Making Wishes on the Furthest Stars

by Henbane Skies

Ch 1 - The Night Gets Caught in Her Mane (Solitude)

Chapter One
The Night Gets Caught in her Mane (Solitude)

It was cold for an aging spring, echoes of a winter long since packed up and carried off like so much mail. Grape-colored clouds blemished the pomegranate sky like fading scars as the sun dug deep into the horizon, and Fizzlepop allowed herself a few moments to pretend that it was early morning and that she hadn’t spent the entirety of the day in her rickety bed.

She moved quickly, now that the excruciating cramp in her back legs and shoulders had finally let up to a mild ache, watching as jays and swallows passed lazily over the river, reflections following them. Watching the midges and mayflies and gnats swarming in low clouds in the circles of sunlight reflected up by the river. Watching ponies in the little town beyond the bridge milling about the marketplace in the town square, still making purchases in the few shops that were still open, or just spending time with each other as the day began to fall away into night.

Ponyville.

It happened every time, always triggered after she crossed some sort of threshold; the bridge, a mailbox, a tree shaped in a particular way. Her heart would begin to stomp against her ribcage, sweat leaching through her skin as though a fever were setting in. Her stomach would begin to twist and rise and she’d try to think up an excuse to get away from this town in as fast and inconspicuous a way as possible. A grey pegasus mare with a long mane the color of wheatgrass was heading out of town, coming her way; she saw Fizzlepop coming and quickly turned away, tossing a scowl over her shoulder. A pair of stallions seated under an awning watched her out of the corners of their eyes, crossing ugly whispers. She’d heard some of what they were saying, floating on the breeze like pathogens, but she paid them no mind. She’d heard all of the really awful ones already, and she wouldn’t have bothered anyway. She was in a hurry.

A brief glance at the sunset informed her that she needed to move. She told her heart to shut up and her hooves to keep going.

As she turned, she smacked dead-on into the body of a shorter mare, a head rebounding off of her chest and winding her for a second. She ran through the list of names Pinkie Pie had insisted she memorize, coming up with one and matching it with the face. Once she caught her breath, she straightened up and tried to untangle her tongue. “Oh, Mrs. Cake, I’m sorry—.”

“Get inside, kids. Get in, get in…” Mrs. Cake ushered her two foals (Pound Cake was the colt’s name, she remembered, though she couldn’t remember what the filly was called) into the nearest shop, a squat, cozy building shaped like a wholesome gingerbread house. A sign hung from a cast-iron crossbeam reminding her that this was Sugarcube Corner.

Mrs. Cake gave her a dark look, as though Fizzlepop had just tried to accost her children. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t see you,” the unicorn muttered.

“I suppose not,” Mrs. Cake said, voice dribbling hate. She blew air out of her nose and went on. “That you’ve been allowed to walk freely among good, decent ponyfolk, that you’ve been allowed to live anywhere in Equestria, is no less a crime than what you did.”

The mare held Fizzlepop’s gaze for an uncomfortable instant longer before turning away and heading into her shop, leaving the unicorn staring wide-eyed at the pink shutter doors as they swayed open-shut-open-shut, like hooves waving her away from the premises.

“The natives grow restless,” Fizzlepop muttered to herself. It was by pure willpower alone that she kept her heart from breaking free and wreaking havoc on the rest of her insides. Swallowing this moment, burying it away with the rest, she turned away from Sugarcube Corner and continued on her way.

She needed to see it again. The safety of having the ability to question why and how she might accomplish this task flew right out the window the moment her hooves hit the bedroom floor. The dream was so discombobulating, so many sensations and each sense overloaded with what her dream depicted. Faceless silhouettes wreathed in argument and conflict. Familiar voices screaming at her, decrying and defying her and somewhere in the cacophony was her own voice among the accusers. But there were so many things she couldn’t be sure of, and as time slipped away and her memory of the dream slowly hemorrhaged, she felt a longing deep enough to drown in, a pull toward that dream. She needed to see and hear it all again. Just to be sure.

You don’t think that dreams, some dreams, are meant to be forgotten?

Fizzlepop paused at that, scowling at the grass. No, she couldn’t allow herself to think like that. Surely this dream meant something important, and she had to find out a way to get it to come back to her.

A half-moon was rising up through the distant stars, so bright and orange it might as well be a chipped off piece of some gigantic hunk of amber. The shadows that covered the ground didn’t flee from its light, but seemed to warm to it, soften and become comforting. Fizzlepop felt no comfort as she quickened her pace, the moon only exacerbating her urgency.

She asked the few ponies that were still out and about if they had seen Twilight Sparkle anywhere. Their responses were more or less identical to Mrs. Cake. Finally, her lungs threatening to break out of her chest and her heart threatening violent mutiny, she stopped on a hill just outside of town, hanging her head as she willed the dream to come back to her.

It’s going away, she thought, feeling a sadness cutting into her too deep for description. It’s going away and you’re never going to get it back.

A moment later, she noticed something odd about the low-hanging cloud above her. A tuft of something, some kind of hair sticking out from the bottom of it. She realized that it was a tail, and from the noises emanating from the cloud, its owner was already sleeping.

Fizzlepop grumbled to herself, prodding at the ground with the corner of her hoof. She recognized that tail, and she wasn’t interested in talking with that particular pony, but she knew her options were stretched to the faintest limit.

“Rainbow Dash?”

No answer outside of grinding snores.

She shouted Rainbow Dash’s name, shouted again. Her frustration and despair began to bleed together, alchemizing into anger; she didn’t notice the early warning flickers that flared from the cracked broken stump of her horn, bright blue sparks spitting like those thrown off the lit primer chord to a stick of dynamite.

“Rainbow Dash, wake up!” she screamed. As the last syllable rushed over her lips the world around her blazed apart in a blue-white light. She watched as a misshapen bolt of magical light arced up through the air, spiraling without trajectory, somehow righting itself and striking the cloud. The cloud in turn absorbed the light, soaking it up and radiating a brilliant sapphire glow that lit up the entire field. Fizzlepop held her breath as moment stretched on into anguished moment until it finally happened.

The cloud discharged, sending out pale smoke and veins of prismatic electricity in every direction. There was a tremendous shout and a rush of air as a blue pegasus shot up into the sky, trailing smoke. Fizzlepop watched the mare turning in the air to see what had happened, saw eyes lock onto hers and then dim into anger.

“Uh oh,” she said. She took one tentative step back—enough time for Rainbow Dash to arrow down close to the ground, hovering inches above her. The blue mare glowered down at her, an entry in the book of aggression. In the dim copal moonlight, Fizzlepop could still see the ugly scorch mark on her rump, her eyes jumping between it and Rainbow’s sour expression.

“What?” Rainbow Dash spat.

“Sorry about that, Rainbow…I just wanted to know if—.”

“Do you have any idea what time it is? Haven’t you got better things to do than blowing stuff up? I know that’s, like, your thing and all, but maybe you can do it away from anypony else! That would be the best thing you could do.”

Swallow it, bury it. “Rainbow Dash, I was hoping if you knew where Twilight would be.”

An eyebrow raised, a suspicious smirk she was becoming all too familiar with seeing on other ponies. “And why do you want to know where Twilight would be?”

“Please, it’s really important,” Fizzlepop said. She knew she’d put too much pleading in her words, the shame of it chilling her more than the soft breeze that whispered down from the north possibly could. She sounded like a filly, sounded weak and needing.

After a brief while, Rainbow Dash grimaced and rolled her eyes. She seemed tired and in no mood for conversation. It dawned on Fizzlepop that at any other time, Rainbow Dash wouldn’t have been quite as receptive to telling her the way. “I dunno,” the pegasus growled, “Why don’t you try the big castle over there?”

Fizzlepop turned to the direction Rainbow’s hoof was pointing. She saw the castle on the northern edge of the town, a structure comprised of violet crystal somehow shaped into the likeness of a massive tree. The gleaming surfaces of the building caught and captured the moonlight, turning it into a fragment of dream that didn’t want to fade away.

You idiot. Of course, that’s where she’d be. What other options were there?

“Oh. I thought that—.”

Fizzlepop gave a start when she realized she was speaking to the wind. Rainbow Dash was already little more than a blue shape in the night, winging off through the clouds. She swore at herself, finding no one else to curse, and started walking.

Time seemed to liquefy and run down as she stood on the top steps, waiting for something to happen. Everything around her seemed as though it were illustrated in pigments much too bright for her eyes. She tapped her hoof on the floor, looked up into the dark rooms hidden by thick balustrades, breathing through her mouth and licking her lips as she wished for something to happen, wished for something not to happen so she could let this night pass her by.

She wanted to see the dream again, but how much was it really worth? She wondered if she should just let it decay into the past, let it become another regret. The little home the Ponyville Zoning Committee had built for her was no castle, but it was a place she could sleep, and maybe the dream would come to her again tonight. Her impatience had probably cost her that chance.

The door opened. Fizzlepop clamped down on her bottom lip, looking into darkness.

A steady thumping noise drew her eyes downward, and she stared, dumbfounded at the small purple dragon with green back frills whisking eggs in a large mixing bowl. The apron he wore was stained with chocolate cake batter and what looked like powdered gemstones. He looked exhausted, taking a moment to scratch an itch underneath a blue polkadot bandana. “Hi, Tempest,” the dragon said. “I take it you’re here to join Twilight Sparkle’s Home for Errant Dejected Unicorns as well?”

“No,” she said slowly, not quite sure what she should say. Hearing her other name, the name she’d had fabricated in and for another life, had thrown her off track. Seeing a dragon wearing an apron didn’t really help the matter.

“I was hoping if I could talk to Twilight?”

“Oh, sure. Come on in.” The dragon motioned for her to follow him into the vestibule, fumbling with the bowl and whisk and spilling cake batter onto the floor as he stepped out of the way. She curled a back leg around the door and pulled it closed. There were torch sconces set into the walls all along the corridor, magically set so that no material was really consumed and allowing it to burn eternally. The flames spread a low topaz light all along the corridor that reminded her a bit too much of the moon.

“Twilight keeps weird hours, too. You’d think being a princess would give you some leeway when it comes to getting some sleep, but I guess not.”

“I didn’t think she lived here.”

The dragon turned, eyes and mouth hanging open in disbelief. More batter slipped over the rim, ran over his claws and slid down to the floor. “What’s that now? The giant crystal tree castle thing didn’t give it away?”

She pulled a humorless grin, Rainbow Dash’s words echoing in her ears, embarrassment filling her face. “It’s not uncommon in other lands for individual towns to have some extravagant building or watchtower that creatures can flock to in times of an emergency, gathering places that are usually empty most of the year and only function when the situation calls for it. I thought that this castle was one of them. Plus, all the books I’ve read are a little outdated. They don’t mention anything other than two princesses that live in Canterlot. After coming here, I just assumed Twilight lived up there, too.”

The dragon chuckled. “You sure you didn’t hit your head on anything when you woke up?”

Fizzlepop frowned, biting back the suppositions that started to form then. That couldn’t have been a slight, surely not. He was just being curious, friendly. It was just a joke.

You’re the joke, Berrytwist.

“In my defense, I’ve been living outside of Equestria for most of my life,” she said. The corridor widened out into a grand hall, columns towering high up into the dark reaches where the ceiling must somewhere be. They walked up a wide flight of stairs in silence, taking a right up into the second floor. Fizzlepop wondered how many tiers this building must have, feeling less like being in a massive crystal tree and more like she was in the cloistered shell of a titanic snail. They crossed through a foyer into yet another corridor, one pool of shadow, or one pool of firelight, bleeding into the next, and Fizzlepop could smell something baking, something burning.

The little dragon gave a sudden cry of alarm, jumping up into the air. “The strudel!” he shouted, running down the corridor. Fizzlepop managed to catch the mixing bowl with one hoof, feeling thoroughly confused. She sighed, exasperation reading in her muscles. Perhaps this was a bit too much trouble for one dream, one dream that she could barely remember anymore, save for vague and uncertain half-expressions: familiar voices, the warm light of a calendula sunset, a mountain striding on four pillar-like legs.

Laughter tore through the silence as fine as a razor cut, interrupting her attempt to reclaim what was already lost. Her ears perked up, swiveling toward the noise a little further along the hallway. She followed it for some distance to another tall door, a paper-thin sliver of light spilling out into the hallway. Quietly setting the bowl down on the floor, she put her eye to the space between the frame and the door.

It was a library, a colossal one, what all other libraries try to aspire to be but can only be meager comparisons. The vast walls of the circular room were comprised of bookcases, and each bookcase was filled to capacity. The floor had a number of fine tables and chairs. A pair of unicorn mares sat at one, leaning precariously back in their chairs and looking more than comfortable as they levitated different objects at each other. Books, tea cups, playing cards, a stuffed bear, floating back and forth in a lenticular pattern.

“You’re getting better at this,” one unicorn said. She had a coat that was a shade of pink much more subdued than Pinkie Pie’s, with a purple and teal mane that made Fizzlepop think, rather abstractly, of powerfully magical fungi. She thought the mare looked rather pretty, but there was a playfully cunning look in her eyes that she didn’t like very much.

“Trixie has always been better at this. A good magician never lets on how much she knows right from the beginning,” the blue unicorn intoned, immodestly flicking a lock of her bright blue mane out of her eyes. Her hat was extravagant, wide-brimmed and conical with a bent tip, made of shimmering violet fabric and stitched with faded blue and golden stars. A matching cloak hung over the back of her chair, bunched up at the legs and looking like it was well loved.

Fizzlepop stared, teeth showing through the thin space between her lips. Her eyes darted between the two unicorns, at the objects floating between them as smoothly as a river in summer. They laughed, good-natured playful laughter, and something knotted deep inside her. Her ears and cheeks began to burn as shame and longing poured into her, their laughter triggering memories she had never allowed herself to forget. She looked at the two unicorns, clearly seeing them, but the walls gave way and the shadows fled. She could see a small town now, tiny fillies and colts playing together, little foal’s games under a sky as pale as spidersilk. They stop and watch as a little filly with a vibrant fan-shaped mane and a coat as dark as the darkest orchids walks with her head hung down, trying to get her mane to move in a way that it could hide her injury, her earliest lesson in stupidity and regret. Her mane kept springing up, fan-shaped razor slice, hello scars, hello broken horn.

Children’s games change. They always change. Laughter evolves and switches direction as easily as a flock of gulls over a benighted ocean. And in those final days before she left, before she ran and buried her name and past in the ground she vowed to never see again, those foals she had once called her friends had filled her with enough laughter to make it sour in her ears.

Don’t laugh at me.

Don’t you dare laugh at me.

Tempest…

Pretty unicorns, just friends playing together, working magic and honing their abilities under the guise of fun. Pretty unicorns.

Don’t look at me…Don’t ignore me…

Make them stop. They won’t stop if you won’t give them a reason not to.

“Tempest!?”

She gasped, coming awake from some other awful wakefulness. She spun away from the door, back in the embrace of the castle’s shadows and the air of a spring colder than it ought to be. Twilight Sparkle was standing some feet away and giving her a worried, curious look. A look she didn’t want to see.

“It’s Fizzlepop…My name’s Fizzlepop.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, I keep forgetting.”

She sighed, breathing in the castle’s smells and cycling them out. The anger was draining away, washing out like a tide and leaving her feeling tired, drained. Even breathing felt like a chore.

“Spike said you wanted to see me?”

Spike, she thought, the dragon’s name is Spike. Gotta tell Pinkie Pie that her list has some gaps. “Yes, Princess. I was hoping you could help me with something important.” Then she added in a whisper, as though the shadows would snicker if they could hear, “Something about magic.”

“Sure thing! Just follow me, and we’ll see what we can do.” Twilight smiled, beamed. Fizzlepop tried to return it.

Another corridor, another foyer, another corridor. Fizzlepop counted herself as being proficient in placement and direction, but she hadn’t expected anything more than simple architecture in this town, where simplicity was the descriptive of its entire existence. It wouldn’t be too difficult to backtrack to a familiar point of reference and follow her way out again. Ahead of her, Twilight’s horn glowed with violet light, before a sudden flare of light sprouted to life, lighting up the entire hallway.

“Sorry it’s so dark in here. The torches came with the place, but they don’t really do much, unless you like grim, moody atmospheres.”

The easiest spells. The most basic of incantations, and you can’t do them.

She’s doing it on purpose. She’s putting your nose in what you cannot do.

“It’s alright, Princess. I don’t mind the dark.”

“Well, I do. And please just call me Twilight.”

The alicorn opened a door at the end of the hall and ushered her in, somehow still smiling. Fizzlepop stepped in and was struck by a wall of bay leaves and honeysuckle, undercut by vanilla bean. She made the mistake of breathing in a deep sigh, covering her coughs with a hoof. The scents were so strong and so contrasted that it was like she’d breathed in bonfire smoke, her eyes beginning to water. She felt Twilight’s wing brush against her side as the alicorn walked up to a big cast-iron brazier, on top of which was set a shallow dish the size of a wagon wheel. She levitated the dish up and away from the flames, setting it on a distant desk.

Fizzlepop wiped her eyes and cleared her throat of the strong herbal smell. Twilight had said something to her just then but she didn’t catch it. No point in asking what.

When she opened her eyes, she looked around, wondering just what kind of room this was. It was at once estranged from the rest of the castle and wholly representative of it. A desk was set all along the nearest wall on her right, curving along the corner to the furthest wall and covered in various pseudo-mechanical apparatus. A pair of shelves were set in the wall above it, piled with books and small tangles of mechanical bits and bobs. To her left, the floor fell away into a deeper room, guarded by a beautiful silver railing. Two elliptical staircases, each clinging to the furthest and the back wall, descended down into the lower depths.

Twilight was busy tossing what remained in the brazier dish into a sink, pouring water over the spitting metal, watching the shrunken burnt herbs tumble and swirl into the drain. She hummed as she spoke over her shoulder. “You like it? It’s my special science room—I used to have one just like it at the Golden Oaks Library, but not nearly as, well, big, or so well equipped. I used to dabble in all kinds of arcane sciences when I was younger, but now that I’m the princess of friendship, with all the responsibilities that come with the title, I don’t have much time for all those things.

“There are time spells, of course, but frankly, I’ve had it with those things. Way too much trouble.”

Fizzlepop put her forehooves up on the railing, looking down at the room below, nearly twice as big as the entry hall and just as tall. Half of what the princess had said went over her ears as she stared at the various contraptions and mind-bogglingly complex machinery. She was immediately reminded of the hangars that held the colossal transport vessels from the Storm King’s land, dark alcoves set into the mountains of frozen basalt packed with dreams of war. Vessels that had not so long ago hung onto her every command. But where those machines were meant for carrying destruction, the small tools and devices in Twilight’s science room seemed more mundane and practical.

Fizzlepop licked at her lips as she bottled her amazement. It became clear to her that there was a lot more to the ponies in this town than she had first presumed. She had plenty of questions clinging to her throat, but she drew them back down as she turned away from the railing.

“Prin…Twilight…”

“Sorry about the smell. I was trying to design a new parasprite repellant using only natural flora, but so far it only seems to work on ponies. Hmph. Waste of good materials.”

“Twilight?”

The purple alicorn paused as she levitated down a clipboard, dragging a quill along one line in what looked like a list. There was that same worried curiosity in her eyes, in the way her mouth was turned down at the corners, daring secrets, and Fizzlepop had to look back down at the floor. “Look, I’m sorry for interrupting whatever’s going on here, and I know it’s getting pretty late, but I need your help. You’re the only pony that I can think of that I can talk to about this, though I don’t even know if I should. I just—I want to know if there’s a spell that can help get dreams back.”

The sentence seemed to die away on her lips. Saying it out loud made her realize just how farfetched and silly this might seem to somepony else. She glanced at Twilight, saw the perplexed expression on her face and wished that she hadn’t, feeling stupid. “What do you mean?” Twilight said.

Fizzlepop scowled at her hooves. “I’m not saying it right. I mean, is there a way for somepony to see one of their dreams again, after they’ve seen it?”

Twilight raised an eyebrow, rubbed at her chin as though the act of looking like she was thinking was helping her to think. Fizzlepop watched her out of the corner of her eye, not sure what to expect, less sure she ought to expect anything.

It was becoming more and more difficult to look at anypony in the eyes. There was no method, none that she could think of that could be successful, that kept memories from being triggered, set off like fireworks. She ached to have a conversation with Twilight Sparkle where she couldn’t remember seeing the same mare locked behind a cage, those violet eyes flooded with hurt and hate while Fizzlepop laughed and gloated, finding all the right places to twist her barbed words. Half the ponies in this little town were at Canterlot when she came, the Storm King’s vanguard right behind her. They were all given a front-row seat to the pony she used to be; to expect them, any of them, to change now that she wanted a different life was another pipe dream.

Just like forgetting it was all a pipe dream. Fizzlepop waited, feeling very tired.

“Well,” Twilight said, “I suppose there are Cognitive Return spells, intensive recall spells…Oh!” She suddenly gave a start and ran for the stairs. No, not the stairs, the railing. Fizzlepop stared at the mare as she leapt over the silver bannister, extended her wings and elegantly glided down to the floor. Fizzlepop quickly ran down the nearest stairs, her heart jumping at the thought that there might be a chance.

Twilight had levitated down a small crate that had been set on a high shelf. She rummaged for a bit, muttering to herself or to Fizzlepop about organization, then let out a loud “Ah-ha!” that echoed across the walls.

She floated the object over to Fizzlepop, the mare taking it in one hoof. A circle of twined hay, shimmering threads like silk radiating outward from a central point within the circle. Dangling from the bottommost edge of the circle was a single phoenix feather, tied to a string beaded with glassy quartz stones.

She recognized it immediately for what it was, and she frowned. “This is a joke.”

“Nope, it’s a dream catcher. They’re so fascinating…I learned all about them from a book Princess Luna gave to me years ago, before I became an alicorn.”

Fizzlepop looked up from the dream catcher. “What?”

“The one you’re holding was my own first go at experimenting with REM sleep patterns and dream manipulation. I was actually trying to figure out a way to acquire the rest of a good long sleep while still being awake and active. No success, I’m afraid, but at least I tried.”

“Uh-huh,” Fizzlepop murmured.

“What I came up with was a little different. It’s a way to record your dreams, either during or after the dream in question. All you really have to do is think about the dream after having it, then you activate the dream catcher with just a little spark. The catcher will interpret your memory of it and copy it, transferring it into a bead. Each thread can hold up to one bead, but even one might be enough to help you through a bad day, especially if it was a really good dream.”

“A spark?” Fizzlepop’s mouth twitched a little, half amazed and half disbelieving that what she was holding could do that. It was just too perfect, too much of what she wanted.

“Mm-hmm. Just a tiny magic trigger, and then there’s some whooshing noises and the feeling that you’re using a Q-tip a bit too intensely, and presto! Genuine dream bead, ready to be played back at your discretion.”

“And activating the bead just requires another spark?”

“Yep, simple as that.”

Fizzlepop smiled. It was too perfect, surely, but things like that have been known to happen. Throughout the endless onslaught of time, alignments might be rare, but rare was not by any means synonymous with impossible. How many ponies born at the exact same time throughout the ages? How many hearts beating at the same moment, with the exact same frequency? How many stars in the cosmos arrayed so perfectly, one to another in a neat row like a string of jewels, spanning light years? Every cosmic instant since that faraway point when reality exploded into existence, whole worlds—entire universes—blink into life and fade out in silence.

Surely in a world like this, a pony who had thrown away and reclaimed her birth name might make her own little wish come true.

She waited and watched as Twilight activated the spell. She then thanked Twilight and left, declining offers to stay and chat. She had successfully managed to hold back the tears until she was out of the castle and back out into the night too cold to be spring. The little amulet hung from her neck, bouncing against her chest. The moon and the stars and the agate glass porch lamps that remained on in Ponyville all blurred in her joy-moistened eyes into golden pools, and she felt they were good enough to wish on.

Eurythmy (noun): Harmony of proportion or movement.

Twilight hummed a nervous tune to herself as she cast a discerning eye over the ancient and majestic hall, taking in each and every detail, running down both a mental and an actual checklist to make sure everything was in its proper place for the impending summit meeting with delegates from Yakyakistan, Stalliongrad, and Griffonstone to discuss, for the most part, trade appeals, though there have been talks about discussions on the preservation of geographical landmarks, transcontinental transportation arrangements, and education. All of it was adding up to be a very long and stress-filled week, but so far as she could see, everything seemed to be in order; flowers hung from ornate ceramic pots, mostly found in those neighboring countries; tapestries adorned with images that all of the delegates would find peaceful; the mingling scents of cooked foods and spices grown in faraway lands meandering through the rooms and halls of the castle.

Twilight hoped that by now the delegates were aware that friendship, and by extension, national politics, was a give and take affair. Little sacrifices for, inevitably, greater rewards.

“Are you sure about all of this, Twilight?” The other alicorn stepped up alongside her, silent as a barnyard owl in winter, her coat as dark as the night sky. Her mane and tail like flowing patches of midnight that couldn’t be cleared away. Luna’s worried eyes took in all of the same changes that Twilight could see, undoubtedly seeing them as just that—changes. Twilight looked up and gave her a friendly smile, wondering just how low Princess Luna’s threshold for anxiety really was.

“I’m positive, Luna. Once the representatives arrive and see that we took the time to understand their ways and tried to make them feel comfortable, I’m sure that the tensions we’ve been having between our countries will finally smooth out. After this summit, things will be better.”

Luna nodded quietly, pursing her lips. She could agree with the changes, but she didn’t necessarily have to like them. As she stepped away, a flowery fragrance seemed to emanate from her body, silky lavender laced with the sharp tang of sandalwood, trailing in her wake.

Twilight paused in her checklist and called after her. “Wait, where are you going, princess? I thought you were going to help me decorate the upper floors.”

“That’s already been taken care of, Twilight.” Luna said, stopping long enough to glance over her shoulder. Twilight wasn’t sure just what kind of expression she was looking at. “As you can see, it’s evening, and I must be off to secure the dream world.”

What!? Twilight looked up to the windows, now seeing that the sky was already a single fading orange-purple bruise, the sharpest stars trawling after the sun like sharks following a wounded whale. “Wow. I didn’t think it was so late already. Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess!”

Luna made no response, none that Twilight could hear, leaving her to bask in her own use of old clichés. She watched the dark alicorn step quietly out onto the nearest parapet, the moon vast and gibbous rising above her and filling the world with silvery light.

The thought came to Twilight the very same moment Luna spread her long dark wings to their maximum length, primaries, secondaries, tertials, and all the coverts extended to their furthest length, as if to embrace the entire cosmos. She relaxed, eyes closed in the depths of concentration, and took a step over the parapet.

“Luna, wait!”

A frantic tumble forward then back, hooves scraping against tile-smooth concrete. Luna flapped her wings forward to push herself back and then braced them against the floor. She glared over her shoulder at Twilight as she trotted over, an oblivious smile on her face.

“I was wondering if, perhaps, I might ask for a small, very small, teeny-tiny, itty-bitty little favor from you.”

Luna stared, one eyebrow twisting upward. She gave a long and bitter sigh, somehow seeming both like the co-ruler of Equestria and an exasperated adolescent. “Twilight Sparkle, this Friendship summit of yours will be held in a few days. The vernal equinox will occur a week after that, and after that, there will have to be discussions with the governing bodies of the rural districts about the grain shortage. That will take up majority of the week at most. Surely this favor of yours can wait.”

“Actually, that’s the best thing. You can do it tonight, while you’re out visiting the dream world.”

Luna straightened up, suspicion dripping from her eyes and the twist of her bottom lip. “Tell me this isn’t like that other favor, when you asked me to visit the dreams of your friend Pinkie Pie to glean some secret as to what gift she would want for her birthday.”

“It’s…no, absolutely nothing like that—not really, not very much. Hardly identical…”

“Out with it, Twilight.”

The purple mare bit her cheek, one eye closed, as though recoiling from an explosion she knew would eventually come. “It’s about Tempest Shadow.”

One slight reaction, a darkening of the eyes, perhaps a tic she might or might not have imagined. Twilight waited, expecting Luna to interject, but she took the mare’s silence as a green light to continue. “She came by the castle last night, talking about dreams and recording dreams. She was acting a bit odd, out of sorts, really, but I managed to get her to relax. I told her about a few spells I knew and my experiments with the dream catchers, and she went away after that. She didn’t really talk much, but I have to wonder,” here Twilight paused a moment, only a moment’s lifetime to allow the seed to form, another to germinate. “…Just what kind of dreams does a pony like Tempest have that would make her want to be able to view them again and again? I mean, they’d have to be at least pleasant, right? She does seem to enjoy her new life in Equestria. I think.”

Pause. “No, no. I keep in touch with her as much as I possibly can, as much as I’m able. I know she appreciates her new life and what we’ve done for her.”

Twilight stood at the edge of the parapet, gazing out over the old, old city of Canterlot and breathing in those crisp smells of a spring night strong enough to break through the enchanted and enchanting cloud Luna cast around her. The breeze, much warmer than the night before, blew against her ear and she shivered, feeling fidgety. She always felt fidgety on warm spring nights. She heard Luna give another sigh, heard the shifting of elegant hooves over the concrete, and waited.

Luna’s voice was like cold satin in her ear. “You’ve been spending too much time in politics, Twilight. You’re clever, but you seem to ignore the concept that, just maybe, other ponies—your peers, for example—might have knowledge you wished they didn’t have.” Twilight looked up at Luna, now looking every inch like a princess of the night with the moonlight imprisoned in her blue eyes. Resisting the urge to step away seemed to supersede everything else now.

“I know for a fact that you have not been spending time with your new attempt at friendship immersion therapy, but rather you’ve either been here in Canterlot, helping my sister and I, or you’ve been holed up in your own castle, doing I’ve no idea what, though I can hazard several guesses. Being an alicorn doesn’t free you from the need to sleep, Twilight.”

“Are you saying my dreams may be secure from my nightmares, but not from you?”

Here Luna frowned, the curve of a dangerous glint beneath her eyelids. “Twilight…I’m reminding you that you’re the princess of Friendship. If there is a pony who requires friendship, then that is your territory, to deal with as you please. Even though I have reservations about that particular…individual, I trust you to act by your own heart. But please, Twilight, allow me to handle my territory in my own way.”

Luna gave her one long scathing look before leaping over the parapet, wings devouring the evening as she traveled up, up, into the small patch of smoky-grey clouds that hung about in the sky. Twilight’s smile finally broke when she turned away and walked back into the castle. That was all it took, really. Too much time in politics, indeed. She knew Luna, knew her right down to the littlest habits she was no longer aware of. Take, for example, her inability to leave the most minor of curiosities well enough alone. It didn’t even matter that Luna had shot down her idea, so long as the idea had been planted, the seed catching in fertile soil.

Still, Twilight found it difficult to ignore the feeling that that small patch of cloud beneath the moon was watching her right through the masonry.

Fluttershy was smiling. She was smiling because everything seemed to be pointing to a nice, calm day. She looked straight up at the pegasus city of Cloudsdale, passing lazily over her little cottage, rivers of rainbows spilling out over wide culverts as industrial excess, the cloud manufactories working at minimum production. The city was beautiful, especially underneath the golden light of a pleasant noon, but she knew she could never leave her real home. She couldn’t leave all of her little animal friends down here, not for a city that reveled in its own pride and love for speed. No, Fluttershy was happy where she was, especially right here, today.

Mostly, she smiled because she was happy to be able to smile.

The tea party was going along smoothly. The ginger wasn’t at all bitter, and the crushed bay leaves that Twilight offered added a nice, spicy touch that made her nose tickle. Princess Luna levitated up a small apple biscuit from the table and munched it quietly, smiling down at her. Out on the lawn, mice, squirrels, weasels, and raccoons playfully bantered and chattered, a large bear nearby offering small mutterings of his own. A small white rabbit leapt up onto the log table, hopping over to Fluttershy. She brushed the fur over Angel’s head, making sure to scratch the awkward spot between his ears. The little rabbit smiled, then darted to a basket to pilfer a carrot.

“This is really nice, Fluttershy,” Twilight said. “We don’t do this very often anymore, do we?”

“No,” the yellow pegasus said softly. She tried not to look sad, or anxious, but those qualities seemed to be permanently scored to the minutest degree in her face. “Not as much as we used to.”

A silence permeated the atmosphere, an uncomfortable quiet that dragged on, filled with presumptions that her statement had conjured. Fluttershy suddenly wished she’d just said “No” and left it at that.

Twilight glanced up from her cup. “Where’s Discord? I thought he never missed these things.”

Luna visibly grimaced, or perhaps she sneered. Fluttershy waved a hoof at Twilight as she reached for the teapot to refill her cup. “Oh, he won’t be attending for a couple of weeks. He said there was an emergency at home, and we shouldn’t really expect to see him for some time.”

“Oh. I hope he’s alright,” Twilight said.

Fluttershy saw the brief glare Luna tossed at Twilight, there for a moment, before closing her eyes and sipping at her tea, serene as the night. The pegasus drank as well, but the tea didn’t seem so calming anymore. Twilight and Luna had barely spoken to each other for the past hour, had even used her as a go-between for a moment. Was there something going on between the two princesses? Fluttershy worried over that as she felt the bay leaf-ginger concoction make her gums and throat tingle.

“I’m sure he has things well in hoof,” she murmured. “Or claw, I mean.”

Another silence, this one marginally more comforting. The furthest rim of Cloudsdale finally passed by overhead, its faint shadow flowing over the ground like a velvet curtain. The field echoed with the chattering of the woodland animals, happy in their ways, and Fluttershy found that it was hard to stay worried in the wake of their playing and the feeling of sunlight falling on her body.

“As long as we’re on the subject of criminal rehabilitation, I’ve some new information about your latest registrant, Twilight.”

Fluttershy and Twilight both looked up, staring at Luna. Fluttershy felt the day around her had become like winter.

Twilight exchanged a glance with Fluttershy before speaking. “You mean that favor I asked you for was—.”

“It was not a favor, Twilight. It was minor curiosity. I had some extra time available and satisfied that curiosity.”

“Of course…But have you found out anything?”

“What are you girls talking about?”

Fluttershy bit into an apple biscuit. She didn’t remember putting in any carrots, but it definitely added to the treat. Luna looked at her from the corner of her eye (like a hawk does, Fluttershy thought) and nodded toward the other alicorn. “Twilight is worried that her latest attempt at friendship repair might be regressing.”

“Ah-ha! So she is slipping back! So what’s the deal, princess, can we fix her problem before she turns into a spiteful, hate-filled maniac again?”

“Are you two talking about…Tempest?” Fluttershy whispered the name, as though saying it aloud would invoke its owner, to spread fire and ruination across her little picnic, and make black clouds fill the sky and bury the sun.

“Spill it, princess,” Twilight said. “What’s she dreaming about?”

Luna wiped crumbs from her lips with a napkin, levelling a cool stare at Twilight. “There are two things you need to know, princess. The first is that I’m not so loose in my principles that I would openly divulge the contents of somepony’s dreams to anyone who might ask for them…regardless of their standing. That would be going beyond a serious breach in ethics. Secondly, I did not visit Tempest’s dreams because they weren’t open to me.”

“What?”

Luna rolled her eyes, looking much more tired than Fluttershy had first believed. Yes, there were deep bags there just beneath the fur below her eyelids. “I didn’t see her dreams, Twilight, which means that she must not have slept.”

“Oh.” Twilight didn’t bother hiding her disappointment.

“Perhaps she had a long night,” Fluttershy offered, not quite sure what she ought to say. Some things were easy to discuss with her friends, but there were other things that she would rather keep close to her own person, hidden away from dubious promises of diaries and family, those things that frightened her and would go on to frighten her the more she thought about them. That scary unicorn that had hunted them across Equestria, had sacked the city of Canterlot, had caged and imprisoned so many ponies, had done so many terrible things…she became another thing that scared her.

“Well, she was acting a bit odd…Fluttershy, what would say to an impromptu visit?”

Fluttershy went cold. “Hmm? What—what do you mean?” she asked, knowing full well what Twilight meant.

“To Fizzlepop’s house. It’s possible she might be in trouble, and who better to assist her with her problems than the element of friendship and the element of kindness?” Twilight put a strange emphasis on the last word, stretching out the “S.” Or maybe she had imagined that.

Fluttershy had to keep her eyes down on her teacup, at what remained of her tea settling way down there at the bottom, the color of muddy snow. To know that the scariest pony was living so close was bad, not locked up, but that Twilight would suggest they actually go over there and visit, as though they could put away everything that had just happened to them, forget what she had done to them and the ones they loved, was awful.

It was, ultimately, impossible.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Fluttershy said. “I mean, I still have so much to do here, and I have to oversee the work at the animal preserve—we’re building a third wing to house wildlife with communicable diseases, which means getting approval from at least three different organizations—plus I’ve been meaning to talk to my parents again. I haven’t talked to them in so long. And besides, she does live on the other side of Ponyville…”

“She doesn’t live in Ponyville at all, Fluttershy! Remember? They wouldn’t allow her residency, but they agreed to build her a home thirty yards outside of the town limits. She doesn’t even have a functioning mailbox yet.”

“Oh.” Fluttershy couldn’t remember that because she didn’t even know that. Nopony had told her of those little facts. Not that it changed the matter in the slightest; she still had no intention of going. She was about to leave when Luna cleared her throat. She stood up, her hooves up on the table and a sad look shining in her eyes.

“Frankly, I can’t understand why you’re so adamant that she can change, Twilight.”

“Yes,” Fluttershy added, sounding explosive in her own ears, so she turned herself down a bit. “I mean, how do we know she even wants to change? Maybe it’s just part of a bigger scheme.”

Twilight became indignant, pointing an accusing hoof at the pegasus. “How can you even say that, Fluttershy? What about Discord? How is this situation any different than how it turned out with him?”

Fluttershy shrugged, playing with another apple biscuit. “Discord is the manifestation of Chaos. Not just chaos magic, Twilight, but Chaos. Chaos is change, constant and endless change—this means that part of him that hated, that was filled with nothing but contempt, was bound to change eventually. All he needed was somepony to offer him trust and friendship. He’s very temperamental, of course, and that’s just his way, and he might change back to the way he used to be, but I know that, eventually, his heart will tell him what’s good and what isn’t. But Tempest—.”

“Fizzlepop,” Twilight corrected.

“—Is different because she’s a pony, and ponies…it’s hard for some ponies to change.”

Twilight fidgeted with her tea before bringing it up to her lips. “That’s a very cynical thought coming from you, Fluttershy.”

The yellow mare shrugged her shoulders and stared at her tea. She wanted to say ‘You’re not able to know what other ponies are thinking, Twilight,’ but she was content to merely think it, keep it hidden away. She wasn’t sure where that thought would have led, anyway.

“Your friend is right, Twilight,” Luna said, sitting back down. Her voice had a maternal curve to it, and Fluttershy couldn’t help but smile just a little bit.

“And what if I’m right? What if something is wrong with her, and we, who have the chance to help her, just throw up our hooves and say ‘oh, it’s just the way she is, whatever happens will happen?’ Fluttershy, if you saw somepony lying in the ditch, crying in agony, hurting, and you knew you could save them, would you stop and try?”

Fluttershy looked up. Twilight was staring at her, daring her to say anything other than No, already knowing that she would never take that dare. “You know I would, Twilight.”

“Even if that pony was Nightmare Moon?”

At that Luna’s expression darkened. Her feathers rippled, shadows dancing along her body, and Fluttershy was amazed that Twilight didn’t leap away from the table and run straight to her castle, just as she wanted to at that moment. Perhaps because Luna was sitting there, perhaps because her friend had asked the question, perhaps because she knew in her heart that it was true, Fluttershy swallowed her worry and looked Twilight directly in the eye. “Yes,” she said.

“So you’ll come with me tomorrow and see if she’s okay?”

Angel Bunny was at her side at once, prodding her shoulder with one small paw. She looked down at him, saw his smile and the confident gleam in his eyes. She shared his smile and nuzzled his cheek with her nose. Turning back to the lavender mare, she shook her head. “Not tomorrow, Twilight. I’ll have more time during the weekend, so how does…” she felt Angel gently kick her shoulder, one, two, three. “…three days from now sound to you?”

“That’s great. It’s settled, then. I’ll just put that in my schedule when I get home.”

The rest of the picnic was spent in a disquieting silence. Luna left minutes after the conversation, and Twilight departed some time after that, leaving Fluttershy alone at the table. Once the other ponies had left, her little friends understood that it was now safe to raid the table, and did so with gusto. Fluttershy smiled and admonished all of them, offering her plate to a small family of field mice. Angel Bunny alone could feel the anxiety that wriggled inside of her, a torn and tangled worm that consumed her appetite and made her wrap her hooves around herself. Now, instead of fretting over twenty-four hours, she’d given herself three days to despair and fantasize.

“I did say I would. Didn’t I, Angel?” The little rabbit nodded solemnly. “Well, I guess I’m in this, aren’t I? Whatever happens…”

Fluttershy didn’t say anymore, letting that thought and all the ones that followed it, biting at its heels, speak for themselves.

Author's Note:

My first shot at an MLP fanfic in six years, and the first one I’ll let others read. I enjoy tearing up my own material in front of others, so here we go. If anyone finds grammatical errors, do tell and I’ll see to fixing them as soon as I can. I might not be published yet, but I can at least fake being a professional.

--When I think of Tempest Shadow, I think of the Black Sabbath song “Solitude,” hence the second chapter title in parentheses.
--I’m not quite sure how “dark” I want this story to be, but I can tell you that it’s not going to be a Tempest Shadow reiteration of “Cupcakes/Rainbow Factory/Cheerilee’s Garden.” I’m a horror junkie and I don’t mind a trickle of red corn syrup now and again, but high-end explicit gore is weak horror.
--Apparently “every other story” begins with the weather, so it stands to reason that one should NEVER write a story that starts there for ANY reason, right?
--This is of course rather spoilery for readers who have not yet seen the film, but I just think Tempest would be trying to reclaim her old name after what happened.
--What makes me laugh is that Starlight and Trixie, both Twilight’s former nemeses, have total access to her home. Friendship aside, I think it would be funny if Twilight really was opening up a rehabilitation home for unicorns with behavior disorders on the side.
--I know the prose is somewhat purple (lilac, I’d argue), but I’m not going to say “well, that’s just my style” and leave it at that. My argument is that for any story, short or long, you’re writing about a life, and in any life, fictional or not, the most meaningless things can be important to the characters. The things that you dwell on can seem totally dull and pointless to others, but that they have meaning to you is all that matters.
--I do see Twilight trying to recapture the search for knowledge she had when she was younger, though perhaps not for the same reason. When you’re a child, you’d do anything to be an adult; when you realize you are an adult, you’d do anything to be that kid again (most of us, I think). Therefore, the big lab in the basement.
--The idea that Twilight’s put some points in Charisma and taken to the dark hemisphere of politics, and Luna’s awareness of it, were not entirely intended, but something I’m willing to accept for this story. I feel it could be good side conflict for future chapters…as long as I can remind myself who the primary character is.
--If you care about chronology, I began writing this before season 8, and I’ve only seen snippets of season 7 episodes, so if this story contradicts information set up in season 7, I apologize for that.