Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) was free. Free at last.
Or so they said. As if one was supposed to feel the newly acquired liberty the way it was shown in the movies. A weight off the shoulders, a straighter back, a sense of relief, a happy face, a musical number. Something. Anything at all.
The first time she walked out that door, she took a taxi at five-thirty in the morning. Twilight still remembered the driver. The typical, serious-looking man clad in a shirt and a tie, who raised an eyebrow at Twilight's pajama pants but choose not to comment on it, filling the silence with tango as background music instead.
But Twilight liked that, somehow. It reminded her of her grandfather, who always used to tune in the same tango radio station in the car, on their way to spend an afternoon fishing with Twilight's brother while she and her grandmother played with the clams by the riverside.
It was a reminder of where she lived, of both the good and the bad stuff. The cultural stuff, that something that caused a feeling of belonging, of what suddenly brought the sensation of "I'm here and nowhere else."
And now she was free, at last. She was still here and nowhere else, no matter where the mind wandered to. Twilight Sparkle was still here, in the flesh, with functioning lungs and blood flowing through her veins.
But freedom doesn't mean much when it doesn't feel like it. Even after she walked out that door, twice.
What does freedom mean when your wounds are still wide open and bleeding for everyone to see, no matter how hard you try to conceive them?
When he knows that he hurt you and he doesn't care. Or he does, maybe he cares, but the need for hurting is bigger than the need for healing, for truly caring.
No, no. He cares. Twilight knew it, she always did. He was the only one who cared, for a long time.
However, taking into account Twilight's stupidity to be easily fooled, no matter the many academic achievements she received throughout her life, the years of delusion were no surprise.
Sparkle knew it, too, and even understood the reasoning behind it, to a certain extent. They were the same person, after all. Merged in body and soul but not in essence, and from there the reason why she kept quiet all these years.
But there's a moment where you reach the limit, the straw that breaks the camel's back, and everything begins to burn. That's when the pain becomes difficult to ignore. The real pain, the kind that exceeds the body.
And the real pain, is the pain that consumes the soul.
That's when the need for leaving is born. So Twilight left, thinking it would be enough, somehow. Even if a while later she returned against her will and was forced to face fears she didn't know she had, to have talks she never got the chance to get ready for. To swallow the pains, to pay the debts, and to fool herself one more time.
Only to reassure, once again, after walking out that door, that she was free.
Except that she wasn't, because freedom was nothing but a vile lie.
The impurities were rooted deep down in the skin, at this point. Almost reaching the muscles to later start gnawing at the bones. What are you left with, then? What are your choices?
Freedom means nothing when the soul is drowning in darkness, when the thorn is still piercing the chest and can't be taken out unless a pool of blood and useless lungs are wanted.
It means nothing when the mind can't move forward and doesn't dare forget. Because it simply can't. It's hard enough to process that the need for hurting is bigger than the need for truly caring. So who can blame the mind, then? The mind is the mind, is wise but a prisoner of its own thoughts, and can also be really stupid when it wants to.
Freedom is nothing but a word with a hundred meanings.
It could be freedom to love, freedom to leave.
Or the freedom to hurt the ones you love, or the freedom to run away from your house and pretend the world is on your side for once. It could also be the freedom of turning eighteen and flying away to another city, never to be found, never to be bothered again with delusions and empty promises.
Sparkle felt like it meant all of the above and almost none of them at the same time.
But now, after walking out the door a second time, after saying goodbye to what she always knew, to personal spaces, to evenings of chirping birds and background tangos on a radio. After saying goodbye to the only person left and listening to the keys turn on the fence lock with a well-known rhythm. After walking to the end of the block and calling someone to pick her up. Now, waiting for leaving what she once called her home, sitting against a wall of bricks and the inconvenience of a backpack and two extra bags, freedom felt like nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
There was no waving flag, no music that made the eyes overflow with emotions, no confetti, no clapping, not even company. The only thing left were open wounds and a thorn stabbing the chest time and again with words of comfort and empty promises.
The only thing left was Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) with renewed guilt, a numb body, and confirming fears she always had.
Maybe it would get better, as she was often told. Maybe the pains would cease to exist and the mind would learn to move forward. But that wouldn't be today, or anytime soon. Someday, perhaps. She could only hope.
In the meantime, all Twilight Sparkle knew, was that freedom meant nothing, except the ability to hurt those you love, and still manage to get away with it