Chapter 7 – Heart of the Matter
“Why can’t I get this?”
Sunset peeled her face off of the table, where a groove the shape of her muzzle had no doubt begun to form. “Believe me, if I knew, I would tell you.”
Cadance sat in the middle of her bedroom floor, her whole body slumping like a half-melted ice cream cake. Even at a distance Sunset could tell how sweat-matted her coat had become—thankfully some sort of fruity perfume masked the stench. She had cast aside her scrunchie too, leaving the stripes of her mane to tangle and overlap with one another as if fighting for dominance.
Ahead of her lay a pile of papery viscera that had once been an issue of Vanity Mare. The last several hours of “spellcasting” had burned and torn it beyond recognition.
Staring down at the abomination, Cadance shook her head and pushed to her hooves. “One more try. I can do this.”
The look Sunset gave her was more eyelids than eyes. “You know you’ve been saying that for the past hour, right?”
“Well, hopefully it’ll be true this time.”
“Whatever.” Sunset rested her chin on the table and tried balancing a quill on the end of her muzzle. “Not like you can do much worse.”
Cadance’s smile skewed into a smirk. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She narrowed her gaze at the magazine like it had personally slandered her, then took a quick breath and closed her eyes.
Ugh, here we go. “Hey. Eyes open, remember? You can’t levitate something you can’t see.”
“I know, but I kind of psych myself out if I don’t do this first. It makes it easier for me to concentrate.”
Sunset grunted in ambivalence and returned to her quill, nudging it with her magic to keep it upright.
A soft tinkle filled the silence as Cadance lit her horn. Her eyes popped open, and she smiled far wider than she deserved. Her aura grasped the magazine and hovered it to chest level. Amazingly she managed to keep it steady the entire way, leaving the scarred image of the cover mare face up.
Sunset barely moved. Even though Cadance’s magic had doubtlessly improved since her previous lesson, she’d already managed to get this far a few times today. Next came the “hard” part.
Examining the magazine like a mathematician confronted by the Riemane hypothesis, Cadance tilted her head to the left. The entire magazine flipped on an invisible axis, twirling and wobbling like a demented gyroscope.
Holding in her sigh—mostly because it would have upset the quill’s balance—Sunset said, “Stop thinking of it like one object. It’s an array of objects—pages, in this case. Dedicate part of the spell to holding the array in place, then use the rest of your magic to manipulate the pages. Simple stuff.” Of course, Sunset’s version of simple was linear algebra for Cadance.
“See, that all makes sense in my head. I just can’t get it to work in practice. Holding the magazine on its own is hard enough. Trying to split my concentration on top of that feels nearly impossible.”
“Well, it shouldn’t. Comes second nature to most unicorns.” Sunset gave a limp shrug. “Guess you’re just slow.”
Cadance frowned. Her magic flickered out not a moment later, leaving the magazine to plummet to the ground with a miserable thud. She stomped her hoof in the most Cadance way possible, like she was worried about hurting the carpet’s feelings. “Shoot.”
“Case in point.”
Her frown going sour, Cadance gathered up the magazine debris in one hoof and said, “You know, I don’t mean to criticize your teaching methods, but a little bit of positive encouragement from time to time would be nice.”
Sunset huffed, sending the quill flying. “Oh, so now it’s my fault you can’t levitate?”
“Of course not.” Cadance fell back on her haunches, hugging the magazine tight to her chest. “Sorry. You’ve done a lot to help me, and I’m extremely grateful, but it’s frustrating. I feel like I’m doing everything right, exactly the way you taught me, and I still can’t get it.”
Catching the quill as it fluttered down, Sunset set it aside and said, “Weren’t you going to practice between lessons?”
“That’s the thing. I did practice!” Her voice trembled on the verge of cracking. “I stayed up late Wednesday reading and rereading the notes you made me. I spent nearly all day yesterday doing mental exercises and trying to cast the spell. I even got in trouble with Mademoiselle Bon Vivant earlier for skimming Filly’s First Phantasm during dinner rehearsal.
“And even after all of that, I still can’t levitate a stupid magazine for more than ten seconds!” She hurled the magazine to the side. It landed in one of the window planters, skewered in a miniature rose bush. Cadance unfurled her wings, letting them hang by her sides like deflated balloons. “I don’t know if I’m missing something, or if my magic is just that weak, or if I’m just too much of an idiot to do it right.”
Definitely the last one. As much as Sunset wanted to believe that, even she had to admit that Cadance wasn’t that dense. In fact, she had put in far more effort than Sunset had anticipated, and she had shown a surprising aptitude for general arcane theory. It might have even been impressive if she had the talent to back it up. Still, no matter how weak Cadance’s magic was, the fact that she had made such little progress despite her dedication seemed bizarre.
Sunset sat up and fixed Cadance with a hard stare. “Okay, listen. You are getting better—barely, but you are. And I’ve explained everything so well that I don’t think anypony could misunderstand it. Not even you. More than likely, you’re just slow on the uptake, which is”—annoying—“fine.
“But just in case, let’s assume for a second that you are missing something.” She yanked the magazine free of the rose thorns and dropped it in front of Cadance. “Walk me through the spell as you cast it, and maybe we can figure out what.”
Cadance’s eyes flicked up. “Really?”
Sunset shot her a withering look. “Yes, really. I don’t pass my assignment if you don’t learn magic properly, so if this is what we have to do, then let’s get it over with.”
A tiny smile crossed Cadance’s lips. Folding her wings, she got to her hooves and said, “How much detail do you want me to go into?”
“Excruciating. Explain it like I’m a first-grader.” You know, like how I explain things to you.
“All right. Well, the first thing I do is square my stance.” She spread her hooves wide, planting herself to the ground. “You explained that energy flows more easily through the body when it’s balanced, so this makes the spell easier to cast.”
“Right. Good.”
“Then I clear my mind as much as possible.” She closed her eyes. “The fewer distractions, the more focus I can put on my magic, and the stronger it will be.”
“Shouldn’t have to close your eyes, but that’s the idea.”
“That’s not really why I close my eyes, actually.”
This ought to be good. “Why, then?”
“Because the next step”—her brow wrinkled, and her smile wavered—“is easier if I only focus on my body. Establishing my magical connection is still a little tough, but it comes eventually.”
Sunset raised an eyebrow. “‘Establishing’ your…? You mean channeling your magic?”
“That’s the next part, yes, but I can’t do anything unless I find my magic first.” Her horn glowed to life, and her eyes slid open. She offered an oblivious smile. “Maintaining the connection once it’s there is starting to get easier, at least.”
“Whoa, back up for a second,” Sunset said, her mind stalling as she tried to process Cadance’s words. “You’re not making any sense. You’re always connected to your magic—it’s literally part of your body. You shouldn’t have to ‘establish’ or ‘maintain’ anything. That’s like saying you can’t walk because you forgot where your hooves are.”
Cadance opened her mouth, then paused, face like a guppy. Sunset could practically smell the smoke as her brain overclocked. “But I… You don’t have to…?” She frowned. “Does that mean there’s something wrong with me?”
Are you trying to get me to insult you?
“Maybe,” Sunset said. Stepping into her scholar’s horseshoes, she scanned the collection of books at the far end of the table and located Arcane Anatomy 101. Opening to the index, she pored through the “L” section. “How much do you remember about leylines?”
“I would have to check your notes for all the details, but I think I remember the gist of it.” Her voice grew closer, joined by muffled hoofsteps. “They carry magical energy from the… arcane core out to the rest of the body. Kind of like veins, but for magic, right?”
“Exactly.” Sunset flipped to the appropriate section. A scientific diagram took up much of the first page: a simplified depiction of an alicorn with its leylines drawn in violet. They grew from a spherical structure at the approximate center of the pony’s body and sprawled out like the limbs of a ghostly octopus. Four thin lines ran to each of the hooves, two moderate lines extended to the wings where they exploded into dozens of small branches, and a thick, bold line curved up the neck and straight to the horn. Several dotted lines also broke off from the primary pathways, connecting with the mane, tail, and eyes.
“And just like veins,” Sunset continued, “they don’t always work right.” She slid the book to the center of the table to give Cadance a closer look. “If you have a blockage or deformity or something along this track here”—she traced the path leading to the horn—“your magic won’t flow properly, which could explain why you can’t connect with it consistently.”
“That sounds promising! Awful, but promising.” Cadance ran her hoof down the paragraphs, as if she could understand any of the technical writing. “What would cause something like that?”
“Usually an illness. Sometimes a magical one, but even things like hoof cough and the cold can disrupt leylines if they’re severe enough. You feel fine otherwise, though?”
“Completely. Is there a way to check my leylines directly?”
Ice gathered in Sunset’s hooves. “There, uh… There is.” She suddenly realized how close she and Cadance had gotten, leaning in over the same book, and scrambled back to her cushion. “But I am not doing that.”
Cadance glanced up and cocked her head. “Why? Is it dangerous?”
“No. It’s just…” Sunset’s face burned, glowing hotter every time her gaze wandered near Cadance. “Invasive.”
The silence lasted only a moment, which was still far, far too long. Sunset wished she knew time magic specifically so she could avoid this conversation.
Perfectly straight-faced, Cadance said, “Is it the ‘Oops, you just walked in on me preening’ kind of invasive? Or more the ‘Hey, why are you reading my diary’ kind?”
Yes. “Doesn’t matter—I’m not doing it, so we’re not discussing it. Period. Get the castle doctor to check if you want.” Sunset violently shook her head to try and escape the thought of doing… that to Cadance and said, “Besides, we don’t even know if anything is wrong. Not like there’s any other examples of pegasi getting unicorn magic. Maybe this is normal.”
Cadance plopped back in her seat. “Maybe, but it doesn’t feel normal. Is there anything else you think it could be?”
“Ugh, no.” Sunset propped her elbows on the table and rested her cheeks on her hooves. “I can barely even wrap my head around it. Not being able to feel your magic… Unicorns have a sense for it from the moment they’re born. Most foals even call on it by accident! That’s how you get—”
An idea clicked in her mind like a key in a lock. “Wait, that might be it.”
“What might be what?” Cadance said. “You kind of lost me.”
Typical. The theory quickly grew legs, so she ran with it. “You said that you need to concentrate on your magic to establish a connection, but that’s not true. Not always. There was at least one time where you used magic purely on instinct, without thinking: your power surge the other night, right after… you know, everything.”
If the mention of that evening bothered Cadance at all, it didn’t show. “I suppose that’s true, but I don’t really know how I did that. It just kind of happened.”
“But the fact that it happened at all proves that the connection is still there, even when you’re not focused on it. And that means your leylines might not even be a factor.” As threads connected the pins on her mental corkboard, Sunset got up and paced a path between the armoire and table. “Right before the power surge, you were getting really worked up about your mom and the Everheart and all that junk, right?”
Cadance gave a dry chuckle. “‘Worked up’ is putting it mildly. I was… angry. Furious, really. Probably more than I’ve ever been.” Her voice tapered away, and she clopped her hooves together softly. “Do you think my magic is tied to my emotions, then?”
“Um, duh. Every unicorn’s magic is tied to their emotions. At least a little bit. Leylines run through the limbic system, so it’s pretty much unavoidable.” Sunset stopped and tapped her chin. “Still, the effect isn’t normally that pronounced. Could be that your magic is just abnormally reliant on emotions for some reason.”
“That would make sense,” Cadance said. “After all, I got my magic from the Everheart, and its magic is linked to my emotions. Why should mine be any different?”
“That’s—” Sunset froze. She had planned to follow up with “ridiculous” since Cadance rarely had anything of value to say, but the more she considered it, the more it seemed like—“actually a decent point.”
Cadance’s eyes snapped to Sunset and widened. “It is?”
“Well, kind of. I read up on emotional resonance when I was first looking into the Everheart. Most of it related to how artifacts are affected, but there were some mentions of how it can influence ponies directly. I ignored it at the time since it didn’t matter, but it might be worth looking into.”
She shook her head. “Before I waste any time on that, though, we should make sure there’s actually something to this and that it’s not just some weird coincidence.”
“Okay. How do we do that?”
“Simple.” Sunset turned to her and said, “Get angry.”
Cadance looked at her like she’d just been asked to rip her wings off and hand them over. “Pardon?”
With the worn-out sigh of a remedial teacher, Sunset said, “If your magic is dependent on your emotions, the easiest way to tell is for you to feel something. Strongly.” Trotting back to her cushion, she sat down and stared Cadance dead in the eyes. “Think of something that makes you mad.”
Cadance seemed almost queasy at the request, but eventually she said, “Well… I can try.” Inhaling a long breath, she closed her eyes and donned a mask of absolute calm. For a second, Sunset thought she was going to have to define what “angry” meant.
Then Cadance opened her eyes. Her bottom lip jutted out, and the tip of her muzzle wrinkled like she’d smelled something mildly unpleasant. She set her cheekbones in sharp, angled lines and pointed both of her ears out to the sides. After a moment, one of her eyes twitched.
As did one of Sunset’s. “Okay, you’re just making a face to try and look angry. Are you actually thinking of anything?”
“I am!” Cadance said, bursting out in a smile. “I’m thinking of those ponies who bend the corner of a page to keep their place in a book. Like, is it that much trouble to find a bookmark? What did the book ever do to you?”
Her mane feeling ready to catch fire, Sunset glanced down at the still-open Arcane Anatomy. She lifted the book in her magic, held it close to Cadance’s face, and dog-eared the page without mercy.
As though expecting more, Cadance kept staring at the page—her smile didn’t even shrink. She met Sunset’s glare, and only then did she say, “Oh, right!” She returned to the book and resumed her “angry” face.
Drawing on willpower that had once moved the sun, Sunset suppressed the urge to slam the book into Cadance’s face, thrusting it to the table instead. “Fine. Maybe anger’s not your thing. Can you think of anything else that would make you emotional? Happy? Sad? Scared?” Over Cadance’s shoulder, she spotted the fake carnation adorning the nightstand. “Don’t you have a bunch of mementos from your hometown? Those do anything for you?”
“Hmm…” Cadance swiveled her head, looking all around the room. She paused on the books at the end of the table. Her eyes flashed with clarity but quickly went dull again. “Well, that would have worked.”
“What?” Sunset said, her gaze zipping to follow Cadance’s. “What would have?”
“When I moved away, everypony in Woodwind gave me something different to remember them by. My neighbors made this sweet little book with all my favourite stories in it—they even called it The Cadance Collection.” Her smile waned. “But I haven’t been able to find it since the other night, when the Everheart destroyed my dresser.”
A small knot formed in Sunset’s stomach. She ignored it and said, “If it was just a collection of stories, you could always get copies from the library.”
Cadance half-laughed half-sighed. “That’s a lovely suggestion, but it’s less the stories themselves and more the fact that they made me something so personal. Honestly, it’s not even the book itself I was thinking of. Remember how my mom left me a letter?”
The knot twisted. “Yeah?”
“I think reading that would be the best way to get me really emotional, but I lost it with the book. I kept it in a little pocket at the back since I figured it was a safe place.” Her eyes sank to the floor. “Guess I was wrong.”
“O-oh,” Sunset said. She cursed herself for failing to stop the stammer, but it had practically been a reflex.
Why, though? She’d known full well that Cadance had a personal attachment to the book, and she’d stolen it anyway. The fact that it held more value than she’d originally expected should have been good news.
Even so, the twist in her stomach only grew tighter at Cadance’s downcast face. Get it together, Shimmer. “Well, I hope you find it.”
“Thanks. Me too.”
Hey, at least you know what you’ll be doing when you get home tonight, a voice gloated in her head. Her mind came to a standstill as she decided whether or not she agreed.
It became too much to consider, so she buried the thought and pressed on. “There must be something else that’ll work.” Her eyes roved for options.
The mountain of pillows on Cadance’s bed caught her eye, and an idea whispered itself in her ear. Sunset grinned, all else forgotten. She had never settled on a course of action faster in her life.
She took a small throw pillow in her magic, spun it as she aimed her shot, and fired. It arced through the air and struck Cadance in the side of the head. She twisted and toppled face first to the floor with a squeak and a thud. Sunset tried to hold back her laugh, but a snort still snuck loose.
“Um… ow,” Cadance said. She spat out carpet fiber as she sat back up. “What was—?”
The pillow looped back around and slammed her in the face, sending her sprawling onto her back.
“I’m trying to make you angry,” Sunset said. “For science.” She painted on her most innocent smile and trotted around the table to lord over Cadance. “Is it working?”
The pillow still covering her face, Cadance dragged it off and…
Smiled?
“You thought this would make me angry?” She grabbed the pillow in her teeth before rolling backwards and somersaulting to her hooves. She tossed the pillow skyward and said, “You just challenged the wrong pony to a pillow fight!” When the pillow came back down, Cadance pivoted on her forehooves and bucked it squarely at Sunset’s face.
Sunset flinched. She barely caught the pillow before it made contact. “Okay, no,” she said, her frown mutating into a grimace. She glared past the pillow at Cadance, who had already charged halfway to the bed. “I’m here to teach you magic, not play some stupid game.”
“Too late. You started it!” Cadance grabbed a long pink pillow. She whirled on Sunset and raised her eyebrows like a temptress.
Rolling her eyes, Sunset stole the pillow in her magic. She simultaneously grabbed every other pillow on the bed and moved them to her side of the room.
“Hey!” With a flap of her wings, Cadance leapt and tackled a small cushion out of the air. She skidded on her landing and turned to Sunset with a sharp grin that didn’t match her face. She held her pillow in one hoof, stance wide like a pony facing down a herd of buffalo.
Sunset held the other dozen or so pillows in a matrix around herself. Why does she have so many? “I told you, we’re not doing this. If this isn’t making you angry, then let’s try something else.”
“Ah, so you’re forfeiting?” In that moment, Cadance’s expression became the dictionary definition of “smug.” She set down the cushion and grabbed her mane scrunchie off the floor, resetting her ponytail. “I didn’t expect to win quite so easily, but fair enough. I guess we should get back to the matter at hoof.”
Sunset snarled. She’s obviously goading you.
Yeah, and it’s working.
“First off, I didn’t forfeit. There was never a fight to forfeit. And even if there was, it wouldn’t matter. We both know I’d wipe the floor with you.”
“Excuse you! I’ll have you know that I’m a veteran of at least ten pillow wars from my time foalsitting the Chestnut twins back in Woodwind. I might be able to put up more of a fight than you think.”
Sunset scanned the battalion at her command, then turned to Cadance and her sad, lonely pillow. “You’re kidding, right? You wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Maybe not.” Flipping her ponytail over her shoulder, Cadance lifted her cushion and spun it lazily on one hoof. “But there’s only one way to find out.”
“Pfft, nice try.” Sunset turned away and began piling pillows in the far corner. “You’ve sidetracked us long enough. I’m not going to—”
The words halted on her tongue as a pillow whomped her upside the head.
She glared fire at the offender by her hooves. That fire turned infernal as she switched to Cadance. For her part, Cadance tilted her head to one side and gave a “What can you do?” kind of shrug.
And so her fate was sealed.
Half of the pillows still in her magic, Sunset launched the densest one at Cadance before gathering the rest of them. It hit Cadance’s chest with enough force to send her into a full backflip. She grunted on landing, spread across the floor like a fledgling pegasus.
“You asked for this!” Sunset raised the pillows high above herself in a storm of fluffy death. She held a volley of five in the back as her finisher, then slung the others one by one, each with a different curve and spin.
Cadance’s eyes popped open just in time for a pillow to strike her in the face. She rolled to one side and pumped her wings, successfully returning to her hooves. Another shot clipped her wing, but she danced and weaved around the next few, then caught one and used it to deflect a couple others.
Sensing a blind spot, Sunset fired two at once—one head on and the other in a wide left arc. Bottles of hoof polish clattered and spilled across the vanity as the curveball sailed by, suddenly dousing the room in a sour, chemical smell.
The sound pulled Cadance’s attention, spelling her doom. Sunset made a split-second adjustment to her trajectories, sending the first pillow beneath Cadance and sucker punching her almost to the ceiling. The second caught her midair and spiked her down. She landed hard on her side but used the momentum to roll back to her hooves, wobbling in place and staring ahead with stark eyes.
Warned you. Sunset threw one more pillow before revving up her final strike.
Cadance blinked. She leapt over the pillow and kicked it straight down. Landing behind it, she swept her hoof and fired it back at Sunset in a low arc.
It caught Sunset in the hooves, knocking her legs out from under her and sending her into a faceplant. She winced on impact and her magic winked out, dropping her remaining ammo.
“Oh, sorry! Are you all right? That looked like it hurt.”
Molten iron coursed through Sunset’s veins. She got to her hooves, stared daggers through her split mane, and summoned her magic. The air cracked like lightning as a mass of turbulent energy gathered around her horn.
Everything on the study table behind her flew off sideways, papers scattering and ink bottles smashing against the wall. Sunset lifted the entire table, galloped back a few steps, and slammed it down on its side to form a makeshift barricade. All of the pillows around the room shuddered and swarmed to her. They coalesced into one massive heap held together by arcane electricity.
The sheer effort was enough to make Sunset’s head pound, and sweat poured from her mane in warm trickles, but the pale, terrified look on Cadance’s face made it all worthwhile.
Cadance glanced left and right, seeking salvation where none lay. She dove for the four-poster, whisking up the comforter and holding it between herself and her demise.
Pathetic. Sunset heaved the mass of cushions behind herself to gain as much inertia as possible. She eyeballed her trajectory and—
A thunderous sound made her flinch. She felt her weapon collide with something at the same time. She knew she hadn’t struck the wall, so what—?
“Sunset!” Cadance shrieked. “Move!”
Glancing over her shoulder, Sunset went stiff. She’d forgotten about the heavy wooden armoire behind her—the one now leaning forward to crush her like a titan’s hoof. Her mind blanked. Her body braced for the worst.
The armoire froze at her horn, caught in a pale blue glow. It only held for a heartbeat, but that was enough for Sunset’s adrenaline to kick her sideways. Her tail grazed the wood as the wardrobe crashed to the floor. The harsh crack of splintering wood boomed outward. The entire room rumbled, knocking all of the wall-mounted pictures from their hooks.
Sunset didn’t even get a second to think before her world went dark, smothered away by a great, pillowy tomb. When she did get a second to think, her first thought was the mental equivalent of white noise.
She could already hear Cadance’s muffled cries. Not a moment later, the pillows started shifting above her, and a thin ray of light pierced the dark. It swelled to brighten her whole field of view as another pillow got tossed aside.
Cadance’s face appeared in the opening. A frown etched deep in her muzzle, she said, “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Sunset said, but her dazed mind translated it into, “Nnngh.”
“Hold on! I’ll have you out in a second.” No sooner had Cadance disappeared from view than the mass of pillows ahead of Sunset lurched forward. They spilled out across the floor, carrying her with them like a linen tidal wave.
In an instant, Cadance grabbed Sunset’s hoof and guided her up into a tight hug. The cold sweat saturating both of their coats mingled, making Sunset shiver.
“I am so sorry!” Cadance said. “I shouldn’t have kept pushing you. It was just supposed to be a fun, quick game to lighten the mood. I didn’t think…”
Sunset tuned her out, her brain only now processing what had happened. She caught the wardrobe, came her first thought, and it was the only one she cared about.
“Hold on,” she said. “Shut up. Hold on.” She wrenched out of Cadance’s death grip and held her by the shoulders. “How did you do that?”
By the glossy look in Cadance’s eyes, she was still two steps behind. As usual. “Do what?”
“What else?! Ma-gic.” Sunset levelled her hoof at the wardrobe. “You should not have been able to stop that, not even for a second. But you did, which means you must have had another power surge. How? What were you feeling?”
Cadance glanced around like a filly lost in a museum. “I… I don’t know. Worried. Scared. I didn’t know what else to do—there was nothing else I could do—so I just… reacted.”
Sunset’s chest clenched. “You were… worried? About…?”
Despite her fragmented expression, Cadance managed to laugh. “About you, Sunset. You were going to be hurt. Badly hurt.” She shook her head. “I had to stop it, no matter what.” She started blinking fast, then hurled herself forward and embraced Sunset again. “And I’m so glad I did in time.”
Too dumbstruck to stop the hug, Sunset just sat there, numb. “You were worried,” she repeated. “About me.”
“Of course.”
Her heart rate doubled.
She had been worried? That couldn’t be the only reason. It had taken Cadance discovering that her love for her mother had been built on a lie for her magic to flare up the first time. No matter how big of a heart she claimed to have, no matter how much she wanted to be friends, it was impossible that she cared enough about Sunset to have anywhere near as potent of a reaction. Not even close. Especially not after how Sunset had treated her. There was more to it. There has to be.
Obviously she must have put all her lame family stuff in the armoire after her dresser was destroyed. She would never admit it, but that’s what she cared about protecting most.
She let it fall, though. All she stopped from getting damaged was you.
Maybe she didn’t have enough power to stop it completely.
But she had enough to strain your shield spell? The one you’ve practiced for years? Not likely.
Different power surge. That proves nothing.
Yeah, because she definitely cares more about the mom she’s never met than all her family keepsakes. You saw how much she cared about the book you stole.
Whatever! Even if she does care about me more than I expected, so what? That just means she’s even more gullible than I thought, which is a good thing. Who cares?!
You do, clearly.
Sunset bolted to her hooves, forcing her way out of Cadance’s arms. “I should go.” She stormed around Cadance, not so much as glancing at her.
“Sunset? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. We figured out your magic is triggered by strong emotions. That’s all I need to know.” She combed the mess for her saddlebags and whatever else she’d brought—she barely remembered anymore. “I’ll look more into emotional resonance before Sunday. Get your leylines checked in the meantime.”
“Are you mad? Did I say something? I’m sorry if—”
“What part of ‘nothing’s wrong’ didn’t you get?!” She wheeled around and bared her teeth. Cadance stood a small distance back, one hoof outstretched, and she flinched away. “It’s later than I wanted to be out of here anyway, and we’ve finally made progress, so we’re done. That’s all.” She turned, stumbled on the table leg, and marched for the door. “Good night.”
Neither of them said another word until she neared the door. “Okay, if you’re sure,” Cadance said. “Have… a good night.” A little pause, then in a quieter voice, “I guess I’ll just… clean up.”
Sunset hesitated, hoof on the doorknob. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Cadance standing amid the chaos, staring at the ink-stained wall and scattered glass shards. A frail spark in her heart urged her to go help.
She would do the same for you.
With that, Sunset left.
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Bad Idea
Gosh, it's almost like there's a bad fit between teaching method and student. It's almost like there's more to magic than Sunset already knows. It's almost like she's becoming aware of just how objectively terrible a person she is, and can't stand to have her failings shoved in her face by both Cadence's struggle and her counterexample.
I think I can see how this helps lead to her storming through the mirror.
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That doesn't often end well, does it?
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I don't know what would give you any of those ideas. Clearly all of this is exclusively Cadance's fault. Somehow.
This story really makes you feel for both Sunset and Cadance!
By the way, "Case and point" is a typo for "Case in point".
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I'm glad those feelings are coming across! Despite being told from Sunset's perspective, the story is equally important for both of them.
And thanks for the catch! I always thought it was "case and point" and never questioned it. You learn something new every day!
I hope there'll be a chapter titled Matters of the Heart later down the line.
Chapter 8 – Shimmer came out at the right time. I'd been working on Heart of the Matter for so long that it'd become a chore, so an update I enjoyed 100% turning up just as I sit down for another go at a comment was definitely welcome.
It even let me enjoy (most of) the pillow fight this time, when I'd skipped it altogether on the first read and forced myself through it on the second. All that time and the new chapter also helped me narrow down the issue I'd been smashing my head against to define the whole month.
But this chapter started off very well, so I'll start with what I loved too!
I like the angle you're going with for Cadance's issues with her magic: instinct. She's lived her entire life as a pegasus, so she doesn't have the 'instinctual pull' a born unicorn would have: she needs to consciously establish a connection to her magic to use it.
The same way Twilight had issues with her wings, except on a much deeper level because ultimately, they're 'just' a new pair of limbs. Cadance's dealing with something entirely new here. We'd have more information to go from if the show had spent some time on Twilight dealing with controlling weather, walking on clouds subconsciously because willing it to happen messes something up, or whatever it is earth ponies have with all things plants.
"Don't think, feel" seems to be the name of the game here... and Sunset apparently gets that more than Twilight 'Science!' Sparkle ever could. She's quick to grasp Cadance's problem once she brings it up, but even if she first thinks it's just an issue of 'and just like veins, they don’t always work right,' she's also quick to muse that it may be normal. "Not like there’s any other examples of pegasi getting unicorn magic," after all.
I also loved how Sunset's voice shines through the narration at all times. Unlike previous chapters, I don't think I found any instance of leaving the character's head. "Of course, Sunset’s version of simple was linear algebra for Cadance" is the only one I'm not sure about: it could work just as well as either Sunset insulting her or an external, sarcastic narrator.
Sarcasm, on Sunset's part this time, is also why I found the earlier "examining the magazine like a mathematician confronted by the Riemane hypothesis" to work, unlike the comparisons from previous chapters. I could picture Sunset thinking that (and rolling her eyes internally).
Then comes the pillow fight, and I found both the narration matching Sunset's character and your 'murder by metaphor' writing style to become liabilities rather than assets.
It's entirely within Sunset's character to treat "a fun, quick game to lighten the mood" so seriously and hostilely, seeing as it's Cadance she's dealing with. I imagine the only reason she didn't longingly wish she was throwing fireballs rather than pillows at her was that the 'battle' was too fast-paced to give her the time to do so.
Yeah, it suits the old Sunset to be so pompous as to go all "and so her fate was sealed," "spelling her doom," "the air cracked like lightning" and "seeking salvation where none lay" and make my eyes roll the whole time. But the scene still made me roll my eyes the whole time.
I could have still done that with a smile on my face—"a storm of fluffy death," "smothered away by a great, pillowy tomb" and "like a linen tidal wave" would work wonderfully either as Cadance's point of view or Sunset's if she was actually enjoying herself—but then comes the issue I narrowed down.
"She glared fire at the offender by her hooves. That fire turned infernal as she switched to Cadance," "molten iron coursed through Sunset’s veins," "the air cracked like lightning as a mass of turbulent energy gathered around her horn," "[the pillows] coalesced into one massive heap held together by arcane electricity," "[the armoire] now leaning forward to crush her like a titan’s hoof..."
There were similar 'trying WAY too hard' lines in Friendship Bewitched—"[REDACTED] marched past the threshold, each hooffall commanding the gravity of a thousand suns" and "[REDACTED's] jaundiced eyes peered up at her, their depth rivaling the Celestial Sea."—but that was two sentences in 3,600+ words. In Trip the Light Scholastic, they crop up every single time Sunset's angry or remotely aggravated, which is very often.
But Shimmer made me realize one thing. It's the lines matching Sunset's 'semantic field,' so to speak, that bother me the most.
Here, I didn't have any problem with "ice gathered in Sunset’s hooves." In the next chapter, I even loved "Sunset’s eyes turned to steel." But every time you describe Sunset's feelings with all things fire, infernal, molten and so on and so forth, there's a little voice screaming "we get it! Sunset's got a FIERY temper!" in the back of my mind.
It's not only the 'epic' lines related to fire that make me shake my head, as my quotes show, but I'm still starting to get flashbacks to Warhammer 40,000's Salamanders trilogy and its pathological obsession with making every comparison in the books related to fire, volcanoes or forges when I read the story.
Ah, and speaking of voices in one's head...
I thought Sunset struggling against her very nature—a concept I love—began with Shimmer, but I realized she'd already started arguing with herself here.
And, well, she's not repeatedly backpedaling before the storm of thoughts in her mind, she's arguing with herself. Her mental breakdown after Cadance saved her wasn't someone trying to make sense of something that doesn't make sense, it was a conversation between two people. Same thing happens in the next chapter, except the 'voice' using "you" switches from appealing to her better nature—urging Sunset that Cadance does care about her—to doing the very opposite—"nopony will even know."
This reads as intended as opposed to 'shoulda used "I" instead of "you",' and this paragraph pretty much confirms it to me; "Hey, at least you know what you’ll be doing when you get home tonight, a voice gloated in her head. Her mind came to a standstill as she decided whether or not she agreed."
Yeeeah, not the direction or execution I expected. I love how the story is decidedly Sunset's 'internal narrative,' but I don't think I'll enjoy that part of it as new chapters come.
So Chapter 8 – Shimmer brought some much-needed salve along with some realizations. Most of them troubling. Oops!
But one was just how many lines I loved in this chapter;
And a few lines I wanted to comment on;
I don't know whether to laugh or cry that Sunset doesn't know what a pillow fort is.
I instantly pictured Nightmare Moon here—and was so disappointed Sunset didn't quote her "you're kidding. You're kidding, right?" in Friendship is Magic, part 2 verbatim.
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First off, thanks again for taking the time to write such a thoughtful critique! Your comments definitely help inspire me when I hit blocks in my writing, so I really appreciate it.
Sorry to hear that it felt like a chore. Despite the fact that you've commented on every chapter thus far, I hope you don't feel an obligation to do so. While I will always appreciate them, if writing them becomes tedious or frustrating for you, then please don't worry about struggling through it unless you truly want to. Evoking such miserable feelings is the exact opposite of what I want to do with my writing.
Happy to hear that you enjoyed the most recent chapter, at least!
Onto the topic of Cadance's magic: I'm glad you're enjoying my interpretation of what learning magic would be like for someone who doesn't have it innately. I imagine that most unicorns have an adjustment period in their infancy to get used to how their magic feels, hence the severe power fluctuations we see in the show from the likes of Pumpkin Cake and, to an exaggerated degree, Flurry Heart. Once they're old enough to start school, their magic probably feels more like a natural extension of their body than some wild, nebulous force radiating from within.
But Cadance never got that adjustment period, so it's interesting to consider how that would impede her. Combine that with Sunset's perspective of "this worked for me, so it should work for you" and Cadance's progress is bound to be gradual at first.
At the end of the day, though, I do think Sunset will prove more useful a teacher than Twilight might have, specifically for that "don't think, feel" mentality you mentioned. Empathy is a rather large aspect of Sunset's character—even if it's not always on display at this point in her life—and she's canonically stated that she prefers experimental learning to book learning, so her ability to detect the nature of Cadance's problem is much greater than Twilight's would likely be. Even if Sunset doesn't fully grasp the root cause of Cadance's issues, she certainly has the capacity to figure it out.
If she really cares to, of course.
Looking back on the story thus far, I can understand how this style of writing might get tiresome. Heck, getting inside Sunset's head in order to write the story even exhausts me on occasion. There are definitely times when I overdid it, and I'm almost certainly going to go back and tweak things here and there once the story is complete and I have a better idea of how it all unfolds.
However, I don't think I'll ever be able to divorce my writing style from this trend. At the end of the day, it's just how I write Sunset Shimmer—at least at this point in her life. To me, it's fitting for her to employ allusions to fire/forges/heat to the degree that she does in this story, as well as her tendency to render her own feelings more impactful ("epic," one might say) while downplaying the actions and emotions of those around her. See: the language she uses in reference to Cadance, wrapping her in childish, playful imagery. Things that are immature. Silly. Irrelevant.
I think a big part of where this issue comes from is the fact that so much of Sunset's anger and vitriol is front-loaded in this story. It's gone on for over 30,000 words now, so at this point it feels like beating a dead horse to continue describing Sunset's emotions and actions in this way, but that's also kind of the point. Due to the events of her life up to this point, she's been embroiled in these feelings for so long that they're normalized. As you mention in your comment on the next chapter: "I guess there'll be a lot of the worst in Sunset for Cadance to bring out before she gets to bring out the best in her instead."
We are getting to a point in the story where this aspect of Sunset's character is going to take a back seat to other elements of the story, so I think in the grand scheme of things it's all going to smoothen out. I wanted to emphasize it so that, in the latter half of the story when things get better(?) for her, there's something to compare it to. I admit that I probably went overboard, and you've certainly helped me to realize that, but just know that there was conscious thought put into it.
Full disclosure: this is something I don't even realize I do when I'm writing. Perhaps on a subconscious level I'm doing it on purpose in order to emphasize the nature of the conflict, but I always have to think it through carefully in editing. "Is using 'you' here actually what I want to do? It's her own thoughts, so surely it should be 'I.'" And then I hum and haw over it for a while before deciding to go with what feels correct.
I think it boils down to the fact that this is something I personally do in my own life, and I more or less thought it was normal. Whenever I'm conflicted on something, I often have conversations in my own head in order to sort out my thoughts. It helps more often than not, and so it bleeds over into my writing, too. Just hearing which voice is using which pronoun ("I" vs. "you") can be a big help, because it reveals which side of the argument you're leaning more into in the moment.
I don't think it's something that'll come up a whole lot. Mostly it'll be reserved for more tense, emotionally charged decisions, hence why it was so prevalent at the end of this chapter and all throughout the next.
I thought about it long and hard, believe me! Every time I read or hear the phrase, "You're kidding," that exact quote runs through my head. I felt like it might have been a little too on-the-nose in this case, though, haha.
Once again, thank you for your insight! I hope the upcoming chapters won't be as much as a roadblock for you as this one was. Based on our discussions so far, I think the next few chapters will be more to your liking for sure.