//------------------------------// // Chapter 2: There's Something Wrong with Twilight // Story: The Possession of Dot MacPherson // by McPoodle //------------------------------// It was New Year’s Day, and the orphans of Golden Oaks were gathered outside for the trip to the movie theater in town. But something was wrong. “I gave you specific instructions, Mr. Hernandez,” Miss Hathaway told the bus driver/vehicle rental company owner in a dangerously low voice. “I warned that I would cancel the trip if you brought a bus of that color.” But it was the wrong color, yellow instead of white, and so Dot MacPherson was paralyzed with fear, staring at it. *** “Beatrix, you need to come out here. Now. It doesn’t matter about your ‘bonding’ plans. We’re having a crisis…. You will? Thank you. We’re at the front of the building. Bye.” A dozen feet away, O’Shea stood alone. Having just finished calling his wife he was just standing there, expecting her to show up as soon as he had hung up. He looked awkwardly back and forth between Dot and the object of her terror. And then… There was something O’Shea had left out of the account he told to his wife about meeting Dot MacPherson for the first time. He left it out because he feared that it might creep her out, that it might prevent her from adopting the girl. And he certainly wasn’t going to reveal it to Miss Hathaway. Not if he wanted her to think he was sane. You see, when O’Shea set eyes on Dot MacPherson for the first time in that ballroom, he also saw someone else for the first time. He saw Twilight Sparkle. A vision of Twilight Sparkle. Semi-transparent, like all visions. But clearly there. If he could read lips, he wouldn’t have needed Dot to tell him what she was saying in their last conversation. Normally, Twilight stood to Dot’s left, her form partially overlapping with her. When he later saw them up close, he could see that Twilight’s right eye was usually also Dot’s left eye. You might think that O’Shea would have seen this as proof that Twilight Sparkle was real. But there was some question in the visionary artist community if some psychics might have the ability to manifest their thoughts as visions. So that still left Twilight’s reality up for debate. And therefore, whether Dot’s “sleeping condition” was caused by Twilight…or by Dot burning her brain out creating Twilight Sparkle. For if Twilight was a thought, then she was an extraordinarily complex one. Twilight Sparkle could be seen to have an existence independent of Dot. She expressed her own emotions. She sometimes talked at the same time as Dot. Also, she could pull her head out of Dot’s, and look places where Dot wasn’t looking. But apparently Dot’s eye was better for her, because when she really wanted to look at something, when she wanted to glare at somebody, she did it with Dot’s dead eye. Like right now. At him. O’Shea gulped audibly, and then walked over to Dot. He kneeled beside her—on second thought, he repositioned himself to be between her and the bus. He noticed that everybody else had left significant space around her, apparently shocked by the intensity of her emotions being displayed right now. “Dot…” he said quietly. And then quite a bit louder: “Dot!” Her head jerked away from the bus, noticing him for the first time. “Would…would you like to go in my car? Instead of the…” “Yes,” she said, in a strange broken voice. She held out a hand. O’Shea got up, grasped that hand, and turned Dot around so she was no longer looking at the bus. Everyone else let out the big breath of air they didn’t know they were holding. Miss Hathaway ran over to join them. “Miss Hathaway?” Dot asked. She turned her head to face her, but yet not look at the bus. “Could I go to the movie theater in Mr. Platt’s fancy car? I still want to see the movie. And Mr. Platt’s car goes ever so much faster than the bus.” Miss Hathaway looked at Dot and saw that she was already a lot calmer. She then cast a critical eye upon O’Shea. “How much faster?” she asked. “Not very fast at all while you’re in the car, Dot,” said O’Shea. Dot frowned in disappointment. “That was the right answer,” said Miss Hathaway. “It’s the gray sports car over there,” O’Shea said to Dot. “I’ll join you in a bit.” He watched as Dot ran off towards his car. Then he turned to face Miss Hathaway. “Are you sure it’s alright if—” “Of course it’s alright, Mr. Platt. After our session last week, I fully trust you. In fact, I expect you to be waiting for us when we arrive.” O’Shea smiled. “So I can go faster.” “But only a few minutes earlier. Understand?” “Perfectly,” said O’Shea. He was about to walk over to the car, but suddenly stopped himself. “This has been a very emotional moment for Dot,” he said. He did not add, “For which I am woefully unequipped.” Instead he asked, “Is there anything I need to watch out for? Such as her sleeping condition?” “No. I had her sleep in this morning.” “Good.” And then he did walk over to the car. Miss Hathaway then turned and walked back to the bus. The driver was quaking in fear. “Oh drat, oh drat, oh drat,” he said, censoring himself to keep from digging himself even deeper into the hole caused by his color choice. “That was the Bus Massacre Orphan, wasn’t it?” Miss Hathaway followed Mr. Hernandez’s eyeline over to the gray Citroën and back. “You’ll understand if I don’t wish to advertise her presence at this facility.” “I’m refunding you half of the rental amount, and I swear on my mother’s grave that I will never mention a word about her until the day I die.” Miss Hathaway raised an eyebrow. “We may have the basis of a long-term agreement, Mr. Hernandez. Depending on your driving, of course.” Fifteen minutes later, Bea arrived at the orphanage, to find it abandoned. “Hello, anybody?” A bit of searching revealed that the orphanage was empty, and her husband’s distinctive car was nowhere to be seen. So, it was pretty obvious what had happened. She sighed. “O’Shea, when will you remember to call people to tell them when plans have changed?!” The Citroën drove down the country roads between the orphanage and the town of Boekstead. The car was driving five miles above the speed limit, but the top was definitely up. Dot was sitting in the passenger seat. She was wearing a similar outfit to what she had warn the last time O’Shea had seen her, but with a yellow blouse instead of a white one. She was wearing white sandals, but only under protest. Twilight was sitting to Dot’s left, which meant that she was sharing the passenger seat with her, and she was between Dot and O’Shea. Twilight was the first to speak. “You don’t have to be ashamed of being afraid.” Her tone was caring, but also somewhat detached. O’Shea figured this was to encourage Dot to be objective. He made a note of this. Actually, he was paying attention to the entire conversation, because he had absolutely no idea how he would have handled Dot under the circumstances if it had only been the two of them. “It was stupid,” Dot muttered. “Not the same bus. Not the same place. Not the same…” “Not the same man,” Twilight finished for her. “But the idea is enough.” Dot stared glumly down at her shoes. “Hey, aren’t those our rabbits?” Twilight said, pointing. O’Shea glanced over, to indeed see nearly a dozen rabbits loping a few dozen feet away from the side of the road. The car rapidly passed them. Dot spent the whole time calling out to them by name from the now-open passenger window. She had apparently named every one of the creatures. Seeing the rabbits did a great deal to improve Dot’s mood. Afterwards, she continued to keep her head out the door, looking out for any and all animal life that they passed, from hawks down to apparently an energetic earthworm named Paul, although O’Shea had no idea how she managed to spot anything like that under the circumstances. Dot’s fluffy hair blew about in the wind rather like a lamb’s wool, if said lamb was in Dot’s place. Seeing the fun she was having, Twilight tried sticking her own head out of the window, having stayed inside the car up until this point. For reasons O’Shea couldn’t understand, her long mane was whipped by the breeze…directly into Dot’s face. Dot sputtered and laughed. O’Shea laughed even harder. Dot and Twilight both pulled their heads in to look curiously at O’Shea. “What’s so funny to you?” Dot said, and Twilight mouthed, in near unison. “You, Twilight,” said O’Shea. He carefully pulled over for the conversation that he could see was about to happen. “I can see you, by the way.” “You can?” Dot asked in amazement. “Yes, the same way I can see that phoenix statue.” Twilight nodded and mouthed something that might have been “that makes sense” before scrunching her features in concentration. “…n you hear this?” “Yes!” exclaimed O’Shea. “I actually heard that! It’s a bit…echo-y.” “I’m afraid that isn’t to be helped,” said Twilight. “Are you talking to him now? You don’t sound any different to me. Why weren’t you doing that before, so everyone could hear you?” accused Dot. “Because nopony…nobody could hear that before. Including you. I’m simultaneously projecting my voice for him and my thoughts for you. And, as we found out earlier, I can’t project thoughts into anyone other than you. Now it appears that only someone who can see those illusions can see or hear me.” “Oh, OK,” Dot said, slumping in disappointment. Then she had a thought. “Hey! If you could see her, why didn’t you tell Miss Hathaway?” “I was trying to prove myself trustworthy to her.” “And claiming to be able to see me, while she could not, certainly wouldn’t help,” said Twilight. “Yeah, yeah,” Dot said dismissively, before perking back up. “So, is there anything you two want to say to each other?” “Well, I hate to start off our relationship with an accusation, but I’m afraid it isn’t to be helped. What effect is your presence having upon Dot’s health?” “That’s none of your business!” Dot snapped, with a surprising degree of heat. “Dot MacPherson!” Twilight scolded, causing Dot to wilt. To O’Shea she answered more calmly. “It’s a perfectly legitimate question, Mr. Platt, and I certainly don’t hold it against you. My manifestations take a toll upon Dot. I am capable of doing less: I could just sleep inside Dot’s head or appear as only a voice instead of a full pony. Either of these options would be less taxing for Dot.” “But I don’t want that,” Dot said with some steel in her voice. “Twilight is my friend. I won’t have her hiding from me. When I need her, I want to see and hear her. Her smile makes me smile.” The energy quickly left her. “And some days it’s very hard to smile.” “I am not causing her any permanent harm, Mr. Platt. I would ignore her wishes if that ever became the case. I am hopeful that with time, and with the care of your wife and yourself, that the need for me will diminish.” “But never go away,” said Dot, a hint of fear in her eyes. “You’re never leaving me, right?” “I’m never leaving you, Dot,” said Twilight, carrying out a strange ritual. “That’s a Pinkie Promise.” She then turned back to O’Shea. “With that out of the way, was there anything else you’d like to ask of me?” “Well, I’d love to hear your opinion of humanity, Miss Twilight,” said O’Shea. “I’m afraid it will have to be the short version for now, if we want to get to the movie on time.” The mare smiled indulgently. “Just Twilight, Mr. Platt. And, although I’m fully aware of your species’ flaws, I have not given up on you. For the most part I’m understanding of humanity’s plight. I’ve visited a human world before, decades ago.” Her eyes wandered, searching the western sky. “It wasn’t this world, unless you’ve got humans with green and blue and orange skin and manes…err, hair, hiding somewhere.” O’Shea smiled, thinking of Oompa-Loompas. “No, we don’t.” Twilight nodded. “But like the humans of that world, you humans don’t have the magic of harmony inside of you. And unlike my world, you don’t have an all-powerful demi-goddess ruling over you and telling you to stop it. So, you do bad things to each other. “But not all of you. Some of you fight the darkness in your souls. And that light that you share with each other. That makes my time here worthwhile. And nobody has a brighter light than Dot here.” Dot had been getting a little glum, as she knew of Twilight’s worst opinions of mankind. But she wasn’t aware of her more optimistic thoughts, and hearing those made her beam. “Yeah,” O’Shea said with a small smile. “On my better days I think the same.” He started the car back up and pulled back onto the road. “We can talk more after the movie, on the drive back to the orphanage.” “Alright,” said Twilight. “I am greatly looking forward to a movie about friendship.” “Friendship…Oh, Fellowship of the Ring. Yes, I suppose with your title this will be a good movie for you.” “Yes. Now afterwards, on that trip home, I’m sure I’ll have plenty of questions for you that now I don’t have to bother Dot with.” “Sounds good to me,” said O’Shea. *** The car was once again racing through the countryside. Twilight was leaning forward, her hooves on the dashboard. This was so Dot and O’Shea could talk to each other. Dot was not initially interested in conversation. She stuck her head back out the window, looking hard for cows, birds, and any other animals she could spot, but once they started passing by the stud ranch the view had started getting a little depressing. Not to mention the smell getting a bit strong… So that meant it was time for her to roll up the window and finally pay attention to the interior of the car. Specifically, the radio, which was playing some meaningless tune as it had been this whole time. “What is that?” she asked, pointing. “It’s something called ‘muzak’,” said O’Shea. “They used to play it in stores when I was a kid. It’s designed to be completely inoffensive.” “Why don’t you listen to regular music?” O’Shea laughed. “I have a rather strong reaction to music. Always have. If there’s any emotion in a song, I feel it. If it’s happy, I laugh. If it’s sad, I cry. A lot of the time it’s a struggle not to sing along. I can’t help myself. It’s not very safe to be sobbing while driving. So More Sounds of the Department Store it is.” “Oh,” said Dot. She looked down at her little sandals, and kicked her feet. “Did you want to talk about something?” asked O’Shea. “I can talk while I drive.” “You don’t want to talk to Twilight again?” Dot asked. “She’s way more interesting than me.” “Maybe later,” said O’Shea. “I did mention a ‘package deal’ last time, and that hasn’t changed. I’m interested in both of you, Dot. Not just Twilight. Now, is there anything you would like to talk about?” “Yes,” said Dot in a small voice. “But not about…before.” She turned around in her seat so she was facing him and could see him with both eyes. “Tell me…err, tell us about your art. Why do you do it? I mean, I get so frustrated sometimes when I’m drawing that I can’t get out what I’m thinking. Does that happen to you?” “Oh, all the time,” said O’Shea. “So why do it? Why not do something that doesn’t make you frustrated?” “This…this is a rough world, Dot,” O’Shea said with growing conviction. “As Twilight seems to already know. You both know that fact more than most. I use my art to tell people, to remind people, that it could be better. Or it could be worse. We can make the choice. We can make it better. Make it more like that perfect world we all know, partially glimpsed and half-forgotten in our dreams. Perhaps…perhaps that’s the worst part: forgetting.” He slowed his driving a bit to keep control of his car. “I fear sometimes that if I don’t keep drawing, don’t keep sculpting, that I’ll forget. I’ll become cold, like the others. I trust that you still remember what it was like, before?” “I’ll never forget, Mr. Platt,” Dot replied in a steely voice, and then her voice softened. “Twilight won’t let me.” Twilight gave O’Shea a helpless shrug. O’Shea got the impression that it was Dot who was the one enforcing the “don’t let me forget” rule. There is a lonely motel on the country road, located just before it merges with the highway that leads into town. There Bea was waiting for the bus. She had bought a room at the motel so she might have someplace to legally leave her car behind, a room that she probably would not use. She was able to do this before the bus arrived at this spot because first, she was driving a good deal above the speed limit and was not restrained by any promise to Miss Hathaway and second, because unlike her husband she was able to drive at breakneck speeds while doing business over the phone at the same time. She was busy rolling a quarter across her knuckles when the bus stopped before her and the doors opened. “Beatrix!” Miss Hathaway exclaimed from the front seat as Bea boarded the bus. “I thought you were unable to attend this year. Something about ‘pressing business’?” “Why Marnie, the children of this orphanage are my business,” Bea said with a broad smile as she sat down beside her employee. “Dot’s not here,” Miss Hathaway informed her in a low voice. “I know,” replied Bea. As the bus merged onto the highway, she turned around in her seat to address the children. “Why aren’t you singing?” she asked. “You usually sing on bus trips. Is it because of Dot?” “No, Dot’s OK,” said one of the girls. “We just ran out of songs.” “Oh,” said Bea. “Well, why don’t I teach you an Australian jump rope song I just learned?” She had learned the song to sing with Dot, but she decided to be generous and use it here instead. The children, especially the girls, murmured their assent. “Let’s see…” Bea said, theatrically putting a hand to her head in a thinking pose. “It started ‘I am a pretty girly, as pretty as can be-be-be.’” She started clapping with her words, and soon some of the children started clapping with her. She continued: “And all the boys at my school, go crazy over me-me-me!” (There was laughter from some of the children, as more of them started clapping. Bea smiled as she continued.) “My boyfriend’s name is Tubby, and he comes from Sydney harby. “That’s ‘harbor’ in Australian. Just be glad I’m not trying to use an accent. “Got a lump on his nose and ten funny toes and this is how my story goes: “One day when I was walking, I heard my boyfriend talking To a pretty little girl with a chocolate curl and this is what he said to her: ‘I L-O-V-E love you, I K-I-double-S kiss you.’ So I threw him into a lake and he swallowed up a snake and he came back with a tummy ache!” She repeated the verse, and a couple of girls sang along. She reached the chorus, and more children joined in, with everybody clapping. She started singing faster, challenging the singers to keep up. By the time she got to that last line she was going so fast that you really couldn’t make out the individual words, so when she reached the end and theatrically gasped for breath afterwards she had everybody laughing. She sat back as the children took over singing the song after that, even inventing a new verse of Tubby making up with the singer. She looked over at Miss Hathaway, who was shaking her head with bemusement. “Dot will love it, Beatrix,” she said. True to Miss Hathaway’s (earlier) prediction, O’Shea and Dot arrived at the theater before the bus. They parked in the lot behind the small building and waited. Dot spotted a small squat man standing next to the designated bus parking spot. He was wearing an ill-fitting brown suit and frequently consulting his watch. As she watched, the little man appeared to remember something with a start. He then quickly replaced a large red button on his lapel with a large blue button. (The red button advertised Mr. NYC’s real estate firm. The blue button advertised Beatrix Platt’s real estate firm.) Dot prodded O’Shea’s arm and pointed. “Who’s that man?” she asked. O’Shea took one look and scowled. “That’s Buddy Lignite,” he said. “That stud farm we passed on the way belongs to him. Along with the theater, the newspaper, a dozen other businesses and, about half the time, City Hall. He’s always after my wife to let him in on shady deals to buy up even more of this town.” “So he’s not a very good man?” Dot asked. “Did…did he do bad things with his horses?” “Nothing that’s been proven…yet. No, the thing I don’t like him for was the commercials. There was this one time when he bought up franchises for two rival burger chains, and then had each of them issue really nasty ads on TV attacking each other, just to trick people into picking sides and going to one restaurant or the other. So that way everybody would be buying their burgers from him.” O’Shea crossed his arms. “So to answer your question: no, he’s not a very good man.” “Well, he looked at a folded up piece of paper while looking at you, and now he’s coming this way.” O’Shea reacted to this by rolling down the window, pointedly keeping his eyes away from the approaching figure. “You know that I’m an orphan too, right?” he said to Dot, in a louder-than-normal voice. “Yes?” Dot said with a confused frown. She could see that Mr. Platt was up to something, probably at Mr. Lignite’s expense. This was probably good, but she would have appreciated having figured out what it was so she could help. “My ‘before’ was long before yours, so far back that I don’t really remember it at all,” said O’Shea, catching a glimpse of Buddy Lignite approaching in his rear-view mirror. “The funny thing is, I didn’t really exist before the nurses found me, abandoned in a cardboard box outside the hospital.” Buddy Lignite and Dot MacPherson both froze for a moment in shock. “I…what?” Dot stammered out. “I mean…that’s awful! Maybe it’s better that you don’t remember what happened before.” She then processed what she had just said, and was shocked again at encountering a situation where holding onto the past with both hands, kicking and screaming, might not be the best reaction to loss. “Yeah,” continued O’Shea. “I had to get a complete identity when I was found. They guessed that I was three, and picked the date I was found as my birthday. As for not having an identity before that, I think I was born to a couple of criminals in some back alley or something. A den of international drug smugglers or something like that.” Dot glanced over at Mr. Lignite, to see him seriously debating with himself whether to continue to approach the car. Clearly he was terrified of the effect on his reputation of being caught speaking with someone with such a suspect heritage. So he settled on knocking quickly on the door of the car and then stepping back several steps. “Mr. Platt? Mr. Bea Platt?” he asked plaintively. O’Shea turned his head serenely to face the visitor. “Yes?” he asked. “I’m Buddy Lignite, local real estate magnate and owner of this fine theater. I’m a big fan of your wife’s work in the area.” He pulled out a business card and, by stretching his arm out to its utmost, was finally able to pass it to O’Shea. O’Shea glanced at the card, and then tossed it onto the back seat. “Nice to meet you,” he said cooly. “This is Dot. She’s one of the orphans here to see your movie today.” “Hello,” said Dot. She took off her seat belt and rose to her knees so he could see her more clearly. “It’s nice t—” “Is she going to be here soon? With the bus of the other…orphans?” Lignite seemed to have completely ignored Dot’s existence, and had paid no attention to her words. Also from the way he said the word “orphans” it was clear that he held that entire class of humanity as valueless. O’Shea looked around. “Are they not here yet? Hmm…” He turned away to consult his watch. “Your wife, Mr. Platt. Beatrice Platt? I was hoping to have a word with her about the Yellen property. The old lady’s nearly dead, and I was hoping that together we could find a way to force the geezer out and get the property away from her grandchildren. They’re…well, she and I both know that they aren’t really worthy of that property, being entirely the wrong sort, if you get my drift.” Dot paused for a moment as Twilight helpfully told her what Lignite was implying (excluding O’Shea from the conversation), before turning away in disgust. “Hmm?” said O’Shea, examining some lint he had discovered on his sleeve. “Oh, she’s not supposed to be here today. Had the day completely planned out.” His words was carefully selected in order to be completely accurate. “Isn’t that right, Dot?” Dot turned back with an eager smile on her face, having now figured out Mr. Platt’s game. “Oh, I haven’t seen her at all today!” she exclaimed. Lignite frowned, then consulted his watch. “Well…” “Are you going to stay, Mr. Lignite?” Dot asked, leaning over O’Shea to get closer to the odious man. “There will be dozens of us orphans at the theater. Running up and down the walkways, and getting into popcorn-throwing fights and who knows what else! Would you like to stay and give us a speech?” Lignite shuddered visibly. “Ah, no. I’ve got important business to attend to. Of course, your wife will be financially responsible for any damage inflicted on my theater.” “Of course, Mr. Lignite!” O’Shea said brightly. “I will make sure she pays whatever invoice you send her as promptly as possible!” “Good. Good.” He saw the bus come to a stop at the intersection right outside the parking lot. “Ah, I really must be going! I’ve got pressing business…as far away from those things as possible. Good day, O’Shea, and give my regards to your lovely wife.” “And the orphans.” “And the offal. I mean orphans!” He then scurried off to get into his own car and speed away before the bus could stop and he would be forced to deal with its occupants. “I did not give you permission to use my first name, ‘Buddy’,” O’Shea muttered under his breath. “Oh God,” he then said, and began shaking. “They always seems like bright ideas when you think of them, and bluffing your way through them is so fun, but then you have to think of the consequences after the fact…” “There, there, Mr. Platt,” Dot said, picking up his hand and stroking it gently. “He’s having a panic attack,” Twilight informed Dot, with the air of somebody who had an intimate acquaintance with the phenomenon. “Are you having a panic attack?” Dot asked, having forgotten that O’Shea could hear Twilight. “Not quite,” said Bea, who had walked up to the car. She of course had not heard Twilight. “He played a good joke on Mr. Lignite,” Dot explained. “Ah, then definitely for a good cause,” said Bea. “Did you have a nice drive, Dot?” “Oh it was lovely!” Dot exclaimed. “Can you see Twilight Sparkle?” “What!” exclaimed Bea in shock, before recovering with a weak laugh. She carefully looked all around Dot. “Ah…no. Sorry. I can’t see her.” “No that’s alright. Most people can’t.” She got out of the car and walked over to her. “I’m ready to see the movie now.” She put on a cultivated air as she opened the driver’s side door and said, “Shall we enter the theater now, Mr. Platt?” O’Shea by this point had calmed himself down. “Ah, uh, yes. The theater.” The Uptown was originally opened as an Art Deco movie theater in 1937, built as a passion project in his retirement by Laurence Lignite, a former crooner as well as a descendant of one of the miners so ruthlessly exploited by the Van Der Boeks. Like most passion projects, running the Uptown eventually bankrupted Laurence, and he was forced to sell to a nationwide chain in 1945. That chain upgraded the theater to Cinemascope in 1954, but in 1973, the beautiful theater was split into two screens, the result of declining attendance and a fading of the taste for larger-than-life cinema; this became four screens in 1986. By that time it was only playing second run movies. It was Buddy Lignite’s father, Richard, who bought back the theater and restored it to its former glory, only to die of a heart attack on the day if its grand re-opening. Buddy Lignite mostly used the theater for corporate retreats and other functions. He never sold tickets for ordinary people to watch movies in the Uptown, because he believed the common people of the town didn’t deserve it. Bea, O’Shea and Dot (and Twilight Sparkle) walked around the corner and stopped as they took in the grand marquee, red neon letters four feet tall, stacked vertically and spelling out the name “uptown” (with that exact capitalization—trust me that it actually looks better that way). Under that, the part of the sign that would normally announce what movie was playing was advertising Buddy Lignite’s contact information. Underneath the sign and making up the ceiling of the entrance to the theater was about a hundred bright yellow incandescent bulbs. Art deco designs decorated the walls on either side of the vertical letters. It was Laurence Lignite’s grand design, not Buddy Lignite’s petty application, that had the group in awe. O’Shea looked over to his wife, noting her reaction. “Hey, didn’t you at least scope out this location in person before booking it?” he asked. “No,” Bea replied, somewhat abashed. “I did my research online. I wanted to avoid having to meet Buddy Lignite in person, and had Ernest handle everything on my behalf.” She looked over at the front door of the theater, where a young man in a classic red usher uniform was waiting. Taking in his name tag, she addressed him: “Ah, Ethan. Is everything in readiness for the 1 pm showing?” Ethan, who had been staring in morbid fascination at Dot’s dead eye, started, making a polite nod of his head. He was fourteen years old and had short dirty blond hair and gentle blue eyes. Even through his formal attire, it was clear that he was very physically fit. His back was ramrod straight. “Everything is in readiness for your group, Miss Hathaway.” He seemed to look right through Twilight, causing her to crane her head back to try and see what he was actually looking at. At the same moment, Bea looked behind her at the actual Miss Hathaway and the other orphans, who had gathered behind her. “Ah, sorry. I’m actually Bea Platt, the sponsor.” “You’re Mrs. Platt?” Ethan asked in surprise. “And you survived—I mean missed—my father?” “He had other business,” Dot butted in, a big smile on her face. “Far, far away.” “Really?” Ethan said in obvious relief, relaxing into a more normal, if still respectful, pose. “And, um…who are you? If…If I’m not exceeding my bounds, Mrs. Platt.” “This is…” Bea considered for a moment. She decided that there were plenty of Dots in the world, and she wouldn’t be compromising her privacy for a small revelation. “This is Dot.” “Hello, Dot.” “Hi, Ethan. I promise that your dad is gone.” Ethan looked over at the adults. “And we don’t expect him back until after we’re long gone,” confirmed O’Shea. “Well that will make things so much easier,” said Ethan in relief, relaxing his military posture. He raised his voice to address the entire crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Uptown, and our exclusive showing of the first film in the Lord of the Rings trilogy!” The children caught on to his enthusiasm and cheered weakly. Ethan Lignite frowned theatrically. “Well I hope Arwen gets a better reception than that. Come on in.” He opened the door, and ushered everyone in. “I can give you a tour of the theater after, if you’d like,” he said to Dot. He prayed that he wouldn’t screw this up. Dot glanced over to Twilight before answering. “Sure!” *** “Welcome to the Uptown!” cried the boy at the concession stand at the crowd that was gathering before him. He was obviously Ethan’s younger brother by his looks, and was aged twelve. He was wearing the same costume as Ethan, although he didn’t fill it out nearly as well. His nametag identified him as “Kevin”. He wore large eyeglasses with turtle-shell rims. “I already said that!” Ethan called out playfully from the other side of said crowd. “Oh,” said Kevin, dejectedly. “I don’t suppose any of you even want any candy.” Nearly every hand shot up, with cries of “I do! I do!” Kevin looked up hopefully. “No candy!” declared Miss Hathaway, pushing her way to the front of the crowd. “Popcorn and water only.” There was a general groan. Fifty young heads then turned as one towards Bea with looks of hope. Miss Hathaway looked desperately at Bea. “You heard her,” Bea declared. “Popcorn and water.” Another general groan. “Aw, don’t be glum!” Kevin declared. “The Uptown uses the original secret recipe for the perfect buttered popcorn from 1937! We also have air conditioning!” General silence. “Heh. That joke’s a little before your time.” He stepped out from behind the counter, pushing a cart into view. “Now normally you’d have to wait quite a while for me to pop up enough popcorn for all of you, but due to the magic of getting a call ahead of time…” Bea stared fixedly at O’Shea. “What?” asked O’Shea. “I didn’t call him!” “I think that was the point,” commented Twilight. “…I’ve already made up bags for all of you. Plastic bags, so you can take them home afterwards. Now step forward, one bag of popcorn and one bottle of water for each of you. And then you can follow my brother Ethan to your seats.” As the kids took their bags and bottles, Ethan quickly sidled up to his brother to whisper the news into his ear of the absence of their father for the duration. Kevin responded by fishing a couple of new nametags out his pocket, with both boys put on top of their regular tags. Ethan was now “Nepot #1”, while Kevin was now “Nepot #2”. Dot stopped before the poster of the movie, so Twilight could get a good look at it. Seeing the large ensemble of friends collected on the poster, the alicorn smiled. Kevin stared at her in shock. He prayed that Ethan wouldn’t mess this up. *** Before too long most of the children had been seated inside of the beautiful theater, the ceiling covered with the same abstract designs that were seen beside the marquee. A few kids took this in, or listened to some classic Korngold being played over the speakers, but most of them ate their popcorn. It really was very good popcorn. “So,” Bea asked O’Shea from beside Dot. “Are you going in?” O’Shea looked inside and shivered as the score from Captain Blood made him contemplate giving up the life of an artist to become a Seventeenth Century pirate. “No, I think not,” said O’Shea. “I’ve seen the movie before. Will that be alright?” He addressed the question to Twilight. “That will be fine,” Twilight said. Dot realized she should say something, considering that Bea couldn’t hear Twilight. “OK. Oh! If you’ve seen the movie, can you tell me one thing: do any animals get hurt in it? I hate watching that.” O’Shea thought for a bit. “No animals…some people get hurt.” “Well…that’s not as bad,” Dot said. “They might deserve it.” Bea, O’Shea and Twilight all gave her a look. “What?” O’Shea sighed. “Oh, and there are some evil horses.” “Ooh!” was said with excitement. “Oh,” was said with dread. I’ll let you decide which of Twilight or Dot had each reaction. The three females then entered the theater, leaving O’Shea. He found a rather luxurious couch in the lobby facing the concession stand, looked carefully around for a “do not sit” sign, and, failing to find one, sat. *** Inside the theater, Bea led the others to Ethan, who was standing at the front corner with a flashlight, watching to see if any of the kids needed any help. He had already assisted several children in the time it took Bea, Dot and Twilight to reach him. “You’re doing a good job,” Bea assured Ethan. Ethan smiled. “Thank you. This is a lot less frustrating work than Wonderbolt Ranch.” “Wonderbolt Ranch!” Twilight exclaimed. “Where did that name come from?” “Um…” Ethan started to say. “Mister, why’s it called ‘Wonderbolt Ranch’?” Dot faithfully relayed. “Wonderbolt was a famous racehorse from the 60’s,” Ethan replied, pointedly looking at Dot. “He won a ton of races, and the ranch was founded to take care of his children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and so on.” “Oh,” said Twilight. Her tone was slightly exasperated. Dot looked over at the pony, her expression communicating a desire for an explanation. “That’s the second element of Ponyville I’ve encountered in this new life, after the ‘Golden Oaks Orphanage’. In both cases there were good, non-Equestrian reasons for the names.” “Makes sense to me,” Dot said, seemingly in response to Ethan’s explanation rather than Twilight’s. “I just don’t like coincidences,” muttered Twilight. “Kevin and I spend most of our time there,” Ethan continued. “The horses seem to appreciate us, but Father always seems to blame us every time one of our horses race but don’t win.” He stopped for a moment to carefully choose his words. “There are a lot of…decisions…that my father makes regarding the horses that I don’t agree with. I hope someday that he…stops…what he’s doing.” He gave the two a tired look. “I’ll make sure the ASPCA visits immediately,” Bea deadpanned. Dot nodded energetically in agreement. “And I think you’re doing great here today,” Bea said to Ethan. “Your father should at least give you a raise for your usher job.” Ethan laughed out loud, attracting the momentary attraction of some of the kids. He turned away from the kids and pointed at his new nametag. “I think I would actually have to get a salary before I qualified for a raise in one.” “He doesn’t pay you?” Bea asked in shock. She made a mental note to later inform that boy that in fact “nepotism” meant nearly the exact opposite of this particular scenario. “Oh, he pays us,” Ethan said with a smirk. “In his words, he pays us ‘in experience’.” “The experience of being ripped off,” replied Twilight. Ethan suppressed a snort. “Yeah!” exclaimed Dot. On seeing the reactions of those who couldn’t hear Twilight she added, “I mean, that’s awful!” “That’s my father for you,” Ethan said. “Always pining for the good old days, before the minimum wage and the abolition of child labor.” “That’s too bad,” Dot said, picking up more the tone rather than understanding the specific references. “Is your mom at least on your side?” Ethan looked glumly at the floor. “Oh, I’m sorry!” Dot exclaimed. “Is your mom dead?” “No, but we can’t see her,” Ethan replied. “My parents divorced two years ago. Things were so much better before then.” “I don’t understand,” Bea said, frowning. “It’s my impression that your father despises children. Why wouldn’t he just let your mother have custody of you?” “Because in his mind, that would mean that she had ‘won’ the divorce. As it is, he threw so much money around that now she pays palimony to him, despite him making about a hundred times what she makes every year.” “That…that shouldn’t be possible. Or legal,” said Bea. “This is a very corruptible county,” remarked Ethan. “Especially the judges.” Bea sighed. She had first-hand experience in that very area, thanks to her frequent legal battles against her bitter real estate rival. She rested a hand on his shoulder and gave him a sympathetic look. “So how are you holding up?” “Well I won’t deny it was bad,” Ethan said, still looking down. “Real bad.” He then looked back up to her. “But I had a change of perspective not long after the last time we were ever allowed to see Mother. You can’t always control what happens to you, but you can control one thing: how you react. I am determined to put on a smile and make everyone around me happier, because I can.” He turned back to look out over the crowd of happy children. “This is my future, or least I hope it is,” he explained. “I gave up drawing for running. I hope to become the best 200 meter runner in the state before I graduate from college. But after that, I want to go into physical education, for students this age.” He looked Bea in the eye. “I can wait for my eighteenth birthday. Father can’t touch me after that. And I’ll do everything I can to protect my younger brother until he gets his freedom as well.” “That’s a lovely dream,” said Bea. She handed him a business card. “I’m sure you probably want to succeed on your own terms. But if Buddy Lignite ever decides to play dirty, get in contact with me, and I’ll do what I can do to level the scales.” Ethan teared up. “Thank you,” he said, pocketing the card. “It’s hard to find anybody in this town willing to stand up to that man. I, uh, better get you to your seats before my brother starts the projector.” He lit up his flashlight. “Follow me.” As they walked up the aisle, Twilight turned to Dot. “I’m glad she’s going to become your new mother.” “Me too,” Dot whispered, her eyes more misty than Ethan’s. *** Out in the lobby, O’Shea sat for a while, looking around at the classic movie posters adorning the walls. He saw Kevin lock up the front door before disappearing through another, locked door to start the movie. A few minutes later Ethan came out of the theater and used his own key to enter the stairway leading up to the projector room. And a few minutes after that Kevin emerged to clean up the concessions. Over the next two and a half hours, the two of them took turns looking after the movie and cleaning up the theater. On the occasions when Kevin was in the lobby, O’Shea noticed the boy glancing at him when he thought he wouldn’t be caught looking. Inside the theater, Twilight eagerly watched The Fellowship of the Ring, taking comprehensive mental notes. Friendship was her first priority in the things she told herself to look for. But magic was her second. She knew that to humans, magic was a fictional concept. And this was a film full of magic. Therefore, the magic was all made up. Twilight tried to see if she could figure out the system that the screenwriters had come up with for this fictional magic, so she could compare it to the true system of Equestrian magic, or the way that Equestrian magic had manifested in that other human world she knew. After the rather awe-inspiring opening of the film, the action settled down with the hobbits of the Shire, and Twilight began assigning parts, as she often did when watching plays in Equestria. Gandolf was so obviously Star Swirl the Bearded that it momentarily set off her “coincidence alarm”. Frodo was her brother, Shining Armor, and Samwise was Spike, all grown up. She fondly remembered the imaginary adventures the two of them went on during her fillyhood, and thought that throwing a ring in a volcano would be the sort of thing they might think up. Pippin and Merry were Shining’s longtime friends Gaffer and 8-Bit. Arwen was her fellow princess Cadance, although it was very odd imagining the pony riding that gray horse. The character of “Strider” was initially King Pharynx of the Changelings until it was revealed that he was the royal claimant Aragorn, at which point he was re-cast as Pharynx’s predecessor Thorax. Thinking of Thorax’s last days on his sickbed made Twilight sad, but she cheered herself up by imagining her former friend as part of the Fellowship. This decision in turn meant that she wouldn’t switch Shining Armor’s part from Frodo to Aragorn, once she learned that Arwen and he were a couple. By this time, it had become clear that most of the characters were males, as was common for popular stories in both of the human words she was aware of. So, Twilight stopped restricting the parts by gender. Saruman had already been assigned to Princess Luna, but that had only been because Twilight was unable to come up with any stallions with a similar serious demeanor. It made her feel guilty when that character ended up a villain, so in that case she did consent to a casting change, to the evil dictator Sombra. Gimli and Legolas were Applejack and Rainbow Dash. Celestia was Elrond, with the option to re-assign her to a more imposing character whenever one came along. And Twilight herself took the part of Boromir. This would turn out to be a mistake. Eventually, Kevin gave up his pretense and spent some time looking directly at O’Shea, with trepidation. O’Shea looked carefully around him, as he couldn’t possibly conceive of a scenario where he would ever evoke trepidation in another human being. He looked back to see the boy standing before him. “Mr. O’Shea Platt?” Kevin asked. “Yes?” “I, uh, saw your most recent installation a couple of days ago. A Day at the Trocodéro. I, uh, snuck away from my Dad’s entourage to see it for myself, and I must say, it’s a masterpiece of dystopianism. I haven’t seen a lot of your work, but I think it’s your best one yet.” O’Shea blinked. “Really? A Day at the Trocodéro? That one?” “Yes. Is there a problem?” “That was one of mine!” That statement flummoxed Kevin. “Um, aren’t all of them yours?” “Yes, but this one wasn’t from a vis—you know what? Thank you. I don’t get honest complements for those works very often.” Kevin looked awkward. “I was being honest, but I’m sure you won’t believe me after this next part. Based on that work I’d like to someday…eventually…hire you.” He rubbed nervously at his lower lip with a thumb. “I really planned to wait four or ideally six years before I approached you, but here you are, with nothing to distract you.” O’Shea smiled indulgently. “What would you like to hire me for? In a half-decade’s time?” “I want to put on a play at the local playhouse. The Carousel.” He handed the older man an old playbill for a performance of The Music Man, turning it over to show a floorplan printed on the back. “It’s pretty small, but being a theater in the round, I need three-dimensional scenery, as opposed to painted backdrops.” “Ah,” said O’Shea, taking the playbill and looking it over. “I was wondering why you were approaching a sculptor instead of a painter.” He noticed something. “This is one of your father’s properties.” “But not one that’s making any money. I expect to buy it from him at a loss when I’m old enough. “I want to be a Broadway producer, and the Carousel is where I hope to establish a reputation to later build on. I figure that one of us has to have a job that Father would approve of, and for a control-monger like himself, producer would be the kind of thing he would go for. That way Ethan can be free to go into education.” “That’s a fine sentiment,” O’Shea said with an approving smile. “So what play did you plan to put on?” “I was thinking of a newly-published adaptation of Kafka’s The Trial. Although I haven’t approached the playwright yet.” O’Shea nodded. “And normally, you would have arranged that before approaching me.” Kevin nodded his head quickly. “Yes.” O’Shea nodded. “Well, The Trial is a fine choice. Although I was actually thinking of Cabaret when I created Trocadéro.” Kevin snapped his fingers in realization. “Of course! That would work much better for the venue. This town has always shown a higher turnout for musicals than for serious theater—I have the research to prove it.” O’Shea nodded once more. “A good trait for a producer. What else do you like about the job?” “Well, basically the idea of helping a group of people to make their dreams come true,” Kevin said, dreamy-eyed himself. “But all the parts interest me. The sets, the music now that we’re talking about a musical. The choreography. The casting, the…yes, and of course I was going to mention the costumes!” “Ah…yes,” O’Shea said awkwardly at Kevin’s suddenly-odd manner. “I’ll um, be sure to free up my schedule whenever you’re ready. And, well, considering who you’re up against, I would be happy to swing my and my wife’s fame around to attract whatever attention you need.” “Is that offer on my behalf or against my father’s?” Kevin asked, with equal parts curiosity and suspicion. O’Shea shrugged. “Does it really make a difference? Let’s say for now it’s B because I despise your father more than I know you. If, during production of your play or musical I discover that you have actual talent, then it will switch to more of A.” “That’s fair, I guess. Shall we shake on it?” Kevin stretched a hand down towards the sitting O’Shea. O’Shea grabbed the hand to shake for a few moments. “Thank you so much,” said Kevin. “I’ll do everything in my power to be sure you don’t regret it.” He looked away awkwardly. O’Shea looked pointedly at the hand that Kevin was still grasping. “Was there something else?” Kevin realized what he had been doing and hastily released the hand. “It’s, um, something else entirely. And, well, I’m not sure how to say this without sounding like a creep.” “I’ll consider it a separate transaction,” O’Shea said dryly. “It’s about that girl with you. The one with the…” He pointed at his left eye. “Do you know her?” “I might,” O’Shea said guardedly. “There’s…something about her…” Kevin gestured to a space at his left side, of a particular height. O’Shea raised an eyebrow. “Do you see visions?” he asked. Kevin’s face lit up, and he made an enthusiastic reply. But O’Shea didn’t hear it. Because at that moment his ears were filled with a cry of pure torment. Twilight was really enjoying the film. The formation of the Fellowship was a fascinating tale to her, and she enjoyed seeing the differing personalities at play. Of course she focused the most on her assigned character, Boromir. The loss of Gandolf was quite a shock. On an intellectual level, she recognized that his presence was making the completion of the quest too easy, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t mourn his loss along with the characters—and with the entirety of the audience. But it was the conclusion of the film that shook Twilight to her core. “Let me help you,” Boromir…Twilight told Shining. “There are other ways, Frodo…other paths that we might take.” “No,” Twilight cried in her mind. “What am I doing?” “I know what you would say,” replied Shining, “and it would seem like wisdom but for the warning of my heart.” “Stop it. Stop it!” Twilight pleaded against herself. “What chance do you think you have?” Twilight insisted despite her inner dread. “They will find you, they will take the Ring and you will beg for death before the end.” Twilight began to weep, and her brother in the film turned to go. “You fool!” Twilight yelled. “It is not yours save by unhappy chance…it might have been mine. It should be mine. Give it to me! Give me the Ring.” Twilight leapt atop Shining, using her superior magic to subdue her brother, to corrupt his mind… The One Ring began to wobble in Shining’s grasp… Shining grabbed the Ring, and forced it over his horn. He was gone. Twilight, frothing at the mouth, fought to retain control over Shining. She screamed out unforgivable things, condemning him to an eternal wandering undeath. But she failed to hold the invisible unicorn, and soon she was alone. And then she finally heard her inner voice. “Frodo! Frodo! What have I done. Please, Frodo…” Minutes later… “Forgive me, I did not see… I have failed you all.” And soon after Twilight Sparkle was dead. A fate she richly deserved. *** Dot MacPherson stood up at the climax of the film, watching with horrified eyes at what is going through Twilight Sparkle’s mind: scenes of Boromir’s betrayal, mixed with scenes of another, very personal betrayal. If Dot was in a theater full of strangers, they would yelled at her for interrupting their viewing. But everyone in this theater was Dot’s friend, and all of them forgot the film to try and be there for her, to understand whatever it was she was going through. Hands reached out to grasp her hand, her arms and shoulders. Bea kneeled down, squeezing as best she could into the space in front of Dot, and gently shook her to try and break her from her trance. Suddenly Twilight reached her breaking point, and wailed in pure despair. She tried to teleport as far away from this visual reminder of her failure as possible, but that only caused Dot to cry out in pain. She looked over in horror at Dot, noticing her for the first time during this whole ordeal. And then she winked out of sight. But the memories could not be stopped. Dot clutched her head. “No!” she cried. “No, no, stop it!” She turned and desperately made her way to the back exit, climbing over anyone that stood in her way. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she said in a brief moment of self-awareness. “I have to…I have to go!” Reaching the aisle, she broke into the lobby. *** Shortly after starting up the last reel of the film, Ethan had realized to his chagrin that the women’s restroom had never been restocked since its last use—there had been a stag meeting at the theater in between, so he had put it off. Praying that the projector wouldn’t break down before he was done, he ran down the steps, through the door and across the hallway to the janitor’s closet. On his way out, he had intended to send Kevin up to take his place, but he saw his brother talking earnestly with O’Shea Platt. Knowing Kevin’s plan, and how rattled he got when he was interrupted, Ethan extended the risk to the projector by not saying anything to Kevin and instead going into the women’s restroom with his supplies, putting up the “Out of Service” sign and calling out to be sure the room wasn’t occupied first. It was while he was in the back stall putting in a roll of toilet paper that the door burst open. He poked his head out to warn whoever it was of his presence, when he saw The Girl scramble up atop the counter of sinks. She scooted up against the mirror, putting both hands on it and leaning the left side of her head against it. “Twilight!” she cried. “Princess Twilight! I…I’m seeing everything! It’s…please stop, Twilight. Please stop!” Thoroughly alarmed, Ethan quickly and quietly made his way behind Dot, slipping out of the bathroom. *** Bea walked into the bathroom. While Dot had run under the wooden panel with the words “Out of Service” painted on it, Bea had to lift it out of the way to get in. Seeing Dot on the counter, she strode over. “Are you alright?” Dot turned to her, tears running down her face. “She’s having a panic attack. She can’t stop herself from showing me her worst memories. And it’s scaring me!” “Who are—?” “—Twilight!” After a moment of calculation, Bea walked over to the door, opened it to reveal an anxious O’Shea, and yanked him inside. “I’m giving you permission to enter No Man’s Land,” she told him. Behind him was Miss Hathaway. “Maud, Dot is currently still your responsibility. So come on in. And close the door behind you.” Miss Hathaway appointed the oldest girl, Annie, to take care of the others for now. She was about to close and lock the door when she was approached by the two Lignite brothers. “You’ve got to let us in,” said Ethan. Miss Hathaway’s mouth opened in utter bewilderment. “Give me one good reason.” The two boys positioned themselves on either side of the administrator and whispered their reasons into her ears. She let them both in without hesitation. “This is about to get very weird,” she muttered as she locked the door behind them. Bea didn’t even notice the two extra visitors as she pulled O’Shea aside to explain the situation. “OK, it’s something to do with—” “—I know,” O’Shea said. “I heard her.” He looked around. “Dot, where’s Twilight?” “She’s hiding, and she’s scaring me!” “Uh…” said O’Shea, having a miniature panic attack of his own. Bea looked back and forth between Dot and her husband. The man might know about imaginary friends, but he clearly was out of his depth emotionally. Whereas she had plenty of experience with dealing with panic attacks, not only in her husband, but in her co-workers. And in one significant case, their children. She walked back over and grabbed Dot firmly, turning her around. She noted that Dot did not attempt to fight—she would have let go instantly if that were the case. Rather she welcomed the intervention. Bea studied Dot’s face. Dot was not the one having the panic attack. She was scared, but for her friend. For Twilight Sparkle. Bea realized that this Twilight had grown to the level of an alternate personality, one capable of having a breakdown separate from Dot herself. Capable of hurting Dot with that breakdown. And that made her mad. But first, she needed to reassure Dot. “Dot, dear, listen closely: I’m not mad at you. But I need to have some words with your Twilight.” Dot nodded enthusiastically. “In that case: Princess Twilight Sparkle! I demand that you present yourself! You’re scaring my future daughter. Twilight? Do you hear me?!” “Hold on,” said Dot. “I’ve never done this before.” And with that, her head suddenly jerked back. It slowly lowered, with a very bewildered expression upon its face. Her pupils had gone from blue to purple. Bea gasped in shock. She released the girl and stepped back. “What? What did…?” Dot asked. But it wasn’t Dot that was speaking. “What did you do? Dot, what did you do?” she asked, in growing panic. “Put me back, Dot. Put me back! She can’t see me, Dot! She’ll think you’re crazy for sure!” There was no trace of Dot’s Australian accent in this new voice. In fact the accent that she used was thoroughly Mid-Western. And her bearing was clearly that of an adult rather than a child. She raised her hands to her eyes, which were clenched into fists, and slowly opened them out, looking at her fingers. Then she looked over at the Platts. “She won’t let me go back,” she said slowly, her eyes pleading. Bea looked over at O’Shea. “Twilight Sparkle?” she asked. “Yes,” O’Shea replied. The accent was identical. “Alright,” said Bea. “Princess…Twilight.” The title was said in a conciliatory tone, but then she changed her mind, and the name was said with deadly seriousness. “Whatever those memories are that you’re thinking, you need to stop.” “I know!” Twilight-Dot replied. “I…I can’t shut them off! I’m sorry, I…” Bea sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Very well. Then we’ll have to walk through them.” “I can’t! Dot’s too young, and she’ll see—” O’Shea stepped forward. “She’s already seeing everything,” he said in a shaky voice. “You need to put her out here like you were earlier. That way I can at least see what she is going through.” “Wait, what are you talking about?” asked Bea. Twilight-Dot nodded sadly. “Yes. That would be for the best. Hold on while I teach her.” She closed her eyes and began to concentrate. Slowly, a form began to coalesce beside the body of Dot, on her right side this time instead of her left. The form of a second Dot MacPherson. O’Shea walked up the semi-transparent form. “OK, I can see you. Can you see me? With these eyes, not those ones.” The ghost’s head nodded. “Now, can you speak?” he asked. Dot-Dot’s mouth began to move, silently. Hearing something O’Shea could not, she then closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again. “…wait, Hello?” “Yes, I hear that, Dot.” “Hear what?” asked Bea. “See what…wait. No. No, are you saying…?” “Twilight was a vision,” O’Shea explained, turning back to face Bea. “I could see her the whole time. I hope you’ll forgive me for leaving that part out of my earlier story.” Bea sighed in relief. “I’ll take the time to be disappointed in you later. What’s important is that you can see Dot right now. Where is she?” “There.” Bea turned to look at the spot her husband had pointed out. “Dot dear, I have to talk to Twilight. This is—” O’Shea waved his hand to interrupt. Pointing at the spot beside Dot that Bea only saw as empty, he said, “‘I know,’” using the higher tone of his voice to convey the fact that he was relaying Dot-Dot’s words. Bea nodded as she took in how this arrangement was going to work. “Good. If we need to pause, let my husband know.” “She nodded,” said O’Shea. “Alright,” She then turned to Twilight-Dot. “Twilight, if I may be so blunt, what’s bothering you?” Twilight-Dot sighed. “I…” She groaned, and sat down on the edge of the counter. “I’ll have to put this in context. I came into friendship late in life. I made six perfect pony friends, and I resolved the messed-up relationship I had with the dragon I raised. In the land of Equestria, friendship is literally magic, and we were able to use the power of our friendship to fight a whole host of dangers to the kingdom. The more I learned about friendship, the more powerful my magic became. Finally, it became so strong that it transformed me, literally transformed me, into a princess.” She looked back for a moment at wings that weren’t there. “As the Princess of Friendship, I helped ponies, and eventually every creature on my world with friendship problems. I reconciled relationships that had been broken for decades. Ended wars. Brought every creature together in eternal peace. And on those rare occasions when that didn’t work, my small group of friends and I used our magic to subdue the threat, and in most cases convert enemy into ally. But I never had more than those seven friends. Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of casual acquaintances. Many, many individuals who would have indeed been good friends of mine. But I refused to reciprocate with any of them. I had no lovers, and no spouses.” Bea began to fidget, as this was hardly the material of a mental breakdown. O’Shea and Dot-Dot, knowing more about Twilight, waited patiently. “Becoming a princess had made me immortal,” Twilight-Dot continued. “Now Spike…Spike was a dragon. He would live for hundreds of years. But ponies don’t live much longer than humans. Forty years passed. And when I needed somepony to fight beside me, it was still always those six: Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, Rarity, Applejack and Rainbow Dash. Even as they got older, they never refused my calls for help. Until one day…” Dot-Dot shook as the memories once again began to flood her mind. Twilight-Dot looked sadly over at her. O’Shea reached out a hand. “Are you OK?” Dot-Dot tried and failed to grab a hold of it. “Just…keep going.” O’Shea faithfully relayed her words to Bea. Twilight-Dot nodded grimly. “We were attacked by a demi-god. A being able to re-write reality itself. Its only desire was to see the tortured faces of its victims as they died senselessly. The first thing he did was banish the demi-god that Fluttershy had managed to reform into an ally with her kindness to another dimension. I don’t know if he ever made it back. “It was a frankly impossible fight. Before this point the number of creatures who had died in our fights could be numbered on my four hooves. Including the most irredeemable of villains. But this…thing…didn’t play by the rules.” Looking over at the suffering form of Dot-Dot, Twilight-Dot tried to speed through the rest. “I…I snapped when…when it dealt Rarity a mortal wound. Rainbow tried to avenge her, but she died, too. So…” She closed her eyes in guilt. “I teleported every creature from one side of the continent to the other. And I destroyed it. Nearly five percent of the planet, annihilated. It was the only way I could think of to end that…thing…and ensure that the only other casualty…would be myself.” *** Dot-Dot had curled up in a little ball as Twilight-Dot recited—and her mind re-enacted—the worst of the memories, with O’Shea wrapping his arms in vain around her. In vain because Dot-Dot couldn’t feel him, and even with the bad memories no longer playing in her head, she desperately wanted to feel something. So desperate that as soon as Twilight-Dot had finished speaking, she seized control of her body once again with a great gasp. *** Dot blinked, showing her blue eyes. “Dot!” Bea exclaimed, taking the girl into her arms. Dot immediately began to sob, crying ugly tears. O’Shea joined the hug, unprompted. He was soon joined by Miss Hathaway. Unnoticed, Twilight the spirit faded back into view. She sat down and covered her head with her hooves in shame. After a few minutes, Dot managed to recover. She attempted a few times to say something, but the gasps and sobs got in the way. Finally, she managed to get out the words: “I’m sorry, Twilight!” “I’m sorry,” Twilight replied. “You have nothing to be sorry about.” “I hope Twilight refused to accept that, on the grounds that she was 100% in the wrong,” remarked Bea. “You are correct,” said O’Shea. “No, it is my fault!” Dot insisted. “I didn’t know you were dead, Twilight. I summoned you here. And…with the way you feel about humans…” Dot’s eyes went wide. “This world is Pony Hell, isn’t it?” “It most certainly is not!” Kevin declared loudly from the back of the crowd. Everyone turned to face him. Only O’Shea could see that there was now a pony standing next to the boy, speaking in unison with him but with her own distinctive voice. “R—!” Twilight began to say in shock. Dot immediately shoved her back in charge of her body. Twilight-Dot lurched. “R—Rarity?” “In the flesh, Darling. Or perhaps ‘in the spirit’?” A second pony appeared beside Ethan. “And Rainbow Dash?” Twilight-Dot asked in amazement, hopping down from the counter to the floor. “How…?” “Twilight Sparkle!” exclaimed Rainbow-Ethan. “Did you really think you were the only ghost-pony to end up sharing the body of a child who needed us?” “I…well…” Twilight-Dot sputtered. Dot-Dot meanwhile was beaming, as Twilight Sparkle was now sharing the fondest memories the Princess had of her two friends. “Wait!” Twilight-Dot exclaimed. “Golden Oaks Orphanage! Wonderbolt Ranch! They were not coincidences at all! You! Kevin! Where do you work?” Rarity-Kevin effortlessly switched back to just Kevin. “The ranch, same as my brother.” Twilight-Dot scrunched up her features. “No. There’s got to be something else. Something Rarity.” O’Shea, having been given a tour of Dot’s sketchbooks, spoke up. “That place you want to center your life around. Carousel Theater.” “Ha!” exclaimed Twilight-Dot. “I was right! There are no coincidences!” O’Shea, rolling his eyes, got behind Twilight-Dot and started pushing her through the crowd. Dot-Dot was trying to push her as well, in vain. Twilight-Dot, taking the hint, pushed her own way forward, and Rarity-Kevin and Rainbow Dash-Ethan soon joined her, in a grand hug that included the ghostly forms of the two ponies and one human. After a few minutes, Dot-Dot stepped away. “Look, I’ve got to say something,” she said. Twilight-Dot gestured towards the crowd. “Oh. Right.” The two personalities switched places. “Everybody? I gotta say something.” All faces focused to her. “Twilight, I was wrong. Your really-scary story taught me that holding onto a friend too long can be just as bad as losing them all of a sudden. Can even make them get lost all of a sudden. So from now on, you don’t have to be my friend forever. You can go to Pony Heaven.” Twilight dropped the smile she had held throughout the group hug and turned to fully face Dot. “Dot, I’m not leaving you while you still need me,” she said. (O’Shea conveyed her words to the two women who couldn’t hear her.) Dot smiled. “I…I was hoping you would say that. Even so, you don’t even have to be outside all of the time. I’ll let you sleep more, and just talk to me most of the rest of the time, instead of appearing.” “That’s what we do,” said Rainbow-Ethan. “We needed them a lot more after the divorce,” explained Ethan. “But nowadays they spend most of their time living rent-free in our heads and visiting each other in our dreams.” “That’s right, Rainbow!” exclaimed Twilight. “That’s one of the dream powers that Princess Luna taught the two of us.” “We would have sought you out if we had any idea that you were here,” said Rarity-Kevin. “Although the first thing I would have done is told you how disappointed I am that you threw away the lives of both yourself, and that draconequus.” Twilight bowed her head. “You’re right. I thought of at least three different ways I could have resolved the situation with friendship. But I just couldn’t…” “Perhaps we should go over this tonight,” said Rainbow-Ethan. “I know how to keep those conversations at least private.” Twilight turned to her companion. “Is that—” “Yes!” cried Dot. “That would be amazing! I can’t see Rarity or Rainbow Dash, and I want to. And I’d love to see you not all see-through.” “Well,” Miss Hathaway said to no one in particular. “I was right. This did get weird.” *** O’Shea put his arm around his wife, basking in the sight. He had been quite busy repeating everything that Twilight had been saying to Bea. “It appears that Dot might not need that shrink you had contacted,” he told her. He continued with a quip: “On the other hand, how hard do you think it will be to hire a psychiatrist for an invisible purple alicorn?” Bea looked back at him, smiling triumphantly. O’Shea dropped his smirk and stepped back. “Wait. What is that expression supposed to mean?” “I’m not raising them alone,” she said mysteriously. “What do you… Oh. Yeah. OK. I think I’m ready to try this ‘parenthood’ thing out after all.” Bea hugged him fiercely and gave him a kiss on the cheek.