Sweetie Belle sat in front of the freshly lit furnace, wrapped up in numerous towels and a large blanket. Normally, she would have wondered how ridiculous she looked, about how she must look like some sort of cloaked mummy—if it wasn’t for the contrasting colors of the towels. But she had other things on her mind at the moment. Not the least of which was guilt over barging in on Rarity so inconveniently. She planned on just walking in and not to disturb anypony so late at night, but the key wouldn’t work at all, so she had to knock. Now her sister was making a fuss over her well-being.
“I’m sorry about the door darling,” Rarity said, walking in with more towels and a steaming tea pot levitating behind her. “I had to change the locks last week. I was going to send you a key, but you didn’t leave an address to forward any mail to when you left. However, you probably wouldn’t have gotten it in time anyways.”
“Why did you change the locks?” Sweetie Belle asked, willfully submitting to Rarity removing the soaked towels and putting on fresh ones—a feeling she was all too used to after having styled for countless dresses over the years.
“Oh, somepony broke in about a week or so after you had left,” Rarity answered, replacing the blanket and throwing the wet towels into a hamper. “I’m fine, of course, and nothing was taken. The nerve of some ponies! Time used to be that you could sleep at night and leave your front door unlocked—not that I ever did with all of the valuable jewels and expensive clothes that I keep around the place. But Ponyville has changed a lot over the past few years. Some ponies have no respect for a mare’s privacy, and often result to petty thievery. I even had Twilight cast a spell so that nopony could pick the locks, use magic without the key, or teleport in.”
“Oh,” Sweetie Belle replied, taking the tea cup that Rarity offered her. It was a blend of herbal tea with mint—one of the few teas that she actually liked. While sipping it, she couldn’t help but wonder if the break-in was simply an invasion of Rarity’s personal property, or due to the fact that she often housed a celebrity in her home.
“Now, Sweetie Belle,” Rarity said, interrupting her thoughts. “What brings you here? I wasn’t expecting you to return for at least another month.”
Sweetie Belle shivered, and not from being soaked less than an hour ago. Rarity had just asked the one question that she was hoping never to answer. But she also knew that she needed to face it sooner or later.
“I...” she started, but the words died in her throat. After several failed attempts, she finally gave up and turned her head towards her saddle bags—which were still by the door.
Rarity got the hint and—realizing that her sister was all but trapped in a cocoon of cloth—levitated the bags over to her sister. Sweetie Belle used her own magic to open the bags, took out what appeared to be a soggy mess of papers and gave it to Rarity. Looking at it, Rarity realized that it was a newspaper from one of the cities Sweetie Belle performed in over the past few weeks. It was very water-damaged, but she could still make out the headline and parts of the article on the page.
A Travesty in Music
…while the vocals are the best part of the show, it is mediocre at best. The songs are uninspiring, the presentation is sub-par and the music and messages are unoriginal....Overall, Sweetie Belle’s success in at the beginning of her career can be attributed to a load of bandwagon hype fed by screaming, immature fans that seem to plague most artists of her generation.
As Rarity finished reading the legible parts of the article, she felt a surge of anger rise inside of her. She wanted to scream at the critic, saying that he wouldn’t know good music if it bit him in the flank. But she knew that yelling at a piece of paper wasn’t going to solve anything, no matter how good it might make her feel.
“Sweetie Belle,” Rarity said, finally collecting herself. “You can’t let the words of one critic get you down, even if he is a complete moron. It’s very uncouth for a fine pony such as yourself.”
“But he wasn’t the only one!” Sweetie Belle finally blurted out. “Every critic in every town wrote reviews like that! Some were a bit nicer and others were a lot harsher, and they were all negative. Nopony liked my show! Maybe I really am burning out!”
“Now, Sweetie Belle, I’m sure you’re just overreac-”
“I CAN’T EVEN SING MY OWN SONGS!” Sweetie Belle screamed.
She then proceeded to sing a couple of songs. Rarity’s ears winced in pain. It sounded like a train wreck overlapped with a hoof running down the chalkboard.
“How can this be?” She thought. “I’ve heard her sing these songs dozens of times, and she’s always had a lovely voice.”
It took a moment for Rarity to realize when Sweetie Belle was done. Trying to act like it wasn't that bad, she looked up. She noticed that Sweetie Belle was sobbing now, completely burying herself in the towels—even more than she already was at any rate.
“Sweetie Belle, darling,” Rarity finally said in her singsong voice, putting her hoof around the pile of cloth covering her sister. “It’s been a long night and a terrible past couple of weeks for you. You’re probably just exhausted and a little sick from standing in the rain for too long. Why don’t you go and clean yourself up and head straight to bed? Your room’s been tidied up, but otherwise it’s just the way you left it. I’ll take care of everything here. You don’t need to worry about a thing. What you need now is some rest.”
“Okay,” Sweetie Belle said after a couple of whimpers.
With that, Rarity helped remove the entanglement of towels and Sweetie Belle went upstairs. Rarity then proceeded to go through her sister’s bags and lay things out to dry. Everything was soaked, and some of it muddy. Several of the dresses Rarity had made for her were completely ruined. She made a mental note to lay out some designs and patterns for new dresses later that day.
She also found more newspaper articles. What Sweetie Belle had said about them was true. Rarity had the urge to just throw them in the fire, but she didn't. Instead, she set them out do dry too, despite the fact that they were practically illegible now anyways.
Even negative criticism is important for any artist, if not more so than any praise or encouragement. Yes, a large majority of negative criticism could be a result of some ponies simply not having the same taste for art—or that they just didn't get it—but a lot of it could still be used to learn from. It provided opportunities to grow, to improve and to try new things or different methods.
Rarity knew this. There were in deed some ponies out there that didn't care for her work in the slightest—both in the elite and among the general populace. But she continued to follow her passion, continually striving to please the customer while staying true to herself. Now Sweetie Belle would have to learn the same things, but it wouldn't come all at once. Still, Rarity couldn't help but wonder if her sister was still hiding something; if there was something deeper bothering her.
“Is it possible that she knows…nah, she couldn't have heard about that yet. They haven’t even told her.” Rarity concluded, before walking upstairs and returning to her own bed for the night.