Bivalent Connections

by equestrian.sen

7. The Dualcorde Mirror

Sunset Shimmer walked with deliberate caution through the dimly lit corridors of Canterlot Castle's restricted archives. This was her second time trespassing here—her first unauthorized visit had yielded a fascinating discovery in the form of an ancient artifact, one that sparked more questions than answers. Tonight, her curiosity had drawn her back once again.

She paused in front of a large iron door etched with ancient runes. Her heart fluttered with excitement and just a hint of guilt; Princess Celestia’s warnings echoed in her mind, but her curiosity burned brighter than any caution. Besides, Sunset reasoned, if Celestia truly wanted to hide something important, didn’t that make it all the more worth discovering?

Pushing the door open, she stepped inside and lit her horn, weaving a gentle glow around her. The vault beyond stretched like a cavern, filled with half-forgotten relics of Equestrian history.

Eventually, she noticed a tall shape concealed beneath a heavy velvet cloth in the far corner. Something about it tugged at her magical senses, much like that artifact she'd found last time. A chill ran along her spine as she approached.

Sunset gently drew the cloth aside, revealing a grand mirror set in a tarnished silver frame. This mirror looked ancient, and a subtle current of powerful magic radiated from the glass.

She leaned in, studying her reflection. For a moment, it was just her—a unicorn with fiery hair, eyes gleaming with intrigue. Then the image rippled.

The mirror no longer reflected the room around her. Instead, Sunset saw a vast, intricate network of glowing threads connecting countless luminous points. Each point pulsed with a distinct emotional hue—fierce amber ambition, deep-sea vulnerability, brilliant scarlet triumph, midnight-blue doubt. She stared, trying to make sense of the complex web before her.

At first glance, the arrangement seemed chaotic, lacking any discernible pattern. The points weren't grouped by similar emotions—joy didn't cluster with happiness, nor anger with frustration. Instead, they connected in ways that initially confused her.

Sunset frowned, reaching out with her magic to touch one glowing point that shimmered with the particular shade of satisfaction she'd felt when mastering a difficult spell. As her magic made contact, the point brightened, and a memory surfaced—her first successful teleportation. From that point, a thread led to a flare of bright ambition, then to the sharp edge of frustration, then determination, and finally to a deeper, richer satisfaction.

As she followed this path, her mind naturally recalled the story of how she'd struggled with advanced teleportation, failed repeatedly, doubled her efforts in stubborn determination, and finally achieved a breakthrough that surpassed even her teacher's expectations.

Curious, she touched another point—this one pulsing with the distinctive color of betrayal she'd felt when overhearing classmates discussing her behind her back. From there, a thread led to isolation, then to a fork: one path leading toward reconciliation and understanding, the other toward resentment and self-protection.

Sunset found herself drawn to the second path, following it as it wound through memories of deepening resentment, then pride, then a cold, calculating ambition. The memories themselves appeared in no chronological order—a recent confrontation with a rival student stood beside her childhood refusal to join a group project, followed by her teenage daydream of achieving recognition without anypony else by her side. Though this wasn't the sequence her life had taken, it felt hauntingly familiar—a story that could have been hers, that in many ways paralleled her own choices after feeling betrayed.

She continued exploring, tracing different paths through the emotional network, each one creating recognizable patterns that resonated with her. And as she did, a question formed in her mind: where was her own journey in this intricate web? She began searching for the thread that represented her life as she had lived it, her magic instinctively probing deeper into the network.

In response to her unspoken question, a particular thread brightened. It traced a route through the emotional network—her life thus far as it actually happened. It began in the gentle glow of childhood wonder, then wound through early pride in her abilities, the warmth of Celestia's initial approval, the sharpening edge of ambition, the heady rush of accomplishment, and increasingly, the cold gleam of dissatisfaction despite her achievements.

But something strange happened as the thread approached the present moment. It didn't end—instead, it branched into multiple possible continuations, each leading toward a different emotional future.

One path intensified her current trajectory—the emotional signature of her recent years growing more concentrated. She saw that each memory of choosing ambition over connection, power over understanding, had strengthened this pattern. Though the memories varied in time and circumstance, they traced a consistent emotional arc toward increasing isolation and intensity.

Another branch showed memories where her ambition had temporarily yielded to complacency—times she'd settled for "good enough" rather than excellence, moments she'd let her curiosity fade in favor of following established patterns. These memories shared a distinctive emotional signature—a gradual dimming, a softening of edges, a comfortable but stagnant plateau.

A third path contained fewer memories, scattered like distant stars amid stretches of darkness. Here were the rare moments when she'd allowed herself to be vulnerable, when she'd shared knowledge rather than hoarded it, when she'd listened rather than spoken. These memories, though disconnected in time, formed a fragmented trail that wound through empty regions in the emotional landscape—spaces where no memories existed yet. The path seemed incomplete, more suggestion than reality, but the few points that did exist along it glowed with a resonance that drew her gaze back repeatedly, as if they were signposts toward territory both unfamiliar and inviting.

There were other branches too, dozens of them, some barely visible, others clear but requiring dramatic emotional shifts to reach.

Sunset's breath caught in her throat. She drew the velvet cloth back over the glass. This object's true power wasn't in what it showed, but in what it asked: could she rewrite her story midway through living it?

A flicker of light from the corridor made her freeze. Night guards approaching. She slipped into shadow, holding her breath until they passed.

As she made her way back through the castle corridors, everything looked different. Each turn, each doorway represented a choice—either reinforcing her current path or diverging toward something new.

Tomorrow, she would return to her studies. But perhaps she would also accept that invitation she'd planned to decline. Perhaps, for once, she would ask Celestia about something other than power.