I was diagnosed with cancer last year.
My heart was filled with fear.
I felt as though I were hollow.
I thought of those I held most dear.
Depair so deep, I couldn't shed a tear.
And I could hardly swallow.
I thought of Rainbow, who died in a fight,
and then of the Apple, who died that fateful night,
of anguish and glee.
I thought then of the child I raised,
who each day grew loved and praised.
But neither his mother nor I would see.
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I hung my wig up on the mannequin head on my dresser. I hated having it off, but leaving it on at night would simply mar the beautiful recreation of my once glorious mane. I levitated over my bandana, wrapping it over my head and neck where there were no curly violet locks of hair. I had covered nearly every mirror in my boutique, unable to stand the sight of myself after chemotherapy took my precious mane from me. The only ones that weren't covered by various fabrics were the ones I used to see the mannequins from all perspectives.
I'd felt myself getting weaker. It was gradual, really. One day, I'd be able to make it to the market in ten minutes, a month later, eleven. But I never really paid mind to the slow decline of my health. I paid more mind to being happy, and making my remaining time count. I often sold off gems to the treasury so I could donate to various charities. I made all sorts of outfits for fashion shows that donated proceeds to charity. I volunteered with Sweetie Belle at local soup kitchens almost every weekend. Sweetie usually had disappointment in her eyes when we didn't go volunteer. To her, it had become our Saturday thing.
I visited the Apple family often, bringing little RJ with me so Applebloom and Big Mac could see him. Every Sunday, I'd dress nicely and go out to the orchard to visit, where I'd hear the latest escapades of the Cutie Mark Crusaders from Applebloom, and get a big hug from Big Mac. I never told them of my limited timeframe, but the hug always comforted me.
Every Tuesday, I'd go to the spa with Fluttershy, and uphold our weekly tradition. She often spaced out, but I didn't mind. I understood that the recent deaths had taken their tolls on them all. And with Fluttershy's inability to come out of her shell, I think she took the most damage. But every week, Tuesday would roll around, and I'd put on the happiest smile I could muster without turning into Pinkie, and tried with unmatchable vigor to infect Fluttershy with my smile outlook. Even if I knew that I was going to die and end up hurting her more.
I laid down upon my bed, gently tucking myself beneath the covers. I levitated a piece of parchment and a quill before me, looking over the words I had scrawled upon it. I looked it over with such attention to detail that I could have caught a spelling mistake from Twilight. Once satisfied with it, I rolled it up neatly, sealing it shut with a violet ribbon and a red wax seal of my Cutie Mark. I set it down upon the nightstand from whence it came, a peaceful yawn escaping my lips.
"Rarity? Why have you been wearing a wig for the past two months?" Sweetie asked as we walked back into the boutique from the soup kitchen. The question crashed into me like Rainbow Dash into Twilight's library. I paused to find the words. "Don't you dare lie to me."
"If there's anything I learned from AJ, bless her soul, it was the importance of honesty. I'm going to be inconceivably blunt with you, Sweetie. And I already know you won't like what I'm about to tell you," I answered, holding back a tear as memories of the late apple farmer flooded my mind. "I've been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer."
The silence that ensued was like the deafening roar of an angry manticore. One could hear a pin drop in Canterlot in it. Her face froze into the most painful expression of absolute horror. My heart wrenched.
"The doctors are putting me through chemotherapy to try to treat it. Even so, I have an estimated four percent chance of beating this," I continued, desperate to keep the silence at bay. "Sweetie, I'm dying." If the news of my diagnosis hadn't shattered her heart, then that last statement surely did. Tears had begun flowing from both of us. She immediately lunged forward, hugging me tighter than Pinkie could ever hope to, tears of absolute heartbreak staining my shoulder.
It took a week of constant checking on her, and hundreds of attempts of teleporting through the wall before Saturday rolled around. I, in a very frustrated and spontaneous act, bucked down the door, ripping it clear off its brass hinges. I finally sat down and cleared everything up, and convinced her to come out to the soup kitchen with me. Things never returned entirely to normal, but it was better than slipping food on a tray through a foal's door at mealtimes. In all honesty, I believe I was able to shape Sweetie into the mare I dreamed I could be. Stunningly beautiful, loyal, compassionate, honest, and most importantly of all; generous.
I snuffed out the candle on my nightstand, darkness returning to the room. I laid my head down upon the pillow, my thoughts turning to my late friends. I wondered where they had gone, and if I would see them when I joined them in death. I thought of Sweetie Belle and little RJ. I thought of Twilight and Fluttershy and Pinkie. I thought of the Apple family and the Cutie Mark Crusaders. Oh how I'd miss them.
I closed my eyes, clearing my mind. As sleep came to me one final time, I let a smile curl up on my lips.