//------------------------------//
// Pinprick 
// Story: One is Silver 
// by El Dante 
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	The measurements were marked, the needle threaded, and the lighting bright so as to see the full color. With a sigh of concentration, Rarity began to weave and bind the perfectly-aligned fabric with the needle. Her hold was delicate but firm, her pace smooth and controlled. She held a steady rhythm until she jumped at a sudden knock at the door, pricking her finger on the needle. She pulled the finger from the fabric to avoid a stain and set the materials on her desk. She gave the wound a brief suckle before hurrying to the door.
She opened it to find a woman, a Starcrest like herself, standing on her porch, dressed in royal uniform and reading from a small slip of paper. "Why hello," she greeted, perhaps a bit nervous. She had not been expecting company.
The stranger’s hair was a deep purple, Rarity noted, much like her own though straight and far darker except for a bright violet streak. Her Royal Whites were clean but wrinkled from travel. The jacket, double-breasted with gold buttons, hugged her body loosely and ended below the waist. A simple dark skirt draped about her knees.
"Hello," the visitor replied. "Rarity Rosestar? Appointed Equestrian Secretary of the Treasury?" She stopped to look up to Rarity, who replied with a nod. “I've been sent to collect a routine financial report.” She made a mark on the slip before lowering it, returning it and the quill to a pocket of her large handbag.
"Oh, yes, of course." Rarity stepped aside, admitting her guest. "Please, do come in. I have the forms on hand, if you'd give me a moment to retrieve them. If the Guard had sent word, I’d have had them already, or at least would have put on some tea." She gave a slight curtsy, and left for the hallway. As she rounded the corner, she glanced back to find that the stranger had noticed a set of dresses and outfits on display on an arrangement of mannequins. Rarity proceeded to her study with a delighted step.
It of course had a desk, a chair, a file cabinet, and most of the other fittings one might expect in a home office. Despite the lamps and the window, to Rarity this room always seemed the darkest in the house. She did not come here often. It was not exactly a displeasure to be here, but it always carried the air of purpose, of monotony.
It had been suggested time and time again that she merge the office and sewing room as to save space, either store the thread in the drawers or hide the cabinet behind the display stand. No one understood the purpose. Rarity’s duties and obligations were bound within these walls, and she prized her right to detain them.
Once she’d located the file, Rarity returned to find her guest inspecting not a dress but the cape that hung in the display case mounted on the wall. The stranger's fingers hovered just off the glass, as though hesitant to streak the surface. Her eyes did not leave it as Rarity approached. "This is so very old…"
"Why, yes it is, actually. It’s been in the family as far back as I can date it. I suppose you might say it's vintage," Rarity said with a form of modesty. She then ran a hand through her well-styled hair. The motion was presented as if by habit but was in truth deliberate, meant to bring attention to her own attire. Rarity was proud to wear a long skirt of a lavender to match her hair below a white, loose-fitting blouse, a look completed with her heeled shoes and high-rimmed sewing glasses. “Casually professional,” as she liked to call it. When her guest did not take notice, she stepped to join her by the cape.
“This stitching pattern hasn’t been used for centuries,” admired her guest. “This is simply a relic. It couldn't be from the Third Age, could it? How has it lasted all these years?”
"I believe it is, though it would be impossible to tell for sure. The pattern could always be an imitation. Spells that prevent wear and tear are not difficult to learn, so it has never needed extensive mending. Handled gently, it can be kept well from the touch of the years."
It was then that the sound of purring brought to Rarity’s attention a weight on her shoulder. She felt a shudder climb her spine as she froze, her eyes sliding to see. There, inches from her face, sat some odd, purple lizard. And it was purring.
"Oh, Spike!" the visitor scolded as she lifted the creature from her. “My apologies. He generally behaves himself.”
"Oh, no, truly, it's fine," said Rarity as she straightened a hair. She only wondered why she hadn't noticed the creature before. "Ah, well, er...” She held out the papers. “Here are the forms, then. I wonder why this business isn't saved for Council meetings. We could hand them in ourselves if we held them more often. We haven't had one in months."
The visitor stowed the sheets in her large handbag. "The Princess prefers mainly to leave the Council members to themselves,” she explained. “Official matters are not meant to interfere with their personal lives. She just doesn't want to bother them."
Then on a different note, "Your family owns the diamond mine across the Avian border, is that correct?”
"Why, yes. It’s been in the family for generations. Such a spectacular find it must have been to have lasted all of these years, and it still gives more from time to time. The finds have never been frequent, but it shows no signs of going dry." Her fingers went to her cheek in thought. "We may have even had it as long as the cape, actually, but it would be impossible to tell for sure. We’ve had some disputes with another family over the ownership, though, some marriage and legal issues over the years. I’ve traced it back as far as I can, but the line blurs so much beyond six hundred years ago I lose it. The mine is probably the reason the family has sat on the Council as the Royal Treasurers for that far back. It has earned us our reputation for finances, in the least."
"Well, if your reputation serves, you would have the wealth in your standing to be considered a marchioness,” said the stranger. “Yet, you don't claim that title, do you? Is there some reason for the humility?"
“Oh, my. That’s flattering for you to say, but it’s not quite that simple. We have plenty of money in reserve, a handsome fortune, even, but only because it has accumulated over so many years.” Rarity gestured to the notably spacious rooms and their furnishings. A porcelain vase rested on the white grand piano in the far room, and an Eastern-Outlandish wicker basket held umbrellas by the door. Most of the house’s other fittings were similarly fine, though few in number. "Most of what you see here are heirlooms, to be honest. Frivolous spending would quickly run us dry. And besides, a noble is effectively a celebrity. Her power comes from the public just as well as it does her wealth. She's respected, of course, almost feared, even, but she would never be seen as a member of the neighborhood. She has an image to maintain, and often has assistance with it. But servants, agents, they only help until they control. They tell you who to meet, where to go, what to eat, and—” Rarity folded her arms “— what to wear. A public figure is almost never allowed to design for herself. Nor for anyone else, in effect. A celebrity either conforms to trends or defies them, never starting them, and if any of hers do catch on, they will only last until someone else steals the attention.The trends that last, those that are remembered, are not from the image of the figures but the style of the people. And the best styles start through subtlety. So far they’re only sold locally, but whenever I pass by a neighbor wearing one of my designs, it’s by no obligation but that they genuinely like it. And to me, that’s the highest compliment anyone could give.”
The stranger nodded. “I see. I believe the same holds for why the Princess prefers her title over ‘Queen.’”
Rarity looked to see that her finger had begun to bleed again. She immediately rested the tip on her lips, parting them slightly. The sour metallic taste was minimal. It was best to prevent infection.
The stranger was quick to notice. "Did that happen sewing? You know that if you were to use spells, you'd be at much lower risk."
Rarity did not mention that it had happened at the knock on the door. Instead, she gave an embarrassed chuckle. "Well, if I used spells for something I enjoy doing, then, well, what would be the point? When I use needle and thread, I am adding something else to the work, something I can still see woven in with the stitching whenever I look back on it.”
"Oh, yes, I've heard similar,” the visitor nodded. “It would seem many to want to include some form or another of sentiment in their work."
Rarity was nearly taken aback. With a word, the stranger had dismissed all her effort and passion. She had named it, and to name it was to kill it. Sentiment. A short, shallow word that defined the essence but captured none of it.
"Well, yes, I would expect," she said, disheartened. "One doesn't take shortcuts with their calling."
Her guest nodded and then glanced to the door. “I should probably be going. I’ve much else to do, and the ride is long.” She turned for the door, the lizard’s attention on Rarity still.
"Ah, yes, I understand. I don't suppose you plan on staying in town very long." Rarity called after her, "But I don't believe I caught your name…?"
"It's Starbrow,” she answered while closing the door behind her. “My name is Twilight Starbrow.”
“Then safe travels, Miss Starbrow.” Rarity waved, then turned for the sewing room once the door had shut. She looked to her finger again. The blood had stopped. 
“Sentiment,” she muttered.