Rarity had always had a knack for makeup.
Of course, fashion was her passion, and always would be—but really, fashion and makeup both fell under the broader category of making people look and feel good. How could she call herself a fashionista if she couldn't do that? So she'd learned to apply her makeup quickly, carefully, and perfectly every time, accentuating all of her best features and hiding all of the worst ones—not as if she had any worst features, of course—so that no one, nowhere, could doubt her sheer magnificence.
And as she sat with her friends on the grass around the portal statue at Canterlot High, she let herself smile a little inside, knowing that no matter what had happened overnight she would still be radiant.
“Wow, Rarity,” Rainbow Dash said, jogging toward her on the grass with a soccer ball in front of her cleats. “You look terrible.”
Or so she had thought. “I beg your pardon?” she said, fixing Rainbow Dash with a gaze that wasn't exactly begging. More like demanding Rainbow Dash kneel and beg her forgiveness.
Rainbow Dash didn't do that, and instead soldiered on: “You look like you got zero sleep. Like, wow. Those eye bags.” She idly kicked the soccer ball from foot to foot, not letting it touch the ground.
“Charming,” Rarity said. The eyes of her five other friends turned to her, and she couldn't help but notice that they didn't look quite as tired.
“It's like your eyes are kangaroos, and—”
“Rainbow Dash,” Applejack cut in, “I can't believe you're making me be the tactful one here. Cut it out.”
“What?” Rainbow kicked the ball over her head, and raised her heel for it to bounce off, and then paused because the ball wasn't coming down. “Hey!” she said, as the ball glowed with purple energy.
Twilight, who was sitting next to Rarity, grunted as she beckoned the soccer ball over to her with a finger. “I'm not giving it back until you apologize,” she said, depositing it in her own lap. She turned to Rarity. “That said, is something wrong? I know you're usually really good with your makeup, because you usually look really nice.”
“Thank you, Twilight.” Rarity managed a smile.
“So whatever the issue is must be really awful, if you look this terrible even after makeup.”
“Please learn to quit while you're ahead.” Rarity's smile faded, and Twilight blushed and looked off to the side. “No, I'm all right, it's just....” She sighed, rubbing at her eye with a knuckle. Words weren't coming as easily as they should have: it was like her thoughts were obscured by static snow. “I've been having these... dreams, lately. Not nice dreams, although I suppose that's obvious enough from context.”
Sunset piped up from her position on the statue's pedestal: “How long have you been having them?”
“I'm not sure,” said Rarity. The journal in her room said that she'd been having them for twenty nine days.
“Do you remember what they're about?” Fluttershy asked—quietly so as not to scare off the squirrel on her shoulder.
Rarity frowned: space, boutique, no pants, tow truck, abject failure. “Not exactly.”
“Rarity,” Sunset said, staring down at her. “You know I can read you, right?”
“What—but I trust you wouldn't,” Rarity stammered, “because that would be an invasion of privacy—”
“I mean, like, reading your face. I don't need to read your mind right now.” Sunset rolled her eyes. “It's bad, isn't it.”
Rarity felt herself deflate a little. She groaned and lay back in the grass, letting herself get a face full of the clear April sky. “Does anyone else get the feeling that we've been at this school forever? And I suppose it felt like we always would be here, but... graduation's coming up soon. I suppose you could say,” she said, sighing and tilting her head back accordingly, the grass brushing against her hair, “that I have a lot on my plate right now.”
There was some silence. Everyone had a lot on their plates right now, and Rarity could feel the resonance in the stillness.
“Why don't you talk to Vice-Principal Luna?”
Rarity sat up and looked at Twilight. “Hm?”
Twilight tapped her fingers together restlessly; she still wasn't looking at Rarity directly, but instead seemed to be studying the grass. “Well, she's kind of a school counselor, if I remember correctly. And also, her Equestrian counterpart is a pony princess who does something with dreams?”
Her gaze swiveled neatly around Rarity to focus on Sunset, and Sunset responded, “Yeah. She watches over the dreams of all of the ponies of Equestria and helps them with their nightmares.”
“Right!” Twilight was tapping her fingers together faster. “I mean, that's a little horrifying, the idea of an absolute monarch with the ability to see into the minds of her subjects, but you get what I'm going for.”
“Technically she's a diarch,” Sunset called out.
Rarity considered this—the actual important thing Twilight had said, not the unnecessary clarification from Sunset. “That... might work. Do you know if I would need an appointment?”
“Or... tetrarch, or something.”
“Nope!” Twilight smiled, and managed to look Rarity in the eyes again. “It's pretty much walk in!”
“Quintarch? Does Flurry Heart count yet?”
“Well,” Rarity said, standing up in a decisive motion, “thank you for the advice, Twilight. I'll go speak to Vice-Principal Luna, and listen to what she has to say with an open mind.”
“Absolutely not!” Rarity shrieked.
Luna looked at her quizzically from behind the desk. She was still sitting down, still looked serene overall: Rarity, on the other hand, had just jumped screaming from her chair. Once she realized this, she coughed. “I mean... I just don't think I can afford to do that.”
“Rarity.” Luna sighed, then reached down under her desk, whereupon Rarity heard the sound of a drawer opening. “Far be it from me to discourage a student from chasing their dreams—or their ambitions, rather—but there is such a thing as too much workload.” She took her eyes of Rarity to look down at the drawer, rather than continuing to fumble blindly, and before long she'd pulled out an envelope. “Do you remember coming in to talk about your résumé and portfolio, a few weeks ago? For your application to Roan Island School of Design?”
Rarity forced herself to sit back down. “I faintly recall, yes.”
Luna opened up the folder. “Rarity, this is the fullest portfolio I have ever seen, and the longest résumé.” And indeed, the contents of the folder were numerous. Luna flipped through the portfolio, letting Rarity get glimpses of the many outfits she'd created over the years, most of them within the last nine months. Then she reached the résumé itself, which was several pages on its own, and read aloud: “Part time vendor at an amusement park... keytarist and outfit designer for The Rainbooms... holder of a GPA in excess of four point oh, with multiple honors and AP classes... manager of an online fashion catalogue... occasional superheroine?”
She shut the folder and looked back up at Rarity. “And now you say you're having nightmares from the stress, and I must confess I'm surprised, Rarity. Not because there's no reason for you to be stressed. I'm surprised because having nightmares implies you have time to sleep.”
“I have plenty of time to sleep.” Rarity tossed her hair for emphasis. “Oodles of time, in fact! Simply oodles! And I do not need to give up any of my extracurricular activities.”
“Not even one?” Luna leaned forward, steepling her fingers. “Is there no way you could give yourself even a small break?”
“I'm afraid not.” Rarity smiled, letting some fierceness into the expression. She hoped, anyway. The static in her head was making it difficult to be sure. “The path of the fashionista is fraught with many dangers, but it is the path I have chosen to walk. And I swear to you, I will walk it!”
Luna sighed. “Then I don't think I can help you.”
With a dazzling smile and a wave of her arm, Rarity proudly welcomed all in attendance to the first ever Carousel Boutique… on the Eiffel Tower.
The press oohed and ahhed, and snapped many pictures. They were standing in front of her boutique, wearing berets, because they were also in France. The city shone beneath them, brilliant and nearly unobstructed. Rarity had the best view in all of Paris: she could see the Louvre from here.
She produced an oversized pair of ciseaux (French for scissors), opened them around the ribbon that wrapped around the building, and—snip!—cut the ribbon. With that, she declared the boutique open, and demanded that everyone enter and shop to their hearts’ contents.
The crowds rushed in—there hadn't been any and now there was a city full of them. They filled the boutique, packing into every available space and then into the spaces that weren't available, speaking excitedly about all of her fancy dresses and sharp suits and stylish shoes, and Rarity's smile shone like Paris. She'd done it, she'd accomplished her fashion ambitions, and—
“Zut!” someone cried out.
Rarity, with a sinking feeling in her gut, asked what was the matter. She felt like she'd done this before.
“You don't have any pants!” Except it was in French.
Rarity gasped and looked down—but her legs were covered. The voice continued, still in French, “There's no pants for sale! How are we supposed to shop if there aren't any pants?”
She found herself in front of the pants section, and gasped—there weren't any pants, just infinite rows of empty shelves. Panic rose in her throat, and it pushed empty words from her mouth: how she was certain she could resolve all of this if they would just give her a moment—
“There's no clothes at all!”
And the store was empty, and there had never been any fancy dresses, sharp suits, or stylish shoes. Rarity made noises like a dying poisson.
“And there's a—”
An earbusting whinny cut through all the tumult. Rarity found herself outside the store, and she and all the crowds were facing the same way: toward the stranger riding their way through the clouds.
They rode upon a brilliant unicorn, and they wore a sparkling suit of armor, adorned with stars, which obscured their appearance up to and including their gender. The horse galloped through the air as easily as if it were on a city street, and each time its hooves struck the invisible ground, sparks flew and tumbled down to the city, so that a rain of light seemed to follow behind.
Before long, the stranger had arrived upon the deck of the tower. “What's the problem?” they said, and their voice was indistinct, so that Rarity knew what they were saying but could hardly hear them say it.
She explained that the boutique had found itself in a state of catastrophe: it had opened without any pants at all.
“Really? Well, don't worry, Rarity.” The stranger smiled—somehow she knew they were smiling despite the helm—and dismounted their horse. They walked behind, back to what the horse had been pulling behind itself—except, hold on, Rarity had been pretty sure the rider had been riding alone?—and placed their hand around the handle of the carriage's door. “We have pants enough for everyone!”
They yanked open the door, and—it was as if there had been an explosion. Endless clothes burst through the door, all of Rarity's best designs and then others that she hadn't had the chance to make yet but would want to some day. Out they came, flying up into the sky, and then drifting down slowly to land on the customers, and now the customers were each wearing some of her clothes, each one perfectly matched and tailored.
“Three cheers for Rarity!” the stranger yelled.
“Three cheers for Rarity!” the crowd echoed, but still in French. “Hip hip—”
I'm in a dream, Rarity realized.
“—hooray! Hip hip—”
The same dream I've been having this past month, she thought, as the crowd tossed her up in the air past the peak of the Eiffel Tower, only to catch her in time for the next chant. But....
“—hooray! Hip hip—”
It didn't all go to hell. It turned out okay.
“—hooray!”
Up and up and up she went, past the Eiffel Tower, far enough up that Paris was no longer visible except as a single mote of light, and she was framed by the full moon. She drifted in the cool air, as pleasant as bathwater but with a brisk chill, and she was gloriously weightless—careless—free.
And the stranger was there in front of her, moonlight glinting off their armor. They stood, and for the first time looked kind of awkward. Like they were waiting for Rarity to say something.
“Well....” Rarity trailed off, unsure what to say now that she could hear her own voice. “I suppose you are only a figment of my imagination, but even so, I should be polite. So... thank you, whatever you are.” She curtsied graciously.
The stranger leaned back, ever so slightly, as if stricken. “Do you not... recognize me?” said the voice, and while it wasn't possible to see their eyes, Rarity could tell they weren't looking at her.
“Erm.” Rarity pursed her lips. “I'm really not sure, darling. Should I?”
The stranger looked around, and then looked at the ground, so many miles away. “Sleep well,” they said, and started tapping at their helm as they turned away.
“Wait!” Rarity stepped forward, hand reached out. “Who are you?”
And the stranger opened up their mouth—
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Rarity awoke with her hand outstretched beyond her face.
Her sheets weren't in a tangle around her legs. She wasn't gasping for breath. She felt... refreshed. But that accursed phone was still beeping. “I need,” Rarity muttered, fumbling to her side, “to pick a better alarm tone.”
Eventually she fumbled her way to turning off her phone alarm, and lay back in bed, letting her head sink into the pillow.
She'd never dreamed lucidly before, at least not as far as she could remember. And she had certainly never gone through any iteration of that dream, and had it end well. Had her benighted brain finally decided to give her a break?
And who was that stranger, and why did they seem so... familiar?