was gone, Spike sprinted ahead, and shouted “For Starlight!” The girls echoed his cry. They were doing this, and without her wasn’t an option.
It wasn’t.
Not to them.
And not to Twilight.
She appeared beside him again in a literal flash. Before them, a glorified table.
This was ridiculous. And crazy.
So was Starlight. And Twilight. Pinkie, Rainbow, Rarity could be called such. Even Trixie, Maud, and Sunburst. Firelight. Tempest.
So many ponies who would go to any length to help Starlight, forgive every transgression a non-friend would hold against her. They loved her and, though she demonstrated it an occasionally twisted way, she loved them on a level incomparable. It was high time they repaid her in full.
The key must have lied in the table that never helped, not once. That was its purpose and theirs, right here and right now. For when there was a great need, a friendship that needed fixing…
“Please.” Twilight had nothing else to give, to do, but lay her hooves upon the frigid surface. “I never asked for anything from you. Not once. I’ve done everything you needed me to, and I ‘ve done so wholeheartedly, without complaint.” What was she even speaking to, if not the witches? Twilight refused to dwell, because Starlight was out there alone and hating herself. “But now, just this once, I need you. Do this one thing for me, and I’ll… I’ll never hide my fears again.”
“Please.” Pinkie braced herself against the Map. “Let us have our friend back. I Pinkie Promise I’ll do the same,” she added under her breath, going through the motions.
“She doesn’t deserve what she’s enduring as we speak,” said Rarity, adding a daintily-placed hoof. She swallowed audibly. “Least of a soul far more generous and less judgemental than one such as I.”
Fluttershy practically slammed both forehooves and her wings as well. “I’ll never let my fears control me again.”
“And I’ll give my danged back-left if you swindlin’ freaks are listenin’ now.” Applejack pinned her stetson upon the table with chilling conviction.
A feeble chuckle from Rainbow, and a smirk to match. “I’ll take that offer and raise ya two wings.”
“Starlight’s gonna be so mad about this,” chuckled Spike. “But who cares, right Twi?”
From side to side, six fragile smiles beamed warm upon Twilight’s heart. “Everypony...” All of these sacrifices they were willing to make, despite how grim and impossible the odds felt. “The magic of friendship has never let us down, something I lost sight of in my throes of self-pity—”
“Twilight, add your hooves to the friendship moment already!” Pinkie cried. Chuckles arose all around, even fluttering in Twilight’s breast.
She found her hoof already upon the Map. “I want her to make the decision,” said Twilight, to the nodding of her friends, “knowing full-well that we love her, that we always have, and that she has nothing to fear from us. Nothing to doubt. I’ve been trying and failing to keep her in our good graces, when I should have focused on what Starlight truly wanted. Not I. Whether she returns home or not doesn’t matter to me. I just want Starlight to love herself—because she’s more than worthy of that if nothing else.”
And the Map answered, expelling a gust of magic, bellowing as great as a whale. Blossoming from the center, light formed a bed of mountains, plateaus, townships and rivers—Equestria. Witches or not, Starlight was somewhere in their domain, and someone was helping them.
Someone was helping them!
Twilight held her breath as the image flickered against its efforts, as if struggling to remain awakened in some desperate bid against destiny.
“Uh, has it ever done this, y’all?” said Applejack, keeping her hooves planted.
As did Fluttershy, wings and all. “Oh, wait!” she cried. “Look! I think I see words forming.” Indeed, the Map’s image became less with every shuddering beat, letters appearing in its place instead.
“Well, what’s it say?” Rainbow cried, swaying left and right. “I can’t read it from this angle.”
“Uh…” Applejack scratched her mane. “‘Somethin’-you.’ What’s that first ‘un mean, ya reckon? Ain’t that Old Ponish?”
“None that I’ve ever seen.” Twilight had a pretty good idea what it meant, though, and even who it was from.
In proud, gold letters, the Map presented the words, “FUCK YOU.”
Then the magic went dark.
Rounding a corner nearly brought her muzzle to muzzle with Firelight, his face twisted in fury, glowing not solely from the luster of his horn. “Excuse me, Princess,” he snarled, his suitcase settling down. “I appreciate your hospitality but it’s best I’d be on my way.”
A mare roared from down the hall, “How can you not even care?!” Fizzle came storming into view, teeth gritted as a starved carnivore’s, fighting for the sake of it. “Your own daughter, fleeing without a trace! And you have the nerve to suggest she’s in a healthy state of mind?!”
“I said no such thing!” Firelight snapped, throwing his voice down the hall. “But I will not accept an insult to her mother’s name from a pony so selfish she didn’t once consider the lives ruined in her quest for contentment! You are in no place to judge, kiddo.”
Fizzle towered directly over the dauntless father, living up to her namesake with eyes piercing her dark disposition. “I did consider them, and I didn’t care. That’s the difference between your backstabbing foal and me.”
Firelight smirked. “No, sweetums. The difference between you, the one that matters, is my Starlight cares who she’s hurting, even when she’s wrong about it. Not because she’s angry at a world she has more reason than you to despise.”
“You dare—?”
“I can, I will. She empathizes, an alien concept to you, clearly, but that’s not to say I misunderstand your pain.”
“You understand nothing.”
Twilight reached for Firelight. “Tempest—”
“I feel just as betrayed, just as confused, and angrier than you can even imagine.” He stepped out of range. “Believe it or not, I feel the same as you, right now. I’m not blaming her, though, and I can tell that you only want to. You failed her, as have I. But I’m not looking for someone to pin the blame on.”
She grit her teeth. “You’re weak. You pathetic old stallion—”
“Tempest, that’s enough!” Rarity cried, and was ignored.
“—you’re too feeble to level your daughter with punishment. Probably never have. No wonder she listens to nopony.”
“Ah, see? Now you’ve moved back to blaming my parenting.” There was unimaginable pain behind his wobbling smirk. “I feel for you. I truly do. To have walked the path you have must’ve entailed quite the lonely foalhood.”
“Get out of here!” Tempest’s forehooves thundered down the hall, rattled Twilight’s heart. “When it comes down to it, you’re the reason she’s like this! Think about that as you return home to your comfy, stable life, you conceited mule of a pony!”
Firelight nodded, then turned to regard Twilight and the others. “I’m so sorry,” she said. Nothing change how this turned out, or lessen the pain Firelight was feeling, or make up for their responsibility in all of this.
A hoof firmly clapped her on the shoulder. Surprised, and even more so, Twilight found Firelight had donned a smile. “You’re all wonderful ponies. You might not think it now, but you gave my little Starlight the greatest years of her life.”
“How can you tell?” Pinkie muttered.
His eyes twinkled. “She never left Ponyville without a friend until tonight. And if that’s not enough, when we spoke earlier—” behind him, Tempest’s face wrenched with pain and frustration; these had been speaking for a while about a great many things, clearly, “—she wouldn’t stop talking about her friends. How they’ve tried, and what she did to them… she cared about you more than she did herself. Please, if she doesn’t ever come back then, please, don’t sour her memory thinking she couldn’t care less. You were her entire world.”
Twilight couldn’t think beyond how angry she felt, couldn’t feel beyond the roaring pain in her chest. Firelight’s words struck her deep like a shot of Starlight’s magic during their countless duels, deadly accurate but ten times more painful than their lost and hurting friend would ever allow in the heat of battle.
“She wouldn’t have left like this,” seethed Tempest, “if what you’re saying is right.”
Firelight cast a pitying glance over his shoulder, and leaned close while pulling Twilight toward him so he could whisper, “This one has a lot to learn about friendship, your highness.”
Twilight gasped, pulling away. “I wish we could have been worthy for her.”
Firelight huffed pityingly, moving to dry her tears. He had a fatherly touch. “Don’t think like that. You were more than enough for her.” Not an ounce of resentment colored his words. He was truly Starlight’s father.
Twilight tried to obey his one request. She really, really did, with all her might. But a guilty sob burst forth. “I miss her so much.”
“I know she feels the same.” Twilight wasn’t certain of that, but she wouldn’t voice such a baseless, emotion-fueled assumption. With silence reigning, Firelight released her shoulder. “I have to gallop, ladies. Sorry to say.” His suitcase floated beside him. “I got a train to catch, and a life to return to.”
“Hey.” Fizzlepop held her head high, her eyes glistening with frustration. “You’re only content because you know she’ll always have you. Think about that on your way home.”
Twilight was ready to scold her bodyguard, was going to, if Firelight wasn’t smiling as he shook his head. “I’m content because my daughter made a decision that would bring peace to herself down the line. I’m sorry if I come off as uncaring of your heartache, ladies. Believe me when I say that I know how you feel. I know what it’s like to feel responsible for her choices, and then angry, both at yourself and her.” Tempest glared aside as he regarded her. “All I ever wanted for Starlight was for her to be happy, and if this is what it takes then I have no choice but to accept it and hope that she is.” He returned to Twilight. “I hope you see it that way, too. One day.”
Twilight couldn’t think, only feel. Angry and regrettable and hollow altogether: Firelight was a better friend of Starlight than she could ever hope to be. The best Twilight offered was a tight, wing-encompassing embrace. “Have a safe ride home, Firelight. I hope so, too.”
Nodding one last time, they watched as he left in a hurry. Twilight’s concern and hurt stretched beyond her own as an icy presence lingered behind them. Fizzlepop hadn’t moved a muscle, head turned away, except for her muzzle having tilted to the floor, eyes wrenched shut.
She was incredibly vicious and rude to Starlight’s father. But she was hurting on a level even Twilight could barely comprehend: she lost the one and only friend who truly understood her, and was thrown aside once again like she was nothing. “Fizzle—”
“Don’t you dare call me that. Never again.” Twilight didn’t see the blue of her eyes again as Fizzlepop turned around marched off. “I’ll be in my quarters. Don’t hesitate to see me if the matter is urgent.”
In a wasteland speckled with patches of brown, dying grass, Starlight collapsed, her belly groaning and caved into her barrel.
Those who spectated her giggled among the howling winds, delighted to have finally reached this point.
“T-T-Twi-light!” Pinkie cried. “Your heinie is glowing!”
“Huh?” Twilight could barely hear.
“It’s your cutie mark!” said Rarity. “The Map, i-it’s—!”
Sparkling. Humming. Against logic and the crushing force within her chest, something uplifting surged within Twilight, through her horn, and brought forth images of that not-useless table.
With this image in mind, and those of her friends beside her, Twilight brought herself and her friends to the Cutie Map. She forgot to close her eyes as the flash of magic blinded her.
“No way,” she heard Rainbow breathe, spots of lilac still fading from Twilight’s eyes.
“But why now?” said Applejack.
Two starbursts encircled one another endlessly above an icy plane nestled within snow-bearded mountains.
“I’m sorry, girls.” Twilight had nothing of value to add. Nothing more to do. Nothing except teleport to the Frozen North, to where a magical beacon of sorts signaled her to Starlight Glimmer’s blinking cutie mark. “I’m sorry, but I have to—”
“Go.” Pinkie smiled weakly, color returning to her curling mane once more, albeit slow and hesitantly. “We’ll see you girls real soon.”
“But I wanna—!” Applejack touched Rainbow’s flared wing, lowering it but not her apallment by this cruel development.
“I do, too,” she said. “I sure as shoot wanna tag along. But they need to more, I reckon.” One by one, they regarded the Cutie Map, and met Twilight with reassuring smiles.
She loved them all so much. “We’ll be back soon,” said Twilight, approaching them for one last group hug.