//------------------------------// // VII.I.II - Destiny is But a Fancy Way of Perceiving the Ongoing Tragedy that is Human Error // Story: The Broken Bond // by TheApexSovereign //------------------------------// AKA: "Destiny wills herself into Starlight's dreams to tell her future because she can't live knowing Starlight has no idea it'll come, even though in doing so she knows she's dooming Starlight to that future regardless, but chooses to do so anyway because Destiny is now tainted with the complexities of friendship" Even though Cadance offered to teleport her home, Starlight enjoyed the long ride after a day’s work, the quietude of it.  Early on she embarked on yet another guilt-ridden search for answers, as if this need for solitude meant she was avoiding her friends and life’s purpose. Luna had dismissed such fears immediately as an introvert needing to recharge their magic batteries. She’d empathized completely, and it made sense to Starlight.  Plus, though completely unrelated and not really an issue at all, taking a train at this hour ensured the Castle of Friendship would be sound asleep, and thus, unable to rope Starlight into doing anything.  Part of her always wanted that, though - a reminder that they still loved and wanted Starlight Glimmer. The rest would rather fall dead-asleep, however. And in her own bed, instead of surrounded by disappointed friends who would assure they weren’t upset; that they “empathized.” Starlight saw those strained smiles. They weren’t obligated to be completely honest, but it was difficult to trust them implicitly because of that.  It sucked. It was a bad feeling, knowing this. So, Starlight avoided it when she could, and the train was the answer.  Tonight’s journey was altogether too long and not long enough. Screeching arose as the floor beneath Starlight squealed to an eventual halt. Punctuated by a whistle, and that ding-ding by the conductor, the train was announced at having arrived in Ponyville.  Pops and cracks shuddered throughout Starlight as she rose, stretching her limbs one at a time. Wings were useful for that at least—like a new back stretch. Felt great.  “You have yourself a good night, your highness,” said Mr. Waddles, passing by.  “Thanks, you too.” They exchanged smiles, even though Starlight wished her elders weren’t so stubbornly old fashioned. The creaky little stallion was cute though, so he always got a pass.  A similar exchange was had with Conductor Ticket Taker upon exiting, the moustachioed pony taking out his pocket watch as she turned away from the train. In a way both humorous and a little sad, Starlight had been spending more time with him than any other since Flutter Valley.  Flutter Valley… Hilda, Rhonda, Doris, and…  Swallowing, Starlight looked to the trio in the distance. Beyond Canterlot, their great tree’s crowning silhouette eclipsed the night’s smattering of stars. My longtime friends who I know nothing about, she mused. Destiny works in roundabout ways.  She breathed deep, suddenly a swell arising which Starlight exhaled out her mouth in a surprise-yawn. Home again, she thought. Bed beckons me.  The moon was high, casting Ponyville in soothing blues. Nights had become Starlight’s new “book by the fireplace,” or her sorely missed cups of chamomile: an endcap to the day. Cool and quiet, soothing on the brain and heart, which had been working nonstop since dawn—these are what gave calm to the everchanging storm of living. Navigating the streets, Starlight found the lanterns to be dark, and save a few night owls wandering about and huts still aglow, sleep had claimed the village Equestria considered home to the Princesses of Friendship and Empathy. The Diarchs of Bondship to those more dramatic or artistic (according to Rara, who just last week had buried the hatchet with her old manager, Svengallop).  Hearing such things over and over, helping those who did and receiving their emotional thanks in turn, gave Starlight the ability to start feeling the same way, little by little. Even towards the Castle of Friendship. It was less frequently thought of as “Twilight’s castle” and more often just “home.”  She would have a fit if she knew I still thought that, mused Starlight, the crystal citadel looming ahead. Moonlight suppressed its gaudiness while the tree seemed to glow softly, ethereal in a way.  Pushing through the door—Thanks as always for modifying this, Spike, Starlight thought—into a darkened foyer, a distinctly un-bookish aroma jolted her awake. A warm earthy smell nuzzled her core: coffee roast.  Who’s brewing coffee at this hour? And Starlight’s mindless stroll froze completely. Hold up, either somepony’s studying late, or I’m about to be—!  The sconces all around roared to life, accompanied by the squeaks of party cannons erupting into confetti—all of it colored pink, purple and teal.  A mass of magenta flashed before her, giving way to the cry of, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STARLIGHT GLIMMER!” from the sudden existence of her castlemates, her best friends, Daddy, and… and…  No Trixie. As always.  Starlight ate her dejection—today was apparently her birthday. “Uh, huh! Wow!” The weight of this gathering, the efforts, their patience with her, walloped Starlight in the head. “Holy smokes,” she laughed airily. “I… completely forgot! Wow, thanks guys!”  Their smiles reached their eyes—genuine. Maud’s little smirk particularly noticeable, implying a Pinkie-grade grin.  A special magic permeated the air, seeped within her very soul and writhed within warmly. Unspeakably so.  A magic she felt to this day, still, squeezed her breast tight, made her feel lighter than air.  A magic that felt better than any other before her injury. A magic she would trade for nothing. A magic which brought tears to her eyes, and a familiar, feathery weight that laid across her back. “I can’t believe I forgot!” Starlight giggled, eyes closed from smiling. “Thank you, everypony! Thank you so much for this!” ‘They really love me,’ this magic said, words thrumming with feeling within her core.  They love me! Starlight replied, everypony cramming all around for a group photo. And I love them.  Always.  The party was executed better than Twilight could have hoped. There was no apprehension or dismissal of the occasion from Starlight, which was comforting progress to see. At least on the surface—a sadness filled her gaze and she would stare into the distance now and again. AJ wrote it off as exhaustion, but Twilight knew better, and wished she could have tracked down Trixie.  All seemed fine for now, though. “Seemed,” being the keyword. No. Stop. Stop making problems that aren’t there, she had to tell herself more than once, constantly over the last several weeks.  She watched Starlight recline away from her crumb-speckled plate, stretching her wings out and massaging a satisfied belly. She looked so much healthier than she had a month ago. Even her hair was so voluminous and gleaming, combed to perfection thanks to the earth pony manebrush courtesy of Rarity.  “Great work as always, Pinkie,” Starlight groaned, her face aflush as the skin around her stump—the one she’d sheepishly asked to scratch it lay curled upon the table, wings encasing him in a ball. “Seriously. That dessert tower was the bomb.”  Said pony whipped her cake-caked face from the leftovers Starlight permitted her. “Actually, it was Cup and Carrot who’d baked this triple-decker beauty! I just licked the bowl clean.”  “T’ain’t clean if you’ve gone an’ coated it in drool.” Applejack smirked.  “Ladies, please,” Rarity groaned, standing to join Fluttershy cleaning.  “Compliments to the chefs, then,” said Starlight. “Or, bakers, rather.” Pinkie bobbed her head agreeably—she didn’t seem appalled anymore at Starlight having forgotten her own birthday. She had succeeded in making everypony laugh over it, provoking Rainbow to chide the newest princess for “Twilighting” about her own work ethic.  Maybe they were cutting too deep. That’s what a silly, fearful little part of Twilight fretted over, even as Starlight laughed and blushed and pretend-bristled. A prayer was cast to Celestia, and Destiny, that it was read with good nature—that she understood they were only worried not just about her health, but her emotional wellbeing most importantly.  To Starlight, always aware and anxious of how others perceived her, the jokes could definitely be taken wrongly, and that’s all it took to make Starlight feel sorry and potentially spiral again.  She’d held back her apologies tonight, not a single one uttered despite Twilight’s insistence to talk honestly about her feelings. Nopony blamed Starlight for coming back late, they preemptively assured as much up and down.  Still, though… Maybe I’m not taking it far enough. After all, acting afraid like this isn’t meeting Starlight halfway. That isn’t fair, but… she doesn’t need to be afraid of me worrying over her every day if I’m wrong, which I very well could be, thought Twilight, watching Fizzle throw a snoring Spike across her back.  “Bedtime for you, big guy,” she said, smiling from him to Starlight, then Twilight. “I will return shortly.”  Always the trooper. “That won’t be necessary, Fizzlepop. Take your armor off, it’s time for you to turn in, too.” Twilight was smiling, but her kindly tone booked no argument. It was too late for that, and not the right place for a disagreement.  Sighing as she turned, Fizzle relented with a humored, “Fine, fine.”  Starlight threw her head back, covered her mouth before a yawn bellowed out of her, rubbing her aching eyes. She was beastly tired, her bags dark grey drooping half an inch down her cheeks.  Because she never liked coffee, a constant flow of her favorite—apple juice—had helped Starlight survive the party with a modicum of pep. The excitement made it seem effortless, but her eyes were beginning to sag now that it was down to the seven of them, and the energy was sinking to tranquility.  Rarity—for her magical glow was unmistakable—poured another round in her mug. “There you are, darling.”  “Kind thanks,” Starlight muttered, quaffing half of it. Twilight followed her gaze to their resident multitasker, telepathically disposing of streamers and paper plates in the garbage whilst Fluttershy bopped about, taking down Pinkie’s doodled Starlight banner.  “How do you feel about being twenty-seven?” Twilight asked, distracting herself and the birthday filly.  She thought a moment. “Like I’m twenty-six.” Chuckles arose all around. “No, but seriously,” Starlight continued, leaning against the table, “thank you. Everypony. I mean it. I’ve never been one for celebrating my birthday—”  “Which is a cuh-rime!” said Pinkie.  Starlight shrugged haplessly. “But it’s so nice being reminded by all of you, how much you care about me. I mean that.”  I hope the day will come soon when that isn’t so shocking, thought Twilight, heavy of heart.  “Of course, Starlight.” Fluttershy tied a garbage bag closed. “You’ve done so much for so many ponies. We would do anything for you—you’re one of our best friends.”  Her smile receded slightly, as did her gaze lower. “I wouldn’t go that far...”  Regarding what? writhed Twilight’s gut.  “My work and crimes have balanced out, though, I feel.” She glanced at Twilight, then met her eyes fully with concern—curse Twilight for having an honest face! “Hey, that’s a good thing! I’m not feeling as guilty anymore, really!”  It’s not that. “Starlight, I hate to ask you this...” hesitated Twilight, “really, I do, but—”  “Twi, no,” warned AJ.  Starlight’s eyes shot about, fear and doubt knitting her brow. It was too late to backpedal. “I’m asking because I care: are you sure you’re not overworked, Starlight? I mean, I know you’re directed by the Map and all, but…”  “But, what? I can’t just ignore Destiny’s call. Not that I would, anyway, if there’s somepony out there who needs me.” Her tone was firm and befitting of an authority like Celestia.  “No, I know, you’re right,” Twilight prattled on, easing her with a hoof. But you seem to be throwing yourself into it wholeheartedly, not even complaining despite coming home dead tired every night. “I just can’t help but be concerned.”  Starlight blinked heavily, crossing her forelegs on the table. “Twilight, this’s gonna be hard to hear,” she began, head tilting, “but do you think I’m sacrificing myself for the sake of others again, just because I’m happy with this neverending workload?”  Despite there not being a hint of hostility in her tone, Twilight scrambled to deny the deadly accuracy with which Starlight surmised her feelings: “N-no! Well, sort of! But… Starlight, you’ve done more in just a month than I had my first year in this castle. It’s a lot, and I worry it can’t be good for your soul to keep reliving and experiencing others’ pain.” Plus, I miss you. We miss you! Some of us can’t help but feel like… like you’re actively avoiding us as much as possible…  “Yeah!” Pinkie cried. “Like, you’ve been on fifty-four missions since the day of your coronation. Oh, before I forget, happy thirty-second-day-since-becoming-a-princess-versary, Starlight!”  “Thanks, Pinkie. Look, Twilight,” she slurred sleepily, “I won’t deny the obvious: you’re absolutely right. This is so much work, it’s pretty demanding on both my mind and soul. And patience,” she snickered. “Definitely patience. And yes, before you assume, there’s a good chunk of me that doesn’t consider it as hard as most ponies do. And why should I? I don’t feel bad about it! I mean, look at Applejack! Hardly anypony does as much work, or harder work, than her!”   “Darn tootin’.” Twilight shot a glare, and AJ withered. Shame on her for thoughtlessly agreeing with Starlight, that physical labor was the only valid kind of “hard work.”  “But it’s because of that,” Starlight continued, having missed the brief exchange as she was drawn to her plate, “what with the easiness of my work and what it’s for, and who it benefits? I’m more than happy to do it. I’m honestly eager to give up my free time if it means preventing others from repeating my mistakes. Don’t you get that?”  Hurt wrinkled her face. Softly, she asked, “Do you understand why this is all so important to me, Twilight?”  “I do, I really do! It’s just…”  Worried. Nagging. Pressing. Smothering. I’m acting just like I did when you lost your horn. I…  I suppose…  I’m just scared of losing you.  And despite everything wonderful going on in your life, Twilight realized, heart sinking, I care more that I’m losing you anyway.  What a Princess of Friendship she was. Admitting this aloud would be even worse, would plague Starlight’s mind with guilt and make her choose.  That would be horrible to do to her.  Applejack turned, setting her hat aside. “We just wanna make sure you’re not keepin’ anything in, sugarcube. Like, we completely understand if you’re feelin’ all frazzled-up about your work and whathaveyou. I know I get sick of all that farm labor now and again. It’s good to vent, s’all Twi an’ the rest of us are tryna say.”  Starlight perked up, sad smile in place as she regarded those surrounding her—Applejack, Twilight and… she huffed, amused by Rainbow snoring into her cake.  “I’m sorry if I’m making you guys worry.” She sighed. “And I’m sorry I haven’t been a good friend lately. Or, ever, really. But I gotta ask, you do trust m—?”  “Starlight, sweetie!” Rarity cried, having returned that moment. “You’ve been a gem of a pony. We understand and completely support your work ethic!”  “Naw we don’t,” Applejack turned, aghast, surprising everypony at the table. “We was addressin’ this today, weren’t we?”  “We never agreed on that—” Rarity began, only for Starlight to drone, “Stop! Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop-stop-stop. All of you. Stop.”  Silence. Rainbow snorted sharply, whipping her half-frosted head erect with a, “Whassat? Wha’s happening?”  “A lovely night getting somewhat derailed by a few presumptuous ponies thinking I haven’t changed a bit,” stated Starlight.  “Th-that ain’t exactly what we’re—”  Starlight upheld a hoof, smiling at Applejack. “Not intentionally, no. But I get it. I wouldn’t trust me either, believe me.” She exhaled, hoof to her breast, taking a page from Twilight’s earlier advice weeks ago, purging her chest of looming anxiety. “You’re all wonderful friends for worrying about me. I couldn’t be any happier for Destiny having brought us together. I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”  “However,” she added pointedly, “I can tell there’s still some very real, very understandable tension lingering between all of us. Tension that, if you want me to be completely honest, here and now, makes me kinda… not exactly love being around here. I haven’t been honest about that till now. And I’m sorry for hiding this—I’m part of the reason we’ve gotten to this very moment.”  Twilight felt that in her gut, the buck upon hearing this. A glance around the table showed the rest felt this too.  “Is that why you take the train instead of being teleported home?” asked Fluttershy, her and Rarity retaking their seats. A “family meeting” was approaching, they could tell.  Starlight shook her head. “No, that has—” She sighed. “Okay, yeah, kinda. B-but I just like my quiet time, honest!” She looked about as Twilight doubted this. That seemed like a lot of work for something she could just ask for, and Starlight must have realized this. “What? What’s with the looks?”  Twilight leaned forth, wishing she was beside Starlight to touch her. “We just want you to be happy and comfortable around us, Starlight. There’s no judgement from us, ever. You know that, right?”  “Of course I do! But…” And she shook her head. “There’s no judgement from me, either. So don’t be afraid of telling how you really feel, okay?”  A chorus of agreements brought a relief to her face. “Good,” she murmured, eyes closing as she leaned back.  And Twilight felt horrible for lying so blatantly. She exchanged glances with a grim-looking AJ.  Snoring brought everyone’s attention back to Starlight. “We kept her up for too long,” said Rarity. “A princess needs her beauty sleep.”  The others’ replies buzzed like moths muffled in cotton. Twilight couldn’t stand it: “She kept herself up.” Silence. There was only her empty coffee mug, the one thing she could stand now. “Starlight didn’t want to be rude. That’s why she avoids us instead of coming off as ungrateful or antisocial.”  A heartbeat, then Rarity uttered stiffly, “Yes. We’ve all come to this conclusion, as discussed. As I said, we’ve kept her up for too long, and should have allowed her to retire.”  Applejack nickered. “Why do I get the feelin’ that nothin’s changed?”  “Why do I get the feeling that you guys are worrying over nothing,” grumbled Rainbow, hoof propping her, “and that we’re gonna make Starlight snap again like she did a while ago?”  It was too soon, too raw, too painful—Twilight couldn’t help but cry softly, enwrap herself in the soft security of her wings.  “Rainbow Dash!” Fluttershy admonished while running a feather-light pressure down her spine. “What?! You said the same exact thing, loads of times!”  “Yes, but you could have been a bit more delicate about it,” she hissed.  Rainbow stood in her chair. “Twilight's admitted that she doesn’t listen to anything but the cold hard facts.” Her voice fractured with anger, and desperation: “All of you know that that’s what she’s like, not to mention how much she hates that about herself! So don’t look down on me like I’m the bad guy here!”  “Dashie,” Pinkie mumbled, touching her iron-stiff foreleg, “we just don’t wanna start making Twilight feel bad—”  She tore away from Pinkie’s touch. “You know I’m not trying to!” she cried, emotional. “You know I never meant to hurt my friends’ feelings! But this is different, I’m telling you guys that you’re all getting too worked up worrying about Starlight, and you’re just gonna get all of us and her seriously hurt again! Do you really want that?”  Twilight barely understood her words, too stunned by Rainbow’s display, even after having seen it loads of times since Flutter Valley.  ”No, you just don’t wanna fail her again,” mumbled Pinkie, frowning at the empty cake platter. “So you’re telling yourself that nothing’s wrong with Starlight. But you got all feelsy with her when we did that spell, just like us. She’s so afraid of being a bother and what other ponies think of her that she’s stuffing all her feelings down with work.”  “Pinkie—” Dash started.  “I know what I’m talking about.” Pinkie’s firm voice trembled. She sighed, her bouncy cadence returned, tinged sadly: “I’m sorry for being like this. I just really wish Starlight realized how much we love her.”  “Ah don’t think that’s the problem.” Applejack placed her stetson on, holding it there as she regarded the unconscious alicorn beside her. “Been watchin’ her closer than a bloodhound amongst sheep, since we got ourselves tangled with them witches. She’s definitely happy when we’re together. That girl’s way more comfortable around us now than before.”  “But completely, though?” prompted Rarity.  First stock still, Applejack collapsed suddenly under the weight of emotional exhaustion. Weary-eyed, she said, “Naw. Can’t say that. She’s still scared o’ somethin’. That much’s for certain. An’ I can’t rightly claim that sleep’ll come soundly tonight knowin’ she still is.”  Twilight moaned at the complexity of it all. “This is just like a month ago: we’re cursed if we do something and cursed if we do nothing, and because Starlight didn’t feel anything that we felt during the spell, the reality of the matter is she doesn’t know us as well as we know her. And what’s worse, the Starlight we know was a Starlight who still didn’t know what her future held, or even what the idea of ‘tomorrow’ would be once we left Flutter Valley! We don’t know what she’s thinking for certain now, girls! We. Don’t. Know!”  A tense silence was held. Because nothing more could be said. Now it was just tension and awkwardness. “Fat load that thing did for us,” grumbled Dash, crossing her forelegs. “We already knew each other pretty well before Destiny body-swapped our emotions.”  A silent agreement.  “But we know each other better now,” said Fluttershy. “And Starlight.” She perked up, leaned over to regard Rarity down the table. “Thank you for helping clean, by the way. You’re a really nice pony, Rarity, and I’m glad to have you in my life.”  A hoof to her heart, Rarity gave a wilting smile. “You’re wonderful as ever, sweetie. This false mare feels truly worthy of all your love.”  “Barf, gag, you’re making my heart explode.” Rainbow smirked lazily. The other two rolled their eyes, Fluttershy announcing, “You’re wonderful for caring about us all, Dashie.”  “Yeah, yeah, I know I’m awesome.” Her cheeks reddened, regarding her plate as she mumbled, “For sure, now, anyway.”  Twilight smiled as Fluttershy sighed, hooves to her chest. “I am happy for the spell doing this much, at least. I feel just awful, thinking about how little you thought of yourself, Rainbow Dash. All of you!”  “I do love y’all,” Applejack added, misty-eyed. “We still fight, but it’s more ‘cause we care than anythin’ of ill intent. Kinda… kinda like family.” Her voice trembled. “Y’all are family to me. Y’get what that means, right?”  Pinkie hugged the air in Applejack’s direction. “I love you, too, sister-cousin-Jackie!” She brushed Dash’s mane aggressively, playfully. “This spell made you a lot more comfy in being honest with your emotions, Dashie! It’s honestly so cool!”  She swatted her away, smiling with a flush. “Yeah, well, don’t tell anypony, alright? I’m only like this because it’s you guys.”  Twilight leaned back, smiling despite her Starlight-related worries. “I will never regret this,” she announced, drawing everypony—save their newest princess—to the head of the table. “No matter what happens next, we’ll always be thankful for Starlight bringing us closer together. I think it’ll take time, making her fully comfortable with us. But whatever we’re feeling, real or not, it’ll find itself resolved. And we’ll come out together, even stronger friends. All seven of us.”  Smattered in stars, the sky and the ground and the distant horizon, too—all of which backdropped by violet and turquoise fighting for dominance—was unspeakably beautiful, achingly familiar, and terribly empty.  It was like being inside a marble, a setting which made Starlight’s head spin with heartrending nostalgia, not understanding why.  “Hello?” she called, spinning around and back. “Have I been here… before, by any chance? ...Hello?” “Yep! Hi!”  “FUDGE ON A FLYING FEATHER!” Starlight shrieked, whirling, a monstrous grin ready to greet her. An earth pony, glowing like moonlit snow with eyes to match—featureless windows crowned in a waving turquoise mane. She was twice as big as Celestia.  Am I about to die?  Is this a dream?  Is this our God? Have I finally died?  No!  I have so many ponies I still need to help! So much flooded Starlight that she didn’t know what to say or how to feel. “Who are you and why do I know you I think?!” The mare craned back, grin receding to a smile as she boasted a draconic height. “I’ll give you three guesses, and your first two don’t count.” Her voice was soft and nurturing with a tinge of childishness, completely contrasting her gargantuan size.  And suddenly it clicked, and Starlight’s eyes widened as she gaped—an act which made her old friend chuckle. I don’t want to be weird, she said, restraining herself from crying, from hugging her. I mean, this is basically God I’m talking to.  “Well,” she said lightly, turning away, “I should think of two things to say before guessing Destiny.” Suddenly she collapsed under a warmth toppling over her, closing around her with two burly forelegs. But it wasn’t crushing her lungs, nor even heavy—just a warm, comforting security which reminded her so much of the magic she once used every hour of every day.  “Starlight—”  “I missed you,” Starlight gasped, realizing. “Destiny, even before Flutter Valley, when I lost my horn, I’d tell myself that I didn’t and that I wouldn’t. Miss you. But I did anyway. I’m weak. I still miss you, every single day.”  A shaking exhale above. “Watching over you, I’d no idea. Only frustration was what I saw, but never grief.” Whispering, “You are so… so strong, Starlight Glimmer.”  It was hard to believe that when she opened up to everypony, and everypony who knew of her story had said that. As if out of reflex than genuine respect. “I’m not.”  “You are.”  “I’m not.”  “You are!” Destiny cried. “Only you would have the strength to save the souls of Hilda and her kin. Only you could light the way to Equestria’s fate.”  So deep was Starlight’s doubt that she latched onto the peculiar wording of that last remark: “Light it, but not to lead Equestria, like they usually say in these ‘cosmic destiny’ plots?” Not that she was complaining. Leading was a whole other can of worms from winged relationship counselor. “Destiny… you still there?”  Maybe this was just another prophetic dream, and not a true reunion. Maybe it was just a regular dream borne of a subconscious longing to see the friend whose bond she so thoughtlessly sacrificed. “Please, say something.”  A hum above instead of answers, massaging the back of her head. “I've missed this,” murmured the embodiment of magic, and the guiding hoof of fate. “Truly, I have. You’re a bright and sensitive pony, Starlight. There’s none quite like you. We spent such a brief time together as we are right now, face to face, but I’ve not once forgotten it. ”   “Well, I’m sorry I did.” Even if she couldn’t help it, Destiny must be holding some amount of resentment. “Really,” Starlight shuddered, “I am sorry about that.”  “Don’t be, don’t be,” Destiny urged. “I was always with you, Starlight.” The hug tightened, squeezing out of Starlight a pitiful, singular sob. “And I always will be. You’ve not forgotten that since your research paper with Twilight, yes?”  She lacked the voice, shaking her head instead. And yet, still it nagged her that something was wrong about all this. That squeeze was at once reassuring and somewhat desperate. It felt sort of unlike Destiny, but then again, she could be this way because of Starlight, who often changed those around her, for better or worse.  “Destiny, is this… is this real? Or am I dreaming?”  “Both, my friend. This is the Dream Realm, a plane within that which all magic—my very essence and that of all living things—resides. It’s as real as the cake you stuffed yourself with before arriving,” she chuckled.  Starlight made a sound like a laugh, but her heart writhed so bad that she whimpered, too. She had missed Destiny, she realized, deeply and genuinely. She had wanted to see her again, but never knew until now.  “Why did you take so long? Why now?”  “Y-you’ll laugh! Oh, you’ll see just how mortal I’ve become.”  “Because Destiny forbid, you develop some emotions,” Starlight jested.  “I forbid indeed,” she said urgently, suddenly.  Starlight flinched. Destiny genuinely didn’t want this, it seemed. “A-are you okay?” Perhaps she came to punish her for this. “Destiny?”  “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “As you can see, or perhaps not, it is dangerous for a thing such as I to have emotions.”  “I’m afraid I don’t see, no.”  “Emotions give way to passions, passions take over old priorities and become new ones. And new passions, why, they might bring about ruin, and hurt those I love.”  Starlight mulled this over, swallowed her own emotion. “Is that why you’re here now? Because you… feel something for me? N-not anything romantic, I’m not saying that—!” “Goodness, no, Starlight! That’s unfathomable!” “Gee. Thanks.”  “I mean—!” She exhaled sharply, explained, “Even if I were feeling such things, the last thing I would do is curse you with irreciprocal love. That’d be cruel.” Destiny exhaled once more, wavering. “I know what that would do to you. I know your whole life, after all.”  “Great.” Starlight blushed, all her embarrassments, from her recent suggestion to back when she was four and old enough to remember something worth cringing about, surged forth. “So, uh, what took you so long to come see little old me? Not that I’m offended, but… there seems to be some great, embarrassing reason for it.” Destiny hummed, hesitating. “And if you know me as well as you do, you’ll know I wouldn’t ever laugh about something you’re so clearly sensitive about.”  There was a deep breath in, and a long, ragged exhale out. “Emotions make living simultaneously harder and so much more fulfilling, Starlight, do you believe that?”  “I think about it from time to time.”  “Why, in case you’ve failed to notice, I must actually breathe to collect myself!” She laughed as Starlight did, then the gentle hum of the cosmos enveloped them until Destiny mustered her courage again: “I’ve tried to see you by way of your dreams, ever since the day we met. I couldn’t manage the power, however. It takes a lot to manifest as a physical form, you see.”  “Ah, so you’ve been storing energy since then?”  “That would make no difference, as I myself am a store of energy… And just to give you an idea, you know how some ponies suck in their guts to look fit?”  More cringy memories surged forth. “I’m unfortunately intimate with that technique, yes.”  “You know how hard it is to clench your muscles like that, even for just a minute?”  “Again, unfortunately, yes.”  “Imagine doing that for your entire body, which encompasses the universe. That’s me right now.”  Suddenly, Starlight felt incredibly guilty. “I’m sorry for wasting your time, then.”  “It’s okay.”  “That’s gotta hurt or something, right?” At the same time, it was incredibly fascinating to think about. Just applying the labor for such a feat was like a spirit-strength-exercise.  “In a manner of speaking, but as I said it’s okay.” A tender, wet-warmth nuzzled Starlight’s ear. “Being like this with you is giving me strength. Mi Amore Cadenza would label this the power of Love, if I’m not mistaken. Her teachings and philosophies parallel mine own willpower.”  She could say such intimate things without any fear. It was at once remarkable and utterly embarrassing. “Well, Love is still an aspect of your magic, after all!” Starlight gave an airy laugh. “This is so surreal, hearing you of all ponies say that. T-to me, about me… y’know?”  Humming agreeably, Destiny continued, “And it was the Magic of Friendship which generated the rallying push needed for me to manage manifestation, here within your dreams.”  Starlight remembered that magical feeling earlier in the night, within the mortal plane where her dearest friends and family surprised her on her birthday. “This is a nice birthday present then. Is that why you’re able to see me now, because of that?”  A sheepish laugh. “Ah, no. Well, you see, Starlight, because your magical essence manifested eleven months before your physical birth, my idea of a ‘birthday’ is a little bit different from that of mortals. I forget such inconsequential things in the grand scheme of the Universe.”  “Right. Obviously.” The stars shuddered, blurring into a twinkling mess. “Fair enough, sure, yeah. That actually does make sense, mind-boggling as it is.” Starlight backed deeper into Destiny’s pillow-like warmth, gazing upon the endless night sky that was at once Luna’s domain and her own self. “So… something else gave you that boost to willpower over here, huh?”  I wonder why, in more ways than one. It felt silly to always see things this way, but history with the pony-god-thing currently embracing her encouraged consideration on the timing and significance of such a turn of events.  And then Starlight’s jaw dropped, the evening flooding back. “Oh, crud, hold up, there’s some weirdness going on between the girls and I. And you’ve come to tell me that if I don’t fix it soon, then everything will burn. I’m saying this now, it’ll be way, way easier if you just lay off with the constant Friendship Problems. Not that I’m complaining! Just sayin’.”  Destiny stammered, meaning she was either partially right or way off base.  Or a smug little jerk, upon a second’s reflection.  “That… sounds a little contrived, Starlight, and for something I’ll have the Map assist with, at that.” Destiny hummed. “Actually, I didn’t even think about that being a problem until you brought it up. It’s so clearly resolved and so minor I hardly noticed. Huh. Perhaps you telling me this now is the reason why it’s sorted out.”  “Uh, sure.” Was Destiny always this… godlike? Starlight felt like this huge pony was a bit more observant and reserved before. “Maybe that’s what needed getting done, then. I’d like to stay a bit longer tho—”  “Why would I go through the effort of seeing you just for that?” Destiny thought aloud, or perhaps asked directly, it was hard to tell without seeing her. “And for all the effort it took to see you?”  Starlight explained, “Hilda and the others, I think they did something like this once. In a dream. I don’t remember much, but the day before we all formally met I had some freaky night terror where they did exactly that. I think. I dunno, they filled my brain with… images. Like I said, it was a dream. I don’t really remember anything specific except that it happened.”  “I wish I had just an inkling of what you saw. Perhaps they already did my work for me. Or tried to, anyway.”  “Oh? But I thought—or rather, I feel like I was told this, but none of you knew what would happen after the moment we met up?”  The Universe sang its soft song, until Destiny uttered among the humming stars, “Mayhaps they, in their deformed sense of self, tried to pave your fate.”  Starlight swallowed, acutely reminded of the harsh grasp of utter terror forgotten since Flutter Valley. Now this sounded serious. “And… uh, w-why would they do that? How even?”  Destiny inhaled, and exhaled. Then inhaled again and held it. Starlight bit down her tongue—clearly this was Destiny’s reason for coming here, to warn her. It had to be. Had to be.  “Why, you ask?” Destiny posed. “Because they hated you is my guess. You saved them, yes, and they wanted that, but they hated you deep down. I… knew their original selves for a long time, Starlight. I suppose, you could say, I’ve known them most of my life, mortal a concept as that is.”  Starlight couldn’t imagine what that must feel like, to see someone every single day and suddenly just… not. It wouldn’t be so different from losing one’s horn. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I hadn’t realized how you must be feeling now that they’re gone. How’re you holding up, Destiny?”  “Empty from their loss, and overwhelmed by the scope of all reality suddenly thrust back upon me.”  “Sheesh. Has it been difficult?”  “Part of me remembers it all, but much feels fairly different from the days of old. More complicated. ‘Human,’ they would say. This witches’ influence, their humanity, is still etched deep within the foundations of the land. It is the basis for Harmony, after all—the progenitor of Friendship, Love and Empathy.”  Starlight cracked a joke before her head could start aching: “And yet, I still got these things to lug around, courtesy of their efforts.” She ruffled her wings against Destiny’s forelegs. “If they thought this new lot in life would be some kinda curse, they’d be really disappointed with an anticlimax. I don’t regret it at all.”  Destiny chuckled, a pleasing sound, only for it to taper into a sad sigh. She was trying to match Starlight’s levity, but more weighed on her mind, clearly. “You may not recall how they were when you met in this place.”  Sentiments Starlight had no memory to support, only feelings, spilled past her lips before she could process the comment: “Melancholy and defeated. Snarky and rude, but passionate and earnest in what they believed.” Awakening with wings and a title, there was a part of Starlight that, deep down, had considered them friends, and felt emptier in a different way from when she lost her horn. In private, she mourned their loss, always had at the sight of their final act towering in the horizon. “I understood them,” she confessed. “I respected them. Hated them and pitied them.” Even, maybe, loved them. Old anxieties buffered such thoughts from being spoken aloud.  Destiny continued, “True all around. But in the beginning, they were very twisted, angry people. This only deepened upon acknowledgement of their downfall, their part in it. You can imagine, then, how vastly the mania and grief they experienced within the physical plane emphasized these traits, and directed them at the one who they saw would liberate them—Starlight Glimmer, a pony who had everything and said she wanted none of it, yet all of it. Too ‘selfishly loathing’ like them to recognize her own blatant faults.” It was a familiar song. “As if I’m the first to be like this.” So embittered her words, that Starlight was taken aback by her sudden shift in tone. “Sorry,” slipped out like a knee jerk. “The ‘how,’ their way of doing this, rather, it's well…” Destiny sighed. “I must confess to you, Starlight: my newfound emotions have weakened me greatly. They’re the only reason I’m even here, breaking rules I’d never known were in place until I crossed the threshold. Though I cannot—should not—directly influence the way of things, just by speaking to you now, I am. In acting on these feelings, I know that by my very nature I am dooming you and Equestria to an arduous path. I have seen it, I can stop it, and yet my love for you has made it unavoidable. I feel like I’ll die of heartache if you barrel ahead uninformed and blissfully ignorant.”  “Destiny?” She had gotten very serious all of a sudden.  “A path which, for the sake of everything, must be walked.” Destiny hissed, groaned and snarled suddenly. “Curse this! Everything I say makes it sound like an excuse, when really I am just acting for my own sense of relief!”  “Destiny—”  “It’s sickening, Starlight Glimmer!” she cried, her voice rumbling across the stars. “What I’m about to share will be a horrible thing to bring upon anypony, especially you, my one and only friend still existent within this world. For this, I apologize from the depths of the cosmos.”  “Well, quit building up the suspense and tell me, please!”  “Before I do so, you must know one thing. Just one, Starlight. It's why, I feel, the path to your inevitable fate will be one I’ve seen you walk proudly and happily, in spite of the difficulties ahead.”  She was so emotional. So scared. So regrettable, and yet, spoke with such conviction that even if she wasn't omnipotent across space and time… Starlight would still believe her. Wholeheartedly.  After all, they were friends.  “Don’t be scared, Destiny. I’m ready for it,” she said, voice wavering with the drum of her heart.  “Yes, yes, of course… Starlight?”  To her name, she stiffened for the sake of her own soul and Destiny’s.  “Starlight,” Destiny repeated, softer, “between now and the upcoming Gala, the choices you make will be tainted by this cursed knowledge. And yet, paradoxically, or perhaps not given your character’s strength, you will throw yourself wholeheartedly and happily into it. You will measure and analyze every step you take. Nerve-wracking, I know, and I can’t attest to how you’ll feel every moment, as you can sometimes wear a masterful facade when nopony’s looking for it.”  “However,” she added, fondness palpable in her gentle voice, “every day is filled with smiles genuine, and love from the ponies you care for most. Many happy tears will be shed, and you won’t regret a single one.”  “This I’ve seen, and now you will know.”  And so she told Starlight Glimmer everything.  And Starlight listened with rapt attention at what awaited her at the end of this road.  And she awakened in her bed, terrified. Not quite for herself, for that was a whole other can of worms too early to really think about.  No, she was terrified for the ponies in her life, and what they would have to go through.  She awakened angry about this. Just this, and not Destiny, for it was really not her fault for being more of a flawed pony than an impartial goddess.  Starlight mulled for an hour about what was revealed.  And she left her room content.  Scared, but content.  A hard road lay ahead for Equestria, but Destiny would guide them true with Starlight’s help. This, after all, was her ultimate purpose for living, and when looked at it in that regard, it was fine.  It was seriously fine.  Starlight had a lot of work to do—starting with some today, here, in the castle she still hesitated to always call her home. For the Cutie Map called her while frying herself some kale. Her, and the six ponies she owed this life to were demanded by Destiny’s will to meet in this very castle.  Starlight, already resolved to keeping their conversation a secret, had an inkling as to the “friendship problem” at hand.  She found herself more scared of that than she was of what Destiny told her.  All in all, nothing’s really changed.