//------------------------------// // The Trial of Altruism and the Selfishness of Being a Hero // Story: The Twilight Effect // by evelili //------------------------------// When they reached the next floor Twilight was greeted with the sight of a very familiar door across a decidedly unfamiliar chasm that spanned an entire hallway. Though she was the last one to arrive, it seemed that no one else had found the courage to cross the threshold into what was presumably another trial. She ended up having to stand on her tiptoes to peer over Rarity’s shoulder toward the door at the other end of the pit. Principal Celestia, MEd, MBA. Even from afar Twilight knew what the text on its nameplate spelled out. Amidst their collective hesitation Applejack once again took it upon herself to lead the way forward. “C’mon, girls,” she said, and crossed over into the room with a slow and deliberate step. When nothing happened she motioned over her shoulder for the rest of them to follow. “Seems fine so far.” With her reassurance the others slowly fanned out onto the small section of the hallway that still had floor. Twilight took a moment to hang back and scan the room for clues, though there wasn’t much to see—just a bottomless pit lined by blank walls that stretched about a hundred metres, and Celestia’s door embedded in the wall directly opposite the entrance. It only took a minute for them to fully examine what little area of the room they could. Pinkie spoke the words on everyone’s mind not long after the minute had passed: “Now what?” “Dunno.” Rainbow kicked at the ground and frowned. “Thought there was supposed to be some test for somebody or whatever.” She glanced around again, as if something might have changed in the few seconds since she’d last looked. “But I don’t see anything.” “I don’t either,” Twilight added. They turned to Rarity. Rarity quickly averted her eyes. “Ah.” Applejack crossed her arms. “There it is.” “There what is?” Rarity retorted, the shrillness of her voice doing a very poor job of hiding her guilt. “There’s nothing here; it’s a dead end. So obviously we must retrace our steps and find another room that doesn’t require me to do anything dangerous or frightening or—” Fluttershy nudged Rarity’s shoulder with her own, silencing her nervous tirade. “Rarity,” she said gently. Rarity hung her head. “Fine,” she grumbled. She raised her hand and pointed over to where the floor ran out. “There’s a riddle of some sort written on that tile.” That caught Twilight’s attention. “Could you read what it says?” she asked. When the others turned to look at her she shrank back from their gazes, though she still managed to keep talking despite the nervous hitch that wormed into her voice. “It’s just, I’m pretty good at riddles. So, maybe I could... help?” Thankfully, Rarity perked up a bit at her suggestion. “Oh! Of course, that would be wonderful!” She glanced over at Applejack and raised her eyebrows. “Who knows? Perhaps this is a trial for two?” Applejack rolled her eyes in response. “Just read the dang riddle.” But everyone else had their own trial, Twilight noted as Rarity couched down next to the edge to get a better look. I don’t think this one’s mine. “Here’s what it says.” Rarity cleared her throat dramatically and began to speak. “I can bind a thousand strands / Shades from silver, bronze, and gold / So tie what falls before your eyes / And keep me close at hand.” Silence. Once again all heads turned to Twilight, who tried her best to not make eye contact with anyone when they did. “Um.” You’re so eloquent, Sparkle. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders before trying again. “Well, the word ‘strands’ sticks out to me. Maybe we should start there?” “Strands. Strands. Strands.” Pinkie repeated the word a few times, rolling it around her mouth at different pitches. “Like... strings, right? A thousand strings?” “It makes me think of fibres myself,” Rarity said. She patted the sleeve of her top to emphasize her point. “Fabrics and thread and such, you know?” Those both make sense, but... Out of habit Twilight reached for her backpack to pull out a notepad, only for her hand to connect with empty space. She frowned, and instead settled for fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. “It also mentioned precious metals, or perhaps colours.” She let go of her skirt and moved upward to pick at the cuff of her blouse. “Something that ties strings of colour. Coloured fibres. Fibres around...” She blinked, then reached up in front of her eyes to mimic the riddle. Her fingers brushed against her bangs as she did.  Tie what falls before your eyes. “A hairband,” Twilight said suddenly. “That’s the answer.” I think. Rainbow squinted at her, incredulous. “What? You figured it out already?” When Twilight nodded in response she shrugged her shoulders and said, “I mean, you’re probably right, but damn. Save some for the rest of us.” Her tone was light. Friendly, almost. Twilight didn’t feel the sting she normally felt lurk beneath her words. “Right, then.” Applejack clapped her hands and glanced around. “Anyone got a hairband? Might as well see if somethin’ happens with it.” Both Rarity and Pinkie did, though in the time it took for Pinkie to wrangle one around her many bracelets and off her wrist, Rarity had already retrieved hers. “It’s my trial,” she said, “so it’s only fitting that I do it.” Right, Twilight agreed. Anxiety twisted in the pit of her stomach. It’s hers. Not mine. Rarity placed her hairband down where Twilight assumed the riddle had been written. As soon as she did a pure-white circle flared to life around it, and the hairband slowly dissolved into shimmering dust. Then the floor trembled. When the circle of light faded another section of flooring rose up from the bottomless abyss, inching upward at a snail’s pace and rumbling to a stop in perfect alignment with the previous tiles. After it settled the room stopped shaking and returned to the same state as before, save for the additional few metres of floor bridging across the pit. No one said anything for a few moments. Twilight stared at the new section and, when she decided she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary on its surface, turned back to Rarity. She wanted to ask if there was another riddle, but the fact that it wasn’t her trial made her hesitate. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to be helping. Thankfully Pinkie spoke up to fill the silence: “So what’s next?” “Next?!” Rarity threw her hands up over her head. “You mean I have to go over there and read another—” She sputtered indignantly, then relented just as quickly. “Ugh. If I must.” Although Rarity only agreed to step forward once both Applejack and Rainbow assured her it was safe—Rainbow even went so far as to stomp as hard as she could next to the edge, the sole of her sneaker out far enough that Twilight started feeling a bit nervous for her. But the ground didn’t budge, and after a bit of coaxing Rarity eventually settled back down at a different tile to read the next riddle aloud. “Alone I make just half a pair / A decoration out of sight / And though I hear your secrets too / I have no mouth with which to share.”  It was just as short as the last one. When she finished speaking Rarity clapped her hands together and steepled them beneath her chin. “Well, Twilight? Any thoughts?” Twilight blinked. She had some ideas, but... “It doesn’t bother you?” she asked instead. “Hm?” “This is supposed to be your trial, right?” She ducked her head slightly, her bangs tilting forward to obscure the top of her vision. “I don’t want to ruin it.” But Rarity just laughed, still crouched down on the ground with her hands clasped under her chin. “Oh, darling,” she said, the pet name a stark assumption of familiarity, “you wouldn’t ruin it.” “...I wouldn’t?” “Of course not. Each room we’ve encountered in this awful place has been, quite frankly, absolutely horrid.” Rarity huffed dramatically and rolled her eyes to emphasize her point. It was a rather silly gesture, Twilight thought. Then again, Rarity was a rather silly person. “We don’t even know these are trials at all,” she continued. “Perhaps there’s no end to them, and they just dole out strange words to whoever’s persistent enough to try their hand. So then why should we assume that Nightmare—who may I remind you seems to be some sort of evil smoke monster intent on causing us harm—would tailor its domain to us as individuals?” Rarity shrugged, then batted her eyelashes at Twilight almost teasingly. “So in short, no, Twilight. You won’t ruin this for me. Quite the opposite, actually.” It was impossible to process such a speech all at once. Twilight almost believed that Rarity had rehearsed it. “I... see.” She didn’t know what else to add on to that, though. Do I say thanks? Was there even a compliment in there to say thanks to? Fluttershy giggled at her response, bringing one sleeve up to cover her mouth as she did. “Rarity,” she chided, “we all know you love your theatrics, but perhaps you could try to tone it down for Twilight?” “But no one ever asks Pinkie to tone it down,” Rarity whined. Pinkie’s hand shot up. “Not anymore!” she chirped. “Regardless.” Fluttershy lowered her arm and stared down at Rarity, her gaze strangely stern. Twilight felt very thankful she wasn’t on the receiving end of it. “Please try not to overdo it.” And surprisingly Rarity relented. She lowered her hands from her chin to instead grab at her knees, then rocked back slightly so she was sitting on her heels. “Well. What I meant to say, Twilight,” she said, her voice more serious but still light in tone, “was that I appreciate your help. You’re not doing anything wrong—if you were, I’d be the first to say something. Okay?” Twilight nodded slowly. “Okay.” She shot Fluttershy a grateful glance, and received a smile in return. “Then, um, maybe we should read the riddle again.” She resisted the urge to fidget with her skirt and admitted, “I’ve sort of forgotten what it said.” “Oh,” Rarity said with a laugh. “So have I.” The tension broke. When Rarity repeated the riddle, Twilight allowed herself to listen without guilt—her doubt had ebbed. It wasn’t gone, but it had been beaten back far enough for the time being. “Right,” Twilight said after Rarity re-read the whole thing. She was pretty sure she knew the answer, but... I don’t want to seem like I’m showing off. Instead of guessing, she held up her index finger and glanced around at the others. “First, we need two of the same thing, since it’s a ‘pair’.” She held up a second finger. “Next, it’s something that ‘hears secrets’. In other words, something found near the ears. And finally”—she raised a third finger—“it’s a type of decoration, like an accessory. Does that make sense?” Applejack squinted at her. “I dunno how you got all that, but yeah. Makes sense, I suppose.” She scrunched up her nose as she thought for a moment, then ventured, “Wouldn’t be earbuds or anything like that, would it?” “Good guess,” Twilight said, slightly surprised. “But then the part about ‘no mouth’ wouldn’t line up, since earbuds can make sounds.” “Darn.” She shrugged, then turned to Rainbow. “Well, I tried. You got anythin’?” “Uhhhhhh.” Rainbow glanced around, obviously staring at everyone else’s ears. Twilight watched as her eyes passed over Rarity, then quickly flicked back. She noticed! “Is it earrings?” “Yes! I mean,” Twilight corrected, bringing her voice back down to its normal level, “that’s my guess, at least.” Rainbow blinked. Then she grinned, a wide smile spreading across her face. “That basically means I’m right. Right?” Before Twilight could protest the other girls nodded in agreement—Pinkie furiously up and down, Fluttershy once, Rarity with an approving hum, and Applejack with a short ‘eeyup’. “Wait,” she stuttered, “it’s just a guess. I could still be wrong.” “You’re Twilight Sparkle,” Pinkie said matter-of-factly. “You won’t be.” “I—” Twilight’s ears burned, except this time not from shame but from an emotion she wasn’t familiar with. The urge to fidget finally won out—she grabbed at the hem of her skirt and worried her fingers into the fabric. “But I’m not one-hundred percent sure.” But Rainbow just shrugged off her protests and instead asked, “How much, then?” “What?” “How sure are you? What percent?” She jabbed her finger in Twilight’s direction, but not in an accusatory fashion—there was no aggression behind the gesture at all. “Whatever the difference is, we’ll make up for it, plus a hundred percent on top.” “But why would you do that?” It didn’t make sense to Twilight; that they would trust her judgement so easily when she struggled to even trust at all. Her nails caught on one of the seams on her skirt. She dug her fingers in to stop herself from scratching. Why do they trust me? “It’s not like I’m one of your friends,” she mumbled. “Well—” Rainbow faltered. The hand held out in front of her wavered slightly. “Well, no, you’re not, but that doesn’t—” “It’s because we see something that you don’t seem to see in yourself, Twilight.” Rarity finally spoke up, catching Rainbow’s fumble and keeping the conversation alive. She reached up and unhooked her earrings—left, then right—before continuing, “You’re the smartest student in our year, if not the entire school—I don’t think anyone would dare disagree with that.” Twilight snorted. “So? That’s just grades—” “You’re brilliant at logic and problem-solving—” “But that doesn’t mean you should—” “And,” Rarity said loudly. She extended her hand in front of her, her earrings resting atop the centre of her palm. “We know you’re right,” she finished, and rotated her hand so the earrings tumbled down to the floor, “because out of all of us, you’re the person best suited for a trial like this.” A ring of light appeared the second her earrings connected with the ground. Both of them crumbled away to shimmering dust, and the room trembled as another section rose out of the abyss. The new part was larger than the previous one—it reached about halfway down the hall when it settled into place, leaving only fifty or so metres between them and Celestia’s door. The room stopped shaking. Rarity pushed herself to her feet and raised her eyebrows. “See?” she chided, stern and gentle all at once. Twilight drew a shaky breath. All of their praises were uncomfortably familiar—it felt strange to not follow them up with name-calling or shoving or some sort of method that pulled the rug from under her and left her singled out. It... wasn’t the worst feeling in the world, she supposed. Perhaps she’d get used to it. Rarity was still waiting for an answer, though, so Twilight ducked her head in a silent nod and tried to bury her stray emotions even further down. “Sorry about your earrings,” she said instead. “Oh, don’t mind that.” Rarity dismissed her concern with a wave of her hand. “They were hardly sentimental; I won’t miss them at all.” Twilight pretended not to notice the way her voice caught on her last few words. With the riddle solved they once again could continue further down the hall: Applejack and Rainbow at the front, Twilight at the back, and the other three just in between. At the halfway point Fluttershy slowed down in a way that was surely intentional, but when she did Twilight made sure to adjust her pace to prevent them from crossing paths. The walk to the new edge wasn’t very long, but Twilight was glad it ended nonetheless. When they reached where the floor ran out, Rarity crouched down and swept her hand over another tile. A small furrow worked its way into her brow as she did. “I suppose I should read the next one,” she said slowly. “Though I can’t say I like the font they’ve chosen this time. It’s very...” She paused. “Severe, let’s say.” The air suddenly grew thick; ominously so. Apprehension filled Twilight’s lungs alongside each breath she took. But no pressure squeezed her heart, so she exhaled as much of her fear as she could and focused on the words read by Rarity’s trembling voice: “But dream not of wealth foregone / For greed stays hands from sacrifice / You must give everything you can / Else none shall carry on.” Twilight immediately recognized the riddle’s darker tone—no lighthearted analogies, no cryptic descriptions of frivolous trinkets they might have on hand. Sacrifice stood out most of all. And when the others turned to her, somehow willing to trust her judgement, she hesitated. Not from a lack of confidence, but from what she thought the riddle meant. Her nerves must have been obvious, though, because Rarity just sighed into the silence and shook her head. “That won’t do,” she said. Her voice was quiet—she knew, Twilight realized. She figured it out too. “Everything.” Twilight spoke before she could stop herself. The ominous feeling only seemed to tighten around her lungs. “If we want to keep going we have to sacrifice everything.” Applejack went pale. Twilight saw her eyes flick upward briefly toward her hat. “You sure?” she croaked. And when Twilight glanced around she saw that everyone else reflected Applejack’s disbelief with their own unique tells: Pinkie twisted one of her bracelets around her wrist; Fluttershy ran her thumb over the ring on her finger; Rainbow gripped something in her pocket hard enough to make the muscles in her forearm tense up. By contrast, Twilight felt no attachment toward anything she had on her person—perhaps a blessing born from the habits she’d developed over those worst months of her life—and, apparently, neither did Rarity. “Wait a minute, now.” Rarity kept her tone light despite the tension in the air, trying her best to ease the mood. “I believe this is my trial, is it not?” To emphasize her point she slid one of her rings off her finger and set it down on the floor with a sharp clack. Once again the circle appeared, though it was much larger than it had been the times before. It spread outward until it reached nearly a metre in diameter, expanding just slow enough for Rarity to scramble back away from it. Her ring remained intact for a few moments after the circle stopped growing before it too dissolved away into pure-white stardust. Another segment of path shook the room as it rose up. It wasn’t much, Twilight noted—just barely as long as the initial section. But this time when it attached itself the circle of light remained outlined on the tile floor instead of fading, a brilliant white divider encircling empty space. The room stilled. Rarity removed another ring. Before she could add it, though, Fluttershy quickly raised her hand. “Wait,” she squeaked, and Twilight saw that she had one of her barrettes clasped against her palm. “Please let me help too.” “You don’t have to—” Rarity protested, but Fluttershy just brushed past her and tried to place the clip inside the light. But as soon as her fingers crossed the circle the light flared up, and she immediately flinched away from it with a yelp. Her barrette tumbled out of her hand and into the circle as she did—it clattered to a halt and remained on the floor, completely unaffected by the light. “Oh,” Fluttershy breathed. She nursed her hand against her chest and winced. “That didn’t work.” “Are you—” “I’m fine,” she assured Rarity. “Just like, um, touching a hot kettle by mistake.” To prove her point she released her injured hand and extended it, flexing the fingers in and out. “I think I was mostly just surprised.” “I...” Rarity gave Fluttershy one last concerned glance up and down. “Alright. I suppose if you insist.” She turned back to the circle and placed another ring inside. Then, as the room shook, she tried to pick up Fluttershy’s hair clip and place it inside herself, but to no avail. She doesn’t get hurt when she touches the circle, Twilight noted. Though when Rarity added her necklace she hesitated with her hand inside its bounds—as if parting with it was just as bad as physical pain—and Twilight noticed how her skin began to shimmer. Not hurt, but still not safe. After Rarity removed her final piece of jewelry the furthest section of flooring reached three-quarters of the way down the hall. Less than thirty metres remained between them and the door to Celestia’s office—they were so close. But... Twilight’s heart sank as she stared at the impossible stretch of nothingness ahead. Each piece of jewelry had only added around a metre of flooring in return. So even if they risked jumping the last metre, that still meant Rarity would have to give up twenty-ish things if they wanted to make it to the end. She turned to Rarity. No earrings, no necklace, no rings on her fingers. Even if she removed all her clothing—which Twilight really didn’t want her to try unless absolutely necessary—it still wasn’t going to be enough. The circle wouldn’t accept outside help, but Rarity had nothing left to give. Did we miss something? Twilight wondered, her gaze trailing up from Rarity’s hands to her shoulders to her face. She didn’t dare think her thoughts out loud, lest she break the silent tension forming in the air. Is it even possible to— Rarity glanced over at Twilight before she could finish, as if she’d heard her thoughts. Their eyes met across the stillness. It’s possible, her expression confirmed—an answer to an unspoken question written clearly in sapphire blue. And suddenly Twilight knew the answer too. “I think I’ll need a bit of privacy for this next part,” Rarity said, her voice still light enough to rise over the gravity of their situation. Her eyes flicked away. Twilight felt her throat close up at the suffocating, unbearable sweetness in her voice. “Uh.” Applejack coughed awkwardly. “You sure?” “We can’t just float our way across, darling.” She grabbed the hem of her top with both hands and repeated, “So, I’ll need a bit of privacy. Okay?” “I—” A pause. Applejack shoved her hands into her pockets and took a step back. “Okay. Just... we’ll be right over here, alright?” Rarity nodded. “Of course.” “And don’t you dare do anythin’ stupid.” “Applejack, please.” “Because, I dunno, I’ve just got this awful feelin’—” “Dude, c’mon.” Rainbow cut her off before she could finish and stepped between the two of them with her hands on her hips. “Give her some space. Or else she’s just gonna strip in front of everyone, and I really don’t wanna see th—ow! AJ, let go!” Applejack dragged an indignant Rainbow behind her as she stomped back down the hall. Pinkie skipped after them without any hesitation, with Fluttershy trailing just behind them all. Only Twilight remained by the circle, still rooted in place with honeyed dread choking away her voice. She opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came out. “If you won’t join them, Twilight, could you at least turn around?” Rarity kept up the act, smiles and all. She lifted the hem of her shirt again and raised her eyebrows. “Because I really didn’t peg you as the type to—” Twilight stomped her foot to interrupt. Her hands flew to her throat, clawing at her skin in a desperate attempt to coax her voice free. Please, she begged silently. Stop joking. I know. Rarity’s gaze softened. Her smile faded to a grimace. “Oh,” she whispered. Then her brow creased. “Are... are you alright?” Twilight shook her head. “Right. Of course not.” She let go of her shirt and instead raised her hands as if to reach out to Twilight, but then hesitated. “Are you trying to stop me?” A nod. Rarity’s shoulders sank. She lowered her hands. “But,” she said slowly, “what else would you have me do?” Silence. Twilight shook her head again. I don’t know. “We can’t go back,” Rarity said, and this time Twilight tasted bitter realism between her words. “We can’t go forward. If we stay here there’s no chance of saving anyone else, much less ourselves, but if we take a risk?” She took a step backward. “If we make a sacrifice?” Another step. “Then at least we have that possibility.” The sweetness soured. Twilight found enough of her voice to whisper a strangled, “Why?” Rarity paused. Her gaze drifted briefly, and Twilight didn’t have to turn around to know where it had landed. But instead of answering she just shook her head and took another step back. “I don’t know,” she lied. “Perhaps it’s just because I’m the only one who can.” And with those words Rarity took her final step backward across the boundary drawn on the floor and entered the circle of light. “No!” The rest of Twilight’s voice returned far too late—too late to talk Rarity down, too late to stop her, too late to call for help. She heard the others turn at the sound of her shout, but at the same time they realized what was happening and started sprinting over, Rarity’s skin had already turned to shimmering light. The hallway rumbled as the final pieces of the floor crept up one after the other from the abyss. They rose at the same rate as the light that began to eat away at Rarity’s body, the same way it had consumed everything else she’d sacrificed. The path forward was finally within reach. But in exchange not all of them could make it across. A chill seeped into Twilight’s lungs—despair, she realized. It spread like frostbite through her veins, and as she struggled to draw breath filled with ice a single thought came crashing along with it: They’ll miss her, won’t they? And without a second thought Twilight scrambled forward and threw herself at Rarity across the circle’s shining bounds. Its light flared up in warning as she crossed it, but the searing pain she anticipated never arrived—instead a familiar pressure slammed against her heart and nearly knocked her off her feet. “Twilight?!” Rarity’s voice soared to shrill. Before she could say anything else Twilight grabbed her wrist and tried to pull her back. “Please,” she begged. “We can figure something out!” Something gold flashed beneath where her hand squeezed into Rarity’s skin but Twilight didn’t have the time to process it. She pulled again. Rarity dug in her heels. “You’re going to get hurt!” “And you’re going to die!” The pressure intensified, and Twilight felt her knees wobble. She gave Rarity’s arm another desperate pull—again to no avail—before her vision blurred and her strength faded enough for Rarity to rip her arm out of her grasp. Not again, she managed to think. “It’s alright,” Rarity tried, still forcing a smile even as her legs dissolved to dust. “Don’t worry—” “It’s not alright!” Applejack’s voice pierced the air and drowned out Rarity’s hollow assurances in an instant. Despite her fading vision Twilight could still see the others clearly through the wall of light that separated them—while they all wore terror across their faces, Applejack seemed the most distraught of them all. “Get outa there!” she pleaded. She tried to reach across the light only to instantly flinch away in pain. “Agh!” And finally Rarity faltered, if just for the split second before she managed to reply, “I... I won’t.” “Stop being so dramatic!” Rainbow shouted. She clenched her fists at her sides, clearly resisting the urge to punch the barrier that would only burn her back. “It’s not for drama,” Rarity barked back, her teeth bared and most of her lower body obscured by light. Her voice just barely trembled as she spoke. “I’m doing this for you!” “But we don’t want this!” This time Fluttershy spoke up, louder than Twilight had ever heard. “It doesn’t matter what you want, I’m—” “It matters!” Pinkie was the last to chime in. She no longer wore a smile—just fear and panic and disbelief all mixed together. “You matter! So stop it!” “I—” Rarity choked on her words. “But—” The light crept past her stomach, crawling up her arms to the elbow. It moved higher and higher at a constant speed that was both agonizingly slow and far too quick. Outside the circle Twilight could hear the others screaming, but their words no longer registered. Everything dulled to numbness. But just before her vision faded Twilight once again caught sight of golden light amidst the white—a faint scribble hovering in the empty space Rarity’s wrist was supposed to be. For some reason the sight of the word—altruism—gave her pause, and in that single second of clarity the pressure on her heart involuntarily released its hold. There was no time to think. As soon as Nightmare’s influence vanished Twilight felt the circle’s magic turn from blinding to burning against the surface of her skin. She moved at the same time the pain registered, the sudden burst of adrenaline driving her forward into a distracted Rarity with enough momentum to shove her completely out of the circle. “What—” Rarity’s body reappeared the second she left the light—she stumbled off balance as her newly-formed feet hit the ground and collapsed in a heap on the still-rumbling floor. As she fell her expression twisted from shock to confusion to panic, all focused directly back at Twilight in a single, terrified stare. There, Twilight managed to think above the agony burning her from the inside out. You’re— Her legs crumpled beneath her as the rest of her thoughts dissolved in the excruciating pain ripping through her entire body. An anguished scream rose above every other sensation as the light tore her existence apart—a voice that Twilight no longer recognized as her own. Then the scream vanished and the world blazed to nothing but brilliant white.