Your Own Worst Enemy

by Distaff Pope

13. I'll Sink Manehattan

It turned out, the answer to how long until I could go home was: soon. I was back in my own bed a bit after the sun rose, nuzzling my head into the pillow. Convincing Scootaloo I should be in my own place instead of her apartment was easy enough, especially since it had the benefit of being true. I stretched out, sweeping my arms wide as they rose with an easy languid movement, imagining the way my body contorted and twisted in my mind. If only Scootaloo could see the simple beauty of a stretching mare in motion. Instead, she was on the far side of my mammoth bed, eyes closed, while I was under the covers. One day she’d see it.

The Dreaming came to me quickly, Luna was gone. Of course she was; it was morning, and her watch was over. I settled down to watch over the few remaining dreamers. Late sleepers or night-shifters. I smiled as Scootaloo’s dream drifted past. I didn’t bother to look at it, and instead closed my eyes, allowing my mind to drift through the long day. A spike of pain, a breaking, a mare stretching, smoky music drifting over a lounge, the yelling past, a night’s twisted reflection of day: I let it all wash over me.

Scootaloo sat. Sat in the center of my life, everything bending around her. I leaned in for a better look and saw myself, sitting just beneath her, bending her around me. Everything bends around you.

A dam crumbled, a diamond hole cut in it, allowing water to rush out and the rest of the concrete to give way. I looked up, sunlight filtering down through a rushing torrent of water. Let it all wash over me. I opened my mouth to laugh, and water rushed in, filling my lungs as the crushing weight forced me deeper into mud. I watched. What would happen next?. You know what’s going to happen next.

I looked down at myself to see somepony else. Scootaloo at the bottom, being crushed into dirt and trying to mouth something before the ground swallowed her up. My name. “Bright Lights.”

Where? I twisted around to try and see her, but the water, a mix of shades between white, purple, and pink, clouded my vision. All I could do was drift over the riverbed of Scootaloos, all mouthing my name over and over, all shouting their love, begging the river to grind them in deeper. The river obeyed.

I bubbled through the valley, washing through everything, spreading out as far as I could. Whole farms drowned, the rushing wall of me flattened Ponyville like it was made of sticks. Mom and Twilight clung to the tip of Twilight’s castle, and I lapped at their hooves. They just stared at me as I rushed on.

The club stared at me, I opened my mouth to say something, but not my voice came out. “It’s a shame what happened to Sweetie,” it said. Bright Lights. “So much potential, but now… Her entire purpose in life gone in a snap.” Something grumbled in the ground, growing louder as Bright Lights spoke. Nopony but me – her? Who was I? – noticed. “But she wasted it all, turned to dangerous distractions, instead of what matter–” The walls broke, the flood of white water came in to sweep the whole thing away and silence the pony who stole my voice.

The floodwater of myself receded, leaving a blank slate behind. I trotted onto the floodplain, hooves digging into damp soil as I walked. “Help me,” a pony screamed, hooves and head sticking up out of the ground. “Please, Sweetie, you have to help me.” I trotted close to her, struggling to recognize her. She seemed so familiar: pink mane, blue coat... I’d seen her somewhere before. Another step and she shifted into an orange pegasus. Another, and she was a white unicorn. She cycled between the three ponies as one. I reached out a hoof to help her and looked up to see myself, staring down at me as I struggled to get out of the dirt. I smiled and shoved me deeper into the earth, soil filling mouth and nostrils as I struggled for the next breath, flickering back to the mare under the river, kicking my legs, trying to get to the surface. A kick, a kick, another kick, and the light above grew brighter as my lungs burned for air. I had to break through or I'd drown.

Swim or die. Swim or die. Unspoken words echoed in my ear as my back legs kicked and my forearms reached up for the sun. A white hoof reached into the water to pull me up. I ignored it and kicked, not trusting the hoof that would hold me under. Kick. Kick. My arms broke through the water. One more kick, and–

My eyes opened as I sucked in air and water. I coughed and kicked, seeing sunlight pouring onto silk sheets. My bed. I was in bed. I exhaled. How long since I’d just let myself dream? Scootaloo stirred as I crawled out of the sheets. Afternoon sunlight. I yawned and stumbled to the bathroom, glancing at the clock on the wall. Three o’clock. Scootaloo would be up soon, hopefully. It didn’t matter much. I needed to get ready for my show.

You could rehearse.

I nodded. I could do that. It’d probably be a good thing to do, too. Of course, more likely than not, that’d end with me just getting angry with my reflection. Again.

At least you won’t end up vaporizing this one. Probably.

I shut the bathroom door and undid my bandages. If I looked close, I could see the bruises and cuts under the fur. Well, less cuts, and more bits where my body skidded against asphalt. I went to the medicine cabinet and pulled out another bandage wrap, setting it down on the edge of the sink.

My magic grabbed the bath faucet and turned, and a stream of water rushed out. Maybe I could sing in the tub? A lot of ponies who couldn’t sing sang in the shower; I could be one of them. Plus – I tilted my head – hot bath. Not many better ways to start your day, no matter how late it was.

I watched the tub fill up, steam rising from it as an image of fresh-boiled Sweetie popped in my head. Didn’t some griffons cook food like that? I floated a box of bubble-bath over and imagined being a little frog in a big boiling pot. Did they put the frog in there when it was room temperature or throw it in after it was good and hot? I tilted my head at the box of bubbles. Bubbles were fun, but– An image of being buried under dark water popped into my head as light faded away. No bubbles today. I turned the water off and lowered myself into the tub, letting the hot water dull the ache in my side. You know, this is terrible posture for singing. Obviously, I did, and I really didn’t care. I opened my mouth, cleared my throat…

And waited. How can I even describe that stupid feeling? It’s like… You know how to do something, you’re trying, but there’s this block where your brain just refuses to do anything. You’re standing there, staring at the ceiling, screaming ‘Sing, sing, sing!’ in your head, knowing it’s the easiest thing in the world, basically breathing, but your stupid throat’s closed up so you can barely breathe, something’s gripping your chest so tight you think you’re going to collapse into yourself, and the whole time, she’s just there, laughing.[

“Sing for me.”

I sighed and closed my eyes, sinking into the tub deeper so my mane floated and spread out, waving a hoof through the glossy strands as the heat drew the frustration out of me.. Maybe if I could get on the stage, instinct would just take over? Every time I’d sung since I woke up, I hadn’t really been thinking about it. It was just something I needed to do. I sat up.

The shampoo bottle floated over to me and I squirted it out into my mane, rubbing it in deep with a free hoof, while returning the bottle to its home. So, how could I sing without thinking about it? That was like one of those stupid thought puzzles, like what’s the sound of a tree falling in the woods.

You’re doomed.

Yeah, probably. It was going to end up bad, but what didn’t? Would it be better to just not go? I closed my eyes and sank back into the water, careful to keep my muzzle above the surface. If I didn’t go tonight, I might not get another chance to be so anonymous, and if I didn’t go tonight… that was just like admitting I failed. You did fail.

Whatever, I couldn’t stop trying. I was going to fix everything, somehow. One day, I’d take the stage, and I’d sing again, and then I’d grind Bright Lights’ face into the dirt.

I smiled and rinsed my hair, running my hooves through the mane to work it all out.

“What a fun little fantasy,” Bright Lights’ voice said, words as clear as ever, even though my ears were under the water. “You get your perfect life back, and show me how nasty I am. That doesn’t change one thing, though.”

“What’s that?” I asked, sighing. What little nugget of self-loathing wisdom did my subconscious wisdom have for me now? Probably something I’d never heard before. Definitely not something about how broken I was.

“You can’t sing for me,” she said. I opened one eye to see her standing at the edge of the bath, looking down at me like she’d just said the cleverest thing ever. I rolled my eyes and splashed a hoof at her. My subconscious’ taunts were just getting lame.

“Got it, thanks,” I said, sitting up and grabbing the conditioner. “So, if there’s nothing else, I’d really like to just get back to washing my mane and my revenge fantasies.” I tilted my head at inspiration. Or maybe other fantasies.

A mare took the stage, and beyond the lights could see an auditorium of ponies waiting to be carried away to rapture. I lit my horn up, and sank back into the water, letting the magic wash over me as I worked the old familiar spell, tightening my strings as a delicious tension curled up inside me, the violin begged to be played, screaming out for the touch of her bow as a concerto bubbled up inside her.

My whole body shone with magical light as the bow first drew across my strings, my notes rising high above the audience. A hint and tease of what was to come. A promise to be delivered upon immediately as the bow drew back and the notes bubbling up inside me found its outlet. I sang. A song perfect and unique, never to be repeated: primal, raw, and true. As the spell and song ended, I laughed, the coda to Sweetie’s Bathtub Sonata. Maybe I could put something like it on an album, I bet my old fans would love it. The ponies who read about me in the paper, definitely would. Magic sputtering with fatigue, I grabbed the plug and pulled, draining the dirty water and pouring in clean. I floated, emptied and leaden.

The world stood still in the tub as water lapped around my body. Content. That’s what the feeling was, like I’d overdosed on Zen, but without what it tried to hide. Just a mare floating in a bath, the outside world obliterated. Water refreshed, I let myself drift on the endless ocean, tail occasionally scraping against the tub’s bottom, sending the last few ripples of applause up my spine. A grin spread out on my face. Not a standing O, but still an ovation.

Eventually, the water cooled, eternity ended, and I came back to a world of problems. I sighed and lifted my head up, grabbing the loofah and scrubbing myself clean before doing the fun twistaround to clean my tail before reluctantly getting to my hooves and draining the water. The bandages I’d laid out earlier floated over to me, and I wrapped my bruises and cuts after applying a healing cream the doctors gave me. I went through the rest of the routine, styling my mane, putting on my makeup, making sure I looked as close to perfect as I could. I nodded at the mare in the mirror. She looked good. I smiled and turned the door handle, only to find an orange pegasus staring at me. “About time,” she said, looking at me. “Why do you always have to take so long in the bathroom?”

I grinned at her. “So I look good.” Also for other, more personal, reasons. Reasons I wouldn’t have if she could just get past her issue with mares. “Plus, I wanted to take a bath and just spend some time relaxing. You know?”

“Yeah, alright,” she said, struggling to get past me. “Can I please get in there?”

“There are other bathrooms here,” I said, rolling my eyes and stepping aside, pirouetting around her as she rushed past so I was on the other side of the door. “It’s not like your apar–” The door slammed shut. I sighed and trotted to the kitchen. My outfit for tonight was still at Scootaloo’s apartment, which meant I had to go back there.

“It’s not so bad,” Mom said from behind me. “Perhaps a touch smaller than you’re accustomed to, but it could be worse.” I stared at her. “Though I admit, it could use a bit of cleaning. Perhaps administered via flamethrower.”

“No kidding,” I said, pulling a bowl out of the cabinet and grabbing cereal from the pantry. “How can she live like that?”

“Well, I hasten to point out that the two of you excel in different areas. While you have a greater interest in – perhaps neatness is the wrong word, because I think your true love is opulence – elegance and beauty, Scootaloo has mastered the art of not eating like a filly,” she said, still standing at the border of the kitchen.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked over the sound of cereal clinking in the bowl. I swung the refrigerator door open and sighed. It’d been months, any milk I had was bad now.

“Sweetie, that cereal is almost pure sugar,” Mom said, taking a step closer. “And it pains me to say this, but your palate lacks a certain level of sophistication. For you, it seems, sweeter is better.”

“It is in my name,” I said, putting the spoon in the bowl and taking a bite. A bit drier than usual, but still good enough.

“And the Cakes are named after cakes, but they eat more than just baked confections. Even Applejack tries foods beyond her orchard. Besides, your talent has nothing to do with sugar,” she said, picking up my box of cereal and putting it in the pantry. A pulse with my horn revealed the box had moved. Great, I could cast magic without noticing it now. More fun facts for Dr. Matter.

“Okay,” I said, trotting to the dining room. “You have a point, and I guess it is possible for foods to be too sweet. Like, I’ve had some foods that weren't that sweet, but they still tasted good because they had a bunch of other flavors all playing with each other.”

Mom sighed. “If we’re going to talk more about food, we simply must work on your culinary vocabulary.” She sat across from me.

“Oh?” I asked, tilting my head at her. “What should I have said?”

She shook her head. “If you don't know, I don't know, but I’m absolutely positive there’s never a reason to say your foods tastes are ‘playing with each other.’ That’s just filtering the world through your oversexed lens.”

“Hey, I’m not oversexed,” I said, taking a bite of my cereal and then using the spoon to point at her. “If anything, I’m undersexed, unless you count the stuff I do when I’m alone, and that’s not sex, just–”

“Yes, yes,” Mom said, waving a hoof. “Alright, oversexualized lens. Better?”

I nodded. Maybe I thought about sex a touch more than most ponies.

“So… I should eat more than just sweet food and not say my food’s playing with itself. Anything else?” I asked.

“Many, many things,” she said, looking at me. “And you know what’s chief on my agenda, but–” The door to the bedroom opened, and Scootaloo trotted through, mane still damp. She’d managed to use the restroom and take a bath in the time it took me to pour and eat half a bowl of cereal. How? My eyes flicked back to the empty space Mom’d been sitting at a second ago.

“Hey,” I said, getting on my hooves and trotting over to her. I nuzzled up to her cheek and ignored the usual tension she got when I touched her like a mare. I ran through the list of demeaning outfits she could wear tonight, and caught the smell of her shampoo still on her coat. So she had actually bathed. Somehow. Was she a time traveller? I know she didn’t deal with makeup, or her mane, or just floating in the bathtub, but still, that was fast. “Sleep well?”

She nodded, still a tiny smidge of sleep in her eye. “Yeah, great. I’ll give you this, your bed is way comfier than mine.”

And the sky was blue. I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, it is. We can sleep here more often if you like, it gives us... space.” I packed the last word with as much implication as I could.

“But I like my apartment,” Scootaloo said. I sighed. “Look, I know it’s not as big as you’re used to–” Or nice looking. “–But I’m used to it, and I like it.” I stared at her. “It’s not that bad, Sweetie.”

“Yeah, well, I like my penthouse, and I’m used to that, so we can either go with the tiny apartment that doesn’t even have a bed for me or my penthouse which has multiple unused bedrooms with multiple unused beds that can all comfortably fit a lot of ponies. We have room to live here, and if you want, we can even bring Rusty.” I tilted my head. Of course, he wouldn’t accept the offer, but we could still make it. “I don’t really care, but I’d like an apartment with a bed I can actually sleep in.”

"And I’d like an apartment you didn’t almost die in,” she said, pointing a hoof at the crack in the window. I winced.

"I thought that’d be nice too, but you know what? Given the choice between a really nice apartment where I almost died and a kind of garbage apartment where I didn’t, I’ll take really nice every time,” I said, keeping my eyes on her and standing my ground.

“We could just get a new apartment,” Scootaloo said. My anger deflated. Yeah, we could, couldn’t we?

“Alright,” I said, trotting back to my seat at the table. “Start looking after I finish my appointment with Doctor Hooves tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll try and look through some of the classifieds tonight... before you sing.”

“Great,” I said, taking another bite of cereal. “I kind of need to pick up my outfit for tonight, so after breakfast, what do you say we go back to your place?”

“Sounds good,” she said, taking a seat across from me. “Are you ready to sing tonight? Because if you’re not–”

I grinned and lied, shutting her up as fast as I could. “Absolutely.” Inspiration flashed in my brain. That would keep her from getting all annoying. Plus, sexy. "But I think we need to work on what you're wearing."

♪♪♪

I stood at the entrance to the Around the Clock Cafe, Scootaloo standing a few hooves behind me in the schoolmare outfit we’d grabbed from my penthouse. Ponies glanced at her as they walked past, and the heat of her embarrassment threatened to incinerate the city. No Purrmese bells, but they could wait for later. I took a breath to calm myself and trotted inside. “Remember, the pony you’ll need to speak with will be sitting next to the stage,” Mom said, trotting next to me and pointing a hoof where I needed to go. I nodded and followed her direction.

“Hi,” I said to the caramel-coated mare. “Uhmm… is it too late to register for the open-mic night?”

“Not at all,” she said, keeping her eyes on the paper in front of her and drawing her pencil to the sign-up sheet. “Name and what you’ll be doing?”

“I’d like to sing a song, and… uhmm... Sweetie Belle,” I said, still smiling and glancing back at Scootaloo.

“Very fun–” She lifted her head up to see me and froze. “You’re… You’re not joking.”

“Nope,” I said, shaking my head and still smiling. “So, can I still sing a song?”

She worked her mouth, trying to coax it into saying something. “That… Uhmm… Why? I mean, yes, of course, but why here?”

“What’s it matter?” Scootaloo said, barging up next to me. “She wants to sing, you have a microphone, why are you making it into an issue?”

“Scootaloo,” I said, resting a hoof on her backside and looking at her. “I can handle this, okay?” As I looked at her, she remembered her embarrassment and backed away. I grinned triumphantly.

The mare was pencilling something at the very bottom of the sign up sheet. “I just… I want to get back into singing,” I said, “but I don’t want to do Bridleway singing anymore, and I thought here might be a good place to start? If that’s okay.”

“Yes, of course, absolutely, whatever you say,” she said, staring across at me like she’d just seen a bolt of lightning saunter into her bottle and ask if she could put the lid on. “We have a backstage office we use whenever we have actual performers, and you’re more than welcome to stay there before your song. We’ll send somepony to fetch you when it’s time.”

“Well, shouldn’t I just stay out with everypony else?” I asked, tilting my head. “I don’t want any special treatment.”

“Yes, yes, normally you would, but considering your fame and… notoriety, I just thought it would be better if you were given a measure of privacy. That’s all,” she said, looking back at a door next to the stage. I glanced at Scootaloo, who was too busy staring at her hooves to notice.

“I guess that makes sense,” I said, trotting to the door. “So just through there, or…” I stopped as I noticed Scootaloo following behind me. “Uhmm, could you stay out here, please?”

“Really?” she asked, looking at me like I’d just sprouted a second head and snapping out of her shame. “After last night, you want me to stay outside?”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding my head. “Basically.” I looked at her and sighed. “I like being alone before a show, it lets me clear my head and get out those butterflies. If you want to stay outside the room, that’s fine, but I’d really just like it if you let me be alone for this.”

“Ugh, fine,” she said, flicking a wing. “I’ll be right outside your door, and I want another person there with me too.” She looked at the mare behind the desk, who just nodded.

I smiled at Scootaloo, taking a step towards her and dropping my voice low and husky. About time she remembered who was in control. “You know, I’m really proud of you, being so strong and assertive, even though you look like…” I waved a hoof, gesturing to all the ponies who’d been glancing at her when they thought we weren’t looking. “Well, you know, a lot of lesser mares would have a hard time acting confident when they know every stallion in the room’s staring at them like…” I paused, faking a frown. “Actually, I wouldn’t know what a stallion sees when they look at you, but I bet you can come up with some ideas.” She shrank away, ears going flat against her head, giving me the opportunity to trot into the office room and close the door. If she wanted me to humiliate her, I wasn’t going to go easy on her, especially when she started getting… ideas.

Wait – I shook my head – That was a bit mean, wasn’t it? It was supposed to be just a game, not me just completely controlling her life. “But that’s what she wants,” Bright Lights said as I looked around the room, ignoring her. There was a desk with a newspaper left on it, some cabinets, and a mirror. I grinned and trotted to it. Perfect.

My eyes ran over my reflection: My beret tilted properly with the front resting against the base of my horn, my hair draped right over my shoulder, and my sweater was cleaned and neat. I held up a hoof to make sure my shoes were on right, and nodded in approval. I looked… I looked like me the version of me I wanted to project to Equestria. Everything about me looked perfect; the only teeny little issue was I still couldn’t sing.

“You alright in there?” Scootaloo shouted from the other side of the door. “If you need anything–”

“I’m fine,” I shouted back, shaking my head. I was fine. I couldn’t sing, but besides that, I was completely fine. I turned back to my reflection to try and fix that little issue.

And failed. And tried. And failed. Again and again and again. I turned away from myself and slumped down at the desk. Time to face the music, or the lack thereof, I guess. I grabbed the newspaper with my magic and flipped it open. At least, I could help Scootaloo by looking at apartments.

I flipped to the back of the paper, past news, past sports– I stopped at entertainment, a headline in the corner freezing me in place.

Lover brings shocking new allegations against Sweetie Belle

What did I do this time? I scanned the article. “Blah blah blah, she’s a monster, sure, Bright Lights claims Sweetie Belle…” I paused, running over the next two words again and again. “Attacked her.”

What?

“When I finally tried to end things with Sweetie, she flew into a rage and slapped me, screaming I was nothing without her,” Bright Lights says. “That’s when I knew I had to share the truth with everypony, but I guess a part of me still wanted to protect her, to keep her last ugly secret safe.”

What?!

I stared at the paper, eye twitching. I did what now? “You can read,” the voice of Bright Lights said from behind me. I lit my horn up and blasted her into bits. She’d said more than enough.

A lie. That was it. Maybe I couldn’t remember every last bit of my life in the penthouse, but I knew myself. I knew I wouldn’t hit a pony no matter how much they deserved it. I looked back at the paper and another flare of my horn turned it into ashes.

Why? It was because I didn’t die, wasn’t it? My life wasn’t completely destroyed, she saw me trying to fix myself and move on, and she just couldn’t stand it, could she? Couldn’t stand the idea I might have some level of happiness without her. She ruined my life, and when she saw I might move on and fix some of the wounds she left, she started lying. “Remind you of anypony?” her voice rang in my ear.

Just shut up and die! Real or hallucination, I didn’t care, she just needed to crawl in a hole and never bother me again.

She laughed fire into my ear. “Sing for me, Sweetie.” A knock from the door and I grinned, feral and mad. She wanted me to sing for her? Okay.

“Hey, they’re saying they’re ready for you, Sweetie,” Scootaloo said. I nodded and trotted to the door, opening it with a gentle twist of magic that felt like bashing the door open: Sweetie Belle the Firebrand. The needle in my head slotted into its groove as my song popped into place. Well, it wasn’t my song, I didn’t write it, but it was exactly the words I needed to sing.

“Got it,” I said, looking around the hallway and seeing a grey stallion just next to Scootaloo. “So, I follow you?” The song played in my mind as I tweaked the few lines that just didn’t work. The second to last line definitely had to be changed. A quick peck on the cheek for Scootaloo. “Wait out in the audience or me.” She nodded and trotted a few steps into the packed crowd. How many hours had I been practicing? Enough to get the word out, I bet.

“We cleared a path from here to the stage for you,” he said, bringing me back to the entrance of the main room. “Just wait for your cue.”

“And now, mares and gentlecolts, most of you know her from her Bridleway career and the rest of you know her from the papers…” There was a pause as some ponies chuckled. “But I’m very pleased to announce the one and only Sweetie Belle here for you tonight. Let’s all give her a warm welcome.” Ponies applauded and stomped their hooves, and I trotted past them all, head held high, moving deliberately, like I was doing them a favor letting them hear me.

I took the stage and stood defiant against the sea of onlookers. They whispered and gestured; occasionally, a coarse laugh rose above the rest. They were exactly where I wanted them. “I’ll sink Manehattan…” My voice rang out like a school bell, hanging high over the murmurs and smothering every other word in the room as I commanded attention.

“Right into the sea
I’ll find the sweetest spot to watch
As it goes away.”

Every eye in the room fixed on me, the ponies enraptured as my words spun around them, webbing them in their cocoon.

“A river of tiny tears will flow from your crocodile eyes.
Too late to apologize, I say, as flood waters rise.”

Scootaloo was the only pony to understand, to know just who the song was about, but that didn’t matter, the other ponies didn’t need to understand, they just needed to listen.

“I’ll sink Manehattan
I’ll sacrifice friends
I think they’d understand my plan
I’ll never be sure.”

I moved to the edge of the stage, drawing us together in the world of the song – my world – as I sang the changed line.

“Let’s let our poisoned love die
Too late to apologize, my love, now kiss me goodbye.”

The song ended, ponies stared at me as the last note faded away, blinking their eyes as its magic ended, and then the room exploded with applause as they stomped their hooves and cheered.

“Thank you all for coming,” I said, smiling and bowing for the audience. “I’m so happy to see you’re here, and when you go home tonight, I want you to tell your friends that Sweetie Belle’s singing again, and doesn’t plan to stop anytime soon.” I waved a hoof. “And please, enjoy the rest of the performances tonight.”

“Actually, you’re our last performer tonight,” the mare from earlier said from right next to the stage. Of course I was; she’d made sure of it, hadn’t she? “And if you like, you still have time for one more song.”

A murmur of ‘encore’ spread through the crowd like fire, and soon they were all chanting it in unison. I flashed my audience a smile. “Well, if you insist, who am I to say no?”

Bright Lights wanted me to sing for her? Alright, I’d sing for her.

I’d sing her eulogy.

Comments

[Thought Prism]

*slow clap*

[Distaff Pope]

7440858 Which part got you clapping?

[Thought Prism]

7441025

The ending. What else?

[theassassin]

Let's hope that her ability to sing is permanent.

[Distaff Pope]

7441285 I thought you might have been referring to... another scene. But yeah, it was fun having Sweetie take the stage again.

[Peachy Keen]

Huh! So here anger towards Bright Lights pushed her past the barrier that prevented her from singing (Bright Lights' control). She's gotten out from under Bright Lights hoof this time.

[Distaff Pope]

7443232 Friendship is magic, but sometimes a little hate is a powerful motivator.

[Distaff Pope]

7443232 Friendship is magic, but sometimes a little hate is a powerful motivator.

[Undome Tinwe]

As unhealthy as it is, that last scene of her singing is just awesome, and the final line is really badass, like something you'd expect from an action movie starring a singer. A good bit of catharsis after all the pain of the past thirteen chapters.