//------------------------------//
// VI.X - A Destiny Millennia in the Making 
// Story: The Broken Bond 
// by TheApexSovereign 
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In no less than two days, word had spread. Within just two days, the dark cloud overhanging all conversations regarding “Princess Twilight’s selfless ex-student” was alight with joy, excited gossip, and theorycrafting for the future of their ever-flawless nation. 

The press attacked like a swarm of honeybees: the hottest story in recent memories. 

‘EQUESTRIA’S ELUSIVE NEW PRINCESS!?’ read yesterday’s paper. 

‘HER BACKSTORY SEEPED IN MYSTERY - AN INSIGHT, PG. 9’ 

‘THE MYSTERIOUS PONY ALWAYS ACCOMPANYING PRINCESS TWILIGHT - WHO, REALLY, IS SHE?’

“‘The Princess of Empathy!’ decrees Her Highness Celestia.”

Surrounded by these proclamations: a monochrome photograph of this crippled alicorn in the midst of wing-clasping her startled face, looking back as she fled toward the castle of Twilight Sparkle. 

Chrysalis, queen in name and fury only, had tried. 

She’d failed. 

And now Starlight Glimmer was a Princess of Equestria. 

Slapping it against the cave floor, tackling it, Chrysalis tore into the newspaper and its single-minded articles, pawed at it, her snarls animalistic shrilling into the pitch of pitiful. Pitiful! 

But this was all I had left!

Blood-hot rage flooded her breast, burst, rang haggardly throughout the cavern and back. Mockingly. ‘This is how far you’ve fallen’ her dwelling screamed. ‘This is what Starlight has reduced you to!’ 

Pathetic. Ripping up newspapers. Pathetic. And thinking a hole carved out of Canterlot Mountain was giving her ridicule, no less. Pathetic! 

So pathetic... 

Chrysalis rolled over, before her eyes a bottomless darkness like that within her core. She wondered: What did dealing with those witches even achieve? 

It all felt so, so surreal, hearing that Princess Twilight was going to die. A small part of Chrysalis even pitied the tragically young creature—a part she effectively squashed. 

That didn’t lessen the surrealness, however. Chrysalis had to seek it out for herself, and so she did with an innocuous face. She didn’t see the princess physically, as the line to do so at her “last celebration” was absurdly long. But all those miserable faces had made it evident: Twilight Sparkle was unsalvageable. At the time, she fantasized Starlight Glimmer lost in the throes of despair, bawling so bad it explained her absence from the party. 

Sweet payback, Chrysalis had mused, for such a tragedy to render her enemy as lost as the shamed queen had felt the day she turned her changelings into traitors. 

It was as she was prepared to leave, satisfied, when Chrysalis spotted Starlight Glimmer march through the foyer, out the front door. She shook her surprise immediately, her curiosity potent, for this was a pony who moved with an absurd amount of purpose.

And so Chrysalis had followed, stalked Starlight Glimmer as she flew south by way of balloon. On and on she flew, past the Equestrian border and beyond the Bad Lands. To where, or rather whom, Chrysalis didn’t dare approach until that garish balloon took off bound for Equestria. 

There, from the mouths (but not quite) of three ugly beasts, she’d learned: Queen Chrysalis, too, possessed the power to chart a course for Destiny. 

“Ensure Twilight Sparkle is destroyed,” she demanded. “Make all of Equestria feel my despair. For this, I will give you everything. My body, too, if need be. This is all I have left to give.” 

And the mother replied, “TiS aLrEaDy In MoTiOn.” 

They had known of her arrival, apparently, and preemptively inflicted the princess with an ailment foreign to this land in anticipation. A delight, initially, until Chrysalis realized they were contradicting Starlight Glimmer’s trade. 

“YoU sHaLL aTtAiN yOuR hEaRt’S dEsIrE rEgArDlEsS. wItH vArYiNg MiLEaGe.” 
 
And Chrysalis was fool enough to trust such devilish creatures. 

Now they were “redeemed,” fallen to the power of Harmony as all those flimsy of heart have in encounters past. They stood now as a colorful smudge on the horizon, visible faintly from Canterlot above. 

A scrap of newspaper, awash in green light, displayed a monochrome rendering of the tree captured from atop a mountain. “‘She’s taken to calling it Rosedust’s Pillar,’ comments Princess Twilight, ‘though she’s not told me why!’” Chrysalis dragged the shred back, flicking it behind her. 

I know why I failed. 

Once again, she had thought too small. Poisoning Princess Twilight was neither good enough, nor did it inflict the most suffering possible upon her precious little student. They had a way out: each other. Soft antagonists like the witches didn’t help. These factors together comprised inevitable defeat for the bad guys, always. 

That’s the reason why she’d failed, and because she’d failed they were both still alive and stronger than ever of body and soul. 

Starlight didn’t even seem to care that she’d lost her horn! 

Alright then, Princess Twilight. Princess Starlight. 

Perhaps it was time that she learned what it was like—to lose all she holds dear, for her joy to surge forth as bile from her wretched guts! 

To die on the inside, render her naught but vengeance in her heart. Once she did, Chrysalis could die content, knowing she’d finally won. 

By the time she was done, Starlight Glimmer will never, ever know happiness again—she won’t know anything! EVER AGAIN!

Chrysalis howled with laughter, her mind racing to formulate. 

She had a promise to uphold, after all: 

.

.

.

.

“...There is NO revenge you could ever CONCEIVE OF that will come CLOSE to what I will exact upon YOU one day, STARLIGHT GLIMMER!”






“Come on down, Starlight!” Twilight added softly, “Your people are waiting.” 

It felt like a million miles below to the foyer, which had nothing to do with Starlight’s extra four inches. Her breast stirred as painfully as it had long ago, amidst the days before she grew accustomed awakening in this strange castle belonging to a strangely forgiving princess. 

Suddenly her dear friend was this enigma once again: so large and imposing a figure with certain motivations lurking beneath her facade of a smile. Yet the presence behind her, shrouded a ways up its monstrous frame, was a thing several times terrifying. 

Just a door. But one that held so much meaning—this barricade between Starlight and the rest of her life. 

“Yeah, no.” A shake of the head. “No, I can’t do this.” 

Twilight frowned—obviously she wasn’t going to delay this inevitability again. Deep down Starlight knew she couldn’t do this to herself, nor to those camped outside three days now. But I close my eyes, she thought, and I see their judgement, the criticisms and the gossip that would flood in and drown us within the year. 

I can’t do this.

I could barely face my friends a week ago, how can I possibly be fit to face Equestria?! 

She steeled herself for an urging from Twilight.

Who then popped out of existence instead, reappeared beside her with a foreleg slung across her withers. “T-Twilight?” So close. So warm. Comforting. She’s trying to comfort me, a princess… “I’m sorry. This is kinda pathetic, isn’t it?” 

The hug hardened, but wasn’t any heavier. Her warmth seeped through Rarity’s coronation dress—white silk, pink ribbon lining the gown in rows. 

“Still nervous?” asked Twilight. 

Herself so transparent that Starlight barked a laugh. “I-is it that obv-obvious?” A nuzzle gently pressed into her neck. 

“Your legs are shaking so bad, Starlight,” murmured Twilight. 

“O-oh. So they are.” Her forelegs wobbled and she tried with all her might to stop them. ”I… I don’t understand why I’m so afraid, Twilight,” Starlight laughed, hiding her pitiful inability to control her own legs. “I mean, I gamed it out, this coronation. We rationalized it together...” 

Twilight lifted with a smile. “Hey, I still get anxious about being at the center of crowds. Just pretend—” 

“No. No. No matter how many times Pinkie says it, I can’t imagine everypony as a cupcake. My brain just doesn’t work that way.” 

“Neither does mine,” chuckled Twilight. Her gaze shifted towards the stairs, her smile receding into whatever soft emotion stewed within. “Pinkie means well though.” 

Starlight’s belly turned with regret; ever since Flutter Valley, when she wasn’t in the throes of conversation, Twilight’s thoughts were devoted completely to her friends. “I know she does.” 

“She hates what fear does to ponies.” Twilight was scowling, as if she herself felt Pinkie’s rage that instant. 

“Yeah.” Starlight bit the inside of her cheek. You’re like this because of my spell, she thought. All of this, it’s because of me. How I hurt everypony, and left them with scars so deep none but I can see them. 

With that, Starlight’s innards writhed not solely at the thought of stepping outside. She understood, suddenly, the source of her reservations, realizing, I haven’t changed at all.

“Twilight?” Her teach—fellow princess—stiffened back to the present. “I think I just figured it out. The issue, I mean. And it’s not the coronation.” 

Twilight, as she trusted, didn’t judge or wave her off. She faced her, concern in her eyes. “What’s on your mind?” 

Everything. Too much to pinpoint, to delay further. Furthermore, she’d spoken with her friends already… or most of them, rather… 

“Huh! Maybe it is just nerves,” Starlight lied. Equestria’s waiting. Those poor ponies outside are waiting to see their elusive new p-p-p—... “Yeah, it’s nerves. I’d promised today would be the day, after all. Only way to move forward is to push on ahead, after all! So let’s get this show on the—!” Trixie’s wagon flashed forth. “The… the road.” 

“Starlight, wait!” There was a hesitant, outstretched foreleg before her. “This… this is starting to sound a lot like, ‘my problems don’t matter, the greater good needs me now,’ kind of talk. Don’t you think?” Starlight turned but couldn’t look her in the eye. 

Twilight hummed. “Is your vision any better? I notice you keep turning to see me with your left.” 

Was this really the time? “I’m used to it. The color-correcting contact is a little annoying, but the feeling’s become normal. I’ll at least be able to see half of… of all of Equestria,” she squeaked, “without looking too fishy.” Starlight shook her head. “But come on, Twilight. You think that’s what’s stopping me? A tiny nuisance like that?” 

“When it was one of your excuses, then yeah.” 

“Oof.” ‘Excuses.’ Such a cruel but accurate word. 

“Just trying to cover all the bases, Starlight.”

And reel me out of my classic mental trap. Thanks, Twilight. “Alright, fine… I am scared. Of this, it’s big! And other things, I guess.” Trixie and her wagon came surging back, their last words to one another spoken in rage and guilt. “B-but it’s fine! So what if I’m afraid? Or I feel bad? Equestria needs me!” 

“There you go, avoiding your problems—” 

“I know, I know.” Starlight began pacing to and fro either stairwell. “You’re going to reason with me, watch. ‘You’ve endured a lifetime of hardships to reach this point, Starlight. You deserve this. Nopony knows about your horrible history anyway! And those who do have either forgiven you, or’ve written your recent behavior off as trauma from losing your horn. You have nothing to be afraid of anymore, not after all you’d done and learned from Hilda.’ Which, I still think pure emotions and zero solid evidence make for a pretty weak scientific paper.” 

“Oh, you’re not worming your way outta this one! First of all, you just need to look out a window to see the proof! Second, we’re doing that research project on Destiny, and third, you’re gonna help me. No buts about it!” 

Starlight chuckled. “I’ve consigned to my fate already.” It was their duty to share this with Equestria regardless. 

“Besides, it’ll be fun.” Twilight smiled softly, a blush dusting her cheeks. 

She… Of course she’d enjoy doing that with Starlight. I was such an idiot, to think our friendship began and ended with spellcasting and theorycrafting. 

“I’m sorry for being so nosy. I just don’t want you shutting me out.” Starlight found Twilight wearing the ‘sad eyes.’ “I understand if you still have a lot of reservations about it. But I also understand—or rather, I like to think I know—that there’s a part of you ashamed of avoiding whatever’s on your mind.” She saw right through her—Starlight didn’t bother suppressing her gutted reaction. “So… I want to help. If it’s something I can, which, I’m sorry if I’m being a needless worrywart. Er, so much. These past few days especially. It’s just hard! You know, not to be in ‘parent mode’ after, well, you know.” 

Their encounter in the snow four days ago. Everything before that. “Yeah.” Starlight swallowed the lump in her throat, looking Twilight in the eye. They were finally at level, she realized. “Thank you for worrying about me, Twilight. Always. It shows you care, really! And I love that about you.” 

“Of course I care.” Twilight reared up, took Starlight’s hoof in both of hers. “Even before this, I always worried about you. You’re one of my most precious friends.” 

The whole world shifted. I… am? Stupid Starlight, daring to question this—had she truly learned nothing? I am. Yes. So are you, Twilight. The words caught in her throat, in her fear of accidentally ruining this. 

“I don’t just want to be a part of your life,” she continued, “I want to nurture it in any way that I can.” 

Starlight had no idea what to say, what to do except place her other hoof overtop Twilight’s. “Thank you. For that, for being my friend, f-for—” 

“Everything?” A tilt of the head, the sweetest smile Starlight had ever known. 

Nodding, blinking away her tears she breathed, “Yeah, that. So… I guess, if you really wanna hear my problems—” 

“Always.” Twilight’s hooves tightened around her own. 

Starlight swallowed. “I am nervous, still. And guilty. And I don’t think I’m right for any of this, despite how many times you told me otherwise!” Starlight groaned to the heavens, losing sight of what she was afraid of again, then yelped as a pair of big, soft claws groped her coiffed mane. 

A display which made her dear friend giggle into her hooves, dropping Starlight’s in the process. “You’re very expressive with your wings!” 

She burned hot all over. “Wh-well, what can I say? I’m an expressive pony.” And the world’s worst flier ever, but that was the literal least of her concerns right now. 

Twilight hummed, rubbing her chin. “Perhaps a different approach,” she muttered, then aloud, “Starlight, what makes you most anxious when it comes to mind? I won’t let you go out there until you’ve addressed this at least.” 

That was easy. “My friends… M-my best friends,” she mumbled. They were all she could think about following “the Great Freakout,” as Pinkie called it, when Starlight awakened to a new world in which she had an extra pair pair of limbs and the country’s destiny on her shoulders. 

“I thought you’d smoothed things over with them yesterday?” 

“We did! Agh, dang… gimme a sec.” Starlight massaged the twinge beneath her horn—only to softly gasp at being reminded of the cold silver enshrining the remains.

‘It’s a plate with a hole in it,’ Dash had muttered, who was helping Rarity in place of Spike the other day, preparing for a coronation their great friend was too scared to confront. ‘Don’cha feel like that’s kinda… attention-grabbing?’ 

‘I disagree.’ At first, the gut-assumption was as shallow as Rarity having made it. 

However…

‘Starlight’s prepared to do away with her shame. She wants all of Equestria to understand that her amputation is not a weakness, but a symbol of her empathetic conviction towards others, even towards those who’d scarred her in the first place. I find it a beautiful statement, darling. Truly I do.’

The pony who requested this piece, the one looking back in the mirror, scrubbed at the tracks in her cheeks. She ached with loss, of having thrown away her bond with Destiny. And for scaring her friends senseless. But it was this very crown that highlighted the cornerstone of Starlight Glimmer, Princess, that made her into the pony of today.

‘It’s perfect,’ she’d said. ‘Thank you, Rarity. I really couldn’t have said it better myself.’ 

‘Yes, well,’ her voice had grown soft, ‘I’ve come to understand what it is you carry, and your desire to prevent others from feeling the same.’ 

Yeah, that spell… Starlight gut turned. I think I might’ve done something a little bit… permanent to my friends. Though they hadn’t had a chance to sit down and talk about what, exactly, that is between the seven of them, Starlight noted an increase in gentle words and genuine courtesies between them, as well as frequent displays of physical affection. 

Starlight made it clear she still wasn’t a fan when buried in a group hug that went on for ten seconds too long. If they were acting this way towards her alone, she would have felt as if they were treating her differently, but this behavior extended towards one another—

Twilight’s suspicious eye filled her vision. “You sure you guys have talked about everything, and you’re not just saying that to make me less worried?” she sneered. 

“What gave you that idea?” 

“You were spacing out with this look on your face.” Twilight pretended to adjust a pair of glasses. “Classic telltale sign of Starlight reflecting guiltily on something she’s hiding.” 

“I’m not—! I mean I wasn’t—!” Starlight groaned; it’d be nice to mindlessly laugh at her mentor’s performance, but it was clear Twilight was acting to hide her own valid, pressing concerns. 

“Look,” sighed Starlight, “you’re not wrong, but you aren’t exactly right either. I got a lot going on, Twilight. I wasn’t thinking about my friends, though, honest…” Another sigh. “And I guess that’s my problem, right there: avoiding it like always. Even when we spoke this morning, it felt like… like there’s some kind of wall between us.” She hung her head. “I still don’t want there to be conflict, but what if I annoy them by asserting that something’s wrong?” 

Twilight smiled wryly. “Like I do?” 

“No! No, no, you’re absolutely in the right here. And I know I seem annoyed by it, but at the end of the day, I’m glad you’re acting this way. Really!” Starlight added with a blush. 

Her fellow princess giggled in a way that highlighted Starlight’s stupidity and ridiculousness. Speaking from the heart was embarrassing and clumsy still, even despite Twilight clearly adoring it as she grinned in response.

“And that’s exactly the way they would see it!” she said. “I’m sure of it.”

Starlight tilted her head. 

Twilight lassoed her in another sorely-wanted hug. “I’m willing to bet that Maud and Fizzlepop feel the same way. That they know there’s something you’re not telling them. Something they want to talk about, but you aren’t.” 

She was ready to reactively object the notion, but it made a stupid amount of sense for that to be the case. “I was gonna say that isn’t possible, since I told them they could talk to me about anything… but then I remembered you telling me the exact same thing years ago.” Starlight upturned her chin, forcing a smirk. “Turned out flawless, didn’t we?” 

Twilight gave a laugh. “Perhaps they’ve concluded you have more important, princessy things to do than address their unimportant worries.” 

The notion hurt so much that Starlight tore away. “That’s not true!” 

Twilight, smiling because she knew exactly how to play Starlight, pointed up the stairs behind her. “Then go to them, Princess. Your friends are what made you into the pony you are today.” 

“R-right! Yes, yes, of course!” Starlight whirled, then galloped up the steps. 

Twilight hollered, “Remember, either side of Fizzlepop’s room! Wait, I’ll teleport you!” 






Spots flashed before Starlight’s eyes, her coat tingling just as briefly. She tried calming her heart, its drumming against her hoof at the same time. 

“Hoo’h,” she gasped. “Sheesh, Twi. Give me more than one second to brace myself, huh?” 

A second later, her gut weighed heavy once more. Oh, who am I kidding? I wanted to savor the walk before confronting… them. Three doors stood before her, from the center hung a shield embellished with a pair of fireworks mid-burst.  

Starlight made a hard pivot for the right. “Sunburst?” she sang, knocking. “You free in there?” 

A crash indicated otherwise. “Uh, c-come in!” 

Suppressing a giggle, and the image of having startled him, Starlight pawed at the doorknob and… pawed at it… pawed at it! “Dang it!” she growled, bracing herself against the door. 

Suddenly it gave way, unmuffling the sonorous song of magic on the other side just prior to it fizzling out. Starlight was frozen gawking at the floor, then suddenly tilted upright and dropped on her hooves. 

“Sorry about—oh, oh wow.” Sunburst magically adjusted his glasses, ogling her in disbelief. “You look astonishing.” 

Starlight flushed. Part of her still felt ugly with her broken horn, but she knew Sunburst’s reactions to be genuine. “How brave of you, to compliment a mare’s appearance so brazenly.” 

Now it was his turn to feel silly, glowing all red and whatnot. “Ah, err, it was more of an observation, really.” 

“Oh, how unintentionally smooth!” Foreleg to her eyes, Starlight tilted back in a swoon. “Sly dog, Sunburst! How in Equestria have you not grabbed a girlfriend yet? Or boyfriend, whatever.” 

Sunburst smiled, shrugging. “Don’t really feel like it. I’m married to my job, if anything.” 

“Ah. Don’t tell Flurry Heart, she might get jealous.” 

“She’s at that age, alright. You know she popped in the way of Shining’s attempt to give Cadance a kiss?” 

“That’s adorable.” 

Blood returned pounding in Starlight’s ears. 

And there it was: the dreaded lull. Within that, Starlight was able to take in Sunburst’s appearance: his unruly mane gathered in a dapper ponytail, beard combed, and for once, his cloak had been shed for a burnt-orange jacket and dress shirt combo. Around his shoulders hung a fabric midnight-blue fading into pink as it reached his withers, the whole article speckled with diamonds: starlight, honoring the coronation and his status as the Crystal Empire’s new court mage. “You look good, too. Dapper.” 

“Oh, thank my dad for this.” Sunburst’s amber magic played with the collar. “He and Mom insisted.” 

“Hand-me-downs, too?” Starlight swooned once more. “Sunburst, you’re getting me all riled up over here!” 

“Har-har, har-har.” Grinning, he turned for the vanity desk. Magical humming and pages thumping shut indicated he was in the midst of writing something. “So, Starlight, are you here to tell me it’s cancelled?” 

“Uh, no, of course not.” She would have felt offended had this been spoken at the crack of dawn yesterday. 

“Then are you here to lose at Messy Marey once more?” He turned his smile on her. “I’m always game to annihilate you with my flawless strategy.”  

Starlight snorted, approaching. “Yeah, yeah, keep acting all smug. I’ll counter you one day.” 

“Alright, then, alright.” Sunburst placed a stool behind him and a beanbag for Starlight. As they took their seats, he said, “So what’s wrong?” 

“Wrong? What’s wrong? Nothing’s wrong! Why does something have to be wrong?” Total knee jerk reaction—Starlight kept her hooves on her stomach, away from her face, a groan inside her thoughts. 

Sunburst’s smile turned to one of knowing. “Well, from what I’ve gathered, the coronation is happening today. But you aren’t here to ease your nerves with a game. Ergo, something must be wrong.” 

Am I that obvious? Starlight, a princess, couldn’t possibly agree. “Do I need a reason to see one of my oldest and bestest friends?” 

“Starlight Glimmer,” exhaled Sunburst, removing and breathing on his spectacles, “I don’t think you’ve ever done a single thing without a good reason.” 

This last month would disagree. “Sheesh, all those years apart. They’ve really done a number on your understanding of me.” An instant later, Sunburst’s reassuring words before reuniting with Daddy surged back, disagreeing doubly loud. 

He wasn’t fooled besides: “No offense, Starlight, but you were never that complicated.” Sunburst spoke sincerely as he manipulated his shawl, wiping down the lenses. “At least not to me.” 

She bristled, for how dare he presume to see right through her? “Alright, then, wiseguy: what’s my oh-so-good reason for coming up here, if I may so inquire?” 

Sunburst replaced his spectacles, adjusting them with a hoof. “Well, considering Twilight teleported you up here…” He smiled softly at Starlight’s wince. “I’m thinking you had something you wanted to talk to me about. Something so important that it delayed your coronation until it’s done.” 

There was no resentment in his eyes, no hesitation in his voice or word choice. Sunburst had nothing to hide. “Can you be honest with me, for a second, please? A-after hearing what I have to say?” 

It must have been her scared, soft tone which drove him to adopt a similar demeanor, hunching forward. “I always try to be. So, what’s up?” 

Coiling in her chest tightened to burst, pouring out everything: “I’m scared, Sunburst. I’m so scared of everything! I swore to myself I’d be honest about my past and give it my all, but I think about how ponies might react and judge me, and then I just get so tangled up inside that I can’t breathe!” 

Sunburst nodded. “What else?” 

“Oh? Oh, really?” He was so sweet. So patient. Understanding. “Well, how about the fact that I can’t think of a single reason why Twilight couldn’t just copy me and implement it into her rule? She’s so much better at this royalty stuff than me—and I know I’ll learn and I tell myself constantly that I’ll get better, but the idea of failing ponies and hurting them, it reminds me of how badly I bungled it with my friends and it’s—it just scares me. Wh-when I think about how ready I was, acting all gungho as I faced the witches with the girls, I wasn’t going in there expecting myself to gain all these responsibilities!” 

Her foalhood friend nodded once more. 

“And the worst part? This isn’t even it, mind you, but every time I talk to you guys, I feel there’s this pain between us that I’m just too afraid to bring up! Like you and me, we’ve shared our sorries and hugged and had our song about being ready for the future—” Sunburst smiled fondly, “—but I keep… thinking… about how I left you here,” Starlight realized, to her horror. “I ditched you without any consideration for how you felt. Twice! Three times if you consider the Gourd Fest!”

“S-Starlight—” 

“How can I confidently help ponies looking to me for wisdom, when I’m too afraid to confront a friend who accepts my faults and tells me he doesn’t care about them?!” 

Sunburst sat back, brows knitted. “Well, you’re confronting him now, aren’t you?” Starlight swallowed, blinking away her tears. He shot up from his seat. “Starlight… take a step outside yourself and look at this scene right now: the fact that you care this much about how little old me feels proves you’ll be a wonderful Princess of Empathy.” 

“Yeah, but—” 

“But nothing.” He sat on the floor beside her. “You’re my friend. And soon, you’ll be a friend to many, many ponies. Foals and fillies, mares and stallions who are currently hurting like you, are as scared as you, and need you now more than ever to tell them what’s what.” Sunburst smiled—a wide, honest, loving smile. “I won’t lie and give empty platitudes: there’ll be those who don’t understand you, just as Twilight has. You’ll face pushback. You might falter and question what you’re doing. But as far as I’m concerned, the difference between you and Twilight? The reason why this is your destiny, and not hers?” 

“It’s because you crumble like her, you risk folding and reconsider boundaries that, prior, you considered crossing… just like her. But at the end of the day, you push right back. You change minds instead of enthralling them at the last moment.” His every word was at once like a warm hug around her heart, and a chisel hammering upon it. “You’re a strong pony, Starlight. And a good friend. I really can’t think of anypony more qualified than—” 

“I still hate myself,” whimpered Starlight. “I think,” she gasped, “th-tha’s why... I’m—” 

Forelegs, the smell of books and pumpkin spice, enveloped her. Starlight exhaled, then wailed inside his shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” hushed Sunburst, stroking the back of her neck, carefully avoiding the sculpted mane. “Watching you over the years has proven that: change is a steady thing. And the more ponies you help, the more you’ll love yourself. I know you well enough to know that.” 

She had always been eager to help Sunburst when they were kids, whether it be with magic or simply curing his boredom. Starlight had loved having that with him. She loved him. “Don’t tell Twilight,” Starlight uttered. “You’re one of my best friends, Sunburst. Thank you for this, but please don’t tell her.” She didn’t even know what her point was—she was just babbling from the heart. 

Don’t tell her I keep hating myself. She might grow tired of me. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Sunburst, his voice sincere but grated with emotion.

Starlight sniffled, patting him on the back. “Can’t believe I’m still avoiding Twilight after everything,” she said to the ceiling. 

“You’ll find your way to her, you always do.” Sunburst huffed. “Just keep to heart what I said this time, eh?” 

Starlight pulled away, sniffling. She looked him in the eye as she wiped her running mascara. “I never forgot. Sunburst, if it weren’t for you, I’d have never talked to my dad that night I ran away. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have remembered something so far gone despite it being so important about myself.” 

Sunburst blinked, his eyes glassy. “Well, hey, whatever helps. I’m always happy to be of service.” He gave a silly little curtsy—still seated, of course. “M’grace,” he uttered deeply. 

Starlight laughed, shoving him away. “Dork.” They shared a chuckle, wiping their eyes and finishing simultaneously. She sighed. “Love ya, Sunburst.” 

A nod. “You too, Starlight.” 

She considered asking him about Trixie, but she had taken enough of his energy. “Mind if I… stay here? Just for a few minutes. Gotta calm down and muster the will to face…” 

A grim sigh. “Maud. Yeah. Take all the time you need.” For it wasn’t Maud personally that she was afraid of—it was Starlight’s reaction if her display here served as ample foreshadowing. “Don’t rush on my behalf.” Sunburst’s hoof was suddenly on her hind leg. “I like being with you.” 

‘I like being with you.’ 

It was so simple, so genuine, yet felt like so absurd a lie. Coming from most ponies, it’d have been theorized as such. 

Starlight smiled, grateful of Sunburst’s… just Sunburst. Everything about him. 






Everything seemed normal when she spoke with Maud yesterday. It hit Starlight as she sat in Sunburst’s room, the occupant humming whilst scribbling in his journal: this was precisely the problem. 

At least, that’s what made her uneasy when thinking about the stern, shy mare. 

It’s not like Starlight hid anything. She went through the crying shtick, bowing, explaining as best she could her unjustified and atrocious behavior towards Maud. And not just how she’d avoided Maud the entire month prior. 

But for making Maud’s friendship feel worthless in Starlight’s pathetic attempt to save her from being hurt like… like... 

Anyway, the ease of it was what drove her heart crazy. 

I’m… just so precious to Maud, I was her first friend outside of family. She put herself out there, her heart on the line for me, and I went and damaged a genuine diamond in the rough: beautiful and hard, but fragile as can be. 

Perhaps the self-loathing part of Starlight wanted Maud to hate her for it. It would be easier on her consciousness for sure. 

Maud confessed that while it had upset her, she understood that Starlight didn’t mean anything personal about it; she was going through a rough time, feared burdening her friends. She understood, and that’s why she felt unworthy of insisting her emotions upon Starlight. They’d hugged, vowed to be more open with one another. Relieved tears were shed—wailed, really—by the oh-so-composed princess, for most of her fears had been cobbled together in her messed-up brain, the only place they existed. 

And Maud didn’t hate her for it. Of course she wouldn’t. 

By all accounts, Starlight’s attempt to “patch things up” with Maud were already duct taped shut. 

I’m not expecting her to hold a grudge, thought Starlight, trotting past her own bedroom door, but she was definitely quiet when we ate and played games last night, more so than usual. It meant something. 

There had to be something unspoken between them—something impossible to broach with other ponies around. Talking about myself, of course. I’m the one who lies to herself and uses mental gymnastics to pardon her issues. Whatever it precisely was concerning Maud Pie, she would realize it the same way as with Sunburst: by speaking openly. 

How terrifying! 

Starlight reared back a forehoof, and just before hitting the door a crack wide enough for Maud’s placid face opened. Obsidian laced around her throat, her mane done up in a messy top bun. 

“Princess,” she greeted. 

The tension inside Starlight exploded. “Maud, I told you that I don’t want anypony—!” 

“It was a joke.” 

Of course it was. “E-even so,” Starlight mumbled, cupping a cheek warm enough to seep through her slipper. “I especially don’t want friends giving me special treatment over this. Too weird.” 

Maud’s brows knitted—a small gesture to most, but for her, a signal of deep concern.  “Sorry it made you more angry than exasperated.” 

It didn’t make her—“Wait, you were making a joke with the purpose of exasperating me?” 

“It was to make me laugh. Guess I’m off my A-game today.” 

“H’um...” In other words, to brighten her own mood. “So…” 

“So.” Maud blinked. “Is the coronation cancelled again?” 

“No, it’s not!” groaned Starlight. “Sheesh… And for the record, you didn’t make me angry. I was… scared, I guess.” 

“Of?” 

“I dunno! That... you didn’t see me as the same old friend anymore, maybe? Or worse, someone better.” Starlight’s heart trembled up her voice: “Change scares me, I mean c’mon.” 

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” Maud opened the door fully, giving a complete view of her simple black gown. “Come in,” she said with a subtle flick, throbbing the amethysts clinging to her ears. 

Starlight entered, ogling her side profile. “Ooh, I like your tail.” It was tied up in a bun mimicking her mane’s, accompanied by a side slit on her gown revealing the cutie mark—a rock. 

“It’s nothing special.” Maud sat, reaching down her dress to retrieve Boulder from his usual spot to massage him. 

Starlight wandered, voiced a slight ponderance in her search for smalltalk: “How’d you know I was about to knock, anyway?” 

The door closed, then silence. Then, “Maud Sense.” 

“Ah.” 

“Did you need something?” Maud asked, slightly quicker. Maybe it was Starlight’s imagination. 

“I need a reason to see one of my best friends?” No response. Regret quickly poisoned Starlight. Maybe I’m annoying her. Or maybe she can tell I’m lying, despite our promise. 

Starlight spun around, saying “Maud, I—” and her frantic search for words ground to a halt. “Woah,” she breathed, “Maud, i-is… is something—?” Her chest tightened so bad it ached. “Oh, gosh…” 

The gaze of Maud Pie was, in a word, hollow. A sight Starlight had only seen one other time, and had never, ever forgotten for being the cause of it. “Maud?” Her eyes weren’t pointed at Starlight, just her hooves briefly before wrenching shut of all things, slow and painfully. 

“Maud…” Starlight’s legs were already moving. 

And then froze as Maud snapped: “Stop.” It was uttered in her usual tone, but Boulder fell from her hoof, unto the carpet, muffled but louder than a crack of thunder in Starlight’s heart. 

“What is it?” she asked. 

“That was a lie,” said Maud, eyes holding shut. “I was peeking through the crack under my door since you teleported in.” 

Thanks a ton, Twilight. Starlight shook off her annoyance, but the thought of Maud awaiting her friend lingered. “You wanted to see me that bad,” she realized. “Oh, gosh, Maud, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you’d—” 

“Want to?” Starlight was gutted. Maud’s shoulders throbbed once—a laugh or a sob, a chilling mystery. “I give that impression. It’s no wonder you think that way, even after what I said.” 

“Maud, that’s…” She expected to be cut off. The silence felt much worse. “That isn’t what I was thinking. Well, I kinda was—I mean, oh, to be honest, yeah I was, but… Argh! Stupid! Why am I always so—?!” She exhaled deeply. No fear. She’s your friend. No fear. She’s your friend. “I was scared, okay?! I don’t know what’s wrong, but I know whenever I think about you, I find it so hard to breathe or think or-or anything! That’s why I’m here, honest.” 

“I scare you.” Maud’s eyes opened into slits, drilling through the carpet between Starlight’s silver-shod hooves. “I get that.” 

This was all so sudden—the pain in Maud’s eyes, what she was saying—that it took a moment to gather herself. “Maud,” stammered Starlight, “when have you ever held such insecurities? You’re one of the most confident ponies I know!” By avoiding Starlight’s gaze, it hit her: Dragon Pit. Maud trying to be the friend Starlight needed, coldly turned down under the assumption she was forcing herself into a role that made her uncomfortable. 

It was all Starlight’s fault. 

Always it was Starlight’s fault. “Oh… oh, gosh, this is—!” she choked, smacking herself on the breast. “This is all my fault!” 

Maud’s face flickered up, eyes widened to their usual state. “No—” 

“Because I completely blew you off and doubted your feelings back when we were playing Dragon Pit!” 

“Starlight—” 

“Maud, I’m so, so—!”

“Starlight.” A pair of hooves clamped her face. “Hush. Please.” Calm eyes burrowed into hers. “Stop blaming yourself. I am. Not angry. About. That.”

She was so kind. Always. Maud had to have been lying, or sparing her feelings. Something, anything, not just Starlight continuing to hate herself and bringing her friends down to her level!

“Then why aren’t you?” Starlight croaked, swallowing. “Better yet, how come I feel like there’s a barrier between us you won’t let me pass?” She remembered Twilight’s comforting words, recalled Maud’s that fateful day over Dragon Pit, and her confession prior: 

‘I was afraid of failing to be the friend you needed if you ever came to me for that…’ 

“Maud, let me in. Please. I know I’ve been a blind, deaf friend—” 

“How can I let you in when you hardly ever know what you’re looking at?” Maud inquired so concisely, but Starlight knew, from the flush tinting her cheeks pink, that she was dying inside. 

Beneath her words, the meaning rang loud and clear: ‘How do you expect me to trust that now when you’ve forgotten about me first, then avoided me, and shot me down several times amidst both—all because you believed I didn’t care like everypony else does?’ 
Once upon a time, Starlight, guilty, would defend herself by saying it was more nuanced than that. And it was, but for Maud specifically she ought to know by now just how loving and genuine a friend she was. 

“Because you were always the friend I needed. And I was too deaf and blind to see that.” Starlight’s rasp was deafening against the enshrouding silence. 

“I’m sorry,” said Maud, squeezing her cheeks to prove it. “I really am for saying that. I shouldn’t expect you to understand and believe me when I myself am hardly ever op—” 

Starlight shook her head within Maud’s grasp. “You’re blameless. I misunderstood you in the past, true, but not always! And you know it. You’ve every right to hold resentment; I know you never do anything if it’s not for a good reason.” Starlight couldn’t help herself—and by shaking from her iron grip she in turn annihilated Maud’s personal space, disregarding her wish of avoiding touchy-feely stuff—and embraced one of her best friends tight. “You bared so much of yourself to me the day we fought.” Maud stiffened like a board. “Gonna guess you’ve never done something like that before, sans family. And despite what we said yesterday, you’ve barely talked.” 

A shallow, wavering inhale by her ear nearly sucked Starlight’s heart right out of her throat. “I barely talk, period.” She couldn’t help but snort. “Have you known me the last two years?” Starlight giggled harder. 

“Maybe!” she breathed. “I know how much you love to joke, like right now. Lately you’ve been more responsive and initiative in a group setting.” All those wonderful memories were now tainted in her heart by Starlight’s cruel dismissal of her character. “And now, looking back at yesterday, it feels like you’ve regressed. It’s hard not to think you still… are angry. Either at me, or…” Starlight’s gut plummeted. 

As it did with Sunburst, everything clicked, and she realized: “Or yourself…” 

The distance, the quietness, brushing off her own resentment as unwarranted. It was hauntingly familiar. 

She pulled away, finding Maud’s brows knitted and her eyes glassy. Before she could find the words, her friend’s monotone was softly spoken: “How did you notice all of that?” 

A forehoof, fiddling with the black rocks on her throat, Starlight sat and took into both of her own. “Because you’re my friend,” she said, gazing up into Maud’s wandering eyes and seizing them. “You’re one of my best friends, and I care and I worry about you. I’d feel terrible if something happened to drift us apart, or if you were hurt because of something I didn’t see.” Starlight dropped her hoof, clasping her own thundering chest. “I said it yesterday, I’ll say it again, and probably a hundred more times between now and the day I die: I’ve been a bad pony and an even worse friend. To you especially, Maud: you stripped your soul bare to try and make me feel better, and I kicked dirt in your eye. I understand completely if all this has been because you hold some hatred for me. I know I deserve it.” 

Maud held her gaze, then shut it painfully, turning away slightly. “Oh, Starlight…” 

“Maud?”

It took several moments and the fear of rejection to manifest before Starlight was answered: “You’re doing it again,” murmured Maud, voice chilling her spine, “you’re going off presuming how other ponies feel about you. That, I hate most about you.” 

Starlight felt like she was bucked in the throat, even though it was totally in the right. 

“And I don’t blame you,” Maud added. “Because I’m guilty of the exact same thing.” She blinked, tears suddenly cleaving through the fur on her cheeks. 

She was sobbing inside. “M-Maud!” Starlight breathed. “Don’t cry!”

Her friend stepped forward, hoof to her breast, brows knitted, eyes glassy. “I told you this already, but I am a coward, Starlight. I may not give the air of one, but deep down I’m just as scared of other ponies as you. The day I told you all this the first time, it was the day I truly realized how similar you are to me.” 

“And that… scared me most,” she mumbled. 

“How you pushed us away, the lifelessness in your voice—a resignation to this horrible self-image…” Maud’s eyes were wide as possible, glistening for Starlight to make out her horrified face staring back: never, ever, would she expect Maud to speak this much, this passionately, despite sounding as mellow as ever. “Starlight, how you felt in that moment, or always had, was so familiar that it terrified me. I saw myself in you, and because of that, in a snap decision… I abandoned you, presuming in your time of need you were just as unsalvageable as me.” 

“To be honest, I pretty much was. Don’t blame you for thinking that, honestly.” 

“But you wouldn’t have. You proved that by saving the witches. The same willpower and faith applies to Twilight.” Maud blinked hard, returning to face Starlight. Her eyes opened, placid demeanor returned albeit shimmering powerfully. “Which is why I can’t believe you care about somepony like me. Instead of insisting myself upon you like Twilight, I let my petty hurts and feelings control me.” 

Starlight smiled, batting her eyes, only to make them blurrier. She chuckled wetly, rubbing them, finding Maud’s eyebrows lifted and her lips parted, astonished. “Oh, Maud,” she said. “How can’t I love you, after realizing how you’re just like me, deep inside?” 

“‘Love?’” Maud uttered lightly. 

Starlight chuckled. “Sorry, th-that sort of slipped—” 

“Say it again.” Maud pursed her lips, her gaze flickering aside of all things. “Only if you want to.” 

She’s starved for love but afraid to take it, just like me. Starlight decided she didn’t care about personal space: Maud needed her, and she needed Maud, so she wrapped her forelegs around her eye-widening friend and yanked her to the carpet, squeezing her tight with all four legs latched around her. 

“I love you, Maud,” she said, heart twisting, face ablaze. “You’re one of my best friends. I mean that.” Silence. Glancing down, Maud’s face was blank, her eyes agape. “If you’d like, you can hug me back. Whenever you want, even.” Starlight’s own face burned hot; this felt too familiar, too childish. Maud might reject her. Maybe. But her belly swarmed, her heart tingled, and she felt a frantic drumming from the front of Maud’s dress against the crook of her foreleg. 

It felt like a million years before Maud fully wrapped her forelegs around Starlight’s midsection. The squeeze, however, shocked her back to the present—it quivered with apprehension. “Is this okay, Starlight?” 

She tittered. “Sure is.” 

“Thanks. This is awkward but I’m really happy right now.” 

Starlight burst out laughing. “That makes two of us!” 

They remained this way for several long, tender moments, until: “There’s a lot I want to say that I’m still afraid of saying.” 

“Me too,” Starlight confessed. 

“Because I don’t think anything I could say will properly convey just how much I… um…” 

“It’s okay.” Starlight squeezed. “You don’t have to force yourself.” 

“You did.” 

The softness of Maud’s voice was painful. “I’m me, and you’re you. Maud, do you understand why breaking that balance makes me feel terrible if I’m the cause of it?” A nod, Maud’s bun poking Starlight’s jawline. “I regret reacting how I did. We’d have suffered a lot less had I been unafraid of your presumed judgement.” 

Her chest throbbed, but uncertainty gnawed at her gut. A devilish whisper: She could still be annoyed with me. Or afraid, thinking I’ll judge her despite everything. 

Beneath her, a hoarse, nigh-imperceptible, “Me too.” Maud undoubtedly felt the same if admitting just that took all her courage. 

This felt like a job for Cadance, but also for the Princess of Empathy. “I got a spell,” Starlight chirped softly, enjoying the gentleness of the moment. “It needs some tuning, but it should help you and I understand one another on a—well, this’ll sound weird, but an indescribable level. Got a lot going on right now, might take a while. I swear on our friendship, Maud, that I’m not going to forget. Or avoid it, even.” 

“Okay.” 

Uncertainty poisoned Starlight against her petty will. “Uh, was that a whatever-okay? Or a sure-thing-sounds-good-looking-forward-to-it-okay?” No immediate reply. She’s thinking. Or she’s nervous. Thinking, or nervous, Starlight had to tell herself. Maud’s ear was right against her aching heart, after all. 

Or maybe, chimed a sudden thought, she hates the idea but is just going along with it because she doesn’t want to offend you! Oh, how can I possibly placate this—or respond, even!? 

“Neither,” she replied at last. “I want to do it. If this will help us understand one another better, then I absolutely want to.” 

Such passionate desire in her vocabulary. “M-Maud—” 

“However,” she cut in, touching Starlight’s foreleg, “there isn’t a single part of me that feels good or is looking forward to it.” 

“Well, why not?” 

Maud lifted her head, perma-glare flanked by amethysts carved into four-pronged starbursts. “Because even if we promise to one another we won’t, it wouldn’t matter, because both of us are afraid that it might inflict irreparable damage on our friendship.” 

A swallow, gulping down nothing for a belly painfully hollowed-out. I hadn’t even thought of that… you stupid, rushing, arrogant pony. “Well,” said Starlight, donning a smile, “you aren’t wrong. That’s on my mind and it’s cause for concern. But the fact that I didn’t guess your reaction properly is evidence enough of the benefits this would bring. If all goes well, we’ll become just as close as I am with Twilight! Or even—!”
Trixie…  

A deep, almost tired-sounding sigh. “Communication is difficult for me. That’s why I’ll go through with it as well. ” 

Silence fell again. Starlight wanted to voice one of her unspeakable thoughts. “Maud? Do you ever regret becoming my friend?” 

“Never,” she answered immediately. 

And that was it. Starlight wanted more, and knew Maud was being shy. “So, why not?” she asked lightly. 

“Because then my life would be lonely and boring.” 

Fair enough. Starlight sighed, her misery bubbling up, clogging her throat. “Pretty sure that… that Trixie does. I keep, you know, hoping that she’ll teleport in front of us any second now. Fireworks and all.” 

A squeeze from Maud. It didn’t let up—a mutual regret ate at her. “She’ll come,” Maud hoped.  

Starlight barely heard, barely registered the other pony beneath her as she fantasized towards the ceiling: “Even if she acts as if nothing happens, even if she makes it clear that her and I have so much to work through and sort out after this… heck!” Starlight laughed wetly. “I don’t even care if she comes in just to start yelling at me! Because anything—!” The shadows above blurred together. “Because anything like that proves she still cares enough to wanna be my friend.” 

“You’ll see her again.” 

Starlight wanted the same enthusiasm. She truly did. “Except Sunburst cast a spell for Spike’s dragon-mail to seek out Trixie’s magical footprint. Twice, they did that! And she’s yet to come, she probably never will! Not after how I abused—!” Starlight shook her emotions out, rested against the bed. “Sorry, Maud. I don’t wanna bring the mood down ag—”

“Talk to me, Starlight,” said Maud, softly adding, “please.” It was a plea, a redacting of their friendship’s only rule of no feelings-talk. 

“If you say so.” Breathing deep, Starlight prepared herself to pour everything Trixie-related from her heart (and tear ducts) with the only pony in Equestria who would truly, fully understand. 

It began with a cry into her mane: “She hates me now, Maud!” 






A sonorous hum sang aloud upon breaching the Entrance Hall, gripping tight Starlight’s spine so swift and firmly she froze, still in all but shuddering legs. A page turn broke the monotonous melody, breaking something painfully within and yanking out a gasp. 

Fizzle threw her eyes toward the ceiling, mouthing, ‘For the love of—’ before taking one of Starlight’s sashes in her mouth and yanking her back around the corner. 

Starlight gasped as she was slammed against the wall, wings spread on either side of her, pinned by Fizzle’s hooves. Electric blue eyes bore into hers, sharded horn stump grinding against sharded horn stump. 

“I’m sorry.” Starlight grinned apologetically. 

“Are you kidding me right now?” 

“Look, I can’t help how I feel, okay?” One wing was free, the offending hoof reeling back beside Fizzle’s head. “It’s not like I was gonna—oh-h’oh!” Starlight coughed, prodded by a silver-clad shoe. “Was that necessary?!” she hissed, fearing Twilight would, for once, register something outside of her reading zone. 

“Unfor—ugh, yes. You wore a face that said you were going to put this off, maintain your precious illusion with the princess. Just like you had for a whole month—poorly, might I add. Pitifully so. Therefore, yes. I had to get you out of your cyclical train of thought, and to do so, I decided to hit you. Yes, yes, unfortunately, yes.” 

I guess you were telling the truth back there: you hate how aggressive you’ve been. For warmth now radiated from Fizzle’s cheeks, wrapping Starlight’s core in the fuzzies. “Aw, you feel bad for once!” Her eyes flared, ablaze with icy fury. “I’m kidding, you always care. Sorry.” 

A lowered gaze. “Yes, well, all jokes sprout from a seed of truth, if I recall correctly. I’m aware that I haven’t been the warmest, nor most honest, friend you deserved.” 

Starlight frowned. Destiny knows how I’d have hated being teased like that in your shoes, or was rudely reminded of my flaws. “Sorry. Not cool.”  

Fizzle shook her head. “Forget that, and me—this is about growing some guts and meeting your fears in the field.” 

“What do you think I’ve been doing this past hour?” 

“Giving your biggest demon the go-around: Princess Twilight’s reaction to the fact that you haven’t changed at all.” 

Starlight felt shot with an arrow. “We just got done agreeing that I’ve changed a lot! You tryna break me down here and now?” 

“I was voicing your very obvious reservations, considering what you told me and how highly you regard Princess Twilight. So relax.” Fizzle suddenly registered her hoof twisting into Starlight’s wing. “Um, yes. Relax,” she said, dropping her second charge to her hind hooves. “Apologies, I forget myself.” 

Starlight sat there, grooming her ruffled plumage, swallowing whenever she would cross the tender flesh beneath. “This is gonna bruise probably,” she muttered. 

“Uh, may I—?” Fizzle reached for her unattended wing, open at half-mast. Starlight rigidly slapped her hoof aside. 

“No dice,” she said. “You don’t get to make up for it, you have to sit there and feel bad about yourself for,” Starlight gasped, threw a hoof to her forehead as she breathily shrilled, “for inflicting great harm upon me on the day of mine own coronation!” 

“Ugh.” Fizzle buried her face in her hooves. “What’s wrong with me, Glimmer?” 

Starlight smoothed her other wing. “A great many things,” she sighed—several feathers were painfully bent upwards. “Just like me. It’s why I forgive ya, so stop feeling hung up about this last month, eh?” 

“I’m not—I mean, I no longer—” 

Starlight rasped, “‘I was voicing your very obvious reservations, considering what you told me and how highly you regard Princess Twilight.’” It fit too perfectly. 

Fizzle, lips parted, found herself speechless. Hollow, clearly. Starlight could hear her thoughts, as she just voiced them back in her room: “It’s truly absurd, your tolerance. Its durability and depth. Not just for me, but others as well. Yet, you were given a pair of wings, a title, and phenomenal power you cannot ever use yet hadn’t realized until my bringing it up. So who am I to dismiss your sentiments, a guilty self-hating traitor? ...Starlight Glimmer, you’re an anomaly. I… don’t feel worthy of your companionship. But I thank you for it.” 

Starlight smiled sympathetically. “Look,” she said, drawing Fizzle gaze, “I know better than most that a few nice words and promises aren’t going to erase how you feel. It’s gonna take time. But one thing that I learned through all of this? Shouldering all the guilt—it hurts others more than it helps.” 

“But I—!” 

“Was trying... to the best of you ability. To help something you never thought you’d have: a friend.” Starlight sighed, her chest filled to burst. She clasped it, trying to suppress the feeling and capture it simultaneously. “The fact that you did, Fizzle… is why… I…” A hapless shrug. “It’s why I love you, y’know?” 

Starlight felt her cheeks about to combust. Surely they would’ve, had Fizzle not stiffened on the spot, eyes agape, throat throbbing with numerous successive swallows in her attempts to make sense of this. 

“You…” Five seconds passed; she could muster nothing more. 

Starlight nodded. “We’ve known each other for just over a month,” she said, smiling. “We fought and disagreed mostly, I know. After hearing your confession, and you hearing mine, it’s clear for most of it we felt guilt and tension around one another, about one another, even. 

“But not always,” Starlight added. Fizzle met her eyes, entranced and hurt and trying not to be so eager. “I remember all the times I felt the exact opposite. And I like to think you do, too. It’s why you tried so hard to help me. Why you nearly shed a tear back in your room, because you’d felt so bad for all of it.” 

“I didn’t cry,” she rasped. 

She was totally going to. “Well, I did.” Starlight huffed, smirking. Swallowing her emotion. “Fizzle, I treated you and everypony so dang badly. But my worst, or close to it? Is whenever I’m reminded of how I tried leaving your life without a word.” 

“I…” Fizzle cleared her throat, wet her lips. “I told you I understood—” 

“You did. But you also felt hurt and betrayed. You felt like I didn’t care.” Starlight sighed, her wings slapping the floor. “Fizzle, they’re not enough to make up for how I made you feel, but I hope the tears I shed in your room was a start. To prove how special you are to me.” 

Plate armor clunked as it shifted together, Fizzle rising blank-faced, either containing tears, confusion. Could be anger, even. 

Starlight’s breast thrummed, followed by another. And another. Another-another-nother-nother-nother—it was going crazy, she realized, her thoughts and she supposed her feelings poured into a single notion: Please don’t think I’m cringey and weird. 

Please don’t reject me. 

At last Fizzlepop Berrytwist blinked her glassy eyes, scrubbed them, whirling away as she did so. “You don’t need me to talk to Twilight,” she rasped thickly. “You’re the strongest pony I’ve ever met. I…” Her muzzle lowered, then perked up. “I was so obsessed trying to find what she saw in you that I hadn’t realized it’s what she felt in you. As you did her—why you saved her, tried forsaking your own happiness to preserve hers.” 

“Fizzle…” 

“Because now,” she said, “I feel that for you, and because you do me, I’m willing to give our friendship another try. A better one.” 

Starlight grasped for words. “O-of course.” 

Her head turned slightly, though Fizzle’s face—consciously, perhaps—remained out of sight. “So go get coronated already. I’ll get the others and we’ll meet you in the dining hall. And when the party’s over… how about we make some tea and talk? About… about books, I guess.” 

Of course. Of course! “Yes! Yeah, totally!” Relief flooded Starlight’s breast, her smile and her eyes. “I’m looking forward to it! There’s this one historical fiction I’ve been reading right? And it—” 

“Starlight,” Fizzle said aloud, turning… with a smile. With glassy eyes, and damp fur lining them. “Get out of here already.” 

Flushing, she bowed. “Sure thing, my loyal aegis!” Starlight giggled, her excitement, her relief, everything that went well with her three dear friends was enough to send her a foot in the air via singular wingbeat, and land her facing the way to the Entrance Hall. 

She took one step when suddenly—”Princess!” Starlight threw back a glare, only to have it shattered in the fires stoked by Fizzlepop’s loving eyes, her genuine, heartwarming smile. “You’re my friend,” she said, then, bowing, “thank you.” 

I should be the one bowing to you. To everypony. Starlight ran forth, forgoing both their reservations about physical affection to crash into her friend and hug her tight. 

Fizzlepop, a heartbeat later, was possessed by the same desire. 







Twilight didn’t care at all that Starlight still held a strong dislike for herself, and for the things she’d done. 

It shouldn’t have been surprising for Starlight. After all, her reveal wasn’t so to Twilight. Why am I so much weaker in every way? 

Starlight covered her discomfort, not solely borne from the great door standing before them, with exasperation. “I still can’t believe you were eavesdropping on us!” she cried, turning to face the one by her side. “With all three of my friends!” 

“I was worried, I’m sorry!” 

“Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Eavesdropping—” 

“Starlight—” 

“Element of Eavesdropping!” Twilight planted her face in Starlight’s gown. “C’mon,” she laughed, “you know I’m teasing!” 

Twilight picked her head up, gesturing wildly as she said, “Oh, are you? I don’t know! How should I?” Her glossy, styled mane flounced about. “For all I know, you could be secretly offended that I didn’t think you could handle it and in doing so breached your privacy!” 

Starlight tittered once more. To Twilight’s flushed, pouting face she said, “I love this.” Her mentor reeled. “I love that you’re concerned about me, and even more so that you clearly understand how I feel, though not totally, no offense.” Twilight tilted her head. 

“Look,” Starlight sighed, turning to face her fellow diarch—a dizzying thought. “Oof, ok.” 

“Are you feeling nauseous?” 

A shake of the head. “No, it’s just that… well, you could say I was hit with an epiphany as I met with each of my friends. Like, I’ve always tried to make everypony around me as comfortable and content as possible,right? But... in my effort to do so, I often went and lost sight of what they themselves would actually want. Thanks to Sunburst, Maud and Fizzlepop, it’s finally hit me that the best way to make all of us happy is to be as honest as possible. Good or bad, I noticed how, when putting my silly feelings out there instead of hiding them away, it made for a deeper and more real conversation than most I’ve had, well, all my life, really. It made me feel good, it made my friends feel good. Most importantly, I always heard what I needed to say, and they in turn heard what they wanted to hear without quite realizing it.” 

Sunburst had realized his closeness to Starlight’s comfort zone, how she was willing to bare herself completely to him without much hesitation. Maud and Starlight understood, at least the idea if not the precise depths, of their care for one another. Tempest and Starlight had come to truly grasp their similarities to one another, speak of them, and most importantly, believe in them. 

Whereas Twilight… 

“You carry so much guilt with you, Twilight. Even after all we’ve talked about, the scars of this last month won’t go away. I wish I could wave my horn and make them so, I do. It sucks to know the kind of pain you’re in.” 

“It’s... it’ll take time,” Twilight rasped, glistening eyes meeting Starlight’s. “I know. We’ve said this every day, twice a day, it feels like. I guess, if nothing else, that speaks of how badly we want to leave this ugly chapter of our lives.” 

Starlight shook her head, frowning genuinely. “I’m eager, too. But not in the same way. This whole experience has been at once a wonderful yet horrible chapter for me, honestly.” To Twilight’s humorous appallment, Starlight grinned. “I’d have never realized any of what I’d said if I didn’t lose my horn! I would still be the same old Starlight, blown about by her conceit and her fears.” 

“You… really see it that way?” Twilight sounded hurt that she ever considered it to be a lie. “Truly? Y-you’re not just saying that to make me not worried?” 



Starlight nodded. “Listen, I don’t want us to brush aside the pain we’ve experienced, inflicted upon one another.” Though deep down she didn’t consider the gravity between the two comparable, nor any of what the girls believed they did to Starlight register as bitterness or heartache. “But I also don’t want you to forget the good that came of this.” 

She fluttered her wings for example. 

Twilight ventured a smile. “Y-you consider them good now?” 

Starlight folded them, her chin upraised. “I think so, yeah. I still have my reservations, no doubt. But they’re nothing compared to what I feel whenever ponies like me come to mind—the ones who need help and love and understanding, as I had. I want to find them, Twilight! I want to help them more than anything. I mean it.” 

Twilight’s dress crinkled as she stepped forward, foreleg outstretched. Starlight leaned into the hug, the warmth and love of the pony she considered her very best friend: never judging, never hating, only wanting the best for those around her.  

“I love you,” breathed Starlight, gasping as her throat abruptly closed.

A sniffle. “You too,” Twilight whispered. 

Emotion blubbered past her lips. “Thank you for saving me, Twilight! Again and again!” 

“You too,” she whispered once more. “Thanks for being my friend, Starlight.” 

“I should be the one thanking you, dummy!” 

Twilight pulled back, smiling—grinning—despite the tears rolling down her cheeks. “There’s no need, it’s why I’m here!” she chirped. 

A beautiful soul, through and through. I should be thanking you, Destiny, for bringing our lives together. 

“So?” Twilight was turned towards the door, but facing Starlight with a smile, cheeks dry. “Are you ready, Princess?” 

“Not even a little. But let’s go for it. I’m done letting my fear control me.” 

The doors, enshrined in a magenta glow, parted to an ocean of colored bodies. 




End of Magic - The Broken Teacher