With a vacant expression, Sunset stared ahead. On the blackboard, her alchemy teacher Misses Bubbling Brew went over the steps for various formulae.
She already knew all of them.
Chin atop her folded hooves, Sunset wondered what the point was in having 'Review Day'. She already remembered everything.
The first test of the year arrived tomorrow, and Misses Brew insisted 'it was important for everypony to have a refresher'. Sunset thought, if ponies couldn't remember, that was their fault. Let them fail if they couldn't meet the standard.
Eventually, her eyes glazed over, and she quit listening altogether. She flipped to the back of her notebook, where no one would think to check.
Scrawled on the pages were innumerable doodles, some more detailed, some less so. They'd been done in everything from pen to pencil and crayon, but no marker. She didn't want it bleeding through the paper.
Chewing on the eraser end of a pencil, she thought about what to draw. That was always the hardest part. Sometimes the idea would spring into being without effort. Other times...
"Excuse me. What do you have there?"
Sunset's head shot up, and she slammed the notebook shut. "N-nothing!" she said, wide-eyed.
Misses Brew loomed above her, deep purple face pinched into a scolding frown.
"Open that notebook, please."
Yhe please was nothing more than a courtesy. Her tone allowed no defiance, not if Sunset was a smart filly, anyway.
Reluctantly, she did so. Nothing good ever came of lying to adult. They always seemed to find out, one way or another.
"No, not there. The page you were on before."
Sunset swallowed, obeyed.
Frown lines deepend the mare's scowl, lime eyes narrowing.
"Pray tell, could you explain what this-" She gestured at the sketch-riddled page. "-is?"
"M-my drawings, Misses Brew."
"I see." She closed the book and held Sunset's gaze. "Does this look like art class to you, Miss Sunset Shimmer? Or are we in alchemy class?"
Sunset's head fell, avoiding her teacher's gaze. "Alchemy class, Misses Brew."
"Correct. I know you may not think so, but Review Day is important to some ponies that aren't necessarily you."
Sunset flared. "It's not my fault I already know everything!" she said. "I was just gonna draw, that won't distract anypony!"
"Tell you what, then." Brew sang, smiling in a way that sat ill with Sunset. "If you believe you're so prepared, you shouldn't mind demonstrating to the class. Come now, come, right up here!"
Notebook abandoned, Sunset stood and held her head high. She marched to the front with purpose and awaited her instructions. She could sense the eyes of her classmates on her, but brushed them aside.
From the populous shelves, Misses Brew took down a wide array of bottles, tubes, beakers, and reagents. She spread them across an empty workbench, and pointed Sunset in its direction.
"You should remember how to make a temporary potion of invisibility, yes?"
Sunset hated that smug, self-assured smirk. She swore to see it gone by the time class was over.
Because she was Sunset.
Because she was smart.
Because she was better.
Without comment, she nodded and walked to the table. Surveying the materials, she found her teacher hadn't spared one ingredient.
Invisibility was the most complex potion they'd learned thus far. Her teacher set her up to fail.
If Misses Brew thought that would dissuade her, she was sorely mistaken.
One by one, Sunset organized her materials. She set out a Bunsen burner, mortar, pestle, and three separate phials.
Last came the reagents. She needed Blinkroot, two caps of Ghost's Eye Fungus, three de-seeded Wraithcorns, and half a cup of minced Breathberry.
Or she was pretty sure that's what she needed. She hoped she hadn't missed one.
First the berries had to be boiled, and after strained through a fine mesh sive. Next she burnt the Blinkroot, de-seeded the Wraithcorns, and de-gilled the mushroom caps. All that she threw into the mortar, and mashed it with her pestle, pounding and grinding until it formed a chunky, deep blue paste.
She scraped the paste into a flask, then poured ice cold water over the contents. As the separated mixture fizzed, she began to stir. Once it became homogenous, she stopped. For several seconds the foul-smelling liquid belched and burbled, forming pearlescent bubbles that popped and stank of long-rotting fruit.
Finally, it settled into a transparent cyan liquid. She brought the bottle to her nose and sniffed.
It smelled of nothing.
Slowly, Misses Brew clapped.
Pride swelled in Sunset's chest, a smirk playing at her lips. She'd done it. She'd won.
"Impressive," said Misses Brew. She came to stand by Sunset and observed her work. "But it would have been more impressive if you'd made the correct potion."
Sunset's stomach dropped. "Wha- huh? But I did everything right!"
"Not quite." Beaming, the mare plucked a bunch of basil from the table's edge, and dropped it into the liquid. It steamed briefly, then dissolved. "I asked you to make me a temporary invisibility potion - not an indefinite one. Now go sit down, and pay attention, or I'll rip those pages out of your notebook."
Something inside Sunset broiled. Like the fizzling potion, it rose, higher and angrier, until she couldn't hold herself back.
She snatched the potion up, and threw it on her teacher's face.
Sunset hated school.
She hated the schoolwork. She hated the students. She hated the teachers.
She really, really hated the teachers.
Sitting in detention, she was even more bored out of her mind than if she'd have listened to the lecture. Screaming at Misses Brew was, admittedly, maybe not the smartest decision she'd made in her life.
Nor was throwing a potion right in the mare's face.
Save two things: seeing Misses Brew turning invisible from the neck up, and hearing the class's roar of laughter. Those made her punishment somewhat worth the trouble.
Either way, Sunset found the whole ordeal to be greatly unfair. So what if she made an indefinite potion? She got every other ingredient, every other step perfectly correct. It would be like giving her an F on her math exam because her answer had been one digit off, not even.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.
Fuming, she squirmed in her seat. The ceaseless 'tick, tock, tick, tock' of the clock above drove her mad.
She had to get revenge, but how? It was too close to her incident with Misses Brew. If she tried pulling something on the alchemist she'd be pinned down for sure. Nopony but her could so easily recite the recipe for an invisibility potion.
Maybe she could target someone else, someone who wouldn't suspect a thing - someone that wronged her.
A wicked smile split her lips.
Tinsel.
It was the perfect crime. They only took math class together. She had no clue Sunset knew how to make potions, and with the power of invisibility at her disposal, her imagination was the limit.
Take that, Misses Ugly Ew. Looks like your detention plan backfired. Now she just had to figure out the details of her scheme.
But first, she had to gather the right materials.
On her way home, late in the afternoon, she paid close attention to the buildings around her. She took stock of the various shops and stores, settling on the ones focused on alchemy or magic broadly. The nicer they looked, the quicker she turned away. She could never get the bits to afford those places.
Orange and pink hues kissed on the horizon. Against the worn, dark gray slate and granite and cobble of Old Canterlot, their vibrancy seemed dull.
When she tilted her head up and to the north, cracked bricks and rough stone gave way to marble and gold. Towers, spires, and lovely homes embraced the eventide, graced by wealth and modern aesthetics. Those tiers weren't made for ponies like her.
She hated them.
Why did they get to have things so much better? Because they weren't born an orphan in stupid, ugly Old Canterlot?
Every now and again, she wondered how different things might be if she knew her parents. She could live up there, with a mom and dad who loved her. Maybe she'd even have a real friend.
Instead, she'd been left down here, to wallow.
Matron Swan stood waiting for her at the orphanage front doors, a look of stern disapproval on her face.
That was fine. Sunset expected it.
Swan tracked her approach. "Sunset Shimmer," she said.
Sunset waited. When no further words left Swan's lips, she spoke. "Yes, Matron? What is it?"
"I think you know exactly what 'it' is." The mare frowned, sat on her haunches, and rubbed at her wrinkled face. She pat the stair ledge beside her. Sunset took it. "Why do you keep getting yourself in trouble like this? If you had any idea the number of suspension threats I've had to defend you from, girl - maybe you'd act more appropriately."
Sunset flushed. "I didn't mean to get angry, but Misses Brew was being a big dumb jerk!"
"Sunset Shimmer."
Her ears folded. "Sorry, ma'am."
"Regardless of how mean she was or was not being, that does not give you the right to yell and assault somepony. And make no mistake, assault is precisely what you did. You may not have meant to hurt her, but splashing a potion - any potion - on someone is the kind of offense that can lend a pony prison time. You're lucky all it did was turn her face invisible."
"But she was-"
"no buts! This is final, Sunset. Shape up your act, for my sake if no one else's. Tonight, I want you to write your teacher an apology, and hoof-deliver it to her tomorrow. Do you understand."
"Yes, Matron Swan."
"Good, now let's head inside. You're very late."
"Wait!" Sunset stood up, holding out a hoof. Matron Swan turned her head. "There are some things I need for alchemy class."
"Go on."
Sunset breathed in. First step of her plan - engage. "S-since I got the potion wrong, she says I have to practice making it on my own at home. Can we go to a shop later for what I need? Please?"
"Mph. Alright. Tomorrow though; I don't have time right now, and dinner is getting cold. Unfortunate too, I know how you like your gumbo hot and spicy."
Sunset beamed, hopping up the stairs. That had proven surprisingly easy. It was all uphill from here.
Gumbo for dinner was a nice bonus, too.
She felt confident it would all work out. She had to play it smart, but that was easy for her, because she was a smart pony. Today might not have gone the best, but tomorrow gave her another crack at the whip. Set this day aside, and weave tomorrow anew - the way she wanted it.
And she did.
That weekend, Sunset called up the memory of the potion and magic shops she'd noted. It wasn't a short list, but she and Matron Swan found the necessary materials after two. They returned after a few hours with an overjoyed Sunset, and saddlebags noisy with bottles and reagents.
It took more convincing for Matron Swan to relinquish control over the kitchen. Sunset asked how she was supposed to brew a potion that demanded boiled, strained Breathberries and cleaned, de-gilled mushroom caps without the proper equipment. Swan argued the cooks could do that for her.
Sunset vehemently disagreed, in the whineful sort of pitch that cracked wine glasses.
Swan relented, though not immediately.
It took a few hours of persistent begging, teleporting next to her throughout the day, but she relented. And so Sunset spent the weekend locked in the kitchen, whenever the cooks weren't busy.
By Monday, she had a small stash of invisibility pots. By the following weekend, she'd squireled away enough supply to last a month.
She didn't require nearly so much as that for her goals, but Sunset was a forward-thinking filly. She could never know when she might need to bust one out again.
In that time, she also acquired the singular item her prank relied upon. Dousing it in invisibility ink was simple enough. To be certain of her plan she experimented with it, seeing how long the 'indefinite' potion of invisibility would actually last, and how to clean it off. Water proved sufficient for clearing it away, no spells or tonics needed.
Throughout her endeavors, Sunset behaved at school - no butting heads with teachers, no fights with bullies when she could teleport away, no mouthing off or getting distracted.
For that, Matron Swan was thankful.
Sunset's teachers, on the other hoof, were suspicious. But when weeks passed with nothing but good behavior, they learned to accept it, believing she'd made a turn for the better. Or, as she put it, more boring.
On an otherwise ordinary school day, she set the trap. Early for her first class of the morning - math with Mister Cosine - nopony but her teacher was around.
Focused on sifting through and grading tests, he acknowledged her arrival with the barest grunt. Him distracted, and with an invisible object in hoof, her path could not have been more clear. She passed by her desk, slipped the object over Tinsel's seat, and took her place.
Colts and fillies shuffled in after her, one by one, or in groups. To Sunset's fortune, the class' majority settled in before Tinsel's entrance.
Mister Cosine stood, sheathing the papers away, and cleared his throat as Tinsel sat down.
The resounding, unmistakeable sound of a wet fart ripped through the room.
Tinsel made a shrieking kind of sound, shooting up from her desk. She looked down to her seat, but found nothing there.
As Sunset predicted, quiet murmurs of amusement popped up in the crowd. Those turned into giggling, which became chuckling, until over half the student body was in an uproar.
Tinsel blushed, pupils the size of pins. She screeched that it wasn't her, but nopony cared. Mister Cosine's bemusement and attempts to sate the roaring room fell flat.
Nothing left but to wait it out, Tinsel sat down again.
A second plarp echoed loud. The laughter doubled.
Sunset let them have their fun. Hers was a more refined amusement, one of smugness and self-satisfaction. She allowed herself a grin, snicker there and no more.
Tinsel noticed.
Her expression narrowed. Eyes of silver-flecked gold glared towards her with malicious intent.
Sunset met her with equal amounts of smarm.
Beneath the din, Tinsel drew a hoof across her neck and hissed the words:
"This. Isn't. Over."
Returning home that day, Sunset rode high on her victory.
Nothing could ruin this for her.
Tinsel's threats of future retaliation concerned her not in the least. If they did come to fruition, she'd be ready for it then. She saw no point in worrying over the matter now, when there was nothing she could do about it. Now was time better spent reveling in her unquestionable conquest.
Sunset turned a corner, the one with the old brick alley and flickering oil streetlamp. Beyond lay the orphanage, and an opportunity to relax and stew over the pranks to come.
At the steps' base, Matron Swan waited.
Quick as her ego was high, Sunset's glee soured.
A million questions ran through her head. Had Tinsel figured it out? Did she bring the whoopee cushion to Cosine? Investigate, speak with Brew, have it traced back to her?
But, no. Sunset blinked, and noticed the older mare's expression for the first time.
Her smile, slight though it was, pushed upon kind blueberry eyes.
Sunset trotted near, head cocked. "Hi, Matron Swan," she said.
"Good afternoon, sweetling. Some unforeseen changes have transpired while you were gone. Follow me?"
She turned, and held out her left wing. Sunset slid beneath the canopy cover, reveling in the warmth of Swan's downy feathers, but curiosity gnawed at her insides. In the span of moments a million questions were cast aside to push forth a million more"
"We have a new orphan today, a bit older than you," Swan explained. As she pushed open the double doors, her smile turned down. "How she came to us was not so pleasant, however. I'd warn you severely against mentioning or asking about her parents."
Sunset nodded.
"She is a thestral. Do you know what those are?"
Sunset shook her head.
"In more common parlance, they are known as bat ponies. They are rare, and make up a very small segment of Equestria's equine population. Likewise, they often keep to themselves, not that they could be blamed. Equestria is a better place than what it used to be, but biases and unfounded fears run deep. So if you see anypony making fun of or being unkind towards her, let me know."
"Okay."
Sunset's attention flicked to the wal. From it hung a recreated painting of Bran Oat's Starlit Eve. Sat beneath was a small, antique wooden table, housing a cracked porcelain vase filled with flowers.
She traced the swirling lines of the painting, and the rim of the withering flower petals, hoping they might impart some arcane understanding. Sunset was confused. Why was she being told all this? For what purpose? She'd never been told about the arrival of a new orphan, and it wasn't like she was known for being the responsible or ponyable type either.
Appearing to sense her questions, Matron Swan halted, but kept the wing over her back. "I'm telling you this, Sunset, because she will be bunking in your room for the time being."
"What?!"
Sunset retreated, mouth agape.
Swan sighed. "It's only for now, sweetling. I know you prefer your privacy. She came here just today, and we need to sort out living arrangements and papers for her first. That usually takes a week. Oh come now, don't give me that look. Did you know I kept you in my office days after you came here? Oh yes, and let me tell you, I was the one who had to change your diapers."
"Ewwww, stoooop! I get it, I get it!"
"And you were a very stinky filly."
"Matrooooon!"
Swan cracked a grin, weary on her weathered face.
Sunset harumphed, stomping a hoof.
"I'll quit now. Just behave for me, okay? She's very upset and sensitive at the moment. I'm not asking you to be her friend, but I am asking you to make her stay as pleasant as possible until she gets her own room. Believe me, I considered other options for where to place her or who with, but for whatever reason I trust you the most. Please prove to me that trust was not unfounded."
Sunset huffed, but nodded. "Okay."
"Thank you. She's in your room right now, reading I believe. Let's go get you two acquainted, hm?"
Up to the room - no longer hers - Sunset dragged her hooves. That was her space, for her and her alone.
But she didn't want to disappoint Matron Swan. Sunset recognized she wasn't like other fillies, not nice and well-behaved. She tried - she really, really did - but it was hard. But if this meant making the old mare happy, she'd do her best.
Stopping at the door, Swan rapped a hoof against it. "Moonstone, it's me, Swan! I've brought your bedmate with me." She waited, received no response. "I'm coming in now."
Matron Swan's tail provided ample cover to tuck herself behind. Sunset also used her own hair fringe to conceal her face, some foalish part of her hoping she could avoid the interaction if she did so.
"Come now, Sunset, don't be a silly filly."
Flicking her tail, Swan pushed Sunset forward with a hind leg.
"Uhm, hi," she said.
"Hi."
The filly was indeed unlike any Sunset had seen before. She had heard of thestrals, but never seen one nor known what they were.
For some reason, Sunset expected they'd be a lot darker. Maybe they were, and this Moonstone filly was the exception.
But the name fit her. Aside from the larger, fluffed, pointed ears, bat wings, slit pupils, and teeny fangs, her bright appearance did not in any way signal to Sunset 'different' or 'strange'. The aspects that did, she thought were cool.
Her coat, a light and green-kissed blue, glimmered like opals in the afternoon rays, seeming to shift colors at every head turn. She boasted a similar mane and tail, white and almost but not quite white running in parallel streaks, straight and feathered at the edge. The hair covered most of her left eye, leaving the other to shine with the same color as Sunset's - a deep and tropical blue.
Back to a pillow, she sat on a mattress some ways off beside Sunset's bed. A book with a tarnished purple cover lay splayed in her lap, exposing faded yellow pages.
Sunset twigged onto the title.
Perking up, she gave her sincerest attempt at a smile. "Is that Poetry of Dragons by Amber Flame?"
"Uh huh."
"I love that book!"
"Mhm."
Sunset's smile waned. She looked to Matron Swan, hoping to find answers in those aged, wisened eyes.
The pegasus pulled her close and leaned down, whispering, "Remember, she lost her parents very recently. Don't take it personally. Just be kind to her."
Sunset nodded. She could handle that. This would last only a week. Afterwards, things would return to normal.
The next few days passed by without incident. It helped that Moonstone - or as Sunset learned, Moonstone Gloom - kept to herself through much of that period.
When she did venture out, it was never for long. The eyes of her fellow orphans trailed after her, some in curiosity at the new, strange arrival.
Those less curious, the ones that had already made up their minds, were the ones that concerned Sunset and drove Gloom into hiding. Actions beyond fertive glances and hushed tones never transpired, but one got the distinct feeling of mistrust. Even when foals came to meet her in good faith, many others glared with suspicion from the background.
Sunset didn't understand it. Sure, Gloom looked a little weird, but so what? She was just a pony like anyone else.
But to an extent, she did understand. Her reputation earned similar results. Gloom just happened to gain that ill repute by the mere fact of her presence, rather than a trail of misdeeds or outbursts like Sunset.
Upon the week's end, Matron Swan approached her and Gloom, announcing the documents had been sorted. Moonstone would be moved into a separate bunk of her own.
Sunset was glad, and guilty that she felt so. Gloom wasn't by any means poor company, but Sunset considered her room her territory. Others incurring upon it did not gain her favor.
Sunset offered a hoof regardless. If the filly wanted to come by and hang out, she could do so.
They parted on amicable terms. From there, Sunset saw her in the halls like the other orphans, interacting briefly or not at all.
She remained secluded at first. While she'd stayed with Sunset, she'd noticed the filly enjoyed reading as much as she did, if not more so. Sunset had woken up many times in the middle of the night to find her snout tuckd square between two pages, no light for seeing required.
Sunset had to admit that was pretty cool, and considered looking up recipes for a night vision potion in the future.
Weeks went by, and day by day Gloom grew more sociable. She spoke in quiet tones, turning her visible eye from those she talked to, but that she talked at all made Sunset happy.
This had the unfortunate side effect of drawing attention, not all of which positive. Matrons ensured the prevention of hoofticuffs, but sneering insults under breath or rumors spread were harder to tackle.
Sunset was smart enough to know stepping in directly was a poor decision. Instead, she worked from the shadows. Should she witness any wrongdoing against Moonstone, she'd be certain to dip a few pushpins in her invisbility potions, and glue them to the bully's seat of preference. They'd shriek, and before anypony noticed she'd rip the tacks away with telekinesis. No one was the wiser.
She spared no quarter to liars, either. To start she'd investigate, going down the line to discover the origin points for nasty rumors, dispelling them to her best ability along the way. When she reached the source, she either gave them the push pin treatment, or maybe scrawled a few lying words of her own on scraps of paper and bathroom walls around the orphanage.
By November, the foals treated Moonstone like any other orphan.
Sunset didn't understand the lengths she'd gone to for Moonstone's sake. Maybe it was a kind of kinship, not wanting her to feel like Sunset often did. Maybe she just thought it was unfair Gloom was given a bad rep for no reason than her being a thestral. Either way, Sunset prided herself in protecting the filly, all without raising a hoof or, more importantly, revealing herself.
Throughout the months, life went on like normal. School came and went. Day turned to night, night into day. The colorful leaves of autumn gradually turned brown and crisp, then fell to feed the ground as winter announced its arrival. Winters always came early in Canterlot, something which Sunset didn't mind as it meant early hot cocoa.
At school, Tinsel and co. continued to provoke and corner her, but Sunset learned she was better off teleporting away than fighting back. She did want to, though. If she knew she could get a good lick in without calling trouble, she'd do it in a wink.
Then, on one chilly November morning, everything changed.
Her saddlebag hung from her shoulder, overflowing with weighty books and disordered assignmentts. She braced herself against the door, about to bump it open with her blank flank when Matron Piper approached, Gloom in tow.
"Hello, Sunny!" the mare, green-maned and yellow-furred, chirped. "Sorry Head Matron Swan couldn't see you off today, she's been called in for a meeting. Moonstone Gloom here has finally gotten her papers sorted out, so she'll be transferring to your school. Isn't that great?"
Sunset rubbed her neck. "Oh, uhm, sure." She smiled at Gloom, half-heartedly.
Gloom shrank behind her mane.
"Well, uh. Let's get going, then!"
Sunset led them outside. Brightness assaulted her vision, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Behind her, Moonstone yipped.
Sunset could only imagine how painful that initial glare might be. Snowfall in the morning was one time she imagined superior vision was not a pleasant thing to have.
Once the initial shock faded, they continued.
Sunset helped show her the way, pointing out the landmarks she used as guiding stones, covered in heaps of white or otherwise.
Gloom wanted to go forward and right, by the alley and streetlamp, Sunset explained. Don't turn left by the benches - that led to the big restaurant strip. Past the streetlamp, stop at General Alchemicals, turn left, go forward, et cetera, et cetera.
Moonstone nodded, no comments offered.
Sunset couldn't blame her. She'd broken out of her shell somewhat, but going to a new school was always scary.
As the building rose on the horizon, Sunset gestured. She assured her they closer they came that she had nothing to worry about, knowing it was a fib.
She couldn't stop thinking about what Tinsel might do when she met the bat pony.
Being nine - two years and two grades above Sunset - Moonstone Gloom and Sunset Shimmer did not share the same classes, let alone teachers. She was on her own, without Sunset's help.
It wasn't until recess that she saw her again.
Outside, fillies and colts took full advantage of the snowy day. On the sidelines ponies as individuals or smalll teams made snowponies, castles, or snow angels. Gloom kept to herself, building what Sunset presumed to be a tower or rookery.
Closer to the center, a fierce snowball fight had broken out. Sunset huddled behind a wall of packed snow, forming balls, using her magic to speed along the process. A few ponies called it cheating, but Sunset ignored them.
Or, more accurately, pelted them with rapid snowball fire.
Tinsel, Emerald, and Gold Foil tried staying out of the mess. Off to the side, they built a fortress around themselves, ducking and dodging any shotts that streaked their way.
In the chaos, Sunset couldn't tell where any one ball came from. Trenches, walls, and towers littered the battlefield. Countless scores of frostbitten soldiers fought to the wire, putting their lives on the line for Princess, Country, and Mare.
Many fought honorably. Just as many used dirty tactics to win.
Sunset slot nicely into that latter camp. There weren't any rules in war. All that mattered was winning, and fighting 'honorably' - whatever honor meant - was just a way of kneecapping oneself.
From the right of her periphery, a ball careened into vision. She snapped her head towards it, ducking by inches.
It saled over and past her.
And struck Emerald square in the cheek.
'Oh no,' was Sunset's immediate thought.
She turned to see who had thrown the ball.
Alarm bells rang in her head.
Of all the ponies in Equestria to participate in a veritable snowball war, Moonstone Gloom was the last. But the unmolded snow in her hoof and the grin on her lips was unmistakeable.
Emerald, sputtering, glared red-hot daggers. Before Sunset could warn Gloom, she threw another, striking Tinsel.
"Everypony stop!"
Tinsel's imperious voice sent waves through the yard. Pony by pony, hooves stayed, balls dropped, and attentions fixed. Across the entire yard, a blanket of silence smothered the world.
Moonstone's smile disappeared. She looked left to right, confused.
Sunset, frozen to the spot, watched as Tinsel and her crew stepped out of the fortress. Emerald and Gold wore expressions of rage and indignation.
Tinsel smirked.
"Lookie what we have here, girls!" She tittered, trampling close to Gloom. "A stupid, ugly bat pony."
Gold Foil stuck out her tongue. Emerald gagged.
"Who thinks she can throw snowballs at us? Us! Me! But I guess we can't get too mad at her." Right in Moonstone's face, Tinsel flicked the filly's snout. Gloom shrank back, leathery wings trembling. "She's just a bat, and bats are pretty dumb. She can't expect to know who we are on her first day!"
"Hey!" Sunset called. "Leave her alone!"
Emerald sneered. "Orphan girl is screeching again."
Tinsel waved a hoof. "Let her speak. It's not like anypony cares. But I wonder why she'd defend you." Her glittering eyes fixed on Moonstone's wide, slitted ones.
Gold piped in. "I heard she's an orphan girl, too. Cattail saw them together coming to the school this morning."
"Oooh? That explains so much! Of course a dirty, ugly orphan girl like Sunstink Shimmer would be friends with an even dirtier, uglier bat pony."
"I said leave her alone!"
Tinsel flicked snow at Sunset's face. It hit hard, freezing cold snow covering her glare. As it fell, Sunset's teal eyes smoldered.
"Or what? You're gonna put a whoopie cushion on my seat again." She wrinkled her nose. ""Or maybe you plan on blowing a spitwad in my hair. I'm soooooo scared!"
Sunset's cheeks flushed.
Tinsel turned away, disregarding her, and refocused on Gloom. Emerald and Foil flanked the filly on either side, closing in and circling her.
"Orphan girl!" Tinsel jeered. Her friends chanted with her.
"Disgusting!"
"Stupid bat!"
"Ugly freak!"
Between the fillies, Sunset caught glimpses of Moonstone. Her chest rocked in quick, unsteady movements as tears glistened on her cheeks.
Sunset felt something inside her. It was the same feeling she had in August, that day in alchemy class.
Multiplied by a thousand.
Her world shrank to Moonstone Gloom, and the three fillies. Their voices grew muffled. Their faces indistinct.
Unconsciously, she clenched her teeth. Heat surrounded her on all sides, and a pressure pushed from within. It pushed on her chest, her throat, her every limb, building, building, screaming to be released.
"I told you," she growled. Then, voice rising to a shout said, "Leave her alone!"
Like a pop-up from a children's book, a great wall of fire unfurled around Gloom, burning across the snow in a furious circle. The orange flames licked at the crisp ice-colored sky, melting the snow around. Above falling snowflakes turned to water droplets, steaming long before they touched ground.
Tinsel and her friends squealed. Stumbling back, falling onto their rumps, they scrambled away from the blaze with wide and fearful eyes.
The reflection of raging fire burned in Sunset's gaze. Atop her horn lit not her usual teal magic, but a wreath of orange-yellow cinders.
Once on their hooves, Tinsel's companions abandoned her. She screamed after them to come back, but they ran heedless.
Sunset stepped close, lowering her horn in Tinsel's direction. The cream-coated unicorn glared back, but now held something beyond spite in her narrowed gaze:
Fear.
Sunset smiled.
"Orphan girl."
Tinsel spat at Sunset's hooves, then, without another word, walked away.
Turning towards the fire, Sunset ran. The inferno broke around her, leaving her unscathed on the other side.
In the center of the circle huddled Moonstone. Curled into a ball, tail planted between her legs, she folded her wings in a canopy above herself, shielding her face.
"It's me," said Sunset. "Are you okay?"
Slowly, Gloom lowered her wings. Her singular eye peered from the self-made darkness, huge and round. Wetness beaded down her cheeks, staining her bright fur pelt shades darker.
"I don't wanna hurt you. The flames are harmless to us, see?"
Sunset stuck her hoof in the fire. Gloom gasped, but nothing happened.
"O-o-okay." On shaky legs, the bat filly stood. "Why did you do that for me?"
Sunset snorted, digging her hoof through the slushy ground. "Because Tinsel and her friends are jerks. They're always mean to me, and I didn't want them to be mean to you, too."
Gloom nodded, expression softening. Then her eyes widened again, jaw slack.
"What?" Sunset asked. "Is something wrong? Are they back? She turned in a circle, pivoting her head every which way, but none of the three were anywhere to be found. Finally, she settled back to Gloom.
"Your... you got your cutie mark," she said, thrusting a wing behind Sunset.
The world stopped. She didn't notice the warmth of the fire, the misty plumes of her breath, nor the whispering, murmuring ponies around the schoolyard.
"I do?"
Moonstone nodded.
Unbelieving, Sunset looked. She had no reason to think Moonstone would lie, but she nevertheless expected to see nothing but her markless, orange-yellow flank.
Instead, she saw a brilliant sun.
Its edges curved and swooped from the center. Half of it roared a mighty, beautiful crimson. The other half presented a relaxed, mellow yellow. Together, they formed a flaming dance of duality, light and dark, calm and hot.
Mouth flapping uselessly, Sunset stared at Gloom.
She broke the silence.
"Can we be friends?" she asked.
And Sunset agreed.