The Broken Bond

by TheApexSovereign

VI.IX - Hilda, Rhonda, Doris

There was no ground. 

Keep calm, Starlight. 

She was standing in outer space. 

Just don’t spazz-out. 

She was standing in outer space with some random pony and the witches. 

“DON’T SPAZZ, STARLIGHT!” 

The ragged cry of her name played back, quieter, quieter, and quieter, until there was only a gentle hum of the stars above.

“Too late!” hollered Reeka from the distance. Too far to make out the “finer” details of her face, she looked paler than usual. And perhaps it was the airiness of this strange place, but she didn’t sound quite so demonic either.

And then Starlight was staring at the endless stars beneath her, and her stomach lurched up her throat. In what reality was there no ground? This was the realm of Discord, it had to be. 

Or perhaps it was a nightmare, or purgatory—Starlight’s punishment for being one of the worst ponies to have ever lived. Yet the solid plane beneath her hooves was obviously very real. No hoofbeats, however. 

How did I get here? One minute, Starlight was holding that big glowing rock, because the spell was doing nothing to the witches yet they themselves, weirdly enough, were doing nothing. They hadn’t done anything! So why? Why did they do nothing, and Starlight wind up—? 

Oh. 

That’s right. 

I jumped into the rainbow beam!

Another brilliant, carefully considered choice by yours truly. Yet, she didn’t feel heavy of heart—even at the thought of being dead. Was that worrisome? What would Twilight think if she knew—? 

“Oh, gosh, Twilight! Everypony…” They were alone in that swamp, wondering where Starlight was! 

Wherever ‘this’ exactly… was…

Oh. 

It made a horrible amount of sense. 

Oh please no. Not now. 

A pit opened inside her belly.

Not when I’m on the cusp of getting my life back! I take back what I thought—I care! I do care!

The air was thinner, filling her lungs sparsely the deeper she breathed, but the more she breathed the more she needed. The more she needed, the wheezier and louder her gasping grew. “Oh, gosh,” rasped Starlight, clutching at her breast, “I’m dead! I actually killed myself, and I didn’t even think that would happen this time!” 

She just wanted to fix her stupid mistake. 

Oh, I had to dive in with that STUPID rock! I could try and throw it, first, before doing something rash again, but no, instead of keeping to mind what the witches had been doing this entire time—that is to say, absolute JACK—instead, I pictured myself as Daring Do and played the hero! 

“At the worst possible time—!” 

“Quit your mewling, already!” snapped somepony, a voice that was harsh with age and bone-chillingly familiar. “You’re not dead. Though you’ll soon wish you were.” 

“Really, Hilda?” The void echoed from every direction, colored in the honest, doting inflection Celestia was loved for. “Are you trying to make this harder than it needs to be?” 

The weirdest part was that it sounded like the pale mare from before, who—after spinning around trying to find her in this nothing-ocean—was found seated by the witches, facing them. 

And sweet Celestia, was her mane tremendous. It could cocoon all five princesses with locks to spare, easily. Almost ridiculous-looking, attached to a one-third its size. 

“We all know how this will end,” she said, the void betraying her efforts to whisper. “You might as well not fight it.” 

“Oh, this again: the dignified whimper,” groaned Hydia. “You’ve been vomiting sunshine and rainbows about this pony—” 

“Because I know her,” the mare stressed, leaning closer. 

“Correction,” a finger from the smallest cloaked mound shot up. “You’ve seen her. Flashes, specifically. No different from a face you pass by on your way to the supermarket.” 

“You be silent.” The dark tone of voice chilled Starlight. It sounded like herself. 

Hydia threw her head back in a laugh, horns for once at equal size and poised to fork Starlight from miles away. “Oh, my dear, tell me! Tell her! Remind us all the way you cried out, laying eyes upon her hornless head.” 

“Stop it, Hydia.” 

“‘Hydia?’ You’d have been wise to hold your tongue. Now I’m angry. Starlight Glimmer?!” She did a slight turn, keeping her face obscure whilst lashing a finger at the pale mare. “Yes, this one here? It’s been so long, you know, that she forgot your face! She never knew your favorite book, either! Or your preferred tea, whether you’re a morning pony or a night owl—nothing like that! None of the nonsense you petulant ponies pride yourselves in knowing as a measure of your friendship herds. The funniest part? She only knows you for your misery! Because she’s willed it to happen—!” 

“It doesn’t work like—!” 

“Just for the sole purpose of saving her sorry hide from this forever-purgatory!” 

The pony shot up. “That isn’t true and you know it!” Her voice fractured, thunder rolling across the cosmic heavens. 

“But now she’ll never trust a word you say, if I recall your ravings clearly. She’s lost faith in you before even knowing your horrible name—and now we’ll suffer for certain, forever, as I’ve always known we would. Such is our fate,” Hydia muttered.  

“I thought we were friends, Hilda! Why ruin everything now?!” 

“Because you don’t understand evil like I do, you optimistic dolt! God, God, God I cannot stand this about you two-faced equines. Acting so pompous and all-knowing when you’re little more than conceited children playing at human adults. And the moment that reality is shown you snap and go crazy and act as if there’s a bad guy that must be slain. A scapegoat more often than not. And others always suffer for it, just as it does in our world. But at least we have the freedom knowing it’s all our fault, and not some couch potato of a goddess. Fuck you, Destiny. Just fuck you.” 

“Holy smokes,” Reeka hooted. “Been keepin’ that in for a while, huh, Ma?” 

Silence. And then, “You’re cruel,” croaked the stars. “Hateful. I know those times we’ve laughed and bonded weren’t fake.” 

“Based on what? When have we ever had a reason other than circumstance to interact?” 

Starlight didn’t care. About any of this. She honestly didn’t, except for the pulsing ache beneath her horn. “I feel like I’ve jumped to the final chapter of a book! Can somepony please answer my questions—first and foremost, how to get out of here?!” 

Silence. 

Then a tall, thin human rose. 

She leaned forth, cupping her eyes. 

Then her ear. 

“...WHAT?!” 

“Seriously? Ah, no. You know what? I’ll come to you.” 

“WHAT?!” 

“Just sit tight, I’ll come to you!” Starlight cried hoarsely. 

As she approached, Reeka’s unmistakable titter arose from the distant quartet. “What? What’d she say? ‘Shit tight?’” 

Draggle chuckled, hands to her long face. “How grody!” 

Something in Starlight’s brain snapped—this place, these witches, her friends alone and probably scared senseless—all of it was too endure this juvenile, low-brow humor. 

She bellowed into the heavens, then charged. 

Charged. 

And charged. 

Eventually she was nearing her target, still seated as her daughters stood. Starlight would conk her on the back of her head, make her return them to the real world. “Woah, woah!” Reeka’s pudgy palms shot up. 

Draggle tugged Hydia’s white, baggy sleeve, only for it to be smacked off. “Momma, she’s out for blood!” 

“Let her try.” 

‘Try.’ As if I can’t do anything! Starlight snarled. I’LL SHOW YOU ‘TRY!’ Starlight’s tried and failed all her life before, this would be no different, no different at all! And she leapt as Hydia began to turn. 

And her heart jumped to her throat the instant before colliding with the softness of her bosom, for Hydia from behind, at first, seemed exactly as she had back in Flutter Valley—massive, as tall as Celestia, with horns and stringy orange hair. 

Those were the only similarities with the Hydia Starlight knew. 

“Woah,” Starlight breathed, inches from her beady, lavender-caked eyes, “you’re not horror shows!” 

Hydia deadpanned. Even her horns, they were part of a helmet, not her actual skull. “I’m not being facetious when I say that’s one of the kindest things you ponies have ever said to me.” 

“But I’m serious!” Starlight leapt back, landing on all fours as Draggle and Reeka joined their mother’s sides. They, too, looked vastly more alive than within the real world. “Your skin is clear and clean, you have all your parts! You’re moving like the living and you sound normal, even! This is…! Oh, this’s a little surreal,” Starlight slurred, the trio tilting clockwise before her. “I… I need a minute, I think. M’... sorry.” 

The sight of the witches fell away in a blur, the stars following them, following, following until her back squished against an… ‘an immense, soft warmth’ wouldn’t come close to doing it justice. There was power humming against her back, a great power coursing through the hairs of her coat, the skin beneath tingling pleasantly. 

Familiarly… 

It was like—no, had to be—a cloud bundled within a blanket, one freshly dried with a heating charm, and then soaked for a millennia in… in… magic?!

That was crazy, yet what else could so suddenly bind Starlight’s heart in complete nostalgia the moment it’d clicked? It was unmistakable, this feeling—like seeing Sunburst, or any familiar face, for the first time in forever. For it was Twilight’s magic, and her own. The signature of Trixie’s mana, alongside that of Celestia and Luna and Cadance. Sunburst’s. Daddy’s. 

The faint but traceable residue inside Maud and her little sisters. Spike. The girls and their siblings. Every tree and every blade of grass, the moon in the night and the sun in the day. 

It was everything at once, hitting, wailing upon Starlight’s mind, body and soul with feelings—once-tickles in her horn when using magic upon, or from, a given thing. Now a sensation enveloping her in something she decided then and there to never, ever leave again: warmth. 

So lovely and familiar. 

Oh. Oh, my gosh, it’s… 

The turquoise, silver-dusted heaven above began to blur. 

It’s been so long I’d almost forgotten… 

Her throat closed.

I’d forgotten… what this feels like. 

She couldn’t hold it in a second longer. She didn’t care about the witches, what they’d say or even about where she was now. In this moment, she didn’t even care about her friends, neither the ones worried sick about her now or the ones whose hearts she’d broken. That which had been broken away, leaving a gaping hole in her chest, was now refilled and overflowing. 

These tears, she had no shame to cry them—a lifetime first to be sure. 

“You’re crying, yet happy?” chirped the gentle-sounding… pony, from above her, and tenderness cushioning her back vibrated with a chuckle. “It’s been an age since I’ve witnessed such a complicated mix. I envy you, you know?” 

Starlight opened her eyes to the visage of a pale head crowned in smoke. “Wha’?” She scrubbed her eyes, sniffling. “This is… are you some kind of alicorn-like pony?” 

She had a smile like Celestia’s, but not her wings. Her magic was tenfold by comparison, if Starlight could sense it without a horn. “Of all you just experienced,” she chuckled, “and this is what comes forth to mind first? Ah. You’re a curious little pony, is that it? Amazing.” 

Starlight felt hot in the face. “W-well… yeah! So what? I don’t know who you are or,” she trailed off as she sat up, pushing herself off the warm bed—a white coat, firmly corded with muscle, and yet paradoxically soft. “Or what you are,” she breathed, stilling. 

This… was one enormous pony. 

And Starlight was getting her hooves all over her. “Gah!” She wrenched away, hugging her forehooves close. “S-sorry about that! And fainting! And calling you a ‘what,’ and—” 

Her hoof eclipsed all else as she tapped Starlight on the nose. “I am a ‘what,’ you silly. Hadn’t you heard?” 

Starlight’s eyes grazed the mare lounged before her. “Uh, s-sorta…” She was only half listening to the behemoth, entranced by her pupiless eyes. Her smile eased the eeriness, as did her aura. 

Maybe that was just an instinct. Something deep inside which kept Starlight rooted as phantom dregs of warmth teased her heart, not unlike the feeling of magic she was previously overwhelmed by. 

No, she thought before the gaping pit could reopen, it’s not like the magic, it… it… it just is.

“You got this presence that kinda overwhelms me.” Starlight sucked her lips in on the spot, cheeks igniting to the sound of this pony’s hearty chuckle dancing amidst the stars. “Sorry. That was kind of stupid.” 

“Yeah, it was,” said Hydia. 

The large pony sighed with a smile equally as content. “We’ve only shared a few words, but being with you is as every bit an honor as I dreamed, Starlight Glimmer.” 
Starlight, thinking back, had an inkling as to why. “Uh, ex-excuse me?” In a twitch of movement the pony’s head tilted. “Did you... bring me here, by any chance?” 

“Um.” The mare suddenly stood, towering on legs to match her hulking frame. “In a sense, though not directly. Kinda. Sorta. Maybe a little.” 

How expectantly vague. “You, uh, you’re starting to sound like these three, eh-heh.” 

“She does?!” cried Reeka and Draggle, the former adding, “Just what have we been reduced to out there?” 

The pony’s muzzle, frowning as she replied, was not unlike a Saddle Arabian’s. Starlight only heard her survival instinct ablaze, roaring to run. 

What? What is going ON?! 

Starlight vied to scream, but flashes of Reeka’s mutilated face surged forth and dried her throat as the large pony turned fully to the witches. But not she herself. I’ve yet to see them up close and in such a well-lit environment. I don’t think my stomach is ready for that in case Hydia was the only normal-looking witch. 

However, part of Starlight also thought to see them, to tune into their conversation for the sake of information. 

But… it was the witches. 

She ought to run. 

But she had to face her fears, for the sake of her friends! 

The witches though… and… this mountain of a pony. She could crush Starlight and not even care, if she had so much magic in her she felt like the stuff...

This realm produced no single source of light, and thus no shadows, yet Starlight was swallowed in this being’s all-encompassing presence, who proclaimed herself a “what.” Starlight was stupid to think this was a pony like her—from afar, in this endless plane of existence with just a singular eye, an accurate sense of her stature was impossible to glean without being right in front of her. Not only was she the size of Celestia (maybe even bigger), but she possessed a physique that dwarfed Big Mac by comparison. 

She was unlike anything, or anyone, rather, Starlight had ever seen. At least that was enough to erase the encroaching guilt, having not seen AJ’s brother in over a month due to her borderline insanity. 

The pony’s head twitched to Starlight. “Apologies, Starlight Glimmer, for speaking as if you weren’t present. I’m sure you have some questions,” she said, unsmiling. 

A barking laugh. “Yeah! A few! As in, who are you? Where am I? What happened, where are my friends, am I dead, and what are these things doing looking all—” she turned her head, “—a-alive, oh…” 

“Tch, rude.” A figure almost twice as tall as the mare stepped into view, crouching—the long, smooth face of Draggle the Fool, eyes hazel and not glowing red, frown set in a grimace instead of being knitted as such. Her bandana upheld a bonfire of hair, nowhere near as wild as it was before. “I dunno who you think you are, but you won’t get nowhere callin’ people ‘things.’ Y’stupid little pony.” 

Gone was Starlight’s constricting sense of self-preservation, her head filled with nothing but uncertainty. 

The status quo now was a befuddled, daunting sense—they were as huge as she remembered them being, the sisters, but everything else was wrong. The simple white gowns, their skin all smooth-looking, manes shiny and fluffy, eyes… just eyes. And they were full of apprehension, or downright apathy in the case of Hydia. 

Miles better than two rats threatening to poke their heads out, at least.  

Hydia moved her hands to her hips. “Take a picture if you’re going to gawk, stupid pony.” 

“Ye-yeah.” Reeka glanced to either side. “Stupid pony.” She squinted, leaning forth, then lurched back, eyes boggled. “Holy smokes, she is tiny. Like really, seriously puny. I bet I could eat her in one bite!” She laughed heartily, freckled cheeks aglow. 

“You’ll lose those big blocky teeth if you try.” Starlight touched her forehead, pricking the frog of her hoof on a spiny little crown. “I can still kick you really hard.” 

“Cease your blustering, little pony.” Hydia reached up and aside to the unsuspecting Reeka and clapped her on the back of the head so hard it cocked her pot, to no reaction but a small wince. “That’s for laughing at your own joke.”

“I know.” Reeka adjusted the headwear. 

“Uh, hello?” Starlight waved. 

“But you are correct, Reeka,” said Hydia, “they’ve truly gotten tinier.” 

Starlight tucked her tail between her legs. “You’re the giants, here!” 

“Ha! Back in our day, ponies were almost as big as this one here.” She jerked her head to the pale mare, who nodded in agreement. 

Something shifted in Starlight’s belly, letting it rise above a lingering, dragging weight. “So, it’s true, then.” Despite her suspicions and faith in Lickety Split’s journal, it was something else to have these thoughts which had haunted her a month being outright confirmed. “You really are… You’re really the cause of everything.” 

“What?” Hydia snorted. “Your stunted growth?” 

Starlight was half-listening, boring into the bottomless space below, the sea of stars backdropped by turquoise. “You weren’t always like this. You became this. The magic of Equestria, it… you aren’t actually it, that’s… oh, that’s such a relief to—!” 

“‘Equestria?’” Hydia groaned. “Gag me. Well, it’s miles above ‘Ponyland,’ so that’s something.” She regarded their tall, silent spectator. “Didn’t see that in your visions, did you?” 

“I never said I wasn’t aware. My foresight only lent me flashes of what would be. Sentiments. Of all that’s important.”

“Tch. Save this one’s horn.” She jerked a thumb at Starlight. 

The mare still gazed upon the heavens, it seemed. “I saw the banner of a nation restored which you’d have nearly broken. And that was enough.” 

A chill ran through Starlight. Could this pony be some kind of prophet? Is that why she’s so powerful? Unless… no. The witches’ double-voices, that couldn’t have been… No, that can’t be it.

There was a cold chuckle. “Now who’s shooting themselves in the foot?” Hydia opened a palm to Starlight. “You think this one will take the ugly origins of her homeland kindly?” 

“Oh,” she rasped, then swallowed. “I already know about all that.” 

Three sets of eyes gaped upon her. “Wait, what? How?” cried Reeka. “You some kinda fortune teller, too? Is that how ya wound up here?” 

She looked to the pale mare, who just shrugged. Starlight had no idea how being a fortune teller would result in her being here. 

“It was Lickety Split’s journal,” she said. “Now her?” 

Draggle groaned. “That annoying little filly. You tellin’ me she’s the reason we’re chewin’ the fat with ya? Everything relied on her?” 

“Oh, Doris, please. You know that’s not how life works.” The pony opened her featureless eyes upon Starlight. “She was equally as important as the hooves which passed her notes—those of her daughter, and the son that followed, until reaching the community possession of the swamp hamlet Lickety had established not far from the borders of the land your actions had forsaken. The pillar whom saved the divided country, the alchemist bearing the boon of my Healing aspect. She handed it to the familiar of Sorcery, who even I know is acclaimed for his beard as Starswirl.” 

“Among other things,” muttered Starlight. Chief among them being conceited and stuck in his ways. At least for a thousand years.

“And from his disappearance, his proteges acquired its possession, which was then lost in the transition to the capital upon the tallest mountain in the land. Yes, that must have been how the history played out. It is all of these moving parts which hold equal importance beside the stone-willed resolve of Starlight Glimmer.” 

From the left, a purr like that of a great tomcat shocked her with a lurch of fear, only for Starlight to find Draggle’s head flopped over, dryly regarded by the large pony as she snored even louder than before. 

Her head shot up. “Woah! Sorry.” Draggle clasped the side of her head. “It’s been a while since we’ve had one of Destiny’s ramblings.” 

‘Destiny?’ A rock plummeted in Starlight’s belly, and plunged deeper beyond the limits of her stomach. “Is… is that really your name? Who you are?” I had my suspicions before, but this outright confirmed it. 

“Everything gets by you, clearly.” Hydia huffed, clasping her hips. “Common among ponies, honestly. No wonder Destiny saw this taking so long.” 

Destiny narrowed her glowering eyes. “You misremember your history, though I acknowledge your ignorance as a side effect of time’s passage.” 

Reeka huffed. “Gee, thanks.” 

“Nay, Starlight Glimmer,” she continued, “Destiny is the name graced to me by my bondmates, here. For I possess none in reality, though go by many to your people. I have acquired an… attachment,” she chuckled, “to this one: ‘Destiny.’ If I may be so bold, especially with circumstances such as these, would you proceed to call me as such for the sake of comfort and practicality on your part?” 

Starlight… had just about a hundred more questions, though some were just answered. Others, however, nearly so, and she couldn’t decide if she wanted the answer to them or not. Her brain sloshed too weightily left and right to decide. “Uh.” She blinked. “You don’t need to convince me. I’d have called you that if you just asked.” 

Destiny beamed. “Much appreciated. Though you appear disturbed by this revelation. I assure you—” 

“Hold up.” Assurances were the last thing Starlight needed. Especially from this… goddess, it seemed. ‘Destiny.’ What have I gotten myself into? 

“Give me answers,” she said, lowering her hoof. “Then I’ll decide how I feel about it.” She turned to Hydia, who raised her brows. “You seem straightforward, however rude.” 

“The one thing I have the autonomy to pride myself on these days.” 

Starlight snickered—such a dark and layered joke, a relatable one to boot. Hydia smiled wryly as she asked, “Can you tell me what you’re doing here, then? What did that blast do to you?” 

“‘Blast?’” Hydia turned to each of her puzzled daughters, before her eyes brightened. “Ah! You must mean the rainbows. Eugh.” 

“I like picturing that.” Draggle took a seat, hugging a long, pale leg to her chest. “The rainbows.” 

“We know you do, dummy,” groaned Reeka. 

“It sounds badass.” Draggle grinned to Starlight, as if she herself knew what that word meant. “Is it badass? Like is it a cannon you fire or something? Destiny never gives us a straight answer, you see. She says it’s more a physical manifestation of feelings, but I dunno what that looks like—!” 

Destiny touched her shoulder. “Now, now, Doris, don’t overwhelm to poor thing.” 

Being handled like a foal, on top of their absurd denial? “Oh, please!” Starlight cried. “As if you aren’t the ones who’ve been generating the magic to do it! The four of you—you’re here, aren’t you? In this...” She waved vaguely to the stars. “Magical place? You gotta know the goings on of the world, don’t you?” 

Suddenly Hydia, on silent but weighty-looking footsteps, powered into her face, deliberately snarling every word, “We haven’t seen anybody but this one’s face for one-thousand years. Get that through your dense, dumbass skull.” 

“N-noted. Sorry.” 

Suddenly she lurched back, her arms held by Reeka and Draggle. “Momma!” chided the former, the latter adding, “She’s got a long going on, don’t overwhelm her! But… thanks for defending me.” 

Hydia shouldered from their hold. “It’s not as if it makes a difference! I want this song and dance to reach its inevitable conclusion already. She’ll learn one way or another. She’ll have no choice. Or have you forgotten?” 

They lowered their eyes, misery writ on all three of their faces. The whole of Starlight largely didn’t care. And yet… 

Yet…

She recognized what she saw: so much pain, exhaustion roiled within them, clearly. Starlight couldn’t help but feel a little bad—not to mention how they were stuck here in this purgatory for a thousand years. I should have joined Tirek in Tartarus for what I’d done. But I got rewarded and they’ve been cursed. Much of the witches’ behaviors made… not all the sense, but some of it felt more believable.

“Why don’t we start with something simple?” She lowered herself to the… ‘ground.’ “Tell me about this place. How’d you wind up here? How did I?” 

“Holy shit, she thinks that’s simple!” laughed Reeka. 

Hydia stretched her arms out, palms upturned. “Our humble abode, first things first! Welcome,” she cried, draped sleeves swaying as she swept their beautiful surroundings. “You’re looking at the whopping population consisting of… five sorry souls, that’s right, there’s you, though, it’s arguably four. Though arguably one if you get existential about it... Take a look around! Get comfy. We got limitless space and double the amount of time.” 

“Sure. But what exactly is all of this?” 

“This personal Hell of ours,” said Hydia, “is known globally as the Aether. Colloquially, the all-encompassing arse of Destiny.” She turned to the mare in question, smirking at her deadpanned expression. 

It was funny. 

That was funny. 

But everything else made it impossible to laugh, to smile or even think of anything besides what this gargantuan pony… 

Everything had clicked with that explanation, everything made sense. 

Sweet Harmony—Was that one of her names in Equestria?—even her size felt woefully insignificant. The fact that she even had a visage such as this… 

Destiny. Magic. The witches overtook the land and its magic, as writ upon the pages of Lickety’s journal, more or less, and confirmed outright as early as her first trip to Flutter Valley. 

The magic of the land… it’s source… I had a suspicion but I was right: it’s not them. It’s really not so horrifying as I thought and Twilight refused to believe. 

Wait. 

Wait. 

I’m getting ahead of myself again. Again… Always… 

Was that one of the things about her that Destiny made so? To save the witches here and now?

 Is that right? Is that my purpose?! 

“Aw, that made her shed a little tear,” cooed Draggle’s voice. 

“Worry not.” A massive paw clapped Starlight on the back. “You’ll grow accustomed to the bleakness of your new existence.” 

It hardly registered, the fact that Hydia—the very hand which broke her horn off—was clasping her in a position poised to snap her neck if she desired so. 

“Wait,” Starlight uttered feebly, turning to Destiny. “So… so this is… really all you? This is… all the magic in Equestria?” She swept the heavens above. 

“You could say that.” Destiny smiled. 

“But…” She turned to Hydia, the feedback sloshing in her thoughts lagging, or so it felt. “But you’re, I mean, you stole all of that. And… and the, what was it, ‘the Sunstone?’” 

As she collected her thoughts, she perceived Hydia and her daughters donning puzzled looks, then the mother was the first to brighten with comprehension. Reeka mumbled, “Right, that thing.” 

Starlight continued, “That’s what you used. To turn yourselves into Destiny, basically.” 

Looking back to the witches, the young girls were turned away, their faces downcast. Hydia just looked tired. “‘Basically.’” She chortled. “So simple a word. But this was not something as basic as proclaiming the sky blue, the grass green. You forget the depths of human error, rage and arrogance.” She hunkered down, stretched her skirt self-consciously over her knees. She didn’t meet Starlight’s eyes. “Yes, little pony. ‘Basically’ that’s what happened.” 

Starlight swallowed, then blushed—it was the only audible thing, her pounding heart, too, she was certain. “Why don’t you tell me ‘exactly’ what happened, then?” 

She was surprised to find Destiny’s massive form sitting beside her, face crumpled with regret. “You,” she croaked, emotion echoing in the distance, “...are quite accepting of this, of me, Starlight Glimmer.” Her gaze shifted, gazing upon the stars above. 

“That’s basically my whole deal.” Nopony laughed. 

Hydia’s beady green eyes swiftly met hers. “Can your stomach can handle the whole truth?” She glanced to Destiny, still morose. “Can you ‘love and tolerate’ the three of us, after learning of what we were and, apparently, what led to us becoming the three you know now? Why, you’re made of sterner stuff than most ponies, I suppose. But you never know someone’s breaking point…” 

Starlight looked over, Destiny’s eyes drawn shut. “I have faith that I’ll come to understand it.” She probably wasn’t looking, or even listening. Crazy to think, this goddess was still just a pony, or at least felt like one. 

“Regardless of your faith, I assure you—wait, no,” Hydia muttered, scratching the fat of her neck, “I’ll answer for you, instead, and preemptively dismiss your self-assurances: this story is a story you will come to hate. Your supposed faith will be shattered, your worldview shaken to its very core, it will make you question your very existence and despise the ending!” 

Starlight remembered thinking exactly the same not too long ago, in a blizzard, with her teacher asserting otherwise. “And how can I possibly hate something we’re smack dab in the middle of?” 

“Exactly my point.” 

“We’re in a story that will never end,” sighed Reeka.

“The ceaselessly turning wheel of misery, miscommunication, regret and rot and misery again,” said Hydia. 

“The cycle of hate.” Starlight had to double take to process that Draggle muttered this. When she gazed upon Destiny, her somber, wilted-ear disposition told of the inconsolable guilt and regret which haunted this broken family.  

Starlight found her heart fully enraptured before even knowing the details. She couldn’t help herself. “How did this all start?” she asked. 

“That’s... a long and sordid tale. But, hey, we got nothing but time, now. Our story begins…” she inhaled deeply, exhaled with equal vigor, “with the greatest mistake we ever could have made. But… you’ve already gleaned that, little pony, yes, yes, you’re certainly more perceptive than most. Why, I doubt you’re the type to play judge, jury, and executioner without the full picture. Not like those others…” 

Her voice was so chilly that the word shuddered through Starlight. “‘Others?’” 

Hydia lifted her gaze, glaring at something far, far into the past. “Those ponies never liked us.” 

“We entered this world when a solar eclipse in ours coincided with one here. The sun and the moon weren’t controlled by ponies back then, you see.” 

“Myself, my husband, and our two daughters were dragged here.” 

Waves of green rolled endlessly into a haze, meeting a brightening sky so blue it couldn’t have been real. This isn’t real. This can’t be… There was even a visage like a castle where a jungle of skyscrapers once peered back outside the hospital room. Actual jungles—no, forests, green as green could be and unlike anything found on 2050 Earth—cropped up all around the surrounding distance. 

This… had to have been a dream; the smog of New York City, the city itself no less, wouldn’t just up and vanish like this. It just wouldn’t—!

“Pappa!” 

Hilda’s breath caught in her throat, and she whirled. Rhonda was clasping Johnathan’s frail hand, the yellow of her sundress smeared in grass blood. That in of itself confirmed this reality. It felt realer than John’s sunken face. 

He smiled upon the azure heavens above, where twin celestial bodies slowly parted ways. The eclipse… this… is Earth. Isn’t it? thought Hilda

A groan, and then, “Is this Heaven, girls?”
 
“Maybe, Pa.” Doris lifted his head up, so gentle she was that Hilda didn’t notice until he was resting on her denim-clad lap. “Shut your eyes, there, old man. Almighty God’s on his way.” 

John, a sigh rattling past his lips, obeyed. So weak was his smile, shaking like that. And Hilda just made his situation worse—without the basic care to ease his pain, now he would… he’d—

“Momma, where are we?” Doris’s slim little face pleaded to her, clasping Hilda’s heart. 

“You think I know, squirt?” she rasped. 

Rhonda’s round face turned to her, eyes twinkling as they flitted left and right. “What happened to the hospital room? Why’re we outs-sigh… ou’sigh…” Her eyes gaped. 

Poor thing was shaken. 

I made a wish, Hilda realized. ‘Save my family from this tragedy. I’ll do anything.’ That was my wish. But the words would not form. Her damned throat kept closing. 

“Momma,” Rhonda breathed. “Momma, look.” She rose a flaccid finger. 

And then, in the distance: 

“I saw the beam hit somewhere around here, Twilight! Come on, come on, double-time it!” 

“Wait, Firefly! I’m not as fast as you!” 

A smile grew on Rhonda’s face. “Horsies, Momma.” 

“We were met with apprehension, of course. Strange creatures in a strange land and all, whose current situation mattered less to me than the preexisting one of my beloved.” 

“You ponies possessed the kindness to help us, though.” 

“At first.” 

She was horse-sized, unlike the others, yellow as butter and a mane like seasmoke. 

She was a horse queen. Rosedust was her name. And this specific region of her land was Flutter Valley. 

Hilda was too busy computing this to comprehend that she was also a unicorn, and was washing John in magic. “There,” she sighed, the glow of her horn dissipating. The mature voice of a mother, unlike those squeaky annoyances that found them. “I cannot do much for his ‘can-sir,’ but this will dull his nerves and eliminate the pain. Please, ask for me if it must be reapplied. I will come.” 

“Um, thank you.” Hilda lowered her heating head. “Y-your grace.” 

Rosedust chuckle. “Please, your home’s formalities are unnecessary. All my little ponies possess grace, no more than I. Mine own self is merely the one who leads them.” 

“If you say so.” Hilda straightened, sniffing; this cabin had a mighty earthen odor, though it was the least of her problems. “Thanks to your subjects. For having this built. And furnished! A-and in a nice locale, to boot.” Outside their only window, beaming over Johnny’s chest as it fell with nary a sound, were a wall of evergreens jittering in an unheard breeze. “So fast, too.” 

“Back then, I was insecure enough to believe Queen Rosedust tucked us away for her people’s sake, and not our own.” 

“Magic is a wonderful convenience.” She and her horn both winked. 

Hilda clasped her belt loops, unsure of what to do with them. “We had our own magic,” she said, filling the silence. “Technology… Wonderful convenience.” She flushed, an idiot for just parroting the queen. 

Rosedust laughed at her ineloquence. 

“Looking back… I know now it was in good-humor. That she was good.” 

“So,” she said, “you say you were an… an ‘accountant?’ And a flipper of these ‘burgers?’” Hilda felt the heat creeping up her ears. “Amazing, to possess two skillsets. Are all Hoo-mans so multi-talented?” 

Before Hilda could dismiss her miserable part-time, the door slammed open, heralding a squealing pig in a dress. 

“Rh-Rhonda?!” The child flew into her arms, her great mother who presumed any animal spoke in this land, and that her own daughter was one of them, all caked in mud. 

“Oh, dear,” she faintly heard over Rhonda’s cries. 

“They—! They called me a monster and threw mud at me!” She snorted. “They called, me, ‘Ree-ka-haa-haa!’” 

“Beat them up, Momma!” 

“Beat them up like you did Richie down the street!”

“Remove those pitying eyes of yours, little pony.” 

“Eh? You ‘understand?’ Pah! You know not what it feels like to be an outsi—” 

“Yes I do!” 

Starlight pursed her lips. 

Hydia and the rest looked as if she just screamed. She probably did, she didn’t know—there was only emotions, a sinking heaviness in her chest Hydia must have experienced too. 

“I… I know what that’s like. Bullying,” she reaffirmed. “I can’t stand it, and that’s not all I’m hearing so far: to be thrust into a place you’ve no business being in, receiving hospitality you didn’t ask for nor think to deserve?” Trembling, Starlight exhaled, gulped her emotion as the life mission she’d set for herself flashed by. “And to feel like the world’s out to get you, and how you just want it to stop.” She startled Hydia by locking gazes. “Don’t sit there and tell me you were fine with the derision for your, quote, ‘stupid daughters.’” 

“Hey, I did not call them that this entire time!” 

“But you have. Every chance you got where I come from.” 

Guilt flashed across Hydia’s face, and deep in Starlight’s gut. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “What is this?” she muttered. Then aloud, towards Destiny, “Is this our long-awaited punishment? Did you send her here to haunt me with my blunders all over again?!” 

Destiny gasped, grasping her breast. “Hurting you is the last thing I ever wanted, Hilda. You know that.” 

Hydia wrenched away, hissing, clenching a fist to attack… only to bring it down upon her knee.

“How many times have I told you this?” asked Destiny. 

“Shut up! I get it! I—! ...I’m sorry,” Hydia sighed. 

Only then did it hit Starlight, just how long these four have been together. Longer than a thousand years… They had so much time to talk, to open up and understand their situation. To hate each other, to cry, to laugh and forgive. 

They had to have been friends on some level. 

Starlight wanted, more than anything, to hear the rest of their story. “So, this incident with the name calling…” Four pairs of eyes were drawn towards her. “It fanned your fear, your hatred of ponies.” 

“I wasn’t the best person to begin with, little one.” 

“But that couldn’t have helped.” 

A snarl, a blink, then a nod. “Of course it didn’t.” Draggle and Reeka lowered their faces. “I’ve had a lot of time to reflect since coming here.”

“I can imagine.” 

“Figured, if I’d made more of an effort to change their preconceptions instead of falling into them, well, we’d have been less than dust by now. And you, well, you might never have been born.” 

“Now that’s the real tragedy out of all this.” 

They looked to her, stunned, until registering the smirk Starlight bore. All at once the three witches howled while Destiny looked concerned. 

Even though it was just a joke. 

“Besides,” continued Starlight, smile weighed by her own blunders, “I wouldn’t be here if not for my own fall from grace.” 

“Pah!” Hydia threw her head back. “You’re funny, pony. As if we… I… had any grace to begin with. From what I understand we became genuine monsters out there—that’s us at our core. It’s my doing. Don’t be so condescending as to treat this circumstance as some kind of hidden good.” 

“That’s kinda what it is, though, by design,” said Starlight. “These bad things? They’re lessons, for us and others. I’m telling you this now because of what I learned!” 

Hydia chuckled dryly, lowering her head with a shake. Draggle rose what seemed like a meter on her knees, tapping her fingers together. “You’re real nice, Starlight. Thank you for sayin’ that.” 

Sudden, stupid emotion clogged Starlight’s throat. Swallowing, not thinking about it, remembering what they did to her, she said, “Getting back on track… please, tell me about John. I-if that’s okay.” 

“Ah, Johnny. Yes, it’s okay, little pony.” Hydia’s eyes twinkled at the heavens. “I still remember his face. That goofy laugh of his.” 

“He was the coolant to my fire.” 

“And I was desperate.” 

“Just so… fucking desperate… to save John.” 

Outside the evergreens jittered, sucked in one direction as if ensnared by a twister. It didn’t matter. Hilda’s day out was shorter than expected regardless of the weather. Hopefully Doris and Rhonda were being treated well. 

The walls groaned, reaffirming themselves against mother nature’s bullying. Hilda, hand gloved in a dishtowel, lifted the squealing teapot from over the fireplace, abating its cry. Flames crackling, her plodding footsteps, wooden groans—unpleasant sounds all, albeit the only ones in the cabin. 

It was a small comfort, she told herself, as she carried it to the roughly carved nightstand beside her and Johnny’s featherbed. Blessedly silent. A small comfort. 

She felt useless. For both him, her family, and in this society. Their new… home.  

I am fit for no job in this land. 

But they had such small comforts to be thankful for. 

These ponies’ queen was kind enough to do this much for him. Everything for them, really, and she had no cause to do so, much less accept repayment in the form of service. She refused, almost as if to say she didn’t wish to be further associated with the outcasts of her queendom. 

She has no reason to divulge her reasons to me. I’m wrong to think this way. 

But still, it felt wrong, and for Hilda that had always been enough to arouse suspicion. For that implied reasons—not good ones—but the personal variety kept close to the other party’s chest.

It was infuriating. Especially when Queen Rosedust declined with such a smile. It felt fake now. 

And the ponies didn’t make it easier, perhaps the reasoning for this—they often mixed “freeloaders” and “layabouts” in their mix of nicknames whenever Hilda sent them running for the hills with but a roar. But Rosedust never pressed, nor mentioned such altercations, almost as if completely unaware. The queen of this absurd land—of course she knew. Hilda was too cowardly to bring them forward. 

Maybe she didn’t seek punishment because humans, twice the size of her subjects, were much stronger and hostile. 

Maybe she was afraid of the answers Hilda sought. 

“Sweetie,” croaked someone beside her, “what’s so damn fascinating about that teapot?” 

She replied, seeing only the sapphire petals adorning its side. “Got a floral print of something I’d never seen before.” The last thing her Johnny needed was to fret over her state of mind, where it was most of the time. 

“Gonna shoot in the dark here: Rosedust still won’t let you work in the Grand Archives.” 

It was a feeble lie, especially the prior one in blaming the weather for her early return home. As if something measly as a little gale stopped Hilda from doing what she wanted. 

“Hope you didn’t throw something,” Johnny remarked. A weak smile told of its lighthearted nature. 

Hilda couldn’t help but smile, born of love and bemusement. “I wanted to.” 

“Hey, character development. Lookit that.”

A lie: Hilda blinked and saw Rosedust’s shock after narrowly dodging, ‘The Grimoire of Healing Miracles,’ which slapped against the gate of the Restricted Archive. 

“Yeah,” she wheezed. “That’s me alright.” 

“But the ponies cared more about keeping their magic to themselves than giving me the chance to save him, dressing their reasons in worry for my well-being. Ha! As if they cared for the monster whose kin were chided as such;” 

“You said we have the ability to harness your land’s magic!” Another day, another bout of begging. This time Rosedust was fully intent on donning the cold shoulder, brushing past, a planner and pen floating before her. “Can’t you permit us this much?” 

Rosedust didn’t stop, nor turn. “Nothing will come of it! Hilda, I’ve expressed multiple times that there we lack the righteous means to save your husband.” 

 She followed Rosedust’s hoofsteps, like a damned child. “Yes, yes, the keyword being ‘righteous,’ though.” Finally she halted, turned. “I know for a fact that it comes from the soul, and that our souls can be used to—” 

“So you broke into the Archives? Into Restricted?” 

“For my own people, yes, how dare I? I had to take matters into my own hands. But don’t worry, I didn’t keep anything.” What’s morally worse is she kept this from Hilda. “You lied to us this whole time,” she said. “You lied. How good would you have felt the rest of your days, sacrificing Johnny for the sake of your knowledge?” 

“You’re absurd!” Rosedust snarled, her cheeks aglow. “You broke several laws, and my trust, for something you know nothing about! Tell me, in your strict, brutal world, how would they treat what’s considered a wrongdoer?” 

“Tricky question. Despite our money grubbing ways, we still provide the means possible to save a life. So...” 

Rosedust shook her head, planner slapping shut. “What you’re suggesting is dark, Hilda. Dark and evil magic used by villains who constantly threaten the sanctity of my kingdom.” 

“With what? Crashing your parties? I’m tellin’ ya, we’ll only do what we need to save—” 

Rosedust stormed close, got in her face. “No, you won’t,” she seethed. “We’ve no notion of what a human soul is capable of. What this sacrifice will do to it.” 

“Oh, so you’re concerned about our well-being all of a sudden?” 

“What do you think I’m doing now, entertaining you like this? Or everything I’ve done since finding you homeless and afraid?” 

Hilda blurted out from the depths of her consciousness, “Maintaining your image, I’d say. Common practice of the politicians where I’m from.”  

Rosedust lurched back, eyes wild. “You dare equate me to those abominable mongers?” 

“How can I not? You say one thing but do nothing about the behavior of your subjects—-” 

“I’ve tried, Hilda, but I’m not a tyrant! I cannot control their thoughts, their feelings or their freedoms!”  

“Then stop,” Hilda roared, swatting Rosedust’s planner to the ground, “pretending that we’re yours! Stop acting as if you have dominion over us freaks, who you keep out of sight and mind in some remote forest, and stop. Saying. That this is for our own good, because if that was ever a priority you would do the work to prove that! Teach us! Explain to us, educate why my asking is so damn wrong!” 

“You have done nothing to earn that trust. Nothing to prove you’re different from this overextending, overly greedy people from whom you originate.” 

Hilda clenched her fists, only seeing red—dark crimson, and Johnny lying in bed, her children crying, the ever-changing excuses. Today’s flavor of the week was trust? “Then give me a chance to demonstrate it instead of excluding us from everything!” 

Rosedust rubbed her forehead. “You still refuse to understand why I’m declining you. That, at its core, is why I can’t easily trust you.” 

“Then we’ll leave!” Rosedust shrank back; Hilda’s voice had never cracked like that, not since realizing she was pregnant with Doris before graduating. “If your people’s safety is so concerning then we’ll leave. North, wherever and whatever’s out there, we don’t care. We’ll make our own way in this world. You’ll never hear from us again.” 

Hilda dropped to her knees. Then her palms. 

Finally, her forehead. 

“Please, Queen Rosedust, I’ve never begged for anything but I’m pleading now.” 

“H-Hilda—” 

“Help me save my Johnny!” 

“You’ll destroy yourselves if you walk this path, don’t you understand?” 

“I don’t care!” 

“Hydia—!” Rosedust pinned her mouth shut, but it was too late. “I…” she squeaked, “I didn’t mean… to say…” 

Hilda was leaving, ignoring the cries of her real name, the apologies. They were fake, just like this self-righteous, self-serving queen. You laugh at us, too? Very well. We’ll give you something to laugh about, and succeed or die trying. 

They were never going to speak on good terms again, the sincerity of which was built on a foundation of niceties and self-aggrandizing intent. 

“Looking back, I realized…” 

“No. No, no, that’s a lie.” 

“For even then, I knew the ponies feared us with good reason. We were things of anger, desperation, selfishness. They were pure and kind, carefree. Innocent.” 

“And we so boldly presumed to handle an element not even native to our world. Of course they would fear things as dangerous as us. But I was too deep in the throes of shame to think of it this way, and I thought my relationship with the queen was irrevocably shattered.” 

“Figuring it all but scorched earth, I talked my embittered daughters into ransacking the castle library in the dead of night. We stole everything which seemed slightly relevant to our mission, from scrolls on basic sorcery to forbidden tomes wrapped in chains.” 

“Oh, we were stupid—I… was stupid.” 

“But John expired before I could realize that. Or even find something close to a means of saving him.” 

“He died happily, though. Saying… saying our kids were in capable, loving hands.” 

“...”

“...”

“...Naturally, I blamed someone that wasn’t myself. The one who’d acted out of line on a daily basis.” 

An acrid, earthen smell arose from the mound before them. Hilda’s fingers twitched, weighted by a coating of mud, tight with exhaustion. 

They had lacked shovels. The ponies would surely chase them out of town if they’d come begging, not that she would stoop so low as to act on the notion. 

There was a ting above her thoughts of John, followed by another, another and another until it was like hail battering the roof of a car. 

Annoying. Hilda gripped the stupid horn of this stupid helmet Doris had snatched from the Archives and snuck upon her head. This whole damn world is annoying. Absurd. Her arm hammered forth. Unfair. Rage boiled out from her gullet as the headwear thumped wetly into the dirt.  

Panting, crying, the world was but a crimson screen. “This’s all their fault.” 

“It sure is,” Doris breathed hoarsely. 

Rhonda spoke for the first time since crying over John’s corpse. “B-but what are we gonna do now? We can’t go back there! But we can’t leave either! We can barely control this stupid magic—” 

All true. Absolutely. Most of it was Hilda’s fault. She whirled, roaring in Rhonda’s face for it. “Silence, you mewling worm!” She shrank back, and Hilda crushed the last bit of pity and warmth she had for her daughters; kindness and playing by the rules only let the ponies take advantage of their courtesies. “We will get our revenge. We’ll make those bitches pay! We won't rest until we’ve returned their cruelty with equivalent malice!” 

Their dignity, their souls, their lives. All of it will be repaid in full. 

“R-right. We’re right behind you, Momma! Right, Dory?” 

“That’s ‘Draggle.’” Reeka’s huge eyes swiveled to Hydia’s. “And you’ll refer to me as ‘Hydia,’ from now on, Reeka. Those ponies want to label us monsters? Well, we’ll become something to be afraid of.”

“But…” Draggle embraced herself. “But those names are—” 

“Names and nothing more!” said Hydia. “Those ponies think they had power over us, labeling us with such childish, derogatory nicknames. But we’re gonna own them, make them ours, until those names are uttered with unease rather than laughter on their lips.” Her girls exchanged glances. “Are we in agreement?!” 

They nodded frantically. Afraid of their mother. “Yes, Mo—Hydia!” 

Well, at least they were obeying. Perhaps there was a lesson in this about the limitations of kindness and the absolute driving force behind fear. 

“You know well by now, the magic of this world does not allow the utilization of souls to be done lightly. It’s a taboo in your country, an unthinkable horror in Rosedust’s. But without the genes to harness our inherent magic as a pony would, our souls were the only means of doing so.” 
“I didn’t care about what would happen. I was angry. Just so angry at everything.” 

“We’d become villains, then, if such a dramatic label was even appropriate for a dynamic consisting of naught but cold shoulders.” 

It was high time their clothes got some size adjustments. 

Reeka hunkered a third tub, followed by Draggle adjacent. “I gathered a cauldron of mud, a bucket of dirt, and a tub of groundwater,” said the lankier daughter, adjusting her overalls. 

“Nu-uh! I got the groundwater!” Draggle almost toppled over, a living Leaning Tower of Pisa, after an elbow in the thigh from Reeka. “That was the harder part, right, Momma?” They were already spotted in patchwork, Draggle’s overalls—the garments she’d arrived wearing almost four years ago.

“You’re a dummy.” Draggle smacked the pot her little sister had taken to wearing, sending Reeka’s body jittering with a solid ring. “I had to wait for your fatass to be done to get the mud! What with this darn drought we’ve been havin’.” 

Hydia only saw Draggle’s knobby knees nowadays, now beginning to bare from her ever-increasing age. They turned to her, the drawl she inherited from Johnny digging into her attention. “Momma, who had the harder work?” 

Reeka slammed into her, leaning her freckled face into view, squishing against Draggle’s legs. “It was me, right?!” Reeka’s dress was in the same state, but looking a little tight around the bosom. She was no longer a pudgy little girl, either, but a pudgy half-woman. 

Draggle pried her off with a filthy bared foot. “All you did was trick the ponies into doing the hard work.” When did they lose their shoes? The days just melted by, one after another. “I had to dig and get dirty!” 

“Momma, her foot is touching me!” 

Oh, they’re fighting again. Hydia pinched between her eyes—even after growing adept at ignoring their proverbial dick-measuring contests, just knowing they were competing irritated her to no end. “You’re both idiots. We all had to play our part, and now the real work begins.” 

“We’re doing magic?” Reeka’s eyes glowed above cradled, ruddy cheeks. “Finally for reals?!” 

Hopefully. Hydia turned to the stone she often studied at, for the sake of the sun’s lighting. “If we align our emotions together, we should be able to, yes.” She picked up the book, the chained one, and turned to her daughters. They crowded around, fighting briefly for the best view before relenting to pressing their faces together. 
“‘The Smooze?’” Draggle read. 

“Sounds silly.” Reeka stuck her tongue out. 

It certainly did. These ponies and their ridiculous names. “With our negativity,” said Hydia, returning to the pillar, “and the materials of Ponyland’s natural earth gathered, we might create a construct of negative energy that will cover every square inch of this fake utopia!” 

“Such a petty plan. Damn, but that song we sang, that thrill of victory…!” 

“The idea of making them as miserable as us…” 

“It was all so intoxicating.” 

“We were beaten, of course. But not dead—the ponies slighted me, I thought, by refusing to dirty themselves with a lawful execution.” 

“So we came back… to take their perceived ‘unnatural’ dominion over Flutter Valley away.” 

And they’d failed again. 

Queen Rosedust hovered above, surrounded by the land’s most heroic pegasi and unicorns, afloat in some abominable holy ring—a visage which drove a scream out from Hydia’s breast. 

“Damn you!” she cried. “Damn all of you! How?! How could this happen?!” 

The object of their failure, thought to be the key to their victory, shone like a star atop the regent of this land. “The Sunstone will never bow to your will, Hydia. It is as conscious as you or I!” 

“Ridiculous!” she cried. Reeka and Draggle groaned at her feet, smoldering from the ponies’ attack. “All of you are ridiculous!” 

“I pity you creatures, truly I do.” Rosedust was the only one, bowing her head in sorrow while the rest glared with hate—proving her insincerity. “To use the Sunstone’s power like that, to control the celestial bodies? It’s as bullheaded and narrow-minded as I’ve come to expect from beings of hate.” 

Hydia had lost. Failed. Was humiliated. Again. “Damn you!” Her pitiful insult fractured like the earth had around them. “I will get back at you, you’ll see!” 

“I highly doubt that,” boomed Rosedust. “Evil never prevails indefinitely. The Sunstone will not allow it. And the magic of this land is not for the likes of you to wield!” 

“Now, go!” She lassoed them together in pure magic. 

“Crawl back into your dark forest where you belong, stew over this loss with bitterness, and come back when you learn some manners.”

They were sent flying back to their domain. 

“A pitiful scuffle, all things considered.” 
“But my revenge was far from satisfied. I’d grown madder by their derision, their victories, their easy lives and trouble-free woes.” 

“I was a bitter woman turned wrathful. Just because they had what I felt was denied us out of spite.” 

“Our pathetic attack wasn’t a total loss, however. For the Sunstone was something I now fully comprehended.” 

“Or so I thought.” 

Wet warmth seeped around Hydia’s feet. The coppery tang of blood stung her nostrils, tainted her mouth, made her want to vomit. 

Almost, anyway. 

Hydia stepped over Rosedust’s corpse, taking her time pressing into the queen’s royal neck until feeling several, muted crunches ripple up her calf. 

Above her throne, the Sunstone was embedded. “The inherent magic of this land…” she stepped up the cushioned seat, “...within arm’s reach.” 

“I can still hear her screams as we struggled, her pleads of reconsideration.” 

“How they were silenced after I’d shoved… bringing her temple against the throne from which she ruled.” 

“I… constantly wished I’d listened, our first years in this Hell. You, Starlight Glimmer, have dredged up this regret for the first time in what feels like eons. Congrats. It’s the least I deserve.” 

“...”

“...Starlight?” 

“...”

“You’re disgusted. Angry. I don’t blame you. I don’t suppose there’s any use in relaying the rest—” 

“No.” 

Her voice was barely a whisper, devoid of emotion. 

But the tears in her eyes muddied what would be a sensible picture. “‘No…’ what?” said Hydia, droning to mask her uncertainty.  

The tiny pony swallowed. “I wanna hear everything. The rest, and what came after.” 

Hydia saw nothing to lose, as she had none to risk. “If you insist.” She sighed, biting both her tongue and flashes of the damned ritual: the one she’d discovered, she’d constructed, performed, and ruined a great many things in doing so. 

But something Starlight had said birthed a new thought. “You know?” Hydia prompted. “Realizing that soul transmutation is outlawed in your country, I’m starting to believe such a rule was brought about by our actions.” No response. Hydia wasn’t going to dare and read her face. “As humans are wont to do, we underestimated the true function of the Sunstone, and the storm our meddling in the natural order would bring.” 

A bitter chuckle. 

“Want to know the worst part?” 

“Not that I remember next to nothing after enacting in the ritual, nor the fact that I have the blood of an innocent, good, conscious individual on my hands.” 

“No.” 

“It’s that I know myself well enough to be certain that I didn’t care for the lives I was destroying.”

“And from the sounds of it…” 

“...I still don’t.” 

Thunderbolts hissed from the heavens—a veil so black it could have been night. In fact, it was, but for little more than a moment before the sky glowered like a heavenly hellscape. 

Then it was dark again. 

Bright and hot a moment later. 

Night. 

Day. 

All by Hydia’s sadistic will. 

The landscape fractured wherever lightning struck all the while, birthing an inferno as tall as the trees they inhaled, growing fiercer by the second, billowing smoke like a chimney into the sky and invoking further assaults from above. 

One blasted Rosedust’s castle to a smoldering ruin. 

Ponies hurried frantically with buckets of water, others fled for the north. Without leadership or control of the weather, the race was divided on whether saving their home was even feasible. One team of heroes charged into Flutter Valley’s infamous evergreen dwelling of the ones who’d started it all, only to be chased out screaming by a torrent of hatred made manifest: oily-black goo, now void of eyes or silly voices. The Smooze had come to ravage the countryside once more. 

From its birthing place, from within a clearing, by the ruins of a cabin torn asunder by the force of an unwanted bonding, three humans roared into the heavens, howling, laughing, dancing like madwomen. 

Their eyes glowed red, as ruddy as the stone they were now infused with, and were full of wrath. 

We can’t control it, thought Hydia, the future flashing before her eyes and her daughters’, we never will. The last thing she remembered seeing was a mare leaping into a prismatic beam. 

And then there was nothing ever again. 

“And yet, we didn’t kill a single pony,” sighed Hydia. 

Reeka inhaled, held her mouth open for a second of consideration before uttering, “Thank God.” 

Air struggled to fill Starlight’s breast, crushed against the weight of what she’d learn, the horrors they unleashed, how frighteningly similar her own sins were. 

“‘And yet’ is a cold comfort, I get it,” she said. “I nearly ruined the wonderful reality Twilight and her friends had made. I was angry, too, you see. And yet she didn’t, she stopped me. So of course that makes it all okay, right?” A shake of the head. A sympathetic smile. “It never will.” 

“Exactly.” Hydia hadn’t met her eyes for most of the story. But now she was done, and still couldn’t, though she tried twice. Faintly, Starlight could hear Twilight cry, ‘Why won’t you look at me?!’ 

The notice of a plot hole sprung to the forefront. “But how can you be so sure,” asked Starlight, “if your souls have been here all this time?” 

“Because they had become me, and I them,” said Destiny, silent until now. Her cheeks were damp. “Because the future was already written by the visions I had, which ceased to manifest further past the point we became one. It ended with you. As you can see, even their turn was preordained.” 

Hydia shook her head. “This infuriated me upon first learning this…” 

“...I refused to believe that we’d become puppets.” 

To her cry of confusion, a soft voice all around answered: “We are here.” 

There were just stars. Stars and nothing. This was nowhere! Save a white pony, empty in the eyes… Standing there, smiling so condescendingly. 

She didn’t seem to care as Hydia stormed over, past her fussing, idiot offspring, crying about being “naked” despite coming in these loose white gowns. 

“What do you mean ‘we’re here with you?’ Where is here?!” 

“‘Here’ is me,” she said, her voice fainter than a breeze. “‘Here’ is you. We are together, as I’d foreseen. But fret not, fret not, for this won’t be a permanent status quo. Another will come in time.” 

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be! They were just in Flutter Valley! “We were on the cusp of ruining those ponies! How?! How can we suddenly be—?!” And then she felt it—the nothingness inside, where her soul once writhed with magic. “It’s gone… It’s all gone, what happened to it?!” 

“We are here.” 

“Stop saying that, you dolt!” 

“But you are here. Your magic is you, and I am magic.” She tilted her head in a twitch of movement. “What do you struggle to comprehend? It’s simple: one thing has led to another, as all things do, and now you’re here.” 

“The rest…” 

Destiny inhaled deep. “I can elucidate the rest.” 

Starlight was already enraptured, if not for the subject matter, than the very clear fact that Destiny, from that first face-to-face encounter to the present, had clearly undergone some internal changes. 

Made her seem a little more alive. 

“When I see the future, or rather, back when I did,” she explained, “it was never as if the thing was guaranteed by virtue of my seeing it. It still had to develop naturally. I would lay the foundations, moving weather patterns and bestowing the Soul Brand—’cutie marks’ in your culture—upon individual ponies. But even those were governed by their natural instincts. What you call ‘a personality,’ shaped by my meddling and their own life choices.” She smiled fondly at the despondent witches, frowning at their lack of response before readdressing Starlight. “So you can see why the name ‘Destiny’ is so fitting.” 

“I guess, but…” Starlight scratched her horn stump. “There’s one thing that still confuses me. How did this stop, uh, you guys from wreaking havoc on ponykind? ‘Cause you guys have all the power in the world! You even threatened our lives more than once but just… just chose not to. Why?” 

“Definitely not because of our merciful nature,” huffed Hydia. “And that’s what has escaped us all this time. Apparently, Destiny cannot see herself as one can’t without a mirror.” 

“Only disasters,” said Destiny. “Strife. Out of control weather and dark forces gathering… and inevitably dispersed by the light of Harmony—a new magic following our fall.” 

Draggle thumped herself on the chest. “It was definitely my kindly nature which made that happen.” 

“Keep telling yourself that, Dory,” muttered Reeka. 

Destiny upheld a hoof. “My theory, all this time, has depended on whether Hilda and the rest had seen the same future, the same deadend, as I had moments before our souls were joined.” 

“And if they had,” said Hydia, “if they were us, knowing the futility of even trying, why, perhaps a subconscious part of us combined with the part that was Destiny continued to act in her stead, in order to reach that insufferable end. We’d have wanted it to be over. I know I would. ” 

“Now that you mention it…” A chill shivered down Starlight. “You guys were talking really strangely all the time about things like this. Yet, you still fought us as if to resist it.” 

Hydia shrugged. “I got nothing. Only, you put yourself in our shoes. Put yourself in a position of obtaining phenomenal power while simultaneously realizing it to be a prison you’ve condemned yourself to.” Coldly, she uttered, “Let’s see how stable your mind is after that.” 

What felt like a long silence was promptly broken by Reeka. “We always did like terrorizing ponies,” she said. “We probably tricked ourselves into believing we still had it all. Dove into the role of these scary forest gods.” 

“That definitely sounds like us,” mused Draggle. 

“Yeah.” Hydia pushed herself off the invisible ground. “Petty as hell and pitifully desperate. It fits the bill.” 

Starlight’s head pulsed. “Oh, my gosh.” She rubbed her temples. “This is so much at once.” The stars above zipped into view, then collapsed down as she felt the world coming up to clam unto her back, only for that to be a magic-soaked cushion. “Thanks,” she breathed, to which Destiny nodded. “I just can’t believe,” she thought aloud, “that all this time, this whole month… the entire history of Equestria, even, our source of power, our guiding hoof and the destiny we always sang about was really just this… this four-way conglomerate driven to insanity by their own mistakes, and everything that ever happened was so… I could be here.” 

A sheepish chuckle, and Reeka’s large, freckled smile slipped in overhead. “You’re a lot less angry than I thought you’d be.” 

“Indeed,” said Destiny. 

“I’m… not,” Starlight realized. “I’m not happy either, goodness no. I’m… angry! Still! I’m furious with you for what you did but at the same time I’m… I’m just sad.” Reeka meekly left her sight. “Call me soft or a stupid pony again, I don’t care. But you’ve all lived, the four of you, such harder, worse lives than I have. I just don’t have it in me to make this personal. Doesn’t feel right… And I’m still hung up on the ‘why’ of it all!” For Destiny surely didn’t understand her own purpose—she simply was, always. “Like, why me? Why you guys? Why did this Ponyland place and Flutter Valley have to go up in flames? So many questions.” 

Why the Elements of Harmony, and what point did the witches see in creating them? Did they even care, or were they acting on instinct? It would be great to have them here, too, actually. They could explain a lot, assuming they had the faculties to do so. 

“Well, whatever conclusions you reach, I’d be entertained to hear them.” Hydia’s voice sounded distant. Sitting up, Starlight found her trudging away, scratching the orange hair beneath her helm. “But keep your feelings to yourself. I’ve no need for them.” 

To so coldly abandon any notions of sympathy… She was in pain. A deep, heavy ache not unlike Starlight’s. “But Hilda—” 

“Oh-hoh!” She whirled, holding her hips. “The pony recognizes me as human! Took your people long enough, only a handful of centuries, give or take. I’m flattered, but it’s too late for me, I’m afraid. Take your aching heart and shove it up your arse—I’ve no need for it.” 

Starlight scowled. “Hey, no one’s forcing me to empathize with you.” 

“No one but yourself!” Hilda knelt before her, bringing them at eye-level. “I know your type, I’m afraid. Sympathetic to a fault, the lot of you! Because you’re so desperate to convince yourself that you’re a good, enlightened person, that you lose sense of your moral code in your efforts to pin the blame of another’s crimes on a force outside their own control.” Starlight stammered. Hilda grew a sour smirk. “I’m not wrong. But we’ve made peace with the fact that we’re monsters. That we’re here because of my choices. That’s the reality, and it’s unforgivable.” 

She wasn’t wrong. Not at all. “But that isn’t my point.” Starlight pushed off of Destiny, propping upon her forelegs. “You’ve all suffered in this prison for what must have felt like an eternity, and outside, too. As far as I can see, you realized your mistakes!” Hilda groaned, rising and turning with a roll of the eyes. “Just how long does a punishment need to be?” 

“For what we’ve done?!” Hilda gestured to her daughters, still seated and lowering their miserable heads. “What I’ve done?” she breathed, patting her own breast. “There is no fit punishment, other than the eternal variety.” 

She turned away, lowering her horned head. “You’ve all eternity to realize that, however. Perhaps a little less if you manage to be right, which I doubt, but stranger things have happened. I am sorry… being the reason for your current state and all. Both within and without of this Hell.” 

“Hilda…” I understand your pain. Talk to me. Let me help you stop feeling this way! The words caught in Starlight’s throat: she knew it well, how forcing one to change their mind would only serve to harden it, tempered by the demons inside. 

“Guess I’ll have to prove it,” muttered Starlight. Suddenly, settled upon her shoulder, a familiar coziness that seeped through and bled throughout her core. “Destiny?” Starlight found herself graced by a sympathetic smile. 

“You have plenty of time before the spell ends,” she said.

“Spell?” She probably meant the one Twilight and her friends were using that Starlight had edited. 

Destiny continued, “The flow of time, our perception of it, is far different from that which you experience in the physical world.” 

Another cold comfort. But it was something! Starlight felt it in her bones, strength and hope mustering by the confidence and smile Destiny shared. They both were convinced of Starlight, that she had a reason for being here. 

Three of them to be precise. 

“But,” she objected, a nagging unease drilling through her chest, “how much is that? The time, I mean. I’d like to gauge it for ease of mind’s sake, is all.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Destiny tittered. “About a second in the real world passes as what feels like a year within the Aether.” 

Starlight took a full five seconds to process that. “One second equals to a whole entire year?!” 

Destiny tapped her chin. “Or maybe it’s three.” 

Hope returned. “Oh, great! So, three seconds equals to about a year in this place?” 

“No, three years.” A heavy something plummeted in her gut. “One second out there feels like three years in here. Sorry if I’d misled you!” 

Oh, my gosh. 

I’m gonna spend like ten years in this place. 

I… 

I kinda hate my life. 

“...Starlight?” 

But if it’s to save these lives…

It’ll be worth it, she decided. 

Starlight Glimmer, soul infused with that of the hybrid Sunstone, learned of its origins immediately in real time. Upon touching the beam, even. 

In the “years” that followed, she frequently worried about her friends on the other side of the blast. 

Just what was her spell doing to them, as tears poured from their lustrous eyes? 

What is happening to me? wondered Rarity. What are these… notions, that I’m getting? 

There was no ground beneath her hooves, nor ghastly Flutter Valley, dead and silent around her. Just blinding white. No magic wreathed her, no tugging in her chest that normally accompanied the Elements’ beautiful, prismatic discharge. 

There were only feelings and wants, both feeding into one another, fueling them: sentiments both completely alien and yet, paradoxically, vaguely familiar. 

Albeit far more intense than her demeanor normally permitted. Ergo, they had to be false. The had to be. 

But if she was feeling them, and had felt them before, how fabricated were they, truly? 

Could Rarity dismiss them as peculiar symptoms of the spell, when she herself couldn’t wholly deny having ever felt such things before? 

After all, the burn of competition had smoldered in her breast countless times in the past. Not just with winning a fashion show, but every time she would enact the sacred ritual of handing off her work to a client; every time she would bite the inside of her lip as they scrutinized, hoping to Celestia they would deem it perfect as she boasted a smile so cocksure. 

That same feeling constricted within her breast even now, tighter than ever before. So much so she could hardly breath. In this moment, thinking back on those times, winning the hearts of her audience felt like the only thing that mattered in this world. If only for the sake of validating her existence and the blood, sweat, and tears she’d poured into her life’s work. 

Suddenly, Rainbow Dash’s whale-sized ego seemed perfectly validated. Why hadn’t Rarity ever realized this before? 

She understood the fear perfectly now, for if she’d failed, the whole world would deem Rarity an unworthy failure. They might not say it, but they would certainly think it. Rarity’s throat couldn’t closed; such dark thoughts, ones she expelled on an almost daily basis, suddenly hitting all at once. 

The art of dressmaking was her world, and if she stumbled in that world, did she even deserve to stand tall again? What luck and grace smiled upon her, to give her such rare an opportunity as to have “made it” at all? Was she just in the right place at the right time? Did ponies only care for her work because she was affiliated with royalty?!

She felt ready to start Twilighting right then and there. 

But she couldn’t! If Rarity were to crumble, let her true feelings show… why, it’d be the end of the world. It’d be the end of her identity as an ever-happy, fun-loving—! 

No, that wasn’t right. 

Rather, a composed and dignified mare, who totally had her identity as robust and ironclad as the professional life she sacrificed so much of herself to bring to life. 

Absolutely. 

And Rarity suddenly realized just how plain and unremarkable she truly was. Or rather, she had always known, but this truth she often kept buried and denied from coming into light was abruptly thrust forth: how her efforts to stand out only emphasized the pathetic filly she was trying to hide. 

If they ever knew this, her best friends would be happier not to be concerned with her. No matter how much it might hurt, no matter how much she loved them. They really were her everything: so much so she would do away with the facade for them if need be, but never otherwise, for Rarity, the rest of her, was that facade. 

And it’d be the end of her world if that facade was ever shed, naked under the light for all to see. It’d be the end of her life as a smiling party pony. 

Wait. 

That’s, again, not right. 

No… that isn’t me. And I know it. 

I know my friends love me. 

I know I’m fine with me. 

But a part of me…

Is not ever really. 

Rarity was… absurd, to put it simply. She boasted poise and self-confidence when they were often the inevitable road to rashness, judgement, vanity—things which caused trouble for her friends more often than not. Part of her, a quiet part, believed they would all be better off if she stayed holed up with her animals. 

Or her dresses, rather. 

But… no! NO! 

Rarity had responsibilities! She had a duty to her kin, her friends! No matter how hard the going got, no matter how often she wanted to give up, regardless of however many times these dark thoughts would creep in she had absolutely zero. Right. To burden others bigger problems on their plates. 

More complex ones, at that. 

After all, if Rarity had survived this long keeping such dark thoughts locked away, why, she could certainly do so for the rest of her life. 

Like Starlight, the selfless, caring friend with problems far grander, more deeply-rooted. than her own. 

STARLIGHT! Rarity remembered. Just what kind of a friend was she, to so quickly forget the seventh of their group?! 

Heavy, miserable feelings festered within Rarity. 

All of this just proved how pathetic a pony she was. When she wasn’t being vain she was being overbearing. She hurt her friends over the most trivial of things, adopting a posh inflection all the while—and why even? For some forgotten effort to hide her Ponyville roots? 

Why? 

Why was she so ashamed of them? Of her friends that one time in Canterlot?

And why did it hurt so, so much to think about? 

Perhaps a part of her still was. Ashamed, that is. 

Perhaps it showed how truly a vile mare Rarity was. Always has been. Hay, her “generosity” was clearly just a subconscious effort to hide the fact that she’s anything but—a desperate balance against the grime of her soul, nothing more! 

Yes. 

That’s it. 

That’s the ugly, horrible pony I truly am—!

...Oh, goodness. Finally, a sound uttered forth: a whimper rippled up her throat. Followed by another. And another. Goodness, what is happening to me? 

What are these… these notions that I’m getting? 

They were far, far more powerful than usual. 

“That’s… a lot to take in,” sighed Hilda. “If I were to guess at the cause of it, our selves have been wounding one another. To suggest an outside force in a land as gentle as yours, why, it’s absurd to consider.” 

“R-right. Makes more sense, actually,” shuddered Starlight. “‘A-abuse,’ was the word, right?” 

Destiny nodded grimly. “Some things never change. It seems the flow of time isn’t the sole driver of change.” 

The Aether sang its soft, almost invisible tune. “We became crazy frickin’ monsters,” Rhonda, the igniting spark behind this discussion, said at last. “Nothin’ deeper to it.” Her downcast mug had adopted the consistency of curdled milk. 

“We all know that’s nonsense,” Hilda told her. “My guess? Either to sustain a semblance of… normalcy, in their deluded minds—horrible as that sounds—we resorted to abusing one another. Or, alternatively, it’s to vent their fears and frustrations. Mayhaps it’s both.” 

Silence, and in that silence, the grisly trio festered in what had to have been everyone’s mind. Doris’s broken leg, Rhonda’s boil-coated, pus-soaked foot, Hilda’s rotten eyeholes—still clear as day in Starlight’s brain, after all this time.

And they apparently did that to each other. “My gosh,” she breathed. “That’s so horrible.”

“Tell me about it.” 

But Starlight had no right to judge them for their complicated, former dynamic. “N-no offense!” 

“I’m not the same woman, little one, to get enraged at having a blatant fact thrown in her face.” Hilda’s mouth twisted. “It’s true. You saw the proof of our bitterness toward each other writ upon our bodies.” 

Still, the fact that they had such hate, to harm one another to the point of becoming walking corpses… 

“At least you don’t seem that way now! Silver—” 

“Can the silver lining shit, Starlight… Just this once,” Hilda sighed. Her face darkened, glaring somewhere far, far away. “Don’t mistake it for a growth of character. I just learned quickly that the effort was empty. We were indestructible here, painless… And I’d lost any reason to be angry with them, at the world.” 

Only because you redirected it at yourself. 

“You sure had plenty of time to think, though.” Starlight refused to believe that was all—that Hilda accepted the way of things with zero thought. If one thing was clear after knowing her for so long, it’s that she wasn’t the thoughtless sort.

She was highly intelligent, and very emotional. “Sure,” came hesitantly, “time has been a harsh but effective teacher.” Without looking up she reached out, drawing a smile from her daughters as their hands touched. “I had something to chew on. Introspection. All of that shit, given me a cooler head.” 

“And a kinder heart.” Doris was smiling, good-natured as always. Unfortunately, it was for the sake of her mother’s ease of mind, and the four present knew it. 

Hilda turned away. “Tch. I’m tired if anything, sweetie.” 

“Have you guys ever, you know, had a heart to hear—?” Starlight stopped herself. “I-I’m sorry, that’s so rude of me to ask. It’s none of my—” 

“Yeah, yeah, we aired our laundry,” said Rhonda, waving off. “Close near the beginning, too. You shoulda seen Momma cry, it was like finding a unicorn!” 

“Rhonda!” 

“That’s a human expression,” she hissed, ignoring Hilda’s cry. 

Starlight tittered. “I figured as much. No worries, I think I got the jist after hearing about Earth.” 

There was a lull in conversation, enough for Rhonda’s smile to fall away, melting back into the pallid misery following the truth of their current states. “I sorta wish I hadn’t asked now.” She gripped her elbows. “About us. My poor foot...” 

“That couldn’t have been pleasant to hear about,” said Destiny, smacking Rhonda’s back. 

“Even less to see,” shuddered Starlight as the pudgy witch grimaced. “Be thankful you guys can’t seem to feel any pain out there.” 

Hilda chuckled dryly. “Yet another iceberg in a sea of cold comforts.” 

It had been what felt like months before Rhonda had mustered up the courage to ask for the details concerning... themselves. Starlight had been too light on the descriptive language, for their sakes, making Hilda snap for her to get on with it, claiming they would know the nitty-gritty inevitably. 

So she sort of, kind of… word-vomited all the horrible images that had been burned into her memory since that first encounter. By the time she was done, even Destiny was looking grim, but none more so than the mother. 

“What’s interesting, in a morbid sort of way,” she said suddenly, turning away, “is our lack of eyes. Was it a ‘Three Stooges’ mishap, or something more?” 

“You’re right, that’s a little morbid,” said Starlight, to which Hilda barked a bitter laugh. 

“Perhaps, in a bout of insanity, we gained the notion that the future would be obscured if we’d plucked out our eyeballs.” 

“Except for me,” said Rhonda. “Shielded myself in this handy dandy cookin’ ware before ya could, Momma.” She punctuated with three metallic clunks upon her helmet. 

Five chuckles filled the Aether. 

This was bad. Bad, bad, bad. 

Pinkie understood fully what was happening—after all, she grokked her friends so well they might think of it as creepy if they, too, experienced the intense, borderline obsessive love she felt for each of them. 

Within seconds, when this spell was done, her dynamic with the girls who made her entire world would be changed forever. Dashie would walk on eggshells, guarding her jokes because she knew a wrong remark could mistakenly cut Pinkie deep. Twilight’s knowing smile, a big fake mask from here on out, because she was nice enough to try and pretend she didn’t know Pinkie’s actual deal. After all, that’s what she did to herself! Pinkie almost mistook that for her own bad habit, but her anxiety festered in the form of a fear of disappointing the Cakes and her family. 

Everypony… their friendships were going to change. And it was terrifying. 

It was clear as cupcakes what was happening to them: she felt Dashie’s anxiety about her self-worth, as well as Rarity’s, and Twilight’s, and Fluttershy’s, too. Applejack’s desperation to keep it all in was so absolutely normal that Pinkie thought Starlight’s spell had skipped over. 

But it was just familiar. 

Soon, Pinkie thought, as a vague, wet warmth slithered down her cheeks, everypony will now how fake I am. 

How weak my heart is. 

They won’t see me as the fun party pony anymore. 

Just that weirdo who liked to play pretend. All because it was more fun to make her friends happy than sad with her private, neverending downer party. 

Pinkie couldn’t decide how much of this was Starlight’s soul mixing with hers, and how much was her own. 

She was just scared. 

“They’re way more together than I am.” The stars above, bathed in a deep, ocean-like blue, was more calming compared to those seeped in turquoise within the “ground” they currently, and often, laid upon. “I hope you can understand, now, why I’m always going on about how they saved me. If it wasn’t for them…” Starlight swallowed. “Well, I’d be alone and miserable at best. Still blaming cutie marks for my failings as Sunburst’s best friend.” 

The stars hummed a low, nearly imperceptible sound. Tranquil, massaged the brain if one were to consciously focus on it. 

“Wow,” breathed Rhonda, “your friends sound just perfect, Starlight.” 

How could she think that, after knowing basically all that there was to know about Twilight and the others? “I mean, they clearly have their issues, and times where they falter. But… I mean, they’re adults. Way more grown up than me, you know? And I’m like two years older than them!” 

“Wisdom comes with age,” Hilda remarked, pointing to the heavens. “That’s more important in my book.” 

The consolation was appreciated, made her tickle inside. “Thanks, Hilds,” chuckled Starlight, despite the case not being so for herself. “But they have this way of… of composing themselves when the going gets tough. Rather than throw a pity party for themselves, they get back up and do what they can to fix what’s wrong. That’s the grown-up thing to do. While I, well, I run away and cry and pretend I don’t do either. Basically.” 

“Bullshit,” muttered Doris. “That’s all bullshit, Starls. After all that, I can tell you’re definitely gonna be a changed pony by the time you get outta here. No life story has an ending you can’t write yourself!” 

“Sans our own,” muttered Hilda, her gown rumpling as she moved. A glance over revealed her broad back facing Starlight. 

The poor thing. 

“You… you’re like us!” cried Rhonda, deaf to Hilda’s pessimism. “Yeah! We’ve wondered about who we are and why we’re here since waking up in this place. And since then, we’ve kinda made… a sorta... peace, I guess, with our flaws being the answer to both.” 

“You’re more than your flaws,” Starlight asserted. “All of you. Rhonda, you love those ‘video games.’ And Doris, you love your stuffed animals so much that you still miss them!” She wished she had an answer to the other suggestion; how their flaws are the reason they’re here. 

There had to be a better one than that. 

“And this is why you’re awesome, Glimmy,” said Draggle. “You’re nice as hell. You always know how to lift a mood. I mean it.” 

“Oh, stop. I can’t…” Her topics of conversation often brought the mood down, and her attempts at smalltalk and humor was either pitiful or snarky. 

“Naw, it’s true!” There was a clank. Starlight tilted her head back, finding Rhonda having done the same, her pot upright and half-obscuring her face. “Since talking to you, seeing how you see things, well, it made sense of what Destiny’s been trying to tell us all this time. We’re responsible for ourselves, but how we react to others, too. And, honestly? We were absolute bitches back then. We did deserve this kind of fate! But… I’m starting to feel… you know,” she mumbled, flushing, “a little bit okay with that… Plus, you don’t make fun of me! You’re literally the nicest pony who ever lived!” 

Before Starlight could deny this exaggeration, there was an, “Amen.” Doris cradled the back of her head, looking fairly relaxed. 

“Sorry if that sounded like a buncha nonsense.” After a meaningful shake of the head from Starlight, Rhonda continued, “A-and as for you? Well, you stumble now and again, sure, but since then realizing your crimes, you’ve interna… eternal… um.” 

“‘Internalized?’” 

“That’s the one! ‘In-ter-nal-ized.’” Rhonda had good ideas (many, in fact, several of which amusing in the stories where she would pawn off hard work to Doris or the ponies). She just never got to finish schooling, sadly. “Yeah, you internalize your mistakes and make sure to never make them again. And it sounds like Twilight’s helped ya through your worst one, the one that kept making more.” 

Hilda turned back around, propping herself on an elbow. “That was your biggest problem: enlarging your mistakes to make them bigger than they really are.” 

Starlight exhaled, feeling a pressure well behind her eyes. It was a happy sort, partially for Twilight, partially for these friends she’d made. By now, she knew them better than she had herself pre-horn loss.  

“Well,” Starlight croaked, “when your whole world is comprised of those mistakes, it’s hard to dismiss them like they’re nothing.” 

“Damn straight,” said Doris. “But, and sorry for throwin’ this back, but you’re more than your mistakes.” Hilda grunted agreeably. 

“I know. It’s just easy to forget in the moment.” The Aether hummed around, moaning as the softest breeze in the widest cavern would. “I’ve endured a lot of emotional stuff since…” Starlight huffed. “Well, my whole life, honestly.” 

“Yeah,” Doris intoned. “I’m real sorry you can’t remember your momma’s face. I feel like… because of us… little tragedies like that became more normal since our influence tainted Ponyland.” 

“You couldn’t have known, don’t be sorry.” 

“So many ponies… good ponies, like that Scootaloo and, and Maudileena Pie… they don’t live carefree cuz of something we were too angry to care about.” 

Looking over, Doris’s eyes were squeezed shut. “Hey.” Starlight rolled onto her stomach and touched her shoulder, drawing her startled, glistening gaze. “It’s because of these things we’re stronger and more united than ever. Hearth’s Warming? Come on, that’s a holiday built on the good that comes from hardships! The unity of it all. It’s a good thing!” 

“Yeah, but still…” 

“‘But still’ indeed. I know how that is.” No amount of consolations, cold comforts, or silver linings would undo the thought of the suffering this family had inflicted without a moment’s consideration for those lives. “I know, Doris. All too well, I know the pain of regret. But look at it this way: we’d have never valued our bonds if the survivors’ descendants hadn’t survived that. Just like I’d never be the pony I am if I hadn’t lost my mother.” 

Sniffling, Doris nodded, and threw on an upside-down smile. Starlight mirrored her before rolling back into a lazy lounge. 

“Truly, you’re too good for this world, Starlight Glimmer,” muttered Hilda. “If you were our friend back then, why, Rosedust might still be alive. We’d be a distant memory. Ponyland would still be a paradise, albeit a flawed one.” 

“And you ponies would still be comparatively ginormous!” Rhonda giggled, inciting the rest to join. 

Save for one. “Destiny? You’ve been quiet for awhile now.” Doris hesitated a second, and then, “Destiny.” 

A heaving, suffocated gasp cleaved through Starlight. “Destiny!” She spun over, standing in an instant. The rest clambered to their feet as the large white mare shielded her eyes. 

“D-don’t mind me. I’m sorry.” Sleek tracks carved down her cheeks, into her fluttering mane. “Don’t mind me. Continue with your discussion. I’m s-sorry!” 

The voice break snapped Starlight out of her shock. She swooped in, forgot her inhibitions about personal space as she cradled the goddess’s head. The contact, being caressed entirely by her mane, filled Starlight’s chest to burst, overwhelming even the tightness in her breast. 

“What’s wrong?!” This had never happened before. “Use words, Destiny!” 

Starlight felt the swallow, the gasping, shudder throughout her body. As the family gathered on either side of her, Destiny wiped her cheeks. Her knitted brows, the twinkling of her diamond-like eyes… “Destiny,” Starlight breathed. 

She was responsible for this. 

“I’m sorry,” squeaked the mare. “It’s, I’ve just been listening to what you were saying—oh!” Destiny clamped over her mouth, only for sobs to burst forth. “I think about the ponies trying to live happy lives like you, and I…” She cupped her muzzle. “I knew what was coming,” she cried, muffled. “I saw it all. I saw you, but I was too pious to even try and change it.” 

Starlight swallowed. “You couldn’t have done anything. You really couldn’t have, you weren’t—” 

“I know! I know I wasn’t the same then as I am now, but it’s just so… so sad, Starlight. I can’t help but think that if I understood mortals better I could have changed fate. I could’ve urged a kinder version of the path your people walked. I’m sorry, Starlight. I’m… I’m sorry for everything!” 

Starlight could only stroke her mane, for any words would hit a shielded heart. 

“And even when you leave,” Destiny continued, “however that may be, it won’t matter because… because all of this made me lose one of my best friends!” 

“I promise I won’t forget you.” 

“But I’ll never be a part of your world again!” Starlight went cold: she just assumed this was Destiny experiencing loss, and it was, but it ran on a far deeper level than she thought: “Without your horn, you’ll never feel me guiding your magic! You’ll be so heartbroken, you’ll always be heartbroken because of me! You’d broken our bond but it’s all because of me!” 

“That’s not true!” Starlight cried, startling Destiny. “That isn’t true, because… because the friendships I made, the strength which drives me to sacrifice… you’re still a part of that, inside and out.” Destiny swallowed, gazing above. “And I’d have never realized you were there. Never. Not if I hadn’t come here.” 

“I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay, Destiny… It’s okay,” she breathed. “I swear on my heart, I’m not saying this to make you feel better. Well, not just... I’ll miss you for sure, but I’m never going to forget how it was you who’d given me this life. Despite everything, I wouldn’t change it. Ever.” 

“S-Starlight…” 

It would take more than a single conversation to fix this, for sure. Destiny was as impressionable as a foal, and she was hurt, making this a difficult situation. 

“I’m not leaving until you realize that,” vowed Starlight. 

And something struck her in the heart just then.

“And it’s not just you,” she realized, looking to each of the somber witches gathered. “You girls… I think I finally understand why you three had to be here. Why it couldn’t be three ponies, or Destiny herself here.” A smile grew. “Oh my gosh, it—! You! You three, no, four are why Equestria evolved into a land of Harmony!” 

From Kindness to Loyalty, to the perspective I gave tryna change the Magic which holds it all together, gives it life… and changed these four… 

She would relinquish her soul if she was wrong about this—which she wasn’t. Starlight was certain of it. 

To their quizzical, guarded dispositions, she explained her theory. Or, rather, her discovery. 

It wasn’t flopping unto the mucky earth which made Twilight gasp, jostle the world as it flashed into clarity. The pain upon her belly, the burn in her lungs, they were dull aches beside the writhing in her soul. 

“Girls?!” she cried hoarsely, scrambling for her broken, hurting girls. 

Behind her they were staggering, their faces soaked and eyes ruddy. Hunched over, gasping, clutching their breasts. Rarity, closest by, held hers in both forehooves. 

Rarity, who feared the whole world that judged her every move. 

“Darlings—oop!” she squeaked through Twilight’s constricting hug. 

“I’m sorry.” She loosened her hold, nuzzled Rarity’s cheek. A feeble comfort, she understood, for the pain she kept buried beneath bravado and charm. “I never realized just how much of a front you put on. How important your dresses are, or how desperate you are to maintain your image. I know I never mocked these things… but I truly never considered them beyond a surface level, either. I’m so sorry, Rarity.” 

Rarity went rigid. And then, “I understand now.” She returned the hug twofold, muttered so only Twilight would hear. “Then in that case, never… ever again will I dismiss your anxieties as a mere overreaction.” 

A chuckle, and then, “Deal.” Twilight opened her eyes. Through her misty veil, the treeline behind them a smeared dark canvas, she saw the bodies of her family paired up in similar fashion. 

Pinkie’s muzzle shot up from Rainbow’s shoulder, and a wail tore through the tranquility. 

“Oh, my gosh.” Twilight let go and on command it seemed Rarity arrived at the same conclusion. As did all the others as they joined Rainbow’s fierce embrace. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so super sorry!” Pinkie cried. “I’m the worst friend ever, and you’re all gonna think I’m fake and bad and-and-and—” 

“Hush now,” AJ muttered thickly, squeezing her from behind. “You shut your darned mouth right now. We love ya to pieces, you hear? You’re mah family, got it? Same goes to all’a y’all.” 

“Girls…” 

This was strange. By all accounts this spell had an unprecedented effect that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. And yet, Twilight found herself uncaring. For it was too beautiful to question, and she had friends whose very real, very personal feelings were not just laid bare to each other, but experienced. 

The one commonality between them? 

Between the sentiments they shared? 

“You’re all my family, and I’m yours,” said Twilight. “We all have aspects of ourselves we’re ashamed of showing. I’d like to tell you now, if that wasn’t obvious yet, that none of us… well, we care, but we don’t care enough to love each other any less.” 

“If anything,” Pinkie said, “it’s made me love you girls even more. S-sorry if that’s creepy and overbearing…” 

“It’s not creepy, Pinkie.” Rainbow nuzzled her mane, said aloud without any hesitation, “It makes me happy to be your friend.” 

They all feared judgement. They each carried shame. Every one of them wore a front for the sake of preserving one another’s happiness. 

It was so much like Starlight Glimmer that— 

And Twilight’s gut dropped. “Starlight,” she breathed, sensing their seventh missing. “Starlight!” 

“Starlight!” the girls cried as one. 

As they untangled themselves Twilight turned away, toward the witches she until now had completely forgotten. “Where are you, Star—?!” And there they were. 

All four of them. 

The commotion behind Twilight fell silent. “Starlight,” Fluttershy squealed happily. 

AJ whistled. “Well I’ll be.” 

“Sh-should we—?” Twilight stretched a wing in Pinkie’s way. 

She managed to find her voice after three attempts. “Let her do this.” 

The Aether’s song enveloped the silence. Another day, another bout of trying to change the witches’ mind. 

With all due respect, it sounded like a crock when spoken aloud. 

“You’re really convinced of that, huh?” Hilda, arms folded, stared pensively at the bottomless space beneath her. “That we’re the lynchpin that saved your country, despite being the ones who want to destroy it.” 

“I’m not convinced of it,” said Starlight. “I know it for a fact.” 

“Based on what?” hooted the witch. “You’ve offered nothing but theories! Just because we’ve acted under Destiny’s will, it doesn’t mean that—” 

“But Destiny herself didn’t understand any of the Elements when you came here! Laughter, generosity, none of it!” The mare in question nodded, stepping beside Starlight and asserting her stance on the matter. “Without those virtues, what makes you think she could’ve willed them into existence without the humans who already possessed them in the first place?” 

“It’s almost like you’re painting us as the heroes of this story,” said Doris. 

“Accidental ones, if anything,” snapped Hilda. She gestured to Starlight and Destiny. “You both know me well. Am I what you would call a loyal woman? Or a kind one?” 

“You have the propensity for it,” said Destiny. “You all do. Each and every one of you. I learned that in our time together.” Starlight nodded. “And like it or not, it was your souls and mine together which birthed the Tree of Harmony. That’s an indisputable fact: human beings, dark as they are, have the power to save hearts.” 

“I think my head hurts.” Rhonda fell on her butt, massaging her temples. 

Starlight approached and took a seat before her. “It’s not that complicated, actually.” She flushed. “Sorry, I’m bad at explaining things. Especially with something so out-there even I don’t fully grasp it. But look at it this way: if the witches out there wanted their imprisonment to end, you would do something to give us the means of achieving that. And because of that, we’ve been able to build a better and stronger nation than the one you destroyed. A bigger one, where we’re beginning to align ourselves with dragons and gryphons!” 

“And using those tools you provided us, intended or not,” Starlight concluded, “it’s allowed us to banish darkness completely devoid of Harmony. Like King Sombra, and the Pony of Shadows. But it’s not destroyed you.” 

Hilda’s brows furrowed. She hugged herself tighter. “Which means…?” 

“Which means…” Starlight inhaled, then exhaled. “It’s proof that you can be saved, too.” 

And in that moment, the entirety of the Aether was gone. Starlight’s heart throbbed as she took it in: gone were the stars, the turquoise below, and deep ocean-blue above. In their place, stretched from horizon to horizon: the colors lavender, cyan, orange and soft yellow, a regal purple, and bubbly pink. 

A luster tore Starlight from her awe, and proceeded to rock her soul as she upheld a glowing foreleg. A quick self-check revealed her entire body was alight. 

“Wh-what’s going on?!” Rhonda cried, clutching the arm of a dumbfounded Hilda as Doris took her other. 

Destiny appeared beside Starlight, eyes wide. She, too, gave off a glow—that of the Elements wreathed her white coat. “It’s time we must part. This is it, my friends: a fate centuries in the making.” She turned, smiling upon Starlight. “I know not what will come of your memories here. In all likelihood, the feelings will linger, but all will be condensed into vague flashes like those of a dream.” 

A sinking feeling gripped her by the heart. “You said that before, I just… can’t believe it’s happening now.”

Destiny swallowed. “Neither can I.” 

And she said nothing more—respecting Starlight’s tendency to shoulder guilt, even when she had no control over such things. 

She was always so considerate, and kind, and funny. She had just learned to be empathetic, too. It felt so soon, having to part ways after what felt like an entire lifetime. 

She didn’t want to lose that. 

She didn’t. 

I… I love this pony, Starlight realized. 

Realizing this, she cried out and leapt, tackling Destiny. Laughing, she closed a foreleg around Starlight and held her close. 

“I’ll really miss you guys.” 

“As will I,” said Destiny. “But you’ll never be alone. Remember that if you ever feel lonely. It’s as you told me some time ago. We’ll always be with you, our experiences together. We leave, but with an imprint on one another’s souls.” 

“Girls?” came a soft little voice. Rhonda was tapping her fingers together. “What’s, uh, what’ll happen to us?” 

“If I were to guess,” said Destiny, dropping Starlight as they exchanged one last smile, “your souls will leave this place. They shall be expunged of darkness and disharmony. Redemption, that’s the word our little friend here has used.” 

“NO!” Hilda roared, tearing away from her daughters. “I refuse! I’ll stay here alone!” 

I knew this was going to happen. Starlight galloped forth. “Hilda, wait—” 

She lashed a finger, almost stabbing her in the eye. “Silence! I know what you’re about to say, and I’m telling you now, I’m not going to let you save me! The both of you,” she snarled at Destiny. “It doesn’t matter how much you plead, or cry, or tell me that what happened wasn’t my fault. I brought this fate upon myself—” 

“Hilda!” 

“—and I shall pay all eternity for it.” 

“Hilda.” 

“What—?!” 

Starlight reared up, latched around Hilda’s neck, stiffening her. “You’ve suffered enough,” she whispered. “You paid for your mistakes a thousandfold.” 

“B-but I...” Her frail voice died.

“It’s time to move on,” said Starlight. “Accept your mistakes. Make peace with what you’d done.” 

“But how can I?!” Strong arms squeezed around Starlight, and the invisible ground fell away. “How can I when those whose lives I destroyed are so far away?!” 

A tricky question. “I can’t speak for the dead, Hilda. And it’s not my place to forgive you for crimes that I wasn’t even aware of until coming here. But what I can forgive… I already have.” 

“S-Starlight…” 

“If I could return to the moment I’d met you three in Flutter Valley, knowing everything up to this very moment…” A laugh, a sob, burst forth. “I’d do it all again without a second thought!” Starlight cried. “I feel your pain, I do, but please—please—for my sake and your own please forgive yourself! Please!”

Please… 

Please stop feeling guilty when I’ve long-since forgiven you. 

Starlight, in that moment, finally understood why no ponies ever held a grudge against her for her crimes: 

“You’ve made my life so much better, and I can’t wait to live it.” She blushed, and whispered, “I love you girls so much.” 

“I’m sorry,” breathed Hilda. She gasped, “I’m so sorry for all you’ve suffered.” 

Starlight laughed wetly. “And I’m sorry for all the pain you went through for my country’s sake.” 

“Destiny is a cruel mistress,” said a voice behind her. Hilda, startled, let go of Starlight. She dropped, turned to find the large, godly mare smirking. “But she can also be merciful.” Then her smile died. “Unfortunately, the semantics of magic are set in stone.” 

“Whadda ya mean?” asked Doris, sniffling. 

Destiny exhaled. “Outside, our souls will have become untangled. It won’t take long, but time will certainly start to catch up with the bodies, and you will… expire.” 

Decay, in other words. Starlight looked up at the three hollow, paling faces. “O-oh,” Doris squeaked. 

Starlight touched her hand, then Hilda’s. Reared up, she donned a strong, cheerful smile for their sakes. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be with you until the very end!” 

Hilda’s lips trembled as she put a palm to her breast. “Thank you, Starlight. You are truly too good for this world.” 

She grinned, a pressure welling behind her eyes. “Oh, don’t thank me!” she laughed, hiding the pain of this departure. “I just had a great teacher.” 

Destiny saw her world for what felt like the very first time. She felt the wind in the sky, and the plants on the ground. The beasts of the forest, and the ponies all around. Each and every one of them, the good and the not so good. 

She felt the Harmony, the Elements ingrained in the hearts of each of them. It was as beautiful as it was overwhelming—surely, time would be needed to process and become acclimated with the new way of things. 

But Destiny cared little about that right now. 

For far off, almost as if in the back of her mind, an old and powerful magic burned defiantly. Lingering, like a dying ember refused to be snuffed out. 

In the land once known as Flutter Valley, in a clearing where long ago an otherworlder’s family dwelled, where Destiny herself had died and been reborn twice now, ten individuals were concluding their final crossroads. 

Hilda, eyeless, felt around the grass. On her right was Rhonda, grasping feebly at the mouth she no longer had. Doris adjacent clutched her broken leg, emitting pained sounds with mutilated lips. Rhonda felt around for her pot’s handle, but couldn’t unwedge herself, for she lacked the muscle mass. Doris clasped her eyes and wailed. Hilda, whimpering, felt for something.

Until a pair of hooves touched her hand, silencing and stopping her efforts cold.

Doris followed, a wing flicking against the hands gripping her stump, as did Rhonda, another wing brushing against her side.

These appendages were not yet registered by their owner. Clearly, with eyes drawn shut and smile peaceful, she simply willed herself to ease the discomfort of her friends.  

“It’s okay,” murmured Starlight Glimmer. “I’m here now. You don’t have to suffer alone anymore.” The flanking witches fell forward, their noises desperate. Her forelegs stretched out. “I know you’re in pain,” she said as they closed around her, “I know you’re confused and hurting so deeply you can’t even comprehend it. You feel guilty, and ashamed.” 

A sob burst forth from Hilda. 

“But I’m here now,” continued Starlight. “I don’t remember much, but my heart does, and I know you feel this, too. You know me, and I know you. That warmth you’re feeling now? It’s my love for you, and yours for me.” 

Hilda found Starlight, and hesitantly lifted the pony into her before squeezing her fiercely. Doris and Rhonda embraced, their arms stretching around each other. 

“I forgive you,” Starlight whispered from the center of it all. “And I know if she saw you now, Rosedust would have forgiven you too, and apologized for everything from the depths of her heart.” They wailed, overwhelming her words so soft spoken. Starlight’s face crumpled as she endured the heartbreaking sounds. “Forgive yourselves. Please, forgive yourselves!” 

As their hug tightened, pain trembled through their bones, their skin beginning to flake away. Her stump sparked with a sob—she was trying to warm them, dull their nerves. Destiny lacked the mouth to cry out. 

“You don’t have to suffer anymore. I know there’s good inside you. Let it out, and pass on content. This is the best I can offer you, I’m sorry!” 

The witches settled, one by one. Pain trembled them, quivered around Starlight. And their souls, however meager, flared out. A final act of magic, their first act of selflessness. 

Destiny felt it inside them, their inherent magic, but stronger and more primal. Emotion-based. It was the magic of friendship, and Destiny had the power to lend a hoof, guide its journey outward. 

Their skin ceased to dust, instead hardening. Their blemishes sunk away, their bones turned to goop and their bodies began to grow. Fuse. Stretch. Root into the ground, reach into the sky. 

Transfiguration. Metamorphosis. They were changing. 

Starlight, consciousness lost after all she’d endured since their initial fight, was held out before them. The witches’ growing never ceased, seemingly unstoppable. Destiny understood, and she encouraged the efforts they were putting their very souls into.. 

“Wh-what’s happening?!” cried Fluttershy, struggling to maintain her footing. 

“Everypony out!” Rainbow Dash had already taken flight. 

Destiny almost failed to notice the shivering of the earth. 

“But what about Starlight?!” Pinkie whooped as she was levitated by Princess Twilight, having taken air herself. 

“She’ll be fine! I know she will!” 

They left, carrying one another out of the forest despite the weight of their exhaustion and each other. 

It was a good thing, too: the life being born here broke the perimeter of the witches’ clearing, toppled the treeline like dominoes, rendering it into splinters swallowed by the mounding muck and soil. 

Holy light exuded from their conjoined, singular body, burning away the carcass of the Smooze. 

In the blink of an eye for Destiny, but after a frightening eternity for the ponies resettled outside the woods, the witches’ growing stopped. The trembling of Equestria ceased, and the ever-present fog had dispersed, carved to ribbons by their natural luster. 

A clear blue sky served as canvas for the final act of Hilda, Rhonda, and Doris. 

Leaves colored one of six—no, seven—seven gentle, beautiful colors splayed across the heavens, waved from a thousand fingers long as a township each, upheld by a tree trunk white as the souls of the recently deceased. Within its canopy nestled a sleeping princess, snoring harshly. 

Destiny glimpsed into the future. It wouldn’t take more than a minute for her heartstopping new form to be frantically found. Further into the future, Destiny saw ponies taking far longer to walk the new landmark’s mile-wide perimeter. 

And further still, she saw Flutter Valley once again full of life, and populated by ponies. 

The future was secure, and Destiny never peered into it again.