The white unicorn leaned forward to get a better view of the sheer fabric as she fed it under the presser foot of her trusty sewing machine. All of her fabulous dresses had been stitched together by this machine as the very instrument through which her creativity had flourished and delivered her to the attention of the highest levels of the Equestrian fashion scene.
However, this dress was more difficult than most; not by virtue of its design, but through the simple fact that she couldn’t get as close as she would have liked to see the stitching, and this was hindering her to the point of offending her critical eye. Not for the first time that day, she cursed the bump that held her away from the worktable as the stitching began to follow a path subtly different from that which she had painstakingly marked out. All because she could no longer get close enough to see.
“Of all the worst things that could happen …” she whined despairingly to nopony except for her faithful sewing machine and the bump; that accursed bump. Then she focused her anger onto the dress and ripped it forcefully from the machine, hurling it across the floor accompanied by a howl of anguish; the whole day’s work wasted.
It had all begun at a party last year, not just any party, but one hosted by all the major fashion houses, aimed at showcasing emerging talent. It was widely known that talent scouts would be there from all the major designers and magazines, and that exhibitors would be by invitation only. Naturally, she had felt elated to receive an invitation and took delight in reading and rereading her name alongside all of the big movers and shakers in the fashion world.
She had pulled together the most exquisite collection for display and surpassed even her own high standards to come up with a range that was stunning, yet unmistakably underpinned by that Rarity touch.
She had awaited her turn anxiously, fussing over the most minor details as her models prepared to go on to the runway and then once she was announced, it all seemed to flash past in a blur, one creation after the next being greeted by gasps of wonder and ecstatic applause from the audience. Then she had seen him; the legend that was Yves Saint Lariat, known in the business as YSL. She had singled him out in the crowd, in a smart suit and wearing his distinctive glasses, nodding appreciatively at her designs, her designs, as he dictated notes to an assistant beside him.
Once the last model had strutted back up the runway from performing her routine, all the models went out to make two lines as a guard of honour for Rarity to walk down, to the applause echoing in her ears. It was then she looked towards Yves and their eyes met as she watched him rise to his hooves, offering her a standing ovation. At his cue, everypony else stood and the applause went up a notch, seeming never to end.
She had done it!
At the reception afterwards, she had been besieged by reporters, all wanting to run exclusives on her new collection, but even the most tenacious had parted to make way when Yves and his entourage had made their way towards her.
As the clamour from the throng of reporters around her had unexpectedly quietened down, she had looked up too see why, and had seen him walking towards her. Her mouth went dry and her jaw fell open watching as his charisma seemed to part all before him, cutting a swath that led to her.
She suddenly felt at once nervous and excited, an expression summed up neatly by Pinkie Pie as nervouscited, but to such an extent she had never felt before.
“Ma Cherie” he whispered in the understated way of somepony who is used to being listened to, “I am enthralled by the originality of your designs; perhaps we can talk?”
Rarity wanted to swoon, but fought to keep herself focused as she could imagine doors she had always thought would be closed suddenly being flung wide open for her. He was, as she was becoming increasingly aware, very engaging and also strikingly handsome. She felt her head start to swim and next minute she was held in his forelegs as he reached out to save her from falling. Looking up into his deep blue eyes, she could only think of hugging him and reached up to give him a kiss on the cheek, flustering a word of thanks.
“This lady needs some space” he announced, and suddenly his entourage gently ushered back the crowd that had begun to form, one photographer just managing to get a picture of Yves holding the swooning Rarity, a picture that would make his fortune.
“I do not wish to capitalise upon your time here when so many ponies are seeking your attention” he said, proffering her a card, ”Perhaps you would care to meet me afterwards? I’m staying in the penthouse suite of the Royal Hotel.”
The rest of the evening flew by mid a flurry of interviews and job offers, but she only had eyes for one stallion, and he would be waiting for her in his suite at the hotel. She had gone to him as arranged and, well, one thing led to another; she had been very grateful after all.
True to his word, Yves had accepted her entire collection and showcased them throughout his chain of shops, the fashion press seizing on the new style and the fact that Yves had taken her under his wing. However, this was short lived, and soon there was speculation about how she could maintain her exalted position through the next season’s collection and as such she was forced to redouble her efforts to demonstrate she was worthy of continuing to be under the YSL banner.
She worked hard, from early in the morning until late at night within the walls of the deserted Carousel Boutique; Opalescence having gone to Fluttershy while the Apple family had kindly agreed to look after Sweetie Belle, whom she now saw only rarely. If she didn’t notice the eerie quietness within what had formerly been a happy bustling home as well as a shop, she had also failed to notice that she had missed her period, and then the next as well.
When finally the next season’s range had been completed, she allowed herself a brief opportunity to catch up on everything that she had let slip during her intense rush of creativity, including a visit to the hospital to resolve a recurring stomach ache and sickness she had put down to overwork. Nurse Redheart had run a series of tests and once she had double checked to be sure, came back to congratulate her and tell her that her foal was developing well.
Rarity had been mortified, her shocked eyes meeting those of the kindly nurse before her eyelids flickered and her eyes rolled up; she never even felt herself fall as her body had crumpled.
She had stayed in under observation for a few hours as a precaution, giving her time to take in her condition and plan how best she was going to cope with the new life, but had found no palatable answers. As she walked home, she still couldn’t think of what to do, so decided to get on with her life until such time as she could make plans. That had been more than six months ago, and she still hadn’t come up with any ideas, although her bump had grown massively in that time, pushing increasingly into everything she did.
Of course she had approached Yves and presented him with the news. He had been dismissive to the point of being cold and said something about It being a mare’s responsibility to take precautions, changing the subject to remind her of her obligation to provide a source of new fashions for his stores. He had also recommended that she didn’t make waves in the popular press, as success in the fashion world depended so much on good publicity and his name carried so much more status than hers. As veiled threats went, this was devastating.
Very quickly, she had come to realise how one sided their relationship was, and by the time she had left, was in no doubt that if she didn’t continue to provide new lines, then she would be dropped as quickly as she had been accepted, while another eager and impressionable rising star would be promoted to take her place under the prestigious YSL banner just as quickly.
She had wanted to throw herself onto a fainting couch, to whine to anypony who would listen how unfair it was or gorge herself through gallons of ice cream, but she had done all that already. With stark realisation she had come to appreciate that none of her established defence mechanisms would help, and a sober, more fatalistic Rarity had emerged, one who dreaded waking in the morning because every day her work became just that little bit harder as her bump grew one day bigger.
Now, for the first time, she had marked a date on the calendar; the day that her world would change forever, the date her foal was due. Every morning when she looked at the calendar, she could see the Damoclean sword one square closer, but still she didn’t know what to do, other than struggle on as best she could. She knew she was fighting an ever losing battle, but couldn’t think of what else she could do.
Her friends had all gathered round to help as best they could, but she had sworn them to secrecy about the foal’s father as the inevitable publicity would almost certainly finish her career. They had all tried their hooves at cutting and stitching the dresses, even Spike, but none had been able to realise her couture to the standards she demanded, standards which were much higher than her usual meticulousness because she knew they had to be good enough to satisfy the YSL brand too.
Once again, the Apple family had been the first to rally round and offer her foal a home, where they would be happy to bring it up as one of their own. Fluttershy too had offered to help out with the foal, but other than those welcome offers of help, there was little anypony could do except drop round to provide moral support, make cups of tea and give her a shoulder to cry on.