• Published 18th Dec 2014
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Double Trouble: The Flaws Within - Masterius



Two Twilight Sparkles are not better than one, especially when each are stranded in the wrong world! With the Crystal Mirror broken, is there any way for them to find the way back to their respective homes?

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Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The urn was solid crystal, found only in one place in all of Equestria. It was a priceless antique, and weighed almost forty pounds.

It was also a blur as it shot across the room, impacting against the far wall and shattering into splinters the size of toothpicks, leaving a gouge in the stone of the wall itself.

There were eight ponies and one baby dragon in the room; all but one huddled together in absolute, sheer terror across the room from the eighth.

“Duck!” screamed Applejack, as a dresser followed the urn. It fared no better, the gorgeously engraved, beautiful mahogany bureau disintegrating into matchsticks, the fabrics within momentarily hovering in the air before being shredded into bits of threads.

The eighth was Princess Twilight Sparkle…or, at least, looked like her.

She was standing at the far end of the room, where the enormous canopy bed had rested. That had been one of the first objects to be destroyed.

Not broken, not wrecked.

Destroyed.

Her wings were tightly compressed to her sides, she was standing stiff‑legged and braced, and there was not a shred of sanity in her expression. She was literally incoherent with rage, flames roiling in her eyes, wordless ululations of fury so intense it was painful.

All of them had slight bleeding cuts and scrapes from flying debris, and it was only by Celestia’s good graces that none of them were more badly hurt, for it was patently obvious that the raging alicorn was simply flinging objects any which way, with no rhyme or reason to their trajectory…

…and with no care of what, or who, might be in the line of flight.

She stood there, panting, the room now bereft of any intact, inanimate object it had once possessed. And now…she turned and faced the trembling, terrified group hunkered together, and they whimpered as her eyes flashed, turning completely white, as an aura of blinding coruscation surrounded her…

…as the stone beneath her hooves began cracking and spalling.

“Run!” several ponies screamed. Hooves slipped and skidded across the polished stone floor as they raced to the empty doorway, the thick door itself having been blasted to sawdust some moments ago.

“Yes,” a dreadful, petrifying voice belled out. “Run! Leave! NOW!” Nostrils flared, the insides glowing scarlet. Satisfied at their abrupt and immediate departure, she started to turn but halted, for not all of them had left. She turned back, fully facing the one pony that remained behind, staring at him the same hard, glittering way she had fixed every object she had destroyed before heaving it through the air. “I said LEAVE!” she raged.

His legs were wobbling so hard she could see that from where she stood, body quaking so violently his glasses fell off his muzzle. “I…I can’t,” he gargled out in an agonized tone.

She stamped the floor with a forehoof, shattering a small crater there. He closed his eyes, so tightly it was painful, then repeated in a whisper, “I…I can’t leave.”

“Why not?” she snorted in fury.

He swallowed, once. Then, shocking her, he took a deep breath before looking directly at her. In a voice that was suddenly composed, and much calmer than he visibly appeared—or, for that matter, had to be feeling—he simply said, “Because I’m a doctor, and because you’re my patient. And because you need me.”

“I’m not sick, and I don’t need a doctor,” she snapped.

Moving with extreme care and deliberation, he crouched down and retrieved his glasses, slipping them back in place as he straightened up.

“I didn’t say you were sick,” he clarified. “I just said that you needed me. And you do.”

Suddenly, whatever energy her rage had fueled drained away, leaving her weak and dizzy. “There’s nothing you can do,” she whispered, feeling utterly exhausted. “There’s nothing anyone can do.”

She turned to look at herself in the mirror—again—then blinked in surprise, startled, as the mirror was no longer there. And then the shambles of the room abruptly registered: the utter destruction that had scoured the chamber to bare stone and had left nothing behind and intact save for the two of them.

What have I become? she mentally wailed, What sort of monster am I now?

It was not the form she now wore that was the focus of that plaint. She was not a monster simply because she was an alicorn. No. She was a monster because she had been the source of this appalling, horrific storm of devastation. She did not remember doing any of it! Feeling the leash on her temper fraying, that tenuous control unraveling, that she remembered. She remembered feeling that rage finally loosed from its cage, bursting free, ravenous with hunger.

She remembered the feeling of exhilaration as she surrendered to that metaphoric bloodlust.

Choking back a sob, Twilight deeply shuddered in self‑disgust and loathing. She had not lost control like this in years. This was not like her at all. This was not her at all. This was not at all the person she had fought and struggled all her life to become.

Then again, she wasn’t the person she used to be.

She was an alicorn now.

She did not hear the light hoofsteps approaching, so it was not until she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye that Twilight realized she had company. Lifting up and turning her head at the same time, she gazed at the unicorn now standing next to her. Considering the violence that had just occurred and the wreckage left behind, she could not help but forlornly note, “You’re being terribly brave, don’t you think?”

“You need me,” is all he said in reply.


Her stomach ached with hunger. She hadn’t eaten since being transplanted here—wherever here was; knowing it was called Equestria by its putative citizens was of absolutely no help at all in determining actual location—and she had no real idea how much time had actually elapsed. But for all that her belly was insistently clamoring for attention, she found that she had absolutely no appetite. At least hunger was a familiar sensation, and she clung to that like a drowning woman to a scrap of lumber.

There were other sensations swirling and churning inside her, ones she had never experienced before and therefore had no idea how to control. Control was vital to her; lack of control was a weakness, something to be despised.

That was something she feared, as well, but would never confess that to anyone, least of all herself. Refused to admit that. Fear was disabling, anger was empowering, and if given the choice between being prey or predator, well…she knew which one she was going to be.

She did, however, now have names, at least, for most of those new feelings. Doctor Horse—and then, later on, joined by his assistant Nurse Redheart—had stayed with Twilight. They had just let her talk and ramble, remain silent, or agitatedly pace: whatever she needed, or wanted, at that particular moment. It helped that they were professional specialists; Twilight might not have truly let her guard completely down with either of them, but at least she could appreciate a fellow professional.

It also helped—a very great deal, in fact—that he was a unicorn.

Most of those unsettling feelings she was experiencing were the same—albeit familiar to them—ones unicorns would feel, since they involved the innate, as well as learned, talents and skills common to them. Now, however, and thanks to Doctor Horse, she had names for them: levitation; teleportation; telekinesis; sensitivity to magic auras. Being an alicorn, however, those sensations were exceptionally stronger than your average run‑of‑the‑barn unicorn.

And, unlike their earth pony and pegasus pony brethren whose magicks were passive, the magicks of unicorns were active.

Twilight remembered the title of her Doctorate thesis: Magic: A Natural, Measurable Force, and she choked back a strangled…well, it wasn’t a laugh, for it was completely devoid of humor.

Well, it’s definitely a natural force, she sardonically thought, I just wasn’t ever anticipating having that naturally generating inside me.

Lying down on the padded cushion they’d had delivered to the room—Twilight flat‑out refused to leave there and move elsewhere, destruction notwithstanding, and equally refused to allow admission to anyone else except her doctor and nurse—she desperately tried putting her world back into order and control.

It had been bad enough waking to this new form of hers when it had been just that other unicorn present (and even now she was subliminally shocked at how easy she was already accepting outré and outrageous things like ‘unicorn’, ‘pegasus’, ‘magic’ and talking, intelligent ponies). She had not reacted well to that. Actually, she admitted to herself, to be scrupulously honest she had gone ballistic. Not like anyone could have realistically blamed her!

Now, had she awoken this last time to just that flamboyantly‑blazoned unicorn again, Twilight was—almost—certain events would have progressed better than they had. But, instead…

Closing her eyes, Twilight’s thoughts drifted back to just a few hours past…






She gradually roused to consciousness, becoming aware, as she was stirring, of a subdued clangor of multiple voices, most feminine in tone, one definitely masculine and one sounding quite juvenile in timbre. And the moment she cracked open a bleary eye they were on her, clamoring.

“Twilight! Thank Celestia you’re all right!” “Twalaight! Y’all gave us such a fright!” “Oh Twilight! We were so worried!”

Twilight. Twilight. Twilight. TWILIGHT. TWILIGHT!

She clapped hands over ears…and, since they were now hooves, she almost clobbered herself unconscious again. How they knew her name, she had no idea. They were crowding her, invading her space, making it impossible for her to ground and center, to regain precious control.

Outrageous colors surrounded her, blindingly dizzying with their enormous panoramic range. One creature hovered almost overhead, more colorful than the others. Another creature, this one a shocking bubblegum‑pink, was doing…cartwheels?? Then a…cannon?…appeared out of nowhere?? Discharging confetti??

Fear gibbered in her mind, slobbering in its hunger to consume. She hated being afraid, for that was also loss of control. She hated how it made her feel; she hated what it did to her.

She was afraid. Terrified. Horrified.

A tiny, rational part of her that remained lucid was pitiless in its automatous categorization:

She was now a pony. One with wings. Pegasus, that despicable lucid mind supplied.

These others, they were all ponies, too. Or ponies with a horn. Unicorn. Or ponies with wings. Pegasus

No, not everyone in the room was a pony, or pony variant. There was also a small…lizard of some sort. Bipedal at that. One whose coloration was disturbingly familiar.

They all knew her; or thought they did, anyway. The din they were raising was deafening, and they were jostling each other so much her pained eyes could not focus on any one of them at a time.

And now there was yet another pon…unicorn!…stepping forward. This one wearing clothing!?

Twilight felt her grip slipping faster and faster through an already tenuous grasp. This newest arrival, implausibly garbed in a lab coat over a shirt and tie, and with spectacles balanced on his muzzle, stepped up to her bedside as he pleaded with the others to take a few steps back and to settle down.

It took a few moments for the seeming bedlam to quiet down. Loud sush‑ings, sounding like a berserk teakettle, issued from the pink, bouffant one. Gradually, as a group they migrated to the farther wall, huddling together. The lab‑coated one finally gave a low “harrumph”, clearing his throat before turning back and facing her. “I’m Doctor Horse, from Ponyville Hospital. They tell me there’s been an accident and that you’ve been injured, and have also suffered several bouts of unconsciousness. Tell me,” he asked, his tone now clinical, “do you remember anything about the accident?”

Twilight’s eyes widened as his horn suddenly gently glowed, that same colored aura surrounding both a pencil and notepad which were now hovering in front of him, both unmistakably positioned for taking notes. The contrast between the chaos of just moments ago and the cool, calm, measured professionalism of this…doctor…did much to take the edge of incipient hysteria from her. Her agile mind quickly sharpened into objective mode as she switched intellect for emotion.

“Ah…no. Actually, I have no idea what’s happened.”

The pencil made a notation as he continued. “I see. I’ve been told you’ve been struck in the back of the head by a heavy, falling object. You do have quite the lump back there. Other than that, however, I wasn’t able to discern any additional physical injuries,” he stated, with a slight emphasis on physical. “Are you in any pain?”

“Pain? Well, I do have a bit of a headache, yes.” Reaching back, she lightly touched the lump there, wincing as her hard hoof contacted it. “It’s still a bit tender,” she stated. “But, actual pain? No. It’s just a general, overall discomfort.”

Again a scribble. “Any specific location?”

“Well, more of a general malaise. Idiopathic.”

His eyes glinted behind the glasses, a brow rising at the latter words, but otherwise he remained unflappable. “Do you remember your name?”

She wanted to roll her eyes at that question—and the ones she knew would be following—but understood he was only doing his job, something she could respect. In fact, the truth was he was doing his job so well she was actually overlooking the fact she was speaking to a unicorn at the moment.

“Twilight Sparkle.”

Another scribble.

“Date of birth?”

There was no scribble this time at her answer. The pencil simply hovered in place, for the answer he received made no sense to him, a dating notation completely foreign.

“Age?”

He recorded her answer, as that was something recognizable. However, the pencil would have a good rest after that.

“Birthplace?” “Parents?” “Today’s date?” “Do you know the name of today?” “What school did you go to?” “Where do you live?”

Oddly enough, the fact that her answers were baffling the doctor was actually having the opposite effect on Twilight.

“What is the last thing you clearly remember?”

She felt a jolt at that, and before he could ask any further questions, she held up a hoof for silence. What was the last thing she could clearly remember? That was the key, she was sure of that. And it wasn’t the last thing she could clearly remember in this body that was going to hold any answers.

She remembered waking up this last time, but that was in this body, this winged pony one. (Twilight had not as yet realized she had a horn in addition to wings) She less clearly remembered waking up the time prior, but that one, too, had been in this body. She was not really sure if she had recovered consciousness any time prior to that one; she seemed to muzzily recall doing so at least once, but she wasn’t at all positive.

None of those occasions was what she was seeking, however, as all of these recollections were with her occupying a form that wasn’t her own. So…what was the last thing she could remember, back when she was herself? She was…she was…

Ah ha! Had she fingers she would have snapped them; a hoof was not only a poor substitute for that, but also an impossible one to boot. In a single, blinding moment, Twilight remembered exactly what she had been doing!

She had gone out to investigate the mysterious energy signals and emissions she had been detecting emanating from Canterlot High School. From that statue, to be precise. She’d taken her portable equipment on‑site, and had to wait until those girls—something in the back of her head abruptly tingled a moment at that, but she was too busy at the moment with other matters to track that down—had left before taking her instruments over to the statue. Finally they had left; she had carried her equipment over…had started recording the energy signals.

No. Wait.

Twilight nibbled a nail, so engrossed she completely missed the fact it was actually a hoof she was gnawing on.

The signals had abruptly stopped before she had taken her apparatus over. She remembered—now—how furious she had been at those two girls. Because she had had to wait for them to leave, the energy emissions had stopped before she had had her equipment in position. And then she had…

Sharply gasping, eyes rounding, her gaze abruptly snapped to the pencil and pad hovering midair and surrounded by a conspicuously glowing aura.

Her research: documenting the correlation between quantum effects—like quantum teleportation and tunneling—and that of “magic”.

Her eyes shifted to his horn, also glowing.

“Magic,” she softly whispered.

“Eh?” Doctor Horse’s eyes crossed a moment as he looked upwards towards his horn, unable to actually see it but able to perceive the auroral gleam. Then those puzzled orbs flashed downwards, fixing Twilight’s with supremely sharp discernment. “Yes. Magic,” he confirmed. “That surprises you?” His pencil suddenly snapped to attention, poised and ready over the notepad.

Everyone was startled—Twilight, included—by her sudden bark of laughter. “You could say that, yes. Since where I come from there is no magic. Well, nothing like that,” she gestured with a forehoof, “anyway.”

Feeling much more steady and secure, both mentally as well as physically, Twilight flipped back the sheets and carefully wriggled out of bed and onto her hooves. “Ah…‘Where I come from’?” His voice sounded diffident, but his eyes were quite the opposite.

Catching sight of a mirror, Twilight paused a moment, her eyes widening once again. I have a horn, too? She approached the mirror, tipping her head a bit left, then right, before shifting her body a bit left, then right, then finally opening her wings up a bit. Huh. Looks just like me. Well, looks like me if I were to ever have transmogrified into a horned, winged pony, that is. Same hair color, just transformed into a mane and tail. Even the same eye color. So it’s not a creation, it’s definitely a transformation.

“I think I know what happened,” Twilight informed the doctor as she turned around and faced him. “Well, mostly, anyway. If I’m corr—”

She stopped so abruptly it took Doctor Horse by surprise. “Ye‑ess?” he coaxed, several seconds having passed in silence.

As if discussing a clinical problem, her voice sounding detached, Twilight asked, “By any chance, do I resemble someone?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, yes,” he replied, “You do.” His gaze sharpened as his met hers, an odd sort of respect in that regard. “Forgive me for saying so, but I don’t think there was much ‘by any chance’ behind your having asked that.”

Her voice might sound detached, but her mind was anything but disengaged. “Let me guess: I resemble a pegasus, ah, unicorn, umm…just what is this form called, anyway?” she asked, sounding peeved for a moment.

“Alicorn,” he replied. “Please, go on,” he requested, waving a forehoof in a cajoling motion. “You were saying?”

She was so focused on Doctor Horse, she missed seeing all the others slowly creeping closer, straining to hear…and, for all of them, struggling to understand, as well.

“Ah; alicorn. Thank you.” His eyes glinted as he noticed the signs of somepony mentally filing away a fact. “So…as I was saying, I resemble an alicorn,” she never stumbled over the unfamiliar word, “named ‘Twilight Sparkle’.”

Her head turned at hearing several sharp inhales behind her, and for a moment her eyes dangerously flashed at their proximity. But they were far enough away—and she was immersed deeply enough into her hypothesizing—to ignore for now.

This time he simply nodded, giving her the professional courtesy of listening as she worked her thoughts out as she was so obviously doing.

Her eyes widened yet again as that ‘something’ that had tickled the back of her mind minutes ago abruptly snapped into sharp focus. A huge grin spread across her face as she stamped a hoof down in pleased excitement. That girl! Not that first one—which, now that she was thinking about it, also had a nagging familiarity—but the second one that had showed up. That hair. Those clothes…

She turned and looked at herself sideways in the mirror and nodded, both mentally and physically. Now that she brought that image, that memory, into her forebrain it all became crystal clear.

That other girl…had also been Twilight Sparkle. The one from this world. Whatever it was called.

She must have passed through some sort of gateway, Twilight mused. And traveling from one plane to another must result in physiological changes as well. Which is why I’m an alicorn here. Because she’s an alicorn here. Our corporeal forms seem to transform so as to match the destination plane.

She began slowly pacing as she thought, completely oblivious now to anyone in the room with her.

That statue, she conjectured. That’s why there’s so much weird energy associated with it! That’s the gateway! The energy ceased because they’d passed through and obviously closed it at this end. But I’d recorded enough information to have powered it up—accidentally, her mental voice amended—and open it from my end!

Grinning like a loon—or Pinkie Pie on a normal day—Twilight announced to the doctor, “The reason I resemble your Twilight Sparkle is because I’m Twilight Sparkle, too.” Several of the ponies in the room softly groaned in anxious concern, but Twilight paid them no heed. “We’ve swapped places; yours is in my world, and I’ve wound up here.” She stiffened in surprise as she was suddenly interrupted by a juvenile voice throbbing with excitement.

“So you’re the Twilight Sparkle from Sunset Shimmer’s world!”

She spun around so fast that her hooves skidded on the floor, confronting the source of that outburst: that small, bipedal lizard creature. Eyes round with shock she took several hasty steps back. It talked!?

Then what it had said registered, and she shook her head hard enough she saw stars as she violently whipped mane back and forth. Sunset Shimmer, her RA? Ever since the day Professor Harmony had authorized one of those special, elite apartments for Twilight, Sunset Shimmer had done her dead‑level best to sabotage her. What did that scheming, conniving, back‑stabbing, despicable bint have to do with anything?

Spike came to an abrupt halt, seeing how tightly Twilight’s ears had just pinned back. He hastily took several steps back, paws in the air in a placating gesture. “Sorry, Twilight,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to spook you. Wow!” he breathed, eyes sparkling. “This must all seem pretty strange to you, huh.”

That, she thought, was a googolplex‑dollar statement if ever there was one. And then yet another revelation clubbed her over the head.

“S‑s‑s‑Spike?” her voice rose in pitch.

Beaming, the baby dragon puffed out his chest and thumb‑clawed his breastbone. “Yup! That’s me all right! Your…well, her,” he corrected, “Number One Assistant!”

This time when she shook her head in astonishment, her ears, because they were perked forward, audibly flapped against the side of her head.

“Pinkie Pie said—that’s our Pinkie Pie over there by the way, not their Pinkie Pie,” the little lizard creature indicated the bubblegum pink pony with the puffy coiffure, “Their Pinkie Pie said that she’d seen you before in the city. Well, you and your dog, too.”

This Pinkie Pie started hopping up and down on all four hooves. “Pleased t’meetcha!” she beamed. “Ooo! Ooo! We need to throw you a Welcome‑to‑Ponyville‑Party!”

Twilight closed her eyes, abruptly thrown out of her comfortable hypothesizing headspace by the apparition simply oozing bonhomie at her.

“Easy thar, Pinkie Pah,” she heard someone drawl. “Settle down a bit and give her a chance t’ breathe.”

“Oh, I simply do wish Sunset Shimmer was still here. Perhaps she could shed more light on matters,” said a refined voice.

“Oh my, yes,” replied a timid, breathy one. “But she simply had to go to Canterlot.”

“We should all have gone,” interjected another, this one sounding aggressive and pushy. “Who knows what’s happened to Princess Celestia? Besides, can we really trust Sunset Shimmer?”

There were several sharp gasps, and an even sharper “Rainbow Dash! Really!”

“I mean, think about it, Rarity,” retorted that bellicose voice—obviously Rainbow Dash. “The same day—the same hour!—that Sunset Shimmer comes back—after how long?—and Princess Celestia is somehow attacked and flattened like a bad soufflé? Does that sound like coincidence to you?”

There was silence for several seconds, and then the refined voice spoke up. “Rainbow Dash…what do you know about making soufflés?”

Before Rainbow Dash—whoever he, she, or it was—could reply, another voice spoke up. Well, “spoke up” was putting it pretty mildly to be honest. The moment this “Rainbow Dash” had made that thinly‑veiled accusation, Twilight had started hearing something like a forge bellows being pumped.

That forge just erupted.

“KNOCK IT OFF!” roared a highly enraged voice. Twilight’s eyes popped open, especially since the source of that furious detonation was standing almost at her side. It was that little lizard creature, that “Spike”, and he wasn’t looking all that tame and cute at the moment.

“I’ve just about had it today with idiots,” he growled, and Twilight’s eyes blinked as she saw literal tongues of green flames dancing in the lizard creature’s flared nostrils. “First it was those Royal Canterlot Guardsponies, and now it’s you?”

Since he was furiously glaring at the rainbow‑palette pegasus, Twilight figured it was a safe bet that that one was the aforementioned Rainbow Dash.

“Ah,” the pegasus started, head hanging down a bit, ears flagged. “Umm…sorry Spike. Guess I’m just, well…”

As quickly as he had angered, Spike deflated. “Yeah, I know,” he nodded. “I think we all are. Worried, that is. Scared, too.”

“Umm,” Twilight insinuated herself. “This Sunset Shimmer…does she look like…,” and proceeded to describe the first unicorn she had ever seen in her life.

Spike was nodding. “That’s her, yes. She was with you earlier, in fact. Ahh…not sure if you remember her or not. I mean, what with everything and all,” he finished, punctuating the “everything” with a wave of his taloned paw.

For the first time ever, Twilight looked up and directly gazed at one of the others that were in the room with her, locking eyes with the temporarily‑subdued Rainbow Dash, whose ears perked up noticing the scrutiny. They swiveled back as Twilight stated in a deadly, grim voice, “I have no idea what your Sunset Shimmer is like. However, if she’s anything like the Sunset Shimmer I know, I’d rather carry vipers in my blouse than have any dealings with her. At least when a viper bites you it’s an honest bite.” The sheer venom in her tone shocked them all.

Before Rainbow Dash’s suspicions could be reignited, Spike spoke up in a voice that brooked no dissension, “Well, our Sunset Shimmer isn’t like that at all.”

“Well, not anymore…maybe,” Rainbow Dash muttered under her breath. “OK, OK!” she blurted, wings fanning as she backed away from an irate lizard.

“I wish Twilight was here,” said the refined voice (Rarity; she matched voice with name, and now with unicorn). “With the six of us together we could go to Canterlot and be of assistance.”

“We don’t even know what’s wrong,” said the breathy, timid one; which was, she noted, the other pegasus. “Or even if we could be of any help.”

“Aww c’mon, Fluttershy,” and now she had a name to go with the “face”, Rainbow Dash having helpfully supplied it, “You know it’s only a matter of time before Princess Luna calls for us. I mean, who else keeps saving Equestria from all sorts of disasters?”

There was a soft cough from one of the two, purely‑plain ponies, and the only one of them, other than her physician, accoutered with anything—in this case, a cowboy hat, of all things. And as soon as said pony opened her mouth, Twilight certainly understood the choice of headgear. “Ah hate t’ burst yer bubble, Rainbow Dash,” she lazily drawled, “but Ah think th’ correct answer t’ that is Princess Twalaight Sparkle.”

She lazily grinned, taking the sting out of her chastening. “Granted, Ah’ll admit th’ five of us have had a hoof or two involved once or twice.”

She rolled her eyes as the bouncy pink one blurted, “Bubbles? We had bubbles and no one told me?”

“Not those kind o’ bubbles, Pinkie Pah.”

“Awwwwww.” Pinkie Pie visibly wilted; literally, even her mane seemed to deflate a bit.

Twilight’s nostrils flared, her eyes rolled at their juvenile posturings and posings. Tipping her head, she gazed down at the little lizard. “You resemble my Spike too closely to be anything other than his analogue,” she stated. “And I feel secure enough to comfortably state you’re not a dog. So…what are you?”

Spike puffed his chest out again. “I’m a ferocious…fire‑breathing…dragon!”

Applejack just smiled. Rainbow Dash smirked and chuckled, while Rarity indulgently smiled, “Oh Spikey‑Wikey,” which had the immediate effects of turning Spike’s face bright red and Twilight’s brows lifting up and joining her forelock.

It was obvious that between the six of them, they had not a lick of common sense or, for that matter, anything of intellect to discuss, and whatever budding curiosity she had started feeling about Spike—this world’s analogue to her beloved pet—had died aborning with that interchange between him and Rarity.

Perhaps if her specialty, or even interest, had been biology—well, xenobiology, she mentally snorted—she might have found them of continuing interest. As it was, they were of no more interest to her than any other person. And she did accept them as being people, not creatures; just different forms than the normal humanoid. She would grant them that much. And they were unusual enough forms that she knew no few of her peers—well, colleagues; she didn’t have any “peers”—would be cooing and mooncalfing over them. Especially the unicorns! Fah!

Wrinkling her muzzle in disgust, she turned back to face Doctor Horse.

With a touch of dismissive frost in her voice, she addressed the physician, “As I was saying,” her nose furrowed, “the evidence supports your Twilight Sparkle having been transported across to my world simultaneous with my transference here. I believe that the gateway here had been powered down after she and this Sunset Shimmer had arrived, but I—again, evidently—was able to re‑energize it from the other end, in my world.”

Twilight brushed the tip of her hoof up along the top of her muzzle in a reflexive move to push up nonexistent glasses. “From what I remember, it seems as if the portal initiated a spontaneous transfer; that is, it generated a “bubble”, if you will, of transference energy that transported whomever was within its radius of effect. That just happened, it seems, to have been myself and your Twilight Sparkle.”

“It will be interesting to see if I can recreate that effect,” she confided, “and, of course, other effects, with my equipment here. I’d like to start bringing it over now. I really can’t wait to get started!”

Her excitement was growing by leaps and bounds. This land was obviously the source of the strange energy—well, xenoenergy—she had been detecting and analyzing. Somehow, some of that energy was leaking over to her world. But here, at the direct source, she would have ready access to that whenever she wished. Being able to constantly detect and examine the energy here would enable her to far more efficiently document and catalog the rules by which it obeyed. In fact…

Her eyes wandered to Doctor Horse’s horn, which was still lightly glowing as he kept his pad and pencil at the ready. In fact, she had access to the actual generators of some of that energy. On‑demand generators at that; ones that could intelligently adjust their emissions to suit the task. And, if those were true, trained skills and not just instinctive, innate talents, that implied rules, and rules were what she was researching! And, once she had rules, the mathematics would be easy to deduce and calculate…

“What?” she curtly snapped, annoyed at the interruption. She had heard all five previous, prefatory throat‑clearings, but she had ignored them. Whatever that little lizard—well, dragon, she supposed—wanted was not important enough to disrupt her train of thought. But, he just would not give up, and now he had just lightly poked her in the flank with the tip of a claw!

“Ah…Twilight? There’s a…there’s a problem.”

Rolling her eyes, she huffily sighed. “What sort of problem?”

“Ah,” he looked extremely discomfited, scuffing the floor with a paw. “It’s about going back. You see, um…” He trailed off, peeping up at her in obvious distress. “The Mirror. It’s broken.”

Feeling very confused, Twilight repeated, “A mirror is broken?” What did a broken mirror have to do with anything?

“Not a mirror; the Mirror. The Crystal Mirror. The one we use to go back and forth. It’s broken.”

Twilight felt her expression congeal. She blinked, then shook her head to clear it…which not only wasn’t helpful but, because of the lump on the back of her head, wound up being detrimental.

“I don’t know what happened,” the distraught lizard explained. “Maybe Sunset Shimmer does; she was with you after all.”

“Then bring her back,” Twilight flatly demanded. “It’s vital I get that gateway functioning again. I have to know happened; what’s wrong with it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” objected the flamboyantly colored pegasus; the Rainbow Dash one. “Not so fast!”

She gritted her teeth seeing the other four nodding in agreement, even as her heart was starting to pound and her mouth dry out.

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Rainbow Dash,” the Rarity unicorn one concurred. “We need to find out what has happened to Princess Celestia first! And, just as importantly, why it’s happened. This could very well be the preparatory strike prior to an attack against Equestria!”

The flutter of fear at the back of Twilight’s throat was replaced by a sense of outrage and anger as she heard that name again. It was not the first time they had mentioned a “Celestia” but she had simply ignored those prior times, her mind focused elsewhere. But, right now, they had her complete and total attention!

Celestia

Twilight was shocked at the fire that blazed inside her at that hated, loathed name. Principal Celestia: the individual who, because of her insistence that Twilight learn to socialize, had cost her over half a year! of advanced classes and credits. Whose refusal to sign off on the recommendation that Twilight had needed almost cost her the acceptance she’d received from Everfree University. She hadn’t just been handed that; Twilight had earned that honor, that privilege! She’d deserved it, by dint of all her hard work, her focused efforts, her determined studies, her natural genius and superior intellect.

Gasps echoed in the room as Twilight coldly stated, “I don’t care about Celestia,” forgetting, at the moment, that this Celestia was not her despised enemy.

Rainbow Dash aggressively bristled. “Well, we care about her!” she snapped. “And she’s definitely a lot more important than fixing some stupid mirror just so you can get home and grab your egghead junk!”

But that wasn’t the reason Twilight wanted the mirror fixed. Fear again clogged her throat as the real reason—the only reason at this moment—rocked her again, trembling at the sensation of a slowly melting icicle at the back of her neck, its frigid tears trickling down her spine and spreading a deathly chill throughout her.

“It’s not about my equipment,” she got through gritted teeth. There was something about the emotions driving Twilight that pricked at Rarity. She sensed anger, yes, but there was fear there. Real fear, and she didn’t understand why. Until…

“I have to get back to my dog.”

“Your dog?” Rainbow Dash barked in astonishment. “Your dog is more important than Princess Celestia?”

It was too late. Rarity suddenly grasped the root of Twilight’s fear, but Rainbow Dash’s outburst had triggered something inside the upset alicorn.

Yes, my dog, Twilight thought. My Spike. My companion. My best friend. The one person—and I don’t care if he is “just a dog”, he’s a person to me!—in the entire world that brings me comfort. That makes me feel safe and needed. That chases my bad dreams away; that makes me laugh and smile. That never judges me, never expects anything from me; that takes me just as I am.

And he’s home. Alone. With NO food, and only enough water for two days. If I can’t get home…

Her throat painfully tightened.

If I can’t get home, he’s going to die. Her mind tried skittering and shying from that, but it refused to stop throwing reality at her. No one will just “drop by” to visit. No one ever does. I don’t ha…have any friends. I don’t want them!

The back of her head started painfully throbbing.

No one was even going to notice she was not home, because no one ever noticed her. She kept to herself. She probably would not even be missed until it was time to submit another draft of her thesis.

The best she could hope for would be that Sunset Shimmer somehow heard Spike when he started whining from starvation. And that was a terrible hope, for Twilight was sure Sunset Shimmer would either turn Spike over to the Pound or, more horribly—and much more likely—turn him over to one of the animal labs as an experimental subject.

Spike, she silently cried, Oh God, Spike! You trusted me and now I’ve betrayed you!

“I think somepony is having a lee‑tle problem with priorities,” Rainbow Dash snarkily said.

“Rainbow Dash!” Rarity scolded, sounding shocked and appalled.

And that was when everything went very, very bad.


“Here. Drink this.”

Twilight gently shook her head, sweeping away the fugue remnants of her recollections. Hovering before her was a small glass tumbler halfway filled with a shimmering, pale violet liquid. “I don’t suppose it’s hemlock, is it?” she asked in a terribly numb tone.

Doctor Horse gave her a stern look. “I don’t know what “hemlock” is, but assuming it’s what I think you mean, that’s a very poor joke.”

She actually hung her head, her apology so soft it was barely audible.

“It’s a mild analgesic,” he informed her. “And an even milder sedative. And, once you’ve gotten that inside you for a bit, you’re going to have a small bowl of bran and oat mash.”

Lipping the straw that was in the glass, Twilight sipped and swallowed, braced for something vile and nasty, and being pleasantly surprised discovering quite the opposite.

“I have another medicine to recommend, but I wasn’t about to prescribe it without consulting with you first.”

Licking her lips after having drawn up the last of the brew, Twilight quizzically gazed at him. He returned her gaze with the seriousness she deserved. “There are potions we prescribe, usually for unicorns running high fevers, because hallucinations often result concurrent with those fevers.” Peering down his glasses, he continued. “They are of varying strengths, but what they do is help dampen the magicks—innate or trained—of unicorns. Wait,” he said, holding up a forehoof.

“This has nothing at all to do with what happened earlier,” he clarified. “I’m not wishing to prescribe it out of fear of you, or what you might do.”

You should, she thought. Oh, you really, really should!

“What I’m recommending is one of the mid‑grade ones, one strong enough to inhibit your abilities without prohibiting them. To give you some time to regain your balance and strengthen your control.”

Twilight sadly smiled. “Control, Doctor? After all this? You think I have control?” she choked back a sob.

“Control…discipline…does it matter what term I use? I find it rather hard to believe that a scientist of your caliber hasn’t learned discipline. Oh yes,” he softly smiled. “We have scientists here, too. And you did a lot of talking to yourself these last few hours; I’m afraid I couldn’t help overhearing you. More to the point, I needed to overhear you. You’ve accomplished quite a bit in your short life. So, yes, I’m quite sure you have the necessary discipline. You just need a “breather” to get that under control.”

Her lips quirked. “Does it taste as good as this one did?”

Author's Note:

Updated and revised 02/08/2020