//------------------------------//
// Halcyon Digest 
// Story: Kaleidoscope 
// by Seer 
//------------------------------//

When our hooves touch sand, we stumble. Both tipsy, drunk on lust. But it's a good fall, and I don't mind that I get sand in my dress. She is stood over me chewing her lip, clearly unsure what to do. I've been here hundreds of times though, probably thousands, so I have no qualms about pulling her down to kiss me. When we break, she goes to remove her mask, but I tell her to keep it on. There was something about masquerades which made the evening feel fleeting, ephemeral, like I'd never get a chance to be here again. It was a feeling I didn't get to experience very often. 

But she's young. She's at least a couple of years older than I was now, but so young in the grand scheme. Instead of kissing me again she cuddles against my chest. I didn't mind, it was sweet and she smelled wonderful.  

"Should I get us some more champagne?" she asks me eventually, and I tell her that sounded wonderful. She rises to head back into the main building, and when I turn I giggle at the spring in her step. 

I turn back to watch the sea. After a while, someone walks up and sits next to me. I already know who it is. 

She was holding something, like she usually was. One time it was a book, one time it was an empty bottle of something. One time it was a box she wouldn't open, and she left when I asked her what was inside. Regardless, it always happens, every life but the first. At some point we both end up on a beach.

"I've met Ditzy many times, she never changes much." I say, pointing to the picture of the grey mare in her hands, "Was she someone special to you once?" 

"Like she in the mask is to you?" she asks, and I understand the implication. 

"No, I was asking whether she was really special. Like my first Twilight was to me. Even the later ones don't hold a candle to her." 

She doesn't answer, and stares out to sea with a little smile on her face. Eventually she nods her agreement. 

"I'm sorry," is all I can say. 

"I'm sorry miss, I must have misheard you. What could you have to apologise to me for?" she replies, and I genuinely laugh. 

"I see you're enjoying yourself," she continues, "Please keep doing that. It doesn't last. Something else comes next." 

"Doesn't last?" I ask, "You understand the irony of saying that to a mare who cannot die." 

"Oh Rarity," she says, and sounds sad, "Believe me, you can die." 

I don't respond and keep looking at the sea. She doesn't say anything else to me for the rest of my life.