//------------------------------// // The Trial of Compassion and the Contrast of Pity // Story: The Twilight Effect // by evelili //------------------------------// Much like the false foyer, the second floor of Nightmare’s creation resembled part of the school: a long, straight hallway with a door at the end. But the similarities ended there—it had suits of armour instead of lockers and barriers of flame and shadow in place of classroom doors. Great, Twilight thought, a little bit winded from the climb. She paused at the top of the stairs and leaned against the wall to catch her breath. That staircase was unnecessarily long. The other girls had led the way up, and from her position behind them Twilight could see that they had gathered at the start of the hall, clearly lacking the confidence to take another step. She held her breath as Pinkie gingerly prodded at the hallway’s floor with her sneaker, then released it when nothing happened. Safe. At least for now. “Doesn’t look like there’s any traps here,” Applejack said after testing the floor herself. She glanced over the group and raised an eyebrow. “And none of y’all see anythin’ strange?” Everyone else shook their heads. Then they all turned around to Twilight, who shook hers as well. “Sweet.” Rainbow quickly returned to her usual attitude without the threat of imminent danger dangling over their heads. She pointed her thumb to the door at the end of the hall and asked, “Who wants to race me there?” No one said anything. Twilight resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Wow. You guys are lame.” “Oh, I love a good race,” Pinkie chirped. She started walking, and the rest of the group—including a miffed Rainbow—matched her pace to follow. “But if movies have taught me anything, there’s no way we’re getting to that door without something going wrong.” She’s probably right, Twilight grumbled. She still hadn’t moved from her spot against the wall. For some reason her breath was taking its sweet time coming back. And was that a headache coming on? “But we aren’t in a movie,” Rarity argued. “You don’t have to be in a movie to learn something from them!” Definitely a headache. Twilight grunted as the dull throbbing turned to sharp, a hundred knives chiseling at the inside of her skull. Suddenly everything was too bright and too loud and too much; an overwhelming blast of sensations only overshadowed by the pain in her head and the pressure in her chest. She blinked. Pressure? And then the pieces clicked, but far too late.  A crack as loud as thunder blasted through the air, and in an instant the exit disappeared behind a hulking mass of shadows that stretched from floor to ceiling. But its body wasn’t the same as the vaguely-defined shadows they’d seen before, Twilight realized, her vision refocusing as the pressure in her chest eased off. It had limbs and claws and fur and fangs—a fully realized monster; black as pitch with eyes of flaming blue. “Manticore,” she whispered, the word appearing in her head as if someone else had thought it for her. Then the monster—the manticore—opened its mouth and roared. And everything went to shit. “Everybody run!” At Rainbow’s warning the other girls scrambled away as fast as they could, all screaming at the top of their lungs. The manticore roared again as they retreated and lowered itself into a defensive stance with its wings spread and stinger poised to strike. “What do we do?!” Rainbow reached the entrance first, followed quickly by Applejack and Pinkie. Rarity stumbled behind them a few seconds later, struggling to keep up in heels, and a trembling Fluttershy brought up the rear. “Oh goodness,” she squeaked when she finally caught up, her face pale and voice hardly audible. She grabbed Rainbow’s arm for support and took a few shallow breaths, her panicked gaze settling straight ahead on the back wall barely holding Twilight upright. Then Fluttershy’s gaze drifted down to Twilight, and her expression faded from terror to confusion. She opened her mouth as if she were going to say something— “We can’t get through here with that thing in the way,” Applejack cut in. She slammed her fist into her palm with a smack and declared, “That means we gotta fight it.” “No!” Rarity protested. “Absolutely not!” “But they even gave us weapons.” Rainbow jerked her head to the suits of armour along the right wall and said, “Kinda obvious what to do, don’t you think?” “You can’t possibly think I’m going to go back and swing a stick at that creature—” “Ooh, ooh! Dibs on the axe!” A suit of armour clattered to the floor as Pinkie tore the double-edged axe out of its grip and hoisted it high above her head. The sound of the armour’s crashing metal pounded into Twilight’s skull and pulled a groan of pain from her throat. She rolled her body so that she leaned against the wall with her whole back instead of just her shoulder and pressed the base of her palms against her temples in an attempt to reduce her headache. I can’t help them like this, she managed to think. The pressure in her chest squeezed in response, almost as if it agreed. Fluttershy let go of Rainbow and raised one hand nervously beside her shoulder, her eyes darting between Twilight and the others. “Girls—” “Then I want a sword!” Rainbow knocked over another suit of armour to grab her weapon, and the resulting clatter sent a ripple of needles over Twilight’s scalp. “Girls, I think—” The manticore growled over the rest of Fluttershy’s sentence, a low rumble that reverberated through the entire hall. It pawed at the ground and bared its fangs in their direction, waiting for them to make a move. In response Applejack snatched her own sword from yet another suit of armour, then tore a shield from one of the piles on the floor and tossed it like a frisbee along the floor to Rarity. “Here!” Rarity made a face as the shield skittered to a stop in front of her. She gave it a nudge with her foot, not making any move to pick it up. “What do you expect me to do with this?” “Figure it out!” Applejack snapped. She gripped her sword with both hands and leveled it at the manticore, Rainbow and Pinkie flanking her on either side. Then, when the manticore roared once again, all three raised their weapons—screaming as they did—and charged. Half of Twilight was glad to see them take action against the beast—they had to deal with it somehow to move forward after all—but the other half of her stewed in exasperation at their reckless method of leaping in head-first without asking questions. And even though she had no halves of herself left to ration, another part of Twilight twisted in fear as Rainbow rushed to strike at the manticore’s forelegs. Something’s wrong. Rainbow’s sword connected with pitch-black fur, and in an instant Twilight’s headache wrapped around her skull and squeezed. She hissed in pain and tried to steady herself, but another pulse from her headache stripped her of her balance and sent her toppling to her knees. Then Rainbow swung again, and Twilight felt a scream escape her throat as the manticore’s mangled leg dissolved to shadow and the pain in her head increased to agony. “Twilight?” Through tear-blurred eyes Twilight saw two figures turn to look at her—look down on her. She saw Fluttershy’s concern and Rarity’s wide and worried eyes, but her brain refused to process it; the only thing it allowed her to register was that wretched feeling she despised so very much. Her headache squeezed again. Twilight felt an anger she didn’t own surge beneath her skin and bared her teeth like fangs. “Stop it,” she spat, desperately clawing at the floor with her fingernails in an attempt to draw the pain in her head somewhere else. “Go away!” But Fluttershy ignored the warning and leaned in with her hands on her knees. “You’re hurt,” she said. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement of fact. Then across the hall Applejack stabbed her sword into the manticore’s side, and Twilight lunged. Rarity just barely managed to maneuver the shield at her feet in front of Fluttershy before Twilight slammed into it with her full weight. “What are you doing?!” she shrieked, shoving Twilight back a few paces before pulling Fluttershy to her feet. “Leave us alone!” Fluttershy shook her head and tried to push the shield away. “We should—” “Yes! We should join the others; exactly what I was thinking!” “That’s not going to—” “I’m sure if we defeat the beast it’ll stop whatever madness has taken over Twilight—” “If you would just listen to me—” But her protests fell on deaf ears. As Rarity backed away Twilight saw her own frustration mirrored on both Fluttershy’s face and the surface of the shield. She froze at the sight, and for a moment the headache waned and she could think again. Something’s wrong with me.  Her lungs heaved for air, desperate to draw the breath she couldn’t seem to take on her own. And in her split second of clarity Twilight realized that Fluttershy wasn’t looking at her, but at something slightly behind her and above her head—but then the blinding pain returned at the same time Pinkie slashed her axe through the manticore’s scorpion tail and Twilight lost herself again. “I said go away!” “That’s perfect; we were leaving anyway!” “Good,” Twilight spat. She clutched at her head as her mouth moved on its own, begging herself to stop. “You’re just like the rest of your friends.” “And what on earth is that supposed to mean?!” “Rarity!” Fluttershy finally raised her voice, using one arm to block an indignant Rarity from turning on Twilight. “Just listen to me,” she begged. “Can you please go and stop the others from hurting the monster any more than they already have?” “From hurting it? Fluttershy, darling, we’re supposed to defeat it, aren’t we?” Rarity shot Twilight a pointed glare and stage-whispered, “Because it’s clearly gone and done something to her!” Twilight grit her teeth at the comment and tensed up, her body itching to leap into a fight. She was both passenger and driver of her own mind, a confusing mix of two selves battling to pilot the body attached to both. “Yes! It has,” Fluttershy agreed, visibly exasperated and running thin on patience. “But no one else can see it!” She pushed Rarity by the shield back toward the manticore and stood up straight, the most confident that Twilight had ever seen her. “So please just trust me, and go stop everyone else!” “I—” Rarity swallowed hard, for once at a loss for words. She shot Twilight one last nervous glance before finding her voice to reply. “Alright,” she agreed reluctantly. “I’ll... I’ll try.” She backed away and, when the manticore behind her howled and beat its wings against the walls, turned on her heel to trot toward the fight as fast as she could, waving her arms and shield above her head. “Everybody! Hellooo!” Twilight watched her go, a pang of relief curling around the resentment boiling in her stomach. “Why don’t you go join her?” she snapped at Fluttershy, who hadn’t moved to follow. “She’s on your side, isn’t she?” “She is.” Fluttershy didn’t seem at all affected by the venom Twilight spat. “But I think you need my help more than she does.” “Again with the pity,” Twilight complained. She took a step toward Fluttershy, closing the distance enough to put the other girl in arm’s reach. “I don’t need any of that. I don’t need you here.” “And I know you’re not yourself right now, Twilight,” Fluttershy said simply. She took a step forward, and by instinct Twilight stepped away to keep her space. “I’m fine,” she argued. She tried to retake the step she’d lost, but her body froze up at the motion. Then Fluttershy took another step, and another, and then Twilight found herself backing away on autopilot, a familiar panic drowning out her anger. “You can’t see them, can you?” Fluttershy asked, her voice gentle. She continued before Twilight could form an answer: “Though, I suppose it’s hard to see something behind your back.” Twilight’s shoulders hit a wall—the same wall she’d clung to for support only minutes earlier. She was cornered. “It’s the monster’s wings,” Fluttershy explained. She reached up to touch the air beside Twilight, running her fingers over nothingness. “You have them too.” And then, as if a switch had flipped, the world shifted and Twilight saw her wings; felt Fluttershy’s feather-light touch on skin she didn’t have. She yelped and jerked away, only to accidentally pin another phantom body part against the wall—a segmented tail topped with a curved stinger that rose from the base of her spine above her head, the tip aimed directly at Fluttershy’s neck. “Oh,” she croaked out. Her body suddenly felt cold as ice. She tried to back further away only to hit the wall again and feel the pressure of her own back against the wings and tail. Their presence could only be described as malicious, formed of the same black shadows as Nightmare and the manticore yet somehow twice as dark. Then another thought occurred to Twilight. Fluttershy. She approached me despite this.  A cold sort of dread washed over her at the idea of lashing out with a weapon she didn’t know she had. She tried to lower the tail but both it and the wings didn’t seem to respond to her, even though she could feel them just as clearly as her arms and legs. “I don’t think the others can see them,” Fluttershy said, drawing Twilight out of her stunned stupor. Twilight blinked. Her headache throbbed behind her eyes. “Others?” “My friends.” She tilted her head to the side slightly, motioning down the hall where the other girls faced down the manticore. Thankfully, it seemed Rarity had been able to talk them down, though they still watched the beast in battle stances with weapons raised. And surprisingly the manticore didn’t try to fight back. It only growled at them, stretching its injured body protectively over the exit and stopping anyone from advancing further.  Huh. But even as the hall quieted Twilight still felt an anger burn from deep inside. Her headache had faded with the fight, but not completely. And the pressure in her chest she now associated with Nightmare kept prodding stubbornly at her lungs and stealing away her breath. “Of course I’m the odd one out,” she said flatly. The leathery manticore wings behind her twitched in time with her words. “Even magic seems to know I don’t belong.” “That’s not true,” Fluttershy whispered. “What; that I’m not part of your little clique? That I’m not Twilight-fucking-Sparkle with a target on my back?” She barked a laugh, a single sharp syllable. “I don’t know why I care so much about what you guys think of me. None of you would even get it.” “That’s not true!” Again Fluttershy spoke up, this time clenching her hands into fists at her sides and raising her voice above Twilight’s. She straightened up again and took a deep breath, looking Twilight directly in her eyes without a trace of fear. “I was the same,” she said firmly. “You weren’t the only one at CHS who had to deal with bullies.” Twilight faltered a bit. “Still,” she argued, “you had your friends to support you. You weren’t alone.” But Fluttershy just shook her head. “Not until Rarity transferred.” Her gaze drifted back to Rainbow as she said softly, “I suppose I got left behind for a bit. Alone”—she reached out to brush her fingers over Twilight’s wing again, an oddly pained expression dancing across her features—“and just like you.” “You’re nothing like me!” Twilight clung to her anger, desperate to find a reason to turn on Fluttershy. She used one arm to shove the wing out of Fluttershy’s reach and growled, “You’re fine now; whatever bullying happened couldn’t have been that bad. You wouldn’t understand even half of what I went through!” But instead of agreeing or trying to argue back, Fluttershy gave Twilight a long, defeated look that spoke volumes louder than her words ever could. And under her gaze Twilight’s anger collapsed to sour and gut-wrenching guilt. No way. The manticore’s growl ceased its echo. Everything stilled. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she muttered after a beat of silence. “I— I didn’t know.” “You didn’t,” Fluttershy agreed softly. She pulled her arm away from Twilight and instead lowered it to pick at the hem of her shirt. “But it’s a private thing. I... I don’t bring it up unless I have to. I don’t mind that you didn’t realize.” The motion of her fingers slowed to a stop. “No one deserves to have their personal life passed around as gossip, after all.” Twilight choked out a laugh. “I deserved it.” “Don’t say that.” “But it’s true, isn’t it?” She leaned her head back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling, away from Fluttershy’s piercing stare. “I never told anyone to stop. I never tried to get help.” Her headache slowly returned with each word, feeding on her self-deprecation and bringing back anger along with it. “I pretended I was tougher than I was and got what I deserved.” From the corner of her eye Twilight saw the manticore rear back on its hind legs, and instinctively she threw her head back against the wall just hard enough to make a low thunk. The pain just fueled her fury, and when the manticore howled she clenched her jaw in response, imagining what it would be like to scream along. She heard the sharp scrape of metal as the other girls readied their weapons. Then Fluttershy spoke up again, unyielding in her persistence. “It’s hard to listen to you talk about yourself like that,” she said. Her fingers worried into the fabric of her shirt, though from habit or nerves Twilight couldn’t tell. “Talk about myself like what?” Fluttershy hesitated. “You blame yourself just as much as you blame everyone else,” she explained. “I don’t think that’s fair.” “Who cares about fair?” Twilight rolled her eyes as the manticore crashed back down on all fours, oblivious to the shockwave from the impact that swept past her. “It’s just facts. Logical conclusions drawn from a situation I could have prevented if I wasn’t so useless.” “But that’s not true at all!” Twilight froze. Her wings flared, and the manticore bristled. “What?” “You’re not useless,” Fluttershy said, her tone an even mix of exasperation and concern. “You faced all that harassment on your own, and even if you don’t think that was the right choice, you still did it.” She let go of her shirt and reached out to Twilight again with pleading eyes and gentle hands. “I couldn’t do that. I needed my friends to stand up for me before I could even think to stand up for myself, but you? You were stronger than me. You’re—” “Don’t say that!” Twilight felt her body move on its own, grabbing one of Fluttershy’s arms by the wrist before either of them could blink. Fluttershy squeaked at the motion and tried to pull herself free, but Twilight just squeezed even harder, nails digging into the fabric of her sleeve. “Was I strong enough to speak up?” she snarled. “Strong enough to fight back? Strong enough to handle things on my own?” Down the hall the manticore pounced at the other girls, its teeth snapping inches from Pinkie’s head as she dove out of the way. The floor shook as it landed, and it quickly spun around to lash its tail in an arc, catching Applejack and slinging her into the side wall with a terrible crash. “No! I didn’t do anything!” Twilight squeezed harder, her brain filtering out Fluttershy’s pained whimpers from the screams and roars. “You think that’s strong?!” “Yes!” Fluttershy’s voice cracked, high and shrill. Her eyes bloomed with tears that the anger in Twilight’s mind didn’t let her process. “Can’t I believe that for myself, even if you don’t?” The floor shook again as the manticore caught Rainbow, pinning her to the ground beneath its paw. It howled down at her louder than ever before, flecks of shadowy spittle splattering like oil across her face. As Rainbow struggled to free herself the monster’s tail lashed out again and connected with Rarity’s shield, knocking her back into Pinkie and sending them both crashing down in a heap. The manticore bared its fangs at Rainbow, and instantly Twilight’s headache pounded against her skull and wrenched away her control. She felt her body lunge as she shoved Fluttershy to the ground and used her full weight to pin her down under the flat of her arm. When she landed her wings unfurled completely—each one wider than Twilight was tall—and the scorpion tail whipped out to stab the air just inches from Fluttershy’s throat. “Stop lying to my face!” she shrieked. “Stop trying to give me your pity!” “I’m not lying!” Fluttershy whimpered, trembling beneath Twilight and her rage. “Stop being so nice to me!” Her own tears bubbled to the surface as she spoke, dripping down against the lenses of her glasses and blurring her already-hazy vision. Internally her humanity begged herself to stop, but the irrational and monstrous anger refused to relinquish its control. Then out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of movement; heard the rapid thud of footsteps against the floor. Twilight raised her head just enough to see Applejack charge the manticore, aiming to slash through the leg trapping Rainbow beneath it. She tensed up, preparing for the inevitable pain to ricochet back to her, but— “Wait wait wait!” It was Rainbow. She shouted at the top of her lungs, stopping Applejack in her tracks seconds away from swinging. A pang of confusion overrode Twilight’s anger at the sound of her voice—why did she speak up? “Dash?! What on earth—” “Something’s not right!” Rainbow yelled. She struggled against the leg holding her in place and explained, “This thing could have totally crushed me by now—or gored me, or bit my head off, or finished you off while you were down—” “What’s your point?” Applejack cut in. “It’s probably just playin’ with its food, like cats do!” She raised her sword again, and Rainbow quickly threw out her hand in protest. “But maybe it’s not!” She slapped her hand against the manticore’s black fur, receiving nothing but a growl in response. “And now it’s not even fighting back. Isn’t that weird?” “I don’t think—” Applejack’s protests died as the manticore interrupted her with a low, rumbling snort.  Slowly, it raised its paw just enough for Rainbow to scramble out from under it. Once she got to her feet and staggered over to Applejack the manticore sat back on its haunches with a crash that shook the entire hall. The flames of its eyes still glared down at the four girls attempting to slay it, but it made no move to attack them back. It just waited, and watched. Like a guard dog without orders, Twilight realized. Or... it was just bark without bite. The manticore growled again, as if it were responding to what she had thought. Twilight shivered as the sound washed over her, dousing her anger with shame and guilt. She blinked a few times to collect herself and drew a slow, shuddering breath. What are you doing, Sparkle? “It’s okay,” Fluttershy murmured, interrupting her thoughts before they spiralled, and Twilight looked back down to see no fear or hatred or disgust within her expression—just pity so gentle that Twilight could almost accept it. “Something’s wrong with me,” she whispered back, her mouth dry with guilt. Fluttershy nodded carefully, the stinger still inches away from her throat. Twilight didn’t trust herself to move, and instead added, “I don’t mean just right now. There’s still—” She choked on her words. “I didn’t get over it,” she said instead. “I couldn’t. Not like you.” Though they occupied the same hallway, the other girls and the manticore might as well have been miles away. She and Fluttershy occupied an unnoticed and fragile space only kept private while backs were turned—a space that would shatter as soon as someone realized what she’d done. But Fluttershy didn’t call for help or struggle. She was just there, one hand atop the arm that kept her pinned—when had that happened?—and her gaze locked to Twilight’s. “It’s okay to still be upset with them,” she said. Her other arm slowly reached up to Twilight’s face, pausing just before her fingertips met skin. “Maybe you’ll sort things out, maybe you won’t. Everyone has their own way of getting better.” Twilight didn’t try to move away. “But I’m not better,” she admitted. Fluttershy’s hand brushed against her cheek, gently tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. “And I don’t know why.” The hand paused as Fluttershy went quiet for a moment, as if she was trying to decide on a response. “Why do you hate being pitied?” she finally asked. “I...” The question seemed to come out of nowhere. Twilight furrowed her brow as she tried to put her thoughts together in a way that would make sense. “I don’t want to wallow in sympathy,” she said eventually. “I don’t want to be looked down on like I’m something that needs to be protected.” “Even if that pity came from kindness?” “Especially then,” Twilight said. She felt her headache throb again at her words, though nowhere near strongly enough to overpower her again. “Save it for someone who deserves it—not me.” Fluttershy frowned. Her hand had inched up beside Twilight’s temple, cautious and slow. “You don’t deserve kindness?” “Well, no, but—” Twilight fumbled her words before she corrected, “I’m not going to play at being a victim and feel bad for myself when I could have tried to stop the bullying in the first place.” Then someone at the other end of the hall cried out, and Twilight knew even without looking up that she’d been spotted—and that meant Fluttershy’s friends would soon swoop in to save her from the manticore named Twilight Sparkle; the monster with a grudge for something she should have already gotten over. But then Fluttershy moved before Twilight, straining to press her hand against the side of Twilight’s head without touching her neck to the stinger. “Being nice to yourself isn’t self-pity,” she said firmly over her friends’ concerned shouts and pounding footsteps. “You don’t play a victim by being kind.” Her hand closed on air, and suddenly Twilight found she couldn’t remember how to breathe. “Being nice to yourself means allowing yourself to heal.” Fluttershy pulled her fist to the side with a swift tug. And the second she did Twilight felt her headache vanish, a thousand knives dislodging from her mind and scattering to nothingness. She gasped for breath as the pain left her—air came easy, no longer choked away by Nightmare’s influence—and the strange anger wrapped around her thoughts dissolved with the shadowy wings and tail, leaving her the sole owner of her body once again. And as Rainbow skidded to a stop in front of her Twilight watched as the manticore they’d abandoned faded away. Its fur became smokey, its eyes dimmed and burnt out, and then between blinks Twilight suddenly found that it was gone, silent and without a trace. “What are you doing?!” Rainbow yelled, sending Twilight crashing back to reality. Her sword wavered as she pointed it down at Twilight, who wasn’t sure if the hesitation came from not wanting to hurt both of them or just not Fluttershy. “It’s alright, Rainbow,” Fluttershy said quickly. She lowered her arm, and only then did Twilight see the pointed jet-black spike clutched within her fist—as sharp and menacing as an ice pick. “That was in my head?” she breathed in disbelief. Fluttershy nodded, and Twilight suddenly felt nauseous and faint and dizzy all at once. Then, remembering her position, she removed her arm from Fluttershy and scrambled off of her, acutely aware of Rainbow’s piercing glare following her every move. I could have hurt her, Twilight thought numbly as Rarity helped Fluttershy back to her feet. She didn’t bother trying to stand up, and instead pulled her knees up to her chest to create a makeshift barrier between her and the others, trying her best to stay grounded with slow, shallow breaths. The other girls gathered around Fluttershy and started talking in lowered voices—though Twilight didn’t have to be able to hear their words to know they were talking about her. She took another breath in, then held it, then let it out. Don’t freak out. Stay calm. “Hey.” That was Rainbow again, stepping away from her friends to stand between them and Twilight with her swordless hand propped up on her hip. “What the hell was that?” Twilight kept her gaze locked on her knees and shook her head. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to do it.” An image of the spike Fluttershy had removed popped into her head, and bile instantly rose at the back of her mouth. “Are you gonna do it again?” “I—” She pressed her forehead to her knees and exhaled. “I don’t know that either.” Rainbow scoffed at her response. Then Twilight heard someone step forward, and she caught Applejack’s voice whisper something to Rainbow, who grumbled a reply under her breath. “We’ll, um, give you some space, Twilight,” Pinkie piped up, loud enough for Twilight to hear. Her voice sounded hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure of what she was saying. Twilight didn’t move, and after a few seconds of silence the other girls started walking away, still talking to each other in hushed, nervous tones. Their footsteps faded to the end of the hall, and Twilight exhaled into her knees.  Why had she done that? Why was it so easy to fall back to anger; to go on the defensive over every little thing? And even if magic—something that Twilight hated to admit might be real, much less that it had something to do with what had happened—was involved, she still had an uncomfortable question to answer for herself. Had Nightmare made her act that way? Or were those actions her own, just freed from inhibitions? Twilight pressed her forehead harder against her knees and tried to ignore the guilt welling in her stomach. The motion squished her glasses uncomfortably into the bridge of her nose, so she raised her head up to adjust them a bit— —only to see Fluttershy sitting silently across from her with her hands folded in her lap. When her eyes met Twilight’s she dipped her head slightly into a nod that sent a clear message: we need to talk. “I’m sorry,” Twilight blurted out. Fluttershy nodded. “I know.” “Even if that was something to do with Nightmare, I still...” She trailed off and broke eye contact. “I wasn’t strong enough to stop. It was like I was just watching myself attack you, and I couldn’t do anything about it.” A choked laugh escaped her throat, almost the same sound as a sob. “I wish I wasn’t so useless.” “You’re not useless,” Fluttershy corrected. She tilted her head to the side, her hair cascading over her shoulder as a pale waterfall—Twilight couldn’t look away from the motion, and she found that when it stopped she was once again looking Fluttershy in the eyes. “You figured out the traps on the first floor, and you didn’t let Nightmare hurt anyone on this one. That’s not useless, Twilight.” Really? Her praise felt foreign and uncomfortable. Twilight didn’t know what to say after that; couldn’t find the words. “Thanks,” she settled on, though it felt awkward to say out loud. “And, sorry. Again.” Fluttershy’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. “Thank you for apologizing.” “Y-yeah.” Twilight took a few more shallow breaths in an attempt to calm her racing heart. “I... I could have hurt you. Or... worse.” She swallowed hard. “I’d say sorry a thousand times if you wanted. You didn’t deserve to go through any of that.” “A thousand may be a bit much,” Fluttershy admitted. “I think I’m happy with just the one.” They sat in silence for a few minutes as Twilight slowly gained back control of her lungs. Her shaky breathing was the only sound between them, apart from the faint whispers at the end of the hall, until finally— “You know, those boys only left me alone because they started going after you,” Fluttershy said quietly. “And while I had Rainbow to defend me in grade school, as soon as she and Applejack got on friendly terms with them...” Instead of trying to ask questions Twilight remained silent, and listened. “A-and I guess deep down I was grateful to you.” She lifted her head and shot Twilight a pleading glance. “Isn’t that just awful of me? The whole school turned against you, yet the only thing I could think of was, ‘at least it wasn’t me this time’.” Before Twilight could respond Fluttershy averted her eyes and worried her fingers into the hem of her shirt. “And then they got suspended, and you didn’t come back.” A cold dread seeped back into Twilight’s lungs. “But I did come back,” she tried. “At the start of grade ten. I only missed a term.” “And our bullies came back in January,” Fluttershy said simply. She pulled her hands into her lap and laced her fingers together so tightly her knuckles paled to white. “One term is all it takes.” I’m sorry, Twilight’s instinct was to say, but she refused to let the phrase pass her lips for something she knew apologies wouldn’t fix. “Yeah,” she said instead. “I figured that out too.” There was so much more Twilight wanted to say to her, but her stress-addled brain couldn’t find the right words. Thankfully, it seemed Fluttershy was at a similar loss. Just before their silent stares crossed over into the realm of awkwardness she pulled her clasped hands up in front of her—almost like a prayer—and whispered, “That’s it.” Twilight exhaled. “Yeah.” “Thank you for listening. It... it was nice to talk about it.” “Yeah,” she repeated lamely. The pressure in the air between them was almost suffocating. But since her legs felt more stable and her breathing had evened out, Twilight somehow ignored the tense atmosphere and pushed herself to her feet. “I think I’m good to keep going now,” she mumbled, halfheartedly changing the topic. Fluttershy nodded. “Only if you’re ready.” She got to her feet as well, then slowly raised her arms and held them out. “And... could I give you a hug?” Twilight blinked. That was a new one. “Only if you’re alright with it.” Her arms wavered. “There’s just a lot going on, isn’t there?” “I...” Twilight didn’t know whether Fluttershy’s question was directed at their present situation or at herself or both. “Yeah,” she decided. “I guess that’s fine.” With permission granted, Fluttershy closed the space between them by stepping forward and wrapping her arms around Twilight’s back. She was a good head taller than Twilight, who found that her chin just barely managed to rest on Fluttershy’s shoulder. It was a different kind of hug than Twilight was used to. Not uncomfortable, though, she thought. Just different. Then a flash of gold appeared in Twilight’s peripheral vision. She pulled away from the hug just in time to see the same light that had appeared on Applejack finish tracing something on Fluttershy’s wrist. “Oh!” Fluttershy noticed too, and quickly pushed her sleeve down so they both could look. “Compassion,” Twilight read. “Plus integrity from earlier.” She raised an eyebrow. “So it’s pointing out character traits?” Fluttershy giggled as she replaced her sleeve. “That’s sweet of you to say.” A familiar nervous heat rose to Twilight’s face, and she quickly cleared her throat. “It’s just a guess,” she mumbled. Once again Fluttershy laughed, a soft sound so different than the laughs Twilight had heard directed at her. Then a thought popped into her head at the memory of those sounds. “You mentioned you went through the same things as me,” she said. “Before, I mean. When we were... fighting.” She hesitated, then finally asked, “Did you mean everything?” Fluttershy smiled again, though it carried a sad sort of strain beneath it. “I did.” Equal amounts of curiosity and hope fueled Twilight’s next question: “Then how did you get through it?” And at that the sadness disappeared from Fluttershy’s smile, leaving Twilight with an expression that she might once have considered pity but instead recognized as respect. “Because you made it,” she said. “And if you could survive your bullies all on your own, why couldn’t I?” Admiration was equally as unfamiliar to Twilight as friendly hugs and praise and kindness, contrary to the pity that seemed to stick closer than her shadow. But when she rejoined the others their pity didn’t seem to sting as sharp anymore—icy edges melted by just a tiny spark of pride.