444: UNFORGIVEN
It’s worse than the last time you tried to visit. The once-magnificent house had been unkempt before, but now it's grey and grubby, its clouds half-feral and unraveling, its rainbowfall reduced to a runny trickle. It’s lost altitude, too, sinking lower and lower like a leaking balloon until now it’s drifting mere hooflengths above the ground. The whole place reeks of unwashed pony and misery.
She looks worse, too. She’s curled up on what’s left of her floor, a ball of matted blue coat and tangled mane and tail and rumpled feathers that haven’t been preened in weeks. Her face is filthy with tears and snot and sweat. She’s cradling something in her forehooves, and suddenly your stomach clenches: it’s a horn, cracked and scorched black at the tip, but still a familiar shade of lavender.
You swallow the lump in your throat. You don’t want to do this, but she's your friend, and you owe her this.
“Rainbow Dash?” you say quietly.
Her ears twitch, and she lifts her head. You cringe: her eyes are raw and puffy, and they narrow when they find you. “Get out, Fluttershy,” she growls, then lowers her head and nuzzles the horn.
You take a hesitant step forward. “Please, Rainbow Dash. We need to talk.”
She doesn’t respond. She just lies there, holding the one thing she has left of the pony she loved with her whole heart.
You force yourself to take a deep breath and try again. “Rainbow Dash? I—I need to talk to you.”
Nothing.
“Rainbow Dash, you can’t keep doing this. You can’t shut yourself away in here for the rest of your life.”
Nothing.
“What about your dreams? The Wonderbolts? She wouldn’t want you to throw that away—”
“Shut up.”
She snaps it out, her voice strained and cracked, like she has broken glass in her throat.
“Rainbow—”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up! You don’t get to talk about her, you . . . you coward! You stupid, useless, worthless coward!”
You were expecting that, but it still makes you fall back onto your haunches, trembling.
“It’s your fault, Fluttershy!”
“Rainbow Dash, please, I’m so sorry—”
“It’s your fault! It’s your fault she’s dead!”
“I’m sorry!”
“Sorry won’t bring her back, Fluttershy! She died because of you! She died saving you because you were too stupid to save yourself! It should’ve been you! She should still be here!”
It hurts. It hurts to hear Rainbow Dash say it. You shudder and squirm, but you can’t escape her furious, anguished words or the memories that burn in your head. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, even though you know that your sorrow will never be enough.
“I HATE YOU!” she screams. Her eyes are wide and wild, her dirty rainbow mane in disarray, and then her hooves are crashing into your face. You don’t try to back away. You let her hit you and hit you and hit you because she’s right: it’s your fault. You’re pathetic. You deserve to be hit for what you did. You deserve the pain, so you don’t protest as the vision in your right eye goes red and blurry, or as your nose cracks, or as teeth pop out of your gums. You just sit there and weep silently for Twilight and for the broken pony she left behind.