The yellow light of late afternoon had begun to fade to orange as the sun neared the horizon, casting lengthening shadows across snow-dappled Canterlot. The towers of Canterlot Castle looked out over the city like pristine, porcelain-white guardians. And at the top of the tallest spire, the rest of which had begun to take on the deepening colors of swiftly approaching dusk, a magenta glow illuminated the highest balcony.
Princess Twilight Sparkle gazed upon Canterlot from her room as she reached out with her magic to continue lowering the sun. The gold of her royal regalia contrasted sharply with the lavender of her fur, but nicely accentuated her multicolored mane as it blew in a non-existent breeze, small motes twinkling within it like the stars that would soon sparkle over the land. As the years had gone by, she’d—almost as if in tandem with the city surrounding the castle—grown larger, to the point where she now stood head and neck above most other ponies. Her horn and wings had likewise grown, giving her a sudden appreciation as to why all of the doors in the castle were so accommodating, as well as the vast height of most of the rooms.
Canterlot had changed over the years, too. What had once been a city predominantly populated by unicorns had transformed into a bustling metropolis that housed not only all three types of pony, but several other species who, in the past, never would have gotten along. She grinned at the sight of hippogriffs and griffons flying about the city alongside pegasi, transporting residents via drawn chariots, or transporting goods and packages in shipping trailers. Undaunted by deepening winter, the Yaks assisted earth ponies in the demolition of condemned buildings and helped with the construction of new ones. Amid them flitted Changelings, jacks-of-all-trades who changed forms to meet the needs of whatever job they had. And in keeping with Canterlot tradition, it was unicorns—not pegasi—using their magic to pepper the crisp evening air with a light snowfall.
Orange changed to red, and then the last sliver of crimson slipped below the horizon. In the quickly fading light, Twilight saw a familiar figure flying from the city and through the snow-dotted sky up to the tower. The blue griffon parked himself in front of the balcony and hovered, his talons clutching a massive cardboard box that was larger than his own body. Yet he wasn’t flapping his wings very hard; despite the box’s size, it seemed more bulky and unwieldy than heavy.
“Hello Gallus,” Twilight said. “Postal service treating you well?”
“Hello Princess. We’re probably still a week out from the worst of the holiday rush, so… well enough, I guess.” Gallus struggled to shift the parcel in his grasp, until he was finally able to heft it up and over the side of the POSHA-compliant railing. “I also have this smaller one.” He pulled another cardboard box from one of his saddlebags; this one fit comfortably in his talon.
“Thank you, Gallus.” Twilight tried very hard to keep the giddiness out of her voice as she magically picked up the box and levitated it to herself.
“You okay, Princess?” Gallus had raised an eyebrow.
“I’m fine.” Twilight smiled, perhaps too widely.
Judging by Gallus’ frown, he wasn’t convinced. Nevertheless, he held up a clipboard and quill. “Okay, none of my business, sign here.”
Twilight signed for the packages. As she waited for Gallus to separate the receipt from the triplicate carbon-copies, she made a mental note to see if the royal arcanists could find a better way of giving everycreature access to the paperwork they needed without fussing around with carbon paper and generating so many physical copies each time.
“Good evening, Princess.” Gallus gave her one last confused look before descending back towards the city.
With a quick flare of her horn, Twilight hauled the moon up into the sky. She winced; it rose a little faster than she preferred, and it was definitely a bit early, but she was too excited to do it properly. Dragging the larger of the two parcels inside, she took a moment to set the smaller one on her desk. She closed the door, drew the blinds, and turned on her thaumatic lamp. Resisting the urge to trot in place from her own building excitement, she very carefully opened the larger parcel revealing…
Herself.
Well, a life-sized plush version of herself, at any rate.
Twilight inspected the giant stuffed simulacrum, making sure that the dimensions matched hers. She frowned as she realized that it was thinner than her in a few places, then made a mental note to lay off on the cake—a bad habit she’d picked up from her mentor.
Moving over to the desk, Twilight opened the smaller box. Inside was a golden necklace that had a crystal vial attached to it. There was also a card. Knowing who had sent the package, she backed away slightly before unfolding the paper. It was blank. Her eyes narrowing slightly, she counted to herself— “one, two, three” —then sidestepped as a blur of pink lunged out from her desk wastebasket in a hug-tackle.
Pinkie Pie wound up glomping the plush version of Twilight instead, rolling with it until they came to rest against a wall. “You losing weight, Twilight?” Pinkie loosened her vice-grip. “Also, you don’t seem to have any bones.”
“Over here, Pinkie.”
“Oooh,” Pinkie said to the stuffed Twilight. “You’re tricky; imma keep my eye on you.” She stood and then bounced over to the table. “So, I got you the water from the mirror pond and put it in the magical necklace thingy you gave me, though I don't know why you’d want mirror pond water. I mean, it’s not like you’re going to use it to turn that plushie-you into a less-crazy than normal mirror-clone copy of real-you so that it can run the kingdom while you take an unscheduled but much needed day off, right?”
Twilight leveled a pair of exasperation-laden, half-lidded eyes towards the living embodiment of hyperactive prognostication.
“Wait!” Pinkie reached into her mane, pulling out something silver. It appeared to be a helmet with a thin, dark glass visor. She donned it. “Excuse me; I have to go. Somewhere there is a birthday happening.” Rearing up on her hind hooves, Pinkie moonwalked back to the wastebasket, stepped into it, and then lowered herself until she had vanished from sight.
“Fifteen million bits on magical security,” Twilight said in a highly disappointed tone, while shaking her head. She sighed and lit her horn to magically pick up the plush and set it upright. Then she levitated the necklace over to its neck, hanging it in place.
Reaching over to the desk with a wing, Twilight pulled open a drawer and withdrew a watch, which was set with a single pink gem in the center. On one side was a solar motif, whilst the opposite side was decorated in a lunar fashion. Using a hoof to feel along the withers of the plush, she found loose threads in the stitched seam, right where she’d asked for them to be placed. She slid the timepiece into the gap and pulled on two strings, sealing the seam shut.
With her other wing, Twilight opened a different drawer in the desk. Using her magic, she levitated a sheet of parchment to hang in front of her while she studied the various arcane designs that covered it.
“Whelp—” Twilight looked between the simulacrum and the thaumatic diagrams “—here goes nothing.”
Spike rapped a large purple claw against the door to the Princess’s suite. He had to be very careful when doing such things now; when Twilight had first begun her rule, he was small enough that he would actually have to knock as hard as he could to be heard through the thick planks that every door in the castle seemed to be made of. If he slammed his claws against them now, though, there was a decent chance he’d accidentally punch clean through them. A particular memory of some surprised Saddle Arabian delegates came to mind.
He scratched absentmindedly at the green scales atop his head. “Twilight,” he called, followed by another series of light taps. Glancing over at the hallway grandfather clock, he read the time: “Half past seven.” Spike frowned; Twilight hadn’t been late with the sunrise for several years now. And there wasn’t any way that he’d let it happen again; the slightly late nobility breakfast scandal was something he’d rather not repeat, especially amid the Hearth’s Warming season.
His claw performed another series of knocks, heavier this time. The door shook with the impacts. “Twilight, don’t make me come in there!” It was an empty threat, but it’d worked in the past.
“Yes. Spike.”
The voice that came from within the room caused Spike to tilt his head slightly. It sounded like Twilight, but there was something… a little off. “You gonna raise the sun, Twilight?” He looked over to the clock again. “You only have one—”
The sun lurched above the horizon in a manner similar to somepony who had tripped over the curb when transitioning from street to sidewalk. “Sun. Up.”
Spike very slowly closed his mouth, which had dropped open. He scratched the top of his green-scaled head. “I don’t know—”
“—how I feel about today,” Twilight whispered, feeling some slight guilt nagging at her. “No! Bad Twilight!” her horn lit and she levitated a magazine from the day-spa reading material rack and promptly whapped it across her own muzzle. “You need this day off! Nopony can stop you from enjoying it, so enjoy it!”
“You okay over there, Twilight?” Celestia was returning from the front desk, where she had been speaking with one of the spa twins—Aloe, Twilight thought—verifying their reservation. Celestia had booked the entire facility for just the two of them for the day; not only as a treat, or as last year’s Hearth’s Warming present, but because the last thing either of them wanted was to be mobbed for autographs or swarmed by the ponyparazzi.
It was odd seeing her old mentor again. When Twilight had last seen her, Celestia had seemed much taller, her alabaster coloration reminiscent of the towers which made up Canterlot Castle, and her ethereal flowing mane spanning the colors of coming dawn. But with the passing of years, Twilight was swiftly approaching Celestia in stature.
“Oh, I’m fine!” Twilight made a dismissive gesture with her hoof. “You know how it is, even when everything is running smoothly, you get worried.”
“I know exactly what you mean, Twilight.” Celestia threw a foreleg across Twilight’s withers. “I seem to remember leaving a young mare in charge of the kingdom when Luna and I went on vacation once.”
A deft change of topic was in order, and Twilight knew better than to squander the opening Celestia had just given her. “Where is Luna anyways?”
Celestia shook her head and giggled. “Oh, she decided to visit someplace called ‘Nightvale.’ She said something about wanting to visit the dog parks there.”
“Well, I guess that means she won’t be joining us then.”
“Afraid not.” Celestia put her muzzle close to Twilight’s ear. “Just between the two of us,” she whispered, “I don’t think Luna’s fond of spas.”
Twilight pulled away, placed a hoof in front of her mouth and feigned a gasp. The two shared a chuckle.
“Oh Twilight, today is going to be great. I’m so glad you finally found somepony to run things for you so we could cash in those spa day coupons I gave you last Hearth’s Warming. It’s been far too long since we’ve been able to spend time catching up!” Her smile was infectious. “Who did you leave in charge, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Waving her hoof dismissively again, Twilight laughed in a nervous manner that caused Celestia’s mirthful eyes to narrow. “Don’t worry about it, the pony I’ve chosen… oh, don’t look at me like that, everything’s fine. It’s practically like I’m actually still there!”
“I don’t think she’s all there today, guys.” Spike held his claw next to his mouth so Twilight couldn’t see what he was saying from where she sat on the throne. The gesture was blatant enough that even he was reminded of how poor his subterfuge skills were.
The Twins—two pale-furred unicorn brothers who served as Twilight’s daytime bodyguards—looked between each other before returning their gazes to Spike. Their expressions straddled a line somewhere between worried and confused.
Spike placed a claw on each of the Twins’ withers. “Look, I think she just didn’t get enough rest last night.” He smiled, perhaps wider than he should have. If the looks of tension on the guards’ muzzles were any indicator, his fangs were probably on full display. “Let’s see if we can’t keep the petitions to a minimum today, ‘kay?”
The Twins looked between each other, at Spike, at each other again, shrugged, and then opened the throne room doors just a crack, motioning for Spike to come closer.
He looked out into the hallway and saw a line that stretched well out of sight.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes!” Twilight smiled. “A sauna sounds wonderful!”
“It certainly does,” Celestia agreed.
Lotus returned their smiles. “Right this way, please.” She led them down a thickly carpeted hallway hung with tasteful faux-snowflakes and festive red-and-green garland.
“Oh, this feels nice,” Twilight said, the sensation of the bristly fabric pushing up between the walls of her hooves and massaging her frogs made the short stroll all the more delightful.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Celestia grinned.
As they made their way down the hall, they approached Aloe, who was standing outside of a cedar-planked door with a basket of supplies. She gave a water bottle to each of them. “Drink up before you go in,” she said. “You want to stay hydrated.”
Twilight and Celestia downed the water, then thanked Aloe as she hoofed a towel to each of them and opened the door. In the center of the steam room was a large metal bucket of water, which took up one half of the slate slab it sat upon. Around the central slab were several polished wooden benches, some of which had backs that reclined at different angles.
Lotus brought in another metal bucket with a thick towel wrapped around the grip. Setting it down on the other half of the slate slab, she pulled a set of insulated tongs from the supply basket, and used them to lift the lid, revealing that the bucket was full of red-hot stones. She picked up and dropped a few stones into the water, bringing it to a boil almost immediately. Then she placed the lid back onto the bucket.
“Just relax, you two,” Aloe said, placing a cooler filled with water bottles next to the door. “But make sure to drink. Ponies can lose a lot of water in a sauna. You can keep adding more rocks as you need, and we’ll check up on you if we think you are in for too long.” She pointed a hoof at a ring attached to a rope that ran into the ceiling. “Pull this if you need more drinks, water for the bucket, or hot rocks.”
Twilight and Celestia both nodded, and then the twins left.
The two Alicorns hadn’t been in the room for more than five minutes before they were drenched in their own sweat.
“She wasn’t kidding about needing the drinks,” Twilight said.
“You act like you’ve never been in a sauna before.” Celestia raised an eyebrow. “Which is just silly, you lived in Ponyville for years, of course you must’ve visited this day-spa before!”
“Well, I have been to the spa lots of times,” Twilight said. “I just… never used the sauna.”
A bemused expression crossed Celestia’s face. “Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh Twilight.” Celestia laughed. “There has to be more to it than that; you always plan, always have reasons and checklists.”
“I really don’t know.” Twilight leaned back and breathed in the hot air and thought for a bit. “I know that I always over-analyzed and needlessly worried about things back then,” she said. “I probably thought I’d randomly catch on fire—” A burst of laughter escaped her lips as a particularly poignant memory breached the surface of her consciousness.
Celestia grinned. “Oh, now I need to know what caused that.”
Twilight tried to stifle her own chuckles. “It’s Pinkie and Spike’s fault really.” She shook her head. “There was this one time, years ago, when they were having a conversation about ponies just exploding for no reason. And then exploding again.”
“And you think this put you off saunas?” Celestia’s expression swung straight back to nonplussed.
“I mean, it’s embarrassing now, but I guess it got me thinking about unusual thermodynamic phenomena, up to and including… spontaneous combustion.”
A small fit of cackles wracked Celestia. “Oh Twilight—” She was clearly having trouble breathing in the heated air between bouts of laughter.
“It is pretty ridiculous,” Twilight said, giggling a bit herself. “Ponies don’t just spontaneously combust.”
Spike swore he saw a curl of smoke emanating from Twilight. He slowly leaned back on his advisor’s stool next to her, and tried to be discreet as he eyed the spot on her backside where it seemed to be coming from.
“Uh… Twilight?”
“Yes.”
Initially, Spike had chalked up Twilight’s bizarre behavior to a night of poor rest. Her eyes had been locked in a vacant stare ever since she mechanically walked out of her bedroom. Then there was the odd golden necklace Twilight had been wearing. It was made of some kind of crystal, and appeared to have water within it. Spike had never seen her wear it before, and Twilight was not the kind of pony to randomly switch things up. But more to the point, every time she talked, her manner of speech was uncharacteristically terse; one word answers were definitely not her usual style.
But apparently they were today. Spike cleared his throat, grasping for some way of being delicate with his news. “Your, uh. Your… butt… is smoking.”
Both of the Twins gave him perplexed, yet stern, glances. Spike raised his claws defensively. “Guys, I don’t mean—I mean, look.”
They did, though Spike immediately regretted his request, as a pair of ponies pushed past the line being maintained by the distracted Twins and prostrated themselves before the throne. One was a pink-furred mare whose flaring nostrils and hard eyes left no question that she was irritated. The other was a tan-furred stallion whom she’d dragged bodily alongside her, and who looked like he would have preferred to be anyplace else at that moment.
“Speak,” Twilight said robotically, causing Spike to wince for perhaps the twentieth time that morning.
The mare stood forward, allowing the stallion to hide behind her. “Princess, I am here to complain about this morning’s sunrise.”
Saying nothing, yet continuing to issue smoke, Twilight stared blankly at the couple.
“My husband and I are quite fond of watching the sun slowly crest the horizon every morning,” the mare continued. “But today, the sun jumped up to where it should be by nine-o’clock! You ruined our last romantic morning before our family comes to visit for the holidays!”
Twilight’s head tilted precariously to one side. “Sun. Dissatisfaction?”
“Yes!” The mare’s irritation had colored her face in a burning shade of crimson.
“Sun. Recompense.”
Spike raised an eyebrow. “What—”
Twilight’s mouth opened impossibly wide, and an unholy shriek accompanied the blinding bright light that burst forth into the expansive throne room.
Spike stumbled backwards from his seat. He covered his eyes with one forearm and tried to stand, but one of his hind claws slipped over the edge of the dias and he was sent tumbling down its stairs. He hit the ground hard, gazed up dizzily at the solar illumination emanating from the throne, and felt his jaw go slack as Twilight ignited like a Romane candle.
The gathered petitioners needed no further motivation to begin caterwauling and fleeing the throne room.
Spike could only watch on in horror as Twilight spun in circles, her ignited feathers succumbing to centripetal force and flying in all directions, sending waves of pyrotechnics streaking across the room. Holiday decorations and priceless tapestries combusted with similar ease. The Twins galloped for the cover of the main hallway.
Then Twilight collapsed.
Running up to the throne, Spike’s eyes beheld a severely burnt, life-sized figure of Twilight, but with many details that were out of place. Among them was singed stuffing erupting from charred patches of what appeared to be a coat of fabric.
He heard the sound of galloping hooves, heralding the arrival of the Twins.
“What the—”
“Somecreature has replaced the Princess,” Spike growled.
The Twins’ eyes narrowed and they clenched their teeth, a grinding sound audible over the hissing of the smoldering plush.
“Somecreature is in deep, deep—”
“—deep tissue massage sounds nice,” Twilight said.
“Yes it does,” Celestia agreed. “If you haven’t had one from Bulk Biceps, I highly recommend it; he’s got magic hooves.”
“Oh really?” Twilight giggled. “How often do you visit here?”
“I’ll never tell,” Celestia replied. “Besides, I don’t rightly know; Since Luna and I retired, we spend a lot more time doing things that we always wanted to back when we were ruling.”
“I’m grateful for the nudge to do better at that,” Twilight said as Aloe and Lotus led them into a room with two very-comfy looking tables. “So—” she looked between the two spa-ponies “—who gets who?”
“Lotus usually warms me up before Bulk takes over.” Celestia laid herself on one of the tables. “So, if you don’t have a preference…”
“Works for me.” Twilight jumped up onto her own table and sprawled out. “Aloe, I guess you’ll be tenderizing my back then.”
Both of the spa-ponies shared a glance and a shrug.
“Princess Twilight, would you like a pillow?” Aloe walked up to the bed with the proffered item.
Accepting the pillow, which had a Hearth’s Warming tree embroidered on it, Twilight placed it under her head and re-adjusted her position.
“Since this is a deep massage, please do not hesitate to tell me if there is too much pain.”
“I’ve had a deep-tissue massage before, I think I’ll be—owwwwwwhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, sweet Celestia!” One of Twilight’s eyes twitched as Aloe pulverized one of the muscles in her neck that had the audacity to be tense.
“Is my name still an epithet?” Celestia was otherwise quiet as Lotus loosened her musculature.
Twilight waited for her current moan of pleasure to die out before answering. “Sorry, this just feels soooo good!”
“This feels horrible to have to tell you,” Spike said, trying not to shrink before the intense—and diverse—eyes of the Canterlot Council, which included representatives of each of the creatures who were officially part of the Equestrian Alliance: pony, yak, griffin, changeling, hippogriff, and dragon—which was him. “But we have reason to believe that Princess Twilight is not only missing, but has been caught up in a mad scheme to make it appear she’s still here.”
Chancellor Neighsay, still the pony rep since the early days of the alliance, shared a dour expression with Prince Pharynx—who was only on temporary assignment as the changeling rep, possibly as punishment for the Defense from the Harmless Tomatoes incident. “And what evidence do you offer for this… alarming assertion, Mr. The Dragon?”
Spike gestured for the Twins to wheel her in. The scorched remains of faux-Twilight had been carefully loaded onto a cart, which was not entirely successful at keeping them in place. Small bits of ash and cotton stuffing fell in the cart’s wake, drawing immediate murmurs from the assembled creatures.
Silverstream, the hippogriff rep ever since the great jellyfish migration incident, raised a claw.
“Yes, Silverstream?” Spike hoped it wasn’t a question about stairs.
“Is that a plushie?”
Before he could answer, Gilda, who had become the griffin rep after years of serving as ambassador, doubled over laughing.
“WHAT YOU FIND FUNNY?” Prince Rutherford Jr. Esq. The Red, the yak representative, was definitely his father’s son.
Fighting for breath, Gilda pointed at the stricken plush, before cackling again and falling completely out of her seat.
“YOU LAUGH AT YAK’S INQUIRY?!”
“No, it’s not…” Gilda held up one claw as she tried to drag herself back onto the chair with the other. “It’s just… it’s a huge plush!” Her beak split with inexorable giggles. She opened her mouth to say something else, but more laughter burst out of her instead.
Pharynx rose and leaned over the table. “Spike, you’re saying that Princess Twilight’s been replaced by some bizarre, magically-glamoured plush-clone?”
“I can’t think of any other explanation,” Spike replied.
“YOU PONIES SAY YAK STEAL PRINCESS TWILIGHT?”
“No, Rutherford—” Spike’s protests were cut off as Rutherford flipped the council table.
Gilda momentarily found that funny as well, but gasped as she was grabbed and sent flying into Pharynx, which visibly irritated the changeling—a difficult task, since he was perpetually annoyed to begin with. Rutherford then latched onto Spike with some kind of yak-jitsu technique and tried his best to turn Spike into a piece of modern art.
While resisting Rutherford’s efforts to twist him into a pretzel, Spike saw Neighsay share a nod with Silverstream, and the two wisely began belly-crawling towards the relative safety of a linen cabinet, careful to avoid where Pharynx had begun to whack Gilda in the face with one of her own claws, all whilst telling her to stop hitting herself.
Spike felt his joints crack under the pressure of Rutherford’s iron yak-fu grip. “Could today possibly get any worse?!”
“Could today possibly get any better?” Twilight sighed as she and Celestia lay on their backs. Their faces were covered with mud masks, and they had cucumbers over their eyes. The Spa-Twins were alternating between gently filing their hooves and lightly massaging their cannons.
Celestia let out a contented sigh. “It would be hard, wouldn’t it?”
“Yup.” Twilight glanced over to the wall clock. “I’ll have to go back before too long though; I don’t trust my replacement that much.”
“C’mon everycreature,” Spike pleaded. “We can’t distrust each other this much!”
Pharynx and Gilda stopped wrestling for a moment, and Rutherford stopped trying to bend Spike six ways from Sunday.
“Please?” Spike must have looked pitiful enough, because soon everycreature was untangled. “Okay now, I am not accusing anycreature of this. But someone tried to replace Princess Twilight, and now we have to find her before I end up filling-in for her at the annual Yule Ball—to say nothing of Twilight’s safety, or the sovereignty of Equestria itself. Can I count on all of your help?”
“Of course,” Neighsay said as he emerged from underneath the linen cabinet.
“Better than hiding with these sheets,” Silverstream agreed, following Neighsay.
“Obviously.” Gilda twirled a claw in the air.
“The defense of Canterlot is at stake!” Pharynx’s statement caused worried glances to be traded between everycreature, with the exception of—
“YAKS WILL NOT STAND FOR PRINCESS TWILIGHT KIDNAPPING!”
“Okay,” Spike said. “We’ll conduct a search, then. I only hope we find Twilight before—”
“I wonder why the sun hasn’t set yet,” Twilight said, looking up at the aforementioned ball of incandescence.
Celestia raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said that you left the solar-lunar-cycle artifact with somepony who would take care of that for you?”
“I did,” Twilight replied. “But you remember when you first gave me that thing? I practically broke it.”
“Well then, I suppose you should be getting back.” Celestia smiled. “But first, I wanted to give you your Hearth’s Warming present. I’m afraid it’s not terribly creative—” she lit her horn and drew two more spa vouchers out of a pocket in her robe “—but I hope you’ve come to see the value that a bit of relaxation can bring to somepony who must juggle the whole world’s affairs on a routine basis.”
Twilight nodded. “I do. But more than that… I enjoyed spending time with you, Princess Celestia.”
“And as always, it was wonderful to spend time with you, my faithful student.”
The two shared a giggle.
Twilight smiled as she charged up her teleport spell. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you wait almost another year to do this again.”
“We can never let this happen again,” Pharynx said. “Losing the leader of Equestria is high on my personal list of catastrophes which endanger the safety of our alliance.”
Spike shook his head. “Did anyone actually find anything?”
“No,” Gilda replied. “I scoured the town with Pharynx and Silverstream. There’s no trace of her.”
Neighsay shook his head. “First I ordered the Weather Council to call off tonight’s snowstorm to aid Gilda and the others. Then Rutherford and I searched every room in the castle proper, as well as the castle grounds.”
“WE FIND NOTHING!”
Spike pinched the bridge of his snout. “And I took the plush Twilight to the royal arcanists—don’t worry, I didn’t tell them that Twilight is missing—who said that it was loaded with some kind of magic they’ve never seen before. They’re sending out a scan… pulse… thing… to see if they can locate another source of it. But we’re probably going to have to widen our own search efforts, too.”
“Somecreature should stay here,” Pharynx said. “In case she comes back.”
“Good idea,” Spike said. “Though I highly doubt that she’s just going to randomly appear.”
Twilight suddenly appeared in a flash of magenta light.
Everycreature’s jaw dropped.
Looking around at the wrecked state of the throne room and at the char marks on the throne itself, Twilight widened her eyes. A burnt length of Hearth’s Warming garland fluttered down from near the ceiling, where it had been smoldering, landing at her hooves. She turned back to face the others, a blush having crept across her muzzle. “So, anything happen while I was out?”