//------------------------------// // Friendly Reminders (Catharsis) // Story: In Swept a Blizzard // by Wintergreen Diaries //------------------------------// Chapter 3: Friendly Reminders (Catharsis) It would have been physically impossible for Spike to grin any wider without reaching up with his claws and pulling on either side of his mouth. Regardless of the likelihood of punishment for eavesdropping, he’d managed to catch most all of the conversation, and as Twilight descended the stairs, he paused what he was doing and stared, waiting for her to look his direction. The corners of his mouth began to ache as he maintained his facial expression of exaggerated amusement, and as he watched Twilight wander over to the couch in a daze, he mercifully let his muscles relax, noticing that she didn’t seem nearly as pleased as he. Baffled by the absolute lack of giddy excitement, Spike quickly made his way over and adopted an appropriately gentle tone. “Hey, Twilight, what’s wrong?” he asked, always one for the subtle approach. Drawing her hooves to her chest, she sat in thought for a few moments before making her reply. “I messed up, Spike...” “Messed up?” he replied, unable to keep the indignation from rising in his voice. “Twilight, that was the best interaction you’ve ever had with a stallion!” he fired back, determined not to let the mare be down on herself. Even if it meant getting in trouble by revealing that he’d heard the whole thing, he wasn’t about to let Twilight think herself into a funk. “You stayed mostly on topic, didn’t start correcting his grammar... hay, some of the things you two said could almost be taken as being romantic! At least, romantic for two book-loving ponies,” he added with a chuckle, hoping to elicit the same. To his disappointment, all he received was a sullen nod before Twilight lay her head upon the cushions and loosed a heavy sigh. “I don’t get it, Twilight,” Spike muttered, climbing up next to his lifelong friend. “You’ve been wanting to find a nice stallion to be friends with for weeks now, and now that you’ve found one, you’re still all depressed and mopey.” Apart from a momentary glance, Twilight made no motion to respond. “You know... after you left, he didn’t ever start reading again.” “...Really?” “Really, Twilight,” Spike affirmed. “He stared upstairs for a while, and then he just kind of sat there. He was looking at the book, but I could tell he wasn’t reading ‘cause he never turned the page. Apart from making some more snow, he didn’t do much of anything until you got out of the shower.” His words were meant to instill confidence, but they seemed to have the opposite effect, and Spike found himself growing frantic as his every attempt at comfort only increased Twilight’s dejection. “I really think you made a great impression, Twilight. Cerulean could barely manage a few words when he came in here, but then all you had to do was show up and now he almost seems normal! You two work so well together, so-” “That’s just it, Spike,” Twilight interjected, causing her assistant to fall silent. He was, as it turned out, only partially correct: she wasn’t just nervous, she was a hair shy of terrified. “You said it yourself, that the conversation I just had was the best I’d ever managed with a stallion, but I made so many mistakes, Spike!” she continued in an ashamed whisper. “It was invasive of me to ask what he was doing out in the country when it’s none of my business, and even though I knew that he was probably just as nervous as myself, I got upset and corrected his interpretation of a literary device - a literary device, Spike!” Understanding began to dawn on the dragon as the pony beside him blinked back the moisture rising in her eyes. Twilight wasn’t particularly prone to shedding tears, but every pony has something sensitive that hurts more than the rest, and for Twilight, that was her inability to control herself around the opposite sex. Ready to weather the storm for as long as it lasted, Spike scooched closer and placed a claw on the mare’s shoulder as she continued. “And then... then I commented on the way he smelled when he clearly couldn’t do anything about it...” she whimpered, burying her face in the couch cushions. “Twice, Spike. I brought that up twice. There was no need for me to say those things... and that was my best conversation I’ve ever had? How can I be proud of that...” Eloquence fled from a young mind grappling for words of reassurance. Try though he did with every neuron within his brain, Spike couldn’t for the life of him conjure a decent answer to her question, and as the seconds slipped by, he began to realize how his avid encouragement had likely only made the matter worse. “I’m sorry, Twilight, I didn’t mean to...” “It’s not you, Spike,” Twilight assured him, pulling him into a firm embrace. Looking all the world like a filly clinging to a doll for comfort, Twilight cradled him in her forelegs in silence before speaking up again. “I’ve only just learned this stallion’s name... Looking at things analytically, I can say that he didn’t really seem upset with me, but that’s just it - how many mistakes can I make before I’ve made one too many? I don’t want to drive him away, but it’s just so easy to talk to him. It doesn’t even occur to me to filter what I’m saying...” “I think you’ve got a long way to go before you manage that.” Unsure of whether she felt more perturbed or relieved by the quiet chuckles sounding from her standin Smartypants, Twilight relaxed her hold and peered expectantly at Spike as he continued. “Twilight, you asked if you could be his editor, and he agreed right away! He even said he’d be grateful for correction, remember?” “Well, yeah, but...” “Nuh uh! No ‘buts!’” Spike commanded, folding his arms across his chest. “Twilight, you can’t sit here and list all the ways you failed without seeing how good you did, too. You talked, Twilight. You made conversation. You even flirted a little! Even if it didn’t come out the way you meant it to, that’s still progress, and you know what? He wants your help,” Spike emphasized, tapping her chest with a claw. “You, Twilight. Even with all your little ‘mistakes,’” he paused, rolling his eyes as he made quote marks with his claws, “he still asked for you. If that’s not a good first impression, I don’t know what is.” “How’d you get so smart?” Twilight asked, ever thankful for Spike’s willingness to remind her of what she already knew and honestly impressed with the spontaneous bout of wisdom from her chronically distractible assistant. “You pick up a thing or two hanging around Celestia’s number one student,” he snickered, grinning back. “It’s, um... obso- omsos...” “Osmosis,” Twilight finished, giving him another quick squeeze. “Thanks for cheering me up, Spike. I really needed that.” “Don’t mention it!” he quipped, bashfully scratching at his spines. “Just... don’t expect that all the time, okay? I can’t even remember what I just said...” “That’s my number one assistant...” Twilight giggled, sliding from the couch and motioning for him to follow. “Come on, you can help me make lunch.” “Now that’s a good idea! I’m starving!” Grateful for menial tasks and the distraction they provide, Twilight continued to mull over the events of the morning as she and Spike worked together to create something at least slightly presentable from her chronically barren fridge. Baking was far too inexact a science for Twilight to dabble in without breaking out the metric scale and blowing a goodly portion of the day, and more often than not, she simply wanted something quick and easy so she could delve back into her studies, so a large portion of her diet consisted of fresh fruit from the market and anything with a shelf life of over a month. Between Spike’s consistent urgings for variety and her umpteenth meal of questionable cheese atop stale crackers, Twilight had finally conceded that she had an issue, and with that set out to solve the issue with magic. Her first attempt at a solution involved direct teleportation of foods from the market, but after accidentally landing Carrot Top’s stall in her kitchen rather than some of her produce, she let that idea go with an apology and a small bundle of carrots for her salad. Teleportation directly to the market was also viable, but this led to the problem of social obligation to polite conversation, possible run-ins with her friends, and stallion’s coming within visual range, and given that her goal was resuming her studies as swiftly as possible, that option was soon abandoned; there was nothing more jarring to one’s focus than bumbling through some awkward coquetry only to find that the stallion’s marefriend is standing just a few feet away. Quickly brushing away the memory of the subsequent apology to Caramel and Sassaflash both, Twilight returned her attention back to the freezer compartment and the first ever testing of her most recent time-saving, magic-dependent ruse for instant stomach gratification: rejuvenation of frozen produce. For all her use of checklists and appreciation for order, Twilight’s meal plans were often spontaneous and without much warning, so the use of frozen anything was generally reserved for planned occasions when she was bringing something for her friends. However, after a flash of inspiration thanks to the baking summer sun and a craving for berries that couldn’t thaw fast enough, and subsequently the sun-baked remnants of things that used to be edible when she wandered back to find them some five hours later, the resident magician of Golden Oaks decided that she was going to do herself a favor and craft a spell solely for the purpose of broadening the options for tempting her palate. Grabbing a small sack of frozen berries and emptying them into a bowl, she took a moment to arrange the berries into a more symmetrical pattern and focused her magic. “Uh... Twilight, what’re you doing?” Spike asked, not entirely sure why berries required magic to operate. “Quiet, Spike!” Twilight commanded, letting her magic fade as she turned to her assistant. “I’ve never used this spell before. I need it quiet so I can concentrate.” Nodding sagely as he did so many times when not having the faintest idea what Twilight was planning, Spike paused his chopping of assorted vegetables and watched with vague curiosity as the air around the bowl began to dance. Quietly nearing so as to have a better view, Spike climbed onto a chair and watched as the frost clinging to the berries slowly melted away, leaving fruit that looked every bit as fresh as the day they’d been pulled from the vine. Triumphant with her flawless execution and stellar results from a previously untested spell, Twilight celebrated with an unrestrained and enthusiastic squeal. “Yeee, it worked, Spike!” Twilight cheered, thrusting her face close and examining the berries. “That may be your most useful spell yet, Twilight!” Spike chortled in full support of the latest addition to the mare’s magical arsenal. “Now do you understand why I stayed up late last night?” Twilight replied with a little bit of smug satisfaction, pulling another package of berries from the freezer. “It’s actually a mixture of an elementary ward and basic fire magic. By keeping the moisture sealed within the immediate area while applying heat, I can guarantee that fruit or vegetables won’t be all dried out when they’re thawed and ready to eat.” “Even if the spells you started with are simple, I still think it’s pretty impressive,” Spike pointed out while Twilight gathered her magic, preparing to thaw another batch of juicy goodies. “It normally takes you a couple of tries to get it right, but you totally nailed this one, Twilight. You weren’t even distracted by the sound of the shower!” Perhaps not distracted by such inconsequential white noise but certainly the thought of the stallion in the stream of which she was suddenly reminded, Twilight’s eyes snapped open as she loosed the spell with far more magic than was required. Spike covered his mouth in a vain attempt to cover the snickers as hot thoughts and a brilliant flash left a bowl of blackened berries filling the kitchen with a rather unsavory scent, and with her ears laid back and an undeniable lack of amusement, Twilight glared across the table at her “assistant” and gave an exasperated snort. “One more peep out of you, mister, and I’ll show Rarity your baby pictures.” “N-no, don’t, I’m sorry!” Spike begged, recoiling in horror at the thought of such emasculation. Even though Rarity would likely find them adorable, any “manliness” that Spike could have hoped to claim would effectively be rendered null and void should such blackmail be carried out. Fortunately, Twilight was feeling benevolent in the wake of her breakthrough, and found herself hard pressed to contain a smile as a very frightened Spike wrapped himself around her foreleg. “I’ll let it slide this time, but I can’t have you making comments like that,” Twilight warned, freeing her hoof. “Regardless of what attraction I may or may not feel, I can’t just jump right into that kind of thing. I haven’t done nearly enough research to be comfortable with dating, and even if I had, I don’t... think I’m quite ready for that. And really,” she paused, casting her gaze towards the main room. “I don’t think Cerulean is ready for that, either.” “What makes you say that?” Spike asked, slyly nabbing a burnt berry and biting down with a crunch. They weren’t that bad - not so bad as to necessitate baby picture blackmail. Twilight’s response returned his attention to where it had been prior to his rumbling gut, and he was forced to agree with her words. “Whether it’s something really small or something too terrible for him to trust me with just yet, he’s convinced he’s nothing more than a tragedy,” Twilight explained quietly with evident concern. “I don’t believe that’s true, Spike. I realize I haven’t known him for more than an hour yet, but I still saw something more to him than that, even if it was only in bits and pieces. I want to help him see that, too, but until he does, there’s just no way for love to develop.” The comfort of a claw once more offered its aid, and Twilight indulged a giggle as she drew Spike close, looking on. “I can always hope for a swift recovery, right?” “You said it, not me,” Spike chuckled, crunching on a few more baked berries. “He sure has been in the shower a while...” “Well, he hasn’t had one in two weeks, Spike,” Twilight commented, turning back towards the table. “He probably just wants to enjoy it - I know I would!” “Okay, that’s fair, but I’m hungry!” Spike countered, downing the last remnants of Twilight’s failed spell. Instantly attentive at the hunger-inducing clink of ceramic, the dragon perked up as Twilight lifted down a cookie jar and pulled out a small sapphire from within. “Let’s give him a little bit longer, okay?” Twilight quipped, placing the treat in eager claws. “Deal!” “Just like Winona,” Twilight mumbled to herself, giggling as Spike paused with indignation stamped across his face. “That’s so not true!” Spike defended, crossing his arms. “I’m nothing like a dog!” “Your tail is wagging.” “N-no it isn’t!” Spike shot back, sparing a claw to hold the rebellious appendage in place. “All right, all right,” Twilight conceded, letting a devious grin spread ear to ear. “Now, if you’re done with your treat, go fetch me my book.” “I’m on it!” Diligently heeding his master’s beck and call, the dragon plodded out to the main room, scoured the floor for Twilight’s most recent literary conquest, and was promptly blindsided with comprehension. Stalking back into the kitchen and fixing the snickering pony with the most incriminating deadpan glare he could muster, he dropped the tome with a loud thud before her and shook his head. “...You’re unbelievable.” Begrudgingly accepting the emerald offered as an apology, Spike retreated to the bench while Twilight calmed herself and dived back into her novel. Glancing at his tail as he found it swishing back and forth of its own accord, he released his misgivings with a sigh and grinned: if the gems kept coming, then a little teasing here and there was well worth his trouble. Buried under a mound of blankets, a little blue colt adamantly refused to greet the coming morn, even as the first rays were heralded by the trill of Canterlot’s morning choir, each bird adding a different take on the timeless melody. Memories of his first day at Magic Kindergarten and the laughter over his dismal performance were still fresh in his mind. With a quiet snort of exasperation, the young unicorn carelessly lit his den of warmth with a gentle azure aura from his horn, proving he was more than capable of something so simple as an elementary light spell. Excuses of his distraction failed to absolve his failure in the mind of his teacher, nor elevate him in the sight of his peers. “Rivals, more like,” Cerulean muttered to himself, cutting out the light. “Fiends, even! It’s not my fault there are so many good stories to read...” A knock sounded outside his door, and wishing for nothing more than a good day of moping, the colt retreated further inside his rudimentary barrier from sorrows, pulling the blankets around himself. “Cerulean?” a voice called out, followed by the creak of the opening door. “Cerulean, come now,” the voice continued, chiding him gently. “You’re going to be late for school if you don’t get up.” “Not going to school,” came the muffled replied, bringing a bemused grin to the mother’s face. “No? Just yesterday, you were practically racing laps around the kitchen you were so excited,” she recalled, climbing up onto the bed and placing a hoof over the telltale lump of a sullen colt. “That’s because I hadn’t messed everything up,” he pouted, pounding his mattress with a hoof. Feeling a shift as the silky fibers of his comfort began to pull away, the colt raised his last defense against the outside world, covering his muzzle with his hooves as his mother gingerly peeled back the sheets and pulled her disheartened bundle of joy into a warm embrace. Sympathetic though she was, she could scarce contain her amusement as her son’s achilles's hoof reared its head yet again. “...Were you reading in class?” “Just a little bit!” he half defended, half pouted. Growing perturbed at his mother’s quiet laughter, the little colt crossed his hooves over his chest and pointed his glowering muzzle towards a disorganized and overly-stuffed bookcase chock full of fanciful wonders. “It’s not my fault that there are so many good stories...” It was a curse, really. All it took was a few pages for the up and coming scholar to be completely enraptured, a state that he found hard to shake. Once he started a story, there was a good chance he’d be just about useless for much more than yes or no questions until he’d lapped up the very last letter inked on the pages, let alone practicing magic. His parents had learned to time their delivery of chores in between chapters after a number of dishes met an untimely demise, randomly dropped as the colt’s magic faded to make way for the wonder of the story actively being written in his mind. “No indeed,” his mother wholeheartedly agreed, chuckling merrily. “It’s the vile hoofwork of terrible villains like your father that cause little fillies and colts to fall in love with cleverly crafted tales of daring adventures and juvenile shenanigans!” she declared with righteous fervor, holding her hoof outstretched as the sweet sound of her child’s laughter escaped in a reluctant giggle. Leaning down close to his ear, she whispered, “You should probably go ‘thank’ him properly.” Leaping out of bed and grabbing two feather quills from a nearby desk, Cerulean swept out of his room, passed one to his sister as she leapt out of his path, and barreled into his parents’ room where the slumbering form of his father lay prone and unsuspecting. Perplexed as to why Sleepy McReadstoomuch was so hyped, a filly a few years older than the mischievous colt trotted to the doorway and opened her mouth to make inquiry when the frantic hiss of her brother bid her keep quiet and come in. “Shhhh!” Cerulean warned, holding a hoof up to his lips. “Keep quiet, Crimson! If we wake the beast too soon, we’re done for!” Much less wrapped in fantasy than her brother but always up for a little fun, the filly approached the side of the bed with her feather raised and her smile ready. The plan was set, and the countdown began. “Three... two... one!” The streets of Canterlot were soon filled with a different kind of song, and the mother standing in the doorway with a foal perched atop her mane cherished the melody as it filled her home. Eventually, Cerulean decided to be the better colt and show the dastardly author mercy, withdrawing his downy blade from his father’s ribs and taking his hungry self into the kitchen where his mother already had breakfast going. Shooting his sister a dirty look as the sensation of a feather in his ears came and passed, the two soon got to playful bickering as kin are wont to do. It was a morning much like any other, but as the colt lifted over his saddlebag, he paused as his mother called out after him. “Here, take this,” she said with a knowing smile, offering the colt a small, thin storybook. “This story is really short,” the colt commented, not even looking at the title as he held the book aloft with an indifferent frown. “I’m too big for this stuff!” “Now, now, it’s not fair to judge a book by its cover,” she replied, countering his disbelief with a knowing grin. “Yes, it’s short, but I think you’ll really enjoy it. Besides, you should be able to finish it by the time you make it to class. This way, you won’t be distracted!” He shot her a pleading glance, as if he’d just been tasked with some monumental chore. “Not every story needs hundreds of pages to be told. Sometimes, its the simpler things that are the most beautiful.” “Okay, okay, fine,” Cerulean conceded, “I’ll read it.” “That’s my little sage,” she murmured, trying his patience just a little more with a goodbye hug and kiss. “Go on, then, off with you! It won’t do for you to be late.” Starting out the door while his sister said her goodbyes as well, Cerulean held the story aloft and glazed over the title. “‘The Legend of Snowdrop,’ huh?” he murmured to himself, cracking open the book and turning to the first page. It was simpler language than he was used to reading, having already conquered several hundred page epics, but he couldn’t help but be drawn in as he moved on from page to page. The world began to fade until all that remained were the words that tugged at his heart, and as he came to the bittersweet end, he cradled the book to his chest, unashamedly letting the tears roll down his cheeks. “Cerulean? Are... you okay?” his sister asked, having been walking by his side since they’d left the house. “This story is so good!” he sniffled, sparing a hoof to wipe his runny snout. Crimson took a peek at the cover and was forced to take a few moments to steel her composure: she was familiar with the tale, and she gave much the same reaction as her brother the first time she’d read it. “Even though nopony around believed she could do anything, she never gave up. She just... just kept...” “She just kept believing,” Crimson finished, pulling her brother close to hide him from prying eyes. “You know, that story reminds me of a pony I know.” Peeking out and brimming with interest, Cerulean quieted himself and listened intently for an answer. “He’s the aggravatingly smart little unicorn that’s so talented with magic it’s frustrating, but sometimes he can’t focus, and it gets him into trouble.” Comprehension shifted to confusion, and Crimson couldn’t help but giggle as her brother waited expectantly for her to draw the parallel. “You wanted to give up this morning, just like Snowdrop nearly did the night before her presentation,” Crimson explained with sisterly affection. “She may have been blind, but she had a big heart, and that’s all she needed to shine. Don’t lose your wonder, Cerulean. It’s part of what makes you special.” “Have you been reading sappy stories?” Cerulean teased, beaming back at her through misty eyes. “I... suppose that’s one way to describe them, sure,” she mumbled, looking away. “Ewww! Grossgrossgross!” Cerulean squealed, scrambling away and feigning nausea. “You’re nasty, sis.” “Oh, you’ll learn to like romance eventually,” Crimson retorted, motioning down the road. “Come on, you’re gonna make me late for boring old regular school if you don’t get a move on.” Playfully keeping a pony length distance from the filth that was his sister and her repugnant taste in “literature,” Cerulean turned once more to his new favorite story and gave it a second read, taking his time and really letting his mind absorb all that there was to offer. Sharing with the filly in his heart as she faced ridicule and met the odds stacked against her with nothing more than a hopeful heart, he found himself invigorated as he reached end of the story upon arriving at the steps of the school. “Are you going to be alright?” Crimson asked. There was determination in the colt’s eyes as he held the book to his chest. “Snowdrop didn’t give up,” he declared, tightening his hold. “And I won’t give up, either.” Casting one more glance at the snow lily on his favorite book, Cerulean tarried a few seconds before slipping the book into his saddlebag and marching towards the doors. He gave the handle a tug with his magic and let out a cry of alarm as a torrent of water burst forth, sweeping him away. Peering through the deluge as his world spun, he reached desperately for his saddlebag as it was washed away, but his outstretched hoof couldn’t reach, and his plea for help remained unheard as his lungs filled with water. “Give it back…” he whispered, straining helplessly against the tides as his vision began to fade. “Please…” Numbness claimed his limbs as his saddleback disappeared, lost within the torrent, the colt helplessly dropped his hoof as the temperature of the water plummeted, and the all too familiar sting of winter wrapped him in its smothering embrace. He opened his mouth to beg one more time, but his words couldn’t even reach his own ears, and the rush of the waters faded to make way for smothering silence as his vision began to fade. The word “help” formed on his lips, but there was no strength in his tongue to make a sound. It was all the drowning colt could do to lift even one of his hooves, and with the last of his strength he reached forward, straining even as the encroaching darkness clouded his eyes. With his senses failing, he couldn’t see the hoof reaching through the depths, but what he couldn’t see, he felt in his heart as his outstretched hoof was intertwined with that of another. For just a moment, there was a flicker of warmth within his chest before the sound of rushing waters came roaring back, and with a gasp he breached the surface. There was something particularly unnerving about waking up with lungs full of water. Coughing violently as his body rejected the improper imbibement of fluid, Cerulean scrambled upright as panic wracked his body, his vision dark and his coat frigid from a shower that had long since grown cold. Disoriented from his dream and unaware that his seeming blindness was in fact his mane hanging over his eyes, the stallion toppled backwards and slammed into the wall, his chest heaving and heart threatening to burst through his chest with every frantic beat. Pawing at his eyes with the back of his hoof, he blinked back water as his vision came through blurry and let the last of the spasms die down, panting for breath even as his body sent it back out in feeble sputters. Glancing down at the whirlpool forming around the drain, the ragged pony slouched against the wall as dizziness swept in to remove what little balance might have remained. “I must have rolled over the drain while I was asleep,” he surmised, peering at the miniature vortex. The shower wasn’t very deep, but it was still enough for him to get a good snout full of water given how it had pooled up. In the back of his mind, he noted that the water had lost it’s warmth, but given how typical it was for him to be on the verge of freezing, it wasn’t even troublesome enough to cause a shiver. He remained motionless for a time, letting the steady pitter patter soothe his pounding pulse, but try though he may to recall the dream, his mind’s eye drew only a blurry image of a book and nothing more. “I know it must have been something important,” he thought, straining to recall what he had seen. “It feels like it’s right there, but I just… can’t quite…” A slow sigh escaped his lips as he hung his head. “How come I can remember every detail of every nightmare, but I can’t remember anything from a dream I’ve just had… I just know there was something there for me, I could feel it. Can feel it…” With his hoof pressed lightly over his heart, Cerulean sat motionless, fighting with his mind for anything, some fragment that might explain the pressure in his chest, but though his heart cried for clarity, he found nothing but fleeting remnants of emotion with no stimulus to explain them. “If nothing else, at least I got some sleep,” he murmured to himself, his muzzle creasing into a defeated grin. Seeing no purpose in dawdling and realizing that the cool of the water likely meant he’d been out for quite some time, Cerulean eased himself upright and concluded his shower in silence, giving his mane a thorough washing and his coat a much-needed scrubbing. He couldn’t help but gawk at the sheer amount of dirt and other rubbish that he coaxed from his mane and tail, and as he shut off the flow and stepped out of the shower, Cerulean paused in front of the mirror and the brush that lay on the counter where Twilight had tossed it, considering her appearance a lost cause. “I wonder… what it is you see in this?” he pondered, staring back at his reflection. Even with his mane washed, it hadn’t been trimmed in ages, and between the uneven growth, split ends, and knots that couldn’t be undone with water, Cerulean found himself struck by the fact that any mare would do anything other than turn him away in disgust. “I’ve never considered myself to be an attractive stallion: I’ve features far too soft for that. But she…” he paused, turning towards the door. “She accepted me without any misgivings, and found humor in my utter lack of hygiene where others simply turned me away. Rather than mock me, she… reached out to help.” His eyes drew away from the door and towards the brush that still had a few strands of her hair ensnared within the bristles. “Why?” he whispered to himself, levitating the brush and pulling close. “What is it that you see? Because when I look in the mirror, all I can see is…” The brush dropped to the countertop with a clatter as his magic scattered, dusting the floor with snow. “A failure, a coward, a… a monster.” Condemned by his own words, the accusations of countless voices coiled around his mind like a noose, threatening to choke out what little solace he’d found. As his eyes sought the ground, he found them instead focused upon the magenta fibers intertwined with those of brilliant violet, and the mare’s kind words echoed within his mind like a distant call over the clamor of the crowds. “Is there really more to… this… than what I see?” Cerulean asked quietly, earnestly longing for a reply that he knew wouldn’t be given. “I suppose only time will tell if Twilight really meant what she said about wanting to help. By the Princesses, I know it won’t be easy. I’m not even sure I deserve her attention… probably not…” Cringing as something within cried out in furious indignation, Cerulean stumbled backwards a step and shook his head in disbelief, perplexed by the jarring shift in heart. Usually, he found he could kick himself all he wanted and feel no different from normal, which was typically meant catastrophically depressed and chronically fatigued, but for some reason his self doubt suddenly felt like a solid buck to the face. Heartened by the fact that he felt anything at all, Cerulean held the brush aloft like a knight swearing an oath as a resurgence of something kindled within his chest. “I don’t know exactly what I’m feeling right now,” he thought to himself. “I’ve always tried my best and always fallen short. I have no reason to think that this will be any different, but I…” “I want to try,” he said quietly, shuddering as the words brought with them a powerful surge of longing. “Twilight is giving me a chance. I may fail, but I can’t sit idle… I have to try. I have to take that chance. I have to-” He paused, glancing around the brush at the mirror. Where once gazing upon his image had filled him with shame, he found himself unable to keep the corners of his mouth from rising into a fragile grin. “...I have to brush my hair,” he murmured with soft chuckle. “My parents would have lectured my ears off for presenting myself before a mare in such a state of disarray. Goodness, but my manners aren't what they used to be...” With every stroke of the brush, Cerulean found himself feeling increasingly refreshed from his respite. Fussing with his mane like a filly before picture day, or Rarity on any given day of the week, and generally displaying a vanity not commonly found in the average stallion, Cerulean found the menial task nothing short of invigorating by virtue of relaxing monotony. After he was sufficiently satisfied that he wouldn’t be mistaken for the homeless pony he was based upon his appearance, he set the brush down and set out with every intention to make a better first impression the second time. Quietly, and carefully, making his way down the stairs, he emerged into the main room to find Spike shuffling about, stacking books and vigilantly exterminating dust bunnies great and small. “Looking for Twilight?” he asked knowingly, preempting Cerulean’s question. Nodding his affirmation and grinning faintly, he gave Spike his attention as he did a quick search, located the book Cerulean had been reading before Twilight’s arrival, and trundled over. “She’s in the kitchen, but she’s got her nose pretty deep in that book,” Spike explained, offering his find to Cerulean who obediently accepted the novel. “Things aren’t usually this quiet around here, so days like today where she finds the time to read are special to her. I don’t know how long she’ll be, but hopefully that’ll help you pass the time. Oh, and she set the table for lunch, but she’s probably forgotten about it and I’m pretty sure it’s not cold anymore.” “You have my thanks,” Cerulean said politely, dipping his snout. “Hey, don’t mention it! You know,” he paused, beckoning Cerulean closer and slyly looking side to side. “I don’t think Twilight would mind if you joined her.” His charge stood there for a moment with an expression devoid of comprehension before tilting his head to the side and stating plainly that he was, in fact, quite oblivious. “Why?” “Wh- you don’t- b-but…” Spike stammered, his claws falling limply to his sides. “How the hay does this guy not see how much Twilight’s into him? It’s so obvious! Painfully obvious!” he thought to himself, staring back at Cerulean in disbelief. “If it weren’t for the fact that Twilight would have me cleaning on a microscopic level for, like, a year, I’d just tell him straight. There’s got to be a way I can help her out, though! C’mon, think...” Taking a deep breath to regain his composure, Spike returned his attention to Mr. Can’t-Recognize-Social-Cues and purposed to do what he could without risking his scales. “I know this is gonna sound strange, but Twilight really likes it when ponies read,” he confided. “As many times as ponies come in and out of this library, it’s almost never for books. Twilight has always loved reading, and I think it bothers her sometimes that she never has anyone to share that with.” Spike had to grin as the wheels slowly began to move within the mind of a ragged stallion, and motioned again towards the kitchen. “I’m not trying to force you to do anything: you’re our guest, after all! But... I’m sure Twilight would love it if you read with her for a little while.” Though the hint was anything but subtle, Cerulean couldn’t well pass up an opportunity to spend some time with the one who had shown him kindness without despising him for his unfortunate state. Accepting with gratitude the time-honored classic held aloft, he looked fondly upon the heroic depiction of Daring Do printed on the cover before cantering over to the kitchen, where he paused at the entryway. Being far too distracted trying to maintain minimal functionality when he’d arrived, Cerulean hadn’t taken the time to really look at Twilight, but as he did, he found the corners of his mouth slowly rising to match the faint grin stamped upon a lavender muzzle. His eyes roamed to her modestly cut, slightly frizzy mane before following down to her eyes which flicked back and forth as they scoured the page, drinking in every word. Dropping down to her tail and following it back up to her cutie mark, Cerulean’s eyes lingered for a moment before moving once more to Twilight’s brilliant violet eyes which shimmered with foal-like anticipation as each page paved a path to the next. “How is it that somepony like her should find- no, make the time for somepony like me?” Cerulean wondered, shaking his head and smiling ever wider. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter,” he mused, stepping softly so as to preserve the stillness as he drew up beside where she lay on the bench. “Even if this solace proves ephemeral, I hope that I’ll find a way to show my thanks to you, Twilight. But for now… let's read.” Bowing his head in solemn thanks, Cerulean lay down upon the floor next to where Twilight sat on the bench. Instinctively opening the story to where he’d left off, he stole one more glance at the mare beside him before directing his gaze towards the novel held between his hooves. “Heh… somehow, this story doesn’t seem nearly as compelling as it did before: not when she's so near…” He couldn’t help but glance again at Twilight, who still lay unaware of his presence, and though he knew he had no right, he tarried there. “Perhaps,” he grinned, “I’ll be able to stay long enough to read a few more pages before the next storm. Even if I don’t, this… even this is nice.” Shadows slowly lengthened, and neither pony paid them any heed as an uncommon peace fell over the Golden Oaks library; a necessary and healing reprieve from the hustle and bustle that continued outside the door.