A Man Said to the Universe
By Stephen Crane

A man said to the universe:
"Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."

She’d let the sun’s fangs sink deep, burning and relentless, and hang limp in the world’s wide mouth. Another chewed up morsel. The grind of tasks reduced her to a shriveled nothing. Yet with every nightly death of her soul, she would awaken to the same day... over and over. Each day chewed on, the same grinding “could-nots” masticating her into the mold of painful sameness.

You could not cancel on clients for listlessness. You could not stave off bills with tears. You could not stitch a smile onto her face if you tried.

Rarity gazed out the window of her gossip nook, her body languidly draped over a pink seat pillow as she sipped on black coffee. It was a brew from Saddle Arabia. Not that this exquisite export could do anything to stir her out of her ennui.

Perhaps the flesh could be willing for a spirit that would not. The caffeine was what really interested her. If there was even a small chance that this day could see a rise in her spirit, then why not bet on a strong foreign brew to get it started? Her lip curled a little at the thought.

What else am I to do? Stare at the walls like some dullard? These endless tracks are all I know.

Her consternation with herself lessened to the certainty sewn from a weary ambiguity.

Had she thought the day off a blessing? She had no real plans for the day, and that meant it might as well be empty. She had no intention of cooking—her appetite had gone missing weeks ago.

Leaving the house is always an option, she supposed with a little yawn. Get out of the oppressive stuffiness of failure. She could visit with friends, shop for new accessories, or just enjoy a nice brisk walk in the fresh air.

Or maybe she could run away to live as a mountain hermit? Not in a cave, heavens no. A quaint cabin. She could bring her black cloak of shame and woe. She could even try a hoof at poetry.

Roses are red, violets are blue,
My inspiration is dead,
And I wish I were too.

If it really came to it, she was fairly certain she could braid a very fetching noose from silk fabric.

Of course, she had no intention of following that last thread. At least... mostly. Usually.

These days her sense of humor (if one could call it that) had taken quite a ghoulish turn. She never smiled or laughed, but felt a wicked stirring of amusement. Like barbs she plucked from her hide, only to plunge them back in elsewhere.

It never lingered. Little chats with wit that couldn’t even stay for tea. The numb desolation that curled tight in her didn’t like mirth as a guest.

She supposed what she was experiencing was part of the ups and downs that regularly assailed her creative mind like a ghost returning to an old manor for holiday. Past causes varied with every gloomy wave.

Once a customer let a cruel comment slip about her work. A few times her sales had been down across her businesses. Then, of course, there were always those bothersome setbacks with a new project.

In many ways, it had all been rather controllable. Like living with the feast and famine of a flooding river. These lows had typically lasted anything from a mere day to a week at most.

Rarity’s eyes narrowed, and she turned away from the window, her eyes piercing to the dark reaches of her boutique.

A dark-gray unicorn with green eyes that lanced cleanly through you. Rarity had worked for many intimidating clients, but this mare—Cold Moon… She was perhaps the worst.

After slaving over a difficult evening gown with ruby studded shoulders and a sequined train for weeks, she’d been on pins and needles to give it to her commissioner. The dress design had pushed Rarity’s skills in ways she seldom experienced outside of her work for celebrities. She didn’t know who Cold Moon was to be making such a request, but given Moon’s lack of hesitation at the costs of ordering the dress, Rarity was willing to bet she was a wealthy politician of some sort.

Though... during the initial measuring, her attempts at finding out through friendly conversation had been met with chilled, stony silence.

Completing the dress had been a release—and a horror. Rarity had no idea how Cold Moon would react. When that day came, her fur had glistened with sweat just thinking about it. Then Moon was there… And Rarity received nothing.

Oh, but she had been paid of course—in bits. Did the mare simply not understand how vital feedback—verbal or otherwise—was to the process? Money was not sufficient currency for an artist!

If money was all she’d needed, she’d still be strapped into a chair for Sassy Saddles making the same bloody dresses time and again. She thirsted for sincere affirmation… or even condemnation would be preferable! Anything but that damned ringing silence!

Cold Moon, the ruiner of her creative soul, had looked at the dress, just once. Then, with nary a word or even expression, had levitated her payment onto the counter, and left. Simple as that.

Rarity hadn’t been sure how to process such a brusque transaction. She had even attempted to interpret the moment of exchange. Much like... like a scholar would interpret a famous piece of poetry.

Had the lack of eye contact been a sort of admonishment? How hard had the bits landed onto the counter? Did the mare leisurely amble to the door, or could one argue it was a haughty trot?

She went over the details of her work, gazing at her design sketches, and reviewing all the materials she’d made use of. Had she measured enough fabric? Which stitch technique had she used on the collar? Perhaps the ruby studs had been overkill!

In a moment of desperation, she’d even chanced to send a letter to Moon, attempting to wheedle out any opinion she may have about the dress.

Crushed under this immovable mystery, Rarity succumbed to sorrow to rival all past sorrows. It wasn’t wailing. It wasn’t whining.

It was… as cold and as silent as her mysterious customer had been. She was aware it was quite unlike her, to be so muted in her suffering, but the experience had presented her mind with a harrowing thought. One she could not let go, and it siphoned meaning from every aspect of her life.

Short of feeling outright suicidal, she had no clear idea why she kept waking up every morning.

Rarity made herself move because the world did not stop, but her hooves felt heavy. She made herself sew because there were still orders to be filled, but her heart simply was not in it. She spoke when it was necessary, but it left her feeling weary.

On this day, her day off, she’d hoped to find some reprieve from her hollow new existence. Surely there was something out there that could still evoke a positive feeling? Some of her friends had tried, bless them.

Pinkie Pie had visited with a fresh batch of cupcakes. Fluttershy had sat in for tea. Applejack and Rainbow had dragged her outside for a picnic in the sun.

Dear Little Spike had even brought her a new gemstone he’d found with Maud—taaffeite, he’d said it was called. He’d had it cut and polished and presented it to her with a bashful grin. She thanked him with a kiss to the forehead, but the gem had sat glinting on her worktable ever since.

She stared at it, some nights, sullen that the language of splendor had gone silent in her heart. Its unique shade of mauve was just that—another color. Another glittering rock to join all the other glittering rocks.

But she was not the same mare she was a month ago. Indeed, she was not the same mare she was yesterday, or the day before that.

If each passing moment was a granule of sand passing through an hourglass, Rarity had suffered through a great many versions of herself with painful awareness.

Time was funny that way. It stretched their every consideration—dreams, fears, and the reality that held them—all whilst condensing, like boulders, choice ripe moments that weighed on the mind.

Her realizations from the moment Cold Moon had left with her last sincere piece of work, to the present moment there in her nook, had transformed her. To everyone else, the change had been stark and swift.

There was a knock at the door, jostling her out of her reverie. Rarity set down her coffee cup on a side stand and rose from her seat. As she approached the door, her magic turned the knob and opened it a sliver, the sunlight slicing over her shadowed form in one searing band.

Standing on the other side was a frowning Twilight Sparkle. Her wings had twitched open just a few inches upon seeing Rarity through the crack, brow furrowed with her usual concentration. When the door creaked all the way open, Twilight’s head lifted as her eyes did a quick once-over.

“Rarity, I’m worried about you.” Not even a hello. Her concern must have run deep. Very deep.

Worried tension had now appeared about Twilight’s eyes, and they had even taken on a sudden watery gleam. This small but critical change suggested to Rarity of a fear confirmed—but whatever the blazes this fear could be was beyond her.

Rarity sighed. Twilight’s arrival was bound to happen eventually, she supposed. A certain inevitability when one is the friend of the literal Princess of Friendship. She wondered who it was that voiced their concern to Twilight first.

Pinkie had been the first to notice Rarity’s new brand of depression... but she had always taken a certain personal responsibility for her friends’ happiness. No doubt she was planning a much grander scheme to get Rarity to smile once more, and would only have spoken had this next step failed. Applejack and Rainbow likely had faith she’d “snap out of it” and hadn’t said a word yet. So...

It was most certainly either Spike or Fluttershy. If she had to guess? ...Fluttershy. Despite his precociousness, Spike never did seem to think straight after she pecked his scales.

Rarity looked up with a start to see the tension around Twilight’s eyes had deepened.

“Apologies, darling.” She stepped aside, holding the door open wider. The sun’s glow reached deep into the shadows of her boutique. “Please, do join me. I was just enjoying some coffee in my nook.” Then she added as an afterthought, “I beg you to pardon the gloom. I find this ambiance agreeable as of late.”

We may as well see what tactic our dear Twilight shall employ to lift our spirits, Rarity. It isn’t as if you weren’t just sitting in your nook wondering what you could do to feel something. Any bloody thing.

Twilight’s amethyst eyes searched Rarity’s blank face. Rarity wondered exactly what it was Twilight hoped to find. For herself, Rarity wasn’t certain there was anything to find.

When her expression failed to change, Twilight shook her head and trotted inside.

Rarity shut the door and followed her friend through the darkened boutique floor to the window-lit gossip nook, but did not take a seat. Instead, she asked. “May I get you anything, my dear?”

Twilight was looking around at their somber surroundings. Her wings remained partially extended in a classic alert posture.

She glanced at Rarity and flashed a smile. A small one. “I’d love a glass of water.”

Rarity gave a single nod and went to the kitchen, her horn lighting up as she levitated a glass to her sink and turned the faucet on. It sounded so loud in the quiet space. She eyed the counter. It had a fine layer of dust.

She wasn’t cooking these days. She wasn’t in the mood for eating much, after all. And cleaning? She only had enough energy to keep the boutique space presentable.

As the glass filled, she felt her friend’s eyes on her. Evaluating her. She felt a small tick of annoyance but stuffed it down.

It was one of the few emotions that still cropped up with any notable presence, apart from the grisly humor. It had much the same barbs to it, but at least the latter didn’t run the risk of hurting her friends. She needed to keep her patience for what was surely going to be a very well-meaning conversation.

A short moment later and Twilight’s drink was at her side, the sunlight glittering through it. She murmured her thanks as Rarity settled back onto her seat pillow.

Twilight didn’t even look at her drink. “Rarity, your habits lately have become worrisome.” She sat with her back straight, and her head raised. The posture seemed vaguely familiar...

“The others were starting to become concerned. I would have been here sooner but—”

“The world marches on, Twilight. I wouldn’t expect royalty to drop matters of import for the whim of my moods.”

“You’re just as important as my court duties. In fact, I—” Twilight chewed her lip, her wings adjusting on her long graceful back.

Rarity eyed this fidget with an arched eyebrow. Within a few years, Twilight would no doubt grow taller and slimmer, all thanks to her ascension. Rarity had already had to adjust her measurements for her regal friend since she’d gained her wings.

It was sort of titillating, actually. All the princesses were quite beautiful in their tall svelte forms. But Rarity was of the opinion that Twilight Sparkle would have something the other princesses failed to have.

It made her think of the secretive deer folk and their curious grace. Their movements were light and smooth, but always trembling somehow. Perhaps a product of their ancestors’ high prey instinct? In motion and stillness, they were always ready to bound away from danger.

In Twilight’s case, it wouldn’t be so much fear as the tumult of an eager mind. Always ready to learn. Always ready to discover.

When Rarity tuned back in, she was chagrined to find that Twilight had already resumed speaking—and had been for some time now.

“—how they are, I just want to get a sense of how you’re feeling. I know sometimes you have, er, episodes of depression, but they aren’t usually this long! And certainly not like this!”

Twilight pouted, pushing her hooves into her seat. “You know what. You’ve been withdrawn, quiet, and distracted for weeks!”

Rarity hummed, taking another sip of coffee. “Mmm, yes. Quite. I suppose I have been.”

Twilight slouched a little, her forehead wrinkling in dismay. “Rarity, did you hear anything I was saying?” Her lips tightened. “I know that you haven’t been eating!”

Rarity pushed out her lower lip and flirted her eyelashes. “Tut, tut, Twilight. A girl’s diet is hardly polite conversation.”

Twilight’s ears flicked, hard. “Rarity, I don’t much appreciate this coy attitude of yours.” Her chin jutted forth, and for a moment, Rarity saw the same stubborn perfectionist who was managing the Summer Sun Celebration. Had it really been so long ago?

“If you would take a moment to think about it,” Rarity began with a gentle flop of her tail, “you would see that being coy is the only acceptable response to this gauche attempt at sussing out what I am going through.” The words came out harsher than Rarity had meant to. She felt a little guilty for it.

Twilight was worried. Of course she was. Why wouldn’t she be? Her friend had been replaced by some stony-faced golem who (unbeknownst to anyone) routinely resorted to gallows humor in an attempt to cheer herself up. Maybe it really would be better if she swung.

The littlest smile flared on her lips as she revisited her idea of a silk noose.

A powerful accessory, to be sure! What color would mine be? Certainly not black. Sky blue?

She looked at Twilight Sparkle with a start. “Apologies,” she murmured. “I must have drifted off again.”

“I could see that,” Twilight said, her eyes now wide. They looked watery again. Tears of frustration? Fear? Rarity almost wanted to ask.

Twilight pushed her hooves into her seat once more—though this time she looked like she was trying to incite her courage rather than channel some aggression. “You aren’t… taking something, are you?” she asked haltingly.

Rarity leaned away from her, her muzzle wrinkling. “No. Twilight, forgive me, but I’m finding this line of questioning rather tiresome!”

Twilight sat back and arched a brow. “I’m just trying to rule things out.”

Rarity tossed her hair and exhaled roughly. “Well, now that you have ruled out substance effects and illness, I suppose you have some nugget of wisdom regarding ‘friendship’ you’d like to impart next?” She wasn’t sure why she was getting catty now. Hadn’t she wanted Twilight’s help?

“No.” Twilight’s lips puckered. “As I told you, if you were even listening, was that I’d like to hear what you’re thinking. What you’re feeling!”

“Truly?” Rarity pretended to brighten, her eyes widening and a saccharine smile spreading across her lips.

“How refreshing! And in the midst of my woeful tale, will you be taking notes? Very well, then let us start.” She placed a hoof across her brow and looked up. “It all began when I was but a filly under the cruel tyranny of my progenitors—”

Rarity broke off as she remembered where the posture came from now. The ice surrounding her soul grew more chill, reaching along her spine. It was the same air Twilight adopted whenever she had to deal with the recalcitrant Discord.

When the princess spoke, her words were clipped. “Rarity, underneath all that haughty deflection, I’m sure you still remember that I am your friend, I do care, and I want to hear your side of things instead of just trying to smear a salve over whatever’s bothering you!”

Twilight jabbed a hoof toward the window, her nostrils flaring. “That clearly hasn’t worked for the others, and if you haven’t noticed, I’m not one to dwell on the ineffectual! So if I must, I will wait for you to run out of barbed comments and sarcastic asides until you realize—” and here her expression softened, “I mean what I say!”

Rarity let out a little huff and turned her face away. “You may find yourself waiting for a long time.”

“My second element may as well be patience because I’m not going anywhere, sister.” Twilight crossed her forelegs. Whenever she did this with Discord, it usually meant a last stand.

“Oh for the love of— It. Is. Nothing!” The words ripped out of Rarity like a tiger’s swiping claws. “Nothing troubles me, Twilight Sparkle! I am kept awake at night by the void!”

She waved at herself like one would wave at a fashion plagiarizer—an uninspired echo, a parasite, that failed even the basest flattery in denying hard-earned credit. Just a copy, of a copy, of a copy. “I am filled with emptiness! Do you know that nothing I do matters? Nothing we do matters?”

Rarity scoffed as she brushed her mane back with a vicious stroke. “I mean really, what is the point? I, for one, make clothing for ponies who wear them, lovingly, for a season, or even a single event, and then it’s on to the next thing.”

She shook her head, glaring toward the boutique floor, her art hidden in the shadows. “All that work abandoned. Discarded. It’s rather ruthless! I vanish with each silly garment I complete. I vanish, Twilight Sparkle.”

Rarity’s lip curled, her eyes narrowing as she leaned in just a breath toward Twilight. “And so, I say, it is Nothing that troubles me. Nothing and Everything, all at once.”

A proverbial gauntlet thrown between them. She half-hoped Twilight would regret even asking.

Rarity sat back, her body melting down to her cushion. That had been… exhausting. The rage had come suddenly. Viciously. It was honestly the most she’d felt all month. It left her feeling raw, like a wound that had been ripped open.

Of course. From emptiness to boiling negativity—Rarity almost wished for the numbness to come back.

“You can see the problem?” Rarity asked with prim frustration. “Is that so?”

Twilight glanced at her, stirred out of deep thought. “Hmm?” Her eyes widened and a hesitant smile crossed her lips. “Oh! Yes. Now that you’ve finally said something, we can start to deal with it. Together.”

Rarity’s horn flared harshly as she levitated the coffee cup to her. Halfway to her lips, she set it sloshing back onto the side table. “Twilight, forgive me... I really need you to explain. How is it that you’ve come to understand my latest melancholy? Because I feel as though I’ve barely grasped it enough to put it into words!”

Twilight squinted one eye. “I didn’t say I ‘understand’ it. I said, I can see what the problem is. Do you wanna hear what stood out to me?” Another flash of that friendly smile. There really ought to be laws about blinding others with such radiance.

Rarity secretly hoped the logic that no doubt drove her friend’s reasoning was not so maddeningly simple as to make the unicorn feel like a fool. Even if Rarity was painted as a complex beast, it would be a far better thing than to be revealed as a basic beast.

Bitterness and hope drove her. “Very well, Twilight Sparkle. Let us hear what your brilliant mind has to offer!”

With a great inhale, Twilight sank down into a comfortable lying position on her pillow. “Let’s see… Well, from what I understand, you’re feeling dysphoria from your work, such that you’ve never felt before.”

She gestured around the boutique space. “It’s seeped into every facet of your life.” Twilight looked at Rarity, her eyes alight with familiar affection. Her wings flexed, the smooth feathers shivering once as her wing limbs stretched, then slid back against her back, sleeker somehow.

“It’s disturbing to you,” she went on, as if the words had just come to her, “because your passion for fashion has been so closely tied to how you understand yourself that this disconnect has caused, not just an identity crisis, but also a deep melancholy about existence.”

Twilight’s brow furrowed. That worried tension returned to her gaze. “Your focus on the idea of ‘vanishing’ with each project you complete was particularly interesting.”

Thoughtful, she tapped her chin with her hoof, then looked at Rarity sidelong. “Did you complete a project, then not receive any feedback about it? Not so much as a smile or frown?”

Twilight let a pursed smile flash across her muzzle. “Ah, yes, that’d do it. In your line of work, feedback is enmeshed in the process.”

She motioned with her hooves like she were trailing them over one defined box to another. “You complete a unique outfit, bring it to the customer, and instantly you get a sense of what they feel about it.”

Twilight bobbed her head and turned over a hoof, her tone lightening as she made an addendum: “And even if you aren’t there to present it personally, Sassy Saddles and Miss Pommel always inform you of how a piece or outfit was received upon sale.”

Her brow furrowed again, and she wagged a hoof at nothing in particular. “For the first time,” Twilight continued, “you found a creature who was good at hiding how they felt.”

Rarity watched her friend’s unconscious actions with great fascination— Twilight in the throes of a thought track was like watching a conductor lead an orchestra.

“You met somepony who didn’t feel any sense of obligation to let you know what they thought of your work, even when you were standing right in front of them. That must have been difficult!” Twilight finished, settling back onto her cushion with a little sigh and a shake of the head.

“It was awful. It was as though I didn’t even exist.” Rarity’s voice sounded small to her.

“I’m so sorry that you experienced that,” Twilight gave a sympathetic nod. “Can you tell me what happened after that moment?”

Rarity’s brow tensed in thought. “I… tried to find meaning where I could. How the mare paid me. How she walked away. I looked to my work and wondered if I could find a way to see what she saw—”

“But of course you couldn’t do that because you didn’t know this mare. You had no point of reference.”

“Yes.” Rarity took another sip of her coffee, letting the cup levitate in front of her instead of setting it back on the side stand. She saw her expression in the black liquid. She didn’t like how she looked.

She remembered herself as perfection. This reflection showed symmetry, and her hair and makeup were neat she supposed… but it was like her appearance lacked any kind of luster. She really was a plagiarization. Just a copy, of a copy, of a copy—

“If I had to guess, that must have felt disorienting. Disturbing even. You were trying to make sense of indifference,” Twilight went on. Her voice had turned soft and coaxing. “I really am sorry.”

Rarity set her cup down and looked at Twilight. Her eyes were starting to mist with tears. Even as they came, she felt no release. Just a deeper sense of hollowness. It almost left her feeling ill. “I even sent a letter to the customer, hoping I could hear her thoughts after the fact.”

Twilight sighed. For the first time since entering, her aura took hold of the glass of water and she levitated it to her lips. After a small sip, she murmured, almost thoughtfully: “You found the ‘indifferent universe’.”

“It’s a philosophical concept. An equinomorphizing of the universe.” Twilight gestured idly with a hoof as her magic set her glass back down. Her eyes narrowed as she made the effort to paraphrase what was no doubt a far more complicated topic.

“If the universe is ‘indifferent’ then that implies it feels things, and because it feels things this separates equines and other intelligent creatures as simply divine onlookers.”

Twilight gestured between them. “We operate under certain moral understandings of how existence operates, but the universe has no sense of these things, and it has no obligation to make us understand its machinations. This causes a kind of… discordant relationship.”

She pointed at Rarity. “Your experience with the silent customer has certain parallels to this concept.” She held up one hoof. “You expected something vital to your work, your identity, and your existence,” she held up another hoof. “And she not only failed to share these expectations but had zero concerns about them at all. She could even have been unaware of them entirely.”

Twilight pressed her hooves together. “That is the ‘indifferent universe’.”

“After some wine, that was hardly what I was calling her,” Rarity muttered. She drained her coffee cup, a little embarrassed by the admission. Such thinking was hardly appropriate—

It was a nice sound. She’d always thought so, but she rarely got to hear the alicorn laugh when it was just the two of them. Usually, the sound was joined by someone else’s voice, muddling it. Alone it was… very nice.

Twilight was still chuckling a little when she spoke: “I can certainly understand the frustration!” Her aura picked up her glass again and she swirled the water. “We want so much to feel like our lives have meaning—right down to the mundane. Lots of creatures feel what you’re feeling right now, Rarity. You’re just feeling it acutely because of how it started.”

She set the glass back down, the small water tunnel she’d made vanishing with a spread of bubbles. “A traumatic event, like death or sudden home loss, can be an intense experience that gets creatures asking all sorts of questions about existence and their own personal meaning.

“But after recovering from the traumatic event itself,” Twilight explained earnestly, “These questions tend to go away. In your case, it started from what essentially makes up your day-to-day life.”

Twilight shrugged, her expression a mixture of sympathy and encouragement. “It’s understandable that this would be difficult to wrestle with under those circumstances. After all, how does one ‘overcome’ your average existence?

“You should know, though—that isn’t the only way of looking at things.” Twilight cocked her head to the side and smiled, her mane spilling over her shoulder. “It might be a good idea to consider other angles.”

Rarity hummed. “Well… If we are to discuss what concerns me most at this very moment, it’s—” her eyes fluttered. She cleared her throat and looked away. “It will sound silly.”

Twilight’s lips pressed together. Her voice was a gentle invitation: “Rarity, I wanted to hear what you’re thinking, remember? I’m not going to judge you.”

“Oh, Twilight… If I could only believe that.” Rarity shook her head. “I sound mad, even to myself!”

She heard a rustling, then Twilight’s hoof was touching hers. She looked at the alicorn, and blushed. Twilight was leaning in very close, much closer than before. Her eyes were lidded with patient affection.

Odd, how Rarity had failed to notice how long and thick her friend’s eyelashes were. They simply couldn’t be false. They framed her rich amethyst eyes exquisitely. Rarity felt a spark of envy, and… something else. She turned her eyes down, unable to hold her friend’s gaze. She felt warm all of a sudden.

“After that ordeal with the customer, I began to feel distant from my work,” Rarity began quietly. “It was disquieting, how easily I was separated from a lifelong pursuit. I seemed to keep making these dismal observations, and none of my usual methods of coping worked because they fell prey to the same dreary lens.”

She gave a little shake of her head, her indigo curls swaying. Whether she did it from frustration or disgust with herself, she couldn’t tell.

“As time went on, I felt more and more disconnected, to the point that the mare of yesterday seemed hardly the same as the one I looked at in the mirror. And then it hit me…”

The words hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. She sagged under the weight of it. “We change with each passing moment. That’s when it all broke for me.”

Rarity’s eyes filled with tears and her voice became choked. The wound in her was tearing wide, gushing— “Twilight, I have let myself transform far beyond anything I can understand, but I have little hope of returning to being the mare I seem to remember. The one everyone seems to remember.”

A sob broke free, and she gasped, pressing the back of her free hoof to her lips. Her chin trembled. She shook her head again, this time to deny the tears. She needed to finish what she’d started now. She needed the wound to flush clean.

While Rarity gathered herself, Twilight didn’t move. Didn’t speak. The unicorn could feel the space being given to her to feel everything, and overcome everything, in her own time— and still her friend’s hoof would not move from hers. The constant contact was reassuring. When was the last time Rarity had felt reassured?

When she lowered her hoof, she tried again, her voice a weak quaver. “I feel lost, and hopeless, and I suppose guilty in a way, because my friends expect to find ‘Rarity’, and all that’s in her place is a stranger.”

Twilight scooted closer till they were both sitting on the same pillow, flanks touching. Rarity shivered a little as her companion slid her wing over her back. Her primary feathers tickled.

“Rarity,” she said, “If I had known you were going through this, I would have dropped everything and come running!”

Her wing flexed, then squeezed Rarity. With aching concern writ across her features, she breathed: “It hurts to see you like this, but not because you’re ‘not you’. You are still the Rarity I remember. You’re just hurting, and trying to understand something most ponies don't have the depth to fathom in the first place.”

“Hmph! If that is a compliment to my intelligence, I may as well fetch my silk noose now,” Rarity grumbled as she primly dabbed at her eyes and cheeks.

It hadn’t been her intent, but the barbs struck them both deep in the telling.

Twilight’s expression went blank as she processed this remark. The corners of her lips twitched. Then she laughed, suddenly. It sounded almost as though it had punched up her throat, like she’d tried to contain it, but failed. More giggles came in its wake.

“I didn’t think you’d find that funny,” Rarity said with a little smile. She felt breathless.

Twilight grinned, still chuckling. “I mean, it is a bit grim, but only you would think of using silk for a noose!”

Rarity blushed, her smile turning slanted. “It’s more durable than some would think.”

Twilight quieted, her eyes searching Rarity’s face. “Never pick a color,” she murmured after a long moment. She squeezed with her wing. “Promise?”

Rarity looked away. Another tick of annoyance nettled her. The silk noose was a farce! Not a real plan!

“I’m not sure what value a promise has when tomorrow I could wake to be a completely different mare,” Rarity murmured.

Twilight’s ears were pricked forward, her eyes wide with focused intent. “If someone took your thoughts, your values, and your memories, and swapped them with someone else’s, who would you believe was ‘you’? The body you used to have, or the body with everything your mind contained?”

Rarity arched an eyebrow. Reluctantly she turned to face her friend more fully. “I suppose the body that has everything my mind contains!”

Twilight’s lips showed hints of a smile at this. “And if you had to choose one body to be tortured, and the other to be given a million bits, which do you decide receives which?”

Twilight’s eyebrows rose, her features pulling down in what appeared to be surprise. “Why?”

“Because I’d hate to hurt someone else, of course!” Rarity looked at her, aghast. “I’d never do such a horrid thing to someone else! Especially when I can give them something wonderful instead!”

Twilight let these words sink in, her expression unchanging. Then she smiled slowly, her gaze turning lidded. “You are... such a good mare.” Before Rarity could process this, Twilight fluttered her wings and shook her hair, the body language of an alicorn inscrutable still. “Er, so! For you, the thing that makes you who you are has nothing to do with your body, correct?”

“So this disconnect from your identity… Just what do you feel of your ‘essential property’ has changed?”

Twilight blushed a little, the hue a pretty mix with her lavender coat. “S-Sorry. I tend to wax academic the longer talks like this go.” She cleared her throat and tried again: “What parts of your mind has changed to cause you to feel like you’ve lost yourself?”

“Oh! Hmm.” Rarity puckered her lips. “Honestly, my lack of interest in things I once loved!”

“Gems.” Rarity sighed and waved a hoof in the direction of her bedroom, her forehead wrinkling. “Dear Little Spike gifted me a beautiful taaffeite recently, but I can’t seem to feel the least bit excited about it.”

Rarity slouched some under her wing—a habit she naturally tried to avoid, but when in the embrace of another, sometimes all one could do was sink.

Finally, the princess spoke. “Rarity, when Applejack is feeling stressed about applebuck season, would you say her attitude about farmwork changes tone?”

“Then why do you think that just because you aren’t all that excited about the taaffeite right now, that means you no longer love gems?”

Rarity opened her mouth to respond, but snapped her mouth shut when she realized she wasn’t quite sure what to say. Then understanding started to trickle through the cracks.

Slowly, she said, “Twilight… are you perhaps suggesting that my ordeal is a matter of perspective?”

Rarity’s cheeks colored, her back tensing as the barbs pried at her hide. Well! A circuitous route to what boils down to a frustratingly simple matter! But… She relaxed a little as she let her eyes roam over Twilight’s relaxed, but thoughtful expression. Perhaps deceptively simple. Like a certain princess.

I may be the bleeding beast at her hooves, but Twilight has made no efforts to slay my pride. I can… try to give her the benefit of the doubt before snapping.

Twilight sighed, no doubt oblivious to her friend’s latest thoughts as she formulated a way to proceed. Her wing shifted on Rarity’s back, then squeezed again reflexively. It sent a pleasant shiver through the unicorn, making her eyes drop low.

“Consider this,” Twilight started, causing her companion to start with ears swiveled forward. “What medium would you say your mind is best represented by?”

Twilight thought for a moment, then she began to make slow circles with her hoof. “Like what if everything that makes you who you are isn’t a linear tapestry of tightly woven fabric, but rather…” Twilight scanned the boutique, her expression blanking with brief desperation. “Something strong! But easily changed—”

Twilight brightened and nodded eagerly. “Yes! Like armor.” Her wing shivered and stirred like she barely stopped herself from wacking Rarity in the back with a wingbeat. “What about chainmail?”

"Chainmail isn't a material, Rarity—” the correction was annoyingly automatic, but before Rarity could dwell on it much longer, Twilight was barreling on, her body thrumming with that boundless energy that had her chasing down intellectual hares. “What if you were designing armor for, uh, one of, say, my guards?" Twilight asked, her hooves pawing eagerly.

The poor dear did not, of course, have many guards who were her own as of yet. However, while Rarity didn't feel the spark here either, she did at least still have the basics down. "Mm. A hoof-knit platinum or platinum-alloy mail, yes. Mustn't have anything that rusts with Rainbow Dash coming around."

"Exactly." Twilight let out a rush of air in relief. Her wing rubbed Rarity’s back, making the unicorn feel the heat crawl up her body.

Rarity dared to turn and peer at her friend’s wing, wondering for a wild second if it had a mind of its own.

Twilight carried on, still unawares: “So this chainmail is a mesh that contains lots of little links. These are all interconnected, but they are unique rings that comprise the whole.”

Rarity whipped her head back around in time to see her friend indicating points in the air as if a block of chainmail were hanging like a curtain before them. “Now, every chain is connected at specific points, and if you follow one trail of rings, you’ll find that new links are added in completely separate branches.”

Twilight’s hoof trailed down. “The further this chainmail grows and expands, the early links from back at the beginning start to drop off.” She gestured back at the top.

Rarity squinted her eyes, her ears turning out. “Do you mean… The things I enjoyed as a filly but have left behind—such as certain foods and games—those drop off the chainmail?”

Twilight nodded eagerly, her eyes igniting with ebullience. “Yes, that’s one good example! The idea is that this chainmail represents your evolving and complex nature.”

Rarity tilted her head to the side, ears swiveling towards Twilight as her friend spoke on. “There can be links that persist, like your love for family, and they interconnect elaborately with the surface details of who you are—say, a newfound interest in skiing. This means that episodes in our lives can have totally separate branches, and yet still be connected to the overall makeup of your identity!”

“So you’re saying what I’m experiencing... is but a new branch in who I am?” Rarity asked slowly.

“Yes. That would be my guess. The permutations are endless! But no matter the variances, under this example, you’re still you. The same creative, passionate, and witty mare that I—” Twilight broke off, her face going blank.

The alicorn let out a nervous giggle. “Sorry! Sorry. Wow. Timing. My timing is bad. Awful, actually!”

Before Rarity could interject, Twilight charged on, horn first, just like the conversation had been transmogrified into Nightmare Moon. “Y-You see, I wasn’t going to say anything—and I suppose I still haven’t, so maybe this is confusing—am I confusing you? I must be.”

“Oh boy, I can’t seem to stop talking all of a sudden. Is it getting hot in here?” Twilight fanned herself frantically. “I feel hot. It’s—oh would you look at the time!” She jumped off the pillow, her wings spread wide and every feather quivering.

“I should probably get back to the castle. I kind of left Spike with, er… everything.” Twilight’s eyes were wide like she’d just learned she was tardy in returning a library book.

Rarity’s ears drooped as her heart stung with disappointment. “Oh! I suppose if you must return.” She bit her lip. Despite their conversation’s rocky start, Rarity had come to feel glad Twilight had visited her.

Twilight scuffed a hoof on the floor. For some reason, she seemed to have trouble holding eye contact. Her gaze wandered, though it flickered to Rarity’s face again and again with nervous attention. “Yeah. I don’t want to overload you. I figure you have a lot to think about.”

Rarity felt a smirk curl on her lips. “Would you feel more at ease if you confiscated my bolts of silk?”

Twilight let out a single laugh. “Maybe!” Her smile turned somber. “Seriously. I won’t go if you ask me to stay.” Her eyes lingered, apparently cured of their nomadic roaming.

The pair gazed at each other, the moment stretching long. Rarity let her eyes slide over Twilight once, slowly. The alicorn’s wings were still spread, but they no longer quivered and her feathers had settled. Her rear hooves were planted wide, one foreleg held straight as the other hovered half-bent over the floor.

Like Twilight was presenting herself with this dramatic pose, hoping Rarity would find her acceptable and ask her to stay.

But why would she want to be here? I’m in such a dreary mood, even I can barely stomach my presence. I must be imagining it.

“I will be all right, Twilight Sparkle. Please, do not trouble yourself over me.”

Twilight’s wings settled slowly on her back. Her raised hoof gently fell to the floor. “O-Okay.” Her gaze dropped and stayed there. Rarity frowned.

Perhaps I wasn’t imagining it? But maybe it’s better this way. The longer she stays, the more likely I am to consternate her.

Rarity rose from her seat pillow to walk her friend to the door. As she crossed the threshold, Twilight paused and looked back at Rarity. “I’m going to come back and check on you.”

Twilight gave her a pursed smile, then turned and leaped into flight, stirring Rarity’s curls as she went.

Rarity watched her friend fly away into the bright blue sky. Her eyes squinted in the sunlight, and just like that, she lost sight of Twilight in the world’s brilliance. She felt… a nameless something.

The sun felt warm. Outside, Ponyville bustled as it always did at the height of the morning. Another wonderful day to get things done, meet with friends, and live a happy life.

All The Little Rings

by Nines

Alternate Perspectives