//------------------------------// // Part IV // Story: The Haunting of Carousel Boutique // by mushroompone //------------------------------// The early morning sunlight fell across Rarity’s body like the finest silk sheets. She slept peacefully, her barrel rising and falling deeply, steadily, and without disruption. Applejack was forced to assume that this was the first peaceful sleep the mare had had in many moons, though she had no proof of that. Her face was so soft. She remembered that. From a misguided sleepover even more moons ago. More than she would care to count, if she were being honest. Rarity’s features had this way of dissolving when she slept, like a lump of sugar in a hot cup of tea. All of the emotion, all of the over-the-top drama that she expressed only through those magnificent brows, those bright lips, those stunning eyes… it all just melted away. No longer a character, she was practically a classical painting. An elegance that few could ever hope to achieve. A lock of her mane fell from its position and curled upwards, landing in just the right position to tickle the inside of Rarity’s ear. She flicked it, and the tiniest wrinkles of consternation appeared on her face. Only to melt once more. But the lock fell again, and so she fluttered her perfect ear, trying to chase away the annoyance. Applejack sighed lightly. She reached out and gently brushed away the troublesome lock of mane. She had not slept. Not at all. She had, instead, laid beside Rarity as she cried and cried and cried, never managing more than a sentence or two before her crying was renewed. She had waited patiently, whispering soothing affirmations, stroking her mane, until she had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. Applejack could only imagine how tired she really was. She wanted to wrap her up again. To just hold her and let her be held, to keep her safe from the gaping emptiness of the Carousel Boutique. To help her feel as if somepony had her back-- perhaps quite literally. But Applejack’s touch seemed to be as much a blessing and a curse for Rarity. She sought it out, of course. Drawing closer, only to stiffen when Applejack tried to embrace her. Reaching out to grab at her friend herself, only to pull away when any of it was reciprocated.  Applejack tried not to take it to heart. But she certainly couldn’t sleep. Instead, in the long hours between midnight and sunrise, Applejack stewed. She stewed on many things.  On the nature and direction of her friends' relationships to one another, many of them now scattered to the corners of Equestria and leaving Ponyville in their grateful wake.  On Rarity, who seemed to have changed more than Applejack could truly fathom. Or, perhaps, who had not changed at all, and was only becoming a bit looser with the way she was perceived. And, of course, on the Boutique itself. On the strange visions it housed within its walls. After many hours of stewing, Applejack reached an inconclusive conclusion: despite the visceral realness of what she had seen and felt the night before, Applejack could offer no proof that it was as real as it felt. She had no pieces of ponnequin to point to, no injuries that weren’t self-inflicted, and no witnesses to back her up on what she’d experienced. Rarity sat in a very similar position. Nothing but vague questions about seeing things and feeling strange. All of it could, in reality, be chalked up to a gas leak. Or spiked tap water (all that tea, she knew she’d made a mistake drinking all that tea). Or even the almighty power of suggestion and sleep deprivation.  It could all be in her head. And, separately, in Rarity’s head. Just two mares getting old and spooking the living daylights out of one another in a big, empty house. It wasn’t unheard of. In fact, the more Applejack considered the possibility, the more she felt herself believing it. She allowed the weight on her chest to lift, slowly but surely, and take a breath of fresh air. And, as her confidence rose, she would consider looking over her shoulder and into the mirror on the vanity. Proving to herself that it was all just in her head. She was close a few times. But she didn't look. She told herself it was because of Rarity, because the poor mare was so close to her and such a light sleeper that any small disruption would surely wake her up.  And she almost believed that, too. Funny how Applejack could only ever lie to herself. Rarity stirred. Her face once again contorted into a look of frustration and of the deepest innocence, the kind only tiny fillies and sleepy grown mares can ever achieve, and she stretched her delicate forehooves out in front of her like a tired barn cat. She rolled her head to one side, the sunlight glittering on her dark lashes as if they were choppy ocean waves. “Hey,” Applejack whispered. She wanted to reach out to touch Rarity, but she dutifully tucked her hooves under her forelegs. “Mornin’, sugar cube.” Rarity let out a small groan as her stretch reached its zenith, then relaxed at all once. Her eyes fluttered open. A brilliant yet delicate blue. Brilliant yet delicate. Just like her. She caught sight of Applejack, and all of that sleepy-softness vanished in the blink of an eye. “Oh!” She shot upright, her mane a striking arc of violet in the yellow light of the sunshine.  “Whoa, there,” Applejack said softly. She rolled forward herself, her sweaty back sticking to the silk pillowcases in such a way that made her wince. Rarity kicked away, hind legs swung out to one side, struggling to grip against the sheets. She kept her eyes trained on Applejack's face as she tilted away. Wide with fear.  Applejack drew back. “Hey, now,” she murmured. “Just me. I promise.” Rarity held a hoof to her chest and looked Applejack up and down. Scrutinizing. Searching for faults or chips in the facade. “Just me,” Applejack repeated, holding her hooves up in the air. “Just me, Rares.” Rarity made another small sound of fear and gave a final kick. “Applejack?” she whispered. “You… you stayed?” “Uh…” A pang of doubt hit Applejack square in the chest. “Yeah. I hope that’s okay. I guess I… didn’t exactly ask permission.” “And you’re alright?” Rarity asked, pulling her puffy mane away from her face. “I mean-- well, are you?” Applejack scoffed. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Rarity dropped her hoof back down to the bed. Her eyes flicked over to the mirror, an obvious guilt in the way she tried to hide it behind her own dismissive sound. “Of course. Of course, right,” she said, her tone light and airy. “Just… nightmares. I always have nightmares when I sleep in a new place. And it’s been an awfully long time since you spent the night here, hasn’t it?” Applejack didn’t really respond to that. Just made a low grunt without any meaning in particular. The sheets rushed under Rarity’s hooves as she rearranged herself into a more ladylike position. “Be a dear, Applejack, and get my brush out from the bedside table?” she asked softly. “I feel like a teddy bear with a split seam.” Or a ponnequin. Applejack pushed the thought out of her mind and rolled onto her side. She pulled the bedside table drawer out, glancing over the key she had used to frantically lock the door just hours earlier, and gently lifted the wire manebrush. She passed it to her friend, who took it in one uncertain hoof. “Thank you.” Rarity stared down at the object for a moment longer than Applejack expected, then lifted it to pull it tentatively through the very end of her mane. It caught. It pulled, lopsided and angry, through those beautiful violet waves. “You’re not usin’ your magic?” Applejack observed. “Mm.” Rarity tore through the remainder of her mane. “Headaches, you know.” Applejack said nothing to that, only furrowed her brows a little closer together and watched as her friend struggled to do what she had done every day, her entire life. It was a truly vulnerable sort of helplessness, Applejack thought. Not just to be without, but to have something taken away. “Hey,” Applejack said, tapping Rarity on the shoulder. Rarity’s shoulders flew up to her ears. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Applejack shook her head. “Why don’t you let me? I did Applebloom’s mane for years. I promise I’m gentle.” She held out her hoof for the brush. At first, Rarity drew the brush closer to her chest. She looked at Applejack’s offered hoof with apprehension, bordering on fear. “It’s no big deal,” Applejack said. “I just wanna help out.” Slowly, hesitatingly, Rarity presented the brush to her friend. Applejack took it gently. “There y’are,” she murmured. “I can’t promise it’ll look as good as it usually does, but it’ll be a heck of a lot more comfortable.” Rarity laughed softly. A sparkling sound, like moonlight in a puddle of rainwater. “Spin ‘round,” Applejack instructed, twirling the brush in a circle. Rarity obliged. In truth, it had been many years since Applejack had done Applebloom’s mane. More than she would care to count. But the memory of the motion was still there, that easy pull of the brush, always willing to pause at the tangles and pick through them rather than tear the knots away. Pulling lovingly through those thick ruby waves and tugging them back into a pigtail, tied with a ribbon. These waves, however, were silkier. An impressive volume made up of the tiniest hairs, like spider silk, which floated of their own accord. They didn’t have their usual fancy perfume scent, nor did they have that brilliant shine from that lengthy care routine, but they were beautiful nonetheless. They smelled like Rarity, in the truest sense. Not the smell which Rarity wished to associate herself with, not the one she bought in a bottle and drenched herself with, but that most natural of musks that wafted from each wispy hair on her head. And they looked like Rarity, too. Rarity as she existed when nopony was looking-- or, rather, how she dared to be when the right pony was looking. Applejack pawed through her friend’s mane with one wide hoof, following the smooth train of the brush. It was like water. Like cream, even. A smoothness which clung to her as she trailed her hoof along its surface. Rarity stayed silent. She closed her eyes and allowed her head to be drawn in the direction of Applejack’s gentle strokes. Though Applejack couldn’t see her face, she imagined that the battered unicorn was smiling. Which is why the equally-battered earth pony held her tongue so long.  There was a peacefulness at last in the Carousel Boutique, and to disrupt that felt like a sin. But it couldn’t last. And perhaps now, when Rarity’s mind was clear and her heart was calm, might be the best time. “I think we oughta talk about what happened,” Applejack said at last. Rarity stiffened. “Um… about last night?” she suggested. “About… everything,” Applejack admitted. She pulled the brush through again, slow and deliberate. “I’ve just got the feeling there’s some things you haven’t told me.” “Well, I--” “And if it ain’t my business, it ain’t my business,” Applejack said quickly. “But I wanna help you, sugar cube. I don’t want you to feel alone in… whatever it is you’re going through.” Rarity tensed even more. “That’s… that’s very kind of you, Applejack.” Applejack shook her head. “Ain’t all that. Friends are s’posed to be there for one another.” “Twilight would be proud,” Rarity commented, half-sarcastic, half-serious. “So… that mean you’re gonna talk to me about what’s goin’ on?” Applejack asked. “Because I know somethin’ is.” “Ah, yes.” Rarity cast a glance over her shoulder at her friend. “Applejack, the equine lie detector. Even the whitest, sweetest, most harmless little things can’t sneak by you, can they?” Applejack snorted. “If you’re referring to you, you get plenty by me,” she said. “But only ‘cause I letcha.” “Oh, you’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” Rarity grumbled. “If you’re referrin’ to white lies, on the other hoof--” Applejack paused, reaching forward to cup her hoof under Rarity’s chin and gently turning her to look over her own shoulder. “--this ain’t what I call harmless.” Applejack had, the previous night, mopped away the dried blood dripping from beneath Rarity’s nostril. It had taken some doing, too, as she’d been blubbering and sobbing for the entire process. Despite her clean fur, though, the bridge of Rarity’s snout was still stained a blotchy brown-green by the bruise forming on her perfect skin. Rarity looked into Applejack’s eyes for only a moment, then pulled out of her grasp. “Applejack, please, I told you--” “A lie,” Applejack said simply. “You told me a lie. Now, I ain’t mad about it. I’m certain you had a good reason-- or at least what felt like a good reason at the time.” Rarity sighed and hung her head. “But I’m askin’ you now,” Applejack said softly, her hoof drifting to land on Rarity’s withers, “to tell me the truth. The whole truth.” Rarity remained motionless. As much as Applejack wanted to speak, to reassure Rarity, to take back her demand for proof… she held her tongue. She waited patiently for Rarity to center herself, and to quickly and desperately fill the silence with her own outburst. “Oh, Applejack…” she hummed, almost condescending. She sniffled and ran a hoof under one eye. “Can we just go back to the banter? That was so much more fun.” Applejack sighed. She didn’t say anything. “Look, I--” Rarity paused, then spun around to face her friend. “It’s not that I don’t want your help. Or your support. Believe me when I say that it’s… it’s the only thing I want.” Her eyes drifted over Applejack’s shoulder and back to the mirror. She swallowed hard, her skin tight around her throat. Then she flicked back. “I don’t want you to think differently of me,” she whispered, barely audible. “I haven’t… I haven’t been myself of late. And I’d hate to think that the price I pay for your support includes my dignity.” Applejack cocked her head. “I don’t--” “I know you’ve seen me through a lot, darling,” Rarity continued, hanging her head, “but I have to be honest with you: I’ve never… what I mean is, I don’t…” Her head drooped even lower, and Applejack could hear the beginnings of another crying jag sputtering up in her chest. “I’ve never lost sight of myself like this, Applejack,” she squeaked out. And the crying began again. This was lesser, if only because Rarity must have been so utterly and completely dehydrated that there were few places from which she could squeeze another tear. She shuddered like an autumn leaf caught in a winter wind, her mane slipping down from her shoulders and hanging in great violet curtains on either side of her head. Like blinders. “Hey, now.” Applejack reached out with one tentative hoof and tucked Rarity’s mane back behind her ear. Rarity cringed at the touch, but Applejack held steady. “That don’t mean she’s gone.” Rarity sniffled and wiped at her snout with one hoof. “Who?” she asked. “You,” Applejack said. She ran her hoof down Rarity’s jaw, stopping under her chin. Rarity anticipated, and Applejack found that she hardly had to lift at all until Rarity was looking her in the eye. “You said you lost sight of yourself. Lost ain’t the same as gone.” For a moment, the mares held that fragile eye contact, staring into one another deeply and powerfully. Rarity’s eyes shimmered with tears cried and uncried, and Applejack did her best to look past the sadness to the mare within. Terrified though she was, the real Rarity was still there. She had to be. She scoffed lightly, pushing away Applejack’s hoof. “Oh, what do you know?” she muttered. Not nearly as accusatory as it was helpless. “I know plenty,” Applejack said. She retained a honey warmth in her voice even now, as her friend batted her away at every turn. “And the first thing I know is that you’ve got to talk things through. ‘Specially when they’re bad.” Rarity sniffled again. “I understand if it’s been confusion’ lately, but I need you to try to talk to me,” Applejack said sternly. “Because, like it or not, there’s somethin’ goin’ on in this house. I dunno if it’s stress, or… or ghosts, or a curse, or what have you, but it is dangerous, and I need to understand where it came from.” Silence, still. Rarity kept her head hung low, staring down at her own hooves, guarded thoroughly from Applejack’s knowing gaze. She withdrew into her own mane in a way that reminded Applejack of their dear friend Fluttershy, though she hadn’t even seen Fluttershy behave this way in years. Applejack let out a tense sigh. She pulled back from Rarity entirely, putting a good amount of space between the two of them and leaning away at a wide angle. “Look,” she said. “Normally this kinda thing would be a… y’know, a group effort. I’d call up Twilight and have her magic things up, or we’d have Rainbow Dash kick down doors and beat the livin’ daylights out of whatever was hidin’ in here. But right now it’s you and me. And we need to work together.” Rarity sighed. “I know.” Applejack was taken aback, though she hid it well. She waited quietly for Rarity to continue. Rarity, ever the showmare, flipped her mane over her shoulder with a deft flick of her head. Her face was exposed to the early morning sunlight pouring in the window as she wiped away the last of the tears rolling down her cheeks. “You know how I tend to draw a crowd, Applejack,” she began, fluttering her eyes to clear away the remaining tears. “I’ve always found myself at the center of attention. Ever since I was a foal.” Applejack nodded. “Mm-hm.” “I don’t resent it in the least, if that’s what that face is for,” Rarity scolded. Applejack found that she had, in fact, been making a face. “Sorry. Can’t imagine livin’ like that myself, t’be honest. Sounds like my worst nightmare.” “It is what it is,” Rarity said, with a practiced shrug. “The only problem with being surrounded with attention is that… Well, eventually attention runs out. And loneliness becomes much harder to deal with when you’ve never even been alone.” She said it quickly. Breathily. As if she found it difficult, even now, to admit to being lonely. Applejack couldn’t quite understand her resistance to sharing. It wasn’t like it hadn’t been obvious from the start. Hay, she was right now sitting at the center of her sweat-stained depression sheets. But Applejack only nodded. “I can see where that would be, uh… challenging.” Rarity cocked an eyebrow in Applejack’s direction. “Darling, if you’re going to keep me company, you may as well act like yourself.” That made Applejack smirk, just the tiniest bit. “Sorry.” “What I’m trying to say is that… well, first the girls trickled out one by one,” Rarity said, waving her hoof in the air. “Then Opal died. Then Sweetie Belle moved out to school with her friends. It hasn’t been good for me. I… I haven’t handled it well.” She made a strange face. She shuffled her hooves, fidgeted with them like a grade-school foal caught doing something wrong. “Okay…” Applejack said, looking her friend up and down. “What exactly do you mean by that?” Rarity paused. She looked down at the mattress, running her hoof in a circle over the yellowed sheets, watching it ripple behind her touch. Pressing harder, hard enough until a wake formed in the path of her hoof. Thinking. She made a small sound, something exasperated and scared and relieved, and tucked her hoof back in amongst her others. Rarity opened her mouth and a loud sound-- WHAM! --cut her off. Coming from the bedroom door. Like a bowling ball against the wood of it. The mares flew apart from one another in terror, heads turned towards the door. Waiting. Wondering. Did you hear that? Am I imagining things? Are we just spooking each other? Could it be-- WHAM! Rarity screamed, shaky hooves flying to her mouth. It was difficult to tell when Rarity went pale, being as light as a china doll, but Applejack could see the life drain from her eyes as the creamy tone of her skin left her face. She was looking into the mirror. The mirror which, having endured the blows from the monster on the other side, stuck out at an odd angle. Hung forward a bit from its anchor point on the vanity. It was angled away from Applejack. Against her better judgement, she scrambled across the mattress towards Rarity, placing herself between the intruder and her friend. In the mirror. Herself clutching Rarity to her chest like a bear defending its kill. The Applejack in the mirror looked blue. Blue from deep under the ice. And she had an intensity in her eyes that was so strong, so utterly cold and baleful and malicious, that Applejack the real Applejack was paralyzed. They stared into one another. Rarity quaked, unable to make a sound. And then slowly both Applejacks rolled their heads back. The Applejack in the mirror did so silently, maintaining eye contact with her double until it was no longer possible. The real Applejack found that her head tipped back through a force all its own. She couldn't even fight it, couldn't tip it back forwards, could only cry out in fear and confusion as her eyes danced over the ceiling tiles, trying to glimpse Rarity, trying to regain control. "A-Applejack?" Rarity breathed. She grabbed her friend's leg and shook it. Applejack made a wordless sound, like the babble of a small foal. Her head rolled back. "Applejack, stop it!" Rarity ordered, the fear in her voice turning it to a shrill and fractured scream. "Stop it, you're scaring me! Stop it!" She stopped. They stopped. Paused. Frozen. And then, like a singular battering ram, like a machine, like a puppet, like a little marionette on greased metal hinges they swung their heads forward-- WHAM! --into the door. Applejack swore. She let loose all of her breath in one single syllable. Rarity screamed. A real scream. Beyond bad horror movies, beyond excited fans, beyond even the howl of a sorrowful widow. A sound which unzipped Applejack's soul, even as unimaginable pain bloomed in her head. As blood dripped down her forehead. As she saw stars explode in the fringes of her vision. Applejack wobbled and collapsed to her side, leaning heavily into Rarity’s shoulder with almost her full weight. Though she could feel Rarity struggling to squirm out from under her, even sense the ragged sharpness of her breath, she could not lift herself. Her head drew back once more. Fast. She murmured something--something incoherent, even to herself--before her head snapped forward again and-- WHAM! Applejack fought to open her eyes, and saw that her reflection’s head was pressed against the inside of the glass, a web of cracks radiating out from the place where she pressed forward.  Cracks on the mirror. Cracks in her skin. Split. Breaking open. Bleeding out. Bleeding-- Again her head snapped back, then forward into the-- WHAM! This time, the whiplash hurt the worst. Her head was going numb. The vanity wobbled and swayed, and Rarity was saying something. Or maybe she was just making noise. And heaving. With all her strength, she was shoving Applejack off of her. And yelling. Wordlessly. Only sound. Broken sound, breaking sound, bleeding sound-- Applejack flopped over like a doll like a ponnequin like a corpse and then she was being pulled, even as-- WHAM! --even as the barrage continued, even as Applejack-- as the Applejacks --pounded to get in. To get out. To get-- WHAM! To get. To get. To get. Applejack felt a cold blanket surround her. Something which tingled and bubbled and fizzed like soda, like champagne, like the needles of freezing cold water pricking her along her entire body. She was certain that this was the ice at last, that she was going to die, that she was somehow haunting and hunting and hurting herself all along. Was that possible? Rarity shouting again. Rhythmically, as Applejack was tugged across the floor. And suddenly she was on the high seas--the freezing, terrible high seas--and Rarity and the mares were shouting HEAVE! and the ship was pitching and tossing and her neck and her head and-- WHAM! --and the wood of the deck creaked and groaned, and she felt so sick, so seasick, like she was going to vomit, like she was going to stumble right over the edge and into the deep icy blue-black blue-white blue of the churning ocean below and-- WHAM! --and above her a goddess. A siren, perhaps. A merpony, a maiden from the sea, dragging her to shore. A screaming goddess. Her eyes screwed shut. Her horn aflare, her mouth agape, her face contorted in concentration and in terror and in anger, such anger! Such righteous fury from the ocean goddess! Applejack tried to see her. She felt that her own mouth was hanging open, and yet couldn’t close it of her own accord. It was coming back, now. No ocean. Only the sparkling waters of Rarity’s magic. No ship. Only the howling of the vanity across the wood floor. No siren. Only Rarity. Applejack’s own blood stained her white coat. Her perfect white coat, now a coppery brown. And she bellowed her frustration into Applejack’s own chest, gifting the blood back, spreading the stain. The pain was lessening. Applejack felt a twinge at the back of her neck. A twitch, as if it wished to snap backwards. But she could fight it, now. “I’m sorry!”  That’s what Rarity was saying. Blubbering. Barely understood at her pitch and her volume and with the foam gathering in her mouth and the mucus gobbing up her throat. Over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, I’m sorry,” she kept saying, rubbing her face deeper into Applejack’s chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Applejack made a sound. A little sound, like the strangled breath of a sick foal. Rarity gasped and pulled away from her friend. Her face was streaked with everything from blood to tears to snot, and yet she seemed more like herself than Applejack had seen her these past few days combined. Few days. Applejack made another sound, just as meaningless, and tried to hold Rarity’s gaze in her own. She was fuzzy, though. Like a mirage, or a bad photo. “We have to go,” Rarity said firmly. And Applejack was whisked off the floor. Like it was nothing. Placed over Rarity’s back like cargo, supported entirely by that strong, blue cloud. “Don’t move,” she ordered. And Applejack couldn’t help but oblige her. Her eyes drifted closed, and she was back on the ship. Jostled by the tide, splashed by the spray, pushing through tight crowds of crew members who felt so… Soft was the wrong word. They had give. Like marionettes wearing clothes, nothing between the fabric and the skeleton. And they didn’t move for her. They just stood there, stiffly watching as the ship was taken down in a storm. And then she was descending. Down to the hold. It was colder here. Darker. Musty-smelling and muffled. The hold. With the cargo. With the stowaways. With the prisoners in the brig. Rarity placed her friend on the stone floor of her basement. She did so with as much care as she could muster, though her magic was weak and clumsy. Distracted, one might say. But here, in the cool and quiet darkness, Rarity found her focus returning to her. Even as she gazed down upon her friend, limp and nearly lifeless, bleeding profusely without a wound in sight… she found her focus. She closed her eyes and shut out Applejack’s labored breaths. She focused on the web. On the thoughts that think themselves. And here, in her basement, with all of her willpower, she was finally able to cast them out. Like the flick of a switch, Applejack roared back to life. She breathed in loudly, harshly and deeply, as if she’d been held underwater and finally granted a lungful of fresh air. Her eyes snapped open, pupils dilating wildly to adjust to the sudden darkness. Though blood still trickled down her forehead, it seemed to come from nowhere at all. Applejack’s eyes landed on Rarity. And Rarity, wasting no time, dove in to embrace her friend tightly and completely around her middle. “I’m sorry!” she cried. “I’m sorry!” Applejack, still looking a bit dazed, took a moment to return the hug. Rarity buried her face in the soft fur on Applejack’s chest. “I’m so sorry. Oh, Applejack, I’m so sorry.” Words said so quickly they had already lost their meaning. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for,” Applejack whispered. “This is just some-- well, I dunno what it is, but we’re gonna fix it, y’hear?” “I’m sorry,” Rarity whispered. “I’m so sorry.” “You listenin’?” Applejack asked, pulling Rarity’s mane away from her face. “I said it ain’t your fault, so quit it with the sorries.” Rarity looked up at her friend. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Only stared up into Applejack’s face--her kind, strong face, covered in a beautiful spray of freckles and somehow still gentle with blood trickling through her fur--with wide eyes. Memorizing. Taking in every detail. “What?” Applejack asked softly. “Applejack…” Rarity murmured. “It… it’s my fault.” And Applejack, honest Applejack, knew that was the truth.