Rarity sat down at her kitchen table, a stack of mail held in her glittering magic. She knew precisely what she was looking for as she leafed through the towering pile of uninteresting nonsense: postcards and fancy envelopes.
She happened upon the postcard first; a beautiful photograph of the Crystal Empire’s Institute for Future Educators, glittering in the midday sun. She could practically picture Sweetie and her friends there, smiling and waving from within the old dorms, looking brighter and smarter every day.
Rarity hummed to herself as she turned the postcard over.
Rarity -
Just finished unpacking! Applebloom won the coin toss which means Scoots and I are sharing a bunk. I’ve already hung up the twinkly lights you gave me! They look great!
Hope you can visit soon!
Sweetie <3
Rarity smiled. Sweetie’s penmanship was looking more and more like her own; a silly thing, but something she found herself proud of regardless.
She put the postcard aside. She had sworn to herself that any postcards sent to her by her dear sister would be placed on their own wall, separate from the collage of photos and letters and other assorted paraphernalia she had received from her friends.
Satisfied, Rarity returned to her work, sifting through the mail for any news on her applications.
As luck would have it, a rather small but delightfully thick envelope presented itself from the center of the stack. Rarity silently thanked Celestia that Ditzy had managed to get this one to the right place, and tore open the top.
Hello Rarity:
Congratulations! We at Cutting Edge Fashion are pleased to inform you that your work has been accepted to our latest exhibition, “Troubled Waters”.
We ask that each of our designers submit five pieces, three of which must be original works not before released to the public in any way, shape, or form. All of these pieces must relate to our exhibition theme, and must be tailored to the five models you have been assigned (details, contact information, and measurements enclosed within your packet).
Please contact us to let us know you have received this communication, and confirm your place at the exhibition. Your submissions are due ON LOCATION (NOT POSTMARKED) by August 20th. Shipping guidelines are enclosed.
Thank you, and congratulations!
Cutting Edge Fashion Management Team
Rarity sighed.
A happy sigh.
Because there shouldn’t really be any other sort.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Rarity muttered to herself, shaking her head vehemently in the direction of her own work. “No, no. This won’t work at all, will it, Opal?”
She looked up, searching for her cat for a few innocent moments before the memory hit her.
This time, she managed to hold back the mistiness and merely hung her head in shame.
The pieces were… well, they were fine. They were coming together fine. They looked, as far as Rarity could tell, perfectly fine.
Only ‘fine’ wouldn’t exactly cut it for this particular occasion.
The thing which gnawed continuously on Rarity, no matter how much she slaved away adding strategic glimmers of metallic thread or pops of color, was that she had absolutely no idea how such a piece looked when it was moving. It was entirely critical that her pieces look lovely as they strutted down the catwalk, in this show even more so than others.
Those stupid words kept bouncing about in her brain.
“Troubled Waters.”
When she thought them, she thought of deep blue oceans, almost black, sparkling in the sunlight. Of the motion of waters that churned and rippled and rushed over rocks. “Troubled Waters” was motion. It was sparkle. It was dazzle. It was shine.
And yet she could test none of it.
Her friends gone. Her sister gone. Even her little Spikey-wikey, always willing to lend a claw or two, had left.
She thought of Applejack once or twice.
But she couldn’t bring herself to ask.
For a lot of reasons.
Reasons she had been keeping to herself more and more lately.
Nopony left to gossip to.
Nopony to listen as she babbled on about nothing.
And that was fine! That was all fine, she could handle all of it. She was handling all of it. Quite well, in fact.
She just needed somepony to walk about in these stupid dresses.
Rarity used her magic to send a meek breeze over the ponnequin posed before her, watching as the fabric fluttered about its artificial limbs. Close, but… far too quick and erratic. A model’s practiced stride would offer something more rhythmic and smooth. Hopefully graceful and flowing like the waters Rarity so desperately wished to suggest.
She grit her teeth and stepped back. Though she had done so many times, Rarity once again eyed up her creation, bobbing her head in unpredictable directions as if this might bring the piece to life. She only stopped when she felt herself nearly topple over.
With a tendril of blue magic, Rarity reached out and tugged on the hem of the gown, giving it a little bit of a wave motion.
That was closer.
Rarity continued to pull and tug and flap the hem of the gown, hypnotized by the way the satin moved at her touch.
And it was about then that Rarity had the idea.
An innocent one, as so many tremendous ideas begin. A moment of necessity bringing the gift of invention.
She withdrew her magic from the gown and held it up to her face. While she used her magic quite frequently in her work, it had been a long time since she really considered it. Perhaps she was afraid of the yips.
The thin wisp of magic wavered slightly of its own accord, dancing like the flame of a candle in the air before Rarity’s face.
With one hesitant hoof, she reached up and poked it.
Solid.
As she had suspected.
Rarity did not allow an early success to distract her, however. She ran her hoof over every glittering surface of the immaterial--and yet, so strangely material--thing before her. It reacted to her touch, not unlike molasses in the way it allowed some small passage, and floated about like some mysterious sea creature. Some mindless clump of matter which, distant as it was from equine life, still maintained itself in this world.
Still existed. All on its own.
Rarity closed her eyes. She kept her mind focused on that shimmering creature and, in her imagination, allowed it to expand. More than a thin, twig-like tentacle. Something closer to a hoof. A leg, even. Thicker and weightier and just as solid.
She dug her hooves into the hardwood and called forth more magic, as much as she could muster. Her mind wandered momentarily to Twilight, to her inarguable prowess and uncanny ability to summon magic without physical or mental effort.
But it did not linger.
She focused herself on the shape, the form, the solidity of the thing in the air.
Connected to her, and yet not.
Real, and yet not.
Living, and yet not.
She opened her eyes.
There, before her, floated a leg.
Or something close to a leg, at least. At most, it was an approximation; the right shape, the right size. Very little detail to speak of, and an uncertainty in its edges that put Rarity in mind of a mirage. All an effervescent blue, as if she had stuck her own forehoof into a freezing stream and was gazing at it through the rushing waters on the surface.
It took most of her concentration to keep it there. But it was there. Hanging in the air, shimmering and sparkling and--
She reached out to touch it.
--and oh so solid.
Rarity’s eyes lit up. She could only imagine what Twilight might say if she had seen such a feat-- and from Rarity, of all ponies. Her jaw would drop. She would ask a thousand questions. She would be so proud of her.
Wasting no more time, Rarity trotted back up to the gown, the leg hanging dumbly in the air before her. She gently, slowly slipped it under the gown with a fair bit of concentration and effort-- it seemed to fade in and out of existence as Rarity's concentration shifted from form to motion.
Nevertheless, she felt it lock with the ponnequin. Almost clicking into place, right where the joint was meant to be.
She felt a rush of certainty.
She gave it a kick.
The gown fluttered around it, shimmering like the surface of a lake. Tiny flecks of white and yellow and cyan caught the light and sparked like stuck matches, all against the many shifting layers of deep blue tulle and satin which composed the skirt.
Rarity let out a gasp of surprise and excitement, and her own eyes sparkled in reply.
And the leg dissipated. Just like that-- a little excitement, a little distraction, and poof. Gone.
The gown settled. Like a ripple, the effect of the artificial limb seemed to echo, then fade, and finally disappear.
But that was okay.
Rarity would practice.
She would get better.
She had the solution.
The limbs were useful for many things, Rarity found.
She had to develop all of them. Forelegs, hindlegs, wings… she even worked out a neck to adjust collars and a head to carry tiaras and veils. Simple things, really. No more alive than sculpted clay or carved marionettes dancing on strings.
Despite the increasing certainty of their form and function, Rarity found that the limbs often drained her of her energy quite thoroughly. She was beginning to understand the 24-hour bite-sized comas that Twilight often fell into after her more experimental spells.
But she practiced. She practiced while she ate her breakfast, while she waited for the kettle to whistle, while she counted away the minutes before her curlers came out.
And they were good for the things she designed them to handle.
But they were good for other things, as well.
The first thing she tried, funnily enough, was washing the dishes. She hated plunging her hooves into that grimy water, but she’d never been able to get much scrubbing power behind her wispy magic. The hooves, though, were large enough and strong enough to make quick work of it.
After that, Rarity started using the limbs for a great many household tasks. Everything from dusting to mopping to preparing food was made twice as easy with the help of her magical doppelganger. The more things she practiced, the more her ability to multitask skyrocketed-- soon enough, she was preparing tea while reading the morning paper at her kitchen table, not lifting a hoof of her own or even looking in the direction of the blue limbs.
From the kitchen, it was an easy enough transition to working on her pieces with the artificial limbs. Sewing two dresses at once, measuring while she cut, pinning and hemming and trimming and stitching all in one great dance, one great swirl of fabric and creativity.
It spiraled out from there, as one might imagine.
Rarity began to use the limbs for everything. Just to try it out. Just to stretch her muscles and get better. She used them in her mane care routine, to scrub her own back in the shower, to work out the knots in her neck from hunching over the sewing machine.
She was abuzz with activity.
With productivity.
A one-mare team.
A one-mare army, in fact.
Of course, the magic was not without its price. While Rarity found herself getting more and more done during the day, she could hardly manage to get herself to bed before collapsing. Her eyelids drooped as the sun went down. She often found herself fighting off headaches.
Nothing she couldn't handle, of course.
This was Rarity! Smart, hard-working, always keeping her chin up.
Or so she told herself.
Rarity practiced for hours upon hours.
She heard tales from her sister at school, learning to be an educator. Preparing for a career.
And she stayed here, in Ponyville, practicing.
Days turned to weeks.
Fluttershy was engaged to Discord. Rarity attended the wedding, all of her focus on her horn, keeping those limbs from wandering about the venue of their own accord.
And she went home to Ponyville. To practice.
Weeks turned to months.
Pinkie Pie was pregnant with her first foal. Hard to believe, perhaps, that she was the first to become a mother, but Rarity made homemade blankets and hats and booties and jumpers for the baby shower anyway.
To practice.
And so it went. Her friends long gone, entrenched in lives and loves and homes beyond Ponyville. Rarity stayed, too busy for love, too tired to visit, too afraid to move.
The night things changed wasn't unlike all of the nights that came before it.
It was quiet.
It was still.
It was lonely.
Rarity drug herself up the stairs to her room, her hooves like hunks of lead in burlap sacks. The house was quiet enough that, even over the creaking of the stairs, she could hear the constant drone of summer insects behind the curved walls.
It was hardly even late. Perhaps seven or eight o'clock at night, the sun having only just dipped below the horizon. And yet Rarity felt as if she'd made it well past midnight. She could hardly even keep her eyes open as she rounded the corner and wandered slowly to her bedroom, relying entirely on muscle memory to take her there.
She sighed, gentle and mournful, as she eased herself down to her mattress. The sheets were cold. It should have been satisfying, a chill before her own warmth began to soak into them, but Rarity hardly found comfort between those sheets these days. She tried not to think about the way their color had turned from a crisp, pure white to a murky yellow. She tried not to think about the musty smell which rose from them as they settled around her.
But it was impossible.
She was alone.
More than that, she was lonely.
Rarity twisted her hooves into the sheets and pulled them up to her chin. Not satisfied, she pawed at her pillow, trying to get one into her grasp which might remind her of her beloved cat. Or her sister, when she was tiny and hated sleeping alone.
Or anypony, really.
Frustrated, mane tangled, Rarity called upon her magical limbs to help her dislodge the pillow from under her head. With one tug, the pillow popped free, and Rarity opened her legs wide to accept it.
The limbs dropped it into her waiting grasp, and hovered above her a moment. Like a ghost. Or, rather, like pieces of a ghost.
Rarity clutched the pillow tight to her chest with all four hooves. She rubbed her cheek against it lovingly, as if it were something alive and wanting affection.
All the while, though, she stared up at the limbs above her.
They looked down at her almost quizzically. Rarity could see the head fighting to appear, fizzling in and out of existence as Rarity's focus wandered. They floated on little clouds of blue fog, all of it humming and sparkling gently, just like the insects outside.
It reminded her of those old illustrations in A Hearth's Warming Tail. The ghosts which floated about, mysterious and transparent and fading off into the ether.
Rarity hugged the pillow tighter.
The head, which had no eyes and yet seemed to be looking at her, cocked curiously to one side.
Rarity wanted to look away. But she couldn't.
She stared up at it for a long time, as the thing became more and more corporeal. A neck curving down from the back of the head, the hooves climbing upwards like tree trunks, desperate to join one another in a strong barrel.
It was about then, with the thing gazing down at her, featureless yet frowning, that Rarity had the idea.
She started by closing her eyes.
Not in fear, but in trust. A gentle thing which relaxed her face. The whole of her form, really.
Rarity, concentrating hard on her sense of control, began to draw the limbs in towards her. As if for a gentle embrace, a calming, comforting thing. As if to hold her creation and whisper softly in its ear that everything would be alright. That they were not alone. That they had each other.
One limb brushes against her side.
It sparkled against her skin. Not in look, but in feel-- in the way it fizzed, warm and magical as sunlight glinting off snow. It pressed into her shoulder with the strength of a songbird. Nothing more than a tiny creature perched delicately on her, fluffing itself up, gazing into her sleeping face.
Rarity let out a small sigh. It reminded her of Opal. The way her beloved cat would climb up onto her bed, press her front paws into Rarity's side, and mew forlornly until she was given a nuzzle and a kiss.
As Rarity's body relaxed, the being moved in closer.
Its chest--wide and strong and warm with the glimmering--pressed against her back. Its legs wrapped around her barrel and squeezed ever so gently, so that Rarity only had the sensation of somepony there.
Her mind flashed back to a dozen one-night stands. Nights of short-lived ecstasy which culminated in this: a misguided ownership, a certainty in her temporary partner that this was the beginning, and not the end. Each time those hooves wrapped around her, drew her close, tried to savor the scent of her mane and the feel of her fur.
Rarity always turned away.
How she wished she hadn't.
How she longed for permanence in partnership, even if it was imperfect.
A fair few had nuzzled her, right along her jaw, and whispered into her ear:
I love you, Rarity.
And, in the sparkling figure which curled about her now, Rarity heard the echoes of all these long-abandoned flings. All these voices which, hidden in their sleepy coos, held a certainty that they would dine with Rarity in the morning. That they would share tea and muffins and smile coyly across the table at one another in the morning light.
The being pulled Rarity in closer, and she felt the way its solidity increased as it tugged her over the sheets. She could feel its touch run up along her neck, light and gentle and sparkling, and land safely beside her ear.
I love you, it whispered, in the voices of loves long gone. I love you, Rarity.
Rarity burrowed into her pillow. The being followed her lead, keeping close.
I'll protect you, it said. I'll keep you safe. I love you.
It twisted her up.
In her stomach. The very pit of it. Something twisted, boring a great, lead screw into her, making her feel heavy and confused and flushed and guilty.
But the being embraced her.
And she wasn't quite so lonely anymore.
And so, despite the way her stomach clenched, Rarity smiled into her pillow. She allowed the being to draw in closer, tighter, and relished in the effervescent feeling which popped along her skin.
That night, Rarity fell asleep wrapped in her own tight embrace.
Alone.
But not lonely.
Practice makes perfect.
Rarity knew this, and yet she practiced a great many things she hadn't intended to be perfect at.
The limbs evolved, as rogue thoughts are wont to do. What had begun as a utilitarian invention had taken on more and more frivolous characteristics: a sturdy barrel, a defined snout, more precise shapes and tapers and motion practically learning itself.
Rarity quickly took to calling the being 'love' in her own mind. Occasionally out loud. She could never quite figure out when it went from an 'it' to a 'love', but the pet name felt good on her tongue.
What had begun as a faceless thing began to develop what might be called a personality. A sense of humor. Through its body language and the small contortions of its minimal facial features, Rarity found that Love could communicate concern, warmth, distress, and even a sort of cheekiness which might be called humor. Not unlike when a pet seems to master nonverbal comedic timing, Love would trot itself about the room while Rarity working, peeking in at inopportune times, looking for attention and ways to help its creator.
Rarity did her best to ignore the thing most of the time. During the day, Love was nothing more than a silent assistant, fetching her things from other rooms and acting as a shelf for the things Rarity couldn't find a more suitable surface. She felt justified in ignoring Love, because Love was made to be ignored.
Except, of course, at night. When Rarity would climb under the covers, toss and turn in futility for an hour or two, only to summon Love to hold her until she drifted off to sleep. In these times, Rarity could think of little else. The feel of her magical partner, of her ghost, filled every corner of her mind.
And yet, the screw turned deeper into her gut.
Rarity convinced herself that it was harmless. Her own thoughts run amok, projected back to her in a form that was easy to understand. A way to cope, to comfort herself in times of need, to feel less lonely.
A mirror, if you will. A reflection of the feelings she herself didn't know how to express.
Rarity kept practicing.
She didn't think of it as practicing, but it was.
She was practicing being two things at once. Breaking off a hunk of her subconscious and puppeting it about the room. Those parts of herself that had not seen the light of day in many moons--her humor, her happiness, her passion, her creativity--were all placed into that sparkling vessel.
And Rarity was left with nothing.
Empty.
A shell.
A husk.
And she was getting very good at it.
Rarity sat at the kitchen table alone.
Love bustled about behind her, fixing a meal and tea and scrubbing up the dishes without a fuss.
The sun was coming up. Great, wide rays of jovial orange exploding from behind the tower of city hall, illuminating Rarity's kitchen in the warm glow of morning. She watched as the sunlight, peachy and soft, reached out into the violet remains of night, grasping in vain at those final wisps of shimmering indigo and flecks of stars.
It was then that the thought first occurred to Rarity:
When was the last time I visited Applejack?
Applejack, of course, had stayed in Ponyville. Oh, she'd done a brief stint as a traveling salespony, selling jams and jellies on the road, but she had always settled back at Sweet Apple Acres. That was her home, the place she always circled.
Like a homing pigeon.
Like water around the drain.
And, despite knowing with a great certainty that Applejack was here, Rarity could not recall the last time she had visited.
The last time the two had been alone together at all, in fact.
Rarity frowned as dawn gave way to morning. She wondered how she could have forgotten such a simple thing. How she could have neglected the one friend who stayed so close.
She wondered, quite briefly, if her loneliness might be self-inflicted.
But there came a sudden and mighty splash, the sound of water splattering across the kitchen tile, and the stumbling hoofsteps of Love.
Rarity whirled about.
Love stood in the middle of the kitchen. It was holding a plate and staring at it, head cocked quizzically to one side.
"What in Equestria is…" Rarity muttered, climbing out of her chair.
She knew immediately that the plate wasn't hers. It was far too thick and heavy, made not for looks but for strength. Made to be dropped and bashed about, handled without an ounce of care or even a spare thought. It was also an ugly, off-white--one which Rarity never would have chosen for herself--with a forest green band around the outer edge.
The band gave it away.
Applejack’s.
She recognized it from one of many meals in the Apple family kitchen-- heavy dinerware, built to last, all with that band of forest green.
As clear as the memory was, Rarity could never recall those dishes passing through her own kitchen. She certainly couldn’t think of a place one may have been lurking these past few months.
Or was it years?
Weeks?
“Where did you get this?” Rarity asked.
Love said nothing.
“This is Applejack’s, isn’t it?” Rarity pressed. “How did you get this?”
Love remained perfectly still. Perfectly silent. Only tinkling like the music of distant wind chimes.
Rarity pulled the plate out of Love’s hooves without much of a fight. Her heart thrummed in her chest as she stared down at it, wondering how such a thing might have gotten here and, more pressingly, what she might say if she were caught with it.
Finding no answers, Rarity scuttled over to the dish rack and placed the plate upon it to dry. She would make up some lie later-- something about a potluck or a picnic and an abandoned side dish. Surely Applejack didn’t keep count of her plates.
Surely there was a reason she had this. An innocent one.
Rarity pushed the guilt out of her mind and returned to the kitchen table, feeling drained before her day had even begun. “Enough dishwashing, Love,” she murmured, one hoof to her head. “Could you just bring me some food?”
Love did not reply, but Rarity heard the wet sucking sound of the stopper being pulled out from the drain, and the long rushing of water spinning down it.
Water circling the drain.
Rarity felt her eyes droop shut as Love got back to work. She held her head propped up on one hoof, watching Ponyville come to life through narrow cracks between her eyelids.
She felt herself take one long blink.
Eyes closed. Consciousness fading.
There came a sound, something soft and yet insistent. A rapping at the door which jolted Rarity awake, if only for an instant.
She thought about going to answer it, but her eyes slipped shut once more.
She thought about the steps to the door.
About the way she might peer through the windows at her visitor as she lifted her hoof to--
“Wait!” Rarity said, though the power of it was sucked out by her drowsiness.
Love stood by the door. Hoof raised. Looking out at whomever must be standing on her front steps.
Rarity leapt out of her chair and stumbled to the door, her hooves clattering over the kitchen tile in a confused dance-- or perhaps a lengthy fall. Love, to its credit, did not move an inch more, and allowed Rarity to push it out of the way as she reached for the handle.
The door opened with a hiss-pop, and the fresh air of the summer flowed over Rarity. She squinted and shielded her eyes, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of her visitor.
“Rarity! By Celestia, how long has it been?”
That voice.
Like honey dripping off a spoon, like the warm hum of cicadas in the summer breeze, like the soft crooning of a hound dog from the porch--
“Applejack?” Rarity whispered.
The sun glinted over her shoulder, illuminating her entire form in a golden glow that seemed to radiate out from her very core. Though many of the mare’s finer details--the freckles like a spray of stars across her cheeks, the crinkles at the corners of her friendly green eyes, the way the fur on her chest faded to a delicate eggshell white--were lost to the light of the sun, Rarity could still see the warm smile and the uneven dimples which graced her dear friend’s face.
In that moment, Rarity wanted nothing more than to leap into Applejack’s embrace and be carried away from this lonely place.
She pulled the door open a little more, and poked her head out into the sunlight.
Applejack’s face crumpled a bit. Almost invisibly. But that tightening of her brow, the weakening of her grin, and the sudden change in her eyes spoke volumes.
“Eeyup!” she replied, without a dip in cheer. “I was just thinkin': it's been a while since you and I had some quality time together.”
But Rarity hardly heard it. She only felt the sudden weight of her own magic on her back. Bearing down in a manner that bordered on the aggressive. She cocked her head to one side, intending to look over her shoulder at Love, but stopped herself before she made a move that could not be explained.
"Y'know…" Applejack continued, her enthusiasm waning. "Just us two?"
“Oh,” Rarity said. “Of course.”
The weight did not press down any harder, merely shifted slightly. Reminding her it was there.
"Yeah. Well, anyway, I…" she trailed off. Looked down at the ground. Rarity seized the opportunity to shake her Love off, but to no avail. "I dunno. I thought you might wanna have tea together. This is when you usually have tea, isn't it?"
Rarity nearly answered, before the implication of the question really reached her.
Applejack wanted to come in.
But she couldn’t. Of course she couldn’t! Not before Rarity had had a chance to explain--
The weight eased.
Love seemed to lift off her and slink back to the kitchen, though Rarity could hardly guess as to why.
Thankful for the reprieve, Rarity straightened up. "Oh. Goodness, I, erm…" She paused and looked back over her shoulder, searching for any sign of her companion. "I'm sorry, Applejack, I don't think now is a very good time."
Applejack's brow furrowed in concern. "No offense, Rarity, but if this is about you bein' in your… dressing gown, or what have you, I think I've seen more than my fair share of you un-made-up," she said, forcing her way through the thought as quickly as she could muster. "You don't gotta pretty yourself up. It's just me."
"Oh, I don't know…" Rarity hummed, her gaze once again drifting over her shoulder. Searching for Love.
Where had it gone?
What was it up to?
Then, from around the bend in the wall, Love showed itself.
It looked quite different. Still blue, still sparkling, and still hardly solid-- but with so much more detail. And quite specific detail, as well.
It had a mane, now. Rarity had never given it a mane, but here it stood in her kitchen with a long, straight pigtail tied in a simple band. It had bangs, as well-- simple ones which swooped out from under a familiar stetson rocked back on its head.
Though its eyes were not green, Rarity recognized them instantly. The shrewdness behind them, however, was eerily unfamiliar.
Rarity watched as Love grabbed hold of a chair and tipped it over. It landed with a clatter on the tile.
"Uh… that Opal messin' around in there?" Applejack asked, taking a small step forward and peering over Rarity's head.
Rarity practically jumped out of her skin and pushed the door closed slightly. "Erm-- Opal! It certainly did sound like Opal, didn't it?" she blurted. "Would you, um-- I'll be with you in a moment."
And she slammed the door shut in Applejack's face.
Rarity galloped into the kitchen and skidded to a halt before Love. “Just what do you think you’re doing?!” she demanded.
“She’s going to leave,” Love replied, not in Applejack’s voice but in the voices of a hundred discarded suitors.
“What?” Rarity shook her head. “I… I don’t understand what you--”
“She’s going to leave,” Love repeated. “They always do.”
Rarity’s mouth hung open, though she found nothing to say.
Love stared into her with Applejack’s eyes. “I’ll still be here,” it said. “But she’ll leave. And we can’t have that. She’ll break my poor old heart.”
It drove into Rarity like an icepick, eclipsing the lead screw which still pierced her innards. She couldn’t even put her hoof on why, exactly-- she only knew that the feeling in her stomach soon boiled over into anger. Into rage. Into--
“Get out!” Rarity shouted, pointing harshly out of the kitchen. “Out! I don’t want you in here anymore!”
“She’ll break my heart, Rarity,” it whispered. “My heart’s been broken so many times.”
“Out!” Rarity shrieked. She screwed her eyes shut and willed the thing away, shouting all the while: “Out! Out! Out!”
There is an old thought experiment, the details of which escaped Rarity, though she remembered Twilight tormenting her with its lengthy theory long ago: when trying to suppress a certain thought, one might instead find the thought even more likely to surface.
In other words, when instructed not to think of a pink elephant, it will be hard to think of anything else.
The trick, of course, isn’t in any amount of rigorous mental training. If one does not wish to think of a pink elephant, one must instead think of a red balloon.
Perhaps even many red balloons. Enough to blot out the pink elephant in a sea of shiny rubber.
Rarity kept on shouting, kept on trying to oust the pink elephant from her mind. But it only burrowed deeper, became clearer in her mind’s eye than it ever had before.
And so, being the bright mare that she is, Rarity thought of a red balloon.
Applejack.
Not only Applejack in the kitchen, but Applejack in the entryway. Applejack in every ponnequin. Applejack guarding the stairs. Applejack in her bedroom. Applejack cradling her as she fell to sleep.
She practiced.
She practiced thinking about Applejack.
When Rarity opened her eyes, Love was nowhere to be seen. The kitchen stood empty, without so much as a trace of her misdoings. And she felt a sense of calm and control come over her that she had not felt in a long time.
Rarity sighed in relief and moved to set the chair back up.
She did her best to ignore the face which flashed in her drinking glass.
There are many who deny the pain of loneliness.
Those who do, however, often possess an incomplete understanding of the concept. If one denies the pain of loneliness, it is often because one has never truly been isolated, never been embittered by the very thought of warmth and companionship, and is understandably hopeful that they might go unaffected.
But loneliness is more than being alone. In fact, one could argue that being alone and being lonely are separate concepts that only incidentally overlap, though that is an argument for another time.
Loneliness is betrayal. It is loss. It is obsession, devotion, and anger.
Loneliness is love.
The absence of it.
Because love notices absences. And sometimes, when times are dark, the only way we know we have loved someone is to feel the ache of their departure.
Rarity loved Applejack. That much is true.
But she also loved herself, once upon a time.
She had loved and lost two.
And she was truly alone.