//------------------------------// // VI.III - This "Feeling" Magic // Story: The Broken Bond // by TheApexSovereign //------------------------------// The first thing Starlight felt was a mighty shock all over. Her breast tore out with a shrill gasp, like she just plunged into a below-freezing pool.  A second passed, then her sweat-slick body acclimated. A refreshing coolness enveloped Starlight, sighing her gasp as it warmed.  Magenta spots danced before the amber-bathed glow of Ponyville. Starlight blinked several times, chest churning all over again despite the tenderness settled on her back.  Twilight retracted her wing, turning with a smile that dispelled Starlight’s anxiety, mostly. “Is this far enough?”  “Y-yeah, yeah. I’m still not ready to see your—I mean our friends, if I’m being honest. I need time to reflect,” said Starlight, tapping her temple—crusted and smelling of dirt. “Ugh, and a bath.” She shook her hoof of the filth, like that made her less dirty.  “We can teleport to your room, if you’d like.” Twilight sidled up beside her. “I get it, you need time to mull this over. It’s been a lot, I know. But the others will happily understand.”  Starlight believed it, but she shook her head. “I can walk like this. I’ve done so much by this point that looking like crud is beyond my realm of caring.”  “Not Rarity’s,” giggled Twilight.  “No, not Rarity’s.” The thought of her nonchalantly fussing over Starlight without so much as a reprimanding brought a smile to her face. It was so Rarity, but still an almost stereotyped version of the generous pony. “In all seriousness, given what you’ve told me, I doubt she’d care much.”  “No, no, she definitely wouldn’t right now.” Twilight wore a broad, fond smile. “She’d even peck your muddy cheek and be fully aware while doing it.”  A thought flashed by—a twisting gut fear in the form of Rarity’s offer to restore her physical confidence with a mane styling, and to vent with a talk. Starlight could have used that, but she didn’t trust Rarity in the end. “I wrote her off as shallow and judgemental, and I know she isn’t that way when it really matters.”  “Starlight…” Maybe a talk with them was in order. Sooner rather than later, even.  “...she doesn’t blame you. Remember, after the Gourd Fest?”  Not at all, not about Rarity, and that was terrible. But she flashed Twilight a determined smile, lifted her hoof, stepped forward. “Let’s not keep them waiting,” said Starlight. “What’s say we get walking alread—aah!” Sudden pain shot up the legs she stood on, folded them like twigs. The grass rushed up to meet her—things which occurred to her only after being caught in a magical aura.  “Are you alright?”  Twilight’s concern was so heartwarming that Starlight chuckled, despite it being her fault. “Uh, I am, I think.” Starlight did need to breathe, though. And sleep. And eat—her stomach roared. The two of them exchanged blushing, pucker-lipped stares. “I, um, have my appetite back!” She could eat like an ursa major right now, and perhaps have room for the beast itself.  Jokes, of course.  “Alright. So we can go about this two ways.” Smirking, Twilight propped Starlight and her foreleg around the somewhat loftier withers she boasted. Twilight returned the incidental hug. “We can clamber over all these hills and through town like so. I am absolutely shameless and delight in starting everypony’s morning with this, especially after how last night ended.”  Starlight certainly deserved the embarrassment. “Not that I mind, sorta,” she said, “but I really, really don’t want to be judged and bombarded with questions until the moment I can address everypony outright.”  “Is a public speech really so different?”  “It is! Don’t act so incredulous after everything we said back there.”  Twilight tittered. “Sure, okay. I get that. And Option-B…”  “Oh, tell me, what’s Option-B?”  “Option-B is teleporting straight to the kitching and gorging ourselves on ice cream, tea, and coffee cakes until we can no longer stand the taste.”  “Weren’t we gonna end up doing that regardless of Option-A’s inclusion?”  Twilight shook her head. “Option-A would give us more time to talk, think, you know? I may very well reconsider our meal plan and substitute it for an oatmeal and salad instead.”  For this, Starlight didn’t need nor want to think twice. “I’ll take B, thank you.”  Starlight paced around the table. She glanced at the clock, then milled about some more. Repeat five times, until finally, it wasn’t her imagination: the clock’s minute hand finally ticked to one minute past 6am.  It was like waiting outside the Map Room all over again, ready for the judgement of Princess Twilight and the Elements of Harmony, whose friendship she tried so hard to destroy. A sharp ping popped behind her, shuddering the room with a pink flash like lightning. Whirling, only Twilight’s cheerful smile and how it reached her eyes untangled the mess of emotion ensnaring Starlight’s heart.  “They said—”  “Did you tell them I was sorry?” Starlight had to know now. Not in a second, not after her speech. Now. Twilight inhaled, but Starlight also had to know, just as badly, “DId you tell them that we’d talk over dinner?” That’s when she noticed the metric-ton of rope looped around Twilight’s rounded neck. “What’s, uh, whatcha got there?”  Twilight glared, dry as a desert. But then her smile returned before Starlight could apologize for interrupting. “The girls are on their way home. They were merciless in their questions and messages of their own.”  Six messages. Starlight already felt the beginning twinges of a headache forming. “Any chance you can summarize them?”  “I’ll do you one better: I felt the same and knew you would, too. So, to put it succinctly, we’re relieved to have you back, so much so that not a single one accepted your apology, because there’s nothing to forgive.”  Starlight could imagine a few choices words from, well, any one of them. She chose not to feed the pressure squeezing her innards any further. “We’ll air our laundry tonight and know for sure. Anything, uh, anything else?” That rope was so weird.  “Pinkie loves you.”  “Aw.” Obviously, but still, nice to know for sure after everything. “And the rope? That really has me curious.”  Twilight placed a hoof upon it, bulky enough to rival Big Mac’s yoke. “Applejack gave this to me. She wants me to restrain you to your bed until tonight, or at least to my hoof.”  “Jeez, AJ.”  “That’s what I said. But her anxiety is warranted, you have to admit.” Twilight’s pace picked up just quick enough to tell of her own. All fears regarding Starlight were so absolutely valid, she couldn’t feel offended by them. Just guilty. “And,” Twilight continued, hesitant, “everypony said some variation of ‘please don’t leave again.’ I… didn’t want to tell you and make you feel bad, I-I’m sorry, but they really wanted me to tell you, and also that they only cared and were out of their minds with worry. Applejack’s going the extra mile by heading to the train station and ‘demanding’ the clerk to deny you a ticket in case—”  “I deserve it.” Twilight’s eyes shot up, and were shocked further by the smile Starlight bore. “Seriously. I’ve been awful to you guys. I’ve lied and hurt and dragged you through the mud.”  “I wish you didn’t carry such a weight on your shoulders, though.”  It was sweet. “Oh, you know me, Twilight. I don’t let go of my guilt. Without that, I’d never learn.”  Twilight was frozen a moment, then dropped her head, eyes shut. Her nod was as nonexistent as her hoarse whisper. “Yeah. Of course. I just… Starlight, to so nonchalantly and bravely take this after everything, it’s… you are strong. You are. I’m sure you’re tired of hearing that—” She was. “Oh, who doesn’t love a little bit of praise?” It really, truly, didn’t feel like anything special—And oh, gosh, I’m repeating my mistakes. “Actually,” Starlight cut in, over Twilight, “sorry, but I honestly don’t really like, uh, hearing that. N-not because I feel unworthy! But, like, everypony has stuff they gotta deal with, and if they didn’t, then nopony would function. So, I just never saw myself the way you guys did, I guess. Still don’t.”  “That’s feeling unworthy, Starlight.” She shot Twilight a ‘whatever’ deadpan. “I’m serious. You might not see it, but everypony who knows you, they understand the kind of life you lived. How you perceive yourself, why you made these choices. Starlight, you’ve… lived a life full of pain, and heartache. More so than anypony I’ve ever known. I wouldn’t blame you if you gave up one day—which, I guess, is why we’re so forgiving of how you ran away last night. And yet, you never let your sadness obscure your mission. You keep going, trying to improve or to help, even when you’re being a complete and utter moron about it.”  “Jeez, Twilight!”  She laughed wetly. “You said you deserved it!”  “I know, I do! It’s just, I’ve never heard you insult somepony before.”  A pause, and then they both laughed.  Twilight wiped her eyes, smiling at her glistening hoof. “In seriousness, that’s what I find so inspiring about you. Your strength, and your courage when your back is against the wall. For you, specifically, that is to say, with your experiences in mind and the fact you hadn’t become a much darker pony... it’s honestly amazing.”   “Oh.” Starlight scratched the back of her very messy mane. “I guess I’ve been missing the point like always, eh?”  “You haven’t had much of a frame of reference.” Twilight’s smile died, her eyes staring into the kettle stove and beyond. “I sometimes wish, badly, that you didn’t lead such a sad life. Even if it meant we’d never meet. Nopony should have to go through the kind of pain you have.”  “I’d go through it all again to be here now.” Twilight looked to Starlight, stunned, then happily when it occurred to them both that she was looking another pony in the eyes. “Can we gorge ourselves silly now?”  A gentle laugh, a “Yes, absolutely,” and Twilight magicked the rope away whilst plates, teacups, and a pot full of water flew to their respective places.  Smiling all the while.  Despite what the last month has been like, despite—No. Stop it. Starlight stomped, demanding her own attention. You’ve already apologized. She’s already forgiven you. This lack of forgiveness is all in your messed-up head.  In reality, there was nothing to fear from Twilight. No judgement from her, no need to feel guilty, no fear that she would… she’d…  Actually, Twilight might do something stupid. Maybe.  She almost had, after all.  But… But unlike Starlight, Twilight had a support system that knew just what to say to snap her out of it. Not that it was fair to expect this from Trixie or Maud, and judge them for what amounted to their own personal shortcomings, but they weren’t friends for their perfect wisdom.  That’s what Twilight was for, and hers was undoubtedly judgement-free. So why does my chest hurt every time I look at her?  “Twilight?”  “Hm?” She looked to Starlight, then became concerned above the countertop of ice cream, pastries, tableware and the like. “Something’s wrong. What is it, Starlight?”  Her face must have been as obvious as always. Starlight hardly understood what possessed her to ask for Twilight’s attention, except for the twisting in her chest, sending shudders up her throat as the princess walked around the counter, worry plastered on her face.  “Starlight?” She stopped, a foot of space between them.  “I…” A gut-churning thought of her working harder than she already has kept the words from coming out.  But Twilight proved that no sacrifice was too great for friends. And that Starlight would always be hers. “Even though I don’t doubt what you told me, I still feel just horrible about everything. What I put you all through.”  The relief in Twilight’s voice was palpable. “That’s perfectly understandable, Starlight. The feeling will… well, it won’t necessarily pass for you. But it will become easier to manage once you and your friends have a chance to vent.”  An utterly fun prospect, for sure. “And I’m sure that’ll go swimmingly.”  “You might be surprised. Don’t doubt them, or the strength of your friendships.”   Starlight could already see Maud performing an Arabian triple-buck on her sorry face. And Trixie… sure, she’s determined to scour Equestria to find her best friend. She won’t be happy to know her dedication was overshadowed by Twilight’s literally-fateful luck, but whether or not that would overshadow her relief in finding Starlight was an uncomfortable thought to say the least. There was no way of knowing where she was now to stop her sooner. The best Starlight could do was keep an ear to the ground and hope. Hope that Trixie would understand, if anything.  “Um, Starlight? Equestria to Starlight?” A purple wing waved in front of her. It lifted, unveiling Twilight’s wary smile. “Sorry if I’m being annoying. But you had a thousand-yard-stare and—”  “No, no you’re not being annoying.” Starlight rubbed her forehead. “I just have a lot on my mind. Talking about it would be reassuring, no doubt, but I could just remember one of those wisdom-nuggets you’ve served me. It’d be redundant, talking about it. That’s all.”  Twilight hesitated before folding her wings, straightened her posture—Starlight often wondered if she realized this was her ‘I’m a princess’ routine. “If that’s how you feel, I won’t pry further.” Turning, she approached the counter. Starlight followed as the steaming pot lifted from the stove. “You know,” said Twilight, the gurgling water poured into her porcelain teapot, “I’m really… No, I’m happy most of all, but also relieved to know that all this craziness, the root of conflict, it was your own remorse.”  This had to be a joke; Starlight was being idiotic. “If I’d just talked, though…”  She watched a slice of coffee cake float to each of their plates, a tea bag simultaneously plunk into their cups. Twilight said, “If you’d just talked, then you wouldn’t have learned this valuable lesson today, would you?” She shook her head, a fond smile in place as three scoops of vanilla bean plopped over their healthy breakfasts. “My dad always said that hurts are the lessons of life. Like scraping our knees, we do everything we can to avoid that pain again. We take precautions.”   “Makes sense.” That chest-parasite wouldn’t die so easily, though, nor ever be satiated. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’ll probably end up hurting the ponies I love in my efforts not to!” Starlight said with feeble cheer. “That’s what I’ve always done, Twilight, what can I do to prevent it in the future?”  And then Starlight remembered, and went stock-still a beat before her hoof hit her face. “Ugh. You were right out there in the snow, Twilight: I’m actually stupid.”  “Starlight,” she said in a reprimanding tone, “I was scared, I don’t really think you’re stupid.”  “Yeah, well, I am. I’m a stupid mare with a canyon of open space between her ears. Words pass through and never stick, nothing but all the heavy, dumb crap it grows itself.” Twilight looked the textbook definition of emotionally confused. Starlight’s smirk must not have helped. “I’m, uh, I’m anticipating a ‘eureka’ moment is on its way!” She forced a laugh, not that it obscured the wariness in her tone.  She didn’t want Starlight freaking out again—perfectly understandable… and simultaneously awful. But I’m going to do what Dad said, and think before acting. But there was a second half to his advice, one in the form of a lesson Twilight taught back there in the Bubble of Warmth.  “I meant what I said before, Twilight. How I’m not going to forget my guilt, I mean. But you’re not wrong, either. Hurts are a lesson, so instead of mindlessly diving into the next one, I’m going to try my best to reflect first. Plan. To actually analyze the situation and the ponies I know, instead of presuming my gut knows better.”  Twilight blinked. “Uh, wow.” She shook her head, donning a curious smile. “Where’s all this coming from, if I may ask?”  “Something Dad told me earlier just clicked with what you said in the Bubble of Warmth. Or, a lot of somethings, I mean. Squished together in a single idea.”  “Oh?” Twilight tipped the teapot from her cup to Starlight’s. “And what’s that idea?” She couldn’t help but fear Twilight’s own doubt, her own anxiety. It was warranted, but it was awful to think about. “It’s a good one this time. I promise.” “They normally are. Only misguided, if anything.”   Right. Starlight watched a whitish-yellow glob, like an egg mixture, pool at the base of her coffee cake. “Well, here it is.” She took a deep breath, and looked to the ceiling for the sake of her thought-train. “Every mistake I’ve made has been because I thought I knew better. Yes, rooted in good intentions, like Dad had said, but ultimately fueled and given shape by this… selfishness, I guess I had. Call it what you will, but I’m ashamed to say that I’ve always been just plain afraid. That’s what drove me most.” Starlight, elbows propped, took her chamomile in both hooves and blew on it before her. “I was always able to make up for it, though. Until this past month. I’ve messed up worse than ever because I couldn’t get over myself and talk to you girls.”  “I’d be a bad teacher if I denied that much.” Twilight was in the same position, except with forelegs folded and teacup hovering nearby. “Sorry, please continue.”  “I guess the point I’m trying to make is that I have nothing to fear from my friends. And if I do, I should be able to express those freely without my mind latching to the worst case scenario. In essence, I’m ready to talk and think instead of just plain thinking. Twilight, I’m… I can’t promise I won’t make a mistake every now and then, nor will I ever fully love myself. B-but I—!”  “Starlight—” “But I’m ready to start trusting ponies again! Because… because at the end of the day, we’re all the same. Aren’t we? When you cut to the heart of it, all of us every day, we’re just the culmination of every experience that came before. We act on those, in good ways and bad. I understand what that’s like, better than anypony. And I think, no, I know… that my friends aren’t any better or worse than me. We’re just… us.” Starlight sipped; mind-numbing warmth slithered down her belly and spread. “And I wish I realized that sooner, because now more than ever I want to… I dunno, make myself known to the ponies in my life. The real me. The one you described back there, who’s comfortable to be around and famously free of judgement. Who can give advice to her friends, not because she knows better, but because she has a perspective that understands what it’s like. What it’s like to be… alone and afraid inside.”  Twilight blinked. Then shut her mouth.  Starlight ducked behind her breakfast, hot enough to melt it probably. “Uh, rant over! Eh-heh… sorry about that.”  A big laugh grabbed her by the heart. Twilight wiped a tear from her eye, then another, and another until she was rubbing her ruddying face. It teased a smile out of Starlight. A big, stupid one. She didn’t even know why. “You ok?” she asked.  It took her a few attempts, both to stop crying and to stifle her laughter. But eventually, Twilight crossed her forelegs, smile wide and face red as her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I was trying to say that I’m so proud of you. Right now, I’m trying to word how it’s like you’re a different pony. But the truth is, you’re not. You’re the same Starlight I know and love, the Starlight who was passionate about the things she cared about, namely other ponies. And that makes me so, so relieved, and happy, and… just regrettable that I doubted you so.”  The prospect—no, the fact that Twilight acknowledged this—felt like a ninety-degree incline that needed crossing. Simply daunting. “I don’t think it’s that special,” she mumbled. “Let’s eat before this melts already. Eat ‘till we make ourselves sick.”  A giggle and a nod. “Right, right. Apologies, Starlight. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable…” Her lips contorted though, joyous to be sure, but… it’s like there was something more. But then a spoonful of food-shaped sugar flew into her mouth, and Starlight decided she was just hungry.  Or maybe she wanted to apologize more. “You aren’t offering to feed me,” Starlight chirped, “which would actually annoy me. So you’re good, princess.” She didn’t get a look at Twilight’s reaction before Starlight face-planted into the first meal she had in weeks.  “Oh, thank Celestia, you pig out, too!” Starlight glanced up to where Twilight mirrored her, ice cream splatting everywhere. Starlight laughed into her treat.  From then on, they only spoke between mouthfuls. Most of it was nothing particularly worthwhile, or even dignified in most cases. It was bliss. Surprising facts were shared throughout, the magnitude of which rose as their “breakfasts” shrank. Such as from the start, moments following the initial gorging, Twilight revealed that she ate Hayburger like this. Starlight confessed she had never stooped to eat there in a pitiful attempt to feel mature.  Halfway through, with a gurgling stomach and brain lazy on three cups of chamomile, Starlight shared the story of her mother, and the promise she apparently made weeks after losing her. She didn’t think of how abrupt and sad this would be for her now-emotionally fragile friend. Twilight, solemn for several moments, brought up her foalhood dolly, Smartypants, and how she still slept with her to this day. Starlight took delight in the idea of such a benign secret, and revealed she was fond of naming her plants to have someone she could vent to.  It was easier than keeping a journal, she argued, though it wasn’t a necessary defense in front of Twilight. “I bet you’re glad to have those now,” she said, “instead of a diary, huh?”  “Well… I might not need Greeny the Ficus anymore.”  Twilight snorted, flushed and grinned all silly-like. Starlight’s gut turned; was targeted to her specifically? Or the nickname? She wrote it off as the ice cream not sitting well.  A smart pony would stop, but not a starving one. They continued with the feast.  At last, with naught but crumbs melting in a vanilla puddle, Starlight said she honestly didn’t have anything else to share that Twilight didn’t already know. But immediately, Starlight apologized for lying as she so casually regaled her encounter with Reeka and Draggle outside the Hive, minus a demeaning, smelly detail. Twilight admonished Starlight for hiding this, as did she herself, and for failing to see it as yet another one of their twisted mind games.  Starlight was such a stupid foal, and she felt hot under her coat as though she were one, being reprimended by her mother. “You know,” she said, smiling over the feeling, “it’s harder to take this seriously when we’re dressed in ice cream like this.” Twilight looked down, twitched her snouth left and right, then burst into laughter, teasing some chuckles out of Starlight.  And then the dull ache in her belly exploded into red-hot pain. For a moment, she was happy believing it was solely the food.  Seconds later she was prostrating and regretting before a metal bucket, mane telekinetically pulled back as she yarfed her only meal. She didn’t want Twilight to worry about something so benign. “I haven’t felt this alive in a month.” She wanted to die. Her voice wobbled in its now-semi-hollow depths.  “I didn’t think you were being literal!” said Twilight, brushing a hoof down her back as she resurfaced.  “I wasn’t, but this is fun.” That, despite the pain, was an honest truth.  “You mean it?” It was like this reveal took her breath away.  “I mean it.” Starlight lifted her head, mustering a smile for the pony who saved her soul.  Twilight’s expression was the textbook definition of heartfelt until a beat after their eyes met, then it became strained. A damp washcloth appeared and was scrubbed vigorously across Starlight’s face. “I agree,” she said after magically wringing it under the faucet. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I needed this.” “You and me both.” Starlight sighed, falling back into the cabinet.  Twilight took a seat beside her, exhaling deeply. “I was so… so afraid that you hated me after stumbling so much. Offending you.”  “I have incredibly high standards in your mind.” That was dumb of Starlight: not just because she thought the same of Twilight, but because this was a genuine, horrible feeling they held inside for the past month. “Sorry, that’s my defensive mechanism again. But, yeah, I know just how you feel.”  Twilight shook her head. “If I’d only talked to you… we would’ve had tonight’s conversation several weeks ago.”  Starlight breathed in, in, in… and exhaled. “Yeah. That’s my life in a nutshell, honestly. Coulda’s and shoulda’s. ”  “Mine too,” Twilight murmured. “You know that most friendship problems stem from a lack of communication? It’s not just us.”  The last month weighed terribly on Starlight’s mind. “I hate that. It honestly ticks me off. If ponies understood one another better, or made the effort too… that would nip a lot of conflict in the bud, don’t you think?”  Seconds passed, and Twilight said nothing. Worry began to gnaw, urge Starlight to turn and find the princess facing her with soaking pairs of great amethysts and a wobbling lip. “I missed you so much. I missed your brain.” She gasped, shuddering. “I missed this, just being able to… you know…”  “Talk?” Starlight finished. “Without worry?”   A gooey snuffle. “Yeah.”  It was un-princess-like. It was Twilight.  “Yeah. I missed you, too.” Egregious pain sat stewing in her gut, whacking it about.  The passing silence of a few seconds felt like a painful many hours. Like there was so much more that needed voicing, despite all that needed saying was already said. “Hey, Twilight, when the dust is settled…”  “Yeah?”  Starlight didn’t know. She really didn’t know. There was just fear—memories of her mistakes so grievous, and her many flaws—gripping her by the heart. “I really, really hope we don’t regress. Or rather, I don’t regress, into the absolute pill I’ve been. Walking on eggshells around each other and whatnot, it was just… so maddening, I couldn’t stand it. I could hardly function, hardly breathe half the time! I was always too scared of overstepping and prying, and if I’m being honest, part of me still is despite what you told me.”  “We’ll…” Twilight perked up, nodded once. “We’ll communicate. Take it one day at a time. No more lying about how we feel. Okay?” Starlight’s chest filled with warmth. Twilight craned her head, worried by the silence, but Starlight just forgot to smile at her. “That sound good?”  It was enough to rely on with confidence. “Great, actually.”  Twilight tilted her head against the cabinet, eyes shut in bliss. “Great.”  Another silence settled, albeit more comfortable than the last.  And yet, something heavy sat nonetheless. Not horribly so, but… more. Like a shadow across her back that Starlight had only just forgot was there. It wasn’t her impending apologies, that was a heart-twisting sort of anxiety anyhow, and besides, she wanted those. She didn’t dread and vie to run away from them, not again.  Nor was it anything relevant to Twilight herself. Heck no. Although a flash of guilt speared through her, it wasn’t the mare specifically that caused it. Not after all they discussed, in this comfortable atmosphere between them.  Starlight truly didn’t want to lose this again.  But why… does it all feel so incomplete? Like an ending? That’s when it hit her: three shadows loomed overhead, to be exact, and they knew as much about them now as they did when Starlight first encountered them.  She shot up, gasping. “Twilight? Twilight!”  The young princess thrashed about. “Agh! What? What is it? What’s wrong?”  “I… I don’t know! I really don’t. But I can’t stop feeling like the Ladies of Flutter Valley aren’t finished with us.”  Twilight paled, turning solemn as she shook her head. “Me neither. They’ve been on the back of my mind and haven’t left since… well…”  “Everything. Yeah, same here.” Chill raked Starlight’s forelegs, even as she hugged herself. She almost saw her breath ghost before her, but it was of course her crazy imagination again. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been honestly obsessed since we’ve met. I’ve lied to myself that I wasn’t, of course, but… you know. If I was living up to that assurance, I wouldn’t have kept the Lickety Split’s journal under my bed. I wouldn’t have left the map to Flutter Valley there, either.” She had to snort at that. “I make it sound so planned. ‘The map.’ Like I charted my course carefully and didn’t just pop over to random crops of woodland, hoping to run into a sign.”  “My gosh. How did you manage to find them so quickly?”  Starlight snorted again, hapless to the core. “A lighter version of the question that’s been haunting me for weeks, all with the same answer: I dunno, or fate, or their will… It’s scary, Twilight. And a part of me is doing all this, this thinking and stowing of mementos as if anticipating going back there. Even though there’s no way—no way—I’ll ever step hoof in that forsaken place again. And neither will you!” She snapped, almost punching Twilight in the nose.  She waved her hooves in defense. “I won’t, Starlight. We won’t, calm down. If we see them again, though, we’ll… do what needs to be done, whatever that is. Okay? We’ve come too far to get overpowered by some awful monsters now, don’t you agree?” Twilight pumped a hoof like a little go-getter, unaware of its trembling.  Starlight pretended to be filled with confidence. “Okay,” she exhaled, more relieved that she wasn’t going to seek them out. “Alright, good. I just got you back, after all.” Twilight cooed as Starlight heartily yanked her into a one-legged hug.  Excellent. She hid hear fear for once.  Because Starlight, really, truly didn’t want those monsters to mess this up again, or worse, take away any of her friends.  ‘You will lose that which you treasure most.’ ‘And you’ll know heartache, and only heartache, till the end of your days!’  Horrible monsters. Awful monsters. Disgusting monsters.  Everpony’s sure been descriptive in their views on these witches. These things from… some place. Everywhere, and nowhere. They had unimaginable power, were basically the Gods of Magic, if Starlight were to honor them with an actual title.  Yet they looked like walking corpses.  They did all of this torture for fun. Their appearance was indicative of their souls, no doubt about that. But…  But honestly… “They couldn’t have been born that way.”  “Huh?” Twilight leaned over, brow cocked. “Are you talking about the witches?”  That was unimportant. They were Destiny themselves, or the pilots at least. So why all of this nonsense? Why bring Starlight and Twilight together, tear them apart, then bring them back together with a call of the Map not five minutes after giving some foreign “piss off” with it?  It made no sense. It made no sense that Starlight would be named as a fateless pony by them, when, clearly, she still had more to do. That much was obvious, even though the specifics weren’t.  “Twilight? How exactly did you get your wings, by the way? I’ve always been curious.” Starlight had never felt it was her business knowing the details, presuming Twilight would divulge them if she felt they needed knowing. “I know you fixed your friends’ cutie marks, finished Starswirl’s spell, that there was a flash and you wound up in the Ethereal Realm… but what else happened? Is there anything missing from that?”  Twilight shook her head. “Sadly, no. It’s just as mysterious to you as it is to me. Even Celestia said it was simply ‘my time,’ just like it was when Cadance got her horn.”  “Wait, Cadance was a pegasus? Huh. Interest—wait, woah-woah, wait… Celestia didn’t give you your wings?” Twilight shook her head. “And neither did she or Luna? I mean… they just got them?”   “Starlight, where are you going with this?”  Her head pounded now. “I don’t know.” Why would the witches give them wings? “Why do you think finishing Starswirl’s spell made you a princess?”  “Actually, I didn’t become a true princess until I got my castle. That’s when my authority and title of ‘Princess of Friendship’ was recognized by the country.”  “So you just became an alicorn. Not for anything special—”  “Hey, completing Starswirl the Bearded’s masterpiece was special!”  “Regardless, the purpose and reason behind that led you… here.”  “Reasons? Who’s? The witches?” Twilight’s intuition was startling, especially in the way she scooted over, sitting before Starlight with a firm expression. “Starlight, I thought I told you—”  “Yeah, they’re monsters, Twilight, and so was I!” Both winced at that reaction. What was that about? Why did she suddenly feel defensive over them? “Sorry. I-I’m sorry, sorry.” Starlight rubbed her temples. “I… do know where that came from. I won’t lie. But… you can’t be seriously ignoring this, Twilight. You! Miss Curious, Freakout Extraordinaire!”  Twilight rubbed her forehead. “I know, I know. I also understand these questions swarming around in your head, believe me. But… you said it yourself, Starlight. And I know it too. These things have power unparalleled to even Celestia. Even if we had all the answers, what could we do with them?”  Starlight inhaled, primed to argue… and she didn’t know why. She had no clue why she had any will to continue dwelling on the beings lurking in their wildland dwelling. “I don’t pity them, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I am curious. I mean… they had to have been something else, right? Before becoming entangled in our lives, giving cryptic fortunes that might not even be true?” If she and Twilight were together now, after Hydia promising their bond was broken…  It had to mean something. “Twilight, what was so special about that spell you finished? I don’t think I’ve really given it a good look.”  Twilight lowered her muzzle. “I was too afraid to ever cast it after what happened to my friends. They weren’t even in the room, and it affected them anyway! So, apologies, but I couldn’t tell you.”  “I remember.” Clearly the memory still held fear over Twilight. What impact would these past several weeks leave on her in the long run? Starlight wanted to be hopeful, but this was also Twilight she was dealing with. “What was it for? Did Starswirl ever say?”  “I always thought the spell was Starswirl’s attempt at honing friendship magic. Turns out I was half-right… He explained that it was more of a binding spell, designed to bring destinies together. He claims it worked as intended, since its one and only casting was his portion of magic in the Seed of Harmony.”  “Woah.”  “But you need the magic of friendship for such a spell, and it can’t be cast or learned in books. That’s what he failed to understand, no offense to Starswirl’s genius. But I grasped it after a year of studying in Ponyville, and that, I believe, is what marked me worthy of Ascension.”  “Interesting.” If there’s one thing that stuck with Starlight out of this horrible experience, it’s that everything happened for a reason. Not always a good one, or a happy one, but a reason designed by something or someone. Perhaps Hydia. Or someone above even them.  “Whatever you’re thinking,” said Twilight, eyeing her warily, “the witches had nothing to do with it—that’s a magic separate from everything else in Equestria. Something Tirek learned the hard way.”  Starlight wished to tell her of all the crazy thoughts running through her head, but she didn’t want this theory to run away from her, forgotten in the details.  “Twilight, I’m gonna need to see that spell again.”  ‘From all of us together,’ ‘Together we’re friends.’ ‘With the marks of our destinies made one,’  ‘There is magic without end.’  It was just as confounding as it was the first time she saw it. It didn’t even have an effect, it was more of a statement if anything. Most infuriating of all, “You know this doesn’t even rhyme?”  “That’s what I said!” Twilight magically took the journal from Starlight’s hooves. “It goes against everything we know about magic, even the basics. I feel ridiculous, not even knowing what, exactly, it does, but I’m not alone in this.”  “My head hurts.” Starlight massaged beneath her horn. It might have been a headache or one of those random pangs. “So, the question is… were the Elements working themselves, or was it the spell that activated them?”  “That’s your question, not mine.” Starlight leveled her with a sweat-inducing stare. “Look, I’ve long-accepted that the Elements are… situational, shall we say, in what they do and when. Part of me thinks they have a kind of sentience of their own.”  Starlight stood. “You mean to suggest they only work when they feel like it?” She waved to the crystal dome of the library. “Like if you think about it too hard, your head starts to hurt and you ask yourself, ‘Why this? Why then?’ Which naturally leads to questions about the ‘who,’ I imagine. And I say, who or what decides what they do and when, if not Hydia, Reeka, and Draggle?”  Twilight held her stare, utterly dumbfounded, and dropped her muzzle. “I dislike how much sense you’re making. I wish I could deny what you’re saying, argue, and debate. Part of me would rather this devolve into a friendly magic duel, like we used to when we’d disagree on magical theory.”  “But now?” Starlight inhaled deep, sighed just as strong. “Now, all I can do is hold my tongue and think. And thinking about this too long… it’s either headache-inducing or terrifying.”  “Agreed,” said Twilight. Her hooves clacked in a cacophony of applause—she was standing—and suddenly she turned Starlight’s face towards her. “Please don’t do something regrettable. Not without your friends. I don’t want to lose you again, Starlight. That’s what I’m most afraid of right now. More than Hydia and her spawn.” Her eyes trembled, searching the paling mare before her.  Starlight didn’t need to imagine the utter terror gripping Twilight’s heart right now; she felt it too, and was willing to do anything to stop the princess from doing something equally as selfless, shortsighted, and emotionally charged. Starlight lowered the hoof from her face, held it tight between them. Twilight, astonished, looked from it to Starlight. “I’ll never make you cry again.” It came out in an instant, but her heart didn’t writhe in protest, and felt stronger instead. “I promise.”  Twilight managed a smile. “Right,” she exhaled, sniffling, blinking the moisture from her eyes. “And I won’t make you afraid again. Promise.” She let go, dragging her gaze back to the discarded journal, opened to Starswirl’s recently-completed masterpiece. “Whatever comes next, however it looks, we’ll face our destinies together.”  Starlight grinned. This felt too good to be true, and some idiot part of her just had to blurt out, “For now!”  As if preparing for the worst.  She laughed and gasped and grunted all at once as a hoof punched her in the breast. “Jerk.” A feeble strike from a kind, quivering pony.  “Sorry. Part of me is a natural pessimist I guess.” Starlight broke eye contact with Twilight as her eye caught the peculiar journal. She approached, the bizarre spell’s wordage coming into focus. “You know,” she said, scanning it over, “if I had to guess, this spell sounds more like a promise than an action.”  “It does. Another reason why I never wished to cast it. What effect would it take?”  Starlight turned to her. “Sounds a little random, huh?”  “What are you—?” And Twilight’s eyes popped open. “Like the Elements.”  A grin. “Like your entire life, and mine. If this is friendship magic… well, don’t you think it should be given a little more, I dunno, focus? A direction?”  “What do you mean? I mean, how would that work?”  “Well, think about it! You wouldn’t say friendship is random, right? There’s an art to it almost. A goal. You’ve spent these last several years, popping all over Equestria and befriending tons of different ponies. And creatures. And in doing this, you girls have represented the Elements, using them to solve these future friends’ problems.”  “Uh-huh…”  “So… what is the root cause of these problems, underneath the superficial details?”  Twilight rubbed her chin, then muffled a gasp. “Communication,” she realized, “just like…”  “Just like this past month.” Starlight’s chest felt ready to burst, a strange and almost forgotten feeling. But she was excited; this was exciting! “Twilight, you mind flipping to the next page for me, and writing something?”  A feathered inkwell hovered beside her. “I saw that spark in your eye. You thought of something brilliant, haven’t you? Ooh! Are you combining this with another spell?”  Starlight hid behind her absolutely appalling mane—a second reason to flush with a nigh-sunburn. “You could say that.”  Twilight plopped down, flipped the page, tapped residue ink off the quill tip. “What did you have in mind? Is it a note or a new spell?”  “More of a modification.” Starlight sat beside her. “I’m not so sure about the wording, but… I dunno.” She smiled, shrugging. “Part of me just feels… correct, I guess. Like this is what I have to do. Who I am. You know?”  “Like it’s your destiny. You’ve always been a bit of a spellsmith, after all.”  Starlight wouldn’t go that far, it was usually done out of convenience. But she nodded, albeit with clear uncertainty, for the sake of argument. “I just think this needs… a little bit of empathy.”  ‘From outside we’re together,’ ‘But deeper at our core.’  ‘With hearts made one,’ ‘There is magic forevermore.’ Twilight came up with the rhyme. She and Starlight retired to their rooms for the day, giggling like fillies over having sated their OCD-ness.