I.IV - The Ladies of Flutter Valley

The whole world was spinning.

The Sea of Fog and Flutter Valley were one in the same, and the "Ladies" who called it home had a veritable front door ready for Starlight: unfathomable, muddy, abyssal. This wasn't the time to get cold hooves. Starlight had been ready to sail this milky ocean forever, or at least until she’d raked every square mile from one end to the other for any sign of the coven.

Such a task seemed likely upon her first landing, where skinny, claw-like trees had reached from the misty sea, toward the stony-grey heavens above. As she rose into the fog a second time, Starlight was beginning to find it difficult to muster up any hope.

This could take forever, she realized, and Twilight didn’t have forever.

Her stop and the one before it had yielded nothing but woods of skeletal birches, so densely clustered that a foal would have trouble squeezing through their trunks. Let alone Starlight’s own generous flanks, which she certainly hadn’t tried and failed to squeeze through.

Nope, they were clearly impassable.

Not to mention eerie as heck. Stiff as iron, dryer than sand, it was obvious that they’d been sapped of their magic by… By something. Starlight had reached for them with her own, as curious as she was disturbed. Her gut only felt the familiar tingling of her own magic. Nothing beyond that, nothing within the trees or the ground itself. It was a truly dead land.

The second woodland was almost a copy. Clearly, there was nopony living in either. Yet Starlight couldn’t shake the feeling of another's gaze pressing through the treeline.

How long, she wondered, as she rose through the fog once more, was she going to wander this depressing place? How long until she happened to stumble upon these totally real storybook characters?

Starlight peered across the misty sea, making out what looked like a sparse treeline in the distance. She drifted on, pushing through the Sea of Fog, and then all at once, Starlight gasped.

The sparse treeline was but a small part of another woodland, rising up into the sky.

Enormous, spreading out before her, obscuring everything else from sight.

The arms of mighty redwoods, she realized, reaching up through the fog. Thick as tree trunks themselves, coiling, curving, and tapering to form a wooden crown topped by dozens of jagged prongs.

Starlight trembled as she beheld the sight. She sank into the milky sea, not knowing what to think upon seeing the threshold they formed—an opening into what would otherwise be another impenetrable woodland.

She'd have to be a fool not to assume this was the Ladies’ abode. It just had to be them. This wasn’t at all natural. None of it was.

Just the thought of it chilled her. If the Ladies had created this dead world, what was the limit to their power? So Starlight wondered as she gazed into the abyss ahead. She pricked her ears for something, anything. A sign of some kind. But there was nothing. Not a bird’s warble, or the sigh of a slight breeze.

But was it dead, like before?

Starlight opened herself to magic, illuminating her horn and the fog swirling around with a brilliant teal glow.

In that instant, the entire woodland thrummed with magic.

Starlight staggered, almost losing her balance. She felt drained of her mana, despite it still tingling away in her breast.

She’d never felt anything like this.

They’re here. Starlight’s heart pounded. The Ladies, they’re here. They’re real.

She thrashed her head, hardened her heart. “Get a grip,” Starlight muttered. “Get a grip, have a little faith. These are just ponies. Alright? Ponies like me with a bit more magic to them. Even if you can't t-take them, you still need to save her. Save Twilight, come on.”

That’s all she was dealing with: some old ponies reading tea leaves and stirring pots of soup. They had a lot of power, sure, but they were real, and nothing else mattered.

Powers no earth ponies should be capable of wielding, by all the laws of Harmony.

Yet here Starlight was, and here they were. Real. Absolutely, without-a-doubt, a hundred percent real. Destiny had brought their paths together in order to save Twilight.

What could be more worthy of repaying a life debt?

Starlight made her face an emotionless mask. Hopefully, the witches would fall for it if they were truly watching her now. This is it. Go on. Her hooves stayed rooted in place. Stop being afraid. Twilight wouldn’t hesitate to go in there for you!

The muck ahead writhed, ever so slightly.

Starlight’s eyes widened. She blinked, and rubbed them, but the mud didn’t twitch again. It was flat as a pane of glass.

Whether it was Starlight’s nerves or something far worse, one thing was obvious: That’s no mud. Dipping a hoof in it, finding out what it was? Yeah, no. Not a good idea. That’s how ponies got nabbed in horror stories. This was probably some defense the witches put down, to protect themselves.

But from what? Starlight gazed into the abyss ahead. How long could she support a levitation field on herself?

I held it just fine years ago, during a fight with Twilight, no less. This is foal’s play.

A mental glance as automatic as breathing snapped Starlight's horn to life, and the universe thrummed to the beat of one heart. Whatever this place was, its land was saturated with magic. Its trees, however mangled, the grass, even the musty air became heavy, like a waterlogged rag upon Starlight's person. At least it was real. Tangible, no longer akin to the truly dead woodlands from before.

That explains why I couldn’t teleport here, Starlight guessed. Yet another trick of the Flutter Valley coven, no doubt.

The magic enveloping Starlight’s horn expanded, swallowing her entire body in a warm, tingly glow. With but a thought, her hooves left the ground; another mental flick carried her into the tunnel. Effortless. Good thing, too; as the darkness swallowed her, only a dim, teal-tinted flush washed across her surroundings. Ahead was like flying headfirst into a big, black wall. Starlight's mind surged with all the times her father checked in the closet for monsters.

The levitation hummed monotonously in Starlight’s ear. It was all there was to her. Not her nerves, not what lurked ahead, nothing. Nothing else existed.

These... could be my last moments alive, Starlight realized. She thanked and feared her internal neutrality toward the idea. Part of Starlight felt sick, however, wishing that she hadn’t been in such a hurry, or that she had the good sense to at least say goodbye to her friends.

No, they would’ve stopped me, Starlight told herself, swallowing her sickness as it crept up her throat. Or worse, they’d insist on coming with me. And that was unacceptable. Starlight wouldn’t allow that, not on her life.

Besides, they would not have understood. Especially Trixie.

It was cold. She was a jerk for thinking this. But there was no other way of looking at it. Starlight loved her friends, more than anything in the world. But they were also, well…

Trixie, Maud, Rainbow Dash, Applejack, Spike…

They were more doers than thinkers. They’d be so busy being caught up in saving Starlight’s life that they’d forget who the important pony was in all this.

As she floated deeper into the bog, Starlight’s eyes raked the darkness for something to distract her. Or, at least, to calm her racing heart.

The faint teal glow of the spell revealed trees of every variety possible: thick, thin, bent like an “L” or twisting upwards like a wooden corkscrew; some were thin as a foreleg, others little more than mounds of black willow-bark.

Whatever power ruled this land did so with a magical, iron hoof. It was a painful sight, even to Starlight, who’d never considered herself a lover of nature.

What happened here? The witches happened, apparently. Or maybe not. From that mare’s journal, assuming it was actually real, ponies had inhabited these lands before migrating north into three headbutting tribes. After the Reunification, nopony on record had ever left civilized Equestria.

At least, until Twilight and her friends came along. Yet another reason I have to save her.

Starlight left that thought, ignoring the tightening in her belly as a light at the end of the tunnel grew rapidly before her.

It was white, churning, and for a moment she believed it was alive.

Maybe that was the soul of this accursed place, where all that missing life had gathered? The wind whistled as Starlight raced through the last stretch of the tunnel, a burning desperation blazing within her that shattered into pieces upon breaking through.

Seven hammers struck the inside of her brain at once, tearing a haggard cry from her throat. Starlight lost control, and crash-landed hard, carving a muddy trench through the earth. Her forehead burned, a pain smoldering underneath her horn. Pulsing. It was an agony so intense, Starlight couldn’t even voice a groan.

But she soon managed to crack an eye open, the other buried in the chill of mud.

White rolled all around, heavy with magic. Starlight heard it in her ears, felt it in her bones, even without her horn activated. Everything pulsed about her, pressing against her mind and soul, like the whole of Flutter Valley was a heart in of itself. Starlight was right, in a way: all the magic in the Sea of Fog, in Flutter Valley, was seemingly gathered at this one spot.

She couldn’t even be sure that was true. Part of Starlight didn’t want it to be; the mere idea was disturbing.

What the hay is this place? Starlight wondered, too pained to speak aloud. There’s nowhere—nowhere in Equestria—like this. Saturated with magic. It shouldn’t be like this. This isn’t possible.

Starlight’s eye lifted, hoping the answer would be there. More fog was cloaking the forest canopy.

Although the pain in her forehead had receded into a dull tingle, a faint thump beat inside. Her eardrums, her heartbeat. One of them or both, or something else entirely. She couldn’t be sure.

Starlight groaned, rising to her hooves. Gross, dark mud matted her belly. A weighty stickiness clung to her all over. Starlight exhaled shakily, utter silence embracing her.

No witches yet. It was a cold comfort—her mission wasn’t over yet.

Starlight scanned the soundless world she’d crashed into. To her left: a veritable wall of trees, as dense as the tunnel behind her. She slowly traced them, seeing how far they went until a curtain of rolling white abruptly swallowed them across the clearing.

Nothing else. There was absolutely nothing. No sounds, no sights, no sounds, nothing but her own thunderous panting, the squelch of gulping. It was all just mud and grass and trees and fog.

What is with this place!? There was no hut. No bubbling cauldron. No idols or charms or dreamcatchers.

It was as lifeless, empty, and silent as the rest of this “Sea of Fog.”

Something grabbed her by the heart, squeezed it into jelly. No. This couldn’t be it.

Starlight’s hooves slurped from the mucky trench she’d carved. The fog across the clearing didn’t thin, though beyond it surely were more trees.

Turning toward where she’d come from, Starlight leaped back a foot like a startled kitten. Something stood directly to her right flank. She must have skidded past it during her crash landing.

A gemstone sat upon a flat-topped rock, holding it like pedestal. Never in Starlight’s life had she seen anything like this. It was huge, twice the size of her head. A brilliant cut, its point thrust to the sky. It had edges so fine, a glow so beautiful, it’d surely make Rarity squeal with delight. The thing felt out of place in this grim setting, to say the least.

What are you? No gemstone in Equestria could glow like that, not without some kind of power inside it. Even in such a state, she’d never known gemstones to exude such a warm, self-contained light unless it was active.

But it wasn’t doing anything, just softly glowing like a sunset. And yet the grey stone it sat upon seemed untouched by its light. Unnatural, just like this whole accursed wildland.

It was certainly beautiful, though. Starlight’s lips opened in a soundless coo. What was this relic’s story? Where’s Maud when you need her? She’d probably know the entire history of this thing with just a glance. She could just do that.

Starlight’s forehead gently tugged toward it. It crept upwards, a gentle pulse inside her horn. It didn't hurt, though. She actually felt quite warm, as if the gemstone’s very soul touched hers with little more than eye contact.

It was completely crazy, but Starlight felt as though it had an actual, beating heart, drumming away within her breast, beside her own. This feeling filled her, hugging her core warmly.

It was nice.

It was the best she’d felt in weeks, since before Twilight…

What feeling was this, so familiar yet mysterious at once? She’d heard stories from ponies, old friends who believed they recognized a face they’d never met before. What kind of sense did that make here? She would definitely remember seeing such a gemstone before. No one would forget a sight like this.

Shivers crept up Starlight’s hindquarters. She tore away from the sunshine stone, facing the depressing nothing surrounding her.

This was a dead end! Where were the Witches of Flutter Valley?!

"Hello?" she called into the emptiness, as commanding as she could sound. The fog’s density was smothering. It was like shouting into a pillow.

If this is all there is…

Starlight took a deep breath, fog slipping past her lips. "I know that you dwell here,” she yelled in a strong, fearless tone, “and I demand that you show yourself!"

A heartbeat passed. Then another one. Two, three. Four-five-six.

Starlight breathed, in-out-in-out-in-out. Her eyes darted right, up, left. There wasn’t any movement, yet at the same time she didn’t want there to be. Silence enclosed her, embracing her. Suffocating her. The fog churned and rolled, prickling her skin. Starlight felt the hairs on her neck stand up.

Her stomach dropped to Tartarus.

She scanned the perimeter again, lips parted. A full rotation nearly ended in further dread, until Starlight’s eye caught sudden movement between the trees, and fear lanced her bosom.

Starlight choked—there was a fragment of... something...

A face, un-ponylike, with eyes like little red stars piercing the fog, black as the shadow it dwelt within. A face looking back upon her with perverse interest.

“Wha—?”

It melted into darkness. ‘We see you we hear you we're coming for you Starlight...’

Starlight thrashed her head back and forth. She didn’t hear that. "Just tricks of the fog! Same as my new friend, Ms. Lurking-Face!” She laughed with nervous false cheer. “Nothing to worry about, j-just some silly sp-spatial distortion, brought about by th-the... the, uh,” Starlight squeaked, “…thoo..."

Her eyes raked through the fog, as if the witches would just appear if she looked hard enough.

Starlight’s gut twisted with fear. She was afraid, and she hated it, but with every second that passed, the feeling intensified until it hurt to breathe. What if they truly did show because of destiny, like in the story? And that Starlight's did not entwine with theirs?

What if... She could scarcely breathe. What if Spike was right?

What if this was all just folly, a heartbreak waiting to happen?

What if Twilight’s truly destined to… to—?

Starlight gulped. She whimpered. She whipped back around, flinging her gaze from branch to branch. "No," she whispered, spinning once more. "No! No," Starlight trailed off into a pitiful sob. "This can't be it! I came all this way! Th-there has to be a way to save Twilight, there has to!"

"dRy YoUr TeArS," spoke two voices, directly in her ear.

Starlight gulped. She couldn’t even scream. It was the most horrible thing she’d ever heard.

One voice was as kindly and sweet as Twilight’s. Like a mother’s. The other was utterly monstrous.

Something’s seriously wrong here, Starlight thought.

https://youtu.be/z3Fu-1i-OG8

“oVeR hErE,” whispered another pair, the second voice half as chipper as Pinkie’s. “DoN’t Be AfRaId...”

Starlight spun around, and she screamed.

The Ladies of Flutter Valley emerged from the fog with creeping, deliberate footsteps. The terrible squick-squishing through the muck from across the clearing made her stomach curl. All around, the air seemed to warp and shimmer, like plastic bent and folded in an instant, hotter than the dog days of summer, completely odorless. It was like they weren’t even there.

“dIsPeL aNy NoTiOnS oF uSiNg YoUr MaGiC, pReTtY oNe!” the one with a motherly voice echoed upon the fog.

“yOu HoLd No PoWeR oVeR tHiS pLaNe!” This one had a bit of a twang, like Applejack’s—from which one, Starlight didn’t know. It was impossible to tell.

Her eyes danced to each, again and again, every second more horrifying than the last. They weren’t normal, they weren’t even ponies.

Ponies didn’t have claws. They didn’t have dry, grey skin like wet cement, scarred, rashy and plump with boils.

These weren’t ponies. They were monsters.

The race called humans that her friend, Sunset Shimmer, was living among sprung to mind. But they weren't slim and kind-looking. They were huge, with heads actually smaller than their torsos.

The middle witch, though the shortest, was easily as big as Princess Celestia. Her horned head was as big and fat as the rest of her, draped with but a dozen long, orange hairs, floating lazily in the stagnant air. The sagging, pale flesh of her stomach concealed whatever she had for feet, with black roots carving jagged paths up underneath her tattered, royal-blue dress.

A scrap of fabric from it was cinched about her face, it was hard to get a read on this thing with only a pair of black pits for eyes.

She might as well have been wearing a mask.

The girl at her left had an entire foot on her, easily. Even from across the clearing, the yellow and red of her burlap dress stung Starlight’s eyes, and thankfully drew her attention. She looked elsewhere, and found juicy red boils coating the witch’s cankles, inflating them to the size of fillies.

Starlight threw her head aside and heaved. Nothing came because she hadn’t eaten, but her stomach felt afire.

Starlight couldn’t recall a worse sight than a bloody nose of Sunburst’s back when they were foals.

That was a lifetime ago, and now Starlight was wondering how a “Human” wound up with her head stuck in a dented, dirt-stained pot. The rest of her face was just a maw—lipless, toothless. A grey ruin of gums, save for one, big snaggletooth lancing through her jaw and corrupting the flesh around it, looking like a soul patch.

It would seem that pain did not exist for her, or her associates—she was just thrilled for Starlight to be here.

Too thrilled.

It was the sort of vacant, gaping-black-pit smile that would swallow up all the joy in a party. It never moved, even after three distinct voices had spoken.

Their voices were a force of magic altogether. What are these things?! Starlight blanched, her gaze snapping to the last witch.

Or rather, to how her stilts, err... her knees, bent inwards. The witch had a pigeon-toed appearance like the human Twilight Sparkle. Big, hulking hands suspended limply above the ground, hanging completely still from a pair of twigs. That’s all this lady was: just bones with red, blistering skin stretched over, and coveralls that were heavily patchwork-preserved. With what little of her rashy skin was left bare, Starlight saw racks of shadows. Her ribs.

By the time she met her gaze, Starlight’s horn was pointed at the fog-laden heavens.

An almost angelic glow clasped the third witch’s frame, thankfully concealing the details of her face. Starlight could tell it was like her body—long and gaunt. Malnourished.

And within her lion’s mane of orange hair, deep in shadow, the witch gazed unflinchingly at the pony a dozen feet below her with eyes like tiny red stars.

With a chill clawing through her, Starlight’s gaze trembled over to the middle witch.

She must have been the leader. That was a rational assumption, right? Did Starlight even have a say in what was logical and what wasn’t here?

"WeLL?!" snapped the peppy-voiced one.

Starlight flinched. “Um, I, I—”

“YoU’Ve FlOwN aLL nIgHt To FiNd Us! So,” she purred, the smiling witch raising her arms, presenting their foggy abode, “HeRe We ArE!”

“EnLiGhTeN uS. wHaT gIvEs YoU tHe RiGhT, tHe ShEeR aUdAcItY, tO cOmE iNtO oUr HoMe!?" added the one with an Applejack-twang.

Starlight’s jaw rose and fell but no words came forth.

"nOw, NoW, gIrLs. SeTtLe DoWn,” said a motherly-demonic warble. “YoU’rE fRiGhTeNiNg ThE hErO…” The middle one waddled two paces forward, despite her lack of eyes. "jUsT lOoK aT hEr..." Starlight backed away, intent on maintaining a dozen feet distance. "aFtEr All, iT’s NoT bEeN tOo LoNg SiNcE oUr LaSt OnE. sO dOn’T yOu DaRe ShAmE mE iN fRoNt Of OuR nEw FrIeNd, YoU iNgRaTeS! NoT wHeN i’Ve TaUgHt YoU hOw We TrEaT oUr gUeStS…” Her body turned slightly towards the pot-headed, rightmost witch. “yOu'Ve NoT FoRgOtTeN, hAvE yOu ReEkA?"

She let loose a cackle like a squealing hog. "cErTaInLy NoT! hMm... I cAn TaStE hEr aLL-rEaDy!" Defying all logic and reason, “Reeka” slurped her glee-frozen lips without actually doing so as she rubbed her bloodied hands together. "cAn I eAt HeR LIvEr, mOmMa? ThAt WaS aLwAyS mY fAvOrItE." Clasped hands rubbed against her cheek; with a bloated foot twisting into the muck, she was like a foal asking her parents what she wanted for Hearth’s Warming.

…Did… Did she say she wanted to eat my liver?! Out of everything that suddenly wasn’t true about the story, the fact that they actually ate ponies was just the rotten cherry on top.

These were the all-powerful witches she wanted so desperately to be real.

“nO! wE cAn’T eAt HeR!” whined the accented witch—the tall one. "mOmMa, TeLL hEr! tEll hEr WhAt tHe OmEnS sAiD! TeLL hEr ThAt tHiS pOnY’S tHe OnE wHo’LL sAvE—” A sickening crack snapped across the clearing, and a bloodcurdling howl rang in Starlight’s ears, making her cry out. Clapping her ears, Starlight collapsed, belly slapping against the soaked grass.

The scream ended before she hit the ground, but she remained where she lay, gasping raggedly. What was that? It was like all the magic in the world cried out at once.

A dull ringing and silence hung in the fog. Starlight mustered the strength to peek her eye open: the tall witch was on one knee, clutching a new joint midway down her shin, bent at a ninety-degree angle.

"Momma" must have lashed out in an unbelievable burst of speed. That must be it—it’s the only thing that made sense.

“i ThInK yOu BrOkE iT!" she whined.

Starlight felt no pity, even towards her otherworldly blubbering. The desire to scream ‘No kidding!’ was fierce, but saying anything at all could be the end of her. They could do whatever they please, so why not?

"fIrStLy,” a voice began, kindly, then suddenly scathing, “tHaT's 'HyDiA' To YoU, yOu DeGeNeRaTeS!" Momma pointed a single finger in the air.

Her big, boil-blasted, eyeless face turned to her downed daughter, "aNd SeCoNdLy, DoN’t YoU dArE SpOiL oUr FuN wItH tHe PaInFuLLy ObViOuS, dRaGgLe. If ThE dEsIrE tO bE sTuPiD bUrNs FiErCe, YoU cAn EiThEr BiTe YoUr ToNgUe oR mY FiSt. YoUr ChOiCe.”

Starlight’s blood ran cold. "Dear sweet Equestria..."

It was like firing off an air horn in a quiet room.

“HeReSy,” hissed Hydia. Three faces slid in her direction.

"SoMeThInG tHe MaTtEr, StArLiGhT?" drawled Draggle, rising smoothly to her feet. “wE aReN’T mAkInG yOu,” she crooned, her claws suspending in limp, loose curls above the dirt, “UnCoMfOrTaBlE, aRe We?”

Starlight choked. She wanted to laugh and cry. She couldn’t even remember why she was here.

"Do We HoRrIfY yOu?" Reeka stepped forth, hands splayed out, presenting their home and all the milky smoke enshrouding it.

Hydia laughed sharply, once, adding with amusement, "wE’rE aLl DrEsSeD uP, jUsT fOr YoU! oH, iF oNlY yOu KnEw JuSt HoW mUcH tImE wE sPeNt In FrOnT oF tHe GlAsS. wE’vE bEeN aNtIcIpAtInG yOu, YoU kNoW!”

Starlight blinked, her eyes snapping open wide. "Y-you guys saw that I was coming? Or..." She wracked her brain for a way to finish, a logical way. But there was only one other alternative that was possible. "Or did you somehow know already?” She already knew the answer. It made sense, although she wished it didn't. “How?"

Reeka clapped her hands. "oOh-H’oH-h’Oh! ShE’s QuIcK aS a WhIp, ThIs HeRe PoNy!” She rubbed them together excitedly.

"SeE? sEe?” cooed Draggle, still as a statue. “SeE hOw ShE wOnDeRs AbOuT dEsTiNy?”

Spiders skittered down Starlight’s back.

"YeS, bUt NoT aS mUcH aS sHe ShOuLd!” Hydia put her hands to her hips. “NoT eNoUgH tO rUiN oUr FuN…”

“I ToLd YoU sHe WoUlD bE mY fAvOrITe,” said Draggle.

“YoU’vE yEt To MeEt ThE oThErs, SiStEr.”

Starlight's breath caught in her throat, and forced those sudden implications out of mind.

No one had ever spoken of destiny so casually before, as if the concept were as simple as cutie marks. Ponies just didn’t think much of the supposed superstition. Even without being explicit, the witches' knowledge of such things was unparalleled by probably any pony alive, save for Celestia.

They clearly know me... Which means they know why I'm here, right? And... And their magic, whatever it is... It's gotta be powerful enough to save Twilight!

"Who are you, exactly?" Starlight asked, doing her best to sound aloof despite the frantic bouncing of her heart. "Or should I say: what are you?"

"OLd," Draggle answered.

“Gee. Thanks.”

“OlDeR tHaN yOu CaN cOmPrEhEnD,” Reeka clarified. “wE’vE bEeN aRoUnD lOnG bEfOrE tHe CoNcEpTiOn Of EqUeStRiA… bEfOrE eVeN tHe FoRmAtIoN Of ThE tHrEe pOnY tRiBeS!”

They’re only gonna be vague about it. At least there was some truth to Lickety’s diary. But the prospect disturbed Starlight all the same. Just what were these things? She thought she knew everything about these creatures flying in. This introduction just sent it all into a tailspin.

O-kay, Starlight summarized, so I got myself into a deal with beings who really are older than Equestria itself, definitely more powerful than anypony who ever lived. And oh, to top it all off, they’re carnivores, too. Super! Fantastic job, Starlight. You really outdid yourself this time! Ponyfeathers, if I get out of this intact, Twilight'll never trust me to make my own decisions again.

Draggle breathed heavily—a gale wailing through a long, dark tunnel. “iT’s BeEn A lOnG, lOnG tImE sInCe ThEn… H’aH, tHe MeMoRiEs! ThE jOy! tHe PoNy BuFfEtS sMoOzIe WoUlD bRiNg Us FoR mOnThS aFtEr,” she sighed once more, cupping a huge hand to her narrow chest.

Hydia spat, staring her prey down without breaking her eyeless gaze. “aLL oF iT sPoiLeD aNd WoRtHlEsS!”

“yOuR sMeLl, StArLiGhT, iT’s ToRtUrE!” moaned Draggle. “yOu PoSiTiVeLy ReEk oF sHaMpOo. It’S LiKe YoU bAtHe In ThE sTuFf!”

“EuGh,” Hydia groaned, batting the smell away, “fLoWeRs AnD sTrAwBeRrY cOnDiTiOnEr, PtOo!” She was as still as a statue. “i HaD fOrGoTtEn HoW pOnIeS sMeLL, sO sIcKeNiNgLy SwEeT. It Is JuSt sToMaCh-TuRnInG!”

Heat flashed within Starlight’s face. “How the hay you know what I shower with?!”

“wE kNoW eVeRyThInG,” Draggle said in a sing-song voice, “tHaT eVeR wAs, AnD eVeR WiLL bE.”

Reeka stomped forth, shaking Equestria and frightening Starlight back a step. “i CaN’t TaKe It AnYmOrE!” Her claws reached out, like they could grow ten feet and instantly skewer Starlight. “hYdIA, pLeAsE, sHe DoEsN’t NeEd AlL fOuR lEgS fOr LaTeR—”

Starlight shrieked as the matriarch snapped, “nO!” with finality. Reeka instantly shrank back into the group, hunched and washing her claws in some imaginary sink.

Hydia breathed in deeply. “wHo We ArE dOeS nOt MaTtEr, NoR iS iT aNy Of YoUr CoNcErN. yOu NeEd OnLy To KnOw ThAt We HaVe PoWeR. fOrRbIdDeN pOwEr, ThE kInD tHaT rUnS dEeP iN tHe HeArT oF tHiS lAnD’s FoUnDaTiOn.”

A bold claim, Starlight mused. Such boasts would make even Trixie cackle at their absurdity. She wouldn't put it past these creatures to warp the narrative like the braggart, twisting the logic she so heavily relied upon, manipulating her fear to get her to dance to their tune.

"Very interesting,” she said, trying to sound bored. “And is Princess Celestia aware of this?"

“uS...?" said Draggle.

"No, I mean—"

“OuR mAgIc?” Reeka purred, going pinky-up.

Starlight couldn’t muster an answer—that was exactly it.

Hydia’s hands clapped noiselessly together. “wE aRe OnE aNd tHe SaMe—RoOtEd In ThE lAnD, TiEd To sHaCkLeS oF fAtE.”

“wE’vE sEeN iT aLL, wItHoUt eVeR bEiNg ThErE oUrSeLvEs,” said Draggle, her hand sweeping.

Starlight laughed, barking out a hoarse squeal. “Yeah! I bet you see all kinds of stuff in your bubbling cauldron!” She made a circular motion.

"iN a WaY..." A chuckle rumbled in the air like distant thunder. “dEsTiNy Is BuT a BoOk, StArLiGhT,” said Hydia. “WrItTeN aNd PrInTeD. wE’Re All JuSt ChArAcTeRs, SpInNiNg In PlAcE TiLL wE’Ve DeTeRiOrAtEd InTo sTaRdUsT.”

Starlight fought to keep her tone light and disinterested. “How bleak.”

Reeka shook her head, as if seeing through her as well as her pot. “YoU’ll CoMe To UnDeRsTaNd,” she chirped. “It DoEsN’t mAtTeR wHeRe YoUr FanTaSiEs LiE. dEsTiNy iS lAw. We MaY nOt Be ThE aUtHoRs…”

“BuT wE aRe ThE rEaDeRs,” Reeka finished. “AnD wE kNoW tHe EnDiNg Of EvErY sToRy ThAt WiLl EvEr Be.” She held the last syllable in a long, smoky hiss.

The fact that they were one with the land itself carried a slew of disturbing implications.

That’s how they do it. That’s how they know everything… A pulse throbbed in Starlight's ears. No matter what happens here, they won't be surprised, because… their magic is tied to Equestria’s, like earth ponies’ and unicorns’ so…

"Then tell me how Princess Twilight's story ends, now!" she snapped. Starlight hated the shakiness of her demand. It screamed of the facade she wore.

Draggle cooed with delight. “OoH, sHe’S sNiPpIeR tHaN yOuR aVeRaGe PoNy!"

"I am not your average pony," Starlight threatened.

“HmM… nO, yOu ArE cErTaInLy NoT,” Hydia agreed. Her skeletal hand stroked whatever hid beneath her face-cloth. Starlight focused her eyes there instead of on her rotten eye sockets.

A moment later, Starlight wondered what could she do, anyway? Cast a spell? She couldn’t. She was completely at their mercy. What is that, anyway? It was probably a hex cast by the Witches in anticipation of her arrival. A helpless pony was far easier to deal with than an angry, powerful one.

After all, if they knew she was coming, they likely knew how badly she wanted to erase their evil blemish from the face of Equestria.

“dEsTiNy HaS bRoUgHt YoU tO oUr AbOdE tHiS dAy, StArLiGhT gLiMmEr,” continued Hydia. “All tHaT yOu HaVe EvEr SuFfErEd WeRe BuT sToNeS fOrMiNg ThE pAtH wHiCh LeD yOu hErE.” She huffed in amusement. “aNd YoU’vE gOt QuItE tHe StOrY tO TeLl, HaVeN’t YoU? A fOaLhOoD sUmMaRiZeD iN a BrOkEn HeArT, ThE cReAtIoN oF a CuTe LiTtLe CuLt! AnD tHaT iNeViTaBlY rEsUlTeD iN yOuR tUtElAgE bEnEaTh tHe PrInCeSs oF EqUeStRiA.”

Starlight opted to ignore that ‘beneath’ jab. "You mean of Friendship?” She snorted, then smiled thinly. “That's Twilight, you know. Who you described was Princess Celestia."

“oF cOuRsE, oF cOuRsE.”

Starlight didn't like what they were implying but preferred not to pursue this rabbit down its hole. They’re just trying to mess with you, Starlight. To have 'fun.' They said it themselves. But then, what was a lie? What was fact? They were throwing so much at her, it was a challenge to even fully process it all.

She wasn’t eager to ask them to slow down.

“FuNnY hOw It AlL fElL iNtO pLaCe, Is iT nOt? YoU wErE a VeRy NaUgHtY pOnY, aFtEr AlL.” Hydia’s finger waved in a scolding manner. “GoOd InTeNtIoNs Be CuRsEd, I sAy! YoU oUgHtA hAvE bEeN pUt To DeAtH fOr AlMoSt DeStRoYiNg EqUeStRiA.”

Starlight blinked, eyes at half-mast. Once upon a time, those words would have sent her into a tailspin of guilt. Now I know, they’re just trying to unnerve you, Starlight.

"Uh-huh, and your point?" she asked, beckoning them with a hoof. "I know I was horrible. I know I hurt a lot of ponies. Ponies that, yes, I did care about, despite all the lies and deceptions I threw in their faces! I will never forget that. But I forgave myself a long time ago. So, you’re gonna have to try harder than that, Hydia."

A silence hung between them.

Then Reeka applauded in joy. “sO iNsPiRiNg!” She wept an invisible tear from the rim of her pot.

Draggle took a deep, echoing breath. “YoU’vE CoOoMe, SuCh A lOnG, lOnG wAy!”

Frost and fire skittered up Starlight’s neck on little spider legs. “Stop singing!”

Reeka cackled, her hands waving in a little jig. “ShE lOoKs ReAdY tO bItE yOuR hEaD oFf, DrAgGlE. hOw CuTe!”

“tHiS sOnG's All AbOuT tHe EnDiNg, ThOuGh. aRe YoU sUrE yOu WaNt Me To StOp, StArLy?” Shivers shredded through Starlight, hearing the falsetto nickname. Draggle upturned a hand, beckoning her. “i ThInK yOu OuGhTa LiStEn. ThE eNdInG mAkEs ThIs SoNg.”

She smiled thinly. “Oh, I’m sure. And guess what? I don't care! I don’t want to be here longer than I need to, and I’m quite positive you all feel the same.”

“MoRe ThAn YoU kNoW,” growled Hydia.

“ShAmE,” said Draggle, flicking her hand. “i QuItE LiKe ThAt SoNg. dO yOu ReMeMbEr ThAt SoNg, GiRlS?”

“ViViDlY,” said Reeka. “iT’s KiNdA nOt FaIr.”

Starlight blinked. She shook her head. Whatever they were referencing was before her time.

Draggle’s hands went up, probably to wipe away fake tears from those beady red eyes. “DoEs It NoT fIt ThIs OnE LikE a GlOvE?”

iT mOsT cErTaInLy dOeS, mY dEaR dRaGgLe,” said Hydia. “iN mOrE wAyS tHaN oNe… YoU’vE pLaYeD yOuR pArT qUiTe WeLl iN sHaPiNg ThE fUtUrE oF eQuEsTrIa, StArLiGhT gLiMmEr. AnD sO hAs ThE pRiNcEsS. A cRyInG sHaMe ShE wOn’T kEeP yOu On A lEaSh FoR mUcH lOnGeR.” Um, leash? “wHo KnOwS wHaT yOu’Ll Do AfTeR tHiS iS aLL sAiD aNd DoNe?”

"Twilight isn’t keeping me on a—!" Starlight stood petrified in place.

What the hay am I doing? Calm down, Starlight. Relax. They’re just trying to goad you.

She felt her heart slow a pace or two. Obviously, that’s all they’d been doing this entire time. Fear constricted her belly still, but the prick of anxiety no longer prodded her with every heartbeat. If there was one thing she could be certain of, it’s the witches would have taken her or done something by now if they weren’t looking to make a deal.

Right?

Hydia’s huge head cocked slightly. “sOmEtHiNg WrOnG, sTaRLiGhT?”

"Oh, a lot of things!” Starlight breezily laughed. “But finally, this isn’t one of them: Twilight Sparkle isn’t gonna die… and you know it. I know you know it."

For a long, long moment, the three witches just stared.

“nO,” Reeka mumbled after the pause, for once in conflict with her petrified glee. “sHe IsN’t. YeT. yOu’Re HeRe To MaKe SuRe ThAt DoEsN’t HaPpEn.”

For whatever reason, relief filled Starlight and made her feel lighter than air. This was the closest anypony had ever gotten to healing Twilight. "Yes," she sighed, head drooping.

“aNd WhY dO yOu WiSh FoR tHaT, pOnY?” Hydia asked.

Starlight’s eyes narrowed. “Even without eyeballs, you can see how dumb a question that is, right?” Fear suddenly kicked her in the gut. Had she been too bold?

Hydia simply cackled. “I MeAn, WhY iS tHiS pOnY wOrTh SaViNg? WhY iS sHe WoRtH oUr PriCe—yOuR pRiCe?”

Starlight scoffed. "As if you don't know already!"

Her only answer was silence. Of course they knew why; the witches wanted to know if Starlight did as well.

Obviously, she knew. Starlight was well-aware of her feelings, or at least, she thought she did. Enough to come all this way for the pony who changed her life.

That made it pretty self-explanatory, didn’t it? "Okay, well, why the hoof not?” Starlight swiped at the living gargoyles across the clearing. “If there's one pony in Equestria who’s worth saving, it's Twilight—a thousand times over!”

All of a sudden, Starlight was no longer battling her nerves in a lifeless swamp hundreds of miles from home. She was in Cloudsdale, lightheaded from the altitude and the extended hoof of a pony whose life she’d tried to ruin. “Give them a chance,” she had said, her eyes begging Starlight, “Give me a chance.”

Starlight pressed a gentle swelling within her chest. “I deserved punishment, but Twilight Sparkle chose instead to give me forgiveness, friendship, a home and love when—!” Her eyes fell shut. “When she had absolutely no reason to.

"And since then, Twilight’s become one of my closest friends. Honestly, she’s probably…” Starlight hesitated; opening her eyes, these very real terrors before her suddenly seemed so powerless. “I’m starting to think she's my best friend.”

“pOoR tRiXiE,” one of them simpered.

Starlight shook her head, ignoring what they said as a smile grew slowly on her face. “Twilight’s given me more than I can ever hope to repay. And so I’m here for her, doing this for her, willing to risk it all, for her!” Hydia shifted in place. “Because she’d do the same for me without hesitation!”

The fog smothered her words against her ears, making them ring.

Starlight stomped forward. “I would never, ever forgive myself if I didn’t return the favor! If I let fear stop me from being the friend Twilight deserves!"

Courage swelled within, driving Starlight another stomp forward.

"I'll do anything to save her! I don’t care about what you want. Because whatever your price is, whatever you want from me, I promise you, I will meet it without a shred of fear!” Starlight’s chest hammered like it was home to a stampede of ponies. Panting, she leveled her gaze at the monstrous trio.

The bow-legged, knuckle dragging witch, Draggle, merely raised a fist, then erected her stubbiest claw in a strange gesture. “ePiC sPeEcH.”

Starlight inhaled… and what could she say to that? She’d just poured her guts out in ways she never had before. Part of Starlight wondered if she’d really said all of that.

“Just save Twilight,” she demanded, brows knitted. “Restore her to how she was, before getting sick!”

Draggle’s torso turned slightly to the rest of her family. “WeLL, tHeRe’S tHe OfFeR. dOeS iT cOuNt?”

“iT dOeS.” Hydia pointed a Spike-sized finger across the clearing. “YoU sUrE aRe BrAvE, sTarLigHt. I hOpE, fOr BoTh YoUr SaKeS, tHaT tHe WeIgHt Of ThEsE BoAsTs ArEn’T mOrE tHaN yOu CaN bEaR. WhAdDa Ya ThInK, ReEkA?”

The fog rolled silently between them as mother and daughters looked to one another. No one spoke. From the twin holes in Hydia’s head, two huge, black rats scurried past one another, out one eye socket and into the other. Starlight threw her head forward, dry-heaving.

“sO,” Hydia purred with a deliberate turn of the head, “YoU’lL fOrFeIt AnYtHiNg?”

"Yeah," Starlight gasped.

Reeka's perpetual grin broadened half an inch, stretching the ruddy folds of her cheeks. “EvEn ThAt WhIcH iS mOsT pReCiOuS tO yOu?”

Starlight battled her entire being not to tremble in place, to show any fear. "Y-you m-m-mean my l-life.”

Reeka’s gaping-grinning lips slurped, her claws rubbing quickly with excitement. “yOuR tErRoR iS DeLiCiOuS, sTaRLiGhT! mM! cHiCkEn, RoAsTiNg On An OpEn FlAmE.”

Hydia scratched her disgusting, overflowing belly, as she moaned demonically. “i ReMeMbEr ThAt TaStE.”

Starlight was only half-listening. Of course, this would be the ultimate offer. Starlight didn’t dwell on it for more than a second, but confronted now she was prepared to give it up. For Twilight, no price was too steep. The thought of dying here, alone, terrified her to no end, but no more than the idea of what would come after:

Would Twilight be okay? What would she do to Spike, after he revealed the secret behind her miraculous recovery? Would she blame him for not keeping an eye on her? She should have told Twilight where she was going at least. Give one last goodbye. Why didn’t she ever plan these things through?

Starlight swallowed hard, staring hard at the trio across the clearing. “My life for Twilight’s. There’s my offer,” she said, her voice loud and clear in the misty air.

Reeka’s grime-crusted finger uncurled toward Starlight.

Show no fear. Show them you’re not afraid. This is for Twilight. It’s all worth it. It’s the least you can do, Starlight Glimmer. Come on! She took a risk taking you in!

“YoU dO nOt GeT tO dEcIdE wHaT wE wAnT, yOu sNiPpY LiTtLe SoCiOpAtH!” Reeka howled. “yOu DiD rEaD tHe BoOk, DiDn’T yOu? DoN’t YoU kNoW hOw ThIs WoRkS?”

Starlight merely swallowed. Her throat tightened.

“bEsIdEs,” said Hydia, “YoU dIdN’t ThInK iT’d Be ThAt EaSy, DiD yOu?”

Starlight scoffed. “That’s easy?!” she cried in disbelief.

“oF cOuRsE iT iS.” Hydia sighed, disappointed. “YoU dOn’T kNoW rEaL hArDsHiP, sTaRLiGhT. nOr Is YoUr LiFe ThAt PrEcIoUs.”

“To YoU,” Draggle added.

“YeS, tO yOu. BeSiDeS, wE DoN’t WaNt yOuR mIsErAbLe LiFe.” Starlight sighed internally with relief. “oF tHiS yOu CaN bE aSsUrEd: YoU’lL lIvE, aNd PrInCeSs tWiLiGhT ShAlL rEtUrN tO FuLL hEaLtH. sHe’LL ThAnK yOu FoR tHe NoBlE sAcRiFiCe YoU mAdE. aLL sHaLL rEtUrN tO nOrMaL!” Hydia sneered, on the verge of laughter.

Unease gnawed at Starlight’s insides. "So, what is it you want, exactly?”

“oH, iT’s NoT wHaT wE wAnT, lItTlE pOnY! tHiS Is aLL aBoUt YoU, aNd WhAt YoU aRe WiLlInG tO sUfFeR aNd SaCrIfIcE fOr ThE pOnY wHo ChAnGeD yOuR LIfE.”

Draggle lifted a hand, questioningly. “YoU dId SaY tHeRe’S nOtHiNg YoU wOuLd’Nt Do FoR tHe PrInCeSs, DiDn’T yOu?”

Starlight’s mouth stammered wordlessly. “I-I guess I did—”

“WeLL!” Reeka’s claws smacked together, rubbing hungrily. “nOw It’S tImE tO pRoVe It!”

Her nerves writhed all over. “Then tell me what you want!” Starlight cried.

Bellowing laughter echoed across the clearing. “iN tRuTh, ThErE’s No ReAsOn YoU sHoUlD wAnT tO kNoW!” said Hydia.

Starlight’s chest tightened as she began to stammer an objection.

“yOu’Ve AlReAdY tOlD uS wHaT yOu’Re WiLlInG tO dO fOr HeR,” the matriarch squealed, shrugging, “wHy ShOuLd ThE ‘wHaT’ eVeN mAtTeR?”

Starlight gulped, forcing a response out of her stupid squeezing chest. “W-well, I’d like to know what exactly I’m giving up, for one!”

“nO. tHeSe ArE tHe PaRaMeTeRs YoU’vE eStAbLiShEd,” said Draggle.

Reeka tittered. “bIg WoRdS, sIsTeR oF mInE.”

“SI-LENCE,” Hydia boomed, an explosion of thunder that tore through both the foggy realm and Starlight’s soul. For a moment, she and the two hideous daughters shared a kinship of mutual terror as they cowered at once.

A moment of silence passed. Starlight hesitated to lift her gaze from her protective foreleg, and dropped it several times before meeting Hydia’s eye-holes again.

“mY mIsErAbLe DaUgHtEr SpEaKs TrUe,” she said. “YoU DiD nOt SpEcIfY, tHuS wE aReN’t ObLiGeD tO fUlFilL a ReQuEsT oUtSiDe Of OuR aRrAnGeMeNt.”

The enormity of this nonsense made Starlight gasp. “I didn’t even know I was making it!”

Hydia tutted disapprovingly. “yOu ShOuLd LeArN tO tHiNk BeFoRe AcTiNg, FoR oNcE.”

Starlight cursed herself. She had said “anything,” and the witches were abusing that loophole in a way that'd make Iron Will shed liquid pride. "Fine,” she sighed, “I guess I’ve got no choice.”

“nO, yOu DoN’t. AnD NeItHeR dO wE.”

Starlight’s eyes fell, lingering aside to the sunshine stone on the rock. She met Hydia's eye sockets with steely determination, hoping the rats didn't make a reappearance.

"Okay..." she breathed, "Alright, I'll do it! I'll give whatever you ask of me. Just so long as you save Twilight."

With a wave of the hand, Hydia informed her, “iT iS dOnE.”

"Wait, that's it?"

The Ladies of Flutter Valley were still as statues. “YeS.”

Starlight expected more of a light show. Given how today went, this really should have been her last concern. “Huh. O-okay…”

“yOuR eNd Of ThE bArGaIn WiLl bE fUlFilLeD oNcE tHe EnD rEsuLt Is SeEn,” Hydia explained. “EvEn ThOuGh YoU dIdN’t SpEcIfY tHaT, WeLL, wE’rE jUsT fEeLiNg GeNeRoUs ToDaY…”

Starlight doubted that was the reason. But it was best not to gaze into the abyss for too long, lest it stare right back. "And you'll keep your word?" she asked, trying to sound threatening. "I'm not gonna wake up and find Twilight turned into a teacup or something, am I? Or watch her crumble like sand as I see she’s better?"

“My, My, YoU aRe MiStRuStFuL,” Draggle teased. “wE’rE wIsH gRaNtErS! iS tHaT nOt WhAT yOu SaId?”

“Um…” She thought she did. Now, Starlight had no idea what these creatures were. She didn’t even know if the bargain struck was anything like a contract, or part of some sadistic mind game.

“‘a WoRd OnCe GiVeN, wE nEvEr BrEaK,’” said Hydia. “tHaT hAs AlWaYs BeEn OuR pHiLoSoPhy.”

"I just want Twilight to be alright!” Starlight roared, her belly writhing fiercer than ever. Was this all a huge mistake? What did they do?

“fEaR nOt, StArLiGhT gLiMmEr, ShE wIlL bE.”

Her entire being sagged with relief.

“bUt NoT fOr LoNg,” said Reeka, making her go rigid. The hungriest witch stepped back, as did her mother.

They’re just leaving. Starlight gaped. "Hey, w-wait! Whadda you—?!"

“EvErYpOnY wIlL kNoW wHaT yOu DiD,” Hydia said, her voice a song of sinister intonations, as if casting a curse. “aNd EvErYpOnY wIlL lOvE yOu FoR iT. eVeRyPoNy, ExCePt ThE oNe WhO mAtTeRs MoSt.”

The two witches crept back, melting into the foggy treeline as a screen of white obscured them.

Draggle caught up in a single pace, adding, “AnD wHeN yOu LoSe aLL yOu HoLd DeAr…”

‘WhEn,’ AnD nOt ‘If!’” Reeka chirped.

“...tHeN yOu WiLL KnOw HeArTbReAk, AnD hEaRtAcHe, tO tHe EnD oF yOuR dAyS.”

“bUt It WiLL aLL Be WoRtH iT!” Hydia lifted a finger in Starlight’s direction. “BeCaUsE yOu SuFfErEd It aLL, tO sAvE pRiNceSs. tWiLiGhT. sPaRkLe.”

Run, Starlight. Her hooves were stuck, rooted in place. Their silhouettes melted into the fog.

Reeka waved one hand, blowing a kiss with the other with a juicy "M'WHA!" “SwEeT dReAmS, cUtE LiTtLe pOnY!”

“KeEp YoUr FrIeNdS cLoSe, StArLiGhT!” tittered Draggle.

Hydia shouted out in a sing-song voice, “iF yOu CaN! sEe YoU vErY sOoN!”

Starlight turned and ran, leaving the clearing behind, with its glowing stone and hideous mistresses. She could hear the witches, lost to sight in the fog, cackling madly. Their voices now a hope-slaughtering cacophony. Their laughter echoed behind Starlight while she left the clearing. It trailed after her as she soared through the tunnel of "Flutter Valley," ringing in her ears over and over.

Gotta see Twilight, she thought, erupting into the hardest gallop of her life the moment her hooves touched solid ground. Please be okay, please, please, please, she pleaded as she tore through the soggy grass, throwing up clods of sticky, putrid earth.

Diving inside the basket, the thing wouldn't move, leave. Starlight growled pitifully. “Why won’t you go!?” she cried. She cast a furious gaze at the anchor rope she’d looped around a rock, and her horn flared to life. Starlight did not stop to revel in the feeling of her magic returning; she loosed a bolt of mana that sliced the rope in two. Now free, the balloon began to ascend, sending her careening back toward the civilized world.

I.V - A Debt Repaid (Which is Used to Pay Another)

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They couldn’t have meant Starlight’s friendships.

Those were definitely not the most precious things in her life. There were tons of other things, like her life, and…

“When you lose all you hold dear…”

Relax, Starlight, she assured herself for the umpteenth time. The trade has to be something physical, something you can actually trade.

…Right?

“When you lose all you hold dear…”

She’d been flying for hours. Ponies age faster than the speed this thing had been going! If only she could manipulate the weather. Sadly, a spell to cause a strong breeze was never something Starlight concerned herself with learning.

And so here she floated, tormented by both the elements and the witches’ parting words. It was as if they knew she would obsess over them.

“You will know heartbreak, and only heartbreak, to the end of your days.”

There were many things that Starlight disliked, and a particular few that she hated. One of them was cryptic nonsense, more so when it was directed at her, and especially when it left her future even more uncertain than before she left home.

There was only one other time she met such a thing…

“There’s no motive, Starlight. I’ve forgiven you because you’re my friend. That’s what they do!”

It was so strange at the time…

Maybe this was just as abstract? Just as weird? It sounded like a prophecy, after all.

"'When,' and not 'if!'”

So, did they mean the future was set in stone, or that Starlight would create it herself?

What would that entail?

"Everypony will know what you did...”

That meant all Equestria. Maybe. So, would everypony know that Twilight was saved, or did it mean something more? Like they knew Starlight sacrificed something important for her?

Again, what could that even be?

“...except the one who matters most."

Who else could that be, but one of her friends? They were the ponies she cared about the most. Deciding who “matters most” was so impossible that Starlight didn’t even bother. And if she couldn’t decide, how could the witches know?

If, somehow, Starlight was exchanging her friendships for Twilight’s life—which she would be absolutely okay with given what was at stake—would they know that? What would compel loyal Rainbow Dash, the Princess of Friendship, or the pony who Starlight was the first friend of, Trixie, to lay back and accept that?

She had to have been exchanging something else. Right?

She hoped she was right.

"And when you lose all you hold dear, then you will know heartbreak, and only heartbreak, to the end of your days."

She wasn’t losing everything Twilight had given her. That was her life. The witches said they didn’t want that—they assured her they didn’t. Obviously.

That was just the witches trying to scare Starlight.

Obviously.

Those gross, horrible-looking monsters…

She was going to have nightmares for weeks about them. What would Princess Luna do to cure bad dreams of something that was factually horrifying?

"'When,' and not 'if!'"

Chills wracked Starlight’s body once more.

They were so certain of its inevitability. Were they prophetic, too? They must have been messing with her, that’s all. I mean, what kind of monsters outright spilled their evil plan like that?

It’s as if they knew this wouldn’t end with friendship saving the day, or whatever. Heck, villains always underestimated the magic of friendship, every time. If this ended on a showdown in Flutter Valley, surely it would win the day again.

That much was obvious.

"But it will be worth it! Because you suffered it all, to save Princess. Twilight. Sparkle."

Something inside of Starlight twisted, just as it had every other time she heard those words. But then a calmness followed—thunderclouds parting after a monsoon. It would be as short lived as it was a dozen times before, but Starlight reveled in it all the same, feeling like a great burden had lifted from her back.

Whatever happens, if the witches were just blatantly telling me my future or just trying to mess with me… it really will be worth it.

Twilight would live. She was worth it.

Starlight sighed deeply, resting her cheek upon her forehooves as she perched them upon the rim of the basket. You won’t even know if they were being honest with you until you get home. Just relax, Starlight…

The world below was speckled with three clusters—huts, probably—not one of them larger than Ponyville but all three flanking a sea, shimmering like a sheet of beaten gold.

Wheat? Starlight scrutinized one of the housing areas, and sure enough the other two had the same: a mill. This is Ryesdale.

Starlight’s heart dropped. “N-not much longer now!” she laughed. Who was she trying to reassure with that laugh? Starlight’s chin sank onto to her hooves, her chest tightening once more.

There was so much mystery surrounding the Witches of Flutter Valley—their very existence forming the great bulk of it. How did the princesses not know of their existence? How old were they really? What evil force created them?

They could cure an incurable disease, manipulating the latent magic of Equestria like a sculptor worked clay. Such power implied honesty on the witches’ part: they were rooted to the physical properties of the world.

Therefore, it seemed they had absolutely no control over ponies themselves. Otherwise, the world would be a much sadder, sadistic place.

Maybe they could only control subtle things, like a summer breeze or rain, things the storybook implied. Expelling a virus from somepony's bloodstream was foal's play to them. They probably enhanced Twilight's next glass of water with some disease-killing magic.

How unfairly simple.

After every one of their books had failed, their medicines, and their magic, too… After Meadowbrook had called upon Celestia-knows-what and the Mother of Equestria herself had admitted defeat…

…Hydia needed only to wave her claw. A simple gesture had saved one of the most important ponies in the world.

They might well always remain a mystery to Starlight, forever a curiosity. In truth she preferred never to think about them again. The further from their abode, the better.

Canterlot’s proud pedestal—a lone mountain swathed in an enormous green blanket—emerged from the bright, orange horizon, gradually darkening into a taller, darker silhouette. Starlight’s gazed flickered down, to the blocky character of Twilight's castle. It glowed faintly in the face of the rising sun.

What awaited her beyond its crystalline doors? Starlight’s heart kicked into overdrive.

"UGH!” she whined. “Can't this thing go any faster?!” Starlight, perched upon the basket’s edge, watched the unassuming village bask in a cool morning; deep blue stretched for miles into the unmarred horizon.

Another beautiful day in Equestria.

It was impossible not to see the potential tragedy ruining it.

Starlight didn't trust a word of these witches for a second, no matter what they promised her. Trying to pick apart the truths from their lies had kept her up all night, and yet she she was no better off than she was before leaving Flutter Valley: no closer to understanding them.

They could have been lying about everything! Or Twilight, even...

What if this is one of those deals where I engineer my own destruction, in an attempt to stop it, and I ruin EVERYTHING I worked so hard to build here!?

“When… and not… if…” Starlight murmured. She hummed, rubbing her chin. If I lose everything I hold dear, but it isn’t my friends, and it’s enough to break my heart...

What could they possibly want in exchange for somepony’s life? Would another life be worth it? Whose, if not her own? Whose life would that be?

One of her friends?

Starlight Glimmer's heart jumped and leaped and writhed in simultaneous agony. Moaning, she ducked into the basket, curled in an embrace with her silky, wavy tail.

"Can I eat her liver, Momma? That was always my favorite."

Her chest ached, swollen to bursting with fear. "Just stop stressing, Starlight," she consoled herself. “They were only trying to…”

"And when you lose all you hold dear..."

A faint snapping tickled the cotton in her ears. "Stop... Stressing..." She frantically groomed her tail.

"Do we horrify you?"

Starlight squeezed her eyes shut, the sound of energy crackling in her ears. "JUST STOP STRESSING FOR PONY'S SAKE!"

Starlight thought of home, her friends, and Princess Twilight alive and well.

Energy swelled in Starlight’s forehead, and pushed out, tingling against her entire body. After a sharp pop, rattling her teeth, Starlight felt a softer breeze rustling her mane, and solid ground underneath her hooves.

One eye popped open, then the other, and was met with an eyeful of pure gold. Starlight craned her head, recognizing these as the enormous doors of Friendship Castle.

Relief only tapped Starlight before dread strangled her, making her choke.

The balloon… Cherry Berry’s balloon…

Starlight whipped around, her forelock flouncing with the motion. In the horizon, a purple speck floated amidst a cloudless blue sky.

"Whups," Starlight hissed, blushing.

Although, she realized, I did cast an anchoring charm on the basket before I’d left Ponyville. Cherry Berry should have her balloon back right where she left it. Sure hope she didn’t raise a fuss…

It was impossible not to feel guilty for taking it, even if for just a day. Once upon a time, Starlight would argue that it was all for Twilight's sake, that she needed to fly there and time was of the essence.

As if that excused her from taking responsibility?

It was stealing... I didn't even think about what I was doing until I was already high up in the air! Ugh, guilt stinks...

"Twilight'll probably make me write an apology letter," Starlight said with a roll of the eyes. She accepted her fate. It was Twilight who taught her to empathize with the ponies she wronged, after all.

A moment later, dread plummeted to the blackest pits of Starlight’s gut.

"Twilight..."

Her magic punched through the castle's front doors, slamming them into the walls and sending a mighty boom throughout its maze of corridors. "TWILIGHT!?" she cried, galloping through the foyer. “TWILIGHT!” Her hooves clambered up the stairs, tripping, arcing over a step or two.

Please be alright, please please please, just be okay!

In a flash and a yank of her horn, the long corridor with a tall ceiling became a door, a starburst emblazoned upon it. The door opened before her hoof could strike it, swatting the air before a yellow pony.

“Oh, my!” Fluttershy’s wings sprung stiff, launching a stack of folded midnight-blue bedsheets which sat upon her back.

Starlight was so surprised she couldn’t even speak.

She really shouldn’t have been.

Although every one of Twilight’s friends tended to her, it was Fluttershy and a troupe of animal friends who had served as Twilight's twenty-four-seven bedside serviceponies. They kept up with the chores on Spike's behalf, who too had seldom left his lifelong companion's side.

Before Starlight could get a word in, she found herself gently hugged by her friend before Twilight’s bedding hit the floor.

"Starlight Glimmer!" cooed Fluttershy.

"Fl—!"

"Oh, my." She pulled away swiftly, pink in her cheeks. "I'm so sorry for attacking you like that, Starlight. I just couldn't help myself!"

"Flutter—” Starlight was in another hug, the silky softness of a pink mane laid across her muzzle. She blinked twice, then blew her mouth free. "Fluttershy, you mind telling me what you're being so... forward about?" Her voice trembled.

Fluttershy was suddenly in Starlight’s vision, smiling wide as she held her shoulders. “You’re not going to believe it, Starlight! It’s a miracle!” Fluttershy’s eyes shimmered, her voice cracking as she cried, “Twilight’s okay! She isn’t sick anymore! Isn’t that amazing?!”

A smile wobbled onto Starlight’s face.

She had needed to hear it for herself, even thought it was the most obvious truth to have ever existed. Starlight felt the sun rising in her bosom, warm and immense after weighing heavily for two terrifying weeks.

"T-Twilight’s better?" Starlight’s voice wavered still. “Can I see her? Please?”

She slipped past Fluttershy, the pegasus stepping aside as their coats brushed, now whisper-yelling, “Oh, she’s more than okay, Starlight! B-but, uh…”

Twilight’s massive bedroom was completely clean—even her bedding was gone, currently on the floor, leaving a big, white mattress. The sky was beautiful and blue as it’s ever been. The subtle smell of fresh air floated in from her huge window, its left and right panels cracked open.

Starlight spun around. Fluttershy was picking up the sheet pile with her teeth. “Where’s Twilight?”

The sheet dropped from Fluttershy’s mouth as her head whipped up, eyes bright cyan. “Oh, you haven’t heard? I’m sorry, Starlight.” She smiled sympathetically. “But... I tried telling you that Twilight isn’t here, a-as you can see. She’s in Canterlot with Spike.”

“What? Why?”

“To show the princesses how much better she’s gotten. Except for Spike, he just didn’t want to leave Twilight’s side, the poor little thing! He could barely say a word.”

“Oh, yeah?” Starlight couldn’t imagine the emotions running through his head, especially with their argument in mind. He had to have known what cured Twilight—it definitely wasn’t a miracle of Harmony. “Did he say anything?”

Fluttershy shook her head. “No, nothing really except the same things we did. He did look… stunned, I guess, but that’s to be expected. He loves Twilight, after all.”

“R-right…” So, Spike hadn’t told anypony where Starlight had gone, had kept it to himself. Odd. Starlight had been expecting a screaming match with Rainbow Dash during the journey to Flutter Valley. She hadn’t cared to wonder why she’d entered the Sea of Fog alone.

Starlight dreaded the inevitable talk they would have later. Kind hearted Spike would start apologizing for no reason, for his having doubted her. Given the circumstances, Starlight’s plan had been totally desperate. She couldn’t blame him.

But it didn’t matter now. Twilight was alive. She’d been thought a goner but she would live to help improve the lives of hundreds, like she had for Starlight.

Returning to Twilight’s room, she found Fluttershy with the sheets now folded upon her back once more, moving to clutch them with her wings this time.

Starlight smiled. “Need any help?” The stack lifted off Fluttershy’s back a second later.

“Oh, thank you,” Fluttershy smiled gratefully. “Do you mind coming with me to the laundry room?”

“Sure thing.” The folded sheets floated above Starlight, dragging slightly behind her like a balloon as they exited Twilight’s bedroom. Fluttershy walked a hoofstep ahead of her, leading the way.

“So, tell me, Fluttershy! How did this morning go?”

Fluttershy giggled, for no reason other than sheer happiness. “Oh, Starlight, you would have been overjoyed to see it, all of it! Twilight wished you were here.”

Her heart tickled. “Sh-she did?”

“Of course!” gasped Fluttershy. “You missed the biggest group hug we’ve ever had.”

“That must’ve been nice.” Starlight was never much of a hugger—not until it felt alright inside that Twilight trusted her enough to show such affection. “Now define ‘big’ for me.”

At a sidelong glance, Fluttershy had her eyes to the floor, glazed with the memory of something highly personal, if her rosy cheeks were anything to go by. “Emotional. We were all crying and we couldn’t stop, not that we wanted to. Even Dashie,” she giggled, “although don’t spread that around. She didn’t say, but I know she wouldn’t want that.”

“Of course,” Starlight laughed.

“It was tight, too. I couldn’t even tell it was Pinkie’s foreleg around me, we were all just squeezing. To be honest… I was afraid something awful would happen if we stopped. I think we all did.”

A small weight, nowhere near as egregious as anything from the last two weeks, settled within Starlight. “I’m sorry I missed that.”

“Don’t worry, Starlight. You’ll definitely be making up for it: Pinkie Pie made a promise to Twilight that you would.”

Starlight laughed. There was truly no escaping the inevitable now. Not that she wanted to. “I think I’ll save Pinkie the trouble and hunt Twilight down myself. I need to make sure this isn’t a dream.”

“She would just love that, Starlight.” It was a joke, of course—Starlight wouldn’t dare intrude on the precious bond Twilight shared with the princesses.

The pair rounded a bend, down a familiar, shorter corridor that ended with another emblazoned door, this time with a soapy little washbin. Starlight felt nothing beneath her hooves, as if she were trotting through the sky.

“That reminds me,” Fluttershy giggled, voice lowering, “I actually dropped her daffodil sandwich when she came flying into the kitchen. I almost thought I was seeing things. Twilight had the biggest, happiest smile I'd ever seen on anypony. Uh, I mean," she stammered, brows furrowing, "on a pony who isn't Pinkie Pie, I suppose.”

Starlight’s cheeks ached. She’d been grinning since first hearing the wonderful news! “What made you realize she was real?”

“When she soared down and swept me up in her forelegs. We were hugging, flying, and crying in the kitchen until Spike came with the others.”

The soft purples and blues of this corridor blurred together. “I can only imagine,” Starlight said softly, blinking the wetness from her eyes. “So, when will Twilight be back?” She just wanted to know. Twilight could take the whole week off, for all she cared. After being at negative-fifty-percent for two weeks, she definitely needed it.

“Later tonight, I’d say,” Fluttershy giggled. “Twilight was listing a lot of friends as Rarity pushed her and Spike out the door. She wants to see them all before coming back home.”

Starlight’s heart skipped a beat. Of course Twilight would do that—and it was sooner than she anticipated. “Is there something I can do to help before then? I assume that’s what you guys have been doing. Giving the castle a thorough cleaning.”

“No, no, we’re just tidying up for her. Most of the cleanup was done after the party was over.” Fluttershy turned to Starlight, suddenly concerned, no, horrified for some reason. “I am so sorry you missed it, by the way. Oh dear, here I am gushing over Twilight, and I hadn’t even asked how you were feeling.” Her eyes shimmered with pity. “You were devastated after we’d realized that Twilight was going to...” Fluttershy swallowed, pain flashing across her face. “You barely said a word to anypony after that.”

That dumb, stupid party… Starlight swallowed her annoyance. It didn’t matter anymore, after all. “Eh, the party wasn’t really my thing, anyhow. Let’s just forget about that whole thing, right?”

Her friend nodded in wholehearted agreement. “Good plan!” she softly cheered.

Starlight smiled. “I’m overwhelmed with the desire to be productive right now. So, what can I do to help out?”

Fluttershy giggled. “No offense, Starlight, but I think you should wash up before Rarity sees you.”

“What?” Fluttershy nodded to her legs with a smile. Starlight followed her gaze.

Oh. Right! That.

Mud smeared her forelegs, her belly caked and cracking like a chocolate eggshell. Her face was likely a mess, and she probably smelled horrible, too. She and Fluttershy looked at each other, until the soft-spoken pegasus began to laugh. Starlight couldn’t help but join her, and before she knew it, she’d leaped forward and embraced her. Either Fluttershy was used to messiness, given what she lived with, or she was too polite to say anything before. She simply held Starlight in a warm, joyous embrace.

Starlight finally let go. Realizing she was spotless, the true depth of the grime etched into her coat sunk in. Starlight scratched her mane, laughing. “I see what you mean. Alright, yeah, I’ll just pop over to the bathroom after we wash these.”

“You’re sweet, Starlight, but I’ve got this. You should get nice and clean before you get sick yourself.”

“Ugh! Fine, Mom!” Starlight groaned, making her friend giggle into her hoof. They were almost to the seldom-used laundry room.

“Starlight, if you don’t mind my asking,” Fluttershy hesitated, looking to her, “where did you go?”

“Uh…” Starlight didn’t have an alibi. She’d almost counted on Spike having told everyone where she’d gone, what she’d done.

“Spike didn’t even know,” Fluttershy continued, every word carried on a faint, white cloud. “After the party, he went to check on you, and said you’d gone to… to ‘think’ I guess. Was it a camping trip in the Everfree? Is that why you’re all muddy?”

“Um…” Starlight was more fascinated with the way her friend’s breath was frosting in the air. Was it really that cold in here? “Yeah,” she decided, “I guess you could say that—”

Starlight felt an icy horror take hold of her as she sensed a presence rising behind them.

“Starlight?” Fluttershy froze a couple steps ahead, her head turned slightly. “Why’d you stop?”

An enormous, boiled hand grasped Starlight’s throat, strangling her voice into a tortured squeak.

Fluttershy spun around. “St-STARLIGHT GLIMMER” She fell back on her haunches. “Oh my gosh, OH MY GOSH!” she hoarsely cried, her muzzle cupped in both hooves.

Starlight’s first instinct was to picture her room. Magic surged up through her until a mass clenched her horn tight, cutting off her spell.

Starlight choked on a scream, feeling her horn gripped in a lion’s jaws. The thin, fuzzy layer of skin covering it rubbed against the bone and pulled taut as she was yanked in the air.

Over her own haggard cry, Starlight could faintly hear Fluttershy crying out her name in horror before she was thrust before the hollowed-out stare of Hydia, Matriarch of Flutter Valley. Two sets of beady, green eyes watched her from the darkness, impaling her with terror.

The claw upon Starlight's horn squeezed it in a death-grip. Her throat loosened enough to scream for someone, anyone, to save her.

“TiMe To PaY uP, sTaRLigHt GliMMeR!” Hydia squealed.

The pressure upon her forehead pressed to the right.

The world flashed white, followed by the worst agony she’d ever known.

"Starlight!" Somewhere through the pain, Starlight could faintly hear Fluttershy shouting. "You monster! Let her go! You let her go, NOW!"

Hydia twisted harder, Starlight’s screams rising in tandem. And then the sound of a thousand twigs snapping at once thundered in her ears.

"Starlight!” Fluttershy wailed. “No! No, Starlight! Star—!"

And then, with a final, mighty twist of her claw, Hydia’s warty fist yanked back from her forehead. For a moment, Starlight felt nothing, neither pain nor fear. There was only confusion, before a cold settled into her bones, as if the entire world had been ripped away from her. The deep blue of Hydia’s gown seemed to melt with the black stains upon it, bleeding into the world until it was all just darkness.

And deep within the darkness, she could hear a scream—a ragged wail that just seemed to echo on and on. Fluttershy, she realized. Something’s scared her bad.

I need to...

I have to…

She couldn’t move, for some reason. She couldn’t seem to even think beyond a tight warmth cocooning her. Maybe she just needed rest. It had been a long day, and it was raining.

The screams seemed to be more distant now. But loud. So loud.

Funny, she thought, as she surrendered to nothingness, I never knew Fluttershy could ever be that loud.

End of Loyalty - The Broken Student

(Generosity) The Broken Body - II.I - The Waking Nightmare

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“Because friends are always there for you~”

Generosity

The Broken Body

“Starlight Glimmer, good morning!”

“Hey.”

“Come in, come in! Sit! Spike made pancakes for breakfast, he’s just—Hey, what’s wrong? Didn’t you have fun studying with me yesterday?”

“Ye-yeah! Of course I did!”

“Wait, wait… my friends didn’t say anything to you, did they?”

“No, they didn’t say anything! Nothing’s wrong, Twilight!”

“I can tell that there is. You’ve been nothing short of happy these last several days, getting to know each of my friends and—”

“And yeah, they’re great! They’re amazing ponies, and they’re the first true friends I’ve had since Sunburst moved away.”

“They why do you look so upset?”

“I don’t! I had a rough night, okay? Nothing’s wrong, Twilight, so quit suffocating me like you’re my mom or something!”

“I-I’m sorry.”

“Oh, gosh…”

“I didn’t mean to pester you. I’m just concerned.”

“No, I know. I know. I’m sorry, Twilight. You’ve been so kind to me, and I’m just… ugh, I’m just getting caught in my own garbage head again.”

“Don’t talk about yourself that way, Starlight. Come here, come on… There we go, doesn’t that feel better? ...Starlight?”

“N-no.”

“Starlight?”

“No, it doesn’t feel better. It makes me feel worse. It feels like this is too good to be true, that I’m waiting for you guys to pull back the curtain and laugh in my face. Well, you can cut the games, Princess, because I know you’re all acting this way so I don’t ‘snap’ and return to being the crazy, power-hungry pony you know I am—!”

“Starlight Glimmer! ...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. But there’s no ‘acting’ in our friendship, Starlight. None of this is fabricated. The bonds you’ve made are as real as the seven ponies who’re now your friends. Your family. That’s something you can’t make up, no matter how strongly you believe it so.”

“But… But everything I’ve done… How can you even like me, let alone trust me?”

“...Starlight, I want you to make me a promise.”

“O-okay? What?”

“The road to redemption? It isn’t going to be easy. You’re going to doubt yourself. You’re going to stumble and fall. There’s going to be days where you feel like the worst pony who ever lived.”

“Gee, thanks for the pep talk, Twilight.”

“So there’s one thing I want you to promise me, Starlight: no matter what comes next for you, I want you to never, ever doubt your friendships. Do not think we’ve befriended you out of fear, or worse, a desire to use you for some secret purpose. We’re your friends, now. Your family. Okay?”

“...Y-yes, Princess.”

“Friends call me Twilight.”

“Right. T-Twilight. Thank you, Twilight...”

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore. We’ll do everything we can to make sure of that. I promise.”

Starlight Glimmer shot up, gasping, slick with sweat and gripped in an icy caress. She rippled with a shudder. Starlight nursed a splitting headache, threatening to crack her head open like an egg with an ache just out of hoof’s reach.

She massaged her temple. What… was that? Pulling aside her lavender blanket, Starlight found her legs, belly, forelegs, everything spotless, albeit heavy. Matted.

What a horrible, awful dream. Her aching forehead told the rest—Starlight had indulged in sweets again. It must have been a crazy Pinkie Pie party last night if she couldn’t remember it at all.

There was only the dream.

It was only a dream.

Starlight swallowed, panting softly, her splitting headache forgotten as she absorbed reality: she was in her bed, soft and warm. Adjacent, slightly to the left, her beloved mirror decorated with now dozens of photographs featuring herself and her small army of friends.

They were real. They were precious, every one of them—especially Twilight.

Celestia above she didn’t ever want to lose any of them. The lengths she was willing to go to save one of them, to save Twilight...

At least it was just a dream. A very vivid one at that.

It was nice of Starlight’s brain to assume her bravery, to confront truly horrific monsters for a friend. If ever given the choice to sacrifice to save one, would she really go through with it? Was she that selfless?

It was comforting to think so. However, the last time Starlight assumed such things, she was the mayor of a brainwashed cult she failed to realize as such. Who’s to say she wasn’t that same, delusional pony?

I would do it for Twilight, she assured herself. With everything the princess had done for her, Starlight would be selfish not to.

"Starlight?" squeaked a familiar voice. A shock speared through her as she whipped her head left.

A silhouette—veiled by the shaft of morning sun beaming through the window—shot up from Starlight’s work desk. She was so soft-spoken. Was that Fluttershy, rocking a new manecut?

Gentle clip-clops danced amidst the quiet, the silhouette bobbing towards her before a deep, beautiful azure was awash in sunlight, and “Fluttershy’s” manecut included a silvery dyejob.

Her best friend’s eyes were huge, bigger than they were after she realized the changelings had replaced the Elements of Harmony.

"T-Trix?" Starlight croaked, to her surprise. Whoof, rough night indeed. She cleared her throat, then asked clearly, lightly, “Why’re you in my room?” Starlight pulled the covers closer to her chest. “Watching me sleep?” A beat of silence. “Again?” she added dryly.

Trixie’s shock melted away with a smug smirk, her hoof waving in dismissal. “Well,” her voice quivered slightly, “it isn’t your birthday, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Starlight simply rolled her eyes. “Darn.” The last time she awakened to find her bestie ogling her, Trixie’s job was to keep her distracted and in the castle all day while everypony else put together a townwide party for her birthday. Trix took her job so seriously she didn’t even consider the prospect of Starlight firing a spell at the shadowy intruder watching her awaken from across the room.

Her logical fallacy: ‘Who wouldn’t be overjoyed to wake up and find the Great Trixie in their bedroom?’

“And here I thought—!” Starlight gasped, a sharp flaring in her forehead, “nhg, I thought you were giving me another.” Pressing against the pain, she peered aside as Trixie stopped at her bedside, smiling comfortingly. “Otherwise, you’d better have a good reason for being weird and scaring my coat off!”

“Trixie is not ‘weird,’ she’s ‘friendly,’” the showmare snapped. “Consider yourself grateful to have a friend willing to sit at your bedside for so very long!”

Starlight chuckled; somepony was prickly. “Right, right, totally grateful.”

Then Trixie’s eyes lowered, her head sagging and ears wilting. She struggled to meet Starlight’s gaze in frantic succession. “Hey, is something wrong?” Starlight leaned forward and put a hoof to Trixie’s cheek.

The unicorn picked her head up slowly, then looked into Starlight’s eyes.

She struggled down a breath, walloped by the emotion swimming in Trixie’s gaze.

“Before now, all I could think about was how you’d feel,” she croaked. Starlight swallowed—Trixie really took this ‘watching you sleep’ thing seriously. “Yet here you are, making jokes! You’re… you’re so strong, Starlight.” The showmare smiled wobbly, her chin crumpling, eyes overflowing.

Starlight’s ear twitched. “Uh, thanks? It’s really not a big deal though, Trix. I’m just happy to see you.” To her smile, the showmare pulled back, seemingly frozen mid-gasp. “Just, if you’re feeling the urge to do something like this, Trixie? Perish the thought and just hang with Spike or something until I’m up, okay?”

Trixie’s gaping eyes twitched up Starlight’s face, searching. What, did she grow a second horn or something?

“Okay, what’s with the face? Did I break you?” She waved a hoof in Trixie’s face.

Which lasted all of two seconds before she was swatted away. “Oh, Trixie’s fine! I-I just… didn’t expect you to be so peppy after last night!” Trixie laughed, strenuously. “Yeah,” she chirped, hoof flicking out, “we really went to town at sugarcube last night! R-remember?”

Right, her forehead was an egg ready to hatch. Starlight gripped it tight, belting a long, loud groan: “Ahhh—That explains so much it’s not even remotely funny—aaahhhhhhh.”

“Oh, dear,” Trixie squeaked.

Sugar never agreed with Starlight in overwhelming quantities. Her birthday last year ended in a ‘race’ around Equestria between her and Pinkie Pie, who was trying to catch her. It almost tore a hole in the fabric of time.

“Eh.” She scratched her mane. “I’ll deal with it, like always. I’ve gotten pret-ty good at that.”

Trixie smiled warily, nodding, “Mh-hm! My head’s bothering me, Trixie, too. I don’t know why we listen to Pinkie Pie when she suggests these things.”

“She’s a great hype-pony,” Starlight explained. Trixie’s smile looked sad—in desperate need of the party pony, though she was nowhere close by.

“Well, how about it, Trix?” Starlight smirked. “You up to gorging yourself on more of Pinkie’s cakes until you puke?”

A chuckle bounced softly in Trixie’s breast. “Hard pass. Trixie cannot even look at cake without getting flashbacks.”

Starlight tittered, spiting her headache. “I was like that for a while.” Just how much did she eat? “But I’ve learned not to withhold big mistakes and bad memories.” This hurt way more than last year’s accident! And Twilight had to accompany Discord into his dimension for special ice. “Really improves my quality of life.”

“Mm, impressive skill,” Trixie said with a hint of envy. “Nay, Trixie’s yet to make peace with her new rival, Chocolate Cake.” Starlight felt her stomach turn. Yep. That’d do it. “Now a birthday party on the other hoof, well, I think that’s something that could be arranged. Wouldn’t you say?” she wondered softly.

“Uh, maybe? That doesn’t seem really feasible. For a number of reasons.”

Trixie chuckled. “Well, Trixie could probably get the princess to pull a few strings.” She leaned close, disclosing to Starlight, “I’m very ‘in’ with the royalty, you know: best friends, even! With the wingless princess!” Her hoof swung in an arc overhead.

“Oh? And what, pray tell, is she the princess of?”

“Why, the Princess of… Trixie!” she sputtered. “Not only is this pony an amazingly close friend of the Great Trixie, but she’s also quite, quite headstrong when there’s something Trixie wants.”

Starlight put a hoof to her muzzle; only Trixie could steer a conversation towards Trixie Land.

“And besides,” she continued tenderly, “...I’m positive there’ll be an exception for you. I’d make it so. Nopony resists Trixie,” she finished sternly.

It was kind of adorable coming from the typically boisterous unicorn.

And weird. Why take this hypothetical scenario so seriously? “Well, when you see your best friend, tell this princess she’s gonna have to circumvent several laws, social norms, aaand nature itself to do this.”

Starlight got three titters in before choking on the fourth—Trixie was staring again. She felt the embarrassment of a flopped joke burn close to her eyes. “Hey, I work with what you give me, alright? This banter thing is a two way street, Trix, come on.”

Her best friend blinked, her eyes bright, aware, and darting about. “What were we talking about?” she asked, her voice strangely light.

“To give a pony two birthdays in one—! Ugh, you know what? Forget it. I’m up now! And whatever you’ve plotted today, I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.”

Trixie paced back a step as Starlight slid off the bed, her eyes suddenly bugging out. “Um! Hey, Starlight!” Trixie slowly pushed her back into bed. “Why don’t we sit and talk some more?”

“In my bedroom?”

“...Obviously.” Trixie rolled her eyes.

They’d certainly done weirder things over the years. “Alright, Trix, you win.” A smile eased to her face. “If this is part of your plan, I’ll play along. I’ll starve myself for you,” she tittered—a smirk broke in on Trixie’s face.

“I can get you some food. J-just stay here, promise?” She got really close.

“Alright! Sheesh.” Starlight pushed Trixie away, returning to pull the covers up. She winced again—her agony worsened. Thick, clogging, like hot, melted butter pouring down her horn. It made her sick, and the room collapsed to its side.

“My head's killing me,” she said, massaging her forehead. “I'm just gonna pop over to the bathroom and grab something, okay?"

She envisioned the bathroom, "Wait,” Trixie started, as power crept from Starlight’s soul, surging to her forehead, “Starlight—!"

Her horn exploded.

Teal light erupted forth, and Starlight’s horn was flash-crisped in fire, her entire world flaring white before it strangled her horn.

"AUUUGH-HAGH-HAAAAGH!"

Fire filled the air, melting Starlight and her horn and her very being like wax of a candlestick. Starlight tried smothering it, tried extinguishing the burn, but it raged on, raging, roaring. Devouring her. “AHH! AHH! AHH! AHH!”

Starlight’s legs kicked hysterically, the covers flying above her. The searing burn crept down her horn’s length, stopped, and sat there. Smoldering. Starlight collapsed into bed a sweating, panting mess, one foreleg slung across her pounding chest. A thin finger of smoke danced above. It smelled like burnt mane. Starlight didn’t care.

It felt like hours before the burn cooled.

"Ugh..." The groan was followed by a heavy plop.

Starlight battled lethargy, dragging her gaze left until an arrow speared her in the chest: Trixie, peppered with burns, was staggering to her hooves, an indentation of her likeness carved upon the wall behind her.

“S’okay, Starlai!” Trixie’s foreleg gave out, and she dropped like a stone. “Triskie’s been just practicin’!”

"Oh, my gosh." Starlight galloped to her dizzy friend. "Trixie, I am so, so sorry! Are you, egh, okay?" Pain throbbed around the base of her horn. Starlight tried ignoring it until it prodded her forehead sharply. “AGH!” She massaged the spot.

“Starlight!” Trixie’s soot-covered face filled her vision, suddenly recovered from her injury and looking worried. “Are you okay? Did that hurt? Are you—Do you—? I mean, oh my gosh, Starlight,” her friend gasped for air, “I can’t even imagine what you must be feeling right now!”

So many questions. Too many, all of them clenching her brain in a vice grip. “Trixie,” Starlight groaned, turning away.

“Ooh, was it too much? I’ll shut up now.”

Every second enduring this was an effort. “Tell me what happened first,” Starlight moaned in a single breath. Trixie was silent for a second. “TRIXIE!” Her ire was like a whip, making Trixie wince with what must’ve been fear—she started whimpering; no tears came but Trixie was well on that road.

“What? Come on, Trixie I’ve yelled at you way harsher, and for way worse, than this!”

The showmare swallowed. “I, I… I don’t know what to say.” Her head vibrated left and right. “I… I’m, I can’t…”

Something heavy rose up Starlight’s gut. “Trixie, come on,” the pain was forgotten; she was looking her friend in the eye, “what’s happening to me? Why’s my magic not working right?”

Burning pain lanced the length of her horn. Starlight yelped sharply, turning away on three hooves as her fourth massaged the base once more.

“S-Starlight, can’t you just figure it out—?!”

"What is-with this-stupid-thing!?" she snarled. Starlight collapsed to her rear like a foal and started massaging her forehead with both hooves. “I’m sorry Trixie,” she breathed, “but this is really really horrible! How much sugar did I have last night?!”

She probably looked ridiculous to her brasher friend. Starlight squinted through the pain to get an idea.

Trixie’s lips hung open, her eyes wide, bugging out of her skull as if beholding Thorax for the first time all over again. Was it shock? No way, she'd seen that in Trixie many times before.

She had never looked as if Starlight just swore off their friendship. “Starlight, your horn is—” A hoof clapped upon her muzzle, and Starlight’s heart shot forth as tears rushed down her cheeks.

"Trixie?! Hey!" Starlight attempted to crack a smirk, but her headache rendered it a grimace.

Something was seriously wrong here.

Trixie’s mouth opened, but her jaw hung there, staggering up and down. “...I can’t do this, Starlight. I’m so sorry, but I can’t."

She clenched her eyes as Starlight’s flared open; Trixie needed to get a grip.

“This isn’t fair!” Trixie snarled at her, choking Starlight. “This isn’t fair to you, Starlight! You weren’t even supposed to wake up yet!”

Starlight couldn’t move. "Trixie, what is going on?” she wondered shakily. “Why are you suddenly all tongue-tied and—”

"What in the name of rhubarb pie was that explosion!?" Applejack cried upon arrival. “Trixie?” She stepped further into the room, fully facing the stage magician.

Her expression hadn’t changed. “Applejack,” Trixie croaked, eyes welling, “Applejack I’m so sorry, she just got up and I was…”

Applejack followed her gaze, and her face curdled as she whirled around completely. “S-Starlight, hon—”

“She doesn’t know yet.” Trixie’s voice was hollow.

“What?! How in tarnation—?” She caught herself, regarding Starlight like she was a crazed animal.

Apparently, “realizing” something was so stupidly obvious to everyone but her. “Somepony,” Starlight laughed, “had better stop building the suspense… right now!”

“Alright, Ah will.” Applejack yanked her hat off and slapped it upon her chest.

And then the same breathing problem of Trixie infected Applejack—her eyes became glassy. Her words came even faster: "Oh Starlight, sugarcube, Ah-Ah'm so, so sorry you had to find out this way!” Was this cool and collected Applejack, or Thorax playing a prank? “W-we didn't intend for ya to wake up so soon, a-an' oh... H'oh gosh, hon, Ah'mma mite sorry you had to find out like this. Truly Ah am, but..."

Starlight held her breath. Applejack opened her mouth.

Rainbow Dash appeared above the farmpony, her brow matted with sweat. "There you are! Come on, AJ, Trixie’s got Starlight covered! Ugh, look, bad news: I tried distracting her as long as I can, but we can-not wait for Princess Celestia to get here before her! She says she'll head home as soon as she finishes this last ques—! ...Oh, no," Dash whispered, but Starlight barely heard her.

"Where's the horn?" she wondered.

An utter stranger stood in the mirror, in desperate need of a face wash. She was caked in dirt, pale-brown and cracked, like a rash stretching from beneath her eye, down the length of her throat. She was pink, like Starlight was, and her mane, though bedraggled and messy, had traces of teal-blue highlights as well.

Starlight Glimmer’s friends surrounded her, but she was not that pony. Starlight Glimmer had a horn, not an ugly, pink stump on her forehead.

This poor soul could never cast magic again.

She could, but not properly. It would blow up in her face without a proper catalyst, a complete horn, like Starlight’s just did. This pony might as well be considered magicless.

Starlight was magicless.

She brought her hoof up, just to make sure—the gawking pony in the mirror mimicked her.

Starlight’s heart rose, anticipating the gentle prick of her horn.

It kept falling, unimpeded, until she felt a jagged stump sink into the soft flesh of her frog, then her rock-hard hoof upon her forehead. She never should feel it there. No unicorn should. Their horn was in the way. Her horn was in the way. It was always awkward to scratch behind it, because it was in the way.

No more magic. There was a constricting inside. No more teleporting or levitation.

She felt like an empty tube of toothpaste—her insides all squeezed out. No more magic lessons with Twilight. Her hoof thudded against the desk, motionless. No more learning new magic. No more making new magic. No more pushing myself.

“No more improvement, no more learning no more magic—”

“Where is my horn?” Starlight asked lightly. “Where is it?” Her voice, posture, heart, everything was feather-light. No more magic lessons with Trixie. It was sound logic—Starlight couldn’t possibly tip and shatter into a million pieces if she was lighter than air.

A grin spread across her muzzle. “Girls, what kind of joke is this?”

She started panting. “Where’s my horn? Girls,” Starlight gasped, “where is my horn?!”

This was a growth. It had to be. This ugly little thing couldn't possibly be her horn. Horns didn’t just fall off! Whatever happened must have been an accident, or—

“Starlight!” cried a scratchy-voiced pony. The world spun around her as a pair of hooves grabbed her by the shoulders. Rainbow Dash was in her face. “We’re going to get through this, okay?” Her words were a garble shouted half a mile away. “Okay? We’re gonna help you through this, all of us. Together.”

“Don’t give me any of that!” Starlight shoved Rainbow away. “I can’t do this everypony, I’m sorry, but I can’t! I can’t live the rest of my life with any magic, I just can’t!”

Trixie just had a hoof stuck to her mouth. Applejack’s face was drawn, wrenched with pain as she hobbled closer. “Starlight, hon, Ah feel yer—”

“SAVE IT!” The farmmare winced. “You’ve no idea what it’s like, Applejack! No idea! Can you imagine if you’d lost your apple-bucking legs?” She pointed to Rainbow and her. “Either of you?!”

“That’s exactly—!” Rainbow choked at Applejack’s hoof upon her leg.

“Just let her get it out.”

Like she was a dang child. “I’m right here, you know!” Starlight roared. Your horn is gone. There’s no getting it back. You brought this on yourself.

I brought this on myself. She could scarcely breathe. Starlight trembled, like a horn ready to fire.

“Th-they, they t-t-took it…”

Hydia and her daughters—

A flash of purple light and a cork pop heralded Princess Twilight Sparkle, her wings snapping open as she cried, “Starlight Glimmer, look! I’ve no idea how, but I’m all—!”

Total silence. Starlight shied away—what in the name of Equestria could she be thinking right now? Seeing this? Disgust filled Starlight like the most awful kind of bellyache.

What could she be feeling?

Starlight’s eyes twitched to Twilight’s—wide, her mouth cupped.

Shock. Disgust?

It made sense. Maybe she pieced it together. Twilight was a brilliant pony—she could put two and two together easily.

The equation certainly added up to something ugly. Ta-da! I did this for you, Twilight!

“What. Happened. To you?” Twilight enunciated behind her hoof. “What happened to you?” She started pacing closer. “What happened, Starlight? What happened to your—?”

"They took it, Twilight! They took my horn!" Twilight’s eyes welled, compassionate as ever, and a monstrous, heavy weight dropped in Starlight's gut. "They took my horn," she breathed.

‘That which is most precious to you…’

She wrenched away.

"They..." Starlight’s vision blurred, her eyes flooded, the fur upon her cheeks cut through with warm, wet trenches. "Th-they took... m-my—” Starlight nearly fell back as a pair of forelegs latched around her. “No!” She tried wriggling away.

“TiMe To PaY uP, sTaRliGhT gLiMmEr!”

“NO!” She felt Hydia’s claw wrap around her throat.

“It’s okay,” cooed a mother, maybe. There were a thousand twigs being snapped at once drowning her.

Two more masses piled upon her, suffocating Starlight. Then a third. She managed a sob; it was like somepony came and cut her heart out. Starlight felt the void, felt it ache. It needed to be full, but nothing came forth.

Maybe she could establish a connection with Equestria one more time. It was only fair. Starlight didn't know her final time using it—to lift bed sheets, no less—would be the last one.

She wanted to make up for it. More than anything, she wanted to make up for it. Just a spell, any spell.

A teal spark and pain made itself sharply known, a sharp ache in her broken horn. Another howl belted forth, and even after the pain was gone she screamed once more.

You lost your horn, and you don’t even care that Twilight’s okay.

Starlight roared, so long and hard she felt her head and lungs racing to explode.

Her voice cracked like nails on a chalkboard, breaking, and the beautiful hum of magic sang close by. The world’s entire weight sat upon Starlight. And it was warm.

Maybe living without magic won’t be so bad.

Or maybe this really is just a bad dream... Starlight thought, darkness falling like a great, warm blanket.

II.II - The Teacher and the Student

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Starlight,

I am so sorry.

I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry you are, at the moment (relative to your time), alone. I’m sorry I put too much into my dormitus simulus, because now, nopony knows when you’ll wake up.

And I am so, so sorry for that.

I am so sorry about everything. I know I’ve bungled the teacher role in the past, but I promise this will be the very last time.

I will help you, Starlight. We all will. Our friends will be by your side on the road to recovery, every step of of the way.

You’re probably all wired up and sick of sleeping. But I also know I can’t stop you! As much as I’d like you resting, you can find me in the Map Room. Princess Cadance and Princess Luna will be here, too, helping me find your attacker.

Don’t look at the darkness behind you, Starlight. Not without me.

Love,

Twilight

A dark blob loomed ahead. Some kind of eldritch horror, hopefully?

With a hard blink, then another, the bleary world sharpened into clarity. Starlight’s heart skipped a beat. She remembered gazing up at canopy stretched overhead. She knew that shade of deep violet.

This was definitely not her bed.

It was her bed.

“Twilight!” she cried, flinging herself upright. Twilight was alive. She was actually better! Starlight bit her hoof, giggling. The alicorn’s purple complexion, the life in her eyes, the warmth when they hugged… It hadn’t been a dream.

It was the last thing Starlight remembered before something familiar took hold of her. A magical something she’d taught Twilight for the time Spike was molting, designed to pull a pony into a deep, pleasant sleep.

And no wonder. She’d been screaming like an absolute maniac when Twilight cast the spell to sedate her. From the pain when…

Starlight brought a hoof to her head and gingerly felt something scrape against her hoof. No, that hadn’t been a dream, either.

They took my horn… Her guts twisted into a knot. But Twilight’s alive! I did it, yes! A warmth filled her. “In your face, Spike!” she shouted into the empty room, pumping her hoof in the air and laughing.

So what if she didn’t have a horn anymore? Big whoop! The potential good in saving Twilight from succumbing to her illness vastly outweighed the absolutely terrible alternative. How many more misguided, friendless ponies were out there, in need of Princess Twilight in their lives?

They needed her far more than, well, anypony needed Starlight’s horn. She’d learned the secrets of magic better than anypony! It would be simple to learn to live with... out… it.

A sinking feeling pulled her innards down. The quiet didn’t help, abnormal in its silence. It was nothing like sitting in a quiet room with nopony but yourself. Instead was a quiet, pressing void instead, like a padded enclosure that muffled everything invaded Starlight’s personal bubble.

She lifted her blanket to her chin, its rustling like a roll of thunder. Twilight’s room looked the same as it ever had, sure, but it felt totally empty. She felt the plushness of Twilight’s bed beneath her, but it wasn’t real, somehow. Something about it was fake, like a replica swapped places with it when no one was looking.

Her eyes zipped about the room. Twilight’s desk was there, and her vanity table. Her fireplace and the two tall, velvety reading chairs facing it. But in Starlight’s gut, nothing felt there.

She hugged her forelegs around her.

The walls and bed were cold. Not cold like a winter’s chill, but more like a brick oven gone dark—a cold stone box housing a pile of ash, the last embers long extinguished, rendering the thing an ugly, present thing. The bed, the walls, even the very air had this unique atmosphere about them, their own individual sensations Starlight could once recognize by their magical signature alone. But now a terrible, ponderous mundanity shrouded the world. The things in it were all there, solid and real, but that was all they were now. Utterly unremarkable. It was simple: crystal floors, crystal ceiling. An extra-oversized featherbed. Some furniture.

Before now she remembered feeling free, for lack of a better word. She’d shared a connection with something greater than anything she could actually touch. Through her magic, Starlight had bonded with the world. It was like their hearts beat as one. Now, the walls were cold, the bed was cold. It all felt dead, like Flutter Valley became her home.

A pit opened in Starlight’s chest—a horrible burrowing, clawing her heart in as the realization hit her: Twilight and I will never practice magic again, she thought. We can no longer bond over it. Our friendship is—!

“I-I…” Starlight hugged herself tighter and pretended it was Twilight, pretended she was whispering to her. ‘Our friendship will never be weakened,’ she’d say. ‘I don’t care if we aren’t connected by our magical bond. What we have is stronger than that. I love you, Starlight.’

She gasped sharply as the silent void seemed to pierce her ears. “C-calm down, S-Starlight. Don’t freak out now!” she urged herself, absolute confidence in her tone. “That little lapse of sanity just now was right. Our bond won’t be broken.”

And at some point, perhaps she’d stop talking to herself, too.

Besides, that part didn’t really matter in the long run. She just had to get used to the quiet. Adapt to it. Numb herself to it.

This is nothing compared to the spells I’ve mastered.

Starlight spat into the crushing silence. “Buck up, Glimmer,” she whispered. She still had her hoof-loving life! How could she be so selfish?

That weight she felt in her gut must have been guilt.

She had just discovered that Twilight was safe, and she had the gall to regret it? At least those witches had let her live. Really, the worst part about all this was her cutie mark. It was completely meaningless now.

Starlight peered underneath the covers. Those two wisps of magic sprouting from her starbursts might as well be party streamers now. They meant nothing. Wisps of magic don’t come from broken horns.

And I did it all for Twilight. Starlight’s stomach turned at the thought—It was definitely surreal! She never thought her life would lead her to play such a critical role in the fate of Equestria.

Again.

The witches had vowed that Starlight would be content. She looked inside herself, felt the warm tingle of realizing that Twilight was saved. No way was she upset.

Sure, she didn’t have a horn anymore, but that was a small price to pay.

In fact, the witches were right about another thing: Destiny brought Starlight into Twilight’s life. She was here in order to save her.

Destiny demands that Twilight live, and that I live, too. I’m the reason for any of this happening, after all, Starlight reasoned. So, if the witches knew all of this would happen, then this must be the path Fate had set for me! My story isn't over yet, which means—! Well...

She still had a future! What with the catalyst of her initial Fate being ripped away from her forever and all, it was only fair they don’t completely scam her.

Starlight rubbed her chin. Now, how to ease everypony’s foreseeable worries? Twilight’s would be especially challenging. That pony could be too emotional sometimes. This time around, Twilight had no reason to treat Starlight any differently than she had before.

After all, she’d only done what a good student would do.

A crack of light suddenly cleaved the darkness, and a familiar voice called out to her.

"Starlight?”

Twilight’s soft voice shivered through the quiet, pricking her in the chest. The door opened wider, and there she stood, silhouetted against the darkness.

She’s here! Starlight flailed out of bed, took one step, and fell flat on her muzzle. Trying to rub the pulsing ache from it, Starlight fought to free her legs from the tangle of bedding.

"Oh, my goodness!” Twilight murmured. “Starlight!” Her hooves sounded hurried click-clacks through the shadows.

Starlight scrambled to her feet, at attention in spite of the blanket swallowing her hindquarters. Her curly little forelock hung limply between her eyes. Starlight huffed it aside, then grinned a loose smile.

Whatever words she hoped to say were stillborn upon Starlight’s tongue. She stood silent, simply listening to soft, frantic breathing filling the silence.

Twilight’s breathing.

Twilight was actually breathing, right in front of her! Healthy, not shallow and broken. And her coat, even in darkness, was clearly a soft, healthy purple instead of brittle and grey. Then, Starlight found Twilight’s eyes, glistening in the darkness.

"Oh, Starlight.” She swallowed. “I... I just don't know... wh-what to say!" She yelped as Starlight tackled into her, sobbing. Twilight’s warmth pressed even harder against her as two strong forelegs wrapped around her.

“I knew it,” Starlight blubbered indiscernibly. “I knew you weren’t a goner, I just knew it!”

“Oh, Starlight, I’m so sorry!” Twilight squeezed her even tighter.

“Spike didn’t believe me, Twilight! Nopony would’ve believed me but me and I did it! I—” A wave crashed into her: She’d saved Twilight’s life. Starlight squealed, planting her burning eyes into the alicorn’s neck. Blushing, she swallowed a sob, but another bubbled past and Starlight coughed, choked, and cried all at once as she rubbed her face into the alicorn’s comfortable, living warmth.

"Oh, Starlight. My Starlight…” A dampness matted the fur of Twilight’s neck. “I'm sorry.I'm so, so sorry..."

The dull ache in her chest swelled, but it was a hurt she wouldn’t trade for anything.

Starlight propped her hooves on Twilight’s chest, pushing back gently to look her in the face. But she immediately turned away, her eyes squeezed tight.

“T-Twilight?” Starlight smiled uneasily.

But the moment Twilight peeked her eyes open they flitted up and down, searching everywhere but Starlight’s face.

Where her horn was. This must be a horror to look at. Starlight put on a smile, wide and toothy.

“I can’t—” Twilight shook her head.

“What?” Starlight snuffled, smiling despite the sting in her chest. “Don’t I look dignified?” She must have looked pretty ridiculous, standing in a puddle of lavender blankets.

A blank sheet of paper would have conveyed more emotion.

Starlight rubbed her foreleg. Her lips wobbled, taking all her willpower to maintain a pleasant facade for Twilight. Hopefully the shadows concealed her embarrassment.

In the silence, Twilight suddenly whispered, “I’m sorry.”

She sure was saying that a lot. “It’s okay—”

“No, it’s not!” Twilight snapped. “That’s what everypony keeps telling me, but this isn’t okay. Nothing about this is okay. A monster has gotten away with crippling my friend. We’ve no idea what it was or where it even came from! And the worst part is, I can’t even think of something to say to you, Starlight!”

Way to go, Glimmer. She couldn’t have kept it together long enough to ease Twilight’s worries. Now she had been worrying herself silly over nothing.

But that begged the question: why didn’t Spike tell her yet?

Twilight looked away, rubbing her cheek. “I’m a terrible friend,” she declared.

“No, you’re not!”

Twilight looked to Starlight, her eyes wide with only one emotion.

Fear.

Of Starlight.

Of another emotional outburst. Of what I could do. She was probably expecting her former student to collapse into a second freakout. Starlight would, too. It didn’t matter, though. The most she could do now was clobber somepony.

On reflection, that made Twilight’s wariness understandable, though it didn’t hurt any less.

“You’re a great friend, Twilight. You are not ‘terrible.’ Don’t think that about yourself.”

“That’s what everypony keeps telling me, too,” she echoed sadly. Twilight wiped her eyes. “But I won’t accept it. I just can’t get it out of my head, Starlight. You were hurt, and all I’ve done is fail you.”

Her guilt was unbearable. Why should sweet Twilight shoulder such an unfair responsibility, when it wasn’t even necessary?

I’ve failed you too, Twilight. If you’d only known from the start…

Starlight perked up, realizing. “So, success equates to being a good friend? Huh, I must’ve missed that lesson.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Twilight lowered her head, searching the floor. “I wasn’t here to protect you. And now I can’t even help you. I’ve failed you as a friend.”

Starlight had just failed too, and she didn’t feel any different. “So, after all this time, you’ve apparently been teaching me the wrong thing!”

Twilight stood motionless. “Tell me, Starlight...” Her voice wavered. “Remind me what I’ve taught you.” Her face lifted, revealing a miserable-looking pony. “Please. Because I could really use some of your wisdom right about now.”

Starlight choked, surprised. Twilight had never outright asked for her “wisdom” before—it just came up when it needed to.

“Well…”

Come on, Glimmer.Why’d you throw yourself into the jaws of Tartarus for Twilight?

The obvious hit a second later. Starlight brightened, to her somber teacher’s wary surprise.

“Forgetting the sincere flop that it was,” she began with a titter, “I seem to recall a certain lesson from the Friendship Journal—one that Spike learned from Applejack. From what I gathered, the strength of friendship isn’t weighed by a success rate, but by the lengths we go for one another. Because that’s what friends do.” That’s what I’ve done for you, she thought.

And you’ve done for me...

Forgiving her crimes, then teaching her friendship. Tolerating her failures, letting her laze about the castle a year after graduating...

Starlight waded through memories. “And… the lengths to whichyou’ve gone to help me, it’s…” There were no words to describe it—no obvious ones, at least. “Well, it’s more than anypony’s ever done for me, I’ll tell you that!”

Twilight bit her trembling lip. “So,” she murmured, “even if I failed to get your horn back, you wouldn’t be upset with me?”

Starlight’s face fell.

Hope lanced through her, like the stupid, naive pony she was. “Of course not!” Starlight smiled reassuringly, ignoring the awful hollowness inside her.

Tears filled Twilight’s eyes, and a smile spread across her face, which only made the pain worse. All at once, the feelings they both had overflowed, spilling out at the same time.

“Oh, Starlight,” Twilight whispered. “What did I ever do to deserve somepony like you...”

“I mean,” Starlight laughed, not even realizing that Twilight was speaking, “I gave it up for you, after all!”

She’d barely realized that she’d just spoken over Twilight before both lapsed into a shocked silence. Twilight’s eyebrows seemed to float up to her hairline as her eyes widened.

Twilight’s mouth hung open, frozen. Had she been speaking? The room itself seemed frozen, its chill seeping into Starlight’s bones as Twilight’s brows ascended to her hairline, her lips curling into a frown.

“What did you just say?” she asked, equally as slow and deliberate.

Does… she really not know?

“Uh, my horn? Remember?” Starlight circled a hoof at her forehead. “Spiraled, adorable… Uh, great and powerful?” she laughed. Has Spike really said nothing?!

“I-I know what it is,” Twilight replied, her panic barely concealed behind the calmness of her tone. It seemed to scream in the silence between them. “I know…”

Another failed attempt at levity, by Starlight Glimmer. “Well,” she began, “there were these—”

“But I…” Twilight suddenly lurched over, uncomfortably close. “I think I’m gonna need you to repeat yourself, Starlight.”

“Uh, o-okay?” She took a tiny step back.

She was being way too peppy all of a sudden, which meant one thing: imminent freakout. Starlight didn’t bother wondering why, instead mentally preparing herself for an emotionally distraught, and therefore unreasonable, princess.

“As you and I’ve debated hotly in the past,” Twilight squeaked, “one of the possible lingering effects of dark magic is auditory chicanery. Now I’m still not a believer of its more adverse effects, particularly with the lighter stuff we’ve been using, of course, but considering how abusive we’ve been—Cadance and Luna that is—in using it, well…” She snorted like a pig. “I don’t quite trust my own judgement at the moment!”

Starlight nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Not worrying at all,” she joked, to no effect.

Why she’d been doing it was unfathomable. Nopony was foolish enough to willingly expose their souls to corruption. So was Twilight a fool now? And why bring it up? Was she implying something? As in, ‘I opened my heart to hatred and fear to help you, so are you now telling me all that was pointless?!’ That was her fault, not Starlight’s. It was her decision.

Wait, no.

It didn’t even matter. The Princess of Friendship knew what she was doing. No reason to worry. Besides, Twilight would never be angry with—

“Starlight?”

She blinked. “Sorry, what?”

Twilight’s brow creased. “Are you okay?” She stepped forward.

Starlight didn’t want her burning face to show. “Yep, never better.” Her rump suddenly hit something—”Eee!”—the bed. “Sorry! S-sorry, I… I kinda zoned out when you mentioned using, uh, dark magic and…” She let that hang. Such foolishness demanded an explanation.

Silence churned all around.

“I said that I was going to help you, Starlight, and that meant finding your attacker and bringing it to justice.” Her face lit up pink, and a beat later something papery slapped Starlight in the face. “Remember, from this note? You must have seen it. I mean I don’t know how long you’ve lain here, but...”

Starlight was half-listening, scrambling to catch the paper in her forelegs. She tumbled back, crushing it against her. Nailed it.

“But I digress,” Twilight continued, “and none of this matters. I’m just curious! See, I was confused by what you’d said… You know, since Fluttershy told me you, uh, you were actually attacked, by a… um...”

Starlight peered at the paper, but even with it touching her snout, the cursive print blended with the darkness. “Hold up, I can’t read this.”

Twilight was droning on as a gentle magenta glow illuminated her bedroom, and the letter Starlight had missed.

Her eyes skimmed the page.

‘Starlight, I am so sorry. I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry you are, at the moment (relative to your time), alone. I’m sorry I put too much into my dormitus simulus, because now, nopony knows when you’ll wake up—

So Twilight put “too much” into her spell, as if she was in a rush. Basically, her goal was to silence the shrieking mare. That was the unspoken truth amidst all these “sorry’s,” and Twilight was so desperate to do it she didn’t even take one measly second to channel her magic correctly.

“Starlight?”

It was impossible to blame Twilight, though. As much as it hurt. After all, Starlight had been screeching like a maniac. Nopony would want to hear that, especially Twilight. She depended on Starlight to keep a steady head when it mattered, and she ended up making a bad situation even worse.

“Starlight!”

She probably thought she was stupid now. And Twilight had been using dark magic to help, somehow. Starlight basically told her that the risk, the effort, was all pointless. No wonder she was so intense right now. Way to go—

“Starlight!”

“What?” Her gaze snapped to Twilight’s, whose horn continued bathing them in pink light.

“Please, work with me here!” she cried, as though it were another day where she was zoning out of a lecture. “Oh...” Twilight clapped a hoof to her muzzle. “Oh, my goodness, Starlight, I… I’m so sorry!”

“Um… It’s fine?” It was the best she could offer. Starlight rubbed the back of her neck. “I think I sprained something from all this mood whiplash, though.”

Something about her hooves must have been very interesting to Twilight. “Right, yes, sorry. I am, really, I just—”

“I-it’s okay, Twilight.”

“I’m sorry for snapping!” She tensed up. “I’m sorry for failing!”

Oh, gosh… Starlight forced a smile. “You don’t have to keep apologizing, you know—”

“I’m so stressed right now! I-I can barely think straight!” A glimmering traced the length of her muzzle. “Everything’s, been falling apart these last couple weeks, I’m just so, incredibly stressed, but I can’t be, a-and now, just the idea that this is all on purpose—” A hoof impeded her words.

Starlight’s hoof. Twilight continued speaking as if it weren’t there. Immediately, Starlight jerked away, popping out of her best friend’s mouth.

“S-sorry.” Twilight snuffled, gawking at her. “I think these last couple days are finally getting to me,” she laughed uneasily. “I’m just a little cuckoo right now!”

So I’ve been out for, like, two days. That’s not bad! But poor Twilight’s been reduced to this. And Starlight only had herself to blame. She took a deep breath, then exhaled all the guilt twisted in her chest.

“Okay,” she said lightly, “first of all, I would love it if we could stop apologizing.”

Twilight only lowered her stunned gaze. Smooth as ice, Starlight. The glowing orb upon Twilight’s horn continued humming softly.

“I get that things are a bit… tense, right now.” Understatement of the century. “But let’s move forward with our heads held high, right?” Twilight looked to her, seemingly aghast. “Okay?” she pleaded. “Why’re you looking at my like I’d grown a second horn?”

“That’s not funny.”

Starlight’s sheepish grin crumbled on the spot.

“I,” Twilight squeaked, voice wavering, “I… Oh, Starlight…” Her eyes squeezed shut, her lips trembled. “I can’t believe this.” Tears sprang forth, shocking Starlight’s soul. “I think I need to throw up...”

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” Starlight begged.

“I…” Her bright, violet eyes looked Starlight up and down before she turned away. “I’m afraid to, Starlight. Yes or no, I’m not sure which answer is worse!” Magenta light swished to and fro across the room with Twilight’s animated gestures.

“Then what is it?” The suspense was agonizing. “What’s even the question, Twilight? I don’t understand!”

Her violet eyes flashed, wet and angry… and terrified. “Why are you acting like nothing’s wrong?” Starlight swallowed—she couldn’t think of an answer faster than Twilight fired off another question: “How come everything’s completely normal in your little world?”

Starlight gulped a yelp as she was yanked forward several feet before slamming into the forehooves of Twilight Sparkle, her eyes wide and intense and filling her vision.

“Did you give up your horn, yes or no?”

It was so quick that Starlight had to process it.

"I mean," Twilight rambled, eyes rolling, "me, and the princesses—Luna and Cadance—we’ve been up for hours on end scrubbing the Cutie Map for traces of your attacker. But there was nothing! Absolutely nothing!” she snarled. "And this has been bothering me all afternoon! Whoever popped in and out of here was using some kind of advanced teleportation spell. It didn’t leave a magical footprint or anything! Anywhere! In all the wide world of Equestria! Oh, are they lucky I haven’t found them yet...”

Dread settled on Starlight’s forelegs, a gripping chill upon them. She needs to know now. I need to tell her. To break the news. Spike came to mind, and the first of several questions.

“T-Twilight, I don’t think you don’t unders—”

“I under-stand, that Fluttershy had said, that something attacked you!” Twilight stomped her hoof, asserting, “She doesn’t lie, Starlight, not about something like this. You know she’s at her home right now, crying and shutting herself away from all our friends? She blames herself for not helping you!”

And Twilight’s tone was accusing Starlight.

“And so I refuse to believe that Spike...” Her voice faded again.

Starlight could scarcely breathe. How could she have forgotten about her friend? Oh, my gosh… Poor Fluttershy. Why, out of everypony in Equestria, did she have to be caught in the crossfire of Starlight’s recklessness?

She saw Twilight drag a foreleg across her eyes. “This is different from everything we’ve faced. I know it is. I know whoever did this was trying to get to me—because nopony would ever want to do something so horrible to my friend, m-my student, my… my…”

“Twilight!” It was agony, knowing she felt so broken up over this, and that Starlight was entirely to blame.

“They stole your horn,” stated Twilight, staring right at her. “They stole it, and I’m getting it back. But I have been sitting on this for days, Starlight, and I can’t stand it! I can’t stand this unscratchable itch for another second!”

“Uh, what?” She got what that meant, but it was strange, even for Twilight.

“I’ve got to know the truth,” she pleaded quickly. “Tell me, Starlight, I promise I won’t be angry. I won’t. I just have to know the truth, now.” Truth? What truth? Who’s been telling lies? “Please, tell me, Starlight!”

Flinching, Starlight could barely stand the thought of the horror Twilight’s felt these past, agonizing two days. “Wha-what do you mean?” she asked, playing dumb

“I mean, who exactly stole your horn?” Twilight prowled closer. “Why were you acting nonchalant with Trixie, like it didn’t even happen?”

“Alright, hey, in my defense, I thought it was a dream—”

“Please, Starlight, talk to me.” She panted softly for a moment. “I don’t know what your game is now, if you feel afraid or what, but you’re acting like you haven’t even lost your horn. And I heard you...” A shudder wracked Twilight’s body. Quietly, she disclosed, “I heard you screaming the other day, Starlight. It was the most heartbreaking thing I ever heard.”

“Oh, what? What?” Starlight snapped. “You want me to start crying over it?”

Twilight blinked sadly. “No. Your reaction told me enough.”

“Well, I don’t! Miss it, I mean!” Starlight shook her head. "Look, I don’t care about it, Twilight. I mean, yeah, it stinks that I don’t have magic anymore, but I don’t care! Because you know what? I’d lose it all over again. Yeah! I really would!” Starlight didn’t realize how fast her heart was racing until it ached. “W-well? There’s your answer!” she chirped.

Twilight just kept staring. “So you…” Her horn’s hum was deafening. “Excuse me?” She still couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge it.

There was no turning back; the band-aid was already peeled halfway, might as well rip a few hairs out and get it over with.

“I think you know the answer,” said Starlight. “I think you’ve known this entire time, haven’t you? I mean...” She laughed nervously, because it really was amusing. “Something Celestia herself calls ‘incurable’ doesn’t just go away, does it?”

The way Twilight stood statue-still, then scrambled back in an attempt to absorb some invisible map laid out before her, said enough: this had been on her mind, and Spike was to thank for that. He had told her, at some point, and Twilight had denied it. She’d never allowed herself to dwell on it until now.

But why?

“I’m afraid to ask,” Starlight began uneasily, “but how much did Spike tell you, exactly?”

Awash in her magic’s glow, Twilight looked absolutely demonic. “What’s the secret behind my miraculous recovery, Starlight?” she asked, her voice as monotone as Maud Pie’s.

Starlight gulped. Why was her heart racing? Twilight already knew the answer, clearly. She only wanted…

She wanted to hear it from Starlight’s own lips. No bells, no whistles, no jokes. Just yes, or no.

Oh. Suddenly this was so much harder. No matter what Starlight would say, or how, this was totally going to end with Twilight angry at her.

She didn’t even know why. Asking Twilight to clarify was beyond out of the question—it was completely stupid. Starlight should know why.

Right?

Wait, I can just explain why I did this! Two birds with one stone!

“So you see this thing, right here?” Starlight spun a hoof at her forehead. “I could live with this. I know it’s going to be difficult, adjusting, but I can adapt. I’ve done it all my life,” she muttered, smiling sadly.

“But…” Starlight swallowed, “losing you, Twilight? I… I couldn’t even bear the thought.”

Keep it together, Starlight. Don’t get emotional on her again!

“So I’m willing to play my part. After all, look at what I’ve done to save you!” she announced, equal parts proud and loud. “I didn’t even hesitate. I saw a chance and I took it, like a true friend would.”

Twilight merely blinked.

“Uh, surprise,” Starlight weakly cheered, jazz-hooves and all.

But Twilight just stared.

And stared.

Starlight Glimmer burned and burned, then shook it up a little, cleared her throat, and burned some more.

Not even a ‘thank you.’

“That’s just a foal’s story,” Twilight uttered in a weird, hollow voice. “Stop playing games. How could you even joke about this…”

She is furious. “I… They’re real, Twilight,” Starlight strongly replied. “The Ladies of Flutter Valley are real, and I traded my horn to them so you could survive.” She smiled warmly. “And I’d do it again, without a second thought.” Though in truth, it was an accident, and Starlight hadn’t known what she was giving up. But this version was a lot more epic.

But Twilight merely dropped her gaze.

She still didn’t say ‘thank you.’ She just made a small, indiscernible sound.

Fear gripped Starlight’s heart tight. Why was Twilight reacting this way? She advanced, ready to pull her former teacher into a hug. “Hey...”

She stopped when Twilight’s head began to turn left… then right. “No,” she whimpered, barely a whisper, then in an actual whisper, “No… No,” Twilight declared in a normal voice. “No!” She slammed her hoof down. “No, no, no! I won’t believe it, I refuse to! They’re just a foal’s story, Starlight! And Spike’s got a lot of nerve—” Twilight gasped, swiftly bringing a hoof to her mouth. “I… I grounded him to his room,” she breathed, as if now realizing. “With no gems! I punished Spike for telling me the truth!”

Starlight staggered back, her mind spinning with all this new information crashing into her reality. This wasn’t what she was hoping for. None of this was meant to happen. Twilight, Fluttershy, anypony involved with this fiasco of a mission wouldn’t have been if Starlight kept it together and told the truth however many days ago.

She’d been expecting Twilight to wrap her in a hug and shower her with thanks. How stupid was she?

"Twilight?” Her horrified gaze shifted in her direction. “Are you... mad at me?” I wouldn’t blame you if you were. I’m mad at myself right now! Starlight wanted to laugh, but that would demand too much strength.

A couple feet away, Twilight turned her body, her open mouth closing. She blinked, stammering, “N-no… No, Starlight, of course not. I’m just… surprised, I guess! Eh, not to mention a little bit concerned—”

"Please, Twilight!" Starlight snapped stiffly. "Whatever you're about to say, just,” Starlight choked, and all the tension in her muscles fled. Her very bones ached with exhaustion. “Just don't. Please. Whether it's, 'I'm sorry for your loss,' or 'you must be feeling devastated,’ whatever you feel like you have to say to me, I assure you, it isn't necessary. This is all fine.” A moment of silence boomed thunderously. “I’m fine."

"My goodness, Starlight..." Tears sprung to Twilight's eyes. "Here, come here."

Starlight stuck a hoof between her and the advancing princess. "No, stop! Stop. I want you to listen to me, Twilight." Although a hug sounded heavenly right now, this needed to be said. "Twilight... I did this all for you. I wanted this."

“I... I know. N-now.” Twilight blinked. Twilight swallowed. Twilight opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it without uttering a word. "Starlight, you lost your horn.”

"I did."

"I heard you scream!" Tears flashed in Twilight's eyes. “I keep hearing you scream, Starlight. When I’m alone I hear you, begging me for help when I’ve no idea how. I haven’t even slept because when I try, I see you gaping beside the mirror, trying to process what had even happened! You were devastated, Starlight. I thought you were devastated. Everypony else does! But now you’re telling me you… exchanged it on my behalf and I…”

Twilight shook her head, exhaling quietly.

“It’s a little much to wrap my head around,” she finished lightly.

“I can imagine why,” Starlight laughed. It was quite the story, after all.

A smile tried its way to Twilight’s face, but crumbled halfway. If only she knew the truth beforehand, all of this energy spent unnecessarily fearing for Starlight could have been avoided.

“Look,” she sighed, “I get it, I know how you feel. Anypony would.” Starlight evaded Twilight’s dubious, albeit pitiful gaze. “You’re taken aback by the fact that I gave up something valuable for your life,” she stated.

“‘Valuable’ is an understatement.”

Starlight shrugged. “Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe. Point is, guilt’s got you trapped like a pit of quicksand. You can’t get out, you fight it, only to sink deeper… Yeah, I know what that feels like.”

Silence fell, as Starlight couldn’t think of what to say next. What should she say?

Twilight chortled feebly before she could decide. “I appreciate your empathy, Starlight, I do. But I’m not exactly feeling a hundred percent at the moment...” She gazed off to the side, brow knitted. What was she thinking about?

“Hey now,” Starlight lifted Twilight’s chin, whose guilty gaze fell back to the floor, “Twilight,” she said slowly, drawing the pony’s attention. “I’m not asking you to be happy about this.”

She imagined their places swapped. Harmony knows I wouldn’t be.

“That would be unreasonable,” Starlight continued. “But I am telling you not to feel responsible for my choices. I made them. I wanted to make them. Now I’ll have to live with it, but I can do so with a clear conscience, knowing I’ve repaid you.”

Twilight’s solemn gaze yanked back, colored with surprise. “Wait, what does that mean?”

“That this is what friends do. A certain princess taught me that,” she added, winking.

Twilight blinked before shaking her head. “Starlight, you... are taking this far better than I am,” she gushed. Her sudden smile faltered.

Starlight chuckled, sensing the mood lighten just a little. “I’ve gotten good at it,” she grunted, stretching each foreleg as though it were a rigorous exercise.

“It’s just,” Twilight stammered, “you love magic. It's your whole world, and you just... just... I don't even know where to begin with that!"

Twilight’s accuracy was deadly, nearly piercing Starlight in the heart. “Well, it’s just another bag I’ll have to carry, so to speak. Pretty used to it by this point. What’s one more?”

“I wish you didn’t have to.” Twilight stammered. “I mean, I wish you never had such a past that made this normal.”

Starlight shrugged. It wasn’t a big deal. Besides, she deserved as much as she could carry and then some…

Her teacher’s eyes watered again. “Oh, Starlight.” The alicorn stepped forward, and wrapped a foreleg around Starlight’s neck. She did the same, tightly. “If you really are okay with this,” said Twilight, “then I am, too.”

Warmth tickled her from within; smiling was finally easy again. “Sheesh, Twilight. Emotional much?” Starlight wondered shakily. She chuckled deeply at the hoof Twilight thumped into her side—it tickled so much.

After a few moments, Twilight patted her back twice before retreating, rubbing her eyes. “You’re...” she snuffled, “You’re such a strong pony.” Her voice sounded thick as glue. “You’re a kind pony, generous, and loyal, too. I’m proud of you, Starlight.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” she replied casually. “I kinda see it as like giving up a kidney! Except, you know, we both get to live to a ripe old age!" she said with a nervous laugh.

Twilight frowned, sternly. “Ponies don’t lose years after giving up a kidney.”

“Oh! Then it’s exactly like giving up a kidney.” Starlight snorted at Twilight’s reaction: an exasperated headshake. “So how are you feeling?” A beat. “Health-wise, that is."

Twilight huffed, as if annoyed by the question. "Like a newborn filly, though, that's the least of my concerns."

Shadows chased the light back into Twilight’s horn as its glow retreated into a shimmering sheath. All at once, Starlight whooped softly, feeling her body tingle as the blanket untangled from her flanks and lower back, the ground falling away at once.

In a single flurry of movement, Twilight had stretched the disheveled blanket across her bed, set Starlight down, and piled logs from the stack beside her fireplace. With eyes drawn shut, a gush of white sparks hissed from the alicorn’s longer horn, igniting the logs with a gentle blaze. A jittery, ruddy glow awashed the crystal floors, walls and ceiling soft and glowing.

Magic sure was useful. “Speedy,” Starlight remarked.

“I’m pressed for time. Sorry, by the way. For using magic.” The minute a groan slipped from Starlight’s lips, her former teacher scrambled to add “Sorry! Sorry. I can’t help myself sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” said Starlight, waving it off. “Just don’t treat me like an eggshell you have to trot lightly on.”

“Yes. Of course.” With a glow of the horn, the two big reading chairs spun towards one another from where they sat upon the fireplace. “Would you like to sit?”

Starlight stuck a hoof out, prepared to take that offer, when a thought struck her stiff. “I thought you said you were pressed for time?”

Twilight actually rolled her eyes with a scoff. “It can wait. This is more important.”

“Right.” Starlight grinned, trotting to the farthest chair. It had been two weeks since the last time they’d shared a normal conversation. Yet, this was so unlike Twilight. It was a little awesome hearing her buck obligations for once, but also concerning.

The last thing Starlight wanted was to be the cause of more trouble.

Wait… A familiar guilt returned, pricking her heart sudden and deeply. I’m the reason somepony in particular is suffering at this very moment.

As Twilight climbed up her seat, it suddenly hit, body and soul, like a runaway stagecoach.

“Fluttershy!” Starlight staggered away from the chair. “I... I need to see her! I need to tell Fluttershy I'm okay!" And that it’s not her fault.

“Starlight, wait!"

The teal bolts crackling from Starlight's horn flickered off midway through her cry, a sharp burn clawing into her skull.

"F-forgot," she gasped, collapsing. Starlight held her head with one hoof while the other extended towards a fast-approaching Twilight. After the pulsing quickly receded, Starlight lifted her miserable face and regarded her best friend’s.

Twilight looked miserable despite her assurance of, "I'm alright."

She smiled, despite how clearly heartbroken she was by the sight. "I know you are," she said, gently.

Starlight smiled back, despite her headache. She’s actually respecting my strength.

The pain reminded her of Hydia, and a sudden twisting in Starlight’s chest made her grimace. She imagined Fluttershy, beholding the matriarch in all her gargantuan horror. Watching, as she strangled Starlight in one boiled claw as she broke her horn off with the other.

The mental image was bloodcurdling.

“You think I can go now? It’s not too late, is it?” Starlight climbed up her chair, propping herself on its arm to squint across the flickering, orange bedroom. The curtains were drawn, but their solid violet coloring said the outside was just as dark.

Behind her, Twilight giggled a soft, feather-light sound. "You're a great friend, Starlight. But we’ll go tomorrow. We'll go together. Stop, right there! No compromises. This is final." Starlight clamped her mouth shut.

"Fine," she sighed, emphasizing how much she hated this. From the corner of her eye, Twilight smirked knowingly. A similarly wry smile came to Starlight before it was crushed under the weight in her chest. “I just feel bad,” she confessed.

“Me, too. Poor Fluttershy’s just been inconsolable.” Twilight pursed her lips, thinking. “I’m hoping,” she carefully began, “that when she sees you, and talks to you like I have, we can help her move past this."

“Mm-hm!” Starlight nodded, grinning broadly—forcefully.

“Is something wrong, Starlight?” Twilight wondered, in that, ‘There’s clearly something wrong, please tell me,’ tone of hers.

At that moment, Starlight only knew that Fluttershy felt guilty, for whatever reason. As if she could have done anything against a monster like Hydia? Nopony could.

Starlight briefly considered brushing Twilight’s concerns aside. “When I say, ‘I feel bad?’ I’m really saying, ‘I feel completely horrible.’ Fluttershy was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why did she have to be there, out of all our friends?” Just the thought of Hydia’s cloaked, eyeless face prickled her back with goosebumps.

“I really couldn’t tell you. Cruel things happen to good ponies sometimes.” Her smile was audible, its warmth reaching through that of the fire. “We just have to be there for those who’re hurting.”

Was she alluding to Starlight? No, that couldn’t be it. They’ve gotten past this already. Starlight looked away from the flames and found Twilight similarly entranced by them.

“Spike... He tried to tell me what had happened. I mean..." Twilight almost gagged on the word, it was utterly preposterous, "Witches. Like actual, cauldron-squatting, omen-reading, deal-making witches. The real things from my actual storybook.” Twilight stared at the fire, her ears wilted and face fixed with concentration.

“You think that’s hard to believe? I couldn’t begin to tell you what they really are. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Fluttershy could only describe what she saw as ‘big’ and ‘scary.’”

Starlight snorted, realizing too late that it was because her friend was too traumatized to elaborate further. “Well,” she laughed uneasily, “that’s not exactly inaccurate. To be honest, I can hardly believe they’re real.”

“What were they like? How close were they to the source material?” Twilight tapped her chin. “Except, I suppose they’re the source material, and the book is the adaptation.”

“Ah, now I see.”

“See what?”

“I see that book adaptations of historical events and figures are never a good idea.”

Twilight giggled at the flames, which was easier to laugh with instead of an awkward silence. The Friendship Journal was a vivid memory. Poor Twilight had her heart set on the thing, and it backfired like some sort of divine tragedy.

“I take it they were completely different?” she asked.

A shudder rippled through Starlight. “In ways you truly can’t imagine. I’m just glad I’ll never have to see them again.” She grunted with disgust as another shiver shot through her.

Twilight didn’t seem to get it. “I’ve been reading Tall Tales ever since I was a foal,” she said wistfully. “It’s mind-boggling to think they’re real.” Her hooves clopped together. “Who knew out of everything in that book, it was Hydia and her daughters that got the Nightmare Moon treatment!?”

“Makes you wonder how many of them are the same,” Starlight offered. Maybe there was a loose adaptation about the Crystal Empire’s downfall. “Hey, Twilight—”

“I should have believed him,” she murmured, her voice faint and dead. Starlight looked and found her eyes shut. “A lot of arguing and worrying could’ve been avoided if I had. Retrospectively speaking, Spike had offered the only logical explanation for everything that’s happened, but I just refused to listen. I didn’t even want to entertain the idea that he was right.”

Willfully ignoring a hypothesis out of fear? That doesn’t sound like Twilight. Starlight shifted in her seat, nestling into its plush depths. “I don’t mean to sound prying, but, why didn’t you?”

“How could I, when you—?” Twilight suddenly caught herself from revealing something. She began mimicking Spike’s voice. “‘Oh, hey Twilight. So, the reason you got better and why a monster attacked Starlight was because she struck a bargain with the characters of a foal’s story.’” She shook her head, grimacing with shame. “I doubted Spike. I disrespected his age and maturity because a part of me was too scared to believe him.”

What heartless gargoyle would wholeheartedly accept that they were the reason a tragedy had befallen their friend? Except this wasn’t a tragedy, of course, but it looked that way to Twilight.

“I was being totally irrational!” she continued. “It got to the point where I accused him of, of treating this like a game, that he wasn’t taking this seriously, that he should stop reading those silly comic books.” A smile of disbelief flitted across her muzzle. “As if they were the source of such a horrible theory? And Spike would never concoct something so horrible all on his own, so...” Twilight shook her head once more. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You just weren’t.” Twilight huffed, smiling at that. Except Starlight was being serious. “I know exactly how you feel,” she explained. “Emotions make us do stupid things sometimes—all the time in my case.”

Twilight turned to her, her grin as soft as the orange glow dancing on her coat. “I take it you’re something of an expert,” she quipped.

Starlight’s hooves rose to the heavens. “Tis the curse I bear, O Princess Twilight.” The pony across from her snickered politely into her foreleg. “Don’t beat yourself up though, alright? I’m sure that Spike understands.”

“He wouldn’t talk to me last night. I knocked on his door and he wouldn’t answer. And he didn’t every time I brought him meals,” Twilight listed.

The reality was cringeworthy. “Yeah, well, what I meant was he’d understand once you explain it! Spike’s a reasonable little guy, and I’m willing to bet he feels the same for you as he did me. ‘Desperate’ was the word, I think.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m serious! I mean, the whole thing did sound totally far-fetched.”

Twilight shook her head. “I get what you’re saying, but it’s more than that. I pushed Spike away, deciding once again not to trust a friend. My best friend, at that. He’d push back, and all I’d hear was the sound of your…” Her eyes briefly squeezed shut. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll tell him he’s ungrounded before I leave.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it! I gotcha.”

Twilight cocked her head. “Are you sure?” She really did always put others before herself—even when she didn’t need to.

“Of course.” Starlight waved it off. “You’ve got a thing to go to! Plus I need an excuse to confront Spike, and this’ll force me to now. Whoof, that’s gonna be a conversation.” Starlight didn’t even know what kind it would be—only that it would be a conversation. “Out of curiosity, what’s the thing you’re going to?”

“The thing? Oh, a real break from the status quo.”

“Town-wide party?”

“Yep!” Starlight threw her head back, cackling. “Hey, be nice. It’s for a good reason.”

Starlight continued snorting into her hoof. “My, oh, my. What could the excuse be this time?”

“The Princess of Friendship’s miraculous recovery.”

Starlight was silent a moment, before she simply replied with a nod. She wondered what narrative Twilight would weave—the pity party for her broken friend, or the one where Starlight Glimmer was strong enough to shoulder this burden like a grownup.

“Don’t worry—”

“So! You, uh, gonna tell them how you got better?” she chuckled.

Twilight said nothing, but her eyes blinked slowly, as if to say, ‘Really?’ A smile eased onto her face. “I’ve lucked out,” she said, “in that this is a Ponyville party.”

“Right,” Starlight agreed.

Twilight nodded. “So, everypony’s just looking for a reason to celebrate. Plus a lot of my friends want to see me. I’ve not had a single pony ask how I got better, so I’m going in, hoping they still won’t.”

“And if somepony does…?”

Twilight snuggled into her seat. “I’ll play dumb,” she grunted, rolling onto her back, “unless you don’t want me to.” She ended up splayed across the chair, hind hooves propped on the arm facing the fireplace. Two thin shadows cut down her face.

“Oh, just tell them. They’ll all find out eventually.”

Silence fell between them
‘Everypony will know what you did. Everypony will love you for it. Except the one who matters most.’

Starlight refocused, realizing she’d been just staring at the lounging alicorn.

“We'll discuss this tomorrow over breakfast.” Twilight turned her head. “Unless you want to come with me—”

"Yeah, um... I'm good, on the party scene for now.”

Although she loved a Ponyville party, Starlight’s heart didn’t rise at the prospect this time. It was snug in her gut, heavy with anxiety. A feeling, or something. At the very least, a reminder that she wasn’t utterly heartbroken from the initial reaction two days prior.

Really, she just felt tired.

“I think I wanna spend the next day or so learning to live with this.” Starlight gestured to her stump.

Instead of easing Twilight’s worries, she bit the tip of her hoof worriedly: her ‘deep in thought’ quirk when there was usually a quill or pencil instead. “Maybe I shouldn’t go…” she pondered.

Starlight threw her head up, groaning. “Twilight!” to the flickering orange ceiling.

"Okay! Okay," her friend laughed. "I’m sorry. I know that I can be a little overwhelming as a mentor. But it's because I care, not only as the Princess of Friendship, but also your friend."

A warmth swelled within. Don't you see what I see, Twilight? Why you're worth this sacrifice? Starlight kept her mouth shut, wishing to avoid another pity party. Her belly gently writhed, fluttering warmly. Sighing, Starlight felt truly, finally content. “This was nice.” The fire crackled between them, its glow warming Starlight’s coat.

“Yeah?” Twilight’s voice was quiet.

“Since we’ve sat down, this conversation’s been exactly what I’d needed after these last couple weeks.”

“You’re telling me,” said Twilight, crossing her hind legs. “While our conversation has maintained a relevant link throughout, the rest of the last two weeks had never crossed my mind. Not once.”

“Same.”

“Not since you started distracting me,” she teased.

Starlight shook a hoof at her. “Curses! You’ve figured out my plan.”

“Hey, I said nothing about wanting to foil it.” Twilight grinned, readjusting the foreleg slung across her chest. “Anyway, I completely understand: no worries, no pain, nothing bad hanging overhead. I’d forgotten what it feels like.”

“To not be totally and utterly stressed?”

“Mm.” Twilight gave a nod. “My pure, stupid euphoria from the other day comes the closest, but I only remember how I felt at the end. But this has been… normal,” she decided, to Starlight’s delight. “And I’m oddly glad for that.”

Starlight allowed herself to fall, a plush embrace swallowing her back for the first time. “I’m glad we can still talk like everything’s normal. B-because it is.” A short sigh. Smooth, Starlight. Very smooth.

“Look,” she clarified. “I know things are gonna be different now. But the parts that matter are still the same—that’s what’s been nice this whole time.” Starlight swallowed, gathering her thoughts. “How we act, treat each other? I don't want that to change—our dynamic, I suppose you’d call it. Not because of this,” she concluded, gesturing to her forehead.

“It won’t,” Twilight said immediately. “I promise.”

A warmth swelled inside of Starlight.

It tickled her so badly she couldn’t stand to be far from her amazing friend for a second longer. Starlight pranced the short distance between them, saying, “That’s all I ask.” Twilight simply watched her, smiling broadly. Her lazy, grinning face rose as Starlight bent, the ponies encircling their forelegs around each other’s necks.

They embraced, tight, warm. Starlight felt a soft, rapid drumming upon her fluffy bosom, as well as within it.

"I can't make any promises for myself, though,” Twilight warned her teasingly. “It’s gonna take some time getting used to all this.”

“You’re telling me,” Starlight laughed, pulling away.

Twilight gave a pointed look, smiling wryly. “Thought it’ll be an adjusting period for some,” she sat up, “I’d nearly forgotten how strong you are. I am so proud of you, Starlight.”

Those words tickled a titter out of her. “Jeez, Twilight, stop! You’re embarrassing me.” Starlight brushed her mane. “It’s not that big of a deal…”

“Yes, it is! Come here!” Twilight demanded. Starlight whooped as solid ground fell away, and she was thrown into the alicorn’s wide, open-winged embrace.

Feathers and softness closed around her like a blanket, toasty all around. Strong with love. Starlight buried her muzzle into Twilight’s neck.

Oh, yeah.

She wouldn’t trade this if her life depended on it.

II.III - The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

View Online

In the blink of an eye, the world flashed magenta, and an invisible wind pulled at Starlight's mane like an incessant foal.

She stood alone in Twilight’s bedroom. Once upon a time, when she had a horn, Starlight could actually sense where she was teleporting. She could reach out with her magic, into the Aether of Equestria, and sense the princess's particularly potent magical footprint. She could tell by the magical composition of the land itself, and even gauge the distance, creating a sonar of sorts akin to a whale's. That was how Fluttershy described it when this ability was first developed, and the two excitedly shared it to the inevitable confusion and boredom of their friends.

Starlight recalled all the times Twilight evaporated to Ponyville after they'd spent far too long reading together in this very room, studying spells or flash cards for one of Starlight's upcoming friendship exams, back when she had such things. And Twilight's signature, faint, but special and mighty, like the footfall of some great dragon, would tug at Starlight's magic through her bedroom door, the wall facing town.

That was a thing of the past, now!

Starlight breathed in and exhaled, exhaled, exhaled. One day at a time.

She marched for the parted door, wasting no time or brainpower wondering what she'd have done had the thing been closed. The thoughts intruded anyway, hitting Starlight like a misfired spell as she emerged into the cavernous, light-filled corridor. Violet walls and dozens of emerald-green doors blurred, shifted, and melted together as though very eyes seemed to twirl within her skull like pinwheels.

Starlight sucked in air, held it, then let it out smoothly. Relax. You have nothing to worry about. This is fine. You're fine. You're fine... It was just nerves, clearly, for she began trotting to Spike’s room in spite of the tightness in her chest. It was in her head, nothing more.

“Oh, no, Starlight Glimmer is anxious again,” she muttered, for all to hear (if they put an ear to her muzzle that is).

Starlight grinned, because it was funny. This was all funny. She was funny. Starlight had always had a problem with overreacting; lingering trauma from Sunburst leaving, perhaps? That was years ago! She was only hornless, and lots of ponies were hornless. In a way, this was comparatively easier to deal with, especially being an adult this time. Starlight only needed to get used to it, to get past this first day. It's just the first day of the rest of my life. No biggie at all! Starlight's head throbbed like a microbe, the corridor wavering as though underwater.

Starlight quickened her pace a tad, hooves clacking sharply, constantly. Clapping in cavernous corridor. Was Twilight’s castle was always this noisy, or had Starlight gotten lazy, casually teleporting everywhere?

Of course I am, Starlight told herself an instant later. She was always avoiding the monotony of a walk. Or, 'had,' rather. Had avoided...

There was only one time she habitually walked, in the mornings after breakfast. “Gonna really miss the little luxuries, like reading and walking,” Starlight laughed. Hornless levitation was the invention of comic books, not reality, making this past time a thing of the past alongside teaching Trixie magic and having duels with... Twilight...

Starlight wracked her brain for a silver lining. Ah! she thought, perking up. A titter echoed down the corridor as Starlight remembered her second ever encounter with Maud Pie. She smiled wider, feeling fuzzy inside.

Maud wasn’t the only pony who’d the misfortune of being crashed into. She was, however, the only instance where such an encounter ended in friendship. Now, nopony will have to deal with my clumsiness again! I’m gonna have to watch where I’m going from now on.

She could meet potential friends now that she couldn’t leave the castle with her nose still in a book. Another pro to losing her horn! Turning her head left and right was easier now, too.That chipped stump on her forehead made her lighter, quicker even. It felt different, akin to showing off a new manestyle. Not bad, just weird. Different from the usual.

But that’s to be expected, she told herself. I’ll just get used to that, too. Right up there with having to walk everywhere. That was going to get old, fast.

Her tummy turned at the thought, but that only made her smile harder in defiance. She'd no reason to let it fall, everything was peachy! So what if she had to walk everywhere? Nothing had changed between her and Twilight, and that’s what mattered. Falling into a comfortable conversation was easy once they got past the speed bump of what happened.

In fact, this entire, horrible experience brought them closer together! It was very likely. After all, Starlight proved to Twilight what she was willing to give up to save her. How did the Princess of Friendship regard this selfless act? She’s probably planning some party with Pinkie Pie right now, Starlight thought, flattered by the notion. Although pomp and praise were at the very bottom of her wish list right now. Especially now, being a veritable earth pony foal in terms of day to day living.

She only did what a good friend would do. Twilight knew that. She was totally flattered by it, so much so that she was flustered by the revelation. Twilight was such a great friend, and this was definitely worth it. Even the minor embarrassment that was soon to come! It was but another high against this one, neutered low jutting out her forehead like a tumor.

Well, that and the walls. They were a little too close. Almost squeezing.

Ridiculous, Starlight thought with a shake of the head. It was just in her head. A side effect of losing her horn, it seemed. For whatever reason things just felt... plain. Dull, like stone instead of crystal.

She pushed these inconveniences away. I still can’t believe everything’s back to normal, Starlight thought. The Ladies were good on their word. They could've been kinder about it, though! That beastly paw filled her vision in the blink of an eye, vestiges prodding her forehead at once, a fraction of the horrible agony she was spared from recalling with clarity. It was just part of the deal, part of the deal, part of the deal. Starlight was done with them, they didn't have to think of one another again. She ought to get over it already .

Starlight massaged her chest, hobbling on three legs. The pain was there but not in her muscles, knotted up like so much yarn. It was deeper, untouchable, and real. It tugged her heart, as if a pony were right in front of her crying out for help, for attention or somepony to care.

She wanted to chase it. More than anything, Starlight wanted to follow it, to follow the magical breadcrumbs it had left behind and blink over to its owner. But these were just ghosts of recall, of what the magic of the world felt like so long ago. She hardly even noticed the feeling, it became natural. Its absence was as obvious as the pain upon her forehead.

She giggled at the absurdity of it all. It was so fascinating, and she paced even faster. Whipping a left, the ceiling up ahead gradually slanted lower, giving way to crystal columns with strings of various glowing gemstones. Wide, violet doors whose outlines were as pink as her coat flanked either side.

Oh, crud. This’ll be fun. Starlight’s eyes bounced to and fro, trying to spot the difference which set apart Spike’s. She couldn’t possibly miss it. No other door had a flame-shaped amethyst hanging on the front.

Starlight was beaten over the head with nostalgia, and she saw stars, hobbled in her step. She hadn’t walked this path in years, not since her first weeks living here. Trying to commit the place to memory lasted all of fourteen days before their visage could be pulled from memory. Since then, she'd always zapped herself to the important rooms: her’s, Twilight’s, Spike’s, the bathroom, dining room, library, kitchen. Laundry.

Starlight had a lot of good times in this place. Was there any who'd doubt her dedication to sustaining them after today? No one in their right mind—

Every fiber in her being locked, froze, then burst into motion. Starlight very nearly slipped and didn't care in the slightest, grinning at the salvation that'd casually passed her by.

Starlight grinned harder as she propped herself upon the wide, purple door adorned with a flame-shaped amethyst set in gold.

Its simple tack and ribbon suspension was simple, so unlike the gem itself: a violet far deeper than its owner’s hide, or even Twilight’s eye color. It was practically black within dim lighting. Nostalgia dizzied Starlight, remembering the awe in Spike’s face as he beheld his birthday gift. Maud was overjoyed with his reaction, though Starlight found his resistance to eating it far more impressive. Now, using it as a marker, she was thankful for both Spike’s resilience as well as Maud’s omniscient Pie-hindsight.

Starlight rapped her hooves against the door, like a foal. She dropped to her hooves and waited, fighting back a blush. A second later, the door parted a crack before swinging open wide enough for the small dragon to step through.

“St-Starlight?”

She swept her foreleg out. “Back to the land of the living.” Her heart skipped a beat before finishing.

Spike merely wrung his claws together, face contorted with something between fear and shock. No, speechlessness. Regret, maybe? Starlight felt stupid. Of course he wasn’t expecting her. Of course he wasn’t expecting Starlight, the friend who maimed herself for his caretaker, to open with the cheesiest one-liner in Equestrian history.

Teleporting sounded heavenly right about now.

Spike blinked with his big, sad eyes. “Yeah. Same boat.” He wrung his claws even fiercer than before. “I-I dunno where to start either.” Made sense—she remembered how entangled Spike was in his head, and now Twilight’s health proved how narrow-minded he was.

Thanks would be some kind of a start, if he wasn't so shaken by all this. “How about you pick one, and we’ll roll from there?”

Spike’s eyes widened, shimmering. She couldn’t even imagine what he must be feeling right now. “I still can’t decide,” he confessed. “I don’t know, Starlight, I just don’t. This is all just so…” Spike gazed sadly at the space beside her, rolling his claw before deciding on, “So much.”

“Can’t argue with that!” Starlight remembered what that was like, dreaming for years of the first thing she was going to say to her best friend after reuniting. Everything, from tearful to angry to tearfully, crazily angry encircled her mind until the day she accepted that it wasn’t going to happen.

And when the opportunity was hoofed to her on a silver platter?

‘It's... It's me, Starlight. We used to be friends?’

Reality was always so boringly normal.

“Starlight...” Spike’s voice was faint; his gaze shifted upon her, twitching high and low like there was something wrong with her. “I'm sorry I didn’t ask this yet, but how are you f—?’”

“Great!” Spike flinched. Why was it so hot all of a sudden? Oof, it was scorching in here! “Uh, sorry,” she tittered, fanning herself. “Sorry, I’m just…” Starlight hesitated, finishing, wondering how you’re feeling, Mr. Know-It-All, but that felt incredibly rude in light of their last encounter. “I've no reason not to feel great, right now. You know?”

Blinking audibly, Spike muttered, “‘Great.’ Right…" He sounded so distant, as though his mind were someplace else. Their argument? “Those aren’t the first words I’d have thought to hear from your mouth.” He chuckled warily.

Was he expecting Starlight to throw herself upon him, sobbing into his shoulder about her horn? “Out of curiosity,” she chuckled, “what was your first guess?”

“Urgh, I don’t know, Starlight,” Spike sighed, shaking his head. “I make dumb jokes when my heart is racing… Also I talk a lot,” he gasped, his claw fanning quite the exasperated face. “Hoo! Is it just me, or is it getting toasty in here?”

Starlight gazed about, still feeling heat lingering on her cheeks. She harrumphed playfully. “Couldn’t really tell ya. Sorry.”

Spike was anxious meeting her now, which had to have meant that Starlight had done it. She’d proved Spike wrong, and he knew it. The euphoria of being right was intoxicating, proving to others how right she’d been, how silly they were for dismissing Starlight Glimmer. She felt like laughing, but something deeper, more humble, pinned it. It was intoxicating, however. Would Starlight ever get tired of being right?

The look on Spike’s face proved this would be the first instance of such, or close enough to it, as the reality finally pricked her in the forehead: he’d given up on his guardian—his quintessential mother, for Celestia’s sake—and Starlight proved his folly.

He was just a child.

“Hey." Starlight stepped closer, touched his shoulder. “Is something wrong?” She winced abruptly, thinking, Stupid! “I mean, of course there’s something wrong. For you, I mean!” Because I’m fine, of course. “I get it, I do. Everything's just... different now. You know? I mean,” she paused, exhaled sharply, “H'okay, let’s start over. Spike, how are you?” Starlight held her hoof out like they were starting over their entire friendship.

She glanced at it, as did Spike, before pulling back.

“It’s…” Spike’s scaly eyelids squeezed tight, then sprung open. “It’s fine. Yeah.” He cupped the side of his big, round head, staring at her kneecaps. “Hey, uh, you wanna come in?”

A weird change of topic, but Starlight was thankful that she could stop standing. “Yes, please!” As Spike opened the door wide and held it, she added, “You’re ungrounded, by the way.”

Spike threw his head back. “Ugh, finally! This was so pointless.” A couple steps late her froze, making Starlight turn her head, body, and finally pausing in the middle of his room, watching his scrunched face loosen all at once. “Wait, so you’re telling me she’s seen you?”

His slackjaw beckoned a burning feeling of self-consciousness. Starlight couldn't have looked that ugly, could she? "Don't sound so disgusted, kiddo. Think you'll ever get Rarity with that performance?”

“Starlight, I’m being serious here.” As if! Spike was a chronic jokester, always looking for a chance to jab somepony like Rainbow and Pinkie Pie and, well, herself. It wasn't very much appreciated this time around! He was going too far. She sensed the buildup up to a punchline about her horn, it'd come any second now. Spike was just a kid, though. It was fine. Starlight could take a joke, besides, because this wasn't that big of a deal! “Starlight? Are you…” He stepped closer, brows knitted. “Are you about to cry?”

Yes. No? It was hot in here for pony's sake! Dragons loved a humid environment. “Um, no? Maybe if ya kept a window open it wouldn't be all stuffy in here."

"R-right. Sure." And Spike actually jogged past to do so. Starlight dashed a hoof across her eyes, just to be sure, as something grumbled behind her, preceding a pleasant nippiness and cricket songs to fill the room.

A brief, muffled hiss cut in, like how a bowling ball dropped in sand might sound. “Starlight.” She turned, where the open window was vacant, and scanned the room, quickly finding Spike's head and the soles of his feet peeking from a mountain of beanbag chairs in the corner. “You wanna sit?” he asked, clutching at a big pink one beside him. “There’s a lot to talk about on both our ends." He pushed himself up, revealing a smile Starlight could only describe as sheepish. "Don't you think?”

Their last conversation ended on anything but good terms, with Starlight acting downright crazy. Agreement bubbled up her throat.

But his smile gagged her, resembling something odd. It wasn't angry, but sad. Understanding, as if he knew something Starlight didn't.

“Nah, I’m good, Spike. Really." It came out on the spot, like it was a muscle reflex. But it wasn't; Spike thought she was all broken up about the horn thing. What a kind friend, an amazing one. Even with the cruel things she'd spat in his eyes, he was still setting aside time for her as if Starlight never acted like a haughty little brat.

She blinked, banishing the thoughts decaying in her chest. Spike was sitting on the edge, now looking concerned. "Thanks," said Starlight, "but I wasn’t gonna stay long. I..." Starlight drawled, wracking her brain a moment, "...I’ve been out for a bit and whatnot. You know, comas. What can ya do? Got a lot to catch up on!”

Spike shifted in his seat. “Uh, you do?”

Starlight restrained her temper. Here comes the snark. “Well, why wouldn’t I? You think no work's piled up in the time I was out?"

"You mean ignoring the fact that you've had no homework and can't do..." Spike shrugged, elbowing Starlight in the chest from across the room. “Well, spells and stuff anymore, why would you?"

'Spells and stuff.'

He said it like it was nothing, because it was. It wasn't anything important, just an inconvenience. It didn't matter anymore. Starlight was already an expert at most forms of magic! She was going to run out of things to learn anyhow. Not a huge loss, not at all!

"Uh-huh," muttered Spike. "Come on, Starlight. This is a weak excuse, even for you. I know Twilight, besides; there’s no way she’d give you an errand after all this." His arms folded oh so knowingly.

Starlight bristled. Somedragon clearly got a little stir crazy from being cooped up in his cave.

She floated forth. “Well,” began Starlight sweetly, “I’ll have you know that if there was something for me to do, she’d have me do it, because I am such a hard worker and Twilight knows it. I practically had to beg before she took me seriously! Look, I appreciate your concern, Spike. I really, really do. But Twilight just finished singing praises for how strong I am. We both know a bit of work is nothing. And you still think my life is some precious thing compared to Twilight's?” Starlight snorted. "That's some nerve!"

“Uh, I think you’re missing her point—” Spike froze and shook his head. “Nevermind,” he grumbled. “I just remembered something else.” Spike staggered up and waddled over, claws balled-up. “You wanna know what?”

He was just as much a know-it-all as he was before that stupid party. It’s no wonder they got along so quickly. “You’re gonna tell me regardless of my answer, so…”

Spike said nothing as he continued marching. He marched until he could extend a claw into her breast, poking, but not piercing her. And never breaking eye-contact. Starlight did, though, many times. She never saw him like this. It was so different from how he usually acted it was actually kind of scary. And if he decided to slap her she couldn't exactly defend herself, so...

“I, know, you, Starlight.” He enunciated every word with sadness, and an extra prod to the chest. Then he gripped her foreleg gently, warmly. “I know you, and so does Twilight. So please, don't act like this is nothing. It isn't right. I can tell you’re covering it up. I promise you, there's nothing you need to be afraid—”

“Oh, please!” Starlight whirled away. “You weren’t there, Spike. You didn’t hear our conversation! If you were, you'd know that it was normal. Everything's finally back to normal! Twilight acted like it, so that means—” Starlight didn’t catch herself soon enough. That sounded bad, came out wrong.

“Uh-huh,” Spike mumbled. “That’s Twilight for ya. Always trying to make her friends comfortable.”

“But it’s true!” Starlight cried at him. “What I said! About it being normal, I mean. The two of us… we’re fine.” She dropped her hoof after realizing it had, at some point, clapped upon her breast.

Spike gave the most pitying gaze, answering with silence. He wouldn’t say anything. He couldn't! Because there was no defense against this! He had no argument. None.

“You’re making this a problem. I hope you know that."

But Spike said nothing. Those sappy, sad eyes became too annoying and Starlight wrenched away. “Well what about you, Spike? Huh?" She jammed their snouts together, the little guy standing admirably firm. "You say I’m hurting inside, yet I’ve yet to hear a single ‘thank you' come outta your mouth. You’re a great friend, you know that?”

Finally, he backed off and looked hurt himself. "Gosh, ‘m… I’m sorry, Starlight. I never had… I mean, of course I'm thankful.” His eyes shone with so much, so much words couldn't sufficiently encompass. And Starlight felt every one, her chest swelling with something as this meeting continued, more and more till it felt ripe to burst. This was what she wanted, right? “When Celestia gathered us,” he croaked, “cried to us, told us that Twilight wasn’t gonna get better I... I didn't know what to do but wail. Don't you remember?”

"I'll never forget it." She’d never heard a sadder sound than that of a child losing his mother, sister, and best friend.

Spike kept his gaze pinned to her hooves. “I was so used to planning ahead for Twilight, I mean, I’d lived my whole life with her close by, so the idea of her being g-gone, it just... I...”

Starlight had seen statues move more than he did now, until Spike palmed the wetness from his eyes. Starlight felt what he must be feeling, lost in the same memory, in the Map Room, with air heavier than stone and the clamor of a genuine funeral. Even Starlight, in that moment, believed her best friend had already left them.

“I couldn’t bring myself to hope, not like you,” Spike mumbled, his words coming faster. “Then, the morning after her Last Party, I couldn’t believe it when I saw it. It had to’ve been a dream: Twilight was better, and I realized it was because of you, Starlight!” He trembled, the body’s way of pleading for somepony to hold it close—a plea she answered without any fear. “And before I thought that,” he wept, soaking her coat, “all I’d thought, was that you were a dumb jerk f-for ditching Twilight’s th-hing when, w-when..." And he latched around Starlight’s neck, holding her closer. An unstoppable sob burst from her chest, past her lips. She nearly lost Twilight, they all almost lost their friend. The pony who helped so many lives. She was saved, and it only cost a single horn.

“You didn’t listen!” Spike slapped her chest. And again, like a pawing kitten. “You didn’t listen to me, Starlight! Ya went off by yourself and I ha-had no idea if you were right or wrong and I was afraid that I was never gonna see you again...”

“Oh, Spike—”

“I thought of all the things I was gonna say to you, when you, you… f-failed! But then Twilight... got better,” Spike whispered, clutching clumps of her coat. "Then, all I could think about all day was the mood when we got home. I still could. Only think about that, you know. Everything was all heavy, like there was a thunderstorm coming along... I thought it was my nerves getting to me. Then I heard your scream from the lobby.”

Starlight's gut sank. To hear your friend shriek in pain, must have been worse than how it really felt. “Yeah, about that…”

“I knew what it was,” he presumed. Starlight thought it wasn't worth correcting him. “Before seeing it for myself, I knew the reason for why you screamed. All day I’d wondered how you did it. But when I heard you, it only made sense.”

It felt like trying to pass a bowling ball through the horn.

“So... so, uh, how d’you feel about it?” Spike didn’t even sound angry; why was her belly doing somersaults? “Now that you see me, that it’s all okay?”

He took a breath, but said nothing for several seconds. "I still don’t know,” he admitted, and Starlight loosed a breath she'd been holding for some reason. As if she cared, still did, her heart seizing every beat as though something tried to grasp it. Like she was, trying to control her wild feelings. “Is conflicted an emotion?” he suddenly asked, shifting to his other cheek. Could Spike hear the drumbeat beneath her coat? "I can't begin to tell you how thankful I am, but..."

"But," Starlight droned, "...what?"

Spike slapped her chest in pushing away, sending them both staggering back a step and regarding one another like they were crazy. “Are you actually serious?" Spike cried, shocked. "Y-you gave up your…" He smacked a claw above his mouth, eyes wild with terror.

Cute; like a swear word now. Actually, it was annoying. “My horn?”

"Yes!" Spike waved his claws in the air. “And it was so important to you! And you... just... don't have it anymore."

Starlight waited for more. But Spike left her with a simple stating of the fact. “Uh, yeah. Your point?”

He twiddled his claws. "Doesn't that, I mean... it hurts, doesn't it?"

Only when she thought about it did a headache blossom across her forehead. "Sort of. But I'll deal with it."

Spike just stared. Then he barked a laugh. “Wow,” he sighed, “you’re really not thinking about it, are you?”

Starlight scowled. “Now that's a rude thing to say. It's the only thing on my mind! Just because I'm not crying doesn't mean I don't care at all”

“Okay. Fine." Spike folded his arms. "Now've you given any thought for how Twilight might feel about all this?”

Starlight straightened herself. “I don’t need to, Spike, because I know already.”

“Oh." Spike nodded in faux-understanding. “I see. So, are ya going off how she actually feels, or what she told you?”

“Get real, kid! I’ve got better things to do than listen to this." It was funny, the notion of Twilight being so insensitive to Starlight's feeling in this scenario. "You think Twilight would lie about something like this? Please!" she laughed, because it was just that ridiculous. "She wouldn’t lie to her friends, besides. What kind of Princess of Friendship would do something like that?" With that, Starlight turned and made for the door.

“Well, not explicitly to her friends, but sometimes she'd…” Spike’s words petered out, possibly in realization that he was speaking to her tail-end. “Oh my gosh, Starlight, you can’t be serious!” His followed after her, rambling at her back like a persistent conscience. “No, you know what? I’m not mincing words here: you should know better, Starlight.”

“About what?”

“About Twilight!” Spike suddenly appeared in her path, between herself and escape. “You know how much she cares about her friends, about you no less. Of course she'd spare your feelings for now! This is assuming she actually got a full night's sleep!"

A 'full night's...' Starlight shoved the notion out of mind. She couldn't remember whether or not Twilight looked tired in the first place. Spike was just being crazy.

"You don't seriously believe she’s fine with all this, do you?”

“S-so, what?” Her voice shook… with… with anger. Not at all fear. Starlight furrowed her brows to prove it. “What's your point? You’re saying I should’ve just sat here like you? Let her die? Live the rest of my life while the one who saved it in the first place was sleeping under five feet of dirt and worms?!”

“No, Starlight!” Spike erupted. “That’s not at all what I’m saying, just listen to me!”

“Thanks, but no thanks. If I listened to you last time, Twilight wouldn’t be here with us. it was her or my horn, as simple as that. Whether she likes it or not, I. Don't. Care! And neither should anypony else!”

Spike’s gaze trembled, quivering toward her forehead before harshly avoiding it. She felt a sting deep down in her chest, prodding every heartbeat. Stabbing it.

"Gosh," Starlight exhaled. "I'm sorry, okay?" He really didn’t deserve her wrath. Spike’s only crime here was being a concerned friend. “Just, look, I know what I’m doing. Please, Spike, trust me,” she urged him. “I promise you that everything is fine.”

“But Twilight—”

“Will realize that once I prove it. Give me… a week or so! You’ll see.” Spike looked off, his arms crossing over his chest in a self-hug.

“I know a freakout when it’s coming," he mumbled, gazing aside.

“But one isn’t coming, Spike,” said Starlight, bopping him on the nose. “I won’t let it. Know why? ...Well do ya?" He finally shook his head, albeit hesitantly. “Because there isn’t a reason for one. There’s literally nothing for Twilight to freak out over. We’re gonna make sure of that.”

“Wait, 'we' are?”

Starlight giggled. It was easy to forget that Spike was still a child. “Of course. I mean, I know I’ll play my part, but what about you?”

Spike crossed his arms. “What can I do? Pretend that you're okay, like how you are?”

She clapped a hoof across her eyes. "No! Just don’t say anything that’ll make Twilight freak out. Can you do that much?”

He scratched the side of his head. “So lie, basically.”

“For Celestia’s sake, I’m not telling you to lie,” Starlight groaned. “There isn’t anything to lie about, besides! Just don’t tell her things that’ll freak her out, okay? Baseless accusations like you've been slinging my way this whole time, that sort of thing. Think you can do that?”

Spike struck a pose, thinking. “Ah, okay. So when she asks, which she definitely will, for my opinion, I'll just say, ‘Everything’s fine,’ like you are."

It took all her being not to glare. “Look,” she muttered slowly. “I figured that it's gonna be a struggle, adjusting to this magicless lifestyle, right?”

“Um, sure."

“So when I fail, promise not to go pouncing on that as proof that I’m not alright, alright?”

“Starlight—”

“Promise?” He needed to be on board with this, completely.

“Yes, I promise! But Starlight, I think there’s a slight chance you may be missing my point.”

She knew exactly what he was talking about. Through his careful wording, his "point" was still on the fact that Starlight must be lying to him about her feelings toward all this.

"it’s just…” He gazed left and right, folding his claws, then met her again. “Could you do this one thing for me?”

Starlight narrowed her eyes. "Depends."

"Could you describe to me how you really feel about all this?"

His implications felt like, no, they reminded her of the cold weight in her stomach. He... He was still on this! As far as Starlight was concerned, this conversation had ended.

"This is going in circles,” she announced. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Starlight grabbed Spike by the shoulders. "My stomach feels like it’s trying to eat itself. This pony needs a sandwich!”

And she flung him aside.

Starlight’s gut followed the little dragon in a tall, narrow arc before slamming down with an “Oof!”

“Sorry! Forgot I can't do magic anymore!” Starlight grinned, burning, then dropped her smile, scorching now. Did she seriously just throw him out of the way? “That would’ve been a lot more graceful if I still had my horn," she said, laughing it off. "You okay? Yeah, you are," she said as he pushed himself up. He'd taken bigger falls in the past, this was nothing. He was already on his feet as Starlight found herself face to face with a brass doorknob.

Oh.

“Um…” How do earth ponies do this?

“I got it." A purple claw rose to clutch the knob.

“Thanks.” Starlight grinned sheepishly as she trotted past. She was definitely glowing, and shot ahead ahead to cover it. I could’ve gotten it myself.

When Starlight wasn’t questioning the existence of a crystal castle that’d sprouted from the ground, magical theories encircled her mind as she popped in and out to grab a snack. Other times, she would ponder the day's potential while making lunch, of all the research to be done. Sometimes she would think of nothing at all, but 'Eat, bed, sleep,' while scrounging for food in the middle of the night.

So, she ate a lot! Big deal! Twilight and Spike had enough food in this place to feed Canterlot for a month and then some. A periodic snacktime wasn't going to ruin her, and flying kites with Maud proved she didn't laze about the castle all day.

Very rarely, when scrounging for a midnight snack, Starlight would encounter a grouchy, baggy-eyed dragon leaving the kitchen with a bowl of cereal. The two would grunt in acknowledgement, as Starlight believed words were for fully-functioning and wide-awake brains, and she liked to think Spike felt the same.

One time, Starlight heard munching from behind the kitchen door. As she magically pushed it open, she expected to find her dragon friend in the midst of a pantry raid. Starlight planned on joining him for the reaping until discovering who it really was: the head of Princess Twilight Sparkle shot up like a spooked bird upon hearing the kitchen door squeal open. Her cheeks were bulging, dusted with the remnants of a cookie platter Pinkie Pie had left from Starlight's graduation party.

She was hoping to have some of those.

And Twilight had eaten them all, except for one.

She clenched the chocolate chip desert so tightly with her magic, it had crumbled to dust amidst the five minutes their eyes were locked.

“Please don't tell anypony," she might have said, though it was hard to get out between the whir of a teleportation spell firing up and half a platter of cookies in her mouth.

Starlight had blinked, then once more before popping back to bed, snackless. The mental image of Twilight scarfing down treats in secret was so real it left her totally content.

All of these memories surged forth as one, bucking Starlight in the head like they were Applejack in spirit, every one flashing before her eyes. The emotion in each was so fleeting and various that Starlight just felt tight in the chest. It was so much, too much. But she couldn't teleport to the kitchen ever again, despite how clearly she envisioned it.

To make matters worse, Spike had tagged along, hungry as well. She didn’t know why he bothered—Spike had a hoard of gems in his room, and the kitchen door swung freely. It's not like she needed anypony there to twist a knob for her.

Though his company was more than welcome. Almost on the spot they’d slipped into their typical banter, as if everything was normal—which it totally was. Their back and forth pertained to Spike and what he’d done to endure his grounding sentence (newspaper via telepathic waves, apparently—starring his toys and stuffed animals). Starlight was impressed with how much material he'd squeezed out of that. The little guy could be really creative when the opportunity presented itself.

Starlight vied for his gift. She could—used to—fuse complex spells like they were little more than paint, and herself the artist. Now she was a painter screaming inside for at least one stupid jar to open without making a huge, stupid mess.

"Starlight, it's not a big deal! Just let me—!”

She hoarded the mayonnaise away from Spike's advancing mustard-stained claw. "How many times do I gotta tell you?" She hooked a foreleg around it the massive jar. "Allow... me... to get. It!" Her hoof slipped and slid but the lid never budged, not even a little.

Starlight scrambled on three hooves to the counter, crossing a puddle of mustard, its spicy tang burning in her snout. "Wait, I got this." Was that her fourth time saying this, or the third? I can do this. Starlight clacked the big jar between the counter and her breast. I can do this without magic. Watch me, Spike! I'm not so helpless and you didn't need to come help me in the first place!

Mustard and pickle juice combined to sting her sinus with overwhelmingly sour air. It was stomach-turning. Starlight's brow beaded with sweat against her twisting, her teeth gritting.

Applejack could do this, and Pinkie Pie—Now that's not fair. There were a lot of things she shouldn’t do that she just could.

"Starlight..."

She hugged it tighter. Maybe if she bit down and then twisted…

Yeah! That’s it! Starlight felt it start to give. See? If two-thirds of Equestria can do this without magic, then so can—

Her forelegs were free and squeezing her in a bear-hug. Glass singing in a twinkling, splitting cry rang in her ears, echoed over and over in her memory.

Upon her hind legs, hugging the air, Starlight found herself unmovable. Rigid as a statue. This was a nightmare, it had to have been. She couldn't make a sandwich, and Luna would be trotting in any second now.

But a frigid stickiness hugging her hind hooves was real. So was the thick, creamy goop, rich with an eggy musk, punching her in the senses over and over, prickling them all. Irritating them. Her sight especially, blurring, fogging, making a mess of everything in hooves' reach.

You can’t make a sandwich, sneered her own thoughts.

Two pairs of toast were on a plate in front of her, a soggy slice of each buried underneath some mustard-encased pickles. Her eyes fell, following their disgusting, crusty trail down the teal-colored counter.

Starlight was still hugging herself. She peeled her forelegs away, their fur matted in a sticky, sickly sheen of yellowed pickle juice. This was Starlight Glimmer, now? She actually tried to pass this off as “just fine?”

Her front plummeted with the heaviness in her breast, splattering grossly into the mayonnaise, splattering against her knees.

What’ve I done? It was a stupid rhetorical. Starlight knew exactly what she’d done, and Spike did too.

“You know,” chirped Starlight, because she couldn't sound upset as her hornless accomplishments festered on the counter, “once, I made ten sandwiches at once. I could've done that and had this mess cleaned up in a snap.”

She jumped out of her skin as something cold clasped her on the knee. “Starlight,” Spike's voice floated up, “it’ll get better. It has to.”

Starlight crammed the bad feelings down. "Welp, let's get cleaning!"

“Uh—”

“It’s time this pony learned to do things the traditional way!” She brought her hoof down, definitively splattering mayo all about, even to her chin, a sudden, tiny chill pricking her there. She was impossible now. Absolutely helpless. “Oops.”

Starlight looked over, her heart dropping as Spike scraped his face clean of a huge mound. “Hm.” He gave his mayo-sheathed forearm an experimental sniff, before licking it clean with a lap of his noodle-like tongue. “Not bad!” he said thickly, smacking his lips. He winced upon looking to her. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked. "This's not a big deal, Starlight."

“Um, did, did I say something?" Her heart raced. Harmony only knew how he was feeling about all this. He was doing her a kindness by not calling her useless. "Sorry, forget that. Sorry, again.”

Spike shrugged. “It’s just a mess.”

That I made. Starlight smiled out of politeness. “How about you throw a rag my way and let’s get this done.”

“Oh, this is nothing.” Spike waved her off. “I’ve waited days for the chance to make myself useful again. You’ve done plenty, Starlight.” Those words hit her like a knife to the chest probably did. “Here, let me just...”

Footsteps slapped behind her, fading, silencing as his words did.

The silence filled with Spike's voice and Twilight’s, berating Starlight for her avoidable mistakes:

‘Instead of stepping out of your tunneled mindset,’ said Twilight—Spike adding, ‘And listening to me!’—‘Then you wouldn’t have went and made a huge mess for him to clean up!’

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—

‘It doesn’t matter! Sorry's and good intentions aren’t going to replace three perfectly good condiments, Starlight! You ruined them! You ruined them because you never stop and think before you act!’

Starlight gasped, choked, and coughed all at once. I need to help. Immediately her heart lurched—the dragon’s chilly touch was gone. “Spike?” She looked left, right, then past her unkempt tail to find him with a mop and bucket.

He wore a smile, plunging his tool in what sounded like water. “I guess sandwiches are off the menu.”

“Yeah.”

Spike suddenly met her eyes, his smile promptly whisked away. Yet another one of her screw-ups: killing the mood. “Don’t let this get you down, okay?”

Easy for you to say. How easy would it be if you suddenly couldn’t write or hold things or-or—

She was being too silent. “Sure,” Starlight chirped. No need to worry Spike further.

Across the battlefield of jumbo pickles, glass, and thick pools of yellow and white gradually meeting into one, Spike proceeded to mop up the mustard. His smile was back. “You know,” he began, a humored edge to his voice, “with Twilight out, there’s nopony stopping us from having cereal.”

Cereal instead of sandwiches? Why not substitute grass for gold while we’re at it? No way was Spike happy about this—he was talking up these nice sandwiches on their way to the kitchen. They debated what was going to be on them, the bread, how it was prepared. They were to share a pot of calming chamomile, and do a puzzle as they ate, since Twilight wasn’t around to force them into the dining hall…

Starlight ruined all of that. Maybe Spike was just acting all nice but really he was thinking about how fake she was being, which she wasn't, but he didn't know that!

Maybe Starlight was just overthinking it, being a horrible, presumptuous friend.

“Come on, Starlight, breakfast for dinner!” Spike dragged the mop to and fro, halfway through the mustard. Its spicy tang bombarded Starlight’s snout, stinging it. “It doesn’t even need to be cereal! I could do waffles, prench toast; this is what we’ve been waiting for! When’s the next time Twilight’ll leave us home for the ni—?”

He’d stopped. Starlight lifted her gaze, only to find him gazing, pitying her.

“Does your horn hurt?” he asked, worried by whatever it was he saw.

Starlight shrugged. “Nah, it mostly just itch—” A thought struck her. “I mean, yeah. It’s bothering me. Not gonna lie, it’s kinda ruining my appetite! Now I’m just not hungry anymore, Spike.”

"But… you haven't eaten in three days! Starlight!" he called as she galloped out the kitchen. He kept yelling something at her from down the hall.

Starlight breathed heavily as she smiled back, the dragon becoming smaller and smaller. "To be honest, I'm just exhausted!” she yelled aloud. “Think I'll just hibernate for another three days,” Starlight gasped, “you know?!"

Spike’s calls were just noise, a warble chasing her down the long, empty hallway. Whatever he said, Starlight mustered the energy needed to smile over her shoulder before rounding a corner. Spike was too far to have been read. Part of her wished she parted on lighter terms, like a joke. A better one, not like the dumb “hibernate” bit.

I’d offer to help clean up, Starlight told herself, but I'd probably bust a pipe and flood the whole castle again.

Maybe it was a good thing she lost her horn.

If she hadn’t, Starlight would’ve acted without thinking, spoken without thinking.

She’d have resorted to self-deprecating humor, just like now.

That would definitely worry Spike. Then he'd incorrectly inform Twilight that she was faking it.

And then all of Starlight’s friends would gather and assure her that she’s great, awesome, and will figure it out eventually because she was such a strong, accomplished mare.

It was all so unnecessary.

Starlight wasn't that great, and there was no need to waste everypony’s time by having them spout a couple platitudes.

But they were her friends, and they were unfortunately amazing.

Therefore, Starlight couldn’t give them any reason to worry about her. She just needed to play it cool.

Starlight took a deep, steady breath as she confronted her opponent.

Before her loomed a door, distinctively sky-blue against the ocean of smooth crystal enclosing it. The brass door handle glared back, silent and implacable.

She cast a glance down the hall, first one way, and then the other. Both empty. Thank. Goodness. It would be utterly mortifying if Spike or Twilight found strong and talented Starlight Glimmer losing against her first door.

Not that she would, of course—most ponies opened doors with their mouths. It looked easy as cake. Stiff as she searched her memory, Starlight couldn’t recall a time before developing her own sense of magic where she’d done such a thing.

Still, it was never too late to learn something new!

Something raced deep within, bucking wildly against her ribcage. Without stopping to think or hesitate another second, Starlight threw herself upon the door handle, grabbing it with both forehooves.

“Aha!” she cheered, as if that were the hard part. Starlight’s rush of jubilation faded quickly as she squeezed the handle tight. Pressure welling beneath her fetlocks, confidence eased a wary smile as she stepped back, then once more.

She nearly fell on her backside when it slipped from her fumbling grasp.

Starlight huffed. “Alright, not bad for a first attempt,” she muttered. “Now let’s succeed this time.”

She propped herself on the door, gripping the handle. I just need to pull it. Starlight exhaled, long and deeply. That’s how earth ponies and pegasi do it. This should be brainless.

It had to be brainless.

But Starlight lost her hold again, this time flinging herself to the ground. Burning and growling, she rolled to her hooves and grabbed the door handle once more. Just as she was ready to try pulling it, Starlight perked up with an idea, and dropped a hoof to the floor.

Her other, still on the handle, she angled so the underside of her condiment-smeared hoof faced her. With a grunt, Starlight pressed it through the handle, to absolutely no avail. She mewled softly; why did Harmony-or-whatever design this handle to be just small enough to stop anypony’s hoof from looping through? Starlight’s brow furrowed with concentration as she gave a careful pull. Her hoof slipped off, gently slapping her in the chest.

“Come on!” Starlight snapped, striking the door. Sighing, she looked to the ceiling, glowering at her limp, tousled forelock.

If only there was a spell to phase through—

Starlight stopped herself, surprised and disappointed in herself.

Sheesh, she thought, did I really rely on magic that much?

Those days were long behind her, now. It made her nostalgic, but Starlight knew better than most that dwelling on the past meant missing the present.

And it was high time she was on everypony else’s level, besides.

Starlight stared down at the shiny, golden handle. It was such a silly thing. How many ponies ever struggled with opening a door? Starlight shook her head; it was only hard because she’d made it that way. The thought of all those germs writhing upon its metal, the number of ponies who’d indirectly kissed over the centuries…

A shiver tore through her; Starlight was suddenly reminded of why Our Town’s blueprint demanded latchless doors.

Maybe… Starlight pressed a hoof to her chin, her eyes widening. Maybe I can still do something small. Just a small pull, nothing too crazy! After all, Tempest Shadow could still fire concussive blasts (and quite the amazing fireworks display, to boot).

So, why should somepony as powerful as Starlight be totally powerless?

She took a wide stance at the door handle. Taking a breath, Starlight pictured it being pulled, lifting away from the door. Her breast squirmed. Starlight nearly gasped with delight at the familiar tingling within.

Magic, she mouthed, her body quivering. Starlight focused every fiber of her being on the twinge of power deep down inside her. It was there. Magic was still within her and it was there, just barely out of reach!

After five seconds had passed, Starlight realized she was only making herself look ridiculous. Gritting her teeth, Starlight pictured it twice as hard, with extra clarity. The power didn’t budge, neither lessening nor growing. It was like an ember, teasing warmth and magic but in no danger of becoming more.

But Starlight knew she was powerful. She could rewrite spells and combine two completely unrelated ones into something new. Her cutie mark represented magic, and she’d honed hers with an alicorn princess. She had taught her best friend how to truly become great and powerful. A doorknob was foal’s play.

Without warning, the power suddenly surged through her. It ravaged her forehead, racing down what remained of her horn like a swift, scorching tsunami, manifesting in a single, teal spark.

Then her head exploded with pain.

All conscious thought was eradicated in a blinding, white flash across her vision. She stiffened immediately, her mouth gasping open an instant before she jammed her hoof in and chomped down hard, muffling a scream as something small, sharp, and fiery tried to burst out of her horn.

She panted, frantic and raggedly. Starlight faintly felt a warmth tickling her cheek. It hurt so much. Everything did, her forehead worst of all. But at least she kept quiet this time.

Starlight continued biting down upon her foreleg, slowly feeling the burning between her eyes lessen as clear thought trickled back in.

Perhaps I don’t need a shower after all. Tonight, at least! I mean, is it really worth all this trouble?

The tang of mustard and mayo and whatever filth gathered on the floor said, yes, it was. Starlight spat her foreleg out, and blew a raspberry for good measure, cringing all the while. That was just plain disgusting. Her tongue tingled with a cheesy, tangy, and somewhat earthy taste that made her tongue want to curl.

I am not spending another minute with this in my mouth.

Without giving herself time to think, Starlight lunged for the knob, tilting her head with her mouth gaping wide.

She bit down so hard, it rattled her teeth.

Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Starlight didn’t think about the germs, the metallic taste, or all the ponies who’ve ever swapped spit via doorknobs. Ignore it all, her instincts were telling her. So she ignored, even as saliva dribbled down her chin like a drooling foal.

None of that was real. They were just thoughts. Starlight could only be sure of the knob clenched tight between her teeth and her neck cramp as she slowly, carefully, lifted her head.

After what felt like forever, she felt a gentle click next to her temple. Starlight’s heart skipped a beat, then again as she pushed her way in, batting the door aside.

“Finally!” Starlight cried, bucking the door shut, because that thing could go straight to Tartarus.

She strutted across the bathroom, toward the transparent glass enclosure in the corner. Good job, Starlight. Not bad for your first attempt. The ones to follow would be even easier.

Starlight froze with her hoof on the shower door.

I just spent five minutes learning how to open a door. She breathed in. I’ll have to do that again. Starlight exhaled. And again. And again, and again. Every day.

The thought of opening doors didn’t make her stomach writhe, though. Surely, with time, that would become yet another mindless gesture akin to teleportation.

It was everything else.

It was the sight of the shower before her, its knobs, and all the coat, mane, and hoof-care products sitting in their shower caddy.

It was the sink beside the glass wall, where her toothbrush sat in its holster between Spike and Twilight’s. How would she even get hers without knocking everypony’s to the dirty floor?

It was on the leftmost wall, waiting patiently for the inevitable. Earlier, Starlight wondered if one of her earth pony friends would be willing to teach her how to live like them, to ease the transition.

But the idea of Applejack or Maud teaching Starlight how to ‘use’ the bathroom…

Starlight breathed, in-out-in-out-in-out.

It’s okay, Starlight, it’s okay. This is fine. It’s all fine. This will all become easy. It’s guaranteed!

She swallowed her discontent and faced the shower. Starlight only needed to look on the bright side to all this.

At least the water would be warm.

The parchment had a subtle yellow tint.

Starlight huffed, managing a weak smile. It was astounding how she never noticed such an insignificant, yet obvious detail. How many more fell between the cracks of her daily life?

Starlight dragged her hoof across the parchment, listening to it crinkle.

Come on, Starlight. It’s not gonna write itself. It could’ve, once upon a time, but no longer.

Not without her… mouth.

Starlight groaned to the heavens. “It’s hopeless!” She flopped her hopeless face upon the writing desk, then rolled to her cheek. Three gilded jars of ink sat side by side before her, each housing a bright, crimson feather with an orange tip. It was a homemade quill set, a treasured birthday present from Princess Celestia and her phoenix, Philomena.

It was truly touching that the princess thought of Starlight enough to warrant such a gift. Too bad it was irrevocably ruined now, not from an honest mistake or wear and tear, though. Both were a ridiculous notion, since phoenix feathers were as everlasting as the birds who proudly wore them, wreathed in their golden flames. Everypony knew that. Like the horn of a unicorn, it would take great strength and intentional effort to permanently mar something so beautiful.

But that didn’t matter now. What happened happened, no turning back. No reason to even glance in that direction. Starlight smiled—at least she had an extra pot of ink. Plenty to… write… all those letters she was going to send.

In a burst of motion, Starlight snatched the jar of ink and flung it down. It thudded hard into the wastepaper basket, even with five crumpled or shredded sheets of parchment. She didn’t dare look at it. None of it. That would mean acknowledging all those failures, or the epitome of her rash behavior lying in two priceless halves.

Just call Spike. He’ll help you. You know he will.

The idea lurched something within Starlight, deep in her gut. She sat back, hugging it, grimacing. If her gut disagreed, she wouldn’t do it.

Taking a deep breath, Starlight reeled another quill and ink closer. Her clumsy, tedious movements were easily ignored. She’d turned three doorknobs today with her teeth, and each was easier than the last. Starlight only needed practice.

But writing?

She gazed upon the piece of parchment, totally blank, with its corners curled slightly. “I hadn’t written with my mouth since I was six,” she muttered bitterly. In the nineteen years since, she’d only done so a total of five times, every one of them in the last half hour.

Well, Starlight thought, leaning forward, jaw trembling as she bit down upon the quill's orange tip, here’s hoping muscle memory finally kicks in!

She stared down its length, into the center of the parchment, waiting for that eureka moment to come.

It did not, but there was an apology to make.

As with the last five, Starlight began with an apology for her sloppiness. She could never get far enough to explain why, however. Not before her jaw would tire, tremble; the quill in her teeth would waver, making her words far more unintelligible than her usual hornwriting's.

This time was no different, of course.

She tried, though. Starlight kept her teeth clenched tight and her head steady, drawing each line as slow and painfully as possible. She only needed to get a sense of the quill, and the motions to write each letter—surely the sixth attempt would be successful.

Patiently, Starlight scratched out every skewed letter and line that, after pulling back, she found sloping halfway across the page. Calmly, Starlight ignored the stiffness growing in the back of her neck, even when the burn was searing and nothing sounded more heavenly than just letting go and allowing herself to flop upon the desk.

Constantly, Starlight had to remind herself of how many ponies did this every day; how much of Equestria had this mastered, and that she had no right to loathe this with all her being.

Therefore, Starlight wasn’t bitter. She was happy, really! Joy was practically bursting at the seams.

Starlight was happy to have the chance to learn something new. She was overjoyed to have her health, her amazing friends, her new life. It was so much more than what some ponies had—ponies who, at that very moment, was just like the old Starlight.

And Princess Twilight Sparkle changed her life.

Starlight remembered the point of all this struggling, and for that she was so, so happy.

This, without a doubt, was worth it.

But it still sucked rotten apples.

Starlight hated her pettiness, but she couldn’t get over how much she failed in the bathroom. So much shower gel, wasted. So much toothpaste and toilet paper, wasted. Starlight was probably the only pony in history who took so long in the bathroom, her mane was bone-dry by the time she was finally done.

Scritch! Her head jerked left. Starlight had put too much pressure again, and the quill dashed right, cleaving through the line she’d spent however-long writing.

Sighing through her teeth, Starlight hastily bobbed up and down, scratching a black nearly halfway across the paper.

Carrying it right, she found herself on the bottom-right corner of the parchment. Starlight pulled back, the quill swaying freely in her slackening jaw; ink splotched the parchment all over like a Dalmation. She bit the quill so hard it should have snapped. Starlight shot a hoof underneath the parchment and smacked it over to its spotless side, as she had five times prior.

It didn’t matter. Writing in general was trivial. Mastering this wasn’t even an accomplishment! It was a basic skill everyone had. Besides, Starlight was taught with her mouth—as a foal, no less—just like everypony else. She could relearn it easily, it was just going to take a bit more practice than she’d presumed.

Before long, Starlight would be back to writing ten page papers in little more than an hour. It doesn’t matter.

Then her “T” dashed half across the page, and Starlight snarled so hard her voice croaked like a prepubescent’s. It doesn’t matter.

Starlight nodded stiffly, scratching her quill up, and down, and up and down, up-down-up-down-updownupdownupdown—!

POP! Starlight jerked to a stop, clenching her teeth hard.

Peering down the feather’s length, she found its brass tip was gone, embedded in the parchment.

It doesn’t matter. She had a whole stack of sheets. It doesn’t matter. Starlight could do this all day.

Other ponies had it far worse than this.

Twilight almost died.

So what if Starlight didn’t have magic anymore?

It doesn’t matter.

So what if she had to relearn everything, like a born-again foal?

It doesn’t matter.

So what if this was way harder than she initially thought?

It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter in the slightest.

Starlight snorted like an angry bull, in and out, in, out, in-out-in before slamming herself upon the desk. "COME ON!” she spat, the quill flying forth. “A foal can do this, why can’t I?!” She stomped the desk. “Why didn’t I realize it would be this bad?!” She struck it once more. Starlight panted shakily, “Why—?!"

She cupped her muzzle, collapsing back onto her stool. Starlight felt her face crumple, a tsunami of fresh pain well inside her, a wet warmth prickle her vision, blur it.

Why did this bother her so much?

“I mean,” she mumbled, dropping her hoof, “I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but—”

Her entire being jumped at a gentle knock on the door. Starlight threw her gaze back, then turned completely. She gulped hard, and forced a chipper, "Come in!"

Her squeaky door opened a crack, and a worried little dragon stepped halfway in. "Everything alright in here?"

Starlight reeled slightly, her eyes wide and ogling Spike’s sudden appearance. “H-how’d you get here so fast?”

He closed the door behind him. “Come on, Starlight.” He waddled over, smiling warmly, sadly. “You didn’t think I’d leave you to the wolves, did you?”

The very sight of him brought an easy smile. Flashes from the kitchen resurfaced immediately, but Starlight couldn’t help but feel uplifted by Spike’s clear concern.

A sharp explosion of glass twanged inside her chest. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Starlight chuckled.

Spike didn’t smile back. “Starlight—”

“Look,” she said aloud, despicable pity swelling within, “I’m really tired, Spike, so if you could just—”

She was stopped by a pair of claws. Immediately Starlight flickered to the pleading eyes of a dear friend. “I got that mess cleaned in five minutes. I’ve been—”

And Starlight just ran away. “Spike, I—”

“Starlight,” he shouted over her. His eyes with deathly intense. Angry? “It’s fine.”

He was obviously hiding his annoyance so she didn’t feel bad, but Starlight saw through him. “I know.” She gazed up, across the room.

Spike peeled his claws off of her, saying nothing. A moment of awkward nothing, and then, “Do you… want some help writing that?” Spike wore a sad, weary smile, clearly working himself to the bone over her.

The last thing she wanted was to take more of his time. He didn’t need to be here, he had a job to do! Cleaning and organizing and stuff. Yet here he was, worrying about Starlight Glimmer because she was too incompetent to take care of herself.

Starlight imagined that he’d been sitting outside her door this whole time, waiting for an opportunity to swoop in and help.

Because he was just that good of a friend.

And Starlight, selfishly, couldn’t be happier. “Yes, please!” she hooted.

II.IV - The First Night

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She opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by friends.

At the bottom left, smiles all around, either for her or the celebration at hoof, deep down she could never tell: there was Twilight, Trixie, the Elements and even Discord and the entire royal family. In the hours preceding this captured moment, Starlight had found the strength to forgive herself in light of reforming the changelings.

Wedged in the mirror's upper right, Rarity was complimenting Starlight on her first-ever stitching job. Beside them, Fluttershy was in the midst of an eye-opening lecture on the importance of eight-legged basement critters.

Those two photos hung adjacent to one of Trixie, hoof thrown around her first friend and squeezing tight.

Below that one, Twilight stealthily snapped a shot of Starlight nuzzling her floury face against Pinkie’s, who’d found it in her heart to forgive her for burning a cake.

Starlight stopped on the final photograph: Twilight had been on near-Pinkie levels of excitement as she floated a camera before the two of them.

Within this moment, Starlight truly, genuinely believed they were friends.

“Welp! It’s all just ashes now!” Starlight had no explanation, rhyme, or reason for this feeling—her gut was telling her it was a good call, and she never had reason to doubt it before.

She fired from her broken horn a winding, serpentine bolt of lighting, splitting midway into six claws that made for each photograph, impaling and ravaging them inside out with viscous, teal flames.

In the blink of an eye, six wonderful memories from her new life had been reduced to ash. She made them so, like it was an instinct. No rhyme or reason behind it. Black snowbanks rose along her mirror, growing neath a dark flurry until her desk was overflowed.

Starlight shrugged, knowing Spike would take care of this. Who was she to consider her friends first? Starlight turned and bowed to the door as she crossed her bedroom, easily yanking it open before trotting through.

What she saw beyond made her freeze, her jaw and tongue to drop open. “Somepony pinch me.”

A buffet was spread before her. Between the apple pie and the sponge cake lathered in icing pinker than her own coat, Starlight wasn’t sure which to attack first. Did Spike make dessert for breakfast?

“We have your favorites,” Twilight remarked, suddenly beside her.

Starlight saw that it was so, for on the opposite end of the table, practically drooping over the edge, sat an angel food cake crowned with a pair of decorative fountains, spitting sparkles of magenta and teal. Starlight had always loved something with presentation. But shiny, silvery frosting only covered the half still clinging to the table. It was decidedly disgusting; how could somepony miss something so clearly bare, screaming for a pony that cared enough to fix it?

Starlight felt a pang of what must have been hunger. “You’re telling me.”

Stepping closer, more dishes came to notice. A bowl of vanilla yogurt was topped with blackberries like a garnish, arranged in a swirl that made it the most beautiful and creative of the desserts. The bowl beside it was a rainbow pudding, something Starlight had never tried, but was excited for all the same. Something so appealing couldn't be bad.

“What is all this?” It was weird. Definitely weird. Starlight smiled, having never been gifted with something so meaningful.

At a glance of one dish, her stomach turned almost mistaking it for a bowl of melted butter, but she knew the deep gold of sweet, sweet custard when she saw it.

“For you,” Twilight gently answered at the back of her head.

There was more, so much more. From rock candy necklaces, to a jar of nectar, to a bottle of apple juice beside it, particularly inciting a nostalgic tickle that made her feel giddy.

She just realized Twilight has said something. “Sorry?” Starlight turned.

Twilight smiled thinly. “All of this,” she said, nodding to the table, “it’s for you.”

"But what'd I do to deserve any of this?"

At once, the dining room thrummed with a roll of drums, shivering overhead and rattling her bones. The hall flooded with shadows—the windows glowing like emeralds, and the chandelier above, with rainbow crystals strung about, all of it lost their luster, dimming to a frigid grey. At once, all those gorgeous desserts collapsed, deflating like balloons into piles of steaming, fly-riddled sludge.

Starlight couldn't care less about that. “Why?” she asked again. She hated repeating herself. It meant things were out of her hooves, that they could hurt her. “How? I’ve not done anything special, not to warrant something like this!”

Twilight trotted in front of her, stepping before the buffet. “Yes, you have,” she said, smirking. “You've done so much to earn this, don't sell yourself short! It's unappealing. After all, you just lost your horn.”

But this wasn't worth being rewarded. Starlight only wanted to save a friend, she wasn't looking for acclaim. That was selfish, she was being selfish just for feeling a craving for this feast. “I get the feeling there’s something else you’re selling short," she deflected warily.

“Oh?” Twilight rose a brow, humored. “And what would that be?”

Starlight looked left, then right. “Um, you?” she tittered. “I mean, look at you, Twilight! You’re better now! All of this?” She threw a hoof at the buffet. “It’s only happening because of you. You're amazing! If anything, that’s what we should be celebrating.”

Twilight’s smile slunk into a frown. “Ex-cuse me?” she squawked, although her expression conveyed mild annoyance at best. “Our friends poured hours of their limited free time making these for you, Starlight. So, not only do you not appreciate it, but you up and throw it back in everypony’s faces! You’ve got some nerve, acting so ungrateful.”

Starlight wilted, choking with guilt. Was she really so insensitive? After all, she did want to feast. Was she just trying to seem better than she really was? Did that make herself more, or less horrible? “I’m sorry." It was all she could say. "I didn’t mean to sound unappreciative.” S

Blinking out of existence, Twilight’s hoofbeats clicked deliberately past her.

“Then there is a huge dissonance between what you feel and how you come off. You should be more aware.”

“Yeah.” Starlight swallowed. “I know.”

“And yet you keep putting your hoof to the burning stove.” She could hear the eyeroll in Twilight’s tone.

“I know.”

“Do you like getting burned, Starlight?”

She could only shake her head ‘no,’ her throat too closed to speak.

“Then why do you do this to yourself?”

Starlight shook her head again.

“Starlight?”

She knew exactly what was wrong with Starlight. A blubber couldn't help but burst forth.

“Look at me, please.”

“I don’t know why!” Starlight cried, suddenly boring into Twilight’s frightened blue eyes. “I don’t know why my gut tells me to do these things, I just want ponies to like me, okay?! That's all, that's it! That's all I want!"

Twilight closed her mouth into a thin, firm line. Her eyes were stern yet tender, glistening with sympathy for the mess before her. “So you’d hurt yourself if it meant getting ponies to like you."

“No!” Starlight cried, appalled by the notion. “But there’s nothing I won’t do to keep them from hating me!”

Twilight smiled faintly. “Even deny yourself a little happiness?” She gestured to the spread behind her.

Starlight wanted it. It should be so easy, accepting it. But what if it was greedy? What if she lost herself again? It was too risky, so much so that she didn't dare think about it. “Believe me, nothing would please me more than to feel happy about this.”

Twilight slung a foreleg around her, pulling her in for a tight hug. “Then why not celebrate your victory?”

The warmth against Starlight’s side speared her in the heart. “Because I’m afraid to.”

“Why?” Twilight softly cried, stunning Starling stiff.

Her dear friend’s concern manifested as a tickle deep within her. Twilight was worried about Starlight’s well-being, wanted her to be happy—realizing this only made her feel more ashamed.

Twilight squeezed her reassuringly. “You know you can talk to me about anything,” she said, as if sensing her hesitation.

That extra assurance allowed Starlight to muster courage, though not to exchange so much as a glance. “I’m,” she almost chickened out, “I don’t want to feel bad about my horn.”

“Because you miss it?”

Twilight’s words struck like an arrow hitting the bullseye over Starlight’s chest. She could only shake her head.

“Because deep down you know I’m peeved about it, and you can’t figure out why?”

Starlight smothered a shallow sob, pursing her lips like a vault to keep it in. “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

“What are you sorry about?”

She couldn’t say that she didn’t know why. Starlight wracked her brain but thought of nothing beyond the ache.

“Starlight, what are you sorry about?”

Squinting through her blurring vision, the rotting buffet a smear of dark colors, Starlight lost all strength and collapsed on her backside. She covered her mouth, but words came anyway. “I miss my magic," she said, "and I don’t want to.”

The silence, her heartache, hung suspended for a painfully long moment.

“Sweet Celestia, you’re selfish.”

Starlight’s stomach twisted. “I know.” She couldn’t even meet her teacher’s face, and looked away as she paced across her vision.

“Wow,” gushed Twilight, “I can’t believe there’s a part of you that wants your magic back! As if you don't care what that would mean for me.” Starlight trembled, she was absolutely right. Twilight saw her for the needy, self-centered mare she had always been. “My ‘amazing’ student, so brave and courageous. You know I made an actual sacrifice taking you in?”

Of course, was Starlight’s gut reaction. But the gravity of what she said still hit, roaring forth like a thunderclap. “Yes."

She could hear Twilight’s disdain as she shot back, “Doubt it! I remember where your mind was, Starlight—you only cared about how you felt, and how scared you were. Of us, no less! As if we’re horrible like you.”

“I know,” Starlight gulped, whimpering, “that y-you took a risk, l-letting me in…”

“That’s right. I put everypony’s lives on the line choosing to trust you, freeloader. I’ve given you everything, and still you have the nerve to miss your magic—”

“B-but I don’t!” Swiftly Starlight looked up and was met with her teacher’s disappointed gaze. She flinched back from the closeness. “Twilight... Twilight, please, you have to believe me. I’d rather have you than my—”

“Let me stop you right there.” Twilight lowered the hoof she’d raised. “You can barely convince yourself, Starlight. Don’t try with me.”

“Oh yeah?! Well...!” Starlight got in Twilight’s passive, pink-furred face. “Well whadda you know, huh?! Everypony acts like they know me better than I do! Spike does, you do…” Twilight simply blinked, awaiting more. “But the joke’s on you,” Starlight gasped. “It’s on you, because I'm actually happy!”

“To be magicless?”

Starlight yanked back, where she found Twilight’s straight-cut, bookworm mane had, at some point, been dyed purple and curled on the front. “To have saved you, you idiot.”

A kindly smile spread across her muzzle. Starlight, at last, was wondering if this was still Twilight. She barely resembled the quirky alicorn now apart from her wings and the extra inch or so. “I can accept that,” she said, her voice deepening ever-so-slightly, becoming a different kind of familiar. “But I have one question for you… that if that’s the case,” she wondered with a smarmy tone, “if this doesn’t really make you happy, which it clearly has not…” Twilight hesitated, her eyes sunk deeper in her skull, glistening, glassy, and red and runny, and she finished in a raspy, weak little voice, “...then is this what you’d rather have?” She stepped back, her pink coat now an ashy-grey.

Starlight’s eyes bounced up and down. How did this happen? She gasped, hardly able to breathe. “You’re sick again.”

Twilight shook her head. “This is what you’d want, deep down. Yes?”

"Starlight Glimmer!" whispered the wind.

“You’re so selfish…”

"This is but a nightmare, Starlight Glimmer!"

"I was never able to stand you, ya know."

Starlight clamped her ears shut and screamed, "Leave me ALONE!"

And she flung forth, gasping sharply in the vast emptiness of her own bedroom. A wall of darkness met her, the right splashing her wall with pale light. Something like spiders skittered across her forelegs and feather-light legs. Starlight scrubbed them down, clawed and scratched, burning her coat with a smoldering akin to sunburn, all while her eyes bounced about, taking in her loneliness, swelling with wet warmth. A drum within her chest was pounding, pounding like it was in its last throes of life. Starlight didn't care if Twilight or Spike heard, about holding it, she burst out with a bawl into her blanket like a startled foal.

It was just a stupid dream. It couldn’t have meant anything. No, it didn't, it didn't at all! screamed the logical part of her brain. It meant nothing. Nothing.

Starlight swallowed her emotions down, shoved them out of mind. There were real problems to deal with, a full night's sleep first and foremost.

Breathe in...

..breathe out.

The faux-infiltrator opened her eyes, giving way to a slanting, jagged wall of stairs to her very right, crystal columns of purple and white scaling up toward a darkened ceiling, like the teeth of some great beast against ocean-blue walls, and some sweet aroma which wrapped around her brain, flooding her senses. With what, she didn't care. Her tongue wanted to curl at the taste of it, but Tempest kept herself as still as the picture before her.

It burned her eyes. The urge to shut them tight was appealing, more so than her primal want for coming here at all. These saturated colors were painful to behold, but she kept her eyes pried open simply because she could. Because this was nothing.

Literally, nothing. Hiding was never her forte. The direct approach was always more effective, albeit "harder." As if that meant anything.

But sleeping under this roof, without speaking a word to its proprietor? It was not only impersonal, but it felt oddly unfriendly for one who signed herself as, "Your Friend," in the letter.

That cursed letter.

She breathed deep again, expunging her heart of the burning, the clenching, turning, and hatred. She had to remind herself that Twilight was not some conspirator. Either that or she was a great actor like the Storm King. In all likelihood, the princess was just young. Naive. Idiotic, really, but it was not worth begrudging. After all, there was nopony quite like Tempest Shadow.

A groan stampeded like rolling thunder down the vastness of the hall. Tempest carefully tilted left, keeping her hooves planted and noiseless so she could see from the safety of the stairwells’ shadow. There, she spotted the corner of that ridiculous, gaudy door swinging shut, an unmistakable magenta glow wreathing it, manipulating it like it was nothing.

A smothered part of her roared to life like flame, and Tempest felt the urge to greet her friend. But it was not her place to intrude on Twilight Sparkle’s family unit. And besides, she was just hiding like a freak. The dragon, waiting much like her, a puppy left in the rain, had unwittingly joined in a few feet away not long ago. To her southeast at the top of the stairs.

That was unequivocally creepy, lurking by without his knowledge. More so than the concept of making her presence known once he arrived, scaring the child. Making him uncomfortable, driving him away like everypony else in the months since her downfall.

Tempest stayed her hooves. She really, really, really didn’t want to, but she could stand to wait a little longer. Allow the two to have their reunion, at least.

A soft padding pricked her ears up—Spike’s small, soft footsteps tramped frantically down the carpeted stairs. “Twilight!” His foalish voice trembled within the entrance hall's vast open space.

Tempest couldn't help but think it again: this really was a lot of space for just three individuals.

“Spike?” Twilight breathed, sounding surprised to find him not only up, but awaiting her on the cusp of midnight. “What are you still doing—oof!”

Neither said anything. Nothing came for a long moment, and Tempest presumed they had fallen asleep on the spot like normal ponies at this hour. She shook her head of such notions. They were obviously lost in one another, loving each other. Tempest pathetically imagined herself in the middle of that.

“Oh, Spike,” whispered the princess. Tempest strained to blot out every other sense, just to hear Twilight. “I’m sorry, Spike, I’m so sorry. You’d known all about Starlight’s horn, my sickness and how I was cured. And I refused to listen, I was blind and scared an-and I’ve no excuse—”

“Twilight,” the child cut off the princess in a strong, soft voice. “Please, don't start this. That doesn’t matter now.”

“Doesn’t—?” breathed Princess Twilight. “Spike, if I’d kept calm and actually listened—”

“Twilight."

“—we could’ve helped Starlight together, but now? Now I'm afraid that my negligence—”

“Twilight!” The hall rang, and a tense silence settled. “Twilight, there are bigger things to worry about than your guilt or mine.”

Even Tempest was caught off guard by the young dragon’s maturity, as Twilight audibly stammered before answering softly, “You’re right, Spike. You’re absolutely right.”

The relief in his sigh was audible. “So, what was it you were going to say? You’ve also realized Starlight's—?”

“Yes, what happened to her. Now that we know the identity of Starlight’s attackers,” Twilight's voice neared, accompanied by hurried hoofbeats rapping against the carpet, “we can work even faster to get her the help she needs!”

“Wait, what?”

“Come on, Spike!” Magic hummed in the air. “The night is young and we've got a lot of work to do! I say Celestia ought to hear about this.”

“Twilight, wait!”

“Ow, hey! Don’t pull your ride's tail, Mister!”

It was hard not to wince, remembering that same feeling from Tempest's first attempt for the hall, wishing to greet her host properly. Was tail-yanking a common occurrence in this castle or did the princess have the patience of a... well, a princess?

“I’m sorry! But just hold up a second, okay? Slow down.” Magic hummed and was silenced abruptly, Spike thumping upon both feet simultaneously. “Now’s not the time to be worrying about that. What we need—”

“‘Not the time?’” crowed the princess. “Now’s as good a time as any, Spike. Starlight’s asleep for now, but when she finds out what I'm planning she won’t like it, not one bit. I don't want to waste another second!”

“Wh—huh?”

“But first, I'd like you to gather our friends,” Twilight ordered, though not unkindly. "Go for Rainbow Dash first, she'll quicken the process. Just tell them I have a plan to get Starlight her horn back.”

Tempest shook her head in disbelief. Didn’t Twilight know it was lost in a trade?

There was little trouble imagining that snarky dragon cocking a brow at his foolish guardian. “And,” he drawled, “why would we do that? I mean,” Spike grunted, as if vaulting over a pony’s hindquarters, “don’t you respect the sanctity of a trade?”

“‘Trade?’ Ignoring the fact that it wasn't a fair trade... Spike, she’s lost her purpose so that I could fulfill mine! How is that even remotely fair?”

“It’s not. But this was a pact between Starlight and those witches.” Their voices began to fade, passing by practically overhead. “Sweet Celestia,” he mumbled, his echo the only thing audible, “this is all so messed up…”

“You’re telling me,” Twilight muttered. “But once we deal with these monsters and fix Starlight, everything will go back to normal!”

"What's with you guys and not listening to what I'm saying?"

Twilight spoke, sounding offended, or maybe concerned. Uncertain. They were becoming harder to hear, even with the assistance of the vast hall. Tempest quickly, albeit gently, slinked along the stair like a panther, keeping close to its shadow.

“Twilight," Spike hesitated aloud, "I'm saying she needs help. What your planning won't fix it. Like, this seems to go beyond just her horn.”

Tempest reached the bottom of the stairs, peered around the gold railing. A mounted dragon and the swaying hindquarters of her friend ascended the stairs, keeping right.

“You think I've not realized that myself?" Twilight cried. "That I've been having the time of my life, forgetting she’s broken inside out because of me?”

On swift, gentle hooftsteps Tempest crept up the stairs, falling in line with the princess’s louder, muffled clops.

“Twilight, I'll be honest, I can't tell if you're getting me. But I mean it: Starlight isn’t taking this well. She needs us. She needs you. And I'm afraid getting her horn back won't fix them.”

The princess spat as if that were the most ridiculous thing she ever heard. Tempest swallowed a retort of her own, reciting the fact that Twilight was just a naive, ignorant idiot. “She’s fine, Spike. Have you forgotten how strong a pony she is? How much she’s gone through? Even now, even though she’s lost her pride and joy, Starlight manages to hold her head up high! I just... I want to make it up to her.”

One would be forgiven, assuming that Twilight was being sarcastic. Tempest now remembered how Spike predicted her acting this way: ignoring the painfully obvious with her own delusions, her pain, guilt. How Spike knew his caretaker better than herself was one of the great mysteries of friendship Tempest might never understand.

“You seriously believe that?” Spike asked, dejected by the prospect.

“Of course. Besides, you know how prideful Starlight gets. For her sake, I won't doubt her strength. "

“I know you wouldn’t. It's just that...” Spike was worried, obviously, but Twilight's apparent smarts were whittling away at his resolve. Tempest wanted to burst out this very moment, scaring them be damned. She wanted to tell him not to let that go, because he was right, more so than any of them. Starlight included, if what half of Spike informed was accurate.

“I know," Twilight murmured. "I am, too, if I'm being honest. Starlight is strong. If she needs help, she knows she can come to me for anything.”

“Uh, does she?”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Mister? I've told her this up and down!”

"I know."

"But?" Twilight paused at the top of the stairs, freezing Tempest at once, one hoof on the next step. Twilight craned her head aside and looked from the corner of her eye. Tempest laid her belly against the stairs. “Spike? What is it?”

His head lifted an inch. “This is serious, Twi.” His voice was grave. “You haven’t seen Starlight like I have. She’s seriously messed up about this, and I don't think it's living without a horn.” The silence was loud. It was a cold comfort knowing Starlight, at least, had friends who were trying to help, even if they struggled to understand. “You know what she told me?” asked Spike. Twilight turned and stared ahead, hooves rooted to the carpet. “That she didn’t even know the witches were gonna take her horn. You know how she told me?" More silence answered. "Like it was a joke. She outright said she didn't care! This isn’t normal for her, Twilight! Starlight's lying to us, and she's hurting bad. Like really, really bad.”

“What should I do, Spike?” Twilight asked, gently, as though Starlight were asleep in the next room. "What are you telling me? Please, I want to know."

“I’m telling you that she spent, like, half an hour trying to write an apology letter to Cherry Berry herself, and she never came asking me for help! Like you, she knows that I’d be more than happy to. But for some reason, she thought I wouldn't. At first I thought she was upset about a mess she made at dinner. So I suggested we should watch a bad movie together! Figured she needed something to take her mind off things, right?"

"Mmhm."

"But you know what she said to me? She said she was exhausted, at eight-thirty! I... I think she was making an excuse not to be with me."

Tempest never thought she would empathize with a dragon, yet here she was, feeling what Spike felt towards being rejected. Thinking it was your fault when it was because of others. Starlight's behavior was a familiar song, as well. It was throat-tightening, stealing her breaths away. Tempest was not back in that time, a beast in pony skin, lashing at any who got too close. She was not there.

They weren't talking about her. They weren't talking about her. But they might as well be, and that's what made this so... intimidating. Why did Twilight need her here at all?! She ought to have sent a letter back and pushed this out of mind. But her senseless pride believed that was unforgivable, selfish even, when the princess who nearly sacrificed everything for this useless life was merely asking for a favor.

“Okay, okay!” Twilight snapped, startling Tempest. “So Starlight doesn’t want anypony thinking she needs help. Is that so unlike her? I... I expected this, Spike.”

“But I’m telling you it’s more than that,” he groaned. “I don’t think Starlight is handling this as well as she wants to, and to be honest, you're not either.”

Tempest remained at the bottom of the stair, unmoving, unfeeling, only listening for the princess’s reply.

“Right...” she trailed off. “But that's not important right now! If what you're saying is accurate, then that's all the more reason we have to get her horn back!”

She’s in denial. That much was obvious. But only now did the "why" of it strike. She’s in denial about her friend’s heartbreak. Being responsible. It’s too much on her conscience. A couple backstabbers from a lifetime ago were the very same, and they’d replaced her like a pony exchanges their horseshoes.

“Twilight, no!" Spike hopped off, ran to her front. "That isn’t going to fix this!” he said, both claws on her front. As if that could stop an alicorn.

“And what makes you think that?” Twilight snapped. "It's a start if anything, is that so bad?" Tempest advanced fast on swift, soundless hoofsteps as her friend spoke. Like it or not, Twilight needed to see the reality. “What bad thing will happen if we get Starlight’s horn back, hm?”

“It could make it worse!”

She came to a stop a step below them. “How could that make it—?!”

“He's correct, Princess.” Twilight looked back, then whirled on the spot with Spike stepping into view, both dumbfounded to her relief. No fear, at least not yet. Tempest didn't care. This was more vital than her own misgivings. "Rushing might very well make Starlight worse. You want to save her soul? Then start considering it before making a move."

Twilight blinked, growing wider still. “Fizzlepop?” she breathed, likely not hearing a word of what she'd said. “Spike, when were you planning on telling me she’d arrived?”

“I was getting to that.”

The Princess of Friendship, whom Tempest had chased halfway across the country many moons ago, gazed upon her as if reuniting with an old friend. Her smile was sweet and little, like her, with eyes huge and purple and bright, also like her. Most and perhaps greatest (Tempest selfishly thought) of all, she appeared relieved by Tempest's sudden appearance instead of disturbed.

Tempest hesitated mid-bow. "It's good to see you," she uttered stiffly. Greeting anypony, much less a princess, the one who saved her life at the risk of losing Equestria at that, was still a cumbersome social art for one as old as Tempest.

“Same, but there's no need for a friend to bow." Twilight cupped her breast. "I’m just glad you came on such short notice."

It's not like she had anything better to do, but Tempest didn't need the princess to pity her with so much on her mind. “Of course I did.”

The letter was so brief and hurriedly written, and made passing mention of a friend with a “crippling injury that may require your expertise.” All the fear in the world wouldn't stop Tempest from accepting its request, even out of simple curiosity.

Spike leaned against Twilight with folded arms, glowering threateningly as only a dragon could. “Hey, I thought you said you were going to bed!” However, he was as indignant as a pony could manage.

“I never said when." Tempest smirked at this interesting little creature before quitting the effort altogether. “And I wasn’t sleeping a wink in this castle until I knew the full extent of my purpose here.” It wasn't the whole reason, but half of it was purely selfish and absolutely preposterous.

“Wait, how long have you been here?” asked Spike.

Tempest gnawed on the inside of her cheek, a habit which stuck since her decision to take on this threatening world. “Long enough," she answered, stiffly, as she did all else. "Enough to know this goes way beyond helping your hornless friend live like me.” She and Spike exchanged glances before both looking to Twilight.

The princess’s ears wilted, sensing her opposition. “What do you mean? Do... do you know how we can help Starlight?" Hope bled into her voice. "A better way?”

The question alone proved how deep in denial Twilight was in. How she’d been firing blindly since this started, all of it being little more than one shot in the dark after another, convinced she was hitting the bullseye every time.

But this pony was not downright stupid. Not normally. Deep down, Twilight had no idea what she was doing. She knew it, and she hated it. But living in willful ignorance wouldn’t help anypony, much less this Starlight Glimmer.

Tempest took a deep breath. “No.” The light in her eyes died, then her smile. "You need to open your eyes, Twilight, or I fear it will be too late to help your friend at all.”

End of Generosity - The Broken Body

(Honesty) The Broken Life - III.I - The Coming Storm

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"I didn't want to be a disappointment to anypony, and I ended up being a disappointment to everypony...."

III
Honesty
The Broken Life

Twilight Sparkle was the Princess of Friendship.

Spike was right. Not once did Starlight consider how Twilight would really feel about her now-crippled friend, about being the reason for it all.

Within the shadow-drenched wall her bed was set against, Starlight envisioned Twilight at a party, surrounded by the damp, relieved faces of her Ponyville friends. Her smile looked painfully forced, as herself would be when plopped in the midst of a party comprised primarily of strangers, struggling to find something to talk about. Twilight, similarly, was trying desperately to acclimate, to lose herself in the revelry of her own party. But all she could think about was her ex-student back home—how she gave up her precious magic, crippled herself, all for her. How she was only here now, enjoying cake and punch with Lyra and Bon Bon and DJ-Pon3 and the rest, because of the sacrifice Starlight had made on her behalf.

She was there, and Starlight was at home, learning how to open a door again. By herself.

Starlight blinked, back in the void of her own bedroom. Why didn’t Twilight insist on staying home, if that was the likely case? There’s no doubt she would have done so if, say, Rarity or Rainbow Dash were in the same boat.

Then again, Starlight wasn’t them. One of Twilight's best friends. She wasn’t Pinkie or Applejack, Fluttershy, or Spike or Sunset Shimmer or Princess Celestia or anypony as important as them.

Starlight muffled a whimper into her blanket, in case anypony passed by. She could have sworn hoofsteps clopped down the hall around one in the morning.

Stuck in this loop of fantasizing and griefing, light eventually bled into Starlight’s bedroom, painting the walls blue and bringing out the stars of her personal midnight sky, the kites she’d made with Maud, Trixie and Twilight; sharpening the greens of her various window fauna, and highlighting her now-overflowing wastebasket. Damp warmth stung icily against her cheeks at nothing, and everything, and she didn't know why.

Get over yourself, Starlight. Get a grip. She had to if she planned on seeing Twilight today.

But she couldn't help herself throughout the night. It was like touching a hot stove over and over again. Though, if that were literal, Starlight’s hoof should have been ash by now. Or in this case, her brain, though she felt it throbbing angrily in her skull as if ready to burst.

Starlight tittered at the thought. It was a joke, after all! Just a joke. Her fantasies were simply that: fantasies.

Obviously Twilight cared for her as much as any of her friends. She'd worked hard trying to break Starlight of this negative thinking. Starlight would be a failure on Twilight's part if her own, messed-up way of looking at things undid all of Twilight’s progress.

I can’t let these doubts get to me, she recited. In the worst case scenario, Twilight was upset with her for being thoughtless. At best, she blamed herself. They were the only logical conclusions after going over her behavior last night ad nauseam: the evasiveness, the sudden need to leave. She might've felt so guilty over this mess, or maybe angry with Starlight’s flippant treatment of the whole thing. Of course Starlight insisted she attend the party, but wouldn't Twilight have said "to heck with this" no matter how much she assured her? It was looking more and more like Twilight was upset, as far as Starlight could see.

Regardless, she couldn’t bring herself to be around last night. In either case, it was Starlight's actions that drove her away. In all likelihood, she was happy to have an excuse to leave. Twilight was just way too polite to let her true feelings show.

Yes, this had to be the reason. Starlight's gut rolled around and around, knowing the truth. Her gut never steered her wrong, except about Our Town. And the bottling incident. Also the Pharynx near-fiasco. Her poor judgement of the Flutter Valley coven was also... poor...

Grotesque, monstrous forms flashed in mind, and clawed down Starlight's back with a chill that made her shudder.

Forget them. Twilight’s mad at me, I need to fix it. Not a big deal. She’d made Twilight mad before—her cheeks burned as that affair with the brainwashing and the friendship lessons came rushing back.

Another reason that losing my horn was a good thing: I won’t be performing anymore dangerous magic all willy-nilly. That was the problem: Starlight was too far up her own butt to acknowledge anypony else’s perspective, just her own delusions.

In a bizarre, kind-of-horrible way, losing her horn could very well be the best thing that ever happened to Starlight and Equestria at large.

Starlight shook her head. There I go again, just sliding my head up my own rear-end!

In reality, everypony seemed broken up about this, if Spike's reaction was of any indication. By extension, everypony must be more focused on Starlight than the fact that Twilight was alive to be upset with her in the first place! So sentimental, short-sighted, yet... amazing all the same. Starlight was incredibly lucky and she had the gall to begrudge any of it.

She had to be stronger than she was last night. I have to be. For everypony’s sake. They shouldn't feel bad because of my mistakes. It just wasn't fair. The idea of having stewed mayhem within their circle, because of her own thoughtlessness one again, made Starlight sick to her stomach.

These days made it especially unacceptable, what with everypony so busy. It didn't take a genius to know that running a fashion empire, keeping up with the greatest aerial relay team in all of Equestria, or maintaining one's family income left little time to act as a hypothetical shoulder to cry on. For a pony who brought this on themselves, no less!

Especially one who was a foolish unicorn five years their senior.

It's staggering, looking back. It truly made her head spin. Starlight had infiltrated the group at a time where every one of them was entering a sort of "transitional phase,” where their lives were in the midst of great changes. She’d spent a great deal of time across that first week learning about her new friends. Each of them had unique, awe-inspiring stories, filled with struggles internal and external.

Applejack never asked for help managing her family. Rainbow grew from a competitor into a teammate all on her own. Rarity clawed through so much nonsense, trying to make a name for herself, and she did so on her own merits. Though Fluttershy had tons of help from friends, it was her own strength that helped her flower into a more outgoing pony. Even Pinkie Pie, who prided herself on making others happy, learned its many forms and applications outside of her “sugar-rush days,” as Twilight called them. Like all the others, it was through her own trials and tribulations did Pinkie learn to grow.

It was a surreal experience, hearing of the children they used to be, and knowing the near-perfection they now were. For a time, they only accentuated Starlight’s own failings. She quickly got over herself, and used her inadequacy to meet their standards.

I'm too old not to take care of this myself anyway. When stripped away of all the prettiness, that's what they were all about: growth through struggle. Starlight, in her own way, was no different.

She'd lived most of her life alone—she learned magic on her own, started her village on her own, she modified spells on her own and saved Twilight on her own...

...This? This was nothing compared to those.

Sweet Celestia were they making it difficult, though.

"Oh! Starlight! Good morning," chirped a familiar, friendly voice. She giggled before rephrasing, "Or should I say, good afternoon? It’s practically lunchtime!" This was too weird. Obviously an act. Starlight could hardly care, much less keep her eyes wide open.

"Sleep well?" asked Spike, shoveling what Starlight could only assume were gemstone pancakes. The turquoise blobs infesting it was a clear giveaway.

"Hi. Fine. Too early for words." Starlight strolled to an empty spot at the table, squinting her crusty eyes.

'Zombie Glimmer,' her housemates often joked. When she rose from the metaphorical dead, Zombie Glimmer spoke solely in curt mutterings and the occasional grunt. Only the flaky, buttery flesh of toast, or the blood of a roast brew with sugar, could sate the beast and revive their friend.

As per tradition, she bumped gently into the golden roundtable with a blunt, "Oof." She paid no mind to the snorts of laughter, because Starlight, in a change of pace, wasn’t a shambling undead trying to awaken, but rather stay awake at all.

Two hours of sleep would do that to a pony.

"So," began Starlight, smacking her lips, "how was everypony's night?"

“Um, fine! Just fine.” Twilight seemed happy.

“Slept like a baby!” cheered Spike.

“Fine.” Huh, so Maud was joining them, too.

Starlight blinked hard, uttering, “That’s great to hear," before opening her aching peepers again. The dining hall's amethyst columns had become less jagged, the blobs on top sharpening into hearts. The wall of emerald windows, glowing bright, focused, with their tree silhouettes thinning, growing individual branches akin to the Tree of Harmony.

The small array of breakfast was far more unique, interesting, and appetizing. She spied toast piled atop a platter directly before her, and beyond that, a fluffy mountain of scrambled egg and a fancy bowl beside it brimming with applesauce.

Starlight willed a ladle over to the starburst-printed plate before her. Or rather, she imagined it did. Her ears burned; hopefully, silence meant everypony was eating.

Only then did it hit Starlight: Spike must have told Twilight everything that happened last night. He was a filly scout like that.

And for Starlight, that meant…

Well, it meant nothing good. She just had to play it cool.

Starlight forced her eyes to open wide. Across the table was Twilight, who averted her gaze back to her plate, smiling. Avoiding. Play it cool, Starlight remembered.

Though her stomach craved applesauce, Starlight didn’t want to make a show of clambering across the table and then flinging the bowl into her face with a misplaced step. The toast sat before her in reach—and was more delicious, besides. Starlight dropped her mouth open, awaiting that buttery softness to float inside.

She closed her mouth, blinking another slow blink. "Right. No magic."

The scrape of knives and forks stopped, suddenly flooding the room with silence. "Starlight, would you like some—?"

CLACK! The unicorn slammed her face upon the plate before Twilight could finish. Starlight, ever so inconspicuous, straightened up, nibbling on half a piece of toast like a goat with a carrot in its mouth.

“Um, Starlight?”

The sharp, salty tang of hot butter was heavenly enough to drown out Twilight's concern. Couldn't she see that Starlight could handle this fine? She gnawed on her breakfast until the piece in her mouth was completely bitten off, and her toast fell against the plate with a soft, wet thump.

“Yoohoo, Starlight!”

“Give it a rest, Twi.” After a sharp scrape, Spike continued with a mouthful. “You’re not gonna pull her out of Nirvana.”

Has she been trying to get my attention? Starlight opened her eyes and found Twilight’s daintily folded forehooves, then Spike’s breakfast, then back to Twilight and her spotless plate. "Yep," Starlight agreed, unable to think of something better. Like an idiot.

“Did you sleep okay?” Twilight asked. Starlight barely had time to work out a less-worrying response (because what was better than absolute silence?) before she said, “I see you eyeing the applesauce. You want some? Here!” With a painful, magical whine, pulpy yellow sauce plopped upon Starlight's plate. “Here, have another." And she did. "Spike said you didn’t eat last night, you should keep your strength up and recover."

“Twilight,” hissed her assistant.

The mare grinned broadly. “Sorry, sorry!”

“S’okay,” Starlight mumbled, wondering how the heck she was supposed to eat this stuff. She didn't feel like asking for a straw.

“Starlight?” Heart skipping a beat, she gazed at Spike’s pale, green underbelly, remembering how much trouble she'd caused last night. “Is there something wrong with, uh, your applesauce?” He chuckled breezily—painfully forced, obviously. “You’ve been eyeballing it like it wronged you or something.”

Starlight inhaled sharply.

“Spike,” Twilight hissed. Then the tension-stiff forelegs propping her folded, dropping the princess with a smile Starlight only spotted in her peripherals. “Ah-heh, Starlight! Um, is there something you need help with? Feel free to ask! No biggie at all.”

“Oh, nice one, Twilight. A-plus.”

“Oh, like your little joke was any better!”

“You both should be a little more conscientious."

Starlight felt eyes on her. Eyes from all directions, judging her, thinking about her beneath their pleasant smiles. They all knew she was weak and fake. Oh, gosh! If they didn't think something was up before, they sure do now. She needed to eat this applesauce. They were waiting for her to make a move. But how?

Starlight recalled the time they all had pancakes in the Map Room, how nearly everypony just buried their faces in and chowed down. Sticky and messy faces all around; it was so strange, yet none of them had any shame. They didn’t care. It must be relieving to live that way.

“Hey, Starlight—”

She tensed. Twilight’s going to ask again! Starlight slammed her muzzle into the plate of applesauce.

“Nice job,” remarked a deep, raspy voice.

“Oh, hush you,” hissed Twilight.

“You’re really demonstrating the magic of friendship, Princess.”

“I'm trying my best, quit heckling me!”

“...Apologies.”

Starlight barely heard the two argue over the sounds of slurping, and her own dignity shattering into fine dust.

Eventually, a hoof touched her with a gentle, “Starlight,” coming from directly beside her.

“Mmf?!” Flushing Starlight gulped. Across the table, Twilight’s seat was empty. "What? This is how I have to eat from now on!" She tittered at it, to (just in case it didn't fool them) prove she was just being silly and not actually serious. She must have looked like a freak.

For one second, the most painful, silent second of Starlight’s life passed. ‘TiMe To PaY uP...!’ echoed from the depths of her memory. It was the most painful she could recall, actually.

“Starlight," said Twilight, keeping a hoof on her, “haven’t you noticed anything different about this breakfast?”

Starlight felt herself heat up. Was this a trick question? “Um, I’ll assume it isn’t the fact that I’m magicless?” Starlight grinned broadly to smother her heartache.

Twilight let out a chuckle, brief and strained. “No, n-no. But you're so sleepy you haven’t even noticed that somepony's here to see you.” Her hoof extended into view, pointing left. At the end of it, Starlight found a large pony that wasn’t actually Maud Pie, who’d been sitting in what was usually her own spot at the breakfast table.

“Oh. Uh, hi there.” Starlight grinned, trying to be polite. But Tempest Shadow’s reasoning for being here was so, painfully obvious, she'd have to be literally blind not to see it jutting from both their foreheads.

Tempest nodded at her, about as emotive as a statue. She had an aura of wanting to be anywhere but here. Like this was beneath her.

Intimidating, in a word, and it wasn't because of her past. Tempest was reformed, and therefore trustworthy. But Starlight never thought a normal pony could get as large as Cadance, especially one who was more lithe than any pony she'd ever met. Instead of that dainty, “glass” physique which made the Princess of Love appear as fragile as a porcelain doll, this pony was built from hard muscle like a puzzle. Something made of separate parts, cemented together to make one staggering specimen of a mare. Clearly the type who did extreme sports in her downtime instead of cuddling up with a good book, and that was but one of many difference between them that Starlight could sense.

She only caught a glimpse of Tempest’s jagged little crown before forcing her gaze elsewhere—those world-worn hooves wrapped around a steaming mug.

It was so unbelievably rude to have so much as glanced at it. Starlight wouldn’t want anypony gawking at her own maiming, after all. “Sorry I missed you at the Friendship Festival,” she said casually. “I’d heard you slipped out shortly after it was over. Some kinda soul-searching beyond Equestria?”

“...In a way.”

“That’s nice.” Starlight empathized. “Your guilt must have been a burden to carry, tryna find some kind of atonement. Am I right?”

“Mhm.” A pregnant pause. Nothing more.

"Cool, cool." Not super chatty, huh? Or maybe Tempest just didn't like her. It made sense, considering the purely empirical kinship they shared. Starlight must have been disgusting in her eyes. “Um, so… ho-how'd Twilight reach you way out there?"

A cool smile eased to Tempest, or rather Fizzlepop’s, lips. "I was gone, but not forever," she purred, making Starlight almost wince—she didn't expect such a mature voice. This mare was old enough to be her mother! "It seems that no matter where life takes me, it always leads back home." It was impossible to tell if she was content with this fact. She wasn't straightforward like Maud, either.

Beside Starlight, the soft clanging of silverware and two hooves upon the table resounded. "Fizzlepop only got in a week ago," Twilight explained. "You wouldn't believe the town she's been staying at."

"Oh?” Starlight smirked at the mare in question. “Would I know it, by any chance?"

"I should hope so, considering you built it!" said Twilight.

Starlight felt her little heart shrink to the size of a grape. Oh gosh what did they say about me.

To top it off, never could a smile be as intimidating as Fizzlepop's. "So you're that 'first mayor' they'd mentioned. Cute place, though a little too... smiley." A shrug of the shoulder. "Suppose that's Equestria for you."

Her blue eyes pierced Starlight’s soul, as bright as ice under the sun.

She just nodded, grinning wide. But Fizzlepop’s face was a book without any words, and dashed that in record time.

How did she want ponies to talk to her? Did she even want ponies to talk to her? Did she like other ponies besides Twilight? How much did she know about Starlight? What did she think of her fellow crippled unicorn? Don't be foalish, Starlight. The world doesn't revolve around you. The tightness in her chest didn’t unwind. Oh Celestia I'm so awkward and she's just staring at me with those dang eyes!

Fizzlepop blinked slowly, as if everything else was a waste of time. This was a mare who committed atrocities worse than Starlight's, and wasn't rendered meek as a kitchen mouse from the guilt. Twilight did say she was a truly strong pony, Starlight mused. I didn't know she meant mentally as well!

"I am sorry for missing your party," Fizzlepop intoned.

Starlight couldn’t believe that Maud was easier to read than this pony.

"No, the blame's on me." Twilight walked behind Starlight, around the table towards Fizzlepop. "I'd forgotten to tell Pinkie Pie you were back in Equestria. Trust me, you would have been here otherwise! She'd make sure of it."

Oh. That party. Not the one from last night.

Fizzlepop hummed. "Perhaps it's best that you forgot, then. Knowing Pinkie, I'd zap her as soon as she 'surprised' me by accident."

"I think she would have been fine," Starlight tittered. The ex-unicorn simply smiled at her before dropping a neutral stare at her empty plate. It was a pleasantry, that smirk. Starlight felt her face heat up.

"So!" Twilight clapped her hooves together. "Starlight, Fizzlepop Berrytwist, now that you two are acquainted, why don't you become familiar with one another while I help Spike with the dishes?"

The dragon paused midway in the midst of a shovelling. "But I'm not done!"

Twilight didn't spare him a glance as she lifted Spike and his pancakes anyway, as well as everything on the table save for Starlight’s dish and the toast, in a cloud of magenta magic. "Come on, mister." She trotted away, casting a smile to her student, all while Spike swam toward his half-eaten gemstone pancakes as the door shut behind them.

Fizzlepop gave a low, brief chuckle. "I like the dragon. He makes me laugh."

Starlight forced one to prevent further awkwardness. "Yeah, same."

Before a silence could settle, Starlight stepped away from the table. "Listen, Fizzlepop, I'd love to chat,” she lied. “Really, I do! Buuut I've got things to do today. Seeing some friends and whatnot, you know how it is! Or, maybe you don’t, heh. Heh. Um, uh, m-maybe I'll see you at dinner?"

Her smile stretched wide—hopefully Fizzlepop wasn't as perceptive as Spike; hopefully she didn't grill Starlight for feelings that weren't there, or utter the dreaded platitude, ‘I know how you feel.'

"Fine." Fizzlepop's head bowed.

Starlight couldn't help but wince as a pang shot through her, despite the relief felt as well. Was Tempest not here to help her live without a horn? She had to have been. Twilight may be a genius, but she wasn’t particularly subtle.

The reasoning behind Fizzlepop's random appearance was obvious.

This pony's too cool to care about something like this. Starlight realized, and found she couldn’t blame her. Though that didn't make her feel any less hurt. How pitiful.

Fizzlepop has had an unbelievably hard life, one nopony could hope to understand unless guided through a detailed recap of every day since she’d lost her horn. Surely that would last a week, and Fizzlepop wouldn’t want to relive any of it. She likely never had a problem with the quote-unquote "struggles" that Starlight now endured.

Wasting not a second later, she galloped out of the dining room, down three corridors, down the stairs of the entrance hall, and, after heaving herself upon it, pushing through the huge, golden doors.

Once outside, Starlight cursed out loud.

She forgot a book. And there was no way she was going to just meekly trot back inside.

Inhaling deeply, Starlight started down the dirt path to Ponyville, wearing a smile.

“And you just let her leave?!”

Bitter, lemon-tinted hot water washed down the dryness of her toast. “She’s a big mare, Princess,” Tempest answered, staring straight ahead.

Twilight bit her hoof, looking so hurt and worried as she rambled around it. “But you didn’t even try to make her stay? What if she isn’t ready for Ponyville yet?” It was even harder not to be jealous of the support Starlight Glimmer had around here, though her evasion was almost frightening; it was like looking in a mirror. Tempest found herself unable to say a thing, for fear of uttering the wrong one. She was always weak, even under the Storm King. It took Twilight for her to realize that.

But this pony still had much to learn, fretting like a doting mother. “So you’re going to decide when she’s ready?” Fizzle challenged.

Twilight sighed, heavy with the weight of so much for one little pony. It was hard not to pity her. “I don’t know. Maybe you're right, maybe I am worried. I just hope she comes back for dinner.”

“And not eat this dragon—I mean, Spike’s cooking?” It was madness. And that at least got a smirk out of Twilight, albeit a weak one. “Look at it this way, Twilight: forcing anything out of her is the very last thing you want to do.” Fizzle took a long sip of chamomile, held gently in both hooves. “Believe me,” she exhaled.

III.II - Fractured

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Starlight froze between Friendship Castle and Ponyville. A roaring crowd haunted her, as though she were back at her award-turned-graduation ceremony. But it was just a faint echo from town riding in on a warm breeze. Starlight's mane stirred as she recognized it yet having no clue from where.

And that’s when it hit her. She had heard it. Quite a lot, in fact, though not for an unbelievably long time.

How could she forget the clamor of Market Day? Memories crashed into Starlight like a tidal wave, hard enough to set the world spinning and a dumb grin she couldn't fight if she tried.

For a minute there, I’d forgotten what a happy, chatty town sounded like! she realized.

It's been far too long. When they weren’t celebrating the next excuse for a party, this was the one day where Ponyville’s citizens gathered in a single place, or enough, at least, for their chatter to stretch beyond the outskirts of town.

While Sunday was her and Twilight’s day, Starlight also had a ritual with Spike every Wednesday morning: braving the hustle of Ponyville Square. Their mission? A quest to restock the castle larders. Spike took the lead, but Starlight was never willing to fight him on something she knew nothing about. So she waited, watched him squeeze every apple, tomato and potato among countless others, picking the best of the produce while wrinkling his nose at, say, a perfectly good eggplant. It made for an amusing start to the day—Spike would become Rarity, holding the fruits of other ponies' labor to the sun with a critical eye, whilst Starlight exchanged bemused looks with whoever their latest victim was.

What felt like thunder rumbled within Starlight's belly. She was back in the present, she realized with disappointment. A warm breeze rustled her mane, and clamor continued to float in from town. Her stomach ached, clenching as though ready to devour itself. A piece of toast and some applesauce was definitely not enough for a pony who'd not eaten in half a week. Maybe some pity points could be pulled from Roseluck? She was always the kindest of the flower pony trio.

With thoughts of breakfast came her reason for flying out the door in the first place, and a memory of Fizzlepop's bored stare. And now I can't stop remembering that amazing breakfast again. That ridiculous display not only made a fool of herself, but Twilight as well. Starlight knew this for a fact, for she would be embarrassed if her child acted that way in front of, say, Rainbow Dash.

And suddenly, fantasies of Starlight's own child in place of herself brought about the dog days of summer, impossibly sweltering and suffocating. Starlight dashed for town to cool herself off, and partly to drown those thoughts with her rhythmic hoofbeats.

She shook her head at town loomed ahead. Yes, her behavior sucked. But it happened, and there was no changing it. She'd live with it, just as she always had, and would soon come out just fine as she had with her hornless existence.

There was really no need to be a downer about it.

Starlight’s hooves began to clack upon sudden cobblestones. Thatch-roofed huts closed in on either side, and Starlight slowed to a leisurely trot before anypony saw. The distant cacophony of what resembled a room full of ponies fluttered amidst the lazy, sunny morning in Ponyville.

Afternoon, Starlight reminded herself. Apparently, she'd crashed at dawn and slept until breakfast became brunch—though the walk to the dining room probably helped in that regard. Everypony was waiting for me. Did they think she spent the whole morning walking to the dining room? Starlight certainly would—it only made sense, for the castle was absurdly large. Definitely bigger on the inside.

Glancing back, the monstrous crystal treehouse stood distant, solitary, the doors shut tight. Nopony had come after her, she realized, not even Twilight. Though she’d left without even saying goodbye, therefore Starlight had no right to begrudge them.

I should’ve said something. Done something, talked to Twilight about... It didn't matter now. The damage was done. Going back with her ears down would only lead to questions, which needed answers, which would lead to half-truths on Starlight’s part and overreactions on Twilight’s. It was already a mess, there wasn't any need to make it worse.

But why wouldn't Twilight just pop over right in front of me, asking if I’m okay?Starlight couldn't help but wonder. She wondered what that said about Twilight right now, and the status of her patience resting on a definitive "thin" level. Why… am I even worried about this? Starlight hardened her heart in an instant, banishing such thoughts from mind. She wasn't worried. Twilight was probably tired from the party! Yeah, that made sense. Starlight was just overreacting like always.

Why would she want Twilight to run after her anyway? To cause a scene? To ask the obvious, 'Are you okay?' Heck, no! In fact, it was great that she hadn't shown up. It meant she was truly respecting Starlight’s strength.

Though it would be nice to know if she was at least wondering about me. Starlight shook her head. She wasn’t the center of the universe, after all. Wearing a smile she clip-clopped along, humming a tune the sun’s warming kiss sending a pleasant shudder down her body.

“Ah!” she moaned. “It’s been so long!”

She hadn’t been outside in almost a week. Good grief.

Her ears swiveled to the echoing chatter gradually becoming clearer, as it did louder. Starlight skipped a bit, anticipation throbbing in her belly. The sounds of the market were so relaxing, she couldn’t wait to hear it again after two weeks of depressing mumbles.

In her right peripherals, Starlight noticed that Redheart had a day off, sitting on her front step and too engrossed in a book to notice her passing by. Across the street from the nurse, Daisy and Roseluck were snuggling with one another on a royal-blue futon, of all things, deep in an adorable little snooze.

Lily’s ponied up at the stand. Well, she’s nice too! Maybe she’ll offer a free sample. Or a hoofout, or whatever ponies called it. Nothing changed the fact that Starlight was leeching, borderline begging despite being the reason for her current state.

With that, her heart skipped a beat, her blood ran cold. How are ponies going to react to my horn? Did Twilight tell them already? Deciding which was worse was like deciding which friend you liked more. These questions coiled around Starlight’s chest, constricting tightly. Breathing became a struggle. Keep calm, Starlight. Just play it cool. Play it cool like you did with Twilight, but better. Actually convincing this time.

Besides, why stress about what these other ponies thought? They were going to find out eventually, she said as much to Hydia. They might be horrified or grossed out or worried, it didn't matter. Starlight was going to treat them with the same reaction: casually, normally. Just play it cool. Starlight only did what a good friend would do, after all.

If she could manage that, which Starlight totally could (because she was still the same old Starlight, horn or no), then nopony would notice anything unusual. They’d ask questions, to be sure, but she’d answer them all with a smile, easy-peasy. Yet Starlight combed her forelock over an eye, half-obscuring the world by having her horn fully tucked away beneath a curtain of mane. Perfect, she thought with a grin.

There was no need to cause an uproar. Now she looked like a normal pony, preventing such a panic from taking place. Just a normal pony, living a day in her life like everyone else.

For most of the walk, a warmth was all there was, caressing Starlight’s back. The distant chatter became louder the closer she got. A wave of noise slammed into Starlight upon rounding a corner. Her ears rang as the spire of Town Hall slid into view with ponies milling in all directions. Finally, the corner of somepony's house fell aside, unveiling the market drowned in a sea of ponies.

The image was startling, then amazing a heartbeat later. There were as many ponies as smiles, chatting in pairs or more, squeezing past faces that were all pleasantly familiar. There were the Cakes and the Apples, the Melodys, even the Riches had emerged from their mansion to join the common rabble in the flesh (though Spoiled looked about as thrilled as Starlight felt in a lecture, back in the days she had such things).

Everywhere she looked was a treasure to behold. A pressure welled in her eyes, her face aglow with dumb, foalish glee, but she was too happy to care. Starlight didn’t want to miss a moment of it. Her belly banged about her in her skin, fighting to be let out until it suddenly did, emerging as a giddy giggle. Nothing was unfamiliar, it was all just as she remembered it! Except something felt off about the whole thing.

She looked about, switching focus to every stall she and Spike had shopped at before. The same ponies manned them, peddling the same wares. The same ponies she'd known for years haggled with them all, yet every one felt just plain wrong. Like they were a different color and that was all, yet even that wasn't evident in the slightest.

Starlight shook the craziness from her head. Who was she to complain? This was what she wanted—normalcy. Everypony happy again. She felt embarrassed for Pinkie’s efforts, while commendable. But even she couldn’t raise the town's spirit in light of its best friend's sickness.

“Whoa!” Something attacked Starlight's left. She shot her forelegs out, smashing them upon the paved road, and catching herself with only a gasp and a minor heart attack. She looked aside then ahead and found the culprit: a pair of fillies swerving through the veritable jungle of pony legs, their high, squeaky laughter piercing the monotonous rabble of the market.

Older ponies cried out as well, staggered over the girls, or dramatically diving aside, sending some of their produce bouncing away. A few glared, but most merely gave a shake of the head, smiling fondly. One of them, Blues, gathered his saddlebag and held it open for his groceries to float back, though Starlight could only tell in an empirical sense.

She couldn't sense his magic. Nor Lyra's. Or anypony's for that matter.

Starlight smiled to spite this disappointing revelation. Nothing ever seemed to change in Ponyville! Even after what had nearly happened. By Ponyville standards, that was totally abnormal, and Starlight loved it. Over the last two years, she'd really come to enjoy this town for its wealth in personality, and its big heart to boot.

It was everything she aspired for Our Town, but it possessed the crucial ingredient her dream project lacked: love.

The townsponies’ reaction toward Twilight’s sickness was swift and brutal. Pinkie described it best: it was like a big, sad meteor crashed into Ponyville and “blowed up” everypony’s happiness. They’d even set a record for time spent without throwing a party, that is until the girls ruined it with that white flag of a “celebration," which Starlight shoved out of mind and into the past where it belonged. Horrible as this whole affair was, it demonstrated how much the town loved Twilight. They really adored her, and her premature departure would have crushed not just her friends, but the town as a whole. It was hard not to feel envious of that kind of love; would anyone outside of Starlight immediate circle miss her, if she were to suddenly leave them?

But best of all, in spite of Twilight's near-demise, Ponyville seemed to have found it within itself to act as though nothing almost happened. Truly, the oft-repeated saying from Twilight was right: everypony in this town was crazy. Starlight wouldn’t have it any other way, her own wants be darned.

And yet, something still felt off about it all, while still appearing and metaphorically feeling as delightfully familiar as Starlight remembered. It wasn't in a physical sense, either, this growing discomfort in her gut. It was a different kind of feeling, one she couldn't hope to put her hoof on.

But the ground felt the same as the sky, which felt the same as the kiosks, with their aura blending into that of the fresh produce on display, like it was all coated in the same stony-grey paint. Dull, the epitome of nothingness, as dramatic as that sounded. It was impossible to describe it any other way, despite the market’s vibe feeling undeniable—and worst of all, absolutely no different from the castle.

A few kiosks to her right, Starlight was startled by the sudden appearance of a mass of ponies before one of them. It was just Crafty Crate setting up a little bidding session for his last cherry, nothing to get worked up over. It was bright red and juicy-looking—just a normal cherry, nothing unusual about it except for the exuberant prices Lyra and Berry Punch were getting calling out. It didn’t surprise Starlight to notice Crafty merely spectating the two, waiting to see how high they’d go.

But he felt the same as all his customers, and Starlight didn’t know why, and that was terrifying. She didn’t know why these twenty-odd living, breathing, ponies felt equally as powerful as the cherry they were fighting over, or how any of them were on the same level as the living space of one of the most powerful ponies in all the land.

They were all the same, characterized by a heavy dullness Starlight felt in her very hooves. If this was always the reality, Starlight didn’t know why she never realized it until after losing her horn.

Starlight's gut ached horribly at the reminder, and even further taking notice of the glimmering horns scattered about the market, wreathed in glows ranging from common blue to the unique orange of Lyra Heartstrings. Starlight spun away from it all, but was met with the battle for Crafty Crate’s last cherry once again. Bon Bon and Berry Punch were pushing their snouts together, gritting teeth snarling remarks smothered by the noise pollution of the market.

Neither of them felt there! Starlight wanted to scream, unable to stop herself from noticing it now. Why is this happening? she wished to cry out. Why can't everything just go back to normal? It's like everything's a mimic. None of it is right, nothing feels right! What is going on with me? Am I broken?!

The entire market rang louder than ever, ringing Starlight’s ears, gradually turning into a ceaseless, pitched whine until she gasped for air. This isn’t right. A few ponies crept by, their lips moving silently in her direction. They zipped away before Starlight could look into their eyes. This has gotta be a dream! Some twisted, messed-up dream!

That had to be it. It was all a dream, a nightmare. Surely wakefulness was on its blessed way, or Princess Luna would come and explain what Starlight's messed-up brain was trying to tell her this time. Maybe even Twilight’s sickness, and everything that came after, was the result of some horrible, karmic sleep spell for every horrible mistake Starlight had made in her life.

She let go of such ridiculous thoughts. How could Starlight be so selfish as to entertain such notions? She hoped this was real! She could endure this silly emptiness. It wasn’t anything outright bad, just... decidedly weird. Starlight would get through this, she always did!

I can do this, thought Starlight, muttering aloud, “Just stop stressing…”

You can do this!

“Just stop stressing!” Starlight cried.

"Starlight Glimmer,” droned somepony through the market’s cacophony, “what is going on?"

Turning, the sight that met her uncoiled all the tightness constricting her within. “Maud!” Starlight cried. She was like a beacon of hope through this sad, confusing maelstrom. It’d been so long since they last saw each other, Starlight couldn’t immediately remember the last time they were together.

Maud Pie approached from the Flower Sisters' stand, where Lily Valley waved to Starlight hurriedly before returning to Comet Tail, and the four ponies behind him.

"Heh, hey there, Maud!" Play it casual, she thought, sighing to school her racing heart. If Maud asks about it, then just... The stoic mare was getting closer. "What brings you into town?"

Maud came to a full stop before her. "It's Boulder and I’s anniversary." She didn’t seem to notice ‘it’ yet.

"Ooh, big day! Is that what the flowers are for?" Starlight leaned in, lifting her back-left hoof. “Looks like you’ve got an entire garden in your saddlebag.”

"He really likes zinnias,” she explained, monotone, but obviously with fondness. A beat later, Maud said, “I don’t think you've noticed, but you lost your horn."

Despite feeling like she was bucked in the chest, Starlight held her smile strong, even widened it a skosh. “Perceptive as ever, eh Maud?” Starlight immediately cursed herself, treating this lightly once again, probably furthering Maud’s concern.

Then she cursed herself a second time: her mane must have swung aside as she whirled around, giving Maud an eyeful of mild body horror.

She was ready to apologize when Maud said, “I’m sorry. What I said was rude. I’m just shocked right now.”

That was no surprise. Anypony would be. “You're telling me!” Starlight hooted. “Imagine waking up and not expecting this?”

Maud blinked, her eyes somewhat widened. Wow, she really was floored by this. “I really can’t. Are you okay?”

Not at all—Starlight was miserable and she was hot and her legs hurt and everything felt about as lifeless as, well, as a rock. But there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in Tartarus she was burdening Maud with any of that mess. “Oh, I’m fine. I mean, yeah, it does sorta suck—I’m not gonna lie—but I really don’t mind! Since it was f—”

Maud raised a hoof. “Wait.” She turned it over, and just stared through it, as though she could see Starlight still.

It was really hard to keep smiling in the face of Maud’s quirky sense of humor. Surely, though, a punchline was about to hit and send her into a gut-busting laugh.

Maud’s hoof dropped, thunking upon the cobblestones. “I think you just lied.”

‘It does kind of stink…’ “Heh, what? Psht!" Starlight waved her off. “Your knees must be sore, Maud! Jumping to conclusions like that.”

Maud cruelly waited just long enough to make Starlight fill the awkward silence with a titter.

“Not really,” she finally said. “I’m not much of a jumper."

Starlight forced a laugh. "Right."

"Besides, I was only making an observation. Your reaction indicates that I was somewhat correct.”

Starlight frowned. What gave Maud the authority to assert such things about other ponies? Especially her best non-Pie friend? Starlight analyzed her friend’s statuesque stance from hoof to ear, seeing no falter or giveaway in its posture. As always. “I think you’re just taken aback by all this.”

Shoppers murmured all around, ignoring their discussion.

“That makes two of us, then,” Maud replied. Surely she was smirking inside this very moment.

Starlight furrowed her brows at the notion. “I don’t like your snark, Maud Pie.”

Her friend took a second to absorb this. “Nor am I fond of being lied to twice.”

“Okay,” Starlight snorted, “I walked into that one. But its your current snark that I'm not a fan of."

“I’m being serious, though. You’re worrying me, Starlight.”

‘You’re worrying me.’ Maud actually said that, out loud, not even caring about the other shoppers who might be listening in. She really wasn't giving that a thought right now.

Starlight fought the writhing in her chest. It was just a feeling, she couldn't get lost in those now. Maud was just being sensitive, too. She couldn't forget that. Ease her worries, Starlight. Don't let her worry about you.

“I promise you, I’m not lying. Maud, I swear that I’m totally fine. See? Look into my eyes, I am!” And Starlight gazed wide-eyed into Maud’s hooded stare, held it a moment, then pulled back. “Now I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop interrogating me, and presuming that I'm not alright because of what you 'observe.' There's a lot you can't glean from a pony on the outset, after all. You should know that, better than anypony I imagine.”

Maud opened her mouth immediately, held it, then pressed her lips together. For a moment, Starlight feared she'd gone too far somewhere along the line. “I only asked if you were okay," said Maud.

All the tightness in Starlight’s muscles loosened up with a sigh. Don't forget, she's only being a good friend. Don't be short with her. “Right.” Starlight felt her ears wilt. “I’m sorry for snapping. Things have been a little tense lately.”

“I understand.” Her lips were slightly parted, as though about to say more. “It’s okay. How have you been otherwise?” she uttered, stiffer than usual.

She didn’t even ask how it happened. Did Maud just not care? Well… that was good. Great, actually! Because... because Starlight didn’t either! In fact, one of the first lines drawn about their friendship was to avoid talking about each other's feelings—something Starlight was more than happy to oblige right now, to keep things simple. But does she even care about what happened to me? Starlight wondered anyway. Maud didn’t ask, so clearly, she… might… not?

And that was totally fine. Preferred, actually! Maud actually respected Starlight’s privacy, unlike Spike. And she didn’t doubt her strength right out of the gate as Twilight had. Or rather, like Twilight faked. Probably.

What a mess this all was.

“Starlight.”

“Sorry, what?” she said, laughing to conceal her own embarrassment.

“Did you hear nothing that I said?” asked Maud.

Starlight dropped her smile. “Um, no. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t actually say anything.”

That was smirk-worthy. “Thanks for the heart attack, Maud.”

Typically she would respond with something like, ‘Anytime,’ yet Maud just stared. And stared. And stared. And then finally, she said, “Are you sure you’re—”

“Fine.” She’s just concerned. Starlight exhaled, then calmly continued, “I'm fine. Don't... Just don't worry about me, please." Maud blinked, waiting. That's right, she asked how Starlight was. "And aside from the obvious, you didn’t miss much. You know how it is: another week, another national crisis narrowly averted.” Maud blinked; what in Equestria was up with her today? “Um, hey, you wanna grab lunch? Catch up?”

Maud just stared instead of happily taking up the offer to hang out with her friend. She doesn’t even want to spend time with me. Did Starlight actually make her perpetually-calm friend angry? That was possible? The base of Starlight’s horn tingled as though electrocuted. She smiled despite it.

Maud gazed half-lidded at her all the while. And then she said, “Only if you’ll tell me how this happened.” Her gaze flickered to Starlight’s forehead, who promptly ignored that and fought the heat of shame creeping up her neck.

She was more relieved to have the chance to explain herself. “It’s a deal!”

“So, you know how Twilight and I have magic practice on Sundays? Oh,” laughed Starlight, “wait, I’d said that before, didn’t I? Well, that isn’t happening anymore, for obvious reasons! So, I feel like we should seriously consider, oh, revolutionizing our friendship. You know? Establish it on something equally as deep and complex as the arcana, and just as impressive as my magic was. Something like...” Neither her once-bitten hayburger, nor Maud’s clean plate, yielded any suggestions. "Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll think of something later. But It needs to be something we can compete at, too! Something that I can get better at. Horn or no, I have to continue impressing Twilight and prove that I’m more than just some pony living in her castle, eating her food and—” She shook her head in disgust. “We had a real bond over that, you know. Magic practice. That's the point of this word vomit here. And it wasn't just because we were both good at magic. It was this… connection we had, I guess. Like, we were so equal in power, either one of us could pop someplace in Equestria, and the other could, like, sense one another’s magic and slingshot over in a second! ...But now that that’s gone,” Starlight sighed, “we need an equivalent substitute to replace it. One that’s not only fun, but special, too. But I stayed up almost all night thinking about this and yet…”

A familiar dissatisfaction tried to worm its way in. I’m not selfish, Starlight reminded herself. I’m not selfish for wanting this. I don’t need my magic. I can live differently from my old life.

“There’s nothing else we’ve really bonded over," she admitted, finding the courage to do so. “Not as strongly, at least. Know what I mean?”

Across the table of crimson plastic, Maud’s straw popped from her mouth with a gentle pop. “I do. I think you're overthinking it. Pinkie and I are close as two friends can be, and we have virtually nothing in common.” She took her cup in both hooves and squeezed, popping the lid off. “Barring our penchant for comedy.” She removed her lid by the straw impaling it.

“But you’re also sisters," Starlight pointed out. "These things don't necessarily equate."

With a single beat, at least a dozen ice cubes poured into her friend’s mouth. “That doesn’t matter,” she said, somehow clearly with blocky, bulging cheeks.

Somehow, that wasn’t the most confusing thing hitting Starlight at the moment. “Um, yeah, it kinda does.”

Maud shattered the ice with a single chomp. “No, it doesn’t,” she insisted, then swallowed her icy mouthful. “Twilight cares about you. You’ll find new things to bond over. It won’t be magic, but it could still be fun.”

It won’t be magic. It shouldn’t have hurt, yet that hurt more than her aching forehead. “I suppose.” She hated how dejected she’d sounded, and for bothering her friend with all this. “Maud, I’m sorry for dumping my problems on you.”

“It’s okay. I mean it.”

“No, it’s not! Were those the first words to come out of your mouth since sitting down? Tch, my hero,” crooned Starlight. “Thanks for stopping me from babbling like a loony.”

“Except this is literally how all our conversations go. Even the loony part," Maud added with a smirk.

Starlight needed to only glance back at their time together, trying to recall any time Maud had carried a conversation. “Right.”

“Or did you forget that, too?”

Starlight’s heart skipped a beat: Maud just snapped. Even with zero emotion, she knew Maud well enough to know she seldom wasted her breath. But emotional outbursts were unheard of altogether, at least as far as their interactions went. It left Starlight totally dumbfounded.

“Sorry,” said Maud, glancing at her plate. “I’m just concerned.”

Calming, Starlight smiled reassuringly. “Maud, you’re sweet, but you’ve got nothing to worry about. Twilight and I’ll find something else to bond over, just like you said.” That isn't magic. She laughed over such intrusive thoughts. “I’ve just been up in my head, as per usual! No big deal... So, forget about my rambling, please. It's nothing to worry about.”

Maud blinked, as though surprised that Starlight didn’t collapse into another long ramble. “I am concerned about you," she said.

Of course, she was. Obviously, she was. How could Maud not be? Starlight grinned despite her internal howling. “Maud,” she laughed, "are we still on about my horn? I told you already, I’m fine!”

“Eight times since the market, to be exact.”

And suddenly all of Hayburger was afire. Or it sure as heck felt that way! “O-oh?” Starlight fanned a pathetic gust her way. “You’re right, I’m sorry, I just—”

“You assumed that I was referring to your horn, also,” Maud continued, words as piercing as her stare. “You talk a lot, Starlight. But this is the first conversation we’ve had where you didn’t just talk. You noised.”

That... was funny. Just a joke, that's all this was. The moment a chuckle bubbled up Starlight's throat, bringing with it a smile, Maud burst with a flat, “I’m serious." Her tone didn't so much as hint otherwise, overwhelming the low murmurings of Hayburger. "You were saying words as though to fill a silence. I couldn’t have replied if I wanted to.”

“And,” Starlight paused, afraid to hear the answer, “did you want to say something?”

Maud gave a stare. “Not the point. You aren’t ‘fine.’ That much is clear”

Starlight’s mouth opened, as if she actually had a defense at this point. But she basically just spilled everything that deeply scared her to Maud. Even if she could dismiss them all as mere gabbing, which it totally was, there's no way a sensible pony like her would buy it. And... and she’d just finished a grueling two weeks at Ghastly Gorge! Two weeks of nonstop work and research, and she comes home to this?

"Maud, I'm so sorry."

"You've nothing to be sorry for."

"But I do," Starlight cried. She'd dropped all her problems without any consideration for other ponies once again. Maud was only tolerating this out of kindness. "I could've gone about this differently. Smartly. But instead, you had to take the brunt of my nonsense and I didn't once consider how you'd feel."

I’m not selfish, she recited. But Starlight was foolish, thoughtless, certainly reactive…

“Is that why you didn’t find me?”

Starlight blinked. “S-Sorry?” Since when did Maud start asking questions unprovoked?

“You knew where I was,” she clarified. “But I never knew what'd happened until now. Not from Twilight, nor you. I would have listened. You know that. So why didn't you find me, if not for that?"

'If not because you forgot to consider me,' Maud asked, but didn't say.

It was more blame, more guilt. Starlight didn’t want a scrap of it. This was not her fault! “You told me before coming in here, that you knew what'd happened to Twilight already.” Starlight remembered how relieved she’d felt, having evaded reliving those horrific memories once again upon Maud telling her she was up to speed.

“Through Pinkie Pie,” her friend snarled, probably. “But never you. No letter. Not a word from you until the market.” Her eyes flickered up at last. “Why didn’t you remember me?”

Starlight felt everything, time, the world around her, even her very breathing, all grind to a halt.

Maudileena Daisy Pie was certainly a pony worth respecting. She didn’t dance around the point with pretty words or soften her opinion. Maud just went and made it, giving a hearty ‘To Tartarus!’ to anypony who’d feel put off by her bluntness.

Now was no different: ‘Why didn’t you remember me?’

‘Why didn’t you…?’

It was bad enough that Maud was clearly so hurt by this. Even worse that, amidst all of the panic, Starlight truly had forgotten about her other friends. Maud. Trixie. Even Sunburst. Heck, she forgot to take any of their feelings about this decision into account, even the one she was saving! What did that say about Starlight?

I’m such a bad friend, she realized, and Maud knew it. She’d known for the last two weeks, amidst every hour, with every clang of the pickaxe. Knowing the horror going on in Ponyville, she probably wondered every moment, ‘Why haven’t I heard from Starlight?’

‘Why…?’

“Maud, gosh, I didn’t forget you. Not in the way that you think!”

“That’s reassuring.” Her monotone dripped with hypothetical sarcasm.

“Dang it, Maud, you know what I mean!” Silence fell on Hayburger like the gavel of a judge. The stares of one could be felt from every corner, burning a hole in Starlight’s forehead she only now realized was uncovered. Let them look. She didn’t care. She totally didn’t care. She never will. “I didn't forget you like… like that. Like I didn't even care,” she hissed, glancing at the ponies sidelonging them from across the joint. "I'd never up and forget all about you. You know that."

“Really?”

Starlight couldn’t tell if Maud was being hopeful or sarcastic. “You tell me,” she challenged with a smirk. “You’re one of my closest friends, Maud. I don’t think a day’s passed where you didn’t cross my mind.” Though untrue in the context of this rather stressful ordeal, Starlight hoped that, behind her placid gaze, out of everything she herself had bared in this terrible restaurant, that Maud believed this much. “A lot was happening at the time. That's all. My mind was just a bit... preoccupied.”

Great excuse. One thing was happening, and you just never spared your friends another thought. Not Trixie, nor Sunburst. Great friend, Starlight! Maud let that soak in, as if knowing what was stopping Starlight's heart this very moment. Shame gradually killed her smile. I did not just peddle that lame excuse. It'd be more honest if I said nothing else mattered at the time.

Again, what in Equestria did that say about Starlight?

"So you did forget about me.” Maud’s gaze was as flat as her voice, though her hurt was painfully clear. ‘You forgot about me,’ it said, ‘because I’m too boring to be remembered.’ But she was not. Sweet Celestia, she was not! Yet Starlight made her feel that way. Both had always been quick to assume what other ponies thought of them; something else they shared. "Need I ask why?" she wondered.

"No!" Starlight reached to comfort the grey hoof across from her. "I mean... Maud, that isn't it at all.”

Maud didn’t move a muscle, not even her hoof. “That’s what it sounds like, though," she said, as if stating a fact. “Starlight, listen." The rare, monotone utterance of her name brought her eyes to Maud’s, half-mast and... glimmering? Or was that the light? Definitely the light, little more than wishful thinking on Starlight's part. “There is clearly something wrong. Nothing’s ‘fine.’ I don't think this is normal for you.”

This was payback, wasn’t it? She saw the obvious, but not the message Starlight was trying to convey. “Maud, please, can we just not talk about this?” It hurts too much, taking your time. The thought of it, of talking about how painful the market was, the one piece of the last twenty-four hours she'd kept from Maud...

“But you just did. For five minutes straight," she insisted.

Starlight’s face burned. Maud wasn't going to drop this. “Will you back off?" she snapped.

“You’re causing a scene.”

“Because I don’t want to talk about my horn!”

“Actually, I only said that—”

“I know—what you said,” growled Starlight. “I know you think I’m not ‘fine.’ That I’m ‘upset’ right now because of my horn."

“And why would you assume that?”

“Because everypony has so far! Everypony will!” Even as she corrected herself once, Starlight was urged to reconsider her words. "You're all pressuring me, wanting me to feel bad, when I don't want it! You think you know better than I know myself, which isn't just wrong, it's downright annoying."

“I wonder why that is,” Maud wondered sarcastically.

“Because they know I miss my magic!” Starlight froze, struck with shock. She cursed inside her head.

“Bingo,” muttered Maud.

“T-that came out wrong." She only got a stare in turn. "Don’t breathe a word of this to Twilight. In fact, don’t even bother considering it! Because... I was just flustered, and, the heat of the moment—!”

And Maud blinked.

“Stop looking at me like that!”

“Okay. Should I turn around?”

“Quit being a jack, you know what I mean!”

“No, Starlight, I actually don’t—” A scoff cut her off.

Maud and Starlight turned to where Carrot Top was storming through the double doors, and a grumpy Tootsie Flute escorted by the scruff of her neck.

The filly grumbled, “I only asked what a—” she was muffled by the door, “—jack was.”

Starlight blushed. She could feel herself smoldering underneath Hayburger’s collective stare. This was going to be all over town in no time. What a graceful display from Princess Twilight's former student.

“We should go back to my place.”

‘Should.’ Before I make a further jack of myself. Starlight couldn't stop her anger from erupting in force. “See?! This is what I mean! I know you’re embarrassed by me. You’re judging me right now! I can tell.”

“And what is my judgement?”

As if she didn’t know already! “Oh, only that you’re presuming I’m not okay.”

“I’m not presuming anything.”

“You thought I forgot about you!”

“Because you did.”

Starlight wanted to scream. “Not because you're boring! Just stop. Stop interpreting it that way, okay?! I told you that you were wrong, yet you insist that you're not! It's really getting on my nerves.”

“Stop. Yelling. At. Me.” Maud set her hooves upon the table. “I don’t trust your judgement right now. You insist you’re happy to have lost your magic with the worst straight face I’d ever seen. And I’m sisters with Pinkie Pie.” Starlight felt pummeled in the chest; for her foolishness, for her behavior, for embarrassing Maud and Twilight. This mare's bluntness will never come so close to encapsulating ‘brutal honesty’ ever again. “I don’t believe you for a second, Starlight. Nopony will.”

I’ve been so transparent, haven’t I? And if Maud noticed, then that means Twilight really must have… Spike was...

No. She really was just humoring Starlight yesterday. No. Twilight sat there, smiling, pretending to fall for Starlight’s weak attempts at pretending she was fine with this. With any of it. No! She knew, no, suspected that Starlight despised this trade and its awful repercussions. And Fizzlepop clearly didn’t want to deal with it. Everypony had better things to do, yet Twilight was probably back home, worrying at this very moment when she had no reason to at all!

“I’ll... get used to it over time.” A moment passed before Starlight realized she’d said those words aloud. “I-I know I will, M-Maud." Her clean plate was something to admire, so incredibly spotless. "Everypony’s concerned, and that's sweet. And it’s not like I believe I don’t deserve it, or anything self-pitying like that.” Maud’s silence urged her to continue. “But it’s just… between my past and all those mistakes, I’ve always bounced back, sooner or later. I’ve always managed it on me own, at my own pace. This time won’t be any different, it shouldn't be. It doesn't need to be! And you all need to understand that. You need to respect it.”

Movement in her peripherals brought her gaze to Maud’s brows, having risen ever so slightly. She took a deep breath. “I understand all of that. You are strong.” And she reached toward Starlight. Something gently bumped against her hoof and heart. “You’re one of the strongest ponies I know, but you are full of silica-rich magma. Sooner or later your facade is going to crack, all that pressure building up inside you is going to erupt in our faces, and it’s going to burn everyone.”

“Pretty words.” Maud had always been proud of her rock poetry. “But your fears are misplaced. Sure, I miss the conveniences of having magic, but I’ll acclimate to that change, too.”

“You’re still denying the fact that you miss your magic, when it is very clear you do.”

Starlight gulped; she couldn’t outright lie about this, not to Maud. "A-and even if I was, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing.”

‘You’re so selfish…’ whispered dream-Twilight, whispered the horrible truth. She gave it up so Twilight could live, if she regretted that then she regretted her choice! “No! It’s completely, morally wrong! It’s terrible!”

‘You’re so selfish!’

“I’m terrible!”

“Stop. No you’re not.”

“No… I’m not. I'm not,” Starlight murmured, shaking, hugging herself. She watched Maud's hoof retreat as her heart raced, thumped at speeds a drummer couldn’t compete with. "I’m not terrible,” she reaffirmed, gently, in case her friend still suspected fibbing. “You wanna know why, Maud? It’s because I did everything, all this?" Starlight gestured to her forehead. “I did it all for a friend. I didn’t care about what Hydia had to take from me. And looking back, I still don’t. Nothing, and I mean nothing, was more important than saving Twilight. I’d do it again, I swear on my life I would.”

Hayburger’s fryers sizzled away in the kitchen. Other than that, not a sound filled the crowded Hayburger as Maud’s eyes widened completely. It was as if understanding, the gravity of what this meant for Starlight, dawned on her at last.

“What?” Maud blurted out. “Anything?”

Starlight tilted her head. Was this a trick question? If she said ‘yes’ would Maud call her a crazy lunatic like Spike and probably Twilight and maybe even Tempest thought she was? Except, Starlight would totally give up anything to save Twilight again… Except, she didn’t know what she was losing at the time, nor again. It could have been something twisted, like Twilight herself.

Starlight didn’t know what she'd do if the price was somepony else. The idea was bone-chilling. But she couldn’t say ‘No,’ that would be a lie, and prove that Starlight was a selfish friend.

The best she could say in this position was, “Um… maybe?”

Maud just stared. Starlight felt her brow moisten. “By hesitating to answer,” said Maud, “you indirectly prove you weren’t thinking. You were panicking.”

“Look, the witches didn’t even tell me what I was giving up!” Starlight exclaimed, throwing her hooves in the air. “They only vaguely hinted at my most prized possessions.”

“Oh, this is getting better.”

“What?” Maud had some nerve, treating this like it was a domino effect of one terrible decision enacting another. “What?! Tell me what I was doing wrong this time, Maud.”

“Nothing, unless you never considered your own life might be forfeit.”

“Obviously, I did!” The thought had crossed her mind, then. It would cross anyone’s mind, but that didn't matter to her when somepony else was on the line! “I wondered this, like, half a hundred times! And every time I wondered, I looked inside myself, asking, ‘Is this right? Can I do this?’ And you wanna know how I felt?” Maud’s lips were parted open. Starlight forced the welling sensation away from her eyes, leaned forward, smirking like the slimy little pony she was. “I felt fine. I felt good. I felt like I could really do this, let go of my own fears in order to help a friend who did the very same for me!” Starlight wiped her stupid, overly emotional tears away. “And I did it. I repaid my debt. And you know what? If I had to lose it all in order to save another friend’s life, I’d accept it without hesitation!”

A soft whistle somewhere in the restaurant was followed by a nasally-voiced colt whispering, “Wait ‘till the class hears about this, this's nuts!”

Oh, gosh. Starlight’s insides iced over completely. I’d completely forgotten we’re surrounded by ponies!

Her ears burned like they were afire. She almost missed the utterance of, “You are such a jerk.”

“Wha—?” Starlight half-gasped, half-shrieked, for Maud’s gaze truly glimmered neath the sunlight splashed across her face.

“You’re a jerk,” she clarified, even stiffer than usual. “You actually think Twilight would be happy to hear all this. You're amazing, Starlight. But you're also a thoughtless jerk.”

Starlight’s heart pounded in her chest. Maud’s upset. What had she done wrong? I upset Maud. Why was Maud angry with her?! Because I’m being selfish again. I was. I always am.

“Well?” Maud ‘exclaimed.’

The slight rise in tone made Starlight jump, nothing more. “I—no,” she stammered. "I don't know. I'm sorry, okay? I don't know what I did wrong," she lied, "but I'm sorry."

Maud asked very slowly, “Do you understand why she—”

“Yes, I do, okay?!” Starlight shrieked. “And guess what, she has no right to control what I want to do with my life! I do. And nopony can tell me what it is and isn’t worth, neither. So whatever you’re about to snark at me with your snarky-snark, you can just go and cram it!”

Silence, as Maud's mouth staggered shut. “So the ponies who care about you, they don’t even matter?” Though her voice was flat, Maud’s eyes shimmered, trembling in time with her words. Starlight felt her insides were gouged out. It hurt, and it scared her. This all scared her. She was never expecting this, despite Spike's warnings. Twilight must feel the very same, and Starlight never once considered how she would feel. How any of them would feel.

"Well I'm sorry I didn't consider the feelings of every pony under the sun!" Starlight sneered, lashing back against her terror, her mistakes. "Because in case you hadn't noticed, Maud, Twilight was wheezing her last breaths while everypony else was having the time of their lives! But that's fine. I should have just joined them, stood by, and let my best friend die!"

Her voice rang in the vastness of Hayburger.

With parted lips, Maud searched Starlight's face, her eyes flitting faster and faster. A slight rise of her breast quickened within seconds. "I can't argue with you right now."

And just like that, Maud hopped out the booth, back turned to Starlight with a flick of the tail. “Bye, Starlight. I’ll see you when you get your head out of your rear-end and you can talk to me like a normal pony.”

'Normal' bucked her right in the gut as she watched Maud walk out the door.

Starlight sat there, stricken for but a moment before tearing out the booth and galloping after her. "Maud, wait!” Starlight crashed through the double dinging doors. “Please!” Her friend actually halted, waiting for Starlight to fight and steady her breath. “I still," she gasped, "don't understand," she sighed, "what the problem is! Please," Starlight wheezed, “I just wanna understand, what I did wrong…” She knew though. It was obvious, Starlight didn't know why she was asking.

She just wanted to make sure. Make sure she wasn't crazy. That somepony else thought just as she did, and she wasn't just assuming nonsense like always.

But Maud didn’t turn around. She didn’t even move. Nor did she take a breath in the three seconds it took for her to say something.

"Follow me, and you'll be eating bedrock for dinner, Starlight."

And Maud Pie left her.

‘You actually think Twilight would be happy to hear all this…’ It was no wonder Twilight was acting so emotional. And I didn’t even notice. Starlight’s insides quivered as she collapsed on her rear, watching her once-friend become more and more distant. I’ve got problems.

Spike was hurt because of her. He was outright dismissed by Twilight because for her, deep down, that was preferable to entertaining the truth. That Starlight had, indeed, sacrificed her precious magic to save Twilight’s life. No way would she be happy to accept this, not at all.

She didn't just lack a single thought for how Twilight might feel about all this. Even when she was content with losing her own life, she barely gave those close to her a second thought.

I am selfish. And now Maud...

She didn't want to think about it, for if Maud could see through Starlight, reacted this way, then one of the smartest modern ponies in Equestria surely had as well. It might be too late to salvage any of this, and Starlight had no one to blame but herself.

III.III - Sorry

View Online

Okay, Fluttershy. You can do this. You're in control. Just gotta breath in, and out...

Inhale. Her lungs filled until they were ripe as water balloons. And exhale. Fluttershy let it go, her breath and fears as one. She vented beyond that which she inhaled, as instructed, until what felt like a loving squeeze from Harry the Bear became mildly unpleasant.

This was Fluttershy now: calm, a part of this couch. Like water. Although the three conflicted with one another to some degree, she learned not to question Discord's logic, and from Treehugger to just go with the flow. Everything had its time, place, and reasoning.

Even... now. Horrible, terrible, awful as it was. Through the darkness she was enveloped in, the form of an enormous, diseased abomination came into view, spinning round with Starlight her throat hooked in the monster's forearm, and her eyes obscured by a claw gripping her by the horn. Just her muzzle was visible, gaping, spittle flying out in a noiseless scream.

Fluttershy's blood began to curdle once again. Oh, I’m trying, but it's so hard! Focus, Fluttershy. Just bee... like water.

Another round of breathing exercises had no effect. Keeping her eyes clenched, she willed the memory to become Twilight again, alive and well and crying as she soared into view, babbling incoherently. Fluttershy was in control, bringing her teacup close to her lips, warm moisture licking her nose as the earthy taste of chamomile fell down her throat, flooding her with comfort and calm.

She peaked an eye open, to see if she was being judged. Discord, garbed in paint and a leaf skirt like a village shaman, sat cross-legged in a floating armchair across from her, eyes drawn shut. He just looked so at peace with himself. Fluttershy giggled at the butterflies in her tummy, watching him. He'd grown so much and here he was, helping her in a manner so unlike him.

A yellow eye cracked open.

Before Discord opened his mouth, Fluttershy jumped to explain. "I’ve just never heard you, or, not heard you, in this way before. I-if you know what I mean." She was so used to her friend being animated, in-motion, and not...

...like water.

“Ooh, brightening eyes, I see?” Discord teased. “Another soul finally comprehending the power of my meditation exercise?"

"Oh, I already have." Fluttershy didn't bother wondering who else he taught this too. More often than not, it was Discord flexing so he felt less embarrassed. Another problem, an even harder one for him to overcome. But baby steps was progress regardless. Fluttershy just wished she was as strong and fast as Rainbow Dash when it came to making progress. "You've been a big help to me, Discord. Thank you. F-for doing this, and... I'm sorry for taking your time.”

Discord huffed, upturning his nose and doing that weird pinky-claw-up gesture. "Water does not 'take' time, dear Fluttershy, it is an important part of my life." Fluttershy reflexively gulped, just as he took a quick, noisy sip. “Nor does it talk. Or think about anything but being water."

Fluttershy squeaked, returning to her teacup. Be like water. With another sip, every nerve seemed to tingle at once, especially around her core, before exhaling all at once. She sunk deeper in the armchair, feeling the goofiness of her smile and the shamelessness of wearing it.

She'd been ridiculous these past few days, believing she never deserved to wear such a thing again.

Fluttershy was a fidgety, frizzy-maned wreck when Discord had arrived. He was a day late for their Tuesday Tea, not that he needed to apologize for it, not even once. He was part of the search team for Starlight's attackers. Fluttershy felt even worse. She was cutting into his schedule, which meant poor Pinkie had given up. That her heart, set on getting Fluttershy to tend to her Sanctuary, to do something that would make her smile, was broken. Lost. Fluttershy tried to listen, to smile for Pinkie's sake. And she did upon seeing the brightening faces of her regulars. But Pinkie was gone before she knew it, knowing how fake Fluttershy was being.

Not even grooming Angel helped, much to his disappointment. Fluttershy’s careful, tentative strokes degraded whenever her mind wandered, making them clumsy and void of that gentle touch.

It wasn't until Discord arrived in a burst of light, with puppy-like energy that always filled the room, did all the bad feelings burn away. And before he could get a word in, Fluttershy jumped on the possibility of whether he could fix her failure.

If he could help Starlight in a way only he could truly manage.

She didn't even say hello, that's how awful she was being. But Discord understood, ever so considerate of her. But restoring something as powerful and personable as a unicorn horn was beyond his ability—especially one bound in some “contract.”

Yet Fluttershy pressed the issue, desperate for him to try something until he equated horns to pony manes. Apparently, it would be far easier to give one an entirely new manestyle than magically change it. As Rarity learned the hard way, that was literally impossible, even for the god of impossibilities.

And Discord, ever the great friend, worked his impossible magic with a strong hug, a hairbrush, and a silly hairdresser's character. Before letting the mindset overtake him, Discord murmured in a low voice, "Tell me what's wrong.” Intentional or not, Discord proved that this was serious to him as he pretend-snipped at her hair. He was actually worried. Anypony would be grateful to have such a caring friend.

Fluttershy didn’t feel dread about opening up. Discord went above and beyond to prove this was important to him. After much grooming and more weeping, they wound up in the living room. This "Wednesday" tea turned out to be surprisingly tranquil, especially with the advice Discord taught Fluttershy.

Without any show or wild display of magic, he advised her not to move, not to think. To visualize what made her who she was, and to be like water: no worry, not about getting in anypony's way, or feeling obligated to achieve more than what it was made to do. This deep and unexpected side of Discord was... amazing. Fluttershy just had to question where he’s been hiding it all this time.

Smiling thinly, meaning this wasn’t one of his favorite topics, Discord had explained before Fluttershy could redact her question. “Even as a magnificent monument to improbabilities, there are still rules that I have to follow, by the law of space and time.” And gravely he added, “No matter how much I may not like it.”

Questions had been racing through Flutterhy's head for days, over and over again: the “why" of it all. Pinkie and Rarity wasted so much time trying to help her. It couldn't have all been for naught. “Like Twilight’s sickness? And Starlight’s horn?” Fluttershy’s cheeks burned, she was such a loudmouth, but she couldn’t help herself.

Discord simply nodded. “Some terrible things happen for no reason, others for a vague point in the cosmic scheme of things. That is not for us to worry about. We shall weather this storm together. That, I think, is the point of this quote-unquote 'chaos.'” He popped an eye open, then both sprang wide. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, I’m serious! My preferred chaos is at least fun. It's not like I have to enjoy every part of it. After all, do you enjoy cleaning up after your furry friends?”

“It’s just…” Fluttershy swallowed. It felt almost wrong to give such an underhoofed complement to Discord, but she knew he wouldn’t mind. “You really would have prevented all this if you could?” She swallowed, trembling slightly. “Even healing Twilight?”

Discord sneered, lifting his lion’s paw flashing with energy. “With everything in my power.” But this wasn't within his power. It was just something he could not change, no matter how much he wanted to. Starlight's horn fell in the same boat.

Fluttershy smiled. Beneath his ‘cool guy’ exterior lied a big heart. He must have felt horrible for not being able to help Twilight. She sometimes asked if Discord actually liked her, or was just a source of frustration and thus amusement for him. She'd be happy to hear this next time the subject came up.

“Fluttershy?” Discord had asked upon her realizing this.

“Mm?”

He smiled. “You are like water," Discord explained. "And water doesn't pile itself with blame for not being the Fountain of Youth.”

“Right.”

“And it doesn't talk.”

“Right, sorry… Sorry, again,” she whispered, "for making you come here." Discord hugged any lingering negativity away.

He was right. There’s some things even the avatar of Chaos couldn't do. Fluttershy should not blame herself for failing to suddenly become Rainbow Dash. Especially when this horrible affair was meant to happen in some roundabout, Cutie Mark-esque way.

Water didn't think. It didn't have memories of Starlight Glimmer howling in agony. It didn't have eyes to watch her getting strangled by a monster who ripped her horn clean off like a weed plucked from the dirt. Water couldn't have done anything to stop what Discord called an inevitability. There was nothing water could have been expected to do to save Starlight Glimmer.

Therefore, water shouldn't blame itself.

After realizing, greatly disliking, and finally, making peace with it all, the chamomile handled the rest. It was nice. This was nice. Even if the visuals of what Fluttershy had witnessed weren't leaving her any time soon, Discord had done more than she ever would have accomplished herself. Hopefully Pinkie Pie won't be too down about failing to make Fluttershy smile herself.

Oh my, I'm thinking again. Fluttershy gulped another mouthful of chamomile, the calm encompassing her akin to a warm blanket.

"Water does not think, Fluttershy," said Discord.

Her eyes sprung open. A smile grew in spite of the playful scowl she sent her friend's way. "Uh-huh, and how would you know with your eyes closed, Mister?"

Her friend tightened his shut gaze. "Water does not look, either."

"Discord," she laughed.

"However I, keep my eye, on you my dear." Without breaking the game's rule, Discord snapped his lion's paw, pointing at a point beside her. Fluttershy followed it to a lidless, yellow eyeball ogling her from the sidetable. "After all," he purred, one eye peeking open, "I really want to help you, Fluttershy. Can you blame me?"

"I am. Helped, I mean! I mean, you have helped me, Discord. Really, this has been lovely. I think I’m ready to face Starlight when she wakes up!”

Discord smiled, lounging in his armchair like a lazy snake. "Thank goodness! That was simply killing my posture and... And I don't ever want you to feel like a bother again, my dear.”

Something inside her brimmed with warmth. The dots connected: Pinkie's departure, Discord's arrival before the Starlight affair had achieved a resolution. “So, does that mean Pinkie's the reason you're...” She trailed off, the rest was obvious, even before Discord silenced her completely with a single, sad nod.

That amazing, caring friend of hers. She’d been so desperate to make Fluttershy feel better, trying to make her see this wasn't her fault. That Starlight would never hate her for this. She was truly lucky to have these ponies in her life.

“I need to see her,” Fluttershy decided. “As soon as I can. I’ve been such a burden to her, and to Rarity, and—”

Discord held up his talons, then pointed one her. “That, darling, is what they hated. You've no reason to apologize. All will be well once they see your beautiful smile once again.” Of course they would. Why would she think otherwise? “You're many things, Fluttershy, but the pony I encountered in Canterlot's maze did not doubt the strength of her friends' love for her. In fact, your resilience to such insecurities was what made me resort to cheating in the first place. So take pride! Toughen up. You're stronger than you know, etcetera, etcetera," he mumbled with flushed cheeks.

Fluttershy got the fuzzies again. “I know,” she said, smiling into her tea as she sipped it. “Now I do, I mean. I mean, I have for a long time.” She sighed, cursing her ineloquence. “I guess I lost sight of that.” A wilted-ear pony looked to her from the depths of her teacup. “This whole tragedy just has me so unraveled, first Twilight and now...”

It would certainly take more than tea therapy and meditation to help Starlight.

“You’re not the only one,” Discord intoned.

Fluttershy could hardly imagine. "And here I am, acting silly and forgetting the obvious."

"Nothing silly about it, Fluttershy.” Discord, her amazing friend, leaned forward with a deadly serious countenance. “Everypony possesses doubts which fester under extreme circumstances. Even yours truly! Remember the ridiculous notion I'd gotten? That you would see how strange I really was and hate it?” Discord hooted, not a real laugh, but to alleviate the tension that memory wrought. “I put together quite the delightfully dull tea party! Do you remember?"

A shiver-inducing cold caressed Fluttershy's withers. "You mean how you nearly erased yourself from existence by accident?" She met his gaze. "Yes, I remember all of that. And I want you to never doubt how much I love you. Never again… I-if that’s okay.”

Discord tugged at a necktie which made a brief appearance draped around his shoulders. "Yeah, let's just forget the bad part. Uh..." He snapped his fingers at her. "Water does not think! Or talk! Stop being abnormal, my dear, or you'll take my job away."

"Right, right, sorry.” Fluttershy smiled despite the gravity of her crimes. Be like water. Her body molded to the sofa. Be. Like. Water. Before long, quiet had overtaken the cottage once more.

Within a minute following, a battering of explosions pounded against Fluttershy’s door behind her, the suddenness throwing her airborne and shrieking. The scare's rush wore off as Fluttershy slowly turned, her door oddly silent. She felt her teacup descend safely into her hooves, and she threw a smile in thanks Discord’s way. But her curiosity and heart rate were tethered to the door, gravitating her toward it.

Fluttershy felt rude for not saying more to Discord, but the fact that company was at her door, without a call of a name or anything, meant it must be a stranger.

"I wonder who that could be?” she said, fluttering closer.

Discord snaked up beside her. "Ooh, a surprise guest!” He stroked his goatee. “How pleasantly unexpected."

Fluttershy glided to her "Welcome" mat, landing on both hooves with three more wingbeats before folding them. Discord followed, slithering through the air as though to make up for all those oh-so-painful minutes he spent straight as a street lamp.

"Wanna bet that it's Twilight?" he asked with a smirk.

Fluttershy gave a look she hoped was wide enough to convey, 'Please don't joke about that.'

"I hope not!" she softly cried. "If I see her before tonight, then it's something serious related to Starlight." Earlier today, Pinkie had said there was a town party last night. Apparently, Twilight was gathering the girls for an important dinner regarding Starlight, but wouldn't say why. Pinkie guessed it was a 'feel better' party. Hopefully just their friends were invited; Starlight got just as antsy as Fluttershy used to when around strangers, and she herself wouldn't mind a more intimate affair, personally.

Her shivering wing unfurled for the doorknob. Those knocks were so ferocious, so urgent. It has to be Twilight. Maybe she was only here with the invitation.

She turned the knob and pushed the door open with more force than she intended. But Fluttershy couldn’t hardly think about that, utter so much as a sorry, seeing that coat of pink right in front of her.

"S-Starlight Glimmer!" Fluttershy wheezed, wings flaring in surprise.

And that was rude. That was incredibly rude! An apology reached the tip of Fluttershy's tongue. She wanted to say it, but the “s” sound caught her tongue and she couldn’t say more. Starlight was here, in front of her, hornless and breathless and all messy and greasy-looking and... and...

Just what happened to Starlight!? Was she attacked? She must've—no, Fluttershy shoved the notion away. She couldn't have been. That was unthinkable. Not in their peaceful little town.

But that left room for only one explanation, yet Starlight couldn’t have been responsible for doing all this to herself. Not to her precious mane. Fluttershy had helped re-imagine it alongside Rarity, and now her friend’s beautiful hairstyle was a mangled horror show, concealing both shoulders like nappy curtains clawed up by kittens.

It’d been so long since Fluttershy had last seen Starlight. Not since she was splayed across the ground, hornless and bloody of face. Fluttershy also remembered the days before that, before Twilight was sick, ever so envious in silence of Starlight’s coat. She always, always had it brushed to a silky, seamless finish. But if she herself was the cause of her current state, it seemed she didn’t care anymore, and that was heartbreaking. It was messy and splayed in patches all over and... and a horrible notion wormed into her brain, and Fluttershy couldn't hope to shake it: there’s no way the poor dear could take care of herself now. Because... she didn’t have her magic, because she didn’t have a horn, all because Fluttershy who could hardly fly just sat there and screamed as her friend was violated—

No, Fluttershy! Don’t blame yourself. It isn’t healthy. And she'd just been staring at the poor thing! And her... Her horn... St-Starlight's h-h-horn is gone and she's like this because of... of… What little remained of it remained was protruding from her knotted-up forelock, twisted in violet and teal and swaying with every twitch of her wild stare.

Fluttershy's heart seized within her chest This is it. She wants to yell at me for not stopping that monster and saving her.

It's no wonder Starlight looked like this. No wonder at all! She could hardly handle a doorknob anymore for all Fluttershy knew. Her eyes stung. She had to apologize. Fluttershy forced herself to gaze into those pinpricked eyes. “Starlight—”

Then she avoided her, sudden and swiftly, smiling faintly. Emptily. But her eyes were bright and sparkling with pep like always. Fluttershy moved to meet them, but ended up casting them in the opposing direction.

She watched as they flickered back to her face repeatedly. She’s… like I was.

"Starlight," Fluttershy whispered. Their eyes connected, and her heart stopped, skipped a beat, then twisted all in an instant.

But only for a moment.

Like some poor, neglected puppy, Starlight forced her gaze down once more, to the space between Fluttershy's hooves. “I’m… I'm here to say I'm sorry,” she said at equal volume. Even bowed her head.

This was so unexpected. “Um, w-what?” Fluttershy squeaked.

Starlight winced, raising a protective foreleg before her. "U-Uh, sorry for just... just dropping in like this! I should have, I dunno, mailed or something! Heh... eh-heh... ugh.”

There was something seriously wrong with Starlight. "I-It's okay. Um, does Twilight know—?”

“Yep! And she’s fine with it. With me losing my horn, that is, just in case you were wondering.”

“S-she is?” That was incredibly hard to believe.

“Yeah, but that’s not important right now! What’s important is that I’m here to apologize to you.”

“To me?!” Fluttershy squeaked. Her throat closed, she could scarcely breathe. Starlight feels the need to apologize to me? “Why?”

"Because I’m sorry!” Starlight blurted, eyes flooding and looking into Fluttershy’s a second before boring into her muzzle. “I’m sorry, that you were hurt because of me. I wasn't thinking, I was selfish, a-and I didn't consider when I'd have to pay, a-and...” Starlight pursed her lips, screwed her eyes shut, flushing bright red.

Fluttershy could barely follow, only that she was blaming herself for being caught in the crossfire. “You mean the monster? Oh, Starlight, you shouldn’t blame yours—”

“I know! I know, I shouldn't, but it was still my responsibility!” Fluttershy wanted nothing more to object, but this was, to put it simply, a revelation. “I’m the one who made the deal with Hydia.” Starlight opened her eyes, looking just as awful as Fluttershy felt. “I did it to help Twilight. And I don't regret it, so don't go thinking I do! But you were hurt because of it, and that's why I'm apologizing."

“To help…?” Fluttershy only heard Starlight’s ragged screams, this “Hydia’s” laughter. She remembered a character of the same name from a nightmare-inducing story of her foalhood, the matriarch of three magic-wielding earth ponies. They granted wishes, and didn't look like... like deformed descendants of Klugetown.

The quickness of all this was hitting too fast to keep up with. “Starlight, wh-what do you mean, ‘to help?’” She meant Twilight, clearly. But that couldn't be it.

And yet, Twilight magically got better when even Princess Celestia had failed. Fluttershy still hadn't deduced why. If it wasn’t an act of Harmony, then that meant Starlight was telling the truth.

Starlight, oh my gosh, Starlight... “I’m so, so sorry.”

A wave of the hoof, like the evidence of her struggles before Fluttershy's eyes meant nothing. Were just mild annoyances at best. “Ah, it’s fine. I just wish you hadn’t seen any of that spooky stuff. Oof," she groaned with a roll of the eyes. "That sounds silly and insincere, I know!"

It doesn't, Fluttershy thought.

“But I don’t want you feeling bad for reasons that were beyond your control. Don’t do that to yourself, Fluttershy.”

“I,” she squeaked, swallowed the 'am not anymore.' Fluttershy wasn't the one hurting right now. “I don’t want you feeling responsible either, in that case. You couldn’t have known when…” Starlight’s ragged cries echoed in her memory. “When sh-she would come.”

Starlight’s body tensed. “Well, like I said, my own recklessness got you hurt, though. That could have been avoided. So much could have been… avoided,” she sighed. Starlight shook her head, and Fluttershy wondered what else was locked up in this poor pony's heart.

On a normal day, Starlight was one of the most emotionally honest ponies Fluttershy had ever known. She’d gotten better at expressing herself ever since that scary Pony of Shadows mission. It was an admirable courage obtained from something that happened during that whole mess.

But now she was somepony completely different. What had happened to their friend? “Starlight, what has this monster done to you?”

“What? Nothing!” A perplexed smile flickered on her muzzle. “I’m the same old Starlight, with or without my horn!”

But she took something more. “Starlight, I'm sorry, but I don't believe that. There's something else, and it has me really concerned! I don’t know what it is, but it’s like Hydia took something really important from you. Again, I'm sorry, but you’re acting so… unusual. I'm sorry, but that's how I feel, and thought you should know.” Somewhere along the line, her own courage petered out the more she was asserting and attacking about Starlight's character. It felt downright rude.

“Aw, that's sweet, Fluttershy. But don’t be!” Starlight assured her, sounding genuine. Their eyes almost met. “I-I don't want you blaming yourself over this, okay? That's what'll make me happy. This isn’t your fault, I’m the one who's responsible." Sweat trickled down Starlight’s grinning face. “I mean,” she choked, giving Fluttershy a chance to object, “you see, this had to happen—”

Those words thrummed in Fluttershy’s ears, smothering all else in the world with the words, “This had to happen.”

This had to happen. It was forced to, no other way. That's what "had" meant. Starlight had to look like this now, eyes filled with so much pain. Fluttershy had seen plenty of critters who looked the very same, but never on a pony.

Never a friend. And pony friends like Starlight couldn't have their fears hushed away with a few calming words, too complex for a solution so simple.

“Who was she?” Fluttershy stepped closer. Starlight started back. “Why did she attack you? Starlight, why?”

“L-look, can't you just get the story from Twili—err, Spike? Or something?” Fluttershy reeled, feeling like she’d been slapped as the plainness of Starlight's words beat against her heart. “I’m tired of telling it over and over.”

Why did she go from Twilight to Spike? Fluttershy hoped to Harmony they didn’t have a fight. “Um, Starlight?”

“Hm?” She cocked her head, forelock swaying limply.

“...Is,” Fluttershy almost didn’t want to ask this, but a part of her was desperate to know how Starlight would answer, “is everything okay?”

“Yep!” she answered promptly, grinning wide all the while. “Really, I’m great right now. I’m so glad everything’s back to normal.”

“Y-yes,” Fluttershy flushed, having hesitated to agree. Starlight’s pursed lips implied she noticed. She knows I don’t believe her. They needed to talk. Starlight needed to talk, to vent. More than anything in the world right now. “W-would you like to join us for some tea, Starlight?” She stepped aside, presenting the living room with a floating draconequus back in his chair, teacup raised and smiling. What did he think of all this? He’d been unusually... like water.

"Um… no? No, thanks!” Starlight tittered. “I don’t want my problems taking more of your time.”

Those words gutted Fluttershy. They were so very, achingly familiar. “Starlight, I promise you that it’s al—”

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright!"

Fluttershy swallowed. It was time to be assertive. She couldn’t let a friend who so clearly needed help out of her sight. But she couldn't pressure Starlight, for that would make her lock-up just as she used to. "Would you stay? We'd love your company! Discord brought this lovely chamomile blend that I just know you'll enjoy! It caaalms the nerves and—”

"O-oh, you've got company?" Starlight kept her tone leveled, but it quivered despite her efforts. The poor thing was terrified by the prospect. “Oh, Fluttershy, thanks for inviting me in but I’m gonna have to decline. I got things to do, and I don’t want to take up your Discord-time with… me and whatnot,” she laughed.

Fluttershy knew, too well, what was going through her mind. "You won't be," she countered. "And I know I wouldn’t mind some extra company."

"No, that's fine."

"Starlight—”

"I wouldn't wanna intrude." And before further argument could be taken, Starlight continued, "Besides, like I said, I only came to tell you I'm sorry. But Twilight's got this thing she wants me to do, so..." She took one step back. “Well, anyway!” Starlight whirled round, revealing a tail equally as horrible as her mane. "I better get on and do that. I'll see you later, alright?”

She galloped off before hearing her reply. Not that Fluttershy would have found the courage quick enough to call her out again.

She just stood there, watching like the helpless friend she was, unable to fly after her like Rainbow Dash would. She watched Starlight vanish within the shadowy tree-lined path winding from her quiet corner of Ponyville. She couldn't help but remember all the times her friend, in the early days of their relationship, would teleport away when things got too stressful.

‘Same old Starlight.’ There was no denying that. She’d made so much progress, and in Fluttershy’s opinion, this tragedy had somehow undone all of it.

Meanwhile, she just stood there and watched. Gawking. Useless.

Fluttershy bucked a hind leg. The door boomed shut behind her. I really am like water. Starlight’s behavior was disturbingly familiar, she ought to have been an expert on it. But Fluttershy was too busy lost in disbelief.

But it was real.

She wouldn't even look me in the eye, Fluttershy counted so many times where Starlight looked everywhere but at her. What’s making her feel this way? What made her like this? It couldn't just be losing her horn, that makes no…

What happened to you, Starlight Glimmer?

"Yoohoo! Fluttershy!"

"Oh!" A lion's paw waved in front of her face. "Sorry Discord,” Fluttershy shook her head, “I was just... thinking..."

"I should say so! That was certainly think-worthy. Though I'm not surprised. Starlight didn't even say 'Hi' to me, and I waved! Some friend." He pouted, hands on his hips. "But I suppose she's got a lot on her mind right now. I say, that pony needs some professional help. Too bad she's poo-outta-luck!"

"No, she's not, Discord." He was being silly. Starlight could get such help; she lived under the same roof as some. "What she needs are her friends."

Sunlight flickered overhead, winking between a canopy of maple leaves. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Starlight's hooves thundered over the hard-packed dirt. Sob after pathetic sob blubbered past her lips. She was such a foal. She was selfish and obsessed with games and ran away when things were tough just like a foal would. Why was she too afraid to accept her offer?

Guilt could barely bring her to meet Fluttershy's gaze. That must was clear, if not totally obvious. Starlight was just sad. Pathetic. She could be so much more than this, but instead chose to spend the last two years doing nothing with her life, nothing except re-learning the basics due to the kindness of a pony more patient than she had any right to be.

A concise four-beat rhythm drummed within her ears. That which she ran across felt different. Devoid of magic, devoid of any of the "stuffing" that gave it a shape Starlight understood. Discord was just a strange amalgamation of shapes in her eyes, and now soul. Not the body of unearthly power she first recognized him as. And grass was just grass. Pony was pony.

It was all so mundane and boring and why did Starlight even care?! There were real things to worry about!

Fluttershy's scarred for life because of me. Because I just HAD to stick around and forget about those monsters I was indebted to. Starlight knew there was no benefit in dwelling on what-might-have-been's. That was usually her method of coping: forgetting. And it made sense, it always worked! If one just forgot about what they'd done, didn't think about it, then they did not 'really' happen, did they? That was how most ponies dealt with grief anyhow.

But there wasn't a chance she'd forget any of this. There was a pulsing, aching reminder on her forehead ensuring that.

III.IV - I'm Yelling Because I Love You

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Not a day went by without some new crisis being thrust upon her. Everyone thought Twilight was the only capable pony around, but…

Twilight’s cheeks ached from smiling so hard. Lyra and Bon Bon waved back, blissfully unaware of the painful reality thieir resident princess was fighting to mask.

But a schedule had to be made tonight.

Twilight remembered a time when the prospect would elate her, but pushed those thoughts out of mind as she wondered how Spike should be approached. She wasn’t exactly sparking with excitement at the prospect. Maybe they could squeeze scheduling in between their—Twilight’s chest convulsed at the thought—bouts of intense emotion.

If the evening were smartly paced, then Twilight could have plenty of time for a good night’s rest after some quality time with Starlight. Twilight perked up at the thought; she felt like she could fly. Maybe she didn’t have to move that promised lunch with Ponyville’s cutest couple tomorrow.

There was no way in Tartarus that Twilight would let a friend down, and do something as heinous as reschedule.

Of course, her friends would understand if she had to change plans. But canceling one immediately gives the impression that this pony was worth less than others. Preventing anypony from feeling this way was of the utmost importance.

Ooh, it’s going to be so nice, scheduling all of this! Hopefully, whatever Rainbow needed to cover up wasn’t too bad.

Speaking of which, why exactly did she need to go? Obviously, something unfortunate had happened at the castle earlier, which meant that a certain somepony was only tagging along to alert everyone when the castle’s proprietor was coming home! And because Rainbow was the one to tag along, it must not have been for her ability to deceive, well, anypony—let alone Twilight ‘Basically-Raising-a-Child’ Sparkle.

Therefore, Twilight found herself entangled in yet another instance where her friends’ shenanigans perfectly suited her favorite idiom: time was of the essence.

Which meant they were trying to hide some big problem that she couldn’t know about, especially when Twilight was being as daringly spontaneous as deciding when she’d be going home.

Whatever it was, Twilight didn’t care. Everything was back to normal, and that was all that mattered.

It was an uphill battle, trying not to smile further. Twilight had been losing that war all day; her cheeks ached even more than they did at Starlight’s graduation.

Starlight, Twilight remembered with a start, even scaring her passenger.

“Twilight?”

“I’m going, Spike! I’m going,” she stammered, hoping her face didn’t glow as hot as it felt. “I was just thinking.”

“Twilight, you’re fine,” Spike assured her, definitely seeing her blush. “But what were you thinking about?”

“Oh! Just scheduling stuff. You know how it is.”

She could feel her passenger sway as he shook his head with amusement. “Of course.”

Twilight smirked. ‘Of course,’ as in, ‘Of course you’re swinging right back into scheduling.’ “You know me, Spike! There’s no time-wasting for this princess! I’ve got a lot of responsibilities to attend to now that I’m at full-health!”

Spike grunted, amused. “The first of which being Rainbow Dash, I’m assuming.”

“Of course,” Twilight whickered. Rainbow’s weird behavior brought a smirk to her face. “Actually, you want to know something funny?”

“What?”

Twilight shrugged. “I can’t bring myself to care. I mean I care, don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I’m apathetic. But what exactly they did, how bad it is… I’m not getting all worked up about it.”

“Woah, yeah, I noticed that,” breathed Spike. “Why d’you think that is?”

“Well, clearly,” snorted Twilight, “I’m experiencing the psychological aftermath of being given a second chance. While it makes no sense, and there’s zero evidence justifying it, by all definitions, this is a miracle. And now? When I really think about it? The idea of getting worked up over extraneous details, minor inconveniences, it just feels so petty to me now. Isn’t that funny?”

“Hilarious,” Spike deadpanned.

“Whatever, buster.” She graced her charge with one eye. “So what do you say, Spike? Should we give them a few more minutes and go straight to Starlight?”

A light breeze stirred her mane. Only then did Twilight realize they were the only ones present.

“You know,” Spike’s voice was oddly soft, “she can be with the others, too. Helping them with w-whatever happened? Maybe?” She felt him squirm upon her back. “Hopefully?”

“Good,” Twilight answered suddenly, surprising even her. She felt a blossoming warmth in her chest. “Good. That way, we can have a complete group hug.”

And show our friends that whatever they’re worrying about is so trivial now. Plus, it was just detestable that Twilight had been so excited before that she’d forgotten that she could have simply teleported Starlight over. Twilight made a mental note to make it up to her later, maybe write an apology.

“Well, just in case she’s alone,” Spike spoke up, almost mumbling, “I’ll… give you two a second to get caught up.” He laughed nervously, no doubt thinking about how embarrassingly emotional it would be.

“Oh. Well,” Twilight looked back, “should I just zap us home, first?”

Spike shook his head. “No way. It’s a really nice evening, perfect for a walk! Like I said, I’ll catch up.” He winked, assuring Twilight that he was absolutely fine with being left behind.

She would never stop being proud of him.

Despite worrying over Starlight all day, Spike didn’t hesitate to consider her and Twilight’s bond before himself. She kissed her nose to his. “I’m hugging you extra hard the next time I see you.”

Spike batted her away, his adorable cheeks a light pink. “Yeah, yeah,” he smiled weakly, “go have your sappy little moment with Starlight.” He looked off, sighing for whatever reason.

He did have a lot to think about, after all.

“I will,” Twilight shot back like a foal. “And I’ll enjoy it, too!” She smiled as Spike hopped off her back, and started walking.

“Bye, Twilight!” He waved to her over his shoulder without looking back.

A sinking feeling settled in her gut. Twilight shook off the feeling at once before getting to work. As she’d done countless times since seeing the sun rise this morning, Twilight shut her eyes, envisioning a place.

Or in this case, a pony. Starlight Glimmer, she thought, imagined—one foreleg rubbing the other with a sheepish grin. Her way of greeting ponies.

The pressure in Twilight’s forehead swelled, then burst outwards in a brilliant flash. She felt the ground beneath her hooves shift, seeming to vanish in one instant and then rematerialize in the next. In the blink of an eye, she was in Starlight’s bedroom.

It was a smell she noticed first. No, not a smell. An oppressive something, like ozone in the air after a lightning strike. Like an itch in her horn, so powerful that she almost saw stars flash before her eyes. It felt like getting a face-full of Tempest Shadow’s scary, hornless magic. An energy forced into creation, but formless and unfocused.

Was Tempest here? With Starlight? Well, that would be a pleasant surprise, and those were never bad things. Twilight eagerly swept her gaze around the room, past AJ and Rainbow. She vaguely wondered what they were doing here before her eyes settled on Starlight, standing in front of a mirror.

“Starlight Glimmer, look!” she cried, as Starlight’s head turned. “I’ve no idea how, but I’m all—!”

Twilight choked, beholding Starlight’s crown of splintered, pink bone.

All… b-better… Everything went numb.

In the distance, a wardrum boomed. Then once more, its punch soft against Twilight’s ribcage as sickness crept up the back of her throat, burning. Scorching. Liquid filled the back of her throat.

What… happened…?

Her lips parted.

WHAT HAPPENED?! Twilight gasped for air, desperately trying to keep herself upright as her friend looked away, mane shielding her gaze from sight.

A million words danced along her tongue, but not a single one felt good enough, appropriate enough, to be spoken. Twilight tried willing her forelegs, to approach Starlight and give her the hug she so desperately needed, at least.

Starlight, your horn.

She couldn’t move. It was broken.

Starlight, your horn…

Twilight’s throat closed so tight she felt as if she were suffocating. No, her breath was racing—her throat was just so very tight. She watched as Starlight’s horror lifted towards the mirror seemed to morph into total panic. She gritted her teeth as her breast began to heave.

“Starlight,” Twilight mouthed. “What. Happened. To you?” She enunciated each word carefully, as though fighting against her contorting innards. “What happened, Starlight? What happened to your—?”

“They took it, Twilight! They took my horn!”

Everypony present winced, but that didn’t matter.

Exactly who had taken it didn’t even matter right now. She knew that. It was as clear and obvious as a cloudless sky.

Twilight was so good at knowing that stuff.

“They took my horn,” Starlight repeated, explaining everything and nothing.

Twilight knew that already, but she always failed when it really mattered—like comforting a friend who’d been irreparably violated. All she could possibly do was hug her. Be there for her.

As if that would somehow fix Starlight’s broken world.

Twilight took a second to imagine herself in her place.

“They,” Starlight squeaked, tears spilling down her muzzle, “th-they took… m-my—,” Twilight didn’t wait for her to finish, storming towards her hyperventilating friend to embrace her a second later. “NO!” Starlight pushed feebly, slurring in delirium as Twilight hugged her.

She squeezed even harder. Twilight would never let go of Starlight.

She heard Trixie mumble “It’s okay” from the back. Starlight looked up, first to the others standing around her and then into Twilight’s eyes, before her face crumpled into a heartrending wail.

Starlight’s horn was broken—her life, her passion. It was gone. She screamed all the while. Hurt, broken.

Twilight asked herself again why this had happened when she knew exactly why. I’m a disgrace. She’d flounced about Equestria without a care in the world while her student was being attacked, defiled by something even she couldn’t defeat. She must have been alone, then. If anypony else was around then maybe…

Starlight wailed like a foal without her mother, hugging herself. It took all of Twilight’s strength to simply look at the tears trickling down Starlight’s cheeks. ‘This is all your fault,’ they jeered. ‘You could have prevented this.’

They needed to be silenced. Quelled. Fixed, cured. Starlight needed help, and there was nothing Twilight could do to give it.

Just herself.

I’m sorry, she thought as a warmth upon her forehead blossomed into a magical inferno. I’m so sorry. A lilac star bloomed before Twilight’s eyes, so bright it was she had to squeeze them shut. The struggle against her finally calmed as Starlight succumbed to the sedation spell Twilight had cast.

Together with a snivelling Trixie, they lowered the now-snoring Starlight to the floor.

I am so sorry, my student. Maybe if she just closed her eyes, this would all turn out to be a bad dream.

“Twilight?” uttered a voice, directly in her ear.

She felt her heart attempt a prison break from its ‘cage. “Spike, don’t scare me like that!” A second later it hit her in the chest: she was doing it again. Twilight’s cheeks burned as Spike informed her anyway:

“You had that ‘thousand-yard’ look again, I’m sorry!”

‘Again…’

“...No, I’m sorry,” sighed Twilight. “I’ve just been...” Obsessing. Stressed. Thinking a lot. All of the above. Twilight shook her head, sighing whatever her brain was ready to parrot this time. “A mess,” she decided, laughing, as that’s what Pinkie did whenever she felt the same.

It didn’t make her feel any better, though. “I’m sorry,” was all Twilight had the will to muster. Silence, allowing her facade to crumble away like sandcastles in the sun.

‘Sorry.’ The word was just a platitude by this point—giving sorries never made the guilty feel any better, because sorries never actually fixed anything they’d done. And yet, Twilight hoped like a naive foal that those two words fully-embodied her remorse for failing Spike, because Celestia knows she’d said everything else at least a dozen times.

Sorries especially couldn’t take back what she’d said to him, following that often-dwelt moment: the instant where everything changed.

Where Twilight narrowly escaped one nightmare, only to enter one far, far worse. She denied it was reality as best she could. ‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously, Spike, go to your room!’ She tried her best to control it, hoarding a desperate drive to mother Starlight—a mature and capable mare.

“You know what? I don’t even care,” Spike cut through the silence with inspiring, aggravating calm. “I’ve read this a thousand times already,” he waved the comic in his claw. “Besides, it’s my fault for thinking a book would distract you, anyway.”

He spoke as if he was impossible to help. But reading was more than a good idea, it was a great one! “It was a good idea, all things considered.”

“‘All things considered,’ which I clearly hadn’t taken into account.” Spike’s smirk assured her it was in good humor.

“Of course you had,” Twilight argued anyway. “This was your last resort for a reason.”

“Could you let a dragon wallow in self-pity? Jeez.” Twilight chuckled into her foreleg as she watched Spike slap his comic book shut and stand from his beanbag chair.

The lightness inside of Twilight weighed the more her admiration of him grew.

Whether it was a draconic sense of pride or just plain maturity, Spike’s ability to brush these annoyances aside like they were nothing just… reminded her of Starlight. That’s how she was. And Tempest observed after breakfast something very interesting: ‘She feels like she doesn’t have the right to complain.’

Gret. Now Twilight was thinking about her again! But just how accurate was Tempest, considering the similarities in Spike and Starlight’s recent behavior?

Was this something they’d always had? The implications such a thing would wrought were enough to encourage curling up in a ball of failure.

Yet, the researcher in Twilight couldn’t help but obsess over Tempest’s accuracy, who possessed an eye for inner turmoil like it was her special talent. Twilight felt she knew Spike better than anypony, however. If their newest foe-turned-friend was right about Starlight, then was Twilight’s Number One Assistant hiding inner turmoil, too? Or was Twilight obsessing over nothing like she probably was for Starlight?

Spike’s claw crept into view, reaching for the book open and propped at the end of Twilight’s bed. He was just going right back to helping her. Again. And she was to just sit back and let him, with something so inconsequential?

Twilight threw herself on top of it. “Let me shelve these for you, Spike!” He clasped his claw to his chest like Twilight was about to snatch that, too.

I’m really was out of it, aren’t I? The one thing stopping Twilight from just howling at her own absurdity was the fact that Spike, finally, could take a break from babysitting his caretaker all day.

She just needed to talk Spike out of helping her, first. “I can just teleport these back to their shelves.” Starlight taught her how to be so precise, to ping something to and from a separate room as though present in said room.

Spike leveled a doubtful stare. Of course he didn’t believe her reasoning was the sole driver, but that wasn’t going to stop Twilight from convincing him that it was.

“Fine. Alright, yeah, go ahead.”

Twilight reminded herself to blink. Where was the argument, the back and forth, and eventual relenting from Twilight? She tried but couldn’t quickly recall a time where Spike backed down from one of his duties…

...At least, not until now, a whole day of obsessive Twilight later. It’s not like he didn’t try to help! He worked just as hard as her other friends—but whether the next distraction was cooking, board games, reading, or even voicing her concerns, nothing kept Twilight occupied for long before her mind fell back on Starlight.

Was this how Princess Celestia felt every time she sent Twilight out on a mission, wondering how she was?

Did she feel tight in the chest with terror, too? Was there incidental fear for her student, and did she later feel just as guilty for disrespecting her student’s abilities?

“Wanna talk?” A pat on the foreleg, the sympathy in those emerald eyes, reminded Twilight that it never mattered what she’d say to persuade him; Spike could read her like a book. “Is everything okay, Twilight?” he asked, adding a beat later, “Or is that book just really comfy?”

Spike smirked at the Daring Do novel she was till splayed over. Feeling ridiculous, Twilight had to laugh at herself. Pinkie Pie would advise surrendering to that feeling; to not let the frowns win.

“Yeah.” Twilight crossed her forelegs over the closed book, Spike’s comic teleporting from his claw to the top of it. “I think I’m going to just stay like this for a while. You know?”

“Absolutely not,” Spike leaned over her bed, “you weirdo,” he chuckled. He rested his cheek against his arms, gazing somewhere across the room. “Huh, it’s almost eleven,” he observed. “I wonder what Starlight’s up t—W-wait! I mean—!”

“Oooh.” Twilight sat up, scrubbing scrubbed her mane frantically. “I was just thinking that, Spike! Where is she? How is she?” Twilight started hyperventilating. She was only vaguely aware of Spike’s voice as she gasped in, then shot it out. In, then out. In, out, in-out-in—BOOM, a crash of thunder shuddered the castle’s crystal foundations, all the way up to Twilight’s bedroom.

Spike and Twilight froze like gargoyles, eyes locked and breaths caught.

Only the front door could make such a distinct sound.

A faint, mature-sounding mare cried out, “I’m home!” and a high gasp tore through the tranquility of the bedroom.

Spike slapped his reddening snout anew. “Um, Starlight’s home,” he mumbled into his claws.

Yeah, you can’t hide it, Mr. Tough Guy. You were worried, too. Twilight smirked, and opened her mouth before Spike spoke again.

“Go to her.” He laid a claw on their selected reading material. “I got this. Really, I do.”

Twilight was so relieved already, she couldn’t take this too. Just a teleport away, and I’ll know how her first day really went. A swelling pressure burst within her chest. Twilight laughed wetly. “I love you,” she gushed, squeezing her amazing little assistant against her.

Once upon a time, Spike would blush and give a ‘C’mon, Twi,’ while trying to push away just hard enough to trick other ponies into believing he didn’t love the affection.

Twilight remembered this as Spike reciprocated fiercely. “Y-you too,” he stammered, smiling against the fluff of her coat. “Now get out,” he pulled back, claws flat against her belly, “go give her a piece of your mind and mine.”

Right. I swore that a few times. Maybe Spike was kidding here. Though Twilight wanted to be furious with Starlight for worrying everypony, what good would that even do? What would she learn from that? Besides, Starlight never responded well to guilt, and she was already suffering enough without apparent disappointment from her mentor.

As magic coursed through Twilight’s horn—a collection of channels convening upon her forehead—she pictured Starlight Glimmer, crippled but happy.

Her smiling face brought a bittersweet one to Twilight’s lips, just before the bedroom around her shifted into the foyer, and her chest was so tight it was ready to burst from the tension.

Twilight reappeared on the foyer stairwell, scaring Starlight to jump back and land hard upon the ground floor, dropping five whole stairs and a sharp cry between them.

“Are you okay?” Twilight fretted, then bit her lip realizing how patronizing she sounded as Starlight snapped, “Fine… I’m fine. Just startled me, is all!” She rose to her hooves, rubbing her flank with a wince. “Sheesh, did ya have to come in so close?”

Twilight felt her face heat up. “I’m sorry. I forgot to take that into account, I was just eager.”

“Oh,” Starlight replied, as if expecting more. “Why eager?”

Smiling, Twilight tilted her head. “You’ve been gone all day, Starlight.”

“I know that,” she said irritably.

“Well, what did you do? Tell me about it! It must’ve been quite a day.”

Starlight didn’t look any less annoyed than she did a second ago, glaring to the side and never looking Twilight’s way.

Her expression dropped, and she picked it up slightly, looking thoughtfully to the ground. “You think we can let this wait till tomorrow?” Starlight yawned to the heavens. “It’s kinda late, and I agreed to meet Trixie for lunch again, so…” She put one hoof forward, upon the first step.

A muffled clop thundered in Twilight’s ears. She’s leaving. She’s leaving again, and she’s lying about Trixie. Is this what Starlight has been up to? Avoiding her? Was that what her end goal was?

...Why? “Starlight how are you?!”

Twilight’s voice and probably her blush, too, rang in the vast, cavernous entrance hall. Starlight just blinked owlishly, finally looking her mentor in the eye.

“I've been wondering where you’d gone,” Twilight explained, softly, like her old mentor would. "You had me really worried, Starlight Glimmer."

Her entire being winced upon hearing those words, as if Starlight had just realized what she’d been doing to her friends.

Twilight’s heart sank as that all but confirmed Starlight’s avoiding of Trixie, for whatever purpose that served.

“Starlight?”

"Yeah,” she hissed, gazing aside with a head-rub, “sorry about that. I’ve just been thinking, lately. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Twilight smiled, feeling lighter already. “It’s okay.”

Sweat unshed glistened upon Starlight’s forehead. Underneath her splintered crown. “I’m really sorry for worrying you.” She smiled sweet and pleasantly. Twilight almost thought it was real until it collapsed into a sullen look, and shoddily rebuilt into a thin, painfully fake smirk.

‘She seems fine…’ How could I’ve been so blind?

Those were Twilight’s first thoughts as soon as she left for the party last night. What a naive foal she was. Then again, this was Starlight Glimmer—born leader. She could probably convince Celestia the sun was made of egg yolk if her heart was in it. It was last night, but now…

She seems fine… but she really isn’t. Twilight was a desperate, irresponsible fool to believe her friend. She shouldn’t feel this way yet Starlight was dishonest with her, and whatever the reason, it most certainly wasn’t a good one. Applejack taught her that.

Twilight could barely hear herself think over the frantic breathing across from her.

Is Starlight... afraid? Of me for that matter? She wasn’t even looking Twilight’s way as she continued to softly hyperventilate.

Twilight only ventured to hypothesize something so awful because of her friend’s eyes, looking everywhere but towards her. At dinner, Fluttershy’d suggested that Starlight’s behavior meant she might’ve been afraid. Twilight, in all her wisdom, laughed at the idea of somepony being afraid of Fluttershy, and wrote it off as Starlight’s nerves—guilt for scaring Fluttershy to nigh-inconsolable levels, even though it wasn’t her fault, and everypony else knew it.

But now that Twilight was experiencing the same behavior...

Starlight was a totally different pony yesterday, she realized. Though clearly denying what had happened, Twilight spoke with the confident, casual Starlight she knew and loved yesterday, only minus a horn.

Whether it was a facade or not, both seemed to know its truth, now, and only a shuddering, antsy mess was left behind.

What happened to her today? What changed? What was going through her head?

Why are you afraid, Starlight? Talk to me, please… Something heavy nailed Twilight’s questions to her gut.

“Well anyway, goodnight!” And Starlight practically galloped up the stairs.

“Wait!” Twilight rose a hoof.

“Oof!” Starlight rubbed what she’d ran into Twilight’s hoof. “Hey, what’s the big idea?”

Twilight’s tongue poked through her teeth. "I just thought that… I mean...” Wanted to ask—no, Twilight! Don’t be a burden. Sighing politely, Twilight took the spell to compose herself. “I just wanted to check and make sure you didn’t have anything on your mind before turning in. You know how I am.” She says, Twilight thought, as I do something I’d never been so insistent on before.

Starlight stared and saw right through her all the while.

A second of absolute silence passed. Starlight’s eyes, wide and wild as ever, danced between Twilight’s muzzle and the ends of her forelegs. She was thinking really hard on what to say, which shouldn’t be an issue if she was just recapping her day!

"Please Starlight, talk to me."

“Why do you want to know?” Starlight blinked once, looking Twilight right in the eyes. "Wow, that was a rude response! I’m sorry, I was just thinking, you know?”

“Thinking?”

“About what happened today, and stuff,” she finished quietly.

Twilight didn’t immediately move to hug Starlight, purely out of respect for her personal space. She was happy to remember something that was otherwise routinely disregarded or forgotten about. "Do you want to talk about it?" she offered, hoof upturned to be grabbed.

Starlight shook her head. "No! I mean, no, there’s nothing to talk about!” she shouted in a sing-song voice. “I mean, all I’ve done is spend the day with Trixie. You know, she actually made me feel okay with some stuff I got hung up over! L-like learning how to do stuff magicless again! She offered to teach me a thing or two about living normally.”

As Starlight laughed, Twilight almost forgot to breathe. “I thought you just met for lunch?” she asked, hiding how flustered she was in thanks to hundreds of tedious royal banquets.

“And we hung out after! Come on, Twilight,” Starlight whickered.

She’s… lying to me even more. Twilight licked her lips. She has to be. Trixie left only two hours ago, but…

But why lie in the first place?

Starlight gave quite the rehearsed alibi. What was she doing that was so bad, she couldn’t tell Twilight about it?

Starlight continued, believing she’d fooled her teacher. “But before that, I ran into Maud. She's back, by the way! I don't know if you remember, since, you were sick... Um... W-we talked for a while. And after that I hashed things out with Fluttershy." Starlight beamed. "She's doing really well! I stayed for tea and we talked about what happened. She totally understands."

‘Talked about what happened.’ As if you had an order mixup at Sugarcube Corner. Twilight swallowed hard, nodded, all while wearing a smile. So many little lies… How Starlight could stand it was a mystery—Twilight couldn’t, and she wasn’t the one lying to her own… her… whatever she was to Starlight now!

"I'm sorry about missing dinner by the way,” Starlight added, completely blind to Twilight’s rigidity, her wide, toothy smile as she nodded in reply. “See, I lost track of time and grabbed a, another bite with Trixie, but now, I'm stuffed! So, yeah, I think I'm just gonna hit the hay early tonight." She circled around Twilight as she spoke, climbing sideways up the stairs, and then looking down on her. “Say goodnight to Spike for me, would ya?” Twilight’s hoof fell away as Starlight stepped back, up the stairs.

What was this? Was this even real, or was Twilight now in the final stages of her illness, and she was dreaming a vivid, worst-nightmare scenario.

Twilight’s hoof felt detached from her body as it thunked heavily against the stairs’ red carpet. “S-Starlight, wait.”

“I’m fine!”

“Starlight—”

“No need!” Starlight whirled around, her scraggly tail swaying limply.

I’m not letting us fall apart.

A pressure swelled upon Twilight’s forehead, and in the blink of an eye she was once again looking down upon a startled Starlight. So she wouldn’t escape again, Twilight unfurled her wings hard enough to snap thickly, stirring her student’s unkempty mane.

Emotions bubbled up the back of her throat, and Twilight was prepared to let them all out as Starlight suddenly scrambled away and tripped off the stair. Twilight reached out toward her cry of terror an instant before Starlight hit the next step.

“Are you okay?” she panted. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!”

Twilight quickly spun her to her hooves. “I said that, woah,” Starlight staggered over where she was dropped, “I said, that I was fine. Alright? I don’t need you in my face, Twilght! If I had a problem I’d go to you, okay? That hasn’t changed over the years.”

Hasn’t it? “Starlight, I’m merely acting from a place of caring. And I want you to answer me honestly, is there truly nothing that’s bothering—?”

“Oh, for the love of—Could you ponies please, stop asking me that? Nothing is the matter! And you’re all looking at me like I’m crazy for saying that!”

“You are not ‘crazy,’ Starlight! Nopony thinks you are!”

“Then why are you hovering over me, prying into my business—”

“It’s because I’m worried.” Twilight clapped a hoof over her mouth but the damage was done—Starlight was scowling. Had she messed up? Was she wrong the whole time? “I am so… worried about you, Starlight. All day I’d been wondering about you, worrying, resisting the urge to just teleport and check on you! Because I know you wanted your space. But even so, I can’t help but feel…” Frustrated? Guilty? Crestfallen? Twilight groaned, growled, and moaned all at once, barely encompassing the emotional rainbow smoldering in her belly.

Long before moving to Ponyville, Twilight considered words one of her closest friends and lifeguides. She doubted they had much effect here, but Twilight hoped her actions said more by the time they parted for bed.

“Twilight…” Five seconds later, Starlight shut her mouth like a disciplined foal, complete with wilted ears and averted gaze. “I’ve no idea what to say except that I’m sorry, but even that’s…” She shook her head.

Twilight mustered her most comforting smile. “It’s okay, Starlight. I want nothing more than to help you. If you don’t want that, then I’ll respect it...”

“...But?” Starlight ventured. Even now, like this, she was as sharp and instinctively cynical as ever.

It was so Starlight that a smile danced across Twilight’s lips. “But how am I supposed to be the Princess of Friendship if a friend doesn’t want my help?” Her smirk died. “What can I do to help you, Starlight?” It was really the best she could come up with at the moment—an offer that was easily pliable, to avoid pressuring Starlight if she already felt so.

“Heh,” she chuckled uneasily, “you wanna help? Then think before scaring the crud out of me next time.” For her sake, Twilight sighed amusedly. “You popped out of thin air and started pelting me with questions, like you were a palace guard or something!” Starlight chuckled, and for one, blissful moment, Twilight was deaf to its hollowness.

“Well,” said Twilight, “at least on some level, we know how one another feels.” She remembered that Starlight responded well to lightheartedness as she spoke.

Her friend’s hornless head was cocked for a moment before realizing what Twilight meant. “Oh!” Her ears wilted. “Oh, right. Sorry. Totally my fault...” She smiled wide. Crookedly. Uneasily.

It was so Starlight that it almost brought a tear to the eye. I’m sorry, she’d said, apologizing, because for whatever reason she thought she was at fault on some level here—maybe even all of it. What a shuddering thought! Just how deeply did this affect Starlight if that was the case?

And yet, Twilight didn’t realize she wore a smile until her cheeks began to tingle. What brought that on? Had that one moment of levity really tricked her into thinking everything was okay? Again?!

“Um, Twilight?”

How many times had she heard that: her name spoken as a question? Last night’s party was a veritable choir of “Twilight?”s. Any who’d not shared a moment with Twilight on her joyous traipse through town after she was cured got it then, sadly having waited several days for her to be availible... Some of them hugged her. Others cried in some cases. Twilight didn’t hesitate to join them, Starlight and her new crown plaguing her thoughts all the while.

None questioned why she’d wailed so hard, presuming it was in shared relief. Twilight’s words caught in her throat as she’d recall her own vow to Starlight, and instead excused herself to the delectable snack table. But amidst the cakes, chips, sodas and goodie bags that were suddenly so unappetizing, no one was around to distract Twilight from dwelling on Starlight’s words. Her behaviors. The ticks and what she said, the language she used and how… reassuring it all seemed.

“Arrre you OK? You’re just… staring. At me…”

After that, she started thinking about Starlight for the first time since leaving home. To really think, too, not just shoot a mental glance her way and think, Starlight’s fine.

Or, Starlight’s got this.

I’ve been worrying over nothing.

I can’t believe Starlight would do something like this for me.

Starlight just needs some adjustment and a little practice, but that’s no biggie.

Starlight’s got this.

Starlight is strong.

Starlight’s fine…

All while ignoring the fact that her horn was gone because of Twilight’s incurable ailment.

Once she acknowledged that, Twilight wept over the snack table. It must have been a sight, because Pinkie had suddenly, in a second, roped the whole town into doing ‘The Cheer-Up Song.’ Of course, that only made her more emotional.

“Twilight! D-did I say something wrong? I’m sorry!”

What kind of a Princess of Friendship let themselves become such a mess? To be so emotionally supercharged she couldn’t even read her the pony who’d lived with her for almost three years?

“T-Twilight? What’s wrong?”

The first thing Twilight does with her second chance? It was almost too horrible to believe, even Discord wouldn’t be so dense: he wouldn’t believe that Fluttershy was, in some semblance, okay after such a traumatizing encounter.

At least her failure was clear-cut. Evident. Not at all like this level of trauma Twilight’s yet to comprehend, or this antithetical logic of Fizzlepop’s that advised against questioning. Prying. Getting right up in Starlight’s face, grabbing, her by the shoulders and screaming why, why, “Why, Starlight?”

Why’d you do this to yourself?

For me?

“Twilight?” cried Starlight, directly in her ear.

The princess cried out, torn from the town party and gazing into the depths of a dessert table. She fluttered her eyes, watching as Starlight reared away with unease.

Away from Twilight, once again.

“Oooh!” Twilight moaned, scratching her cheek. At a glance, she could see her hoof glisten slightly. “I am so sorry,” she rubbed her cheek again, harder, all the way up to her eyes. “I was just thinking, don’t mind me,” she said quickly, scrubbing the other.

“Why were you crying?” Starlight asked lightly, as if halfway to drowning in her own thoughts herself, desperately trying to keep her head above the surface. “Twilight?”

“Why, Starlight? Why… why are you acting like we’ve not been friends for years?” She gave a moment. “Did I do something to break your trust?” Twilight pursed her lips, knowing another twenty questions were ready to come pouring out.

“Um, I-I, ah, uh...” Starlight sputtered what felt like an entire foreign alphabet made purely out of befuddled stammering.

Perfect start. Just go right for the throat, why don’t you? Twilight could almost hear Spike muttering, ‘Claws up, Princess. Claws. Up,’ from his perch on her back. “Look, let’s... let’s just... sit, and talk,” Twilight groaned, rubbing her forehead.

Starlight sagged, exhaling out her nose. Was it with relief, or defeat? Which one was worse in retrospect?

Twilight plopped down, sighing all the questions from her system before she could obsess over those two, too. “Twilight?” she heard Starlight mumble.

“Please, take a seat, Starlight,” she urged, looking nowhere but the space she patted beside her.

Using verbal force was heart-wrenching with Starlight in this state. But this, whatever was going on between them, was ending tonight. And to do that, Twilight needed to put her hoof down.

Starlight stared hollowly at the seat, probably wondering why they didn’t pop just over to the princess’s bedroom.

Twilight had to agree with her friend’s hypothetical pondering. It was definitely more comfortable, both in terms of seating arrangements, and the sophisticated atmosphere she felt it offered. However, building suspense would just raise tension and wrack Starlight’s nerves, possibly fortifying her defensive walls that were only now beginning to crumble. She might panic, and clearly Starlight wasn’t above trying to outright flee if it meant avoiding a confession.

Plus, the idea of repeating the same, faux-smile dance, in the same chairs, with what was likely—and unfortunately—another stream of confidently-spewed lies all but warranted a different backdrop.

“Well,” Twilight perked up to the other’s voice, “you’re not gonna leave me alone unless I talk. Is that it?” Starlight snarked, her smirk faint.

Something about her smile didn’t feel fake. Only buried under a myriad of grime, or whatever was going through that pony’s mind.

Twilight felt comfortable sniping back. “You know I’ve got an otherworldly work ethic. I take my role as the Princess of Friendship very seriously.”

Starlight humphed. “Makes up for the two of us, that’s for sure…” She muttered the last part of her sentence off to the side.

Twilight almost reared back in surprise. “What are you talking about? You’re a hard worker!”

“Was.”

Starlight’s tone caught her off guard. “H-huh?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I was a hard worker, Twilight. But now I’m just… a thing, I guess.”

“A… thing?” Twilight gasped. “H-how do you mean?” Had Starlight been ruminating on this all day? Is that where she’d been, with nothing but herself and such poisonous thoughts?!

Twilight schooled her breathing; she was just overreacting again, that’s all. Overthinking. She needed a clear head to help Starlight here, that’s what mattered. It’d be selfish to make this about Princess Twilight.

A heaviness crashing down beside Twilight made her jump but it only turned out to be Starlight’s butt hitting the step. She didn’t look her way, only scowling down the stairwell.

At least she was being cooperative now.

‘Don't fail again, Twilight,’ urged a little voice in the back of her mind. ‘Don't you DARE fail her.’ She couldn’t be Twilight Sparkle, Starlight’s loving and patient friend, but the Princess of Friendship, now: composed like Celestia, wise, insightful.

She shouldn’t fail. She had handled friendship problems bigger than this. This was Starlight, for Equestria’s sake! One of her best friends!

As gently as possible, the Princess asked, "Starlight, I cannot begin to imagine,” a sharp, irritated groan overpowered her. Twilight immediately forgot what she was going to say, or where she was. She stammered, burned, then crashed and burned for real: “H-how come you’ve been lying to me? Ah! I mean,” Twilight wiped sweat trickling down her temple, “I mean, I only ask because you mentioned Trixie before and—”

“I’m sorry… okay?” Starlight’s eyes shut. “I’m sorry for, f-for lying, a-a-and…” She pursed her lips, a blunt breath pushing out of her. Starlight shook her head. “I’m not crying,” she muttered to herself. “Not crying, Starlight. Not crying, not crying…”

She looked to the ceiling, pooling her eyes.

Twilight’s wing snapped out and hugged her tight. Admitting it was a great step in the right direction. “It’s OK, Starlight. But… might I ask, why? You know you can talk to me about anything. You’re my friend, and I’m here for you.

“I know that, but…”

“No buts.” Starlight stiffened. “You go to bed two hours after emerging from a three-day coma. That’s not the behavior of somepony who’s ‘totally fine,’ and I’m quite sure you know that.” If they were going to start somewhere, it might as well have been here.

Starlight remained stiffened. “I was tired,” she informed the stairs.

Twilight’s inner know-it-all cried out, ‘Lies!’ In this moment, all Twilight cared about was giving her friend the benefit of the doubt.

But she did that last night already.

The Princess of Friendship dropped her muzzle. "We both know you’re a late-nighter, Starlight. Even when you shouldn’t be up.” Before Starlight could interject, she elaborated forcefully: “That, plus how you got up and left the castle without even saying 'goodbye' or telling Fizzlepop where you're going.” Composed like Celestia. Twilight took a breath. “And in the last four days, no, I'm sorry, five—because apparently you didn’t even attend my party—in the last five days, the only thing you've had in your stomach... was a single bite of toast."

“Maud and I had Hayburger!”

“Oh! Hayburger, now that’s reassuring.”

“Okay, fine.” Starlight shouldered her, lips curving. “Though you’re one to talk, High and Mighty.” Twilight could only sit back and watch as her friend’s genuine, lighthearted grin died seconds after locking gazes, where they broke away at once.

Twilight couldn’t feign humor now, not even for Starlight’s sake. Not when she had to pretend that Starlight wasn’t utterly famished all the while.

“S-sorry,” said her friend. “I didn’t mean that, I was just making a joke. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad or anything, Starlight.” Twilight looked to her sadly, which earned a sideways glance from Starlight. "But you should be starving. That’s my point."

“But… I’m… not?” Starlight drawled, looking everywhere but here, at Twilight. “I’ve not had an appetite for weeks, if I’m being honest here. This isn’t really that unusual.”

It wouldn’t have been in retrospect, if for “weeks” Twilight wasn’t hacking her life out into a metal bucket.

“And why do you think that is?” Her friend just gave a blank stare. “Starlight, come on. You know this isn’t normal. I know you love eating—”

Starlight groaned, shooting up to her hooves. "So I’m not hungry! Ooh!” She spun around, stomping up the stairs. “Is that really worth the stomach ulcer, Twilight?”

“I know you’re being rhetorical, or,” Twilight stood, “maybe this is an instance where you’re being utterly serious.” She turned her head, “But I only ask because I’m your friend and I worr—hey!” Twilight fired up her horn.

Starlight’s swaying backside was already at the top of the stairs.

“What?!” she snapped as soon as her teacher teleported in her path. “Seriously, Twilight? Seriously? You’re getting on me about my eating habits now? Are you really that paranoid—?”

“Are you joking?!” Twilight cried. “This is serious if it continuously affects your eating habits! And if it’s happening under my roof—” Starlight lunged, pushing with all her might against Twilight’s extended wing, “—would you stop?” One of the most powerful ponies Twilight had ever known bounced off her wing, a foal to her great alicorn strength. “Starlight!” She suddenly whipped right, circling for Twilight’s unprotected side. A shock flashing through her, her wings flared on their own, punching Starlight straight across the face.

“OW! Hey!” She gnashed her teeth at Twilight.

“I’m sorry, but stop trying to get away! I’m—!” Starlight suddenly pulled back, puffing and glaring while Twilight took a moment to compose herself. Sighing, she said, “I’m really scared for you, Starlight. That’s all.”

“What for?” laughed Starlight. “What happened to trusting the word of your friends? Trusting that I got this, huh?”

The enormity of her ignorance made Twilight gasp. She couldn’t actually believe what she was saying, could she? Starlight had to have known she was lying her butt off.

“Starlight, for Celestia’s sake, you’re standing here starving right now, and you still have the gall to deny it. How can I—” Twilight scrubbed at an annoying tickle on either of her cheeks. “How could you stand there, and,” she gasped for breath, “and proceed to berate me for mistrusting you?!”

“‘Berate?’ Really?” groaned Starlight. “So I snapped! How’s that any different from how I normally am?”

Twilight barreled forth, blasting any hesitation to ash. “You’d yelled, Starlight, and you’re still yelling. You continuously avoid the truth, and while I respect your privacy, it concerns me when you opt to lie instead of being honest and telling me you don’t want to talk!” Starlight, stunned for a moment, sagged aside. “And that’s ignoring the fact that you are so much smarter than this. These half-baked lies, what’s up with these? You could do better than this, Starlight, you’ve done better than this! ...Not that I condone this sort of behavior.”

“So, what?” Starlight glared. “I’ve lied. I know, and I’m sorry for doing that. I’ve… done a lot of dumb things today.”

She’d sounded so ashamed it ached Twilight. “Tell me about it,” she gently urged.

“But, just because I don’t wanna make you worry,” Starlight’s voice rose, seemingly ignoring her teacher, “that immediately means I’m hiding something bad from you? Oh, sorry, ‘concerning.’” Her voice dripped with bitter sarcasm. “And because of that, what, this suddenly calls our friendship into question? Are you kidding me?! You’re the one with the problem, Twilight!”

Starlight could’ve smacked Twilight across the face, and it wouldn’t hurt nearly as much. “Then why are you actively trying to avoid me?” she snapped.

“I’m not avoiding you.”

“Then what do you call this?!” Twilight shouted, gesturing to all the foyer, the last several minutes, with her wings. Starlight opened her mouth, perhaps ready to bring up the fact that she was totally hanging out with Trixie all day.

“What do you call Trixie,” Twilight winced, her steeliness fractured, “what do you call your friend coming by an hour dinner—which you had with her, by the way—shouting for me from this very room?”

“Oh, so now you’re—” Starlight’s name belted from Twilight’s heart, effectively silencing the mare.

“Trixie was never with you today, wasn’t she?” Starlight’s stunned expression, the depressive slump that followed, told all she needed. “I didn’t even know it was her at first, you know,” Twilight hissed. “I mistook her for Pinkie Pie—they both scream for me at the same heartstopping timbre! Did you know that? But… she was to my left, so, with no idea what was in store, I went to the foyer.” Twilight shut her eyes; Trixie’s anger, borne of fear to be sure, was so full of hatred. “It was like everything she ever disliked about me, past and present,” her chest writhed with guilt, disbelieving that Trixie held onto these feelings deep inside, “she just let them all out at once. I’d thought something terrible had happened to you, Starlight, she was alone, crying… on the spot I assumed she’d begun yelling out of terror.”

“Okay, okay,” Starlight said defensively, “I get it. I hurt her.”

Twilight had a feeling she understood. But Starlight was going to know what Twilight felt today, too. “A second later, I was afraid the two of you had a falling out, and Trixie came to me for help. For a second, a part of me was actually proud of her for taking that step,” Twilight’s fondness died as quickly as that fleeting feeling had, “...But what I discerned from her ranting, revealed something so much worse."

Twilight took a moment to compose herself. "W-which isn’t a problem! Scary, sure, but I don’t hold it against her, considering the circumstances. I’m… sure you know how Trixie can be. For better or worse, she’s a passionate pony!” Her smirk died, not that the carpeting between Starlight’s hooves cared. “However, that also makes her intense when angered. Immediately she began tossing accusations left and right and—did you know my questioning got her so angry, she fired off a bolt of magic? She was that angry.” Starlight winced, intimately familiar with what she was talking about. “I could only stand there and listen and, yet, all I heard were these ‘demands’ to see you… something about a talk with Maud and, somehow..."

"Somehow, through her own skewed perspective... I was the one who ‘made you go’ to the Ladies of Flutter Valley. That I'm the reason you...” Movement from the corner of her eye snatched Twilight’s attention. “Starlight?”

The crippled unicorn lowered her face, her eyes as wild and cloudy as a monsoon at sea.

Twilight’s brows and heart knitted as one. “Starlight, surely this wasn’t a version of the story you told her. Goodness, I’ve no idea what drove that pony to think I’d ask something so awful of you… I don’t even want to consider the idea. But this is what happens when you act,” Suspicious, “evasive... Ponies get curious, then they start making assumptions. And then I start getting these awful thoughts I don’t want to have, but when the evidence adds up, it just—!”

Her friend wrenched away.

"Starlight?" Twilight cupped her chin, though she refused to open her eyes. “I'm not angry with you, Starlight. Not even a little,” she said sincerely. “...Starlight?” She tried turning away once more, feebly. Twilight could only tell because of a pressing into her hoof.

Twilight fought gently, urging her head to turn back to her. “Please, look at me.” She wouldn’t. She’d already been caught. There were no more lies, not after Trixie spoiled her biggest one for the day.

“I know that this is a rough time for you, and I know you're hurting right now. I know you’ve lost…” Twilight’s throat tightened at the sight of her friend’s eyes squeeze with pain, “I know you lost your horn, and that is awful, and I’m sorry. I want nothing more than to take all your pain away and make it better. But I can’t if you don’t let me help you. So, please, don’t shut me out of this Starlight, please!”

“...Please.” Twilight leaned to tap her forehead against Starlight’s, horn notably un-grazed. An emptiness opened within her. "Talk to me." A second of nothing passed. “Please.”

"...I'm sorry for worrying you, Twilight.” Starlight pulled away, training her gaze on the stairs behind her former teacher. “And for lying. I shouldn’t have even tried, yet a part of me thought I could actually succeed for once.” She laughed humorlessly. “Par for the course, I guess.” Her voice was so dead, eyes so glazed over.

You sound so miserable, my student. What happened today? Twilight pressed her cheek reassuringly.

"To tell you the truth," Starlight's gaze fell and stayed there, "I don't know what that even is anymore, but… you’re right, Twilight. You’re absolutely right like always. I didn’t wanna share because of, well, everything that happened. I didn’t want to add more to it, you know? ”

Twilight blinked, comprehending the fact that this was suddenly happening.

“Maud is mad at me, and I've no idea why,” Starlight continued, a dark dusting on her cheeks. “I just told her what’d happened, and now, she won’t speak to me. She hates me." With a snarl she dropped down upon the stair.

Twilight didn’t hesitate to join and wing-hug her. “I’m sure a good sitdown would do wonders.”

“How do you think all this started, how I tried to fix it?” Twilight frowned, concerned, as Starlight explained, “I went to Maud's to patch things up earlier, because, well, I had nothing better to do! Nor could I stop thinking about her, what she’d said…” Starlight shut her eyes, shook her head. “But, when I did the thing where I knock my hoof against the tunnel wall, and she does it back so I can find her, she just didn’t reply. I knew then that she wanted to put our friendship on hold. A-At least for now!"

The desperate hope in her tone was like a dagger to the heart. As if Maud Pie were capable of breaking up with her first non-familial best friend? “I have a feeling you’re misreading her,” suggested Twilight. “I’ll talk to Pinkie Pie. See if she can get through to Maud.”

"And ponies?" Starlight pulled away from her touch, pacing slowly down the stairwell, lost in her own head. "Heh, they've been giving me weird looks all day! Like I'm some kind of a freak!" She stopped three steps down. Twilight said nothing, so she could finish venting.

Twilight knew she was being ridiculous, but it hurt to know that’s how she felt. "No one thinks such awful things, Starlight,” she said after a pregnant pause. “Ponyville's just not like that." But ponies can be, and Twilight knew that's all her student cared for in her current, sensitive state.

Sighing, she admitted, "I didn't intend for ponies to find out this way. I was going to propose you and I make a public announcement today..."

"But I left the castle before you could,” Starlight finished. Great, more guilt for her. “Heh, should've just ignored my gut for once, eh?" She hooted like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Twilight managed a smile, just to assuage any awkwardness. How Starlight greedily hoarded all the blame chilled her to the bone.

As if this sort of mindset was no big deal, no burden upon her, she continued. "Of course I expected all this: the stares, the misunderstandings. That’s not the problem though, it’s the pity that I hate. Treating me differently, like I’m a fragile eggshell that needs to be handled with care or else I’ll break." Starlight expelled a frustrated growl-sigh.

"Ponies here don't assume what you think they do, Starlight." In the back of her mind, Tempest’s criticisms of her “demeaning” town sounded scarily close to Starlight’s opinion of such things.

"I thought I knew what I was getting into. I did!” said Starlight. “But there’s a big difference between fantasizing about something and actually living it.” She chortled humorlessly. Twilight wondered if she was now referring to her own predicament, or her anticipation of the town’s reaction.

"I couldn't stand it," growled the unicorn. "The stares, the judgement, the stares... just how badly I messed up with my friends. I couldn't be around anypony! So… I ran, of course. I ran to the farthest border of Sweet Apple Acres, found myself some shade and... slept."

Twilight's eyes bugged out of her head. "The whole time?"

"Um, yes?" Her student smiled uneasily. It held before abruptly crumbling with a sigh, Starling becoming morose at the drop of a hat. "And I did some thinking, too, about… You know, how life's gonna be difficult. F-for a little while, at least, you know? Re-learning how to do basic stuff, like…” Starlight, whose voice had become incredibly small by now, never looked in Twilight’s direction.

“Starlight?” wondered her mentor.

“There'll be an adjustment period, just so you know.” She spoke as if preparing Twilight for a dirty job.

She knew from Spike’s description that it wouldn’t be easy, but Starlight acted as one who knew it would be much more than that, and already wrote it off.

And Twilight knew what that sounded like, because she’d heard a despondent Starlight Glimmer several times in the early months of their friendship.

"O-Of course. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Adapting to a whole new lifestyle is bound to be difficult, maybe even scary.” Twilight hoped Starlight found sympathy in her smile when she looked over.

Twilight had to tell herself that as Starlight returned to the descension before her, stiff as a gargoyle. “I shouldn’t be, though. I mean,” Starlight stammered, “it… shouldn’t be. Difficult, a-and... I dunno. I dunno, Twilight, I’m sorry, I’m just talking to fill space.”

That could only mean one thing: she was toeing the line between admitting something and withholding it. Twilight sidled closer, reaffirming her wing-hug. “Is there something on your mind?”

“Nah. Just gabbin’.” Twilight wanted to pry, even as Starlight’s morose face fell in her peripherals. “Thanks,” she said, suddenly. “For listening.”

Starlight hadn’t admitted much, but Twilight smiled anyway. Any progress was good progress. “My ear is always available. I’m just saying, and this is only me feeling the need to throw it out there, but, this isn’t a burden you should bear alone.” Or have to in the first place… She tightened her wing around Starlight.

“I didn’t want to leave before, I just… ran,” she suddenly admitted. Starlight breathed deep. “I panicked. I felt awkward and I didn’t know what to say, but after thinking I realized… I don’t want Tempest Shadow to help me, Twilight.”

Twilight opened her mouth to speak.

“I know what she’s here. A-and it’s not like I don’t appreciate it, because I do. Really, I do!” Starlight waved her hoof assuredly. “But I tried using magic today, Twilight. And you know what?” she asked with strength Twilight hadn’t seen in a month. “I have enough self-respect to know when my body is just no longer capable of doing what it was… fated for, I suppose.” She shrugged. “Magic is no longer for me. It was fun while it lasted, but, you know what they say! Nothing lasts forever.”

Starlight’s chin crumpled, her simper followed. It was painfully clear she wasn’t okay with this. “And I’m fine with that,” she said anyway. “But I don’t need Tempest Shadow’s help. What she does isn’t even magic, it’s—”

“Pure magical discharge, I know.” Twilight swallowed. She blinked away the dampness threatening to gather. “She told me after you left.” And that wasn’t the only reason I asked her to come. It was always in her peripherals when talking to Starlight—mocking her. A brand announcing to the world that Twilight let her friend do this to herself. For her sake.

Starlight cas her gaze aside. “I know it was because you care, Twilight, but I wish you’d asked,” their eyes met, “if I wanted that help, first. I didn’t want Tempest dragged all the way out here just for that!” Starlight cried, worriedly.

“Fizzlepop wasn’t dragged,” said Twilight, as she remembered the look of apprehension she’d been regarded with since Fizzle turned down her first, rushed request. “She came of her own volition, because she wanted too…” Fizzlepop now looked at her the same way as Starlight.

Twilight’s heart sank at the speed of Starlight, turning that wary stare at Twilight. “Did she really?” the mare asked bluntly. Perceptively—her eyes twinkled knowingly.

Those two were alike in so many ways. Twilight hoped they would become friends.

And forgive her for her constant idiocy. “I feel like I’d twisted her hoof… manipulating her,” Twilight said with disgust, “into doing something she didn’t want to do. Without even realizing it.” She glanced aside, glimpsing Starlight’s pupils before they’d fled the opposite direction. “But before that, I’d wanted her to help you with something else.”

Starlight looked appalled. “No.”

“Oh, Starlight…”

“Don’t ‘Oh, Starlight’ me! Come on, Twilight, how would you feel?” she cried, exploding into animation, into her old Starlight-isms. “To need somepony else to sit there and teach you how to do teeth-brushing and mane-brushing and coat-brushing and manure-taking—”

“Starlight, language!” Twilight snapped on instinct, forgetting to tell her student she was overreacting.

“Oh, who cares? It’s just us!”

“But I hate that kind of talk. It’s gross. Antagonists talk like that.”

“AJ talks like that all the time.”

“Some of the time,” Twilight corrected, “and Applejack was raised in a different household.”

Starlight looked dubious, though comfortable at last beneath her mentor’s all-encompassing wing. Twilight’s insides tickled as she said, “That was a fun back-and-forth.”

“Gosh, have your standards become that low?”

They have, because they hadn’t had one in a month, and Twilight burst out laughing because of that. “I guess so!” Starlight couldn’t help but join in after that

Twilight had her on the reel—now to pull her in. It was no thanks to me, though. All she’d done was press her and pressure her.

Just as she’d done with Fizzlepop. And I’m afraid I really messed up and hurt her, too. Maybe even worse than I did with Starlight, since we’re such good friends already. Poor Fizzlepop must feel so used, like their friendship was no different than that of the Storm King's. Why, oh why, was Twilight always so bullheaded under stress?

And now she couldn’t stop thinking about the other friend whom she’d inadvertently offended. One pony at a time, Twilight.

"Starlight," piqued said mare’s attention, "you're strong, you know that? I never once doubted that." She reacted bashfully. Twilight smiled, pressing on, "You are kind, and wise, and just… unbreakable,” she blurted out. Starlight’s eyes were big and round before looking away, likely trying to hide a blush. “Honestly,” Twilight continued. “You’ve gone through so much, Starlight… so much I wish you hadn’t.”

“Twilight…”

“But I want you to know,” Twilight turned and both their eyes locked at once, “I admire you for that. I truly do. You bounce back from everything, even something as horrible and terrible and tragic—”

“Twilight.” She scrubbed her cheeks, turning to Starlight with a snuffle. Her friend was smiling kindly, reassuringly, with warmth on her face and love in her eyes. “You’ve no idea what that means to me. I-I mean it, really. It makes me feel terrible for how I acted today.” Starlight was always too hard on herself.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, I… I understand. I mean, I don’t presume to fully understand, but—”

“Again. Twilight.”

“Right.” She smiled sheepishly. “I’m doing it again—being pushy and rambly. I’m not thinking straight, clearly...”

Starlight cocked a brow like she was crazy. “Twilight, you’re just being a concerned friend. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s no wonder m-my… my behavior drove you to do this. I should be the one apologizing profusely, not you!” she laughed.

“Starlight, we’ve both made mistakes in the handling of this… situation. I’m willing to work past it together if you are.”

“Of course I am. I’m really sorry, though.”

Twilight smiled. “I forgive you, so long as you forgive me, and we can move past this.”

“Um, yeah!” Starlight grinned shyly.

It’s time. She’s comfortable now. There’s no better time to bring it up than right now!

“I can’t even begin to describe how much it hurts that this’d happened to you,” Twilight began. Starlight’s ears perked as she continued, “You may be strong, you might be able to take this in stride, but not everypony can do so.” Twilight gasped for breath, matching Starlight’s gaping gaze. “Just the fact that this happened to you is destroying me,” she sniffled. Twilight desperately scrubbed her eyes.

“What did you have in mind, exactly?”

“I came up with a plan, Starlight.” Twilight faintly noted how she looked terrified by the prospect. “One that’ll restore you to your former, powerful self!" Starlight undoubtedly mourned the loss of her incredible ability the most.

Yet, she just looked even more gutted. “Aaand… what would that be? I mean,” Starlight snorted, lifting her hoof with eyes to the ceiling, “unless you’re thinking of getting my horn back, and that would be a mir—!” She choked upon her laughter, seeing the grin that’d spread across Twilight’s face. “...I was joking,” she squeaked. “Twilight, what is this ‘plan’ of yours, exactly?”

Of course she would be apprehensive, Twilight realized, but once she explained, Starlight would surely see her logic. She would see that this was Destiny, just as her first trip to Flutter Valley was (at least, according to what Spike repeated from Starlight, but Twilight had no reason to mistrust his word again).

"Okay, think about it Starlight,” she said excitedly. “You, me, and all of our friends go to Flutter Valley. You take us to where those witches are. Together, we’ll negotiate to get your horn back. Whether they agree or not doesn’t matter,” Starlight snapped her gaze to her, “because this will end the same way it always does: we use the Elements of Harmony to turn them to good.” From beneath her wing, the soon-to-be-unicorn looked oddly dubious. “Don’t you see, Starlight? You were onto something! Everything that’s happened? My friends and I meeting, embodying the Elements—reforming Discord, and meeting you? This was all meant to happen, and so is me helping you, right here and now!” Twilight’s eyes stung; everything just hit her at once like a stampede of Buffalo.

Starlight, she saw between passes of her foreleg, had her uncovered eye fixed to the floor, gaping like the abyss itself.

“It’ll go like it always does,” gasped Twilight, fighting, forcing her trembling features into a smile like Celestia’s. One that always assured Twilight that it’ll be alright.

When practicing this sales pitch in her head, she anticipated the most likely possible reaction from Starlight, factoring in her feelings for Twilight, the stage of their friendship, and current circumstances.

Starlight, therefore, would burst into tears and tackle her in a hug. She likely won’t be able to fully process the reality of getting her magic back, considering she’s mostly resigned to her fate.

An excellent time-filler for the balloon ride, Twilight decided.

“Do the others know how dangerous this is?” Starlight asked, gazing hollowly down the stairwell.

Chills shuddered down Twilight’s back. “I relayed it to them over dinner. Yes, they know.”

“Really?” Starlight’s voice was immediate. Loud as her head lifted suddenly. “And they still wanna go?” She didn’t look Twilight’s way.

“O-of course. They’re all on board, Starlight. They’re in this for you—”

“Well I don’t want their help!” she snapped, turning.

Twilight didn’t jump, solely because she didn’t want Starlight feeling worse than she already seemed, her head shying away with shame. “There’s no way I’d let them do that,” she said, voice thick, but unwavering. “This is way too dangerous. And besides,” Starlight snapped her gaze, shooting deep into Twilight’s soul, “my life is perfectly fine, and yours, well, it wasn’t.”

And I’m afraid of you decaying as well, my forever-student. “Starlight, even so, I’m surprised you don’t see how fate has played into our hooves. This is our chance to get your magic back! Don’t you want that?”

“I gave that up in a deal, Twilight,” Starlight stressed, as if she didn’t already understand. “The bargain is fulfilled and it’s one I’d gladly pay again!” Twilight felt like she was about to collapse. “I made peace with my mistake and moved on. I’d like it if you and everypony else did, too. That’s what would help me.”

She really doesn’t want us risking our lives. “I’m pretty sure the Elements will work as they always have,” Twilight said with confidence.

Starlight chortled scornfully into a foreleg. "Twilight, where do you think the Elements of Harmony even came from?" she asked on the verge of laughter.

"The Pillars, Starlight. You know that.” What was the point of this little game?

"Uh-huh. And whose magic was used to create their seed? Hmm? Whose magic transfigured it from a force for Good into one of Harmony? Because it came from somewhere, and it definitely wasn't the Pillars themselves. They didn’t have their own magic, it was borrowed. All of it is borrowed, Twilight—yours, mine, Celestia’s, it all comes from the witches themselves!"

“Blasphemy!” Twilight reeled away. She didn't mean for herself to appear so disgusted, but it was more in reaction to the enormity of these half-mad assertions. "Starlight, this is absurd. Everypony knows that magic comes from the soul—Equestria's soul, at that—even you! By assuming this, you're telling me these evil, malicious grotesques are, at the very least, extensions of our land."

And then it clicked, and Twilight’s gut plummeted a second later.

“Twilight?” Starlight fretted, seeing her reaction.

“Or they’ve used dark magic to graft themselves to it. Starlight, that gives us even more reason to stop them!”

"Urgh! You're assuming things again,” Starlight snapped, flailing a hoof at her. “They’re exactly what you don’t want them to be! You gotta believe me, Twilight, I felt them. Not just in my gut, but from what they actually said, how they acted..." She breathed shakily; unspeakable horror glimmering within those piercing, blue eyes.

What in Equestria did Starlight see? Twilight felt grasped in cold, feeling uncomfortable with her safety for the first time in her life. She felt… vulnerable. She’d truly no idea what these creatures appeared like, let alone what they were capable of! She really did just rush Fluttershy! Twilight’s heart pounded hard and fast. Fluttershy couldn’t even describe what it was she saw, she barely even remembered the encounter it was so horrifying!

"These things are dangerous, Twilight,” she heard Starlight over the roar of ocean waves. “They're more powerful than all of Equestria combined. To be frank, I think they are all of Equestria combined. That’s terrifying! We can’t go up against that, they’re like, like gods!”

Twilight was caught, entranced by her friend’s gaping stare. Was it terror or madness looking back? Twilight’s stomach turned and her eyes prickled with thousands of little needs.

Starlight, her poor, sad friend, needed so much help. More than just Twilight alone. Then again, she thought with a rise in her heart, what was the Princess of Friendship without her friends?

Twilight looked back to Starlight, startled by her fixed gaze. It begged Twilight not to go.

So she's serious. Twilight gulped. She genuinely believes this. I don't have reason to deny it, nor the sense to accept it... But I don’t want to be a bad friend by dismiss—NO! No, you're not dismissing her, Twilight. Remember Cadance's wedding, remember what happened and how awful you felt. This is different. You're not abandoning your friend because you think you know better than her. You aren’t disregarding her insight…

But there was so much more to consider than Starlight's feelings here. Too much to take what she said at face value.

After all, in a way, she still had a duty. Whatever the truth behind these witches were felt hidden, and quite possibly blasphemous as far as the magical world was concerned.

"I'm sure they're every bit as serious as you make them out to be,” Twilight said carefully. “The thing is, it’s not that I mistrust your information, Starlight. I mistrust their's. Whatever they told you and made you feel. When you get down to it, these are just impressions. From what I understand, these beings aren't... normal ponies."

"They're not ponies."

“That much I’d already gathered.” It was all Twilight had of the creature Starlight deemed “Hydia,” and Fluttershy's vague, two-word description couldn’t possibly paint a picture. “They’re like the humans from Sunset’s world, apparently.”

Starlight nodded gladly, as if relieved Twilight was ‘finally’ accepting this part of her description. “They’re disgusting, Twilight,” she said with a shudder.

Twilight leaned against her, tightening her wing. “Hey, relax. They aren’t anywhere near you.”

Starlight only shook her head. “Mhm. Totally.” Inch by inch, she took in the ceiling.

Twlight bit her lip, wracking her brain for a way to comfort Starlight. Whatever these beings were, Starlight was terrified of them beyond measure—so much so that she couldn’t even bring herself to describe them in detail.

It’s impossible to fathom Hydia and her underlings as anything but their pony counterparts. Yet, her two eyewitnesses spoke of them in the same vein as some unspeakable, eldritch horror. One of them claimed they’re vaguely similar to the Humans of Starswirl’s mirror dimension.

So much didn’t make sense, yet, what did Starlight see? An illusion designed to scare ponies? A vision? Her descriptions were too vague to go off of.

“Starlight, there’s just something about all this that just gives me a skeptical feeling. I can’t shake it. And I’m not calling you a liar!” she quickly assured her, though Starlight didn’t move a muscle. “But if these beings ‘barely resemble,’ as you put it, the species I’d classified as Technicolorus Bipedilus,’” Starlight still had the audacity to groan in dislike at a time like this; Twilight proceeded with a tenseness she couldn’t squash in a second, “and yet, are as powerful as you described, they could be hiding their true forms beneath a terrifying mask. To unease ponies who approach them. Doesn’t that make sense?”

It sure did to Twilight. What other explanation could there be?

“Twilight, none of this matters. What I’m telling you, is I’ve felt these things. I’ve felt their power. It’s real.”

“I don’t doubt that, Starlight. But that doesn’t mean they’re…” Twilight smile died as she realized what she was about to say. “It doesn’t mean they’re gods,” she said calmly. Surprisingly.

Chills raked her back up and down, down and up. Grasped her legs and around her barrel.

“Twilight, they stopped my magic and then laughed about it.”

Utter silence, save for the battering of Twilight’s heart. “You mean,” she swallowed what felt like a thick ball of cotton, “they deflected a spell? O-or—”

“No,” Starlight snapped, clearly not at her though. “It was like an invisible claw held my horn, severing its connection. It ached just from being there,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “like they were already in the midst of breaking it… It was horrible. I felt so defenseless!” She never sounded so fragile.

Twilight craned over to nuzzle her wing-clad student. In doing so, she saw that at some point, Starlight had wrapped her forelegs around her barrel, as though suffering a bellyache.

She was inches away when Starlight opened her eye, muttering, “If they’re not gods, then they’re something that’s a league way beyond anything you’ve faced before.”

“Starlight, what about our duty to protect Equestria?” Twilight rose her voice, more in shock of her headstrong friend’s sudden defeatism. “If not for yourself, then that’s fine. But what about Equestria and everypony in it?”

Starlight laughed bitterly. “Their lives aren’t in danger.”

Twilight would never have the confidence to make such a claim after everything she’d heard. Starlight couldn’t be in the right mind if she truly believed that... “Forgive me, Starlight, but I don’t trust your judgement enough, at this moment, to accept that claim. How can you be sure these ‘witches’ didn’t, say, lure Cerberus from his post, allowing Tirek to escape and nearly ruin Equestria? Not to say that they did, but if they’re truly omnipresent—”

“We’re safe because they don’t mess with ponies for fun, or because that gives them power, or whatever! Not,” Starlight hesitated, and sighed miserably as she finished, “not all evil is like that. These things, whatever they really are, are only kept at bay thanks to these weird, arbitrary rules they seem bound to play by. How do I know that? Because they’d rule the world if there wasn’t something keeping them in check.”

The weight of a full-grown stallion laid across Twilight’s back. Could Starlight be correct?

Better question: had Twilight ever had reason to question her friend’s judgement before losing her horn?

And did she seriously consider, even for a moment, that Starlight was crazy?!

She gasped to stay afloat and upright. “So, you’re going to just sit here and let other ponies suffer as you have?”

“Don’t do that to me, Twilight, I mean it.”

“What, tell the truth? Starlight, how can you stand by and let these monsters exist in our world?!”

“They’re part of it, Twilight, whether you like it or not,” Starlight told her tersely. “I know what this is really about. And I’m telling you one, last, time: I’m flattered you’re so willing to help me, but it wouldn’t feel right putting your lives in danger over what I consider a fair trade—”

“‘A fair trade?!’” The frightened stare from Starlight cut, deep and swift. “These monsters tricked you into a deal you couldn’t refuse, how is that even remotely fair?!” A tiny voice begged Twilight to stop yelling, but the rest screamed that it wasn’t enough. “You said as much—they pigeonholed you into a verbal agreement you had zero say in! That isn’t even close to fair, and you know it!”

“But I don’t care about that,” cried Starlight, rising as well.

“Then why are you justifying this, this… injustice?!” she cried. “Why aren’t you getting angry?!”

“Because I don’t care if that’s what it took to save your life, alright?” she snapped, proving how foalish Twilight was acting. “I’m not gonna want my horn back if it puts that in jeopardy, or any of our friends’ lives for that matter. So, once again, I’m sorry Twilight. Thanks, but I’m gonna have to decline your offer.”

And Starlight, nose upturned, peeked open a single eye as if daring Twilight to hound her again.

“Well maybe—!” she choked, at a loss for words. “Maybe… maybe I don’t care about the risks! Maybe our friends don’t, either!” She flinched, and looked to her stunned with realization. “Maybe it just destroys us to see you like this, Starlight! Or we don’t like the thought of you being absolutely miserable without your horn!”

“F-for the millionth time…” Starlight gathered the will to sound angry. To puff herself up and look intimidating.

“Then how do you explain the lying?! The hiding, the same, constant reassurances over and over?!” Twilight cried, stomping toward her. “You’re not yourself, Starlight, that’s for sure, and it all begins and ends with that on your forehead!” Her hoof jutted towards the depressing little stump. Starlight’s crown for this marvelous act; maybe she’ll grow wings soon, too.

Starlight slapped her foreleg aside, fury alight in her glare. “No, Twilight,” she bellowed. “It begins and ends with you! You’re the one on my back. You’re the one insisting I have a problem, and once I finally do you point to it without ever realizing that you’re its danged architect!”

“I-I—” Twilight could barely think beyond the ache drilling through her chest.

“You’re impossible to deal with sometimes! But this plan of yours? This dumb, shortsighted, stupid, life-threatening ‘plan?’”

“What about it?” Don’t cry. Not here, not because of this. Starlight would feel so awful. Why did Twilight have to care? She was only the Princess of Friendship. Starlight was only lashing out, understandably so. Why was all of this getting to her? Twilight blinked the blurriness from her eyes as Starlight merely rocked back, chuckling.

Laughing at the absurdity of it all, of the plan, of Twilight’s stupidity.

“I didn’t think you could top that weekend we spent cleaning up Hollow Shades, I gotta say. But this takes much more than just the cake, you’ve gone and robbed Sugarcube Corner and emptied the royals’ pantry along the way! ...Twilight, what in Equestria’s possessed you to talk our friends into such an awful plan? I mean, I’m the queen of terrible plans and even I can tell this one’s reaching for the sun.”

Twilight heard every word as they passed through her ears, deaf to all but how they sounded.

The entire world was breathing, it seemed, and it was trying its best not to cry.

Stop making this about you, dang it. Her heart hardened, a swell of love surging through her. You’re doing this for her. Break through to her!

“I’m sorry, but we've made a unanimous decision.”

“Really?” she asked flatly. “Everypony is in agreement with you. They all know exactly what they’re getting into?”

Twilight shook her head. “About as much as I do. Which isn’t much, to be fair, but we’re no strangers to insurmountable odds.” Especially when stacked against the likes of Tirek and Sombra, a few entities masquerading as fictional characters weren’t as intimidating. “That doesn’t mean we’re rushing head on, though, I was kind of hoping you could tell us what to expect.”

“You’ll leave broken and crying.”

“Starlight!” cried Twilight, horrified.

“You think I’m joking?! These t-things, they’re no laughing matter! I’m serious! They’ll eat us for breakfast if we make the wrong move!”

“And so we’ll leave together, whole, and happy! Just like we always do!”

Starlight grimaced as though in pain. “This won’t end like those times, Twilight. Why won’t you believe me?”

“Because we can do this, Starlight. I know we can. Just trust in friendship, and trust in me… Don’t you?” She touched Starlight’s cheek, gently urging her to face her once more. “Don’t you trust in my judgement? That which had guided you to where you are today?” For what that’s worth. Twilight’s innards sunk like a rock in water.

Yet, her student bit her lip, considering… knowing, deep down, that Twilight was right. Right?

“Starlight, I am afraid,” Twilight told her truthfully. “But nothing in this land will keep me from helping you. Nothing, because that’s what friends d—”

“Save it.”

“W-what?” Starlight looked dead-serious, and Twilight was caught obsessing over where this tonal shift came from.

“Save that, this ‘Because that's what friends do,’ spiel,” she explained simply. “I’m not gonna dance around this—you’d give your life to save mine, if it came down to it. Because you’re the ‘Princess of Friendship,’” Starlight squealed, eyes fluttering; she dropped the act abruptly. “They’ll make sure it comes to that, I guarantee it. And you’d have forgotten about the hundreds of other friends who want you alive, happy, and whole.”

I can’t be happy knowing you’re falling apart at the same time. “Starlight, I would never let them—”

“You know I had the same, self-destructive mentality before going to Flutter Valley myself?” Her smirk hadn’t dropped an inch. “Gotta say, it’s different hearing it from another pony… Less ‘inspiring’ and more ‘infuriating,’” she chuckled. “I mean, I mean I knew why before, but now, well, now I really empathize with Spike’s desperation.”

Spike… Twilight didn’t question his silence during supper; while everypony was talking up the plan, her assistant and childhood friend sat there, spooning his fried rice until it was cold and gunky. Twilight had asked him to speak his mind. They all did, even Tempest, surprising Twilight. But not even the offer of a few, private words with Rarity made him budge. Not even when the others voiced their doubts, he never spoke up.

If he fought with Starlight so “desperately,” what did his behavior at dinnertime mean?

“Starlight…” She was rambling, lost in her thoughts. Desperate.

Of course Twilight would put up just as fierce a fight. She’d wonder Starlight’s approach if the roles were reversed, but the depth of her conviction was on display for all the world to see.

To judge the result of Twilight’s teachings, what Starlight had gathered after a couple years of teaching.

“Starlight, wait.” Whatever she was saying caught sharply in her throat. Twilight gazed through the wall of navy-blue mane blocking Starlight’s eyes. “Just wait, please… and understand. I only want to meet your standards… to repay all you’ve taught me.” Twilight didn’t try to be discreet with her stolen glance at Starlight’s maiming, too lost in the memory of when they freed the Pillars, and even further back, when Starlight took her hoof in friendship. “Because if I don’t, if I don’t meet your standards, then…” Then I don’t deserve my title, “...then, what kind of a friend would I be?”

Starlight, staring with wide, hollowed eyes, dropped her gaze to Twilight’s hooves as she strode across the step, closing their distance. “Starlight?” No answer, not even a response as Twilight touched her chest. “Do you now understand my stake in this? Why I have to do this?”

“Twilight.” Stiff, sharp, her name rung throughout the hall. “My points. Stand. All of them. You’re still acting like you’re in control of the situation, that it’s fate to go down there, just like I did.” Starlight turned her face, eyes rising, glaring into Twilight’s soul icy-blue. “So I’ll fight fate if it keeps you from going there,” she swore from the depths of her soul.

Awe. Heartache. Heart-pounding terror. Twilight quivered in her skin. Starlight flinched, showing shock for a moment, perhaps at with what she’d said, then scowled at Twilight with determination. She was going to do whatever she physically could to stop Twilight from going…

What in Equestria was she about to do? There’s no way she had an actual plan. Right?

“Starlight—.” Suddenly she was in Magic Kindergarten again. Suddenly she was narrow-minded again. Suddenly, there was only one thing on her mind—one thing that mattered to her, and she was going to reach the sun no matter what it cost her.

“Starlight, I am going to Flutter Valley, with or without your help. A-and you know what? I’m not going to let you not stop us!” Twilight had never defied somepony so loudly, so strongly; especially not a friend. She wasn’t going to let her friend suffer, no matter what it cost her.

She might be a little afraid of Starlight at this very moment.

But Twilight was terrified for Starlight, a thousand times over.

And she clearly did not appreciate being defied. "You aren't listening to me! You think this is like all the other times you’ve beaten the odds, but it's just not! It won't be! I know it sounds crazy and I sound crazy right now, but unlike you, I actually know what they are. They aren't good, they aren't evil. You can’t bargain with them, you can’t beat them, you can’t trick them because, guess what, they already know how this is gonna end!”

Starlight was so scared for her, it was almost heartwarming. Almost. Terror gripped Twilight’s drumming chest, tight.

"...Starlight, listen to me," Twilight pleaded, because Starlight was never going to look at her for more than three seconds. "You've done a wonderful thing in demonstrating your devotion to a cherished friend. Believe me when I say that I couldn't be prouder, nor as thankful, to consider you the same. But I don't want you to forget your lessons; remember that friendship is a two-way street. Therefore, I’ve made my decision final. Like it or not, you can’t stop me,” vowed Princess Twilight, her voice stern, but not unkind.

"Twilight," said Starlight, one tense moment later, "I swear to Celestia, Luna, Cadance, yourself and even baby Flurry Heart: you do this to me, and I will cut off our friendship."

The enormity of her threat hit where it hurts. Twilight cried out, slapping a hoof on her chest, as if actually shot with a bolt of magic.

But such a thing would never hurt as much. "How could you even threaten such a thing!?" she cried. “You can’t mean that!”

"If this is what it takes to keep you from doing anything stupid, then yes! I do!"

Twilight’s hooves moved. Paced, all on their own. They needed to do something, Twilight couldn’t just do nothing and stand there totally useless! "No, Starlight, no!” She paced up and down the stair. “You've no right to do this to me, no right at all! Yo—you can't go, and, a-and make me feel indebted to you! And then go on to—"

"Indebted!?" Starlight cut in, unbelieving. "Twilight, you owe me nothing."

"Except my life!" she hoarsely squeaked, slapping her physically, mentally sound person.

Starlight wheezed for air, a strangled laugh as she drowned in tears. "Need I remind you of your own Friendship Journal? Specifically the fourth lesson of Spike's chapter?" she asked, her voice quivering a mile a minute, proving this wasn’t easy for her.

"I know the fourth lesson in Spike's chapter." Twilight knew exactly where she was going with this.

"Then you'll remember how he felt indebted to Applejack for saving his life?" Starlight's eyes couldn't maintain contact for longer than a second. "How Spike got on her nerves? I recall AJ herself was uncomfortable with how obligated he felt to repay her for that."

"This is entirely different."

"How?" Starlight’s eyes flashed. "Because it involves you, personally? Twilight, I’m not bashing you over this, but you’re letting your own feelings impede on logic and sense. You can’t afford to do that, you’re just more important than I am. Think of everypony and how they’ll feel should something terrible happen to you!”

Twilight, the world, her tummy, everything felt monstrously heavy. She could barely moved, breathe, even think. Everything was just squeezed out of her by this crushing reality.

Starlight was right. She was absolutely right.

“And guess what?” she asked. “There are ponies out there who need your help more than me. So why not consider them first, huh?" She wasn’t berating Twilight now, but it sure felt that way.

“Why did this have to be the way it is?” Twilight croaked. “That’s what I don’t get. That’s what bugs me so much about this and makes my stomach turn everytime I think about it!”

“W-what’s that?”

“THIS!” Twilight hollered at the shrinking fool. “Everything about it, it just drives me up a wall!” she cried, clasping her ears.

Starlight stomped forth, bringing their tearful gazes inches apart. "Alright Twilight, so what!? What!? You're telling me I did this for no reason?"

Twilight was appalled - how in Equestria could she reach such a conclusion? Did she not know her teacher at all? "No! I would never-!"

"Then what, Twilight!?" Starlight screamed. "Why are you so mad at me!?"

"I'M NOT MAD! I'M UPSET! I'm upset that this happened to you on my behalf! I'm upset that you're hurting and I don't know why. It’s terrible that this had to happen and there’s nothing I can do to feasibly change that! But worst of all, it's torture to see you like this and it’s made all the worse because I’ve no notion of how you're hurting, because you just aren't talking to me!"

And there it was. Out in the open, and it will never be in again.

The Unicorn's eyes flared. Her teeth grit and stared Twilight down. "I told you, I’m not—"

"Yes you are!" Twilight sobbed. "You look like a mess, you've barely eaten, you've been acting like you got something to hide since it happened—you can barely look at me when I talk to you!"

Her voice rang in the vastness of their home.

A shameful display. Everypony who ever knew Twilight would be embarassed to be affiliated with her if they’d just witnessed all that.

And Starlight…

Starlight saw how scared she was, and not angry. Right? She understood the reason for Twilight’s tears, the cause of them? "We're worried about you, Starlight. All of us, especially Maud and Trixie. Nopony is mad at you, we just want to make sure you're okay."

Starlight said nothing, did nothing, but plop to her haunches with a vacant stare. “I’m fine.”

Twilight joined her on the floor. She didn’t know why, it’s not like she was about to be so thoughtless as to touch Starlight after saying all that.

Neither said a word. Both began rubbing their eyes, sniffling periodically. This went on for a moment.

"I was perfectly fine until everypony else made my business theirs." Starlight croaked nothing further. Twilight was at a loss on what to say. She never felt so useless in all her time as a princess.

And yet, Starlight was clearly not "fine." She wasn't "okay." Starlight could deny and deny, but an obvious fear was constantly buried underneath a casual, lighthearted demeanor. It took Twilight years to learn it, but she recognized the pattern, the cycle Starlight suffered whenever this deep-seated terror resurfaced.

She'd likely fostered it for years, assuring the few ponies in her life that she was fine. She was fine that Sunburst left for Celestia's. She was upset, sure, but not because he was gone, of course not!

If anything, she was more upset that it was a cutie mark which ended their friendship.

After changing her ways, guilt plagued Starlight for months. She was able to accept it and move on when she had to, and for good. But before leading her ragtag team through the Hive, Starlight would lock up and shiver at the notion of interacting with others.

It was not solely a fear of leading the drove her away from such things, of falling back on old habits. It was judgement that kept her at bay, the "true feelings” of others once they got to know the “awful” pony that she was.

She had trouble seeing the mare that Twilight had—a pony with a lot of love in her heart. One worthy of redemption.

After defeating Chrysalis and her own inner demons, Twilight hoped her student finally knew that. Now, as she realized the last ten minutes actually happened, Twilight wondered if Starlight ever did in the first place.

And little things peppered throughout their years together—instances where Starlight, after a streak of making Twilight proud, would stumble upon a lapse in judgement. But instead of owning up to it, or confessing the truth to its occurrence, Starlight would deflect it if she had a stable argument, or worse, wave it off and never address it again. Every one of these mistakes stemmed from a hard truth, one that Starlight's own soul couldn't bear to confront because it was too painful to acknowledge, to admit that it’s real.

If the same thing was happening here, Twilight had to find it and rectify the cause of this mental sickness.

This inferiority complex.

That was the first step towards helping Starlight put herself back together.

“Twi, Starlight is so lucky to have a friend who’s this worried about her.” Spike dunked a dirty plate into the soapy washbin. “She’d have to be crazy not to realize that. You’re worrying too much about her.”

‘This worried.’ Obsessing over her all day, all week, like a crazy pony was sound appraisal. Definitely. “You’re right. She may not have come to dinner, but that doesn’t mean she’s avoiding me. I’m sorry for worrying so much today,” Twilight said, for the umpteenth time that day.

Spike replied in kind, "Don't be. I get it." He leaned in, snuggling against her neck for a moment. Twilight pulled away, smiling as she levitated a stack of dishes away.

Starlight would normally be doing it, but in her absence Twilight had dish drying/stacking in addition to table clearing.

Twilight nuzzled his scaly cheek, pressing with all the fear balled up inside her. "I'm so scared for her Spike. It's like I'm split into thirds and I don’t know which is right. One doesn't want to deny Starlight the support she needs, while another is torn on whether she even needs it. If I act on the latter, then Starlight may believe I don't care about her at all. To counter that would involve indulging in the former, which she’d hate. Then, Starlight would feel crushed that I assumed she was weak, and even worse if I just rub her obvious heartache in her face! That could end up driving us apart, when it would’ve been avoided had I been a better friend! So no matter what I do, I'm being a bad friend!"

With her nose now pressed against Spike’s, he nasally asked, “Um, and the last third?”

And the last third...

Twilight shut her eyes. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“That doesn’t sound very healthy.”

“Yeah, well,” she dropped his soapy-clawed self back upon the ground, “it’s just me being me. Nothing more.”

“And,” Spike quirked a brow, “that was meant to be reassuring?”

Twilight looked away, levitating another stack into two within the cabinet. “It means that this feeling has nothing to do with the situation at hoof. So it doesn’t matter.”

“Twilight, you can’t ignore how you feel about this.” Water sloshed away behind her.

“Maybe not,” Twilight agreed. “But I can’t let that cloud my judgement. Starlight is the victim here. Not me. I’m not going to lose sight of my purpose again.”

The dunking stopped. “Your ‘p-purpose?’” Twilight ruffled her wings, not turning to see his reaction. "I can't fail again, Spike.” Those blaring alarms in Seaquestria still hurt, even a year later. The images of her hurt friends was even worse. “Especially now. Starlight’s on the line here."

Her foreleg prickled with claws sinking into it, Spike’s soft cheek against it well-worth the minor discomfort. "You won't. You’ve learned from your mistakes. You're a wiser princess now because of it." They’d spoken at length of this many a night since.

"But I'm not infallible,” she reminded him.

"Twilight—”

"Spike..." He needed to understand what this meant to her. "I won't. Fail. At friendship. Again,” she said, boring deep into his stunned gaze. “I can't let that happen."

A beat later, Spike blinked back to life. He held her hoof in both claws. "We won't let that happen—me and all our friends, we’re right behind you, Twilight!”

III.V - The Eye of the Storm

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"Starlight!"

The word raked chills across her back. What did I do? What did I do? What do you want now?!

She'd made Twilight mad before, she's disappointed her. But she was still Twilight Sparkle: kindly, manic, and a bit of a dweeb.

‘You won’t even look at me when I’m talking to you!’

Starlight had never heard her sound so hateful, so angry—so unlike the friend she loved. And I'm the reason she's like this.

Starlight touched her chin to her shoulder, eyeing the lavender fluff matted and streaked from Twilight's steady flow of tears throughout their conversation. The sight was pain-inducing. She'd scared Twilight and wasted her time when far more important matters required the Princess of Friendship. Acknowledging Twilight's heartache for herself was the least Starlight could do at this point.

Yet, Twilight just stood there with parted lips. Did she still see Starlight's fear? Her evasive gaze?

Twilight was rigid, a statue carved from amethyst. She stood silent, though it was obvious that there were a million things she wanted to get off her chest. Obvious she was going to yell some more. Obvious that rage was coursing through her veins akin to the alicorn-magic of her body.

"No matter what happens today,” Twilight's voice was soft as silk, “no matter what we say or don't say... remember that I love you, Starlight. More than you could ever know. Don't you ever doubt that, alright?"

Twilight knew her too well. She knew Starlight would be obsessing over their back and forth. How could she not? Starlight had infuriated her today. Had broken her heart. And worst of all, she fought it with denial every step of the way.

Her teacher's patience had reached its limits. Starlight has now seen first-hoof what happened when it extended beyond that marker. Not a pretty sight.

"I won't." She bobbed her head once, then slipped upstairs as fast as she could without looking desperate. Twilight didn’t shout after her again, probably grumbling about how difficult her friend was now.

Starlight crawled into bed, cocooning herself. This whole, horrible day was thankfully, finally behind her. As her head hit her pillow, awaiting the blessed release of consciousness, she pushed aside all thoughts of Twilight or her friends.

The brief encounter she'd had on the way to her bedroom still haunted her.

Crystalline walls towered beyond Starlight's line of sight. Strings of gemstones, luminescent with pinks, blues and yellows draped from crystal columns. Windows of emerald interspersed them, now black, signifying the close to a long, wasted day.

The thought must have been appalling to a busybody like Twilight. Her dismay cut deep at the time, in spite of being totally justified. Who in their right mind would waste an entire day just laying around, not being productive?

Starlight's hoofsteps upon the carpet enhanced the silence pounding in her ears. What's taking so long? Starlight whined to herself.

If only she could teleport. Then, in a flash of light, a jolt would shudder through Starlight, breaking her apart into the very magic saturating Equestria's atmosphere within the blink of an eye. To go from standing in one place, then appear on the other side of Equestria with but a thought—she was so gifted. Had been so gifted. So much so it made the corridor tilt aside, as few ponies who didn’t have both wings and a horn could do what she once could.

But that was okay, of course. Starlight was ready to lose it all again! The witches could appear right before her with the same deal, and instead of taking the deal immediately, Imaginary Starlight looked inside herself, dug deep, and found no conflict about the idea of doing it for Twilight.

She continued to stare a thousand yards into the rug passing beneath her, the last five minutes contaminating her every thought. Soon, her eyes itched and watered like it was last Spring all over again. In the middle of the hall, Starlight Glimmer stopped.

Then she sat, rubbing a foreleg across her eyes after no tissue came forth.

Starlight still heard herself, screaming like the insecure, crazy pony from Our Town. The cackling of a madmare echoed in her memory: 'If you say so!' she'd sneered, watching as this self-righteous, life-ruining upstart scrambled to preserve her precious little friendships.

How was Starlight any different from that pony now? She was still emotional. She was still unreasonable. She was still violent, and hurt ponies she cared about. Unintentionally, yes, but she hurt them all the same.

Oh, Twilight... Disgust rotted her insides green. It was so idiotic. She was so idiotic. What compelled her to say such awful things?

'Then what, Twilight!? Why are you so mad at me?!'

What kind of a stupid question was that? Why are you so mad at me, indeed. Why wouldn't she be? Who wouldn't be? It's a miracle nopony got sick of the games and just got Discord to snap her to the castle. And there was loads Starlight could have done! She could have seen Trixie, or Twi... No, not Twilight. What would they even do? Stare at a spell tome she no longer had any use for?

The summary of this mess was just hilarious: Starlight, wishing not to bother her friends, instead went and scared them senseless all day. Brilliant! And she'd annoyed Twilight, avoided any help so generously given, ticked off Maud...

I've been terrible, and I apologized with even more nonsense. The things Twilight had to deal with because of her. Today was another added to the list. Starlight could see the parchment rolling down the crystal tunnel before her, into the yawning murkiness ahead.

Her withers prickled at the unseen depths ahead. Starlight felt urged to trot, thankful for the castle's gemstones awakening as she neared them. Friendliest place in Equestria or no, the Friendship Castle was just creepy sometimes, and possibly hazardous in the dead of night if not for this one precaution. What if the gemstones didn't illuminate one night, leaving Starlight stranded in a shadowy maze?

And Hydia ready to jump out at me...

Starlight shook her head. "You're being a foal," she muttered. It was Flutter Valley that had her scared, not her own home!

At Sweet Apple Acres, Starlight had a grand view of the entire orchard as she stewed in thought. Stewed over Flutter Valley, and its existence at the same time as her lazying about; likely in the midst of ruining another life. Sweet Apple Acres wasn't anything like that place. Starlight saw the ocean of green, red, and earthy-rich brown. The one she rested against was chilled her to the touch, alive. Not burnt with dark magic, mangled by another's will, and serving a nefarious purpose as some glorified, horrifying scarecrow-wall.

Starlight gagged, choking as she gasped, and she coughed it all out in a spittle-spraying mess. Twilight actually wanted to go in this horrible place, she doesn't even know what it... Her insides twisted sharply. She was willing to go in anyway, to give up something special, just for my sake...

And to make Starlight's sacrifice and suffering completely pointless.

Just the thought of it made her want to scream. How dare she? How dare Twilight act as if it's no big deal? Does she not realize what it would feel like—to be the reason for losing something important?

Starlight huffed. This was really funny! It was so ironic. It's not like she was deserving of the same consideration Twilight wasn’t given. 'You knew I wouldn't want you to,' the princess had said, accusingly. But that wasn’t true at all! Starlight didn't even think about what Twilight would want. She was selfishly considering... Twilight.

What’ve you been teaching me this whole time? If that wasn’t what she was supposed to do, then was everything Starlight thought she understood about friendship a lie?

A surge pelted against Starlight's breast, twisting, writhing. Not a lie. She slammed a hoof down and roared in frustration. You're just a foal.

Her rage rang down the corridor and back, haggard, and colder than winter's touch.

Did that really just come out of her?

'A foal,' echoed a nasty voice in her head. 'A foal who so presumptuously assured that all would be well after Twilight was better.'

Things were, though. To Starlight, at least. The rest of the world, too, for having kept its grand savior through what seemed to be a miracle.

But Starlight's world took issue with this, and on Starlight's behalf no less.

And I don't care, argued a voice similar to the nasty one. I was willing to give anything to save Twilight. That’s what friendship is all about...

'So it is.'

So I don't care if she's angry with me, Starlight thought.

'...' The voice in her head was unusually silent.

Twilight's alive, that's all that matters, she told herself.

'...'

She could hate me all she wants, I’m just happy she’s around to do it!

"Seen a lot in my travels, but never a depressed little pony.”

Starlight whirled around, hearing not the words, nor the voice - the sheer randomness of another speaking up behind her flashed images of a huge, pock-marked claw lashing at her.

But it was not Hydia coming to finish the job, but a raspberry-colored unicorn standing in a doorway. "And I should know, I," one foreleg crossed over the other, "...paraded Princess Twilight through the capital, myself. Miserable, yes, but she wasn't defeated so much as she was upset."

A mussy mohawk and sunken eyes signified a recent awakening—M-my scream, Starlight realized, the black wall swallowing this ex-Commander like a looming horror confirming this. "Lovely story." Starlight evaded her piercing judgement to gaze down a familiar hallway. "I'm sure you saw all kinds of miserable ponies that day," Starlight coolly replied. "Not sure why mine is so interesting to you."

An amused grunt beside her. "Perceptive little one," Tempest teased, her voice scraping softly down the back of Starlight's neck. "You sense common ground between us, though. No use denying it. You also know what it feels like to finally get what you want."

Starlight glanced to where Tempest, apparently, got what she wanted. But she didn't, that monstrous claw reaching out from her forehead was monument to that fact.

"And seeing everypony's smile gone because of me just felt... great. Like I was finally getting payback for their shunning me."

A feeling so painfully familiar struck Starlight in the chest, her village flashing before her as proof to society that cutie marks weren't needed for ponies to thrive. What a fool she was. Evil ponies always are shortsighted. Starlight turned, gazing Fizzlepop dead in the eye. "I know how that feels." A wry smile. "It's like being hyped up on five cups of coffee."

"An apt description," chuckled the ex-Commander. "Princess Twilight vowed you would understand. Still though, I can't believe she was right."

"She is unbelievable." Starlight made a hoof with her mind and stamped down on any further thoughts of what just happened downstairs. "Do you... normally think about this sort of stuff?" Starlight decided. On second thought, she realized she'd certainly done so often.

"You just don't forget about a huge chunk of your life. Especially when it all amounted to that." Tempest's snout crinkled as if catching something offensive. "It wasn’t until recently that I realized why I felt so... good. Because it wasn’t the revenge exacted that I kept going back too. It was always their fear of me. How you ponies looked at me."

"And how does that make you feel?"

Starlight knew the answer before Fizzlepop looked in mild surprise. "Evil," she answered simply. "Later? Ashamed. For what I'd done, for the freedom that wasn't just.”

Starlight hardly knew a thing about this intense, older pony before her, except that she'd almost lost her life saving Twilight's. The first thing she'd done with her freedom wasn't to enjoy Equestria, but distance herself from it.

They'd lived such different lives, had different wants and morals. Everything in Starlight was screaming for her not to rush to conclusions, and yet, she felt like they'd been friends for years. “Tempest—”

“Never thought I’d care about my soul like that until Twilight.” Tempest's gaze turned up. “I still can’t believe this pony I’d hunted and terrorized saved me, let alone her reasons for doing it…”

Fizzlepop inhaled deeply, recomposing herself.

“Every night since, I’ve wondered to myself ‘Why?'" Her eyes revealed themselves staring at the ground. "'What did I do to deserve this, with no punishment, despite all the horrible things I’d done to ponies like her?’ You see, I realized that I wasn't happy to see them afraid of me, Starlight Glimmer... Deep down... I'd reveled in having dragged them down to my level: miserable, lost, because I'd taken away their happiness and took pleasure in doing so." Fizzlepop Berrytwist dipped her head slightly, brows knitted, a vein in her neck puling. "I hate myself every day for it. You must understand this feeling, don't you?"

Her countenance spoke volumes: hope that Starlight understood, fear that she wouldn't, a slight dampness catching the twinkling colors above within her, until now, chilly and apathetic... facade, apparently.

"I," Starlight approached, hoof outstretched, "know exactly what that's like—”

“No, don’t!” Tempest yanked back, as did Starlight, suddenly as if some invisible force stopped them from getting close. "Ah," Tempest backed into the shadows a step, "apologies. But don't get so comfortable around me. I know your story, Starlight, I know you relate to what I’m feeling. So because of that, I hope you can understand: I don’t feel comfortable receiving pity, so don’t give any.”

"O-Of course!" Once upon a time, Starlight felt the same as Fizzlepop did now. She denies it now, to herself and others, but Fizzlepop was just another hurt pony who made bad choices, regretted them, and wouldn't forgive herself.

Deep down where the soul resides, Tempest Shadow was no different from the Mayor of Our Town.

“That’s fine, really. I get it,” Starlight spoke with a confidence she'd been lacking for days. “But you’re not gonna stop me from feeling bad for you.” Fizzlepop's slight smile was worth beaming at - anything to make her feel more comfortable. “But if you ever wanna talk about it, I’d happily listen!”

Fizzlepop looked away, glanced back. Her gaze fell, her smile the very picture of a humble thanks. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Starlight's foreleg itched. “I don’t suppose this just came out of the blue," she wondered, scratching. "Do you always think about it, or is this one of those days?”

“Neither. It’s a day, or rather… the day. The big one. You know what I mean: that fork-in-the-road, Crossroads of Destiny-type malarkey you hear about in Cutie Marks 101.” It just occurred to Starlight that she never saw Fizzlepop’s. She’d been sitting at breakfast, and now her hindquarters were enshrouded. “You... know what I mean, right?”

“More than you know, sister!” Starlight flickered to where a pink spiral was replaced with painfully empty space. "I," she coughed, "I mean, I've been through this rodeo plenty times. It was easy for me, but that's because," Because I thoughtlessly gave up my horn, the thing you lost by accident and have worked your whole life to regain, "because," Starlight faltered, and her face caught on fire, "because it was either that or watch my friend leave. It was so easy I'd do it again."

Fizzlepop's eyes narrowed, but there was nothing more. So was so unlike Maud, a mare physically incapable of expressing intense emotion—this older, harder pony hid everything beneath a mask of one who truly did not care. She clearly thought nothing of Starlight's sacrifice, good or ill.

Sweat beaded upon her forehead. Seconds had passed and Fizzlepop's stare was like iron, unbending until it broke. Ex-Commander Tempest Shadow did not appear to be the "breaking" type.

And so she stared, and Starlight shot it right back, holding her ground.

Then Fizzle shut her eyes, inhaling deep, and didn't stop until her muscled breast was swelled and looking even more like a maroon balloon than before. “Listen,” she sighed, chest taut and jutting. “Twilight’s asked me to be...” Everything came blowing out in a groan. "To be her sworn...” Again, she paused, choking on the words. “Her sworn shield."

It was like she tried sounding stiff and emotionless, but quivered anyway.

Genuine emotion alone was enough to catch Starlight off guard. “Wow that’s… big!” she lamely reacted.

Fizzlepop’s eyes sprang open, “She’s asked me to be her bodyguard," her wild gaze flashing icily as it stared above Starlight’s head, "as if anypony in this nonsensical country will trust Traitor Shadow to be near their precious Princess, let alone protecting her every waking minute!”

Her broad chest rose and fell staggeringly. Unexpectedly.

Starlight gulped her nerves. There were a million things she could say, should say, anything for Tempest to latch onto… but she couldn’t. Nothing felt right.

This was monumental to the mare towering above her, looking down on her, for... was this asking for advice? A cursory glance into something they, too, might share in mutuality?

"Uh," Starlight started eloquently. Redemption, she thought, the word on her lips alone. A gift handed to Fizzlepop on a silver platter by Twilight. Forgiveness she didn’t feel was earned; a new life she didn’t deserve.

Starlight's chest panged to the oh-so-familiar song.

She tried to form a picture in her mind, but failed. To see Tempest lobstered in lavender, a menacing shadow looming behind Equestria’s patron poster-pony of friendship? It was kind of laughable, and not because of the appearance, but because Twilight was on a level beyond any mere fighter.

She had no use for such ponies, whom she complained would only "distort the image" of her fame for being an approachable pony. Armed, stern guardsponies only hurt that idea. And Twilight'd disclosed many times of this foalish assertion that she wouldn't want ponies “serving her."

So, why the change of heart? Was this a charity? Did she really think Fizzlepop would want such a thing, even without guilt weighing her down?

“I… can see this's been on your mind,” Starlight offered gently. "A lot of stuff, actually."

She shrank back as Fizzle got in her face with wide, wild eyes. “Why would anypony want me around, much less her?" Her melting, quivering coolness rocked something in Starlight's gut. “I’ve no idea what her game is, Starlight Glimmer, but there’s something more to this than a spur-of-the-moment job, I can tell. Does she pity me? Does she want to keep an eye on me? Is all of this an elaborate scheme to get me to take care of you? And what’s with the room?" She gestured round the doorway. "I don’t know why! ...I don’t know. Anything,” she panted, "any-anymore."

Starlight hoped to Celestia she wasn't gawking. From what she’d seen and heard of Commander Tempest Shadow, this pony was the last she’d imagine having a Twilight-grade freakout.

Those were a lot of questions that needed answering. Starlight should have been equipped to answer them, to assuage all of Fizzlepop's fears. “W-well, do you wanna do it? The job?” That was decidedly most important.

“I suppose I do, but—”

“Then talk to her."

Fizzlepop stammered, blinked, and shook her head.

“Talk to her,” Starlight stressed. “It’s as simple as that. All of these questions in your head? They’re just that! In your head. If you want answers, then go talk to Twilight. Don’t shut her out, or you’ll.... only hurt each other.”

“I haven’t been shutting her out,” Fizzle insisted, familiarly. Her giant eyes screamed otherwise.

Starlight laughed at the absurdity of these coincidences, the similarities. “Well, that’s the impression you’ve been giving her!”

Fizzle, instead of getting in her face again, dropped her own with a quiet sigh. Starlight was relieved she didn't trigger the ex-commander. A sickness gripped her by the gut seconds later; who was she to get mad at Fizzlepop for reacting understandably within these circumstances?

"Look." Starlight took a step forward, catching her eye. “I know what it's like to feel responsible for bad communication. It sucks. But Fizzlepop, I bet Twilight is downstairs right now, upset because she thinks she’s insulted you." And me... Oh, Celestia, I just went and yelled at her when she was only trying to help! "I bet she feels like the job came off as some kinda cover for an ulterior motive." Tempest gazed aside, lips set in a line. "I'd give up what's left of my horn if she really plotted such a thing," joked Starlight.

“I’ll… admit, the thought crossed my mind once or twice,” Fizzle confessed, ears wilted.

Starlight smiled reassuringly - she hoped. “Don’t think that. Twilight’s only crime here is feeling before thinking. She just wants to help you.” Fizzle gazed aside, her brows creased so hard her scar wrinkled. “Look, if she really were planning something like you think, I can guarantee it wasn’t anything bad! At most, Twilight thought this would help a few of her closest friends.”

Either the crystal wall behind Starlight was incredibly suspicious, or a war raged inside Fizzlepop's heart as she clenched her jaw, again and again and again. Clearly she'd never bared herself like this before, never had anypony to do so with, or felt comfortable enough to do so.

Abruptly she stiffened, turning to eyeball Starlight. “How can you be so sure?”

Starlight grinned wide. She had no idea. “I just do, or, am. I just am… sure, that is.” Her cheeks ached, and it wasn’t from the tautness of her smile. “Listen, believe me when I tell you that Twilight doesn’t plot stuff. Honestly? I don’t think she’s capable of doing anything sneaky.”

“There’s something illogical about that belief. How can you tell she's not an unparalleled liar?"

“Ignoring the fact that one of a princess’s defining traits is ‘integrity,’ and the fact that Honesty is an Element of Friendship…” Starlight had to stick her tongue out between her toothy grin; she didn’t think Fizzlepop was capable of feeling embarrassed, or showing it, “...the one time Twilight tried, she made it really obvious. Though Spike’s to blame for that one.” Starlight never cared for the deception after figuring it out. Not when the mirror was still one of her favorite gifts ever.

Fizzlepop offered a brief, amused smile. “I still don’t know,” she mumbled to the side. “And don't ask me why, because I don't know why."

"Wasn't gonna."

"Yet I can’t bring myself to say I don’t trust Princess Twilight, because that’s definitely not true, strange as that may sound…”

Starlight snorted. “That's why I don’t blame you! I mean, you’ve lived solely trusting your own instinct. Twilight's thrown that out of wack. It’s natural you’re not gung-ho about trusting others. Believe me,” she laughed, “I know what it’s like to see the world in only one color! It’s hard to reinvent yourself like that.”

The unicorn gave a short, flat huff. “I suppose,” she said, smiling faintly.

Nodding, Fizzlepop Berrytwist emerged from the shadows, hoofbeats feather-light upon the carpet. "I suppose I've been ridiculous today." She kept her head low, at eye-level with Starlight but not meeting her.

"We all have those days, especially in Ponyville."

"So I've been warned." Fizzle turned as the shadows uncloaked her, flashing a flank emblazoned with a pair of fireworks—one rainbow-colored, the other magenta and shielded partially behind it. “I confess, though Princess Twilight said you would understand, I did not expect you to be a sharp one, too.”

Starlight’s cheeks burned softly. “Oh, its nothing special.”

“Oh, take the compliment!” Tempest snapped, then instantly reeled back as though regretting the outburst “I-I’m…” she gulped, uttering flatly, “my apologies."

Starlight nodded. “T-thank you, I like the praise. Didn’t think I’d ever hear any again!”

Fizzle cocked her head, split brow raised. “Praise?” Starlight nodded; it was so obvious! But Fizzle just stared down her muzzle, blinking in disbelief. “Twilight talks my ear off about all your accomplishments. What do you mean you’ll never hear praise again?”

Starlight lifted a hoof. “Well, I was only special because of my horn. My cutie mark relates to magic and my mastery over it. Unlike you, you can still do firework stuff with yours! Really impressive by the way,” she tittered.

The elder mare began to answer, but Starlight didn’t care to pursue the topic of horns and once-gifted abilities. “Anyway, yeah! Just talk to Twilight,” she said aloud, “be honest, and I promise the next time we see each other, you’ll be in full plate with a purple starburst on your flank!”

“No!” Fizzlepop snapped. “I… still don’t know. There’s more to it than this,” she elaborated. “More than just…” Her hoof patted her muscled chest. “...this bad feeling right here. But, you are right: first thing I’ll do tomorrow is see Princess Twilight.”

“Take your time, I promise you there's no rush from anypony. The last thing Twilight would want is one of her friends barreling into a stupid decision for her sake." Again. The larger pony winced, then acquiesced to the gesture. “But don’t take too long talking to her, at least. As we speak, she’s feeling like a worse friend than the Storm King.” In no thanks to me...

Fizzlepop snorting pulled Starlight's attention, and heart. “Silly little pony, that one,” she muttered. “The old me would be a better friend than the Storm King.”

“I think anypony would be a better friend than the Storm King.” Starlight didn’t even know the guy, let alone what he looked like in person.

She did see him though, once.

A shiver rippled down her spine—though a slave-mongering warlord to be sure, to have a life cut short upon the stones of their perfect capital?

It’d been a year, and she’d yet to hear a single pony talk about it. All of Equestria knew the story of course; there’s not a soul who didn’t. But with anypony else, the king’s name would be uttered meekly, rife with fear. Was it taboo to speak of his demise? Starlight wasn't ever going to test that.

But she’d never thought about it for this long before.

Fizzlepop pulled her out of the darkness with the sound of laughter: warm, low, stifled behind her hoof. “Like a rock?” she chuckled. “Would a cold, dead pebble actually provide better friendship than the old goat?”

There was a beat.

A joke. That was supposed to be a joke.

Fizzlepop was joking with her! Thank Celestia Maud wasn't around to take offense.

Starlight giggled hard, and she didn’t know why. It wasn’t even funny. Nothing about this was. “Hey, don’t insult the rocks!” she tittered, light in the head. “They’re far more complex than that silver-haired clown.”

Fizzle’s laughter cut short, choked upon. Starlight found her cringing: eyes squeezed shut, muzzle dug into the crook of her foreleg.

Starlight's heart stopped. Was she insulted? Did she and the Storm King maybe have some secret history, or—

Fizzlepop Berrytwist threw her head back and roared, hard, heaving laughter up into the vastness of the Friendship Castle’s maze-like corridors. Starlight barely heard it over her own.

“I’m sorry!” Fizzle grinned, despite herself. Her cheeks glowed a shade brighter than her coat. “I sounded ridiculous, yes, but I’ve never laughed like that in my life. I think his soul felt that all the way in Tartarus.”

Starlight giggled out of politeness. That remark was, actually, funny. It's sad Fizzlepop felt her laugh was embarrassed by her laugh, though. It was really nice, something resembling Celestia’s, or AJ’s. “That guy must’ve been a real joy,” she remarked. It was the understatement of the century, she knew, but it was the best insult in her arsenal.

Fizzlepop, after several moments of thought, grunted in agreement, face placid as a lazy lake. “He was a goof and a tool. I hated his personality," she growled.

“Twilight called him psychotic. Was he?” The question hung in air, unanswered. Starlight peered closer and realized Tempest’s brows subtly push together. “Hey,” she cooed, “is… something the matter?”

“I’ve spent most of my life believing you could only depend on yourself.” Fizzle’s voice was stiff and flat, as though speaking pained her.

But saying the words were not the issue, and Starlight sensed it. “And now?”

“Now? I believe I’m afraid, and happy, and I don’t know why.”

She’s never had to open herself like this before, Starlight thought. She doesn’t even know how. “Explain your feelings to me,” she said, scarcely believing what she was saying. What was she doing!? Starlight’s instincts screamed at her, but her heart writhed in protest as Fizzle wrenched away, ashamed for even feeling conflicted over this.

She started pacing. “Part of me wants nothing more than to accept Princess Twilight’s offer,” she confessed. “To serve as her right shield, her constant companion, her—” her voice failed her, and she gulped promptly, “—her friend.” Fizzle blinked, stunned by the very idea of such a thing. “Why can’t I just be happy with what she’s giving me? Why am I so afraid, Starlight?”

It was easy sympathizing over such a painfully familiar story. “I can’t blame you for being wary of Twilight’s kindness.” She wished to smile, but somehow, Starlight's subconscious beat her to the buck some time ago. “Especially when you don’t feel like you deserve it.”

Fizzle made an interesting sound: a gasping laugh. “You must be a mind-reader. Tell me, how could anypony put words to this feeling I don’t even understand?”

“I thought you said you knew my story.” Starlight winked.

Fizzlepop looked away, her cheeks bright-pink, mouth set in a line. “I don’t know what to think anymore. Well, save for one thing…”

“And what’s that?”

The mare raised her head tall to gaze upon the wall between her bedroom and the narrow-doored closet further down. Following her eyes, Starlight found a massive tribute to the sigil of the castle’s proprietor.

“I can believe in her friendship,” Fizzle explained as she approached it. “Least I know that that’s chiseled in stone.” Coming up beside her, Starlight’s eyes boggled at the display. “I saw this earlier, and I thought to myself, ‘There’s no way a pony this egotistical could be so genuine.’” Fizzle shook her head, smirking; the familiarity of her words gave Starlight one too. “I’m starting to think she might've been telling the truth.”

Starlight nodded faintly, half-hearing her words. She understood something about interpreting this piece of art as an ego-trip. Without context, the thing just felt out-of-place for being so deep in the castle.

But Twilight didn’t create this, nor would she ever commission something so vain without dying of embarrassment. This was the work of Harmony’s chief patron, or whatever made the castle: jigsaw puzzle comprised of amethyst, where every piece—large or small, thin, fat, round or jagged—joined to create the six-pointed starburst. It was probably beautiful when the castle interior brightened by day.

“I can’t believe I’ve missed this for two and a half years. How'd I manage that?” she wondered. “Oh! Oh, wait… I'd always teleported. That’s why.” Starlight still chuckled despite her clenching insides. Teleporting was such a nice convenience, always being able to ping from one room to the next, and great fun during magic lessons, popping over to every corner of Equestria until Twilight usually became the one following her lead.

“Equestria doesn’t know how lucky it is to have her.” Starlight's heart skipped a beat: Fizzle, gazing upon the starburst, her throat bobbing once as she was crushed by the weight of it all. “Does it?”

Memories of the Friendship Journal surged forth - a “Greatest Hits” album of the worst kind - and paradoxically, the huge party celebrating her what was originally her definite demise. “It really doesn’t,” Starlight agreed. “But Twilight once told me her life’s mission was to ensure every pony had a place in another’s life, even the ignorant.”

“Wait, she wants to ensure that every-pony has friendship in their lives?” Fizzlepop's voice, typically low and set to one emotion - stoic - could very well be either amazed or simply disbelieving.

“M’yeah! Basically!”

“‘Every pony?’”

"Ok, so it does sound like a bit of a pipe dream to an outsider."

“Princess or no, it's a tall order,” Fizzle remarked, her scarred, divided brow almost kissing her broken—

Starlight swung a foreleg, dismissing it. “Aw, Twilight can do it! At the very least, it keeps her busy between dealing with the Map and her ‘Open Door Policy.’”

Fizzlepop dropped her face, considering. “So, you truly believe she can do it?”

“Of course I do! Twilight’s the Princess of Friendship for a reason. She was literally made to do this!”

Fizzle’s eyes slowly widened until they practically popped out of her head.

She huffed.

Then she started chuckling.

Starlight gulped, but kept her smile going. “Is, uh, is something wrong?”

“Strange little pony,” the taller mare purred once more. She went back to regarding the stained-glass mural.

Starlight would have taken offense to that summation, but Fizzle wasn’t wrong from an outsider's perspective. Twilight truly was one of a kind.

“You get used to it. But take it from somepony who once felt like you: it’s the best decision I’ve ever made.”

“I wasn’t talking about Princess Twilight.” Fizzle peered from the corner of her eye. “I was talking about you. You're strange, Starlight Glimmer." Her stomach knotted up all over again as if the last few minutes hadn't happened at all. “Your appraisal of her exemplifies this—singing praises of the princess as if nothing’s wrong. It sounds as if you admire her more than anypony, yet from what I heard, you don’t trust her enough to help you with this.” She nodded at a space above Starlight's head.

“Allow me to analyze what exactly I’ve heard," Fizzle continued, circling around, "you give me this wisdom on friendship, acting like you’re best friends with Princess Twilight. Yet, I heard you two screaming all the way up here. Keeping secrets from her? Lying to her? Avoiding her?” Fizzlepop was Tempest Shadow once again, prowling sleek and quiet as a black panther. “Are you actually friends, or is she your abusive mother? It sounds to me like you don’t want her close to you. I would like to believe you, Starlight—especially with what you’ve said about Her Highness. But really, how can I? It’s almost as if you actually hate—”

“Shut up.”

Fizzlepop froze, head shooting upright with surprise.

Starlight glared up at her, panting deeply. This broken unicorn dared to assume such nonsense? That’s fine, it was in her right. But she also had the right to know she was crossing a line into sensitive territory.

“I’m… sorry,” Fizzlepop stammered, blinking so many times she must have been in some sort of trance. “I’ve… not much experience conversing with normal ponies. There's some days I wake up still considering myself ‘Commander Tempest.’ I avoided confronting Twilight because I knew it’d get ugly, fast.” She looked aside, not really ashamed but more placid, in deep thought. “I’m sorry for bringing that upon you.”

A sigh cleansed any fear from her heart. “Take it from somepony with serious anger management issues, it just comes out sometimes." Starlight winced in shock seconds later, having never acknowledged this problem aloud, not even to her mentor.

Fizzlepop just looked baffled. “You’re not upset with me?” She lifted a foreleg, holding it close. “I thought I frightened you, you looked ready to book it down the hall.”

“Did I?” Starlight had no idea what this pony saw this very moment; she felt absolutely no different now from how she'd been since, well, for sometime now. “Honestly, I care more that you’re not actually mad at me. I get that you’re trying to be better, Fizzlepop - I struggled too. And Twilight gave me an overabundance of chances to better myself until I have! ...Or had,” she muttered.

“See, this is what I mean: ‘an overabundance,’” Fizzle quoted. “The Twilight you’re toting seems like she’d give you infinite chances to fix your mistake. Yet, there’s this harder princess you aren’t telling me about. You've feared confronting her since your horn was lost. If it isn't judgement or punishment, then what? Was this her trigger, her limit? I don't know. It’s like there’s two different Twilight's.”

One heartbeat later, something clicked in Starlight’s brain. “Oh, I think I get it. Well, you can definitely take my word for it: I don’t hate Twilight.”

“I know, I didn’t mean to imply you actually hated—”

“But do we really need to talk about this now?”

Fizzlepop closed her mouth, impassive once more. “Won’t force you." She shrugged. "But if we don’t strike while the iron’s hot, then we’ll be stuck with a misshapen lump of steel.”

Starlight only knew kites; smithing was a whole other world fit for ponies with defined muscles and greater patience than herself. But the metaphor was not lost on her, even if it didn’t make sense in its application.“And do you know swordsmithing well?” she wondered vaguely, since there was clearly a point to this.

“Not exactly. But I know a heart of steel when I see it, and yours is glowing hot right now. It's ripe to be shaped, but you're not letting anypony touch it. Take it from someone who knows that weight in your breast well,” she added, scarred eye giving a wink.

Starlight’s heart skipped once more. What a strange character you are. She really liked her all of a sudden.

“Fizzlepop...” Starlight breathed deep, powering through the nerves spitting fire along her spine, down her legs, up her throat. “Why are you helping me?” Her muzzle wobbled open, but first she needed to understand that this wasn’t weird. “E-even if that isn’t your intention, helping me that is—”

“It is,” Fizzle cut her off. Thank Celestia, Starlight thought a moment later, as the mare began prowling back to her room, beaming her a soft smile. “It’s because Twilight was more than right. I see myself in you, Starlight Glimmer. As you know what I feel, I'm positive I understand you just as well.”

"Uh, w-wow!" she gasped, smiling broadly, her heart swelling and swelling. Starlight didn't know why, but the feeling reminded her of Trixie, Maud, Thorax and Sunburst: weird to a fault, except, not really. She understood who they were, connected to what they felt. Starlight didn’t know why, they just clicked with her, and the reverse was equally as true.

Maybe the ex-Tempest Shadow would “get her” just as well as her other friends did?

Fizzlepop glanced back, across her swinging hindquarters, smirking still. “Don’t be too proud of yourself, now. We only just met.”

“I know, I’m not! I’m just… happy, to have met you I guess.” Starlight smiled sheepishly, but she just knew that her words hit their mark. Fizzlepop’s stunned, soft eyes, were as wide as the ocean, just as blue, and equally as wet.

“I,” she squeaked, then cleared her throat harshly and spoke loud and sternly while marching to the other side of her doorway, “I also know that you aren’t mad at Twilight, and that you don’t hate her. But… that is all I know,” her voice lowered, alongside her embarrassment, “...and I’m confused because of this. I want to understand.”

“What? About me or Twilight?”

“I don’t know. Both? Or just friendship in general. Something to stop me from feeling like a complete foreigner in this strange land called 'home.'” Starlight gawked, having never considered how Equestria looked, culturally, to one of their own who knew little to none about it. “Would you like to have this conversation, or not? I have tea on the kettle if you want.”

Things were moving fast—just hopping from one emotion to the other without time for a breather. Fizzlepop was a train without any breaks. It’ll be hard landing onboard every single time. Starlight foresaw this easily, and smiled with anticipation, spiting the terror in her soul.

A rumbling ahead, off to the side, scrapped a fingernail down the back of her neck. The abyss down the hall had grown larger, more-encompassing, until it was a black wall before her very eyes. Something, suddenly, was not right; Starlight only wanted to accept her potential friend's offer.

The darkness upon the wall deeped, oozing down the walls toward Fizzlepop. The starburst of gemstones was half-submerged in shadow.

Starlight didn’t want to talk about anything, though. Fizzlepop would understand. She knew her better than anypony at this moment, despite having held a single conversation with her.

But Starlight just couldn’t inflict herself upon Fizzlepop. She was in no position to have an amicable discussion over tea with somepony far more collected this moment than she. The distraction was nice, but if Starlight was forced to talking about what just transpired in the foyer, she might just about lose it.

How, though, was what terrified her most, but nowhere near than the unknown of Fizzlepop's true feelings toward Starlight after. “I’d be happy to talk,” her heart insisted. “And tea sounds amazing right about now, thank you.”

Something within Starlight craved this anyway. Was she crazy?

...Probably. But Fizzlepop "Tempest Shadow" Berrytwist seemed equally as bad.

A cool smirk returned to Fizzlepop’s muzzle as she lifted a hoof, and it was then that Starlight first noticed how it was tied with a black string, tugged taut like a bowstring by something lurking above, obscured in shadow. Starlight trotted through the threshold, and only made it three steps before slowing to a stop.

It was just an abyss—depthless and soundless. A fold-out table stood out against it with an silver finish, so white it must have been made from the material. Somehow, the crystal thrones of Twilight and another pony sat on either side.

This was Fizzle’s room? Why would the Tree of Harmony create such an awful place?

“So, w’uh, where, uh, where’d those come from?” Starlight gestured.

Fizzlepop stomped past as quietly as her old namesake, hoofsteps booming like an eager judge's gavel. “My ‘master’ gave them to me.” She approached Twilight’s throne. Strange, Starlight thought, how the strings tethered to each of her hooves yanked them one at a time, only visible by their six-colored shine, almost like lines made of rainbow.

“Take a seat,” Fizzle said, the strings yanking her hooves into a gesture toward the mysterious pony’s throne across from her’s.

She almost threw herself on it, only faintly registering her own cutie mark emblazoned on its crown from the corner of her eye before Fizzlepop's voice yanked her back. “Now please, explain to me what the deal is. Between the two of you.”

Oh, Celestia. Fizzlepop had bigger things to worry about than Starlight’s ridiculous drama. “Look, Twilight and I just had a little argument. Nothing more than that. It's a common thing between friends!"

“A ‘little’ argument?” Fizzle scoffed, disbelief shining in her marginally-widened eyes. “The two of you screamed like… like something I’d never heard before. Is that how friends usually argue?"

Starlight rolled her eyes, steeling herself. “I seriously doubt that. No offense, Fizzlepop, but you do know that ponies yell for things unrelated to terror, right?”

A stomp on the table, and Fizzlepop was towering over her as spindly, rainbow tendrils of magic flashed from her horn. “Do not presume me to be an idiot!”

“I wasn't. But how about you talk to me like a normal pony instead of dancing around the point and being willfully abstract? Like you have been this entire time.”Starlight blinked, and shook her head. Where the heck did that brazen courage come from, and why didn’t it show up when they were talking in the hall?

Tempest pulled back slowly, glaring, huffing, but did nothing more. Because she knew Starlight hit the nail on the head. "Do you know what it sounds like, when a city is under attack? Its people scream, Starlight. They scream for their lives, as it all burns to ash before their very eyes. They scream in terror, as they watch their families torn apart and slapped in irons. Screams for mercy were made to me personally, as I enforced the Storm King's law upon rulebreakers. I've heard screams all my life, Starlight Glimmer…”

“So, do not... insult me,” she hissed, "when I am trying to understand something I’ve never heard before in my life!” She fell silent, save for the whisper of her panting.

Starlight didn’t think. She just scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I really doubt we were as bad as any of those."

"I didn't say you were," Fizzlepop countered, suddenly ever so cool. "I said I'd never heard something like that. The two of you sounded betrayed, like a pair of lovers who’d wronged one another.” Her lips frowned. “All I hear is two ponies who wanna rip one another to pieces. Not ‘one of the greatest ponies’ Twilight’s ever known.”

The statement made her snort—the princess really could be overdramatic with her praise.

And generous.

“Well, we definitely don’t wanna destroy each other, if that’s what you think.”

“I know. So why does it sound like that?”

“What’s there to talk about? Things’re a bit tense right now, that’s all.” Starlight only needed to be her charismatic self. The same one who fooled Twilight, Fluttershy, and Maud Pie so well...

'Confidence is key,' Starlight always told herself. Believing it as fact yourself went a long way.

Fizzlepop snorted with amusement, folding her forelegs as she leaned back. “Is that what Equestrians say when they don’t want to admit they’re angry with each other? That things are ‘tense?’” The strings framed her face, driving attention to those piercingly blue eyes. “Starlight, I know what you’ve lost. I know what you’re feeling, and that you don’t want any of it. I know you’d love nothing more than pretend everything’s fine. And there’s no shame admitting that you’re upset about it.”

“But I’m not!”

“Not what?”

“Upset!”

“Upset about what?”

Starlight didn’t even know, and Fizzle knew it—her mouth opened and closed like she was some stupid fish. A sad, knowing smile stretched across Fizzlepop’s muzzle.

What was she even upset about, anyway? Twilight, or her horn? She couldn’t stop thinking about Maud, Fluttershy, or Trixie, either, and Starlight hadn't even seen the last pony all day! Of course, she hated that they demonized her for her mistakes, but that was justified for the heartache she’d caused them all for this stupid decision. The Flutter Valley witches stole her horn, and Starlight hated them too.

Part of her hated Princess Celestia for failing Twilight. How could the greatest pony who’d ever lived not been able to save someone she so loved, someone that was practically her daughter?! The other part of Starlight hated her friends. How dare they, how dare they!? What gave them the right to condemn Starlight for her choices!? Nopony else stepped up to save Twilight! Nopony else was willing to give up everything for their friend!

Only Starlight, and she was the hero, dang it! She made a selfless choice, yet everypony hated her for it! Maud, Twilight, Trixie and, and even Fluttershy and Spike acted like what she did was wrong! How could they do that!? Didn’t they know how much it hurt, to see those disapproving eyes? To look into them and see nothing but pity or disappointment?

How painful were the looks of everypony in Ponyville! They all knew—Twilight had to have told them the truth, and now everypony judged her for it, too. They knew she hurt her friends, and they knew that even after realizing it, she kept acting like she didn’t care at all—!

"What are you upset about, Starlight? I'm waiting."

hooves, bodyweight, everything swarming like angry bees in Starlight's soul crashed upon the steel table with a bellowing cry of, “EVERYTHING!” Her voice squeaked pitifully, face smoldering.

Fizzle watched with wide, inscrutable eyes. Not even a reaction!? Did she not care!?

Starlight’s eyes burned so bad she squeezed them shut. Wetness tickled the length of her jawline. “I don’t know why I’m mad,” she whispered with a slow shake of the head. “I only know that I’m the reason all of this is happening.”

Nothing twinged in reaction to what she’d said. No writhe in protest or a pang of guilt. Just tranquility. The void embracing them pricked Starlight’s neck, made her hairs stand and a shiver to claw down her spine, to the base of her tail.

Fizzlepop’s deep voice shocked the air around her. “You hate yourself for it. You feel guilty. I know how you feel.”

“No, stop! This isn’t about you, this s'totally different!”

“I know, Starlight.”

Her eyes sprang open, flashing wetly. “No! You don’t! You don’t know how I feel, nopony does! I shouldn’t feel guilty anymore, okay? I already did my time.”

Fizzle cocked her head, like a stupid dog.

Starlight's head rocked as she prayed her burning cheeks spoke of how embarrassing that whole ordeal was. Just a bumbling, anxious mess until I defeated Chrysalis. I wasn’t any fun to be around.

“Your friends told you that?” Fizzle asked. "You know it as fact?"

Starlight didn’t even stop to wonder how she’d read her thoughts. “I don't have to. Nopony likes being around a killjoy.”

There was an amused huff. “And what about me?”

Starlight barked humorlessly—Fizzle missed the point. Everypony missed the point. “With how much you’ve been through, I’m surprised you even invited me in for tea." Starlight massaged a slowly-twisting tightness in her chest. "I must look like a joke to you.”

“I doubt that,” Fizzle retorted. Starlight didn’t look, didn’t dare to. If she did, she would see Fizzle's disappointment, and then she would only see Twilight’s. “Starlight, why would you assume something so horrible of me?”

“Because it’s true,” Starlight croaked. “All ponies see in me is a time bomb waiting to blow, to mess up. Every time I think I’ve peaked, that I achieved my greatest accomplishment, it always ends up hurting the ponies I care about.” Our Town took confused ponies and ruined them until they were on Starlight’s level. Her magic, honed from years of training in isolation, nearly destroyed Equestria in several timelines, as well as her friends' minds. This thoughtless, stupid decision to seek the Ladies of Flutter Valley should have been her finest act; they’d even promised her as much by saying that everypony would love her for it.

But they hated her anyway, and rightfully so. By her own hoof, not the Witches', the ponies she loved were hurt by her thoughtlessness.

No wonder Twilight was so furious.

“Whenever I failed, the best I could possibly offer was ‘sorry.’ Every time. And I can’t now,” she said as she buried her face in both hooves, thrashing it side to side, “I can not regret this, Tempest. No regret, no guilt—nothing, I can't look back with regret.”

“So you just don't let yourself feel what you want to feel?” Fizzle scoffed. “Stupid little pony, even I was never so insane. And I’d have done unspeakable things just to get a smidgen of the support you’ve got here. And you’re throwing it all away—”

“Just let this pass, please.” Starlight didn’t even know who she was asking. “I don’t want anypony feeling like they’re obligated to help me.”

Her words cut deep—scarring her for all time. It was so true. Starlight could barely recall how many times she’d run away. Even when she felt welcomed, like with Fluttershy, she was still a trespasser on somepony else's time. And now Fizzle definitely judged her because she was so incompetent. Starlight couldn’t even do friendship correctly—the Princess of the stuff was mad at her for it!

“I know how you feel.”

“No, you don’t!” she shot back, finally confronting Fizzlepop’s passive gaze. “Everything’s fine! I don’t know why everypony insists that it’s not!”

“‘Fine?’ Sheesh, you even sound like I did,” Fizzle snorted. Starlight reeled back, as if a hot, sharp knife was cleaving her in two. “How often have you used that line, Starlight?”

Like a cat, she slinked over from her chair, the strings pulling her hooves glimmering like shiny, rainbow raindrops. Her blue eyes glowed extra brightly as they pierced the utter blackness swallowing her. Starlight wrenched away, hugging her forelegs to her chest, squeezing herself tight. Her body trembled, and Starlight squeezed tighter. Her shakes worsened no matter how hard she tried to comfort herself. Tempest Shadow awaited her by the throne's arm all the while, and that fact twisted Starlight's heart until snapping from the tension, and she whimpered. "Just leave me alone."

Tempest's scarred scowl deepened, becoming intentional.

It was as if she could read Starlight, like the obvious foal's storybook that she is.

“I want you to answer me honestly, Starlight.” Fizzle’s gentle, mature voice shook the tranquility around them, and Starlight's very soul. “But not just for me, for yourself, too. No dancing around it, no hiding. I don’t want you to be afraid of me, because… I know that everything you’re feeling, I have as well. I understand, and I vow not to judge you for it. So I will ask again, and again, for as many times as I need to until you answer me truthfully: how often have you told somepony that everything's—”

“All the time,” Starlight croaked, something heavy snapping from existence on the spot. “Every time. Whenever somepony asks me, I shut them down. I don't know why... except, I do. I don't want my friends to feel like they're required to help me." It felt like she was finally breaking free of a filly-sized corset, string by string with every truth spoken. "I know it'd be hopeless. I know there's no way they'd understand what I've lost. They'll just make it, me, worse."

Her heart froze mid-pump: she'd actually said all of that. What was Starlight thinking!? What was she feeling!? None of that was true!

What if Fizzlepop ran to Twilight and told her about this!? "I-I mean—!" Starlight choked, then sighed past it. She'd have better luck fooling AJ. "Look, I had a very emotional day. You shouldn't worry about this. Honestly, I’m just a little stressed over what I'd been thr—”

Fizzlepop’s hoof thundered against the crystal beside her. “Excuse me?” the mare hooted in disbelief—somehow, actually getting in Starlight’s face, and throne, with very Pinkie-esque quickness. “I don’t mean to lose it here, but, ‘stress?’" She lurched closer with her crowing. "You’re one of the few ponies in Equestria’s HISTORY to lose their horn, and you’re only feeling a little STRESSED!?”

“I-I don’t have to answer to this! Let me leave! I wanna leave!” Starlight shrilled, Tempest’s puppeted hoof barely pulling back before booming against her throne.

She ground her muzzle hard against Starlight’s, eyes furious with bloodlust. “Why?” she growled. “So you could run away again? You just spilled your guts out to me, you’ve got nothing left to hide that isn’t already so painfully obvious. So tell me what you’re trying to flee from now, Starlight! Tell me the truth!” she shouted, again smashing her hoof against the crystal.

Starlight's chest heaved frantically; she felt desperate for air. Or coffee. Or tea. Or casting magic. Anything to calm her nerves. Fizzlepop’s just trying to dig deep—her own way, she assured herself. That's just who she is, Starlight understood. It was just like in the hall!

Just like... She was annoying her again: Fizzlepop's frustrations, borne from true feelings Starlight'd wrought, was Just like here. She’s angry at me because I’m just avoiding her like Twilight! Why's this so hard to answer? She’s not actually mad at you, Starlight! She’s passionate, like you!

“WELL?!” Tempest roared, shattering her train of thought.

Starlight massaged her temples, trying to calm the mess that her mind had become. “What do you want me to say?” she groaned.

“I want you to tell me how you really feel, Starlight! You feel alone, don’t you?! More alone than you ever have your entire life!”

Starlight’s eyes widened to their limits.

Sunburst…

Her heart bumped… and then thumped.

Our Town…

She was always just a foal lashing out in anger, wasn't she? In fear?

Starlight released her temples, and then slammed them hard into Tempest Shadow’s chest with every emotion burning in her own.

The taller mare staggered to the side of the throne, pushed back further still as Starlight’s snout crashed into her's. “Yes, I feel alone,” she seethed in a cold, dead, shaking voice. She stole a breath. “Yes, I’m sad about my horn. Obviously. So, what, do I have to sit on the ground, crying my eyes out in order to prove that I miss it?!” She wasn’t even mad at Fizzlepop. There was only anger, and a blaze in her bosom screaming to be let out.

“That’s not what I was referring—”

She means your horn. “Well, of course I miss it! I miss everything about it!”

Starlight dove back, into her throne as well as memories: a teal cyclone swirling around her...

“I’ll definitely miss being able to cast any spell! Or throwing a couple together and creating something new, just for the fun of it!" Nostalgia gave way to a gruesome weight within her.

...her mane tugged by its incessant will...

"I'll miss being able to rearrange matter into literally anything, or lifting things ten times my size like the world's made of feathers."

...magenta bleeding into it, creating a beautiful, bubblegum-blueberry swirl of magic...

"And no matter how little I sweat, I'd always do something to make Twilight proud.” Something burned inside.

...sharing a glance and grin with Twilight Sparkle.

“I also learned to teleport on a whim, and make myself fly and—”

Warmth tickled her cheeks as years of practicing alone, with a princess, and then nothing at all blurred her vision.

“—and I did it all alone!” she gasped harshly, her gut walloped by something strong. “I'd done it with nopony around but myself, and my horn. So yes, of course I feel alone! I'd lost my best friend because I gave it up by accident, just like the STUPID, SENSELESS PONY THAT I AM!"

The abyss smothered any echo she could have made as her throat burned.

Starlight's muzzle waved side to side. “It’s gone,” she whimpered. “It’s gone and I’ll get over it someday. I know I can. But… But why’ve I felt so horrible anyway!?” Better question: why did Starlight continue to be aloof, despite having answered her question already?

The chasm in her chest widened: deep, all-consuming and all-encompassing. It’s bottomless belly has been all she felt since realizing what was lost.

“Starlight,” Fizzlepop said from her left, “do you truly know what it is you’ve lost?” She was prepared to nod until a hoof came under her chin, bringing her to Fizzle’s rigid seriousness. “I don’t mean spells, your studies, or your abilities.You know what I mean, don't you? You know it in your heart if there’s anything left to piece together.”

What was in her heart, besides emptiness? Fizzlepop listed everything that had to do with what she loved about magic: her ability, the learning, the thrill of it all!

All gone. Forever. It was like a piece of herself was missing, in more than a literal sense.

But to answer was a hopeless effort. “I don’t know,” Starlight muttered. “The whole world just feels like there’s this wall between me and everything else. In Ponyville, I saw all the bright colors and townsponies I’ve come to know doing their thing and I just… wasn’t into it. Everything felt wrong. Like I could reach in,” she demonstrated with the table, “touch something, know that it feels exactly as I’ve anticipated and yet, something about it felt… distant. Dimmer, I guess? Not as special? ...I dunno,” she sighed.

A moment passed. “Go on. Please,” Tempest prompted.

Nothing circled Starlight’s mind upon hearing this. Nothing, save for Twilight’s whispered utterance of, ‘You should be starving, Starlight…’

She grimaced from the potent reminder. “I… even stole some apples from AJ, when I slept at Sweet Apple Acres.” Fear suddenly filled Starlight, as she realized what she’d said. “Oh, please don’t tell her I did that! I-I’ll pay her back! But I hadn’t eaten and I was too afraid to ask her like that.”

“She won’t hear it from me,” Fizzle vowed, hoof pulled up to cover her chest. “Now go on, please.”

Starlight flushed, having been caught rambling. “Right. So, I picked three off the ground. Red and shiny as they ever were—totally ripe. I bet they were delicious!” She shot a smirk at Fizzlepop.

“You didn’t want to eat them?” she asked.

“Nah, I did. But... But only for one, little bite,” Starlight mumbled. “I don’t know what was wrong with me. I chewed and chewed until it was mealy mush in my mouth, but I couldn't swallow it. Like the very act was the hardest thing I’d ever done! I had to force it down my throat along with the rest and the other two, and it never got any easier.”

The recounting left her gut ravaged with black rot, aching for something that wasn’t quite hunger. She squashed the feeling desperately, embracing her round little belly but never alleviating the potent ache.

Glancing, she could barely make out the raspberry blob of Tempest Shadow beside her. Everything hurt too much.

“Why’s this happening to me?” she asked. “I hope you can relate and understand, Fizzlepop, because I’m hopeless here.”

“Starlight—”

“Oh, what if I can never eat again?!”

“Starlight, look at me. Look at what you’re doing to yourself.” With a gulp and great hesitation she did so out of curiosity, not because she felt she must heed this mare’s stiff commands. In truth she didn’t want to see what Fizzle did.

What she saw made Starlight shriek sharply in horror, clamping both hooves upon her muzzle.

Fizzlepop Berrytwist was a made of wood. Her fur, smooth and solid, streaked with a coating of raspberry-colored paint. Her mane was stiff as a board, while every joint in her legs, neck and head came together to comprise a mare of several separate pieces, held in place by shiny rainbow strings.

She was patient enough to give Starlight time to absorb the sight until she finally met those piercing eyes.

They were painted on, a tranquil blue. Yet they shone with compassion, and blinked like they were supposed to. But her artist only painted an open eye and a closed one, and it blinked back and forth between the images when she did so.

Starlight gaped, trying to make sense of everything raging inside of her. “I don’t understand,” she managed, then in a tearful croak, “why… do I feel like this?” Starlight snuffled. “How can I accept being hornless, but still feel like something's legitimately wrong with me?”

Fizzle’s jaw clacked woodenly as she spoke. “As I’ve said, deep down you know the answer already.”

Starlight wracked her brain but nothing came forth. The hollow feeling within was distracting—the only thing that was simple enough to understand, it seemed.

“I’ve just felt… disconnected. Like, here’s the world,” she put one hoof in front of her, “here’s everypony else,” her other stacked on top of it, “and then there’s me,” her first hoof reached as high as she could manage.

She barely did it justice, but hopefully that got the message across to Fizzlepop.

Fizzlepuppet was more like it; a string from her horn-stump lifted her head high, staring into the void beyond Starlight’s throne. “The three races are deeply connected to Equestria’s soul. This extends beyond the common thread of cutie marks, and into the nature of the three races’ inherent magic,” she explained, using words which sounded startlingly official and pre-written.

A subtle smirk curved her rigidly vacant muzzle. Starlight gawked and rubbed her eyes. When she looked again, Fizzlepop’s wooden expression was blank once more. “Your eyes are playing tricks on you,” Fizzle said, her jaw clapping with every word.

Starlight shook her head. “R-right,” she agreed, grooming her mane with both hooves, considering this pony's little monologue. It was disturbingly familiar...

Fizzle watched her motions, her eyes boring into her. It was impossible to tell what this pony was thinking. Starlight combed herself until her mane was gathered over one shoulder, the proceeded to stroke its violet tendrils obsessively. She didn’t know why; it was like her hooves had their own agenda.

“Do you recognize those words?”

“Huh!?” Starlight shot her head up.

“I said, do you recognize those words?”

“Obviously,” Starlight snapped. “Basics of Magic: The Definitive Grimoire.” She didn’t even realize she recognized them. “That’s the prologue, and the only part Twilight actually forced me to read... Don't tell her I said that.”

The string from Fizzle’s horn slacked, her head tilting aside. “And do you know what it means?"

“Uh, yeah. I practically got it memorized after two weeks of living here.” Twilight had made her read it enough to quote the prologue by heart and loathe every word of it.

“Why do you think she did?” Fizzle’s hoof was pulled, upturning from the table. “Why would Twilight make you want to know it?”

Starlight stopped combing her mane to throw up her hooves. “Why do you care?!”

“Because it will explain why you’re so upset.” Fizzle’s hoof rapped loudly against the table with every word.

Every word, every sound, bucked Starlight in the heart. “I’d like to know that,” she declared, her voice faint. “Do you know?”

Fizzle’s head turned left, then right, looking into either side of the void. “I do,” she said. “But only if you think back to The Grimoire.”

"Why, though? How?" Starlight threw herself back into her throne, massaging a headache with both hooves. “Nothing about it reminds me of my horn!”

“It does. You just refuse to remember it.”

She slammed her hooves upon the table. “Well, why don’t you tell me if you know so much!?” Fizzlepop merely folded both forelegs in front of her, not saying a word. Starlight slowly withdrew herself, trembling. Her eyes bounced up and down between Fizzle and her dents in the table. “I-I’m sorry,” she muttered, sinking back. “I’m sorry, I… know you're just trying to help, I just—”

Fizzle lifted a hoof then dropped it, lazily. “It’s fine,” she said. “But I want you to understand that it’s all on you, Starlight. This is your conclusion to make.”

“But why Basics of Magic? Why the reminder that I knew less than a second grader in magic school before coming here?” It’s been two years and Starlight still blushed at the reality. That she was a foal with matches. “Why not the other thousands of books Twilight’s made me read?” she quietly asked.

“Because this is the one whose information you’ve been wilfully ignoring.” Fizzle stared into her eyes as she conjured a familiar grimoire from beneath the table and pushed it toward her. “It will explain why you’re feeling so grey inside, as I have, every single day.”

“I doubt it,” Starlight scoffed, scooting closer to the textbook that was now before her. It was exactly as she remembered, bound in seafoam-green felt with a spine of real silver bands. The cover was stitched red with silhouettes of a unicorn, earth pony, and pegasus reared up beneath the unfurled wings of a mane-less alicorn. The title crowned them all in printing as silver as the spine. A copper stain stretched on its bottom pages ruined the copy’s mint condition thanks to her, after spilling tea during a late-night reread Twilight had assigned.

“I’ve never read past the introduction,” Starlight said, opening the cover. She smiled faintly at the words, ‘Property of T. Sparkle!’ having been scrawled inside. “Twilight wanted to make sure I understood ‘the basics of magic,’ before starting me on Friendship Lessons.”

“I thought you were one of the most powerful unicorns of our generation.”

“I am!” Starlight shot up. “I mean, I-I was. But Twilight wanted me to understand why cutie marks were important, and how destructive my philosophy really was.”

Fizzlepop, somehow upon the throne once more, dove beneath the table. “So much so you got yourself this?” She returned with a framed picture she slid across the table.

Starlight only glanced at it once before burning hot. “Um, yes. I-I needed a constant reminder,” she defended.

Fizzle snorted. “What? That cutie marks were good?”

Her smile died, as did calm between them. “No,” Starlight said, dropping to the cutie mark of equality concealed behind a jet-black prohibition sign. “That I was wrong…” Her chin nearly brushed her chest. “That I was bad. That I ripped away something very special from ponies I considered my friends. That I turned them into husks of their former selves without even realizing it.”

Starlight sank back with a sigh. “I thought that cutie marks were just a symbol for your talent, but they’re not. They’re so much more.” She closed Basics of Magic shut. “They’re representative of a pony’s entire being, of who they are. Their soul, their personality, their passions, future, everything! All of that is tied to Destiny,” she recited, her hoof making circular motions to demonstrate. “It’s all linked, Fizzlepop, you know? Equestria’s magic is that connection.”

“Goodness,” Fizzle clapped her hooves upon her muzzle, “I never realized it was so complex. I’ve been wrong all along!”

Starlight blinked, her grin slowly breaking apart. “You mean about cutie marks?”

“No. That much is obvious. Everypony knows this, even foals.”

Starlight shrank back, hugging her belly as it ached anew with Fizzle’s brutal honesty.

Across from her, the mare’s forelegs stretched before her, hooves banging upon the table. “It's just that, all my life, I thought a horn was just... the thing you used to fire off spells. Watch...” Her head tilted slightly, and Starlight followed, holding her breath. She exhaled, amazement on her breath as a streamer of yellow and red, gold, and pink paper fluttered from Fizzle’s broken horn.

They both watched until the “bolt” of magic melted into the murkiness above, vanishing from sight. “But I can still do that, despite it being lost. And now, I know why. I'd never realized it was rooted so deeply with Equestria until now,” Fizzle remarked. “It's as if we’re connecting to its soul whenever we use magic.”

“That’s actually the gist of it!” Starlight tittered. “And we’re not the only ones who do that. So does everypony else.”

“Except it’s a little hard for them to initiate direct contact, since they lack even a stump of a horn,” Fizzle teased, pointing to her own.

Starlight smiled, feeling the pride that Twilight'd felt when teaching her from The Definitive Grimoire. “Even without a horn, their connection is just as strong," she remembered. "It’s all in here, you see.” She patted her chest, feeling a warmth gently pulsing beneath it. “It’s what allows pegasi flight in spite of their bone density, or why earth ponies are so strong. Their own magic allows better control of their respective elements.”

Fizzle lifted her head and spoke, loud and clear: “‘As one race works Equestria’s land, and the other her sky, unicorns’ inherent magic yields command over both.’” Her vacant expression dropped alongside Starlight jaw, her lips parting slightly. “Twilight let me read it today,” she explained.

Starlight tilted her head. Fizzle nodded to Basics of Magic, still sitting before her, and she recovered with a sheepish grin. “Uh, i-it’s pretty cool, isn't it? Like, earth ponies can have the land, and pegasi the air, while we get to control the magic in both!”

"Except for us."

Starlight’s grin receded into a coy one again. “Um, yeah. I guess we can’t anymore, huh?”

Fizzlepop stared straight through her. “I never quite knew what that felt like, wasn’t old enough to appreciate it. I’ve felt nothing within the land the way you'd previously described. Not since losing my horn, I suppose. Now I know why.”

Starlight frowned. Even though she hadn’t seen what Twilight had of this mare, everypony at the Friendship Festival saw those amazing fireworks. “But you’ve got so much raw power, Tempest.” Envy stewed within. “You’ve still got something at least. The connection’s still there, inside of you.”

“I’ve got nothing, Starlight,” said Fizzlepop. “Not since the accident. ‘Raw power’ doesn’t connect to Equestria, it plunges into her and rips the magic out by force.”

A serpent of some kind coiled around her belly. “But… But the grimoire says we, that our magic syncs with Equestria’s whenever we use our horns…”

“And without them,” Fizzle leaned closer, “we’re all alone. That connection is severed for all time." The darkness churned soundlessly around them. “I’m sorry, Starlight. You were a very powerful unicorn from what I heard.”

She heard a faint thundering quicken, which Starlight Glimmer recognized as her own heartbeat. She gazed up from the textbook, across the table, into the ivory depths of Twilight’s throne above her interrogator. Memories faded in and out of them, every one tickling Starlight’s insides. Faint echoes of the bliss she’d always felt when igniting her horn, casting magic, connecting with Equestria.

She was casting magic before she could even walk. Embarrassing baby albums Dad made were proof of that. Starlight had never been alone, then. Not really. Even without Sunburst, she’d had that warmth inside, that bond she never realized was there. But now?

“I can’t use my magic anymore,” she said in a flat, lifeless tone. “So I can never connect with Equestria again.” That’s why the world feels so… empty. Lifeless.

“Ex-actly,” said Fizzlepop, beating the table with a tug of her hoof. “Your connection with the land is gone. You’ve known this, felt it this entire time. Well, congratulations, Starlight Glimmer. You’re the second pony in history to have lost that special bond forever."

The pit expanded beyond the limits of her bosom. It was all around her, the very abyss they were in was swallowing her whole. Starlight trembled. Everything was shaking. Her hoof massaged the sore spot out of pure muscle memory, a reaction, without the desire moving her. But the feeling was unerasable.

“No…”.

“Accept it, Glimmer.” My talent was magic… This was my fate… "That bond is broken. You just gave it up, without a second of consideration.”

“I-it was an accident!”

“Yes.” Fizzlepuppet’s head drooped, then lolled left. “And you broke that special, precious bond ‘by accident.’ Stupid little pony...”

“Precious” echoed across Starlight’s memory, where several friendly faces surfaced with faint warmth resonating within.

But those she loved melted to the darkness all around, and the Witches of Flutter Valley echoed from its depths as one: “EvEn ThAt WhIcH iS mOsT pReCiOuS tO yOu?”

N-no… it's... n-not my magic...

“Yes, it is. Deep down, you loved what it made you feel,” said Fizzlepop, a mindreader once more.

“No, my friends-"

“You loved everything about it. Even the feeling of casting a spell prickled your senses and made the world’s essence really pop. You may love your friends, yes, but you’ve always felt alive when casting spells!”

"No, no, NO, NO!” Starlight screamed while bringing both hooves down, smashing the table in two. “SHUT UP! Just stop talking to me!” She did a little hop, like a foal throwing a tantrum.

Fizzlepop emphasized as much: “You sacrificed it for Twilight. You should be happy.”

Starlight should be.

But she didn’t care.

Something wet tickled her cheeks. Starlight snarled at the feeling and wiped herself furiously, but more tears took the place of those she wiped away.

She was sick of failure.

Starlight threw herself back into her chair, both hooves upon her face, and screamed. A ragged wail echoed within that was hardly satisfying; she still burned ablaze, inside and out.

“I had, this special, magical connection with Equestria! And I threw it, all, away!” Starlight sobbed. “And for what? For what!? Ponies who can never understand what I’ve lost, and look down on me for it anyway?!”

Starlight’s foreleg, sitting on the arm of her throne, propped her face. She wept, her body gently throbbing with shallow sobs.

“The world once made sense to you,” surmised Starlight Glimmer, or a voice in the darkness that sounded exactly like her own. “Now, nothing about it does. Without your magic, everything becomes simply that: things, lacking. You’re disconnected from Equestria, and now, you’re more alone than you’ve ever been.

“But it’s worth it! Because you did it to save Princess. Twilight. Sparkle. She is so thankful of your sacrifice!”

Her heart hammered. Her body shook. Her chest heaved.

“Starlight,” her voice said, “use your brain for once and heed the advice you gave me: talk to T—”

“QUIET!” Starlight whipped in the direction of her other self, only to find Fizzlepop’s marionette clicking its jaw together without an audible clack. No words came.

Painted blue eyes stared through her.

Starlight shook her head. “N-no… no, nah, I’m-I’m not gonna sit back and accept this! You're lying to me, aren't you?!"

“You’re pathetic,” Tempest sneered in Starlight’s voice. “Deny it all you want, but you miss it. You never deserved that power, Starlight. You don’t deserve this life Princess Twilight just gave to you on a silver platter.”

Starlight shot up from her throne, growling at the puppet’s blank face, “You’re trying to manipulate me!” It stared at her, corpselike. “Yeah! Y-you’re trying to make me feel sad, to justify all the prodding from Twilight and her friends so I could feel even worse! A-ha! I know your game!”

“Listen to yourself,” Fizzle cried, head lolling back. It was torture hearing her own voice come out of this thing’s wooden mouth. A foreleg jostled left, across from her. “Look at what your words do. You disgust the princess!”

From the shadows before her, Starlight’s breath hitched as another figure floated in on stiff, slow wingbeats. “Twilight?” she breathed. Their feathers did not move—Starlight gasped realizing they were carved, and that Princess Twilight was wood and paint instead of fur and flesh. Cold instead of warm.

“Look at what you do to yourself, Starlight!” clacked the princess's jaw, except Twilight’s girlish snarl did not come out, but her own—acidic with rage, and utterly deranged. “You think what you did was a good thing? That is not what friendship is about!”

“I-I know!” she lied, because she wasn't sure what it was about if not this.

"You don't!" Twilight's muzzle smacked upon Starlight’s, filling her world with brain-dead eyes. “You still don’t, you never have! If you knew the first thing about friendship, you wouldn’t be afraid of me! I mean, look!” She threw her forelegs out, swinging like a pendulum on seven strings. “Look, my student! Look at what you do to yourself!”

Whimpering Starlight obeyed. The last thing she wanted was to upset Twilight.

Her gaze dropped and terror tore through her. Starlight shrieked at her pink, wooden bosom. A hoof rapping against it yielded naught, even pain, save for a wooden clack.

“What?" Starlight breathed, lifting her forehooves—two trembling blocks of wood, stopping to kiss longer pieces which connected to her torso. All were held in place with string similar to that which tied around her hooves, ascending to the darkness above with a mocking rainbow shimmer. A glance to her hind hooves revealed the same. Starlight's torso was in two, with a space in her midsection allowing Starlight to bend and take in the curved piece of wood her tail had been whittled out of, painted violet. It had been days since she saw her teal stripe so defined. Even on a good day it wasn’t so flawless.

“What… is this?” she breathed. She ogled her hooves, undoubtedly with eyes painted on her face.

“This is what you do to yourself,” said Fizzlepuppet, or was it Starlight? Her ears pricked to the familiar, chipper voice crying, “Just look up for once!”

Starlight craned her head, though not by her own will because she didn’t want to.

Her eyes slid, up and up. Then her neck bent. Darkness was all. Just as her neck bent at a ninety-degree angle, a giant's face slid into view, peering through the abyss below her, fixing the three puppets stumbling about with wide, blank eyes. Starlight would have described them as emotionless if she didn’t know who it was.

By her robotic stare and stiff movements, the giant Starlight Glimmer was clearly going through motions she had practiced a thousand times before. Grasped in teal magic, this Starlight spun, turned, and tilted three wooden controllers, willing Starlight, Twilight, and the false Tempest Shadow to dance to whatever narrative she imagined.

And with a great, heaving gasp, Starlight tore away from the midnight-black box on her lap.

The world was a blur, her heart racing. Starlight was soaked in something, sweat maybe, panting loud and raggedly as she gazed all around. Clarifying, the walls became a deep, sorcery-blue. In the moonlight shining through, they glittered like crystal. The butterfly poster beside the window and her beloved kite beneath it were instantly familiar.

Everything came flowing back; every word, every feeling. Every moment in Fizzlepop’s room felt so real except… it wasn’t. What happened to her? Had she been dreaming?

Starlight peered inside the box again, even though she didn’t want to. Sure enough, the marionettes truly did resemble herself, Twilight and Fizzlepop. But who made them? Why?

A hum of magic startled her. Three wooden crosses floated on either side, held within her telekinetic grasp, and tangled with countless strings weaving into the box. Something within sank deep as Starlight. This wasn't real. Starlight didn’t feel the magic she's seemingly using now; the world wasn't rippling with the stuff, despite saturating its every corner and facet.

To her, these crosses were just things floating nearby.

Starlight flung them into the box so hard it flew off her lap. She hugged herself tight, breathing faintly still. Her shivering worsened.

“What’s happening to me?” she whispered.

And a booming, melodious voice answered from her left side: “Yourself, Starlight Glimmer.“

Outside her window, in the voice’s direction, was a full moon bright as fresh snow. It somehow got brighter, glowing more brilliantly with every second until the whole world became engulfed in its light.

And then it vanished.

Starlight peeked one eye open, then the other. Her foreleg let go of everything, dropping like a dead weight as did her heart, jaw, and any ability to think beyond a surge of relief.

Princess Luna stood before her window, hooves pushed together, wings spread. Her muzzle was raised high, but bearing a small, sympathetic smile.

“Greetings,” she started, but it was all she could manage before Starlight tackled, wrapping herself around the princess’s forelegs. A nightmare, she realized. It was all just a nightmare.

Somehow, this made it worse. Starlight conveyed this feeling into a terrified, shrilling cry. She didn't care what Luna thought as she stroked the back of her head, shushing assurances to a pony far too old to be bawling her eyes out.

Starlight wept anyway, her innards alive with equal parts relief and terror storming all at once.

The princess stomached it all for her. “It is over, Starlight. Everything's fine. But I implore you not to push me out again," Luna hushed. "It’s clear to me that you’re in desperate need of a friend.”

III.Vl - Fear Itself

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“It is over, Starlight. Everything's fine… Please do not push me out again. It’s clear that you’re in desperate need of a friend.”

In the three years since her redemption, three tenets had cemented themselves in Luna’s memory. Her “mental encyclopedia” of sorts, imprinted upon her soul and guiding her day-to-day choices.

The first was, without a doubt, absolutely the most important. It was a promise whispered in the glow of Celestia’s setting sun, every evening in the first weeks of her return until it became chiseled in her heart, and she truly believed it:

She was Princess Luna, Ruler of the Night, Protector of the Dream Realm...

A Mother of Equestria.

No matter what happened, no matter how she felt or how her subjects felt about her, whether she felt so guilty about Nightmare Moon it weighed her to her bed, or later, when she almost felt the Tantabus was too much…

She was Luna. She was a Princess of Equestria.

And she would let herself be cursed to Tartarus before mocking what that title stood for and allowing even a single one of her little ponies to suffer under her watch.

Luna’s second tenet came as an indirect result of the first: communication is a weapon.

She hated it, for a time.

It couldn’t burn like a bolt of magic, nor was it always reliable. And if one were as terrible with it as Luna once was, perhaps they would find similar, personal reasons to detest the concept as well.

In the week following her return, Luna wasted no time returning to her nightly duties. It quickly became apparent that ponies would have repeated nightmares, regardless of how many times Luna smote them. She had known why, of course. She always did. Dreams simply made sense to Luna. She knew why they happened, what made them work, and most of all, she knew how to help the dreamer combat them.

But modern Equestria proved a greater challenge altogether. Needless to say, her Old Equestrian dialect made approaching subjects an… intense, internal affair. It was just so blunt and elaborate. It scared modern ponies off, or worse, made her as frightening as the nightmare she just vanquished. Luna couldn’t help herself though; she’d always been a slave to her emotions, and she got angry. Not at her subjects though, never them. But she quickly grew irritated at her inability to communicate with them, and it interfered with the first tenant as a result.

Luna came to the conclusion that she could simply fight the nightmares whenever they would crop up. Of course it failed, as she ran herself ragged within her first week despite having much success. To this day, Luna insisted that taking care of so many dreams every night was a valiant effort.

Though it was still folly.

Celestia noticed, as she always did. And in the span of a single conversation, Luna realized just how mighty a weapon communication was. From then until this very day, ponies only suffered nightmares until Luna intervened. In every instance, she helped them banish their deepest fears the modern way.

The right way. Luna would always mourn the loss of Old Equestrian, however. It was a beautiful tongue.

The third tenet was, without a doubt, the most difficult to accept, especially when it often contradicted her first: everything happens for a reason.

When she first arrived, Luna easily and thoughtlessly accepted her sister's philosophy.

It was clear that Celestia’s current student was important if she and her friends bore the Elements of Harmony, especially when she carried the sigil of the Tree of Harmony as her cutie mark.

Similar to how one would acknowledge the squawking of Canterlot nobles seriously, Luna absorbed the often-remarked platitude surrounding cutie marks like it was “old news,” as the foals say.

But to actually stomach it when one’s entire soul fought it every step of the way? It was one of the hardest things Luna had done since returning home. Risking the fate of the Crystal Empire on a gamble, on a “this was meant to be,” had been so outrageous that Luna couldn’t even bring to herself to speak with the young Twilight.

Allowing Lord Tirek to beat them was worse. By then, Twilight was now one of them, and Luna finally saw that Celestia’s wisdom was sharp as it ever was. With the Tree of Harmony making a move with that peculiar chest, Luna shared Celestia’s faith in Princess Twilight.

Nay, despite a wounded ego, Luna relented to giving Tirek a frighteningly close victory after just one sparring match with Celestia.

That didn’t mean she liked it.

Not when it conflicted with her first tenet.

Luna was a Princess of Equestria: a Mother, a Protector. What kind of a princess let their subjects be terrified? What kind of a parent stood by and let a monster hurt their children? She asked as much to her sister.

During their one sparring match, Celestia proved how much she hated it, both to her and to probably the entire castle at the same time. Luna never questioned her sister’s love for Equestria after that.

All three of these tenets ingrained themselves into “the modern Princess Luna,” as she discreetly referred to herself. They were simple. Straightforward and good. This new world made sense to Luna because of them, at least until today.

She had a certain fondness for Starlight Glimmer.

She was a Unicorn of great promise, both magically and morally. The Changeling affair proved to Luna that Starlight, too, was not only of paramount importance to the fate of Equestria, but one who was worthy of such status.

Her nightmares around the time proved to Luna how similar they were to her own, once upon a time. Guilt seemed to be a common thread between reformed ponies, and young Starlight’s was extra potent. Honed. Aimed at the self. Luna recognized it better than most ponies would. Talking was the cure. Hurting oneself was not.

In light of Twilight Sparkle’s destined path, it only made sense to see the timing of Starlight’s growth coincide with a pivotal moment in the Changelings’ history as something noteworthy. And Luna had Harmony to thank for directing Starlight toward Canterlot that one weekend. Because of her actions, any lingering rifts between Celestia and herself were fully mended, and their sisterly bond has been stronger ever since.

Even today was some vague, intentional will of Harmony’s making. Luna’s third tenet screamed as much to her, writhing hard in her chest in resistance to doubt.

Because never had she been called to the Dream Realm by day, to a very specific nightmare of a very specific pony, three times in succession. In addition to the night prior and this very dream, she had crossed paths with Starlight five times in a single weekend.

But for what purpose? She faltered in her second tenet every time, with Starlight pushing her out and waking up. Until this dream, she’d been failing her first tenet .

Luna’s doubts were banished before they could fester. She wouldn’t fail this time. This time would be different. This time, she could actually be of help.

She wouldn’t allow herself to forget her first tenet: she’s Princess Luna. The Ruler of the Night.

Starlight Glimmer was suffering. Luna only wanted it to stop—and, if she ever got the chance, to look Harmony in the eye and ask why this poor pony had to endure so much horror and heartbreak.

What purpose did it all serve?

Luna tried caressing her mane the way Celestia would, despite her inexperience with physical displays of affection.

Luna’s forelegs soaked immediately as Starlight wailed into them, shaking, apologizing over and over in a tearful babble for some imagined crime. Luna only knew what she was saying because she’d repeated herself so many times.

“It is over, Starlight,” Luna murmured behind her ear. “Everything's fine.”

Starlight gulped, gasping on a sob. Her breathing was faint and tremulous.

Whether she actually heeded Luna’s assurances were another matter entirely. She might be listening, but to her nothing’s “fine.” In her eyes nothing will ever “be fine” again. Luna felt a slight, distinct scratch upon her knee, and then a twisting inside of her.

“Please do not push me out again." Luna squeezed the back of Starlight’s head. "It’s clear that you’re in desperate need of a friend.”

The pony embracing her foreleg mumbled into it—a tiny sound, like a moan. She made it again and once more before finally mustering a voice strong enough to speak. “I‘m sorry Princess Luna,” she croaked, “I dunno what’s happening to me... And… an’ all I’ve done, is push you away!”

“Shh,” Luna hugged her tighter, nuzzling the top of Starlight’s head, behind her ear. “I only wish to help, my little pony. You will find no lingering animosity from me.” The poor pony’s scream rang hollowly in the crook of her foreleg before she tried gulping it down; Starlight gagged and coughed and tried pushing away but Luna held her tight.

“Don’t you dare deny yourself this.” She hoped Starlight didn’t hear the quiver in her voice. “You’ve had this building within for too long. It must be let out. Let it out, Starlight.”

And she did. Hard.

Luna had to scrape to find a bright side of this. At least she isn’t outright denying my help this time.

It already hurt to see one of her ponies in agony. But to find a strong mare like Starlight Glimmer reduced to such a mess by her own hoof was simply… heartbreaking. Soft, ragged panting signaled the depletion of her tears, and a million wounds still lingering open upon her soul.

“You probably think that I’m an idiot…”

“Enough of that!” implored Luna. “I would never think such a thing, Starlight Glimmer. You know in your heart that I wouldn’t.”

“Ugh, I know, I’m sorry!” she snarled.

Gently, as if handling a foal, Luna pushed herself away. “Do you really?” She bore into Starlight’s ruddy, runny gaze. “You are overwhelmed with fear, young one. Tis’ not healthy to contain so much of it. You risk letting it consume you.”

Starlight barked. “And I haven’t already? I’ve damaged my relationship with Twilight because of this. And Maud. And maybe even Trixie, for all I know!”

She was doing it again. “This is what I mean. You presume the very worst of your friends because fear rules your judgement. What you feel is not idiotic, Starlight Glimmer, but it is foolish nonetheless.” Well done, Princess. Deny a pony’s self-scathing insult, only to throw it back in her face a moment later?

“Yeah, that’s me. The foolish pony who never learns.”

Luna wilted. “Starlight—”

“I should have known.” She started a deliberate pace to and fro. “I should’ve known that I was the problem.”

“You are not a ‘problem,’ Starlight. You need only a little help.”

“‘A little?’” she hooted. “I’m probably the first pony in history to save something and ruin it at the same time!”

Luna swallowed, recalling the dreams she’d seen of the ponies closest to Starlight. Her heart went out to all of them. “Nothing is ruined,” she assured, “though if reparations are to be made, you have to confront the problem’s heart.”

Starlight whirled on her with a scorching glare. “Oh, save the psychoanalysis, Princess!” She jammed a hoof at the black box sitting by her right. “You think I don’t know what that means?”

“Star—”

“Huh!?”

Luna forced a smile. “Of course I do, Starlight. What I fear is you’re focusing on the wrong aspects of it.”

Her glare shot up to the ceiling as she scoffed. “As if there was anything right about all this? You said it yourself, Princess Luna! I’m what’s happening to me. Me. Nopony else.” She snorted, a smile suddenly growing on her face. “Like the creepy puppet show meant something else...”

It does. Despite every instinct screaming at her not to overstep boundaries, Luna was driven to kneel beside Starlight and close a wing around her. Her back muscles flinched as if trying to evade the affection.

It was the only sign Luna needed. Beneath all her anger, fear and doubt plagued this pony’s heart.

Luna took a breath—

“I wanna be alone.” Starlight turned away from the Princess. “Please Princess, you don’t have to waste your time with this broken pony.”

“I want to.”

Starlight hadn’t released her tension since Luna touched her. “Heh, not for long! I promise, you’re gonna realize just how hopeless I really am before you leave.”

“Is that a dare?” Luna gently accused, her gut swelling with pity. “Where is your unbendable confidence? Is today the day Starlight Glimmer revokes it because of some shadows on the walls?”

“Check your admiration, Princess. My ‘confidence’ is what got me here in the first place. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Beg pardon?” Luna reeled, visions of the Tantabus followed by Celestia’s tears—the second time Luna had ever seen them—flashed before her eyes. “Excuse me… I wouldn’t understand? You think I cannot empathize with what you’re feeling?”

Like a scolded child, Starlight curled into herself. “I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean—”

“No!” Luna boomed in the Canterlot Royal Voice, thrumming the entire structure of Starlight’s dreamscape. “Starlight Glimmer, I demand that you banish any negative notions this instant! I am not angry, nor am I frustrated with you! I only want…” She took a breath. “I only want to help you,” she finished, quietly.

Luna could not speak on behalf of any of Starlight’s friends, much as she wanted to. But she refused to let a second go by with this pony afraid of yet another friend.

The look on Starlight’s face reminded Luna why she was not a “pony princess” like her cohorts. The two pinpricks in her eyes, rife with fear, made that abundantly clear.

Celestia wouldn’t have done this. She would have been patient.

Luna couldn’t stand the sight of it. “I am sorry for yelling,” she confessed. This pony’s ragged cries were still fresh in her mind. “And for not saving you sooner, Starlight. I wanted to! But instead I watched because—”

“Because,” Starlight interrupted, gracing her with a sad, knowing smile. “Youuu wanted to know. What was wrong. With me,” she added with a scuff of the hoof. “I remember the naps I took at Sweet Apple Acres, Princess Luna—how I’d force myself awake whenever you started asking me things. I’m sorry for being so difficult when you’re just trying to do your job.”

She still piles blame upon herself. But at least she isn’t resisting anymore. Luna’s smile finally came naturally. “There’s nothing to forgive, Starlight. ‘tis only natural for a pony of your ilk to resist any outside assistance. I was once the very same.” Luna patted her breast.

“So, h-how’d you deal with it?” Starlight asked, her words laced with hope.

Wistfulness made Luna light inside. “‘tis a story you will benefit from, I think. These days it serves as an important reminder about the magic of Friendship. But in the weeks following the ordeal, there was only regret, and shame—similar to the kind you feel now, for your controversial decision.”

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Starlight, for whatever reason, tittered.

“I can empathize. This, I regret as much as I do Nightmare Moon. And for the same reasons as well.” Celestia’s cries echoed in Luna’s memory, stabbing her where it always hurt.

“What were they?” Starlight trotted closer, past Luna’s personal bubble.

She huffed with a smile, forgetting her panging chest. Starlight was definitely cut from the same cloth as Twilight: curiosity overrode their worries like a mug of that “coffee” Celestia loves so much. Except fears were magically dispelled instead of exhaustion.

Celestia…

“I’ve inflicted terrible suffering upon my sister,” Luna explained. Shame tickled the back of her throat. “Suffering which could have been prevented across both instances. If only I allowed myself to believe in her, in the love she had for me… H’oh!” she cried. Pain Luna was so familiar with swelled quickly and suddenly.

She shook her head. “Apologies, Starlight. As you may very well know, guilt is a wound that never fully heals.” Luna ducked behind a wing, blinking away tears in hopes that Starlight hadn’t yet seen them.

“Princess Luna?” she fretted, frightening her as a hoof caressed her royal person. How “bold,” to express a familiarity far too many ponies felt uncomfortable to show towards their Princess of the Night. “Are you okay? Y-you don’t have to tell me the story, you know. To be honest, I kinda got the gist of it already.”

Luna smiled wryly. Even if she was being honest concerning the “gist,” Starlight would hear the story anyway just so Luna would know she truly grasped it. Gists were open to interpretation, after all. Additionally, for all her brilliance, Starlight Glimmer missed “the point,” or “gist” if a personal stake held any sway over her judgement.

At least, that is what Celestia told her, who of course knew through Twilight Sparkle—a pony who, even today, grappled with the same flaws.

“Sit beside me, Starlight. I wish to be comfortable and the same for you.”

With a single flap Luna was on her bed, Starlight clambering up beside her. Only when Luna pressed her larger form beside the young pony’s, and hugged a wing around her, did she confess, “This isn’t a story I’m very fond of reliving. In truth,” she chuckled, “I would direct you to Twilight, but out of respect for my privacy I know she’d send you back to me!”

Starlight hooted, disbelieving. “Wow, what could be so embarrassing that it made Princess Luna pretend it never happened?”

Luna craned her head, smirking playfully. “Lower your sarcasm, Miss Glimmer. You know better than Twilight herself that we princesses are still ponies beneath the titles and regalia.”

“I know, I know! I was just kidding around,” she laughed.

Luna managed a short-lived smile, crushed by the weight of her second-greatest failure. “This isn’t embarrassing, so much as it’s unbearably sad. Nor do I pretend it never happened—quite the opposite, actually; I’ve never forgotten it.”
“U-uh, oh…” Starlight shifted in place. “I’m… sorry, if I offended you, Your Highness.”

“Oh, Starlight, you’ve not.” Luna tightened the wing around Starlight when she felt her start to inch away. “Nay, in truth, you’ve alleviated some of the tension.”

“Phew! Well, that’s a relief!” Starlight tittered.

Luna resisted interrogating the mare over what she was just thinking. “Did I not ask you to stop presuming my feelings towards you, Starlight?”

“Yes. R-right, sorry. S-sorry...”

The distress in her tone made Luna want to sigh. She inhaled deeply instead. If I don’t succeed, Starlight will soon walk the same self-destructive path I once did.

And nopony deserved that.

“Not long ago, my life was in a dark, dark place.” Beside the false bedroom’s window, a mockery of her prison shone brightly. “‘twas a place where emotion overpowered logic, where isolating myself from my sister felt like I was helping her, and that self-harm absolved me of my sins until the next time I dreamt.”

The pony beside her stiffened. Luna hoped Starlight was drawing parallels to her own behavior today.

“It got out of hoof fast, as these things always do.” Luna’s throat closed until she forced herself to swallow. “And if not for Princess Twilight’s wisdom, Equestria would be doomed.”

“Whoa…”

Luna rolled her eyes to the ceiling, trying to keep the flood at bay.

“So,” Starlight drew it out, “what did Twilight say? How’d she help?”

Luna’s mouth opened to explain, but it just hung there. Part of her wanted to explain, but the other likely wouldn’t last long before she truly started crying. “She didn’t do anything. Not with what I’m about to tell you,” Luna quickly explained.

“Oh, so your sister got involved?”

She nodded. “And despite my best efforts, it ended with Celestia furious with me all the same. Repeat this to nopony, Starlight, but she screamed at me. She cried. She said all these words to me, and the best I could do was bob my head like some brainless goose.”

Suddenly, Starlight nuzzled Luna just above her collar. “I can imagine why. She was worried sick about you. I’m worried about you, and this was before I even knew you!” She left her cheek resting against the princess.

Luna’s insides writhed. Nopony but her sister and Equestria’s foals have ever been so casually affectionate towards her, and only the former had ever been concerned with her personal well-being.

“You are too kind, Starlight Glimmer. But it pains me to admit that this wasn’t the only cause of Celestia’s ire.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed. My sister was certainly angry over my irresponsible behavior. But it wasn’t threatening the well-being of Equestria that sent her over the edge—the result of a ‘no harm, no foul’ philosophy Celestia’s always held.”

Luna smirked hearing a genuine laugh from Starlight. “You know, I’ve always wondered how Twilight became so… benevolent, I guess. Well, now I know! But what made Princess Celestia really angry?”

Any jubilance she felt was eviscerated by Starlight’s innocent question. “The fact that everything happened… everything I’d done to myself… was because she ‘failed’ me. She felt heartbreak and fury. Although I was the target of both, Celestia made it very clear she was most angry with herself.”

Luna sighed, growling. The weight of her memory was still unbearable.

“I felt terrible for making Celestia feel that way. From that day forth, I would never doubt my sister’s love for me again.” She hoped the “gist” was clear now.

“What?” Starlight croaked. “B-but, you were the one who avoided her! Why’d she feel responsible?”

Luna chuckled—it really did seem like madness to one who didn’t know the Princess of the Sun. “Understand the way Celestia sees things: if she’d succeeded as a sister, then I wouldn’t have been afraid of approaching her. I wouldn’t have presumed to’ve been ‘more work’ for her, as I casually labeled myself in the past. If I trusted her enough to have approached, then perhaps I wouldn’t have felt so horrible and guilty for so long. My tormentor might never have been conceived.”

There had been more that her sister had raved to the heavens that day, but Luna couldn’t bother to remember them. The point was clear.

Or rather, it should’ve been.

Luna dared not to look in Starlight’s direction after five seconds of silence passed.

“Do you understand me now, Starlight Glimmer? Guilt was not the problem. The Tantabus wasn’t my downfall, nor was Celestia my enemy.”

“It was you,” Starlight realized.

Luna caught herself from giving a visible start. “Yes,” she nodded with a smile. “I was my own worst enemy. My own doubts and self-loathing festered into seeds like the Tantabus and my sister’s imaginary wrath.”

Luna slid off the bed, landing on her forehooves before walking to the black box Starlight had thrown. “W-what’re you doing?” Starlight asked from her perch.

The box floated between them, wrapped in a midnight-blue glow. “This is your truth, Starlight. These… ugly, little baubles?” The Twilight marionette twirled on its strings, one wing extended, before Luna slammed the thing back into the dark hole it came from. “Illusions: crafted, painted, and puppeted by fears whose existence you repeatedly deny—to yourself, and your friends.”

“Fizzlepop was real,” Starlight protested. Luna found she wasn’t even looking at her, so much as she was looking through her. “Back in the hall, she was being real with me. She honestly wanted to be my friend… and I just ran away because I was too afraid I’d mess up a conversation over tea.”

Before witnessing Starlight’s dream transmute into a nightmare, Luna had already known when that would happen. “I know. I was in her dream before visiting yours.” Luna smirked seeing Starlight’s eyes light up. “Your conversation seems to have struck a chord with the two of you this evening, for both good and ill.”

She still heard Starlight’s voice coming from the puppet Fizzlepop’s wooden mouth: ‘Look! You disgust the princess!’What a sad, familiar story.

“Princess—”

“I cannot disclose the contents of one’s dream with another.” Starlight simply blinked. Luna cleared her throat. “Just… in case you ask,” she clarified.

Starlight relaxed, smiling. “No, no, you’re right. But I’m just curious: did my version of our talk in the hall resemble her’s, in any way?”

Her strained, awkward smile melted into a genuine one as Luna made her own. “I’ve seen the same conversation twice. Heard the same words, watched the same movements.”

“Huh,” was all Starlight said, grinning to herself. Only she knew what was running through her head.

With this, for this, Luna felt content. “This conversation deeply resonated with the two of you, I’d say. So much so, your perceived failures inflicted seemingly-irreparable damage to something both of your hearts desired.”

“What do I do? Tell me Princess, please,” Starlight asked, desperation propelling her from the false bed and practically into Luna’s snout, blue eyes wide with worry. “Tell me how to fix everything.”

Luna blinked. A chuckle bubbled up as she groomed Starlight’s perfectly curled mane. “Worry not, my little pony. The answer you seek lies here,” she tapped Starlight’s forehead, just below her maiming, “and in here,” then upon her bosom.

As Starlight graced her with a wary smile, Luna demonstrated her point further with the pony’s ‘head:’ a black box floating beside them, closer to its owner’s level. “Heed my words, Starlight. Because you spend so much time listening to this, it distracts you from what is real.” Luna stole a glimpse of the ugly puppets tangled up in their dark little home. “And when you blur the line between fantasy and reality, the two worlds merge, and you end up the director of your own tragedy.”

Luna took pleasure firing a sliver of silver at the wooden Starlight, who she envisioned as a puppet of herself. The entire box erupted like a cardboard furnace, devoured in flame with a short, sharp whoof, akin to one blowing out a candle.

A flurry of ash danced to the carpet.

The Starlight of flesh and blood looked to her princess. It warmed Luna’s heart to see a smile still there, albeit an uncertain one all the same.

“Take notes from my experience as well as your own, Starlight: talk to somepony. Disclose your fears and dispel all doubts, lest you doom yourself to the same mistakes I’ve made.”

Starlight’s eyes, wide and glistening, filled her vision. “And that will fix me?”

With a hoof on her shoulder, Luna eased the Unicorn off her tiptoes. The broken horn was hard to miss, and even harder to ignore. “Unfortunately not.”

Too many fears and doubts were bared in Starlight’s dream. Too many for Luna to link to a single source.

For now.

“As of now, this is your most blatant fear. It affects your quality of life to a degree which has your friends worried.” Her eyes drifted to the ashmarks seeped into the carpet. “And tackling too much at once can leave you overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Well, hopefully you like my face! Because…” Starlight drooped, hissing through her teeth, “...yeah, it’s a lot.”

Luna caressed the pony’s face until she reached her chin and lifted it to her. “Fret not, Starlight Glimmer. Helping my ponies is what I live for. Even if it takes us a hundred nightmares, I won’t stop until yours are gone for good.”

The promise rang warmly in Luna’s chest. This is what her cutie mark, her title, and everything in between stood for.

A chuckle fluttered up from below.

Starlight kept a foreleg lifted close to her muzzle. “Just be sure to give yourself a break!” she tittered. “Even I wouldn’t wanna see me every night.” She laughed harder. “I’m so messed-up, it’d take all of Equestria to make me better!”

Luna giggled out of politeness. The humor was lost on her, as it always was. Starlight’s laughter deteriorated into a distorted a whine in Luna’s ears—like the discourse of Canterlot’s staff when they were several corridors away from her and her ability to care.

Except Luna cared now. Her heart beat fast, watching this unique little pony. Everything Luna liked about Starlight was summarized in this single moment, where she drew back, eyes shut in bliss and tears beading the corners of them, howling with laughter, and a broken horn momentarily forgotten.

To simply muster up humor in the face of so much tragedy…

“I admire your strength,” Luna admitted.

She huffed at the abruptness of Starlight’s silence. “M’hy what?” she squawked.

Luna booped her nose. “Do not be so aghast, Starlight Glimmer. You’ve stood tall after being knocked aside so many times, it’s clear to me that your strength is unparalleled.”

Starlight’s mouth fell open, but she said nothing, no doubt stunned to hear such praise.

“And,” Luna kept her eyes ahead as she leaned in close, murmuring playfully, “if I may be momentarily unprofessional, I envy you.” Anxiety swarmed within harsher than her burning face, but Luna pushed herself through to the bitter, awkward end. “You’ve endured hardships on a more frequent basis than I, yet are likely the more pleasant dinner guest between the two of us. Wouldn’t you say?” Luna hoped Starlight would laugh at her own joke.

“P-Princess,” she, unfortunately, said with obvious discomfort, “you’ve got the wrong idea. I-I’m n-not—”

Luna lifted a hoof, sapphire-dusted eyelids drawn shut. She’s so humble. Especially with her nightmare fresh in mind. “You need not tell me what’s running through your mind, little one. Your dreams speak for themselves. I know that praise can make you uncomfortable. But do not mistake my words for such. ‘tis a fact of your soul, Starlight Glimmer.”

“I…” Starlight gulped, shaking her head. “I don’t…”

“There are few ponies who could endure the emotional hardships you have.” Luna peered from the corner of her eye, exchanging a glance with the jagged remnants of the poor pony’s horn.

Starlight shied away, facing the space between her forehooves.

“Hey.” Luna bumped her shoulder. Starlight met her eye, surprised to find their muzzles inches apart while Luna ached to see her freshly-moistened gaze. “Deny it all you want, my friend. But there isn’t a pony in Equestria who’d find the strength to go on feeling what you do.”

She began to shake. Luna’s words must have touched her deeply—clearly she was in desperate need of hearing them.

“Truly, you are a strong pony.”

“Thank, you,” she uttered stiffly.

It was disheartening that this was all she had to say. But there were nightmares to smite, ponies to help, and Starlight needed far more than what was likely perceived as hollow praise.

“Seek friendship, Starlight Glimmer. I believe Fizzlepop Berrytwist is a good place to start.” She gave a wink. Remembering that mare’s dream, Luna hoped she and Starlight realized how similar they really were.

She took a deep breath. “Thank you, Princess Luna. For everything.” Her voice was hoarse, but not quite so stiff as before.

Luna smiled, feeling affectionate for her subject. She wanted nothing more than to hug Starlight. But having responsibilities meant sacrifices had to be made, and she didn’t want to overstep her boundaries with a pony she clearly made uncomfortable.

“I’ve done nothing, yet,” she told Starlight. “I’ve given you the tools. Now your fate is in your hooves.”

The prospect paled her complexion. “R-right…”

Luna kept a smile on the widened eyes of her subject. She continued doing so with an eye on her as she turned, midnight-blue wings almost touching either end of the false bedroom.

“Be good to yourself, Starlight Glimmer. Farwell.”

“Bye, Princess…”

Luna dissipated herself into a silver cloud, which shot like a bolt fired from a crossbow at the moon outside the window.

She hated to leave Starlight in her current state. But the rest was up to her, as it was with everypony else.

Upon reaching her and Spike’s throne once more, Twilight stopped dead in her tracks after bringing a mug full of air to her lips, where she drank deep the lukewarm, energizing liquid known as air.

She rolled her eyes—just how much stupider could she get?

Twilight Sparkle: Princess of Friendship, unable to keep track of how full her stupid coffee was. What hope was there for Starlight if she failed at something this basic?

Imagining herself with a full mug, Twilight erupted her old one in a pinkish puff of magic, into the same yellow porcelain but filled with more coffee! She resumed her quick little canter around the Cutie Map.

Twilight drank deep, gagged, then drank again. Magically-transfigured coffee simply never tasted as good as Spike’s, but it got the job done. Another caffeinated gulp popped the crystalline walls blurring by into definition, their deep, violet edges sharpening alongside her foggy mind. It woke up, ready for another mug-long bout of hard thinking.

Hurried clip-clops maintained a quick, steady rhythm for Twilight to think to. It was the perfect background music! Just, tip-tap-tip-tap-tip-tap. It was so simple, so efficient, so distractingly monotonous!

Twilight took another sip before refocusing on the notepad held before her: Helping Starlight Glimmer - Plan T, it read.

Its pages were filled with one detailed step after another, with plans ranging from three of those to over thirty. Only half of this second one’s were used, crammed corner to corner with ideas about as refined as her very first magical thesis.
But that was fine!

Plans “A” through “H” took up her original notepad, and they were solid. Foalproof, even. Starlight probably wouldn’t even need to go that far! And if she did, then she will. And if all twenty-six plans failed, Twilight would make up a new alphabet to accommodate.

“Whatever it takes, whatever it takes,” she rattled off under her breath, like a prayer. “Won’t fail again, won’t fail again.”

Letting Starlight down was, well, it just wasn’t going to happen. Twilight would move the planet—that is to say, cobble together some science so she could do so—if that’s what it took to help her friend.

My amazing, generous, caring, inconsiderate, difficult, stubborn, suffering friend...

Curse Starlight for threatening their friendship. Curse her! Twilight would have no problem marching to Flutter Valley herself if Starlight wasn’t so against it…

Twilight inhaled, deep, sharp and quick. Her trot’s pace never faltered. Unlike her anger, which ebbed and flowed like waves, washing over her, the undertow threatening to pull her beneath.

How dare Starlight threaten such a thing? Twilight had spat one moment, then, almost within the same breath, she uttered, No, no, she knows I’ll do something worse than the time I freed the Pony of Shadows.

Something about going to Flutter Valley truly terrified Starlight. So much so she dared to hold their bond hostage. Could she be right about this? Was there any reality beneath her clearly-outrageous fear?

Not even Celestia knows what those “witches” are capable of. Neither she, nor Luna, even knew of their existence, or the foal’s story they inspired… yet.

Twilight realized she still hadn’t told them that Starlight had awakened. Or of the current situation.

There was always tomorrow.

Odds were that Starlight was probably right. She actually had good intuition when her mind was clear. With her track record, Twilight would probably end up making everything worse. Maybe she’d further advance the evil machinations of those “big and scary” beings, as Fluttershy described the one she saw.

But they were half a world away, and far beyond her concerns now. Starlight was what mattered. Yet, here Twilight was, having a nice run in the map room while simultaneously faltering in her planning! She only had three more hours until the sun was up!

Twilight racked her brain for some kind of “Plan T.”

T… T…

What else would Starlight respond to? If “S” failed, then what could top a Friendship Chi Neigh Tsang Massage Group Therapy Session?!

“Ugh!” Twilight groaned, breath frosting before her.

Slowing to a stop behind Rainbow Dash’s throne, mug and notepad absentmindedly orbiting around her, Twilight pondered the possibility of one of her friends brainstorming some ideas. Surely they had their own insight, as well as a desire to help Starlight Glimmer. Fluttershy was the pony she spent the most time with, besides Twilight of course, so maybe she’d have a better idea of what Starlight would—

An eruption of noise and porcelain startled her with a yelp.

Twilight twitched away, crying out as she found the blood of her shattered yellow friend staining the second planner an ugly bronze.

“No, no, no!” she cried, picking it up in her hoof’s grasp. The thing dripped with coffee, completely waterlogged. Twilight stiffened a quivering lip and glared upwards, grimacing at the perpetrator.

Of course horns don’t just “fail,” nor was Twilight one to blunder such a simple levitation spell. But she was also in the middle of her eighth coffee that evening, and running on just four hours of sleep from the night prior.

“Oh, come on, I’ve spent nights studying longer than this. When I was a unicorn, no less! So what’s up, horn? Huh? Why’d you fail on… on… me?” Twilight breathed, watching the faint, white cloud be born and die upon her words.

“...Haaah,” she sighed. It was like a dragon breathing smoke.

A bad feeling settled in Twilight’s gut.

Not only was it the summer, not only did her castle magically heat itself when it was cold, but usually, in her own experience, when Twilight saw her breath it meant it was cold.

The Map Room was as warm and comfortable as it’d ever been.

Goosebumps prickled underneath her coat. Chills shocked her body several times over, and made Twilight tremble with more than a caffeine overdose. Above, the tips of Golden Oaks’ fingers stretched into her peripherals—earthy brown, sanded smooth by Applejack…

...and coated in a glassy film. Ice. The memories strung below glistened upon it, bedazzling the roots with little pink, orange, and blue stars.

A double-knot of dread twisted within as Twilight traced their path, turning, her eyes running down to the great, oaken stump hanging from her ceil—

Twilight froze. She blinked her heavy eyes three times but what she saw was still there, existing in the same room as her.

Something huge was standing above the Cutie Map, now somehow activated and displaying her country. One paw had been suspended above it, ready to direct a single, extended claw down to someplace in Equestria.

It was unlike anything Twilight had seen before. She couldn't tell if it was some sort of ogre, or a distant relative of the Humans.

Wait... No! No, they're not real. This isn't them.

Are you crazy, Twilight? Run, get help, this isn’t a friendly visit! Twilight's heart felt torn between her options, her instincts screaming to run while rational thought scolded, No, you don’t know that. Be friendly. Approach her.

Twilight's hooves remained rooted in place.

As her thoughts battled on a decision, the creature’s finger descended on a holographic mountain in the north.

“gRiFfOnStOnE,” it, she, uttered in a voice which shocked Twilight’s soul into the afterlife and back.

Her finger shifted, “MaNeHaTtAn,” and halted on the eastern coastline. It moved again.

“ThE sMoKeY mOuNtAiNs!” Her spine was somehow bent in a loop. If unfurled, was she... she was enormous. Her legs alone were as long as Discord, one of them bent at a ninety degree angle.

Twilight swallowed, over and over, air squeezing, wheezing faintly out her lungs. “lAs PeGaSuS.” The monster's face was cloaked in shadow and an eruption of orange hair.

“HoLlOw ShAdEs.” From within her shadowy veil, flecks of rubies glowered at the Cutie Map.

“AnD oUr ToWn…” Her dagger of a face, tapering to a near-pointed chin, cracked in Twilight’s direction. “YoU’vE sEeN mUcH oF tHe WoRlD, pRiNcEsS. cHaNgEd It—YoU aNd YoUr CuTe LiTtLe FrIeNdS.” A distorted chuckle shocked the very air. “StArLiGhT aS wElL. hOw’S sHe DoInG, bY tHe WaY?”

Fire ignited inside of Twilight’s belly, burning away all her terror. “You stay away from them. You stay away from her!” Twilight's anger was strong, unwavering, just like Celestia’s would be. It almost made her forget the sudden rush of terror twisting in her chest. “What are you doing here? Come to torture my friend some more? Well, you’re gonna answer to me first.”

The Witch of Flutter Valley hadn’t moved a muscle since turning, even as she roared with otherworldly laughter. “HoW fRiEnDlY! cElEsTiA hAs TaUgHt YoU wElL! wHaT, nO iNtRoDuCtIoNs? No, ‘WhO aRe YoU?’ or ‘hOw DiD yOu GeT hErE?’”

Twilight breathed, slow and deep and trying to calm. “I know what you are,” she said lightly, then exhaled, “and I know who you are.”

“Do TeLL…” purred the witch.

Twilight searched back to what she once treasured as a foalhood storybook. Within the anthology, she had feared a magical story about a brother and sister outsmarting a trio of dark magic-wielding earth ponies.

“Well,” she swallowed, “you’re one of the Ladies of Flutter Valley. A witch, for lack of a better word, though... I'm not sure that appropriately encompasses the scope of your power.” She still wasn't certain of that, but just this thing's overwhelming presence in the Map Room, one of the most magically-saturated places Twilight's ever felt...

“vErY sMaRt." Twilight hardened her heart; there would be time for that later. "NoW wHo Am I?”

Twilight’s gaze danced about her big, lanky figure, her orange mane brushing against Golden Oaks’ roots, altogether avoiding the little red lights she had for eyes. Don't be presumptuous. One false move and that could be it for me. I'm all alone, none of my friends nearby... “You’re Draggle," she answered tightly, "the Foolish Lady.”

“aH, yEs.” Draggle’s paw, black with dirt, pressed upon her malnourished breast. She was nothing like the Draggle Twilight knew. “i ReMeMbEr ThOsE dAyS. BaCk WhEn We CoUlD sUsTaIn SuCh InDiViDuAlItY," she sighed, like a howling wind.

She obviously wanted Twilight to comment on that, think about it, because, why would she pause for so long otherwise? “Did you control my magic?” She glanced at a coffee-colored patch of ice between Rainbow’s throne and Spike’s.

“nO.”

Relief flooded through Twilight. It looked like Starlight really was overreacting! These creatures were powerful to be sure, but that didn’t mean they were the source of all magic in Eques—

“i JuSt SmOtHeReD iT.” Twilight choked on an airless gasp. Her caffeinated heartbeat skipped several beats.

“Nopony should have that power. Nopony," she snapped, completely forgetting who she was talking to.

“H’aH,” Draggle hissed, “i HeAr YoUr InSiDeS, sQuIsHiNg AnD cLeNcHiNg WiTh HoT bLoOd—DeLiCiOuS aDrEnALiNe! aRe YoU aFrAiD oF mE nOw, PrInCeSs TwiLiGhT sPaRkLe? I cAn HeAr ThAt YoU aRe~"

Twilight glared through her bangs with teeth gnashed at the intruder. “How about you stop wasting time and get to the point already? Why’re you here?!”

Draggle grunted. “AfRaId, BuT nOt Of Me. WeLL, tHaT wOn'T dO...” Like a spider, but twice as fast, the witch twisted her body over to Twilight on all fours, “...hOw AbOuT NOW?” she howled, ringing within the vastness of the Map Room.

There was only Draggle’s face, unveiled at last, whose skin reminded her of a sandy beach—pocky and rough and so dry that pale, pink cracks lined the defined folds of her cheeks and forehead.

Twilight could only gape. She forgot her voice, her words, and everything that made Equestria the beautiful cornerstone of Harmony it was now known for.

She was at a loss for words.

Draggle shouldn’t speak, yet she did, despite having a mouth of black lace, stitched closed by someone who wanted her quiet a hundred times over. The feeling of a needle piercing one's lips over and over so they couldn't talk or even eat... Twilight whimpered and looked away, but something willed her gaze into Draggle's.

It was not red, her gaze, but hazel. One eyeball pointed left, the other ‘northeast,’ to the thunderbolt on Rainbow’s seat. Like Derpy’s in a way. Draggle didn’t bat an eye, nor did she look at Twilight. Ever. She never would, not with those small protrusions sticking out of her eyeballs, aimed at Twilight with their crimson luminescence, like a horn ready to fire.

One protrusion opened up to a pit full of little white… chips? Teeth? They’re alive? Twilight drew close with macabre curiosity. What? The closer she got, the heavier her jaw became. What in Equestria—?

It screeched, lunging at her and snapping.

Twilight scrambled away, screaming as Draggle pulled away. “ThAt’S bEtTeR.”

The princess scrambled to emulate Cadance’s breathing exercise, hammering her foreleg faster, harder against her breast as Draggle crunched her body into a bipedal posture, pigeon-toes and ape-like paws almost brushing the floor. Her face was obscured once more, thank Equestria.

“i LoVe BrEaKiNg ThE mIgHtY aNd ToPpLiNg ThE TaLL.”

Twilight was completely at Draggle’s mercy. Has she come to take her horn too? Kidnap her, lure her friends into a trap? “What do you want from me?” She hated how terrified she sounded.

“To Do WhAt I hAvE tO, jUsT lIkE aLL oF yOu.” Draggle reached up and lowered two, claw-like fingers into the front pocket of her overalls. “I pRoMiSe yOu ThIs, TwiLiGhT: yOu WiLl NoT gReAtLy sUfFeR tOdAy. nOr WiLl YoU sUfFeR tHiS wEeK, oR tHe NeXt.” Her fist retreated, clutching something. “BuT sOoN, aLL WiLL fEeL rIgHt WiTh ThE wOrLd. AnD iT wILL pRoVe YoU wRoNg iN a WaY fAr WoRsE tHaN yOu CoUlD pOsSiBlY iMaGiNe."

"WhEn ThAt DaY cOmEs, I hOpE yOu ReMeMbEr ThIs MoMeNt, and StArLiGhT's.”

Twilight squeezed her eyes shut, even folded her ears to protect herself from Draggle’s haunting words. “I’m not listening.” What of this witch warranted trust? Starlight and her dang “deal” came to mind; Twilight only had a vague idea that they twisted their words to abuse loopholes and drive ponies crazy, like they did to her friend. “You're just saying anything you can to throw me off. Well, I don’t believe a word you’re saying. I won’t!”

“nEvEr?”

“Never.”

“NoT eVeN fOr StArLiGhT’s HoRn?” Twilight’s heart did a full-stop. “wErE yOu NoT cOnSiDeRiNg A dEaL wItH uS iN eXcHaNgE fOr It?”

Her eyes boggled open, and not just because Draggle somehow knew that. Right there, held a foot from Twilight’s snout, the source of the misery which plagued her dear friend, was clutched between Draggle’s thumb and index finger.

It was small, conical, and possessed a spiny base which Ladies undoubtedly wielded the power to reattach.

Twilight’s chest lurched as it was wrenched away, Draggle lifting it to her shadowed mug. The pair of glowing, red specks analyzed it like Rarity would a gemstone. “wOuLdN’t It Be GrAnD tO mAkE StArLiGhT hApPy AgAiN?” Want and desperation burned inside of Twilight. “i HaD aN aRgUmEnT wItH mY sIsTeR, tWiLiGhT. sHe SaId tHaT a TrUe PrInCeSs Of FrIeNdShIp WoUlD dO aNyThInG tO hElP a FrIeNd, BuT i DiSaGrEeD!” Twilight rolled her head, whimpering like the pitiful, useless princess that she was. “sOmE pOnIeS aRe JuSt ThAt SeLfIsH! cAn YoU bELiEvE iT?” To her left lay a coffee-stained notepad filled with poorly-conceived ideas.

Ideas that would never make Starlight happy for long.

Not if she didn’t have her magic.

“Alright, Draggle. Okay,” Twilight sighed. The weight of defeat was egregious. Even though Draggle was deadly-accurate, Twilight hated it with all her heart. “What do you want for it?”

If this is what being the Princess of Friendship was all about, Twilight would be remiss if she was too afraid to meet Starlight’s standard. At least she’ll be happy again. No matter what they want, no matter what I sacrifice, Starlight will be smiling again.

And that’s good enough for me.

Raucous laughter rattled in the spacious Map Room. “I’m AfRaId i DoN’t FoLlOw,” said Draggle. “eXpLaIn yOuRsElF tO mE!”

Twilight assumed nothing, even if this monster was messing with her. “You know why I'm doing this. And I’m telling you that I accept: I’ll make a deal. If there’s something of mine that you wanted… if all this was to use Starlight to get to me, well, congratulations.” Hatred smoldered Twilight’s glare and drumming heart. “Here’s your chance.”

Draggle hummed, then spoke in a low, echoing voice, “VeRy InTuItIvE, pRiNcEsS.” Twilight opened her mouth, ready to ask what they wanted. “SaDLy, I aM gOnNa HaVe To DeCLiNe.”

“Wha-huh?! Buh-buh-but you, you make deals with ponies, just like in the storybook!" Twilight cried, no better than herself as a foal, denying that Celestia wasn't an actual goddess, like all ponies her age. "You have to accept my deal, you can’t just dismiss it!” Starlight… She was no different then than she was now, because...

“nO wE dOn’T.” Draggle leaned down. “nO i DoN’t.” Her massive head craned past her knees, down to Twilight’s. “AnD yEs, I, cAn.” Her worms shrieked a long, ear-ringing cry, as Twilight realized then that she was still a naive foal.

Because she was too trusting.

She felt like the biggest fool in all of Equestria and she didn’t know why. Draggle spoke like it was so obvious, yet everything seemed a thousand times more complicated than it was five minutes ago.

From Starlight’s horn, to the initial plan to bring the Elements to Flutter Valley (which Twilight decided would be “Plan Z” no matter what), to just who these creatures were and what they even wanted or where they came from...

Twilight's heart sank to the blackest pits of Tartarus. “But… But the story… the deals you make…” She'd failed.

Statuesque Draggle chuckled, low and evilly.

“dOn’T bELiEvE eVeRyThInG yOu ReAd, PrInCeSs.”

Her palm slid between them, presenting a small, pink horn.

“We OnLy EvEr MaDe A dEaL wItH sTaRLiGhT gLiMmEr.”

And Draggle’s hand squeezed with a stomach-churning CRUNCH.

The sound shot Twilight in the heart, sapping whatever strength remained from these last several weeks.

She collapsed to her knees, empty. Contents like powdered sugar sprinkled from Draggle’s slowly-tilting fist: a trickle of fine pink dust. Within a moment, the remnants of Starlight’s pride and joy dusted the polished floor.

Her eyes prickled. Her lips trembled. A white, frosty cloud brokenly formed before her.

“tHe ReSt WiLl FoLlOw, As Is OrDaInEd. UnTiL oUr FiNaL mEeTiNg, pRiNcEsS. gOoD lUcK.”

Draggle blinked out of existence—no noise, no light. She was just there, and now she wasn’t. The cold kiss of Twilight’s spilt coffee ran underneath her knees. Melted ice wept from Golden Oaks’ roots onto the map, a halfhearted dribble upon the image of Equestria.

It flickered defiantly before falling dark.

End of Honesty - The Broken Life

Next Time: (Laughter) The Broken Heart - Starlight Glimmer heeds advice and ignores others. Friendships are made and mended back together. A Changeling Gourd Fest is attended.

(Laughter) The Broken Heart - IV.I - The Calm

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"...and I did everything together. In fact, I don't remember us ever being apart. Until today."

IV
Laughter
The Broken Heart

'Truly, you are a strong pony.'

Princess Luna's words were appreciated. They were kind, they were sweet. But above all, they were clever.

Though with well-intentions to be sure, Luna was still a pony who thought, considered, and manipulated. Most ponies did so unintentionally, without any malicious intent behind it. That was just as true last night, as Luna tried her best to boost Starlight Glimmer's confidence.

But it was ultimately doomed, for Starlight wrote a manifesto on the art while "officializing" her philosophy for the rest of Equestria (a blessing unto the country in her eyes, because what villain ever considered such heinousness a bad thing?). Starlight, however, had long-ago cashed in her strength's credibility the moment she spout the groan-inducing utterance of, "I'm fine."

No, she wasn't. Obviously. But Starlight tried to trick herself into feeling such, and that crumbled in the face of those macabre wooden puppets she herself was the master of.

A strong pony didn't have such horrible thoughts about herself, or her friends.

Luna's comfort brought about just one, painful reminder: that that was exactly what a pony like Starlight wanted to hear. Bearing the weight of her own mistakes, like it was something to be proud of? One needed only to step back and look at the whole picture.

What a self-aggrandizing notion Luna tried peddling her. Starlight's misfortunes were her own byproduct, time and again. Fate was never the one who'd dealt her a bad hand, just as it hadn't dealt Twilight hers, whose accomplishments were, while amazing and impossible, had always been the result of her own hard work.

She'd earned her Destiny. Just like Starlight.

Awash in golden-blue hues, Starlight's room was as tranquil as the rest of Ponyville in the morning: peace was quiet, uneventful. Lacking in Starlight's impact on the world, and reverse. Only the covers' whispers conflicted with this fact, shifting against her coat with every turnover.

Starlight was face-down in her pillow when she belted out a groan: she was too awake. Falling back asleep was just impossible.

Not that Starlight particularly needed yet another bout of shuteye, but hey, when did more sleep ever hurt?

It must have been late in the morning by now. Starlight wouldn't know; she never got a clock since she was always (or used to be) an early riser. But she'd been awake in this unchanging picture for hours.

The weight of last night pinned Starlight to her bed, Twilight cries and screams and declarations turning her bones to lead. Too comfy, both mind and body argued whenever she vied to move, to make amends. It was a sound argument, so much so that she couldn't poke any holes in its logic, and crept back under the covers, tight in the chest despite herself. 'No,' that potent ache was saying, 'you're actually just afraid of confronting your screw-ups.'

I'm being selfish, Starlight thought, sitting up; it was just about the only thing she'd done herself in days, yet, it still took an alicorn princess to tease out that drive:

'Disclose your fears and dispel all doubts, lest you doom yourself to the same mistakes I've made.'

Easier said than done, Your Majesty. If only Starlight had her patented snark then, so Luna could at least explain how such a thing was possible. But the Princess of the Night didn't visit her again, leaving Starlight to a restless sleep she, all things considered, more than deserved. Would another metaphorical-slap in the face have been appreciated? Of course. But Princess Luna had more ponies to deal with, greater fears to smite, than the relatively benign nature of a "wake up abandoned" nightmare.

If Luna was trying to make another point with that dream (assuming she had such control of course), then Starlight didn't need it. Luna was loud and clear before: Starlight Glimmer was a hot mess, an apparently, so was she. In retrospect, it was obvious. Blatant, given her past. More blatantly evil than Starlight's actions, but Luna had allowed herself to get as bad as she did.

Twice, apparently. Starlight tried as hard as last night to put Luna's story to picture, but it was hard to picture serene Princess Celestia getting as emotional as her and Twilight had last night. Maybe Luna really was trying to make me feel better.

A warmth tugged inside all the same at the thought of their kinship. Then disgust moved to poison that, of course. Because when didn't it? When do I ever stop and think before judging ponies right off the bat?

Starlight flopped back into her pillow, groaning with covered eyes. Pink hooves fell away to a star-spangled midnight splashed across the ceiling. Starlight wondered if this, too, was some sort of twisted, cosmic coincidence. Could there be a deeper connection between her and the Princess of the Night? Luna was always so close to everypony, given the nature of her duties - especially with foals - but at the same time, she was too far from anypony's reach to befriend in the same vein as Trixie.

She was, after all, a princess, and Starlight was only desperate for the same understanding and comfort Luna imparted last night.

"'In desperate need of a friend,' indeed," Starlight muttered. Okay, she thought, clearly, I need someone to talk to. Though it took Luna for her to realize that, it was so obvious that Starlight should have thought of this herself. Why didn't she, before? Because I got a serious case of 'big-headedness,' coupled with the oh-so-dangerous, 'head-up-thine-own-plotitus.' Side effects may include being an insensitive jerk to your friends. Difficult to cure.

Starlight chuckled to herself, a cruel, sardonic thing reverberating in her bedroom.

A pathetic thing, in truth.

Mustering the will to salvage her relationships, Starlight leaned on one side, then flung to her other, rolling off her bed unto four hooves. Starlight crossed her room, deciding to forfeit her fight with the bathroom this morning (again) as she absentmindedly imagined her bed being made.

It took seconds for the silence to fall upon her. "Oh, right." Starlight returned to her bed and leaned in, baring her teeth like an animal.

Sighing at the made bed, the lumpiness of her job, Starlight went for the door and nosed it open. Remembering why she was too panicked to waste time closing it last night, the first pony she had to make it up to was clear.

Starlight kicked a hoof back, slamming her door shut and sending a clap racing down either end of the hall.

Breathing deep, a long, groaned sigh filled the dead silence after.

Her options were clear-cut, pathetically easy to pick. Really, she only had two to pick from (in of itself an exaggeration at best).

So I can sit around and mope the rest of my life, yesterday passed her thoughts like the most ugliest, fleeting of rashes, or bite the magic bolt, redraw the cards life had just dealt me, and hope this new hand doesn't risk everything I'd tried to rebuild. If only there was a third, but Starlight considered herself lucky she had an option at all.

“Relax,” she breathed, “relax, it’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be.” Paradoxically, she felt like she wasn’t taking this seriously enough.

In reality, Starlight’s one and only option was clear: what she felt didn’t matter. Other ponies were affected by her actions, and she alone could make it up to them. She had to make things right.

'Seek friendship,' Luna had advised, as if the answer were so simple. As if Starlight could look Twilight in the eye again, ignoring what happened last night.

She’d forgive Starlight. Of course she would, she always did. Even after you held your friendship hostage to manipulate her? Maybe. Perhaps. She might never let me forget this, even if she never speaks a word of it again. I’d know she’s thinking it every time she sees me, my horn…

Starlight shook her head as an alluring, filthy notion tried to creep its way in. Nothing would change if Starlight didn’t confront her mentor, and avoiding her like yesterday was definitely not the change she wanted. Why did I even think that was a good idea?

Truly, Starlight’s own thought process was a mystery even to herself at times. ‘Seek friendship,’ she recalled, peering down the hall and past the stained-glass starburst. A door beside it much like the others lined this absurdly big corridor, shut tight.

Oh, she’d seek friendship, alright. She’d dispel all fears and doubts, too. But not to Twilight. Not right this minute, at least. There was another pony Starlight accidentally pissed off (and could do with some apology practice with, too).

Fizzlepop Berrytwist’s eyes widened a hair upon seeing her. “Starlight Glimmer,” she remarked, foreleg falling from the doorknob.

“Hey.” Starlight hardened against the beast writhing in her belly, smiling coolly. Do this for yourself. Do this for Luna. But above all, do this for Fizzle. “Um, I first wanted to say, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for ditching you last night. That wasn’t cool.”

“‘Ditch?’” A tilt of the head, like a cat. Starlight definitely felt like one, watching that impressive mohawk sway a little. “I wasn’t going to force tea down your gullet if you didn’t want it.”

“Ha! Ah, no, it had nothing to do with tea.” Starlight’s ears wilted, weighed by her feelings. “And if you’re anything like me, you assumed that it’s because I was scared away, didn’t you?” Fizzlepop started, her lips even parted. “Thought so. Then you’ll probably understand when I utter the oh-so-cliche: ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’”

The taller mare huffed, amused. “Are we a couple, now?”

Starlight stammered a moment, having never given the idea—with anypony—a second thought. “I don’t know about that,” she chuckled, “but if you’re willing to tolerate my manic anxiety and short temper, I was thinking, maybe, we… can be friends!” Tempest’s eyes gaped, bright and blue and radiating understanding, as if to say, ‘Only if you’re willing to do the same.’

“Wow,” Starlight laughed, hairs prickling as though a thunderstorm were on the horizon, “is that emotion you’re showing?”

Fizzle’s chilly countenance sagged into a grimace that’d make most ponies run for the hills. Starlight snickered at her face, and Tempest couldn’t help but burst with an evil little chuckle. “And here I thought Twilight Sparkle would be the first and only face I’d see today.” It might’ve been wishful thinking, but relief laced her words.

So far, so good. Don’t screw this up, ya loony unicorn! Starlight knew how to play someone like Tempest: little visible weakness, humor, relatability? She wasn’t just cut from the same cloth as Starlight, she was woven, stitched, and patterned in an almost identical fashion.

“Does that mean your offer still stands?” she asked.

“No. Goodbye.” The door slammed like a crack of thunder. Or shattering glass.

Oh, wait, no—that was the remains of Starlight’s heart being dusted and sprinkled across the dark depths of her gut. Turning toward the hall, Starlight realized she couldn’t blame Tempest Shadow for having little patience with nonsensical ponies like—

“Starlight, wait! I was kidding, you can come in.” Starlight whipped around, where Tempest’s electric-blue eyes met hers, sparking with mischief. It promptly fizzled out alongside her tiny grin. “Was that not a good joke?”

She’s learning. Starlight swallowed her previous hurt, wearing an easy smile. “Stick to your dayjob, Fizzle,” she joked, strolling over. Hearing the mare’s warm chuckle brought a smile to her face. “See? That’s a joke. You have to make sure ponies can’t accidentally take you seriously.”

“No, it’s not that. I mean, ‘Fizzle?’” The mare stepped aside upon being reached, unveiling a deep abyss beyond. “That’s a new one.”

“Oh.” Starlight paused before the threshold. “I didn’t think much of it, you know. If you don’t like it, I can—”

“I didn’t say that,” Fizzlepop told her, tightly, but slowly. “It’s just different. Unexpected. Hardly anypony calls me ‘Fizzlepop’ these days, yet you’ve given me some sort of a pet name after two conversations.” Starlight had no idea what to say; Fizzle adopted Tempest’s stony exterior like a mask to slip on, equal parts cold and hard. Analyzing. Starlight was just grasping for something today, really screwing this up royally. “Oh for the love of—You remind me of Hearts and Hooves Day mascot when you blush.” Fizzle clapped her around the withers and hauled Starlight inside. “In!” she grunted.

This was all happening so fast, and now Starlight was nose-to-nose with a faceless, endless black wall. “Wait,” she said, Fizzle kicking the door shut behind her with an, “I’m listening,” as she strode through pitch black like she was nocturnal, “okay, don’t wait. But I have three questions now since you didn’t want to listen.”

“If any of them are about this room,” a light of deep, soothing lavender bloomed, chasing away the shadows, “I like it dark.” The darkness fled into the walls, where it seemingly molded into a jagged, murky dome encasing the room.

It looked like a supervillain’s bedroom. “Woah.”

“A positive reaction, at least,” said Fizzle, flinging open obsidian cabinets like they were no more than molded styrofoam. “As well as your first question answered, I presume.”

“Yeah, it is!” Starlight gushed, devouring the architecture of the room. Really this brings up more questions. The urge to ask how Fizzlepop came upon this room writhed within her, but… if this castle had anything to do with it, and Tempest was anything like Starlight amidst her first week living here, such an advanced question this soon would assuredly spoil the mood.

As Fizzlepop retrieved a teapot with finesse, setting it on the countertop carved into the gemstone wall before slamming its cabinet shut, Starlight gathered the courage to ask, “Okay, so, question two: do you hate the nickname or not?”

A moment of silence, a pause halfway between the counter and what appeared to be a stove of some kind. “Call me what you want,” she continued around a roundtable with four chairs in the center of her room, “I don’t care. I don’t mind.”

Somepony’s testy. Or she could be shy, is all. After all, whose given her a nickname before besides Pinkie Pie? “Sure thing, Fizzle.”

“Hmph.” That was a pleased grunt, right? Fizzle’s back was to her, hunched over the obsidian oven, unmoving. For the sake of her sanity, Starlight assumed yes.

Gaze to the ceiling, it was clear that even Discord could stand tall and still have room to hover. Smooth, albeit lumpy crystal spilled all around, encased the room in a hard, nigh-featureless midnight.

A pang of envy shot through Starlight upon investigating the wall to her rear: a strange, lavender magic emanated from the crystals’ surface, somehow illuminating everything as it ought be, rather than a gloomy luster as it should be.

“This place is so cool.” It was definitely cozy. Starlight vied for a feel of this room’s magic, despite the impossibility of that now. “These crystals are just wild.”

“They eat up light when I want them to.” Porcelain jar lids clattered, and papers sifted. “Do you want a specific blend?” Fizzle asked.

Starlight backed slowly, still devouring every inch of this weird, awesome-looking architecture. “Trottingham Breakfast if you have it,” she said faintly. “Otherwise I’m game for anything. Sorry, did you say you can command these walls to soak up light waves?”

“They respond to my thoughts. Or wants, I don’t know. The princess couldn’t make heads or tails of it either.”

So it was made for her. Starlight had no idea how. Tempest only moved in—sorry, occupied indefinitely—yesterday, but everything about it was clearly catered to make her comfortable.

Sneaky castle, Starlight thought, wondering if it could even hear them, doing everything you can to make Tempest want to stay.

“This whole place is wild,” she confessed, images from every adventure story she’d read growing up displayed upon the wall. Across the room, Fizzlepop stood like she’d already accepted Twilight’s offer, and was practicing her Royal Guard posture.

Bowing slightly, a short, angry hiss followed by a whoof, like one blowing out a candle, shuddered in the air. Fizzle leaned aside to loop her hoof through the teapot handle, revealing a portion of the stove containing an open, multicolored flame. "Woah," Starlight cooed.

“Hmph, it's nice, right? I won this in a game of cards in Klugetown two years back.” Fizzle pat her teapot's handle, her pair of fireworks printed upon its magenta face. “It’s bewitched with a bottomless box charm, but the fool fish who’d betted it never knew.”

Of all the things in this room to have a story, a teapot Starlight didn’t even notice probably had the most interesting story here. “So, what made you want it?”

“I didn’t.” Oh. “But he lost everything. Wanted to win it all back, of course, as gamblers are wont to do. But he'd nothing else of value. He was an ass, so I humored him. Just to see him squirm some more.” The evil little smirk alone would make Starlight laugh on a good day.

She guffawed at the story.

Cold, but gambling of any kind had consequences for somepony involved, guaranteed. “‘Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.’ That’s my motto!” An itch flared upon Starlight’s horn remains, as if she didn’t already know the irony of that thought.

When has it ever been? Shut up, brain, I’m trying to befriend somepony.

“So!” Starlight rocked back upon her hooves. “Can I... have a look around? That’s question three, by the way.”

Between her and Fizzlepop, a roundtable upon a raised, stone platform—the only structure in this room made from such—held a roundtable with a tablecloth as purple as the teapot. “If you really care to,” Fizzle said, peering over her shoulder, her table.

“Yes, I do care to.” Hopefully that would dispel any insecurities about this, should her friend feel them. “After all, you can learn a great deal about somepony through their taste in bedroom decor.”

By now Fizzle turned fully, watching her with unreadable eyes as Starlight wheeled in place, drinking it all in. “I never considered that. Perhaps I should scope your room out too, sometime.”

Kites, stars, books, and a workstation that would gather dust very soon. Starlight resisted cringing at the thought and giving Fizzle any ideas as to how she felt about that. “Sure, but promise you won’t judge me.”

“How can I, when you’re likely doing the same?” Fizzle’s subtly, almost invisible smirk revealed she’d asked in good fun.

But Starlight knew all jokes stemmed from a kernel of truth. “I mean, yeah, I’m ‘judging’ you in the form of having an opinion,” she explained, “but I’d forgotten the kind of pony you were before coming in here.”

She flickered from Fizzlepop’s eyes to the Equestrian banner beside her little counterspace, and the obsidian-carved oven beside it—Luna and Celestia encircling one another, their celestial bodies contorting around one another equally, harmoniously.

“What do you mean?” Fizzle asked.

Starlight was ready to explain herself until a glint of silver caught her eye. Several, all stuck upon glossy, wooden plaques like trophies. “What do you mean, by keeping those?” she countered. “Those… weapons?” Just the word sent tingles down her spine, but to be in the same room as several, none of which looked like anything she’d ever seen before. “Do they have stories similar to the bottomless teapot of Klugetown?”

“Erm, not all of them.” Fizzle slowly, retrieved a pair of teabags from the counter and dropped them on the roundtable. “The blades’re mine, though. My property. The Storm King always let me keep ‘em for my… service. They’re all that I own.”

Well, now you own everything in here. But Starlight felt it wise not to spoil their amicability. Not yet, anyway. After all, she realized, stopping on a set of twinblades that couldn’t be more different, it’d be selfish of me if I left only talking about my problems.

As if ex-Commander Tempest Shadow wanted to hear of such things, when she had her own world of issues to overcome.

“My ‘armory’s’ recent additions.” Fizzle, nodding to the crossed twinblades, leaned against a foreleg against the counter. “After the Storm King’s defeat, I’d toured Equestria. Quickly found myself bored to tears. I’d craved excitement, and braved a public library for the sake legend-hunting. My research led me to the Mountains of the Frigid North.” Fizzlepop’s muzzle twitched to her teapot, as if her very gaze would heat it faster. A second later, her unscarred eye, soft as the bluest ocean, regarded Starlight. “It’s not a particularly exciting story.”

“Anypony whose been spelunking in ancient ruins immediately gets engagement points from me.” Starlight, upon seeing Fizzlepop turn fully, smirk cocked, grinned at her assuredly.

Fizzle flickered from Starlight to the plaque-mounted twinblades beside her oven. Identically curved, but one shone with a gentle, otherworldly glow contained within itself, casting zero gleam upon the wall. All the while, its sister-blade oozed black vapor opposingly, crossed over protectively. “The Two Sisters’ lost graduation presents, courtesy of Starswirl the Bearded,” Fizzlepop began, and Starlight turned her thoughts fully to the mare across from her.

It might not have had epic battles or titanic monsters, but no pre-teatime story made up in action, period, what it lacked in “juicy gossip,” as Rarity would call it.

The caverns had been stripped bare by archeologists forever ago, but she didn’t realize it until she’d made the long, bitter-cold hike up the mountains. Fizzlepop, believing she’d wasted her time (and the victim of life’s latest joke) threw a tantrum in the caverns. A stray bolt blew apart a hidden alcove amidst her rage, and within, the twinblades wrapped in burlap. She’d presented them to the diarchs of Equestria on the hunch that they’d belonged to them, only to have them handed back. They’d no need for such things, apparently, as Starswirl forged them with the likely intention of giving the young princesses protection when the Pillars weren’t on-hoof. But eternal damnation in Limbo beckoned them before the alicorns’ coronation came to pass. The Two Sisters pushed Fizzlepop’s treasure back into her hooves, urging their use to whatever their new owner deemed fit.

“Huh.” The teapot still hadn’t screeched its one-note tune as a lull in conversation took over, and Starlight craved more stories.

“Boring, right?” Fizzle asked simply.

“No way, that’s awesome!” Starlight propped herself upon the table. “How many ponies get to say they’ve founded magical artifacts belonging to the Princesses of Equestria, who let them actually keep said treasures? That only happens, like, never!” Since the owners of such things were typically long-gone, but hey, semantics.

The larger mare stared, surprised, before shying away once more. Starlight strode around the table, drawn to bizarre, enchanted swords like fireflies to their allure. “Can you imagine what Equestria would be like if he’d given them these swords?” she wondered.

“Not particularly.”

“Exactly. Maybe it’s a good thing they never got these.” She was close enough to make out individual rays of light lining a blade like barbs, with the “night sword,” Starlight decided, exuding its shadowy miasma all the while. “Can’t help but imagine how different history would’ve been. Equestria’d be a much different place.” Maybe a less harmonious one at that.

“It’d be safer,” Fizzle argued. “The capital of Equestria, seat of the most powerful beings on Equus? To fall in a minute, tch,” she shook her head, “it was disgraceful.”

Starlight opened her mouth to debate—to peddle her silly beliefs about Destiny and how this was all meant to be. But Fizzlepop wouldn’t care for that, because she herself didn’t either amidst the early days of her redemption. An annoying itch within her forehead, out of hoof’s reach, reminded Starlight that Destiny wasn’t as benevolent as she’d presumed prior to Flutter Valley.

No, you made this choice. The Witches, they’d said…

Starlight resigned with a knowing smile, deciding she didn’t give a hoof about what those creatures said to toy with her.

“What’s with the look?” asked Tempest

“Oh,” Starlight started, “I’m just glad we’re like that, is all. ‘Disgraceful’ as you put it.” The blunt look of disbelief thrown her way was too funny not to giggle at. “I’m serious! Listen, back in the day? I’d agree with you. Wholeheartedly. I wouldn’t have considered what it meant for my country’s soul, cheesy as that sounds.”

She saw what the future was like, first-hoof. Or at least, one of the many horrid ones Twilight and Spike had encountered.

“Now, with everything I’ve seen? I hate the idea of an Equestria that has to fight to solve its problems.” Starlight groaned internally beneath her knowing facade; of course she couldn’t avoid going there, no matter how hard she tried: the “Destiny” angle. “What if there’s a good reason why the Two Sisters never got their coronation presents?” She hesitated, said ‘To Tartarus with it,’ and dove right in. “A, I dunno, greater purpose to those circumstances?”

Fizzle just snorted in disbelief, sounding a little snarly. Starlight couldn’t blame her, and not solely because her friend wasn’t raised in the pacifistic world of Equestria. “It’s a tough pill to swallow, but it’ll go down eventually.”

“Great. Let me know when it does, and I’ll give you a bitter drink called ‘Reality.’”

Starlight rolled her eyes with a muttered, “Whatever, grump. You’ll come to the light eventually!”

They shared humored smiles, but Starlight could see it in Fizzle’s eyes: a storm of fantasies where she herself saved Equestria the “right” way, or more likely, saved from her. Sparing her people the Storm King’s wrath in the process.

Starlight followed her gaze to the blades, boring into the gentle aura of Celestia’s “sol sword.” “Maybe I’m talking out my butt. I’m sure you’re thinking that right now.” She hesitated, but no rebuttal came (to her quiet relief, because really, who could make a legitimate defense for something as vague as Destiny?). “Personally though, and my point before, was that I’m glad we couldn’t beat you through brute force.”

“You liked your chains?”

“Gosh, no! For two whole days? That really stunk. Especially since I was stuck with a friend who wouldn’t shut up, even after they muzzled her.” Oh, Trix… Starlight forced her and her awfulness as a friend out of mind.

Fizzle simply lowered her eyes from the swords, contemplating intently.

“That being said,” managed to attract a wary, solemn gaze, “we’re lucky things went down the way they did. Really! We, that is to say, you and I? We wouldn’t be here right now if they hadn’t.”

“Hmph. ‘Luckily.’ That’s the right word.” Fizzlepop’s emerging, feeble smile crumbled soundlessly as she veered away, meandering across the room towards something cloaked in a magenta sheet. “I suppose… it’s a good thing, a great thing, even, that Equestria isn’t anything like my world,” she said slowly. “I clawed my way over a lot of ‘friends’ over the years. Just for a chance at getting noticed by the Storm King. Caused a lot of people a lot of pain over...” ‘My horn,’ she was probably going to say.

A shiver came as her friend’s face twisted: shame, frustration, anguish, blended together like a smoothie. Feelings that were so familiar, Starlight felt them knotting up inside herself, making her sick. The life of Tempest Shadow, that of Mayor Starlight, were inconceivable to a lot of ponies. Not even Twilight Sparkle understood, not completely; just enough to pity the broken mares they’d become.

But to know them, to think like they do, to feel what they feel—anxiety, fear, nostalgia, loss—and how these horrible emotions shaped her two (let’s be fair, absolutely nutty) friends, she might never truly empathize.

“Fizzlepop?” The pony Starlight knew well, yet so little about, looked up with a start. “I’m not forgetting what you told me last night, about how I shouldn’t act like I know what it’s like. To be you, I mean.”

Her brows furrowed. “Starlight, I—”

“But I know you didn’t deserve that fate.” The world stood still as a crypt, nothing moving to oppose Starlight. “No pony does. No sane person actually wants to do the things we’ve done, but—”

“But we’re not sane,” Fizzle assumed.

She didn’t pull her punches either, even though Starlight’s chest didn’t give under the blow. Maybe on a subconscious level, she’d long-since accepted this. “How can we be? Our downfall began when we were girls. Girls, for Celestia’s sake! How’s that remotely fair?”

Fizzlepop whirled, seemingly in anger as she said, “It’s not,” Propped herself on the counter, retrieving what must have been teacups from a smokey-glassed cabinet above, she’d hidden her emotions from view. “But we were given our choices, and we made them. Now, me must lie with them. And never look back.”

Accepted that faster than I did, eh, Fizzlepop? Twilight was going to have an easier time reforming her than Starlight, that’s a certainty. “True, very true, except for a little something-something you got mistaken.” A pair teacups thumped upon the tablecloth, one after the other, crafted with plates beneath them already (much to Starlight’s relief). Fizzle still hadn’t countered, or snapped, or even reacted. “You wanna know what it is?” she wondered.

“You’re going to tell me regardless.”

“Not if you don’t want to hear it,” Starlight sang.

Fizzle growled, much to her amusement. “Just tell me,” she pleaded.

“We’re always looking back, even as we’re moving forward.” Starlight stepped closer, smiling up at her. “But I’m tellin’ ya, it gets a heckuva lot easier the further you get. Yes, it’s our fault for ending up the way we did. Yes, it’s because fate dealt us a crummy hand, and yeah, it sucks that we alone are the ones who make our choices. Not our parents, not our friends, and not the princesses nor Destiny or whatever. Us. Only we can make ourselves right!”

“Then how do you do it, Starlight? How does it get easier, when?” Fizzle’s voice trembled, no longer guarded. Starlight grasped for words, still comprehending the emotion in this mare’s voice, how she’s exposing herself fully to, of all ponies, her. “Starlight? Please, I-I didn’t mean, I mean, if I scared you—”

Stop jumping to conclusions, you’re almost as bad as me! “Time.” Starlight swallowed the lump in her throat. Fizzle eased up a tad, ever so intense. “Time is the cure. It’s slow and painful and you’re going to fall here and there, but… with time, you put more distance between yourself and your past. So that when you look back at where you started, you’ll see how far you’ve come.”

Unless you regress back to square one, like me. Starlight’s horn itched terribly, but she wasn’t about to make this centered around her. This was for Fizzle, her new friend, a pony who needed far more help than she.

“But…” Fizzle’s eyes turned upward, “what I’ve done, none of it can be taken back.”

“No, it can’t. You’re absolutely right.” Starlight closed the distance between them further, hesitating as she lifted her hoof. “So make sure it never happens again.” Fizzlepop’s foreleg was warm, hard. Eponymous of the mare it belonged to.

The teapot screamed and was silenced in a deft movement so fast, that it was set upon the table with Fizzle’s foreleg still hooked around the handle and Starlight’s just straightening beneath her.

“I’m still listening,” uttered the ex-commander, boring holes into her cutie mark painted upon its side.

Starlight was done, however. That was her great speech. “When,” she searched for words, because Tempest wanted, needed to hear more, and Starlight was her friend, “when I lost my horn…”

“You'd went made mistakes, didn’t you?”

Starlight masked herself with a lighthearted smile. “I mean, you heard Twilight and I last night. Did that sound like a normal evening in Friendship Castle to you?”

“I can’t legitimately answer that question.” Before Starlight could groan and roll her eyes, Fizzle, smirking said, “But, no, I don’t suppose it was.”

Starlight watched her angle the teapot with both hooves around the handle. “After losing my horn, I almost made some really big mistakes. I mean, I had,” Maud’s cold rage came to mind, Fluttershy’s disgust, Twilight’s many grief-striken faces, “you’re right, I had. But I’d have stumbled down something much darker—something permanent, maybe—if I didn’t have friends to pull me back. Like you.” And Luna… I’m sorry for doubting you. Whether Fizzlepop’s line of conversation was directed by the Princess of the Night’s visit didn’t occur to Starlight until now. It could very well have been.

“Tell me,” steaming water dripped from the teapot’s spout as Fizzle moved it to the next cup, “did Princess Luna have anything to do with this sudden bout of courage?”

Speak of the night-devil. The ex-commander never missed a detail. “I dunno,” Starlight chirped, “are ya gonna rage and reject our help if I say ‘yes?’ Is your pride and fear gonna twist together until you snap and push us away, then regret it deeply later?”

The teapot thumped down, its spout dripping, emanating a thin wisp of steam. “You know what you’re talking about,” said Fizzlepop.

At least she wasnt acting on Starlight’s fears. Probably because I called them out so accurately. “It’s because I’ve been there before, and so has Luna! Ponies like us tend to get caught up in our own heads too easily for it to be considered normal. Or sane.”

Fizzle set the teapot in the center, huffing with a weary smile. “Nor do you pull your punches,” she said, taking a seat.

Starlight stepped up the little round platform. “It’s one of my specialties.”

Their eyes met. “I like it.” And they smiled.

Fizzle’s didn’t leave her face as she looked down between two teabags, sliding one closer to Starlight. “Use your teeth,” she advised.

“I know how to live like an earth pony.” Starlight gulped, undoubtedly caught by her friend’s perceptive eye, and leaned down, teeth bared.

“No, no, wrong.”

Her cheeks flushed “How am I doing it wrong?!”

“Just calm down and watch me.” Fizzle swooped the string up in her teeth, the dropped the teabag in her cup with a tiny plop. “See?” She didn’t bob the little bag, but gently pulled it around the teacup, letting the string pull and slack in a rhythm that turned the steaming water bronze.

Starlight tried her best not to be annoyed, but she couldn’t help how she sounded at times as she said, “It’s gonna take a while for me to get that good.”

“Not as long as you might fear.” Fizzle got close and blew, sending ghostly wisps Starlight’s way. “It took forever for me to realize that I’m not a unicorn anymore. The sooner you accept that—”

“But I am—!” The pointed look from Fizzlepop choked Starlight. Sagging in her seat, she finished, “...not a unicorn. Anymore.”

Fizzle gripped her drink by the plate, clutching it in both hooves. “Drink the bitter draught, Glimmer.” She put it to her lips, sipping short and soundlessly. “It’ll get easier from there,” she sighed.

Pride swelled a little, enough to get her smiling. “Dirty trick, using my wisdom against me.” Steam wafted warmly against her chin; Starlight decided to let it cool for now (and avoid embarrassing herself by making an assured mess for as long as inconspicuously possible). “Alright, I’ll bite: how’m I supposed to do this, Mistress Fizzlepop?”

“Ha. ‘Mistress.’ I like the sound of that.” Her grin was so lewd it had to have been a dirty joke, but Starlight’s gaze fell upon her cup of hot water, shame and embarrassment twisting in her gut, burning in her face. Fizzlepop wasn’t even helping, was she? This was so easy she was able to figure it out as a markless foal! What grown mare couldn’t use her hooves and teeth, anyhow? “Starlight, breathe—”

“I’ve spent almost my whole life relying on my magic, taking it for granted.” Starlight took a deep, chest-filling breath. “How’m I supposed to enjoy tea with you if I can’t even—” A teabag hit her in the snout, and dropped precisely in her tea.

“You can ask, first of all,” said Fizzlepop, hoof lowering beside the other, before her cup. “Second, this,” she circled the area before her, “this is your main obstruction. The waterworks, the ‘woe-is-me’ horse manure.”

“I’m not crying!” Starlight snapped. Yet, mocked the back of her brain. “And I’m not saying, ‘woe-is-me’ nonsense, because I’ve already accepted that I lost my horn! I’m not angsting about it or anything.”

Somewhat. Not in the way Fizzlepop implied, at least.

“Perhaps not,” she took the cup in her hooves, lifted it to her muzzle, “but you’re so unhappy with your lot in life. That much is clear. And because of that, you haven’t truly moved on.” She took a deeper sip than before. “Huh, this brew is actually pretty tasty. Good choice, Glimmer.”

The implications made Starlight snicker into her foreleg. “You haven’t actually tasted it until now?”

The half-lidded glare said plenty. “Ah-hah. Ah-hah. Don’t get smart with me, I’m trying to help.” Taking another quaf, her lips smacked without a sound. “How’s your’s?”

“I…” Starlight opened her mouth, recalling.

“You’re not afraid of dropping your cup and making a mess in front of big, bad, Cowmmanda Fizzew-pawp, are you?” she purred.

“Okay, fine! You got me.”

“HA!” Fizzle barked.

“I’m afraid of screwing up and making a huge plot-head of myself over something earth ponies do every day. Is that really so irrational?” Starlight truly didn’t know, and the tremble in her final word must have hit something within her friend.

For Fizzlepop straightened, her face steeled and regarding Starlight with dead-seriousness. “Absolutely not. You truly think I’m judging you poorly? When I myself was, at one time, a dumb, angry foal trying desperately to use her power with a broken horn?” She shook her head, smiling easily. “Believe me, Glimmer, you’re miles ahead of me regarding all this.”

No wonder her friends abandoned her. It was horrible, wretched, really, to assume such a thing. But if she was worse than Starlight Glimmer, knowing what happened last night with Twilight, the picture was becoming a lot clearer.

“Show me how you hold a teacup.” Fizzle was leaning back in her chair, an observer trained to catch every minute detail. “I’ll guide you from there.”

There was no getting out of this… not that there was any good in doing so. “Alright.” Starlight exhaled, lifting her hooves from her sides. “Here I go.”

“Do it.”

She didn’t look away from the cup. “Shush, don’t rush.”

“Tch.”

Thank Celestia for Pinkie and her weird sayings. Starlight’s hooves attacked from either side; with narrow overlap in hoof-on-cup contact, it clinked twice. “Gotcha!"

“I’m so, so proud of you, Glimmy,” droned Fizzlepop. “Now do Future Glim a favor and stop seeing everything before you as a challenge. Your hooves can grip it just fine,” she demonstrated with ease, peeking around the cup, “see? Just trust yourself, your instincts. We ponies have a knack for that sort of thing."

"R-right." It sounded so obvious. Was it really so elementary? Had she been obsessing over nothing again?

"The world itself isn’t your enemy, something to be conquered. You think that’s how earth ponies approach the day-to-day?”

“Earth ponies have an innate magic within them that allows a special connection to the inherent magic of the material plane.”

“Ah.” ‘So you’ve known this,’ that grunt implied. “In truth, and call me prejudiced if you wish, but this is what I believe: earth pony’s magic, at far as that’s concerned, isn’t very special. It’s just a convoluted way of making sense of things: the trees, the grass. This room we’re in, the teacup before us, and this hot beverage, ready to be enjoyed? When you strip away the magic," Starlight tried ignoring the clenching of her chest, "it just becomes stuff. Stop looking for the magic, and just see what’s in front of you. Trust your eyes, not your sixth sense.”

Starlight, hearing nothing more, loosed a breath.

“Relax,” Fizzle's smooth voice advised, “I know it’s a lot to take in, but if you're having trouble comprehending this, then just… see the world as an earth pony would, I guess! Objective and dependable. No two ways about it.”

“You make it sound so easy. What if I don’t hold it tight enough and it falls?” She saw a wavy, jagged stump within the bronze depths of her Trottingham Breakfast. “If I mess up, it’s because of something I could have prevented.” But didn’t, because I failed.

“That’s the unicorn’s way of looking at the world, Glimmer. You're not a unicorn anymore, understand me?” No, because the weight of a bugbear pressing down on her was all she could understand. “It’s painful,” Fizzle’s words shocked the silence around them, “but it’s the reality. You’re an earth pony now, and as such you know the world better than any of the other races. Pretend that you do, even though you really don’t. You’re also a great manure-slinger from what I heard; shouldn't have trouble tricking yourself into thinking this way.”

'Manure-slinger?' Any other day and Starlight would laugh. Definitely not the words Twilight would have used. When was the last time she heard such an ugly word aloud (that wasn’t from her own mouth)?

“I understand what you’re trying to tell me. Completely,” she said. But what if she messed up anyway? What if she dropped the cup and broke it? Would that make Fizzlepop mad? Enough to kick her out? Probably, because Starlight would definitely get a little peeved if the roles were reveresed! Totally!

This kind of scenario exemplified why she didn’t want friends helping her: give her a little time, and Starlight would eventually find a way to totally mess up everything. She never learned from her mistakes, and with her horn gone, how will she ever have some semblance of a normal, happy life?!

“Starlight.”

Was it really so surprising that Twilight was mad at her, now that she needed all this help? Starlight never learned. Ever! Two years after the fact, and she STILL didn’t pause for a second, a mere moment, to consider how her friends would feel before acting. How they would regard Starlight's quality as a pony because of her actions, questioning every facet of her mindset when making this dumb, rushed, idiot decision.

“S-Starlight…”

She was gung-ho about sacrificing herself, for Equestria’s sake. Literally! And just how happy would Twilight’ve been after realizing that Starlight was dead in some swamp so she'd live?!

It’d break her heart, even… even more than it was now… Starlight gasped. Her eyes flooded to the twisting in her chest. Just like with Maud. All of them, Trixie too, they would all hate me…

How in Equestria did she not realize it sooner? Of course Maud hated her for this. Starlight treated this as if she didn’t care for anypony’s feelings!

She was a screw-up. “Starlight.” No wonder they were all mad at her. She had to make it up to them, even if it was impossible. She had to try—

“You’re growing cobwebs, little pony.”

Starlight blinked. “Mhm? Oh! Sorry! Just, ah, just overthinking things! As per usual… What was it you were saying? Sorry?”

Fizzlepop stared. “I won’t pry because I respect your privacy, and trust that you’ll come to me with whatever you feel comfortable about sharing. Okay?”

“Uh, o-okay? Why’re… Why’s this coming up?”

“So you don’t feel like I don’t give a damn about my friend.” Starlight gulped, blinking away a welling pressure creeping up her eyes. Smiling, Fizzle said, “Now, earth pony, sip your tea before I funnel it down your snippy little mouth.”

“Okay, okay! Fine!” Starlight laughed, batting her away. “Okay,” she mumbled once more, “earth pony-style.”

“Know the dimensions of the object before you. Feel for it, balance it. Make it work for you. That’s all it is.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Earth pony-style, earth pony-style... If Applejack were in her shoes, she wouldn’t second guess nor obsess over a potential mistake, neither. She wouldn’t get distracted with what ifs, she’d just do it. Then try again when she failed until she got it right.

An earth pony would use their eyes, their touch. They’d never think twice about it.

“Okay.” Starlight returned to her cup, grabbing it stiffly, albeit far less golem-like than before. “I’m fine. I can do this.” The teacup, a solid weight in her hooves, hardly needed any force to remain stable in her hold. It just was. Starlight's fears melted away the closer her steaming, quaking beverage neared her lips. It’s only motion. I just need to keep steady. Focus on the movement and not the cup. Starlight Glimmer wasn't afraid, she was awesome. “I got this.”

“Prove it, then.” Fizzlepop Berrytwist’s blue eyes, soft, watched without any discernible emotion as Starlight leaned to her drink.

Don’t overthink this, don’t overthink, she brought it to her puckering lips, I got this, I got this, I got this, I GOT—”YEOW!” Starlight wrenched away. “It’h hoth!” she cried.

“No kidding!” Fizzlepop howled, bringing her hoof down upon the table. “I’m sorry, but, come on, Glimmer! Prac-practical common sense, don’t forget about it!”

“Yeah, yeah, Ms. ‘Your tea is getting cold,’” Starlight rasped.

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Mhm.” Her tongue tingled, electrocuted with a burn halfway across it that quickly began to dull. “But that was good, wasn’t it?” Starlight enunciated around her swelling extremity.

“As good as a pony telling herself to think about anything but her weaknesses? Yes. A decent first attempt.” A pause, and Fizzlepop smiled into her own retrieved beverage. “Actually, it was a great one. I’m only jealous at how fast you picked it up.” Starlight almost felt proud enough of herself to beam until Fizzle added, “I shouldn’t be surprised, though.” She sipped her tea. “A certain princess told me you were a fast learner.”

...Of course, Twilight would say that, obviously before their big fight. But that didn’t matter right now, this very moment. Right now, Starlight was drinking tea with her new friend. And Fizzlepop was only trying to help, besides.

It's just so much... Starlight bowed, exhaling all the air from her lungs, their tightness. “Thanks, Fizzle. I appreciate your help. But, it’s not that it’ll take time to get used to,” she explained, lifting her gaze across the table. “I… I just miss it. And I hate that. But I just... can't help it.”

The sound of liquid pouring, filling something, drifted from across the table. “Me too,” said Fizzlepop. The teapot set aside with a solid clunk. “But it gets easier.”

“I know that,” snorted Starlight, lifting her teacup with ease. I couldn't just learn this myself, sheesh. But what are friends for, if not highlighting one another's shortcomings to make them better?

“Writing will still be a challenge,” warned Fizzlepop. “Other things, too. But you’ll take it one step at a time.”

Starlight smiled, agreeing, before throwing her head and teacup back. The hot liquid hit her tongue, punching her senses like a fog dispelling from her mind. A delicious bitterness rushed to the back of her throat, snapping her senses and the world around her into clarity.

Woah. Starlight gulped another mouthful. The tea was actually quite lukewarm, now that she was used to it. When was the last time she actually tasted something? There was the toast yesterday morning, and…

‘You should be starving, Starlight…’ Except she wasn’t, because she’d forced three (stolen) apples down her throat to ensure she keel over from hunger, even though she really, really didn't want to eat.

“This is so amazing,” Starlight moaned, warmth blossoming inside of her. Its tendrils unfurled from her belly, creeping within. Comfort blanketed her in a way she could only describe as, “Like a Pinkie-hug on the inside.”

Fizzlepop, this pony who’d helped her now enjoy this tea, huffed gently. Like it was nothing. Her smile, a thing of tranquility, peeked around her teacup as she quaffed once more.

“Hey, Fizzlepop?” The mare snapped to attention, mane swaying gently. “Let’s both get better together. Okay?”

The older mare’s mouth suddenly opened… and hung there. “I won’t be—I mean,” her mouth struggled to… close? Make words? Anything? A sneaky feeling of tension snapped free as Fizzlepop eased into a smile.

“Of course," she said. "Yes. Of course is what I mean, Starlight.”

Next Time: You Build Me Up... - Starlight seeks Twilight and makes amends with her best friend. Let's hope Starlight doesn't fall back into old habits again.

IV.II - That Sinking Feeling

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"Tw-Spike?"

Not in her study. Great! More walking.

"Spike!"

Not in the kitchen, either. She'd searched five halls and still nothing! Were they just ignoring her?

"Guys?!"

Not even in the dining room. This just wasn't normal.

Stampeding through the foyer's only doorway, suffocating on desperate hope, Starlight could only pray to Equestria's mother that she could find at least a pair of cutie marks encircling a projection upon the Map. "Anypony!?" Starlight gasped for breath, the tail-end of her cry echoing with that pitiful lurch in the confines of the Map Room.

That stupid map, a smooth slab of crystal, silent and judgemental. "You can't give a mare some kind of a hint?" she snapped. "I have to scrounge the place looking for them myself?"

A beat of silence, and Starlight realized she was interrogating a hunk of magic crystal.

What exactly was she expecting anyway? It's not like the thing had some latent power to carry her voice through the twisting depths of this insanely huge castle. She was expected to walk, and the Map didn't even care. This wasn't enough of a 'Friendship Problem' for the stupid thing.

"You're connected to every part in Equestria, even her past," Starlight stomped towards it, "yet you can't just point me in the direction of your master?!" She smacked the thing, a sharp clack ringing her ears.

A cool spray startlingly dashed across her face. Starlight scrubbed muzzle, the dampness emphasizing this ever-drafty room.

Starlight blinked, only now realizing water beaded the map's surface like a pox. Did somepony just spill a glass of water and forgot to clean up? That didn't sound like Twilight, or Spike, and she'd been with Fizzlepop all morning.

She shook her head, none of this mattered. What mattered was Starlight actually beat up a magical artifact, as if it had a reason for choosing not to help her. Better you than anypony else, was a cold comfort as Starlight collapsed into the throne closest to her flank: Rarity's by a quick observation around the other six.

Panting still, she massaged an irksome tingle between the eyes. It was just anger getting the best of her again, nothing more; this wasn't some cosmic prank to piss her off or anything. Even if the Cutie Map had some latent power to broadcast her cries throughout the castle (and it truly had no reason to help her with this mess if it did), Starlight's words wouldn't reach a corridor that her hooves hadn't already.

And it's not like Starlight actually believed her friends were willfully ignoring her calls. They wouldn't do that! Unless, of course, they were giving her the silent treatment as punishment, which made sense. Maybe her cries got so aggravating, they up and left altogether without leaving so much as a note! Ponies only did that so their loved ones wouldn't worry; with Starlight's behavior, it'd be no surprised if they thought she didn't give a flying feather about them.

All because I felt bad about myself.

A shake of the head brought her back to reality. Twilight and Spike might be mad, but they wouldn't do something like that to Starlight. Of course not! It was time to get a grip and think rationally again; could they have gone to Sugarcube Corner for another friendship meeting? If she were Twilight, she'd not want somepony currently off-her-rocker like Starlight Glimmer within potential earshot of a secret, but well-intentioned, meeting concerning her.

And if she were being honest with herself (for once in her irrational mind), Starlight would maybe-likely get the wrong impression hearing her name whispered behind closed doors. Just a little, tiny misunderstanding though. Nothing to lose her head over, of course! Starlight was a different mare who realized her mistakes and moved past them.

Now if only fate would stop jerking her around. Then, she could actually apologize to Twilight and put all this ugliness behind them. Restore some sense of normalcy in their lives.

Starlight rose from the throne and circled the slab of crystal, its surface twinkling with stars of pink, orange and blue from the display suspended above. "I am not about to scour Ponyville like a maniac," she said in a breath. She was bound to see Twilight again before the end of the day.

After all, she wasn't the only pony Starlight needed to make amends with.

'StAr-LiGhT~' sighed a breeze, sinking its teeth into Starlight, stirring her scraggly locks. Convulsing, gripped in the jaws of a chill, Starlight whipped to and fro and all about, as if Hydia were lurking upon the hay-thatched rooftops, ready to inflict more misery. But Starlight was just crazy: the air smelled of apples, clogged with the sounds of ponies yapping and haggling in the heart of Ponyville's market district. It was all there was. They were real. Starlight had fulfilled her end of the bargain, so it didn't matter what they truly were, what truths and lies those monsters had told that fateful day. Starlight was done with that chapter, done with the crones, and it was about time she got a grip on reality.

It's about time she apologized to Trixie and Maud.

Starlight continued on, eyes to the ground, and not because she was avoiding any who would ogle the Princess of Friendship's crippled friend. The market's bustle faded, drowned by Starlight's train of thought careening immediately towards, what else, but the niggling thoughts that plagued her since leaving home: Okay, I can understand why they'd not think to tell me, considering how I've acted, Starlight vaguely noted Lyra and Bon Bon glaring back at the one who wandered between them, but why wouldn't they leave a note for Tempest? What if she came downstairs, wishing to talk about... w-whatever's going on between them? She's be even more lost and hurt than me, probably. Twilight ought to have figured that...

This behavior, so unlike Twilight, honestly haunted Starlight. It made her hairs stand on end, as though something truly terrible was about to happen, like a dog with her face to the black, heavy sky. Something was seriously wrong here, unless, of course, Starlight was overthinking things yet again, which was unfortunately more likely. And for that she hated herself, hated this personality trait that'd caused nothing but trouble, obsessing over trivial details as if they held some greater meaning; as if Sunburst never wrote back because he considered her beneath him, as if a chilly breeze were something deeper.

As if losing her horn was a fated thing for the sake of Equestria, for the Princess of Friendship.

Starlight whipped those doubts out of mind. No, no, that one was definitely a matter of fate. It had to be, and it was an honor to play such a crucial role in saving Equestria (however that would take form down the line; it might not even be in Starlight's lifetime).

A cold overcame her with the notion.

But sometimes, Starlight thought as the flower cart, out of nowhere, smacked her in the nose; ignoring whoever in the trio manned it today, and whatever noise she was spouting with a simple 'Sorry,' Starlight told herself, sometimes, the curtains are just blue because the author liked them.

Yeah, Starlight was overthinking it for sure: this lack of communication from Twilight and Spike. It still didn't change the fact that the circumstances were strange. Starlight just couldn't shake that feeling, no matter how far she would push Twilight from mind. Sometimes, Starlight was too smart for her own good.

The irony made her chuckle bitterly. She had no right calling herself that right now. 'Smart.'

Maybe some small part of her brain, clinging to what was atypical, anticipated some kind of notification taped on the front door. Because if anything was certain, it was that Twilight cared immensely for Fizzlepop's well-being; her bedroom and all the furniture inside, situated a few doors down from another much like her, stood as testament to that truth. A monument to the Princess of Friendship's generosity, kindness, and magic (of the friendship variety, not in the kind that had practical applications).

So why skimp this time? Was it because she left in a rush? Maybe, but Twilight would've had a taken a letter from her drawers if that were the case. And Starlight knew this for a fact, because she once retrieved such a thing when Celestia summoned them for their magical expertise, and in doing so, shuffled through contingency letters pre-written for every situation imaginable. Spike's curvy penmanship marked each; Starlight pitied him the day Twilight got this bright idea.

"Starlight!" By reflex she stopped and looked in the direction of that voice, where throngs of ponies milled about the market, and a white hoof waved over them all.

Was she a bad pony for instinctively thinking, Uh-oh, upon hearing the cry of "Darling!" In that polished tone of voice? No, Starlight decided, as she kept walking, pretending she didn't hear, pretending several pairs of eyes weren't now swiveled her way. Tact and sensitivity were never Rarity's strong suit, and there were ponies Starlight needed to see now.

"Darling!" Dainty little yips and grunts and "Pardon me!"s cut through the market's commotion until their speaker rounded a group of kids led by Cheerilee, and Twilight's Canterlot friends passing in the opposite direction.

"Star-light!" she cried, assuming her friend still hadn't heard.

That great friend who swallowed the urge to sigh. "I hear ya, Rares." She was trotting over, white as winter's first snowfall and not a hair out of place in her naturally coiffed mane. "You okay?" Her face was wrinkled like spoiled milk.

Rarity stammered silently, drinking in the pony before her from top (the very top), to bottom. She wasn't even hiding the fact that Starlight's maiming caught her eye. "I'm perfectly fine," she breathed, eyes roving, "I can't even imagine how you're feeling right now, though."

"Why? Something wrong with this picture?" It was so obvious what a pony obsessed with one's appearance would think of her. Starlight didn't care, and her carefree tone hopefully implied as such. "It should be pretty clear how I'm feeling!"

She was doing it again. Celestia dammit, Starlight was putting on an act again. But she couldn't just backpedal, now! Because then Rarity would go to Twilight, and...

Rarity's critical gaze zeroed in on her injury before settling upon her face. "Despite the risk of sounding repetitive, I sincerely cannot imagine."

Well, at least she wasn't making assumptions. Maybe. Knowing Rarity, she'd already done so before opening her mouth. Alright. How much did Twilight tell you?" Might as well rip the band-aid off now.

Blinking, Rarity began walking toward the lofty spire of Town Hall, away from the market's bustle. "I've not heard from the dear since dinner, last night." Right. When Starlight was not with Trixie, being productive with her time, and instead robbing Applejack and lazying about. "Why? Whatever gave you that idea? Was there I meeting I was supposed to attend?" Rarity fretted.

"Naw, no," Starlight laughed, "just little old me, theorycrafting over here." She grinned harder, trotting forth with Rarity falling in step by her flank. "So! How're things with you?"

"Starlight, I..." Rarity composed herself, eyes to the sky as she batted away a glimmer. Ever the queen of melodrama. "I've been thinking a lot, about these past few days. About what you've done and. And how it reflects on mine self and my Element."

Oh, boy. Another spiel about her actions. Starlight gave a curt, "Uh-huh." The market's stalls gave way to an empty neighborhood, clamoring Ponyvillians fading behind them.

"What you've done, darling, for our Twilight and what it'd cost you," her voice was soft, weak, "nothing in this world will ever express my gratitude. Or even come close to matching it." But of course, Rarity would try, make herself look good, and feel less lame than that crappy "party," if she held even a scrap of indignation toward the whole heinous affair. "Truly, with all our collective hearts, we thank you."

Starlight swallowed hard, gut knotting, as she brightly replied, "Then do us both a favor, and save any comments about 'fixing' my mane so that it covers what's probably a 'garish scar' in your eyes. M'Kay? M'kay." This conversation was one of the first things that dawned on Starlight after dwelling on her injury in the dead of night. Its inevitability was as sure as the rising sun.

The "makeover" from Rarity.

"I wasn't... Starlight, darling, if I'd given the wrong impression..."

Starlight dug her hooves into the pavement; Trixie needed her. "You didn't. Alright?" Starlight whirled round, her glare reflected in Rarity's big blue eyes. "I'm just throwing it out there right now. Nothing more, got it? I just don't wanna hear about that, at all. Okay? ...And don't deny you weren't thinking that, too, Rares." The unicorn was nearly a statue, her jaw trembling at half-mast. Starlight was such a great friend, snapping at those who were trying to help. She couldn't help but chuckle. "Look, I get it," she sighed. "You want me to feel good about how I look now. But the truth is that I don't mind. I don't care. I'm not ashamed."

Rarity straightened, eyes narrowed in a way that was reminiscent of a judging mother. "So your eyes to the ground, ears sagged, wandering the market aimlessly? That was pride I was seeing, was it not?"

Of course she would notice. Read into it, despite having more important things to do than waste time fretting about the "less fortunate."

"I get lost in thought, Rares. You know that." Neither of them needed this drama, especially when Rarity couldn't hope to understand the full extent of what she'd lost. It'd be pointless for Starlight and a distraction for Rarity. "Look, I appreciate your concern, but I don't need your help!"

"Starlight..." A hoof crossed her heart. "Darling, are you truly well? Now, I-I admire your strength, it's simply diamond-like! But, and forgive me if my tact is not up to your standards, you look positively dreadful! I-I mean, you don't look like you've been taking care of yourself at all!"

It was coming. It was so obvious Rarity was just easing the conversation to that apex: 'Let me help you. Fix you, fix your appearance so nopony has to see what you've lost when you walk into town.' Starlight tried her best not to seem bristled, because Rarity was only doing this because she cared. She couldn't forget this crucial fact.

"I know I look like crap. I've got a broken stump on my forehead, in case you haven't noticed."

"S-Starlight, that's not what I meant."

What else could it possibly be, then? "So what's the problem?!"

Rarity winced. "Keep your voice down, Starlight, we're in public," she whispered, then softly but louder she asked, "Listen, how about you and I take a stroll to the Boutique, so we can... talk about what'd happened. Mare to mare."

Starlight wrenched away; part of her selfishly wanted that, craved to just dump everything on Rarity, despite the business she'd built from the ground up. "Nah, I'm good." She continued down the path, toward Town Hall, where Trixie was always parked. "Listen, I'm meeting Trix to talk about something kinda important. You know how that pony gets when she's kept waiting!"

"W-would you like me to-?"

"No!" Whatever she was about to suggest, whatever juicy gossip for their friends Rarity was desperately trying to make her's, No. N-O, a big, fat, 'NO' to that.

Seconds ticked by. Starlight didn't stop, never looked back. She kept moving forward, pushing the encounter out of mind. It didn't matter, despite the silence, the utter lack of frantic, catch-up trotting, hurting worse than her horn did now. Worse than the utter lifelessness of the world she once knew so well.

With any of her close friends, Rarity would push and push no matter how annoying she herself would be perceived.

She was only trying to help, you stupid pony. You didn't have to be so nasty. But the damage was set in stone. Starlight didn't look back, even though her mumbled, "I'm sorry," was likely unheeded. Maybe next time.

IV.III - Friends in the End

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She's been right here, all this time. Waiting for me...

The notion of curling up in bed seemed even more appealing now than it was after Pinkie Pie directed her back home. Realizing the showmare's usual spot was void (and after a small bout of internal-freaking, rationalizing, and pitiful accepting), Starlight was ready to turn in at the late hour of two in the afternoon. She was in the midst of rationalizing her crummy behavior once again before Pinkie cornered and subtly corralled her into Sugarcube Corner. Starlight didn't notice while they conversed, but in retrospect it was a real relief that Pinkie never shot her any horn-related looks or comments, just general questions like, 'What'dja do today?' and 'How're the kids, Starly?' to name a few. Of course, "general" meant anything but with Pinkie. But it was still a breath of fresh air compared to everyone treating Starlight with either pity, horror, or trotting-on-eggshells conversation; or some combination of the three, like Twilight had been. And somehow, through Pinkie's uncanny magic, talks of their favorite board games and books lulled Starlight into a state comfortable enough to ask about Trixie, what happened last night.

Though, it wasn't totally perfect, because nothing ever was. It took Starlight time to accept that, but did Pinkie really have to be vague now? Couldn't she give her more than a peppy, 'Just look behind the castle, silly!' and capping off their conversation with a promise for an enormous bash. Starlight didn't even get to take the breath needed to decline before Pinkie backflipped over the counter, practically flying into the kitchen.

Ever the strange one, but a good friend. Maybe she'd be up to party in a few days, and if not, Starlight could at least entertain Pinkie for a few hours and pretend she was having fun. Their normal talk actually left her feeling light enough to think solely on that, the lovely simplicity of the thing. With Pinkamena Diane Pie, no less! A lightness took root in Starlight, something eager that she hadn't felt since before... well, since she discovered Flutter Valley.

But it was only a three minute trot, or a five minute walk, to Friendship Castle, towering over all as if it actually ran the town.
The homey cottages of Ponyville blocked it from sight consistently enough, until it came time to actually facing the proverbial beast, the music, and, perhaps scariest of all, an upset Trixie Lulamoon.

Never had the shade of her wagon been considered a chilly local. Unexpected, though, obvious, being heaped upon by another, greater darkness from the looming citadel: Friendship Castle, clutched in what looked like the claw of some great, crystalline beast.

Starlight should really knock on her door. The curtains, drawn, concealed any hint that its proprietor was home. It wouldn't hurt to check. She'd no reason to hesitate right now. Tiresome excuses, a peculiar aversion of the truth, her fears, these had no place in her friendship with Trixie. They never had! And according to Twilight, Maud told her everything already. There was nothing to hide, no reason to even try. Maud's bluntness assured her that Trixie's wild assumptions about Twilight were her own making; a different hurdle to jump, and an awkward one at that.

Potentially, Starlight reminded herself, walking the path to those shiny front doors. Trixie's only angry, furious... foaming at the mouth, apparently, because of Twilight. Starlight was hardly ever honest with herself, if she was being honest with herself. But her heart always told the truth, and it screamed so, locked tight in place.

As it had been since seeing the painted wagon boasting her best friend's colors and icons.

Starlight couldn't bear the sight anymore. "I'm afraid." Gosh, she was pathetic; but Starlight was more than okay with that, because it's what she'd always been, and she's okay with herself. Flaws and all. I am. I am! "I'm afraid of making Trixie m-mad. At... me."

Trixie was well-aware of how Starlight acted, why she did this. And if Maud reacted so poorly to Starlight's motivations, then Trixie... She's still here anyway. Starlight lifted her foreleg. I should, no, I have to talk to her! For Twilight's sake, at the very least. Her hoof rested where it once was, a depression in the wiry field rolling north for unseen miles.

Oh, my conversation with Maud went SO well. As did Twilight's, but Starlight forcefully bucked it out of mind before she keeled over from regret (for real this time). Oh gosh, why is my heart now smashing against my chest? Why were Staright's hooves bringing her closer to the wagon, not listening to her brain?

She should leave. She'll only mess it up with Trixie, too. "I can't do this." Starlight didn't even feel her lips move, but her cowardly voice was unmistakable. "I should do this," she gulped, "but, I can't. I can't lose her, too. The risk..." The words choked her, swearing she saw a curtain of the double doors twitch.

A draft, that's all it was.

...Inside a wagon. Yeah.

No.

Maybe? Maybe Starlight should just...

Her hoof's landing would remain a mystery forever, as Trixie busted out the front doors with a hard, wooden clap. "You walk away," a wild, sleepy glare settled into a look of cockiness, with a familiar smirk to match, "then Trixie will make you regret it for the rest of your life."

How much did you hear? Starlight shut her big mouth. So nothing would fly in, of course. "I guess that means I'm cursed with you, huh?" And she walked away.

She didn't get very far before the hum of magic and slamming doors cut through the song of summer cicadas, and then a galloping rumbled toward her.

A rising sense of relief exploded into a heart attack; warmth, weight, the touch of a pony Starlight hadn't felt since she'd hugged Twilight after waking up; the cheesy, cabbage-like odor didn't matter, it was hardly real. The force of it all knocked Starlight aside, forelegs locked around her neck. Tight. "Ach! Trix!" she gasped, the warmth of the grass seeping through her right side.

Just as darkness edged her sight, sweet, life-giving air filled Starlight's breast, only to be strangled out more in surprise than pain as a foal, or something just as light and ridiculous, struck her in the barrel.

"You absolute, stupid, idiot!" Trixie cried, punctuating every word with another pathetic smack. "You dummy! You complete and utter stupid, dumb, dummy!"

Starlight wheezed, chuckling. "Tell me how you really feel." A joke, but every word hit harder than their respective punch. "And make it something I don't know already, why don'cha?"

Soft panting answered; Trixie rolled off. "Okay," she sat up, "I'll say something that'll knock your socks off: I'm sorry, first of all." It was easy, here and now, to restrain from making an insensitive joke about Trixie and apologies. Noting this, she laid back on Starlight's belly like a pillow. "But you never came by anypony yesterday, not even the great Trixie! And then, when Maud came by..."

Trixie crossed her forelegs, a show of aloofness concealing uncomfortable ideas that'd undoubtedly been encircling her brain for... a week now.

Sweet Celestia. "I am so sorry you heard about this from somepony else... Trixie? I mean that." Starlight lifted her head, exchanging briefly with Trixie's glance back. "You don't have to believe me. I wouldn't blame you, especially with how I'd... been... acting," every word had come quieter than the last, her tone remaining anchored to that volume as she added, "and... what you've, might've heard from Maud."

"That you didn't think of how your friends would feel before running off to kill yourself?"

"I wasn't planning on doing that."

"Trixie hears uncertainty in your tone."

"Because I... just didn't care about myself! Not always, just at the time... At the time, there was only Twilight. That's why I've been such a crummy friend in everypony's eyes, okay? I was ready to give it all for her, because I was just that desperate to save my friend. I'd do the same for you, or Maud, or anypony! So why does it even matter? Why is everypony giving me so much crap for it?!"

An arrowhead of at least twenty glided down Starlight's field of vision. Then Trixie said, "I'm not." Starlight found her gazing into the deep blue above. "And neither are your friends! At least not Maud, I don't converse with your friends on the regular. No offense, Starlight, but they are way too emotional for Trixie's liking."

"That's not a bad thing, you know."

"Not for you, but emotions make Trixie uncomfortable." Starlight snorted, and from the corner of her eye Trixie was smirking, gazing across endless plains. "But we all care about you. And if this behavior scared Trixie, it's not unreasonable to understand why everypony's overthinking your motivations."

"My what?" She nearly stood up, had Trixie not been there warming her barrel. "What, like I'm done being alive or some nonsense?"

"No! It's like you're... Oh," Trixie shut her eyes, biting her lip, "how do I put this gently? ...Don't tell Maud about this, or anypony else for that matter, but... Trixie... didn't handle things the best."

When did she ever? "Yeah, ya flew off the handle and made Twilight think I'd told everypony that I sacrificed my horn at her request."

"UGH! First of all, tell Twilight I'm sorry for yelling at her yesterday."

"No," Starlight interrupted. "Own up to your mistakes and do it yourself, Trix. I'm serious."

"Noted," she muttered. "Anyway, second: for being so smart, that pony isn't exactly clever. I'd said she 'basically' did that, not literally!"

"Oh, that makes it so much better," drawled Starlight. "Well, whatever you're assuming here, Trix, Twilight had absolutely nothing to do with it. At all."

Trixie rolled her hoof. "Except, of course, being the 'friend' who started all this."

"Irregardless of the fact, it was me. And I'd greatly appreciate it if my best friend, at the very least, accepted that I'm my own pony who can make her own decisions. Even if she doesn't like them." Starlight blinked, everything suddenly snapping into clarity. "Huh, I'd been wanting to put those thoughts to words for days, and now suddenly I can!"

"Trixie has that effect on making ponies as great as they can be."

"Incidentally."

"Irregardless," Trixie sneered. The two shared a laugh a single passing cloud was pushed overhead, a tail of gold and silver flowing behind it. "Looks like rain is coming."

"Mm." Unless they had some during her little coma, Starlight hadn't seen rainfall since before Twilight fell ill.

Cicadas hummed, distant birds tweeted. A gentle breeze stirred Starlight's tangly, gross mane. Had she been wandering in public with such disregard for her appearance? Seriously? What a sight she must have been.

"Rarity and I crossed paths before I got here."

"Oh, boy." Trixie's tone implied exactly what Starlight felt hearing that initial, 'Darling!'

Starlight's humor died, remembering what she'd said. "I was unreasonably nasty to her. Even if I was right about her intentions, her reasoning wasn't unfounded."

"And these elusive 'intentions' might have been...?"

"That I was having trouble taking care of myself without my magic. Which is half-true." Starlight's gut just sank lower. "Terrible, right? Rarity wanted to help a girl out and I threw it in her face."

There was a prodding from Trixie's shoulders as she shrugged. "I wouldn't beat yourself up over it. Just say sorry and she'll forgive you. Those ponies are weird like that."

'Weird,' which, in Trixie's vocabulary, meant 'unreasonably kind.'

Picking up her head, Trixie's eyes were shut, her breathing steady; mouth a neutral line. "Trix?" She hummed in answer without so much as a twitch. "Are we... good?" Starlight fretted

For no reason, of course, as is tradition by this point: Trixie sat up, smiling over her shoulder. "We're always good, buddy." Then that smirk adapted a bit of a snarl as her brows furrowed. "But I'm still mad at you! Just, not as much as before." Starlight's nose gave underneath her azure hoof, brown-crusted, clearly in need of a hooficure, too.

"D'at's vair." Starlight bat her foreleg away. "Howsabout we stop rolling in grass and dirt, and hit the spa?" Trixie's mane was notably glossy in the sun, upon scrutiny. "And quietly ignore the fact that you and I have terrible hygiene while spiraling into sadness?"

Trixie was on her hooves in the blink of an eye, and a flash of pink. "I'm always up to something other than this feels-y talk."

"A-greed!" When she took Trixie's hoof, and found herself standing beside her best friend inside Ponyville Spa, Starlight was reminded of her now-hornless existence, and felt nothing react toward it; no clench of the chest, or a blow to the gut.

Even as Bulk, Aloe, Lotus, and the three patrons they were attending looked to them, surprised, she didn't care. "V'one moment!" Aloe called, beating the stallion splayed beneath her like pizza dough.

They didn't seem to care, either.

IV.IV - Stability

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Aloe and Lotus put any Bridleway actress to shame. Even with an unusual injury staring them in the face, they acted as though Starlight never lost it at all! It's almost like they're decent ponies, some quiet, naive part of her brain had surmised. As if Starlight knew anything about the gossipy spa ponies personally, how they really formed opinions. They could be extremely judging, like Rarity or Trixie.

Starlight isn't so crazy as to ogle them, either; for all she knew, they probably stole a glance when she wasn't looking, or stared from the peripherals of their welcoming eyes; or, more likely, their dedication to providing a comfortable atmosphere overwhelmed their natural, Equestrian tendency to balk at the unusual.

But that was too hopeful. In all likelihood, the twins communicated their feelings through those sharp, emotive eyes of theirs.

Yeah, those delighted looks were a facade; those flapping gums an effective trap, a distraction, and worked on Starlight in the heat of the moment. As she laid face-down, alone with her thoughts and her best friend beside her, the details just didn't make sense.

If they were trying to be polite, then they'd do what everypony had done, and act on that emotional urge to pity her. But from Aloe and Lotus, nothing. As if they already made their judgements when word spread of Starlight's scene at Hayburger yesterday.

Oh, gosh, that has to be it! A great weight ground up Starlight's back, Aloe's hooves. If Trixie, my best friend, really thought that I was 'done with life,' then what's stopping the rest of Ponyville from just up and assuming such nonsense?

Oh, gosh, the damage control for this might be even harder than it'll be for Twilight. No doubt about it. Starlight, now, really didn't want this pony on her. Judging her.

On deeper reflection, this massage needed calling off. Like, now.

“Ex’zhale, Missus Stah'light,” Aloe cooed for the hundredth time, moving to knead her barrel like dough. "Breathe deep, and clear you're mind." Starlight did, that sweet, milky scent of coconut oil snaking up her nose, hooking her in the brain. Intoxicating her, blossoming from her shoulder, painful, and oh so relieving at once.

"Y-you're definitely making that... Oh, jeez." Starlight bit down on a moan, and her foreleg. Her belly swelled in such a way she didn't hate. "How long've you been doin' this?"

"Z'is? Three, minutes," Aloe enunciated, sounding even prouder as she added, "On a grahnder scale, since I was seven." A deep, circular motion crept towards both cutie marks, irksome muscle-knots fleeing a centimeter ahead. Aloe will destroy the pests.

"Such tension, everywhere I touch!" she cried, the curl of her silky, cyan tail bobbing in tandem with her massaging. “Ponies do not do well with stress, you know. And z'e body always always speaks truth of how we treat ourselves, what we feel, even what we eat!" Starlight was a literal book for Aloe to read. Perfect. "So sorry if that triggered you, Missus Stah'light. My mouth, it is always a step ahead of my brain."

Her blush was almost perceivable; if the voice wasn't all there was of her, Starlight would have missed Aloe's quiver, her anxiety.

What did she have to be uneasy about?

Starlight, for both their sake, shut her analytical brain out. "And what does my body say about me?" Hopefully not as malnourished as Twilight fretted. Those cringe-inducing weeks of stalking the princess came to mind; memories of eating bi-daily with loose bits scrounged from the streets made the present a joke by comparison, but still... Starlight had been terribly wrong before. "I mean, sure, I've not eaten the bes-oh, gosh!" Her left flank exploded with blinding pleasure.

"Ah! One knot down," Aloe purred, speaking far, far away from the fluffy cloud embracing Starlight. "Now, as for the story 'neath z'e mare... You’ve not given your body time to, ah, breathe. Or, to acclimate, I should z'ay, if I were to guess. Your mah'scles are tense, even now, Missus Glimmer! If I may, dwelling on past woes do you no good. Especially in this moment, as makes it all z'e harder to provide a koala-ty service."

How wise, so sagely. Completely obvious. And yet Starlight almost forgot that "dwelling" was all she'd done and been doing, and it's done her no favors. Ever. "Mm, sorry," she managed, throat closing from equal parts pleasure and regret. "I know I've not helped it, but the thing is, it's!" A tight little ball of pain zipped down her left leg, and was simply gone.

"Exhale..." Aloe began kneading her rear-end like dough, hooves exuding sickly-sweet coconut oil aromas.

Sighing, Starlight's chin thumped back into her cradling forelegs. "The thing is it's, my woes're quite... quite present. Oh, my butt feels great, by the way. Thanks."

Her masseuse clacked down upon the floor, both hind hooves, keeping her front pair kneading the thin, clenching muscles of Starlight's back-left leg. "Do not v'orry, my dear. Locate your 'appy place, and let Aloe take care of you," purred the spa pony, her words wrapping Starlight like a blanket, beckoning a dreamlike state only a crazy pony would hesitate to dive in.

Nothing existed but a gentle, pleasurable tingle all over. Like magic. That's all reality really was, just magic given physical form. Starlight understood this better than most ever will, and once, she was a part of that, too. A pressure swelled in her belly, surging up to Starlight's face.

“So’oh, that’s the spot! So, it's a good thing Starlight's happy place is right here, hm?”

Starlight popped her eyes open in surprise, a tickle on both cheeks. "You're still awake?" Woah, Aloe does good work, Starlight thought, her coat glossy and groomed as each cheek rubbed against her foreleg.

"Ah-h'ah. Ah-h'ah. No, I just know how to relax. Unlike some ponies," Trixie teased.

Starlight had to restrain herself by remembering, It's just Trixie. She'd never understand something so nuanced. "Let's swap roles, Trix! See how cool and aloof you are when the tables are turned."

A chuckle. "Sweetie, Trixie's always acting."

It made sense, she did usually cover up shortcomings she's painfully aware of with bravado and self-hype. She could be acting right now! "Wait, what do you mean by-?"

"Oh, did I say that out loud?" Trixie made a tittering noise. "My mouth runs off with some ridiculous notions sometimes. Trixie is great and genuine in everything she does!"

Starlight grinned. "Okay, Trix. Sure thing." She shut her eyes.

"Z'at is dopamine drowning your thoughts. It extinguishes fears, loosens lips."

"Aloe," admonished Lotus, "do not interfere with z'ere healing. Z'is is their spa experience, not ours."

A thin fog drifted before them, white watercolors swirling upon a chestnut canvas. Lips parted, Starlight breathed deep, trying not to be crushed by the sauna's humid atmosphere.

"I thought that pony'd never leave us alone." Trixie plopped down as did Starlight, a pitched whine piercing the sauna's stillness as an aura flashed into existence about her horn, their towels, and a ladle steeped in a bucket beside the coals. "Tryna tell us how to enjoy the spa..." she grumbled, the three magenta stars cutting the gloom apart; their towels stacked, settling between them, the other lifting the dripping ladle to the room's centerpiece.

"We did do it wrong," Starlight's 'you know' was drowned in the apparent seething of some great serpent as Trixie dumped water upon the ruddy stones. "It's not like this is our first time doing this." Plumes of white, sweltering heat slapped them in the face, smelling of sweet cedar and many potent oils.

"If we wanted the sauna, then as customers we have that right," said Trixie.

"Boy, you're acting more entitled than usual," Starlight joked.

Instead of acknowledging it, Trixie continued, "And if we wanted those ponies' advice, you'd have asked them for it."

Ah, so that's why she's mad. "I didn't realize you became my mother." A sideways glance revealed the unicorn setting her jaw, chin jutted forth. "Oh, come on, Trixie. If I wanted you to be my hero, I'd have asked for it." Starlight slid her foreleg off her belly, a heavy, cloying imprint left upon her coat. "H'oh, this is what I needed, for real..."

"You wish Trixie'd swoop in and save you." It was amazing Trixie could pull off her 'Great and Powerful' act in this sleep-inducing heat. "But, nay, it was a total breach of privacy, and that's the problem here. They were eavesdropping, for pony's sake!"

"They were literally on top of us."

"Still!" After two seconds, it was clear that's all she had.

If in her place, Starlight would rebuttal that it wasn't the twins' job to give their clients two cents, even the obvious stuff Starlight really ought to have ingrained, being a semi-adjusted adult of society. On the other hoof...

"Are you jealous they gave me some helpful advice?" Starlight couldn't suppress her smile, especially when Trixie looked to her utterly dumbfounded.

But instead of rejecting the very notion of what was a ridiculous statement to her, Trixie only asked, "The pink... Aloe," she corrected, as Starlight's gaze sharpened almost hearing the label, "she was actually helping?"

Somepony wasn't hearing me thank her up and down. Steam wafted up from the low, lazy glow within the basin-thing; things were lighter, she noticed, even the bench beneath her. Starlight wasn't afraid to say, "A little bit. Got a bad history of letting things fester, you know. And Aloe, she made it so easy for me to just... let go. Even though I know that won't last forever. For now, I won't let anything bother me." Trixie, who was the reason she even obtained this advice, turned away, staring ahead as well. "This was a great idea, Trix. Going for the sauna."

From the corner of her eye, a proud smile spread across the magician's muzzle. "What can I say? I'm a spontaneous pony."

It was for that reason Starlight originally enjoyed Trixie's company; there was no guessing what she'd do, but her actions, her mind, was always clear. There were few secrets between the two of them. "Yeah, what actually made you wanna do more than the massage? Be honest. This whole trip was kinda off-the-cuff, even for us."

"Uh-"

"Steam's thinning, by the way."

"You do it." Starlight let that stupidity hang long enough for Trixie to realize. "Uh, I mean-"

"I'm hornless, remember?"

"Right, yeah. Sorry."

"You're fine," Starlight assured lightheartedly. Trixie, frowning, ladled more water over the coals, suffocating the sauna in a milky atmosphere, hot and moist like the inside of a mouth. Tingles shuddered all over Starlight, she couldn't help but sigh in pleasure. It was almost too good, her belly writhing, restless.

"And that, my friend, is why," said Trixie, bumping her with a hoof. "That look on your face? You must not have smiled like this in forever."

"Not since the last time we came here." Starlight grinned, and smiled deeper being regarded with a flat stare. "Oh, I'm just teasing! You're absolutely right, Trixie. This's what I needed after all this drama and craziness."

"Good. I'm glad."

Trixie's voice was so soft, so genuine, it was almost hard to believe that was really her. It formed a tightness in Starlight's chest, a twinge of guilt for forgoing any mention of Fizzlepop out of fear of making Trixie spiral into a bout of thinly-veiled insecurity. Her first time meeting Maud was too pitiful not to forget.

Starlight smiled at the memory, a thing of the past, as were a great many things. Beads of sweat rolled down her neck, face, belly, all over, her troubles and woes mixed with them. Warmth like the hottest, most sweltering summer day filled her lungs, touching every part of her, seeping into the very depths of her core. Starlight had no problems, not here. Not with Trixie, who only wanted her happy, at least for the time they spent together. "Thanks... a lot."

"No sweat!" She flicked a hoof at Starlight, sprinkling her to both their amusement.

"But I mean it," she continued. "I appreciate you talking to me like this. Like nothing's different. Heck, even the way you forgot I was hornless was just amazing."

"I... totally understand." Probably not, but Trixie wasn't the kind of pony to look compliments under scrutiny. "Speak nothing of... oh, phooey, I can't keep up the act," she muttered, just as softly. "Don't bother thanking me for being your best friend, okay Starlight? This is what we do for each other."

Something bucked Starlight in the chest, so hard she frowned. A pressure in her eyes welled. Maybe it was the steam fogging her mind, smothering that anxious little voice in her brain. Perhaps the weight of everything she'd ignored was finally breaking her, all the friends she hurt, what Starlight'd done, and lost.

And still had. It all congealed inside and made her unusually courageous. "So, even if I wanted to cry, here and now? You wouldn't judge or make fun of me?"

A weak gasp, maybe a laugh, maybe a sob. "Am I really that shallow, Starlight? Is... Is that why you've avoided me?"

"I don't know," Starlight answered before she could think twice. "I've been stupid lately, alright? I've just been afraid of everypony, everyone I see on the streets. And I've no idea why... It's like I knew this whole time I did something stupid, and in my head it's like that is all anypony thinks about. It's stupid and selfish, I know, but..." The silence killed her; Trixie awaited her to spill it all. To be done crying, bellyaching. Then she would say it's all okay, for Starlight was strong and it was expected of her by this point. Even Luna said so. Starlight would continue not being totally okay with it, no matter how much she wanted to be.

"But it makes so much sense, because ponies are that judgemental." Trixie always found a way to make every hangout special, unexpected, great, and so very powerful. "Trust me," she added, smile audible, "I know what that's like."

"Gosh," Starlight swallowed, forcing it all down, deep into her groggy, sweating brain, "is there any way to go back in time and take back how I'd acted? Then I'd tell myself to just... well..."

Starlight could only shrug. There wasn't anything she could realistically do differently. "Ponies like to act as if they'd make different choices looking back. The thing is, they made their choices because that's who they are. They didn't know any better." They'd be stuck in their own heads.

"Nothing would change, would it?" wondered Trixie. "No matter who'd grab you by the legs, kicking and screaming, you'd still end up doing anything to save Twilight. And those... things, you were talking about back there." Starlight grimaced, still feeling that Aloe's hooves stop upon her shoulders, hearing of another foalhood story made real. How could she be so deep into the massage, that she forgot who was doing the stupid thing? "Those things would only want one thing from you anyhow." Trixie's voice, and the heat filling Starlight's breast as she inhaled, melted any tightness away.

"I guess?" Whether there was a reason they wanted such a useless extremity for payment, or this was all part of Starlight's fate as they'd ordained, was maddening enough to make her forget it entirely with a deep breath, a spicy-sweet smell prickling her sinuses. "Nothing would change about my decision either way, Trix," Starlight sighed. "If it came down to either me or Twilight, I'd pick her every time." The silence scared her out of opening her eyes. "I'm sorry, Trixie. That's just who I am."

"I know." She sounded sad.

Almost disappointed. "Trix?" Starlight turned...

...and Trixie, mirroring her, was smiling. "That's why I'm really, really glad that I'm your best friend. Right?"

She was. She really, truly was. "Thanks, Trixie." Starlight smirked, adopting a joking tone with her frail voice as she clarified, "Thanks for not demonizing me. It's a relief to hear somepony appreciating what I'd done."

"Tch." Trixie glared ahead. "'The Princess of Friendship' my plot. She oughta realize how great she has it, being with you."

"No, she's absolutely grateful! Though, you wouldn't think it if you'd talked to her."

"I did, and I don't think it. She doesn't sound 'absolutely grateful' to me at all." Trixie's sneer bounced off the wooden walls.

"It's a little more nuanced than that. Unfortunately. See, she feels at fault for making me lose my horn, right? And I get it. I hate it, but I'd definitely be in the same boat if she'd went and done that for me. So I get why it's hard for her to feel comfortable with being a hundred-percent grateful."

Trixie snorted. "She can't accept that you're a big pony who can make big pony-choices, can't she? And neither can you. Twilight's the one who's your mother, Starlight. Not me. Trixie's like your cool cousin."

The last thing Starlight wanted was to get in an argument about Twilight. So she filed the debate away for another time, and replied, "There's a broad umbrella of descriptors for you, Trix. And I'm sorry, but 'cool' is not one of them."

She knew Trixie would be flustered, which is why she barked out laughing when the pony snapped, "Oh, and like you are?"

"Definitely not! But I'm not ashamed to admit it."

"Trixie is great and powerful; one cannot be great and powerful and, and uncool."

Starlight could think of a few, key moments when her friend demonstrated that such a thing was possible.

Starlight frowned. "You really do have selective memory sometimes." Being neck-deep in gross, egg-smelling mud was a fitting local for this horse manure of an argument.

"What?" She winced, Trixie's shrill voice right beside her. "How was that uncool?"

"Jeez, Trix, I dunno! Wigging out worse than Fluttershy is probably the lamest thing anypony could do in a crisis situation!"

"I was justified in being terrified! Our home was being invaded by love-sucking monsters!"

"Former monsters, Trix. It's attractive to be politically correct."

"Whatever! How could you make fun of me for that?" Trixie actually whimpered. Thank goodness cucumber slices prevented her from seeing if it was genuine; Starlight might have actually felt bad.

"I didn't say it was unjustified," she worded carefully. "I understand why you were scared, which is why I never, ever brought it up until now. The thing is, I needed you to work with me more than anything. And you, well, weren't. Like, at all. You chose to distract yourself by sparring with Discord when so much was on the line, for one."

"I told you I was sorry! I even baked you an apology cupcake!"

"You bought me an apology cupcake. And licked the frosting off anyway."

"Just a dab!"

"It was my apology cupcake!"

"I bought it though!"

"Sweet Celestia, you're impossible sometimes." Starlight set her head back against the cushion.

The next instant her friend barked, "Ha! I win. Trixie's cool."

What was so surprising? Leave it to Trixie's legendary deafness toward any form of criticism, it's make even her best friend go nuts. "And one who willfully ignores all the other times I just brought up."

"It was a foolish argument from the start. You just enjoy lording over the Great Trixie!"

"Dude, really?"

Trixie snorted. "Like," she grunted in a deep voice, "since when have you started saying 'dude,' brah?"

Starlight's eyes popped open to a pair of moist, green screens. "Swiftly ignoring that," because I don't even know why, "just because I surrendered doesn't mean you've won the argument, m'kay?"

"Keep telling yourself that," Trixie sang.

"You are impossible sometimes. What kind of logic are you running on, kid? A foal's?" 'Kid,' Starlight said, even though she was about three and a half years older.

Trixie cackled, like the lovable witch that she was. "And I'm the one who cherry-picks memories? I'm not the arrogant foal who made decisions on 'the road to friendship' because she believed she was right."

Starlight swore her cucumber slices began to sizzle, her face heating like a frying pan. "Ugh, you had to bring that up?"

"Well?"

"What are you trying to prove here?"

"That...! I don't... quite know!" Trixie sighed, dropping her weak bravado. "That you aren't perfect, if I were to hazard a guess. It's silly now that I'm thinking about it." It was as if she'd only acted on instinct, always, with little thought to her actions.

How irresponsible, but Starlight had no room to cast judgement. Of any kind. "I never thought I was perfect, Trixie."

"I know..."

"I make selfish, boneheaded decisions on this subconscious basis that I'm the smartest mare in the room." She smiled, huffing a laugh so Trixie wouldn't think this a pouty-pony session. "Why do you think we're even here in the first place?"

"To relax. To forget about your woes, and dismantle all these imaginary problems."

"Huh?"

"Starlight, whatever's going through your mind, as your best friend I can guarantee that most of it's crap."

"Well, then." Beneath her jokingly flustered response, Starlight really was taken aback by this. It was in-line for Trixie, but she seldom held such beliefs for ponies that didn't directly affect her life.

"It doesn't matter what other ponies tell you, or what you build up in your head. Okay, Starlight? In my opinion, you've proved time and again that you knew exactly what you were doing. And if you don't believe me, just ask the Two Sisters. Or Pharynx. Or even Princess Twilight, when she decides to get her brain out of her fat, purple butt."

Starlight opened her mouth, staring into the moist covers over her eyes. She shut it, then opened it again. What could she possibly say to that? She couldn't agree, but... so many problems would still exist had she never acted.

Was Trixie, in a rare moment, absolutely right? "Trixie," was all she could manage to say.

"And here's another truth for you, bestie: horn or not, you're still my great and powerful assistant!"

Starlight felt something heavy sink deep inside her, her mind flashing with images of ponies laughing at the idea of a magician's magic-less assistant. "Uh..." Or a thousand eyes drawn on her crippling injury, in the likeliest and most horrible scenario.

"Don't start getting cold hooves on me now, Starlight. Where's your passion?"

Gone, along with my horn and my reason for even joining you. But Starlight had no idea how to put that, or is she ought to in the first place. But she couldn't just say no to her friend who'd done nothing but help today.

"Trust me," Trixie resumed, like it was nothing. "Once you're on stage, you'll realize how much your presence adds to my Ponyville shows!"

She just wants to help me feel normal again... Almost all of Starlight's being wanted to cry and hug Trixie just for being such an amazing friend, but on the other hoof...

"Thanks, Trixie. But I'm gonna have to give that a hard pass."

A jeering remark was to be expected, beginning the first of many explanations before Trixie fully understood.

Trixie was an unexpected mare, in more ways than one. Her demonstration of such in the sauna, and outside her wagon, reminded Starlight of that.

But in a familiar way, she, too, was wholly predictable. "Wwwhat?"

It was like paint, dried and flaking, prickling her face with the slightest of touches. "I don't know why this is so hard to understand," Starlight enunciated, teeth gnashed; to scratch this stuff away like it were an outbreak of pox, that would be a dream come true.

"Oh, I understand it perfectly, Starlight."

Starlight swallowed the drive to scrape all over, all her being focused on Aloe's clawing through her mane, even as it left a fresh, glowering trail of itchiness along her scalp.

"I'll say it again, Starlight: you're afraid of failure."

"That's so not true!" It's sad how easily Trixie kept her mind off all this; that Starlight felt so offended by a simple, hard truth.

"Uh, yah it so is!" Trixie laughed, over Lotus's murmuring of, 'Settle down, Missus Lulamoon. "It's practically your brand at this point."

"Oh, please." Aloe left her mane as it was, heavy, yet lighter from her face. "Name one instance, Trixie. Humor me."

"The Sunset Festival at Our Town?"

A sinking feeling was uprooted in a lurch as someone, no, merely Aloe, took Starlight's foreleg in between her hooves. "Oh, come on! This is reaching. That wasn't fear, it was guilt." She winced at that weak excuse. "Amped by fear, if I'm being honest."

"Point being, you were too afraid of being judged to even try becoming their friends."

"Hey, if you were me, you'd feel the same!"

"Ha! Unlike you I meant to torture somepony." Trixie really did have selective memory; not that that made Starlight's intentions any less horrible. "A whole town's worth, if I'm not mistaken," she continued, very soft. "And any who laughed at me got it, too. After Trixie's humbling, you know what she did?"

"What?" Starlight asked, genuinely curious.

"Trixie sucked it up, accepted what she'd done, and returned to each and every town with her head held high!"

Starlight said nothing, realizing her friend was totally right, and that she had greater courage than the mare refusing to face the music. Again.

"How about a recent example?" Trixie continued, confident, in her head clearly on a roll. "You were afraid of seeing me because you thought I'd be upset with you." Of course, this would be brought up again. Trixie forgave easily but never, ever forgot. "And you've known me longer than those wasteland scrounging ponies, at that!"

Factually incorrect, but it wasn't the point. "Didn't we already go over this?" Starlight whined, because she really didn't want to relive the jaws of guilt clamped upon her heart.

"Sure, but I'm still confused about why you'd think something so badly of me, personally."

"It wasn't personal, that's the thing."

"Exactly." Starlight's gut sank, and not solely to Trixie's serious change in tone. "You've just admitted to making the same mistakes over and over, am I right?" She already knew that answer, another from Starlight was unnecessary. Not to mention, incredibly rude. She'd no right to bring this up again in front of dang Aloe and Lotus, as if she didn't even care about Starlight's feelings in this moment, at all. "Come on, Starlight. Break the wheel already! What are you waiting for?"

She was just trying everything to force something upon Starlight. "The end result of all this is to get me to join your show, right?"

"Of course that's something I want," said Trixie, annoyed, but carefully. "But in the end, I want you to stop hurting yourself like this. It sounds awful to always be afraid of your closest friends judging you."

That's because ponies did; they always hid their true feelings from one another. Starlight, after all, would never tell Trixie she's overbearing and annoying at times (like this very moment). Twilight may be honest to a fault, but right now she probably thought Starlight an insensitive, bad friend, and for the sake of their friendship it was in line for her to hide this inside.

"Okay, Trixie. Let me make this as clear and honest as possible, so you don't think I'm hiding a single thing from you."

"Okay?"

"I don't. Wanna be. In your show. For the fifty-millionth time, I am not feeling it in the slightest. Yeah, I don't want ponies staring at my horn. And, yeah, I can see myself having fun with the role, like always. But things aren't the same anymore: I'm a magicless mare, Trixie! And don't get me wrong, it was about helping a friend first. But a lot of the fun was in..." The thought lodged itself in her throat. "It was fun doing magic with you... Anyway, the fulfillment I'd have gotten from this gig is gone now, and it'll never be replaced." Silence, but the soft scrape of a file on Trixie's hoof; the other of Starlight's was now being kneaded by Aloe. "I'm sorry. I really, really am. But there is zero motivation for me to get on that stage again."

"...Okay Starlight. I understand. I'll stop being pushy." And that was that - their argument petered out like a weak little flame. Knowing Trixie, it'd probably roar to life on the eve of her next show. For the sake of her friend and all she'd done for her, today and long before then, Starlight might stop playing the timid, neutered animal and return to being normal Starlight Glimmer.

She forced down the dull ache inside and focused on the muscles beneath in her leg, flattening and rolling, Aloe's hoof polished in scented oils rubbing down her coat. She was going to look normal again leaving her, perhaps she'd feel the same, too.

As if a new manecut would change anything. Starlight really was a foal, wasn't she?

She sure acted like one when she got upset. Trixie once told me she coped with her mistakes by never thinking about them. Advice that was borderline good. But it helped Trixie face the future without any fear. Yet Starlight was the strong pony, the one who was praised while rolling in the filth of her mistakes like a piglet in mud.

Trixie, comparatively, kept her eyes ahead.

After all, dwelling on one's past never yielded any favors. Whatever Trixie's was, before her first encounter with Twilight Sparkle, it burned this knowledge in her mind forevermore. It wasn't a particularly wise approach (having burned conceitedness into her personality), but it was a sound design when comparing the two together.

Starlight would never be as strong as Trixie, never live up to everypony's expectations, if she didn't truly learn.

And she would never learn by repeatedly getting lost in her own imagination; by retreating to it when things seemed a little out of her control.

Control... Sweet Celestia, it always came back to this, didn't it?

"Trixie?" A soft grunt. "Ever since I woke up, I've had it in my head that everypony else were the ones acting weird. I wanted everything back to the way it was, before Twilight got sick. But the thing is, I'd no idea what that even looked like until today." Trixie wasn't the sole teacher in this, but Fizzlepop, too, reminded Starlight of what normalcy looked like. Ironic, considering she was anything but. No, not normal. Normal isn't a thing - but Fizzle was a pony who acted as if nothing was different.

And Starlight definitely wanted that again. Every day. Whatever it took, it'd be worth the effort. Starlight's heart rose and rose, so high it did, she felt it could reach Elysium.

"Starlight?"

"Ah! Oh, sorry! Sorry, got lost in thought," she tittered.

"I'll say! What changed? You sound more upbeat now than you have all day. I didn't even notice until now."

There were probably a ton of things about her presentation Starlight was blind towards. "This... this'll sound kinda silly, Trix, but I think I realized my problem."

"Oh? Do tell!"

Starlight didn't feel hot under her mask as she announced, "It's me. I'm the one who's acting bizarre. And I just expected the world to treat that like it's normal when I just can't."

"I could have told you that," joked Trixie.

Luna's words floated in her brain, twisting around images of Starlight manipulating her friends like puppets in her own little nightmare. I'm responsible for my own mistakes. And successes; how I make the world react to me is up to me, and me alone.

"I think I've known this, too, at least for a little while," she confessed. It was so stupidly obvious that Starlight just wanted to crawl in a hole and die, but that wouldn't be very productive. "And if I really want this, whatever 'normal' looks like now," like this whole day, from Fizzlepop's table to this very chair, her best friend getting a hooficure alongside her, "I have to be the one to do it."

Silence, and it went on a second long enough for Starlight to wonder why Aloe and Lotus had zero input. They hadn't given any since their massage, of course, but still. That didn't stop them before...

"I'm gonna be honest, Starlight," said Trixie, softly, "I don't understand a lot of what you're saying. But," boisterously, she finished, "if there's anyway I can help, just say the word! Your great and powerful best friend shall any way she can!"

The mask cracked beneath her eyes, cool air prickling Starlight as she grinned. "You already have, Trix. Thank you." She thought, then asked, "Is there something special you'd like to do after this? My treat!"

"Oh, goody! I've got options."

"Yeah! Anything you want. I'd like to make it up to you, so, if there's something you'd like..."

Another brief silence, but this time Starlight could hear the devilish smirk in Trixie's voice as she echoed, "You wanna make it up to me?"

The trek rendered Starlight plopping down upon the grassy, wrapping her silky-smooth tail around her, as the magician faced her and said, "Alrighty, then! Teach Trixie how to shoot fire!"

That explained why they were on a hill, overlooking Ponyville, as opposed to practicing in the castle like always. "I thought you wanted to practice for your show," panted Starlight.

"I do! Wouldn't Trixie's presentation look amazing if she conjured up magical pyrotechnics?"

A thousand horrible images came to mind, making Starlight's chest hurt more than it already did. "Uh, it'd be breathtaking, I've no doubt! But pyromancy is a ball park I never even tried to study. Sorry, Trix."

"What?" She gawked, as if awaiting a deeper explanation that didn't exist. "You, the most magically-apt pony in the world, never graced an entire school of magic?"

Having forgotten all about her horn, Starlight chuckled, breath finally steadying. "Hey, thanks for the compliment. But there's at least six ponies alive today who were more powerful than me. That aside, I hadn't learned it because I never trusted my emotions enough to give it a shot." Trixie's face fell, realizing in all likelihood that she was just as bad, if not worse, in this respect. "According to myth, every pony practitioner or pyromancy is said to lack eyebrows. Except for Princess Celestia, of course, since she's the godmother of the art... Trixie, chin up! It's inherently uncontrollable. Even I'm smart enough not to play with fire!"

"Ugh, fine. Continue living on the safe side, Starlight. Trixie will let you sleep comfortably knowing her best friend is stuck with subpar fireworks."

Feeling cheeky, Starlight beamed. "I can live with that!"

"Meh. Fine, if we won't do that," Trixie took a wide stance, "then drill me on the firing of laser beams!"

Starlight stared, then facehoofed; all spells involved "laser beams" in some way. Having seldom spoken with non-mages about magic, it took a moment to deduce the average pony's perception of a concussive blast. "Right," she realized. "Okay. Now, I'm not saying 'no,' but should I be concerned for your future fans? These aren't very flashy, nor're they a safe substitute for fireworks."

"I know that," Trixie snapped. "Quit worrying about me. This is purely for self-defense."

Her proud little smile was unshakable, even under Starlight's leveled stare. "Trixie, nopony will ever go after you. Why waste time learning this, when we could be expanding your transfiguration?"

Trixie bristled at the notion. "I'll have you know this won't be a 'waste,' Starlight!" Oh, that's what she was offended over. Strange sense of pride. "You wanted to make it up to Trixie, and if pyro-fancies or whatever they're called, are off the table, she'll have to settle for laser blasts." Starlight could only stare, ready to pry into her true intentions. "This is my demand!" Trixie gave a little stomp.

Starlight rose her hooves, hoping to ease this peculiar, heated reaction. "Alright, alright! Sorry for asking, I won't bother you. Just don't go firing this willy-nilly like you do every time I teach you a new spell."

"Pssht! When has Trixie ever?"

"Don't make me start." She had to be joking. She was. For the sake of Starlight's sanity, Trixie was only trying to push her buttons.

"Okay, now," Trixie re-adopted her battle stance, "what's the secret to doing a laser blast, Master?"

Starlight took a second to think, stroking her tail while doing so, feeling its smoothness. It felt good, inside and out, to be presentable again. "Like all magic, it's connected to our emotions. A concussive blast is a concentrated manifestation of... hm, of a sort of determination, I'd say. You have to see what you want to hit, visualize it being zapped, and-"

A short, sharp whine preceded a boom that blew Starlight's mane back, and apparently, Trixie flat on her back. "...OW!" she snarled, smokey fingers snaking from her face toward the heavens.

"Aaand let it blow up in your face before I have a chance to finish!" Starlight stood and offered a hoof. "Patience, young one."

"Ouchies..." Trixie winced, staggering as Starlight helped pull. "What more is there? This's so simple, I've seen you do this countless times with no problem!"

"That's because it took me years to master it. You're not gonna cast it without thinking on your first attempt!" Trixie groaned dramatically. "Oh, quit fussing! Next time, find the right fit for you, the right feeling. Then you let the power begin to well. Once you can do that without thinking, then comes the breakneck firing rate."

"Okay, fine! Let's give this another shot..."

Trixie had picked up transfiguration quickly. She got the mechanics of teleporting in no time. They'd needed refining, sure, but on a fundamental level Trixie had a bit of magical power on her side. But the sky soon took on a burnt orange, streaked with pinks and purples, by the time they both deteriorated.

"Ahhhhhhhhrgh," bellowed Starlight. Trixie opened her mouth. "Ahhhhhhhhrgh!"

"What in Equestria are you droning like that for?!"

"I'm mocking you, because you're not listening to me: stop. Being. So angry. Cool your jets; focus. This isn't a brain-dead easy spell like levitation."

"How about you say something different?"

"I didn't even know it was possible to come up with this many metaphors until today. How else do you want me to explain it? I can't exactly give you a demonstration."

"That Tempest pony could do it no problem!"

"Tempest isn't casting a spell, Trixie! She's just firing off pure, magical energy, which is incredibly dangerous, might I add." Trixie dropped to her butt, forelegs crossed. "Oh that's real mature." Starlight marched around her, as she'd done the last couple hours. "Come on, when've you ever called it quits?"

"There's a difference between quitting and letting go of an impossible dream." Trixie's grimace softened, a pitiful sort of emotion coming to surface. "I want to learn this quickly. But if it's going to take me years to get as good as you, then there's gonna be no point. So let's just get some dinner, okay?"

Always the dramatic. "Trixie, you can do this. It's easy. Just focus on one thing, one emotion. That's all there is."

"How exactly am I supposed visualize, feel, and power up all at once?" Trixie wondered, as Starlight took a seat across from her, hind legs crisscrossing. "I still need to pour everything into teleporting, and that's supposed to be an easy spell!"

Uh-oh. She was angry. It was in one ear, out the other (more so than usual) now. "It takes practice," was the easy answer, but she pointed to her temple as she had a thousand times already, adding, "and stability. You'll get it in time. There's no rush."

Trixie furrowed her brows, glaring at the grass between them. "Ha!" Trixie barked out of nowhere. "If I can't get it now then I'll just have to work harder. No rushing? Stability? Starlight Glimmer, you've got alotta nerve, toting something like... that..." Her face, voice, and words fell at once, and Starlight didn't register this immediately.

She smirked. "Please. As if you're any better?" Trixie continued to stare, neither dumbfounded nor shocked. There was nothing in her eyes. Starlight was ready to ask what the look was about, until she followed the blank stare piercing through her.

Past her shoulder, a sight brought Starlight's entire body scrambling up and around. Whatever the hay they were just talking about was gone, too, as a boulder-like weight took place within.

"Maudie," said Trixie, the sound of grass shuffling behind Starlight, continuing on her level, "how'd you find us?"

There was no reading that unfazed glare, surely zeroed in on Starlight's soul. "I want to talk," she announced. "Can we?"

It was such a simple question; too simple to make any sense to Starlight, considering the mare before her. Since when did Maud ask for permission? She'd always stated what she wanted, thought, or felt; at least around Starlight.

Was she angry? Wanting to settle the score? No, she wanted to "talk;" obviously about yesterday, certainly to get her feelings out, or Starlight's. Hopefully both. Goodness, Starlight hoped that's why she was here.

Or maybe she was here to break off their friendship for good.

Chest tight, Starlight sprung with an answer before she could instinctively decline. "O-of course! We can... yeah."

IV.V - The Rock-Solid Friendship

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"What?" Maud struggled to pick up social cues. Maybe this was a strange joke. Trixie's presence implied it was.

Starlight blinked, as confused as Maud felt. "Uh, 'what' what?"

"Hey, Maud, you better watch what you're say-mmf!" Starlight's tail clamped across Trixie's mouth, who shot back a severe 'Shut up, I'm serious' look.

Maud was starting to believe that Pinkie was right, and that she'd grossly misjudged Starlight. "You want to speak to me." Shame lodged the rest in her gut, like so much grainy regolith swelling it from within.

Starlight tilted her head. "Well, you asked! What? You thought I was gonna say 'No, Maud! Go away!'" She laughed gently. Awkwardly.

Genuinely.

This wasn't Starlight lying badly again. This was simply Starlight, minus a horn. "Possibly.”

Her friend reeled a little, frowning as if—no, she did care how Maud felt...

Simply Starlight. Minus a horn.

Just like yesterday.

'I don’t think she cares as much as you say she does,' Maud had told her sister, trying not to sound too upset. 'I don't exist until I’m right in front of her.' And when Pinkie asked how Maud could entertain such petty stupidity: 'You did force us to become friends. Maybe Starlight felt bad for me and only stayed around out of obligation.'

Pinkie really let her have it after that.

"Maud," Starlight swallowed, bearing a smile full of assurance, "it's really convenient that you found us, actually. I've been wanting to talk to you since our fight, but... But I never knew when there'd be a good time for you. I-If ever... Stupid, huh?"

She was just as terrible at masking her pain as yesterday. 'You caused this, you know,' Boulder whispered from his little pouch. 'You hurt your best, non-rock friend, Maudileena! What're you gonna do now?'

Fix this, Maud thought to him. "It's understandable. I didn't overlook your mistakes as a friend should. I apologize for that, and..." for ever doubting you, "...I owe Pinkie Pie an ice cream cake."

Starlight's smile strained as sweat beaded the bare half of her forehead. "Oh? And why's that?" She was obsessing over that last part, theorizing, as she was wont to do in crisis mode.

For her sake, Maud didn't tell the truth. Or speak at all. How could she?

When she'd arrived on Maud’s cavern-step after her friends' flopped dinner party, eyes downcast and ruddy, Maud hoofed Pinkie her last bucket of vanilla bean without a second thought. It was a cold comfort to see her muzzle plunge into the ice cream; it meant she didn't feel quite as horrible as her big sister. She could tell something was wrong, of course, because Maud literally said nothing up to that point. Burning inside, tongue-tied, responsible as all Tartarus—how could she have possibly spoken? A feeling like tektite fresh from the stars smoldered all day, scorching her with its emotional energies, fighting for a mental calm that tipped too far left or right for Maud to handle.

It left her confused. Scared. Cowardly, above all.

Starlight, steeped in bliss, didn't deserve to have that taken away because of Maud's inability to get over herself. "I didn't think you'd want to speak with me," was all she planned on disclosing. A desire tugged inside her, yanking out the rest: "It'd only be fair. I rejected you because I was angry. Pinkie was right, though. And now I owe her a cake." And now Maud was rambling.

It was her only bulwark against spiraling into fury yet again. Even though it was all so much: Starlight's denial, and the proud declaration that she didn't care for her friends' feelings; Maud's empty threat, her regret after, the self-assurances and justifications, then the disgust she was left with. The realization that she'd overreacted, yet still felt hurt. And she didn't know what to do or how to feel about any of this. It was torture.

Like, dragons devouring gemstones by the score, kind of torture.

"I'm sorry," they said as one. Maud gawked.

Starlight mirrored her, and even dropped her mouth open. It was like they were in sync again, right down to the uncanny timing of their apologies. "Why are you sorry?" Maud asked.

"Why are you sorry?" Starlight replied, as behind her Trixie looked at Maud with first confusion, and then pity. The feeling was mutual.

But Trixie's business wasn't Maud's. That, too, would have gone both ways, but last night, before hearing the advice she really needed, Maud made her business Trixie's. All the better; it meant Maud couldn't omit the reality.

"Because I was angry. I still am. And I don't know what to do, even though I was told."

"What exactly were you told?" Starlight asked, glancing behind her. Trixie shrugged, confirming she told Maud nothing, and that she didn't spin nonsense in Starlight's head. At least.

"In short, that I was petty. Despite knowing from the start, why you did what you did." Maud gazed at her hooves. "I'm still angry though." An apology couldn’t begin to cover this transgression, this… selfishness.

How it lingered like a cut in the earth, a permanent scar, even after her talk with Pinkie Pie. 'Maud! You shouldn't be upset with Starlight over that! Don'cha know how unhealthily obsessive she gets over things?' Yes, Pinkie. But she was getting better at being conscientious of her friends until now, when it was most important. When her life was on the line, and even then, she didn’t even care! 'Oh, pssh! Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same thing if I was in Twilight's place, riiiight?'

Of course. Absolutely. Maud would give up all her legs to save her sister’s life, and she cursed Pinkie in the dead of night for putting that horrible image of her near-death in her head. It was horrifying, and it only served to make Maud feel worse. Because Starlight must have felt just as terrible.

And yet...

She still would have been smart about it. She'd have gotten help. She'd not have traipsed alone into uncharted territory like some shortsighted hero!

...Like Starlight Glimmer. Who'd saved Princess Twilight's life, her real best friend, against all odds. Who'd not answered in the five seconds usually allotted between them. "Starlight."

She straightened, uttering a quick, "I'm sorry," as if Maud was capable of being annoyed right now. Starlight was blameless assuming that. "It's just," she began, gaze lowered, "you'd every right to be upset with me. Still do, actually."

Oh. This was a turn. Maud was ready to grovel (as well as she could), yet Starlight was bowing with penitence. This was very unexpected. How presumptuously did Maud misjudge her friend? "What do you mean?" This was one of the few times in her life she felt glad for her monotone.

Starlight met her eyes. "For barreling into danger without a word to anypony."

"Tch, as if you were obligated to!"

Maud was ready to call out Trixie for being a two-faced liar, last night's anger fresh in mind and heart, if Starlight hadn't lifted a foreleg before her. "It would have been a nice courtesy, knowing one of your friends was ready to do something crazy. But... I didn't. And it wasn't because I forgot." Trixie looked to her, shocked, Maud matching her with a widening of the eyes. Starlight met her gaze with courage. "Maud, I didn't tell any of my friends because I know you'd try and stop me. And I know—"

"How?" Maud asked without thinking. Starlight gave a double-take. "How did you know I'd do that?"

"Because I...!" Starlight shook her head, as if thrashing out a readily available lie. "I... didn't," she confessed. "But I refused to let anypony else get hurt, especially because of my choices." Starlight’s frustration abated as she rubbed her foreleg. "Some plan, huh? In the end, the one thing I tried to avoid happened a thousandfold!" Stepping aside to regard them both, Starlight croaked, "I broke a couple hearts and probably a lot more I'm not even aware of. I messed up, girls. I mucked this all up real bad."

"Starlight..." Trixie reached out.

"I'm sorry, for what that's worth." She leaned into Trixie's one-legged hug. "I'd not been particularly honest either, but I hope you believe me this time, when I say,” her gaze pierced Maud's soul, "I’m gonna get better."

Maud blinked.

This shouldn't have been so surprising. And she presumed Starlight thought nothing of their friendship?

Starlight was so much more complex than that, of course she did, and Maud...

Maud was cowardly. Always has been. And even with all that said, she still couldn't forget how she was forgotten. She'd a heart of fluorite. Honestly. "Okay," was all she could muster, to this pony far better than her.

She anticipated the smile of relief, albeit a brief floundering of it, as most ponies had with her lackluster responses.

But of course, she forgot how Starlight never blinked twice at such things. Because she understood.

And Starlight grinned like her little sister, tears perilously ready to spill over. "You really forgive me, Maud?" She wasn’t even trying to justify her actions like yesterday. She’d changed akin to a refrigerated beaker full of Epsom salt, growing overnight into something beautiful. Something Maud wanted to be a part of again.

She eagerly jumped on this return to normalcy. "Of course."

None of this should have been surprising, especially not the tight, relieving hug and "sorry"s to match. Pinkie Pie foretold all of this, and Maud never had a reason to doubt her wisdom on friendship.

Fear had ruled her judgement. Just as Starlight's had, Maud, too, forgot some important, obvious things in the face of this tragedy: 'Friends say upsetting things to each other when they're mad,' Pinkie told her, 'but Starlight knows that. She's, like, the Queen of Dumb Mistake Castle! I promise that if you talk to her now, there's no way she'd be upset with you.' But Starlight's legendarily short temper was the only thing in mind after running away, too "betrayed" to go back and apologize. Even as she trailed up this hill, hearing her and Trixie's failing and arguing, Maud was terrified of this outcome.

If Starlight never wanted to speak with her again, Maud didn't know what she'd do. Actually, she would go right back to her geologically fulfilling, albeit isolated, lifestyle.

As they parted their hug, Starlight wiping away tears and Maud doing the same, mentally, Trixie appeared beside her, looking every part the best friend she crowbarred into every discussion about Starlight: overprotective and critical of outsiders. "How'd you even find us, Maudie?"

"Maud Sense never fails me." It was a twinge in the back of her head, a drive in her heart that moved Maud toward the hill where she and Starlight flew kites. "There's something I want to know."

"What's up?" Starlight asked.

Maud hesitated. "It's a little bit embarrassing."

"Well, you got nothing to fear from me! Trixie, though..."

"Hey, I'm Maud's friend, too!"

Starlight rolled her eyes. "Not the point," she said, reading Maud's mind.

But it was enough to assure her that Trixie, assuming she got out of her own head for once, would know where this was going. "Why aren't you more upset with me?"

Starlight blinked. "Well... why aren't you upset with me?"

"I'm livid, actually." And that cursed, burning hatred began swelling up again, Starlight's stricken face and Trixie's nasty glare only compounding the feeling. ‘Smooth, Maudileena. Like a glacier.’ Boulder’s snark was really not helping right now. "I'm sorry I can't help it. These feelings are new to me, and I don't know what to do with them."

"I find that letting them out always helps."

"Or just not thinking about them," Trixie added.

Starlight craned her head in the way. "Ignore that, Maud. Please." She grinned wide.

Trixie grunted, glaring left towards Ponyville. Little did she know how accurate she was, Maud being no stranger to ignoring her feelings. It was usually a subconscious task.

"Well," Maud began, choosing her words, "there's nothing I hadn't said already." At least nothing explicit, but Starlight knew enough to understand how she'd feel without needing to pry. "I suppose I feel conflicted. Simply put, it’s a war caught in a stalemate." Trixie nodded in understanding.

"There doesn’t have to be a winner," Starlight said uneasily. "Our feelings are more complicated than that, Maud. Sometimes, both sides are forced to concede when they realize their conflict isn't worth the energy." Her eyes searched the ground. "And usually, when that happens, they change themselves to live peacefully in the aftermath."

Sounds easier said than done. Sometimes, Maud was getting used to the fact that "change" had become a constant in her life.

From living in Ponyville, to having a best friend made from flesh and blood, and not a single drop of it being Pie-related; to suddenly having over three following Sunburst's visit, her best friend revealed to be a complicated, messy pony (as all Pies were), and wishing to never bring it upon her friend, as Maud had, as well: an aspect of Starlight Glimmer she'd both admired and disliked more than anything about her, in a strange way only a Pie could manage. Except it wasn't strange, because Maud was so much like her they were chipped from the same vein.

Rocks were easier than ponies. For sure.

"What are you saying?" Maud hoped she didn't sound as pathetic as she felt.

"I'm saying... that... whatever you're exactly feeling, Maud, you oughta find a way to address it. In a way that suits you! 'Cause I know what it's like to feel guilty over something you can't exactly 'fix,' and if those affected aren't holding a grudge, then you've not forgiven yourself. Believe me, I've felt that enough to know exactly what you're going through right now. It sucks."

"Yeah!" Trixie chimed in, sprawling over the now-trembling, gaping form of Starlight. "And Glimmy got over herself by defeating an entire changeling army!"

That was a tall order, so tall Maud felt her hooves leave the ground. "I don't think that's possible, now. For a number of reasons."

Starlight laughed warily before shoving Trixie off her. "Our Great and Powerful friend’s failed to mention the, ah, nuances of the situation." Trixie shrugged at the pointed glare tossed her way, and rolled her eyes at the emphasized 'I meant it' look from before.

Sighing politely, Starlight continued, "And that includes the fact that it wasn't the sole time I've gone through this. The key was patience in my experience—which I get the feeling won’t be an issue.” Maud shook her head in agreement. “Then take time to heal, right your wrongs in whatever way feel’s best. Only then can you start feeling better about yourself! At least in my experience," she coughed.

Maud was at a loss for words. Starlight's eyes widened, reading that negatively, "Not that I'm thinking up some underhanded way to get you to do things with me, or anything! Though, it'd be nice if we could be friends again, which is all I want, and-and..."

"Starlight." Maud shut her friend’s quivering lips. "Thank you. You always know what to say." That got her blushing. She had nothing to be embarrassed about.

"I wouldn't go that far..."

Of course not always. But when it mattered, she did. Maud died at the thoughts of saying something so sappy to her, though. "I've always liked that about you," she continued. "So if you'd like, I want to be your rock."

"My...?"

"Rock?" Trixie crowed, splayed on the grass still, absorbing the orange sky.

Maud's heart seized with embarrassment, pressured with enough force to render it a diamond. "Something to keep you grounded during this time. Supported. Something that will never leave your side, ever." A small, round rock began batting between her forehooves at some point during all that. Maud just found rocks sometimes. "Hello, little one." She inspected it, it was so much more interesting than whatever looks her friends wore now. "This sedimentary rock has been weathered and beaten by a tide for over a thousand years. Somepony brought it all the way from a breach and left it here." Maud picked it up and gave an experimental lick. Salty, but not acrid. "Chert and slate from the western coastline. Hm."

"Maud?"

"Yes?" She was almost afraid to look, but when she did Trixie just seemed disgruntled, lying upon her back, watching purple clouds drift by. While Starlight was... different. Usually, when Maud got embarrassed and started talking about rocks, Starlight tuned in and tried to follow, genuinely interested. Perhaps. The effort was always appreciated.

Now, though... "Was it too much?"

"No!" Starlight cried, shaking off her shock. "I mean, not at all, Maud. It wasn't! But... I'm just taken aback, is all. This’s a little unexpected, is all."

True. Maud wasn't a pony prone to internal changes. "The environment affects everything in its vicinity." The boulder by her hooves, grey and speckled pink, was testament to this. "Even me." Starlight smiled at the beach stone as she, too, seemed to arrive at the same conclusion. "If you'd like my help..."

"I do!" Starlight nodded. "Of course I do, Maud. If... you don't mind my drama, that is."

"Mm-mm." A shake of the head was all it took to engage in a hug as one (or for Starlight to begin it; Maud leaned in to her embrace). Her warmth seeped through Maud’s dress, her tightness firm, honest. She cared about Maud, who had the gall to doubt it.

"Yayyy," Trixie droned, "we're all friends again. What an unforeseen turn of events."

Starlight laughed into Maud’s shoulder. "Alright Trix, I hear ya.” They pulled away. “What's say we wrap up our magic training and get some dinner, huh? I'm famished!"

"Dinner's cool."

"I hunger for Pizza Castle!" Trixie cried.

Nopony had any objections. As a trio, the ponies scaled carefully down the hill, stars and fireflies steadily dotting the glowing picture of Ponyville before them. Before long the sun was beneath Equestria, and the moon high above Canterlot.

They'd spoken amicably, as if everything was normal like always. Maybe Maud was paranoid. But Trixie was clearly masking her feelings, for if Starlight knew of them...

It would be even worse than if Maud laid it all out there. Definitely. ‘Not that you’re any better, ya hypocrite.’ Maud ignored her pet, and decided to gently probe the youngest of their trio to get a sense of what wasn’t known.

"You're looking better." Trixie peeked from the corner of her sly gaze, smile thinning. Straining. She knew what Maud was talking about.

"A little spa date will do wonders for a pony's mood." Trixie demonstrated this by massaging her cheek. Weird. Maud didn’t mind in the slightest.

"Mm," grunted Starlight. "I’ll say it again: good call on our part. ‘Cause I was quite the sight, lemme tell ya!" Mane coiffed and silken, the moonlight gleamed off her fluffed coat. shimmering an outline along the curve of her back. "We were both pretty gnarly, come to think of it. Figured it was high time we cleaned ourselves up."

"Ugh!" Trixie bumped her flank into Starlight's. "Speak for yourself, carriage accident."

She thumped her back. "You smelled like an outhouse, filly."

"Did not!"

"Did so," said Maud. "Your wagon was pungent. I didn't say anything out of politeness, but... yeah."

Trixie flashed her with a glare of betrayal, a beat later spiraling into a cackling fit alongside Starlight like it was the good old days. Maud joined, too, on the inside.

So Starlight didn’t know anything she hadn’t heard prior from Twilight, most likely. Knowing Trixie she didn’t share more than what she was confronted with. It’d be best to nip this secret in the bud, now, avoid the potential drama and heartache later.

“Hey Maudie,” Trixie craned back, regarding her across Starlight as the entered Ponyville’s cobbled streets, “the Changeling Gourd Fest is coming at the end of the week. You want to join us?”

“Oh, gosh.” Starlight’s ears drooped. “This again?”

“Ah, quit being antisocial! It’ll be fun with the three of us, right Maud?”

No. Absolutely not. A party full of strangers? That was so far out of her comfort zone. But for Starlight… “It might be good. The Changelings are polite.”

“Aha! Two to one, we’re all going!”

“This isn’t a democracy,” said Starlight.

Maud added, “Nor was that an agreement.”

“Oh, come on!”

Starlight simply laughed, and Maud felt herself smiling.

Perhaps she really was just paranoid over nothing. Maybe Trixie didn’t lie, or didn’t presumed Starlight didn’t need to know her feelings now, at such a delicate stage.

Just as Starlight wouldn’t lie to her, either. From now on.

With time they’ll make it up to one another. It wouldn’t be easy and Maud would not be as helpful as her best friend would, but… Pinkie always told her it was the thought that stayed with friends.

The effort, regardless of the quality.

Maud was going to try and meet the standards set by Starlight, Pinkie, Twilight, and even Trixie.

IV.VI - Between Day and Night

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Princess Luna wished... for a great many things. Things beyond her capabilities, her reach, or power. But anything within those confines, she was dedicated to give one-hundred and ten percent.

Though she couldn't see from the confines of her spire, a great weight dragging up from the horizon, its very body, strained against her will: the moon, climbing from to its throne within the dimming sky. Usually, she would take to her egress and witness it in the flesh, for the ritual was easier with the celestial body in sight.

But Spike had slipped into the Dream Realm. At last.

It was earlier than he's accustomed, to be sure, but his day was taxing on mind and body. And it was because of this, that Luna wouldn't dare abandon the child unless certain he wouldn't reawaken soon.

The thought of Spike awakening to find himself alone, with those thoughts of his again... as if he were truly a bother to Luna... she refused to allow such a horrible idea to enter his mind again. Clearly, if Luna were a better speaker, Spike wouldn't have had such a notion in the first place.

But she did her duty as a Princess of Equestria, a friend, and family.

The gentle hum emanating from Luna's horn reached out, further disturbing the complete stillness of her bedroom, its deep blues bathed in gold waning to a black as she willed the blinds shut. Spike's rising and falling form, swaddled in her massive comforter, was crept upon by her coming night, his calm countenance a shallow comfort.

This child... Luna felt a wracking of her core, an ache so great she gasped, faltering, her mane still and sagging for but a moment.

How could Harmony allow a child to feel blameworthy for obeying his caretaker's desperate pleas, as if any child would deny his mother's cries when on her knees, begging him. But did Twilight truly fear some sort of retribution from Celestia? What would she have to fear, in these times, after knowing Tia for so many years? Not even Spike could guess why, nor did he even hazard one regarding the pink powder he found strewn before Twilight in the morning.

At least he convinced her to go to Canterlot, to Princess Luna. Thank Harmony she had the sense to corral him away from Twilight, who seemed fine in comparison to the shivering, hollow-eyed dragon.

Even now, she'd certainly made the right choice. Both young ones needed help, but Spike's was more pressing, more unaddressed. Twilight had the library to distract herself, if she wanted it.

And yet, today only heightened on Luna's shortcomings, who'd done nothing her older sister would have accomplished better. No matter the calming strokes and contrived links of sympathy, of relatability, Spike's breakdown under the weight of his castlemates' deteriorating sanity was inconsolable. In the end, he cried himself to exhaustion conveniently before Luna was supposed to be up and raising the moon.

Which was just about done; squeezing through the blinds, orange light turned ghostly pale, dashed across the blackness of the wall and Spike's bundled self.

Luna had the nerve to yawn. It was soundless, at least, and made her quite the royal sight, as if ready to belt out a soulful ballad while kicking her shoes off. They were all she'd the sense to throw on after a hurried rapping tore her from nightmares of three, monstrous deities in the early afternoon.

Luna wished to banish those from mind immediately, but her duties didn't allow this. As a friend and princess, she couldn't Not with what happened to Twilight the night prior. Did that make this a nightmare of Luna's, or a warning?

If these beings were truly aware and entwined in the workings of Destiny, as Starlight told her friends, then it seemed like fate that Celestia was indisposed today. Only her cupbearer, Earl Grey, was permitted to see her, which Luna didn't press on, even if all sense required her to share this with Tia now. But it wasn't her place to disrupt the flow of work, especially that which related to their ponies' and allies' reaction to the fluctuating circumstances within Friendship Castle.

Truly, in every conceivable way, this month had been the most taxing in all of Luna's long life. Every day she wondered how those around her, especially Celestia, found the strength to proceed with such a peppy exterior. 'You are strong, too, little sister,' she'd heard often. But Luna only carried on so easily because her disposition was so stern for this modern Equestria. She couldn't wear a facade like her sister.

Mayhaps it wasn't so bizarre, then, in light of such introspection. Ponies, nay, creatures of all walks of life were complicated, with different wants and goals driving their every action. Fears were deeply tethered to this aspect of the ego.

Poor Spike, young Spike, had his ego presented in the Dream Realm only once, last week, before the Last Celebration; its conclusion as bittersweet a note as nightmares typically pertained to. Luna must have said something right, if she was never beckoned again. It meant his fear of abandonment in the wake of Twilight Sparkle's likely demise was unfounded, and Luna's educated assumption about the characters of his friends were blessedly not.

They were unreasonable in reality, to be sure. But the fears of children were painfully relatable, and Luna pitied them with her whole heart. Luna was grateful it always worked out so well, if not on the first try, nor the second, then the third to be sure. Starlight, hopefully, needed only four.

A shudder rippled through her, and she pushed such things from mind. Dwelling on potential futures helped nopony in the present. Important things here required her attention. A bat of the eyes brought Luna to the present, with Spike deep in a peaceful sleep below her: eyelids still, no movement behind them, or anywhere about him.

He was such a tiny thing.

A child lies before me. Luna’s heart seized the closer she got, realizing this wasn't any child. Family. This horror is tearing apart my family, and nothing in my power can mend it... I don't know what can. She could only help, and what a big help she was. Had they ever spent quality time together before, anyway? Did being the only pony available to take care of Spike validate these pathetic pangs of longing?

Luna stood over Spike, watching a bulge at the tail-end of his form swish left like a slumbering cat's. The thought made her smile; she'd almost forgotten the woes of the rest of Equestria. Almost. Those so close to Luna and Celestia, yet so unfortunately far from the ponies they considered friends and family, those in their immediate reach.

And if Captain Platinum Estoc's murmurings to Luna's own commanding Night Guard, Blackwing, which came from Earl Grey were to be believed...

Then their ponies were afraid. Nothing in the vein of a nightmare-inducing, personal terror, but worse, out of Luna's capable control. Something that had ponies talking in nearby towns, on the streets and within coffee shops in the dead of night. Something that had ponies sending letters to their mayors, who forwarded these as winded, politely-worded concerns addressed to Celestia's mailbox, and arrived by the hour with a red-inked "URGENT." Something gripping the nation by the throat, spreading out uncontrollably like wildfire, and stemming from a source in Ponyville: Equestria's homey little heart, the center of its apple trade, in recent years a hot tourist destination, and these days, a jar of spilled honey for the hornets. A lure for ponies who'd vied to see the healed Princess of Friendship in the days after her recovery, but were denied by one Element or another. Even a vast majority of townsfolk, who knew the princess better than out-of-towners, crushed several dreams and birthed just as many disgruntled letters expressing outrage toward this "rude and unbecoming" behavior for a town advertised as "the friendliest place in Equestria."

As if Celestia would actually agree with them. But that didn't stop her from answering every single one, and foolishly sparing no pony the truth of Twilight's recovery after Starlight had awakened. Even those legitimately asking if yesterday's rumors were fact: if the princess's friend was truly hornless, if she exchanged it in a deal to make Twilight's better, if the Princess of Friendship commanded her to do it, if they weren't friends anymore because of this, if the Ladies of Flutter Valley were really real, if they were coming for their unicorn horns as well, where Flutter Valley was, how absurd these rumors were, and if they could make their dreams come true, too.

Just to name a few. Gossip is a truly dastardly plague, Luna thought.

And Celestia, according to Earl, had been addressing every single one with the utmost of honesty. It was like she wanted a mass hysteria on her hooves. Or, perhaps, Big Sister was acting under the likelihood of these monsters moving against Equestria in the future. Unlikely, according to Starlight's accounting from Spike and Twilight, but nothing was off the table.

And what'd taken place within the Map Room last night between Twilight and the witch, Draggle, was an atrocity. Mayhap Celestia knew how to handle this, and that her centuries-honed wisdom was worth heeding without argument for once.

Right. And Luna wasn't terrified and never will be again.

With a long, wavering exhale, Luna caressed the dragon's ears. His drawn eyes clenched, like her very touch pained him, but he relaxed right as Luna was about to snatch her hoof away, the blanket draped over his back seizing a moment, then rising-falling, rising, and falling.

Tracing his jaw, down to the lighter scales of his chin, Luna found herself with nowhere to go, or a reason for doing thing. She moved away from the bed, eyes on Spike with heated cheeks. She was a fool; always was, in many ways.

But Luna was nothing if not a sentimental fool.

"Rest easy, little one," she murmured. "I will guard the night, as well as your light... Yes, I will do what I'm most capable of." That is all Celestia had ever asked of Luna: to do her best. Sadly, her best couldn't possibly force young Twilight to stay at the castle, nor speak with Celestia if she didn't want to. If her luck bled from the Dream Realm, just this once, Luna might persuade her to return in the morning.

Regardless of what Twilight chose, Celestia was going to hear of the horrors Luna had.

A swelling of magic upon her forehead, a picture of Twilight Sparkle surfacing within her mind's eye, and with but a thought, Luna evaporated into the Ether. A heartbeat later and a bright flash, Luna found herself in, where else, the castle archives.

A small part inside Luna sank deep. Then it truly is up to me to console her, if she's not with Celestia now.

The shelves were high and the shadows deep; the closest clop of hooves were far off to Luna's ear. A corner of the library, then. She'd sought solitude, and so close to the Restricted Sector.

Twilight's soft gasp caught the timing of Luna's heart locking in place. Oh, no. Now it was clear why Twilight didn't go to Celestia. She didn't want to turn, but duty and pity demanded it, leaving Luna face to face with Princess Twilight's dumbfounded face.

A golden aura by candlelight enveloped them, crimson drooling and pooling around the desk's corner.

"P-Princess," Twilight squeaked, "you startled me." The guilty, stricken look in her eye didn't fade.

Two book stacks framed her greasy-maned face, books that were primarily bound in black, with red, old ponish scribblings upon the spines. Other colors were washed out, almost grey, their pages frayed and yellowing. Luna caught a few words at a glance: "Restoration," "Tracing," "Destiny," "Soul Magic," "A History of Dark Magic," "Non-Emotive Applications of Dark Magic," "Legends," "Bestiary," "Lost Lands."

Oh, Twilight knew damn-well of the fires she was playing with.

She had to.

Which meant she didn't care at all.

It took a moment for Luna to find her voice. "Dark magic? Really, now?" She could have been more eloquent, but a wailing in the back of Luna's mind built by the microsecond, building into full-on howling in her ears. Blurting out like that was all she could do not to start screaming.

Mayhap awakening Celestia would have been better for them both.

Frantic heart palpitations, soft albeit panicked breathing; ah, yes, this was terror. It was silly, thinking Luna appearing was another witch.

A blink flashed maggot-riddled eyes in Twilight's vision, her gut bucking up to her racing heart.

"Twilight!" said Luna, tone hardened.

"I'm..." Sorry, Twilight almost said. But that was a lie, and lying was the antithesis to friendship. "I'm aware of the dangers," she said carefully. Luna continued glaring into her soul, but she'd have to be more compelling than that. Twilight'd used dark magic several times before, and even Celestia! They were both fine after the fact. "But I know that I can do this, Luna."

"You think your emotional constitution is fit to be casting dark magic of any variety at this moment?" If this was Starlight, Twilight sensed a sardonic chuckle coming on. But Luna looked deadly serious. "You are many things, Twilight Sparkle, but a harebrained hexer was never one of them."

Twilight ignored 'harebrained' because Luna was clearly having an emotional reaction herself. "Things have changed, Princess. Our world's gotten bigger and scarier in light of recent events, and I'm doing what I can to adapt."

"P-pardon me?" Luna squeaked.

It was kind of adorable, but it was time to cut to the chase. "After hours of combing through the Restricted Section, I believe I've found something viable that's equal parts safe and helpful. We can actually help Starlight with this, Luna! Now if you'd like to help me, I'd appreciate it, greatly. But if you've any reservations, then I'd prefer it if you stayed..." The rest caught in her throat, a heat rushing up her neck.

A firestorm roared to life in Luna's flaring eyes.

"If I, what?" uttered the Princess of the Night, colder than her realm in the dead of winter. "That I stay out of your way? Do you take me for a friend, or a pebble by the wayside, so easily ignored?" She was craned overtop the table, candlelight splashing across half her face, the other veiled in sinister contrast; Twilight found herself unable to sink back any further. "Have you given any thought to what would come after? Or are you so blind that you'd repeat the same mistakes as Starlight Glimmer?"

She felt small, no, she was small, as if being scolded by Celestia. "I... I have," said Twilight, mustering her resolve. "Several hypotheses, actually." She swallowed. "And in every one of them, I've ensured the end result would be Starlight and I whole, happy, and most importantly, free of dark magic."

Luna's brows had pushed together, betraying an encroaching concern before she murmured, "You do not know that, my friend. You cannot. Dark magic is wild by its very nature, stemming from our most depraved of emotions: envy, hate, fear, lust. Feelings of want. Vices of evildoers. Tainting your magic with such sentiments can only lead to ruin. I should know, Twilight, nay, I do know!" On the last word a single bolt shot from Luna's horn, zipping a foot above her flowing mane before erupting and doming the two of them in a bubble of silence.

It took a few tries for Twilight to find her voice. "I know," she managed, leaning over with space now between them, almost embracing the massive, opened tome known as Reconstitution Rituals: the Magic of the Soul and its Possible Applications. It was all she could do against yet another being whose power dwarfed her own, ready to snatch away a smidgen of hope dangling before her eyes. "I know all of that, Princess. The risk is great, it puts me at such a risk it terrifies me! And that's exactly why I'm planning this smartly."

"Nothing relevant to dark magic so much as graces the realm of intelligence, Twilight. Have you not considered why Celestia and I have never used such power? It's too easy, too volatile, for any pony to use and emerge unscathed. Never!"

"I know that!"

"Then why take such a foolish risk? Do you not care for the potential damages to your well-being? How your friends would feel? Your family? Spike, Starlight, Celestia, myself?!"

Something inside Twilight had been twisting with every word, turning and turning until snapping violently, battering everything within her.

And Twilight roared, "I am not approaching this like Starlight," even as she was, right down to the screaming and denial.

"Then why entertain this, young Twilight? What strain of stupidity's taken hold and driven you to attempt something so dangerous?"

"I have to try!" Twilight shot up, standing on the cushion, perched with a beat of her wings. "If Starlight risked it all for my life, then I should do everything in my power to save her, too!"

"Save her?"

"Because if I don't, then, what kind of a friend am I? How can I bear my title if I'm not the best friend I can be?!" Luna's lips parted, heralding silence. Moments passed and she only stared, stunned, before her lips pursed and she gazed down, considering.

She couldn't think up an answer. And yet, she'd planted the seeds of doubt, and now Twilight felt fear. She was terrified of the unknown, even more so than she was before this insane idea popped into her head.

No, it wasn't insane. It couldn't be! This was all for Starlight, Twilight remembered, her iced guts thawing by a passionate burn. "What else can I do, Luna?" she cried, startling the alicorn. "What kind of a the Princess of Friendship can't live up to the standards set by her friends?"

Blinking, with a sigh, Luna schooled her features into her neutral, chilly disposition. "Let us both take a breath and approach this objectively. What, precisely, are you hoping to accomplish?"

Remembering the sack beside Twilight's back left hoof, the presence of it, was unbearable in every conceivable way. She shut her eyes, seeing a beastly, huge human-esque form poured over the Cutie Map. "Draggle, one of the Ladies, she visited me last night: bigger than most everything but a full-grown dragon, with this... aura, about her, that freezes me just thinking about it." Twilight shuddered off the chill. Luna gazed sympathetically. "I tried making a deal, because, I thought that's what she wanted. But did she accept it? No, of course she didn't! I don't know why, but she didn't. Instead, sh-she took Starlight's horn, a-a-and crushed it before my eyes!" The marble pouch, so much lighter now than it'd ever been, nearly hit Luna in the snout it came so fast. "This... this haunted me for hours. I think, now, she was doing something sadistic like break me. But the joke's on her, 'cause when Spike found me in the Map Room I'd realized something critical: Draggle left the horn remains with me. That monster thought she'd torment me with this? Well, my marbles are all together, still! And she'd made a big mistake." The marble sack of powdered horn thumped before the open tome.

It might have been the candle's glow, but Luna's face looked almost powder-blue. "Did these notions come to you after I left you alone?" She asked, regarding the tome stacks enclosing them.

Twilight nodded. "It took a while, but I got a grip of the situation all on my own. So, I started thinking. Specifically about Draggle and this connection her family's claimed to have with ponykind's inherent magic. It's clear now they're little more than mortal beings who've conjoined their egos to that of Equestria herself! Which is," Twilight snorted, "bad news for them. We've had centuries to hone our manipulation over magic beyond the base powers those sad, old relicts have at their disposal! We can control the weather, the soil we stand on; we've purged the land of its rampant, dark magic and made it our home! While they can only interact with ponies on a heavily limited basis."

Twilight's voice rang hollowly in her ears, the bubble of silence giving them a tinny sound. "Don't you see, Luna? They've got nothing we should be afraid of! Our magic is so much greater than theirs!" Twilight giggled, tickled by their feeble little mind games. "Who's laughing now, huh? Who's laughing now, you horrible monsters?! ME!"

"Twilight Sparkle, enough." Luna, wings flared fully, her voice only a hair above its usual softness yet it still drove Twilight back. "Look at yourself. Think of what you're doing here. It's folly."

"It's not, Luna. I know what I'm doing." Thinking it over again, this just felt right.

Luna closed her wings, sighing, before gazing up at Twilight's perching form. "You may very well be the most talented unicorn of our generation, but it's clear to me that this doesn't translate into wisdom."

So, back to dark magic? Twilight had a defense now, having recalled it as she traced through the events that led her to this moment. "You think I've not thought about this extensively? Luna, I'm well-aware of the risks involving dark magic," she said calmly. "I'm not a novice plunging headfirst into danger. I've been studying it since before I got my wings! And even so, my research here's revealed a better way, one that doesn't risk exposing myself to dangerous quantities of dark magic in an attempt to reconstruct Starlight Glimmer's horn!"

"I'd assumed you were attempting to contrive contact with these malevolent spirits, perhaps force them to reverse their deal."

"That's what I considered at first. But this book here's hinting at a better, safer way to go about it!" Twilight tapped the weathered pages for emphasis. "I can rebuild Starlight's horn, see? If I can draw out a piece of my soul, coupling that with a reconstitution spell, it should remake Starlight's horn and give the remains a magical boost to catalyze spells again."

Now, Luna was truly pale. "...Assuming you collected every particle." Her voice was hollow. "Otherwise, the first spell she fires would be a messy affair. It's risky."

"Oh, don't worry. I collected every single speck!"

"Twilight," Luna sighed, ashamed, "I'd given you too much credit, and that is not what's shocking about this."

Of all ponies, Luna was the last Twilight expected to get queasy over something like this. "It wasn't like I scoured the Map Room. It was all in a pile, and I gathered it in a levitation spell!"

"That's not it." Luna's voice wavered. "To lose some of your soul is guaranteed to change a pony, and never for the better. You know this, you've learned of this forbidden art in the days leading to your Ascension! And yet you dive into it with a smile... This is truly morbid, Twilight. It's unbecoming of you." The strong princess gasped wetly into her foreleg, seizing Twilight by the throat. "It's unbecoming!" Luna yelled, hoof and voice booming thunderously in their bubble. "Twilight Sparkle, what madness has possessed you to think tearing your soul apart is even remotely a good idea? That of grief? Heartbreak? Bonafide insanity?! I've half a mind to go to Celestia now and tell her what you're considering down here!"

A million horrible scenarios flashed before Twilight's eyes, every one more shameful than the last. She realized it now, she knew from the start how utterly crazy this was, but... "Luna, no!" But she just wanted to save Starlight.

"Are you begging me because I'm about to tell my sister, or because you understand the stupidity you're sincerely entertaining?"

Of course. It didn't feel right, though. What was happening?

Twilight's mouth worked, trying to form words her brain was suddenly not providing. "I... don't know," she whimpered. Twilight held her face, staring into that stupid, cursed book. The book that almost wrought calamity upon her, her country, and her loved ones. "I don't know! Luna, I don't know! I don't know, I just don't know, I don't know! All I know is that Starlight's falling apart and sh-she's dying! She's practically dying inside, Luna, and I-I... I don't... I don't know what to do, or how to help her, or how to fix this! She's just so different now, she doesn't even want to talk to me and she isn't honest with me or with her friends or anything. And I know she doesn't want me fixing this, but I can't just sit here and not think about how she's this way because of me! I-I hate this, I hate me! How do I fix this, Princess Luna?! Help me, please!"

Twilight couldn't think of anything more, even as a feeling welled up her throat, emerging a pitiful wail she smothered her hooves, then Luna's chest as she came around and wrapped her in a tight hug.

"You let this all out, first," she murmured, stroking Twilight's mane like Celestia would. "It will all be okay, you've done nothing irreversible.

Princess Celestia would be so disappointed when she hears of this. Starlight would've left her for good had she gone through with the plan, if she'd literally ripped herself to pieces for her sake. Twilight was a foal in the face of uncertainty, always had been. She bawled at the thought, further dampening Luna's finely groomed coat as her throat started to ache.

"This's so crazy," Twilight cried, "this's just all so wrong and I just want it back to normal."

Luna's broad throat bobbed against her ear. "As do I."

"I want Starlight to be happy again, but I don't know if she can be..."

Such foalish bawling, yet Twilight couldn't stop for the life of her. How awkward Luna must feel, after what was likely a mere checkup on the princess after taking care of Spike.

Spike! All thoughts of him were nonexistent until just now. What a great friend Twilight was, to essentially ditch her childhood friend and leave him for Luna to attend to.

Princess of Friendship indeed.

"I'm sorry you've been driven to resorting to these methods." Twilight nodded against the sodden fur, Luna's warmth too sweet and near-familiar to want to move away. She held her without complaint, which couldn't have been a comfortable position, standing upon her hindlegs, but she suffered it for her.

Neither spoke again until Luna, moment's later said, "Twilight, you're an intelligent mare, and one of the greatest ponies I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. And since your ascension, my opinion has only bolstered as you tackled problems with your values in mind instead of a pragmatic approach. It is because of this opinion, that your intentions here have shaken me so."

That's right; Luna had gasped, obviously choking on a cry, and Twilight was too busy with her stupid plan to notice. "You know, I didn't even consider... if I were to use my soul with a dark magically-charged restoration spell, both me, and Starlight," Twilight's stomach turned, her voice reflecting so, "we would've definitely fallen to the same corruption as you, and Sombra, too. Oh, gosh, I... I didn't even consider that! I could have thrown Equestria out of balance far worse than your banishment had before!" The horrible scenarios, the broken hearts of Equestria alone, were enough to get her hyperventilating.

Luna held Twilight out by the shoulders, smiling down on her. "Do not fear, Twilight Sparkle, for nothing unforgivable has come to pass. And if I weren't here, surely your friends would have stopped you from performing this ritual. Remember, there is no use dwelling on what-ifs. Only the now calls for your attention, Princess of Friendship, and the now is far from unsalvageable. Nothing ever is." Luna stood back, wings proudly extended. A demonstration, Twilight realized, even before the Princess of the Night said, "There is always another way. You've not lost, and you've proven time again that adhering to your principles has been what Destiny intended."

It was like seeing Princess Celestia raise the sun for the first time again. Twilight shut her mouth, scrubbed away the stickiness cloying to her cheeks and nodded, determined. "Of course," she rasped in a raw voice. "I know it isn't over. I wasn't afraid of that, but it's just..." She flushed; she didn't know that, and she certainly was afraid. Twilight shook her head, always the student, no matter how long she'd been at this. "Thank you, Luna."

The princess drew her wings in, casting a sweet smile that crumbled in seconds. "I apologize for my negligence, Twilight. In my efforts to ease Celestia's burden, it seems I'd prioritized Spike's well-being over yours."

Only Luna would find a way to feel partly responsible. Twilight could barely suppress her smile. "Don't be sorry," she said. "I'm the one who pretended I was fine! Oh, gosh, I really became a Starlight back there, didn't I?" From being dangerously selfless to parroting 'I'm okay' and convincing nopony but herself; Twilight felt her grin slack. "Oh, Spike... I'd scared him to no end, and I was too caught in my own craziness to consider him." And he'd told Luna every horrible, frightening detail he'd been a part of, because why wouldn't he? Her little trooper, doing all he could to make Twilight's life easier. "This is all a tangled web, isn't it? Each of us, trying to help one another, prioritizing friends over ourselves and hurting more ponies in the process."

Luna shocked her by asking, "How can we break such a cycle?"

With something far more than a simple, immediate answer would entail. But Twilight's eyes ached, her throat raw, chest heavy. She was beastly tired all of a sudden, and now, Spike was all she could think about. "Let's take it one step at a time. Together," she added, and Luna nodded, silently agreeing that it was time Celestia got involved. "Luna, if it's not too much trouble, can you take me to Spike?"

"He is asleep now, Princess. I will, but exercise caution. The whelp's had a taxing day." Luna gazed at the ceiling in thought, before adding, "Perhaps seeing you, and letting the rest play out naturally, would be beneficial for you both."

Spike could sleep through a lot, however; certainly a young alicorn sliding into bed, cuddling with him, would be nothing compared to, say, her argument with Rockhoof, for instance.

"Honestly, Luna, all I want is to be with him now. And if I know Spike, he feels the same. I... we, really, we've both spent too much time neglecting how we really feel. If there's anything to discuss, it's that the truth about ourselves." Time and again, there was nopony Spike nor Twilight were more open toward than each other. "And if we're going to help Starlight, we all need to be on the same page."

"A conclusion Celestia will be happy to hear," said Luna, coupled with a smile, sending Twilight's belly aflutter. The Bubble of Silence dispelled with a gentle pop. "Prepare, Twilight, for we shall apparate to my quarters. I've prolonged my duties enough already. Worry not! I will be nearby, should you need me."

As if Twilight would take more of Princess Luna's time than she already had. Though she didn't want to concern her, either, by stating the obvious.

Twilight, instead, smiled and nodded, before the world flashed nighttime-blue.

IV.VII - The Wolves

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Twilight Sparkle was officially a hot mess.

Trixie couldn't help but feel petty, and a little bit gross, at feeling so giddy over this. On one hoof, it's about time the perfect, flawless "Princess of Friendship" fumbled. That was great, fantastic even! On the other, she was raised to epitomize friendship, and had failed in ways even Trixie would never expect from her. And that was just sad.

Trixie laughed alongside Starlight, more out of disbelief like her than pure satisfaction. The extent of Twilight's conceited, misguided attempts to "help" Starlight, who'd assured Trixie (oh, and Maud) every step of the way that she "totally got" the upstart's reasoning, made it clear that Glimmy's tolerance for inanity reached Celestia-levels of patience. Why, if Trixie were in her place, she'd tell Twilight exactly how she felt the moment this business started.

Starlight was always too nice for her own good. Too nice to say it directly to a pony's face, of course.

"It's like she wants to baby me, or something!"

Trixie snickered. "So sad! How could somepony so smart forget something so obvious about her friend?"

"Well, she is a bit over-stressed, thanks to me," she excused. Starlight sat back, donning a smirk as she gazed out the darkened, stained glass window of Celestia eating a gooey slice of pizza. "She really is like my father. They'd be a perfect team, her and my dad."

Ugh, no, Trixie thought with a shudder. In her opinion, Firelight was just creepy, though Starlight had been assuring them that he, like Twilight, only wanted to help Starlight and make her happy. While, of course, disregarding who she was, as if they'd never known her for years. However, the one actually affected excused them with all manner of mental gymnastics, and all Trixie could do was swallow it and accept this grown mare's decisions. It was her life, after all: something neither Twilight nor Firelight placed first before their own desire. In this regard, perhaps they were made for each other.

"As in marriage?"

Starlight cringed. "Thanks for burning that in my head, Maud," she said politely, broad grin collapsing, finishing, "but no, that's not what I meant at all."

"Don't fill my head with such notions, then. I'm a hopeless romantic, Starlight."

Now Trixie was the one feeling sick! "Maudileena. Daisy. Pie..."

Starlight's expression curdled like spoiled milk. "Right, forgot about that, to be honest."

"I'm only kidding." From the corner of her eye, the light pink dusting Maud's cheeks implied otherwise, in Trixie's now-disturbed opinion. "Not everyone's brain goes to coupling up every pony who breathes in one another's direction."

"The fact that it does at all..." Trixie shuddered. "Maud, Firelight is twice Twilight's age! There's some things you don't even joke about."

"Yeah, anything related to my old man is off limits, 'kay?"

Trixie bobbed her head. "In-deed! And never joke at Trixie's expense, either. M'kay, Maud? She detests critics of her character."

"Yep," Maud affirmed. Starlight lifted her foreleg, chuckling, and Trixie scowled at the stoic pony beside her. "What?" Maud asked, though she didn't so much as glance. "I can't ever say anything to you, being a veritable lump of celestine and all."

Trixie almost felt fuzzy inside, being complimented by Maud of all ponies! Long ago she was written off as a pony impossible to please, but now it seemed she finally saw Trixie's great worth equating her to a rock named after Celestia herself!

Starlight's laughter speared her very thoughts. "Oh, gosh!" she laughed into both hooves, somehow getting what was a joke.

Trixie flushed, feeling angry as she was offended. "Now whadda ya mean by that, Maudie?" Trixie turned, elbow to her flank.

Maud gazed from the corner of her eye, opened her mouth, but Starlight explained while wiping her eyes, "Trix, it means you're transparent and fragile."

The grey mare gave a nod. "And also blue."

Hooves up, as though that would defend her from Trixie's wrath, Starlight said, "Her joke, not mine!"

Trixie glared between these traitors, wondering what was more detestable: the betrayal of Starlight's guffaws, or Maud's clever mockery, and utter stoicism after the fact, as if this meant nothing to her!

"You both suck!" Trixie plopped down in her seat, hugging herself tight. If only this could squeeze out the bad feelings in her chest.

"Oh, come on, Trix. Take a joke!" She most certainly would not. Starlight leaned forward, brows furrowed in sympathy. "Hey, Maud still complimented you! She called you a gemstone, a-and celestine, you know, is used in fireworks! That's fitting in a good way, isn't it?"

Huh. Well. Trixie felt like she may have overreacted a bit, especially with how pitifully true it all was. "Ah." She released her self-hug. "Since when did you know so much about rocks?"

"They're minerals. Also, hi." Maud waved.

Starlight shrugged, nodding. "Basically, yeah. We've been friends for well-over a year, now."

"One year, eight months, twenty-two days, ten hours, nine minutes, and fifty-seven seconds. Fifty-nine. Ten minutes and-"

"Stop, Maud." Starlight's smirk told of a lack of annoyance.

The mare did so, a slight smirk on her lips.

"So, let me tell you girls about what happened last night. Twilight was staying up, waiting for me..."

Trixie zoned out, Starlight's tiring words becoming white noise as she lifted her glass to her lips. Ice-cold water rushed down her throat, waking her up. After spending time together, Maud's true feelings had ceased being mysterious to Trixie. Now, it was clear that despite what she'd said to Trixie last night, Maud, too, cared more about her friendship with Starlight to let hurt feelings ruin what they'd had. She wasn't trying to contrive a "point" out of their best friend like Twilight had, the running theme of all of Starlight's stories. Though in Trixie's eyes, her averting gaze betrayed a hint of dishonesty in her confession back on the hill.

But whatever. Just so long as she didn't hurt Starlight, there wouldn't be any problem.

What Trixie didn't understand, and probably never would, was how Maud could be the only pony without a clean plate. Or more specifically, her reasoning for it. "I never liked how bland they tasted," claimed the mare who wanted half the toppings to be sandstone of all things.

The crust stacked upon Maud's plate must have occurred before, for Starlight didn't even exchange a puzzled look with Trixie when she sent one her way, shrugging haplessly instead.

That aside, things were going smoothly! Greatly! But most importantly, normally.

Starlight was laughing again, Maud seemed to be... enjoying herself. Maybe. And it was all thanks to Trixie! The greatest and most powerful of friends. If not for her, Maud wouldn't have found them together. If not for her, Starlight would still be a lonely sad-sack wallowing in self-pity. Even if half the conversation was dominated by Starlight's venting, she definitely needed it. And Trixie was more than happy to let her indulge in a little whinging. What were friends for, after all?

Pizza Castle was delicious, though, Trixie can and has made better pizza in her days. The taste of victory probably enhanced it. Trixie had to wonder again: was it concerning how much pleasure she got from being right? That Twilight was a lesser friend for Starlight? Nah, not at all. In fact, had she not latched upon this silver lining like always, all thoughts of Twilight Sparkle and her incompetent lackeys would have surely rendered Trixie an unpleasant grump. All her input would've been much like Starlight's, only dissing the princess, or herself for not being there for her when she should have. And Trixie should have, she should have fought to stay there until Starlight awakened; to Tartarus with her show!

Trixie froze, seizing her train of thought. Breathe, she thought, exhaling, expelling her bitterness. It was especially hard to ignore it with the painfully obvious smiling right in front of her, talking openly, no longer hiding within herself, so unlike the Starlight Glimmer Trixie had come to love.

Helping her was proving to be pathetically easy! How could the "Princess of Friendship" be so thick-headed about her own housemate? Of course Starlight wouldn't want ponies coddling her; she never had. She'd gotten enough of such foalishness to last a lifetime, if the connection Starlight made between Twilight and Firelight was in no way exaggerated. And Starlight was never the type to fluff up reality... like Trixie... so every appalling, embarrassing detail of her foalhood had to have been true. How humiliating and aggravating, to get that from somepony Starlight considered her equal, and wanted the same in turn.

"Trixie."

Like a startled piglet she snorted. "H'what?"

"You weren't listening?" Starlight sighed.

Trixie felt a little bad. "Oops. Was it important?"

"No! No, not... really." Starlight was always clumsy on the recovery. "But would you mind waiting a sec before we leave? Gotta use to the restroom."

She had the weirdest sense of politeness. "You needn't ask us. If you've got to go, then go! We're not your father or anything."

"Right..."

Her bashful smile vanished as Trixie asked, "Shall I follow in case you need any assistance?"

Face flushed, Starlight ducked her head, trotting away. "No. No. A million-and-one times, no," she hissed. The patrons of Pizza Castle, with their already-low standards, didn't even glance in their direction.

Her best friend did have the funniest reactions toward teasing. Trixie was still grinning as she settled into their booth as Maud asked, "Was that necessary?" Even with no emotion, her annoyance was clear as day.

"What did I do?"

"Ridiculed Starlight." A second passed. "In the middle of a busy restaurant."

It did seem a little quieter. "Oh, whatever. Who cares what these random ponies think?"

"Starlight does."

"Well, she ought not to."

Maud looked down on her plate in a way that felt very sad. "What?" Trixie asked. Maud turned to her, head tilted, questioning. "What are you thinking about?"

"Why do you care?" Maud asked, probably "snapping" if she wasn't so shy she came off as golem-like.

"Because I just do, so what's got you in a huff?" Trixie cared for a great many reasons. First and foremost, she was a curious little pony, and Maud fairly mysterious. Weird, but mysterious. That, and they were friends, somehow. So Trixie cared about her feelings by default. But Maud's attitude came off as incredibly snippy, too, and that reminded Trixie of their little reunion on top of the hill.

What was this pony hiding? Maud still hadn't answered the question, probably thinking in that big brain of hers. Planning. Everypony did that, even Starlight to an extent.

"I'm not one to pry into other ponies' business," said Trixie, stretching out, pushing her plate away, "but I have to wonder if you're still, oh, what's the appropriate nomenclature, royally PO'd at Starlight?"

Maud's eyes widened ever so slightly. "So you were listening." Ooh, emphasis. She was absolutely floored by this revelation, wasn't she?

"Trixie never misses a thing." She fluffed her glorious, freshly-pampered mane. It was one of her best traits. Oh, and having impeccable intuition, too.

Then Maud said, "I beg to differ."

"And how's that?" challenged Trixie.

Maud blinked. She had to have been conveying a sense of disbelief. "For starters, I was never mad at Starlight. I was scared."

Clearly.

But Trixie seized a split second, smoothly transitioning into a final flip of the mane. "Oh, details," she grumbled, all a mask for her embarrassment.

Maud grunted in agreement. "'Details.' Like zoning out during Starlight's last story. You're bored."

Ouch. Trixie almost forgot, Maud never pulled her punches. "Well, can you blame me?" she cried, hissing. "She's been going on and on and on and on about her home troubles since we got here! She's angry about this, I get it, but don't tell me you're enthralled by this?"

"I find it concerning. But it's clear you don't care about what she's going through. Good to know how her 'best friend' really feels."

Trixie heard those air quotes! She huffed and puffed, gathering a defense. "Excuse me, Maud," she finally countered, "but whose petty feelings about a mistake almost ruined her friendship with Starlight? Besides Twilight, of course."

Maud only furrowed her brows. Now she really was "royally PO'd."

Trixie winced. "Okay, I'm sorry. That slipped out." Maud said nothing. "I'm stressed, okay! You were too, if I recall correctly."

"But we're old enough to control ourselves. So start exercising that."

Excuse me?! Where in Equestria did this come from?! Trixie breathed deep. "Don't try bringing me down to your level, Maud. You think I don't know what you're doing? You left Starlight yesterday, over an accident. You're no better than Twilight, and now you're making me out to be equally as bad for not being perfect!" The nerve of that "princess," making Starlight feel bad for saving her ungrateful life...

"I'm not telling you to be 'perfect.'"

Trixie wanted to laugh. Of course it wasn't blatant, but the subtext was certainly there. "Pardon me, Maud, but things were going swimmingly until you started attacking my character. So, right back atcha, filly!"

"If I was 'attacking you,'" the cheeky mare even made air quotes, "then I'd first accuse you of being dishonest with Starlight. Which you were, weren't you?"

Obviously! Who wouldn't be in this scenario?! The last thing Starlight needed was more stress and ponies' nonsense piling on her back. And here was Maud, who did just that, and was lording this very transgression over Trixie like her own Equestrian Pink Heart of Courage!

"You think you're so smart!" Trixie sputtered, so angry it was all she could think to say.

"In some ways, yes," Maud said, not missing a beat. "In others, not at all. But I know you'd deny how you felt after the fact, and would rather avoid the blowback reaching Starlight."

Oh, how she felt so high and mighty, this geologist with a doctorate and a high-paying job and a home close to their best friend. Trixie snorted at the pettiness on display. "As if you were any better! Avoiding eye contact every which way?" For everyone knew that was a telltale sign of a dishonest pony. "How about coming in, unannounced, to spew the most inoffensive confrontation possible? Because apparently, this was the crowning confession to end all confessions in your mind! I gotta ask, where was that passion from last night, eh Maud?"

Strong words, to be honest. But Trixie needed to make her point: Maud, too, was not as vocal tonight as she was the day prior when it was just the two of them. She'd softened her words, and that meant she was sparing Starlight's feelings, too. "Face it," she sneered, "you're no better, or worse, than me. You did exactly what I had, so don't go attacking me because you feel bad about yourself."

The earth pony was quiet, gazing down the grey foreleg propping herself up. She was avoiding eye contact again, and she wasn't speaking. This was guilt, then.

Trixie sighed the weight out of her chest. "Okay, I'm sorry," came tumbling out, as did the rest. "We're all stressed and feeling like dirt for one reason or another." Even Twilight. But she... She had no excuse for her behavior! She ought to know better! She ought to know Starlight better! Trixie squeezed her eyes and pursed her lips, preventing further word vomit she'd really regret uttering thoughtlessly. "But there's no reason to latch onto my mistakes and hold them over my head. I care about Starlight a hundred times more than you do, guaranteed. The last thing I'd do is hurt her."

She waited. For anything. Maud held her silence, still.

Just as Trixie was about to ask what her deal was, she heard, "I remember last night, when I came to you." Maud was gazing left, her crust stack having toppled during their argument. "How furious you were at Twilight over a choice Starlight made for herself, asking how she could do that to you."

"Y-yeah?" Trixie looked back toward the bathrooms, but Starlight was nowhere in sight. "And your point is...?"

Maud said each word deliberately. "You're bitter about this, and I doubt you've told as much to Starlight." A force was behind her words, like hate.

Some kind of intent, seemingly directed at Trixie's cowardice. "Well, whadda you know?" she cried. "You really think that's what Starlight needs right now? My insignificant feelings? Please."

A twitch pulled briefly at Maud's features, having been hit in a sore spot. Of course; Trixie forgot about her own bitterness in the moment, having, too, come from a place of neglect. Maud was a much softer pony than most, it turned out; she was more comfortable showing that to Trixie than Starlight, for some confounding reason.

"Well, at least you're not denying it," said the earth pony. Conceal don't feel, eh Maud? "That's a relief." Whether or not this was sarcasm, Maud went right for the throat before Trixie could dwell. "But don't act like you're above anypony else. Even though you are at this moment, that's not what matters right now. You don't matter right now."

"Ex-cuse mwah?" Trixie felt gutted. One minute they were having a real heart to heart, and the next she was trying to knock Trixie down again!

"I mean it," Maud intruded as Trixie's mouth opened. "This isn't about you. It's about Starlight. Act like it, and she won't ever be hurt. Please."

Trixie felt as though Maud was ready to hit her. She'd like to see her try when she's a teacup. "Of course this is about Starlight," Trixie tersely began. "But don't you dare try tearing me down to your level, when at most I've been patting myself on the back for a job well done."

"More like pleasuring yourself on your own delusions."

Trixie's face burst into flames, a smolder rising in her gut. "Who do you think's the reason your little reunion went so well? Huh? Hm?" Trixie laid back, gesturing to herself. To cool down. "This mare. Trixie. She laid down the groundwork of which you walked upon."

Maud blinked, resembling a disinterested foal. "I'm not trying to lessen your accomplishment." She'd spoken deliberately. Surprised, it seemed, if her hooded gaze widening meant anything. Starlight would know. She was great at getting messed-up ponies.

Trixie backed off, figuratively and literally. "I think you are," she said knowingly. "Whether you realize it or not. You can't stand the fact that you were one-upped in some capacity. So you try making it less great and powerful in your eyes... Trust me," she added gently, a familiar weight on her chest, "I know what that's like."

When she looked back to Maud, the earth pony was the spitting image of a hollowed-out pony. Trixie must have hit the nail on the head, and as a result, made Maud feel pretty crummy.

Well, good!

She deserved it... Just as Trixie had, following the Alicorn Amulet affair. "I wasn't a part of this," said Trixie; Maud didn't move, "but I forgive you for leaving Starlight. Everypony deserves a second chance, after all."

Maud blinked, looking up and turning her head right, facing Trixie. "Thanks." A true compliment for her fantastic work? Trixie beamed. "And I'm sorry. I know you'd never intentionally hurt Starlight. Or anypony for that matter, since it's impossible." Trixie registered this, puffed her cheeks and took a deep breath... until Maud's left eye did a slow, squishing blink. Oh, it was a wink! A joke.

Not funny. But Trixie could actually take a little teasing, thank you very much! She shot her a grin before cooling down with a sip of iced water.

"I'm more worried by the possibility. I know Starlight, and I know you. Regardless of whether or not you can leave your feelings unaddressed," Maud continued, and letting that hang, though Trixie was great at ignoring her deepest, darkest feelings, "...you want to be a good friend to Starlight second, and prove you're better than Twilight first. That's the wrong reason to want to help your friend." Maud sat back. "But that's just my opinion. It's not my business to force you. Just know that if things go south, I'll say, 'I told you so.'"

Among other things, Trixie imagined. Insinuating that Trixie would ever cause her best friend any pain was gross, to say the least. "You dare?" she uttered, it was all she could think to say. "You claim to know Trixie, but you've no idea how much she cares about Starlight!"

"You sure about that?" Maud challenged.

"Trixie cares for her far more than one-upping that absolute wastrel of a princess!" The words tasted bitter on her mouth, her chest writhed in protest. Trixie was horrified to feel conflicted with the notion. Why? After all this time, she'd gotten over Twilight, hadn't she?

"To reiterate," she continued, "I, Trixie Lulamoon, couldn't care less about Twilight beyond her pitiful, intrusive, misguided attempts to help Starlight Glimmer!" The fire in her chest continued burning on, and Trixie couldn't stop herself from saying what she had, or would. "'The Princess of Friendship.' Starlight sacrificed her magic for that ungrateful pony, and she's the gall to turn this into Starlight's problem! And make her feel as though she did something wrong. How is that, in any way, okay?!"

Maud took a while to respond, likely for having done this exact thing herself. "It's not. But Twilight can't help how she feels, and Starlight knows that."

"Well, she should help herself. She is a princess, isn't she?"

"Twilight is a pony. Not a construct."

Trixie cocked her head. "A what?"

"An artificial being designed for one, singular task," Maud breathed in, "and a vague sense of life within driving it." A blink. "But that's besides the point."

Oh, the tediousness of talking to Maud sometimes. "What is the point, then?"

"That you need to stop. Acting. Like. You're better." Trixie opened her mouth. "Stop," Maud intruded, forcefully. "Whatever you're feeling here, whatever you're angry about, whether it's toward Twilight or Starlight or both, just let it go."

Trixie veered back, feeling the full force of Maud's social incompetence. "Are you telling me not to care that Twilight's the reason for Starlight's current state?"

"No. Thinking that is proof of how out-of-it you are," Maud asserted. "But leaving it unaddressed is going to come exploding out at some point." That was eye-roll worthy. "Trixie, I'm serious and pleading with you right now: whatever grudge you have with Twilight, it's not worth the energy for you or Starlight. If you want to help her, if you really want to be Starlight's best friend, understand that she's accepted that she wasn't thinking when she made that choice. Let go of your anger."

Ah. So she's assuming Trixie felt this way because of some misguided feeling of betrayal? That Starlight disregarded them all for that ingrate princess, and her stories a testament to the fact that she's blinding herself to this very painful reality?

That she gave up her horn for no reason at all?

Trixie wanted to laugh if Maud's naivety wasn't so bitter-tasting. "Now who's the petty one?" Maud gave no reaction. "Prick your ears up, Maudileena. I'm only telling you this once: Twilight's not a mindless rock subservient, but neither is Trixie. We're grown ponies, so we're responsible for controlling ourselves."

"Surprising, coming from you."

"Yeah, well, things have changed. Trixie isn't going to deny how she feels, but she won't ignore who she is like you. I won't stop feeling how I do, but I'm not so inept that I lack a filter... When the gravity of the situation demands it," she amended quickly, because Trixie, in all honesty, wasn't perfect. At all.

She pushed the notion far out of mind as Maud said, "It's wrong for us to feel this way at all, Trixie. You need to get over it."

So she just had to take Twilight's incompetence at her own job with a dumb smile, a pat on the back, and a 'You're trying your best'? No, thank you. "And I am. I mean, I will! Later. It's not like I'm gonna bring this up to Starlight tonight'r tomorrow or anything. But let's drop this now, okay? We're going in circles and it's making Trixie dizzy!"

Maud said, "Fine." They waited in silence, and Starlight didn't return for another four minutes. Neither of them made mention of her flushed face, nor her apology.

https://youtu.be/bQsI9_PMy2E

In a world distant and close, within an astral plane mortals were never meant to tread, the screen of mist parted to a world encroached by brittle, wooden fingers, clawing across a midnight-black sky. Directly in the center, huge and glowing white, the moon gazed upon them like the eye of a country-sized beast.

Reeka didn't question what brought her to Flutter Valley, nor where the great pot appeared in place of the Sunstone. She came clutching her oar of a spoon, and began to stir. The amber broth fought her, near-stiffer than stone. Reeka yanked her spoon to and fro, the soup slopping back whenever she would ladle some to surface. She'd long outgrown her eyes, truly, hardly missing them; though she remembered seeing that which was truly before you. The realness of the material world. Now it was all but shapes, sensations, and color provided by moments ago, the now, and visions of a better future.

"fOcUs, DeGeNeRaTe!" snapped Momma.

"yEs, Mo-HyDiA!" sang Reeka.

The broth gurgled and churned, genuinely alive: living to the heartbeat of a land called Equestria, the magic within, and all who were connected with it. The concoction of mud, water, fire and salt, foundations of the world merged with magic, cleared as she stirred, the murk revealing images reeking of sugar, saffron and sulfur. Life: a delightful, horrid paradox of sights and smells.

This ritual, Reeka knew by heart, long before Momma smashed a cast-iron pot upon her dome. "WhAt Do YoU sEe In OuR mIrE?"

"ThE cHeSt-PuFf NoNsEnSe Of InSeCuRe FoAlS." Momma spat into the cauldron, stirring up an odor of decaying flesh, and memories of images happening this very moment, in a pizza parlor in Ponyville. "MaUdILeEnA aNd LuLaMoOn ArGuE iN a PrOvErBiAl MeAsUrInG cOnTeSt. A vEiLeD aTtEmPt To MaKe Up FoR tHeIr FaILiNgS."

Oh, how the downfall will be glorious. "tHeIr FaTeS aRe FoRSeEaBlE, eVeN tO a BLiNd OnE sUcH aS i!" Reeka squealed.

"ThEy diE aLL tHe WhILe," Draggle observed. "RoTtInG oN tHe InSiDe As A cOrPsE oUgHt." She sighed with satisfaction. Reeka continued stirring, chunks of something beginning to tap her spoon, filling the broth's cloudy depths.

"LoOk, DraGgLe," Hydia, the weight of her arm sweeping past, pointed in. "SeE hOw ThE mUrK sHiFtS aLrEaDy? We DoN't NeEd To Do AnYtHiNg BuT wAtCh! ThEy FoRgE ThEiR oWn DeStInY, tHe FoAlS."

Draggle's massively long legs swung past, certainly leaning her face into the gumbo, fool she was. "Ah, DeAr StArLiGhT," she cooed, a muffled, damp smack hinting a heartfelt slap of the breast. "Oh, ShE iS sOoOoO hApPy! LoOk At HoW sHe IgNoRaNtLy EnJoYs HeR fRiEnDs." Draggle spitefully hocked up phlegm, shooting it into the pot with a sharp plop. The mixture boiled, hissing and steaming, the image changing. "i HaTe HeR sO MuCh."

Reeka kept her churning at an even, deliberate pace. "ShE wEaRs HeR mAsK wElL, DrAgGlE, nOtHiNg MoRe!" Momma squealed. "hEr WaLls ArE fOrTiFiEd WiTh A fAlSe SeNsE oF sEcUrItY."

How pitiful. "NaUgHt BuT mUd AnD tWiGs," Reeka hummed, the broth giving just a little. Loosening. Her stirring quickened to a normal pace. "Ah! ThE bRoTh ThInS... uNrEsT aNd UnCeRtAiNtY, sELf-HaTrEd, iT tEllS mE!" She smacked her lips within the confines of the Aehter. "bOiLiNg HoT! dEliCiOuS tUrMoiL fOr Us To PrEy UpOn. TeLL mE, aRe We SeEiNg tHe Ex-CoMmANdEr, Or tWiLigHt AgAiN?"

Momma was silent a moment. "aLL oF tHeM," she uttered on the verge of laughter. "StArLigHt AnD hEr FrIeNds."

"tWiLiGhT aNd HeRs," Draggle intoned.

The unique, powerful signature of Harmony's band aids wafted into the night. "AnD tHoSe DiArCh UpStArTs, ToO," said Reeka.

A particularly powerful odor rose from the mixture. The smell of lavender, and summer nights. The sheer power emanating from their mirror of the world was potent, even as a mere echo. "DeStInY iS uPoN uS," they uttered as one.

How, though, remained to be seen.

"We'vE mUcH wOrK aHeAd," said Momma. "bUt StArLiGhT aWaKeNeD uS fRoM oUr ThOuSaNd-YeAr HiBeRnAtIoN fOr ThIs vErY rEaSoN."

"LaVeNdEr AnD sUmMeR nIgHtS," Draggle breathed. Reeka hummed in delighted agreement. That power they felt in their dreams, the sweet shampoo smell that'd ripped them from their subconscious presence in the world upon Starlight Glimmer's breaching into Flutter Valley, her damned need to break the wheel of fate... it was all for them. Not Twilight Sparkle.

None of this would be possible without her.

"YoU dId ExCeLLeNt WoRk BrEakInG tHe ElEmEnT oF mAgIc, dRagGlE," said Momma. "BuT wE MuSt TaKe It FuRtHeR."

"i'D bE hOnOr-Ed, HyDiA," Draggle gave a bow. "iT wAs FuN. i DiDn'T eXcPeCt HeR tO bE dRiVeN tO dArK mAgIc OuT oF hEaRtBrEaK aNd FeAr. WhAt Of ThE mAgIc oF fRiEnDsHiP?"

The aroma of the gumbo reminded Reeka of Twilight, and showed the princess whispering to the small drake cuddled up beside her, who'd spoken soundlessly as well whenever her lips stopped moving. "ShE fEeLs ThReAtEnEd. PoWeRlEsS." Reeka felt it this very moment, now, as though in bed with them while physically here, in Flutter Valley.

"YeS," hissed Momma. "We sHaLL cApItALiZe WhiLe ThE iRoN iS agLoW aNd BriTtLe."

Draggle hummed like the idiot savant she was. "BuT tHeRe ArE sO mAnY pOnIeS sHoWn tO uS. wHo Do We FoCuS oN?"

Reeka waved a claw, almost faltering in her stirring. "Oh, MoMmA, cAn I gO? pLeAsE?"

The air shoved aside as Momma's claw lashed out, gripping Reeka by the jaw. "mY nAmE," she growled, nails biting into Reeka's gums, "iS HYDIA!" Roaring she tore Reeka's jaw away, the force of it nearly pulling her into the gumbo.

A brief sting lingered where the appendage once hung, long ago broken the last time she forgot the One Rule. "SoRrY, hYdIa," she wept.

Hydia snarled. The spoon was slurped up by the soup. "YoU aRe In LuCk. My InStInCtS tELL mE sO, rEeKa. YeS, yOu WiLL hAvE a PaRt To PlAy, BuT oNlY WhEn ThE tImIng Is iN oUr FaVoR."

"WhAt AbOuT ThE fRiEnDs?" asked Reeka. "SuReLy NoW, tHeY wILL mAkE iT hArDeR tO BrEaK tWiLiGhT aNd StArLiGhT."

"aLL tHe BetTeR. tHeY sHaLL pLaY tHeIr PaRt, aS WiLL wE." As they all always had.

"LoOkS lIkE yOu HaVe YoUr WoRk CuT oUt FoR yA," Draggle teased. Reeka had half a mind to beat her too if Momma didn't terrify her so.

"sHe WiLL sUCcEeD rEgArDlEsS," Hydia snapped. "iT tAkEs LiTtLe To DiSoRiEnT sOmE eMoTiOnAlLy FrAcTuReD pOnIeS, AfTeR aLL. ReEkA! YoUr EfFoRtS WiLL bEgIn tHe EnD fOr StArLiGhT gLiMmEr. ThE oThErS wiLL aChIEvE oUr WiLL, oUr FaTe, OUR FREEDOM," her voice rang in the vastness of Equestria, "bY vIrTuE oF tHeIr oWn NaTuRe. As HaRmOnY iNtEnDed."

Momma hadn't mentioned their jailer since before their hibernation. It was like confirming the truth of their situation she'd spent decades trying to defy.

Reeka would be chilled if possible.

"HoW?" Draggle dared to ask.

Hydia huffed, stirring her claw through the gumbo, her flesh hissing, blistering, and melting like tallow. And in a clear, unfettered vocal, from her own lips, Hydia intoned, "The wolves shall tear Starlight Glimmer to pieces." The soup gulped her arm up the elbow.

"aNd AfTeR tHaT?" Reeka found herself asking.

"After that," Hydia gave a low, horrible chuckle, retrieving her arm, "after that, ThE rEsT WiLL fOllOw."

Hydia held her claw out before her, drippy with crimson-tainted broth. Clutched within, the Sunstone glowed gently, an innocent-looking thing for being the root cause of their suffering.

That night, Flutter Valley stirred with their horrible, distorted cackling.

At last.

The rest will follow at long, long last.

The unfinished future they'd been denied for so many centuries.

The destiny naught but fog, even to them, the parasites of Harmony.

At last, the rest will finally follow.

IV.VIII - The Sheep

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The journey to bed was a long and arduous one, but Starlight felt satisfied in a way she hadn't in years, working so hard to get achieve something.

Dramatic much? Starlight thought, as she fell face-first into the cool softness of her pillow. Perhaps she was being dramatic; she'd been nothing but since losing her horn after all! But magic had made things easier like that.

In the darkness of her pillow, Starlight saw Maud and Trixie sitting across from her, a large, cheesy pizza half-pineapple and-half sandstone between them. Cringing was second-nature at this point, having lost a fight against her first slice, a lap full of mozzarella, a burn on her thigh, and a cry even the princesses of Canterlot could hear. Trixie didn't seem to care, levitating a slice into her mouth in a way most would consider blithe, inconsiderate, if they hadn't known her as long as Starlight had. Asking the routine, "Are you okay?" would be about as humiliating as it was pointless.

Her conduct was a relief besides; Starlight wouldn't want Trixie minding her use of magic in as patronizing a way as Twilight would.

Maud had said nothing either, likely empathizing or speechless or both. She did meet and hold Starlight's gaze, though, and rather than acknowledge her friend's faux grin, she proceeded to quietly teach her how to... how to eat pizza...

It was a big help: wordlessly, Maud had lowered her slice back unto her place, setting it on the very edge where the nibbled tip hung. Then, one hoof lifted it up toward her mouth, and she took a bite.

It was ingenious! Starlight thanked her friend aloud and she merely nodded. She knew this was ridiculous, but she was being a true friend and helping Starlight without making it embarrassing. That's what Starlight truly thanked her for, or so she thought to herself as she mimicked Maud's method between a recounting of last night.

The nerve of that Twilight... And Starlight...

She wasn't around to greet Starlight, still, when she got home. It was even earlier than last night, nine-o-nine to be exact, but there was no antsy purple princess come to greet her at the top of the stairs this time.

Starlight cringed.

She really showed her, didn't she? If it wasn't so late, if she wasn't so ashamed, so afraid, and pathetic, Starlight would have gone to the West Wing and sought Twilight now. Apologized up and down for being such a bullheaded ninny, and expressing that, while she did not want the kind of help Twilight was offering, deep down she had appreciated it greatly. Her ridiculous pride was what ran her mouth these days, not her brain.

Oh, boy, that's a lot to make up for, isn't it?

Starlight rolled over to her side, pinned by her lousy guilt. "Tomorrow," she vowed to utter silence. "We'll talk tomorrow." They both just needed a day of space, to cool off, that's all.

That's all.

Utter silence, and the faint thrum of her heartbeat hammering away, was the only thing audible in Princess Celestia's tower.

"Twilight," said her friend and old teacher, "you understand, don't you?"

Her concern was so palpable it was painful. She really thought her little princess would dive into the vast unknown, as if this were little more than a research project to be conquered with zeal.

"Yes." She really hated to disappoint the princess.

Ahead, splotched upon the peak of a cyan canvas, the sun cast her in its warming gaze. She could remember hearing the bustle of Canterlot echo all the way up here, but she was a filly, then, with young ears undamaged by spells gone awry. Now, there was only silence, their breathing, and the heavy warmth of Celestia's wing cupping her back. A familiar position, and if Twilight were being honest with herself, a desperately needed one.

She'd have denied herself this had Luna not been so forceful. She'd seen through her denial, the veiled excuses of "I'm fine after a good night's sleep," and tolerated them for a whopping ninety seconds until she challenged Twilight's sense of honesty. But she wasn't lying, she really thought, after her and Spike's whispered pep talk, that Twilight knew how to help Starlight and protect them from the Ladies of Flutter Valley.

"Twilight?"

The Princess of Friendship and the Element of Magic had no limit to her potential! Surely she could devise a way to fix this with her friends and Elements by her side.

"Hey." Celestia's voice was low, soothing, directly in her ear. Celestia, who advised her ever-naive student not to rely on such inconsistent powers for Starlight, nor to give the Ladies a second thought. "Twilight," she said at normal volume.

The lurch in her voice, clenching Twilight within her wing, it startled her. "Sorry, sorry! Just thinking!" Though Twilight was sorry for a great many things, current chief among them her betrayal of Celestia. Or making her feel like she had. She'd never intended to make Celestia feel like a monster, yet, her actions had. Just as she made Starlight feel inferior, guilty, or whatever was really going on in that head of hers, in her head she'd demonized her teacher as she always had.

Twilight just didn't want to be a nuisance. Celestia really made her feel the naive fool for that: "However could you be such a thing, my faithful student?" Gosh, swallowing still ached from when that lump previously formed in her throat.

"Hey." Celestia's head was craned down beside her's, smiling oddly devilishly in these dark times.

"Hi." Twilight smiled in greetings, uncertain of where she was going.

"I'd have hoped you were, Twilight."

She would have nodded if she didn't feel so lost. "Princess, I don't understand. What am I doing?"

Celestia's smile died, concern came to surface. "Thinking about your coming task. Better that than sticking to any notions of using dark magic, wouldn't you say?"

The effort to gaze upon her former teacher became impossible. Shame weighed heavily on Twilight, mind and soul. She was an idiot, a complete fool. She'd expected the tongue-lashing of a lifetime, an apology letter, an five-thousand word essay on why dark magic is stupid and dangerous and only used by ponies who've no care for themselves or others.

Celestia's reaction instead reminded Twilight of the time her own mother visited "little Twily in her own house," after the quote-unquote "life-threatening danger" she'd faced in the form of Nightmare Moon. The princess's was just more, well, regal.

"You're afraid, aren't you?" asked Celestia. Gazing upon her again, Celestia was fixed upon the cloudless blue ahead, her balcony doors wide open for air circulation. "You've much to fear for, I know. And I wish, as your teacher, friend, and most importantly now, your princess, that I could provide the exact words needed to expel those fears. But the truth is, Twilight, in these current times, such words don't exist. We must follow our best instincts possible, as we always had, and put our faith in the roads that have led us here, and will continue to guide us through this uncertain future."

"Princess..." The weight of her words, her fears pouring out solely for Twilight to hear, it was at once a privilege and a curse.

Celestia bowed her head, eyes shut. The veil of her little teasing was coming off. "To answer my own question: I, too, understand. With all you'd told me, I understand the gravity of the situation. I understand how little we truly understand about the forces at work. I understand, at the center of it all, what, or rather whom, is at stake."

"We both understand, Twilight. Understand that I'm taking this with every bit of seriousness as you are. I hope everything I'd said will not be forgotten. That is, if you're not fibbing when you answered my initial question."

Her knowing smile, the look from the corner of her eye, struck a familiar fear in the heart of Twilight. "I-I do!" she cried, despite Celestia having caught her in the act. "I mean," she sighed, "I understand the part you're trusting me to play. That I have to put my faith in my title, and my destiny and my friends, but..." Twilight blinked away a welling pressure; she hadn't cried yet, she wouldn't. Not in front of Celestia. She was a big pony with a bigger responsibility on her shoulders.

"Please, Twilight. Tell me. I want nothing mired in fear between us, not now." Her ones-versary, that mess of a play, was small time compared to the task before them now.

"Right," Twilight began, swallowing, "sorry. I'm having trouble understanding just one little thing about all this." She seldom questioned Celestia, and even now her chest writhed over what was essentially talking back; throwing Celestia's best plan right back in her face. "I'm wondering why Starlight can't see somepony more qualified." She continued as Celestia's brows wrinkled, "A doctor, o-or maybe Mage Meadowbrook has some kinda remedy, or something. But what about Princess Luna? She could directly help Starlight with whatever she's afraid of."

Luna, apparently, had already, though any quest for further information was shot down sternly by the Princess of the Night.

"If only it were that simple," Celestia cooed with sympathy. "Doctors are for ponies who are hurting physically, Twilight. Meadowbrook specializes in ailments of an otherworldly nature, and you know the help she tried to give already." Twilight did with heavy heart; in her desperation during Starlight's coma, she lettered Meadowbrook with an incredibly rude 'Hey I'm not gonna die by the way...' only to hear back that horn restoration was well beyond the earth pony healer's renowned capabilities. "And I won't pretend to understand Luna's way of doing things," said Celestia, her voice thinly veiling annoyance, "but she'd spoken with me about Starlight over yesterday's breakfast. Nothing specific, of course, but her line of questioning about Starlight's friendship with you made it clear to me she'd visited. Therefore, whatever she's experiencing, it's clearly emotional."

And not of a romantic variety, so Cadance was out. "And so it falls to me," Twilight relented. She'd often felt some degree of tightness in her belly, whether it was over a deadline or a coming meeting with friends. And disappointing ponies were one of Twilight's greatest fears. This ever-growing record of achieving precisely that rendered the possibility of doing so a likely reality.

Having failed to understand and help Starlight calcified this fear so bad it made her stomach buck.

"You need not be afraid, Twilight." Turning, eyeing Celestia like some miserable puppy, she found an encouraging smile awaiting her. "A friendship problem lies before you. One of the greatest yet in your career. It will be hard, I won't lie. But I believe in you, and the unbreakable bonds you've forged. That includes that which you share with Starlight. She needs you, Twilight. Nopony else is better suited for the job."

The task before her scared her, still. No, it downright terrified her. Yet somehow, some way, Celestia's words made her smile. "I understand," she said gentle poise. "Good to see your confidence in me hasn't been misplaced yet."

"And it never will be." Celestia's smile, relieved and proud at once, warmed her greater than any of her previous reassurances. It was like she truly believed Twilight could do it, and if she did, then perhaps it was true.

"Meanwhile," Celestia continued, tone darkening, "I shall look into these strange creatures using my free time between appointments. And mail," she added, flashing a weary smile. "However, you must first locate the journal Starlight had lent, and ask Spike to send it to me. The contents therein possessed information that led her to this lost land. I shall follow in her hoofsteps."

Fear froze Twilight cold, aching greater than that of the nightmarish Draggle and her awful trick. Even as powerful as she was, Twilight couldn't bear another loved one hurting themselves in colluding with the witches.

Obliquely because of her. Twilight wet her lips. "Princess, what do you make of them? Are they aiming to attack Equestria?"

Celestia bowed her head. "I've no notion of what their plans are, unfortunately, if any exist. Starlight's view is just as valid as yours, after all."

"O-of course." She didn't expect Celestia to readily accept Starlight's belief of these creatures being enablers of Destiny. The information at hoof made it plausible, but it was so out there and nonsensical and terrifying that...

"I just don't want to believe it," she confessed.

"Nor do I," Celestia said gravely, and Twilight realized she was equally as afraid of the concept as she was uncertain. "However, if they do have plans, then we must stand together. All of us, pony and creature alike. Rumor's begun to spread of Starlight's deeds from the heart of Equestria. I fear it will be a matter of days before the entire country knows."

"Oh, no! Aren't you afraid of a panic?" Twilight already knew of Celestia's communication with several inquisitive mayors, ealdormares and allies about the recent events surrounding Twilight and Starlight. Up until two days ago, however, nopony but poor Fluttershy knew of the horrors Starlight had conspired with. Twilight was to blame for not taking this development, nor Spike's help, with the seriousness it required. Now Celestia was dealing with the blowback because of her negligence.

To her question, the princess nodded. "It's all the more reason we prepare sooner than wait for them to come to us. Luckily, our land has weathered many a magical catastrophe to prevent an immediate outcry. This was the better option."

"Right." Celestia had been handling such things for centuries; better this than lie and keep everypony blissfully ignorant, should the worst befall them. But still, it seemed like this could easily go awry. Somehow, some way, these things always did.

Celestia rose from her pearly-white sitting pillow. "We could be toeing a line here, Twilight. I know that." She strode slowly to the balcony, sunlight glimmering against her nakedness. "But it's because of this uncertainty that I implore you, not to concern yourself with these beings." She stopped, reared her head, eye bright as her namesake and equally as magnificent, "These beings, this power, the tending of such things must be my burden. And should they come to you again," she continued, Twilight found herself following, "then you must keep your friends close if that's the case. This is sadly the only advice on offer." She gleaned Twilight's anxiety from the corner of her eye. "Of course, this is all under the assumption that Starlight is wrong. These creatures might just be as naturally occurring as windigos, changelings and the like. They could very well be working within the confines of their own instincts, neither actively working for nor against Equestria's interests."

A soundless breeze stirred Twilight's matted mane. The faint jackhammering of a water pipe job buffeted against the serenity around them. Ahead, a vast, green valley rolled into a smoky haze, the mountain range to the left a serrated row of teeth, once imagined as that of a great, worldly beast by Twilight.

'Don't believe everything you read,' Draggle whispered in her memory. Starlight was smart, especially about magic, and she was positive of the connection these beings had with their home. She couldn't be totally, one-hundred percent wrong. Twilight wanted her to be, but that would be both irresponsible and disrespectful.

Never before had Equestria felt like so much of a threat. "They're evil."

Twilight surprised herself with the tone she'd taken, but it was true. It had to be. Nothing with a shred of kindness in its heart would torment Twilight the way Draggle had if it was merely a twisted bit of fun. These things weren't Discord; heck, they weren't even Tirek or Sombra. There was something dark about them, something that chilled Twilight down to her very core.

She turned fully, meeting Celestia's surprise. "Princess, I'm serious. There's something wrong about all of this. I can feel it, and Starlight did, too." Celestia opened her mouth, but Twilight had to convince her she wasn't talking crazy. "Even as petrified as she was, s-still is, there's this something that's uncanny about them we can't shake. These... these humans," gasped Twilight, shaken by the idea of these beings from Sunset's world being capable of such cruelty, "these humans had to've been something else at one point! And they'd done something we, by all the laws of Harmony, would consider downright evil! I know I'm basing this off feelings a-and the testimony of an unreliable witness, but please, please take this as seriously as possible, please. If you find them and speak with them, you can't trust a word they're saying, especially if...!"

A white hoof pushed gently against her muzzle. Celestia smiled wryly. "I know, Twilight," she said casually. Confidently. "I'm not rushing into this without a plan. You won't have to worry for any of our safety."

Our? She was already plotting. Gathering her forces. Maybe Discord was one of them?

Twilight sighed, sagging. Calming. It's no wonder Celestia kept this country together after one of its ruler's fall, a province's vanishing and the birth of the changelings, let alone in peace. Until recent years, of course. But those stood as testament to Celestia's political shrewdness and widespread love; a lesser ruler would not have kept Equestrian morale so high under such a tenuous future. Though she often attributed her success to the Elements of Harmony, Luna, and Cadance.

Nopony was more capable for this job than her. "Okay, Princess Celestia. I believe in you, too." Bathed in sunlight, her coat gleamed like polished ivory.

Yet her big smile made it seem dull by comparison. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Twilight. Thank you." She bowed her head. Twilight was so entranced she almost forgot to lower her horn as well.

And then warmth like the summer sun enveloped her, sweeping Twilight off her hooves. "I'm so proud of you," Celestia whispered, seizing her by the throat. "Don't falter, and don't doubt. You are strong... understand? You've come this far for a reason. Have faith in that, and trust me, all will emerge from this unscathed. I promise."

It took a few tries to find her voice; never had Celestia been so passionate, so raw. Emotional. "I know." Twilight returned the embrace, squeezing and wrapping her hind legs around Celestia's barrel. She buried her face in the princess's softness. Such closeness was rare. Twilight relished these moments because she never knew if they'd be her last. "I know," she murmured, "but I never seem to remember. I always forget when it's most important..."

A soft, knowing laugh. "I remember feeling as you do. You will learn to trust yourself, Princess. With time and painful failures, you will."

Twilight hoped so. She was her own worst critic. At least she was an alicorn with all the time in the world to learn.

Starlight didn't believe this was real. It had to be a nightmare, for she couldn't remember any others, making this the one she'll retain. But after several blinks, her bedroom was still awash in golden hues. A slight morning chill clung to her coat. The slight smell of powdery candy still lingered in the air, despite being days since a spell was last cast here.

Starlight inhaled deeply, having never taken particular notice of the sweet smell of magic residue, and smiled despite the ache in her chest. It will get easier with time.

A full night's sleep was unexpected, but most certainly welcome. The thought made her fuzzy inside, and she kicked the covers up, landing them closer toward her dock. "Jus' five more minutes," she grumbled, rolling over...

...and met with a black hole of a throat, grey , gummy flesh, and a slab of frosty, creamsicle-colored flesh below shaped like a flattened "U." Starlight blinked; it was a maw. One big enough to swallow two ponies whole, now that it was staring her in the face. She'd have recognized it sooner by the snaggletoothed jaw that once hung there.

Starlight blinked just because her eyes went dry. It was still there. The witch was still there. She was right in bed beside Starlight. In her bedroom.

"hIyA," chirped a demonic child. Reeka. It was her disembodied voice, that's how they sounded.

Visions of a claw filling Starlight's vision flashed forth from memory, followed by phantasms cleaving her forehead open like the worst pain she'd ever known. A sharp squeak of a scream lodged itself in Starlight's throat. She couldn't move. Her legs wouldn't listen. Her spine was like a bar of iron, unbreakable. She was unbreakable. Nothing would happen. This was nothing more than a scare tactic. A nightmare. A hallucination because she was just that crazy by this point.

Reeka propped her potted, mutilated head on one fist. "yOu'Re CuTe WhEn YoU sLeEp."

And Starlight wailed. She shrieked. She hollered and yelled like a banshee dying all over again as she tore out of bed and galloped for the door, but magic wasn't a thing anymore, so she tried opening it with her hooves but they kept slipping like the cursed thing was made of ice, and she couldn't get a hold and tears came forth so she started banging on the door praying that Fizzlepop would hear and... and...

Starlight collapsed to the floor, gasping between sobs, one hoof still propped against the door and an ear accompanying it. Pure silence. As if anypony would care enough to save her. Fizzlepop likely wrote her off as having some manic nightmare.

"yOu CaN sCrEaM aLL yOu WaNt," said Reeka, jolting Starlight. "BuT i'M sMoThErInG yOuR SoUnDwAvEs WiTh My MaGiC. wOuLdN't WaNt AnYbOdY rUiNiNg OuR sLeEpOvEr NoW, dO wE?"

Reeka was sitting on her bed, as wide as the thing was long. "What do you want!?" Starlight the realization that she was a cornered animal and transmuted it into a familiar, comfortable emotion: blinding rage. It was all she could do not to start screaming again. "What do you want?!" she cried again. "What do you want?! What do you want?! What do you want what do you want what do you want?!" Visions of these monsters, every horrible second in their presence replayed in her head, a barely-contained flood she'd largely pushed out of mind. She'd actually forgotten these were horrible things that existed in their world. She let herself forget like the desperate fool she'd always been. "Just leave me alone."

"yOu'Re ExTrA sNiPpY tOdAy." Reeka rose to gigantic heights, radiating with power. Sweet Celestia, the pot stuffed with half her dome almost brushed the ceiling. "CaN't I cHeCk Up AnD sEe HoW mY FrIeNd iS dOiNg? We ArE fRiEnDs, ArEn't We, StArLiGhT? yOu'Ve An AfFiNiTy FoR bRoKeN tHiNgS, aFtEr All." She began waddling over, her disgusting tree stump of a foot never leaving the ground, merely dragging. It was covered with boils and veins and her toes were just little sausages poking from the flesh, nails yellow and green like moldy cheese.

"S-stay back!" Starlight hiccuped, pressing her entire back against the door.

A low, echoing chuckle shivered from the mangled flesh of Reeka's face. "i ThInK nOt." Rays from the window cast Reeka in an aura, like she was some Celestia-divined being.

"What do you want?!" sobbed Starlight, pressing harder against the door. Maybe if she believed in friendship hard enough, she'd phase through it. Or Twilight would come in and save her. Oh, Twilight, if this is it I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

"wOuLd YoU cAlM dOwN?" Reeka snapped. Looming ahead, Starlight could see her red and yellow dress was in tatters, its pieces bound to her body with rope practically infused with the ashy, lumpy skin peeking through. "i'M nOt GoNnA hUrT yOu."

Starlight barked a laugh. "Swell job so far!"

"pHySiCaLLy." Her purr would have sent chills wracking Starlight's body had she not already been totally petrified.

Reeka pivoted toward her, but stopped and sat criss-cross several feet away, pretty much in the middle of Starlight's bedroom. Her clubbed leg sat like a true log, now, both scabby, clawed hands resting upon it. They were sitting like old friends, this ancient, pre-Equestrian being of magic, and the hornless, most powerful unicorn of the current generation.

This meeting was many things (well, one that was fueled by several similar emotions), but downright weird was an unexpected facet.

"SeRiOuS qUeStIoN," panted the witch, "hOw Do YoU sTaNd ExIsTiNg, StArLiGHt? It'S sO eXhAuStInG!"

Understatement of the century, especially in the witches' case. "What the hay are you guys?" Starlight hugged her stomach, trying to keep her chest from exploding outwards. "You look..."

"bEaUtIfUl?"

"Like soil fertilized with rotting watermelon." Starlight's jaw hung as her chest seized, staggering shut, all while trying to reign in her rampant thoughts. "Like you shouldn't be alive."

Reeka waved a dappled claw with a simple, "oH, iT's A lOnG aNd BoRiNg YaRn. I'm MoRe CuRiOuS aS tO hOw YoU'rE dOiNg?"

"Peachy." Starlight turned her body toward her bed, shutting her hind legs. Celestia knows how this thing was able to see, how it felt seeing her. "Now get lost. Scram. Things were getting better until you showed up."

A wicked cackle emitted from the statue-like monster. "tRuE eNoUgH! tHoUgH, yOuR oPiNiOn oF wHaT iS 'bEtTeR' lEaVeS mE qUiTe CuRiOuS."

Starlight made a show of rolling her eyes. "As if you don't already know." That's right, Starlight. Take a breath, chill out. Don't fall for any mind games and lose what little progress you've made.

"yOu MiSuNdErStAnD mY iNtEnTiOnS, sWeEtIe," said Reeka. "oF cOuRsE wE'vE bEeN kEePiNg An EyE oN yOu! NoT tHaT iT's NeEdEd, CoNsIdErInG hOw ObViOuS yOu'Ve BeEn." She chuckled, claw curled to the black pit in the back of her throat. "No, No, WhAt I, i MeAn, We, fInD cUrIoUs Is YoUr PeRsPeCtIvE oF tHeSe ThInGs. YoU'rE qUiTe GeNeRoUs Of YoUr SeLf-AsSeSsMeNt, AfTeR aLL."

It was nothing to sneeze at, considering. Nopony should be expected to turn on a dime. "'Any progress is better than no progress,'" countered Starlight.

Reeka tilted her head, seemingly recalling those words until, "Ah, YeS," she chirped, "tHe MaNtRa YoU'd PaRrOt To YoUr, Ah, 'FrIeNdS' iN oUr ToWn. ThEy FeLt So ReLiEvEd WhEn sHoWn PaTiEnCe FoR nOt WhOleHeArTeDLy EmBrAcInG yOuR pHiLoSoPhY aT tHe DrOp Of A hAt." A wicked giggle into her curled claw, despite its' rattling all around, in Starlight's ears, her memories. "NoT tHaT yOu WeRe TrUlY eMpAtHeTiC. oH! yOu CaReD fOr ThEm, SuRe. BuT oNlY sO fAr, In A tWiStEd SoRt Of WaY. tHeY wErE bEiNg, WhAt'S tHe WoRd? Ah! 'StUpId.' 'OvErEmOtIoNaL.' 'dIfFiCuLt.' WaS oNly A mAtTeR oF tImE bEfOrE bRiLlIaNcE tOoK tHe FoRm Of YoUr LiTtLe 'EduCaTiOn HuT.'"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. I was the worst pony who'd ever lived and I pretty much ruined a total of twenty-seven lives with my backwards philosophy. If you're here to make me feel bad, congrats. Mission accomplished. You can leave, now." Though her heart was constricted by several horrible feelings at the moment, her distant past was not one of them. At least, not right now. Reeka needed to leave, though. Now.

"oH," she cooed, disappointed, "dOn'T yOu WiSh YoU cAn Re-EdUcAtE yOuR fRiEnDs, ThOuGh?"

"What?"

"i'M jUsT sAyiNg iT mUsT bE aNnOyInG, nOpOnY qUiTe GeTtInG yOu As ThEy OuGhT tO. bAdGerInG yOu."

Starlight laid her head back against the door, clenching her jaw. "Yep."

"dId I tOuCh A nErVe?"

"More like crystallized it in salt."

"hEy, DoN't BrEaK tHe MirRoR bEcAuSe YoU'rE uGlY."

A thickness like bile clawed up Starlight's throat. She forced it down. "How about you stop with the abstract spookums routine and do whatever you have to." The sooner she arrived at this point, the sooner Starlight could disregard them as petty scare tactics.

Reeka's shoulders dropped like a pair of weights. "yOu'Re No FuN." Her frown was audible.

Starlight gave a laugh like vinegar as she staggered to her hooves. "Oh, I'm fun. I love fun." She pat herself on the chest. "There's nothing I want more than to get better, so that I may have fun again, and not have to second guess every breath I take. So, get on with it! Make your point and get the heck outta my room!"

Starlight trotted back toward her bed. Not that she was going to take a seat. But the sight of Reeka made her want to vomit.

"ThAt. Is My PoInT," uttered the witch, in a low, dark, resounding tone, and Starlight locked up. "yOu, 'FrIeNd,' aRe As ShOrT-fUsEd nOw As YoU wErE tHeN, aNd ImPeTiNeNt To BoOt. yOu DrEsS yOuR nAsTiNeSs NeAtH a VeiL oF uNdErStaNdInG: sUrFaCe LeVeL aNd FaLsE, mUtTeRiNg oF 'tHe 'FoOlS' iN tHe NeXt BrEaTh YoU tAkE." Starlight whirled, eyes wide and breathing shallow. Chest tight. Nothing emerged. Reeka was standing beside her, leaning on her elephant's foot with her thumbs hooked in a rope cinched about her skirt. "YoU'rE rEfOrMaTiOn WaS a LiE," she declared. "yOu'rE aS bLiNd AnD tErRiBlE aS yOu'Ve AlWaYs BeEn, My DeAr."

Starlight inhaled sharply, forcing her gaze ahead, but only for a second before the weight of Reeka's words bore upon her mind. "Okay," she whispered, then aloud, "yeah. I hear you. And in other news, the sky is blue." Conceal, don't feel. Starlight knew, now, how atrocious an actress she was, but with Reeka able to read her face, even while physically behind her, she forced the welling pressure in her eyes back, and the swelling in her chest down with the mantra, Conceal don't feel, and thinking, you already know all of this, Starlight. You're working to get better. Don't let her win, don't you dare let these monsters win!

Reeka's presence loomed forth from the left, leaning in, reading her expression through the pot covering her eyes. "YoU'rE tAkInG mY dRaMaTiC rEvElAtiOn WeLL."

Starlight inhaled, achieving a small victory at last. She transitioned into a great sigh that wasn't at all fake. "Just tryna accept the facts and learn from them."

"oH?" Reeka propped a fist neath her chin's former space, frosty flesh tapering like a beard upon her neck fat. "NoRmAlLy, YoU'd Be ThRoWn InTo A rAgE bY nOw, BaRrAgInG hEcKlErS LiKe MySeLf WiTh MaGiC!" Her claw dropped, as did Starlight's gut, and she swallowed, her unwavering stare drawn upon... the pot, the least hideous part of her. "PoOr, GeLdEd PoNy," mocked Reeka, head rocking with every word. "wHy So DeTeRmInEd?"

Now who's the snippy one? If Reeka really did come here to get a rise out of Starlight, she'd not get it today.

Although Starlight saw no benefit, nor a proper excuse, to cover up the obvious. "It's all I have left to my character."

"a StAnD uP jOb YoU'rE dOiNg, DeAr! iF oNlY tWiLiGhT sPaRkLe KnEw How HaRd YoU'vE bEeN wOrKiNg."

"She only wants me to get better." Starlight turned and heaved herself upon the bed. "Call me nasty and ungrateful all you like, witch. I don't care. I'm gonna find it annoying to some extent."

"yOu'Re ReAllY tHaT dElUsIoNaL," Reeka spat, though nothing came forth.

"It's unreasonable to feel just one emotion over something as complicated as this," Starlight argued. "I know our 'Equestrian ways' are completely absurd to something like you, but that's how it works. We'll work it out, though. We always do." Starlight smiled, because it was true. It didn't get any more complicated than that. She was a fool for thinking that it was. "Berate me all you want. I know I've been acting like a total nincompoop over this entire ordeal. But this was a lesson, and it's not one I'm gonna forget soon."

"AnD wHaT's ThAt?"

"Like I'd tell you!" Starlight thought to herself, I'll never doubt my friendships again.

"sUiT yOurSelF. yOu KnOw, I'd FoRgOtTeN hOw StUbBoRn YoU aRe. I sUpPoSe i'LL jUsT gIvE uP."

As if that was even slightly true. "...Uh-huh." Starlight hoped she sounded more collected than she felt.

"yEs, I sHaLL," sighed Reeka. "i'M jUsT a HeArTleSs MoNsTeR, aLiEn To ThE wAyS oF bASiC sOcIoLoGiCaL bEhAvIoRs, WhO'd NaIvElY aSsUmEd A pOnY oF yOuR iLk WoUlD bE nOtHinG sHoRt Of GrAtEfUl To HaVe OnE sO cOnCeRnEd FoR HeR mIsErAbLe ExIsTeNcE."

Starlight had already accepted her actions. Yet Reeka pulled no punches there, and now she felt as terrible as she'd probably made Twilight. "And what's my 'ilk,' oh omniscient one?"

"ThE fRiEnDlEsS, cHiLd At hEaRt KinD, oF cOuRsE." If Reeka was aiming where it hurts, she hit her mark dead in the center. Though she clapped herself on the pot, a meaty, dense smack resounding, acting as though she'd still lost. "I dOn'T kNoW wHAt I wAs ThInKiNg," she moaned, "sWaGgErInG iN hErE lIkE i HaD yOu All FiGuReD oUt. WeLL, i'Ve a BetTeR iDeA nOw! YoU wAnNa HeAr It?"

There wasn't a snowball's chance in Tartarus Starlight would ever want to know. She kept her voice in check and muttered, "You're going to tell me regardless."

Reeka nodded affirmatively, hands on both hips. "YoU," she paused, gesturing, "aRe InHeReNtLy AwFuL. tErRiBle In A wAy ThAt TiMe, NoR aNyPonY, cAn FiX. tWiLiGhT jUsT tUrNeD hEeL fRoM dEaTh'S dOoR, aNd In No TiMe YoU'd StArTeD tAkInG hEr FoR gRaNtEd!"

Starlight's heart, at last, burst. "I was not!" she cried, tasting the lie. "I mean," she gasped, sagging, "I only wanted her to understand. To know she didn't need to spend a second of her time worrying about me! I wanted it so badly I just... lost myself, and my understanding of her. I..." The shreds of life lingering in her chest, like embers, sank deep into her guts.

I am awful... Liquid trickled down the short length of her muzzle, dribbled pitifully upon her hind leg.

"WhAt? WaS tHaT YoUr DeFeNsE?" Reeka cackled like a true witch. "YoU wErE nEvEr A gOoD pOnY, sTaRligHT. nO mAtTeR hOw DeSpErAtEly DeAr TwiLiGhT tRiEd To ConViNcE yOu OtHeRwIsE. ThIs OrDeAl MeReLy ePiToMiZeD tHe fAcT, WiTh tHE pRiNcEsS oF fRiEnDsHiP nOt AlLiGnInG oNe-HuNdReD pErCeNt WiTh YoUr DeSiReS."

Starlight nodded, though she barely heard any of the words. Their meaning was crystal clear. Crystal, the kind stabbing her in the chest in a flurry of shards. "Got a lot to apologize for, then."

"yOu BeT yOuR fAt TuSh YoU dO!" Reeka's palm twitched to face up. "YoU aLmOsT KiLLeD tWiLiGhT aNyWaY wItH yOuR gRoSs BeHaViOr."

Starlight regarded the witch, as if anything could be discerned from her mangled mug. She let loose everything built up within. Liar, hissed her brain, but her heart wrenched back. Of course that had happened, and of course it was Starlight Glimmer's fault, her gut told her. What hadn't she done to wrong Twilight, besides purposely ruin her life?

Oh, wait, she'd tried to do that, too. Several times, in fact, and in the name of avenging the ponies who, deep down, hated her ideals. They only wanted a place to belong, just like Starlight, who convinced them to be ashamed of who they were.

Oh. Oh, Celestia, she did not do this to Twilight, too. She couldn't have driven her to... to...

Reeka still hadn't elaborated, clearly waiting for her to play along.

"How?" Starlight wondered dully. Reeka wanted to break down her enemy in the most satisfying way. Starlight was sick enough to have recognized it. Understood. "How, after every... idiot mistake... I've made this past week," she seethed pitifully, "h-how did I almost...?"

A sob burst past her lips. Just one, and Starlight inhaled deeply, waveringly, and held, stiffening her lip while Reeka spoke. "WhY sHoUlD yOu TaKe My WoRd FoR iT," she purred, left claw moving to grasp her pot's handle, "wHeN yOu CaN sEe It yOuRsElF?"

And with a hard yank, a gut-wrenching crunch somewhere, the pot came off. Reeka lacked a jaw to smile with, but Starlight, chilled to the bone and shivering, saw pure glee radiating from her goggle-like brown eyes.

Reeka held the pot out, unblinking. "PeEr InTo ThE bRoTh. It's My SpEcIaL rEcIpE."

Like a golem, Starlight obeyed.

Within the pot, big enough to be a small cauldron by pony standards, held a brown liquid blanketed in a coagulated film. On its own it stirred, the mixture swirling and the film spinning, changing shape to reveal an image within the murk: the familiar Cutie Map in the center, Twilight staring hard at something towering above on the picture's right. “You know why I'm doing this," her voice echoed hollowly. Nothing, not even her lips, so much as moved. "And I’m telling you that I accept: I’ll make a deal." Starlight lost her breath. "If there’s something of mine that you wanted… if all this was to use Starlight to get to me, well, congratulations... Here’s your chance.”

Starlight pulled back, searching the ground, her lap, her forehooves for answers. "She," came faintly, "she actually... even after what I said she..." Those horrible words Starlight had regretted came to surface, no longer impaling her violently. She just felt sick. "Tried to make a deal," whispered Starlight, vision blurring, "even when I told her we wouldn't be friends..."

"sHe DiDn'T gIvE a FlYiNg pIg aBoUt YoUr tIrInG fRiEnDsHiP."

"T-tiring?"

"tHe DeAr oNlY wAnTeD tO fEeL gOoD aBoUt HeRsElF." Reeka jostled the pot, soundlessly churning its contents. "oH, sHe MiGhT hAvE hAd YoUr BeSt InTeReSt In MiNd," she hummed, "Or WhAt ShE pReSuMeD tHeY wErE, aNyHoW. bUt In HeR hEaRt, FrEeInG hErSeLf Of HeR gUiLT wAs MoRe ImPorTeNt."

Starlight knew the desire better than anypony, she thought. And she really, truly didn't want to know, but had to more than anything, as she asked, "So what happened?" She gazed ahead; focusing on any one thing would surely break the dam.

Reeka answered, "wE dIdN't AcCePt, Of CoUrSe. It'S iN oUr PoWeR tO rEfUsE, aFtEr All." That made sense. And just because Twilight wasn't thinking straight, she...

She... meant well. But it was just as stupid as what I'd done.

"She should have known better," Starlight growled. "She's too important."

"ExAcTly!" Reeka cried, slapping the pot upon her head. "YoU gEt It! UnLiKe HeR, yOu GeT hOw ThIs 'DeStInY' tHiNg WoRkS. LiTtlE tWiLy StRuGgLeS sTiLL, gRaSpInG iT; sHe'S FaR tOo ImPoRtAnT tO rUin."

Starlight ignored the pang in her chest, hearing this, asking, "I doubt that'll stop her. Once Twilight's mind is set on something, she doesn't quit." That included her humble nature, constantly brushing aside the fact that Harmony clearly favors her little circle.

"sHe WiLL iN tHiS rEgArD," Reeka assured her, gravely. "If ShE wErEn'T sO iNtRiNsIC, LuNa WoUlDn'T hAvE arRrIvEd In TiMe To StOp TwIlIgHt'S iNdUlGeNcE iN dARk MaGiC."

Starlight's back straightened like an iron bar. "She what?!"

"LoOk FoR yOuRsElF." Reeka held the stupid pot to her.

Starlight slapped it aside. "I don't want to see anymore!"

It reappeared in Reeka's claw; no flash or nothing, it just blinked into existence, accompanied by a force of summer heat. "YoU sEeM tO bE uPsEt."

Understatement of the century. Starlight wasn't just furious, she was baffled and distraught over this. "Has Twilight lost her mind?" she cried. "Dark magic is dangerous, it's stupid. There's a reason even I never touched it, and Twilight risked herself in order to... for..."

It was too much. Too much. Starlight dropped her face into her hooves, and cried, cried, screamed, and bawled. Twilight nearly destroyed herself over this. I almost destroyed her because of this. Because of me...

"iF gEtTiNg YoUr HoRn BaCk wAs OrDaInEd, YoU'd aLrEaDy HaVe iT," said Reeka, as if Starlight cared through the smog of self-pity, her fury for Twilight, and her soul crying out smothered by it all. "tWiLiGhT wIll iNdEeD dEsTrOy HeRsElF, lEsT sHe AcCePt a PaInFuL rEaLiTy. YoUr SuFfErInG iS aN uNfOrTuNaTe SyMpToM oF iT Of It."

Like Starlight and everything that made her was little more than a disease. "SHUT! UUUP!" Starlight roared, but nopony was there. Reeka was nowhere.

Her voice echoed above her. Behind her. Beside her and inside her. "yOu'Ve PlAyEd yOuR pArT iN aLL'a ThIs, AnD yOu PlAyEd It WeLL," she said. "bUt ThE sToRy Of TwiLiGhT sPaRkLe AnD tHe ReTuRn Of HaRmOnY mUsT cOnTiNuE wItHoUt YoU. yOuR rOlE iS fInIsHeD, My DeAr sTaRLiGhT. yOu'Ve SaVeD tHe PrInCeSs! BuT yOuR pAtH dIvErGeS eLsEwHeRe. FiNd PeAcE wItH tHaT, aNd i KnOw YoU'll BoUnCe BaCk In No TiMe!"

Starlight had to go. But she'd no idea where. But she had to go. She had to leave. After all of this, everything she'd accomplished, Starlight's purpose was to be a sponge, used up until it's exhausted, and attempting to press on would only make things worse. Gross. Dirtier.

Awful.

Starlight's vision blurred again, her face running hot, the fur cloying. She barely heard Reeka's voice. "ThOuGh IF i WeRe YoU, i'D SaVe ThE pRiNcEsS tHe PaIn Of FigHtInG tHiS iNeViTaBiLiTy." No. No, Starlight refused to leave! This couldn't be true, none of it... "tAkE a SwAn-DiVe oFf hEr BaLcOnY, wHy DoN'cHa? ShE cAn't StOp YoU iF yOu'Re AlReAdY GoNe!" Raucous cackles rang in Starlight's ears, barraging her all over, every which way. Constant, shrieking, wailing in her ears.

"QUIET ALREADY!" Starlight dove into her pillow, hugging it over her face. She thought for a moment she blocked them out, but it was Reeka obliging her, leaving Starlight with a gouging in her chest.

And when Twilight came knocking on Starlight's door seconds later, asking if they could talk, Starlight froze. She wanted to, so badly, but Twilight was irresponsible and stupid and falling apart and it was her fault for letting things get this bad. But really, it was all Starlight's fault. And Reeka made it clear she would only make it worse.

Twilight, more concerned, asked if Starlight was okay. She screamed for the princess to leave.

It was all she could think to say.

Author's Notes:

So I want to make it clear that, in this story, psychologists and therapists aren't a thing in Equestria. My story is meant to take place in the show's own Equestria, and it's clear to me the world is so idyllic, such problems needing their services simply aren't a thing. Yes we know there are crazy ponies - remember that barking patient? But she was in a medical hospital getting treatment like it was a sickness of the body, and she seems to be getting better when you see her in the background of 'Just For Sidekicks.'

Think of it this way: if marriage and relationship counselors existed in show-'Questria, there would be no reason for Twilight or Cadance.

My point with this, primarily, is to keep Starlight close to Twilight. But another reason is because Starlight has very clear mental issues (even in the show) that doesn't receive the help she needs because it's largely unheard of in Equestria. Believe me, though - this isn't for the sake of being a torture porn for Starlight. Trust me when I say it will come together nicely by the end.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, despite its heaviness. Please comment, favorite, share, whathaveyou! Act IV is nearing its end.

IV.IX - The Ex-Commander and Ex-Dictator: Rising Action

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Tempest Shadow blinked. "That... was a lot." The mystery of those weeping noises from the shower beforehand was solved. They really were cries. Tempest was right. She did nothing, then or now.

Not that she couldn't. Glimmer was in the shower, first of all. Here, she was in the careful process of pouring them tea while Glimmer started babbling on about witches, the magic of the world, something called a "Flutter Valley," and the cow pie that is Destiny to sour the whole experience.

Tempest blinked again. And again.

Glimmer's eyes bounced to and fro, a wisp of steam curling before her, before that stump upon her head, far shorter and violent-looking than Tempest's own. Her's was a clean break by the paw of a baby Ursa, so swiftly it struck that young Fizzlepop Berrytwist was found unconscious and broken at the mouth of its den, the beast having stomped off thinking it killed the intruder.

Starlight's was hideous by comparison. Some of the splinters reached out like talons, brittle-looking and uneven. A randomized patch of serrated needles. None but the softspoken mare knew how the attack looked, but Tempest could tell it was yanked away from Glimmer's skull. Not bent. A shudder rippled through her, though Starlight was none the wiser; one good thing she got out of the Storm King's "training," at least.

"Please, say something," Glimmer giggled sheepishly.

A chill gripped Tempest by the mane still. "What do you want me to say?" she snapped. Her voice came softly, but the question, by nature, did not.

Glimmer winced and broke eye contact, reminding Tempest's socially-damaged self of the obvious: normal ponies were gentler, kinder, and more emotional than any creature in the world. And more importantly, with a familiar, faint clenching in Tempest's breast, Glimmer was just like her.

Emotional to a fault.

Wrathful to a self-destructive degree.

Ignorantly selfish.

Hornless.

And so, so strong. Until today, it seemed. Maybe a result of Tempest's inaction. Doing a stand-up job salvaging this, you're awful, 'Fizzle,' Tempest joked, though it didn't help in the slightest. She even thought it in Glimmer's humorous, snarky tone, but in the end, Pinkie Pie was a liar. Laughing at oneself only reminded them of their pathetic shortcomings.

Fizzle swigged her own cup of tea, clutching it gently, albeit firmly, in both hooves. She drank deep until there was nothing left, then poured herself another as warmth snaked underneath her breast.

Damn. Damn. Damn it all. Fizzle would have loosed such vile curses had she been in the presence of Storm Guards. But not ponies, not these days. Especially not in front of her... friend. The idea tickled her. According to Twilight, friends understood one another, cared for each other, and listened to what one another had to say with open minds.

By her accounts, Starlight was Tempest's closest friend.

And what a friend she was in turn. Fizzle had seen much in her days. Done more than she wished to remember, but was punished to never, ever forget. Acceptable, however. It was the least "Tempest Shadow" deserved, for...

For caging this gentle people she dared call her own. Nearly dooming them to enslavement for that monkey of a king.

For herself, a pony who was twice as old as those who considered themselves her friends. A pony who'd never staked her character on a belief, or a want, beyond that of what was already impossible. Even now, there was no drive. No future goals. She'd stayed holed up in her room all of yesterday, brooding like it was the old days again, like she had an excuse for acting the edgy teenager.

Even when Princess Twilight served up a future on her generous silver platter, not once, but twice. Most recently this morning, Tempest Shadow refused, in part in shame, primarily pride. Hate, really, for the ideas Glimmer now peddled her way, that her fate was never in control.

In Tempest's opinion, that was total crap. She wasn't the most magically-apt pony around, nor was she the smartest. But she never followed anyone or anything, not once. Never for their sake, not even the Storm King. She was her own Destiny, the one thing she ever got a say in, not some sadistic entity in the clouds, dictating ponies' lives like they were little more than wind-up toys.

"I wanted to know what you think," Starlight suddenly uttered. How timely. Was this Destiny possessing Glimmer to ask this right now?

A shake of the head. "I think you're a little bit crazy," stated Tempest, her bluntness accustomed to Storm Guards and scoundrels.

The pony's miserable, sad eyes shut, then opened, focused on her tea once more. "Yeah," she sighed, and nothing further.

This was not the same hollowness of the last couple days, of a pony worn down by the struggle of normal needs like basic hygiene. That was humiliating, surely, but at least nopony was around to see how helpless she'd become.

No, Fizzle remembered that look from a filly one lifetime ago, who'd disdained the scars marring her face and reputation until she despised their owner, and sought to erase them both. No, Starlight Glimmer, a miserable little pony to be sure, had merely looked exhausted before this. Cracking at the seams, yes, but marching to the beat of her drum. Not bending to the will of the world. Of her fate. Instead, she was fighting to the best of her ability.

It was a strength as unfamiliar as it was praiseworthy, and Fizzlepop refused to believe this witch had taken that. "Come now, don't give me the 'sad sack' routine. Where's your fire?"

Starlight answered like one commenting on the weather. "Sputtering out, like all fires do."

Fires could be rekindled, though. She was giving up too easily. "You fought against this 'destiny' crap to save the princess," Fizzle cursed. "How can you go face down, tail up, and take it now?"

Tempest had no idea if Starlight grasped the vulgar implications of her sentiment, but the dung slung her way certainly wasn't missed.

"I told you, this quote-unquote 'destiny crap' was the reason Twilight came to my village in the first place," she said. "Why I've lived here, helped the changelings and Stygian, saved Twilight, even? It's because of this 'crap' that you're sitting here now, enjoying teatime with yours truly. This 'crap' has been the way of the world for centuries, good and bad, and only now am I realizing my whole life has culminated to this happening to me." Her hoof, pointing at her stump, hit the table with a clatter of dishes. "We're not arguing about this. I don't want to. I'm sorry for bringing it up, so just drop it... Please?" Her ears wilted, eyes like her own namesake. "Don't make me talk about this any more, Fizzle, please."

There was that fire. Fleeting, but proved she wasn't broken yet. Good. "So by your logic, losing my horn? Having my life ruined? That's Destiny and its grand design?"

Starlight, cheek propped, gave a dung-eating grin. "Enjoy the taste. Not that I said it was delicious..."

Though she clearly thought it was, once. Now it made sense to Tempest: Glimmer was like a filly having just discovered where foals came from (and it wasn't rainbows).

A conversational dead end was what this was. "Tch." Tempest resettled violently in her chair, but was met with that cursed thing off to the side. She'd draped it with a sheet upon being gifted this equally uncanny bedroom. It did nothing to change the fact that it existed. But at least Tempest could avoid acknowledging what it meant as she had long before Starlight began to wave its purpose in Tempest's face like a patronizing dog bone.

This castle, this room, that thing and now Starlight's conviction... It was all becoming impossible to ignore, however.

Looking up to her, a stare lasting no more than a glance was exchanged before Starlight's eyes dropped to her tea, implying shame; withholding information. Considering how open they were yesterday, with "Fizzle" no less, she ought not to feel this way.

She simply shouldn't.

Unless it was something on Tempest's end, of course. Suddenly, their last couple exchanges made her feel like an ice-cold bully. "Do I," Fizzle, Tempest, hesitated, "...intimidate you?"

She was pitiful, and Starlight's sad-turned-gawking stare proved she knew it, knew she was so offended by this fear of her. Starlight had the Celestia-given right to feel that way, just as all ponies did. She owed Tempest Shadow nothing.

Yet, she acted like she did for "taking" Tempest's time, as if this old horse barely had any to spare: "N-no! No way, never!" she panicked, exaggerating, as one called out only could. "But... there's ideas going on in my head. Crazy things, like you said. And," she laughed, hollow eyes staring through Tempest, "and if I'm calling them crazy, well, there's no point hassling you, is there?"

Tempest didn't know what to say. I'm sorry I made you feel that way. Shame closed her throat. She was too silent for too long, and settled on a stiff nod. "Your tea is getting cold," she muttered.

"Right." Starlight's hooves trembled as she gripped it between both hooves. A sneaky glance Tempest caught in her peripherals mid-sip reminded her of the correct form, and balanced it on one hoof while propping it for security against the other.

A silent teatime had sunk in.

She really ought to grill Starlight, get her to confess. Though the kind of help Tempest had on offer would ultimately be useless, Starlight Glimmer didn't deserve to be scared of foal's stories. Or worse, believe her selfless sacrifice was little more than a footnote in the princess's long, coincidental life.

But prying into the convictions of a wounded soul would only make the problem fester, the issue in question being Glimmer's doubts. She'd only fight back against being pushed, leaving it to be worked at her own pace the only option. Fizzlepop Berrytwist knew this from experience, having long-since accepted "the hard way" of dealing with such trauma. Though Tempest would be damned for good this time if Starlight became as evil as she was, that was impossible, for this pony was older than Fizzlepop was at the time, and unlike most children, Glimmer reckoned outwardly as opposed to internally.

Twilight Sparkle ought to know better than ignore her unique perspective. It was admirable, to a degree, of how dauntless she was when it came to her friends, even monsters. But Fizzlepop... Tempest... remembered how irritating that could be if they didn't want it. Twilight would never understand, unfortunately, even after having it succinctly explained to her this morning (and likely missing Tempest's point when she'd stupidly confessed how much it was appreciated regardless, thanks to Glimmer's advice the previous morning). The princess could say, "No, I do get it," all she wanted. But a real friend would respect the wishes of another, no?

"Fizzle?" Said mare snapped her gaze up, jolting at the sound of concern. "Are you okay?" Starlight asked, head tilting. "Because I hope I'm not bothering you, th-though if I am..."

A shake of her head, an ache within rattling about. "Head's about to explode. Thinking about what you said. It was a lot is all." Hopefully her smirk assured that she wasn't speaking in ill will.

Her friend's ears wilted with the weight of the world. "I'm sorry," she said. "I needed somepony to talk to, a-and..." Her mouth staggered close, punctuating with a shrug. "I'm sorry."

"I understand," said Tempest. "There's more, though. Things I'm not very eager to dissect. Though I will say this: friendship? It's more complicated than I thought."

There was that smile. "You could say that again." Starlight glanced about, pursing her lips. "Maybe ponies are what's complicated."

"The two don't seem mutually exclusive."

"I guess not. It feels like they go hoof in hoof, don't they?"

Tempest snorted, for Starlight asked as if she had any idea. "You're talking to the wrong mare, little one." Starlight flushed a delightful shade of red, almost violet in the light of Tempest's bedroom. Definitely not because of its stuffiness.

Starlight's view made somewhat sense, on second thought. After all, the last thing an angry, fearful pony wanted was to be reminded they were so (another belief wrought by personal experience). If Tempest indulged her desire to help, it'd push away the sole pony who didn't regard her with at least a modicum of resentment (or so she liked to think).

She'd then be avoided like Princess Twilight... Right? The thought of losing Starlight pierced Tempest with something sharp, twisting the blade, gouging her heart out like barbed arrowhead clutched its innards.

Tempest loosed a breath. I won't let you lose to these bastards.

It was clear, then: she'd just been making excuses.

She wouldn't have been in this pathetic position of second-guessing herself if not for those monsters. Not solely for the encounter this morning, but for Starlight having ever contacted them in the first place and bringing her here. These beasts had violated Glimmer, ruined her, and were trying their damnedest to break her. By her friend's beliefs, Tempest was brought here to watch helplessly from the sidelines, for she could do nothing against them, nor help Starlight overcome her troubles. Perhaps this was divine punishment.

The weight of it all pressed against her, pinning her voice to her throat so thoroughly she couldn't swallow. Weak was Tempest's heart. It always had been, until decades of hardening it into a lump of stone rendered it unbreakable. That is until a pony, who should have let her get blown apart, swiftly shattered it to dust in one selfless act.

Then she left this empty shell to live a life that had been long-since eliminated: Fizzlepop Berrytwist's.

But Starlight Glimmer, an enjoyable pony in what was likely to be a briefly-lived union, gave Tempest something precious and irreplaceable yesterday. Something she could understand in this backwards world she once called home, and she only realized this, when else, but now? And she'd squandered it with cold hooves and schoolyard insecurities despite hearing sobs amidst an hour-long shower before arriving.

'I would only be intrusive.' Ha! Tempest smiled as bitterly as the tea she sipped to mask it. I'm nothing if I never dare to try to begin with.

And her inaction brought them here. Wasn't Destiny the most novel of concepts? Boggled the mind how Starlight could readily buy into it, it sincerely did.

Tempest clenched her jaw, her pity smoldering hot in her chest. Damnable emotions, controlling them was like attempting to tame a mad beast. Even though this was definitely her fault...

But it was also Twilight's for being stupid, Starlight's fault for being even more naive, and those witches, too, with their damned games playing them all like fiddles.

And Tempest had been watching from the sidelines.

"If I heard you talking," she seethed, "that witch would never have planted these ideas in your head."

"Weren't you listening? I said they'd made sure you wouldn't have," Starlight snapped. "Fate or not, whether I'm just crazy or those things were a hundred-and-ten-percent serious, they wanted me to hear the facts for myself: my swansong? ...Was for Twilight," she cried, "and I'm, and I'm a... I mean sooner or later, I'm gonna have to be..." She cringed, tracks of glittery purple stars carving down her cheeks, clinging to her chin before dripping unseen unto her lap.

What a petrifying sight. Was it best to try comforting her with a pat on the back? Would that be too presumptuous? Was it even enough? Princess Twilight made it seem as though embraces were a commonality around Equestria, not that Tempest would remember back when she was Fizzlepop Berry—

"I'm sorry," hiccuped Starlight. "I'm really sorry." She moved from her chair, her face becoming increasingly scraggly as she fiercely scrubbed her ruddy cheeks. "I should just go. Thanks for the tea, and your time."

Tempest's eyes shot open.

She bolted up, hoof reaching out for Starlight. "Don't," she ordered as her chair went flying back, clattering off the raised platform her table was set upon. "Please. You shouldn't," she hesitated, thinking, and thanking whatever she ought to for birthing her with a raspberry coat, "leave. You shouldn't leave like this. It's... I would advise against it. There's something more, I can tell." Tempest took her time rounding the table, for Starlight stayed rooted with her back left hoof off the platform. "I've no intention of telling you how to proceed," she continued. "For it's up to you to decide. You, Starlight. Do you grasp the subtext of my words?"

"Y-yes." She bobbed once.

Tempest shook her head, seeing through her. "You sought these crones at the edge of the known world. Put your life on offer to change what everyone but you decided was Twilight's 'fate.' They tell you your purpose is fulfilled, somehow knowing this as fact. And you believe them. Sure." Starlight's eyes hardened, igniting with something Tempest prayed was fire, even as they continued soaking her fur. "But now you're expected to believe this is all you have on offer? That Princess Twilight will discard you like the Storm King did me? No." Tempest shook her head. "She's many things. Naive. Trusting. Ignorant and arrogant..." Starlight's eyes cast down amidst this, eyes wrenched as if knowing this, hating it, and loving it all at once. "But she's also selfless and compassionate. She's the greatest friend anyone can ask for. Even a creature like me can see that."

"I know all of that!" Starlight snapped, voice wrenching from her throat. "It doesn't change the fact that I was right from the start: Twilight's too important to die. Of course her fate wasn't reaching its end any time soon, while I'm...! I was just..." She dropped her face.

Her swaying forelock slowed, then jostled with a swallowed sob.

"To Tartarus with fate," Tempest hissed. "So long as Twilight's your friend, you'll have relevance in her life. And I doubt that'll ever change." She held her breath, waiting, until she loosed it soundlessly.

And Glimmer waved Tempest off like she was nothing, her words just as empty. Wordlessly she turned slower than a pie rotisserie, dropping onto the stone platform. "Thanks," she mumbled. "I mean that. It means a lot to hear you say that, really. But you just... don't get it." Her forehooves folded on her lap. Tempest could only watch, absolutely helpless. Weak. Aimless. "I'm sorry for being a downer, Fizzle, but I don't wanna lie to you. I'm tired of it, of all'a this. And I won't smile like the obvious embarrassment I've been this past week, pretending everything is okay. If everypony can see right through me, you totally can, too."

She gave a sigh worth her entire being, sagging neath the weight of it all. Now she truly looked the miserable little pony. "I'm sorry I came. Maybe a trip to Sugarcube will make me feel better. Stuff my face with ice cream. If I can manage a cone like this, of course." She was in no hurry to go.

But that was it. She was just giving up. This "strong" pony was rolling over and accepting her fate like a foal would.

Like Fizzlepop Berrytwist nearly had.

Memories of that filly, who was so foolish she'd spent her entire life making one mistake after another, each more horrible and unforgivable than the last, exploded perpetually, endlessly in Tempest's chest. Circumstances she ignored and denied and pretended she was in control of came rushing forth as Tempest dove for Starlight, grappling her by the nappy fur of her bosom.

"H-hey! Wh-what the heck!?" Starlight looked frantically upon her kicking hind legs, swinging a foot off the ground thanks to Tempest's stature.

"You've any idea how aggravating it is, to hear you say this crap?" Feeble, panicked little kicks were thrown into Tempest's lean gut. "I wanna beat your brain in every time you've uttered the word 'destiny,'" she snarled, boring into Glimmer's wily gaze, who began kicking harder, panting, whimpering like a weakling. "Let me tell you a little something about destiny. Listen," she snapped, and Starlight slacked, a dead weight in her grasp.

"Listen. I had a lot of ponies come to me, giving what you're now slinging my way. That it wasn't some horrible accident, but fate that made me lose my horn. That it was another road on my path to serving Equestria. They were telling this to a filly, Starlight, a filly. You know what that feels like? To have everyone telling you it's a fine thing your life was ruined?" A rising in her chest, forcing Tempest to choke back a sob.

"Yes," Starlight whispered unexpectedly, the purple stars in her eyes glistening anew. "Sort of. Nopony ever told me, I sort of..." Her silence, her shame, spoke the rest. This poor, brainwashed fool.

"I didn't even have my cutie mark yet." Tempest sniffled, blinking the world back into clarity. "How the hell did they know what I was supposed to do with my life? Huh?"

"B-because that's how it works." Starlight gulped. "It's always how it worked. L-like, you think everything here, around us, is'n accident?" Her wavering smile had collapsed mid-sentence, eyes still wide and unblinking. Tempest looked to her forelegs, the small shocks vibrating within them. She, no, Starlight... both of them were trembling. "It's how it always worked," she heard Starlight utter, "since before you 'r I were born. It's not always a bad thing."

"But it is to us!" Tempest cried, pushing Starlight away. Her heart seized a moment as her friend was sent careening towards the cloaked item. But she was a strong pony, she could take this. "I will not accept that," Tempest seethed over Starlight's grunt on impact. "I refuse. I'm in control of my own fate, me." The thing almost fell on top of her, collapsing clamorously like a wagon full of symbols. "I chose to get that damned ball. I chose to run away! I betrayed my country, I committed treason, I made my own mistakes because I wanted to, not some puppeteer squatting in the woods!"

Tempest's voice broke midway through. She couldn't care less. She didn't care about any of this. Nothing at all. Glimmer was just a stupid pony who knew nothing about the world. She... She...

"Fizzle?" Starlight murmured, and something about it seized Tempest's screaming heart, silencing her beastial panting. "W-what's this all about, i-if you don't mind my asking?"

She knew what it was, and her eyes shot up anyway, baring to Starlight the terror and hate and disgusting loathsome feelings toward herself with utter shamelessness.

All of it directed toward that armor, its wooden stand in two pieces flanking Glimmer's sides.

Before her, molded in the uniqueness of a large pony, but not so large that it could fit either of the Two Sisters, was a set of metal barding. Even under the luster of her bedroom, it gleamed with a purple shine deeper than Twilight Sparkle's own lilac, but the affiliation was obvious at a glance. Easily discernible, it was perfect for social gatherings and travel, should the wearer accompany Twilight to such things. It was tough as diamonds, utterly unbreakable, because Tempest tried. Quality, the kind Tempest only heard in legends. The helmet, held in Starlight's hooves, would lobster the head everywhere but around a pony's muzzle and eyes. A slot crested the back of it for the wearer's mane, not unlike the Royal Guards' uniform.

The set would have covered Tempest from ear to tail, emblazoning her flanks with seven colored gemstones arranged in a circle, echoing the time she once covered her marks with the Storm King's bident.

"Are you," Starlight breathed, gulping, spinning the helmet to face Tempest with its blatant truth, "were you planning on becoming a Royal Guard or something? Did Twilight give you this?"

Of course not. Why would she want an enemy of Equestria guarding her life? It was this castle, this room, the one that "just appeared" the day Tempest arrived, according to Twilight, who only offered because she was too kind not to.

No, the real worst part about all this? She wanted it. They both did, really. Twilight would be more than happy to have her.

Fate seemed to want it.

Tempest remembered feeling sick by the prospect of it all. That everything she ever was and did, all of it, was a big joke. That everything she suffered was to serve some other pony's gain. One that was as sweet as Twilight, no less, who possessed no notion of how offensive this all was.

No. Tempest couldn't spare it a thought right now, let alone a word. Starlight didn't deserve... any of this, taking the brunt of her anger just for seeking the comfort of a friend. There were better ponies than Tempest Shadow anyway. Why Glimmer thought she was the best one to speak with would be a mystery forever.

Trembling, at a loss for words, Tempest could only manage a few before surely exploding. "Get out," she growled like some frothing beast.

A gentle knocking behind her, on the door, made Tempest actually jump. A clatter behind her suggested Starlight did the same, throwing her helmet, the helmet, from her hooves.

"Tempest? Spike says he heard yelling. Are you okay in there?"

Twilight. Tempest's head was midway through turning before turquoise flooded her room for but a moment. She whipped back around, where only wisps of smoke, crackling with blue electricity, lingered about the armor. Both faded into nothing as Twilight knocked again. "Tempest?" she called, increasingly worried.

It was only after she left, assured that Tempest was okay, did she let herself roar into a pillow. What was wrong with her, and more importantly, what had she just done?

Starlight would forgive her. That's who she was. Doubtful, but Fizzle hoped.

Interlude: Trixie and Rainbow Dash Butt Heads

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"Come on! You gotta know something we don't. You're always bragging about how the two of you are such great friends."

"I'm not in the business of gossiping about Starlight with any of your lackey friends."

Once, it'd be almost impossible to resist the urge to kick such a smack-talker in the back of the head. But then Rainbow became friends with Twilight, and later, a Wonderbolt. "Don't you care about making her feel better?" She zipped around, hovering above Trixie's path. "Anything, Trixie, anything you can tell us would be a real big help. You like impressing us, right?"

Trixie barked a laugh, deliberately turning a sharp left instead of going underneath Rainbow. "As if I give a flying feather about what any of you think of me, save Twilight," she muttered in a breath. "You wanna know about her so badly? Howsabout you act like you're Starlight's friends and actually talk to her like a normal pony. 'Cause I'll tell you this much... ooh, can't forget my magic sack." Rainbow growled as Trixie whipped around, leering toward a star-spangled sack as big as a melon and equally as heavy-looking. "I can tell the suspense is killing you," she turned her head, looking over with glazed, tired eyes, "so to explain myself, Starlight was able to relax around me. I didn't treat her like this dainty little flower. And that isn't bragging, believe it or not, because even when Maud and I offered to have a slumber party she declined as though we were asking if we could meet her dad. Clearly, there's something going on with her she's not yet comfortable enough to tell me about. That is all I will tell you, Rainbow Dash. Savor it." And Trixie bit down upon the sack and carried it to her wagon, where dozens of other stage props were littered about the entryway for "re-categorization" or whatever.

Rainbow's first thought was of surprise, for Starlight actually had parents she hadn't yet told her about. And if Rainbow didn't know, the others must not either, for Rarity was a tried and true gossip hound who was terrible at keeping secrets, especially under the epic relief of Aloe's hooves when they would go on a Secret Spa Date. She and Starlight spent the most time together of the six of them, not counting Egghead, and if Rarity didn't know, then she might not have told Twilight, either.

Her second thought was more of a realization than anything really deep or critical, which she dumbly voiced aloud for Trixie to mock and use as pathetic win points.

"Wait, you and Starlight hung out?"

Trixie looked to and fro, as if trying to find something, then set her bag down and looked over her shoulder. "Yes. And so did Maud, but she entered the scene later." She snatched it back up in her mouth, violently enough to send it swinging and nearly smacking her on both sides of the face.

So Maud was in on this, apparently. Wouldn't Pinkie have said that earlier? Unless she didn't know something about her sister, for once. Revelations like this were usually kind of relieving, reminding Rainbow that Pinkie wasn't an utterly perfect friend-slash-sister, either.

Trixie placed her "magic" sack at the foot of her stairs leading into the wagon. "And, no, before you ask," she said, turning fully, "Trixie isn't sure why Starlight declined our, or rather my, generous offer. We did nothing to offend her, and she turned us down so hard that Trixie felt it upon her royal cheek." Which she demonstrated by rubbing where she was symbolically slapped.

Rainbow didn't care if she saw her roll her eyes. Then, brilliance struck (she hoped). "Any idea why?" she asked, swooping closer as Trixie went to grab her bag. "Maybe like, I dunno, something you did or talked about?" Too much, too late. She always acted before thinking it through, a habit she and Spitfire were aching to break.

With an ursa-like groan, and dropping her "magic sack" upon the grass, Trixie did a 180, glaring as if possessed by the Alicorn Amulet all over again. "It seems all those crashes and rainbooms have severely damaged your cognitive skills." She flicked her bedraggled forelock aside, clearing her view, "so let me spell it out as succinctly as I possibly can." Trixie took a breath Rainbow could barely hear over the piercing cry of a teakettle. It's been years since this mare did something to tick her off. "I am not Starlight's only friend. I don't care if Twilight and her lackeys wanna give her the keys to Canterlot, as if that'd fix all her problems! You six need to mind your own beeswax, because how you're treating this is sickening to me. Sickening! I've half a mind to tell Starlight your game here, coming to Trixie and bothering her about things you, her friends, ought to know like a sixth sense by this point."

Ouch. Really, that hit like a wall to the face, all sudden and out of nowhere when, in all honesty, it was Rainbow's fault for slamming into it. She armored herself with a well-practiced sluggish blink. "Ya done, Ms. Great and Powerful?"

"That depends if you are," Trixie challenged with a whirl, a flick of the tail and horn, tossing that "magic sack" into the darkness of her wagon. "Shoot, I needed to sort through that." Any coolness points evaporated as the dummy galloped after it, disappearing inside.

Rainbow shook her head, landing on three hooves. "Not even close," she answered under her breath.

Even so, she wondered, Why'd I have to be the one to ask Trixie? Scratch that. A better question came to mind: Why do we have to deal with her at all? Rainbow Dash had doubly half a mind to turn around, give Lulamoon the nastiest, most vulgar flight trick in her arsenal, then report back to Twilight and lie that Trixie was just as lost as they were. At least then, the girls would side with Rainbow and accept that being direct with Starlight was the only way to help her.

That was all out the window once Trixie said revealed sh did, in fact, have contact with their friend. After failing twice, once to keep Twilight and Spike away from Starlight before Pinkie returned with Princess Celestia, and again for choosing not to fly her the message herself, Rainbow vowed for all to hear that she wouldn't return without something that could help.

With that, her honor and virtue as a friend was on the line.

She'd revoke her place in the Wonderbolts if it meant getting Starlight to feel better. And if Twilight thought Trixie knew "something" that could help achieve this, as the egghead put it, then Rainbow had no issue with basically grovelling before the showmare. Not that she would actually do that, as as if Rainbow would ever grovel to anypony, much less Trixie Lulamoon.

Said mare exited her wagon, floating an assortment of halfhearted props like stuffed rabbits and paper bouquets, and made a throaty sound upon locking eyes with her. "You're still here?"

"I'll ignore the fact that you called me stupid before," said Rainbow Dash. "But if you think I'm gonna leave without your help, you got another thing comin'!"

A slimy smile cross Trixie's lips. "Ooh, 'help' is what we're calling it now. You girls want my help?"

Sweet Celestia. Rainbow thanked the many hours Spitfire yelled derogatory insults at her teammates. Not the same, but Trixie was still somepony spewing garbage that really ticked her off. "Obviously," she cried like it was so. "Look Trixie, whatever gripe you have with us, just drop it already. I'm not saying we didn't mess up that day, because," she swallowed a lump threatening to solidify, "because we all did that day." Trixie's expression softened, though an edge lingered. "But if we wanna help Starlight, then we gotta both get over ourselves and work together to give her the help she needs!"

Trixie's gaze lowered, searching, her brows pushing together. Rainbow flew over, turning and craning her head down beside her, even hugging her close. Because like it or not, despite her obnoxious behavior, this dummy was Starlight's friend and therefore Rainbow's, too. Sort of.

"So come on!" she urged. Every second they wasted was another Starlight was suffering. "If we don't help her soon, Starlight could be in real trouble! Just come back to the castle with me, please? Come back, and just tell Twilight what you know, so that we can help Starlight correctly. And I promise," she said with a hoof upon her slamming heart, "I promise, on my wings, my Element, and my honor as a Wonderbolt, that we'll help Starlight get better, together."

Rainbow bit the inside of her cheek, held her breath, stilled her entire being save the wings that carried her so far. A breeze picked up, pulling their manes in a way much like she always did her father at a Wonderbolts show.

Finally Trixie's mouth staggered open. "When you put it..."

A loud, otherworldly womp sound yanked both their attention toward Trixie's "saw a pony in two" prop, where the grass bowed toward a sphere of teal light that shuddered, slowly at first, then faster, more frantic. The air around it became charged with cloudless thunderbolts, snaking around it at impossible speeds. In the second it began it expanded, a wave of light and balmy wind, like something out of the Bad Lands outside Klugetown. Acting quickly Rainbow covered her eyes, but returned immediately as soon as a ghastly whine boomed and faded, where Trixie suffocated in a way she never thought to hear from her.

And all Rainbow could utter was a breathless, "Woah."

Within a circle of charred grass sat Starlight Glimmer, that crazy-awesome unicorn. Her back was to them as she struggled to rise on tremulous forelegs, as though she'd finished her first ever marathon. Electric-blue bolts snaked around her in spurts, vanishing and appearing within the instant of appearing. A single strip of smoke curled from what was obviously her horn stump.

She wasn't making a sound. Probably in awe as well.

"You... are... a beast, Starlight!" she cried, swooping over as her friend continued trying to comprehend her surroundings, clearly in a daze. "Is this what you've been working on? Not even a week without your horn, and you're already back to doing crazy magic." It'd better be the case. Twilight would be relieved if that was the answer behind her cold shoulder these last few days.

But she still hadn't moved. Or answered. "Eh?" Rainbow flew toward her. "Yo, Equestria to Starlight!" A cackle burst from Rainbow's lips, still reeling from the gravity of what happened. "Can I just tell you how awesome that was? Because it totally was!"

"M'wuh?" Starlight turned her head, rubbing her forehead. And Rainbow screeched to a stop, her gut plummeting faster than she could ever hope to fly. "My head hurts," she mumbled, not even seeing the crimson on her hoof as she used it for support, painting the blackened grass around it.

Trixie stepped underneath Rainbow, jostling her aside. "Oh, gosh, Starlight. Y-you're bleeding. You're bleeding from your horn!"

"Yeah." Rainbow nodded, swallowed. Her mouth was dry. "Let's get you to the hospital."

Starlight waved them off with the finesse of a newborn foal. "No, no'm... f-f'hi..." Her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

Rainbow zipped, caught her before she hit the ground, uncaring of the warm blood tracing underneath her eye, down her cheek, trickling on her foreleg. Her friend was bleeding. Starlight was bleeding, she was actually bleeding from her horn, and...!

Rainbow exhaled. This was fine. She had it under control. "I gotta get her to the..." Trixie fired up her horn and poofed them to Ponyville General before Rainbow could finish.

IV.X - Losing Nerves

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That pale pony emerged once more from the double doors titled, 'Immediate Care.' An ironic name if Trixie ever heard one, considering the nonchalant pace those in need were being sought too. The chairs were so full of family and patients that some were required to lean against the wall, as if their day wasn't cruddy enough already.

"Um, Mr. Blues?" Across from where she sat, a cobalt stallion's mopey eyes brightened, his ears perking up as he turned to the nurse. "Nurse Tenderheart is waiting to see you," she informed him with a smile.

With a "Finally!" and an awkward gait, he hobbled toward her and this ivory prison's, 'Immediate Care.'

An instinct snapped within Trixie's heart, driving her to her hooves once more and the blotting out of Rainbow Dash's petulant growl. "Is Starlight okay?" she cried.

The white nurse pony whipped her head around from Blues, baby-pink bun bouncing to and fro as she answered, "Yes, Ms. Lulamoon! For the eighth time, she is."

"R-right." Curse my friend-loving instincts! Trixie whipped her mane aside, becoming the pillar composure she was known to be, and still was, in spite of the oppressive environment she was currently stuck in. "When will Starlight be awake, then?"

Redheart inhaled, but held it, shutting her mouth instead within a look of concentration. "You cannot see her either way, but against all odds—"

"Trixie, come on."

Rainbow's voice flicked her in the back of the head. "No."

A set of four hooves clapped upon the floor behind her. "You heard her the first time!"

"I said no!" As if that'll make me ditch Starlight, you yellow-bellied craven coward!

Rainbow appeared beside Trixie, penetrating her great and powerful and personal bubble. "So are we gonna sleep here? What about needing to stock of your magic stuff, r'whatever? For your show?"

Like that was even remotely important right now. Trixie bore holes through the 'Immediate Care' doors even after the nurse and Blues rolled their eyes and disappeared behind them. Let them mock. They always have. They were ants.

"We'll be lucky if she even wakes up tomorrow. That's what Redheart said! C'mon, this's getting crazy, Trix! We gotta face the music and tell Twi about..." Rainbow trailed off, gaze raking across the suspiciously quiet waiting room, "...about what'd happened this morning! Maybe if we do, she'll... well, she'd..."

Do nothing. She'd freak out and make it worse, just as Trixie had been saying up and down, would continue to do so till the day she expired from this world, and Equestria's magic reclaimed her beautiful flesh. But until then...

Trixie whirled on Dash. "Then go, Little Miss Loyalty. Your gut is so insistent that this is the way? Then go." Celestia knows she was too useless to stop Dash, even if she tried her best as Twilight always had. But Starlight tried just as hard. Yet they were doomed to fail, while the princess was fated to win.

"Starlight, I'm tellin' ya, Twilight's gonna find out one way or another. My gut's—"

"Oh, enough about your gut!" Trixie groaned. "It's giving me anxiety. Your 'gut' only feels this way because you're 'betraying' Twilight, or some equally dramatic manure. Not because you know with certainty that you're right. You don't, because you barely know Starlight."

"And how do you know that? Have you ever had to make a difficult decision in your life?"

Of course: for most of Trixie's life, she'd chosen the easy way instead of the hard way. The easy way instead of the right way. She'd chosen lies and deceits over honor and authenticity. She'd chosen to win for once instead of losing a thousand more times. Trixie was born without a father or a good teacher, instead to a mother who couldn't afford Celestia's privileged academy, and peers who couldn't pay the popularity points needed to hang with, "Little Lulamoon," who embarrassed her mother further by failing so hard, so often.

Trixie tousled her mane, chuckling wickedly at how easy this pegasus had it. "Once or twice," she said. "The most recent of which being the very struggle you're dealing with now. You don't think a part of me wishes to tell Twilight, too?"

Not a whole truth, but close enough to it. Starlight, you dangerous dumb fool. Trying to do magic like that, even after all that grief she'd given Trixie about remaining her assistant!

Rainbow, however, was never the dumb jock Trixie subconsciously assumed she was since the morning they first met. She stood firm, unflinching still despite Trixie's airtight logic, believing she herself knew better. "There's nothing more to say. Not to you," said Trixie. "I've exhausted my patience debating this before Starlight popped out of nowhere. I've explained the inherent flaws in your thinking down to the letter, and still, here you are: insisting adherence to Twilight's wishes instead of the friend we are trying to help. Regardless of how you proceed, you're going behind one of their backs. Choose incorrectly, and we'll be right back where we started—with Starlight distrusting you."

"I feel you're blowing this way out of proportion."

So unflinching. She honestly deserved those screaming foals over at Ponyville Schoolhouse. What Rainbow lacked in brains, she made up for in strength and integrity. But Trixie knew a confident facade when she saw one, and the sweat beading Rainbow's brow might as well be teardrops for all the turmoil she's certainly feeling.

It was impossible not to smile. "You wanna risk that bet?"

At last, Rainbow's glare softened, her grimace dampening like soil in the rain. Rain she scrubbed away with one swipe of the foreleg. "Dang it," she seethed, then stomped, growling aloud, "Dang it!"

"I know, it sucks. But if you're so bored waiting for results, then go make some for yourself. You'll hate them, but at least my progress will fall apart at a pace which accommodates your needs."

Rainbow held her gaze. And held it. And held it. "I really, really hate your attitude sometimes, Trixie."

Hate was a strong word. As if Rainbow's was any different? "Say something that matters for once. Are you leaving or not?"

Trixie almost breathed a sigh of relief watching Rainbow collapse into her seat, muttering, "'Progress,' please." Pride had to be bit down and swallowed for Starlight's sake. This was hard enough without having to keep this rowdy mare under control. It was like someone wanted Starlight to be ruined by bringing Dash, of all ponies, to Trixie's abode this morning. Had it just been herself, she could have easily kept this a secret between her and Starlight. But now...

"Ah, Ms. Great and Powerful?" croaked a tired voice.

Hearing her proper name always brought a smile to Trixie's lips. Settling back, eyelids a blessed blanket for her aching eyes, she asked, "What is it, senior citizen?"

The old stallion, Mr. Waddles, who was in before Starlight with a bruised flank that he deemed needed, "Immediate Care," forced the words out with his seventy-something-year-old vocal chords. "Your friend? Starlight Glimmer?"

"My best friend," Trixie corrected. Not even strangers would lump her with half-friends in the likes of Rainbow Dash.

"Right. Well, you might not've heard, on account of you two's constant bickering, but Nurse Redheart left because she was annoyed by you two's constant bickering."

"Uh-huh..." Trixie said patiently.

"Yes. But before doing so, she said something like, like your friend had already woken up?"

Starlight flopped left, wincing as the knot beneath her horn, or rather, what was left of it, knitted tightly. When it twinged again seconds later, she beat her pillow until it was decidedly comfortable (which it never was, of course) and faceplanted into its ever-lumpy depths. A needle of pain slithered down the length of her horn, and tears were blinked away from her eyes.

"My horn," she mumbled, "it hurts." It hurt so bad she wanted to die, just to end it.

Starlight grit her teeth. She wasn't so desperate as to truly wish for such a thing. It's just pain, she remembered. Pain goes away with time. Won't be long before this crackly, chipped tooth of mine stops hurting me. Stops reminding me of what I woefully lack. With time, it'll become just another ugly blight on my laundry list of mistakes. And with time, her body, too, will get the memo instead of trying to leave stressful situations on a whim.

For many moments Starlight pondered what was more sad: how teleporting away had become instinctive, or that even now, with this injury, she was running from all her problems.

Shortly after awakening, this reality bucked her swiftly in the gut, again and again and again and hadn't stopped for a breather since. How she'd only sought Fizzle—Tempest, rather—this morning for someone, anyone, to dispel the soul-grinding realization that Reeka's vow wasn't prophecy, but fact.

That Tempest had the fated misfortune of being gifted a room so close to Starlight, who never considered how her words might affect the hornless older mare, just to hammer in this fact at long, long last. And she rightfully called Starlight out for the insanity she was spouting, treating them as the ravings of a mare desperately trying to alleviate responsibility for her current state. Tempest was wrong, of course, she had no idea what Starlight was talking about and with her history, she'd never want to.

Not that a modicum of this occurred until it was too late. As always. 'Story of my life.' A tugging at her lips, a humorless smile, meant that on some level this must have been funny. On some level, these circumstances weren't so terrible.

And at some point, Starlight would pick herself up, maybe have a cry, then heal, and move on once again. Just like she had after her first friend suddenly left her life, and she had with Our Town, when her philosophy was torn apart by one Twilight Sparkle, and very nearly with Trixie and her friendship with Sunburst.

It was all a cycle, always, with Starlight clutching either end of the circuit. Only her, always.

Whether Reeka was honest or not, playing the prophet, or she just knows me that well, Starlight thought for the umpteenth time, I only cared how I felt, and that's why I ruined things with Tempest.

And that's why she ruined things with Twilight.

If some godly figure came and gave Starlight one chance to do it over, she'd have given pause and seen things from their perspective, Twilight and Tempest both. If she had been an outside observer, she would have stopped herself before she started, and then had something beautiful with friends who truly understood her.

'Could've, would've, should've,' Glimmer mused.

That's not what fate wanted, though. Fate decreed that Rainbow and Trixie, and probably half of Ponyville, too, were to speculate on the madness which possessed her to recklessly pop in out of nowhere, dazed and bleeding from the stump like a complete and utter moron.

'Road to friendship,' indeed. Did either of them expect this road would involve detours to the hospital as a result of freakout-charged accidents? Silver lining: Tempest hadn't turned against her, for Twilight has yet to pop in out of nowhere, trying to wring out an explanation. She'd probably use dark magic and force it out, too.

That gross notion was gone before it could take root and feel plausible. No way would Twilight invade another pony's privacy like the old Starlight would.

Just what did Twilight even see in me all those years ago?

"Um, Ms. Starlight?" a mare chirped sweetly.

Oh, no! TWILIGHT! Shooting upright sloshed the dull, thick agony about her skull. Of course it wasn't her, Starlight was overreacting again. Massaging her pounding temple, she snapped, "Mm, what?" because of course the help had to suffer the stupid wrath of Starlight, too.

Nurse Redheart smiled, pretending it was nothing. But there was a weakness behind it, a forcefulness painfully obvious to one who was surrounded by fake smiles at one point. "I imagine you're still jonesing to leave, yes?"

As was she gearing up to be rid of Starlight's nastiness. 'This puke-green ceiling isn't getting any comelier, so, yes. I am.' She swallowed the stupid comment and simply nodded.

"Right." A sadness tinted Redheart's smirk as she nodded back, glancing twice at the clipboard in her foreleg. "Yes, I understand. I still think it's best if you stay for just one little night, but we can't exactly force you to stay here." She began trudging over on three hooves.

No, but Twilight would certainly try and make me. Keyword being "try." The sooner she left this place, the slimmer a chance she had of getting cornered and corralled into yet another unnecessary argument with Her Royal Highness.

"Hold on a second." Redheart froze midway to Starlight's bed, eyes fixated on the floor beside it. "Did you see who took the wash bucket that was over here?" she asked, pointing. Starlight's esophagus clenched at the memory as Redheart stamped her back-left leg, squeaking like a filly. "That dang Sweetheart, it has to be. I told her not to do more than her job!" A fond shake of the head. "She can never resist that urge, I suppose. Not that I'm complaining."

"It was no one," Starlight said aloud, plainly, to Redheart's insulting bafflement. "I did. It's in the bathroom." She gestured right, to the shut door.

"Why...?" Redheart looked from it to Starlight, clipboard held closer to her chest, which she stole another glance at before hugging it again. Did she think it held a logical explanation for something so freaking unbelievable? As if earth ponies didn't move crap without a horn all the time? "You... say you moved it?"

Starlight nodded curtly.

"In your state?"

She bit her lip, as well as a retort. "It's pretty much a sand bucket. Just some water and a sponge, nothing heavy."

And also blood: disgusting bodily fluids which siphoned life through all living things. The one thing in this world rarer than gold, yet owned by everypony. Only several throughout history had ever seen the stuff outside a gushy nose or a scrape on the knee. Because of the water, Starlight awakened to find this bucket appearing absolutely filled with the stuff, sopped up by this poor nurse. How much more gag-worthy, Starlight wondered, was the coppery tang of blood when it'd caked her forehead?

Redheart's thousand-yard-stare proved she was stuck in that grand old time. "I'm sorry... I mean, we are—" She blew a raspberry. A shake of the head, a knock on the temple, and she came back composed and sweet-smiling like she just walked in. "Apologies, let me start again!" She breathed in, a pink tint to her cheeks. "As your nurse, I apologize for not taking care of it sooner, Ms. Starlight. Our inexperience with an event such as this is no excuse for sloppy patient care."

A shrug of the shoulders. "I don't care, I get it. It's only because you guys aren't used to something like this. It isn't normal procedure, I imagine, having to mop another pony's blo-s-stuff w-with a sponge."

From the distance, the faint clacking of hooves on tile and ponies murmuring crashed hard upon them. Redheart blinked emptily, processing the lightheartedness fail.

Stupid Starlight she thought, Nurse Redheart was disgusted to have to do that. Of course she isn't going to think that's funny!

"R-right, the... smell must have been bothersome, I imagine," said Redheart, "or else you wouldn't have gone through the trouble of moving it. Again, profuse apologies for not being up-to-snuff."

"There's no need to be sorry. Really." It was only because of the collateral which came about in Starlight's wake. "Actually, I couldn't stand the thought of you guys cleaning my mess," she replied casually. "Much less something like this."

"But weren't you in pain?"

Starlight blinked at the... emotion, for lack of a better word, in Redheart's voice, the glimmer in her eyes. Even the way she stepped closer felt genuine. "Uh, yeah, k-kinda," Starlight answered, forgetting to lie.

Redheart took another glance at her clipboard, astonishment on her face. "Your friends told me you were strong, but I'd have never imagined it was so... literal."

Of. Course. Of course they were telling the doctors that. There was no gossip, no vicarious bedside care. Rainbow and Trixie respected her, for whatever reason; all of her friends did. And she had the nerve to think ill of them? It was precisely for this reason that everypony was wrong about her.

Starlight gazed aside, unable to stand Redheart's evident admiration a second longer. "Why's everypony saying that?"

"Perhaps because, on some level, it's true." Redheart's hooves clopped steadily closer. "I won't presume to know you, personally, Ms. Starlight, although I wouldn't mind the chance... h-however, as a medical practitioner, I can say with certainty that your constitution is outstanding! If you'd allow the simile, y-you're as tough as... as an alicorn." Redheart tucked a pink strand of mane behind her ear. "I mean that sincerely."

Starlight turned with astonishment. "Just how many alicorns have you cared for?"

Redheart smiled sheepishly. "Just our resident princess, I'm afraid," she laughed, teasing a chuckle out of Starlight.

But it's not like she knew what this felt like, how manageable and unimpressive it really was. At worst it was a headache, or the morning that followed a major sugar binge.

"It wasn't much, though." Starlight couldn't even remember if it strained her neck or not, proving how unremarkable an act it was. "I didn't do anything, I don't do anything. I just... wanted to help."

And not thinking beyond that is why I'm here, wasting your time.

"With the bucket, or...?" Starlight's gaze into the ceiling became a glare. A warning, for she truly didn't feel like discussing the far grander parallel Redheart was implying. "I see. Well, you're my patient, Ms. Starlight. You do not need to worry yourself over helping, only to get better."

That sounded an awful lot like something her mother would say.

And Redheart was being far too familiar besides. "Yeah? Well, maybe in your opinion. But I know what's best for me. So, thanks, but I'd appreciate it if you sorta kinda... stepped back, and let me decide what I'm 'in need' of feeling for myself."

The nurse's powder-blue eyes widened, her smile long gone.

Starlight laughed to mask her horror. "Sorry! Sorry. Totally uncalled for, heh. It's just... I feel good now! Well enough not to be stuck here, at least. Not that you know any better! Oof, what I mean, is, you're not me, so it's a little unfair to assume you know exactly how I feel, especially when your only concern is my health." Redheart blinked. Her lips began to part. "What I'm trying to say is, I mean, what I'm trying and failing to say, is that I'm not the glass doll everypony thinks I am because of..." Starlight's heart nearly gave out as she tried to finish, and so instead she gestured vaguely to her forehead. When Redheart didn't move, not even to nod in understanding, she cried out. "I can drag a bucket and dump it in the sink by myself, it's not hard! And it's so you won't have to gag at all my stuff, so why's it matter how I did it?"

"Ms. Starlight," uttered Redheart, likely jumping to conclusions.

"It wasn't even that bad, really! Not everything I do is worth all this pomp and circumstance!"

"Ms. Starlight... please," Redheart finished gently. "I wasn't doubting you. Not at all. I was just surprised is all." Like that was any different from praising her for essentially taking out the trash. "But I insist you keep your voice down, we've patients who aren't quite so resilient they can shout on the day of receiving a traumatic head injury."

This was just a dangerous case of experiencing a "phantom limb." Redheart had to have been referring to her horn. "I told you already, this happened to me about a week ago." Not coming here was a surprisingly wise move on Twilight's part, considering how she is.

Then again, what could Ponyville General have done to amend such a rare and irreparable injury?

"I... I wasn't talking about that." Redheart had a look. "That" kind of look. The kind Starlight only read about in her drama novels, when doctors were waging a war inside about how to deliver life-changing news to their patient.

Starlight put on a brave face for her. "Unless I'm dying quicker than everypony else, I won't sweat it too much. So lay it on me."

Redheart blinked. In a burst of movement she removed a pair of dark, plastic-looking sheets from the clipboard. "Here," she breathed, "I mean, I'm here so you could have a look at these. And do I could help walk you through this, and... unless you're busy tonight..." She blanched, she blushed, she stepped back, away from the bed, sheets in the crook of her elbow. "They're your x-rays, Ms. Starlight," Redheart uttered stiffly, the color draining slowly from her cheeks. "Renderings of your inner workings, these in particular being those of your nervous system and your skeleton."

Thinking back to just three hours ago, Doctor Horse came and scanned her, but it had zero effect on her. Starlight presumed it was because of her broken bond, the loss of her sixth sense. "Aw, but not my big, beautiful brain?"

"Ideally, we'll never have to. But that's on you." The shakiness of Redheart's smile and words barraged Starlight's heart.

This had to have been an overreaction. It had to be. It had to be. Whatever it was, it couldn't get any worse than losing one's horn and magic and reason for living.

Redheart's hooves fell as a judge's gavel would, carrying Starlight's x-rays across the room to their final judgement. She hiked her blanket close to her chest as the nurse clipped them to a nectar-filled home of bugs, humoring Starlight for half a second. She'd written it off earlier as a strange fish tank-esque distraction for the patients until Redheart pulled one of two cords on the bottom, darkening the transparent window, and a second later it was alight with the fireflies, highlighting four images of a broken unicorn's front and side profile.

Half were of a wiry pony-shaped structure, the other a skeleton with a splintered stump jutting from the skull. Returning to the left, she noticed a dark space where there should be a web of nerves upon her forehead, twisting to form a spear-like protrusion. It was like Hydia did more than take her horn, she carved out half her brain, too.

She might have, actually.

"Ms. Starlight." Redheart paused, gulping for dramatic effect. Or she was ready to vomit from what was on the screen, if Starlight's writhing gut was any indication?

"What is this?" she asked immediately. "What'm I looking at, Nurse?"

Redheart, terrifyingly, said nothing. She only bit her lip. "I'm... going to go off script for a moment. You're a brilliant mage, Miss... Starlight. Glimmer. Starlight, dear, everypony knows that," she told with compassion. "But I don't believe you're the type who appreciates honeyed words. Additionally," she paused, gulping, "I'm aware your knowledge of the arcane arts is second to none. I know, because Princess Twilight told me as much. Which tells me you know all about the ins and outs of unicorns, their relationship with the higher mysteries, and the bridge between them: their horn... and how their bodies make this bond corporeal."

Of... course. Obviously, she knew all about Starlight already. Because Twilight was friends with everypony in Ponyville, and she made time for them all when she could. She was such a good friend. She tried, and often failed, but she tried to be the best friend possible for every pony because she herself wanted to. That's what made her worth all this horror in the first place.

"And though this is completely un-professional, in my professional opinion, this calls for a different approach. There is simply no gentle way for me to break this to you, given my assessment, and delaying the inevitable with what you perceive are the basics would only harm us both in the long run. Are you okay with this, or do you wish for me to follow the script?"

Starlight's gut sank. And sank. And sank. Then she remembered to shake her head. Or nod. "Just spit it out," she said, feeling so, so far from this room, this bed, and this town. "Please."

Starlight was elsewhere, where the nurse's words, dwindled to a far-off garble, could just barely reach her, though reach they did. It was somewhere far from the huge, dark, coffee stain that bled from the broken horn upon the monitor, where it crept up beneath the spot Starlight's own hairline began and ached, and drizzled down the bridge of her nose, seeping around her eye sockets. Covering everywhere she ached the most.

Somewhere far enough away that the words, "We barely managed to mend your nervous system," didn't reach far enough to kick her in the gut.

"And that's definitely me?" she thought aloud.

Nurse Redheart hesitated to nod. "Yes, regrettably. What you did today, Starlight Glimmer, teleporting without a horn is... unprecedented. Impossible, and by all accounts a miracle. And in no way is this a good thing." She pointed toward the coffee stain, then dragged her hoof to the bowl-shaped bundle of nerves within the side profile beside it, explaining as she did so. "Due to the nature of your Destiny, we believe your very being still believes itself capable of fulfilling that. But the strain your body went through to muster up enough magic nearly fried your peripheral nervous system. S-several of your blood vessels boiled to the point of bursting! And this, this is the damage such a powerful, forced spellcast inflicted upon your cranium. It's scorched the very bone! And don't even get me started on what would happen should you try this again. The trauma would be..."

Starlight tuned the rest out. She wasn't here. She was back in Hollow Shades. She was nine years old. She had a horn that was normal. Magic that was normal. Worries that were normal. A mother that wasn't her first loss, who worried a tad too much, and called her "Grapelight" because she was, "a little pink grape always ready to burst," because of how many nosebleeds and boo-boos she'd sustained as a filly.

She wasn't here, in this reality of her own making. Starlight Glimmer was still playing Dragon Pit with Sunburst.

"That's it!" A small gust of air blew Trixie's mane aside. "I'm going nuts, sitting on somethin' like this!"

Trixie swallowed, combing her mane and any notions of snapping aside. "How many times must I tell you," she wondered, eyes rolling up toward Rainbow Dash, "to let Starlight make this decision for herself? Do you really want to be the one responsible for making it worse?"

Rainbow inhaled sharply but choked suddenly, her ears wilting, gaze falling aside. "No," she mumbled. "Obviously I don't. But are we really at the point where we're second guessing every move we make? Letting 'maybes' and whatnot scare us from doing what's best?"

The irony of Trixie being the one to exercise caution was not lost on her, despite her whole heart writhing, crying out to agree, to get out of here, to let Twilight know what had happened because this was impossible and unnatural and Starlight, in no way, could have intended for that to have happened.

...Right? She... She wasn't practicing magic on the side, lying to Trixie, was she?

Trixie crammed those thoughts down, stomping them to a paper-thin pancake and burying them deep with just a single thought, and a sure smile on the outside. "Unfortunately, yes," she said lightly, knowingly, ever the brilliant actress. It's all for Starlight.

"Now simmer down, already," she hissed for herself and Rainbow, who continued to hover, deep in thought. "Ponies are staring and whispering."

"As if that matters at this point." Rainbow plopped back into her seat anyway. A good sign. It meant Trixie still had a degree of control over this mess—over Starlight's recovery—and thank Celestia, Luna, and Harmony above for that.

A glare clawing across the lobby scared anypony ogling them to return to their magazines, foals, thoughts or personal hurts. What a miserable place, hospitals. It was regrettable, yelling at these ponies' questions about "Princess Twilight's student," even if they had no business thinking of her tragic accident, let alone asking about it. Nopony in their right mind wanted to be here, after all. Even those who made their living here only tolerated it for the gratification of helping the sick.

The array of coat colors against white walls alone weren't easy on the eyes, an excuse to pop out of here would be fantastic right about now. If Trixie had her props, she could liven everypony's spirits. Make them forget why they were visiting the most soul-crushing place in all of Equestria. Leaving Rainbow without her proverbial ball-and-chain (for that's what Trixie's existence today has been reduced to, apparently) was out of the question.

And though she was likely, definitely... hopefully decent... Trixie wanted to risk teleportation even less. She was a risk-taker through and through, but she refused to risk Starlight.

"Hey, our girl's a tough nut, alright?" A foreleg slung around her shoulders out of nowhere, strong, unneeded, warm, comforting. Rainbow Dash, the least-tolerable of Twilight's posse, always forgetting the concept of a personal bubble, and now responsible for giving Trixie a lump in her throat. "It'll take a lot more than this to make her crack. So what if she's still tryna make her magic work? S'not like anypony can force her not to."

Trixie very nearly thanked her, this pony who truly respected Starlight's independence. But she didn't want to even acknowledge the possibility that that was the truth. That Starlight had lied, lied to Trixie. Her best friend. The one pony whose judgement she, among all others', should not fear.

"No, they can't," Trixie said, gazing sidelong. "But if... if she's hurting herself to do something impossible, then..."

"Then we'll cross that bridge if we get there." The "if" was meant to be comforting, like that might not even be a possibility. Trixie felt chilled to her core regardless. It definitely could be one, she thought. If she's going behind everypony's back just to assert her independence, then I...

Rainbow leaned closer, brows pushed together, so she could speak in a near-inaudible murmur. "Look, I ain't gonna pretend everything's a-OK. But even in the worst case scenario, it's not Starlight that I'm most worried about. It's Twilight. Like, okay, I get what you're saying. Twilight isn't gonna take this well, she won't listen to you or me, no matter what we tell her, and she'll probably, most likely, hound Starlight again. And then that'll be a piping-hot mess on our plates."

Despite the fact that Rainbow was sent to Trixie by Twilight herself, like a gang of spies, essentially trying to figure out how to be better friends to Starlight. Should their friend have gotten the wrong idea, seeing the two of them together for no good reason—

Oh, gosh, no. Trixie's stomach dropped.

"What? What's the matter?"

"Our friend really can't control herself."

"Who? Starlight?"

Trixie gave a mirthless laugh. Rainbow Dash was always a source of unintentional wisdom. "Oh, you could say both. But I mean Twilight. Now, obviously she couldn't have accounted for Starlight suddenly popping in unannounced. But what if she'd come later? Did she consider how the two of us would've looked?" The horror dawning on Rainbow's face was almost worth the manure-show this could very well have become. "What if Starlight already has the wrong idea from our impromptu rendezvous? That... that explains why Starlight hasn't asked the nurse for me yet! It all makes sense!"

"Seriously? That's what you're worried about?"

Trixie ignored her, she'd never understand anyhow. "Look, don't get offended when I say this, but there is zero reason Starlight would ever consider the two of us getting together for the fun of it. Especially in light of, well, everything. That's what I'm really worried about."

"Aw, crud, you're so right." Rainbow cried into her hooves, throwing her head back. "I didn't even think of that! Now what do I do?"

"Well, you were never much of a thinker to begin with." Rainbow slammed a hoof into Trixie's foreleg. "Ouchies!" She nursed the throbbing, tingling pain swelling up in her upper foreleg. "I was telling you not to feel bad, you ninny!"

Rainbow never looked away from the ceiling. "You're a wordsmith rival to A.K. Yearling."

Of course Rainbow Dash enjoyed that mindless book series. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm not blaming you."

Rainbow gave a sidelong look. "Is this really the best time to be blaming anypony?"

"Well, we can't deny that somepony's responsible. Though counterproductive on the surface, it'd be prudent to nip this problem in the bud before it gets worse." Assuming that was possible at this point. "Look, if Twilight was using that big, brilliant brain of her's, she ought to've thought ahead. This is in my humble opinion, by the way. It'd have been more sensible if she sent Rarity or even Applejack to interrogate me. Would have been an easier pill to swallow on Starlight's end, should she have encountered us."

"She asked me because of my speed and, uh, 'negotiating tactics.' But alright, fine, so this wasn't her best move. Can you blame her, though?" Rainbow asked. "This has got us all scrambled in the brains, guts, n' heart-guts, yet she's feeling totally responsible for it! You know how crazy she looks? Her bags have bags, for pony's sake!" Rainbow huffed, shook her head. "And you said Starlight feels the same way?"

Trixie hesitated a nod, even though she'd already opened her mouth. "For some unfathomable reason, yes."

Rainbow had the nerve to go, "Sheesh." As if she'd never felt like a source of trouble for her friends, messed-up big time, or hurt those she was sworn to be steadfastly loyal to. As if she never made mistakes and regretted them with all her heart.

"Can you blame her?" Trixie snapped.

Rainbow didn't answer. Instead, the Wonderbolt cupped her face in both hooves and groaned. "Oh, my gosh. This's all so messed up, you know that?"

An appropriate tagline for Trixie's life. "As well as a pony knows herself. So, what do we do about the now-problem, dear Rainbow?"

"I've been thinking about that." The pegasus covered her mouth, brows furrowed. "Well, we won't know how Starlight's doing for a while. But at least our tough girl's awake, so, not much longer."

Trixie resisted showing her dismay, resisted slapping a hoof across her eyes. Usually Starlight was the brains between the two of them. "I mean, what do we do about the likelihood of Starlight suspecting some kind of conspiracy between us?"

Rainbow looked doubtful. "You positive she's assuming something that crazy?"

"But of course! I'm her best friend, after all. Starlight wouldn't be who she is without speculating all the feasible ways ponies really felt about her." And that was all she had to share on the matter, because Rainbow "I'm better than everypony" Dash didn't need to know how often the two of them bonded over such paranoid thinking, or the fact that they did so at all.

It was nice, though, knowing Trixie wasn't the only one who did that. She was less of a freak that way.

"That's... really sad," Rainbow muttered.

Trixie was ready to dismiss this insult before hurried galloping came stampeding down the hall. Several heads turned toward the unusual sound, where a pink body burst through the double doors seconds later. It was Starlight, panting, looking to them wildly with bedhead to match. Trixie found herself on her hooves, Rainbow's seat behind her creaking as well, wings thumping over the slew of low mutterings. A glance revealed these ponies were at least trying to avoid staring like Trixie demanded. Good. The ponies of this town, for all their faults, were gentle at heart. Always made for an easy audience, too.

"Ah! Girls." Starlight fixed her tousled mane, smiling loosely. "Fancy meeting you here, eh?" she rambled and ambled over, face pink, albeit a little flushed in the cheeks, but when wasn't it, really?

"I'm glad to see your spirits are up," Trixie said sincerely. Although these circumstances were terrible, and life as she knew it felt precarious, like a sandcastle in the sun, Trixie, in spite of this, smiled as Starlight stood before her, perfectly fine mere hours after being rushed to the Emergency Room by several doctors and nurses.

A fountain of rainbow-streaked hair spilling from toned, cyan flanks dropped between them.

"You're looking strong," Rainbow remarked. Trixie leaned aside to catch their friend bashfully receiving a playful punch to the shoulder. "You really scared the crud outta us, ya madmare."

"Yeah, sorry about that." Starlight rubbed her foreleg, ashamed and likely feeling deserving of that "madmare" title. "I didn't mean for that to happen. I heard it was..." Starlight's bashfulness fell away for a thousand-yard-stare she blinked away immediately. "It was pretty bad," she finished with a shake of the head. "I'm really, really sorry you guys had to see that."

The quiver in her voice was pitiful, as if she had any reason to feel bad despite being the one with greater woes.

"It's cool," Rainbow lied.

Trixie stepped up, unable to help herself. "Why did you teleport?" Celestia curse her senselessness! Especially with the spooked look she got. "I mean, why did you try something so... extreme?" she finished lamely. "E-especially when you grieved about your handicap during practice!"

Trixie wanted to crawl in her hat and die, but she lacked the sense to bring that, too. Even Rainbow "The Dunce" Dash was appalled by her stupidity, facehoofing with a groan.

But Starlight never dropped her smile. She took a breath and held it, thinking up a lie within this room full of strangers. "You see," she laughed airily, glancing behind her, "you see, um, I don't know how else to explain it, but... my horn, right? It's on the fritz."

"Horns can do that?" asked the genius.

"Um, normal ones, no," Starlight tittered. "Uh, luckily the doctors cast a spell to quell my magic, so good as new! No need to worry." She glanced back at the doors once more.

"Right," Rainbow said slowly. "I mean, cool! It's cool that that's fixed, yeah. It looked, ah, a little painful before."

"Aw, pssht! I didn't feel a thing."

Trixie remembered warmth squirting across her cheek, nearly choking at the smell of copper.

"We weren't sure if you did that on purpose, or what," Rainbow continued. "We thought you were practicing with Tempest or something."

"You thought that, missy," Trixie said pointedly, drawing a nervous grin from Starlight. That... That couldn't have meant Dash was actually right. Right? That Starlight had replaced Trixie with a different magical friend?! "Personally," Trixie inhaled, letting go and forgetting (for now), "I'd assumed you might have been trying for the sake of it. And of course, my great and powerful friend, you achieved it."

"Heh, yeah." Starlight waved a hoof in dismissal. "I mean, no! No, Trixie. I wasn't practicing or anything. I've got a buggy horn, is all. Tempest and I... nah, we don't really mesh well, if I'm being honest."

"Oh." Starlight usually got along with everypony. Perhaps Trixie ought to have a few choice words with that picky pony. "Well, that's a shame, but no need to dwell on it. That grumpy nag doesn't know what she's missing."

"Oh, I think she does!" Starlight laughed sharply, harshly, clamming up upon hearing the lobby's utter silence. "Anyway," she muttered, "I'd appreciate it we got a move on. Shall we, girls?"

"Uh, ye-yeah!" Rainbow squeaked. "Lead the way, Starlight."

"Great." Starlight grinned stiffly and walked just so through the lobby. Trixie glared at anypony who dared gawk in their direction, scaring them back into their own little worlds in an instant. Mutterings and too-frantic page turns filled the air.

When she looked to Starlight, she caught her friend glancing behind them. What was so interesting about those doors, and what made them more important than her best friend?

"Rude." Starlight looked to her with a start. Trixie softened up, just a tad. "What, did you flee from the doctors or something?" she chuckled.

"N-no!" Starlight smacked herself in the temple, then recovered as if that wasn't weird at all. "I mean, nah. Nah, course not! They gave me a lollipop and everything." She dropped her gaze, smile, ears and all.

What're you hiding now, Starlight? Are you... not going to tell me? She certainly failed to give any signs that she wanted one-on-one time, if that was the case. No urgent glances to the door, no carefully phrased sentences that implied such. Nothing.

That couldn't be right, right?

Trixie looked to Rainbow, curious as to how she was taking this. She, too, exchanged a look, seemingly lost, and offered a shrug. Even to the densest pony around, Starlight was acting out of sorts.

Trixie willed the magic around her horn and the double doors leading outside, wreathing both in her signature pink glow. "Here, let me—"

"I can do it my-self." Starlight tore ahead and barreled through the doors.

Trixie was only trying to help. She exchanged a pitying look with Rainbow, and together they rushed out to follow.

"Okay," Trixie sighed upon exiting the hospital. "This's gone on long enough. Just what is your problem, Starlight?" Her friend's back was to them, shoulders gyrating in time with her broken panting. "I'm guessing you didn't mean to pop on over this morning, Not without a good reason. And don't give us that 'horn fritz' thing again. Your horn is an organ, not a tool."

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Rainbow hovered in place before them while Trixie stepped aside, forming them into a triangle at the threshold's left. "Like, I don't know much about magic, but I've known Twilight long enough to know how teleporting works. That sorta spell doesn't just happen once your older than two."

"Uh..."

"I mean, unless..." Rainbow scratched her mane. "Unless it's 'cause you were gearing up to see your most awesome friend?"

To that, Starlight perked up. "Ye-Yeah! Actually, you're right, Rainbow!"

"She is?" "I am?" They cried as one, even leering forth, their noggins clapping together. The 'creepy twin routine' continued as they pulled away, rubbing their hurts and glaring thunderbolts at one another.

"Well, yeah!" Starlight spoke, like this was supposed to be obvious. "Rainbow, it's been too long since we've spent time together. Don't you think? And! And I thought... that... it'd be a good time to, uh, 'chillax?' Is that the word? Pfft, what am I saying? Of course it is! You and me, chillaxing, like always!"

"This is news to Trixie. What even is 'chill-lacksing?'" She pretty much vomited the strange saying out. Not easy on the tongue, that one.

Rainbow hovered there, gaping, eyes ping-ponging between the two of them. "Uh, right," she said slowly. A hard blink. "I mean, right! Yeah, it's been a while since we hung out. I'm always in the mood for a bit o' chillin'." She slunk beside and pulled their sheepish friend in a one-legged hug. "So, whadda ya say? Oh, we could fly if you want! Kites, I mean! We could fly kites. That's... what I meant to say."

This dummy. "I still don't know what chilling is! Does it involve ice, or..."

"Pssht." Rainbow rolled her eyes, lazily buzzing towards her. "Shows what you know, Trix. Only cool ponies really know what 'chillaxing' is."

"Your unsatisfactory explanation only raises more questions, oh 'cool one.'" Starlight muffled a laugh into her hoof, drawing many things from Trixie, pleasure chief among them. The fact that she could find the strength to smile with that horrible injury...

"Wait... wait, Trixie." Starlight suddenly regarded her like an offended foal, all wilted ears and glimmering eyes. "That was really insensitive of me. Er, hey," she added brightly, "you can join us if you'd like!"

"Yeah!" Rainbow squeaked, leering between them. "Whoever said three's a crowd?" She smirked, but it didn't reach her eyes, which pleaded for assistance.

To be fair, it was a truly enticing idea. Rainbow's eyes popped open as she was gripped in a dusty pink glow, and yanked aside. Trixie stepped forth, smiling gratefully. "Your offer is appreciated, friends, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

"Oh." Starlight's expression was unreadable.

"Really?" Rainbow asked, a hidden layer to her surprise only Trixie was privy too.

She felt a tug in the chest, though, proud that she recognized Trixie's status as Starlight's best friend. Why else would they be so shocked to hear those words tumble from her pretty mouth? "I'm sure," she said with confidence. "I really think, Rainbow Dash, that it would be most beneficial for the two of you to 'chill' and talk or whatever. It's been a while, you get me?" Comprehension dawned within Rainbow Dash's eyes. "You see, Starlight, this pony's been pestering Trixie all morning, whinging about how good of friends we are. In her humble opinion, Rainbow's been feeling deprived of her Starlight Time, and would relish the opportunity to make up for it." Assuming you already think there's something up with the two of us being together... Ideally, this would alleviate those niggling worries.

Rainbow just needed to play along, but she inhaled deep, sharply, a retort ready to come barreling out of her stupid mouth, only to emerge as a stunted choke. "Uh, yeah!" she said, to Starlight (and Trixie's pleasant) surprise. "That's our story! Trixie's been hoggin' ya, you know? I wanted to have the day with ya and whatnot, give us some breathing room."

"Well..." Starlight grinned wide. "Why not? I guess it all works out, then!"

Trixie stepped forth. "I will not deign to be known as selfish! In truth, Trixie was in the midst of organizing her props, planning her next tour. It has been a while, after all, and that was when Rainbow Dash came barreling in with her ridiculous demands!"

Starlight looked down, furrowed brows implying critical thinking. There couldn't have been any holes in this, could there? It made sense for both their characters. She might still believe Rainbow had an ulterior motive, but she was also a simple pony. It would be illogical to assume the pegasus had greater machinations in mind, but not now, when Little Ms. Loyalty was so obviously concerned for her friendship with Starlight.

If there was one thing Starlight cared about than her own well-being, it was her friendships.

"O-oh, right." Starlight shook her head and smiled brightly. "This morning, you mean. Yeah, of course! Obviously, that's what you were doing, Trix. You've been outside Twilight's for a while, after all. Waiting for me."

"Mm-hmm!" Trixie nodded in tune. It was time to make her friend feel strong, independent. "But now, I can see plain as day you're well on your way to making a full recovery! You don't need me hanging over your shoulder anymore." Not completely. But perhaps, hopefully, there was a silver lining in this mess, and that's how Rainbow's brashness could prove useful in getting Starlight to open up more about this morning. "Now I won't be leaving town immediately, but as you well know, the traveler's life is a taxing mistress. Twilight's been generous with her coffers, but I'd prefer making ends meet on my own ability than living off her handouts like a wayward bum."

Starlight just stared.

"Uh, Glimmy? You still on Equestria?"

Starlight's eyelids fluttered. "R-right! Yeah, no. No, don't worry about me. You're you, and you've done plenty, more than enough, actually, on my behalf."

Well, that was easy. "Oh. I mean, oh, yeah! I mean... don't think about it like that. I'm always willing to lend an ear, or a hoof, or a shoulder. Or just about anything, really. But spending time with one of Twilight's friends would be good for you, I feel." The words tasted poisonous, but they had to be said. Trixie just expected a bit more fight from her. That was all.

Yet here was Starlight, brushing her aside like yesterday's news.

Unwitting of her friend's wounded feelings, Starlight smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Trix. I appreciate it."

And just like that, she left her: Rainbow and Starlight made off, the pegasus taking the lead by air and in conversation.

Trixie watched them leave, alone in every sense of the word, like a dog waiting by the door. How pathetic. But it was like Starlight barely gave her a thought! Just like she did Maud. Like she did Twilight, too.

As if Trixie was on their level in Starlight's mind... No, no that couldn't be it. They were best friends! Trixie was being selfish like Maud said, and paranoid as usual.

But still, this... was bad. Really, really bad. One thing's for sure. Trixie rushed to her carriage, already forming the words of a letter in her mind. Hopefully that wall-eyed mailmare knew how to reach the Changeling Hive. Just one, amidst all this mess, she thought once more. I just made a big, stupid mistake.

Rainbow had better not screw this up and make is all for naught. But she was going to, which is why they needed help.

Help from all of Starlight's friends.

IV.XI - Half-Baked Sympathies

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“Ugh! It’s so humid out here. My own sweat feels drenched!” Rainbow complained. “I’d so whip up a hurricane or something if there were any clouds nearby.”

Heat manifested as a blob splayed across her back, swallowing her in its cloying stickiness. Cicadas groaned back and forth across town, drilling into Rainbow’s head alongside a choir of her lazy wingbeats and Starlight’s clops. A constant stream of mutterings from passing ponies stopped this picture short of being totally mind-numbing.

Because Starlight was being weirdly bad company. Where were the jokes? The chats? Heck, wouldn’t Starlight brag or explain or do anything after leaving the hospital with nary a bandage to be seen? That alone was one of the top five hardcore things she’d ever done.

But when Rainbow voiced as much, Starlight said something so lame she couldn’t remember it off the top of her head. As if there was something more important in mind than hanging with the most awesome pony in Equestria!

Rainbow inhaled, and inhaled, and inhaled. She couldn’t just outright ask what her deal was. But going about as fast as Tank without his propeller gizmo made needlessly more painful.

She banked right, shadowing her permanently grounded friend—whose audible breathing proved her love of this muggy afternoon. “C’mon, Starlight, this sucks. Let’s cut the awkward silence and fly to the castle already!”

A bitter scoff. “You know I don’t have a horn, right?”

No duh! I’m just trying to do something nice for you, dummy! The thought very nearly did a swan dive off the tip of her tongue, but Rainbow bandaged her wounded pride, beaten as it was by the hooves of that jerk, Trixie, and her relentless smearing of Dash’s loyalty to her other friends.

Bullheaded it was, but—seriously—she’d prefer a tail-yank from AJ over being called stupid any day of the week.

Not that Trixie outright said it, the spineless wimp. She was probably afraid she’d be on the receiving end of another drop-and-catch flying session with Yours Truly. Cruel, yeah, but Rainbow made sure Miss Humble and Penitent never forgot that whole, “There’s still one thing I’m better at than you, Wonder-Brainless,” fiasco.

It didn’t actually matter to Rainbow or anything. Trixie was at fault for assuming booksmarts meant jack to the ‘bolts. Or to her parents, or her friends, or Scootaloo or anypony.

Trixie actually thought she was clever! Seriously, funniest part about her act back in the waiting room. As if Rainbow couldn’t read between the lines, feel the conceit powering her every insult. As if Rainbow “Dropout” Dash, whose brain was as good as a pile of rocks, didn’t understand the mind of a fellow showpony, speak their language.

She understood exactly what it was like to be afraid, and it was empathy which stopped Dash from introducing Trixie to her favorite pair of horseshoes. Her act was prime, better rehearsed than Rainbow’s, which was nothing to be proud of. More depressing, really, being a pony with a lot more to hide.

Now Starlight, on the other hoof…

“You know I don’t have a horn, right?” she’d said, and translated into the slang of overcompensating egoists (as Trixie called her in the aforementioned drop-and-catch affair), “It’s totally fine I lost my reason to live, I hardly care! No, the fact that I’d assumed Rainbow had forgotten doesn’t mean that I’m at least sensitive about it. Not even a little!”

“I-I’m sorry.” Rainbow’s heart actually skipped a beat. She looked below, but Starlight’s muzzle was pointed to the ground. “You’re just tryna do something nice. Yeah, Rainbow. Please, let’s just fly to the castle, I…” she said, her ramblings tapering off. “I know this is slow, and bad, and boring for you. And, if I’m being honest, I hate having to walk everywhere. So, let’s go.”

That had to have been the first truth she’d said since entering the lobby. At least, Rainbow hoped it had been so brief. There was nothing to be gained from lying to the doctors. If Rainbow knew of “Patient Confidentiality,” then an egghead like her surely did.

Trixie had better be right about lying to them ourselves, though. There was some logic in letting Starlight have control over her situation, but something about that also felt really… dangerous. Rainbow didn’t know. She really didn’t—-she just had to trust in Trixie’s position as Starlight’s best friend.

“Alright, yeah,” she sighed in agreement, as if she’d been considering Starlight’s words. “Walking’s pretty lame.”

“Mm. I hate it so much.”

Rainbow was going to casually ignore the seething passion coming out of Starlight. “Alright, I’m gonna pick you up now.” Within moments, both ponies were flying toward a dark, jagged shape looming over Ponyville.

“Just don’t drop me, okay?” Starlight said once they were passing the suburbs.

Rainbow scoffed at the thought of that even being a danger. “I’d catch you.”

“I know. I still wouldn’t like to be dropped.” Starlight watched the thatched roofs passing beneath them, the streets she’d definitely trotted the other night instead of coming to dinner, to Twilight, and her friends.

Why? What were you tryna hide from? It’s just us. Rainbow shook her head. “Fair enough.” The fact that Starlight hadn’t avoided spending time with Rainbow was proof that it was nothing about them specifically. Though, a lot of evidence pointed to the contrary.

“You... got a hold on me, right?”

“Would you relax, sister?”

“Just humor me, Rainbow. Please?”

“Fine, I gotcha like a hawk clutching its egg!” she said, reaffirming her four-legged grasp around Starlight’s barrel. It was tight. Secure. ‘I got you,’ it told passengers, ‘I promise, until you’re safe, I’m not letting go.’ That’s the mentality Wonderbolts Rescue Ops training drilled into her brain—not that Rainbow ever needed it.

“So I’m your baby, now?” Starlight muttered.

She sure was acting like one, a thought that hit like a swift gut-buck. Rainbow’s brain imagined Rarity scolding her, ‘Be sensitive, Dashie!’

Starlight needed more than that, though. She needed more than Rainbow Dash. She needed somepony to talk to.

Someone… better… than Rainbow Dash. Better with this stuff, at least.

But if there’s one thing Rainbow learned during Wonderbolts training, it’s that it wasn’t about being the best suited for a job, but being the one to do it when no one else was around.

She’d really rather take a foal stuck in a crawl space than this.

But Rainbow would sooner relinquish her Element in a Daring Do-esque sacrifice than leave Starlight alone with whatever bad thoughts were crawling through her brain.

“Listen, I know how you feel about all this.” Her wings beat a little faster, the houses below slipping by rather crawling. Starlight was silent. Obviously. Understandably. This was really kinda random. Rainbow just let her mouth run, uncaring of the bogeymare always riding her back, checking to make sure everything that left her lips was decidedly “cool enough.”

“I mean, I don’t know what it’s like to lose something like… that. Not permanently. But I’ve been in your ‘shoes before… Broken wing,” she finished for her. “Couldn’t fly for a week, and on the first day I thought I’d die from boredom before it healed.”

“You knew it was coming back, though,” said Starlight, weakly. “It’s not the same.”

“Maybe. But that was after the doctor told me it’d heal.” Rainbow let that sink in as the ever-growing silhouette of Twilight’s place began to fill with lilac, gold, folds and engravings. “I couldn’t even think about how much it hurt. That’s how scared I was, Starlight.” But too scared to ever specify those emotions, the horrible, life-flashing-before-your-eyes terror that even here and now she couldn’t voice. “Do you get it?” She hoped it didn’t sound as lame as it felt to say.

“Yeah, you thought you’d never fly again. I don’t blame you. That had to be the scariest time of your life.”

“Y-yeah! Like you wouldn’t believe!” Rainbow squeaked, relieved not to hear mockery or a jab about her oft-proclaimed fearlessness. “And I don’t blame you either, Starlight. F-for anything! Any of it that you do, or say, it’s… a lot. Something like this, it’d do a lot to a pony.”

Rainbow powered on. “Look,” she sighed, thankful of the breeze against her face, “this sucks, Starlight. The others probably won’t be as frank, and you know Twilight’ll jump back and forth between pretending everything’s fine, to how nothing ever is or will be again.” Starlight sighed, likely knowing better than Dash ever would. “And it can’t be easy, the way they’re treating you. Especially with things in the pits already. Treating you like a glass window ready to break has gotta be the cherry on top.”

“You must be reading my mind.” She laughed halfheartedly. “You’re right, Dash. This does suck. I’m still dealing with it, but I wanna deal with it at my pace, not theirs! But… but what’s harder,” she said softly, “what I can’t stand the most, if I’m being honest… is everypony... insisting themselves upon me.”

Just caring about you is a problem? I mean, I get that it can get annoying, but… that’s worse than losing your magic? It made absolutely no sense, but Rainbow had enough herself not to fight this battle. “Tough. We care about you, and we’re worried.” That much made sense, at least. And if it did to Rainbow Dash, then it would to Starlight.

“You don’t need to be, though! You’ve all got—-!” she choked, shaking her head. “N-nevermind. Nevermind. It’s dumb. Just forget I said anything. I’m grateful at the end of the day, really. It could be so much worse, after all.”

But that’s not the point, Glim. Of any of this! We wanna make you happy again, but you won’t let us even try. The urge to say that nearly burned a hole in Dash’s stomach, but just thinking of the laughter that would ensue made her hot with embarrassment. No way would Starlight take that sap-coated cheese seriously. This was more Twilight’s world.

“Yeah,” said Rainbow, “it could be.”

Aside from a grunt and a sigh, her passenger did nothing more.

Come on, Dash. You could do better than this! Forget about yourself for once, and say what your friend needs to hear right now!

Ahead, Twilight’s castle loomed ever larger, the sun crowning Canterlot’s silhouette from its mountainous seat further behind. “Starlight, you know you can talk to me, right? I’d tell you what you need to hear, what you wanna hear. No fluff, no manure, none o’ that mess.” Silence, but the slight rocking of her cargo spoke enough. “I’m not that best at this sort of thing, but I know what you’re going through. I mean, I don’t!” she amended quickly. “Not completely. But I understand what you’re doing here… y’know? I… I get… that you’re putting on a front. I get that you don’t want ponies thinking less of you, or—”

“I couldn’t care less about what ponies think of me, Rainbow.”

Yeah. And that cult village was just a social experiment, of course. And vanishing in a literal puff of smoke from the Sunset Festival? Rainbow thrashed the snark out of mind. This’s no time to be brash! C’mon! Get your head outta your butt, Rainbow. “Okay, fine, but you didn’t really deny what I’m saying, so I’m pretty much right.”

Her silence meant she was still on the right track. Rainbow felt like Daring Do psychoanalyzing Ahuizotl in The Fate of Fortune right now, she couldn’t help it. “Well, whatever your game, I’m not here to pry about that. I just want you to know that me, Twilight, AJ, everypony’s all here for you. It’s not that we think you need it,” she lied, “but we’re just worried is all. You’re strong, though. We all know that. I may be the only one who’s actually putting that opinion into practice, but… you got my vote, Starlight. ‘Kay? If there’s one pony who can bounce back from somethin’ like this, it’s definitely you. Just, you know, just let us cushion your falls, r’whatever, okay?”

Rainbow cringed, memories of Tank’s first winter flooding back like a bad weekend in Las Pegasus. “The fact that you’re not curled up in your room, not talking to anypony, means you’re tougher than any pony I’d ever met, and… and maybe that includes me, okay? So,” Rainbow sighed heavily, “so tough it out, because you’re stronger than me. If not, then you’ll make me look bad!”

Diving face-first into boiling water sounded like the best way to cool off right about now.

“Y-you’re too kind. Sure, I’ll try my best.” A pause. “Th-thanks, Rainbow! Seriously. That’s some high praise coming from you.”

Rainbow awaited more, but she began her descent to those huge golden doors without hearing another word. This’s more than praise. She could feel the judgement weighing heavily in her forelegs. It’s the honest truth. It’s my pride and shame parading out in the open, and you just got a front row seat to this once-in-a-lifetime showing of me without either of ‘em.

And Starlight only had, “Wow, thanks,” to say about it.

Rainbow crushed her petty feelings, dropping Starlight before flexing her legs and touching down beside her. So long as she understood—which she did, because she’s Starlight freaking Glimmer—that was fine. They didn’t need to turn it into something… Fluttershy-like.

Starlight struggled at first, lagging a bit as she and Rainbow heaved, pushing open the gilded doors to her home.

Despite her Open Door Decree, only Twilight’s closest friends invited themselves in without knocking.

She shot up from her enormous pillow, dropping her letter and quill as a groan rumbled throughout the castle like the purr of a great tomcat. Her ears strained against the ensuring silence, catching one set of hoofbeats plodding n the foyer.

No bouncing. Applejack, or Rarity, then. Could be Fluttershy, too—normally doesn’t fly when she can walk. To her left, the window informed Twilight of the day still going strong. Too early for a status report. All of this together meant…

Her heart seized. Starlight. Oh, Celestia, what happened this time?

With nary a thought, she poofed the half-written letter penned to Sunburst to her important documents’ drawer, just in the off-chance it was actually Starlight herself, horrible a thought as that was. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, she hoped. Wanting to talk to me would be promising progress!

At nearly the same time, in envisioning the letter appearing inside her desk, Twilight pictured herself within the Entrance Hall. Half a heartbeat later, a tingle surging through her, and Twilight appeared before Rainbow Dash. But she wasn’t alone.

“S-Starlight!” Her friend’s mane looked good. Like, normal! “Uh, ho-ho-how are you? Doing? How’re you doing?” Come to think of it, Pinkie was informed by Maud that they were together while Twilight was off being a spastic fool, playing with dark magic. They must have had a spa trip. “I’m sorry, by the way. For not being here yesterday. I…” You can’t let her know what happened with Draggle! Not yet, anyway. She’d feel awful, and worse, she’d believe herself responsible. “Celestia needed me. It was so sudden I’d forgotten to leave a note! I hope you were okay.”

Rainbow’s jaw dropped, making her lie painfully obvious, even if nopony knew about the dark magic part.

“Uh, good. I was good! I mean. I still am, in fact.” She cast a glance to Rainbow, whose mouth clamped shut as she looked back to Twilight, unreadable, but it’d be worrying if Starlight didn’t catch her shrugging. “Is everything okay with Celestia?”

Twilight started. “Oh! Great. She’s great! Problem solved! I was just, you know, penning some letters—t-to nopony in particular! Just, y’know, catching up… you know?” Twilight cupped her embarrassment with a hoof. “Ah, sorry,” she said to Starlight’s furrowed brows. “Been a little skitter-scatter-brained this morning.”

“You’re telling me,” Rainbow muttered. She grinned apologetically to Twilight’s pointed stare.

“O-kay,” Starlight drawled, warily eyeing the two of them. “Well, Dash and I were just going to grab a couple kites. So…”

Twilight grinned, and not solely because Starlight was beginning to warm up to the “Elements” circle of friends at last: she envisioned her dear friend’s favorite kite, as well as one Rainbow would enjoy. “I’ll save you the walk!” she shouted over the startup whine of her horn.

“No, Twilight, you don’t have to—-” A pair of baby-blue kites, one box and another diamond-shaped with a rainbow tail, appeared overhead in a magenta glow. Starlight looked to them, then back to Twilight, her plain expression sagging. “Uh, thanks.” She rose her hoof to receive them. Was she planning on carrying them? Letting them settle on her back just to be blown away?

Most importantly, did Twilight do something wrong again? “I offended you. Didn’t I?”

Starlight froze, gaping. “N-no. No, of course not!”

“You made a face, though.”

“I’m not making a face. You’re seeing things.”

“Twilight,” Rainbow cut in, “it’s fine. We should get going while the getting’s good, right, Starlight?” She ascended, grabbing the kites from Twilight’s magical glow.

“Yes. Please.” Starlight whirled back around, not even moving to hug Twilight goodbye, or even wave farewell or anything.

It’s like everything she did was offensive in some way. “Starlight, what’s wrong?”

She stomped back around, groaning. “Sweet Celestia, nothing! Get off my back!”

“Well, it sure sounds like something,” Twilight countered, concerned. “Does it have anything to do with Fizzlepop?” Starlight froze, paling, confirming this suspicion. “Listen, it’s not my business to play mailpony between the two of you. That’s not what I’m doing.” Starlight snapped over to Rainbow helplessly once again, who shrugged back. A selfish part of Twilight was relieved she hadn’t told anypony about it, rather than solely avoiding her. It was a better sign than she’d feared, at the very least.

Twilight elaborated, “Fizzlepop and I spoke this morning.”

Starlight stiffened slightly. “Ah, heh, that so?”

At least she was listening instead of leaping to conclusions, denying and then excusing. It was terrible, feeling so relieved at this turn. So terrible Twilight knew she’d say something to mess it up again, but she barrelled forth for her friend’s sake. “She’d said something that offended you earlier, nothing more, though. Oh, Starlight, please don’t look so afraid. This is all coming from a place of concern.”

“I-I’m not—”

“I won’t pry, promise. Just as I hadn’t with her. Whatever this is, however much I may want it resolved, it’s between the two of you. I have to respect that.” Starlight went from looking uneasy, to horrified, until finally she looked guilty. It might have been wishful thinking, but Twilight felt part of that directed toward her. “I’ll just give the same advice I’d offered Fizzlepop: talk to her. Communicate whatever was bothering the two of you. Make one another understand.”

Starlight’s eyes softened. She drew them shut, sighing. “Thanks, Twilight. But I think we understand one another plenty.” She smiled a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

The Princess of Friendship was prepared to backpedal, to press the issue because it was so clear that Starlight was hurting over this, before Rainbow uttered a low, warning, “Twilight.” They locked eyes. “Don’t, ‘kay? That biz’s scorched earth.”

“R-really?” Back to Starlight, she was found with her eyes and ears pointed to the maroon carpet. “Is it really so unsalvageable?” Twilight challenged gently. Starlight crumpled, swallowing any response. “Starlight?”

It broke her heart to see a single nod.

“Egghead.” Rainbow’s eyes quietly pleaded her to step back, a steeliness which hardened it, spoke not of a warning, but a declaration to protect the pony beside her. “Can we go kite-flying now? All this yacking’s makin’ my wings fall asleep.”

In other words, You’re making it worse, genius. Baby steps, remember? You’ve tasked us with making her feel comfortable in the first place. That’s the exact opposite of what you’re doing right now.

“Right, right, sorry.”

“Are… you okay, Twilight?” Starlight asked.

“Yes!” Twilight rattled her selfishness out of her head. “I mean, yeah, I am. Just remember what I said, okay? It took a while for this to be reinforced, but I’ve learned that talking is the best medicine for a fractured friendship.”

Starlight recoiled slightly as Rainbow waved dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. And lying leads to crying, as Doctor Applejack prescribes. Now can we get a move on? We’re burning daylight and I wanna try this baby out!” Starlight’s gaze lowered, flitting to and fro across the carpet, her lips moving soundlessly. “Yo, Starlight.”

Her head bobbed rapidly. “Yeah, yeah, I heard you. Just cool your jets. I’m not as fast as you anymore.”

Twilight balked, but Rainbow, blanching, though out of Starlight’s line of sight, forced a sputter of laughter. “As if you were in the first place.”

All good sense was forgotten in that instant as Twilight inhaled, ready to admonish her brash friend.

“Jerk,” snorted Starlight, turning to lead them back out to the distant village of Ponyville.

Collecting herself, Twilight wished them well before telepathically slamming her front doors shut. The boom started her out of her thoughts, where Starlight’s sad attempt to drag a door shut with her could be fully comprehended. “Sorry!” Twilight shouted, doubting they could hear beyond the twelve-inch-thick, gold-hewn threshold. “If that hurt you,” she added softly.

Twilight knocked herself on the head, chanting, “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” with every strike.

At least Rainbow kept a cool head back there. Ironic, but everypony excelled in different situations. Twilight wouldn’t ever forget that lesson, not after seeing Fluttershy take on a dragon all those years ago.

Meanwhile, she herself could’ve been better. Said better. Anything. Maybe all of it. Or perhaps she, the Princess of Friendship who failed at friendship at every turn, was doing the best she could in these exact circumstances.

Twilight wiped her eyes before returning to work.

After finishing her letter to Sunburst, after poofing it to Flurry Heart’s room in the Empire, those scarred friends of hers weighed heavier than ever on Twilight’s mind. This behavior was normal for them, and was easy to rationalize given their pasts. But what was truly scary, extreme as that sounded, was if both ponies had said something they both regarded as unforgiveable to one another.

Being locked in a room together might be the only way for a breakthrough to come about.

Starlight was blunt but polite, sincere, and sensitive to the plights of others (when she wasn’t caught in her own head, of course). And Fizzlepop Berrytwist was a quiet mare, sharp of mind albeit muddied with the shame she bore every day.

When she’d heard this pony actually yelling at herself over what’d happened, whatever happened, it served as further confirmation these two were perfect for one another. They cared a great deal, “messed up,” as they put it, equally as much, and fell just as hard.

But both sprung back to their hooves after every fall. It would be a tragedy if such a potentially wonderful friendship died out because they’ve already written themselves off.

The boom of some deep, monstrous drum startled Twilight from her thoughts, the image of Fizzlepop and Starlight crying and hugging one another giving way to her cold, dark, ash-blasted fireplace as the noise sounded again.

Knocking… Somepony from town? Normally that would be a good thing, but this morning has been filled with nearly everything but, Twilight remembered as she willed herself back to the Entrance Hall. As she telekinetically pulled the doors open, her brain went and started speaking aloud.

“If this is about my sickness or Starlight’s injury, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to give you the same answer I’ve given everypony else—”

“I’m aware... Princess Twilight,” gasped a white earth pony as she pushed herself in, the rest of her pink hair bun falling around her neck. “That’s not… why I’m here.”

It took a full second for Twilight’s brain to fully take in the sweat-matted, panting disposition of Nurse Redheart—-Nurse, not simply Redheart, for she was still in her distinct white cap marked with a red cross.

Twilight’s heart beat once. There was only one possible explanation for this picture.

“Princess Twilight?” Redheart stepped closer.

“It’s Starlight,” she heard herself asking faintly, “isn’t it?”

Her forehead tingled as an army of ants stirred beneath her skin, around the base of her horn, her eyebrows, the bridge of her nose—-a metaphor somewhat less disturbing than the reality.

My very bone charred black…

Silver lining: it’d look really cool as a macabre sort of stage prop. Or better yet, a valuable means of researching the dangers a hornless unicorn might pose to herself. Starlight ought to donate her body to science for when she passes away—-at least she’d be of objective use to somepony without threat of harming them as she had in life.

“Starlight, what’s up?”

Her brain sprung to action, churning out a response like one of those prize ball machines. “Nothing much.” Lame, meaningless, cheap, would likely be forgotten. Clockwork. A prize ball machine. That’s all she was good at anymore, that and running away.

“I think I’m starting to get the hang of this! Heh, kite flying’s pretty awesome, I gotta say.”

“It is.” In truth, Starlight wasn’t having fun. In any sense of the word.

She’d attempted to think like an earth pony, copying Maud’s way of flying a kite: to step on the string and watch it go. It wasn’t the same as before, but there was still this sense of significance to watching something soar so high while being tethered to her will.

Twice, it slipped out from underhoof when she would loosen her hold, trying to raise it higher. Like Hydia herself was gleefully messing with her. The drag would come out of nowhere and rip it free, and she would chase after her kite, picturing an invisible claw grasping its string to pitifully zero avail. Whatever numbing spell Doctor Stable cast was a good one, and would surely last twenty-four hours if not the next seven days.

Rainbow caught it in the blink of an eye, of course, nearly losing hers (as in Starlight’s) in both incidents. She joked about tying it to Starlight’s foreleg, but jokes became criticisms once they started pulling from reality. It’s clear Rainbow was getting tired of Starlight’s incompetence, first with her lack of flight and now something so skilless as flying kites.

But Dash was just bearing it for Starlight. She could see it now from the corner of her eye, that smirk plastered to her face as if this was the coolest thing she’d ever done.

It wasn’t. And without a horn, Starlight couldn’t demonstrate her love for this irreverent activity.

Without a horn she couldn’t properly pull and loose the string, anchored in her subconscious grip as all focus, every ounce of enjoyment, stemmed from the battle with the wind. It was like an elegant dance, the only one Starlight would ever know if those pitiful dancing classes back in Hollow Shades were any indication.

Without her horn, she couldn’t run with it either: skating across the meadow with the kite trailing after her, powering against the drag of her and Equestria’s—or rather, the Flutter Valley witches’—-own making. She’d tried, of course, because Starlight was the type who needed a third degree burn before knowing better than to play with fire.

The string cut like floss through her teeth, and the enjoyment she got from running with her kite besides, once glowing warm like hot coals in her belly, was effectively doused by Rainbow’s stare. She must have looked like a complete idiot, acting like this was doable. There was a reason Maud never dashed alongside Starlight when the urge overcame her, and the answer lied in two simple words: bloody gums.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was tripping because she couldn’t see where she was going, because she was running with a string in her mouth, and the point of flying a kite was to watch it soar, not ogle the ground keeping an eye out for rocks.

And that’s because Starlight didn’t have a horn, who couldn’t make this less painful for Dash and learn to enjoy flying kites without one.

Not in the way she once loved. Not without keeping her foot planted in the dirt, only stepping off when she felt the string slacken and nothing more.

A great yawn startled her. “Didn’t get much sleep last night,” Rainbow remarked.

Just in case Starlight presumed she was bored, of course. Which, obviously, she was, because Starlight knew Rainbow Dash, and knew there was no way she’d be up to doing this with her if she still had a horn. She did once call this “Snoresville,” if memory serves.

“S’ho,” Rainbow began, using her teeth to pull against the lift, “whacha doin’ la’er tonigh’?”

“Oh,” Starlight sighed, “I dunno. Nothing I guess.” Not practising magic. Not kite flying. And definitely not hanging out with Trixie—she had a tour to plan, a life to live. It didn’t revolve around Starlight, of course. She’d put her livelihood off long enough already. It was fine.

It’s fine.

“Probably read,” she continued. It’s about all I can do that doesn’t involve leeching on anypony’s time. “I got this… book. Series. That I’ve been meaning to dig into.” She’d have to pick something from the library when she returned to Twilight’s. Historical Highlights of Hexes (All Five of Them) by Are-Well Stein was a little obsolete now.

“Cool,” said Rainbow, her kite swaying sleepily in the deep blue above. “I still think you should read Daring Do.”

“I still think you should read a dictionary and find out what ‘no’ means.” Starlight shot her a smirk, and Rainbow’s matching smile and narrowed eyes informed she got the message, and was answering with a challenge. “I’m sorry, Dash. I just like my literature to be a bit more… cerebral.”

“That have to do with cereal or something?”

“No, it—” Perhaps finishing would be construed as an insult. Or maybe Starlight was overthinking and giving another half-answer like she had been this entire time. They were finally having a conversation, for Pete’s sake! Maybe it stemmed from a fear of inciting Rainbow’s wrath, of making her mad and losing her. Maybe Starlight was still scared of the bogeypony well into her mid-twenties.

Who. Cares, she decided. It… it doesn’t matter how I feel in the slightest. Sooner or later these ponies will get sick of me, and I’ll be long gone from their lives. They’ll forget about me, and be happier without the extra stress of forcing awkward smalltalk like this.

“It relates to the brain,” she explained. “Something cerebral is something which teases the mind, makes you think.”

An offended gasp. “Daring so makes you think,” said Rainbow.

No, Daring did all the thinking while the reader realizes the answer alongside her, and feels a rush of dopamine as they piece together what she did after the fact. According to some, the later books had puzzles a foal could solve in their sleep.

And besides, puzzles were not what Starlight meant by “cerebral.” But she didn’t want to genuinely offend Rainbow. She was, after all, just doing what Twilight told her to do.

“I’ll take your word on it.” Seeing Rainbow’s satisfactory smirk drove Starlight to add, “Doesn’t mean I’ll read it.”

“Eh, I’ll take the win.”

Good. Thank Celestia Rainbow wasn’t nearly as abrasive and desperate for absolute victory as she apparently was in the old days. Had they gotten into a heated argument about the intellectual merits of an adventure series for young ponies, well, there was a lone tree in the distance that looked highly ramable.

“So,” Rainbow drawled for the umpteenth time, “what’d you and Trixie do yesterday?”

“Why do you care?” Starlight sincerely asked.

“Just curious.”

Of. Course. She was. “We talked,” was the terse, warning answer. “That’s it.” That’s all you need to know.

“Aw, you guys didn’t do anything?”

Now Starlight was the one feeling offended. Karma was a wicked Flutter Valley-dwelling witch sometimes. “Talking is something.”

“Must’ve been a pretty good conversation, then.” She sounded so casual about this, not pressing for details. Could Starlight have been presuming the worst of ponies again? Did Rainbow really wish to hang out with her? Or was she just that good an actress?

“It was,” said Starlight. Perhaps it’s time to do a little investigating of her own. “Surprised she didn’t tell you all about it this morning.” In reality, the opposite would be downright shocking.

But Rainbow Dash also thought Trixie was selfish. For once, Trixie’s off-putting demeanor worked in Starlight’s absolute favor.

“We told ya,” said Rainbow, “I only came because it’s been forever since we’d hung out.”

And whose fault is that? If Starlight were a petty—pettier—pony, she’d raise a stink. Truly, though, Rainbow approaching Starlight would be as unprecedented as Trixie betraying her trust. Sure, she didn’t make Trixie promise not to speak, and thus had zero grounds to feel “betrayed” if that were the case, but…

But Trixie was one of Starlight’s best friends. They could finish each other’s sentences, or sometimes not speak of them at all and still have a conversation. It should’ve been obvious that yesterday’s conversations were meant for their ears only!

Starlight exhaled. Exhaled. Calm. You’re calm. You aren’t mad, you only feel hurt because… because Trixie dumped Rainbow on you, because she has her life to live. Not that she betrayed your trust. You know she’d want to stick close longer if she could…

Right? Or was Trixie just growing tired of her ranting about Twilight? Even that’s a possibility with her.

“Yo, Equestria to Starlight.”

“W’huh?!”

Rainbow laughed at her reaction. “Were you zoning out on me?” She snorted at the ridiculous blushing mare beside her. “I was saying how you—”

“Please, stop.” That was enough. Enough wasted time, enough wasted breath. The two of them had better things they could be doing than trying to fit a square peg named Rainbow into a shattered, once-diamond-shaped hole representing Starlight herself. She appreciated the efforts, but Rainbow’s were pitiful and clearly falling through. Neither of them wanted to be here.

“Please,” she gently amended. Starlight began twirling her foreleg around the string of her kite. “This isn’t working, Dash.”

“What? What’d I do wrong?” she cried, all but confirming this was her attempt, and ostensibly Twilight’s, at trying to draw something out of Starlight. “Quit doing that, would you?”

But Starlight watched as her kite drew closer and closer, folding defiantly toward the sky, avoiding her however it could. “Quit doing what, exactly?”

“Ignoring me! You’ve been doing that the entire time.” Starlight froze and turned rigidly toward Rainbow, whose brows were knitted with concern, lips twisted like she… like she cared. “That’s all you’ve done, that and lying to me. C’mon, Starlight, I told ya we can be honest with each other.”

“We both know that isn’t your forte, Rainbow Dash. ‘Honesty.’ I mean, you really think I believed you guys when Trixie tried selling that little sob story?” Starlight scoffed, more out of her naivety in hoping it was true anyway. “She’s a good showpony. But even she can’t sell me dirt and call it gold, and less so that you’d wanna do something as dumb as kite flying.”

“I thought you loved this stuff!”

‘Loved.’ Not ‘love.’ Rainbow legitimately thought this was a dead end for her, too. It was, but she had no way of knowing that for sure! Starlight threw her favorite kite down and swiftly pinned it with a stomp, snapping the t center with a crack like thunder: a harsh, blunt sound that made Rainbow flinch as if she actually gave a parasprite’s butt, unlike Starlight. It didn’t matter. Today was proof she’d never fly kites again, never cast magic again, fail to hold onto this life she’d given so much to preserve.

“Jeez, Starlight,” Rainbow breathed.

“Not a word,” Starlight told. Begged. For all the good it’s done her, her gut writhed, urging to do one thing right today and play it cool. “I can get this fixed in like one… I mean, under ten minutes. M-maybe less.” Really?! That tree was looking more merciful by the moment. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had a broken kite on my hooves. It’s nothing. I can do it myself.”

Rainbow’s eyes narrowed by the word, as if to say, ‘You don’t actually know how long it’ll take, because you gave up the one thing that made fixing kites easy.’ How hypothetically rude.

“Okay, Starlight. No more games. What’s been up with you?”

Confrontation: the one problem Starlight couldn’t magic away. “What?” she laughed in mock-disbelief. “Nothing! I’m still getting used to these things, that’s it. Breaking in the girls, so to speak.” She gestured with one forehoof at a time. “I’ve never flown kites without magic before, you know. Gotta walk before you can swim, you know that better than anypony.”

“Right.” Rainbow looked from her kite, broken and forgotten, pinned now by its useless frame, to Starlight, her wings, lips, even her eyes at half-mast. “Yeah, I know what that’s like. But I’ve also seen happier ponies fail than you were flying that kite. Come on, let’s piece this thing back together. I can trying showing you my—-”

“Just stop, Rainbow, okay? I already know you’re not enjoying this, you don’t gotta keep pretending.”

“So what if I am? I mean—-!” She slapped herself across the eyes. “Okay. Fine, this isn’t the greatest. But we don’t have to torture ourselves if neither of us are having fun!”

“You’re right, we don’t. In fact, I’d much rather be alone right now.” Better that than annoy Rainbow further.

“Aw, come on! Seriously?” she cried. “What? Are you mad at me or something, Starlight? I’ve been wondering what I said wrong, but you’re not giving me an edge! I really wanted to hang with ya, but you seem like you wanna be anywhere but here. So, come on! Let’s stop pretending nothing’s wrong, and let’s just be real. You like that, I know you do. You’re one of the realest ponies around.”

What a freaking riot. Starlight threw her head back, howling with laughter, unable to stop herself. She just couldn’t. This was too rich: a mare who put her own happiness first while dressing it in the guise of helping others was a “real” pony in the eyes of Rainbow Dash.

“You know,” Starlight sighed, wiping a tear from her eye, “I’ve had a lot of crummy things happen to me this past month. Particularly this week.” She wiped her other eye, grinning stupid all the while. “But if you consider me more ‘real’ than Twilight, heh, then you’re in for a rude awakening, friendo.”

“Starlight—”

“Especially coming from you.”

Rainbow’s face froze, slack for a beat before twisting into a scowl and stomping closer, keeping her own kite pinned with a back hoof. “Say that again. In detail. I’m not as ‘cerebral’ as you are.”

Starlight snorted. A kick in the teeth sounded pretty good right now, actually. Deserved in a way. “Let’s not beat around the bush here, Dash. ‘Kay? Let’s instead be ‘real:’ I’m a chronic liar if there ever was one. But you know what? You’re no better. Today was proof enough,” she said toward Rainbow’s deep, objecting inhale. “You, wanting to stand something as lame as flying a kite? As me?”

Rainbow recoiled as if slapped, the distraught flashing across her face brief, but genuinely. Disgust flooded Starlight’s belly past its bursting point.. “Hey, relax, okay? This isn’t what I meant when I called you—”

“‘Real?’” she powered on. Starlight was still right. Regardless of Dash’s feelings, she was deadly accurate in this assessment. “You were gonna say that, weren’t you?” Starlight smiled like the slimy, hornless freak that she was. “Okay, Rainbow, I’ll play your game now, seeing as you swallowed mine all day.” Though clearly wounded by the accusation, Starlight was astonished to feel no regret calling Dash out. In fact, she felt light. Lighter than she had in days, even last night after talking to Trixie.

“So here it is: I, Starlight Glimmer, being ‘the realest pony you’ve ever known.’” Rainbow turned her head aside, eyeing her warily, angrily. She’d always hated losing, and she was failing big time. “Twilight. Her aim in all this. That’s what I’ve been thinking about. That’s what you wanted to know so badly, wasn’t it? What’s been on my mind?”

Rainbow balked, and Starlight grinned.

Gotcha. “I’ll make it easy for ya,” she said. “What’re you trying to accomplish here?”

Starlight had lied. Tempest knew what she did this morning, who she was really yelling at, and had lied anyway. And Starlight was lying. She was lying about her own health, both physical and mental, acting like she was so gosh darn clever all the while. She was brilliant, but she was stupid as can be sometimes. Darn her. Darn her!

She’d lied to the doctors who just wanted to help her! She lied to right to Twilight’s face! She lied to Rainbow about her health, and even to to Trixie apparently.

Starlight had lied to Twilight. She already knew that. Why did it hurt so bad?

She was lying. She could have died this very morning and she could die again and yet she had the nerve to LIE.

It took every ounce of willpower to tear away from Nurse Redheart, to walk to the balcony overlooking Ponyville so she wouldn’t see the Princess of Friendship cry. For if she did, if Twilight failed to hold her public image, failed to do something as simple and easy and stupid and mindless as this, then that was it. All bets were off. She’d wail, and Cadance would hear all the way in the Crystal Empire.

“Thank you for coming.” A slight breeze stirred her mane, as if Equestria itself were her only friend, assuring her of its kindly nature in spite of the twisted beings toting themselves as its embodiment half a world away, somewhere in a lost realm only Starlight knew the location of.

Celestia would find something. She said she would, alongside Luna and even Discord. They’d find them. They’d make the witches fix whatever they’d done to Starlight, somehow…

“Nurse Redheart.” The silence meant she hadn’t even moved. Twilight could still feel eyes on her, glazed with pity and disgust for the clumsy, young, foolish little princess who made mistakes whenever it mattered most. “You may go. Thanks again.” Redheart was Starlight’s age , and she’d accomplished more than Twilight ever would in a century. Twilight wasn’t engaged, either, nor had she gotten her first kiss. She didn’t even know what love was, though she was sure the jaggedness strangling her now was some kind of internal awareness, if nothing else.

“Are you sure you want me to leave you alone, Princess Twilight?”

No. Yes. It’d be best. Twilight didn’t know. She thought she knew some things, but apparently nothing of one of her best friends, or the land she loved so dearly.

Loved, in spite of what it truly was.

“I appreciate you giving me the nullification spell.” The witches earned some of that good will, too, Twilight supposed, for allowing their magic to ease Starlight’s pain instead of making her suffer more. Their gain in this was unfathomable. Another mystery within mysteries, I guess. “This will keep her and… it’ll keep her safe.” As well as anypony else, she nearly said, but even thinking that felt like unneeded slander. Redheart understood.

A pause, probably the nurse nodding, or shaking her head. “It’s no problem, Princess. We have copies in our med-magic health books. Be sure to apply it to Starlight’s horn every twenty-four hours, though if she feels any discomfort, you may apply it an infinite amount of times. Castings don’t stack, however, so keep the time limit in mind.”

“Thank you, Nurse. I mean that.” She was always too kind for words. One day, Twilight vowed, she’d find a way to sufficiently thank her.

And Starlight was going to help with that. “I’m sorry for getting you tangled in our mess,” she said. “We’ve all been out of sorts these past couple days… I’ll have Spike deliver to Ponyville General tomorrow.”

Ahead, her home was still, quiet, the land embracing it green and soft and inviting, equally as unassuming, with history centuries old embedded in every inch. With families even older, richer in their stories, as complicated and sordid as life itself—two facts of life the witches, for all their games, would never change, never make Twilight forget in her dealings with Starlight, regardless of how irresponsible she’d been acting. She wasn’t solely to blame.

After all, Twilight held some of the responsibility for letting it get this bad. “It will be more than enough to cover Starlight’s bill,” she explained. “Along with a little extra, as my way of apology. Expect a letter of such penned by Starlight as well. It doesn’t change what she’d done, I know, but she’s brutally honest to herself when she knows she did wrong.” Redheart might not understand, though, presume it was forced by Twilight. “She’d do it of her own accord, as well. That’s the kind of pony Starlight is.”

“I know,” Redheart stammered quickly. “I know, Princess, I know that the frightened, hurting young lady I saw today was nothing like the mare she normally is.”

For Starlight’s sake, Twilight wasn’t going to correct her on that. Regret poisoned her on the spot. Gosh, I’m such a horrible friend.

“But, honestly,” Redheart continued, her voice closer, “you don’t have to cover Starlight’s bill. I’ll take it out of my paycheck. This is a trying time for you both, and I feel… I feel sort of obligated to thank her in some way for giving up so much to save my friend’s life.”

No! Even if Twilight agreed, even if she explained to Starlight why she wasn’t punished for overlooking her first ever hospital bill in the rush of emotions, that pony would never forgive herself if Redheart “suffered” for her mistakes, as she’d certainly put it.

A slight breeze carried over a powdery aroma of uniform cleanliness. Redheart was a strong-willed mare who wouldn’t take a gentle decline, especially with her convictions on the line. “You’re generous, Nurse Redheart. But I must insist that I will cover it for the sake of Starlight Glimmer’s mental well-being. I hope you understand what I mean when I tell you not to expect that letter for a while.”

A pregnant pause went on for a moment too long, if only because Redheart was fighting the urge to go through with it anyway—even behind Twilight’s back, as she would likely do.

“I… understand. I dislike this, but I understand completely.” Thank Celestia Redheart placed her duties as a healer before her own peace of mind. Starlight and even Twilight would struggle more and possibly make the mistake of lying in her shoes.

Twilight couldn’t chance forgetting how she wasn’t much better than Starlight in this “trying time,” as Redheart so gently put it.

“But don’t expect me not to thank her in some way,” she continued. “Same goes for Ponyville. You can feel it in the air, Princess. Everypony wants a word with Starlight, whether she likes it or not. I heard several conversations pertaining to her on my way over here.”

In spite of everything, her sense of compassion tickled Twilight in a way only the population of Ponyville could in a pony. She was forever grateful for living in this town.

“Even the Riches were talking about her,” Redheart went on. “And I don’t think those three have ever given much thought to those who aren’t business partners.”

Twilight turned. Before her stood Redheart, powder-pink mane twisted in a braided ponytail slung across her shoulder, cap held against her chest as it had been since breaking the news—-

Vision blurring, she whipped back around to hide it, but not before gracing the kindly nurse, who came here as soon as she got out of work, with a grateful smile. “If I didn’t know better,” Twilight said fondly, “I’d say this town was planning some kind of party.”

“Oh, you know me, Princess. That is to say, I wouldn’t,” Redheart laughed, bashful of her introversion. “I’m not one to attend Ponyville parties. But if that’s the case, well, there’s a first—or in this case third—time for everything.”

That’s right. One of Ponyville’s most beloved doctors had only ever attended her own ‘Welcome to Ponyville’ party (by Pinkie’s will of course) and her twentieth birthday five years ago, again by Pinkie bringing it to her. Twilight was able to attend despite having only lived in Ponyville for a month, and known Nurse Redheart for a sliver of that time.

“In a way, it’d still be a first for you,” said Twilight, practically hearing Redheart’s head tilt in confusion. “It’ll be the first Ponyville party you’ve attended willingly.”

“I suppose that’s true!” Redheart giggled. She would have gone to Twilight’s near-death and un-death celebrations, but unfortunately the hospitals of Equestria take priority over nearly everything. At least, that was Redheart’s excuse for keeping away from large crowds.

Ahead, Ponyville’s spire of a town hall lorded over the cluster of hay-woven roofs crowded around it. Mayor Mare, bless her heart, was probably planning a similar gathering this very moment (on top of trying to account for the town’s wild influxes of losses and gains after what she called, “The Great Depression”).

It was funny, in a morbid kind of way. In the rush of everything going on, Twilight still hadn’t had processed being the cause of a dark period of Equestrian history. What she did know was the cost such a party would demand.

She also knew one big party containing everypony Starlight had ever known was superior to two smaller ones in almost every way. She didn’t need Pinkie Pie to tell her that much.

“Redheart,” said Twilight, turning back to her, “in your opinion, how do you think the residents of Ponyville feel about attending a Changeling Gourd Fest?”

The nurse wore an absolutely stumped expression before breaking into a fit of laughter. “First,” she said from behind a foreleg, “they’d ask what in Celestia’s name a ‘Gourd Fest’ is.”

Twilight grinned despite her aching heart. This was good. This would be a wonderful idea, but first, she had a town to meet tomorrow, and a king to write to.

She only meant that Starlight got ponies, understood them. That if not for her, the Changelings would still be evil and Equestria a buffet. Or plunged into darkness by the Pony of Shadows. Sunset’s world might have been a crazy dictatorship ruled by a fame-seeking movie star.

Now her integrity as a friend was being attacked, and Dash was too busy reeling from the shock, looking more guilty as a result.

What am I trying to accomplish? What, like this is part of some grand masterplan?

She searched the ground for words. “I’m,” she started, “just tryna get you to smile. That’s it in a nutshell.”

Starlight rolled her eyes. “Please.” She sounded just as bored as she had been since Trixie left them. It was really beginning to grate. “You expect me to believe that after what I just said?”

Why you… Rainbow exhaled hard, venting out her frustrations. Starlight was clearly out of it. Thing is, she wasn’t exactly wrong. Lying to herself was second-nature for Rainbow. It had to be if she was to muster the courage needed for always risking failure.

Objectively speaking, she was the fastest pony of their generation. But “the best?”

Rainbow groaned and sighed at once. Her pride was going to be a juicy pulp by the end of the day, wasn’t it?

“No,” she said, “and I don’t blame you for not. Starlight, I’m no good at this stuff. I’ve avoided this feelings-junk for so long, I’ve no idea where to start for myself, much less you. But I’ve always made up for it in being the most dependable friend a pony could ask for.”

Starlight cocked a brow. “Like selling Fluttershy into indentured servitude for a book?”

“A first edition!” Seriously? Rainbow made sure it stung when she smacked her own forehead. “Augh! See what I mean?” she cried. “Starlight, I suck at this stuff. My feelings, my words, they leave my brain before I actually think about what I’m about to say. It’s... a problem. A huge one, okay? But because it’s a problem, could you just, I dunno, believe me here? That I’m serious when I tell you that I’m really, kinda… enormously worried about you?”

Rainbow felt like she was about to die, panting, keeping her eyes locked with Starlight’s.

After all that, after spilling her guts out with all the grace of Twilight on ice skates, Starlight just seemed to glare at Rainbow Dash with lips slightly parted. Like she wanted to reply, but had no clue where to start deconstructing the pool of word vomit Dash had just spewed at her.

“Well?” Rainbow cried. “Say something already, kid!”

Dash held her cheek, heat seeping into the frog of her hoof. She wanted to die. Starlight thought she was such a blabbering, blubbering, uncool idiot right now.

“I know how hard it is. Having that personality flaw.” Starlight’s gaze lowered, then her eyes shut. “It took a while, but I’ve come to accept that this problem is why my life’s where it is now. For better or worse.” Dash was about to call her crazy when suddenly their eyes met, Starlight’s glimmering as she said, “I’ve gotten myself into more trouble with this brain of mine than you, so don’t start talking yourself down now.”

Rainbow recoiled. She wasn’t about to, but she might as well have for all the good her own brain has done her. Useless as it was. “A mistake is still a mistake, no matter the excuse.”

Starlight forced a humorless laugh. Wrong thing, Rainbow. Stupid thing to say.

“Yeah,” she said, “you got that right.”

And then Starlight Glimmer, one of the strongest and brightest minds Rainbow Dash had ever known, clenched her eyes shut, squeezing out a moist shine to the hiccup of a little sob.

Dash’s heart beat. Starlight inhaled deeply. Shakingly. Brokenly. She gnashed her teeth shut, just as Rainbow felt the tail end of a heartbeat smash against her ribcage.

Her friend was crying. She was crying, and Dash was just watching. She had a voice, dang it! “S-Starlight…” Rainbow moved to give her a hug, because who cares if somepony saw, or what Starlight herself thought. “Don’t cry. You’ll bounce back, I know you—-”

Starlight whirled and leered right in her face. “Oh, would you just shut up with all that?! Would all of you stop telling me that?!”

“What? What’d I say?!” Rainbow cried. “You gotta relax, Starlight! I know you’re—-”

“Oh, don’t tell me to relax. I have the Celestia-darned right to tell you girls to piss off if I wanted to, and none o’ ya have the audacity to give me crap for it!”

Where was this coming from?! And that gross language! “And we wouldn’t! We haven’t! But, Starlight, this’s exactly what you’ve been doing for the past few days! Maybe not right in our faces, but your actions have said plenty.” Starlight, eyes welled and wide, looked absolutely puzzled. She really has been stuck in her own head, hasn’t she? “You told Rarity off when she just wanted to talk,” Rainbow listed with her wings, “you’ve given Twilight the slip every chance you get—-even though she’s practically killing herself over what you’ve done here—-treated me to one heck of a cold shoulder, when all I’ve done is fly your stupid kite and try talking to ya!”

“Well pardon me for not wanting you girls involved in my mistakes,” Starlight sneered. “And excuse my inability to kindly tell ponies to stop caring about me—-it’s not as easy as you think. And for the record,I didn’t ask you to hang out with me. You were the one so desperate to ‘chillax!’ And what the heck is that, anyway?!”

“We want to be involved, though!” Dash was beating her chest in time with her frantic heartbeat. She didn’t even know when she’d started flying. A glance down revealed the kite having been long gone. “All of us, we’re all worried about you, Starlight! We wanna help you, but you won’t let us!”

“Because I don’t want it!”

“Then say that, you blockhead!” The nickname rolled out in all directions of the surrounding grasslands. “If you really don’t like us that much, then tell us so we can all save ourselves the trouble and energy giving another thought to your ungrateful butt!”

“Then go already!”

Rainbow Dash blinked. “H-huh?” Solid ground slammed up to meet her hooves. “That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna say?”

As if she herself hadn’t said plenty already. Something heavy and awful, like the anxiety before a ‘bolts show, pressed against her chest.

“Leave!” Starlight snarled, her tears trickling down at last. “Go! I don’t care! You…” she croaked, looking away, shaking her head, bringing a hoof up to meet her eyes. “You’ve lost my kite. Now I gotta make another. Just… leave, Rainbow, please.”

Leave. Rainbow’s legs wouldn’t move, so stiff they ached—-a potent pain creeping up into her stomach, devouring her from the inside. Leave! All of Trixie’s veiled insults suddenly felt validated. It’s not that Starlight hated them, but she had always been toeing a line around Twilight and the others—-no matter how close they’ve gotten. Especially now, in these sucky times, being too polite to decline her friends but not rude enough to outright tell them ‘No.’

Rainbow ought to have known better, having been friends with Fluttershy all her life. Avoiding their efforts to help suddenly made a lot of sense. If only Dash was smart enough to spot the familiar pattern sooner.

Her mouth attempted forming words, once, twice. Starlight closed into herself all the while, shoulders throbbing soundlessly. “Starlight,” she managed, “I’m really sorry.”

Slowly, subtly, Starlight’s head trembled in agreement. “Me too.”

Anxiety came like the Plague, devouring Rainbow’s innards at a rate faster than she could take off, soaring high, higher, so high that Ponyville eventually looked like a sand-colored zit on the face of Equestria. So high that Amistad, the mountain of Canterlot and seat of the Two Sisters, was a mere pencil point in her eyes. So high that clouds stopped passing by, though Dash made sure she grabbed a couple and clumped them together as she ascended.

Higher, faster, she soared, until in a matter of seconds the sky was a deep, dark blue doming her in. Wind no longer whistled in her ears, and nopony would hear Dash throw a big, stupid tantrum into her cloud, because she was too stupid to keep a cool head and make Starlight happy.

She’d failed her. She’d return to Twilight, a failure to her, too.

But there was a silver lining to all this mess, though it didn’t occur to Rainbow Dash until after the fact:

They now knew what was going through Starlight’s head. Why she was avoiding them. Yippie. Mission accomplished. Dash rolled over in her cloud, sinking into the vast plushness of its depths and drifting off to sleep. But not before scrubbing her eyes one last time. It took all her being not to zip back down there and apologize to Starlight once more.

She’d just blurt out something stupid, anyway. Make it even worse.

Again.

Like she always had.

Starlight had officially destroyed her friendship with Rainbow Dash. It didn’t matter! It was going to end anyway, better sooner than later. This was fine. It was fine.

As she strode through town, going nowhere with heavy albeit satisfied heart, a mass of pink fluff wearing somepony’s upside-down face popped into view. “Hiya, Starlight!”

Pinkie Pie. It’s been… Actually, since the day before that awful party, Starlight hadn’t even thought of Pinkie in much the same way as she hadn’t thought about Maud in the weeks leading up to Twilight’s visit. Maybe it was a Pie thing.

But she couldn’t say that. Pinkie might brush it off, but nopony, not even one as relentlessly cheerful as her, liked to be forgotten. Especially not Pinkie. Starlight tried forming her name as a start, but her throat was shut tight, her previous train of thought having crashed and burned harder than that delightful “chillaxing” session with Dash. How much did she know about already?

And of course, Pinkie started gaping like a fish, too, albeit enthusiastically, because everything was an opportunity for fun with her. “You chewing bubblegum?” Pinkie laughed before an answer could begin manifesting. “Can I have some?” She hopped off wherever she was standing, landing like a feather on four hooves without so much as a shiver tickling Starlight’s. “Well, can I? Can I? Huh-huh-huh?” she asked, inching closer with every word.

This pony.

“Um,” Starlight laughed breathily, placing a step of distance between them, “no, sorry. I don’t have any. Just caught off guard, is all!”

Pinkie did a little hop, bringing her hooves together in a pencil-fine point. “Yeah, I do that a lot to ponies,” she drawled adorably, like a foal would. Starlight suppressed forming a weird grin with all her might. “Besides, I can’t have any chewing gum for a while now! Lookie lookie, Starlight: braces! See? Eeeeee.”

Sure enough, Pinkie grinned as wide as possible, and a hesitant, hornless screw-up smiled sheepishly back. “Not that those aren’t cool,” said Starlight, “not to mention expensive-looking, but why? You have the metabolism of, well, somepony without one. I didn’t think you’d need something like this.”

“Me neither! But I’ve had this funny-sounding mouth-sickness called an ‘overbite’ my whooo—-” inhale, “ —-ooooole life. So, I’ve been setting money aside since I started working with the Cakes, just because!”

It wasn’t even necessary for her health, and yet Pinkie was far more mature in her lifestyle choices than Starlight ever was.

And her brain wouldn’t stop making a pity party for herself. “That’s… really smart of you, Pinkie!” said Starlight, her genuinity masking a wrenching in her tone.

She was so pathetic.

But at least she fooled Pinkie, who beamed a silvery smile, none the wiser. “Thanks! It’s achy sometimes, but at least I got this neat little cheese grater in my mouth.”

Starlight laughed in despair, even though Pinkie, in all likelihood, would flick her tail at logic’s face and come out of this with a mouthful of perfect pearls. “Don’t tell me that’s what you’re actually using them for.”

“Heck, no, sister!”

The penny-pincher in Starlight, lingering from her years ruling Our Town, sighed with relief. “Never thought I’d be so glad to hear that,” she remarked.

“Nah, I use ‘em for chocolate shavings on top of cakes.” Pinkie smiled like there was nothing wrong with that.

“Okay, ew, on about two levels.” Not to mention that if I tried that, I’d get permanent stains on my teeth after having just one chocolate bar. That was just her luck, though. Nothing to get worked up about.

“Hey, I brush my teeth,” Pinkie defended happily.

“It wouldn’t matter if you didn’t!” Starlight frowned as Pinkie’s did, ever so slightly, and she tilted her head. In her peripherals, she noticed some passersby looking in her direction, whispering.

Oh, Starlight realized, I just yelled that, didn’t I? She must have sounded aggressive—the exact opposite of what she was feeling.

...Right? Her entire being was writhing still, as if trying to escape her very skin. It drove her crazy.

“Hey, Starlight! Let’s go see the Cutie Mark Crusaders!”

Oh. No. Not Pinkie. She was one of the last ponies who needed to deal with Starlight. “Might I ask why?” She finally knew better than to outright decline. The least she could do was appear interested.

“Be-cause,” Pinkie said as she dipped down with her tone, “those girls might have just the thing you need to hear right now! I can feel it in my gut.”

Oh. So that was her game. I’m hornless, so why not presume I’m feeling talentless, too. Directionless. It wasn’t wrong, not at all. In fact, it was right on the money. But Starlight, in all her pettiness, despite her willpower, couldn’t stop feeling the way she instinctively did.

Like how she felt their assurances of her strength weren’t totally sincere. Like they talked about how twisted and screwed-up she was behind her back, how out-of-control she’s been acting. Maybe Pinkie somehow knew already of this morning’s magical mishap, and ostensibly Twilight, and this was their subtle attempt at damage control: a trio of fillies who specialized in helping little baby foals discover their destiny.

It would be a waste of time. Starlight’s was already set in stone, no matter what those kids guessed. Pinkie, the girls, they were probably set up to try and make her feel better.

Or maybe they were genuine.

Starlight sighed with all the weight pressing against her. Congrats, Reeka, if you can hear me. It’s clearer than ever that I don’t deserve these wonderful ponies in my life.

Twilight, Rainbow, Rarity and Pinkie. All of them tolerated her, each one of them were better ponies than Starlight Glimmer. It was no wonder they were destined to bear the Elements of Harmony.

The very least she could do was humor them. Humor them until it became clear that her involvement in their lives was obsolete. Then, Starlight could vanish into the night without them sparing a further thought forever after.

“I don’t suppose there’s any point in denying that I have a problem?” she said, drawing Pinkie’s attention from the blades of cut grass she’d arranged into a smiling pony.

“Nope!” chirped the party pony. She half-expected that.

Starlight really needed to kick this habit of underestimating her friends. “I suppose claiming that I don’t need their help, despite the fact that it’ll be a waste of your time and theirs, is off the table as well?”

Pinkie’s face fell to plainness, processing this. She was about to laugh, wasn’t she? Instead, her hoof shot out and practically stabbed Starlight in the brain. “Time with friends is never wasteful, ya goof,” she said, knocking the freshly-mended nerves wired down Starlight’s foreheads.

She set it down, gently. “I’m telling you, it’s literally impossible for anything to come out of this.”

Pinkie winced as if she’d gotten a whiff of hot garbage. “In this crazy, fun-tacular world, do you really think getting good advice is impossible?”

“It’s not that. I mean, ugh!” Was she really trying to argue with this mare’s logic? Was Starlight really so far gone at this point? “I know you, Pinkie. You’ve proven me to be dead-wrong before.” She would never, ever forget the day she tried studying Pinkie Sense, only to hear from the respectful, kind princess who’d forgiven Starlight that she, too, very nearly lost her mind trying to grasp something so absurd. “Ideally, this time will be no different. At worst, it’s a big waste of time. So… what’ve I got to lose?”

Some naive part wanted to believe.

And she must have shown it in her weirdly expressive face, known to everypony but the owner herself, for Pinkie’s discerning eye was nowhere in sight. Just a smile big enough for the two of them, lined with silver and… Oh! Starlight hadn’t even realized each brace was decorated with a tiny balloon, bedazzling Pinkie’s mouth with a pattern of topaz and zircon: blue, yellow, blue, blue, yellow, blue, blue…

How’d she miss that before? “Your smile’s gorgeous, Pinkie,” she blurted out.

Pinkie gasped, squishing her cheeks in a way Starlight could only describe as emotional. “Thank you! Now, come on,” she cheered, whipping around. “We gotta hustle our bustles. Unless Scootaloo challenged them to a race, the girls should still be enjoying their sundaes at Sugarcube. So! You ready to race? Huh? Are ya?” She pawed the ground, ready for a challenge.

Starlight yawned, exhausted already, yet unable to resist a smile. “Whatever, Pinkie.”

“But you wanna race, right?”

“Not particularly. But now, for you? Okay. If only because you didn’t bring up my horn once.” She brushed gently by, a touch she hoped Pinkie read as an appreciative sign.

Her friend adopted a gentle disposition. Maybe she had. It lingered as she faced the road ahead, knees cocking, and in a tone to match, she asked, “You ready?”

“Just don’t hold back. And keep being you.” Smiling, joking, acting “normal” no matter the tragedy around them. It was everything Starlight hoped for coming home from Flutter Valley. She’d actually forgotten that amidst everything.

“Oh-kay! On you marks, get set… go!”

Starlight never thought she’d be so happy to lose as she galloped, keeping a leisure pace alongside a trail of smoke and coughing ponies.

Maybe in that weird, cosmic way of hers, Pinkie sensed Starlight’s desperate need of something like this. “Normalcy.”

Sure. And the moon was made of cheese. It was just who she was: living to make ponies not only smile, but feel comfortable enough doing so. She did, after all, have her moments of subtlety as often as she was truly overwhelming.

Even in making Twilight’s last party happen, she’d tried and pretty much succeeded at getting everypony to forget the reason for its occurrence. It was calculated, for she always sought to overshadow what was wrong. Despite the affair being nothing than her usual manner of partying, it was far from a melancholy get-together. That much was clear, even in Starlight’s rush to slip out.

In spite of its disgusting formulation, manifestation, and very purpose, Pinkie Pie did what she did best: took something sad and turned it into something… comfortable.

Just like now.

Maybe Starlight was biased, though. After all, she was the only other pony who refused to believe Twilight was a goner.

‘Nothing is impossible.’ Naive in many ways, but Starlight would be the first to admit she wasn’t a particularly mature pony.

Maybe there was hope within the CMCs.

But maybe this was a colossal mistake.

“See how it’s kinda like Twilight’s? Maybe it’s got something to do with friendship after all! Doncha think that fits into your analysis? Huh?” said Sweetie Belle, leering into Scootaloo’s personal bubble as if that asserted her opinion extra hard.

At least this stool has a cushion on it, thought Starlight.

“Then what about the squiggles coming off that star-bit?” Starlight straightened as she felt a firm smacked against her flank. If it was anypony else…

“You’ve forgotten those again,” Scootaloo continued. “You keep forgetting that her OG talent was magic. But she can’t do it anymore, so it can’t be anything like that!”

“No, I didn’t,” growled Sweetie.

It was so weird that Scootaloo—pint-sized Rainbow Dash Scootaloo—was being smarter than book-loving, cultured Sweetie Belle in this situation.

But much stranger things have happened this past week alone.

“Say it again, Scoots,” muttered Apple Bloom. “Just one more time. I reckon Starlight’s not sick of bein’ reminded o’ that.”

“I said it’s fine,” she droned.

“No, no,” said Sweetie, shaking her head. “In my theory, they could represent the magic of friendship, duh. Not literal magic. Think about her cutie mark story! Her ties to magic and how she felt in the moments before getting it. It all lines up perfectly!”

Scootaloo leered closer to the unicorn. “There’s more to magic than just being magical! I’m a pegasus pony, and even I know that! Starlight used to be better than Twilight, because that was her talent!”

Sweetie Belle leered as well, crashing their foreheads together. “Then tell her to pack her bags and take a hike, already!”

Starlight was shocked, horrified, and moved all at once to see tears beading both fillies’ eyes.

“You know that isn’t what I’m saying!” cried the cripple.

“Both o’ y’all are bein’ wacky!” Apple Bloom cried from the middle. “It don’t matter whether the magic on her mark’s ‘lateral’ or symbolic. It’s deeply tied to the stuff, but without her horn, she can’t do nothin’ about it.” Apple Bloom looked pointed to Sweetie Belle, whose gaze lowered with bitter understanding as she wiped her eyes. Scootaloo mirrored her as she received the same, Apple Bloom telling her, “But that don’t mean it’s not any magic, period. We’ve been at this long enough to know that can’t be the case!” The farmpony plopped into a thinking pose. “Now there must be some kinda connection between the Starlight then and the one we know now. Something that hasn’t changed.” She glanced up to the puzzled fillies on either side. “Come on, girls! We need to think outside the box, here!”

At least one of them was being a realist, too. “I feel like Apple Bloom’s on the right track, girls,” said Starlight, combing her tail with strokes of the hoof. “I’ll admit it seems… unlikely,” she decided, carefully, “unlikely that my destiny has completely changed, but if you’re right—-”

“I’m telling you, it hasn’t. It couldn’t have changed, it’s impossible! Come on, Starlight. You gotta trust us on this one.” Sweetie’s eyes shone brighter than emeralds.

“Even though we’re kids to you,” added Apple Bloom.

That wasn’t it at all. These fillies, despite the situation, were in their own ways brilliant girls. But they probably wouldn’t believe Starlight, despite it being the truth for once. Really, she trusted Sweetie was the cutest pony to have ever lived a little more. “Okay, girls. I believe in you,” she said, a smile tugging at her cheeks.

Sweetie smiled, biting her lip with the pink from her mane bleeding into her cheeks. “That means a lot from you. Thanks, Starlight. What happened to you was just terrible, and I’m really sorry about that.”

“Yeah, we all are,” said Scootaloo. Apple Bloom nodded between them from the floor, equally as morose. The world was so lucky to have these three guiding future generations.

“But if there’s one thing we’ve learned in this job,” Sweetie continued, “it’s that nothing is ever random. Nothing. Come on, girls. I know you know what I’m talking about, right?”

She and Starlight looked across the clubhouse to the others, both clearly knowing, but neither loving the idea. “Sweets,” Scootaloo began after exchanging a silent conversation with Apple Bloom, “this situation is kinda different, though. We’ve never dealt with ponies who made deals with witches before.”

Word sure traveled fast in this small town. Thank Celestia they bought the filly-friendly version of the “old and lame” pony’s tale this generation was too good for.

“Sure, but think about it! This is no different from Troubleshoes.”

Scootaloo and Apple Bloom groaned at this pony’s name, the latter of which mumbling, “Again?” and indicating this wasn’t the first time they’ve had this discussion.

“I’m serious! Come on, tell me I’m wrong here: he’s misread his mark his entire life, thinking it represented bad luck. But then we came along. Because of us, he redefined it and was able to fulfill his deepest desire: to be a rodeo pony! And if it weren’t for him, we’d not have helped Diamond Tiara and eventually got these.” Sweetie gestured to the colorful shield on her flank, inciting her friends to take a moment of silence to admire theirs as well, and reminisce.

Sweetie, facing no argument, smirked proudly as she rounded back on Starlight. “And I’m convinced, beyond reasonable doubt, that you’re not very different. Losing your horn, even though it’s very sad, hasn’t changed anything. In fact, this might be your chance to find your life’s true purpose! And you’re smart, Starlight. One of the smartest ponies we’ve ever known! Maybe even Equestria!” she squeaked. “You gotta understand me, don’t you?”

Starlight forced herself to meet the squeaky filly with a smile. That’s what I thought too, she wished to say. I thought the exact same as you. But then I met the masters of Fate and went and altered mine for Twilight’s… My talent was magic. My ability, my talent, reasoning, creativity… my whole life has revolved around it. Starlight bit her tongue, forcing her heartache into actual pain. Don’t cry, darn you. Don’t you break these kids’ hearts, too. Come on! Twilight, Rainbow, Maud and now this? ...Nothing happens for no reason, sure, but nothing in life is free, either. This is different, kid. I’m sorry. I can’t help it, and neither can you.

Starlight lifted her eyes, blinking dryly, and meeting the girls’ hopeful or reassuring smiles with one that was at least worthy of their time, souls, and efforts. “That’s a comforting thought. Okay, yeah, I’m game to hear you out. What about the two of you?”

Scootaloo and Apple Bloom dropped their smiles, exchanging looks and then a nod.

“Here’s what I think,” said the pegasus, striding to the window of their clubhouse. “In the years we’ve done this, there hasn’t been a single pony whose real talent was what they originally thought it was. That’s when they’ve already had their cutie mark, by the way.” Starlight nodded. “So, yeah, I think Sweetie’s onto something. I wasn’t doubting that, either! So don’t think I was! I’m just saying we’ve never had a pony be, what was it, ‘cut off from magic entirely?’ That’s a weird and… kinda dumb thing to think, Starlight. No offense. But everypony has magic within them. Our cutie marks themselves are magic!”

“They’re tied to our very souls. It’s a might special, doncha think?” Apple Bloom wondered wistfully.

“Y-yeah. It is, isn’t it?” But the witches controlled, no, they themselves were all the magic in Equestria. It wasn’t special. It was calculated. It was unsettling. And it clung to Starlight’s mind and never let go once it got ahold. “It took me far longer than my formative years to really get that,” she confessed, “that’s for sure. But—-”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Sweetie gasped. “Say that again, would you, Starlight?”

“Uh, yeah, no, I didn’t realize cutie marks or even destiny were a thing, even after grade school. I sort of shut all that stuff out after… well…”

“Sunburst. I get it,” Apple Bloom intoned. “As in, I really get it. Yeah, now I see where you’re getting at, Sweetie.”

“Well, I don’t!” Scootaloo flopped down, crossing her forelegs. “Somepony talk plainly for those of us who can’t speak in code!”

“Keep yer wings on! We was gettin’ to that part.”

Sweetie Belle took a seat on the floor before Starlight, who was ready to offer her the chair before she asked, “Could you tell us how you got your cutie mark again?”

“Again?” groaned Scootaloo. “We’ve heard it, like, three times already!”

“I’m inclined to agree,” said Starlight. “Sweetie Belle, what do you want to know you don’t already?”

The filly shrugged, gazing upon her with curious green eyes. “It doesn’t hurt to be thorough. The devildog’s in the details, after all. Plus… the fact that you’re talent was supposedly magic, but you didn’t know something like that.” She gave a shrug. “I dunno. It seems kinda like the first thing all powerful unicorns just kinda know. Like, in their guts and stuff.”

Scootaloo snorted. “Congrats, Sweetie Belle. You’re sounding more like Rarity by the day. Lemme tell ya.”

She beamed instead of being insulted. “My point being, maybe you’ll tell us something we hadn’t heard yet.”

Starlight felt her face heat up, not wanting to annoy them. But she had to be honest. They wouldn’t get anything more out of this. “What else can I say?” She scratched her mane, averting their big curious eyes. “I wanted to follow Sunburst into Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. So I practised and practised and practised. I didn’t really care for magic at the time, only rejoining my best friend. And yet, he didn’t write to me once. I… None of that’s important, I’m sorry! Uh, l-long story short, I thought he didn’t want to be my friend. That he was off doing better things without me to tie him down.” She inhaled, she sighed. “Years passed, still no cutie mark… I was less one mother, and now one friend. My only friend I had the courage to make, and the absolute terror of losing. But I did. All because of our cutie marks. I swore to myself that if I ever got powerful, I’d never let another pony experience the same, horrible heartbreak that I did! I know now that I was, of course, part of the problem, but you try telling a foal to figure that out about herself. No, instead, I blamed losing Sunburst on cutie marks—-if I’d gotten mine sooner, or if he wasn’t so good at magic, then we would still be friends. The day I got my mark, I wasn’t in any mood for it. And I got good at magic: powerful enough to muster all my edgy hatred of the world into firing a basic concussion spell, burning a hole through Daddy—er, Dad’s study. And his mane.” She blushed harder at the memory than she did letting his nickname slip. Oh, gosh, he probably didn’t even know about all this…

“He was too proud of me to care, though,” Starlight croaked. “I couldn’t care less, though. Told him he could stuff the popularity contests that were cute-ceaneras where the sun don’t shine: the back of his mind! And it’s not like I’d made any friends to attend it, anyway. Thought that Sunburst was too good to want to come to mine, even if I invited him after years of silence. After that, well, you girls know the rest. And some years later, here I am: hornless and hopeless and getting life advice from a trio of twelve-year-olds.”

“Um, actually, I’m thirteen.”

Apple Bloom told Scootaloo what she thought of that with a swift punch to the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“Be more sensitive, dummy!”

“But it’s the exact same story, word for word. What do you want me to say?”

“Somethin’ sensible, at least. Nopony gives a worm’s butt about yer age right now, least of all Starlight.”

“Actually,” Sweetie cut in, “I think I might have figured it out.”

“You have?” the others present cried at once. Starlight doubted it… but she was really hoping for a miracle here, she realized.

A light pink dusted the pretty filly’s cheeks as she explained, “Really, it’s not so different from what I’ve said about Troubleshoes. Think about it: Starlight swore another pony would never feel the heartbreak she felt, thinking she lost Sunburst because of cutie marks.”

“I actually think ‘heartbreak’ was just a little strong—”

“It was heartbreak,” Apple Bloom said aloud. “I’m a might sorry, Starlight. But we’ve heard ya justify an’ regret back and forth like some kinda mental buckball game the last three times we heard this. Some ponies might not understand, but trust us: we ain’t judgin’ ya. We’d have been heartbroken, I reckon, if somethin’ like that were to happen to one of us. Right, girls?”

Sweetie nodded energetically. Scootaloo blurted out, “Like I’d start brainw—ow!”

Apple Bloom rubbed the hoof she struck her with. “Gonna hafta wash your mouth out with soap when we’re done here, Ah swear t’... Continue, Sweetie Belle. Sorry ‘bout that, Starlight.”

“No, I get the reaction.” She and Scootaloo exchanged understanding smiles. Maybe the mini-Rainbow Dash, much like her owner, couldn’t fathom being in a state where a series of mental gymnastics justified convincing ponies that their lives were better without individuality. But she was a kid, and she meant well. She was miles ahead of thirteen-year-old Starlight.

“Moving on,” Sweetie continued, “the emotions you felt are just as important to your cutie mark as the action you’d performed. Just like with Troubleshoes: he got his mark being klutzy, sure, but he was doing what he loved—-being a part of the rodeo he loved so much. It was a part of his true self! And, really, at the end of the day, that’s all a cutie mark is: everything you are and will be, tied to a picture on your flank. That’s something not a force in Equestria can change, especially some pony-eating witches.”

Outside, a slight breeze rustles the leaves hugging their clubhouse.

“Woah,” Scootaloo breathed, looking like her little mind’s just been blown. “That’s… that’s actually really smart. Like, it makes a lot of sense when you put it that way!”

“So what you’re saying is,” said Apple Bloom, “or rather, what you’ve been tryna say, is that it could very well have somethin’ to do with magic and friendship after all?” pondered Apple Bloom. “Kinda like Twilght. It ain’t no coincidence their cutie mark’s are practically spittin’ images of one another.”

“Now if that’s one mystery solved, then what about the magic coming off it?” Scootaloo walked to Starlight’s flank as if the mare attached to it didn’t care a lick about personal space. “I mean, it could be going into it, too. Maybe… forcing ponies to be friends with friendship magic? Like the Elements of Harmony?”

“Or her magic could be changing it. Altering friendship. Somehow.” The girls looked to Sweetie Belle doubtfully. Even Starlight. “What? That’s just as valid as Scootaloo’s!”

“You’ve been on a roll this whole time, then you had to go and ruin your streak by saying something that makes zero sense!”

“Read a book, it expands your mind now and again! You should try it for once!”

Starlight sighed as the two fell back into bickering, with Apple Bloom continuing the awkward role of floor decoration, thinker, and mediator. Starlight resigned to her destiny as an assaulter of friendship, if their line of thinking was in any way accurate.

At the end of the day, none of this mattered. The girls had zero clue as to the true identity of Hydia and her brood. That they were more than powerful beings, but power themselves: the source of all magic, Destiny, the weavers of everypony who’d ever lived and the fates which suited them like a glove. It was all too perfect.

It was selfish to think it all built up to a chance encounter last week. The ultimate sacrifice to pay Twilight back for all Starlight had put her through. Destiny wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows, however lucky some ponies seemed. Tempest Shadow, at the very least, made her point perfectly clear in that regard, though Starlight applauded her best efforts to rage against this painful fact of life.

That she and Starlight Glimmer, if nothing else, were stepping stones to elevating Twilight Sparkle, Element of Magic, and Princess of Friendship.

And that was worth it.

She would certainly do far more than either of them ever would with her power. Starlight found contentment with that fact whenever she’d lose sight of what was really important.

It was worth it.

“Dunno. It ain’t up to us at the end of the day.” Orange-red eyes suddenly met Starlight’s. Apple Bloom probably had the most gorgeous eyes she’d ever seen. “Starlight?” They always seemed alight with ideas, brilliant. She was going to do great things, warm many hearts, affect many lives beyond that. All three of them were.

What was one, useless unicorn against all that?’

“Starlight, are you ok?” wondered Apple Bloom. For whatever reason, the other two had gone quiet.

Starlight was too preoccupied with her lap to be sure. “Y-yeah, I am,” she answered steadily. “It’s a lot to take in. That’s all.”

“So, ya think it’s a good idea? You’ll give it a try?”

Starlight nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah I will! It shows a lot of promise. You girls really helped me out, I gotta say.” It was much harder to keep smiling as the girls started cheering, jumping around Starlight, even as she got up from the stool and paced for the clubhouse door.

It was almost impossible to keep it going once they began to chant, “We helped Star-light! We helped Star-light!”

The dam almost burst as she turned to wave goodbye, only to find those angels already waving after her from the window. Sweetie Belle was particularly energetic, her foreleg wagging faster than a dog’s tail as she called out in her girlish, squeaky voice, “Come back if you want anymore help! Okay?! The Cutie Mark Crusaders are a twenty-four-seven business!”

Starlight grinned, even as their encouraging little faces blurred together. “Heh, you know it!” She whipped around as wet warmth tickled and trickled down her cheeks. They kept calling after her, wishing her luck, yelling something about talking to friends.

She was too far for them to notice, then, thank Hydia.

“Are you suuure you’re not lying, Glimmy?” Pinkie asked, bouncing in step beside her. “‘Cause Twilight said you might be.”

On any other day, Starlight would voice her insecurity veiled in some quip about Twilight’s lack of trust in her. But that was before she realized how valid those fears were, how they came from a place of truth and delusions.

“Trust me, Pinkie, if I was lying you’d be the first to know. Trust me, I’m not that good at it.”

“But you were crying after meeting the Crusaders! And you won’t even tell me what they told you.”

“I was smiling, though! Those were tears of joy—-come on, Pinkie. Did my smile look fake to you?”

“No siree! But you’re a crafty type, Glimmy. You coulda been remembering a funny joke in order to trick me.”

In reality, Starlight was happy to make the girls happy, but Pinkie was scary with how smart she could abruptly get. “You’re being silly,” Starlight chuckled, because she was tickled to know such a relentlessly unique pony. Always surprising, never dull. A great friend as a whole, one who cared so much about her.

They deserved so much better than Starlight Glimmer. “You know what I’m in the mood for?” she asked as it popped into her head.

“Ooh, ohh, wait! Lemme guess.” Pinkie came before her, hopping backwards as the trees of Sweet Apple Acres became bared of apples, and they passed beneath an archway and hung a right on the path leading back into town. “Um, let’s see here… you wanna go skydiving! With Princess Cadance!”

“What? No way!” Starlight laughed.

“You wanna eat a forbidden tome and absorb its knowledge for your own personal gain!”

“Ha! Close, but no.”

Pinkie stuck her tongue out, gazing into the sky with her single opened eye. “Ooh! Ooh! Wait! I got it: you wanna gorge yourself on a ton of yummerrific cake till you’re puking rainbows all over the place!”

“Okay, first of all, gross. Second of all, yeah, pretty much!”

Pinkie Pie reared up, practically whinnying. “Wee-hee! Let’s go!”

They “raced” one another to Sugarcube Corner for the second time that day. By the time Starlight reached Sugarcube, and had a miniature crisis at the front door regarding the ogling of fellow patrons, she entered to find the place completely empty save for Pinkie Pie and a trolly packed with baked goods.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” she groaned, drumming the table. “I’m starving and sleepy!”

Starlight salivated on sight. Even more obvious, it completely slipped her mind that she didn’t have any money to pay for all that. Did it even need to be stated that Pinkie insisted it was on her?

Or that Starlight pigged out in an effort to smother the writhing in her chest with a torrent of sugar?

Starlight was disgusting. She was cowardly, a liar, and above all, pathetic. But at least she fooled Pinkie Pie. That was something of an accomplishment alright.

IV.XII - Before the Storm

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Everything felt heavy today. And yesterday. Really, the last week or so. But these last two days were pretty hard.

Even the quill weighed, like, everything in the world. But Twilight was a princess, the Element of Magic, and one of the most powerful ponies to have ever lived.

If she could do one thing, just one little thing right, it was write.

‘Good morning, Starlight!’ wrote Twilight. Her magic went on autopilot, filling in the rest.

This was so fake. Her gut writhed, agreeing, even as her soul went into every word. Am I just making excuses not to see her at this point? Twilight wondered.

The friend who had sacrificed so much, so that she’d live against all odds?

Was this their friendship after four straight days of emotional abrasion? Twilight shuddered—actually shuddered—on this muggy Thursday morning.

It’d be so, so easy to put what she told Starlight and Tempest to practice. No. Don’t be even more selfish than you’ve already been. The last thing Starlight needs right now is more stress, and another excuse to lie. Lie in some misguided attempt to please her friend.

Twilight’s stomach throbbed so bad, even worse than before when she’d skipped breakfast. She despised this. Hated the games and the deceit! Most of all, she despised her gut reactions to these feelings, knowing that in the end, none of what had happened was Starlight’s fault. None of it. Not even her wild behavior.

After all, she’s done nothing to make the problem better. If anything, Twilight’s incompetency in a situation this severe had only made it worse. This made sense. It was logical.

But no amount of mental gymnastics could change how she instinctively felt, because part of “the blame” (such an ugly word) was still on Starlight. She’s the one who made a conscious effort to act the way she did, rather than oppose it.

In a way, she was still the heartbroken filly who’d lost her best friend. Who believed, deep down, she was part of the blame, despite it being a culmination of various circumstances.

That, similarly, was logical and made sense and stood as the undeniable fact of the matter.

And yet, and yet, because there’s always gotta be another side to Friendship Problems...

Starlight can’t help how she feels, either, Twilight thought as her signature punctuated the note. But she’s still lying to everypony. All the time. Even about her own health. Even if it could hurt others…

It was grossly irresponsible of somepony usually so mindful and cautious around others.

And so, she’d avoided her last night.

Of all the absurd, unlikely occurrences this past week alone, Twilight, the Princess of Friendship, had become the one avoiding Starlight, one of her best friends.

Instead of waiting to greet her, she’d stayed in bed, fuming over Redheart’s visit. Instead of feeling totally sorry for Starlight, Twilight had the gall to feel even a tiny bit angry. Even betrayed. Instead of empathizing, she was misinterpreting, believing Starlight purposefully withheld this information because she believed she could handle it, even the pain that would follow after her nullification charm ran its twenty-four hour course.

Did she expect to stomach it for all time? Avoid Twilight for the rest of history? No, of course not. Starlight was just scared, and Twilight was too bitter and nasty to look past her own feelings.

Why?

Why were they like this? Why couldn’t they both grow up and just talk?!

Why is she being so obtuse and strange around me and everypony else? And why am I so… so angry about it?! The platter cover jingled innocently as the note slapped down beside it, weighted in her magenta field.

Twilight trembled, sighing. Look at me. Within the silver, a gasping, sweating alicorn looked her in the eye. She was a princess, acting like a foal.

“Ready to go, Twilight?” Spike was in the doorway, pack hanging off his shoulders. Celestia only knows how long he watched her stare down her reflection in the platter cover.

“Yeah! Yeah, let’s go.”

Spike looked like he just saw her growing a second horn. “Are you sure you’re good, Twi? You don’t wanna eat anything?”

Even if she wasn’t, even it she wanted to, Twilight had a duty to fulfill. “Yes, Spike, I’m perfectly fine. Let’s go before the humidity gets too bad.”

Spike turned on his heel, but didn’t advance, lingering with suspicion.

As soon as he was gone, Twilight clapped herself in the forehead. As if faking it to Spike would do her any good? She was even wearing a mask like Starlight now, right down to its poor concealment.

Twilight shook her head. At the end of the day, my personal feelings don’t matter in the slightest. The risks are too great to get distracted by them, however valid they might feel. It doesn’t automatically include them as part of the equation.

Most importantly, she wouldn’t be of any help if she kept falling into her usual patterns of freaking out.

It’s disgraceful to put me on the same level as Celestia, Luna, or Cadance, too. Perhaps my unworthiness is all in my head, and I’m just too sad right now to see any differently. A profound ache roiled in her chest, screaming in agreement. Twilight, at last, was wholly accurate in something, and that was worth making this pledge: I’ve been a veritable antithesis to all the Princess of Friendship stands for. It’s because of this that I’ll power on through the my grief, my pettiness, and fight my unworthiness. And I will never stop, not even for breath, until I make it up to Starlight and repay her sacrifice a thousand-fold.
These words echoing within, over and over, dousing her scorching negativity, gave Twilight the strength to hold her head higher as she and Spike made for the winding path to Ponyville, and Town Hall lording over it all.

“Hey, Spike?” she asked as they entered town.

“Yeah?” He did a hop, jostling his backpack. “What’s up, Twi?”

Twilight, miraculously, felt as good as she did leaving the castle, every step taken executed with greater ease than the last. Unrelated, perhaps. Illogical—physical activity should have no genuine ties to one’s mental health.

“Until our business with the mayor is concluded,” she said, “let’s not think about Starlight, okay?” They only had between now and then to poise themselves for this crucial meeting.

“Uh, sure,” he stammered. “But that’ll be kinda hard since she’s the reason we’re going there.”

‘Good Morning, Starlight!’

Twilight’s stunning morning energy was audible even now. At least somepony’s sleeping well. Something twisted inside of her, a nasty thing, paradoxically bitter to her thankfulness. It’s like some part of me wants Twilight losing her mind over me.

Starlight shook herself free of jealous thoughts and pawed the letter closer.

‘I truly hope your day with Rainbow Dash was a relaxing one, you’ve certainly earned it.’

‘Truly.’

‘Certainly.’

This had to have been a joke. If Twilight knew of half of what she’s done, which she certainly does, because she’s Twilight…

Starlight chuckled wickedly. “Sheesh,” she sighed, smile lingering. “Our lives have become an ongoing dramedy.”

But that’s just what happened sometimes. Life was funny like that, Starlight’s life story stood as testament to that fact. Invigorated a whopping one percent, she read on.

However empty, the lengths Twilight went, pretending everything was as fine as Starlight wished they were before, it was funny.

And a little bit flattering.

‘You’re probably wondering where I am. Well, if you need either Spike or myself for any reason whatsoever, then don’t hesitate to look for us at Town Hall. We’re seeing the mayor. Just princess business, you know the drill! Anyway, I wanted to apologize for missing you morning and night these last several days. It’s certainly not intentional—in wake of “The Great Depression” (Equestria’s name, not mine), much and more has been demanding the attention of the Princess of Friendship, first and foremost friends. I promise you, I am not lying when I say it’s imperative I tend to my responsibility now than later. I know you understand, however. But it hurts me every time I leave without so much as a hug.’

One would have to be blind not to know that. But they’d have to be an idiot not to see the obvious.

How it didn’t change the fact that Twilight Sparkle, who was on the verge of ditching her own party for Starlight, was now looking for excuses to keep away from her.

Honestly, hugs? How could she forget Starlight hated that sort of thing? It’s because she didn’t—Twilight was a famously bad liar.

Starlight couldn’t blame her, even if she had the energy to care about it. She’d lost the right to feel offended after daring to end their friendship. And over the simple gesture of trying to repay her, nonetheless.

Feeling dazed from deja vu, Starlight skimmed the predictable rest.

‘I hope to see you tonight if you’re home. If not, if you are with your friends, I insist you not to worry about me. Any time with friends is time well spent, after all. Twilight.’

‘P.S.S. (Post-Sparkle Spike) I made your favorite breakfast! Enjoy.’

That explained the covered platter. So, Spike’s done with me, too, huh? The last bit’s clearly Twilight’s hornwriting.

She didn’t sign it “Your Friend” like always, either.

Didn’t she?

Scanning the last paragraph confirmed her f—observation, as well as Twilight not grouping herself as one of Starlight’s friends any longer. It might have been a mistake. Most likely. But nothing is impossible, after all. She herself might not have even noticed. Subconscious, intentional, it didn’t matter. Twilight’s feelings bled into this letter, striking and unmistakable, like the very ink she wrote with.

And then Starlight gasped, unable to breathe. Had she been holding her breath? Why? Why, I don’t care. I don’t. It doesn’t matter, Starlight. You’ve pushed her away yourself. You wanted this, and you’ll move on. You’ll move on. You’ll move on.

The twisting in her chest loosened, just enough to make breathing easier. “Hah,” Starlight sighed. “Hoo. Much, much better.” She just had to remain rational until, well, sometime better than now.

Starlight reared up, gripping the silver platter in both hooves instead of getting her mouth all over the knob on top. She was slapped in the muzzle by the warm, buttery smell of pumpkin spice pancakes upon removing it.

Twilight, Spike… Whoever, whatever, thank you. She felt the pathetic grin she wore, setting aside the cover of this simple gesture. Whatever. I needed this after… after last night.

A claw filled her vision and flashed white, giving way to unblinking brown eyes resting above a mutilated, empty smile before the world trembled to the sound of hail pelting against a window—the kind of sound only gold on crystal could make.

Starlight gasped, her heart running for the hills. Reality surged forth, bright purples and blues and pumpkin-spice blowing away the utter monsters perverting her thoughts, holding her throat. At her hooves, the chair laid on its back.

Sighing, Starlight bent over and picked it up, putting her shoulder into it past the halfway point. I could have chipped the floor, she realized, glancing down at the pristine crystal with shame. And I’d already be done with breakfast, too. Not really, though. But she’d have blinked back to her bedroom, enjoying the flavor of her pancakes before a good book. All with zero extra steps in between.

Plopping down, silver flashed and caught her eye, tucked beside the shortstack. Starlight smiled, feeling something naive, warm, and small—gratitude—blossom outwards for the samaritan thoughtful enough to leave her silverware. How kind of them to presume she was already a master of the clumsy things that capped her forelegs, and not stuck eating food like a dog. Or Pinkie Pie.

No sense in not trying, Starlight thought as she slid them off her plate, wincing even while anticipating their oft-unheard clatter against the table. She then proceeded to spend thirty seconds, failing to hold the fork in her foreleg. When it was finally grasped in the crook of her hoof, she felt like a champion again.

“Aha!” Starlight cried, proceeding to stab her breakfast with the blunt end of a fork.

Her victory, her smile, crashed down burning.

“Oh, go to Tartarus, you piece of trash!” she yelled over its twanging against the wall across from her.

Wow. Wow.

Silver lining… that was a pretty good throw.

But Starlight’s gut weighed even heavier, despite threatening to eat itself. I will… pick that up later. Yeah...

Flushed at nothing, just living up to her fate as an idiot, Starlight focused on her breakfast. How to tackle this? She analyzed one side, than the other, sagged over from the topmost flapjack. How can I avoid a mess if this’s gonna be covered in…

And, of course, another one of life’s inconveniences befell her.

“Yep. They remember the silverware, but forgot the syrup.” Like she was in any position to begrudge their generosity. “Or rather, I did,” Starlight muttered. “Not that it matters. Would rather not make a toddler’s mess, steer clear of any embarrassment. Especially since it’s looking like another day with just me and… and...” Starlight proceeded to shovel an entire piece into her mouth, her thoughts drowned in mouthwatering buttermilk. Her teeth mashed greedily. I can’t believe I snuck past her door like a foal on Hearth’s Warming. She crammed the next into her mouth, chewing and stuffing and swallowing all at once. No, no. That was the right call! She’d have just chewed me out again. I’m nothing but a dreamer in her eyes. A desperate dreamer, an antithesis to her entire life’s struggle. Regardless if I’m right or not.

Starlight barely tasted the earthiness of the pumpkin, the sweetness of the cinnamon, or the butter that’d apparently soaked into her pancakes’ plush depths. She only saw Tempest, her hate, her disgust. She only tasted her words, their bitterness at the world, awful because of one little mistake she could have avoided. And for Starlight, a pony lost in her own delusions, too far-gone to realize how they’d affect a mare too old and worldworn to take them with anything less than scorn and mockery.

Tempest’s treatment of her wasn’t any better. It shook her even now, foal she was. But Starlight was most certainly not the victim here. Nor was Tempest. But she was the jerk for poking a sleeping bear.

I’m… I am a jerk. Starlight blinked, the white depths of her plate going on forever and ever and ever. I’ve been a jerk, always. My carelessness dealing with Pharynx, the violation of my friends’ privacy, all because I was scared of Twilight’s disappointment?! Starlight gasped wetly. I can’t deny it anymore. I act like I care. I act like I empathize. But in the moment, when it matters most, I only care about myself. I’ve proven that time and again, and especially this past week, my deafness toward my friends’ worry… and my inability to be honest with them. Why can’t I just tell them the truth?!

A prospect that chilled her to her core. No. No. No, my friends—! They’re hurt enough. I’ve hurt them so much. Taken so much of their time. A soft, wet plop burst against the porcelain below. Three years of their lives, wasted with me.

Heck. Just a minute ago, she was writing off her housemates’ efforts to feed her and communicate as being done with spite! If that’s not indicative of how little she’s changed from the oppressive, arrogant, desperate mayor of Our Town…

Twilight’s Entrance Hall was in the other room, just through the door at Starlight’s left.

If she left…

If Starlight got up and left right now…

They wouldn’t miss me in the end. Maybe at first, they think they would. But after a day, maybe even an hour, the weight would lift from their shoulders. The ponies she still considered friends, even if the emotional resonance was certainly one-sided by this point, would realize how much easier their lives were without Starlight Glimmer to stress about.

And then their lives would, at last, go back to normal. It’s why I gave up my horn in the first place, after all. That’s what I wanted from Hydia when you cut to the heart of it. Or, me...

The more she thought of it, the more that idea sounded really, really nice. It offered an objective benefit for both parties in the long run, what with Starlight finally being able to focus on herself, to start again. Perhaps learn to write like an earth pony, then open a private school for teaching spells. She’d leave her advanced textbooks to Trixie, of course, she had no suitcases or compression spells to cast—Twilight would fight her, of course. It’d be easier for everypony just to rip the band-aid off. Starlight could do this. She could definitely do this. Her magical knowhow was burned into her memory from years, no, a near-lifetime thinking about spell theory and its rainbow of applications.

This was not a bad idea. It wasn’t bad at all! For once in her life, Starlight had a good, well-thought idea on her hooves!

A sharp pinging from across the table shot her heart with fear—fear of Twilight—-a burn which quietly smoldered as she took in the mare before her. A second later, Starlight grinned and didn’t bother fighting it. It was like a light at the end of a dark, monster-filled tunnel.

She was still attached, but, dang it, Starlight couldn’t deny how much she loved this pony.

Even when she unceremoniously teleported in, facing the wrong way to boot. “Starlight? St—oh! There you are!” Trixie cried with atypical flourish, as if she didn’t just make a fool of herself. Starlight had always admired that ability of hers. “How are you doing this fine morning, bestie?”

Starlight mustered the energy to smile; easy, given the rush of combined euphoric whallops. “Oh, just, you know,” she hesitated, lifting her empty plate a little, just to show, only for the knife to tumble off and clatter and make her wince in apology. “Just finishing breakfast.”

“Mm.” Trixie smiled, eyes narrowed, obviously not interested. “Well, we got a surprise for you today.”

Starlight laughed with unease. Somepony other than Trixie? “I hope that ‘we’ is part of a new act involving royalty! Or something…”

“What? No! Don’t you see? It’s me and—” Trixie gaped at her empty left, then right, then at Starlight. “Um.”

It was impossible not to snort laughing, an unladylike sound that Starlight, like the foal she was, giggled further with slight embarrassment. And even more as Trixie searched everywhere, even underneath her legs.

But she went rigid and silent as Trixie cried out, “Maud? Maudie? Oh, no, where did I put you?” There was a beat without a reply, and Starlight was ready to admit she’d nearly forgotten Maud (again) when Trixie yelled into the heavens, “Maudileena Diane Pie, you are ruining my brilliant routine!”

“Just tell me what you have planned, then we can teleport directly to her,” said Starlight.

“We’re treating you to a ‘Mare’s Day Out.’” Starlight and Trixie went rigid as one. “Also, I’m up here.”

That much was obvious, and not what surprised them both. The fact that it was a thing at all was another matter entirely.

As two best friends only could, Starlight and Trixie lifted their eyes in unison, to where Maud was draped across the chandelier, looking ready to take a nap.

Normal, essentially. “Hello, Starlight. It’s good to see you again,” she droned with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

Emotion filled Starlight. “Yeah!” Something about her caused Maud to tilt her head, looking like some kind of cheshire cat up there. Probably because Starlight was so weird and awkward. “You too! It’s good to see you too! Both of you.”

“Is something wrong?” Maud asked.

Yes. No. Everything’s horrible but you guys are great. Starlight could only muster a smile, and a chuckle. They both came here when they didn’t have to, chose to spend their time when Starlight didn’t deserve it. When she was just thinking about ditching them, of all things.

And Starlight proceeded to cry laughing, and laugh crying.

“Starlight?” Trixie gasped, teleporting to the other end of the table, as did Maud, them both appearing on either side of her, very close. “Hey, come on. You can talk to us. Or me, at least. Owie!” Trixie rubbed where Maud hit her.

Starlight couldn’t tell them the whole truth, she couldn’t! But she did tell part of it, because they deserved that much after putting up with her. “I’m a big, gross mess,” she explained, “but I gotta say, you ponies are the best janitors a friend could ask for.”

Trixie said nothing, then “What?!” before she sputtered, giggling uncontrollably. Starlight, with eyes shut and dribbling warmth down her cheeks, knew whose forehead rested against her temple, nearly crossing horns with what was left of her own.

She then peered through the blurry, annoying veil, glad to see Maud just smiling. She hardly had reason to ever do so, yet Maud remained happy as she wrapped a foreleg around Starlight’s withers. Of all things!

It wasn’t hard seeing it as Maud’s equivalence of a Pinkie Pie-hug.

Thrumming, a deep, steady boom, and nothing more.

Twilight tapped her lap in time with every thrum-thrum. A mindless distraction. A waste of time. Both at once. The clock was only twenty seconds ahead from when she looked to it last. Starlight needed her, probably assuming the worst of her so-called friend. It hurt knowing how badly she needed Twilight, even if she didn’t think so. Needed her to be spoiled the surprise, assuming it will come to fruition, just so she didn’t think Twilight was avoiding her.

Mayor Mare knew she was coming, though. What in Equestria was she waiting for? It’s been ten minutes, and she seldom had anything on her plate this early in the morning! In all likelihood, she’d heard Twilight talking to Spike, knew that her best judgement was impaired just from hearing her panicked, fearful words.

There’s no way she’d accept this idea.

A firm smack of the cheeks forced away her terrible thoughts. “Note to self,” Twilight mumbled, “get at least one good night of sleep this week. Maybe a spell. N-no, too dangerous in my state. Zecora would have something, though.”

That’s right, Twilight. Keep not-thinking. Thinking hurts you, distracts you. It makes you flustered and anxious and emotional, everything a princess shouldn’t be. Don’t forget, you’re here to meet an equal—no! An actual politician, somepony with genuine power over this town. Never forget, you’re an upjumped outsider.

It was easy enough: not-thinking. Her brain would easily veer towards thinking, towards her very reason for being here, but Twilight would promptly yank back with a distraction before she could fall uncontrollably down the spiral of the last few days.

She just couldn’t think about it. At least until she was through with Mayor Mare, and preparations could really get underway.

But the ideals comprising who Twilight Sparkle was couldn’t up and ignore all the signs she’d been ignorant of: the constant, obvious lying, the reassurances, the skittish gaze. All while avoiding Twilight’s presence and her efforts, snapping at her friends, reducing the ex-Tempest Shadow to looking like she just encountered another Ursa.

And because of her, it’s gotten so bad that Starlight was a danger to her very health.

“We can salvage this, Spike. We can still help her.” Twilight wouldn’t be who she was if they couldn’t. She wouldn’t have been given a second chance, nor would Starlight have all those years ago, if they couldn’t.

Twilight had to believe this, the one thing that kept her inner dam together.

But somepony did, too. Somepony practical, who didn’t think she was desperate and crazy and throwing all science, reason, and logic straight out the window. Another needed to agree with her.

“Spike?” Town Hall’s lobby mocked the pitiful, needy way the princess of Equestria uttered her best friend’s name.

“You’re getting manic on me again, Twi.” A page-turn punctuated Spike’s softspoken concern.

She lowered her head. Thank goodness ponies seldom came to see the mayor. “I’m sorry.”

A cool, scaly forehead laid against her foreleg. “Don’t be, I get it. But this is the fifth time you’ve said that, and you’re worrying over nothing. Come on, the mayor loves Starlight!”

Oh, Spike. Despite the fact that he, save for the Two Sisters, was the one soul who knew of her close-shave with dark magic, despite him being far stronger and mature than she often gave him credit for, Twilight turned away. She couldn’t stand to show her face, not even partially, as the lies she told him yesterday and those she upheld today weighed relentlessly against her chest, crushing her, suffocating.

Now I’m lying, too. For no good reason, I’m lying to protect… What? My pride? Spike’s heart, or his time? Starlight’s dignity?

Nothing felt right, yet all of them did at once. It was a paradox, and Twilight just wanted it gone from her life. Only one thing made sense now: This must be how Starlight has felt. Every moment, of every day, since losing her horn. I’ve no right to be upset with her.

And yet, I am.

“Hey.” Twilight started as a cool grip wrapped around her upper foreleg. “Remember that whole week she kept Ponyville protected, while everypony else was called by the Map? They mayor was so grateful of her, and you had to personally come here and ask her to stop sending muffin baskets! Starlight was too polite to ask you to do it for her!”

She vaguely remembered, if only because so much else was occupying her mind.

Twilight shushed him—harshly—in case the pony in question could hear their gossip. It took the image of her best friend shrinking back, hugging Power Ponies to his chest, to finally show the extent to which yesterday’s dire news had rattled her.

“I’m sorry. It’s… my nerves. But if she hadn’t heard us before, well,” sighed Twilight, slumping back like the dignified small-town princess she was, “then she’s certainly heard us now. Thanks to me.”

“As if that’s a bad thing,” Spike said assuredly. “Or even a thing at all. She’s known you for years, Twi. It’s not like anything you could do is gonna impact her decision. Especially since… well…”

‘Starlight’s sacrifice,’ he was going to say, forgetting Twilight’s, ‘I’m not thinking about that this morning,’ rule that she’d broken countless times already.

“I would hope that her professionalism remains unbiased in light of recent events,” said Twilight.

“What? I thought you wanted her to accept your proposal!” Spike cried, puzzled. “You went and woke me up to rehearse a speech you’d rewritten. On the back of your toast. In jam. How come we’re not hoping for the best?”

“Actually, it was marmalade.” She really has been out of control, though, when now more than ever it was imperative that Twilight kept her emotions in check. “Look. I do want this to work out. Of course, I do. Starlight’s going to love it. But I don’t want this just for me, Spike, or Starlight for that matter. I also want it to benefit Ponyville, not hinder it. And if Mayor Mare is going to treat this with the professionalism I expect of her, then—”

“We’re a valley town tucked away in the shadow of Canterlot, whose major export is tourism and apples. Tell me, Twi: how is Ponyville in any danger of being ‘hindered’ by a party?”

Twilight inhaled, an explanation ready to swan dive off the tip of her tongue. But her brain was far too exhausted and drained and just plain empty to try and drill an economics lesson in Spike’s head.

“Politics are complicated.”

“Last time you said economics.”

“They’re the same, really.” Spike laughed. Twilight found herself smiling at the sound. “To put it simply, shutting down an entire village, even for half a day—maybe even the following morning, given how Ponyville parties—it’d put a sizable dent in its economy and productivity, basically. And no,” she said forcefully, sensing Spike’s open mouth and raised claw before setting eyes on either, “we can’t just ask Princess Celestia for, quote, ‘a boatload of money.’”

Spike slumped, only to brighten back immediately. “Actually,” he said, “I was going to suggest Ember. Haven’t you forgotten that dragons like Starlight? Remember? That time she won those teenagers’ respect? And most importantly, dragons have more gold than they know what to do with.”

They sure did. They also wouldn’t give it away freely at this point in their friendship with Equestria, Starlight or no. The Dragon Lord might, but that demanded travel, time, and a debate the Changelings shouldn’t—nor wouldn’t—delay their holiday for.

“Twilight? You’re,” Spike choked, shrinking as she simply looked to him, “well, you aren’t exactly mumbling again, but you looked like you were.”

Twilight, the mentally-sound princess that she was, pictured that, her eye twitching all the while. “Wonderful, and just as the time to meet Ponyville’s leader draws closer by the millisecond.” If Twilight couldn’t control how she looked on the outside… Was she more or less obvious than Starlight?

Spike was eyeing her with concern, a telling sign, before she met his gaze and asked seriously, “Do I look like I’m suffering from sleep deprivation?”

She must have uttered it too quickly; Spike took a painful three seconds to process this before replying just as fast, “Yes. Well, no! Kinda?”

How hard could it be to say yes or no? “Please, Spike, this is for Starlight’s sake! Which is it?”

“All of them, I dunno! You’re not giving me a lot of time here.”

“How much would you need?” Twilight muttered.

“Look at this from where I’m sitting.” Spike put his comic down, clasped his claws together like some exasperated professor. “You’re Twilight Sparkle: freakout specialist.” Mental preparations for a borderline-insulting joke were underway, signaled by a loud groan. “When you’re not busy smiling with friends or at the thought of friends, you’ve typically got this… this look goin’ on. Like a… Like a smoothie of sleepiness, anxiety, thinking, and general Twilight claminess.” He listed every trait on one claw, then held it up so she could discern the painfully obvious.

“Okay, I get it.” Twilight enveloped herself in the toasty, plush confines of her wings. “This isn’t new for me. I’m worrying about nothing like always, aren’t I?” Then the rest fully hit. “You think I’m clammy? Since when?”

“Since forever!” Spike laughed. When he noticed she didn’t, he began smoothing her violet plumage. “Twilight, I’m not tryna make you feel bad or anything. I love you. I really, really do. But this is your deal, you know? It’s who you are. Above all, it’s a lot to analyze closely. Even for me, and especially when you won’t let me.” His eyes, twin shining emeralds, emanating concern… Twilight couldn’t recall a recent memory when they weren’t so glossy. How long has he looked at her like this, and she herself too caught up in her own head to notice?

“I’m… sorry,” Twilight realized. “Spike, I’m sorry I’ve been such a pain, a-and—”

“Up-up-up!” Spike held up a finger. “Not the point. Everypony knows you, Twilight. Who you are, what your deal is, all of that. That’s who this town loves… That’s who this town almost collapsed over, because it was so sad it couldn’t even function!”

As if Twilight didn’t know. As if that made the process of dying even slightly easier. The volume of familiar visitors, who took time out of their lives to mourn her and mourn with her, brought Twilight closer to many ponies she’d only said a few words to over the years.
But that was the one thing that made dying easier. Everything else...

“The prospect still doesn’t exactly make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

“As you’ve mentioned every time I bring this up,” Spike mumbled. He withstood a lot of Twilight’s quirks on the daily; if this one was annoying him, it must have been especially tiring. “But when you look at it where I’m sitting, isn’t it silly to think Mayor Mare’s gonna change her mind because you’re looking like yourself? Baggy eyes and all?”

Where he was sitting, outside of the hot mess Twilight called her rational thoughts, the notion of Mayor Mare thinking less of her over that sounded absolutely absurd.

Like… always.

“I’ll take a check.” Spike was back to reading his comic, like this was just another day for him.

“Spike…” He deserved so much more than silence, the occasional begrudging acknowledgement, or Twilight’s atypical deafness towards reality. “You know me so well, even with what to say, and how to say it. I don’t say this much, because I forget to, but I’m glad to have you in my life.” From the corner of her eye, his purple scales adopted a Cadance-esque hue.

“Y-yeah, well—”

Twilight opened her left wing and scooped him in before he could finish. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her side cooled, his belly pressed up against it. Spike wriggled, saying something about how embarrassing this was, because he was always trying to be a tough guy the world took seriously. Even now, as he relented and squeezed her back, tighter than he ever had before… before...

“How many hours did we spend together like this? In the past month, Spike?”

“From the looks of it, I’d reckon it wasn’t enough.” Twilight instinctively whipped around, taking poor Spike along for the ride. Mayor Mare’s smile was heavy with exhaustion, yet the lively spark in her aging eyes assured there was nothing she ever missed, and thus hadn’t seen in years before Twilight even heard of Ponyville.

“Of course,” she continued, head tilting as her smile sagged, “recent events have impacted many ponies in more ways than one. Chief among them being the time we spend with our loved ones. You’ve created a ripple, Twilight, whether you like it or not. In my opinion, it’s for the better. Ponyville has always prided itself on its comm-unity,” she chuckled, as Spike groaned, “but this past week has been at an all-time high. However, I’m sure you’ve not found yourself in my office to discuss the sharp incline of positivity around town, and your hoof in making that happen.”

“N-no, Mayor.” Twilight was still sitting. She practically threw herself away from the chair, lowering Spike upon her back as she did so. “If you think about it, then I suppose it’s inadvertently related. You see, I—”

“Wish to throw a town-wide celebration with all of Starlight’s friends in the name of her heroism and selflessness?” The mayor’s wry smile deepend as Twilight, and definitely Spike, went slack-jawed. “This is a tall order, Princess. Especially for a town our size, the distance between us and the Changeling Hive and the work that must be done before tomorrow evening. But if we all work together, I believe we can make it happen.”

As Twilight picked her jaw off the floor, Spike spoke her mind and asked, “Hey, are you Pinkie Pie wearing a suit or something?”

“Nope! But she is with her!” cheered a familiar voice. Sure enough, a poofy pink head stretched out of the mayor’s office, a manner anatomically impossible for normal ponies, but pure Pinkie Pie to the mare in question. “Gasp!” she cried. “Twilight! Spike! I knew you guys were smart, but I didn’t realize great minds literally thought alike!”

With another stroke of the brush, Trixie’s mane felt ever-lighter, ever free of last night’s tangles and split-ends.

This was a marvelous idea, if she had to say so herself.

It was official: once things were settled down, and Her Royal Highness was back to resolving disputes over “he said, she said”s or whatever, Trixie would petition to have Aloe and Lotus ascended to alicornhood. Mud baths, pre-sauna massage, mane grooming, they were a master of all and second to none, with every visit better than the last!

The Spa Twins were far more worthy of such an honor (and had Sparkle beat in poise and looks to boot). When voicing such objective facts, Aloe and Lotus laughed gently under their breaths and dismissed themselves as “lowly masseuses.”

They were humble, too! And more graceful than Princess Sparkle at that.

When Starlight pointed out that it isn’t an alicorn princess who decides when a pony Ascends, it led to a long discussion on the higher mysteries. Or, more accurately, a long interrogation, as Starlight was tight-lipped about the whole thing, even when Trixie asked about those witches. She felt kind of bad after, especially in receiving the judgemental sidelong look sent from her bestie’s other side.

On the one hoof, Trixie was offended Starlight would tell Twilight and even Maud Pie about the incident, even after she respectfully restrained herself from the urge the other day!

All in due time, Trixie supposed. But I can’t lie to myself: being denied only makes me want to know more!

More about the creatures so powerful, they could save Twilight from absolute death; the ponies who dwelled somewhere so obscure, that nopony but Starlight herself knew where; beings who scared her so terribly, the ever-confident and cocky Starlight Glimmer became a neutered dog at their mere mention.

And whom she didn’t even mention to her best friend before diving happily into danger for Twilight “Ungrateful” Sparkle.

Trixie sighed, treating her jealousy as one would a bawling foal. Most ponies would consider her the bawling foal—that’s what Maud had implied back at the restaurant, and Rainbow did yesterday. Absurd. Trixie was the one who was selfish? All that self-righteous talk of Twilight, how she and her lackeys cared so much about Starlight they thought being blatantly sneaky would be helpful in any way.

“I am not the most insightful pony around.” It had torn her apart to say this aloud, but Starlight needed to hear it after Trixie had brought up Rainbow when they were bored and sweating in the sauna. “Nor is Trixie the best mare around when it comes to making ponies feel better. But she is insightful about you, Starlight, and she’s obviously the best at making you feel better in these troubled times.”

“Uh-huh.” Starlight still got sour when Trixie demeaned her so-called “friends.” Incredible. She was simply too good for them.

“And in Trixie’s great and humble opinion,” she continued without missing a beat, “Rainbow should have known to stick to a direct approach as she’s typically wont to do. She knows you’d have happily accepted quality time with her if she’d asked.”

“I know, right?” Starlight agreed, before changing the subject.

Trixie was careful not to spoil the others’ intentions. She might not love them, but those girls loved Starlight, and causing mischief between them would only stir discord the likes the God of Chaos would grow misty-eyed towards.

And he was the last individual that needed to get involved in this. Trixie would rather swallow her pride, bare herself to Starlight, and swallow the Sucky Six’s schemes in quiet than introduce more chaos into the mix.

Starlight had given her opinion a solemn, “I agree,” and changed the subject to the prior topic: The Dragon, the Mage, and the Bureau, a series she and Trixie adored and had been trying to get Maud into.

It suddenly occurred to Trixie, as Lotus combed through her mane, that she’d busied herself recalling the last five minutes out of sheer boredom.

For goodness’ sake. Starlight was more talkative than this! Was she actually feeling awkward after their little cry-session back in the castle? She was either blind or, Celestia forgive Trixie, being a big dumb dummy not to notice her great and powerful affection.

At least, that’s what she was nowadays, which they had Twilight and her sacred, precious, cosmic importance to thank for that.

“Hey, gi-irls!” she moaned as Aloe, working in tandem with her twin, hit the sweet spot within the frog of her back-left hoof.

There was a snort, but a Starlight-sounding chortle simultaneously. “Something deep and personal you’d like to tell us?” Maud croaked. Croaked. Trixie knew she was going to love this place!

“Unrelated, but I’m happy to be right,” she replied. “Oh, and that you’re clearly enjoying yourself over there.”

Past the sudsy mane of Starlight, her tub, and the hot steam enveloping her pleasure, there was a denser, greyer cloud beginning with Maud’s placid expression and ending in Bulk’s muscular back-half, all of which emitting the sound of a saw cutting through rock.

It was a testament to how complacent she’d gotten to weirdness, how Trixie was more surprised she was able to think with that grating sound. “You are enjoying yourself, are you?” she wondered.

Maud didn’t so much as budge from looking into the ceiling. “I’ve never felt so good in my entire life. It almost feels too. Good,” she enunciated.

For emphasis, right? “And… that’s a good thing?”

Starlight cast her a glance, smile, and one brief nod as Bulk Biceps reared his giant head, the sawing abating. “You want me to stop?” he asked. “Or slow down?”

“No. Go faster.”

“Right on, dude!” And Bulk vanished into the dust cloud, proceeding to hurriedly sand the grit as part of Maud’s hooficure. If it were somepony other than Trixie inspecting her for dishonesty, they’d have missed the tolerable Pie’s throat pulsate, her lips part a centimeter with a soundless sigh.

“This is so nice,” Trixie groaned. “No drama-talk. No threats or tension. Just three girls, pampering themselves in preparation for a party.”

“You said it.” Starlight sank into the sub, her chin becoming submerged. She looked practically asleep.

Trixie drew her eyes shut as well, the sawing across the room weirdly nice to think to. You definitely needed this, girlfriend.

With the combination of such peaceable thoughts, the repetitive grooming of her mane, and the careful kneading of each of her hooves and their respective legs, Trixie didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until she was nudged, and awakened to Starlight’s apologetic smile.

“I almost considered leaving you here. C’mon.” She jerked her hornless head aside. “Let’s get back massages.”

Once the aggressive beating of their backs abated, and their words no longer sounded like they were driving a coach over gravel, Trixie asked, “Have you ever wondered how they make cranberries,” she paused, swallowing another moan as Aloe worked her magic near the base of her dock, always tight from sitting on it, “hoo, into a sauce? ...Girls?”

“Really?” Starlight muttered.

“No,” said Maud. “Too bitter.”

The irony from her. The dispassion of the other. Trixie never thought she’d have associated with these girls three years ago. “Oh, come on, you two. Haven’t you ever stared into that gelatinous Hearth’s Warming dish incorrectly labeled as a ‘sauce,’ and wondered just how berries turned into something like that?”

“I swear we had this settled last Hearth’s Warming.”

Trixie was too wrapped up in silly emotion, finally celebrating the holiday in a house (granted it was a castle) with friends (granted one of them was Twilight Sparkle), to remember much else. Pitiful, yet true. At least neither of them remembered.

“‘It doesn’t matter, who cares?’ was not a satisfactory explanation, believe it or not.”

Sure enough, Starlight didn’t recall saying that. “Oh, uh, sorry. Um, you just mash em up into paste, then mix in some sugar. Then you chill it with a spell.”

“Or an enchanted box. A refrigerator.”

“Right.”

“That’s still a spell, Maudie,” Trixie just had to point out. After all, she was the dumbest one here at this moment.

“Only technically. An enchantment is permanent until broken,” said Starlight.

“Uh, so?” Trixie scoffed.

“So, it’s different enough to warrant the distinction. Spells are temporary. Otherwise, every unicorn who’d ever cast an enchantment would have a glowing horn twenty-four-seven. Sure, the casting of enchantments requires a spell, but they’re about as closely related to each others as mares are to stallions.”

Trixie blew a raspberry, then buried her muzzle into her folded forelegs. “You’re no fun,” she muttered.

“That’s… just how it works! Eh-heh, heh… s-sorry. I’ll shut up now.”

“You don’t have to apologize!” Trixie and even Maud said in their respective volumes.

“Alright, sorry!” she replied defensively.

“You don’t have to be, Maud said, though was drowned out by Trixie’s, “Stop. Saying. Sorry.”

Trixie rested on her right cheek, looking to Starlight, who mirrored her, right down to looking all weepy-eyed. “You don’t have to apologize for every little transgression. We’re used to ragging on one another, aren’t we?”

Starlight, thankfully, smiled back. “Y-yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I’m… not sorry,” she chuckled alongside Trixie, “but I still, I dunno, feel bad. About a lot. I… I don’t know, girls, I’ve just been messing up lately. A lot. I’ve been weird this whole time, I know—”

Trixie waved her off. “You’ve been fine.” She noticed Starlight’s eyes shimmer before she turned away, the towel wrapped around her head swinging down with the movement, concealing it. Must have been the light, then.

But now, Trixie didn’t know what to say. She wanted to avoid presuming Starlight’s mental state, and avoid worsening their once-jovial atmosphere, but still. Something was obviously bothering her.

“You’re fine with us,” said Maud. “There’s not much different about you from how you’ve always been, today especially.”

Starlight paled, even as she remembered to nod and how to speak. “R-right. That’s… it means a lot to hear that from you two. Seriously. I’m just thinking too much about what others think of me.”

Trixie would kiss Maud if her stable door swung that way. “Another commonality of yours, which I am fairly fond of,” she said coolly. Because while Trixie wasn’t so different, Starlight never felt the need to pretend how she felt. To hide this fear. “I find it admirable. The way you hold yourself in spite of it.”

“You mean skittish and sweaty?”

Trixie bit back her laughter, for, yeah, that was also applicable. “Rather your honesty, and the way you treat others around you. I’ve noticed it tends to attract like-minded ponies, as opposed to, well, repelling everyone. Maud, Sunburst… Twilight, and yes, even yours truly, we hide it better than you, Starlight. But it makes you far more approachable, too. And that’s the truth… Starlight?”

If Starlight thought she was weird, needy, or worse, insulting for saying all that, Trixie might just die—

“I heard you! I… I heard you. Thanks,” Starlight sighed. “Thank you. Both of you. That was,” a heavier sigh, “it was a lot to take in, that’s all.”

Trixie looked back over, where Lotus was tackling Starlight’s withers, her client’s face conveniently in her forelegs. It was hard not to feel dread at the prospect of Starlight and her thoughts alone together.

“Are you okay?” Trixie hated how conscious the effort took, sounding as sincere as she felt.

Starlight heard it, thankfully. She nodded, never lifting her face. “I’m good.”

Trixie’s body flushed with relief, a unique mental sort that felt better, somehow, than the skillful kneading of her withers by Aloe’s hooves. Starlight’s fine, it assured her. She’s going through a lot, but it’s like Twilight always said, cheesy as it is.

‘Good friends can make the worst of times seem like the best.’

Starlight must recite that in her sleep by this point. She was the most mature of her circle of misfits. She was the strongest. And her idea of “messing up” was foal’s play stacked against Trixie’s, by a long shot.

Honestly, it was surprising. That is to say, how Starlight stood by her all these years, as her best friend, no less. She was a better mare than she believed, in almost every way that mattered. Actually mattered. It was a crime, the way that ungrateful princess made her feel, how she’s reduced such a great and powerful friend, however unintentional.

Just you wait, Twilight. I’ll make this r-RIGHT! Trixie nearly screamed in delight as her vision flashed white, a crack thundering from her mid-back area.

“Now that was impressive,” Starlight remarked.

“My, my,” Aloe breathed, her breath hot in Trixie’s ear, “even I did not realize you carried such tension, Mizz Lulamoon. You hide it vell!”

“Apparently, not well enough.” Trixie didn’t bother trying to deduce whether Maud was making an observation or a jab until, seconds later, she added, “Did I poke fun correctly?”

“Yeah, you did,” said Starlight. “You attacked a friend’s insecurity with lightheartedness, demonstrating that you’re aware of her depths and are close enough to riff on her, who in turn understands that it wasn’t spoken with malicious intent. You’re good, trust me.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

Starlight laughed breathily, trembling a little as Lotus compressed her withers, and perhaps the tension from yesterday’s peculiar magic incident. A memory tingled Trixie’s curiosity, and was immediately dispelled. She knew herself enough to know she’d begin asking about it incessantly, had she not done so. For whatever that was, whether Starlight was lying to hide it from Rainbow or not, it’s her business. Not Trixie’s. Despite the fact that besties told besties everything, there were some things about herself she’d never tell Starlight.

Even she would loathe to know the true Beatrix Lulamoon.

A sentiment that was lost on Rainbow Dash, to be sure. Knowing her, she was already whispering hypotheticals in Twilight Sparkle’s ear, conspiring with her, on their way to make the problem worse. That’s Sunday’s problem, Trixie thought. After the party.

Later on, long after the disastrous Gourd Fest, Trixie would come to regret her stupidity here, her innate inability to empathize with her best friend. The depth of her problems, how ingrained they were in her being, their startling familiarity—all of it. Conceitedness that took years to build up the Great and Powerful Trixie had only made her situation worse, especially in the week that followed.

For most of what followed was entirely avoidable, if only Beatrix was even half as good as Starlight Glimmer.

And Trixie regretted every step she took, or lack thereof, in the days leading into their breakup.

IV.XIII - Gored at the Gourd (1 of 3)

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Trixie had little regard for ponies’ sense of privacy. Coupled with her lack of subtlety, it led to a friendship Maud was seldom surprised by, for Trixie was a lot like her little sister. And like Pinkie Pie, it was more a byproduct of how she prioritized her friends overtop her self-image, which Maud, in a way, felt envious of. She often wondered if telling Trixie that would increase or satiate her ego.

Not that Maud would ever speak of it. Coming from her, Trixie would think it insincere, and further lessen her opinion of the stoic pony she (probably) considered a friend. What did that call those, anyway? Friends of friends? Side friends? Acquaintances was probably the right word.

Maud thought about this while anticipating Trixie to drop in out of nowhere. Before long, that sonorous crystalline pop twanged throughout the vastness of her home.

Within the reflection of her mirror, Maud watched as Trixie reoriented herself, spinning to face the right way in a whirl of silver mane. “Your escort has arrived, Madame,” she said with a bow.

“Wait. I’m getting ready,” she said before Trixie could teleport them both. Maud picked up her hairbrush, stroked once, and slammed it down. Hard. “Ready.” She turned in her swivel seat.

Trixie eyed her like a can of garbage. “You’re… really going like that?” she asked softly.

Maud crossed her forelegs, suddenly aware of her bareness. “I didn’t put my dress on yet.” She was rushing. She didn’t want to keep Trixie waiting.

“Oh.” Trixie blinked, and it was back to theatrics. “Well, I think you should. You look good without that robe cloaking your natural beauty!”

The day Maud willingly bared herself before her friends was the day she could do the same with her soul. Her true self. Ideally, that would be today.

But it might not be. Maud didn’t know.

She really didn’t know.

It all depended on her “believing in her friendship with Starlight,” as Pinkie summarized it. Maud did, but she was still afraid. Did that mean she didn’t, and if so, what did that say about her? Her faith in her best friend?

She breathed deep, soundless and motionless to anypony else’s eye, save for perhaps Pinkie’s and Starlight’s. “You look good,” she told Trixie.

Especially glossy today, Trixie was expecting to turn some heads tonight just for the sake of it. She bounced her mane of molten silver. “Don’t I? Aloe and Lotus did a phenomenal job yesterday. Worth every penny, I’d say! Which reminds me, I never properly thanked you for that.”

“You don’t have to.” But the effort to do so anyway was appreciated. That’s the key difference between Trixie and Starlight.

“Well, you really are generous, Maudie. More so than most ponies typically are, even toward friends.”

Thank goodness blushing was nigh-physically impossible for her. “I try.”

There was a beat of silence. Maud couldn’t deny it anymore: despite her near-flawless confidence, Trixie’s misaimed teleportation just now, and even yesterday before meeting Starlight, made the obvious all the clearer.

An obvious fact to Maud, who empathized completely with what she was feeling and why.

“You’re nervous,” they both said at once.

Maud blanched, as did Trixie more blatantly. She was going to ask how in the world could Trixie tell, but she was galloping across her home.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” said Trixie breathlessly.

Maud nodded. “I…” I’m still angry. After everything and knowing she doesn’t know better, I’m still angry with her for choosing to hurt herself.

But she hesitated. She couldn’t say something so cruel. It was insensitive just to feel this way.

“If it’s about Starlight, then the feeling is mutual.” Bless Trixie. Bless. Trixie.

Maud nodded eagerly—twice in succession. She found the courage to at least admit, “I was up all night, thinking about what she told us.”

Trixie wrinkled her nose. “Oh, yeah, it sounded really painful. No wonder it was bothering her the whole spa trip.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Maud blurted out. Great. Now she had to explain herself. “Starlight thought it was preferable to suffer in silence instead of ‘disappointing’ Twilight. I don’t know why, but it makes me sad.” In truth, her mentality was disturbing.

Trixie just shook her head. “Tell me about it. That’s all I dreamed about last night! What if she does it again?“ She began pacing, muttering under her breath. “It never woulda gotten this bad if Twilight just said thank you and didn’t raise a stink in the first place. Oof, she’d better be right about this party!” Trixie growled. “If she’s not, if it goes sideways why I—! I’ll—!” She released what she’d do in a sigh, partly fear, part-frustration. “I don’t know. There’s nothing I can do, if I’m being honest. I’d be right. Which, I mean, is always a plus, but… Starlight.”

At least her priorities were in line.

“I know,” said Maud. “I’m on edge about it, too. But Pinkie thought of it as well, and if she thinks this is a good idea—”

“It’d have the same effect and less risk if it was just the three of us attending,” said Trixie.

No. Not the same. It wouldn’t prove how much everypony loved Starlight—quite the opposite. Much as it surely pained Trixie to think about, there were plenty of ponies who adored Starlight as much as she did.

A revelation Maud was not in the mood to make as she got up and approached her dress rack, holding her one self-made gown. “We’ll never know unless we try.”

Behind her, Trixie sighed. Exhaled—she inhaled deeply soon after. “I suppose,” she said lightly.

Maud threw the dull garb overhead, effortlessly sliding her head, forelegs, even her tail through the right places via half a lifetime of practice. A shake of the mane brought together a comfortable sense of familiarity, a plushness akin to Pinkie Pie hugging everything it touched, concealing Maud from all but familial eyes.

She turned, met with an impish smile from Trixie. “That was the most I’ve ever seen you move at once,” she joked.

“Don’t get used to it.” Doubtful they would ever find themselves in a situation that required Maud to exert herself. Pinkie’s friends only had the honor once. Starlight never. “Ready?”

“Yeah!” Trixie nodded. “Yeah, of course. You think I’m not? Hah! Just... Just give me a moment to, you know.” She avoided Maud’s gaze. “Compose myself.”

Maud smirked inside. “That’s the most genuine you’ve ever been with me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, like I care!” At least she didn’t take it as an insult. As her horn lit up, Maud stepped beside her, who just realized she didn’t say ‘Don’t get used to it.’

Maud looked to Trixie, eyes shut tight and awash in the rosy quartz-like glow of her horn. She steeled her nerves and blurted out, “Thanks for being my friend, Trixie.”

“Mmf!” she grunted. “Yeah! Don’t mention it!”

Maud smiled to herself. That wasn’t so bad. Promising. Good practice for what was definitely going to happen tonight. Definitely.

As the glow intensified, enveloping them both, Trixie’s eyes popped open and devoured Maud’s. “Wait! You are?!”

“Yeah.” The light consumed her before she could elaborate. Trixie hopefully didn’t need it.

They appeared directly before Starlight rather than the foyer, their teleportation punctuated by a wince-worthy crash of glass.

Starlight gaped between them, either shocked or unaware of her broken dish. Radiant in spite of her endlessly stomach-turning injury. It only emphasized her diamond-like composure—strong in the moment to moment and, though Maud wouldn’t dare say this aloud, beautiful because of it.

Hopefully, tonight, she’d be capable of saying something. Just this once, she would speak from the soul.

No way was she about to break the tension, though. No way hosay. Even as it took several painfully awkward seconds for Trixie and Starlight to piece together the steps that’d led to shattered porcelain and scrambled egg shavings strewn about their hooves.

Only after locking eyes once again, did Starlight say, “You said five o’clock.”

They were a minute early. From the looks of their surroundings, she almost made it to the kitchen.

Trixie didn’t register any of this. “I’ll buy another.”

As if that mattered. “Way to miss the point.” Maud clammed up, but her thoughts were already out in the open.

Trixie gave a hairy eyeball. “And what is the point, I wonder?”

Maud merely looked to her. No way, with Starlight present, was she going to say, ‘The point is that Starlight is still getting used to this, and you’ve reminded her just how much farther she has to go before she’s confident again.’

“It’s fine,” Starlight said sharply. She was rubbing her horn stump. “It’s fine. Been a rocky road from the word ‘go,’ so don’t sweat it. Really.”

“Alright, alright. At least allow Trixie to clean this for you, though.” The broken plate ascended above their heads, every piece wreathed in a mass of pink light. Maud couldn’t help but imagine each of them wrapped in their individual glow of teal, so precise was Starlight’s magic.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. This was reminiscent of certain memory, with Maud in Starlight’s place and her in Trixie’s, the porcelain replaced with flourite samples, and their locale a genuine cavern instead of this magically-ushered Destiny-citadel.

“And I’m buying you a new plate, too.” Trixie turned and led the way swiftly. “No buts, no whats, none of that!”

Starlight and Maud followed behind their friend’s glossy tail. “It’d be a waste, y’know,” said Starlight, seconds later. “Twilight’s got dozens of plates just like those, which you won’t be able to find anywhere else. Castle came with ‘em, you see,” she told Maud specifically. Did she just remember having never informed her of that? How thoughtful.

Maud would have remarked this if she wouldn’t have sounded so insincere. Instead, she nodded. I doubt Starlight wants to delve into the nature of Destiny again. And over a broken plate nopony but Trixie cares about.

“I am sorry, though.” Trixie looked back, brow knitted.

“I know you are. It’s fine, trust me.” Starlight sure didn’t sound like it was fine; more like she wanted it to be fine.

Just like she has been all week—something Trixie, at the very least, picked up on as her concern deepened, eyes returning to the endless hall ahead. “You’re mad at me. Aren’t you?”

“No!” Starlight groaned, then sighed deeply. “No, no, Trix, it isn’t about you. It’s just another tally in a long list of Glim-ups.” A snort from up ahead. “I’m serious,” Starlight deadpanned.

“I know! I know. But did you have to call them something so silly?” Trixie chortled.

“I had to call them something only an incompetent like me would ever make the mistake of doing. Don’t go thinking this is a recent thing, by the way. I’ve been adding to it since I was twenty-two.”

Since coming into their lives. Maud’s chest ached in a manner it normally didn’t. She had to say something, but what that wouldn’t come off as weird, insincere, or just plain wrong? “Many of them shouldn’t be there,” she settled on, “I’m willing to bet.” Knowing Starlight, that was accurate.

“Yeah? Well, I won’t make that bet, cuz I’m not looking to take even more of your money.”

This again? It was so appalling that Maud couldn’t take another step. Not while Starlight still dwelled on this, probably was all night, too, despite their heart-to-heart after the spa. “I thought I made it clear,” she said to herself, “that I have money to burn. And that I wanted to repay you at least once, for—” Maud shut her eyes, mentally shaking her head. Not now, here, in one of thousands of hallways within this inconveniently big castle, and over a plate shattered like her confidence. Later. When the time’s right.

She regarded a wounded-looking Starlight. “I want you to stop thinking that you robbed me. We aren’t going to the party until you do.”

She turned fully, muzzle low in submission. “You work for a living, though. And you have your own needs. Paying for not one, but three full spa treatments should be at the very bottom.” Starlight lifted her head an inch or two, raising her stump into her hoof and massaging it. “I can’t stop knowing all of this, regardless of what you say. You’re generous, Maud, and I really thank you for yesterday, and I’m sorry I can’t accept it wholeheartedly but that kind of sacrifice, it hurts to think about! Because I know there’s nothing I could’ve done to change it...”

All of those said while avoiding Maud’s gaze, of course. Before losing her horn, this wouldn’t even have been a conversation.

It’s all because of those Tartarus-bound monsters. They broke more than her horn eight days ago. If Maud could have her way, she’d beat them deep into the earth where their powers would never harm another pony again.

“I-I’m sorry.” Starlight bowed even lower, even cocking her forelegs. “Unlike Twilight, I should be grateful instead of complaining. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Maud shouted (muttered, but she felt like shouting). “You shouldn’t be anything but who you are. I meant it when I said I wanted to give you a gift.” She resisted moving to lift Starlight’s chin and invading her space, that sort of contact being reserved for nigh-familial bonds least of all—and it had to be mutual, first and foremost. “We didn’t have to go to the spa, or do anything that involved the spending of money. But I wanted to. I still feel bad.”

A flinch. Recognition that she understood Maud’s reference to their little spat the other day. Maud would never forget looking across the market and just seeing Starlight, looking like the world was going to jump at her, forehead crowned in a violent-looking break.

But she still said nothing. Hardly moved a muscle. “Don’t feel bad. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

She looked away, chin crumpled, eyes shut tight. “I know.”

“If you know, then hy do you feel bad?” Maud yelled, in her own way.

A hoof fell upon her shoulder. “Maudie—”

She shook Trixie off. “Starlight.”

“Okay, I understand, can we go to the Hive now?” Starlight’s eyes glimmered, a cruel irony in how beautiful they were. “Please?” she stressed, massaging her horn. She’d done that twice now. Wouldn’t Twilight know that numbing spell the doctors had used?

No. Maud wouldn’t dare presume she still avoided Twilight after their talk yesterday. “Are you okay?” Maud fretted.

“Yes! It just stings a little, is all.” And Starlight started to whine, scratching her stump now. “Stupid thing!” Her picking worsened. The tiniest bit of red peeked through what was left of the thin, velvety outer layer of her horn.

Maud had never seen self-drawn blood before. Her heart rattled against her ribcage. “Stop it, Starlight. You’ll break the skin further.” Did Twilight actually forget to numb it with that spell?

“Yes! I know! I’m—! ...I’m sorry,” Starlight gasped, a harsher sob blasting forth. “I can’t do this tonight, girls. I can’t risk making a scene! Just go without me, please… Stop looking at me like that, I mean it, enjoy your night! I’ll continue practicing with this. That’d make me happier, honestly.” Her smile said otherwise.

While Maud was frozen, save the quickening thump-thump within her breast, Trixie scoffed. “As if! This party’s gonna be a slog if you’re not there.”

Struggling against whatever agony she was in, Starlight pried one eye open, looking past her upraised foreleg. “You’re friends with Thorax.”

“Yes, but you’re better friends with him. Plus he’s expecting you. You wouldn’t wanna disappoint your friend, would you?”

Trixie looked to Maud as if she knew that was a dirty card to pull, guilt-tripping Starlight like that. But leaving her behind wasn’t an option tonight.

“I suppose not,” Starlight sighed, her hoof falling, thudding against the carpet. It seemed her horn-pain subsided—meaning it was something other than that grisly-sounding injury she’d inflicted on herself the other day.

Still, though… Maud couldn’t help but think of Marble in Starlight’s place, saying what she thought they wanted to hear instead of what they really wanted, which was her honest feelings.

Maud knew better than to drag them out by force. Hopefully… hopefully, hopefully, Twilight and the others did, too. Pinkie did, of course, but she could get overzealous if her goal is impeded.

But not as overzealous as Starlight’s resumed scratching. Just seeing her stump messed-with gave Maud shivers. She couldn’t stand not knowing, even though knowing might be even worse: “Did Twilight miscast the spell?” she asked first.

“Um, w-well, you see…” Starlight’s smile lowered, but not her hoof from her horn, nor the intensity of her scratching.

“Did you end up not telling her like we told you to?” Maud wished Starlight could see her glaring.

“Oh, Starlight,” Trixie gasped, “seriously? Come on!”

And their best friend’s eyes bounced between the two of them, looking guiltier by the second. “You can ask her yourself if she was here, ‘cause I did!” she said.

Maud didn’t think twice about saying, “I find that hard to believe.”

For half a heartbeat she expected Starlight to snap at her, or get snarky. Something. Not for an immediate sighing of, “Yeah, I don’t blame you.”

At the end of their spa day, following one of many callbacks to her fight with Twilight (in justifying why it’s best to keep the prior day’s events to herself), Maud and Trixie pressured her incredibly strong, albeit deeply wounded, ever-prideful bullheaded self-punishing idiot self into revealing the truth to Twilight, lest they drag her personally. If not for them, then for the fact that she was complaining about her horn the majority of the time, and it was better than suffering in silence.

Evidently not, in Starlight’s mind, if she was still scratching now.

Maud felt her stomach turn, just recalling the incident, the betrayal Starlight regarded them with in spite of her mouth saying, “It’s fine, you’re right. I’m being an idiot.”

Because she wasn’t. They made her think she was, but she wasn’t being stupid. Just afraid, and Maud was scared all the time, so she understood.

One thing led to another before Starlight was blurting out everything about Tempest Shadow and accidentally teleporting with a broken horn. The act was incredible. It was more so scary. Maud had always wanted to ask her what it was like, wielding such power. The feeling of all that magic.

Now the question felt grossly inappropriate.

That was before Starlight opened up about how vulnerable she felt now, now that she knew how truly gone her grand abilities now were after a “simple” teleportation spell hospitalized her. The way she described it was spine-tingling, even now—’Like a black spiderweb laid across my skull.’

Toward all of this, Maud felt an ever-changing rainbow of emotions, chief among them anger. At herself for not being there to defend Starlight from Tempest (as if she’d actually have the courage to say anything, but the fantasy was there), and the villain herself. Frighteningly. Maud had never sincerely disliked somepony before, but Tempest was a bully, and Starlight could have been seriously hurt because of her.

“Look, next time you see Twilight you could ask her, so there’s no reason to doubt me,” said Starlight. “What’s weird is she did it around lunchtime, same as yesterday. But I don’t know what’s going on, alright? I really don’t. It’s just been bugging me all day, like an itch you can’t scratch instead of actual pain. So annoying!” she tittered, scratching.

Maud believed her. If they could just ask Twilight—

“Swear on our friendship.”

She looked to Trixie, eyes widened a millimeter.

“Wha—?” Starlight squeaked.

“Swear on our friendship that you aren’t lying to us about this, Starlight,” Trixie clarified, colder than clay in winter. “I’d be flattered if you think I’m bluffing about this, but I’m not: this is serious, Starlight. What you described to me yesterday…” Trixie’s entire being shuddered, just as bad as it did when bombarding Starlight with approximately thirteen questions, half of which leading to the same thing: ‘Tell. Twilight.’

“I’m not joking. What you described yesterday was serious, it could be dangerous to your health.” As far as Maud could tell, Trixie was dead-serious. To threaten their friendship like that…

Starlight was taking this a little less seriously. “Actually, it isn’t,” she deadpanned. “And I don’t intend to lose control like that again. I know when it’s coming.”

“Starlight, come on,” Trixie snapped. “Answer me, please. I believe in you, I know you’re strong, but anything can happen and if it’s not under control it sounds like it can really kill you—”

Starlight mumbled, “No it won’t—”

“I don’t care. I don’t care,” Trixie rambled. “I don’t care. The fact that you’re avoiding the question isn’t filling me with confidence though. That’s what I’m more concerned with at the moment… Starlight, look, I get that things are a bit tense right now. If possible, I’d avoid talking to Princess Sparkle, too. But even I know she’d drop everything over something like this, petty resentment be darned.” As she spoke, Starlight’s gaze lowered, her ears wilting. “So I’ll ask you one more time: Starlight, did you—”

“Okay, yes! I did!” she snapped. “And for the record, I’m only quiet because you girls don’t believe me and I’ve no idea what to say that will prove otherwise! So thank you, Trixie, for doubting me over something you could easily prove if you’d talked to Twilight yourself.”

“Fair enough,” Trixie answered lightly. “You can never be too careful, though.”

“Besides,” Starlight continued, “she already knew about the accident, too, ‘cause of course she did! She’s freaking Twilight!” Starlight started pacing to and fro. “And she didn’t say anything outside the norm, and neither did I. It was as awkward then as it was today. And you can ask her yourself, but she’s doing everything she can to avoid me like always, so no, I don’t know where she is!”

Maud was stunned. Starlight truly believed such a ridiculous notion. “You really feel like Twilight’s avoiding you?”

“Well?” Starlight snapped. “Does that answer satisfy? Or is our friendship still hostage?” She recoiled suddenly, scrubbing her eyes, face aglow like a ruby in the sun. “Stupid. Nevermind. I’m just—”

Your feelings aren’t stupid. They didn’t come from nowhere, either. “It’s for the party,” Maud murmur-shouted. To feel like Twilight was avoiding her... She didn’t need that, and Twilight was entirely to blame, but that was a tomorrow problem.

Starlight’s face, baffled and matted, lifted from her foreleg. She was dumbfounded as Trixie pulled her in a one-armed hug, glaring around her bouncy, curled forelock. “Nice one, Maudie,” she said, hugging her closer

Like Maud cared, or felt the slightest bit comfortable being a part of this plot, taking a risk in overwhelming Starlight for the sake of a surprise. Yes, Pinkie might know what Starlight loved, but the Starlight of yesterday also had a horn, and wasn’t doubting the bond of her own best friend—a sentiment Maud mentally apologized to Trixie’s delusions for.

“Twilight hasn’t been avoiding you,” she explained. “She’s been working with Ponyville to bring everypony together for the Gourd Fest.”

“This wasn’t our plan, just so you know,” said Trixie. Starlight was too busy reeling to react right away. “It was originally just going to be the three of us attending, but I suppose Mr. Lovebug couldn’t resist extending an invitation to Twilight after catching wind of her recovery.”

If Trixie were smart, or perhaps less irrationally afraid of losing Starlight’s trust, she’d have taken credit for an idea her best friend would love to pieces. That wasn’t the reason why it was supposed to be a secret, however.

But the crystal’s broken now. No use in fixing it. Best to salvage it. “Everypony you know will be there. Not just Ponyville.”

“They’re merely a fraction of your many friends,” Trixie added.

Starlight once again looked between the two of them. To Maud, who would never joke about such a thing, and Trixie, appearing more sincere than she ever had as far as Maud could remember.

Starlight bared her teeth, blinking hard. “D-Did you say ‘Ponyville?’”

“Yes.”

Her smile glowed strong. “As in, the whole town?”

“Yes.”

“Everypony?”

“Yes. Sorry for spoiling the surprise,” Maud continued. “I’ve been afraid it would be too much at once for you. I hope knowing this won’t make it as scary.”

“And prove to you how much we all adore you!” Trixie added.

Starlight kept searching the floor. “I… wow.” A smile, a real smile, shone across her face. “Everypony, wow, I-I can’t believe it! This is… big! And a bit much.”

Maybe Maud was fretting over nothing. But at least it got Starlight’s mind off of Twilight—for now. “Now I feel bad about ruining it.”

Starlight beamed at her. “Hey, don’t worry about spoilers, Maud. I don’t think anypony but Pinkie Pie will ultimately care.”

True. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Maud joked then, which even Trixie chuckled at.

“I really do appreciate it, though.” Starlight’s voice was as soft as her smile. It was real, realer than anything she’d said or done this past week. Maud was positive of it. “What you did here.”

“What?” Maud asked, baffled. She’d done nothing of value. “I don’t understand.”

Starlight laughed to herself. “For worrying about me! If I’m being honest here, I might have been just a little bit overwhelmed by this. And, honestly, I still kinda am! Normally I’d feel bad about everypony worrying over me, but if they all wanted to organize something like this? Well, it’d be rude to throw their effort back in their faces! Wouldn’t it?” Starlight sighed, her joy lingering still. She was really touched, wasn’t she? “Wow. Now I kinda can’t wait, even though I’m really nervous. Thanks for thinking about me, Maud. You’re a good friend.”

‘This is it!’ She could hear a little Pinkie Pie urging her just like the real pony did last night. This was it: Maud’s chance. The timing was perfect, they might never feel so close again!

Maud breathed in, prepared to speak from the heart… and that was terrifying. Her heart, her true self, could be judged and it could all go wrong. And now she was gaping like a fool. Starlight cocked her head, ready to listen… but maybe not receive. No way can I do that. No. No. No. Trixie will make fun of my. It’ll embarrass Starlight to say this in front of others. Just wait tonight. Wait until it’s just us—that’d be better, and she’d appreciate getting to absorb it at her own pace, too.

“Nevermind.”

As Starlight looked mildly disappointed, Trixie gasped and got in Maud’s face much like her own sister would. “Are you blushing?” she crowed.

Starlight, who’d been searching Maud’s face for a faint dusting of pink, leaned close with bright, mischievous eyes. “Ooh, I think she is!”

“Please, stop.” Any more teasing, and Maud’s head might catch on fire. “The timing’s off. I’ll tell you later. Okay?”

Trixie rolled her eyes. “Just say it now, for Celestia’s sake! It’s not like you were gonna propose or anything.” Trixie groaned laughing as two cherry-red ponies slammed a hoof into each of her sides. “Sorry-not-sorry!” she gasped.

“You’re too much sometimes, Trix.”

“Agreed,” Maud chimed in.

“Sheesh, the both of you,” said Trixie, turning for the corridor, “so serious.”

She somehow maintained her levitation field of porcelain shards and egg scrambles through a wallop by Maud. When Starlight commended her improving skill on their way to the kitchen, Trixie did what Trixie does and took all the credit—only to bashfully give Starlight a scrap of it under her breath.

Starlight merely rolled her eyes, shook her head. Smiled. She often smiled in their company, Maud had noticed. Even before she was crippled, her laughs came easier, her words flowed smoother, even Starlight’s feelings shone clearer, for better or worse.

It was comforting to be a part of that.

“Starlight.” She regarded Maud with those sapphire eyes. Those concerned, attentive, undiscriminating eyes—shaded like Maud’s favorite gemstone. Maud, who was just staring like a fool like always.

I love you, she wished to say. You’re my best friend. You mean so much to me that a lot of it’s embarrassing to think, let alone say. But that would be weird to say right now. Even if she’d appreciate it, it’d be weird. And stupid, too.

Like Maud felt as she asked lamely, “What is a Gourd Fest?” That has been on her mind since Trixie first posed the idea, thus making the change of topic not so transparent.

“It’s a party, ya ninny!” Trixie called to her magical cloud above.

“Duh. But what kind?” Obviously there would be lots… and lots… and lots of ponies. All looking at them as they arrived. Probably itching to talk to the Element of Laughter’s sister. They would be disappointed.

Maud could already hear Pinkie and Limestone admonishing her for thinking like this, despite history validating such low anticipation.

Starlight hummed beside her, scratching an itch below her stump now. “Hm. Think of it like a Ponyville party, though it’s a holiday, too.”

“Wait, so the changelings had this holiday before they got all cutesy?” asked Trixie.

Maud mentally rose a brow. “Didn’t you go to this last year?”

“That’s besides the point,” she quickly answered. “Starlight, did they?”

“Yeah, they did! Though they didn’t party like we did, the general idea carried over after they’d changed. You see, gourds are a lot like those snowflakes pegasi create in the Cloudsdale Weather Factory. Y’know: not one looks like another, and all that? The annual Gourd Fest was the one day where changelings could celebrate their individuality. This would be represented in the decorating of their own gourds.”

“Like, pumpkins? That’s what those were for?” What was Trixie expecting to make her so clearly disappointed?

“Muscat, squash, kuri,” Maud listed. “I’d studied the Hive before completing my rocktorate studies. They had fashioned shakers and drums out of gourds. They made for some pleasing sounds, though I prefer rock.”

“Bad. That was bad, Maud,” Trixie laughed, almost drawing a smile out of her. “So, our buggy friends decorate their gross fruit like a Nightmare Night lantern. I knew that, but after?”

“Then, well, they party!” said Starlight.

“I meant about the mess I found myself gunked in.”

“Oh! Well, yeah, they set their gourds on fire, then launch them into the sky, zap ‘em and pop ‘em like fireworks. I’m sure it’s symbolic, but it felt inappropriate asking.”

“Ooh, that sounds like a spectacle when you’re not underneath it!” Trixie cooed.

“A sloppy spectacle,” said Maud.

“As if you care about getting dirty.”

“I wasn’t complaining.” Dirt was nature’s finery, after all.

“If I may, girls, I shall annihilate your zucchinis or whatever once midnight comes around. Trixie has been getting pret-ty good at her aim, if I do say so myself.”

Starlight laughed warily, like Trixie just inadvertently insulted her. She probably did. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get there.” Knowing her, she didn’t want to lock herself into a promise.

Although, only one other pony could take Trixie’s place. “Twilight could offer the same.” Neither mare said a word to that. “Just saying,” Maud added bashfully, not that either could tell.

Starlight shot a worrying glance her way, reminding Maud that she did, but changed the subject to leading a magic-less daily routine, and seeking tricks Maud was more than happy to provide.

Maud doesn’t seem to suspect anything, but she never says anything aloud unless it’s important. Ever. So what did that mentioning of Twilight mean? Was she quietly communicating a feeling of loneliness, calling back to Starlight’s negligence while Twilight was sick? Or was she just reminding Trixie that she wasn’t Starlight’s only friend? It could be both. It could be neither.

Any were stressful to think about, but literally anything was less suffocating than worrying about tonight.

Honestly though, I’m still not sure about this... Starlight’s chest, belly, even her skin seemed to writhe at the thought of this party. The “flight” part of her “flight or fight” instincts were all screaming at her to grow wings and fly to the moon, where she’d never disappoint anypony again, and risk something doubly horrible at the Gourd Fest.

But that was the coward’s way out, not Starlight Glimmer’s. I can’t back out, I just can’t! Not while everypony took the time out of their lives to make this happen. I gotta at least see it through and pretend they didn’t waste it.

It was, at the very least, flattering. Unwanted, unnecessary, but flattering. Enough to convince her friends she was excited. So, less suspicion thrown on her, and that’s a good thing. The less they’re fretting over her, the more fun they’ll have with normal ponies. Now, she only had to fool the rest of her friends, the princesses, all of Ponyville and the Hive and, last but definitely not least, Twilight Sparkle herself—the amazing friend who’d been bending over backwards to bring this all together.

The polar opposite of avoiding anypony. You fool. Starlight clenched her jaw. You emotional, presumptuous, idiot fool. To honestly think—

“Starlight?”

“W’huh?” A dull ache pulsated along her gums. The hallway had become cramped, the violet crystal darkened, there was an iron stove, one garbage bin full of sharded porcelain—the kitchen. “Oh, s-sorry, zoned out a bit there. What, uh, what was that?” She bit her tongue, prayed to Celestia that her “zoning out” wasn’t currently being judged and analyzed.

“I was just about to ask, before we go, if you’re positive you wanted to do this.” Trixie’s eyes held nothing but concern, completely focused on feelings she—as one of Starlight’s best friends—knew she was feeling. “Like are you absolutely a hundred percent sure?”

Maud craned into view, a Pie through and through. “And you aren’t just agreeing because of peer pressure?”

“You guys…” What did Starlight do to deserve them? Not even Sunburst, bless his geeky, brilliant soul, knew her so well. Starlight wiped her eyes. Stupid, dumb emotions. “Yes, girls, I’m totally sure that I wanna attend this party.” Second guessing it wasn’t even on the table.

“Good!” Trixie bobbed her head. “‘Cause you know how annoying it was to get this town moving on such short notice?”

“Wait.” Starlight’s eyes widened. Her chest tightened. “Is… Did you mean everypony in Ponyville…?” She shook her head. This was insane, impossible even! “So, if I were to take a stroll through town—”

“It’s the definition of a ghost town,” Maud answered. Clearly in a rush to leave and get this night over with. Even she was making a sacrifice for Starlight in attending this party!

You… You don’t even like parties! You hate them!

No! No, stop. Stop.

“Oh-kay,” Starlight sighed, turning away. “Okay.”

Don’t get caught up in guilt, dang you. Don’t even start! Just breathe. Breathe. Deep breath… that’s it. Just play it cool. Think about it: they wanna do this—even Maud. Despite how I forgot about her entirely, despite her spending her hard-earned money on my spa treatment, despite how much of a dead weight I’ve been these past few days, even Maud is willing to sacrifice to put a smile on my face.

I can’t truthfully return the favor. But I can make them feel repaid. Maybe, if Twilight sees I’m having a good time, we’ll all finally move on and return to normal!

An array of pots and pans, reflecting different faces of Starlight, smiled back at her. “Wow. Everypony will be there, that’s amazing. Even if I didn’t wanna go, I can’t just up and waste everypony’s time.” All their jobs. Their free time. The lives they live, all put on hold for the mare-filly of Sire’s Hollow.

“Starlight…” She turned, and was met with Maud’s widened gaze.

Trixie was glaring at their stoic friend. “This is why we kept it a secret,” she muttered.

“What? What’d I say?” Starlight tried coming off as casual, but it only made her sound more guilty, probably. She didn’t know.

Maud replied, “That still sounds like peer pressure to m—”

“Enough yapping, girls! The night is short and Trixie isn’t getting any younger! She’d like to crystalize her blood into pure sugar by the time this night is done.”

A blinding, hurried flash of pink filled the world. “Sounds like a—” A sonorous twang cut Starlight off.

The crystal flooring vanished, the semi-sweet castle air whisked away by a cool spring night’s breeze, crickets singing upon it, and the very faint, very distant clamor likely from the craggy, orange haze neath a salted night.

Trixie hopped in the way, grinning like a filly. “Your great and generous friend shall meet you at the party, Starlight! She has to go… check on preparations, get everypony set.”

Starlight anticipated she would be by her side when the reveal happened. Just as a buffer. “O-okay!” You’re not a foal. You can do this by yourself.

“Sure,” said Maud.

Starlight very nearly forgot she wouldn’t be alone.

“And remember to act surprised, Starlight,” said Trixie.

“Yeah, yeah,” she chuckled. “Remind me of something a little less obvious next time, like breathing.”

Trixie stuck her tongue out. Then, with a grand wave of the horn, light splashed across the dust and stone like a lunar rose. The Great and Powerful friend had vanished.

The dryness and windstorms of the Bad Lands rendered it largely uninhabitable, save for the nutrition-light diets of various desert critters, rocks, and of course, the changelings—who made their own food and protected it. They were the unmatched rulers of the Bad Lands, much like the ponies who lorded over the green glades of Equestria.

As such, the plant life here was meager. Those present were stout in stature, erupting in leafy claws of all directions. So different from those back home, lush and green, closed within themselves. Content with their Cloudsdale-nurtured lives.

Here, everything, even the rocks, looked desperate for drink despite having adapted over millions of years to conform to the environment. Like ponies. And the land, too, in a way. Mostly granite: mottled and pretty, worn by centuries of unabated wind.

Though, much like ponies, there were some surprises here and there. Maud’s eye caught three now, the most recent in the form of a quartz deposit winking at her from a fracture in the earth. Intact, implying something natural instead of a maulwurf. The result of an earthquake, then. After all, Equestria’s Bad Lands and the uncharted territories south weren’t a natural piece of its initial land mass.

“You sure are chatty tonight,” Starlight remarked. “Something on your mind?”

Had she really been so obvious, yammering on about this stuff? “I like rocks,” she half-lied. Half, for that wasn’t the catalyst for discussion.

Maud’s heart was racing faster the greater and more monstrous that fiery glow loomed. The voices ahead had grown silent. So many ponies lurked within. Waiting. Ready to judge her, judge Starlight.

It’s no wonder Maud was so eager to distract herself. She jumped to the next topic, reminded of the quartz which comprised Twilight’s castle, as well as several of history’s most noteworthy charms and baubles—a magic-attractant if there ever was one, quartz stone.

“So you’re saying that it’s the mineral which offers different enchantments, and those are what gives clothing and jewelry special powers?”

“Kind of.”

Starlight huffed in surprise. “It’s my fault for having never studied those. I’d always thought any old rock would do, and it’s the spell cast which determines the charm.”

A shake of the head. “It’s a combination of both. You’re focusing too much on the power aspect, anyway,” said Maud. “It’s a dead art anyway, like consuming rocks for nutrients.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty archaic.” It’s nice of Starlight to act as though eating rocks was totally normal. “But some do practice it, right?”

Maud hesitated. “Few do,” she answered. Was Starlight seeking alternative ways to manipulate Equestrian magic (which sadly didn’t exist outside the Storm King’s machinations), or was she, too, trying to distract herself from anxiety?

This party’s not for either of us. It might be a mistake. I bet Starlight would be willing to head home right now and look at rocks with me if I offered. Then, she could speak to her heart’s content without fear of judgement from anypony. Maud banished the selfish notion before it sounded too appealing.

“Those rubies on the Royal Guards’ saddles?” Maud continued, drawing Starlight’s attention. “The entire set is weightless because of them. Not that it’s for anything outside of comfort.” Thankfully. Equestria hasn’t had a true conflict since it was first establishing itself north, and the dragons of old didn’t take kindly to their cute, weak-seeming neighbors.

“Well, if possible, I could use a pair of bedazzled horseshoes to magnetize everything to my hooves. That’d make my life a whole lot easier!”

Starlight…

“I’m afraid no such mineral would yield that effect,” Maud murmured. Hopefully she came off as sympathetic. Probably not. “Besides, you’ve forgotten how enchanted stones are passive. They’re always active.”

“Oh, right. On second thought, that’d make my life even harder.” She still sounded dejected by the notion, as if in this moment, she really thought she’d found an answer.

If only there was better help out there than “practice.”

“If something like that were to exist,” Maud continued, “you’d not make it five feet outside your door before tracking a road’s worth of dirt and gravel to your hooves.”

“Huh! Ten feet and I’ll be taller than Princess Celestia.”

“That was funny. I’d feel bad for the rocks though.” Maud looked to Starlight’s perplexion, slyly. “You never, ever wash your hooves.”

“They’re just gonna get dirty again!” she cried in defense.

“I agree. I’m the same way. I like the feeling of dust on my hooves.” She felt naked now with that layer sanded off by Bulk Biceps. “Still, rocks deserve better than becoming an accomplice to your height inadequacies.”

It was nice, the pleasant abrasiveness of Starlight’s sputtering laughter. Maud made that, and it was comforting to think so. However bad she was feeling, dry humor always delighted Starlight.

“Wanna know something interesting?” asked Maud.

“Shoot.”

“Even when destroyed, the enchantment lingers on whatever the gemstone was grafted into.”

Starlight looked to the stars, her eyes sparkling. “Interesting. That reminds of something I saw over in Flutter...” She shook her head. “Oh, forget it. It’s not important anymore.”

Maud really wanted to know. But she couldn’t ask when Starlight decided kindly not to pry when their positions were swapped before.

Maud avoided it whenever possible—the horn stump. Just a passing glance cut deep into her chest. I should’ve said something earlier. Wasted my chance to tell her how I really felt. I blew it. That’s that. Maud clenched her jaw. Saying it now would be random.

She would do better. Both of them could do better. Or they could spend the night away from all this, together. Pinkie, everypony, knew what Starlight was going through, they’d understand. Starlight would surely jump on the opportunity... These were selfish thoughts. Dark thoughts. Maud didn’t care; or, she did, but she wasn’t the one ultimately going to act on them.

We’re only here now because everypony’s making decisions for Starlight.

Maud halted in place, between two lumps of mottled granite, like salt and pepper. “Starlight.” She froze, reared her worried head. Or was it sympathetic? A desperate, lonely piece of Maud’s soul hoped so. “Are you absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent sure that you want to do this?”

Starlight turned completely, hornless head cocked with a fake smile to match. “This again? Maud, I promise you—”

“Starlight. I mean it.” Promises were just words, and words were nothing against actions, and Starlight has done so, so, so much more than what she’d been saying these past couple days. “I know you. Part of you doesn’t want this.” At last, she lifted her gaze from Starlight’s parted lips. “Everypony will understand if you aren’t feeling up to this. We just want you to be happy.” Starlight’s pupils shriveled. “What’ll make you happy?”

“I…” A thin finger of sweat trickled between her lowering eyes. “Maud,” she said quietly, “why’s this such a concern for you, huh? It’s my life. I can choose what I wanna do with it.”

It was impossible to read her emotion from this angle. Maud had to be honest. This was it. This is it: the moment I’ve waited for, the one Pinkie told me to look out for, it’s here. It’s us, alone, Starlight just invited me to bear my heart to her. I have to take it/

...Just say it. Maudileena, SAY IT.

‘I. Care. About. You.’ She’d love it. Starlight… would question it. She might. Actually, she’d take it as a joke, in disbelief. Then she’d be uncomfortable. She would ask if I was joking, because I would never say something so personal to her. Random. Just random. She already accepts so much of that from me. My fascination with rocks, Boulder, my tastes in food and leisure and conversation, my dress and my personality and everything and and and—

Everything. She already accepted Maud in her entirety, what’s one more thing? Everything. It took one well-placed strike to crack open a geode.

Starlight suddenly gave a hollow laugh. “Hey, I finally get why Tempest flipped on me the other day—like I did before, but until now, not on an emotional level. Isn’t that sad?” Her eyes gleamed, her smile wobbled. “Gosh, I’m sorry, Maud, I—”

She feels bad because I can’t talk. “I’m nervous…” Shame anchored Maud’s gaze to the earth, where it always should have been. “That’s why I’m concerned about you. When I’m around ponies, I get nervous. I thought you might be the same and was looking for a way out.”

She already shared this with Starlight, ostensibly, but still, nothing new. In fact, on their first day of being friends, Maud shared why she preferred the company of rocks to that of ponies. She didn’t judge her then, bless her, Starlight didn’t judge her at all.

“You understand, don’t you?” asked the coward.

A whole symphony of crickets encompassed them. “Maud, of course I understand. I know this isn’t your scene.” A hoof, chalky with dust and flavored in an earthy smell, rested beneath Maud’s chin and lifted. It took all her willpower not to lean into Starlight’s touch once it pulled away, instead diving into her pleading gaze. “I wanna know why it’s a problem now, though. You know everypony there, you know the changelings are upfront and naive and completely harmless… so what’s getting to you now?”

Now Maud was caught in a half-lie, stating truths but not what she was going to say, unable to get out if she tried. “I never know what ponies are thinking. They could be presuming I look sad, even though I’m not. Or that I sound emotionless and therefore am.”

Or they could be making assumptions about your happiness, even when it’s nonexistent. A facade you feel cursed to wear for the sake of everyone around you. Especially family.

Maud sighed shakily, soundlessly, through her nose. “It’s cold hooves. Don’t worry.”

“Oh. Are ya sure?”

She was so concerned it hurt. “Yes,” Maud answered, staring below her gaze.

Starlight hesitantly turned toward the point of no return, warmly aglow upon the horizon, hoof lifted, an eye on Maud preventing her from making a final decision. “Promise me you’re okay with this?”

Words failed her. She nodded her vow before they continued on, technically avoiding the promise—a pitiful justification for her conscience. One she didn’t amend even as Starlight led the way with the words, “Alright, Maud. I trust you.” Then a chortle. “You’re just about the only pony nowadays who means what they say to me!”

Now she had to really act like she wanted to do this. Not that it’d be difficult for a pony with the personality of a rock. How did Starlight put it that first day?

‘They’re beautiful and strong, but they don’t judge you or make you feel less than in any way. Huh! I think I’m starting to like rocks, too!’ A writhing made Maud want to squirm, to squeeze it from her belly and laugh, smile, thank Starlight Glimmer and do so much more she physically couldn’t. I need to stop being so afraid. I know it’s all in my head. So, why is it so—?

A flash of green and a harsh, “Hey, trespassers!” flanked them, catching Starlight by surprise while scaring the living daylights out of Maud.

“Ahh,” she screamed.

Towering and dark, the figure had to have been Chrysalis, the self-exiled queen who’d vanished without a trace. This was it, they were going to die. Maud would protect Starlight to her last breath!

“Woah, easy, Maud. It’s—I think it’s okay.” Maud blinked, feeling a pressure through her dress—Starlight was squeezing her shoulder, as hard as her words. “I think I know this jerk.”

Deep, harsh laughter mocked them from the darkness, a Thorax-esque pair of antlers pincering the moon at a second glance. “Yeah, you’d better know me!” He approached, antlers alight like a pair of rubies, ruddy glow splashed across his glossy, bug-eyed face. Cocksure and confident in his swagger, Maud knew his type before he made it evident: “Sheesh, even you?” he said to Starlight. “At ease, already! You ponies are too easy to scare.”

So he’s been frightening Ponyville all day, how “princely.” A charming representative of the Hive with a solid first impression.

Yet, Starlight just… grinned. Bared her teeth, somehow pearly despite her changed lifestyle. “Good to see you too, Prince.”

His confidence hadn’t slackened. “That’s ‘Pharynx’ to you, missy.”

Starlight sneered. “Why?” she mocked. “Is that what friends call you?”

“As if! It’s a sign of my respect, if you could even call it that.”

Maud loosed a breath as Starlight dismissed him entirely: a sigh, a roll of the eyes as she brushed past him and continued on for the Hive.

“Come on, Maud,” Starlight called. “In the ongoing tragedy that is my existence, I’d forgotten all about this annoying bug currently buzzing at my ear.”

Except Maud couldn’t “come on,” even if she tried. ‘In the ongoing…’

She couldn’t ask about it. Shouldn’t. Twilight would, but Starlight avoided her whenever she could, and Maud didn’t want the same treat. She could only follow—totally speechless. Something was wrong, but… That is not my concern. Starlight doesn’t even tell Twilight anything. She needs…

Starlight needed to talk. But she has to want to. She won’t accept it being forced out of her.

Ahead, two figures, one large and the other Maud’s size, walked side by side, aglow in ruby light. “Well, I’ll get it out of the way now: glad to see you still got some bite to ya,” said Pharynx.

Starlight laughed a bit on the uneasy side. “Yeah, well,” she said, “I only lost my horn. I’m still the same old Starlight!”

“No, yeah, I can see that! We’ve been worrying over nothing, far as I could tell.”

Starlight halted mid-step, squinting up at him. “Pardon me?”

“What else is there to say?” asked Pharynx, stopping with a baffled smile. “I’m happy I don’t have to guard my language on account of your injury. That would’ve been annoying! Don’t see what the fuss is about, anyway—I think it looks pretty cool. Like a battle scar or somethin’.”

Maud didn’t know what to think, what to feel, but anger.

“Nothing about my life is ‘cool’ because of this thing,” Starlight said in a low voice.

‘This thing,’ she called it.

“Uh, a-doy?” mocked Pharynx, turning. “As far as you’re concerned, you’re as good as useless now! Like a changeling with no wings, no horn…” Pharynx shuddered. “Just the thought makes me pity the fool that ever happened to. Me! Can you believe that, Starlight? My pitying for anycreature, let alone some suicidal fool?”

“A what fool?” Maud clammed up, but she’d spoken already. She was so mad. He was speaking so strangely. Yet he wasn’t saying anything wrong or outright hurtful and yet, Maud wanted to buck him straight into the horizon. She could do it, too.

“‘Su-i-ci-dal,’” Pharynx enunciated, blissfully unaware of how fast Maudileena Daisy Pie could move when she was serious. “It’s an old word we changelings use to refer to self-destructive behavior. You know, sleeping on the job, not keeping up with your training. Well, I suppose that’s suicidal for me, anyways. But Starlight here! She just went and had to play the savior. My respect has been earned, don’t get me wrong. But still, to deal with devils without considering the repercussions? That’s poor strategy, soldier.”

“Enough.” Pharynx and Starlight turned toward her. What is this? This burning in my chest? It was suffocating. It was maddening. And it flared proudly at the thought of her best friend. “Starlight is not a soldier. Don’t treat her like one or apply their mentality.”

“Ha! You’re telling me!” Pharynx leaned closer, eyes narrowed. “Who are you, anyway? Scratch that: what’re you? I taste love comin’ offa ya, but I bet ponies wouldn’t know that, lookin’ atcha.”

Not the point. Not the point. Ignore. “I don’t like you enough to explain myself to you. And I doubt you know Starlight enough to fairly criticize her choices.”

Twice as many stars as before twinkled in Starlight’s wide, stunned gaze. Maud wished she could muster a reassuring smile.

Pharynx scoffed. “As if anything excuses such blatant disregard for your own well-being and quality of life. That isn’t just stupid, it’s a direct violation of what it means to survive.”
There’s no way this changeling would ever know what it’s like to sacrifice.

Nor would Maud—not on the scale that Starlight had. “Sure.” In the corner of her eye, Starlight winced and looked ashamed. “But the difference between you and Starlight is she’d do it again, knowing what comes after.”

Pharynx’s eyes, a striking, dull violet even through his ruddy-glowing crown, widened to their limits. “Well fair enough,” he whispered.

“M-Maud,” Starlight laughed nervously, stepping forth, “you don’t have to go and embarrass yourself—for me—-I mean, I know you ultimately agree with Pharynx, so there’s no reason to—”

A hoof heeded Starlight’s advances, her words, everything but her racing heart. “Forget about how I’d reacted,” said Maud. “None of our feelings matter. Not even Twilight’s.”

She’d mentioned more than once amidst their hangouts, the depths of her ex-teacher’s disappointment in her; Starlight’s eyes, dry, with a smile on her face as she spoke of this. Outright bawling would have been equally obvious.

Yet her hollow eyes told of a failure to grasp what was just said. “Starlight?”

She blinked, returning, and shut her eyes, tearing away from all but Maud’s touch. “I can’t just ignore it like you do. Everypony else is thinking just like Pharynx. Even if they’re not, I’ve no way of not knowing.”

Her terror was palpable, and familiar.

“Learn to ignore them,” Maud told her. “Worrying about what other ponies think is no way to lead a happy life.” No longer was she speaking with her own thoughts, but Pinkie Pie’s, a culmination of many conversations they’ve had together and only with each other. “Their view of you don’t matter. They don’t know you like I do. It’s your choices that make you who you are—not the perspective of other ponies.” Say it now, while I’m upholding Pinkie’s advice for once.

“But—”

Say it! “I...” I can’t! “...I am sorry, Starlight Glimmer.” Ashamed, Maud shut her eyes, so only Starlight’s shallow, broken breathing existed to the song of crickets. “When I saw you in the market, I’d stopped thinking rationally. My emotions got the best of me in a way they hardly ever do. It was selfish, regardless if you care or not. It was my duty to be a friend, just as you’d do the same for me. I failed you though...”

‘Why didn’t you remember me?’ Maud flushed with embarrassment, even now. Bless her stony exterior.

“Maud, I’d forgotten all about you.” A part of her was tickled to realize her friend still regretted that. It meant she really cared. “You had every right reacting the way you did.”

No. She didn’t. Maybe in Starlight’s naive worldview, but Maud had zero justification making what happened about her instead of Twilight’s near-death.

Celestia. Harmony. How could anypony be so grossly selfish?

This wasn’t the time nor the place, or even the company, to amend for that. “Regardless, I should have noticed how you were behaving. It was scary. How casually you’d told me everything.” ‘Starlight, your life,’ she remembered thinking, ‘it’s been shattered like… like your horn, and you’re acting like it’s all still together. Snap out of it.’

That mentality had the opposite effect, and nearly divided them as it did Twilight and Starlight.

“I didn’t think about why you were like this,” continued Maud. “I took it at face-value—your disconnect, flippancy, all of it. I thought I saw a stranger when I was the one acting like it. And I’m sorry for that.”

This was the closest Maud had ever gotten to saying what she wanted tonight. My friend…

No. She shouldn’t hug her. Pharynx would mock them, then Starlight would feel embarrassed because of Maud and her weirdness. Best keep her at forelegs’ reach for now.

“Maud.” Through the din, Starlight smiled. Fractures twinkled upon her cheeks like diamonds. “You’ve no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

Maud felt it was over-the-top. “Really?”

A single, assured nod. “It’s nice, hearing you speak from the heart like that. And letting me see it. You should do it more often, if you’re comfortable.”

“Eugh, gag!” cried Pharynx, wings snapping wide, aglow much like his antlers. “You were the one creature who I thought didn’t get all sappy, Glimmer.”

“You’re still here?” Starlight wiped her flushing cheeks, smiling all the while. Strong. She was so much stronger than Maud, who would crumble and shut up in her place. “Sorry to disappoint you,” she laughed breathily. “Looks like you’re ready to ditch your post, Mr. Royal Aegis. Get some distance between you and all this feelings-junk.”

“You read my mind.”

Starlight gasped in mock-aghast. “And that’s more important than protecting the Hive: knocking back nectar with the boys?”

Pharynx snorted. “Yeah. Thorax insisted I be, ugh, ‘sociable,’” he said with air quotes. “So that’s where I’m headed.”

Starlight giggled into her hoof. “We won’t keep you, then.”

“As if you were!” Pharynx turned back, wings arced and ready to lift him off the ground. He hesitated. Posture slackened. “Hey,” he murmured, perking Maud’s ears as his eyes, twin sheets of amethysts, regarded her. “Sorry and junk.”

Dust and wind beat against them before Maud could make him redirect it. She didn’t flinch as the blast of cool-warmth hit. Wouldn’t dare. That guy who’d stooped to apologize to the wrong mare deserved to be watched as he shrank to a pinprick, vanishing into the horizon itself, where the Hive was nestled.

“Wow.” Starlight whistled. “Never thought I’d hear him apologize, let alone to a pony.”

Now it made sense. He just couldn’t meet Starlight’s eye and apologize after disgracing her like that. Maud had half a mind to catch him at the party and force him to do it again. Correctly. “It’s only because his respect for you doubled,” Maud explained.

“How?” Starlight laughed in over-disbelief. “It’s not like I did anything!”

“Not in the seventy seconds we’ve spoken. But Pharynx didn’t realize the depths of your loyalty to Twilight.” Her lack of hesitation, as much as Maud greedily despised it, was a wonderful trait not many ponies had. “Self-sacrifice is worth commending in any culture.”

“Y-yeah! Totally!” Starlight cast her gaze upon the ground. “I mean, no! I mean—!” She shook her head, and came back smiling. “No, you’re right! About a lot, Maud.”

“Aren’t I always?” she joked.

Starlight tittered. “Most of the time. But especially just now—about how exhausting it is, worrying about the opinions of every pony I meet… Let’s just say that I’ve been thinking about those more often than now, and you make the healthier alternative sound so… simple. I owe you for that… I owe you for a lot, honestly.”

“No, you don’t. Please stop seeing everything I do as a service to be paid for.”

Starlight opened her mouth to object, froze, then pressed her lips together with a quick, eye-averting nod.

Maud cursed herself. She could have worded that better instead of getting emotional again. I’m so tired of you seeing yourself as worth nothing, and a burden otherwise.

“I’m not mad,” said Maud. “But I can tell Trixie feels the same.” Not that she would ever admit it. But her unease was clear even to strangers like the Spa Twins, who looked equal shades uncomfortable and saddened to hear Starlight’s self-hate veiled in lightheartedness. “It’s upsetting to us,” Maud concluded.

“I know.” To the point. Aware of it. Why keep doing it, then? What drives her?

Questions Maud had no business asking. “Let’s not keep everypony waiting now. Pharynx was another signal for your arrival.”

“You know this?”

“It’s a guess. We’re still standing here, talking, Starlight.”

“Right! Right. My bad, I’ve totally held us up! Heh...” A laugh. A mask to appear lighthearted. Underneath, she blamed herself as if this was some great wrong. “Um, so, yeah! Let’s go…” Starlight powered on ahead.

Maud had to push a little to catch up. It didn’t matter. Starlight was clearly done talking.

“If you’re wondering why I’m not, uh, saying anything? ...It’s because I’m thinking about what you said.” Maud turned, sharply for her. Whatever flattery she felt was buried by disappointment and pity as she met face to face with paranoia, a lurch of fear once their gazes joined and promptly broke.

Starlight smiled ahead as if Maud was none the wiser. As if they were truly strangers. “I hadn’t realized you regretted all of that. Especially since it was my fault in the first place! For, you know, acting insensitive… forgetting about you, too, it’s—” Starlight caught herself rambling, or perhaps saying something she didn’t want to. “‘Thanks,’ it’s what I’m trying, trying and failing, to say, Maud. Thanks for being a patient and understanding friend.”

“It’s nothing.” She hasn’t done anything noteworthy. Nothing that Trixie or Twilight wouldn’t have done easily, more eloquently, in her place.

“No, yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” Starlight mumbled. “This is common courtesy you’re doing. I’m just being emotional! Don’t mind me.”

Maud desperately tried to recover. “You weren’t.”

Starlight raised her voice. “No, I’m pretty sure I am—” Sighing, she dropped her head, forelock falling beside her eye, concealing it. “We’re arguing about how I feel, Maud. Something I don’t even know myself half the time.”

“Starlight—”

“Let’s just... stop... talking.” Starlight muttered “Stupid” under her breath before adhering to her request.

And Maud said nothing. Couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Starlight would get mad. It wasn’t what their friendship was about, anyway. Not like Twilight’s or Trixie’s. It wasn’t Maud’s place to be a shoulder to cry on. Just be her rock. Rocks said nothing back. Rocks didn’t think of how to comfort friends. Rocks were just there, sturdy and reliable but little else.

Thus, they understood one another in total silence—total fear of saying the wrong thing—the rest of their walk.

It felt like old times.

Starlight’s insides squirmed. Stop it. They writhed in protest. Come on, I can’t act natural if you’re flipping on me! An ache infected her chest. Everything inside ached for no reason. It’s not like she completely lied to Maud back there. Nor had she any scruples before over lying these last few days, horrible as that sounded.
She was honestly thinking over their encounter with Pharynx, hearing the truths he laid, even now. As though he were right in the back of her head, calling her self-destructive, and by proxy dangerous. Maud’s voice would emerge when her heart was heaviest, defending Starlight. Her stone-solid shield, however misguided.

‘I took it at face-value. Like a stranger. I’m sorry for that.’

On second (actually fifth) thought, maybe a foul part of Starlight was bitter over being viewed as a stranger by everypony she knew. Maud saw her as a stranger when all she did was what any friend would do. What gave her the right to deem what was and wasn’t akin to Starlight?

Snap. Out. Of it, she told herself. It was no wonder Maud and everypony else felt this way. Starlight was pushing this insane narrative that she couldn’t care less about her magic, even to herself.

What stuck was that Maud believed she was more than that. ‘They don’t know you like I do. It’s your choices that make you who you are—not the perspective of other ponies.’ It was a nice, uninformed sentiment. Starlight was many things, but these past few days—years, really—have painted a picture of her that wasn’t very pretty:

Hasty, manic, whiny, dangerous, burdensome, exhausting—everything Twilight thought of her and likely more, if her constant avoidance were any indication. For what else could explain this bizarre unwillingness to mother Starlight the day after she awakened from her coma? Starlight half-expected this but it never came. She hadn’t seen Twilight in days!

Or perhaps it was just a series of misfortune and bad timing. She definitely lost sleep putting this together, and she wouldn’t put so much effort in putting this together unless it was for a friend.

Or she was trying to impress somepony. Like all of Equestria. That made a frightening amount of sense: what better way to prove your gratitude than hosting a huge party in that pony’s honor?

It made sense. It made sense. Starlight hated it, and it made her feel awful, but it made too much sense.

And that, like her, was Twilight beneath the surface. Similarly, many things could describe Maud Pie beneath her stony exterior: proud when it hindered nopony, totally humble when solely herself was involved, a Fluttershy around others.

It took Maud a lot—and Starlight stressed this up and down within herself—-A LOT of guts, standing up to Pharynx like that.

And it was all for her.

No, it wasn’t. Quit making yourself the center of the universe already. You know what happens when you get a big head… Disaster. She kept forgetting that disaster followed, and that was dangerous.

After all, Pharynx was just a bully. Starlight could handle them no problem. Maud simply took pleasure calling others out for their stupidity, and this was another in a long list of those she’d put down. Maud’s life didn’t revolve around Starlight. ‘It’s nothing’ She’d said it herself when Starlight dared presume otherwise. No use romanticizing it like some desperate creep—not when a whole swarm of familiar faces and a pony for every two had uprooted their lives just to put a smile on Starlight’s miserable face.

According to Twilight “the teacher’s pet” Sparkle.

Starlight was ready. All she needed to do tonight was smile, laugh like she’s having a good time, ignore the bad that is her life until everyone launches their pumpkins. You’d brainwashed yourself and a town full of ponies into thinking you were happy, she said. Just forget about your hardships. Forget about what other ponies think, like Maud said. It’s easy. Starlight could do this. She’s done things three times as hard and equally as time-consuming. She’d combined a slew of spells for a homework assignment, for Celestia’s sake! It’d take effort and energy on her part, but most ponies don’t know her so well as her close friends.

Upon entering the luster of the Hive’s enormous, jagged wall, a familiar king lay strewn within a lawn chair, of all things, and made her task, at least for the moment, totally effortless.

The changeling king perked up, grinning, to the sound of Starlight’s guffaw. He marched over, practically yelling, “Star-light! Oth-er friend! How do you do?!”

Best acting ever. Starlight snickered into her foreleg. If Maud hadn’t spilled about the party before, if Trixie’s sudden departure to send a signal, only for Pharynx to do the same hadn’t made it clear already…

“It’s unusually quiet for a Gourd Fest,” she laughed. “And you’re out here, too—it’s a little strange, Thorax.”

“Oh, you know me! Always dozing off… O-out here.” Starlight lifted a brow. “I was, uh, tanning!”

If it were anyone but Thorax, she might feel insulted. “Thorax. You’re green as an apple and lack an epidermis besides.”

“Good evening, by the way,” said Maud, dryer than normal.

“Eh, yeah, I panicked.” He sounded more like a kid than a king. But that was Thorax’s style, and his people were all the friendlier for it. “I don’t suppose you’d believe me otherwise. I’m a terrible liar.”

“That you are. That you are.” Starlight didn’t have the heart to dislike Thorax’s playing along regarding this surprise party. An ulterior motive was the last thing he would ever have. “Oh! Thorax, this is Maud. Maud, Thorax.”

The enormous changeling stepped closer, almost foallike as he jut out his hoof. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Starlight’s said a lot about you! I’m sorry we didn’t get to meet last time—ruling, heh, what can ya do?”

Maud didn’t take his hoof. “Likewise.” Somepony was a little shy.

“Ooh! You’re so interesting,” Thorax gushed, squishing his cheeks together. “I mean it! You are so different to other ponies, and yet so darn similar, too. Like, I can feel the love radiating from you, more so than most ponies I’ve met! Do you, Maud, do you think it’d be alright if we have a conversation later? I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better.”

Maud slid her gaze over. Starlight made sure she was grinning as eagerly as possible. Anything to widen Maud’s friend pool. Her friend looked up again and said, “Sure. I’m not a good conversationalist, though.”

Thorax laughed. “Oh, you don’t gotta worry about that! I’m not either. Normally I’m talking at changelings rather than to them. Just let me know if I’m rambling, okay?”

“Sure.”

Thorax danced with glee. “Ooh, I’m just so excited for this year’s Gourd Fest! We’re hosting so many—” He choked, glancing at Starlight. “Uh, just so many friendly faces! Eh, you two are gonna have a grand old time. Promise. Here, let me show you in.”

He led them four feet left to an archway, carved from a single, towering boulder. “The stonework is flawless,” said Maud.

“Yeah, we got an actual entrance now! Every-ling helped carve out this stairwell that encircles the Hive. They got to carve their initials into the step they’d made, it’s so cute, and…”

And he’s off.

Starlight didn’t care much that she was following her friends, or even that Thorax was so lost in Maud, he failed to notice her horn (thank Celestia). Watching him “talk at” Maud, noticing the subtle ways she listened in—craned her head closer, dominant ear perked fully, every so often swallowing or clenching her jaw—it was heartwarming to see.

I didn’t give it much thought, Starlight realized, her fondness for the newest duo growing by the second, but I think these two could really click.

Maud was curious, empathetic, shy, a good listener, blunt. Thorax was sweet, enthusiastic, courageous, decisive when he needed to be, albeit a little spineless when the crown was off, so to speak. They complimented one another in several quiet but crucial categories.

And unlike with me, Starlight realized with heavy heart, Maud will never get into an argument with Thorax.

“Oh, Starlight?” Thorax and Maud were looking over their shoulders, pressed against the stony walls reaching up, closing around them but not enough to block out a scar to the skyline, revealing a smattering of stars.

Starlight realized the rock had a distinct, speckled pattern to them like salt and pepper. “I already know diabase has a, quote, ‘interesting odor,’ Maud.”

“It really does.” Thorax nodded. “But that isn’t what we’re doing. We’re letting you go ahead of us.”

Starlight deadpanned. “Any particular reason?”

Maud answered, “We’re slow walkers. You want to get to the party.”

No one in their right mind would try arguing against that, especially with Thorax being an inadvertent gossiper. As she squeezed by, Starlight glared unblinkingly at Maud, screaming with her eyes, What are you doing? But there was little to glean. Or anything resembling a reaction.

In fact, Maud looked pretty done with all this “woe is me, everypony is worried and cares for me” nonsense. Starlight would too.

Heart in her hooves, she led the way around a bend and through a firebug-lit corridor. The sliver of stardust above widened, filled with them buzzing amongst each other, feasting on nectar from feeders strung about and alight with dozens more, like lanterns. This coupled with the nerds being nerdy behind her made it easy to forget what awaited her at the bottom of these stairs.

“I’ve been in the area before,” said Maud. “Slate and disabase take centuries to form, and despite their similar origins, the Hive’s foundations appear artificially formed.”

“And is that… insulting?”

“Not at all. I think it’s incredible.”

“Oh, well,” Thorax laughed bashfully, “we changelings have always prided ourselves on our work ethic and architecture. What we live in now was the old castle’s equivalent of a, ah, ‘basement.’”

Maud said nothing. And then, “Silence means ‘continue.’ Please.”

“O-oh! Right, okay. So, you know the castle was built from magically-mutated obsidian? And that our the throne was an enchanted slab big enough to suck up all the magic within a mile radius?”

Maud said nothing immediately, as if she was gasping with excitement. ”I’d heard some details from Starlight, but I didn’t know the full extent of it.”

“You mean the fact that it was obsidian?”

“Yes.”

Starlight chuckled, the only other sound their hoofsteps clopping against stone. Cool air floated up the stairwell. Down several steps, a right turn led into the warm glow Starlight recalled seeing from the Bad Lands.

Their entrance hall, she realized. Sitting above the catacombs where the families slept.

“Yeah! We even have some of its remains in our museum,” Thorax continued. “It’s inactive, thankfully. Something about it being destroyed eliminated its enchantment. I could show you, if you’d like.”

Maud mumbled something drowned out by Starlight’s thundering eardrums. She took a breath, rounded the corner, bracing herself for anything. Not just anything, a good time. That’s what this will be. Just avoid your friends, smile, play some games—

“SURPRISE, STARLIGHT! WE LOVE YOU!”

Cheering—stomping, clapping, whistling and hollering, as though somepony made the winning goal in a buckball championship except that pony was “Starlight.” They must be confused. Many, many were doing several of these at once, more than a few with a dampness on their cheeks—they had to be confused. Starlight waited for them to stop, to wake up and realize she wasn’t smiling but ten years later they were still going, going, going and going and going. Her brain recognized every face, alighting with familiarity only to be clouded by confusion; her heart was gone, exploded, unable to process it all as the screaming splintered into things discernible.

“We love you, Starlight!”

“Thank you so much!”

“You’re so brave, Starlight!”

“Starlight, over here!”

“Thank you for saving Princess Twilight!”

“Starlight, don’t cry!”

“We love you!”

“I, I look up to you, Miss Starlight!”

“Please, don’t be sad!”

“Somepony, go to her already!”

“Starlight!”

“I think you’re still really pretty, Miss Glimmer!”

“Is she laughing, or is she crying?”

“STARLIGHT I LOVE YOU!”

Starlight couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t real, they weren’t really. They were bought, they were told to say things, they… they loved her.

For some reason, they loved her. Despite all she’d done they still loved her! Starlight laughed. She cried. The absurdity of it all, the mountains moved to make this happen, wasn’t worth it.

But to them, it was.

She could feel it in the air, despite not being a changeling.

She couldn’t stop feeling it. She shook fiercely, waves of sound beating against her as the sea would a rock—holding, wearing away over time and constant hammerings: ‘Love.’ ‘Don’t cry.’ ‘Thank you.’ ‘Help her.’

Her actual rock was pressed up against her; Starlight just realized she lacked the strength to stand on half her legs. “They’re here for you,” Maud said.

“Yeah!” Starlight gasped wetly, beholding them all and just seeing more, more, and more. “No kidding!” Even her Our Town friends were here.

She didn’t deserve this. Any of it.

Maud was right—actions speak of one’s character, not mere words. These ponies demonstrated that tonight, right here, right now. And Starlight, deep down, was no different now from the pony who convinced that you needed to be broken, soulless, to have real friendships.

But she’d be no better trying to convince them they’re wrong. Not when they went through so much to make this happen. How would it be any better, poisoning everypony’s festive cheer, by speaking of her nasty presumptuousness and making them feel like garbage? Like Starlight herself?

It’s times like these where the real reason I’d sacrificed my horn is most apparent.

A mental cliffnote, hopefully to remember it better: it wasn’t to save Twilight.

A violet foreleg slipped underneath Starlight’s chin, squeezing her withers with a firmness akin to Hydia’s. A jolt like a blast of magical energy surged down Starlight’s phantom horn, splashing and spreading upon the singed surface of her forehead—oil hot off the pan, oozing outward. Starlight gasped, strangling on a cry.

And silence slammed down upon world, the cheering faces voiceless suddenly.

Twilight’s words in her ear became garbled, a mesh of two, no three… four voices in one, in both ears, in her very brain and the deepest, grimiest pit of her loathsome gut.

Claws wrapped around her throat, the quad-voiced monster snickered within her, ‘It’s getting close to that time, Starlight Glimmer.’

‘Time to collect what’s owed.’

The pony she owed to most flinched, as if somepony just shrieked. Starlight wondered if she would ever be normal again.

IV.XIII - Gored at the Gourd (2 of 3)

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Twilight’s sure been slipping. Not just as a princess, but a friend, too.

This wasn’t the time for self-pity. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.” She wished her legs could bend impossibly, or curve her magic so improbably so as to zap her in her ignorant face. What kind of friend triggered the most traumatic experience of both their lives? “Starlight, is something wrong?”

Starlight breathed like she was suffocating, eyes twitching this way and that, taking it all in. That was what was wrong: the rather monstrous sight of hundreds waving their forelegs, familiar faces cheering, eager for her attention, and the advancing few wanting to thank her personally—Ponyville ponies in the likes of its most well-known residents. Cheers, shrieks, cries and comments engulfed them, ringing their ears. It really was too much, especially for one having not expected it, who’d probably despaired and felt so alone these past several days.

Twilight anticipated speechlessness, but not something akin to fear.

“D-do you like it?” Twilight asked, stupidly. She had to know, she wished to gauge with Starlight, but it was stupid to ask that. Just what she needs, more stress devoted to formulating an opinion over something she still hasn’t fully processed.

“Nevermind.” Twilight shook her head. “Don’t answer that now. Not if you don’t want to. I’m just… you know!”

“Overwhelmed,” Starlight said at last, “if I were to hazard a guess?” She turned to Twilight was eyes mirroring her own emotions:

Scared. Tired. Sad… Really sad. And probably trying to be none of these things, harder than anypony expects of me, but I have to try and live up to society’s expectations.

Twilight would dismiss herself as princess if she burdened Starlight with any of that right now. Once upon a time they would talk in private, nursing tea or cocoa between them, but nowadays…

She nodded in agreement. “Overwhelmed, yeah. That sounds about right.” She chuckled lightly, only for Starlight’s eyes to widen, well, and finally clench shut. As if her first guess was the last she wished to be true. “Starlight? Starlight, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” she choked. Starlight dashed a hoof across her eyes, sniffling. Smiling. “I’m just, I’ve been just… stupid. Really, really stupid. And selfish! And… and I should stop talking now.”

“You are not ‘stupid,’” Twilight told her firmly. “You are Starlight Glimmer. You’re the friend who would risk her life for another no matter the cost.” Beneath the roar of friends, Starlight shuddered, wracked with muted sobs. She shook her head slowly, though Twilight didn’t understand for what. “I am so sorry I haven’t been the friend you deserve, nor needed these last few days. If it makes you feel any better, it was all for you.”

Over AJ’s hollering, demanding order, Starlight let out a hollow chuckle. “That doesn’t make me feel particularly great, Twilight. Believe me, though, I’d understand if you actually had some important duties to catch up on.”

Twilight did, in fact, but that was not the point. Her most important duty was that of friendship.

And Starlight was surprisingly… okay, for lack of a more fitting term, with the fact that Twilight had seemingly abandoned her for no good reason. “Come on, you gotta feel something right now.” Angry, or happy. Something instead of more of the same.

Starlight’s face fell. “What do you mean?”

A distant thundering boomed across the quieted crowd beside them—Twilight’s heartbeat.

Straightforward. Honest. “You must have felt alone these past couple days. Like nopony was recognizing your accomplishments, and that you were all alone in dealing with this—”

“Neither were things I really minded, though,” Starlight muttered. She lowered her head, meeting Twilight’s eyes with something of a glare. “Just saying.”

Twilight blushed. “Right, of course not.” Starlight had always been independent. It’s why she wrongly asserted she was fine having lost her magic, and did so now. “But you have to admit,” she continued with forced pep, “this is a nice surprise, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah! Sure is!” Starlight smiled in a way that didn’t reach her eyes—Twilight knew, for she’d seen her friend smile so many times the last three years.

“Doesn’t this make you feel good?” Twilight gestured to their surroundings. “Knowing everypony out here loves you and loves what you did for me?”

Starlight sweat, biting her lip. “Uh…”

“We love you Starlight!” cried Sweetie Belle from someplace, only to get shushed sharply by her sister.

“That was a rhetorical question,” said Twilight. “But even then, it saddens me I have to ask this at all.” Starlight flinched—stabbing Twilight’s heart—-as she touched her cheek. “You’ve changed so much, my student—”

“I’m not your student,” Starlight croaked, stiff in her upper lip.

“In my heart, you’ll always be my student.” Twilight felt moved herself as Starlight blinked tears out of her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and then, blubbering, “I’m so sorry, Twilight! I’ve been messing up so much! Our fight—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Twilight asserted. She steeled herself against the fact that Starlight just apologized for this. “Starlight, for all your mistakes do not forget: you’re the pony who’s willing to risk everything, give up anything, for the sake of a friend. Nopony can be expected to just bounce back after what’d happened.” She looked away, eyes shut tight, hair falling over her poor horn. “I know this transition isn’t easy, that you’d rather avoid any special treatments—”

“Then why this, huh?! What’s all of this?” Starlight cried. Not snapped. There was no anger in her face, her posture. Only disbelief, laced with guilt. “You know I hate pomp and circumstance, Twilight, so why’d you think I’d like any of this?” She recoiled, as though having just talked back to her teacher. “I-I mean, ah! I love it!” she cheered halfheartedly.

Nopony took up her cry. The longer it went unanswered, the redder Starlight became. In a second, she was aglow like her namesake.

“Starlight.” Twilight would take her by the hoof, if not her eyes, and did so. “This party is for you because we wanted it to be for you. We only want to celebrate the wonderful friend you are!” Twilight blinked back tears, sniffling, smiling. “Past what you perceive as mistakes, past what’s worthy of praise in your eyes… We love you, Starlight. Won’t you let us show you that, and share in it?”

Several dozen murmurs rose up. Twilight showed them her gratitude, then to Starlight, her adoration—for a friend who deserved it all and much, much more, Twilight grinned and kissed her on the cheek. A quick peck, affectionate; something neither had ever done to one another before.

Her friend was stunned, her eyes dribbling. “I can’t necessarily disagree with any of that, but…” Her voice caught.

“But nothing,” Twilight said gently. She moved closer, holding Starlight’s hoof closer to her breast. “You’re in a lot of ponies’ debt for having saved my life. Like it or not, they love you, Starlight. They want to see you smile again, and so do I.”

And avenge you from those monsters. Twilight’s stomach tightened in knots. Those ugly, horrible monsters… Please, Celestia. Luna. Discord, too. Don’t let her down.

Twilight exhaled out her nose, expelling her righteous fury. Tonight was not the night for misguided heroism—an aspect of Starlight they both needed to address when all was back to a sense of normalcy.

“Do you understand, Starlight? Why we’re doing this?”

“Well, I’ll have you know I really do love it. Don’t go thinking I don’t!” Starlight’s eyes were ruddy, but bright and heartwarming as the smile on her face. “But I... I’ve just made so many mistakes, Twilight, that I dunno if… I, I just dunno—”

“And so have I,” said Twilight. “I’ve made mistakes, Starlight! You think I’ve handled this wisely? Me?”

“Better than I have, I’m sure.”

Twilight shook her head, daring not speak it aloud within public eye. Starlight understood, though. For sure. “The point being that we’ve both struggled reacting to this in a healthy way. But that’ll be the end of such talk from now on.”

Starlight looked miserably to the ground. “You’re right, I know. I’ve been such a downer lately.”

“Oh, Starlight, I meant the both of us.” Twilight drew her face in for her. She still avoided her gaze. “Starlight, please look at me.” She did after several attempts, unwitting to Twilight’s fierce need to hug her and be hugged by her. “I know parties aren’t really your cup of tea. And I know that you would’ve rather spent this evening with… some friends you know well.” Twilight banished any selfish notion that this didn’t include her before coming here. “But I’ve been worried sick about you ever since you lost your horn. All of us have. Call me suffocating if you want, I know I am, but I can’t help the way I feel because… Because, Starlight, as strong as you are, I can’t stand the thought of you isolating yourself for the sole purpose of suffering alone!” She waited for… something. It was stupid of her: Starlight, wide-eyed, awaited a point to all that. “S-so we got together, as a town, to show we want to be a part of your struggle. It’s a little strange, saying it aloud, but it’s true! We’re your friends, and we’re always gonna be there for you.”

“Th-thank you.” Starlight swallowed, her breathing frantic. “Twilight. For reminding me of your first lesson.”

‘Because friends will always be there for you… There’s nothing that a friend won’t do.’ And Twilight couldn’t help but grin. “I’ve often had to learn my lesson more than once. And if you fear failing again, well, ideally, you’ll never forget this night, huh?”

“No.” Starlight sniffled, shaking her head. “Nah, I don’t think I will.”

Twilight laughed in joy, and Starlight shyly chimed in. They hugged at once, as if having the same urge and acting on it at once. Starlight embraced her wholly as Twilight’s ears rang with the anxiety-inducing reminder of their rapt audience. They were cheering for this, cheering for Starlight to have happily accepted their gesture. And Twilight poured herself, her slamming heart, racing mind and all, into this fact, into the warmth wrapped around her.

They were hugging for the first time since Starlight’s life truly changed forever. Twilight didn’t realize how much she’d missed this, this closeness and warmth with one of her best friends. She missed it so badly she wept into Starlight’s mane, who didn’t say a word.

She didn’t need to. She tightened her hold as if to say she was sorry for the fight, and that this ugliness was behind them starting tonight.

Before long and deeper conversation could take place, a small army of hoofbeats, following Applejack and Pinkie Pie’s announcements, broke into several clusters which filtered through the Hive’s many tunnels, refurbished for the Gourd Fest. Several familiar, excited voices floated overhead, a testament to Ponyville’s enthusiasm to try a changeling-styled holiday.

It was always one of the more open-minded, open-hearted towns of Equestria. A sentiment Starlight shared into her shoulder: “I’m happy everypony seems excited, as opposed to feeling nervous. Being in the presence of their former enemies.”

Twilight huffed, smiling, batting the dampness from her eyes. “Their misunderstood enemies, mind you. You’re a great judge of character, Starlight. They trust in that enough to feel completely safe here.”

“Only because of you being here. You’d befriended His Royal Highness the same time as me, remember?”

She never, ever forgot that day, the lesson Spike had taught them both. “True. But whenever Trixie comes to town, you can bet the two of you will be visiting the Hive.”

“Right,” Starlight chortled. “And if the Great and Powerful Trixie can party with changelings, anypony can. Speaking of which…” She peeled herself away, leaving Twilight feeling vulnerable.

She had to tell herself there would be more to come as Starlight gestured right, mane swinging over her stump, falling on her right eye. “I’m gonna go find Trixie, and proceed to get emotionally bombarded and physically transgressed. Some of those by the hooves of changelings. I heard some of ‘em saying they wanted a hug.”

Twilight laughed to hide her disappointment. Of… course. Of course! Did I really think were we just going to talk all night? “I won’t keep you, then!” she said. “Have fun. I’ll be around if you need me.”

“I won’t forget. I promise!”

“Promise?” Twilight didn’t want to hope, but if Starlight truly, genuinely understood she was here to talk if need be…

Starlight nodded. “I promise… w-we’ll talk. Promise.” And with a nod, she dashed off into a throng of schoolkids, greeting them as she squeezed by, before vanishing into one of the five passages circulating the Hive from the Central Headroom. Thorax’s throne sat above it all, bare save for a lush backdrop of greenery and flowers.

Did he ever feel like he was screwing up in every way imaginable? Not a hypothesis Twilight wished to spoil his night nor her current glee with. She could go full-scientist on the kindly king of the changelings, grill him for a lesson in leadership. It’d been a while since she last reached “peak Egghead,” as Rainbow so lovingly called it. Thorax might not mind, either. Might accept it just as naturally and casually as he did this monumental request to accommodate Ponyville.

Twilight stopped in her tracks, wherever they were about to lead her. I still hadn’t thanked him for putting this together. The girls had worked themselves to the bone with Thorax, throwing this together at the last minute while Twilight “rested” (slept) her mistakes away. I need to find Thorax.

She wove between parting throngs of changelings and ponies—They look happy; oh, I hope Applejack didn’t promise every creature a moment with Starlight—splintering off into the various channels. Most, particularly the Ponyvillians, were eyeing the Hive and its residents with the wonder of a foal, many having yet to see a changeling until tonight. The last hour resembled the first hour of Canterlot High’s Fall Formal, but with changelings shying away from ponies as opposed to males and females. Similar social insecurities fueled both scenarios, namely that of uncharted territory.

Twilight sighed, smiling stupidly and not caring at all. Because Starlight, at last, knew she wasn’t alone. The core of her life, her relationships and her character, hadn’t lessened in the slightest because of this. Two aspects of her life that Twilight, if she were to guess, were the fears fueling her various actions and reactions toward her friends.

Those bonds which defined her were tighter than ever. That was something Hydia could never mutilate.

Starlight galloped.

Nowhere in particular or anything, like a normal pony, or towards something that would loosen this constricting of her lungs, like one with options.

She just galloped.

She galloped between pastel bodies furred and smooth, smiling at every pair of eyes pointed her way with a, “Hey there!” or a, “Thanks for coming!”

“Good to see you!”

Starlight galloped, their responses fading with the chatter-polluted air, the rush, until there existed only a heavy pounding, pounding in her ears.

“Hey, there! Thanks so much for coming!” To not raise any suspicion with prolonged talk, she added, “Gotta meet a friend!”

“Good to see ya!” She spoke, ran, recognized too much to acknowledge reality; that which existed solely within herself. Unknown to these ponies, who thought she was some selfless savior. “Sorry! Can’t talk! Gotta jet!” Who were presumed to have possessed malicious intent in crossing half the country tonight, by the only mare who would ever think such efforts were to feign pity.

That was painful to think about. They shouldn’t have bothered, she’d told herself as soon as Maud spoiled the surprise. If they didn’t care, they could have stayed in Ponyville.

Yeah, and risk social ‘suicide,’ as Pharynx would call it. That jerk. That stupid, correct jerk.

Starlight couldn’t decide which was worse: the fact that she was still questioning this, or that she might be right. Either way of thinking was “suicidal.” All of it was terrifying, and Starlight had no idea how to get out. She was drowning, buried under everything and everypony and their efforts and motivations likely or not.

It was too much to deal with.

And so Starlight galloped.

Or she did until rounding a bend, only to nearly collide with a pair of golden-halo eyes. “Oh, Starlight!” sung the melodious mare, rearing up so she’d collide into her soft, green coat, ensnaring Starlight in one monster hug.

She tensed up from ear to tail, and not because she was remembering the clammy vice grip of Hydia, far from it. “Please don’t touch me,” she enunciated. “I’m sorry, but—” I’m not much of a hugger.

“Whups!” Lyra released her, giggling. “Didn’t meanta invade your ‘bubble’ or whateves!” she said, recalling that oh-so-lovely scene Starlight made after first moving to Ponyville.

“I-It’s fine—”

“I never got to give Ms. Town Hero a traditional Heartstrings hug of gratitude, is all!” Lyra elbowed her.

“That’s all.” Like she’s obligated to say something to me. Heck, most of these ponies probably feel the same way. They hardly know me, let alone have spoken to me more than a few times.

Of course, she herself was to blame for that. Always choosing to spend time alone than with people, being antisocial. A weird loner.

“Ay!” Snap! Snap! Snap! Went the golden, stumpy claw that was so alike the witches’ that Starlight was still seeing them, slimy and mottled and warty and grimey long after Lyra’s illusion had dissipated. “Oh, crud, I broke ya.”

Her wife came up beside her, pulling Starlight out of the past. “Dear me, you actually did it,” Bon Bon remarked with a smirk. “I told you, she didn’t like being touched!”

“Yeah, but I like, wanted to show her how thankful I am! I mean it’s Twilight, Bon! She… she was my fillyhood friend back in Celestia’s School, and… and this mare right here… she...” Lyra’s voice broke, her brilliant, animated eyes glistening. She covered them with a foreleg before turning away. “Sorry. M’sorry, I’m not usually...”

Bon Bon stroked her beloved’s side in little circles. “There, there, Lyre-Love. She knows how much this meant to Equestria, it’s why she did it.”

Yep. And it was barely for the feelings of her friends but for the good of the country, thought Starlight. She was disgusting. A utilitarian approach, however valid, was not in line with Twilight’s teachings like she tricked herself into believing. I was probably acting in my own self-interests, too. Just like in Our Town, traveling to the past, my late friendship homework…

Bon Bon’s sad smile cut something deep within Starlight, or perhaps it was the loving, familiar way she maintained hoof-contact with the sniffling Lyra. “We’re both sorry, Starlight. And so incredibly grateful for your service to Equestria,” she said with a bow.

“Yep! And I’d do it again!” Starlight found herself saying. And walking. “I’d love to chew the fat, but somepony’s waiting for me.”

“Lucky them!” Lyra croaked, her voice melting into the continuous stream of ponies and changelings more preoccupied with each other than the pony who saved their beloved princess.

As it should be. It hurt to realize this, but her feelings didn’t matter. At least it’s proving more and more that my fears aren’t just mad conspiracies.

There was an open path down the middle of the bug-lit corridor. Starlight galloped its lengths, sliding between familiar faces. There wasn’t a single one—pony or changeling—that she didn’t recognize. And every one of them had responsibilities greater than some party in the middle of nowhere; families which demanded their time and energy, or businesses that couldn’t possibly make ends meet comfortably within the out-of-the-way town of Ponyville—-the Apples, Cakes, even the Riches of all ponies stood as walking, talking, smiling reminders of that painful reality.

Smiling, save for Spoiled, who blatantly asked what in Equestria happened to Starlight’s horn, like she was some kind of freak. Filthy and Diamond scolded her, despite Starlight’s passing reassurances.

She was right, after all. Half these ponies didn’t even know Starlight. If one of the most plugged-in ponies didn’t know of her accomplishment, how many did before they were asked by Twilight and her friends?

But they “wanted to be here,” according to Twilight. “For her.”

You mean because of me. It’d look bad if they declined the idea, she thought once more, rounding a bend to where no ponies were ahead. Starlight understood. She felt okay knowing that. No one wanted to be the social outcast, after all. No one wanted to be the party pooper, nor the fragile little egg who needed to be treated with care.

And no one really wanted to be around somepony like that.

I ought to be grateful. A mental kick faltered Starlight, nearly making her freeze just to hold her face in disgust. She pressed on, mind and body. It’s because she cares, you reactionary fool. But she ought to know better! I mean, dragging it out in front of virtually everypony I know? Only a genuine fool would speak from the heart in her horseshoes.

A fool who’d call them sentimental idiots or opportunistic liars for coming here tonight. For wasting their time on a pony who didn’t deserve their admiration, their time, the breath needed to say, “We love you, Starlight Glimmer!”

Starlight staggered to a stop, bracing herself against a wall. Panting. Trying to calm her heart, mind, her wild emotions. I almost believed them when they said that, too. She still did—tears welled forth only to be blinked away, the emotion gone just as quickly.

“I hate this,” Starlight breathed. Her chest hurt. It hurt so much, it ached worse the more she thought about this, but she couldn’t just ignore it like she thought she could. It wasn’t so easy; she just thoughtlessly leaped into a half-baked plan like always. Always.

Always.

“I hate this so much.”

“St-Starlight?”

And Twilight… she’s afraid of losing me. The original me. And I’m—I’ve been—spitting in her face all this time. Oh, gosh, why am I like this? Why do I think she’s some kind of monster out to get me?! Twilight was a friend who lost sleep trying to put this together, praying it would make Starlight smile again.

And it was having the opposite effect. Starlight didn’t know how to change herself.

“Starlight, hey—”

A white-tipped hoof grabbed her by the shoulder, eerily resembling a grimy, foreleg-sized finger. “Go away—!” Starlight stopped herself just short of hitting a shrinking stallion in the face. His identity left her cold. Not him. No. Please. Anypony, literally anypony, but him!

She couldn’t bear for him to see her like this, even on a good day: hornless and stupid and irrational and—

“S-Starlight?” He cocked his head, auburn mane and goatee flouncing with cleanliness. “It’s me, Sunburst! Your friend... ” His smile was warm and it left her cold, only to be whisked away by dejection, and Starlight desperately wanted that tenderness to come back. “Oh, I knew it! You must think I’m some kind of—”

“S-Sunburst, oh gosh!” Starlight spoke as if she’d snapped out of a trance. “I—you startled me! I didn’t expect you there, I almost clobbered you. Ar-are you okay?”

He fixed his spectacles, smile returned. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I-I’m the one who should be sorry, I shouldn’t have grabbed you! Considering—”

“Considering what?” Starlight wanted to hit herself. He’s just. Trying. To be a good friend. “I mean…!” She forced a cheeky exterior, easing Sunburst as she amended, “Kidding! Ah-heh, kidding…” Sunburst laughed like he wanted to be anywhere but here. “Um, thanks! For coming down. And for seeking me out like that.”

“It’s no problem. Sorry for scaring you.”

Starlight waved it off. “Oh, I’m just jumpy right now. I’m glad you’re considerate enough to apologize for it, unlike some of these ponies. I know they mean well, but, sheesh!”

Sunburst nodded, looking quite the composed wizard these days as he stroked his beard. “You’ve never been a fan of hugs.”

“You were always the exception.” Starlight felt dazed with stupidity all of a sudden. “N-not that I’m asking for anything right now! Not that I’d mind it, but that was years ago! And we’re both, we’re both so different now. Our boundaries changed, first foremost. And… and I don’t even have a horn anymore! And, and—” Starlight shook her head. This was dumb. Sunburst knew she had no feelings for him. “Look, just don’t read into that, buster.”

Sunburst could barely contain his snickering. “I’m not! I won’t! But you sure are making it easy for a passerby to get the wrong idea.”

“Please. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Starlight smirked. “Having finally worked up the courage to touch a mare who isn’t Flurry Heart, oh, Stellar Flare would be so proud.”

Sunburst shrank back, muzzle flushed. “A-alrighty then.”

“I’m kidding! Kidding,” Starlight laughed. It had always been easy to get him going.

“Well, I am not!” Sunburst cried in a faux-Canterlot accent. In a swish of star-spangled blue, he whirled back toward the passage Starlight had emerged from. “If you’re the type to be vulgar,” he quoted to her delight, “then you don’t deserve the lavish comforts I can provide!” He trotted against the oncoming river of party guests, who greeted Starlight betwixt their own conversations.

She had to laugh. It was just like their last Gala when they went as each other’s ‘plus one.’ “Come back, Prince Blueblood,” she droned aloud, “I’ll have that dance, I promise!”

Sunburst stomped to a stop, missing her faux-dismay like the pompous royal as he screeched in the accent, “Nay! You’ve wounded my feelings, and now you will pay the price!”

Starlight gasped with all the horror she felt now, replicating that which she’d experienced at the Gala. “No, please! You don’t mean…”

“Yes,” Sunburst hissed, storming back. “You shall hear from my Auntie about this! You shall rue the day you spurned the hoof of Prince Blueblood, Starlight Glimmer of Sire’s Hollow!”

“Hey, you’re getting pretty good at that!”

“I’ve had a lot of practice! You know I saw him the last time I took Flurry to visit her aunts?”

“Jeez, I hope he didn’t admonish you for ‘plucking his dainty peasant flower,’” Starlight mocked in their dialect, skillfully hiding how she’d forgotten all about Sunburst’s last visit to Ponyville, coming off of social-political games with Canterlot’s upper crust.

It was the week Twilight fell ill, and the last Starlight saw of her bubbly baby niece.

Sunburst sighed, shamelessly relieved. “No, no. He forgot all about it, I think. All his attention was on Flurry Heart. E-everypony’s was actually.”

Of course he did, the jerk. He barely cared about Starlight beyond her appearance, something it seemed nopony ever noticed. And they definitely won’t now without judging her by that thing on her forehead. Not even Sunburst had ever complimented her, apart from a friendly, ‘You look nice’ before locking forelegs at the Gala’s start.

”‘Dainty flower,’” she muttered. “Still can’t believe the dope called me that.”

“Up-up! ‘Dainty peasant flower.’”

“Right! Right, how could I forget the taste of vomit in my mouth as he said that?” Starlight tittered.

“Can you believe he thought he was being suave? Or complimentary?” Sunburst shook his head in disbelief. “It’s just how they are, those capital types.”

“He was definitely being suave by their conceited standards,” said Starlight. “I’d have been dumb enough to take it as a compliment had Rarity not warned me of Blue-boy ahead of time.” It was enough to distract her from the fact that Blueblood was, also, the first ever stallion to ask Starlight Glimmer for a dance.

The second stallion to do so shook his head. “I wouldn’t call them ‘conceited’ per se.”

Starlight flatly told him, “Sunburst, they’re conceited. They think they’re better than everypony who doesn’t live with their heads in the literal-figurative clouds like the rest of ‘em. They judge a ponies’ worth by how trendy they are, not by their character.” If they did, Canterlot would see itself for the tinfoil-clad garbage culture it truly was.

“Canterlot in general is out-of-touch with the rest of the world,” said Sunburst. “Take it from someone who had to live there. It makes sense why the prince believed himself cordial—he recognized that you were beautiful.”

‘Were.’ Starlight blocked out the word and the ache in her chest. “No, no, I get it.” Despite his behavior, Starlight held no ill will towards the stuffy royal. It was only the prince’s reaction that got her going if she thought about it for too long. “Doesn’t change the fact that he thought I owed him a dance on account of being royalty.”

“Upstarted royalty, at that.”

“Technically, all the royalty of Equestria is made of upstarts. They just hide behind their massive age numbers.”

“Right,” snickered Sunburst. “Because Flurry Heart’s hefty three years of life hides her origins like some sorta ancient myth a la ‘The Mare in the Moon.’”

“Hm, point taken.” They chuckled together, gently as Starlight fell into the veil of vines stitched into a dense mesh against the wall. The Lounge, she realized. A quick gaze revealed an open-sky packed with as many stars as there were firebugs, and half as many equines and bugs mingling beneath. There was a bustling juice bar, a live band playing smooth jazz with gourd-crafted instruments, and clusters of either bean bag chairs or big, plush mushrooms occupying each corner, all of them in use by a pack of one of the two species.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Sunburst’s eyes were on the same sight, eyes alight with the twinkles of firebugs. “To be the first pony-changeling Gourd Fest in history. Despite it being your, what, second? Third?”

“My second. Still,” Starlight sighed, forehead sharply twisting, “a shame it’s overshadowed by me.”

Sunburst looked like he just insulted her dead mother by mistake. “Oh. Oh, goodness, I-I am so, so sorry I didn’t say anything, Starlight. Or that I didn’t come see you as soon as I’d heard. It wasn’t until yesterday, honest! But that’s no—”

She held a hoof up, smiling as she was stabbed in the chest over and over again. ‘Till yesterday, huh? Cadance didn’t tell Sunburst because it’d distract him from Flurry Heart. Huh… That makes sense, actually!

At least Sunburst was a more loving friend than the Princess of Love. “I get it,” said Starlight. “It’s cool.”

“But I said nothing, even now when we’re finally talking! I noticed how sad you looked when talking to Twilight, and it just…” With a sigh, Sunburst’s glasses floated from his closing eyes, rubbed down in a manipulated fold of his cloak. His sorrow then impaled her where she stood as he replaced them. “It hurt to watch,” he croaked. “I remember how you’d always find a solution to our problems when we were kids. Regardless if it was a particularly good one, you would just… go for it, no matter how glum I’d gotten. And just the effort cheered me up… And yet,” he continued, smile crestfallen, “when my time came to step up, I was too scared to say ‘I’m sorry.’”

Starlight sighed, falling into her first friend for a moment, their forelegs entangling just as long. “Please, Sunburst, please don’t beat yourself up about this.” It was her fault for not seeking his comfort in the first place. How did that make him feel? “Your aloofness is part of what I always liked about you anyway.”

“I seem to remember that annoying you, past and present.” The near-disastrous weekend where he “stole” Starlight’s friends, having more in common with them, resurfaced like a bad taste in her mouth.

“Maybe on the outside,” said Starlight. “But inside, it was our thing. You know? Familiar, I guess… I-It sounds dumb, I know, but it’s like some part of you knows me well enough not to apologize, presuming what I wanna hear right now,” she said, smiling honestly. “Instead, we talked. We joked, like always. And you didn’t make one mention of my horn. I didn’t feel like a… a freak,” Starlight croaked, heart burning raw with realization: she’d never thought of it that way until now. And she did—it made her feel like a freak to have ponies stare at her and treat her like some prized sculpture. “Intentional or not, thanks for being my aloof goof of a friend.”

“Well, if you feel that strongly, I guess I’ve done something right here!” Sunburst leveled her with a stern look, one of deep concern. “I hope this isn’t emblematic of how you’ve been approaching the healing process regarding, ah…”

He nodded to her forehead.

“That isn’t healthy, Starlight. Simply not addressing what happened, pretending everything’s the same.”

Starlight cringed. “Yeah, I tried that the first couple days. Not gonna lie.” Even so, she was still crushed and compressed underneath a metric-ton of emotions neither of them, least of all Sunburst, had the desire to delve into. Especially since that might take the whole night, like that… dream… with Luna.

All over again.

“Uh, Starlight?” Sunburst cocked his head. “Why are you making your ‘eureka’ face?”

“Take notes from my experience as well as your own, Starlight: talk to somepony. Disclose your fears and dispel all doubts, lest you doom yourself to the same mistakes I’ve made.”

What a time to suddenly remember Luna’s parting words. Her heart still weighed heavy. Even if I could work up the nerve to talk now, it’s far too late and will definitely not be solved in the span this party will last. Sunburst has a baby to take care of, his own life! I can’t distract him from that! And there’s leagues between Ponyville and the Crystal Empire! And I need somepony I can come to at any time. Letters won’t be enough, I need… I need to hear a voice.

I need somepony to tell me right away that I’m not as broken as I feel. Whose opinion I won’t be waiting with bated breath for a week, terrified of how they’re going to judge my messy, ridiculous emotions.

Starlight shook her head. “I just remembered, I’ve talked about all this with somepony. More or less,” she added quickly.

Sunburst’s eyes practically popped out of his head. “Y-y-y-you have? Who?! Why’ve you not told anyp—”

Her hoof impeded his words. All she said was, “Princess Luna,” and Starlight knew Sunburst would understand why she’d keep this private.

Unless he figured she was lying, and realized she just forgot, but that was ridiculous. It was ridiculous to have up and forgotten a visit from Luna.

Yet Sunburst gasped like a mare, never the presumptuous type (perhaps that’s what made him easy to talk to right now). “You had a lucid therapeutic dream with the Princess of the Night? Ooh, I am so jealous!” he cried. “Oh, what was it like? How did it feel? Was the advice she gave you helpful? A-answer that one first, of course. Apologies.” He cleared his throat, pushing back his spectacles. “Proceed,” he finished sagely.

Starlight took a moment, reeling from the fact that Sunburst was a Luna fancolt. “Uh…” And that he cared. “Well…” Sunburst was here, Sunburst cared. He was concerned. He was willing to listen and talk, just as Luna advised! But…

But it wasn’t enough. But there wasn’t enough time. But he might not understand.

But I can’t ruin his night! Starlight realized instantly that he wouldn’t mind. Would he though? Twilight said I won’t, but she barely knows me anymore! She doesn’t know the garbage going on in my brain! It’d poison Sunburst’s night, too, it’d be all he thinks about! And he’s here to see a changeling holiday with his own eyes, to experience it, and his stupid crippled ex-best friend is in no way relevant to that equation! But how do I dodge his question—?

“Yo-yo, nerds!” Rainbow descended on them with a bulbous purple cluster. And then it clicked—and Starlight felt herself smiling fondly.

“I should’ve figured you would be into fruitball,” she said.

“Heck yeah!” Dash touched down, tucking the big boysenberry underneath her foreleg. “I’ve been pegging guys left and right, and not one’a them got me yet! I’m undefeated!” she bellowed. “Woof! Aw, yeah, this is fun! Way cooler than buckball! You eggheads wanna join?”

Sunburst stammered. Starlight shook her head. “I’d be useless, Rainbow.” The pegasus faltered in her amusement, she inhaled ready to reply. “I’m sorry! By the way… For, just now.” Ruining her good vibe. “And for the other day.”

“Pssh!” Rainbow rolled her eyes, smile renewed. “You worry too much about the little things. C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

Sunburst and his messy hair, crooked glasses and wobbly smile stepped into view. “What do you say, Starlight?”

She looked to either pony. Their smiles. Their hope—anxiety fueling them. A fear Starlight would make another scene? Ruin the game with a magical accident? My horn hurts and it’s kinda scary because it shouldn’t. So she very well could.

“I…”

Sunburst stepped forward, concerned. “Starlight? Is everything okay?”

A swelling pressure was promptly blinked away. “Yeah! Yeah, no, I’m just… thinking! About the level of my ability.”

Rainbow chuckled. “Ya don’t have to overthink it, dummy. Just have fun!”

Manure. Pure manure. Rainbow loved winning more than anything. “Uh… I think I’m good!” Starlight grinned. “Yeah, no, I’m good! You two go off without me, though. I’m gonna busy myself with something less…” Risky. “...Intensive.”

Sunburst didn’t move to push his glasses up to his huge eyes—uncomprehending, for how could the strong Starlight Glimmer be so afraid of failing a game?

For many reasons, Sunburst. Reasons you don’t need to waste your time worrying over.

Rainbow didn’t seem to care as much. Almost like this was expected, she shrugged with an easy smile and said, “M’kay. I won’t force ya if you don’t wanna.” Her wings slammed downward, kicking up dust and wind and herself a foot off the ground. “But if you change your mind and find your battle spirit, I’mma dominate this fruitball thing till eleven. Sunburst, you in?”

“U-uh…” He cast a worrying glance over to Starlight. She wore a smile, forced a nod. He didn’t need to stay with her. Sunburst turned to Rainbow, smiling wearily. “Sure, why not?”

“Great! Seeya in the Gamer Chamber. Tunnel Five!” And she was off, gone in a flash of cyan.

Sunburst turned to Starlight. “I-is everything o—?”

She pushed his cloaked backside before he could turn fully. “Go, you over-analytical dorkwad!”

With a chuckle and something else he said, Sunburst vanished down Tunnel Three. Starlight sighed with relief—Sunburst was the last pony she wanted to bother with her problems.

“I gotta say,” remarked a country drawl from behind, “ain’t never seen another pony so danged thankful to avoid spendin’ time with ‘er friends.”

Starlight could just pretend she didn’t hear her and leave. But her forehead twinged dully, shifting toward her left temple as if leading her around to where Applejack stood, whose gaze widened slowly upon locking eyes. Starlight must have looked like a mess. She lacked the strength to try the impossible and fake it with her.

“Interested in takin’ a load off, sugarcube?” Applejack turned, revealing a tray with two stone mugs on top.

Of all the ponies. Starlight cursed her luck. She didn’t realize they had missed each other until now, on this night no less. It had to be the living lie detector spell....

Starlight made a smile. “Sure! Why not?”

When you spend your whole life battling the habit of lying, within yourself and your kin, you gain an extra sense of sorts that’s able to sniff out manure before fully grokking it. Something in Applejack’s brain just lit up when that smell wafted her way.

Not that she was looking for lies, hankering a sniff of manure, but Starlight sure did reek of it. The lying sort, that is—not the earthy stuff that told of a day in the fields, your muscles barking for a long soak in the tub.

Nope, the nastier of two seldom dirtied Applejack. Pa had often told her that a lie was just the truth muddied up, so it was easier to be honest from the start and avoid the trouble. A lesson which never truly stuck until after he and Ma were gone, and Big Mac dang-near got his eggs scrambled over at Ponyville General because of a mix-up with the Riches. From then on, Applejack tried, and often failed, to pass her wisdom unto others. Over time her friends remembered their history, at least, and were more open than ever.

Starlight, though… Fluttershy’s gabbed with oysters more open than this frightened filly.

“So! Why I’d gone and avoided everypony!”

Starlight was wetter than AJ after a hard day’s work. “Yeah, Starlight, that’s what I’d asked.”

“Part of me always appreciated that bluntness of yours. The honesty,” she confessed, like it was some secret.

“So you’ve said many a time,” Applejack replied, smiling. Her brows furrowed and she asked with all her heart, “But what’s got your tongue, Sugar? Not them magic varmints that went and robbed ya, I hope.”

“It wasn’t a robbery.”

“As Twilight’s assured us up and down.” Almost like she was tryna convince herself. “Pardon me for doing my duty as your friend, but I’ve been thinkin’ those storybook monsters only you and Flutters had seen hide n’ tail of did somethin’ to ya’s. By words or some curse, I dunno. But it’s a might suspicious and mighty sad to think about.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Starlight tried to ask casually.

YEE-haw! I’m on the right track! But Applejack wasn’t going to jump the gorge unless certain she could make it. But by this point, any progress felt like a mile of distance crossed. “Like the two o’ you can hardly speak of ‘em. And when ya do, you in particular’r acting like what they did was justified. Deal or no, that ain’t what I’m after!” she said as Starlight was ready to object. “I’m just thinking that there’s something… more, about these varmints that you ain’t telling me. Fluttershy, well, you know how she is… how she’s been.” That poor filly, she could still hardly keep it in when the subject came up. But she was getting better, stronger.

“But you, Starlight, you’re as knowledge-hungry as our Twilight and more blunt than I! So what’s got you being all quiet and distant from us?” Starlight squeezed her eyes shut, a spitting image of Fluttershy with her dams about to burst.

“That was a lot, I apologize,” AJ said, placing her stetson above her pounding heart. “But can’t you see what this’s been doing to us?” She continued as Starlight nodded quickly, “You’re avoidin’ your friends over this, and that’s got us a might worried like you wouldn’t believe.” Starlight was looking more regretful by the word. “I ain’t tryna corner you, hon, I’m just dyin’ to help ya.” And that was a fact; Applejack’s heart ached every which way it could since Starlight screamed like that, realizing her horn and her magic was gone forever. “And if I’m being frank, that’s what it feels like I gotta do to get ya to open up.” Twilight stressed up and down not to pressure her, but desperate times came for desperate measures, and Twilight didn’t become Princess of Friendship by instincts alone, besides.

“I… Applejack, I’m sorry!” Starlight’s pupils quivered something awful before collapsing on her dinner plate. “But I won’t tell you.”

For land’s sake, why’s she so danged tongue-tied? Pa had always said, ‘An honest pony never avoids your eyes.’ Those who did so might very well be lying to themselves—a fear the others who’d spoken with Starlight like the reliable friends they were—had voiced countless times already.

Applejack would not be the next. “Bottling it up ain’t healthy, Starlight. You ain’t never gonna heal your heart if ya keep picking at the scabs.”

“Gross,” Starlight muttered. “And so, what, deciding to handle it myself, telling you that you’ve got it all wrong?”

“So, what, you really are just doin’ this to yourself?” Anger climbing, Applejack slapped her hat unto the table and said, “Shoot, girl! What’s got in your head that’s makin’ ya go and think that’s better than talking to your friends?”

“Like you would understand.”

“Pardon?” She knew Ma and Pa were long gone. Starlight was smart, and empathetic to a fault. She ought to know Applejack didn’t just shrug her shoulders and move on, like Starlight wanted others to think, and AJ herself did half her lifetime ago.

“Regardless,” Starlight continued, “you think that’s me rolling around in my own misery? Out of habit—like picking at a scab I can’t not pick?”

“You’re reading into my countryisms, sugarcube. I’m only saying that you ain’t letting yourself process this right.”

“Oh, I am.”

Applejack couldn’t take it anymore. “So threatening your friendship with Twilight?” She glanced left down the table, where ponies and changelings ate and conversed. She hissed closer, “That’s your version of a healthy healin’ process?”

Starlight glared, bright and sudden-like. “You’ve no idea what Twilight was ready to do! I had to save her from making a stupid decision.”

“Like you?” Applejack wondered at the interesting choice of words.

Starlight’s burning gaze persisted, even as she said with sinister calm, “You think that saving Twilight was stupid?”

She wished Starlight didn’t word it that way, but… “Naw, just that it seems it’s how you’re feelin’. More’r less.”

“Well I’m not!” she cried, a little too hastily. She flushed and shrunk into her shoulders when hushed by Applejack.

Real or imagined, she could feel stares this poor girl definitely didn’t want—ever, but especially now. “I didn’t mean for this to get so heated,” said Applejack.

“No, I’m sorry,” her friend uttered quickly. Avoiding her eyes. “I’m just… sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, a-and—” Tears beaded her eyes. Applejack reached across the table, elbow in the grease of her plate, to grab Starlight’s hoof, her awe and attention.

It was like nopony’s touched her in days. This poor girl, what was going on in her heart? “Breathe in,” AJ instructed, watching as Starlight reluctantly inhaled, “breathe out.” She did so. “Keep a cool head, now, sugar. You’re fine, you’re fine!” AJ gently assured her as tears and her muzzle fell away. “Oh, Starlight, what’s going on with you?” she fretted. She was so fragile, like little Apple Bloom that time she was bullied. It made her big sister-instinct sick to her stomach, just as it did now. “You can talk to me, hon, you know you can.”

Starlight gasped sharply, wiping away her eyes. Cheeks flushed. “Just leave me Applejack, please.”

“You know as well as I that that ain’t gonna happen.” Starlight buried her face in her hooves; cries echoed hollowly within. AJ could only stroke her foreleg, unable to give her a hug that would remind her of them witches.

I feel like I’m just making it worse. Twilight stressed for them not to force anything, but times were desperate and Starlight needed a friend who would drag the truth out, kicking and screaming. That’d make it a whole lot better in the long run. A whole lot better.

It had to. Had to, dang nabbit!

“Starlight? I’mma let you cool off for a minute, cuz I’m still famished.” She nodded, face still buried. “When I get back, we’re gonna have a nice, long chat. You hankering for anything?” A shake of the head. Applejack felt gutted, not hearing so much as a peep from her forward and talkative friend. “Not even a slice o’ my family’s apple pie with whipped cream?”

“No. M’good... Full.” Despite having nothing but eggs. A pony needed three meals a day to keep herself going! “I ate before coming here.”

“Thought you was starvin’,” mused Applejack, acting humored. “As soon as we got to this here Gourmet.” By way of Tunnel Two, or something. Applejack just followed her nose and led them right, to Starlight’s genuine amazement. “Said you could eat whatever’s sauteed in them spices. Heh, even if they were rocks!” Starlight didn’t move. She didn’t smile. Applejack would say she messed up if she had a smidgen of an idea as to how. “Starlight, hon, is this a pride thing? An’ I don’t mean dinner, but, well, everything! And that ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of! Y’know, I myself’m quite familiar with—”

“Thank you, but I’m good,” Starlight rudely interrupted. Didn’t even have the respect to look up from her spotless plate. As if that meant anything: a couple carrots and celery left nothing in the way of a mess—something the Apples believed any good meal should leave behind.

Applejack sighed before getting up. “Alright, then. Be back in a jiffy.”

“Sure.”

Golly. What kinda friendship problem is so darn… impenetrable? She knew better than to make a dog drink water it didn’t care for. AJ disliked that very much, because the fool animal would hurt itself if it didn’t. But that didn’t give her an excuse to force these things down anypony’s throat.

It was hard, but that was life.

Failing, though, that was easy. Losing oneself in work was even easier: waking up at the crack of dawn, cracking down trees, cracking down forks from biting too hard because all AJ could hear was the crack of Starlight’s voice, the pitch of her scream rising as she realized second by second that her life was changed forever.

Those apple trees took the worst of her abuse, splintering into jagged stumps not unlike the poor girl’s horn, rather than those witch-things’ faces. Granny told her to take the day off, but farm work was family work, and family took priority over everything. Except friends were family, too, and Applejack was left with this burning hatred she couldn’t expel: for herself, for failing Twilight and Starlight, and the varmints who went and broke them both.

That’s right. Both. Not that AJ would breathe a word of that to Twilight, what with everything going on. Being a little fractured, though, that was justified in these circumstances. Expected.

But Applejack was supposed to be the dependable friend, and she was useless in helping either of them. So much so that she didn’t think Starlight wanted her wisdom if she hadn’t sought it already.

And that, right there, was mighty self-pitying of Applejack.

When Granny, Mac and Bloom called for a house meeting last night, explaining this idea where they’d bake pies night and day for a changeling party, Applejack saw her chance. She didn’t realize she was waiting for it, but she did then: a chance to be the friend Starlight needed—-deserved—-after everything she’d done last week and beyond.

A chance to make up for being caught between grief and rage and all-around exhaustion, jumping from Twilight’s sickness to Starlight’s everything, while Pinkie and the rest were hard at work tryna salvage what was broken by Hydia—a forgotten piece of Applejack’s foalhood she left in the oven to burn ignored along with her self-pity.

Here, now, Applejack had her chance to stand tall, dust herself off, and do right by her friends.

It’d been easy, losing herself in her work, being a coward… a bad friend. But Applejack much preferred the hard right way instead of the easy wrong way.

After all, if life were easy, she would still have Ma and Pa, and Starlight a horn.

Wait a sec… How long had I been standing here? Applejack blinked, like she was seeing the Gourmet for the first time, when really it was this situation. Everything before her—the empty plate sitting in her foreleg, the two-dozen picnic tables packed with patrons—cast in the same toasty glow by way of a nifty firebug canopy snapped into existence. Everycreature’s chattering erupted around her, Applejack’s nose teased by the sizzle of fryers, the savory smells of pies and sweets, soups, and roasts wafting above the buffet line she was standing in.

Just thinking.

Daydreaming like the danged bumpkin she was written off as instead of keeping her eyes on her aching, breaking friend

And Applejack felt so, so stupid for missing the obvious signs. The parallels between them.

Sure enough, when she turned back to their table, Starlight was gone. Her plate remained, and her untouched mug of hot cider.

“Gosh darnit.” Applejack grabbed and threw her hat upon the ground. “Gosh darnit!” she cried, to the surprise of the changeling before her and Carrot Top behind.

“Yesss-ah,” Trixie gasped, a viscous sweetness electrocuting her taste buds as she clapped her stone cup face-down. “Well, well, it seems nunna ya got anything on the Great Trixie! C’mon already, drink like your life depends on it. Drink!” One by one, groans, gasps, and the mutterings of sore losers at her table wove between the weighty womps beating sonorously against the air. “Yeah, yeah, pay up already,” Trixie shouted over the music.

Mandible, Lily, Daisy, and Roseluck cast their acorns in the middle, a pile which zipped toward Trixie’s awaiting forelegs through her gorgeous sunset-pink aura. She snuggled her bounty, tingly with victory. She inhaled deep, the faint, nutty smell a heavenly break from the citrusy aroma stinging her nostrils.

“That was unreal, how’d you do it?” asked the most skittish of the sisters.

Trixie smiled, her little game finally easing even Daisy up. Granted she was fueled by one whammy of a sugar rush, being first-time drinkers and all, but hey, it worked! And it was Trixie’s brilliant idea, after all.

Four sets of eyes, one of which a glowering like the halves of a lime, ogled her like she had a broken horn or something.

Right! They were waiting for an answer. “I’m sorry?” Trixie leaned in. “Music’s too loud,” she lied.

Roseluck snorted, sniggering into her forelegs as Daisy held her forehead in despair. “Trix-ie!” she whined, massaging it.

“Ohhhh, that was a little too much sugar.” Lily was barely audible over Vinyl Scratch’s grating rhythm. “I’m feeling kinda… shleepy… girlsh.” A great yawn, and then the table jingled with the impact of Lily’s blonde head.

Mandible chittered, her shoulders bouncing. “I thought all you ponies ate were cakes and pies,” she remarked.

“Grass, hay and flowers balance it out.” Daisy circled the rim of her granite mug. “Lily here lives a sugar-free lifestyle, though.”

For a second they watched her snore, Lily’s namesake dropping from her ear a beat before exhaling.

“Does that serve a higher function?” Mandible pointed, centimeters from touching it. “Is it… some sort of pony mating call?”

It took Daisy a second to realize she was being asked. “O-oh! Um, well, no. Not really. She likes the way it looks, though.”

“Uh, me too,” grunted Mandible.

Friend or lover-hunting, Trixie cooed into the air regardless, howling like a fool too high on sugar to care.

“Hey! Uh, shaddap! Quiet, or you’re givin’ me twenty!” Trixie couldn’t help but giggle harder, delirious. The flustered bug’s hoof blasted forth into Trixie’s belly.

“Oh-h’oh!” she laughed, gasped, and groaned all at once. “Don’t touch Trixie’s tummy, you brutish bug!”

Daisy’s own giggling fluttered from across the table, her one conscious sister propped on a foreleg beside her, eyes half-lidded, smirk the pinnacle of dopey. Roseluck said, “You should tell Lily thatcha think she’s a cutie pie. She’d like that.”

“I didn’t—” Mandible blinked, then stood up. “I am getting more nectar. Please, do not leave.”

Once she was out of earshot (which, in this noisy place, was as soon as she left the table), Trixie hummed at the two happy sisters. “A ‘please?’ Goodness, Muscle-For-Brains really likes you girls.”

Daisy adopted a sheepish look. “Does she? I thought we were an-n-noying her.”

Trixie waved. “Oh, she likes anypony willing to talk to her. There was this whole episode, right? Where she was getting all antsy because most of the changelings were still afraid of their old drill instructor, and Pharynx wasn’t making it any easier. My assistant and I made it better, but as you can see, the change definitely hasn’t done much for her washboard of a personality. Nor has she gotten over the fact that the Great and Powerful Trixie is still the best drinker in the Hive.” She could imagine Mandible owing up to her petulant vow, and training since the last Gourd Fest by chugging a mug of water every day.

And she still wasted her time! Trixie grinned like a fool; it’s nice being the best once in a while.

“Trixie,” Roseluck said suddenly, “I’ve been meaning to ask, but where’s Starlight?”

A blink. Trixie found her mug less judgemental. “How should I know? You’ve seen the turnout. She could be drowning in adoration and tears for all I know.” Trixie wished she didn’t sound so bitter. Especially because those suffocating her were probably making Starlight all sorts of uncomfortable. She didn’t want this. Twilight assumed she did.

Silver lining: she had ponies who wanted to fawn over her.

“I’m just surprised.” Roseluck smiled knowingly at her mug. “All week we’ve seen Starlight… and, well, she only looks happy around you and Maud Pie. That’s gotta be one special friendship.”

Trixie’s heart squirmed. Fast. “What’re you implying?”

“Wh-what? Nothing—”

“Because we aren’t an item. And Maudie likes stallions, besides.”

Roseluck mouthed ‘O-kay’ as she turned to her unconscious sister, combed her silky, bouncy blonde mane out of her face.

Let the judge and gossip. Trixie didn’t care. Nopony would ever understand what she and Starlight had, or Starlight and Maud, or even, to a strange extent Trixie still hadn’t fully deciphered, herself and the strong, silent geologist. They wouldn’t understand. They would try, conclude, and gossip, just like every pony ever has before Trixie truly became Great and Powerful with the love and support of her best friend.

Daisy’s eyes brightened suddenly. “Oh, yeah! Before I forget again, how’d you do that, Trixie? It’s insane, the way you gulped all that in a second.”

It wasn’t exactly one second, but…

“Practice. Experience… Oh! And, well, a magician never reveals her secrets, but let’s just say Trixie’s honed her body for years upon years, learning to take in water for her more death-defying stunts.”

“Holy smokes,” Daisy drawled, blinking just as slow. “And now you can just chug these big bowls in three seconds flat?” Her eyes snapped open suddenly, hoof rapping the beginnings of a dramatic ballad against the table.

“Uh, yes?” Trixie rose a brow. “Is there something you need to say?”

“I-I gotta go find Rainbow Dash! She’ll give you a challenge!” Daisy stumbled around and away from the roundtable, tripping a little before going off like a neon-pink bullet down Tunnel Four.

“Eh.” Trixie shrugged. “I’m always in the mood to shame Rainbow Dash. If she’s even founded.”

With a snort, Lily picked her head up and looked around, blinking like she just woke up somewhere strange. “Wha’ happened? Where’sh,” she yawned, yawned, yawned… “oof, sheesh... Daisy? Where’d you put my sister, Trixie?”

Roseluck inhaled, supposedly buried within the cacophony of the Dance Lounge, only to be startled by the slamming of a tray with four bowls of nectar. “I’m back, gang,” said Mandible.

That was quick, Trixie mused. No way the meathead paragon of the Hive, second only to Pharynx, would fly to the Lounge sugared-up. She must have gotten these from Tarsal, whose white serving coat was seen gliding along the outskirts in Trixie’s peripheral every so often.

“Hey, what happened to the blindingly-colored earth pony?” asked Mandible.

Roseluck licked her lips, dragging an orange-filled bowl over. “Daisy went to find an actual challenge for Trixie n’ knock her down a peg.”

“Hey, I’m right here!” she and Mandible cried as one.

Trixie shook her head; the nerve of some ponies. It suddenly occurred to her there wasn’t a fifth serving. “You didn’t get me any?”

“Get one yourself, Trix. I serve new friends only.” Mandible smiled wryly, her tangerine carapace shifting with greens and purples of the special firebugs from the Frozen North. “And quit feeling so proud of yourself. It’s irritating. S’not like you actually won anything.”

That… was true. “First of all… I. Love. Acorns.” Mandible didn’t seem to care as Trixie magically beaned her noggin with every word. “Second, proving naysayers wrong is always a worthy endeavor in of itself.” The changeling hissed and snapped her fangs, nearly biting Trixie’s nose off.

The ex-captain of the infiltrators hooted like she just pulled a good joke. “Well, there’s nothing more to prove as far as I can see! Congrats, ‘stage-pony,’ your ability to chug nectar like a newborn grub is unparalleled.”

“Among other things.” The music, like a great dragon’s strangled bellow, overwhelmed any terror lingering in Trixie’s voice. It’s not like she really thought Mandible would bite her nose… again.

“I’d challenge you to prove that for once instead of just talking big, but I don’t wanna waste this party spectating your, ah, ‘magic show.’”

“Ooh,” Lily and Roseluck uttered softly, to Trixie’s climbing displeasure.

“So unless you can teleport a mug of nectar directly into your stomach, I’d say you oughta go find your next ego-boost.” Mandible shook her head. “What’s with you, anyway, Trixie? Challengin’ me to something so superfluous?” Trixie was done. “It’s like you’re tryna heal some kinda shattered pride.” Trixie stood. “Aw, c’mon, grubling! I was only teasing!”

She got too personal. Only friends could do that. “Hm? Sorry? Oh, wasn’t listening! The music’s too LOUD!”

Mandible waved her off, turning back to the daft sisters. Twilight, even Starlight, would take this opportunity to lecture Mandible about sensitivity or whatever, but she didn’t deserve that. She ought to learn the hard way, perhaps hurt her new friends by virtue of having an abrasive personality. That would show her, make her realize that most ponies, and changelings, didn’t have very thick shells to hide in.

As Trixie neared the dance floor and the mass of swaying partygoers, the pulsing air throbbed incessantly like a great, synthetic heartbeat. ‘Dance, Trixie,’ it told her. ‘Dance your worries, your dread, your aching heart away. You earned it after doing Prin-cess Twi-light’s job for her.’ That seemed like a good idea. Or it could’ve been every word Mandible had said, fueling her thoughts. The Cakes stopped her a moment, leading their wide-eyed foals whilst chatting with the pretty (even by Trixie’s refined standards) Elytra and… that one nymph who dreamt incessantly of baking and selling pony sweets.

Trixie was definitely going to dance. But first, she needed another drink or twelve within her. Enough for the sugar to carry her off in bliss, to forget Mandible’s rude words, and the fact that Trixie was intentionally avoiding Starlight while also feeling pettily angry enough to wonder why she hadn’t yet found her. They were dance buddies, dang it! Trixie wondered if she was actually here, but a sweep of the Disco revealed Tarsal and his sister, Tarsi, offering floating trays of various nectar concoctions to the patrons bobbing or chatting around the dance floor perimeter. Some white-hoofed jerk touched her shoulder before she could pursue them.

“Trixie! May we—?”

“What?!” She whirled, and to her surprise, it was truly one of the last ponies she expected to see right now. “Well, well, well. The first friend of my first friend has graced me with his presence.” Sunburst smiled, actually smiled, before opening his mouth. “Come with me,” Trixie shouted. Even if the bass drop muffled her, Sunburst heard it well in the way his cloak was telekinetically yanked.

He cried while being dragged across the dance floor behind her. “I can walk, thank you!”

Trixie dragged and dragged him until she dropped him in the center of sashaying pony-changeling cliques. Nearby the CMCs and some other kids moved their dance battle away from his splayed body. He peeled his snout off the painted stone and glared with the fury of a thousand nerds. “What was that for?!”

“That was nothing compared to what’s about to happen. Now, dance,” she ordered.

Sunburst flushed red in an instant, as if she’d asked him out on a date. Like he would even want that, much less deserve it? “P-pardon?” He picked himself up, gawking upon what was surely a splendid sight: Trixie’s gorgeous self against a backdrop of color-swapping firebugs.

“I said, ‘dance,’” she said threateningly. “If we’re talking about this, and don’t act like we aren’t, I wanna make it so I don’t waste my night just feeling sorry for myself and my best friend.”

Sunburst fixed his glasses. “Your priorities are sincerely skewed.”

“Thanks, judgy.”

“And how’d you know it’s about Starlight?”

Because they’ve never had one-on-one time otherwise. “You just told me.” Trixie winked.

Sunburst clapped himself on the forehead. “Okay! Fine, if that’s what it takes.” The ruddiness in his cheeks hadn’t waned. “I should warn you, this will be a little embarrassing. I’ve got four back-left hooves when it comes to this stuff,” he yelled over the music.

“Trixie doesn’t dance, period! Just let loose and have fun already!” She watched him start nodding to the beat, like her, and sway as tall grass in a gentle breeze. All the while concentrating really hard on her face. “You have a good sense of rhythm.” His body moved in time with every other soundwave. “Starlight hadn’t told me that.” Trixie began to swish her tail, buckle her knees in time with Sunburst’s bob-sway.

“Wait, she told you about my dancing?”

“Only that it was charming—in a dorky sort of way!” Trixie laughed, Sunburst groaned, dipping briefly in his dancing. Trixie noticed that his cloak was stained purple, nearly invisible amongst the pulsating lights. “Did you just get done stomping grapes?”

“Fruitball, actually. B-but that’s not the point!”

“No, no! Of course not! The ‘point’ is Trixie saw you running after Starlight as soon as the party started. And then you went and played fruitball. Why’s that, Trixie wonders?”

Sunburst’s eyes widened. “Wow. Nothing gets by you, I guess?”

A familiar, irritating heaviness settled in Trixie’s breast for the first time since leaving Twilight’s castle. “Honestly, I’m pretty oblivious to most things.” Usually because she simply didn’t care—selfish, but that’s who she was. “Nowadays are a different story, though.”

“Because of Starlight.”

“Yeah.” They were muttering, yet hearing one another over all the chatting, the music, the laughing and the absent-minded brain power it took to keep bobbing like a pair of boueyies. “So what happened there?”

“Nothing happened! I didn’t comment on her… oh, gosh, Starlight!” he despaired. “It’s too sad to think about!”

“Focus, come on! What happened?”

“I told you, nothing! Goodness sake, Trixie, can’t you be a little bit sensitive?” Sunburst cried. “I’ve never seen such a grisly injury before in my life! And—and Cadance said she was looking into the cause? What cause?! Why didn’t Starlight ever pen me! And why aren’t you telling me anything about it?!” Sunburst’s eyes were wild with fear, concern, confusion—everything their friend didn’t need more of.

“Because of this. You’re a total spaz and you’d sooner be the magic scholar to Starlight than her first friend!”

Sunburst rolled his eyes. “Oh, please, you’re being presumptuous!”

“I don’t know what that means, but something tells me you’re wrong.”

“‘Presumptuous.’ It means you’re assuming how I’d behave if I knew the details of Starlight’s accident. And I’m not so insensitive I’d study her like some, some kinda anomaly!”

“Maybe not, but you’re total dolt who might unintentionally. And, trust me, what happened to her was no mere accident.”

“Then what was it?” Sunburst stamped his hoof, anchoring himself as a rock amidst a sea of ponies.

Trixie got in his face, joining him. “That. Doesn’t. Matter. Be. A. Friend. Can you do that, Sunburst? Can you do something so brainlessly simple, or is Trixie the only one capable of such an arduous task?”

“I was! I tried being her friend! But the conversation just moved to the topic of her horn, a-and she became this whole other pony! Like, she was looking at me like I was about to knock her block off...”

Hooves still gripping his cloak, Trixie pulled back. She couldn’t believe this. Sunburst was supposed to be smart. “Did you play it cool like I told you?”

“If by ‘play it cool’ you mean ‘act naturally,’ then yes, I did that. And you know how we changed topics?” Sunburst leaned closer. “Well?”

“Obviously not, I wasn’t there!”

“She made casual mention of this party being ruined by her.”

Trixie swallowed, an acute pain embedding itself everywhere. “That sounds…” Familiar. “Worrying. Did she… literally say that?”

Sunburst sighed, inaudible under the heavy, brain-pounding melody. “More or less. And you were so sure that she was getting better, too. Great observation, Trixie. Now, how about you hoof over all your data, so we can draw the obvious conclusion that Starlight isn’t even remotely fine?!” he cried hoarsely.

Trixie blinked, composing herself. Sunburst was just emotional—very emotional. For the first time in that which she’s known him. “Sunburst, I know how you’re feeling right now. I reacted the same way when I found out about Starlight! But you can’t jump to conclusions based on pure emotion—”

Otherwise you would make mistakes, not that he allowed her to finish: “My conclusions are based upon empirical evidence and virtue of knowing Starlight since she was a filly!”

“The Starlight you know has been gone for most of her life!”

Sunburst paced back, smiling upon the firebugs above glowing cyan, violet, gold, and cyan again—a wave of color surging across the Disco. “Trixie, the Starlight you knew—had—a horn… Understand? She objectively will never again be the Starlight you know! And if you think otherwise, you really don’t know her at all! And all your little theories are based around this desperate need to pretend everything is fine! Just. Like. Her.”

That was it. He could insult Trixie’s judgement, but he will not get away with slandering her best friend. I’m sorry, Starlight. Sunburst really isn’t the friend you remember. “Says the guy who barely reaches out to her!”

He pulled back, stammering. “S-says who?!” he cried.

“Says Starlight! She tells me everything, you stupid genius!”

“Evidently not! Otherwise, you wouldn’t be the only one arrogant enough to believe she’s getting better!”

“‘Arrogant?!’ Now you listen here—”

“I’m listening, go on!”

“Starlight will never get better if her quote-unquote ‘friends’ keep treating her like some kind of basket case! That’s all you jerks do, is handle her like a sleeping foal, and she sees that, and she hates that. It’s making her paranoid around you dummies!”

“Acting like nothing’s different is unfathomably more damaging in the long run—”

“Um, ex-excuse me!?” said a deep-voice stallion. Big Macintosh came with his foreleg slung around a purple-poofed unicorn, both smiling anxiously. “If y’all aren’t dancin’, do you mind movin’? There ain’t much room, and we’d requested a love song—”

“Oh, shut up!” Trixie snarled. There were more important things than this.

“Trixie!” Sunburst scolded.

“No, no! You be quiet, and you two, pipe down and wait for your song—the adults are talking!”

Big Mac and his apparent marefriend were stunned, then turned in a huff, the mare’s head resting against his tree trunk of a neck as they walked. They would be fine.

“That was really rude,” said Sunburst.

“Trixie’s in a rude mood right now.”

“We’re not even dancing anymore! We’re just taking up space!”

“Yeah! And this is the one place we can have this conversation without risk of eavesdropping, dummy!”

“‘Eavesdropping?’” Sunburst crowed. “What, like we’re hiding from our friends now? Is that the notion you’ve been nursing in Starlight’s head?!”

Trixie gasped, offended. “Trixie has said nothing of the sort, and she is offended by your accusation! Starlight herself is the one who is fed up with her friends, I’ll have you know! Starlight is the pony who believes her friends are smothering her! And just in case you haven’t forgotten, Starlight knows Starlight best. Not Twilight, not Maud, not even me, and most definitely. Not. You!”

Sunburst straightened, glaring fiercely. Then, in a whirl of silver and mottled lights, he walked away.

“Hey, I’m not finished with you yet!” Trixie followed him off the dance floor. “Hey! Glasses! Stop ignoring me!” He stopped abruptly at the mouth of the corridor, and turned, his burning stare unchanged. “What was all that about?” she asked.

Sunburst took a deep breath, brows furrowed still. “I wasn’t thinking about the fruitball game while playing it.”

Trixie blinked, awaiting for more. “Uh, oka—?”

“Instead, my brain was telling me, screaming at me, that I shouldn’t be there at all. I should be with Starlight. I should have explained to her, to the last detail, why I hadn’t come to her sooner. Not the spastic stammering I instead gave her. And then I felt responsible, because I was the one who chose to heed your bad advice.”

“Now, you listen here—!”

“And when we were done, I could have asked why she’d never wrote to me about her accident instead of feeling sorry for myself.” Trixie looked, really looked, and realized Sunburst wasn’t even here. Whatever was in the ground, he was there. “Instead, it was like Celestia’s School all over again—thinking my own friend was too busy to care about how I was doing. And she should be,” he added hastily, meeting Trixie’s eyes. “Yeah, she definitely should be. But I know Starlight was never, and will never, be like that.”

“Trixie, I thought these things, and came to these conclusions, because I have humility. I think outside myself and stare my flaws in the face, no matter how ugly they make me feel. Starlight has humility, too. Though I’m afraid it’s overshadowed by everything going on.”

“What’s your point with all this?” Trixie braced herself for an insult to her character. Because of course that was Sunburst’s conclusion. That was Maud’s conclusion, and even Trixie’s own in the dead of night with nopony but her thoughts.

“My point is, Trixie, you’re the reason why she isn’t getting better.” There was no hate in his eyes. Only pity. Pity! “Just think about that. I’m going to go find Starlight and apologize.”

And Sunburst turned for the tunnel, briskly pushing past pairs and trios of partygoers following the windup of a slow, smooth saxophone.

I’m… the problem? It made no sense, it sounded completely dumb, and it welled a pressure within, everywhere at once. Trixie wanted to puke her guts out. I’m what’s hurting Starlight? She shook away such thoughts and steeled herself, following in his hoofsteps. “The Great and Powerful friend of the Great and Powerful Starlight Glimmer doesn’t need a lecture from the dunderhead who abandoned her!” He ignored her. “You hear me?!”

Sunburst didn’t look back. “Enope! Sorry! The music’s too loud, I’m afraid!”

Trixie screamed like a windigo, ignoring the startled looks sent from all directions. I need nectar. Like, now.

“That’d be a little selfish though, don’t you think?”

“How even?” Pharynx snapped. Everything he said was as sharp as his attitude. “Your pony-food is frankly disgusting, Your Highness.”

“Why thank you,” Twilight deadpanned.

“That wasn’t a compliment,” the prince grunted. “Seriously, I tried the pie and I tried the hay fries, the hayburgers, the creamed corn and the salad. All those tastes were too meager for my palate!”

Yet Twilight’s mouth watered at the thought of them, despite the majority having long since been cleaned out—karma for getting caught up dancing with Rarity, and being bombarded with hugs and lovely words from a veritable army of changelings. It’d been a wonderful night.

“So because you don’t personally like our food, you’d deprive your people of prosperity and cross-cultural enrichment?” Pharynx, stunned, glared off to the side. Like that, his aura turned from prideful to shameful distaste. “Prince Pharynx,” said Twilight, stepping into his reluctant view, “is there a part of you that still dislikes ponies?”

“Well…”

He was ashamed enough not to answer, at least. It meant he was aware it wasn’t helpful, but he couldn’t help himself. “I understand, given our history. But your people will never grow if their diarchs reject foreign concepts.”

“We’re already friendship-loving pansies like you, what more do you want?”

“I want nothing,” Twilight answered calmly. “But I’d like your people to be happy, as well as our friends. And your people are my friends, like it or not.”

Pharynx rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. So, say I agree—what does trading your food for our nectar have to do with that?” He wrinkled his nose. “Do you even know where nectar comes from, anyway? And would your ponies still wanna drink it after finding out, I wonder?”

“First off, I don’t own any ponies, Prince Pharynx, I’m simply their friend and as such an authority on all matters pertaining to the strength and sustainability of interpersonal relationships on a micro and macro level. As such an authority, I can assure you that trade is the backbone for all national friendships.” He blinked twice. “Second, and unrelated to my being such an authority, I’ll have you know that, yes, I’m well aware of nectar’s origins, and I’m sure most here already do as well.” She swiped a foreleg across an unexpectedly feeble demonstration: the legion of picnic tables lined up from wall to wall, empty and bathed in an amber glow from the firebugs above, with only janitor nymphs leading big panting dung beetles investigating the floor for discarded scraps, like they were puppies.

“You get my point,” Twilight continued. “And I’ll have you know, it’s not so different from the way we receive milk from cows.”

“Gross, you drink milk, too?”

Twilight sighed, scanning the lantern-dazzled buffet beside them, complete with assorted nectar cocktails, sweets, and even stews. She felt balloon-like, but the succulent-sweet aftertaste resting on her tongue begged for more.

“You oughta drink some before you take a nap on me, Your Highness,” Pharynx joked.

Twilight blushed behind her sudden yawn. The non-alicorn remnants of her were beastly tired—her joints stiff and her eyelids sticky with exhausted perspiration. She rubbed them again before answering, “Just, please, think about it. Your people will never get to enjoy the vast selection of pony cuisine they’ve clearly so enjoyed if you don’t have something to trade. Nectar is your only resource that has intrinsic value and applicability to our lives.”

“Sure, for getting fat.”

“You’re a charming diplomat, you know that?”

Pharynx snorted. “Hey, not my fault you pose this trade-stuff to Thorax. I’m just the royal aegis. My bro’s the one who gives a grub’s slimy butt about friendship with you ponies, so pester him about it.” His wings buzzed, faintly stirring a wind as they beat at a blinding speed, and he shot up like a fly, faster than any pegasus pony could. “Hey,” he called out amidst the firebugs, “you’re looking pretty tense. You wanna kick my tail at fruitball, one on one?”

Twilight couldn’t help but smile. I’d almost forgotten he doesn’t totally dislike ponies. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t really do sports.”

Pharynx scoffed. “Yeah, I can see that. Taste ya later.” And he was gone in a snap, melting behind a screen of glowering bodies and melting into the night.

Quite a hard busybody, that Pharynx. But he loved his people fiercely, a quality that saved him from continued villainy like Chrysalis. Wherever she might be…

Twilight shook her head, banishing the slight fear beginning to squeeze her chest, before turning to a teal nymph leading her dog-sized dung beetle by a leash. “Sorry for loitering here with the prince,” she said. “Would you like any help?”

“Oh! Ha, naw, princess! You’re too kind, but we got this. Right girls?!”

“Yeah!”

“Woo!”

The teal nymph turned back to her, red eyes bright with buzzing stars. “We got this, thanks. I mean that, too.”

“Seriously!” cried the ‘yeah’ nymph as her beetle led them by, to the buffet tables. “Every-ling doesn’t usually acknowledge us, let alone offers to help. You’re a real sweetie, Princess Sparkle!”

Twilight blushed. “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just a pony who wants to help.”

“Sure! But that just means you’re leader-material, not like that fathead, Pharynx. Ay! Come now, boy!” She jammed something that made a soft crunching sound, like trodding on leaves. “Don’t eat the tablecloth, Archimedes! Come on!”

“Oh, jeez,” laughed the teal nymph. “Enjoy the party, Princess. It’s almost midnight, you know what that means!”

“Oh, do I!” Twilight said, fighting the sinking in her stomach.

“Hey, sweetie, give Starlight my thanks, why don’cha?!” a green nymph, the ‘woo’ one, called from way in the backmost row. “She’s a bloody-danged hero, if there ever was one!”

Sure...

“There’s nothing Starlight wouldn’t do for a friend.” Nothing…

Even before… before everything happened. That was a guarantee. She didn’t need to prove anything, she still didn’t. Not that she was! But, she might be. Not that Twilight knew. She hardly understood what was going on in her best friend’s brain these days. Tonight was meant to end that. But it was almost eleven, almost time to find a partner and dress a gourd, and Twilight hadn’t seen nor heard anything of her friend since the festival’s beginning.

I suppose that’s a blessing in of itself. If her friends, who vowed to keep one eye open and an ear to the ground, hadn’t come to her about anything, it meant there was nothing to worry about. Unless, of course, they’re trying to cover for Starlight like they did the day her horn was stolen.

Twilight shook her head. They meant well, and even so, it never helped to mistrust them. She remembered the Storm King affair too well.

After some walking, the corridor opened up to a wide open space populated by sparse throes of ponies—most changelings were off in one of the five sectors of the Hive, decorating their gourds, leaving the Headroom open as a respite for ponies to sit on the flower beds, or the great mushrooms lining the space.

Twilight galloped, and she didn’t know why. Lyra and Bon Bon separated with a hello, giving way to slate dressed in turf and daisies. The opposite wall. Twilight’s head spun, everything feeling light out of nowhere. Couldn’t be relevant to the burn, the scorching in her legs or that within her belly, or the ever-tightening twisting and pulling in her breast.

I… remember gifting these. Back when the changelings were naive, Seaquestria was an unknown to the world, and Starlight was whole and could trust Twilight with all her secrets.

Twilight exhaled hard. The chains of little white flowers were especially soft-looking in this light. Yellow, even. Almost three years ago, every major settlement in Equestria (with some urging on her part), gave the newly-reformed changelings a piece of their home, so they might rebuild theirs. The daisy was Ponyville’s flower, and Mayor Mare had shared the idea in a manner not unlike Pinkie and Twilight coincidentally planning this party. Their efforts made it a town-wide affair.

Left to right, as long as three Ponyville huts, the Hive’s decor—the Hive itself—had clearly flourished in three short years of serious TLC. In times like these, for as long as she could remember, Twilight couldn’t help but compare herself to her peers:

What have I achieved in that time? Nearly plunge Equestria into shadow? Then slavery under the Storm King, because she forgot why she was princess in the first place?

And for all her teachings, had driven Starlight to nearly making the ultimate sacrifice?

Even days later, Twilight found herself blinking a blurriness away. She couldn’t help it. If Starlight had done that… If she were really truly irrevocably dead because of me… I don’t know. I don’t know. I might have truly lost my mind. Spike is telling me not to think about this and relax, but I can’t. I can’t just ignore the part my negligence played in leading to Starlight making this… this awful decision. Maybe, if I’d been a better teacher, Starlight wouldn’t have acted so rashly in the name of friendship. Maybe none of this would’ve happened, then.

Starlight’s words from days ago haunted her still. ‘Because that’s what friendship is!’ It wasn’t though! Except, it sort of was. But only in certain ways? Twilight hated it, hated this, so what did that say about her as a teacher and a princess?!

Suddenly daisy-laden walls became a cotton candy-maned pony. “Hiya, Twilight!” Pinkie’s upside-down ‘frown’ rocketed into a ‘smile.’ “Boy, have I got one doozy of a doozy to tell you.”

Twilight’s heart plummeted, her woes shoved out of mind as they have many times. “A doozy? Th-the Doozy? It’s happened? Where? How? Why?!” Starlight. Something happened to Starlight. “Tell me what it is, Pinkie.” She squeezed her upside-down cheeks together. “Tell me. Come on, come on, tell me tell me tell me!” She leered closer and closer until their snouts pushed up together.

Pinkie giggled, bouncing off without so much as a push against Twilight’s back and landing skillfully before her. “Sheesh, Twilight! If it was something sad about Starlight, you think I’d have popped in like that?” she asked, impossibly coiling her neck so she was upside down again.

Twilight had almost forgotten Pinkie’s rule: ‘Enjoy the night, don’t worry about Starlight, and watch out for Doozies!’

“Oh, did I mention Starlight? Ha-ha! Who said I was referring to Starlight? It could be about the witches for all I know!” Twilight smacked herself on the horn. “Ah! I mean, Spike could’ve started a fire, how would I know? It could be anything! Not just those things, of course. I-I was just worried! About something happening…” ‘All night,’ was the unspoken conclusion that Pinkie clearly made from the start, having never lifted a smile. A quiet sign that Twilight wasn’t fooling anypony, nor even the slightest bit entertaining to her bubbly friend. “I’m sorry.” She was sorry for a lot these past few days. Twilight exhaled, rubbed her eyes until she saw spots. “No, obviously you wouldn’t have acted silly if this was serious. But still, you were frowning. And you explicitly said it wasn’t ‘sad.’ So… it is about Starlight. But what? Is she okay?”

She sounded like a worried mother. Spike would be gagging if on the receiving end of it.

“Oh, I’m sure she’s fine, Twilight.”

“You mean you haven’t seen her?”

“No siree! But I’ve been with Maud, like, almost the entire night. Because she’s shy, right? And she was with Thorax, and so was I, and they’re really hitting it off! So, Maud goes on asking these questions about the Hive and Thorax starts asking about her work, and I’m over here making food runs and playing a quick game or two or five-hundred of fruitball with Dashie and Thunderlane! Cut to four hours later, and it’s like, almost eleven, and Thorax is telling us more about the Gourding! He told us that nowadays, most changelings don’t even decorate their own gourd themselves, they do it with a friend because they—”

“They’re defined by each other, I know, Pinkie, it’s really wonderful. But what does this have to do with your Doozy?”

“This is part of it, wait!” whined Pinkie. A blink. Then back to smiling, eyes alight with dozens of stars buzzing above. “So now, it’s basically tradition to do share a Gourding with a friend! And I thought, ‘Wow, it’d be really nice if Starlight wanted to do one with you.’ You guys could make, like, a magical-themed gourd! But when I went to do that, Maud stopped me and stepped on me. Me tail, Twilight! Me tail! She never does that unless it’s urgent! And you know what she said?”

“Wh—?”

In a dull voice with a flat mane, Pinkie muttered, “‘Starlight. Wouldn’t. Like that.’”

Twilight heard this, and reeled. It… made sense. It was obvious in hindsight. She’d rather go with Trixie, of course, they’d spent more time together and she was the one consoling Starlight successfully through this hardship—if Rainbow’s vague report was any indication.

And yet, Twilight had the gall to feel offended. “Why wouldn’t she?”

“That’s what I said!” Pinkie said. “But Maud said it in a way that really made sense. She told me that Starlight would never get better if she felt cornered into doing something. She says that, that Starlight would do it, and she’d seem like she’s enjoying it, but inside she would be miserable! Miserable, Twilight! And doing something so fun and friend-y, too. And I had-a epiphany numero uno, and asked Maud, ‘Hey, well what about this party?’ And Maud said sure!”

Pinkie blinked, suddenly spaced-out. “And then, I realized,” she whispered, mystified. Another blink, and it was back to fast words but with a rare hardness in her gaze. “That’s what happened the other day with me and the Crusaders. That’s what Starlight’s been doing with Trixie and Maud! And you know what? I’m thinking it’s that same sorta train of thought whenever she’s telling us that she is a-ok. And to top it all off with one big cherry of garbagio: she’s doing that to herself!”

Pinkie leered closer, as if Twilight didn’t get it. But she did. She was just stunned.

“Doncha get it, Twilight?” Pinkie cocked her head almost ninety-degrees. “Starlight won’t ever be happy again if she doesn’t let herself accept that she isn’t! But she hasn’t. She says she has, but I don’t think she’s thought about it much at all. Which I totally get! But all this bad stuff is building and building to the point where confronting any of it makes her feel cornered and sad and leads her to not thinking about it even more! Like a, like a ball of dirty sheets that you leave in the corner, even though you know you should clean it: you don’t, because you have memories in those sheets that will be gone forever if you wash them!”

Twilight closed her mouth, then her eyes. This might just be a nightmare, that’s all. “So, this party’s pointless,” she realized. “And Starlight’s too afraid to be honest with… me. Or you, or any of us. And that’s the Doozy.”

“What? N-n-n-n-n-no. No. The Doozy was a party failing to make somepony happy. Like, what is up with that?”

Twilight exhaled like a bull. Calm. Calm. She’s just trying to help. She loved Pinkie dearly, especially for everything she did involving this absolute waste of a party.

But Twilight was calm, like Celestia. “Pinkie, that isn’t funny,” she exhaled faintly.

“I’m not tryna be!” she said. “Parties bring ponies together and make them forget their woes and worries and wearies! A smile is guaranteed!”

“I remember Starlight smiling.” She remembered her crying, and thanking her, and promising to talk. But it was almost eleven, and still nothing. “I guess that was fake, too.”

Pinkie rolled her eyes. “Oh, psht! Naw, that was real. But she wasn’t smiling at the party but her friends. That I could tell for sure!”

“Then why is she—?!” The damage was done, Pinkie frowned which was basically a wince. Twilight shook her head; she ought to just stop talking forever, lest she accidentally hurt more of her friends. “Why is she doing this, to me, to us? Is it something I did, Pinkie? Did I offend her? Oh, I must have! I wasn’t a hundred percent on board with her decision despite it saving my life, so it’s no wonder she hates me now!”

Twilight’s face was grabbed and yanked into Pinkie’s. “Twilight. Look at me.”

“Eye yam,” she managed between squished cheeks.

“Are you Twilight Spessimist, Princess of Failure?” Pinkie’s eyeballs extended by the word as she said, “Who really, honestly, truly thinks the pony who was willing to give up her horn hates you because of some stupidly-awkward tension?”

When she put it like that… “No. That’d be ridiculous.” And to the one who thought it in the first place? “I’m ridiculous.”

“Nuh-uh!” They snapped back into her skull like a pair of rubber bands. “Thinking you’re ridiculous is ridiculously ludicrous!” Pinkie reared up on her hind legs. “All of this is ri-doo-doo-diculous! Just talk to Starlight, it’ll be fine.”

Twilight looked to the sand-dusted floor by her cutie mark. “This is starting to sound a lot like our last two conversations.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that, Pinkie. It could make things worse, it could push her away, or—”

“Or we can keep doing what we’re doing and leave Starlight in her mind dungeon until she won’t even eat cake anymore!”

Twilight’s stomach turned at the thought; Pinkie had seen it firsthoof, Starlight scarfing down sugar like her future depended on it, all to bury her pain in sweetness. “But if we make her open up, it’s like Maud said. She likely won’t grow from it, and that’d just deteriorate the situation further.”

“No offense, Twilight, but the situation’s lookin’ like a deflated souffle.”

“Unsalvageable?!” Twilight cried.

“No way! C’mon, Twi, you’re a smart pony when you aren’t Twilight Spessimist. Doncha know? You can still ice a souffle and enjoy its sweet delish-errific taste without it being the way you imagined it! But we gotta take what we can get and accept that it’ll be just a little different on the inside.”

Twilight was supposed to deduce all of that in a second. “Pinkie,” she laughed. Her heart rose, just a little, but enough to tell Pinkie she’d done her job and saved Twilight’s hope.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” she said, smiling. “I’ll go get Starlight with Maudie, and then you two can have a nice little chitchat—”

“Wait, already? Now?!” Twilight pictured the screaming, the tears, the potential end in friendship as the walls closed in, suffocating her. “I-I’d extended the offer, true, but-but so much can go wrong and there’s so many variables that I still don’t know on Starlight’s end! She might not even wanna talk to me right now, Pinkie! No, she definitely doesn’t—she’s avoided me all night like she has all week!”

“Twilight.” Pinkie spoke so calmly, so quietly, that she had Twilight’s absolute attention. “Are you, or are you not, the Princess of Friendship?”

“I… am.”

“Awesome.” She smiled sweetly. Determinedly. “Now say it again.”

“I’m the Princess of Friendship.” She knew what Pinkie was doing. “And I’ll trust in my friends, and… take a leap of faith.” It’d been so long, so many years, since Pinkie built the foundations of this special, unbreakable trust within the depths of Froggy Bottom Bog.

“That’s all ya need!” Pinkie chirped. “Twilight, I know you’re all wounded up in a tizzy right now, but you so got this! You got us! We all wanna make Starlight smile again. So stop worrying like you’re the only one tryna help her, cuz we got two-hundred seven other faces here wanting the same thing.”

“I know. I do, I know,” Twilight said, nodding. “I’m just… scared, Pinkie. I’ve spent my life hypothesizing and basing my every action upon that. But… I have to do more than that. I sometimes forget that I didn’t get these because of anything rooted in some objective truth,” she said, wiggling her wings. “But a feeling. And it’s because of that feeling that makes me… terrified, if I’m being honest. Terrified of hurting Starlight. Even more than I have been.”

Powdered sugar and frizzy pink hair suddenly glomped Twilight in a hug. “Then don’t think about that,” murmured Pinkie. “Just think about how much you love Starlight and let your heart do the rest. Stop thinking with your noodle, and use that wing-winning ticker that got you Fizzy-Pop, Starlight, me and the girls.”

“I can’t always help that,” Twilight confessed, gently pushing her away. She maintained contact with Pinkie’s forelegs, folded against her breast. “I can’t help how I feel, Pinkie. Just like I can’t ignore the fact that Starlight’s like this because of me, or that—” Twilight squeaked, voice failing her. She blinked her tears away. “That my misguidance in the application of my title hasn’t exacerbated the issue.”

“The only thing you have to worry about right now is finding a quiet place for you and Starlight to chitchat, and maybe decorate your gourd, eh? Eh?” Pinkie added, elbowing Twilight. “Don’t fret! Maudie’s got something special that’ll butter up Starlight to some good old friendship sappiness. She’ll be in the mindset for yours, totally, for sure!”

“You really think so?” Twilight shuddered.

“You saw her gut reaction, Twilight, all of us did! Starlight was leaking joy from her eye-holes over this party. She loves it, I tell ya! She loves her friends, and what you tried to do for her. Even if she doesn’t love it a hundred percent, there’s a part of her that does, and we gotta pull that part of her into the light!”

She ought to have asked Pinkie this sooner, ever intuitive about a pony’s happiness. Just another failing I’ll have to amend for. The newfound mission kept Twilight’s heart from descending into darkness.

“She really needed this party first, though. Didn’t she?” Twilight mused. Ahead, pairs of new friends and old, furred and shelled, milled between, funneling down the tunnel. By now everycreature was getting their gourds if they hadn’t decorated one already. “We both did, I think,” she added, touching her warming heart. “So many new connections are being made today.”

“A-greed! Yeah! Stick to that mindset like white on rice; think of all the good that came from this!” Pinkie turned and began bouncing away. “I’ll be seein’ ya, Twilight, I’mma go find Maudileena!” she called back.

“Okay! You’ll find me in here, probably!” Pinkie called out something that was smothered by the cacophony of friendship, faint electronic bass drums, and cheering from wherever that fruitball game was being held. “It’ll be fine,” Twilight sighed. “Everything will be just fine.”

Regardless of whatever lied upon the surface, at the core of her being, Starlight was touched, flattered, and moved to have been greeted, loved, and thanked by so many wonderful friends and neighbors.

Her family.

Nothing that the witches could do or threaten would ever change that.

IV.XIII - Gored at the Gourd (3 of 3)

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A sweet sugaryness permeated the air. The sky droned on and on and on, polluted with thousands of stupid lights like some aerial Hearth’s Warming tree. And their buzzing was more annoying than last year, more so than cicadas in the dog days of summer. Another inhale, another dizzying wallop to the senses. Starlight felt fat just from smelling! She hugged her stomach, massaging the dull, writhing ache that hadn’t stopped since fleeing from Applejack.

I’m finally alone, thought Starlight. Nopony was around to thank her as if they knew her. None could offer their paltry sympathy, trying to decipher that which Starlight hardly understood: the source of her constant mistakes, her inability to learn and her propensity to worsen ponies and their lives instead of helping them. Oh, Twilight… If I could take it back, I could. I might. Would that have made you happier? Me, continuing on? Your friends living their lives instead of trying to help me with mine?

...Dying?

The thought made her want to scream. Scream. How dare she, this… this insane hypothetical that only existed in fantasy.

But it could be real. And that could was enough to not want to take chances. It’s better this way, she told herself for the umpteenth time. Avoiding my friends. I’m sure one by one they’ve moved on and continued with their night. I’m sure of it. She had gotten some looks, a couple questions, mainly from foals and grubs asking who Starlight was playing Hide and Seek with. She half-lied and told them her friends.

A bag of ice clunked down in front of her. Starlight was startled, almost forgetting she wasn’t totally alone: the juice bar-tender, blessedly speechless the whole time.

Starlight felt gross all of a sudden. Part of her didn’t blame this kid for her silence, her aversion of the eyes. All signs pointed to her being put off by this sullen pony, and rightfully so; she’d every reason to be overjoyed and feel loved as far as a stranger could tell. She didn’t know she was annoying and disappointing her friends, or even offending them in Twilight’s case.

And yet… a sad, pathetic part of Starlight hoped she didn’t give off a certain air, despite the fact that she didn’t want anypony breathing down her neck—literally, in some cases—because they wanted to hug her.

“Why aren’t you talking to me?” Starlight asked, genuinely curious. Her casual tone caught the little thing completely off guard. “Weird question, I know,” she amended, humorously. “But I’m not looking for company right now—could find plenty of that if I wanted to—I just couldn’t help but notice how, um, different you are from your the rest of your people. And before you take offense, I find different interesting.” Her friend gallery was proof of that. Starlight propped her chin with a smile. “So... what’s up?”

The little changeling spoke in a shy female’s voice. “Th-thanks, but it’s nothing, really.” Well, somepony was quick to dismiss herself. “I’m your server, and you my customer. A customer who clearly wanted peace and quiet and a bag of ice, and those were all I had the right to provide.”

“You must have questions, though.” As in, ‘Why aren’t you enjoying your party?’ ‘Why do you look so miserable?’ ‘Is something wrong?’ ‘Do you need another freaking hug?’ The girl was really trying to be discreet, too, but Starlight had a faster eye than most. “I noticed you looking my way as you cleaned those... bowls? Cups?” She never thought of them enough to ask last Gourd Fest.

“B’holders, actually. But I’ve not corrected anycreature. Prince Pharynx thought they were different from Equestrian tableware, and so… the name stuck. I think it’s… a little lame, if I’m being honest.” She giggled gently, as did Starlight, though mainly toward the notion that a dope like Pharynx thought “b’holder” was a cool name, which obviously made it superior to pony-made bowls.

In the following silence, the nymph leapt backwards, supposedly off a stool, buzzing to a basin to retrieve another soaking foreleg-full of b’holders. “But to answer your question,” she grunted, setting down the stack of eight with a solid thunk, “yeah! Hoo…” She panted, shaking her hooves prior to retrieving a soapy, nappy tangle of steel wool. “Yeah, I’ve got some questions of my own. N-not that it’s anything about your horn, o-o-or, shoot, I shouldn’t have mentioned that at all, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Calmly, with an assuring smile to match, Starlight added, “You’re fine. Continue, please, I wanna hear you out.”

“W-well, if you insist…” The changeling’s pink little fin wobbled as she scrubbed the b’holder vigorously. “I just thought it’d be rude to bother you if you’re clearly not in the mood to talk. O-or so I thought, but clearly you are.” Perceptive one, this kid. Starlight found herself enthralled. “And I won’t presume that you want me to ask them now that we’re talking. I might be young, but I’m very mature for my age, you know.”

“And humble.” They smiled to one another, until a pesky shot of pain through her horn made Starlight wince, grabbing it. “Oh, thanks for this.” She grabbed her ice bag in both hooves and placed it to her pulsating forehead, pinning it with one. “This’s been killing me all night, so double-thanks.”

“No problem squared!” chirped the young changeling. A math joke—adorable. She went right back to cleaning her legion of dirty b’holders, a grin as sweet and nerdy as its owner now stamped upon her face. “It looks painful,” she said. “I couldn’t sit there without doing something.”

“I know the feeling. Believe me,” Starlight added under her breath. Blessed Equestria, the frigid weight on her forehead was a million times better than the doctors’ dumb “numbing spell.” Was it unhealthy to put this right upon her stump? Who even cared at this point? Starlight would give her magic up again just to eliminate the pain, honestly.

And suddenly, she felt gutted, the warmth tickling her bosom gone. Iciness seeped into her head, crept beneath her mane. Her teeth chattered. Worst of all, that’s all there was—just cold. Nothing deeper about it. Nothing was special anymore, Starlight remembered. She wasn’t special. Everything was surface level, no longer soaked in magic down to a molecular level for her to manipulate with godlike power.

She was just like everypony else.

Which is fine! Starlight told herself. But she had always struggled with change, that’s all! And it was an issue that existed long before Sunburst fell out of touch. Sunburst… Mom...

Starlight asked the child before she felt completely hollow, “Excuse me?” That drew her big blue eyes, a darker shade than her powder-blue carapace. “What’s your name? I-I don’t think we’ve met before.” A finger of water crept icily over her left eye. She almost forgot it was there, silly pony! Starlight removed the ice pack, instinctively picturing a heater, only to realize she could no longer will the atmosphere to her desire.

The child smiled, like smile-smiled, in spite of this tragedy. “I-I’m Ocellus, Miss Starlight. If… if it’s okay with you, would you like to be friends?” she quickly asked.

A sudden question, something this stammering nymph acknowledged as her cheeks lit up faster than Starlight’s ever could.

She empathized with that, and her rashness. Ocellus’s mouth opened in preparation to backpedal, but was unable to commit before Starlight replied, “I’d love that.”

A full second passed before acceptance, and a relieving exhale. “Well, um, w-would you like a nectar cocktail?” Ocellus asked, gesturing to the carved stone shelves behind her, stacked with various labeled bottles filled with an array of orange-yellow fluids. “I’ve gotten really good at making this one! It leaves this tingly aftertaste on your tongue, being a mixture of every citrus you could shake a stick at. I call it ‘Lightning in a Bottle.’ E-even though it’s served in a cup. Uh, I mean, buh-holder,” she mocked like a dope.

Though Starlight giggled, something in the back of her mind felt off about all that. She’s quick to serve me a drink before saying anything else, Starlight realized. Ocellus might not think I’m interested in talking about her if not myself, if her first instinct is to do what she’s been doing all night.

Starlight smiled gratefully, though surely it came off as pitying because of how unsubtle she always was. “I’m good, thanks. But what about you? Been doing this long, Ocellus?”

A shake of the head. “N-no, I took after my dad at about eight-thirty. We specialize in nectar, so… it’s kind of expected of me.”

Starlight hummed, noting the way her pointed ears wilted, and her smile felt at least partially forced there. “So what’s your specialty, then?”

“‘Mine?’” Ocellus smacked herself on the chest, as if no one had ever asked her such a thing. “O-oh, well… it’s boring, but I love to read and learn new things.” A smile eased its way in. “Most changelings call me anti-social, but… I dunno, if I had somepony who shared my interests, I like to think we’d sit all day in King Thorax’s personal glade and just... read all day, and then talk about what we’ve read. We’d share thoughts and opinions about what we’ve learned so we remember it better.” She sighed with the wistfulness of a child’s fantasy—just the idea of having a friend. It was sad, but it hurt to see her look so despondent whilst claiming, “But nopony would wanna do that for fun. Like I said, it’s kinda dumb. B-boring, I mean. I’m sorry—y-you have so much more to deal with, my problems look so trivial by comparison!”

Starlight was speechless, which she knew only worsened Ocellus’s fastly-wilting confidence because Ocellus was so eerily familiar. In her mannerisms, her likes, even the light, or lack thereof, in which she viewed herself.

Starlight reacted, speaking from the soul, knowing what this child both wanted and needed to hear. “Well you’re in luck, because I love reading.” Wide, foal-like eyes regarded Starlight with such wonder, she laughed under her breath. “And I love to learn, to boot! And we’re friends already, so I’d say we’re on the right track. Whadda ya say to an afternoon spent being ‘boring and dumb,’ Ocellus? Reading about the exciting truths of our world and growing smarter than our peers while doing so?” Starlight cleared her throat and exhausted brain of any lingering theatrics. “I dunno about you, but that sounds like loads of fun in my book. No pun intended,” she added, snorting.

Ocellus giggled shyly, covering her reddening face. It was cute. It was very cute. Starlight kept laughing, her giddiness a ticklish flutter.

Though in the back of her head, all the while, a doubt took root.

A pinching in the back of her brain: what was she doing, it asked, befriending this child without thinking? You idiot, it whispered with her voice. Two biospheres sat between their homes, and Starlight had no way of getting there without a horn. She couldn’t ask Twilight for help, either, whether by spell or train ticket, for every time she did would flare a reminder in Twilight’s mind of how her brilliant ex-student made a reckless, life-changing decision that now affected her royal life, inside and out.

And then, even if all of that panned out, she might hurt this sweet little girl with another reckless decision. Just like she did with Twilight, just like with Tempest, and Applejack, too; if not in some oh-so-brilliant act of kindness or responsibility, then her constant sadness and drama and angst that nopony had room for in their busy lives.

Regardless of how much they think they wanted it. Wanted her.

Starlight blinked, forcing out such thoughts and yanking her smile back up. At least don’t ruin this girl’s evening, too. Just play it by ear and stop obsessing over hypotheticals… very likely hypotheticals...

Starlight shuddered, exhaling.

Ocellus was still cleaning hollowed-out stone, smiling like she just found buried treasure in what may very well be her first friendship. She really is adorable. And an interesting name, too… It was certainly fitting, with those huge knowledge-starved eyes.

“What are your favorite topics, Ocellus?” Starlight asked, bracing her elbows against the bar.

“O-oh! Um…” Ocellus placed the sudsy steel wool to her chin. “Well, obviously history. I mean, it isn’t obvious to you, but it is to me.” Starlight tittered, nodding. There was much of herself in this girl, albeit an older version from the filly who only cared about games and Sunburst. “Equestrian history has been my passion this past year. It’s inspiring, honestly! I just wish there were more concrete records of the pre-Tribe era. Ancient pony civilization must have been scary, but all the more breathtaking if they grew into the ponies of today.”

Starlight almost, almost, faltered in her smile. “Yeah, I bet… Hey! I got some rare books I can bring next time I’m in the area. If you’d like,” she added, in case she was being presumptuous.

A ridiculous notion, she realized, as Ocellus immediately squealed, “I would love that!” She covered her grin. “Uh, sorry.”

Starlight just laughed, laughed at this rare youngling whose love was learning. A feeling bolstered by a warm heart—she was blissfully unaware of the truth of the pre-Tribe era, and that made it all the sweeter.

She had no idea it was lost because of the Witches of Flutter Valley. Our only link to that era is the final journal entry of one Lickety Split. It was safer if the public thought light of Starlight’s outburst in Hayburger the other night, if the humored questions asked in regards to “the rumors” were anything to go by. Most, it seemed, believed Starlight had made a deal with classic witches: ponies squatting in the Whitetail Woods or Everfree, reading omens in the murky depths of bubbling stew.

None, not even her friends, could fathom the walking nightmares they really were.

“If you two are having yourselves a friendship connection,” came the voice of a mature-sounding mare to the left, “then I should take my business elsewhere. You know what they say about third wheels.”

“O-oh! My apologies, Miss!” squeaked Ocellus. “I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s fine. I’ve a habit of going unnoticed.”

“Oh, well, could I get you anything?”

“Water to start.”

Starlight was stunned. You’re here, too. The words died in her throat, closing with shame, embarrassment, and a bit of intimidation.

Fizzle—Tempest—-glanced in her direction, knowingly, like she was in on some mild amusement. “About what I expected, as far as reactions would go,” she told the back shelving.

Starlight could only imagine how alone she’d been at this party. Which meant only one thing. Even though she thinks I’m stupid...

She steeled her heart easily, having already written Tempest off days ago. “I’ll cut the crud just the way you like it: why’d you come?”

“Is that for my coming here, or this moment in particular?”

A riddle of the ages. “Hit me with both,” Starlight decided.

“I’ll do you one better and fire both answers at once: Princess Twilight. She so kindly extended the invitation.”

How she said it… Starlight’s gut feeling remembered Tempest thinking just as irrationally about Twilight, and perhaps even others, as she herself did. Especially about their young friend’s hidden motives.

“In case you’re wondering,” Starlight felt compelled to say, “no, Twilight has no idea you’re the reason I,” she glanced at a cleaning Ocellus, “freaked out.”

“I didn’t care about that. You, though..." She couldn't finish.

Sweet Celestia she really was a spitting image of Starlight’s soul. “Regardless, you’ve probably thought about it half a hundred times.”

Tempest gripped her b’houlder of water. “I felt terrible,” she said softly, as if Ocellus would gossip, let alone understand. “Alright? I felt…” She lifted the stone bowl to her lips. “I couldn't get it out of my head. Like it was playing on an accursed loop.” She knocked it back, bottoms-up with both hooves. Twin rivulets snaked down her pulsating, muscle-sculpted throat.

Starlight tore away, praying she couldn’t see through that scarred eyelid. I’d forgotten how… impressive she is. She was more fit than any pony ever ought to be, even a royal guard. Just pure muscle. Part of Starlight blamed the dimness of her bedroom for not noticing, the cool pigment of her coat, too; the other remembered accepting it quickly when meeting her in the hall, forever after taking it as part of Tempest’s “package without consciously doing so. Like Maud’s way of speaking or Trixie’s… Trixie-ness. Maybe she was feeling squishy and self-conscious.

“Surprised that I feel anything but contempt beneath this mug of mine?” Starlight looked and was surprised, shocked further by Tempest’s sorrowful eyes. “I can feel bad and awkward, too, you know. I was pretty awful the other day.”

“Oh, you were.” Tempest frowned—good, meant she cared about a second opinion. “But honestly I should have known better than to drop that on you. It was pretty narrow-minded, disregarding your life’s struggle. I didn’t mean for it to come off that way, but I wasn’t really paying attention to how I was speaking.” She forced a laugh—gotta keep it lighthearted. “My first mistake, really.”

“That was no reason to flip out like I did. There never is.”

“Well, as somepony with an ongoing history of ‘flipping out,’” Starlight quieted, recalling the last several years of her life, right up to her encounter with AJ mere hours ago, “you… just… you gotta keep an eye on these things. Be conscientious. I don’t, not always, not as much as I’d like, but…” Almost never.

Starlight cleared her throat. “You know, I’m more surprised now than I was then by how, ah, calmly you’re exposing yourself like this. Forgive me for being so blunt, but from what I know of you—which, let’s be fair, is very little—that isn’t your typical M.O.”

Tempest’s shoulders dropped. “No, it clearly isn’t.”

Starlight laughed, she so bluntly dismissed herself for no good reason. “Not bad for a former villain, though. I remember how long it took me to open up to Twilight!” As if she was any better then as she was now, but Starlight shoved that out of mind.

“It took you almost a year and a half?”

“Uh, well, no. I guess I didn’t take a sabbatical of penance.”

“Well, believe me, I implore you: I’ve done and felt a lot of unusual things this past week.”

Even a blind pony could tell how unusual this was for Tempest in how she was hunched forward, shoulders twin peaks at the base of her neck. The slight stiffness in her otherwise dispassionate voice added to it. In a way, Starlight felt honored; in another, she might have been coerced into doing this by Twilight because it was so out-there.

Starlight opted to shed her own light on Tempest’s words. Former or the latter, it wouldn’t be suspicious either way: “I don’t think it’s unusual, doing these things without really knowing why. It means you’re acting on instinct. That’s gotta be comforting, right?”

“I find it unnerving.” Scary, she basically meant.

“But it means you aren’t as horrible as you think you are.”

“I never said that.”

“It’s why I said ‘think.’” Now it was Starlight’s turn to smile knowingly, and Tempest to look away stiffly.

“You know,” began Tempest, “you’re far from the ‘reformed villain’ label that it’d be an insult, attaching it to your name. Take it from somepony who’s struggling right now to apologize for acting like a total screw-head.”

Starlight was dumbfounded, and not by the slur. “Uh, wow. You really mean it.”

“Yeah, if that’s not indicative of my feelings on the matter,” she hesitated, locked eyes at last for half a heartbeat, “well, there you go.”

Starlight was still reeling from the slur for foalish, uppity unicorns. It was shocking to say the least; even Trixie, who regularly dismissed ponies to their faces for the most superfluous of reasons, wouldn’t stoop to use such foul language.

Little Ocellus, nearly forgotten, tilted her head curiously. “What’s a scr—?”

“Don’t!” Starlight suddenly found herself no better than a newborn, staggering and shouting from on top her plushy mushroom stool. “Don’t finish that. Ever. Till the end of time, okay?” The youngling was too surprised by her outburst to register all that.

Then Ocellus’s parted lips pursed, she nodded affirmatively.

A soft laugh drew Starlight left. Tempest was smiling defeatedly at her toned chest. “See what I mean?” she asked. “You’ve a weak perception of yourself that’s forgotten as soon as somepony else’s problems are at the forefront. I’m far from reaching that point.”

Starlight remembered a conversation with Luna that suggested otherwise. “And you’re so different?”

Tempest didn’t lift her head. “Look, I’ve grown accustomed to doing without thinking. In my time with the Storm King, every mission, every fight and betrayal near the end, I became adept in detaching myself from the moment and just acting. Like the weapon I was. The tool that I am.”

The enormity of her poor self image made Starlight gasp. “You are so much more than that! A tool wouldn’t feel remorseful for hurting a… another pony.” No need to label themselves “friends” again. Tempest’s personal feelings might not have changed, for as Starlight said, her actions, for better or worse, had blossomed from the essence of her being.

“I feel like I’m speaking with the princess now,” Tempest remarked. Her near-invisible smirk must have been Starlight’s imagination. “I’m well aware of my worth, I don’t despise myself that much. And if I wasn’t already certain, Twilight’s tried convincing me as if I’d figured otherwise.” Starlight had nearly forgotten why Tempest was actually here in the first place, and wondered if she made any progress in a decision. “But here’s the thing: those days are supposed to be behind me, and yet, I’d pinned you against that wall as if you were one of my subordinates. I was still the same Commander Tempest Shadow.”

“It’s really not as bad as you think, but I can see what you mean.” Starlight would be lying, and hurting Tempest in the long run, if she claimed blindness toward the shades of her old life bleeding into their conversations.

Self-spite slathered Tempest’s words as she continued, “I’m not so different from how I used to be, but I’m fighting to get better because I know I can be. Therefore, I hope you will accept my apology, Glimmer… Please… and let’s never speak of it again… Um.” She shook her head, wrinkled her nose like she tasted something rank. “Ah, horseapples,” Tempest sighed. “I’m terrible at this friendship thing.”

Starlight felt sorry for her. She knew what it was like to fail hard and then doubt yourself forever. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up—”

“That is richly ironic, coming from you.”

“Seriously, though! I’m the one who failed to account for the implications behind brainwashing her friends.”

“You brainwashed your friends?” Ocellus cried.

“Because of homework,” said Tempest.

“No, it’s because I was terrified that I’d wasted Twilight’s time and energy in failing to learn anything about friendship.” Starlight felt ridiculous saying it aloud, and held a burning cheek. “I’m also the pony who’d traded her reason for living with zero consideration, again, for how her friends might feel. And that was just last week.”

“But you did it for a noble reason,” Ocellus tried to say, but Tempest thought over her, “So what you’re telling me, is we’re both pretty bad at this. And that we’ll never be perfect.”

I suppose so. But Tempest’s hopes were too unrealistic to agree with. “I wouldn’t necessarily say that. But it’s just hard, for us, you know?”

“Changing?” Ocellus wondered, to Tempest’s side-eyed displeasure, or was it curiosity?

“Kind of,” said Starlight. “I’m more referring to how, when backed against a wall, and something from our past drags us back to the moment where it all went wrong.. We just sort of snap. Just a little.” Like when I thought my first friend left me. That he hated me even though I was only being me, trying my very best… A notion so painful, so likely, that she refused to believe that was the case. It had to have been cutie marks, it’s the only explanation that didn’t hurt so much. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, we don’t always make the selfless choice. Not when you’ve spent your entire life concerned with your own happiness. But so long as we feel bad about it, we’re not so bad. I think.”

“Very reassuring,” Tempest muttered. “Now are you referring to yourself, or me?”

Starlight was thinking of herself, but her comparison was totally applicable to Tempest’s own mindset, especially from the other day. How Tempest was spurred into a rage at the notion that her entire life was some piece in a cosmic chess game.

“Both, I guess.”

Tempest’s mind had to have been in the same place, clenching her jaw thoughtfully. “I haven’t changed my opinion, just so you know. About…” she glanced in Ocellus’s direction, who was busying herself cleaning and pretending she wasn’t listening intently. “You know. I doubt I ever will, even though I’ll accept the job.”

And the world was softer all of a sudden—even the constant ache burrowing deep in Starlight’s chest hesitated. The amber glow above, softer, its sugary aroma a little mouthwatering, even the buzzing was a gentle melody to absorb this by. “Y-you will?” Starlight asked, disbelieving. “Tempest, that-that’s wonderful! Really! What changed your mind?”

“As I said, I can be better than this. ‘The wanderer.’ I can be a better version of myself than some aimless vagabond… Besides,” she continued with bolstered vigor, “I’ve a debt to repay to Twilight, and this country. It’s a win-win as far as I can see.”

Starlight could see it now: Princess Twilight Sparkle, ever-shadowed by her strong, fierce but warm-eyed bodyguard bearing the six-pointed starburst, worn with pride and desire instead guilt and a sense of duty.

Basically, the opposite of why Starlight was willing to sacrifice herself for Twilight.

That didn’t pan out so well, this ugly mentality—the opposite of friendship. Tempest ought to change her mindset quickly for Twilight’s sake, perhaps talk to her about her guilt and misgivings.

That would save her from making the same mistakes.

Starlight pushed it out of mind; this was a happy moment for Tempest. “Well, regardless of your reasons, I’m happy for you. I’m sure Twilight is, too. I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you’d take her up on the offer. I mean I wouldn’t, considering… But it just goes to show how much stronger you are!”

Tempest, looking straight ahead, unclenched her jaw and said, “...Fizzlepop.”

“Uh, yeah that’s, uh, that’s your name!”

“My name is Fizzlepop.” The older mare swallowed. “My friends can call me Fizzle, if they’d like.”

Starlight blinked. It was like some obvious yet profound equation was just solved in front of her: Tempest Shadow is ‘Fizzlepop,’ friends call her ‘Fizzle,’ she wanted Starlight to call her ‘Fizzle,’ therefore, Fizzle wanted to be friends with Starlight despite offending her.

This… was unexpected. Actually, it was totally unthinkable! And Starlight was truly speechless. “This’s a pretty roundabout way of asking if you still wanna be friends!” She could be wrong though. She just could. “I-if that’s what you’re suggesting…”

Fizzle looked away, a pink dusting her mauve cheeks. “Tch. I wouldn’t have said anything I don’t mean, so shut up and accept it already.”

Starlight tittered both at her shift in demeanor, and in conversation. “Hey, I’m not complaining. I think that name’s less of a mouthful, don’t you think, Fizzle?” It felt… good, saying that again and without fear or regret weighing heavily.

Her friend smiled. “Indeed. And it sounds less ridiculous to me than ‘Fizzlepop Berrytwist.’ Hey, barkeep!” She clapped the wooden counter.

“Who? Me?” Ocellus squeaked.

“Yeah, you. Give me something mild.”

“Um, it’s nectar, Miss Fizzlepop. Fizzle! I-it’s the very opposite of mild, by nature.”

“So dilute it with water,” she told the child like, well, a child.

“A-alright! One second, please.”

While Ocellus buzzed about her work space gathering the appropriate bottles, Fizzle—I can’t believe she still wants to be my friend—turned to Starlight. “So.” She slid one mushroom closer to the middle.

“Uh.” Starlight did the same. “So, heh.”

Fizzlepop took another seat, leaving one empty between them. “What happened?” she murmured, leaning closer. “When you…?”

“Here you are!” Ocellus cheered, clunking down a b’houlder of nectar, almost as thin as water.

“Thanks.” Fizzle smirked, possibly out of politeness, but then she lifted it to a smiling Ocellus and it deepened in a way Starlight hadn’t seen from her. “I’ve not had something this sweet in years,” she said. “Much less served to me by a bright-eyed little thing such as yourself. Don’t you know who I am?”

Ocellus flushed, nodding. “I-it’s nothing,” she said, bowing just as quickly. “I just know you’re not a bad guy anymore, so I’ve no reason to be afraid!”

Fizzle, grinning a tiny grin, rose the b’holder to her lips.

I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s all she’d thought about since it happened, my… offense: her reaction. And she seemed concerned, surprisingly. Starlight was tickled. She’d forgotten how alike they were beneath a surface level.

She looked to Fizzlepop, guzzling down her drink like the broth of a soup, and said, “As for what, ah, what happened the other day? With the freakout and the uncontrollable emotions and ostensibly my magic?” Starlight tittered, because that got dark and awkward and Ocellus, shocked, was appalled by this flippant facade Starlight continued trying sell to an audience who didn’t buy it nor want it nor find it the least bit charming oh why am I like this?

Starlight sighed. One problem at a time, and at the moment, her’s didn’t matter: Tempest, or rather Fizzle, the self-proclaimed S-H-word, probably felt awful still despite being forgiven. “Uh, just so you know, for the record, I’ve equal responsibility for that fiasco.”

“I spurred you into that mindset,” Fizzle gasped between gulps of nectar.

“Wait, you did?”

“Fair enough,” Starlight said intentionally over Ocellus. “But if I hadn’t sorta kinda lost my mind,” ‘A week ago,’ was the unspoken part, “I’d never have bothered you to begin with. So please, don’t think you were the absolute cause.”

“Only partly,” Fizzle muttered, diving back into her drink.

Starlight felt bad nodding, but she did so with a smile. “Yeah, that’s how it goes, usually. Mistakes and whatnot… So anyway, yeah! I’ll tell but only if you don’t share it with you-know-who.” Ocellus could be trusted, Starlight believed, but she didn’t want rumors potentially tarnishing Twilight’s reputation. That would be a PR disaster and a half.

Fizzle gave a look, then nodded behind her bowl.

She pulled it from her lips a second later, sighing sharply, but with a content smile on her lips. “That was delicious. Hey, bar—O-Ocellus.” Fizzle got another ‘Who? Me?’ look sent her way. “Before we proceed, do you swear your silence as Starlight Glimmer’s friend?”

“Uh, yes ma’am!” She saluted.

“Good. Because if you break that promise, I’ll come find you and eat you.”

Ocellus wrinkled her nose. “Firstly, don’t patronize me, please. I’m not that young, I’m thirteen.” Starlight took one look—Fizzle sitting there, stupefied—and guffawed. “Second,” she heard Ocellus continue over her, “everyone has their secrets. And if this is one Starlight wants to maintain, then trusting me to keep it that way is a test of our friendship. All I’m saying is, there’s no need to threaten my life if I already have a stake in this.”

Fizzlepop blinked, eyes returning to their cool, almost predatory glaze. “I like you.” She smirked; Ocellus blushed. “Excuse my wariness, kid. It’s nothing personal. I, ah, didn’t grow up in a very tight-knit community, is all.”

“It sounds sad,” said Ocellus—with soft eyes and wilted ears, she genuinely sympathized.

“Yeah, well, I’ve dealt with it long enough not to need your pity.”

“Fizzle,” Starlight hissed.

“Actually,” Ocellus said shyly, “it’s not that I pity you for your life. I do feel bad about what you carry now, and your struggle dealing with it. But I wasn’t talking about that, rather it’s the filly you were that makes me sad. The one who went through all that… and made you. S-sorry if that’s insulting!” she cried, shrinking. “But… I doubt it was any fun for you. So, I’m sorry about that. I really am.”

“Uh.” The taller pony glanced over, caught Starlight’s amazement at this mature little bug and said to her, “It’s… a good feeling. To know you’re empathized with instead of rightfully scorned. I appreciate your pity.”

“Sympathy,” Starlight whispered.

Fizzle nodded. “You understand what I mean.”

Ocellus giggled into her hoof. “I do, yes!”

What a sudden, dumbfounding, and wholly heartwarming exchange. “You’re a natural,” Starlight remarked to them both. Fizzlepop would be fine, and down the line Ocellus would surely find somepony who appreciated her for her, and befriended them through a deeper bond instead of something surface-level like learning.

“Starlight,” said Fizzle, “I still want to know what happened back there.” Ocellus looked over whilst cleaning, ears and lips perked. “When you fled.”

That was a benign way of labeling her cowardice—coincidentally the one thing she didn’t tell Twilight. That and Fizzle’s connection to it, of course. “Alrighty then. So,” she looked between the two of them, “you know how I teleported, but do you know when?” Fizzle actually nodded. She’s really thought about this as obsessively as I had. “I wanna make it clear right now that it was completely unintentional. Like, I didn’t even think I could do that...”

And Fizzle listened to her every word, never interrupting or giving any indication for what she felt, which was unnerving save for the occasional nod. It didn’t take long for Starlight to lose her reservations, the worry of being judged, reported, or coddled. They respected her the worse the tale got, until she was almost—almost—-ready to tell them the real version she had kept from Rainbow Dash. The sad, pathetic version where she tried so desperately to maintain this tremulous status quo, she ended up having a meltdown at the last pony to understand, much less care, for that sort of thing. So Starlight kept it in, and even forgotten about it in the midst of reliving this idealized version of herself—the non-emotional, judgemental-of-her-friends variety everypony seemed to think she was.

The one remark Fizzle made was, “To think, if I could leave in the blink of an eye like that, there’s a lot I’d have missed out on. A good lot, mind you.”

Starlight smiled, despite how it stung—she could have not ‘missed out’ on the chance encounter with Twilight. Then, perhaps, she wouldn’t have made everypony more worried and scared of her enough to throw this party and uproot the lives of all of Ponyville!

“So, yeah!” Starlight concluded, fighting a sweat, hardening her heart and ignoring the ‘could have”s and “should have”s bombarding her every other thought. “Whatever they did healed my nerves like a charm. Kinda wish they didn’t though! Or that the numbing spell for my horn actually worked.” Speaking of which, Starlight scooped up and slapped herself in the forehead with her perspiring bag of ice. “Because this, ah, this really hurts. Like, a lot. Periodically!” she added as Ocellus opened her mouth to speak.

Fizzle glanced over, saw that had satisfied her question. “I can’t help but feel somewhat envious,” she said, smiling. “Not for the pain, I’m quite familiar with that business, and that’ll subside in a month or so. But I was never treated when I started using my magic again.”

Starlight’s gut dropped. “Wait, so you’ve—?”

“Lost all feeling in my face,” she finished, bowing slightly. “It happened so gradually that once the ache subsided, so did my sense of touch.” Fizzle gestured around her muzzle. “It’s been years, I think. Goes to show how I haven’t ever thought about it. So there isn’t any need to feel sorrowful for me,” she told Ocellus.

The little bug wiped her eyes, snorting thickly. She’d been a leaky dam the entire discussion, not that Starlight blamed her. From her perspective, they must be—

“The two of you,” Ocellus croaked, “you’re both such sad, strong ponies.”

Starlight couldn’t believe she was hearing that after such an embarrassing tale—losing control of both mind and body. Yet Fizzlepop smiled warmly at this… wonderful, naive child turning back to her. “It really goes to show how great your power was. Or is, I should say.” She put a hoof to her chin. “Makes me wonder what that says about me.”

“Are you… angry? At me?”

Fizzlepop looked to her like she’d regrown her horn. “Absolutely not. It’s your life, why should I care?”

Right, right, right. Fizzlepop was still… learning. She had no reason to feel for Starlight’s struggles—which, she shouldn’t! Because Starlight gave it up willingly! She… pushed that narrative to Fizzle, right? Or did she know it was an accident and still wrote her off as some stupid pony? She might not be angry, after all, but that doesn’t mean she lacked an opinion.

“Um, so, your face, huh? That must feel weird,” said Starlight, in an oh-so-natural topic change.

“It doesn’t feel like anything,” said Fizzle. “I’ve grown used to it. You, on the other hoof—”

“You said you’ll c-c-cook your brain!” Ocellus cried, because Starlight felt comfortable enough dropping that little nugget an hour before her bedtime. “That’s scary, Starlight! Aren’t you afraid of hurting yourself?”

Every day.

“‘Like a hard-boiled egg,’ if I remember correctly.” Starlight wanted to blast that smirk off Fizzlepop’s face, the poor girl was an even paler blue than before.

“It must be terrifying, Starlight!”

“It’s very low risk!” Starlight assured her. “My face-nerves are what I gotta worry about. They can’t be mended forever.” She shook her pounding, freezing head. “Honestly, though, I won’t for this, just for the record, but this idea’s just becoming more appealing by the moment. Just pop on over to home and back a few times and destroy them irreparably. Because this. Sucks.”

“Yeah, well, that’s life sometimes,” sighed Fizzle.

Ocellus rose, propped upon the bartop. “That’s quite pessimistic of you, Miss Fizzlepop.”

“Big word for a small fry.” Fizzle wore a fond smile. “Do you even know who I am?”

Starlight could read the tenseness of her shoulders like a book. She’s afraid of judgement.

Ocellus said with no fear in her voice, “Of course I do. But I’m not afraid of you, because you’re clearly a good pony,” she claimed in a way only a child could. “Now you are, anyway.”

Fizzle released a silent sigh. “I was waiting for the clencher. You got spirit, kid. But, ah, I wouldn’t say I’m a good pony. Not clearly. Perhaps underneath…” She gestured around her face. “This. Perhaps.”

“Beneath the cool exterior, captivating voice, imposing form and hornless head held high?” Starlight snorted. “Yeah, you definitely got the makings of one. A model good pony, ready to present herself as Princess Twilight’s gargoyle of a shadow!”

“Um, that could use some work. A little bit,” said Ocellus.

“What are you two talking about?” Fizzle snapped, defensive.

Ocellus waved her hoof. “It’s your public face! The image you built for yourself. You look kinda evil, sure, but that makes it even more striking that you’re one of the good guys now! You just need to change what the image of you represents.”

“Well, isn’t that a nice, simple outlook?” Fizzle’s smile, then her muzzle, fell. “Life isn’t so black and white, pipsqueak.”

Starlight remarked as though commenting on the weather, “I was a crazy dictator who ruled with an iron hoof. Sounds horrible, right?”

“Uh, w-well—”

Oh, sweet considerate Ocellus. “It’s horrible, don’t sugarcoat it… And I know it is,” Starlight resumed in a casual manner, “but at the time, I thought it was sortaaa, kinda… necessary, for lack of a less heinous term. I thought that no pain was worse than losing your friends, and so I did whatever it took to ensure no one would again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” chuckled Starlight.

“For having to explain that to me.” Ocellus sat back in her stool, rubbing her elbow. “It must feel terrible, looking back at what you’d done.”

“Oh, for sure it is! But I’ve looked back so many times, now, talking about it is pretty easy for me. It’s when I re-live it that’s a problem, though, thankfully that’s starting to lose its luster with time.” And for something once again being my fault as a result of my own hubris.

“You make me want to gag.” Starlight looked to Fizzle, her offense dispelled a tad seeing her humored grin, propped lazily by one hoof. “You’re so selfless, even as a tyrant.”

“That excuses nothing,” Starlight and, to what shouldn’t have been a surprise, Ocellus, said in unison, but it was.

“Eerie,” the changeling shuddered.

“And it’s ignoring something important.” A grossness stewed within Starlight. Perhaps she ought not to say anything… but Fizzlepop needed to hear this, and that was more important than her own guilt and disgust. “Be warned, though. It’s something a little bit, shall we say, dark. For, if I’m being honest with you guys, and myself, doing that to those ponies, it… it made me… feel... good.” Silence. There was no explosion, no eruption of slander and appall. Just two quiet, curious individuals willing to hear out and understand. “Like, helping ponies, being a leader… it made me feel like I was really, truly bettering ponies lies. I felt, or so I thought, their love. And I loved them. And to me, that was worth living a boring, hard life in the middle of the Bad Lands. And I did all of that while ignorant to the terror I’d instilled within my friends.” She bowed her deservedly hornless head. “And that is the scariest, worst part about what I’d done. Who I am… getting so caught up in my sense of what’s right, I become confused in what is and isn’t correct. I never, ever want to make that same mistake again!”

And yet, she did. Frequently. A poor example of how ponies can change, Starlight was a fool in bringing this up.

A hard, yet gentle weight settled upon her mane. “I wouldn’t look too deeply into it,” said Fizzle. “We all enjoy what we’re good at.” Starlight looked up, dumbfounded.

Ocellus nodded, to Starlight’s further shock, but when they looked to her, expectantly, she was at a loss of what to say.

“Yeah, I did.” She gave a sad smile, to imply she wasn’t as sad as they might think. “I enjoyed it every day, and oftentimes forgot how blessed I was.”

“Hey,” Ocellus said, perking up halfway, “I’ve learned that cutie marks aren’t as cut and dry as ponies think. Just because you were great at magic, it doesn’t mean your cutie mark explicitly had to—”

“I know, sweetie. Believe me,” muttered Starlight. “They’re emblematic of a pony’s being, though. Who they are, what they are, even why they are and what they will be, it’s all symbolized in these… cute, foalish tattoos on our hips. Like I said, I know,” she told a dejected Ocellus. “But the Cutie Mark Crusaders specialize in this stuff, and they’re convinced my talent was never magic.” It was a sound hypothesis: Applejack, for example, was insanely strong while her mark represented a devotion to the farm and her family. “But I lost what I held dear,” continued Starlight. “Whatever that says about me, I lost my horn, my talent-talent, everything that makes me who I am. And that was in exchange for Twilight’s life. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Both of them looked doubtful, concerned, and not at all convinced: they, too, could see right through the nonsense, into the self-aggrandizing mare before them.

Starlight, once again, bowed her deservedly-hornless head. “You know, it’s ironic kinda,” she realized. “I’m branded for life with what I’d done to ponies for years. Fitting, wouldn’t you say?”

“No, don’t say that! This doesn’t have to be the rest of your life!” cried Ocellus. “Uh, s-symbols can change! Their meanings are interpretable by the beholder and the context they’re in! Um, uh…” She looked around, mumbling frantically. “Uh, hey! Fizzlepop, what does your—?”

“Nopony’s. Analyzing. My mark,” seethed the older mare. Starlight cast a quick glance to the rainbow-colored firework protectively erupting before a smaller magenta one. “Just in case you were about to,” she added, loosening tension.

“I understand. Sorry for being presumptuous!”

“Honestly, you people are more apologetic than ponies.”

Ocellus just giggled.

As they spoke, Starlight realized Fizzle’s bursts might resemble a certain pair of pony’s respective magics, and she knew it. Starlight smiled, for no matter what happened, or how she felt, Fizzlepop was destined for a special bond with Twilight. Maybe if she screwed up hard enough, Fizzle would be there to pick up the pieces. Become Twilight’s new…

Her new…

As Starlight’s brain flicked ‘on,’ the world did as well: everything from the bar to the lights to her two friends were there and it made as to sense why they were there.

It was so obvious.

How could she have been so lost in her own grief to not have noticed? Because everything made sense now!

The timing of Fizzlepop’s arrival, the emergence of her room and that special armor, Twilight getting sick and Starlight coincidentally saving her and becoming obsolete and unwanted in every sense save for the forefront of her former teacher’s mind because she herself felt responsible!

And the witches. Those monsters! They wanted this, but they did nothing but obey Starlight’s wish and make it happen despite their power! They were gods in every sense of the word, but did nothing but react and live their lives as Starlight, Fizzlepop, Twilight and everypony else had ever lived theirs!

All to get to this past week.

From Starlight’s coincidental find, to the deal she made, down to its very precise wording. From the witches’ refusal to obey Twilight’s own wish, and their own great power to do so much more despite having not done a thing for themselves or any desire to speak of!

It all made such a stupid amount of sense. And Starlight, once again, was too caught up in her head to have noticed:

She was born so that Twilight would survive.

That was her Destiny, that was her purpose in life. That’s what the starbust on her flanks meant, with the magic trailing off it! Starlight’s magic was the reason Twilight was saved! And now that that was done, Starlight had… nothing.

She gasped, aching, however light. Happy. Sad and angry. This wasn’t fair, said one half of her, but it had to be, and she ought to feel honored to have played such a critical role in Equestrian history!

...And even if she wanted to change it, which, she couldn’t this was what fate rolled for her, what it dictated for Twilight. There was no changing one’s fate, Starlight’s constant blundering was proof of enough of that. Nope, no tricks, no friendship was strong enough to circumnavigate the will of Harmony—the Witches of Flutter Valley.

Her greatest flaw, unresolved after three years of living with the smartest and most patient friend a stupid broken unicorn could ask for, made more sense, too. Not on a personal level, of course—that might very well be one of the eternal mysteries of Equestria—but on a cosmic scale it was pretty cut and dry: Starlight needed to be as twisted and “suicidal” as she was. In being that, only she would be so desperate as to save a pony who hated it more than she appreciated it.

Holy crud. Holy crud. Somepony had to know this, to tell Twilight why Starlight did what she did in the hard days after leaving her life—for one reason or another, after all. Possibly even tonight!

“I’ll spare you my two cents, Fizzle.” And the surefire blubbering that would break through along with it.

“Your two cents about what?” she asked.

“About how lucky you are, you know?” Starlight braced herself on folded forelegs, tracing with her eyes the grooves in the countertop, every one of them having their place, their story and history. “You’ve got a future, and a wonderful one at that with Twilight. You’ll make her proud, I know it won’t seem that way but you will. She may seem easy to please,” Starlight gasped, her throat closing. Crud! “But that’s only because she’s so happy to watch you succeed!”

“Is… is something the matter, Starlight?” asked Ocellus. She was concerned. So was Fizzle, in her own head-cocked way.

With eyes were trying to discern some secret code in Starlight’s face. “You look like you’re about to puke.”

“I—!” Starlight’s voice failed her, thank Celestia. It’d be weird to cry in front of the ex-commander of the Storm King and a little girl. She swallowed the surging down, stepped on it in her brain. Mashed it till it was less than a memory.

“I’m just saying,” she resumed carefully, “that, your new job will be a wonderful opportunity to get closer to Twilight. Take it from somepony who’s been living with her and Spike for years! They would love the fresh face in that big old castle of theirs.”

Fizzlepop and Ocellus just… stared. Pitying. Like she was already crying!

“Though, be warned, there are some things that need getting used to before you’ll consider it your new home.” Starlight began speaking from experience, remembering Twilight’s tired groan, her peeved pout, the way she would laugh and how easily she’d do it. “First of all, don’t go lagging behind on their schedule. ‘Sleeping in’ is ‘sleeping the day away’ in the Sparkle household.” Starlight swallowed, scrubbing away a tickle on either cheek. “Every day is an eight-thirty wakeup. If you aren’t, Twilight’s gonna pop into your room and do something really mean, like tickle your nose with a feather or fill the room with this insanely white light. And she’d stomp her hooves like a royal guard on sugar, shouting,” she hesitated, drumming her hooves rapidly against the bartop, “shouting, ‘Come on, get up, let’s go, we gotta move, we’re burning daylight!’” Only Starlight laughed, and did so short of breath, gasping intermittently. “Spike makes the best breakfast, by the way!” she remembered. How could she have forgotten? Taken it for granted? “And, and he’s always willing to lend a claw with something. He might occasionally want your company in going to the market, though. It’d be best not to fight it! He’ll get you with those weepy dragon eyes, the little sneak.”

Fizzle continued looking very, very serious. “Why are you giving me these irrelevant details?”

“Why are you upset, Starlight?” added Ocellus.

“These are the details that’s gonna save your friendship with Twilight and Spike, so pay attention!” They would need someone to effortlessly fill the hole Starlight would leave behind.

“I’m up at six regardless of the day.”

Starlight ignored Fizzle. “Regardless, Twilight’s pretty laid back as a castlemate. F-for being a princess, of course, but she doesn’t like it when her friends call her that. Hates being reminded of how much more important she is than me! O-or anypony, of course. But you’ll have to get used to that side of her, it’ll make her happy if you acclimate to it quickly. None of this ‘princess’ stuff, either, you hear? It’s either Twi, or Twilight. I tried Twiggles once but she hated how that sounds… so don’t call her that, either.”

“Uh…”

That same, dumb look this entire time. Starlight groaned. “Fizzlepop, come on! This is important! Twilight’s gonna be destroyed the first couple days, and she’s going to need a friend who actually gets me, can talk to her about this and guide her and make her understand because, believe it or not,” Starlight hooted, “you, the pony I met just a few days ago, knows me better than anypony I consider my best friends!”

“Huh!” Starlight laughed, sniffling. “Isn’t that just ironic? Well,” she snorted a runny nose, “guess what? It’s not, because the real Starlight Glimmer is too much of a coward to show herself to anypony else, because if they knew me, they’d hate what they saw!”

“Stop it. Stop this insane talk right now.” Fizzle jumped from her seat, turned fully. “You aren’t making any sense, Starlight.”

“How are you not grokking this?” she cried.

Fizzle rose her voice, bordering on shouting each word individually, “Because you’re talking as if I’m coming in to replace you. That is crazy. You aren’t going anywhere and… and I wouldn’t want you to anyway!”

Oh, she would.

“You… you understand what I mean, don’t you?”

If not now, in the face of this ridiculous display, then sometime later, when Starlight screwed up irrevocably and said or did something really angering.

“Well, newsflash here, Commander. Everything you’ve seen and known this past week? All this insanity that’s been going on and how clearly not-okay Twilight is? It’s all because of me. I’m the one who made it happen!”

“You just got done telling me how make mistakes, and that we can always change.”

“When?!” Starlight wailed, wailed. Oh sweet Celestia…

Fizzle tensed as she snapped, “The story! The one about your village, and how you brainwashed those ponies because you cared about them! That’s who you were, Starlight—!” Fizzle caught herself, breathed in… and exhaled. “And that, to me, is what you show in the pony you are now.” Ocellus nodded reassuringly beside her.

Starlight smiled, despite feeling sorry for herself. These two were so good… both of them, good to the core. Unlike Starlight, nasty and twisted with a flicker of it buried beneath a network of terrible deeds and personality flaws.

“Sooner or later,” Starlight began, unable to meet their eyes, “Twilight’s going to stop thinking with her heart and start using her brain. She’s going to realize just how much she hates me for all of this.”

“So, what, you’re just going to run?” Fizzle croaked.

“Something like that,” Starlight blurted without thinking.

Ocellus buzzed up and above their heads. “Wait here, I-I’m going to go find Princess Twilight!” Starlight’s heart sank. “Just, just wait he—Ah! Oof!” She grunted beneath Starlight, pinned underneath her.

What did I just do? Starlight was stupid, she was saving Twilight more elongated grief. “Don’t, please! She wouldn’t understand!”

“Please, get off me!” Ocellus wiggled beneath her.

“Wait! Just wait a minute!” Starlight had to finish. Make her understand. She was smart, she’d get it. “Twilight would be so disappointed in me if I don’t understand friendship after all these years! If you tell her what I told you, then she’ll never let me out of her sight again!”

A pair of hooves grabbed her by the shoulders. “Shut up and get off of her!” Starlight heard as she was thrown, careening in the air a full second before something flat and hard slammed up to meet her back.

A weak buzzing faded hurried out of earshot. Starlight scrambled to her hooves and thrust herself in the fuming glare of Fizzlepop. “Why’d you do that?!”

“You’re acting like a crazy pony! You need help, Glimmer—-Twilight’s help.”

“No. I. Don’t!” Starlight snarled, shoving this musclebound brute’s unmoving chest. “You don’t know a thing about me, or Twilight! If you did, you’d be on my side a hundred percent!”

“Is that so? Because not a few days ago, you were talking her up and down as being this great and understanding friend. But you’re making her seem like a disgusting mirror of yourself!” She thrust a hoof out.

Starlight hit the ground hard with a single-legged shove. “You jerk,” she said. “You did not just say that, you jerk!”

“I did and I will again! You’re a broken mirror who can’t see herself right, let alone the lengths her friends have gone to show they love her. You are the one who is so lucky, I wish I’d had what you do when my horn was broken! But I didn’t. And you’re squandering it. Like the self-loathing little worm Twilight said you were!”

“She did not!” Starlight cried, Tempest’s tearful fury blurring with fresh tears of her own.

“She said it kindly, you little idiot, but she made it clear just the kind of weak little pony you are! And she called you strong?” Tempest hooted sardonically. “I’ve met equally messed-up people who would laugh at this sight before me.”

Starlight Glimmer, once the most powerful mage in all the land, now a supposed self-hating, self-destructive, hornless incompetent so delusional she herself believed she hasn’t been crying the last two minutes.

“I hate you!” she roared. Nothing else seemed fitting. Not even that. “I hate this, I didn’t want it! I didn’t wanna get rid of my horn in the first place!”

“Then what were you expecting to lose?!”

“My useless life for one!” And the pressure swelling and swelling within Starlight burst in a choked, deteriorating mess of sobs. Tempest said nothing. Her silence screamed of disgust. “I’m just this pathetic little thing, wh-whose friends, only tolerate her, because they’re too kind to turn me away!” Starlight broke again, crying into her forelegs. “Because that would make them worse than me! Don’t you understand?! That’s the only reason they’ve kept me around!”

“You are so delusional. It’s sad. It’s honestly heartbreaking, and I don’t say that lightly.”

Starlight couldn’t take it anymore. Between this and attacking that sweet little changeling, Twilight wouldn’t be able to save Starlight’s face after this fiasco.

And then, she remembered: Twilight was definitely on her way, whether by wing or teleportation it wouldn’t be long now.

She scrambled in place a heartbeat before tearing away from the scene, heaving and choking back sobs. It was so telling, how Tempest said nothing to stop her.

One minute they were talking, laughing, everything was going fine. Then the next, she just… broke.

Fizzlepop didn’t know what happened, much less how.

And yet she stood there, gawking like a fool. Instead of running after that… that stupid, poor little soul. I could have done something, anything, better than what I just did. But Fizzle didn’t, just like she didn’t that Ursa victim from making a stupid, rash decision and ruining her life.

That was the truth of Tempest’s character, laid bear. Like the universe, or whatever crap Glimmer believed in, gave her a test, and she failed spectacularly. That’s who she’ll always be: a pony who stepped on the wounded instead of extending a hoof to help, like Glimmer would.

No, this was nothing. She hit me, I hit her back. She ought to have known better than to tell me what I do and don’t know about her and Twilight. Fizzlepop bared her gritted teeth, shedding her self-pity even as it continued gnawing through her chest like a parasite. No, Fizzlepop didn’t care about Starlight Glimmer anymore. She hit me. Except, she shoved Fizzlepop, rather weakly, and clearly in a fit of grief. I hit her back.

For thinking this way, she gave herself a good bash across the face. It stung—a blunt, dull tingle edged in fire.

Oh, Celestia and Luna, if they even heard these prayers, explain to Fizzlepop what was wrong with her, and why was she deemed fit to serve Princess Twilight by everypony save herself? No wonder Glimmer subconsciously thinks them a poor judge of character. It’s not like her fears were rooted in any truth, just the wrong ones. Potentially.

Probably not.

She didn’t know anymore. About her future, about Twilight. And that made me terrified. Afraid that I was making some kind of mistake in accepting Twilight’s offer.

And she took it out on Starlight.

Gods. What was wrong with Fizzlepop? What was wrong with Starlight? What’s wrong with ponies, she wondered, as if the stupid fireflies above would answer for the Two Sisters. What is it about losing a horn that made unicorns go crazy, thinking the world is out to get them?

“You look sad and lonely,” a bland voice remarked. Fizzlepop genuinely screamed. “Sorry, was that too blunt?” Whirling, she met with a deadpanning mare in an ugly wool dress. “I’m practicing. Forget about it actually.”

Fizzlepop shook her head. “Where did you come from?”

“Up there.” Maud tilted her head back, once, toward the several-meter-high wall sloping jaggedly up to the surface of the Bad Lands. “From the magic used to carve the Hive, it now bolsters a unique hybrid of magical geodes between tunnels. It’s so beautiful I wanted to cry.” There was a beat, and before Fizzlepop could finish processing and altogether dismissing this drivel, the pony continued, “Sorry for blabbering. Beforehoof I’d gotten done beating half of Ponyville in a nectar-drinking contest. Now I’m in the midst of an intense sugar rush, and it’s making me talkative and unafraid of strangers.”

“You sound like a normal pony to me, albeit a rather soulless one.”

The pony just blinked. Fizzlepop felt guilty all of a sudden, hoping she didn’t offend this mare. I’m on a roll tonight. Come on, I have to do something, Starlight needs serious help, whether she wants it or not. More than what I can give, but I can at least… ugh, explain myself to her. Or at least tell her I’m sorry. She might have to stoop to her belly, muzzle buried in the Bad Land sand, to prove it.

Fizzle was stunned, feeling weirdly okay with the notion. Probably just overwhelmed by everything from her racing, loathsome heart to the encounter with this random rock of a pony.

“Look, listen,” Fizzlepop began, pausing to clear her throat soundlessly, “I don’t mean to be cold, but I just did something absolutely thoughtless, and I have to go and make it up to my… ah,” Screw it, I have nothing to prove to hide anymore, “my friend. So if you don’t mind...”

As she turned, this strange, random pony said without a scrap of emotion in her voice, “I’ll take a wild shot in the dark and guess it’s Starlight Glimmer.”

“Obviously, Rainbow! Who else could it be?!”

She didn’t need to announce the obvious. It was bad enough that it happened, but did she have to acknowledge it, too?
Starlight had just attacked, though not really, but, she did… just verbally abuse a child. She would never do that, but she did it anyway. Why did she do it? Obviously for no good reason, but Starlight hasn’t had a reason for anything she’d done, let alone a good one! She just acted wild out of the blue, no warning whatsoever! Was it the witches? Were they controlling her? Rainbow was taking this far more calmly than anypony ought to!

Twilight watched as her friend lowered herself to the child’s level, never ceasing her smoothing of the girl’s quivering pink fin. “Easy, kid. You’re okay now. Starlight didn’t… well, she thinks she meant it, but she’s been a little out of it, is all!”

“I know,” choked Ocellus. “Th-that’s not why I’m…” She gasped. “It was just so scary, and I didn-didn’t know what was wrong! I was useless, I panicked and I am useless and now she’s...”

“Oh, my goodness,” Twilight moaned. She had to pace to keep herself from completely plunging into the deep end. “Oh, my goodness. Oh, my goodness. Ohmigoodness…”

Her withers, and tracks, were grasped by something distinctly tender, as they have many a time. “Now, Twilight,” AJ said soothingly, “this situation’s lookin’ mighty dire, an’ I know tonight ain’t the win we was hopin’ for, but there’s no cause for makin’ a scene in front-a all’a these folk, m’kay?”

But she made a little kid cry!

...And that was no excuse to make it worse. Or demonize Starlight as though Twilight wasn’t equally culpable in hurting this child.

“You’re right.” Exhaling, Twilight asked calmly, “Ocellus, what did Starlight Glimmer say or do to prior to her insulting you?”

However faint, her changeling-eyes widened, glistening with swarms of ever-shifting lights. “I… I’m not s-sure.” She gulped. “I-It all happened so fast. I’m sorry.” Within a half circle of the Elements, and backed by her changeling king, Ocellus shuddered with sobs anew. “I-I-I failed! I failed her, and now she hates me!” she cried. Thorax frowned.

Hopeless, Twilight looked to the girls, to AJ beside her. Despite being the only one to have had contact with Starlight, not her nor any one of them knew what Ocellus was talking about. None of them had seen Starlight since she fled from Applejack, who spent the party searching high and low for their hurting friend.

Thorax, replacing Rainbow’s hoof on his subject’s throbbing back, frowned with puzzlement.

Like slipping on a mask, he leaned down with a grin. “Hey, Ocellus,” he hissed, “would you like to decorate a gourd with me?”

Ocellus picked her head up. Wiping her nose, she blinked wetly at her king. “What about Prince Pharynx?” she rasped.

“Oh, you know how he is,” Thorax said dismissively. “My big brother had always been independent.”

Ocellus stood. “Well, if you ins-sist, Thorax.” She spread her translucent pink wings and buzzed them, their visage melting to a blurry aura that lifted her like a feather in the wind, wavering across the Gourmet to where all the party attendants sat in pairs or even trios decorating their gourds.

“Find us a good one!” Thorax called, then, with a seriousness Twilight only heard of once, from Starlight (who was ashamed to have been the cause of it), he addressed the group. “Ocellus has always had trouble making friends, so her and I’ve gotten real close this past year. And guys? I hate to think this, but… she probably knows more than she’s letting on.”

“Yeah, figured that, too,” sighed Applejack.

“Why would she feel the need to lie about something like this?” cried Fluttershy.

“For the same reasons as Starlight, duh!” said Pinkie.

“How can any of you be so sure?” Rainbow asked. “It could be just like she said, you never know.”

Thorax nodded. “True. If it were anycreature else, I’d agree. But she’s the smartest kid in the Hive. I swear, nothing gets by her.”

“So,” began Fluttershy, “what are you saying, Thorax?”

“I’m saying that she’s covering for Starlight. They might have been reading together, or something. And then Ocellus said or maybe asked something that triggered her PTSD.”

Pinkie leaned dramatically, and with utter seriousness, against the king. “Not Starlight’s Perplexing Trauma Sadness Disease!”

Thorax’s muzzle wrinkled. “Um, kind of? B-but that’s not what it stands for! P-T-S-D: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

Twilight’s gut sank with every word. That sounded deadly serious, and even worse… “I’ve never heard that before.”

“Nor have I.” Rarity stepped forward. “Though if I know Starlight, the poor dear has been living with this, ah, ‘pee-tee-ess-dee’ for most of her life. She always seemed stressed, more often than not, always penitent in her downfall after losing Sunburst.”

Perhaps it was before that, too. Twilight knew next to nothing about her home life, or what she did before Sunburst came along. And Twilight, if this night yielded nothing good, was desperate enough to break Starlight’s trust and seek out her family in Sire’s Hollow.

“PTSD is a changeling sickness,” Thorax explained. “A mind-disease. Related to scary or intense experiences affecting your mindset in the present. Soldiers got them all the time from having to defend our home from Bad Lands beasts. The failure at Canterlot was a recent one. Usually, though, it came from a fear of failing Mo—uh, er, Queen Chrysalis.”

“Oh, dear!” cried Fluttershy. She was clutching her breast, gazing sadly at the floor. “So you’re saying poor Starlight has this… this anxiety-induced trauma disease?!”

“What are you seven conspiring about over here?” snapped the last pompous pony they needed right now.

Rainbow, thankfully, zipped right up into her face. “Trixie, ya gotta butt-out. We’re kind of busy right now.”

Trixie peeked around her, looking truly gutted. “Is something wrong with Starlight?” She became indignant before Twilight’s heart could warm towards her concern. “And you girls had the nerve not to tell me?”

“Nice and subtle, there, Dashie,” Rarity muttered, the pegasus hovering there, groaning ‘Stupid’ into her hooves. Meanwhile she broke away, stepping up beside the pegasus. “Well, now that the proverbial kitten’s out of the bag, Trixie, is there anything you noticed about Starlight that might help us? Something pertaining toward her behavior throughout the party, mayhaps? Something she said, or…?”

“Believe it or not, I am not her only friend.” Trixie’s glare was… intense. More so than usual. “I know that might be a shock, considering how much you’ve been avoiding her—”

“Hey, she’s been avoiding us!” Rainbow snapped, obscuring her pain.

Not that Trixie would notice, and if she did she cared on a scale of ‘very little’ to ‘Are you serious?’ “Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you over the world’s smallest violin! Howsabout you girls figure it out for yourself? You’re mighty, accomplished ponies! The kind who’d walk all over us if you lacked the humility.”

“Like you?” Pinkie chirped. Her smile, the bouncing, it was all a mask.

“I do not lack humility! And it’s because of that that I don’t treat Starlight like some big baby who needs this love-fest of a party to remind her that ponies like her—as if she didn’t know that already.”

“Just what worm crawled up your apple, Trixie?” AJ hocked a loogie to the side, much to Rarity’s disgust. “Shoot, if y’weren’t lookin’ down the length o’ your snout on us, you’d see it’s darn clear that Starlight needed an’ wanted something like this!”

“I-I thought she was sad that nopony seemed to be thanking her,” mumured Fluttershy.

“Oh-h’oh!” Trixie bellowed. “You’re so on the wrong page you aren’t even in the same book, Fluttershy. Sit in the back and let the adults have their talk.”

AJ stammered. “Hoo-eey, you’re nastier than a pile o’ garbage right now, Trixie!”

“What’s your problem?!” Rainbow snarled, diving between AJ’s and Trixie’s.

“You girls are my problem!” Trixie began pacing. “All I wanted was a night to myself, and you had to go and screw that up even more! One night, just one night you six had to do something, anything right by Starlight, but you went and did… did—I don’t even know what! But you’ve evidently made the problem worse—surprise, surprise—because you’re all trying to make Starlight have a problem! And in doing so, you’re making her said problem. That is my problem, because you want Starlight to be your problem.”

“That’s completely kookoo!” Pinkie cried.

Twilight snapped out of her reveries and stepped up with her friends, leaving Thorax a worried bystander. “Trixie, we’ve been doing our best to help Starlight, too. Like it or not, she does have a problem. She’s hurting, badly.”

“No, she isn’t!”

“AJ has seen it for herself! And for whatever reason, she doesn’t want to talk to me. We’re trying to get her to open up, that’s all we want, but she outright refuses to do even that! This is a serious problem, Trixie.”

“That sounds more like a you one than a Starlight-problem, to me.” Trixie glanced up in Rainbow’s direction. “Feathers-for-brains over here’s your little spy, right?”

“Why, you—!” Rainbow’s tail was thankfully stepped on by Applejack. “You know that’s not how it is, you jerk!”

“If it quacks like a duck!” Trixie shouted back. She approached Twilight, brushing past Rarity, whose eyes and everypony else’s angrily followed her step as she continued, “You must know already, how Starlight’s only spoken with me about what’s bothering her. And that bothers you, doesn’t it?” Trixie halted, her smirking muzzle inches away from Twilight’s. “That’s why you’re so desperate to believe it must be something more—that it isn’t a problem on your end, but Starlight’s. And that’s frankly disgusting, Princess of Friendship.”

That wasn’t true. It couldn’t have been! It… Twilight started. It doesn’t make sense. Starlight’s behavior doesn’t make sense, and if she’s opened up to Trixie, REALLY opened up to her…

She wouldn’t be acting like this right now.

“No,” Twilight realized. “Trixie, don’t you see? It’s terrible. This is terrible. It’s sad and horrible and while we stand here, bickering amongst ourselves, Starlight is out there feeling like all her friends secretly don’t like her!”

Trixie flinched back, puzzled, eyeing Twilight as though her person held the code this riddle. “No she doesn’t! That’s crazy! Why would she think that? Does she think that about me?! Why, what’s she keeping a secret from her best friend?” The frequency of her questions—cracks in Trixie’s smug armor.

“I don’t know for sure, yet. But think about it, Trixie: if Starlight truly told you everything, and I mean everything, you’d be in the same boat as I am: gathering everypony you know, doing everything you can to dispel all those dark notions swarming in her head. But she hasn’t, Trixie. Starlight’s not told you anything meaningful and if she has, I guarantee it wasn’t honest. Not completely.”

And then Twilight waited for something, anything. A realization, a reaction, something.

Trixie stared hollowly, dumbstruck, at Twilight’s thundering, bleeding heart. Part of her was thankful she finally got through to Trixie, but her pity for the magician was aching. She only wanted to be a great friend for Starlight in this trying time, and for that, in spite of how nasty, uncooperative, and shortsighted she’s been… much like with Starlight, her dedication to doing what’s right was honestly heartwarming.

Trixie might not have been a perfect friend, nor the most amazing influence on Starlight—a hidden, buried fear validated at last by this horrible week—but they complimented one another like sugar and salt, made each other better despite it being against all logic.

And that, at the heart of it, was what friendship was all about.

“Trixie,” Twilight caught her eye, then the unicorn’s lightly-quivering chin, “listen to me. Are you listening—like really listening?” A quiet blink, a humbled nod. “I don’t know if this, all of what you just said, if it’s how you care. Or if your behavior is no different now from when you first befriended Starlight—partially using that poor, hurting pony as proof that you’re better than me.” Twilight withheld her spite, yet her disappointment shone clear as Celestia’s sun.

“I don’t care,” she continued. “I really can’t care. Not right now. I don’t have the strength, energy, or the heart to think of anything but Starlight. I’m completely on empty in every sense of the word.”

Trixie’s huge, glimmering eyes widened to their limits, her eyebrows squeezed together. “You look pretty exhausted there, Princess.”

“I feel dead,” Twilight said plainly. “Like I wanna take a nap for a thousand years and then cry my eyes out. But so long as I can keep them open, and dry, so long as I can feel my love for her, burning me awake at night, I will help my friend. Because, what’s going on, right now, in the heart of our best friend? That is bigger than you or me. Bigger than whatever rivalry you feel still exists between us.”

“There is. No. Rivarly,” Trixie hissed, her expression unchanging. “Who are you to judge me, Princess? Who are you?”

Twilight smiled sadly. She pitied her. Truly, she did. Her sentiments weren’t that of a friendly competing nature a la Rainbow and Applejack’s. But one friend at a time.

“Your friend, I hope in the future,” Twilight answered. “When the three of us are looking back on all this, laughing about it, you’ll feel comfortable enough to tell me why we always have to compete.”

Trixie eyed her from chin to horn, as if comprehending Twilight for the first time. And she yanked away, disgusted by what she saw. “If you think Starlight is ever going to laugh about this. And I mean genuinely, sincerely laugh, and not that weird titter-thing she does…” She shook her head, smiling without any of the pomp, the grandeur, or any pleasure to speak of. “You really don’t deserve her, Twilight.”

A sentiment Twilight realized for herself, every hour of every day, since she discovered the depths of Starlight’s love for her.

And how easily that love can fracture if not properly reciprocated.

Rainbow shoved Trixie aside. “Would you get outta here already?! Nopony here wants you messing Starlight up even worse!” Trixie galloped away and around the bend, probably to look for Starlight herself.

The contact of Fluttershy’s hoof in Dash’s side startled her. “Oh, Rainbow, I don’t think she’s done anything that bad…”

“Ya don’t think.” AJ approached. “But ya don’t know for sure, either. Think it might be best if one of us keeps her occupied, while we go lookin’ for Starlight?” She scratched beneath her stetson.

Rainbow raised her hoof. “Onetwothree not it!”

“Not it~” Pinkie sang.

“The two of you are so rude.” Fluttershy shook her head. “Okay. I’ll talk to Trixie. Maybe I can see what’s got her all worked up. She could just be scared for Starlight for all we know.”

Rarity pulled Fluttershy gently into a one-legged hug. “I’m inclined to give Rainbow’s theory credence, darling. Sorry to say, but that Trixie’s could’ve filled our Starlight’s precious head with all manner of drivel.”

Twilight frowned at Rarity; for as generous, loving, and patient as she was, she’d always been a little judgemental beneath the surface. “That’s insulting to Starlight’s intelligence. She’s wise enough not to give in completely into Trixie’s, uh, ‘drivel.’ Let’s split up girls, we have to find her.”

“Maud would know for sure!” said Pinkie, bouncing around them. “She doesn’t trust Trixie to be alone with Starlight right now, so she’s watched them like a hawk! Hey, Fluttershy, what do hawks watch for, anyway?”

“There isn’t any time!” Twilight snapped. “Pinkie, please, focus! Go find Maud and see what you can extract about Trixie’s interactions with Starlight. Be specific. Fluttershy, do what you do best. The rest of you, with me. Let’s find our friend.”

“Right!” they said in unison.

Harmony’s little bandaids made for the passage into the heart of the Hive, witlessly barreling through Reeka’s manifestation of her bloated corpse.

Draggle couldn’t literally see, but she saw them enter her sister and emerge out her backside as though she were nothing but the wind. That’s because she was, they were, and Draggle felt them doing so, too, and continued running through their ethereal forms as they bounded for the pass, stewing in their thoughts and fears and anger and regret.

What a delightful show this has been to watch, write, and be a part of.

“Such talkative ponies. They really do have much in common where it counts,” said Reeka.

“You mean in their hatred of us?” Draggle wondered. “Or their cowardice?”

“Both, of course!” giggled Baby Sister, though her figure was a meat shell they’ve both long outgrown. No different from spooky Halloween—or, rather, Nightmare Night—masks, scaring the little ponies. “Their darkest sentiments are only shared within the walls of their bedrooms.”

“And us,” added Draggle.

“Obviously. Shall we come to Starlight now? She seems lonely.”

“I guess. We’ve gathered enough of her strength to make it our own, have we not?”

“I’ve not stopped all day,” giggled Reeka.

“Nice.” Draggle only did what felt ‘right.’ Never questioning. And now, it felt like it was time. “I feel like making her scream. I wanna go now.”

“Me too!” Reeka cheered. “Yeah, let’s break her again! And again and again until there’s nothing left for the bandaids to piece back together!”

Reeka knew better than to believe that, but as the mortals say, living in the moment was the best way to exist. The future was murky, and the past, more often than not, terrible. Draggle shifted her concentration, blinking over to a mile outside the Hive alongside Reeka.

Now, to concentrate. Focus. Manifest, and draw their corporeal forms by the molecule for what felt like centuries. Even if it was just a millisecond.

Starlight hiccuped. She sniffled, snorted, a tickling upon her lip. Any tingling was scratched away. This is all my fault. I’ve no right to cry. But it hurt so bad her nose ran anew, like the rivulets of blood upon her thighs following her mad scramble up the Hive walls. Those, at least, were now coppery-smelling paint flaking off her fur. Disgusting. She was disgusting. She was crazy.

She attacked a child who only wanted to help her new friend, and Starlight completely flipped out.

What’s wrong with me? Why was I born like this? To BE this?

Shallow sobs wracked her, hammered her soul as liquid traced her upper lip. In the distance, within the glowing crown-shaped Hive, her friends were enjoying themselves decorating gourds together. Trixie, even… she hadn’t seen her all night. Clearly she was avoiding the stress and annoyance of being Starlight’s chaperone—they both knew she would never leave Trixie’s side once joined. A ball and chain, and until she came into her life, Trixie had been free to go and do as she pleased.

Hornless, that’s all Starlight was now: a sad ball and chain needing help in every sense of the word, dragging everypony down attached to her.

“I should just go already.” It was the perfect opportunity. Wouldn’t be long before they knew what she’d done to Ocellus, and said to Fizzlepop, who definitely hated her now. Soon, the whole world would know her sacrifice was ill-planned. Selfish.

“I’m bad and selfish and just plain terrible,” Starlight croaked. “I’ll leave… I gotta leave. Before...” Nopony would find her. No one could teleport to her if they didn’t know where she was. It’d be perfect.

She only had to slide off this rock, and walk to the darkness encroaching at her back.

Starlight tried.

Her muscles were clad in iron, unable to budge. I’m glued to this thing. She was chained to her friends. I don’t wanna leave them but I should. I have to. They won’t make me. I’ll only make their lives worse than I already have if I stay.

“YoU’rE a VeRy CoNsIdErAtE fRiEnD, lItTlE pOnY.” The hairs on the back of Starlight’s neck stood on end, her heart tightened.

“What do you want?” she muttered at her spread, red-streaked hind legs.

“To TaLk!” Reeka answered.

“I hOpE yOu DoN’t MiNd HoW wE’vE bEeN dRaWiNg FrOm YoUr GrEaT pOwEr,” drawled a deeper double-voice. “wHaT aM i DoInG, AsKiNg? So MuCh Of It’S gOnE tO wAsTe AnYhOw, YoU wOn’T bE nEeDiNg It! AnD uS? wElL, iT’s HaRd, MaKiNg ThEsE vIsItS hApPeN!”

Starlight’s stomach turned. These things have been inside her, used her for something she had no knowledge of, not to mention a will to be a part of it. “You had no right.” She hugged her belly. “No right doing that.”

“BuT yOu WeRe AlWaYs So PrAgMaTiC,” Reeka tutted. “WhY cHaNgE NoW?”

Starlight said nothing. If she ignored them, Reeka and Draggle would do what they had to and will go away. Maybe my life really was the payment, and they just wanted to torture me until now. A chilling notion, but one that had a definitive end to all this heartbreak—and made Starlight’s heart rise, to her horror.

“Oh, come on,” Draggle’s dual-voice wobbled, echoed, encircled her brain. “ThE oNe ThInG i LiKe AbOuT yOu PoNIeS aRe YoUr CuTe LiTtLe FaCeS.” A long, spotted finger, tipped by a nail so dirty it was black, penetrated Starlight’s view. “CoMe NoW.” It pressed against her chin, a cold spot reeking of rotten nature and blood. Her face was lifted, and Starlight looked upon the towering, lanky shadow outlined in a starry night. Draggle’s eyes were ruby flecks in a space of abyssal black. Unblinking. Uncanny.

Starlight wouldn’t shudder. She did, but she closed her eyes and pretended she wasn’t afraid of them.

“We ArEn’T sO oVeRpOwErEd, YoU kNoW,” Reeka said from somewhere. “We CaNnOt So MuCh As ToUcH aLL tHe LoVe AnD fRiEnDsHiP eXuDiNg FrOm ThAt.” She meant the party. They were like flies, buzzing around a spoiled feast they couldn’t touch. A cold comfort, a small victory, one that made Starlight smirk.

“Seems you’ve been waiting with bated breath for little old me.”

“dOn’T fLaTtEr YoUrSeLf BeCaUsE oF sOmE StUpId TaNgEnTiAl MaGiCkS,” Reeka muttered. “ThIs BaStArDiZeD oFfShOoT oF oUr GloRIoUs PoWeR. dId YoU kNoW tHaT sTaRliGhT—dId YoU kNoW fRiEnDsHiP mAgIc IsN’T rOoTeD iN aNyThInG rEaL? mAkEs MoNsTeRs LiKe Us ThInK, dOeSn’T iT?”

“It DoEs,” Draggle remarked.

“Oh, YoU bArElY uNdErStAnD hOw TiReK wAs ToPpLeD, yOu FoOl. NoT tHAt PrIncEsS tWiLiGhT Is AnY sMaRtEr, ShE hArDlY cOmPrEhEnDs PoOr StArLiGhT hErE!”

“I don’t care.” Starlight knew what they were doing. She really didn’t care anymore.

“aNd ThE aNsWeR Is ScrEaMiNg At HeR iGnOrAnT,” Reeka continued, “jUsT lIkE tHaT pEcUlIaR sIgN uPoN tHe TrEe Of HaRmOnY. wOe To ThE HeArTaChE eQuEsTrIA WiLL fAcE bEcAuSe Of HeR oBlIvIOuSnEsS!”

“I don’t care!” Starlight snapped, her gaze leaping up… and shrinking upon seeing Reeka, as tall as she was wide, arms so fat they looked to be melted propped upon her hips. Her face naught but a hole by this point, veins and blood vessels spider-webbing out from its black depths.

“yOu ThInK i’M bEuTifUl,” she declared. “ThAt MaKEs Me HapPy. ArE yOu HaPpY lIkE uS, sTaRlIghT?”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore, I just want it over already.” Draggle’s head snapped into a tilt at ninety degrees, not understanding. “Just,” Starlight inhaled, sighed shakily, “just get it over with, please, whatever you’re here and what you wanna do. I don’t care anymore. I’m done. I’m just so tired,” Starlight whimpered.

Draggle ogled her, unmoving. “i SuPpOsE sHe Is.”

“iNdEeD. wEll, If YoU iNsIsT sO eAgErLy.” And Reeka moved, a fist lashing upwards, grasping into a fist fast enough to catch a fly. “We’Re HeRe To CoLlEcT, yOu SeE.”

An icy chill lingered from where Draggle’s finger left her chin. “ThE rEsT oF YoUr PaYmEnT,” she said. “All ThAt Is OwEd!” In the blink of an eye, five claws filled her vision black, and freezing temperatures gripped Starlight’s face.

And she screamed.

Not from how cold it was. Not because somepony was touching her. Not even from the pain as she was lifted off the rock, slowly, painfully, a pain worsened as she kicked and flailed like the foal she was.

It was the memory of Hydia, her huge claw gripping Starlight by the face, before gleefully tearing her horn off.

Maud’s heart and hooves stopped dead. “That’s blood.”

Tempest Shadow scanned the wall left to right, but didn’t see what was directly in front of her. “All I see are rocks.”

Maud saw a frantic getaway. “Starlight left us,” she realized. “She hurt herself to do it. Look.” Maud stepped close, pointing to a sliver of crimson staining the face of a slate incline. “I know rocks. They don’t bleed when they’re hurt.”

“They don’t get hurt, period.” Tempest effortlessly scaled the Hive in three jumps, like a mountain goat, leaving Maud reeling from her callous dismissal of rocks. “You coming or what?” she called down. “I’m not leaving her a second longer than I—” Maud made it in one leap. Tempest hid how perturbed she was beneath a cold mask. She marched ahead into the darkness. “Let’s follow these tracks. See them in the sand here?”

“Wind doesn’t blow sand into hoof-shaped imprints,” Maud answered flatly, intentionally for once.

Tempest stopped, clenching her jaw, staring hard into Maud who threw it back twice as hard, doubly hateful. She was bold, harsh; in her opinion, Starlight was being naive thinking she could befriend such a wild soul. But not even this “Fizzlepop,” the hardest pony to have ever lived, could beat out a living rock in an intimidation contest. She whirled away, following Starlight’s evidently frantic gallop.

Hopefully she stopped at some point. “This is your fault,” Maud said.

“I told you I was sorry.”

“Save it for Starlight. You said horrible things to her. I don’t know if she’d forgive you.” Part of Maud didn’t want her to. It was horrible, but this stupid, idiot, angry mare almost ruined everything. Even if she were in the mindset to empathize and do so, Maud may try convincing her not too.

Yeah, and the moon was made out of cheese.

Tempest muttered to the calm night sky, “How’s a pony like her stand something like you for this long…”

Thing. Emotionless. Maud was thankful she was riding high on a sugar rush, still. She might not have blurted out, “I don’t like you,” the way she did. Tempest had to understand the gravity of this admission, though. “I’ve never said that to another pony before.”

Tempest didn’t so much as falter in her step. She must have heard that too much by now to feel affected. “It’s because you’re a coward hopped up on liquid courage from all that nectar.”

Sure, there were plenty of ponies she didn’t like. “There are none I’ve come to hate quite like you.” Maud sighed inwardly, trying to calm her racing heart. This Tempest had driven Starlight over the literal edge, fleeing for her life out to the Bad Lands where wild beasts roamed, and she didn’t seem to care. She didn’t have trouble expressing emotions like Maud did, either—she was just a cruel pony.

“I’m just scared for her,” said Maud, feeling a touch guilty.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Understandable. I usually do that without meaning to.”

“Again, I ask, what does she see in you?”

Maud watched pebbles and sand pass by. Every one of them unique and interesting with a long story to tell. Just like ponies—that is what Starlight saw in others, a connection which strengthened their bond in Maud’s heart the day they met.

“I wonder that a lot,” she confessed in spite of that. “I’m not a good friend. I am not always there for her when she needs me. I can’t comfort her because I don’t know how. I can tell you how a geode forms, but not what runs through Starlight’s heart most of the time.”

Tempest glanced behind her, scarred eye furrowed with… something not angry, nor positive either. She returned to the black desert ahead. “What do you get out of it, then?”

“Somepony who accepts me for me.” Maud’s heart ached terribly. She hoped to every princess and even oft-ignored Harmony that her confession would be enough for the one to receive it—if they even found her. ‘I love you, Starlight. You’re my best friend.’ That was all she needed to say. All Starlight needed to hear, and she would understand fully what that meant for the seldom-speaking Maudileena. She was going to say it. She had nothing to fear. Not even this pony who could barely grasp the concept of friendship, who was so far out of Maud’s concern she mainly felt pity for the difficult road to redemption ahead of her.

Starlight walked hers already. If Tempest was half as patient and willing to learn, one day she might have somepony to tell her that she, too, was loved. She might even have a party thrown in her honor, and hopefully she wouldn’t be so deep in despair that she visualized it all an elaborate ruse and deeply wound the pony that loved her.

I should have never left her alone. She needed to hear what I’d wanted to say. Maybe, if I had…

It was too much. It didn’t matter. It was too big and scary to think about right now. They had to find Starlight first.

“I hope for your sake, Starlight understands why you felt justified to verbally assault her.”

“I never said it was justified.” No, Tempest only said Starlight “baffled” her and she reacted poorly. “Don’t concern yourself with my sake, little pony. Unlike her, I don’t base my entire life around the perception others have of me.”

Maud thought that that’s what drove her to the Storm King in the first place. She didn’t care enough to say that. “Starlight knows what it’s like to be different, and judged for that,” she explained. “She’s the best friend freaks like us could ask for. You’d be happier to appreciate that.”

“You’re blunt.”

“I need to be.” Not that she always was. Heck no. “I’m a dancer with four back-lefts when it comes to talking about our feelings. I’d rather avoid it entirely if I could help it.”

Tempest chuckled, and reared her head, white teeth bared. “More ponies ought to be like you, Maud Pie.”

“That would be a boring place to live.”

The large mare chuckled as though Maud was joking.

The entire world was on standstill. Watching this very moment with bated breath.

The earth gone beneath her hooves, Starlight must have been hovering in place, far more steadily than she ever had with a horn. The breeze was gone, everything a still, solid weight upon her. Even her thoughts ground to a halt—her joints, muscles, her very breath, even the blood pumping furiously in her ears—-frozen solid, pouring all her focus and existence into the huge five-legged spider clutching her underbelly.

Nopony in all her life had ever touched her there before.

Touching her, pressing against her, so close—too close—-to something else. A horrible two-toned giggling filled the air, and Draggle squeezed as one would check the firmness of a watermelon.

Starlight squeaked, the first noise since being grabbed… by Draggle. She was being touched—THEY’RE TOUCHING ME.

And a thousand needles stabbed her everywhere at once, her brain and senses lighting up and devouring her like wildfire.

Terror, an instinct within realized. I’m experiencing terror.

And Starlight Glimmer screeched.

Flailing. That’s all she was good for now: galloping, and failing at that. Starlight moved against her own exhaustion, pawing desperately through the air praying to everything, even the ones touching her, that she would find purchase on solid ground. It didn’t come immediately, but if she ran harder she could flee from the icy pressure gleefully squeezing her belly, giggling like a child possessed by true evil.

“PlUmP aNd DeLiCiOuS!” her captor remarked, clutching and squishing her rapidly.

Starlight’s voice jostled embarrassingly, even as she fought, kicked, wailed and screamed and spat and swore until she cried so hard, so terrified and violated, she soiled herself violently.

“LoVeLy.”

“HeY, yOu GrAbBeD hEr!” Reeka teased.

“Puh’-puh’lease…” Starlight dropped her head, sniveling, blind with tears, reeking and flushed with heat. The world moved around her, until Draggle’s frigid forearm pressed up from underneath her dock. Starlight was cold. She felt gross. She was nasty. Her heart ached so bad she wanted it to stop.

And suddenly, she was pincered between two, twig-like claws, nails digging into her face. She cried out, they had to have been impaling her cheeks. “Stop!” she squeaked. “Ow! Ow, it hurts! It hurts!” She couldn’t specify what—everything was tired, burned, pinched or ached.

“Be SiLeNt AlReAdY.” Reeka slid into view, a matted, filthy head of black wire. One eye was as big as Starlight’s head, and it smoldered with absolute loathing. “YoU’rE cAuSiNg A rAcKeT.”

As if she cared about who saw her by this point, even in this state. “What do you want with me?!” It was too much: failing Twilight, hurting her friends, lying to herself and everyone. Starlight was far from strong; Fluttershy was strong, Maud was strong—they acknowledged their faults and tackled them, head held high, again and again no matter how many times they failed.

They were so much better than her. And she just made their lives worse.

Starlight wailed, realizing this. She was a bad broken mess. The Witches of Flutter Valley took her horn and in doing so showed the world who Starlight Glimmer truly was, stripped of her power and her confidence. “I’ve already paid my debts, so if you want my life just take it already and let me GO! I don’t care anymore, you hear me!? I don’t CA-A-ARE!” Starlight squealed with all her guts.

“My, My, ShE’s GoT sOmE lUnGs On HeR,” Draggle above, around, inside her head remarked. “I WoNdEr HoW LoUd ShE cAn Go, ReEkA.”

“SaMe HeRe.” Reeka stepped back, her monstrous brown eyes never breaking contact as she shouldered out of the way of the Hive. They just wanted to play with her first, Starlight despaired. Reeka clucked, certainly sensing this. “wE’vE bEeN tHiNkInG, sTaRlIght,” she said aloud over her whining. “HoPiNg, ReAlLy, ThAt OuT oF eVeRyThInG wE’d ToLd YoU, yOu’D aT lEaSt ReMeMbEr Us ReFuSiNg YoUr MisErAbLe LiFe!”

Draggle laughed dopily, not that it made her thunderous voice any less horrifying. “EvEn I rEmEmBeReD tHaT!”

“I remember, I know already!” Starlight wailed. “I’m useless, even to you! But what else do I have to give? Why are you still bothering me if my horn was supposed to be payment?!” Her stomach was cold, her belly was touched, so was her rear, her face, her brain and heart and everything and all felt unclean, violated, defiled. She wanted it gone, all of it to go away. But the witches said nothing, nothing, nothing and it was maddening to no end! “You took my horn, you’ve ruined my friendships, what else is there if not my life?!”

“YoU’rE eAgEr To Be RiD oF tHaT,” Draggle observed. “HoW’d TwIlIgHt FeEl To HeAr SuCh SeLfIsHnEsS, i WoNdEr?”

She was right. It would destroy Twilight. But she would get over it. Yet Starlight wept pitifully all the same.

“GeE!” Reeka cooed, tapping the matted, frozen flesh—once the place of her jaw. “It SeEmS lIkE sTaRlIgHT hErE dOeSN’T hOld HeR LiFe In SuCh HiGh ReGaRd.” The air warbled with her words, until it turned out she was humming. “AnD All We SaId WaS yOu’D lOsE aLL yOu HeLd DeAr. Do YoU rEmEmBeR tHaT, dRaGgLe?”

“I dO, i Do! AnD i ReMeMbEr YoU’d GiVeN hEr A wArNiNg So ThAt sHe MaY aVoId ThIs NiGhT! wHaT wAs It, SiStEr Of MiNe?”

“i ToLd PoOr StArLiGhT tO dEsTrOy HeRsElF, sIlLy! Oh, StArLiGhT, wHy, Oh, WhY aRe YoU sO sElFiSh?”

Starlight didn’t know. As demonic laughter filled her heart to burst, she just cried, unable to do anything to defend herself like the useless pony she now was. She could barely live like a normal pony, for Celestia’s sake. And Starlight cried from the depths of her stomach, “I just wanted were my friends not to waste time babying me,” she descended, sobbing. “That’s all I wanted, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, m'sorry...” She was so, so pathetic. Even with her horn she would be powerless against just one of them.

Celestia wasn’t some god. Nor Luna, or Cadance and likely not Flurry Heart. And definitely not Twilight. Their strength was a mirage, their full power a smidgen of what Hydia possessed. Starlight’s was a puff of it. Everypony else? Dust. Embers.

The Witches of Flutter Valley weren’t even mere gods. They were actual Gods—they were the representations of Harmony, and Starlight could only submit to their will just like everypony else.

Reeka at last ceased her laughter. “YoU jUsT hAd To ToRtURe YoUr FrIenDs By ExIStInG! aNd NoW tHeY’rE fORcEd To PaY fOr YoUr ImPuDeNCe.”

Starlight hiccuped, sniffled, gathered her breath and voice after one failed attempt. “They, they already do,” she squeaked. “I’m the problem in their lives.”

“NoT yEt!” sang Reeka. “Oh, NoT eVeN cLoSe, My DeAr! Oh, Oh WaTcH tHiS… wAtCh, sTaRlIGhT!” She didn’t. She didn’t want to see Reeka’s horrible face. She didn’t want to see whatever was in store.

“WATCH,” the witch roared loud enough to be heard from Canterlot.

Terror impaled Starlight, forced her eyes open to where the horizon-crowning jewel of the Bad Lands shone ahead. She didn’t understand.

“YoU sEe ThAt?” One flabby arm rose, rose, and rose and at last froze, flicking a gnarly, pudgy talon at the Hive. “YoU’rE tO lOsE wHaT yOu TrEaSuRe mOsT,” she uttered without any prior playfulness. “ThAt LoOkS pReTtY iMpORtAnT tO mE. wHaDdA yOu ThInK, dRaGgLe?”

Starlight felt nothing but the steady slam of her heartbeat. “No,” she breathed, tears flying from her cheeks as she shook her head. “No, no you’re just scaring me! Y-you said that my magic was what I held dear! Hydia told me she’d come to collect my payment and then she took my horn! You can’t do this, you can’t be serious!”

Reeka gasped, her form stone-still, pointing at the Hive and all her friends. “YoU tReAsUrE yOuR mAgIc MoRe ThAn YoUr FrIeNdS?”

“N-no!” That hesitation sealed her fate. It meant that deep down, she didn’t. “Oh, Celestia, no! NO-H’OH!” And she kept screaming her denial. But Starlight knew, knew that, perhaps, if she’d considered her wording to Hydia more carefully…

“ExAcTly.” Reeka’s grin was audible. “yOu’Ve EnJoYeD yOuR tImE wItH tWiLiGhT sPaRkLe, ClEaRly, BuT nOw Is ThE tImE tO sAy GoOdByE.”

“No, NO! NO!”

“nOtHiNG lAsTs FoReVeR, aFtEr All, BuT i’M sUrE tHaT iN sPitE of ThIS lAsT wEeK, yOuR fRiEnDs HaVe EnJoYeD yOu ImMeNsElY.”

Lies. Everything they said was a salty lie in a fresh, opened wound. All Starlight could do was shed tears. Cry, and tell them, “I already paid! Twilight’s safe, you can’t just take her away like that!”

“Ah, BuT dEbTs CaN bE rEpAiD iN iNcReMeNtS, yOu SeE! aNd If YoU rEfUSe To GrAsP sO mUcH aS tHiS, wEll, YoU aRe A mArE oF fAiTh, sTaRlIgHT. iT’s wHaT BrOUgHt yOu tO OuR dOoRsTeP, AfTer All! NoW hAvE fAiTh ThAt LosInG yOuR HorN wAsn’t EveN nECeSsArY! tHaT iT wAs A mErE LauNcHInG pOiNT FoR BrInGInG aLL yOuR ‘dEaRlY-hElD’ fRiEnDs TogEtHEr, rIgHT heRe, RIGHT NOW, sO tHeY mIgHt PaY fOr yOuR cHoICeS oNe. LaSt. TiMe.”

My horn… didn’t even need to be taken?

Starlight felt dead, if this is what it felt like: her emotions, thoughts, her very breathing demanding too much for a pony who lost and was about to lose everything but the honor of existing. Existing while her friends did not. All she felt was nothing, couldn’t think of anything beyond, They took my horn for no reason. Starlight hardly felt the thin burns underneath her eyes when Draggle released her face, swiftly holding out two fingers like a ‘V,’ as if clutching the Hive between them.

Draggle’s arm looked a mile long from within the palm of her hand. “I hOpE yOuR pAyInG aTtEnTiOn, StArLiGHt,” she said in her deep, southern monster-echo, “bEcAuSe ThIs WiLL bE fAsT. It’LL hURtChA. PhYsICAlLy, BuT mOReSo EmOtIoNaLlY. bUt If YoU hAdN’T rEaliZeD tHe NeCeSsItY oF aLL tHiS yEt, YoU wILL sOOn EnOUGh.”

Reeka sighed from everywhere and nowhere at once. “sPOiL tHe EnDiNg, wHY dOnChA?”

“tHiS oNe’s SmArT,” Draggle replied, “BuT sHe’S sTiLL a PoNy.”

“FaIr EnOuGh.”

Starlight was quivering in Draggle’s paw. “Just tell me without the song and dance!” she stammered. She wanted to sound strong and fearless but she never fooled anypony, she never will, much less these Gods. “This isn’t fair! You could at least give me a straight answer already!”

“FaIR, eH? WeLL, HeRe’s A sTrAiGhT anSwEr FoR yA,” said Draggle, “aNd I kNoW yA gOt HeArIn’ iSsUeS So PeRK uP yOuR eArS, pOnY. ‘CaUsE i’M oNlY sAyInG tHiS oNcE. iT’s So SiMPle A cOnCePt ThAt ThE dUnCe ThAt i WaS cOmPrEhEndEd It, MuCh To HeR sHeEr, MInD-bReAkIn’ hOrRoR!” White static leapt from finger to finger, enwreathing her adjacent nails. Above the soft crackling, the towering witch grimly intoned, “MuCh LiKe LuNa’S dOwNfALL, ThIs, RiGhT hErE, iS nEcEsSaRy FoR eQuEsTrIa’S fuTuRe! HoW’s ThAt FoR fAiR?!”

Utter dread seized Starlight by the heart. “Why?!” she wept, a deteriorating whine.

Draggle brought her fingers together, squishing the magic and pulling it again like gum betwen her fingers. “BeCaUsE nOt EvErYoNe HaS aN eAsY lIfE, sTaRlIGhT gLiMmEr.”

“YeS, yEs, YeS!” Reeka snapped. “aNd LiFe’S sTrUgGlEs MakE yOu StRoNg EnOuGh To SaVe OtHeRs. yOu CaN cUt ThE ViLLaIn SpEiL, DrAgGlE, dO iT!”

“What is going on?!” Starlight roared at the everything she could think of.

And then there was light, and everything became white, scalding pain.

PAIN.

Starlight had spilled tea on herself but this was like three whole pots! The whole world was engulfed in white, hot pain! So sudden and harsh it was, that Starlight’s voice was caught before erupting in a ragged scream. I’m dying. She felt her very being, ever nerve and cell in her body, saturated in magic, screaming at once. As much as it hurt she forced an eye open: before her a stream of teal magic, viscous, dripping, damp like magma stretched toward the current between Draggle’s claws, forming a slingshot prepared to fire a bolt from her stump. Starlight roared—howled—as agony pulsated fast as her heartbeat, the cadence of her screams climbing with the pain until her throat gave out but air. The will to shriek continued pushing out her lungs.

Starlight grit her teeth until her teeth ached, and stopped aching. She shoved herself against the pain.

“We’Ve EnJoYeD tAkInG a SlEdGeHaMmEr To YoUr HuBrIs, Ya KnOw!” Starlight cracked an eye open to find Reeka’’s mutilated face, eyes bright with excitement. Engulfed in a shuddering blue glow, Reeka’s warts speckled her in shadows dancing like candle flame. “WhAt’S aBoUt To HaPpEn WiLL hUrT, I PRoMiSe YoU tHaT. aNd It WiLL pAsS. oH, wHAt Am I sAyInG? yOu KnOw BeTtEr ThAn MoSt ThAt A BrUiSe FaDeS wItH tImE.”

And then, with a hum, Reeka asked, “DoEs PoNy WaNnA mAkE hEr FrIeNdS gO bOoM-bOoM?”

Staright’s heart exploded. “No! No-no-no!”

“Hm?” Reeka cocked her head like a stiff action figure. “WhAt WaS tHaT? POnY wAnTs HeR fRiEnDs To CoNtInUe SuFfErInG iNsTeAd?”

This was real. This couldn’t be reality but it was, this was about to happen and it was all Starlight’s fault. “No, no, no! Stop it! Stop it, please!” she cried anyway. Useless. “Stop, please! I’LL DO A-NY-THING!”

“WhAt?!’” Draggle hollered over the roar of magic. “I cAn’T hEaR eIThEr Of yA oVeR tHiS rAcKeT! i ThInK pOnY wAnTs HeR fRiEnDs To Go BoOm-BoOm! LeT’s MaKe ThEm Go BoOm-BoOm, RiGhT nOw!”

“YoUr FiNgEr’S oN tHe TrIgGeR, dRaGgLe!”

And Starlight Glimmer screamed, refusing to let this be the end as her phantom horn tingled, throbbed to its very tip and shot back to a surge of emotion, however flimsy in her chest.

A spark within her she would never, ever forget: her magic. And the flint: Everypony, I'm sorry...

In spite of the immediate horror, a subconscious part of Starlight was overjoyed to have felt it again.

...but I WILL NOT let them hurt you!

The rest of her grabbed on and yanked her forehead away.

She scanned everywhere for that head of purple hair.

Starlight was just gone. Rainbow called back to her crisis training in the Wonderbolt Academy. ”Inhale, fill your breast, exhale. Assess,” Rainbow cited, doing so.

Starlight was just plain gone. She wasn’t in the Hive. She couldn’t teleport… again! Crud. Rainbow’s heart sank. Of course she did that, Rainbow would run away too if she’d flipped on a kid after losing her wings!

Her heart skipped a beat as, upon the darkness ahead, a teal beacon blinked to life. That’s no campfire. No smoke. No shuddering.

Only one thing in Rainbow’s life glowed a blue like that.

“HEY, EVERYPONY! I FOUND HER!”

My magic, Starlight realized. It’s still here! It made perfect sense. A horn was but a catalyst. Whole or not, the magic, Starlight’s unique inherent magic, was a part of her.

It ultimately belonged to these monstrous Gods, true, but this was Starlight’s property.

This is mine. She bellowed over the cacophony of magic, “I will not let you use me!”

“This is my magic, MY life! NOT YOURS!” Starlight gathered herself—-her thoughts, her heart, every ounce of strength left in her bones—everything that was Starlight coalesced into a lashing whip. Her heart skipped a beat finding Draggle’s magical tether jerk towards her.

Reeka’s eyes widened.

Starlight cackled at her.

“ShE’s… ReSiStInG! SHe’S aCtUaLlY fIgHtInG bAcK!” Draggle exclaimed.

Starlight’s whip was diamond—hard, unbreakable. Fragile, but she refused to let it break. She wouldn’t let it. I’ll save you everypony. The whip was her refusal, denying Twilight’s fate and substituting her own for it. It was Trixie, who spent so much time, energy, and would-be income trying to put a smile on her worthless friend’s face. It was all of Ponyville who did the very same, because they loved Starlight, despite how undeserving she was.

“I WILL NOT LET YOU DO THIS TO THEM!” Starlight cried, her last word ascending with the pain upon her forehead.

“All’A ThIs, DeSpItE eVeRyThInG gOiNg On InSiDe Ya, AnD yOu StILL hAvE tHe StReNgTh To FiGhT fAtE, HoWeVeR fUtILe?!” Reeka, soaked in the luster of a magical teal bonfire, clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh, Ho-Ho, StArLiGhT! sTaRlIgHt, My DeAr! YOU REALLY ARE SOMETHING ELSE, AREN’CHA?!”

The pain was a memory. It wasn’t even real. Her friends were real, their lives real, and they were in jeopardy because of her, and Starlight was not going to let them die. “You will not hurt them!”

Five daggers thrust so deep, so swiftly into Starlight’s belly that she gasped. Her mind and body screamed to ignore it, to save Twilight and Maud and Sunburst and everypony she loved regardless of how they now felt about her. Starlight ground her teeth until everything, the wet warmth upon her belly, and the agony ablaze on her forehead, receded into a dull tingle.

“ThE mAgIc Of FrIeNdShIp Is A fOrCe To Be ReCkOnEd WiTh,” Draggle’s voices said with shock. “i ReAlIze ThAt NoW, sIsTeR, dOn’T yOu?!”

Reeka’s sniffles echoed in the air. Glistening tracks shuddered teal around her face. “I dO, aNd It’S bEaUtIfUl, iT iS!” She hooked her claws into the black hole of her grey ruin beneath that pig’s snout of a nose. Disgusting; this was a putrid creature of evil and she was their people’s God in every sense of the word. Starlight hated her, hated her with so much of her soul she roared, roared at the pain, at her own weakness, hooking her brain deeper into Draggle’s beastly pull against her. “It’S sO vErY hUmAn—tHiS sTrUgGlE aGaInSt ThE iNeViTaBlE. jUsT gOeS tO sHoW tHaT wHeN tHe ChIpS aRe DoWn, ThErE iSn’T a FoRcE gReAt EnOuGh To StOp ThIs DeSpErAtE kInD oF lOvE.”

Draggle physically gave Starlight reprieve, than jerked her forward hard, almost snapping her neck and tearing her brain out with it. “SHUT UP ALREADY!” Starlight hardly understood what was said. She heard fine, but she didn’t care. They didn’t matter, her pain didn’t matter, whatever the heck she was doing to her body didn’t matter.

Because real, worthy people’s lives hung in the balance of whether or not Starlight could fight back and succeed for once in her life.

I will not hurt them, she thought, finishing aloud, “I’ll destroy myself before I let that happen!”

“ShE cErTaInLy WiLL iF wE cOnTiNuE pLaYiNg WiTh HeR. CUt It AlReAdY, dRaGgLe!”

And everything was gone, the earth rushing up to slam unto Starlight’s belly and knock the wind out of her. Starlight gasped, scrambling to get up and get away, kicking up sand only to find no one around. The Bad Lands shifted beneath her, hissing thunderously against the silence. The charred, clean smell exuded by her magic was gone, and that is when Starlight gasped, gripping her forehead, patting it free of pain to her shock. Just a dull tingle she could ignore as easily as she did yesterday, after Twilight cast the numbing spell.

Even the mess of her own making was gone, thank Celestia. And the cuts on her thighs, too. It was like it was all a bad dream, ahead the Hive sat unaware of what transpired.

“Where are you?!” Starlight cried. No one was behind her, or beside her, or even underneath her. “What just happened!?” A beat. “What was all that!?”

Her friends almost died. They almost died because of me. Starlight convulsed, gulping down a surge of vomit. “Oh, gosh!” she gasped, cupping her mouth. “Oh, oh my gosh! I could have destroyed them!” If she had, if she wasn’t strong enough to fight back, they might have…

Starlight belted out a broken, terrified sob.

“StOp YoUr BaWLinG, AlReAdY!” said Reeka’s voice. “YoU’rE sO dRaMaTiC, aLL yOu PoNiEs ArE.”

Starlight didn’t care. She almost destroyed her friends; these things almost made her destroy her friends! “What do you want from me!?” she cried. “Was there even a deal to begin with?!”

“Ah, SeE? nOw ShE aSkS a GoOd QuEsTiOn,” said Draggle, from nowhere and everywhere. “YoU oUgHt To KnOw By NoW, tWiLiGhT’s ToO iMpOrTaNt To LeT dIe, YoU sILLy GoOsE!”

So, yes? Or no? “If I hadn’t fought back, you monsters would’ve—!”

“SpArE mE tHe SeLf-CoNgRaTuLaToRy ChEsT bEaTiNg,” Reeka groaned. “SoUnD yOuR dElUsIoNaL yAwP tO yOuR rIdIcUlOuS fRiEnDs, tHeY’ll BeLiEvE yOu. BuT kNoW tHaT tHe SiTuAtIoN wAs EnTiReLy In OuR hAnDs.”

“What?” Starlight roared. “Are you serious?!”

Draggle’s demented chortling fluttered above. “We CoUlDa JuSt DiSaSsEmBlEd YoUr FrIeNdS bY tHe MoLeCuLe. LiKe ThAt.” A horrible snap echoed in a growing breeze.

Starlight’s mane lifted behind her. “So what was this?” she croaked. “Another twisted mind game?”

“We’Ve BeEn UtTeRlY sErIoUs In OuR EvErY iNtErAcTiOn,” said Reeka. “tO aN eXtEnT, oF cOuRsE.”

I… I almost destroyed my friends. Starlight felt like throwing up. They tricked me into thinking I will and that I couldn’t fight back! Starlight shuddered, feeling echoes of a throb dance across her forehead. If they were so effortlessly powerful, Reeka and Draggle must have amended quite a horrific sight resulting from Starlight’s battle against their will. If it was so bad my brain was just blocking out the pain...

Starlight could do nothing more than scream, horrified—scream at having nearly been the death of her friends, roar at the witches for making her think she was, and cry over everything else. Everything. She was the reason for it. Now her friends suffered for it, suffered her and her broken self—mind and body.

Starlight could only scream and scream, cry, kick up sand and beat it and roar before falling on her back, sobbing hollowly to reflect the emptiness she now felt inside. She was just so tired.

And that... was fine.

She could leave.

She could still run and become a distant memory.

Twilight would find a new close friend among her circle to read with, study magic and practice it. Trixie would find somepony less high-maintenance. Maud had Thorax to talk to, who was more patient than Starlight could ever hope to be. Ocellus had her people, they would never hurt her as she had.

Yeah, it would be fine. Starlight would be fine. She always bounced back, given enough time.

“I sUrE hOpE yOu MuFfLeD aLL tHaT,” Draggle muttered in the breeze.

“yOu KnOw i DiD, ‘cAuSe So DiD yOu,” Reeka replied. “ShE’s GoT a PaIr Of LuNgS oN hEr ThOuGh, DoN’T sHe?”

“I hate you.” Starlight glared straight ahead, into the starry night sky. “You ruined my life, my friendships, and you’ve just sat there and enjoyed it. You’re evil to the core,” she uttered darkly. “I hope you all get destroyed one day. I really do.”

“We CaN dO wItHoUt YoUr FlAtTeRy,” said Draggle, Reeka adding, “All ThAt’S rUiNeD hAs BeEn Of YoUr OwN mAkInG.”

It was true, and Starlight hated that most. This position, her recklessness a week ago, her desperation to repay some imaginary debt Twilight didn’t even care, much less want, to have repaid…

“Right.” Starlight flopped back, suddenly drained. The stars were countless and prettier than silver. “I think I get it finally.”

The witches, like Starlight supposed her horn was, felt ancillary to the greater picture—an enabler for her self-destructive, friend-harming tendencies. A means to an end, so to speak: the witches didn’t bring about these ugly sides of Starlight. They were always there, stewing dangerously close to the surface. She had lied and hurt her friends on more than one, selfish occasion. Because at the end of the day, despite her belief that she was helping them in the long run, Starlight was just satisfying her own ego.

This fiasco with the horn was no different. And Starlight had reacted in exactly the same manner, to avoid the awful reality that she was miserable and only acted because she felt bad for ever coming into Twilight’s life.

I’d even avoided telling Daddy, her gut dropped as she realized, because he knows, deep down, that I’m the reason my life’s gone so wrong so many times. I can’t bear to look at him and force him to care, not after Mom—

Starlight choked. It’s me.

It’s always been me. The witches aren’t the monsters!

...I am.

“It’s all my fault,” she croaked on her back. Her eyes, brain, body and all became beastly tired. Too heavy to keep open. She let go at last.

Until a feathery flapping shattered her tranquility, punctuated by four hooves thumping against the sand by her head. “Woah,” croaked the unmistakable voice of Rainbow Dash. “Oh, thank Celestia…”

Another set of hoofbeats, two pairs, galloped hard from the distance. “She teleported out here,” panted… Fizzlepop, of all ponies. Starlight kept her eyes shut—not tightly enough to give herself away. “It was too much without a horn, now she’s out cold.”

“Not even bleeding this time,” Rainbow murmured, impressed it seemed. Or aghast. She could be quietly furious.

“Stop gawking. We need to bring her back.” Oh, Maud, Starlight wanted to cry hearing her concern emerge louder than these two tough ponies. “Stop. Right there, please. I’m carrying her.”

Something about her voice was reminiscent of the time Starlight, in the early days of their friendship, had casually remarked Pinkie Pie was “crazy.” She felt pitifully flattered despite having scared her friend half to death.

What just happened felt all the more deserved now.

Terror, once again, gripped her by the throat. Starlight—realizing how faking it would only make it worse—opened her eyes, met with three concerned faces, even Maud’s, whose brows were pushed together, looking down on her.

I’m… so glad you’re all okay.

Starlight couldn’t say that. Goodness, no, there was no justification dumping her recent encounter on their heads. All they knew was Starlight had been laying here, unconscious, only to suddenly awaken.

At least the sand, hard as a rock, was somewhat soft to lay in. “Am I at a beach?” Starlight wondered, feigning herself in a daze.

End of Laughter - The Broken Heart

(Kindness) The Broken Teacher - V.I - The Shattering of Everypony

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“Twilight’s never gonna trust me to be alone in this castle again! What were you thinking?!”

Kindness

The Broken Teacher

“I… I teleported, obviously! That’s what happened, nothing else.”

Glimmer was lying right through her sweaty little mouth. “Ah, clearly,” said Fizzlepop, feigning notice. “You look exhausted, and your horn must be in agony. I’m surprised you can still stand.”

She choked. “Uh, w-well—” She was caught, she knew it. Knew her kindred spirit of a "friend" knew her better.

“What was that light show, Glimmer? What were you trying to do? Run? Is that your end-all answer?”

“You were running?” said Maud.

“‘Running?!’” Rainbow… cried? Roared? Perhaps both.

Starlight scoffed. “Oh, I was not running! Like, not at all! I just had to get away—”

“So you could blink on out of everypony’s lives, just like that,” Fizzle finished.

“So that I could have a moment and think,” Starlight snarled in her face. Part of this was delightful, seeing that fire of hers still ablaze. She jutted closer, eyes narrowed. “That’s what happens when you have a lot going on, don’cha think?”

“I think,” Rainbow Dash flew right in the way, laid back without a care in the world like always, “we all just need to chill out, breathe—”

This idiot. “Oh, we do not need you, right now,” Fizzle muttered.

“Fizzlepop!” Starlight admonished.

Dash’s angry eyes filled the world. “As if you even know—”

“SHUT UP ALL OF YOU!” Tempest roared. Starlight was on her stomach and shivering like a neutered mutt. Fizzlepop dragged her up like the respectable friend that she was, and slapped her for the idiot she was being. “You honestly think Twilight would believe that?!”

Starlight clasped her cheek, her eyes wide, glossy as they’ve been. “Fizzlepop!" Her brows furrowed. "Did you just—?!”

She smacked her hard enough to make a clap. “Any idiot unicorn with a horn could tell you that magic is given shape by two things: intention and emotion! Without one, there's nothing, so what were yours, Glimmer?”

“B-but that wasn’t what was hap—!” SMACK!

Fizzlepop, curse her terrible, awful soul, rolled her shoulder. She almost threw it out. “Snap out of it!” Fizzle cried as her foreleg was jerked back by something damn strong. “Do you honestly think any one of us would feel good if you’d decided to just leave us? Just like that?!”

Her head was jerked aside, toward Rainbow’s. “What in Equestria are you doing?!” she cried, eyes wild.

“Stop.” Something pulled her tail hard but Fizzlepop was anchored to the Earth, to this moment. They were flies, they didn’t matter. Starlight did.

“This is for her own good,” Fizzle snarled at Dash, jerking her leg away while rearing up her back-left. “You'll thank me later!” she snarled as it flew into what held her back.

Only to hit a solid wall.

Fizzle readied another kick—“You know your strength.”

Behind her she found Maud, placid, with her nappy, gross tail in her mouth. “Even in this moment,” she said around it, “you don’t want to hurt us. I can tell you want what’s best for Starlight, but I won’t let you hurt her.”

Fizzlepop’s hind leg, coiled and ready to spring, hit the earth like a rock. “I was about to use all my might,” she realized. What am I doing? What did I…? She looked over and saw Starlight, on the ground, holding her cheek.

The sting on her face was a dull ache. A fly’s bite. Nothing would ever match the horror of almost losing everything, and the pain she went through to prevent that from happening.

And these amazing friends, who are all trying so hard, to the best of their own ability, to make me happy again…

She was holding them back. They could be putting these efforts into somepony else. Somepony worth it.

It was swelled, and purple. Starlight rubbed her cheek, barely heeding Rainbow’s calls of her name. She was fighting a battle within herself to keep it together, struggling to maintain a facade of plainness as it crumbled with the effort, shattered by a shuddering sob that built, crumbled, and collapsed again frantically as Dash and this Maud Pie looked helplessly toward… Tempest.

Tempest Shadow. They were so lost, these friends of Starlight, that they’re looking to a psychopath like her for insight into a pony she only formally met not even a week ago!

In her heart she hardened herself, chiseled herself as Tempest Shadow, for that was all she would ever be… even as the Princess’s unworthy protector. And that was fine, but it wasn’t important right now.

Tempest bowed her head. “Starlight, I am sorry for hitting you.”

“U-uh, oh! I-h’it’s fine.” She gulped, sniffled. Kept her eyes to the ground. “I-I get it.”

Fizzlepop screamed inside. Tempest shut her out, shut her eyes, and opened them slow, exhaling the tension from her body. “You should not be okay with me hitting you. I saw you earlier, you aren’t a complacent sheep,” she asserted.

Unless something happened between this conversation and their last, but that would be impossible.

Starlight just shook her head, wiped her eyes. “No, I get it. I do!” she said earnestly, meeting their eyes. Fizzle noticed Rainbow covering her mouth, horrified. Like everything she knew about Glimmer was crumbling before her eyes. “Seriously, girls, I’ve just been… well, I’ve been bonkers lately! I’ve been rude and dismissive and distant and…” She exhaled, shaking her head. “It’s a lot. But I think I’m good now. Good to go back!”

She walked blindly into Tempest’s raised foreleg. “You want to run.” Her eyes sprung open, twin pinpricks screaming internally at being caught. Their eyes were locked yet she wasn’t looking into Tempest’s, proving of how dense her own little world was. “Glimmer, listen to me, you want to run. Do you hear me? You want to run. That is not healthy. That is what I did and what you shouldn’t do.”

“Yeah, Starlight, what’s up with that?” said Dash.

“Why do you want to leave us?” Maud asked, only for something astonishing to happen.

Starlight’s eyes unfogged with but a blink, and Tempest knew for sure she had just emerged from her own little world. Tempest was ready to thank Celestia for once in her life, but it wasn’t her.

It was…

“Maud,” Starlight breathed, reaching lamely for the friend who was probably dying inside.

Dying because she thought Starlight had forgotten about her. Again. Like any sensitive, caring friend would, right?

The words couldn’t come fast enough. “Oh, Maud, oh Maud, no, no, I didn’t want to leave you all! No, no, no, that’s—I love you all, so much! And it’s not that I want to, but—” Starlight choked.

Maud tilted her head, awaiting more.

Waiting to hear why her awful friend thought it was a great idea to try and abandon her. What can I do…? I can’t drop everything that just happened on Maud… Even though she wants me to. But, NO! No way! Stop thinking like that and being selfish, a-and wishful! She, my friends, nopony knows what's really going on, and if I dragged them into it there's no way they would ever leave me alone. O-or maybe I'm reading into things, and Maud is willing to deal with it. NO! I can not tell her what happened! Or any of them! S-so I have to lie AND LIE SOME MORE!

And everyone was watching her, waiting for her brilliant excuse, already concluded that she was going to leave them. The worst part of all this? It wasn't that she was on the brink of doing so, but now, she was more uncertain than ever.

Starlight wanted to leave them, but she really, really didn't!

“I’m sorry!” Starlight erupted. “I’M SO S’HORRY, FOR EVE-RY-THI-HI-HING!” Covering her shame, Starlight's sobbing wracked her to the ground, only for her to land in somepony's warmth like a the useless lump she now was.

Starlight was quick to tell herself, as somepony strong caught her heaving, worthless body. It’s fine.

Even, now, even in spite of her disgusting nature, these amazing friends who she loved with everything in her being, who she’d truly die to defend, were catching her when she fell. I don't deserve you.

But they would always be safe, just like Twilight, who will go on to help so many lost, hurting ponies. Like Starlight back in the day, only they would be better. They would communicate properly and know how to properly react to and process tragedy.

This was objective fact, not rooted in what-ifs like so many of Starlight's deep-seated uncertainties. Everything would be so much better without me around. Her heart ached despite accepting this.

Starlight didn't mind. She'd always believed the truth was meant to sting. Otherwise, you wouldn’t care that it’s the truth.

“She deteriorating,” Tempest announced, grasping Glimmer’s convulsing, sobbing form close. “Rainbow Dash,” she said to the ghastly, lost, broken pegasus, “...Rainbow Dash!”

“Ah-uh, y-yeah? Yes? What’s up? I should—” She looked ready to zip off.

“DON’T!” Tempest roared. “Listen to me. The party’s over for this one. She needs—” A wail crescendoed, beating Tempest’s stony heart raw. She knew it, she knew that pain well, and it’s because of this she could not comfort, but do this in its’ stead: “She needs to get home and calm down! And, someone she can talk to, anyone?!” Anyone better than Tempest Shadow.

Tempest Shadow wasn't a normal pony with the social instincts of one.

“Yeah, yeah! On it!” And Dash was gone. A rainbow existed for a second where she hovered, trailing toward the glowing gem of the Bad Lands. But it vanished quick as it came, leaving only her and Glimmer.

...Starlight, and her frantic, breathy crying. She was having a panic attack from all her lies, it seemed. Everything had to have been racing through her head, all of those stupid mistakes she did and had been making since this all started. Attacking the kid like that...

Tonight was what lit the keg. And yet, Tempest was messed up enough to be happy, caught up in its explosion—she knew how to handle it. She had a purpose here.

“I’ll be her somepony.” There was this Maud pony, too.

“Will you?” Tempest was relieved, because obviously she wouldn’t talk to Twilight like this, and a rock was better than nothing. “Good. This is good, you know her. You can handle her.” Now to think of a way to have Twilight poof them home without issue. What could Tempest possibly say to prevent either of them from making this even worse?

“You really care.”

Maud couldn’t help but admire it.

Tempest Shadow was violent. Cruel. Spiteful.

And worst of all, she knew it.

She knew Maud’s hatred of her, because she felt it for herself. Starlight knew it in much the same way, because that’s who she was. And Tempest clearly knows her, or at least what she’s going through, her mindset.

And Tempest was racing hard, filing through her thoughts for some way, any way, to combat it. Because she clearly wasn't a fast talker. Which meant she cared about Starlight.

“You really do care,” Maud said again.

Tempest shook her head, looking back to Starlight wailing in her forelegs, slumped against her hulking form and pawing into her for support.

Poor Starlight. She needed her mom, more than anypony else. If only Starlight talked about her family around Maud, but she never was so personal in her company.

“Maud Pie, was it?” A hard set of eyes were ready to meet Maud’s. “We might not understand one another, or our respective bonds with Glimmer here, for that matter. But maybe you know her well enough to ward off the princess.”

Now Maud was confused on top of distraught. First of all, she really didn't know Starlight that well. And second...

“‘Princess?’” Why would Twilight be coming?

Tempest nodded, not getting it. “You’d be sensible, I think. Me, ah, well I’ll… I might get too passionate again. Oh,” she frowned back at their crying friend, and held her lightly. “I know your pain,” she whispered. “I know your pain and I’m so sorry I hit you…”

This wasn’t even the same pony from before. The cold, distant one, it was all just an act before. It’s always an act, one she herself must believe on a daily basis to keep from falling apart.

Because what Tempest's done tonight, what she’s done her whole life, was horrible. That was undeniable. But it was worse to none other than the one living this life, stuck being who she was, much like Maudileena Daisy Pie. And Starlight Glimmer.

“Twilight will be here soon,” Tempest shushed Starlight. “She’ll—I’ll talk to her, have her put you to sleep and make this horrible night be gone from your memory. You'll live through this, Glimmer, you might not think it but you'll come out tomorrow stronger."

“She’s not coming.”

Tempest blinked, emerging from her fog of thoughts. “You mean Twilight?” She combed down Starlight’s mane, so both eyes could gawk at Maud. “Who could teleport two ponies to another place? And...” Tempest blinked. “I… I told her to find someone she could also talk to. It had to have been Twilight. If not her, then who else?”

If Rainbow was smart, if she knew Twilight and knew Starlight, and knew neither of them were in good conditions to be brought together, there was only one other pony who could fit the bill.

The soft, insignificant ping of Trixie’s spell snapped in the vastness of Maud’s cave home.

Then, utter ear-pounding silence.

“Okay! So,” Trixie drawled, moving forward, “that was a bummer, but we’ll get back on our hooves! No problem!”

“Trixie.”

She shut her eyes, envisioning as she spoke: “We just gotta~, uh, make this a camping trip! Yeah! We’ll tell ghost stories and laugh like old times, like we did that one time, right? Where we all went camping, and Starlight, you nearly went bananas tryna get us to find common ground, even went and got stuck in quicksand! Oh, that was such a lovely, fulfilling weekend… A-and, I mean, let’s have another! Just like that! Ah? Wait, shoot, Maudie! Do we have s’mores stuff? I don’t have any s’mores stuff and the shops are closed at this hour and-and-and—-”

“Trixie.” Something hard prodded her in the face. “Look,” Maud said just as Trixie was about to cry out for her lost concentration. As if that mattered at this point. “Look, it’s okay.”

No it’s not. All Trixie saw was Starlight, passed out on Maud’s bed from where they teleported in. Just as she had been when Rainbow Dash brought her over with an explanation that didn’t conclude, or even have an ending, until she brought her out two miles into the desert and dropped her right in front of her unconscious, tear-soaked best friend.

Rainbow Dash was breaking down. That Tempest pony started babbling. Even Maud was saying something and—”Oh.”

Trixie blinked. She was alone in Maud’s home, and Starlight just completely melted down. Trixie, normally, would try harder not to cry, but Maud was here and wouldn’t judge her. This was a very special circumstance to make an exception for anyway.

“Huh.” Trixie sniffled, blinking, the geodes of Maud’s wonderful paradise of a home skirting the lines of clarity. "In this case, I guess there’s no need to worry about the s’m-s’m—oh gosh, I can’t! I can’t. I can’t do it anymore, this's too horrible!”

All thanks to Trixie, the incredible, amazing best friend who up and ditched her broken best friend, and kept away from her this entire party. All because Trixie was being self-centered, despite not meaning too. And she just wanted to breathe! Just for a little bit, that's all she asked for! But that didn’t justify it, not at all, and and and look what happened because of her…

The soft, insignificant throb of Trixie’s cry fluttered in the vastness of Maud’s cave home.

Maud could do nothing.

She was nothing.

It was because she was nothing that she couldn’t do something.

She couldn’t say anything that would be of value to Trixie. She could say nothing that would be of value to Starlight.

Maud could only watch, like a rock, as her two closest, most dear friends in all her life fell apart before her.

And Maud was exhausted. “Trixie.”

“B’wuh?” She looked over, ruddy and runny.

Maud pulled the cover aside. “It’s been a long day. Do you want to sleep with us, or should I get your sleeping bag?”

“Y-you’re sleeping with—?”

“I’m not leaving her.” Let her think. Let her joke in the future, when they were alive and happy and laughing together again. “I’m not leaving her.” Maud didn’t know why she said that again, but it felt good to let it out.

Trixie wiped her face, and smiled. “I don’t take much room."

V.II - The Ace of Hearts

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“And that is why we sent Glimmer home,” Tempest concluded, unwavering in her soldier-like facade. “As I’ve explained, the only thing I do not take responsibility for is keeping you in the dark until after the fact—a decision made in the moment by the Wonderbolts rookie.” It was a worrying testament to her disquiet, how Rainbow said nothing in defense of her position with the renowned pegasus team. She just sat in the middle of their five friends, shoulders rising and falling, hooves together before her boggled eyes. “And in her defense,” Tempest continued, “I do not blame her. And neither do you, I imagine, if I trust your previous lack of confidence hadn’t bolstered since we’ve spoken this morning. It was a smart decision in the long run.”

That’s right. Twilight had nearly forgotten what she has and hasn’t disclosed to which pony: the girls and Tempest knew of her desperation and grief well. The princesses and Spike were well-aware of this on top of her brush with dark magic. Starlight knew none of this, for she would surely blame herself. Not a soul knew about her encounter with Draggle, but all knew how terrifying they were. Or they were supposed to, anyway.

So many lies. So many horrible, gut-wrenching lies. “Y-yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Applejack would be ashamed to know of them—everypony would. “You girls were wise to decide this. It’s horrible, it’s aggravating, and I feel a little bit betrayed despite knowing I would make it worse. Even now, I wish I’d gotten to say someth—something—!” Twilight’s throat closed. “Oh, Starlight!”

She tried to run away.

She wanted to run, to leave them, that’s how awful she felt.

To be driven to such a state… how she must feel right now...

It was inconceivable, yet it was real: Starlight willfully chose to lose her friends. It was almost frighteningly out of character if it didn’t make a tragic amount of sense.

And in the quiet betwixt gasps, the world kept on turning: firebugs droned softly above the Gourmet, the rightmost picnic table shuffled with the slightest movement of her statuesque friends, Tempest held her head higher—flaring nostrils and slight, heaving breast telling the truth beneath her cool facade—and in the far distance, but not even a quarter of a mile away, nearly everypony they knew shrieked with laughter, chatted happily about their day, their week, amidst themselves or with their new changeling friends whilst decorating gourds.

Oh, and somewhere, out in Equestria, Starlight Glimmer was crying. Starlight was hurting. Twilight’s fragile, albeit strong, selfless, gentle, foolish ex-student was falling apart but at least she was with friends… and was probably lying to them right now in some misguided attempt to protect them. Completely unaware that she was hurting them further.

It wasn’t her fault, Twilight had to remind herself. It wasn’t her fault, it was not her fault for being like this. Of course didn’t want to be this way. Except, it was her fault, she was her own fault and did nothing about it.

But Starlight didn’t want this, she didn’t mean for it to happen, but after so many years she still hadn’t learned to think outside of herself before acting, dang it! And from what Tempest was sharing, Starlight concluded herself a burden, and that the best course was to up and leave them…

Twilight elbowed her eyes, gulped her sobs. “Thank you,” she said thickly, hoarsely. “F-for being honest with me, Tem—I mean, Fizzlepop.” She still forgot her friend was trying to distance herself from that name.

“I’m not done,” she said, hoof raised. “When I was angry, and Starlight—when I was trying to get her to realize what she was saying, how she was acting… I told her you thought of her as a… a ‘self-loathing little worm.’” Fizzlepop’s throat pulsed with the girth of her guilt. “I’m sorry. I apologized to her, but I don’t feel any less guilty.”

Twilight couldn’t even blink, a fact her soon-to-be bodyguard lowered her gaze from, ashamed.

“I’m aware you didn’t describe her even half as loathsomely,” she continued. “That was my anger and I know she’s aware of it. There’s no need to fret over that, that’s not important. What is, is that Starlight knows you’re aware of her tendency to reject attention out of a sense of guilt. Whether or not she’s already concluded that, this’s been the core of her problem these past several days. It’s not unlike my own insistence that I wasn’t responsible for my maiming back in the day. You see, both of us couldn’t handle the reality of our situations, and we’d dealt with that in our own, self-destructive ways: rejected by my friends, I rejected my old life and sought another. Starlight, however, is blaming herself and views any efforts to comfort her as just that—an effort, and one not worth spending on her. And I fear, now that your recognition of her personality flaw is confirmed in her mind, instead of a notion she’d been paranoid about until now, it will make it all the harder for you to get close to her. She’s the type to envision a personality flaw as a flaw in her person, one she cannot change. She might even teleport away again, just as I had run from home.”

Twilight felt kicked in the heart as she echoed the word, “‘Again?’”

Tempest’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “That’s… what happened the other day. When you came to my room,” she added softly. “I shouldn’t have misled you, but I was only trying to protect her.”

That was perfectly understandable. Twilight would have done the exact same thing, and that’s exactly what Starlight did after it happened, according to Dash’s report and Starlight’s eventual confession.

But Twilight didn’t care. “She lied to me.” She kept lying. “She wants to leave me deep down because she’s afraid of me an’ she wants ta’ leave me-he-he!”

Tempest’s spiny little crown looked her in the eye. “Apologies for misleading you. I’ve done nothing but destroy your faith in me.”

Twilight barely heard her. “She lied to me…” She just kept lying and lying to protect them from herself. It wasn’t working in the slightest, and Twilight wanted to holler at her and tell her to stop doing that, to just be honest and unafraid of herself because she had no reason to be; but she was being ridiculous and selfish instead, but in her mind she was being considerate, prideful, and ever-so deep in heartache, so much so that she failed to realize leaving would destroy her friends more than losing her horn ever could—Twilight gasped, cramming down her tears, stomping them into nothing.

She almost spiraled like she did after Draggle. Twilight snuffled thickly, and regarded a glassy-eyed Tempest. “So you’re saying we’re stuck.”

“Did I say that?”

She said it with her explanation, her eyes. Intentional or not, she made the reality loud and clear at long last. “To get through to Starlight,” explained Twilight, “I have to make her understand how her negativity is an illusion. But at the same time, she does all she can to avoid talking to me. I’m willing to bet she doesn’t feel good about that, exacerbating this illusionary self-perception. But forcing anything will make her defensive. Doing nothing will only make her feel unloved, though, which is not an option no matter how much she rejects it.” A blink, forcing back the pressure—not again, not over this like some confused foal. She was the Princess of Friendship, Twilight Sparkle! She could figure this out—they could figure this out, her friends together, not fractured and lost as they have been.

This really is all my fault. If I just directed them better… Twilight shut her welling eyes, and breathed. Breathed. Breathed…

“I don’t know what to do now,” she sighed. It might be too late to salvage what they had that first day, when Starlight chose to lurk at Sweet Apple Acres instead of coming home to eat with her friends.

A starling, teeth-grinding crunch of wood splintering in half shot her heart out from her throat. To her left, Rainbow stood between their stunned friends, ready to pounce from a caved-in plank of picnic table before her. “This is all your fault, Tempest!” Her voice broke.

“Rainbow,” Twilight admonished over Fluttershy’s gasp.

“You broke Starlight! You pushed her over the edge and now she wants to leave us! If you told us earlier that she teleported the first time, she—that liar—” Rainbow rose her hoof and slammed the plank in two. “This’s all your fault! We would’ve helped her by now if you hadn’t come along!”

Applejack rose and slammed her hat down, probably in place of destroying Thorax’s property further. “Consarnit, Rainbow! Cool yer jets, for pony’s sake. This ain’t helpin’!”

“I’m not the one making Starlight worse by being a horrible friend!”

“You wanna clarify yer meanin’ by that?” AJ threatened, just as prideful as Starlight, for better or worse. She felt equally responsible as Twilight in her poor handling of all this horror; this morning, in private, she’d disclosed her own powerlessness from this past week, even shedding a single tear. “Last I recall, Dash, you didn’t help matters by blowin’ a gasket tryna wring an answer out of the poor girl, when all ya had to do was sit there and fly kites!”

“I already told you that I was trying to help her!”

“Just like Tempest here.”

Dash’s wings snapped open. “You wanna go?!”

“When n’ where, partner?!”

“Enough,” groaned Fizzlepop. “Enough of this chest-puff nonsense. Are you two really so short-sighted?”

“Yep!” Pinkie chirped.

Rainbow pointed at the broken unicorn. “Hey, don’t think I’d forgotten the reason Starlight wants to leave!”

“I’m well-aware of my part in all this,” Tempest seethed. “But your friend was broken long, long before I came along. Believe me, I’m the only one who would understand.”

“‘Believe you?’” Rainbow smiled in disbelief. Twilight’s heart throbbed to see her snuffle, wipe, and blink away tears. “‘Believe. You.’ Why should I believe you when you don’t even know a thing about Starlight? Why should I believe the word of a traitor to the actions of a friend—a kick-butt friend who’s willing to give up her magic to save Twilight?! While we’re off partying and writing her off as dead…” Never before had their strong, cocksure friend been so emotional—but many depths of these ponies have revealed themselves in light of the past month.

Especially when Twilight thought she was done for.

“Rainbow,” she whimpered, because it was true. Everything Dash had said was true in the depths of her own breaking heart. Twilight felt what she felt: responsible, ashamed, betrayed, and all-around afraid of her role in their friend’s deterioration. “Starlight acted on her own back at my farewell party. She had done so without intentionally telling anypony. You know as well as I that it was to spare you from making a sacrifice!”

“Yeah?” Rainbow croaked. “Well, it’s my life, and I get to decide what I do with it! And I chose to be a sad-sack instead of doing something to help you.”

“Oh, Rainbow.” Fluttershy stroked her foreleg. She was the only one privy to Dash’s shame, until now anyway, in letting Starlight make a sacrifice while they’d all lost hope.

“I didn’t want any of my friends making such sacrifices for me,” Twilight begged them to understand. “I know voicing this won’t make your opinions any less painful, but this mess all began because Starlight, she’d—”

“She forgot the point of all your lessons, that’s what!” Pinkie crossed her forelegs, miffed. And hurt, deeply so—her eyes glimmered wetly. “Friends throw themselves in the oven together, no exceptions! She forgot that, Twilight, she’s a silly forgetter when it really counts and now we’re here, watching her burn up with no way to save her.”

“She has, yes, but can you really blame her?” Twilight quickly added. “All of us has had a lapse in judgement under extreme circumstances.” She and Tempest exchanged knowing looks. “That excuses nothing, but blaming Starlight entirely will not make her feel better.”

“I know! I know!” Pinkied cried into the heavens, into her forelegs. “I just feel so SAD!” She plopped unto the picnic table without disturbing the bisected incline it now boasted.

“Like that’s any excuse for our muck-ups!” Rainbow Dash took to the air, gesturing with both forelegs. “She hit her, Twilight! She slapped Starlight around as if that was gonna help but it just made her cry. How could you trust this maniac to protect your life?! How could you trust her advice when she made Starlight wanna leave in the first place?”

Twilight opened her mouth as Fizzlepop stormed forth. “Firstly,” she began icily, “my treatment of Glimmer has nothing to do with my willingness to change and repay my debt owed to your princess.” Twilight was nopony’s princess. She was just their friend—their equal. Nothing more. “Second, and this’ll be a pill to swallow so prepare yourselves, your friend has been thinking about leaving you all for a while.” Twilight held her breath—that couldn’t be true. “That’s what I mean when I said she was broken. This idealistic version of Starlight Glimmer, who is smart and confident and strong? It’s the version of herself she wants to be known as, void of faults. I know it is.”

“Ho-how can you?” Dash’s eyes went wild with rage. “How even can you?! You’ve barely known her for a couple days!”

Twilight’s known her for years and felt she was only now seeing the real Starlight Glimmer: fearful and hateful of herself, no matter the amount of good she does or Twilight insists she is. How can anyone change such a self-perception but the pony herself?

Tempest rose her voice a hair below outright yelling. “Because unlike you, I know what it’s like to lose a piece of yourself, to lie about its impact, fake it, and push others away so they aren’t wasting time on a hopeless waste of space like you!”

Dash, staggered, feigned confidence and aloofness. “Y-yeah, sure! Please. Starlight knows there’s more to her than her magic.”

“Of course, but she doesn’t think that,” said Twilight. “I know Starlight, better than most. I can tell she thinks nothing of her kind, generous spirit, especially not when she’s overwhelmed with guilt! She doesn’t see her boundless empathy, or her vast intelligence, and if I were to point them out she’d write them off as just that: sparks of brilliance in a life saturated with mistakes, and proceed to list her lapses in judgement. Girls… this is serious. I’ve spent the last three years trying to improve her outlook, and until now, a week ago, I thought I succeeded! When, in reality, we’ve simply lived without further incidents.” What a great, perceptive friend Twilight was. Celestia was so right in giving her a pair of wings.

“This is the last thing any of you want to hear right now,” Tempest announced. “But I’ll say it for the sake of Starlight: she approached the witches wanting to end her life.”

Twilight’s heart stopped. She gawked at the statuesque unicorn.

Hollow in voice, Rainbow uttered, “That’s what that light show was outside. Wasn’t it?”

“You’re… no. No! You’re… you’re lying,” mumbled Pinkie. “You’re lying. You’re lying, you’re lying, you’re lying! You’re a liar, Starlight wouldn’t do that not ever!” She gasped sharply, then fell into Rarity’s attempted hug with a descending, “You’re lying, you’re lying, Starlight knows how much that’d hurt us, she’s lying, Twilight, make her leave!” Pinkie gasped harshly. “I don’t want to hear anymore, make her leave!”

Fizzlepop shook her head. “She did nothing of the sort, mind you. She only told me her intentions with seeing with witches.”

“As if that makes it any better!” Pinkie wept.

A beat of silence, followed by Rarity’s own sob and a sudden wail from Fluttershy. “I’m sorry, darling.” She and Pinkie stroked each other’s backs. “I’m trying to be strong, but…”

Tempest shut her eyes—so she wouldn’t have to see the pain she was causing them. It melted Twilight’s heart, despite her world shattering into pieces.

“I want to stress that it wasn’t over the horn,” Tempest explained over their joined grief. “She told me she only expected, and perhaps, part of her even wanted, to not return from these witches she’d dealt with. She was ready to give her life for you, Twilight. Her old guilt still runs deep, I suppose.”

“Stop it!” Rarity croaked. “Just… just be silent, curse you! You horrible, emotionless pony!” Tempest directed her narrowed eyes into the horizon. That was uncalled for, but Rarity was heartbroken. “Starlight,” Rarity gasped, “that beautiful, generous, selfish, awful pony! How could she?!”

“We should’ve kept an eye on her!” Fluttershy wailed into Rarity’s dampening shoulder. “But we were just so sad w-we couldn’t—” She broke apart into sobs before finishing her guilty thought.

“This… that can’t be true,” Applejack muttered to somepony far, far away. “I wanna believe it’s a lie, but… It can’t. It just can’t be true, y’all!”

“I should’ve done something more,” Fluttershy wept, “instead of letting her attacker get away! T’his’s all our faul-hault!”

Twilight attempted to console her, to comfort everypony because that’s what any decent Princess of Friendship would do. But her heart clogged her throat, her thoughts torn apart by the realization that Starlight despised herself so much, that she was perfectly happy relinquishing her wonderful life without hesitation.

And there was Fizzlepop looking over, miserable with what she’d done to them. But this was entirely necessary, and Twilight couldn’t be more thankful to have her by their side.

“Fizzlepop,” she uttered hoarsely, “you understand that we’ll act on this? Th-that we have to, for Starlight—!”

“I understand, Princess,” she cut in, hoof raised, “you need not explain.”

“But you must have known!” Twilight’s voice broke. “That Starlight, she—”

“Will likely, no, definitely despise me for sharing this.” A shake of the head, their friends processing this amongst themselves all the while.

“S-so you did this, knowing it might have cost you your friendship with Starlight?” Twilight loathed to say this, to think so lowly of her humbled friend. But she had to keep in mind—not only herself, but Tempest, Rainbow, Applejack, even Starlight Glimmer—-how recent events had brought out aspects of their souls seldom, if ever, revealed to the surface, let alone to themselves. “Tem—Fizzlepop?” she corrected, the pony in question blinking, returning from somewhere deep in her thoughts.

“Apologies,” she said, despite Twilight having just been in the same place. “I’m certain of how she’ll react, for I would do so in her shoes… and I do not care. It pains me, Princess. Pains me to lose what we could’ve had, for the few conversations we’ve shared together have been some of the best I had in years.”

Twilight’s heart cried out for her. “Oh, Fizzlepop…”

“There’s no reason to mourn for me, Princess. I’m used to losing. But I deserve it, and so does she.”

Twilight was in awe. What could she possibly say, except share her sorrow for the pain Fizzlepop inflicted upon herself for the sake of another? And her perception of constantly “losing” rather than the numerous strong wins she’d had this past year?

What could Twilight say? She didn’t know. She rarely did half the time and when she did she ended up second guessing herself after the fact.

But right here, right now, to the pony before her she wanted to let her know, “It hurts me, how similar the two of you are.”

“It honestly scares me,” Fizzlepop muttered quickly. “It infuriates me, saddens me, makes me rethink and regret nearly all that I do, every action that I take and have taken. She makes me feel comfortable in a way even you, with apologies, Princess, but you fail to achieve.”

Twilight smiled approvingly, however battered by her internal state. The fur of her cheeks was sticky with tears. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that continues in the near future. Sounds to me like you already have a deep, complicated friendship Starlight wouldn’t want to leave.” Perhaps Fizzlepop was the key to demonstrating to Starlight her worth, or rather what she’d achieved overall since coming under Twilight’s wing, and filling her life with so much joy.

“I suppose we did. Yeah.” Tempest smiled only to drop it immediately. “It serves me right to have lost it tonight. I am not ready to maintain a healthy relationship with another pony. Not yet, anyway—but what I had with Glimmer, however brief, makes me all the more determined to improve.”

Twilight loosened her breath, truly lost. In the back of her head, somewhere far, Rarity, Fluttershy, and Pinkie were tangled in a messy group hug.

“Tempest,” she began, “I’ll do everything I can to mend your bond with Starlight. You have my word as the Princess of Friendship.”

“I’m sure you will.” She smiled faintly. “Part of me has faith in the reasonable pony I know she can be. When all is said in done, she’ll realize this was for the best.”

Hope sparked in Twilight’s bosom. “So you know how to proceed?” she cried, unashamed of her desperation when solely in the company of friends.

She felt embarrassed to be immediately dejected by the shake of Tempest’s head, for it wasn’t her fault and she’d accomplished more tonight than any of them had all week. “I do not. Rainbow Dash is correct in that I don’t know Glimmer as well as you do. I can only give input as a plan of attack formulates.”

“Okay,” Twilight exhaled.

“If… you’d like somewhere to start,” Fizzlepop began carefully, “I recommend you rip off the bandage ASAP. Tell her the truth of her situation, how you feel, and what it is you want. Knowing her she will resist, maybe even lash out like a cornered animal. But she will absorb this all the same.”

“That could make it worse.”

“But it would yield results, actual results, unlike your ineffective methods these last few days.”

The clearing of a throat cut through Twilight’s thoughts. “Pardon me, Tempest, but as far as I can see, we already tried your way tonight.” Applejack had everypony’s attention as she strolled over, hatless. “You even went n’ gave your terrible way a try. It did worse than fail, s’far’s I’m concerned. There’s a darn good chance that nothing we do will get through to Starlight.” By Twilight’s side she wrapped a foreleg around her withers tight, a warmth she eagerly leaned her weight and worries into, for Applejack was unafraid to voice them all. “Now I talked to Starlight myself, and that mare’s clammed up tighter than Granny’s jewelry box. T’ain’t no way we’re openin’ that by force! Now I trust your know-how in most of this, Tempest, an’ I ain’t so angry over your mistakes that I’m blind to your penance.”

“I know you’re talking about me!” Dash called.

Applejack deadpanned a moment. “I won’t go pretendin’ I know better than you about somethin’ that, frankly, upsets n’ sickens me to no end.” For the first time since she piped up, Tempest reacted to Applejack’s words: pity, honest-to-Celestia sorrow for the pain Starlight’s friends were feeling over this. Perhaps it was pity for herself, for what she lacked amidst her own trying time. “But if we go rippin’ bandages off’a Starlight, well, I can only see a disaster on our hooves. I’m only askin’, is there no better way?”

Tempest said nothing, did nothing but swallow. “There’s not.”

Twilight couldn’t help but moan in despair. This felt so dangerous; any move had the potential of ruining things further. There simply wasn’t a “right way” to go about this. “We can only act and hope our words get through to Starlight. And pardon me, ladies, but it sounds like any hesitance is just a fear of Starlight rejecting you further. But you have to understand, if we do nothing, you’ll definitely lose your friend if not in body, then surely her soul.”

A soft, mewling cry drew everypony to Fluttershy, caressed by a mascara-stained Rarity. “This’s so scary!” she cried. “I-I-I don’t want Starlight to hurt herself anymore!”

“Nor do I, my dear. But we must do something,” Rarity asserted thickly. “I mislike the uncertainty, too, but Starlight wouldn’t hesitate to risk a friendship if it meant healing that pony’s heart. We must be prepared to do the same!”

“The pony I had the least faith in appears to be the strongest and wisest among you,” Tempest remarked.

“Hey!” A thick snort brought their attention to Rainbow, red-eyed and wet-faced, and smiling cocksuredly. “Don’t judge us when we’ve not said a thing yet! That’s something Starlight told me once,” she told a feeble-smiling Pinkie. “So, hey, I’m in, too! For Starlight, I’ll do anything to make her happy again!”

Either Dash didn’t grasp Tempest’s earlier revelation—the evidence soaked and clinging to her face emphasizing she did—in which case she felt gutted to think Starlight thought so low, so little, of her life.

“Me too!” Pinkie bounced from her seat, sparking hope in Twilight’s breast as she said, “In fact, I think Starlight’s really happy most of the time! And she just said that because she’s so sad and stuff.”

Yes, yes! Perhaps she was being irrational, as she’s wont to be in such an emotional state.

“Well, shoot, s’pose this ain’t the first terrible idea I’ve seen through with y’all.” Applejack shook her head, brought her hoof down, and smiled. “Count me in! For Starlight!”

“For Starlight!” Fluttershy whisper-sob-yelled. “I don’t want her to hate me, but if that’s what it takes then it’s worth it! She’s worth it!”

“Fluttershy…” Tears pricked Twilight’s eyes, distorted her vision and rendered it impossible to speak, to commend and thank Fluttershy for her courage and determination. From all of them, really. But she was so in-awe of Fluttershy’s resolve. If she was so unafraid…

If given time, if told this alone, I might have doubted you all and tried taking care of this myself.

But if Fluttershy was game, then a faithless friend like Twilight ought to be as well.

Clearing her throat, and giving all of herself to the display of deeply-rooted friendship, Twilight found the strength to smile, and the courage to voice, “This will be no different from all the evils we’ve faced before. If anything, it’ll be even trickier. But with you girls, anything is possible. It’ll be okay, and Starlight will, too.”

Rainbow Dash swooped in close, folded forelegs braced on nothing. “Y’know, you really shoulda thought of this sooner. Things’re always good when we work together!”

“I know. And I’m sorry. Really, I am!” But they just smiled, confident and already forgiving her. Twilight was undeserving; she would never forgive herself for this last week, for the lies woven, even if this ended a hundred percent successfully. “But, I just felt so… so responsible! Like Starlight did this to herself because of something I made her feel! I couldn’t see anything beyond my guilt and I—! I just wanted to fix it,” she finished softly.

Something hard knocked her on the head, behind the horn. “Ow! Hey, what was that for?”

Rainbow was sneering knowingly above. “For being a scrambled Egghead and forgetting why you got these wings in the first place. Come on, ponies! Let’s do this!” Rainbow beat her chest. “For Starlight!”

“FOR STARLIGHT!” everypony, even Tempest, cried.

Twilight’s smile, her hope, the spark within her persisted as she regarded all their damp, smiling faces with her own. “Alright, girls. Thank you, for rolling with the bucks tonight, this past week even. It’s been difficult for all of us. But I feel confident for the first time since this started, confident that it will get better.”

“You should!” said Rainbow. “We’ve crowbarred our way into ‘your problem,’ and now? Heh! There’s no way you’re getting rid of us! And neither will Starlight.”

“Oh, absolutely, posi-tuvely!” Pinkie came hopping over. “Starlight loves us too much to wanna hurt us, or leave us! I’m pretty peeved that she was gonna go away all selfishly like that, but that’s all the more reason to help her from stumbling horn-first into another life-changing decision!” Pinkie gasped for breath, once, twice, and concisely concluded, “So, I’m not worried! Not-at-all. Nada, nope, zip-n-zilch!”

“Yeah. I-I guess so.” As always, Pinkie had this uncanny ability to boil something complicated into one simple and digestible. “This… is the right way, girls. I feel it now. I really do!” A smile eased its way in as warmth blossomed through Twilight’s breast. “Pinkie Pie, you’re a genius!”

A silver, balloon-laden smile shone as she bounced her weightless, frizzy floof. “Aren’t I always?”

“In yer own confoundin’ way, yeah, you sure are.” Pinkie and Applejack hooted together, Rarity and Fluttershy approaching behind them, forelegs locked.

“And let us not forget,” said Rarity, vigorously scrubbing away mascara tracks with a floating handkerchief marked by a lavish ‘R,’ “Oof,” she sniffled, “that Celestia, and Luna, and Discord are working day and night tracking down those nasty-sounding witches. Deal or no, those monsters will never hurt another pony again! And I, for one, will rest easily once more, knowing those beasts aren’t out there, lurking with impunity.”

“I agree.” Twilight felt awful, lying to her friends as they gave their all to fixing her mistakes. They had no idea of the real, dark reason she’d found herself committing an overnight to Canterlot earlier; why trading for Starlight’s horn was impossible. “Let’s hope they succeed. I don’t wanna think about how much harder this would be if they decided to harass Starlight, or fill her head with lies.”

“Come on, Twilight!” Rainbow groaned. “Starlight’s way too smart to pay attention to these obvious villains.”

“I have faith she would resist them,” said Fluttershy.

“That is if she doesn’t feint from how ugly they supposedly are,” joked Rarity, or perhaps she was being sincere.

A curtain of pink fell before Fluttershy’s face. “Ugly is, um, putting it gently,” she whispered.

Rarity shuddered, muttering “Goodness,” to herself. “Well, I, for one, have the utmost faith in our royal friends and resident Chaos Incarnate.”

“They are mighty powerful,” said AJ, rounding toward the broken picnic table, where her stetson lay.

“Now that is a mild sentiment if I ever heard one!” Rarity said in faux-shock. “They’re some of the most powerful beings to ever live. I sincerely doubt some ugly leeches—or, whatever you called them, Pinkie darling—”

“Liches!” she chirped. “Vengeful zom-bam-boes who wander the earth, unable to pass on into Elysium because of a self-inflicted curse! WooOooOoo!”

“Pinkie!” Applejack, hat between her teeth, swatted the party pony’s poofy head. She beamed her braces-clad grin harder. “Don’t go scarin’ Fluttershy with spooky tall tales.”

“T-t-t-t-too late!”

“Aw, I’m sorry, Fluttershy! I was just trying to make everypony laugh.”

“No one laughed before, Pinkie. No one,” said Rainbow.

“Fine, jeez,” she whined, disgruntled. “Well, let’s stop fretting over what-if’s and sad stuff, and let’s paint some squash!”

The girls funneled out with Twilight taking the lead. They were brighter in spirits, and they lightened her soul without a doubt. She was grateful to have them, and downright stupid trying to spare them in a manner not unlike Starlight’s.

I have to be better, Twilight told herself, and told herself, and told herself. I have to live up to my title, my accomplishments and my friends.

Twilight recited this, over and over and over again, like a mantra; as she apologized to Spike for leaving him suddenly, as her friends offered to share his work between the seven of them, as she painted a heart and smiley face on the pumpkin, as she listened to his recounting of his time at the Gourd Fest, as she told him everything that happened as they watched the sky rain down fiery, goopy gourd-guts, and felt his tears soak through her coat as he wept for Starlight, and she did, too.

Throughout all of that, Twilight made sure she never, ever forgot those words.

For Starlight’s sake, she had to be better: a better friend, a better princess.

Just better.

For despair had made her shamefully unacceptable until tonight.

Celestia was shocked in the side, a cool pressure against her wing emerging alongside a familiar, gentle presence.

“Apologies,” Luna intoned. “But it’s midnight, Big Sister. You wished for me to alert you.”

Right, right. So Celestia could have a full night’s sleep and fool Equestria into thinking the witches were nothing to worry about, simply by not mentioning them at all, or implying that they were even a care in the world beyond, ‘Hey, so why’s the hero of Princess Twilight hiding out in Ponyville?’

Wearing such a mask was foal’s play. It was nothing. Absolutely nothing, especially so to Twilight and poor Starlight, who needed something the most.

“Celestia?” Luna’s troubled self stepped into view. “Sister, are those tears of exhaustion?”

Yes… No, not at all. Celestia caught herself from nodding reflexively—shutting Luna out would yield nothing good and make her a hypocrite.

But Luna had enough on her plate; re-emphasizing what was already mentioned would do nothing but make her scared.

“Oh, I’m fine,” she yawned genuinely,“...Goodensh! I had no idea! That… it was’h s’ho late!” Everything reached across Equestria—her wings, legs, the resting arc of her spine—-until they let go all at once. Luna, her bedroom, the glowing copy of Twilight’s map fell into a darkness as the land itself had hours ago—her beastly-heavy eyelids at long, blessed last given reprieve. “Time is flying faster and faster,” she inhaled deep, exhaling, “...by the day.”

“Really now? Intriguing.” Luna’s silver-slippered thump-thumps against the carpet advanced, and Celestia was met with a map-bathed grin, a sight that lifted her heavy heart. “Pray, is this a sign of getting old, Sister—the quickening passage of time? Oh, what is it like? Tell me.”

Celestia had to smile—Luna, the ray of delight, as always in the darkest of times. And as everything changed, too fast to handle at times, she, ironically, was the one constant—at her core, no different from how she was a thousand years ago.

Celestia had missed her terribly. Her return marked the best and, in a different way, the worst years of Celestia’s life.

She had much time to reflect on this in her recent late evenings with Discord—when he’d decided to show, that is.

“I apologize once more.” Luna bowed her head. “This is no time for jests—”

“No. Please do.” Celestia touched a naked hoof to her cheek, which she gladly, adorably, leaned into. “Please, Luna, jest to your heart’s content. Don’t ever doubt the power of humor, or a good joke.”

“Where’s your prior seriousness? You must have gone loopy with sleep deprivation, dear sister,” Luna mumbled, a lazy smile to match.

No, little sister, just by everything else. Celestia smiled in spite of this, a testament to the power of having a friend by your side. “It’s keeping me sane, if I’m being honest… I’d have probably wandered down a dark path as Twilight nearly had, had you not stopped her. Or been here for me.”

A haunting prospect, one Luna rolled her eyes at, lifting away from her hoof. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re too wise to be so naive, believing your role is actually critical in all this.”

“But what if we’re wrong?” The hardness of her words, punched forth by emotion, startled even Luna into disquiet. Celestia made peace with this immediately, there was no use hiding her piddly fears and self-pity now. “I’ve been thinking, Luna. Thinking so much about my poor Twilight and… and Star-light.”

Guilt, sadness, grief strangled her in tandem. A weight latched around her neck, closing warmly against her sides—-not guilt now, but Luna and her wings. Air and reality flowed through her.

The horrible reality that, despite all this heartache, it will undoubtedly pass soon, and Starlight and Twilight will be all the stronger for it as Discord told her many times in moments of doubt.

“Luna,” Celestia cooed, throat closing again. This was horrible. So horrible, and she couldn’t stand it. “I love you,” she whispered, embracing her sister tight.

“And I you.”

Thank goodness she was here. Thank goodness she reaffirmed her faith and upheld it so mightily, where Celestia herself could not. Thank goodness she was simply Luna—caring, genuine, playful, empathetic.

“Sister,” Luna said suddenly, “what about our actions do you believe to be improper?”

Celestia pulled back, withheld Luna by her tense shoulders, and asked directly, “Don’t you feel that, perhaps, this is our time to set things right?” It was naive, it was foolish and probably irresponsible to her duty to Equestria, but Celestia hoped more than she ever had before that Luna would agree with her, and they would proceed to fulfill their true roles in all of this.

But Luna crushed her heart in looking away, grimacing painfully. She’d already thought of this and written it off.

“Oh, my dear sister,” Celestia gasped, “this is all so horrible. It’s too horrible to be real!”

Luna’s eyes widened, trying to comprehend the breakdown before her. “Celestia—”

“Everything is going wrong: our country is threatened by monsters of indescribable power and appearance, and at the heart of it, two of our closest friends are falling apart at the seams. But here we are!” she chirped, perhaps truly losing it now. “Squatting safely in our towers, pretending we’re saving them to zero avail. This will not work, you know it won’t. You know Twilight and the girls will pull through for us and yet we’re acting like this will be different.”

“Cel—”

“And I’ve been thinking,” she continued, needing to finish, “tortured, really, by the notion that we have the power to make it right. Tell me, what if it’s up to us to make that a reality?” A better one.

One that agreed with her short-sighted perspective of what was for the best.

Celestia came to and loathed these conclusions just as the words left her mouth. Shame festered within her, and she couldn’t stand to look Luna in the eye, foolish and breaking, too irrational to lead Equestria in this dark time. Perhaps that, in of itself, was her trial.

“Sister,” Luna’s soft word bucked her throat, “I agree with you from the depths of my heart. But you know that this isn’t the way of things.”

“‘The way of things,’” Celestia sneered. Sneered! She really was going mad from this! “But what has ‘the way of things’ done for us, except scare the daylights out of Twilight and funnel her into her Destiny?” The answer was right there in her question: nothing. They did nothing for the Two Sisters, and conversely everything for the new generation.
They were useless. It was maddening. It was terrifying.

“Speaking from personal experience,” Luna continued, “solving the problem for young Starlight—even if we were to find the witches and eliminate them like the beasts they are—-it wouldn’t fix anything within her heart. That, I believe, is up to Twilight Sparkle, and herself most of all.”

“Then that’s it.” Celestia was at a loss, unable to counter that without resembling the desperate mother she truly was and wanted to be. Once upon a time, Luna would bite her hoof at Destiny and save everypony she could, regardless.

And suddenly, a ton of bricks crashed upon her royal head: even Luna had changed these past several years. And it felt like only yesterday, she was doubting Twilight’s role in saving the Crystal Empire from Sombra.

Perhaps immortal Celestia was finally getting old.

”Everything is changing, Luna.” Just saying it aloud, acknowledging its reality, was a weight off Celestia’s chest. “Until many years ago, I lived one thousand years in solitude. Day in and day out was the same, routine: raise the sun, see the people, resolve minor squabbles, lower the sun, repeat. They blurred together. Nothing was ever surprising. Nothing unexpected had ever happened.”

A good-natured smile. “I’d say young Twilight was a much-needed dose of randomness.”

While not untrue… “She and Sunset both provided much in the way of, um, emotional catharsis.” Luna swiftly nuzzled her neck, expressing sorrow for the past and her part in it—despite Celestia being wholly responsible. Love filled her, heavy and warm, as she nosed Luna behind her ear. “But Twilight in particular, when I realized her significance, that of her cutie mark, I mean...” Celestia murmured into her soft, flowing mane. “I knew change—real change—was going to happen soon. And it did. Often in fact. So often that every day was something different. And until a month ago, different was something I learned to trust, anticipate, and have fun with.”

Even now, years later and after one ugly mishap of a play, she believed that one day, Twilight would become the sole non-blood relative Celestia needed in her life; to bare herself, her heart, her fears and regrets and her true, honest self just as she could with Luna, and nearly-so with Discord.

One day, my forever faithful student… Oftentimes, if she thought about her for too long, Celestia selfishly wished that time would come soon.

“Sister?”

Celestia flushed, having fallen deep in thought at her sister’s expense once again. “What is it, Luna?”

“Did you believe Princess Twilight would die?”

A loaded question that would decimate, then enrage, the heart of any save for Luna and Discord. “I did not,” she confessed. “Twilight had come too far, done too much, just to unceremoniously fall to a foreign ailment. But I won’t lie—her pain was mine, too.”

“Her pain was Equestria’s pain.” Luna stared thoughtfully at the map of Equestria, her brows furrowing at wherever their targets lurked. The Bad Lands felt the same as they had all night—a small comfort, albeit a maddening one. Like they were hoping disaster would strike. “We’ve traded one suffering hero for another. Tell me, Celestia, did you have an inkling of what would happen when Starlight retrieved the journal of one Lickety Split?”

“Of course not, Luna. Neither of us are omniscient—and I’d no notion of what its pages pertained to regardless. But my faith in Harmony, and the hope of Starlight Glimmer, clearly paid off, albeit at a terrible cost.” Celestia made no effort to suppress her shiver. “Only she and Fluttershy had seen them, and neither had the words to describe them, much less their power or their presence for that matter,” she rambled. “It’s chilling.”

“They frighten me,” said Luna, gazing upon the Bad Lands, where the Gourd Fest was going off without incident, thank Harmony. “To think they predate Discord himself…”

That was the most terrifying development since this all started. Even more so than hearing a monster irrevocably crippled Starlight Glimmer—her Destiny being for the sake of Twilight’s…

This still couldn’t be reality. And yet, it was. Celestia was living in it now and it felt like a horrible nightmare even a month later. That poor pony. The guilt and responsibility Twilight wailed into her side after almost dipping into dark magic...

“We’d be reckless fools not to be afraid of them, no better than the time we fought Sombra,” Celestia murmured, just in case a servant or guard passing by overheard, realized their Princess of the Sun and Moon were fearful of a genuine unknown. “I don’t like this, Luna. I cannot stop thinking about them now, even if I had the freedom to do so.”

“I know what you mean. It unsettles me that Twilight lacks even the slightest idea of where they had come from. Perhaps, if we can retrieve Lickety Split’s journal from young Starlight…”

It would be a dead end. She would surely repel their efforts as she’s wont to do, terrified of the witches’ power and the responsibility for whatever developments occurred from it.

“And yet, what she’s brought into my knowledge,” Celestia thought aloud. “What they’ve done to her, and almost drove Twilight into doing—”

“You will not blame her, Celestia,” Luna snapped.

That’s not what she was doing, but she was too startled by the change in tone, the aggressive, heartwarming defense of a subject Luna was affectionate for, to voice this.

Luna’s hardness crumbled away, as was inevitable within Celestia’s company, into her true, sorrowful self. “Please do not blame the poor soul, big sister. She is suffering already, believing herself reprobate for her actions and the simple fact that the Elements care about her.” And that was all she felt allowed to share of the one time she had visited Starlight.

“I know what she feels is no different from your own history.” Luna avoided her gaze, ashamed to this day of the Tantibus. “But I wasn’t blaming her for anything, Luna. In truth…” The truth closed Celestia throat, even a month later. “Well, in truth, if one were to go back to the beginning of this domino line, it all started when the Pillars planted the Tree of Harmony, and the land itself deemed us three necessary to Equestria’s salvation.”

And Starlight, a tragic, unspoken piece of that. It was no coincidence that her mark bore resemblance to Twilight’s.

‘Greatness always demands some degree of sacrifice.’ Discord had often said that, even in his days as a villain. Celestia often thought it was her pain in losing Luna that he foretold. What more, who else, needed to suffer before Equestria could exist worry-free? Every year brought forth another near-calamity, it just never seemed to end.

Would it end? Was Celestia going to be terrified for her subject’s emotional states until the end of time? Until their luck ran out?

Or was it this year, with the emergence of these impossibly elusive Humans?

“I am scared, Luna.”

“As am I, dear sister.”

“I’m scared for Starlight, the pain she’s feeling and spreading amongst her friends,” Celestia croaked. “I’m scared of the unknown machinations of these storybook witches.” She wiped her eyes, whispering, “I’m just scared. So, so scared.”

“Aw, come now, Celestia! All of this ‘oh-oh-see’ bemoaning is keeping me up.” Up above, Discord—decked-out in feety pajamas, a nightcap, holding a plushie of Fluttershy—-stretched his elongated form into the abyss of Luna’s ceiling, emitting his own, unique glow that could never be cast in shadow. It was impossible—it was Discord, and Celestia was so relieved to see him she smiled. “If you’re so afraid of conflict, why, you might as well never leave your house again. It builds character, after all!” Discord flexed his nonexistent muscles.

“Conflict can also break a pony,” Luna muttered dryly.

“You two seem all the better for it.” Discord smiled, like that was part of some joke only he was privy to. Unless, of course, he was gearing up for—”You’re certainly a lot less fun nowadays, however. No longer running about, afraid, as a chicken could without a head.” An insult, yes.

Luna shuddered. “Ch-ch-chickens can stumble this way and that like a genuine lich?”

“How should I know?” Discord shrugged, randomly humorous as ever. “I don’t make it my business torturing chickens. Only ponies—not that I particularly enjoy this brand of chaos, mind you.” He sensed his element all over the country, and detasted that which followed his friends wherever they went.

And now it was clear why he was so bitter to have been ‘woken up,’ pulled from his lovely dream into a living nightmare. “Sorry our whinging reminded you of reality,” said Celestia. “Would you like a glass of milk? Perhaps a nice bowl of raspberries before going back to sleep? The night cooks are still making breakfast, I’m sure they’ll be happy to whip something up.”

“No, no, no! I will do my part for Equestria, however futile. I am a team player, after all… Besides, I thought you made breakfast,” Discord accused, lounging on a bed of nothing.

“I make our breakfast,” said Celestia, gesturing between herself and Luna.

He blinked blearily, ever the dramatic. “Hm?” He snorted awake. “Sorry, sorry, wasn’t listening. Normal food kills me anyway, so I don’t care.” In a flash of light, Discord’s pajamas were replaced with a business suit tailored to his serpentine body, and his doll a briefcase. “Time to clock out, Sun-Lestia! Moona and I have some banter to distract ourselves with.”

So that’s what they’ve done to pass the time between dreamwalking. Celestia turned to her deadpanning sister. “I suppose that’s my cue to leave.”

Luna happily embraced her. “Sweet dreams, dear sister.”

“Don’t tear apart your room again.” Celestia hugged her tight, let her know it would all be okay, even though it was more for herself.

“I told you, Discord was insulting Starlight’s choices. I had to defend her honor.”

“You could do a right without falling into a wrong.” They pulled away. Behind Luna’s sheepish smile was Discord, peering through a telescope buried within the glowing depths of their Cutie Map replica—emphasizing this triad of pretend-usefulness. “Have a good night, Luna.”

“Same to you.” She smiled gently.

“Farewell, Celestia!” Discord waved without looking. “I’d give you a goodnight kiss, but this taxing work demands our utmost attention.” Luna leveled him with another flat stare.

Celestia chuckled. “I think I’ll live without it.” She summoned her power with the effort of an inhale, envisioning her bedroom and then herself within it.

A flash of light, a slight exertion from within, repelling outward upon her forehead.

The light dimmed and Celestia blinked blearily, exhaustion sapping her legs into nothing and almost bringing her down. Luna, Discord, and the map were gone: replaced by deeper shadows, solitude, and three, monstrous statues curled up against the starry backdrop outside her balcony.

Wait.

“Hi ThErE.”

Those voices, what in Equestria were those voices? One seemed mature and doting, as a mother ought to sound—as Celestia imagined Hydia herself sounding—but the other, mimicking her words almost perfectly save for half a second of delay… it was utterly monstrous: deep, guttural, it warbled the very air and made Celestia’s brain shudder uncontrollably.

Her desperation to hide her fear kept herself from massaging it: this was her domain, her country. They would play at her pace, not the other way around.

“From whom did you attain your power?” It was the number one question hounding her steps, her very thoughts, since Twilight had relayed Starlight Glimmer’s descriptors. “Are you truly the avatars of Equestrian magic?”

No sound. No movements. They were nothing like creatures of flesh and blood and yet they clearly, simply were—their presence was there, taking up half her chambers with their grotesquely huge selves. And yet, they acted frighteningly inhuman.

Thank you, Luna, for your night fulfilling its oft-accursed blessing of masking horrors in the dark.

“i dIdN’t ExPeCt HeR tO bE sO fOrWaRd,” a similarly haunting voice remarked, albeit the speaker had a country accent flavoring to her words.

“YeS yOu DiD,” tutted the motherly one—Hydia, it must have been. The middle lump bearing misshapen Tirek-esque horns. “sHe Is ThE pRiNcEsS oF eQuEsTrIa, AfTeR aLL.”

“Luna is my equal,” Celestia informed them.

“AnD nO fEaR eIThEr, No HeSiTaTiOn!” A girlish, mischievous cackle trembled down Celestia’s spine. “ThIS’LL bE fUn, VeRy FuN!”

Celestia schooled her racing heart, exhaling deeply to block it out. “Answer my questions,” she demanded in the momentary lull. Her chest throbbed intensely amidst the dead quiet. This was what she was waiting, for, her moment.

This was what several days of impotency and failure were built towards! She could. Not. Fail. She could not fail Equestria, and she could not fail Starlight. I have to match her sacrifice. Her drive, her fearlessness. If she could do it, if she could face these monsters and get what she wanted, then so can I.

“oF cOuRsE nOt.” Within the horned lump atop Hydia’s girthy form, twin pairs of green stars pierced the void it accompanied. “bUt YoU aLrEaDy KneW tHaT, dEeP dOwN. nO wAy CoUlD tHe ArChItEcTs Of YoUr PerFeCt UtOpIa Of HaRmOnY bE sO uNsIgHtLy!” she spat. “iT’s cOnCeItEd oF yOu To PrEsUmE yOuR mAgIc ‘EqUeStRiAn’ In OriGiN, tHoUgH! tEll Me, Is DiScOrD eQuEsTrIaN? hArMoNy?”

“Then how did you obtain this power?” Celestia cut in, uncaring of their mind games. “Where did you come from, if not the time predating Equestria?”

“oH, BuT wE dId!” cheered… Reeka, it had to be. “AnD wHaT a MinDlEsSlY hApPy AgE iT wAs, ToO. sO mUcH mOrE bOrInG tHaN tHiS oNe!”

And then three—no, four—cackling individuals rocked the world beneath her hooves. No way did the castle not hear this, this blatant disregard for discretion! Dread naturally took root in Celestia, realizing this. Her wings had subconsciously spread across the door.

As if that would stop them. I will fight until there’s nothing left of me. For her home, for her little ponies.

“LoOk At ThAt!” A sagging, thick arm from the massive, right form whipped up, pointing her way. “a ReAcTiOn At LaSt! SeE? sHe Is AfRaId!” This had to be Reeka—her glee and eagerness implied as much.

“wE oBtAiNeD oUr PoWeR jUsT aS yOu HaVe,” said Hydia. “ThRoUgH pLaNnInG, lUcK, tHeFt, AnD a NaIvE hOpE tO cHaNgE tHe WoRlD.”

Celestia steeled herself, her mind. Now wasn’t the time to debate philosophy and decipher their tricks. “Tell me why you’ve come.” She had to be specific, not unlike the wishes their storybook counterparts granted. “Why this moment, on this night, at this very time?”

In the deep of the dark, right beside her ear, somebody snapped—and a short sharp whoof, like one blowing out a candle, heralded a sourceless flame to appear above rotting, pock-marked fingers before her.

The flame guttered deep, but did not waver nor flicker. An unwavering source of light—a perfect flame.

A miniature of Celestia’s very own sun.

No. Not her sun. Theirs. Or whoever they stole this power from, but who?

They, these bonafide zombies curled up and motionless across her room. Each of them cast in amber, eyeless and mouthless in some variation. Yet they could speak, they could see, they could live their lives effortlessly and probably do so much more than they’ve demonstrated if they really wanted to.

Celestia was powerless. She was at their complete and utter mercy.

She was absolutely terrified, and if she were none of these things it would be far easier to surrender herself to the fate Starlight was convinced they commanded, and they themselves seemed to confirm with their power alone.

“Why?” Celestia breathed, in as much awe as she was in horror. “Answer me, already.”

Hydia stepped aside, her copious flesh unmoving as if ensnared in her spiderweb of burst blood vessels, hanging lower than her gut. How many poor, terrified souls did she devour, and how many of them die from heart attacks alone?

How accurate was the story, even?

Frighteningly so, it seemed, as Hydia uttered behind a handkerchief, “We WoUlD lIkE tO pLaY a GaMe.”

And something freezing-cold wrapped completely around Celestia’s barrel, something unlike panic. Her hooves left the ground before reality settled: she was being picked up like a doll. No one, not even Discord, had ever violated her space so thoroughly.

Celestia could only go rigid like the toy she was to these creatures. “Wha—?” Her voice failed her as Draggle—the one who’d grabbed her—reeled her and the sun across the room. Celestia couldn’t look or think beyond her eyes, for they were nothing of the sort but useless vessels for fat, pale worms, peering into her soul with clusters of crimson specks.

What horrific actions created these monsters?

“YoU’Re QuIeT,” Draggle huffed from sewn-up lips. “MuCh MorE tHaN sTaRLigHt.”

And suddenly Celestia’s fear was gone, replaced by protective rage. “What did you do to her?” she seethed.

“YoU’LL kNoW” purred Hydia, “vErY, vErY sOoN.”

Celestia went cold. Were they about to take her horn, too? Would that give Twilight and her friends the courage to somehow find these monsters and bring them to justice?

Celestia had never been so finely terrified and hopeful at once. She masked her feelings, but certainly her ever-expressive eyes betrayed her. “Then let’s play your game,” she said, suspended in the crane that was Draggle’s arm.

“HoW eAgEr, AnD tO tHiNk YoU’re AfRaId.” She looked to Hydia, and wished she hadn’t. “FeAr NoT!” Her eyes were but festering, empty pits. “wE wOn’T tAkE mUcH oF yOuR tImE.” She jerked her longest horn, sprouting like a growth from her temple, toward the dark valleys, pastures, and Ponyville in the distance. “sImPlY TeLL uS wHaT yOu SeE.”

This was obviously building toward something. Celestia was almost too afraid to find out what. Almost. “That’s it?” she asked, feigning disinterest. But they didn’t answer. Celestia returned to what she was fighting for, and had fought for all her life. “Well, I see my home. Equestria. It’s quite beautiful by day,” she assured them.

“rEaLLy?” crowed Reeka. “CuZ aLL i SeE aRe ThE fIeLdS aNd MoUnTaInS sOmE wAnNaBe LeAdErS pLaNtEd WiTh a BoLt Of ClOTh aNd NaMeD iT sO!”

To so casually disregard over a thousand years of hard-won Harmony to a mere “bolt of cloth…”

Celestia reaffirmed her inner strength—they could do whatever they liked with her, but they’ll fall eventually. Equestria’s future was secured and strong as it’s ever been. Hydia and her brood were no different from the gallery of power-hungry thugs who preceded them.

“I’m sure we can spend hours debating what defines a nation,” she answered simply.

“i WoUlD hAvE LiKeD tHaT, yOu KnOw.” Before her, between Equestria and her muzzle, Hydia raised a warty, clawed hand, palms up like her lanky daughter. “BuT,” she continued, “ThAt IsN’t WhAt We’Re HeRe To Do.”

“I already won your game,” Celestia pointed out, anything to anchor herself in calm and trick herself into thinking she had something of an upper hand.

“HaVe YoU? pErHaPs In yOuR mInD.” Floating above Hydia’s palm, a miniature sun not unlike Draggles manifested—cold, perfect, unwavering, and white as fresh-fallen snow. Celestia squinted against its intensity. “BuT fOr Us, We’Ve WaItEd OvEr A tHoUsAnD yEaRs To PlAy, AnD tHe GaMe HaS jUsT gOtTeN tO tHe GoOd PaRt.”

“What do you—?”

“tEll Me, PrIncEsS cElEsTiA, HaRmONy’S fIrSt Of MaNy BaNd-aIdS,” Hydia spat, then finished lightly, “dOeS pOnY wAnNa mAkE hEr SuBJeCtS gO bOoM-bOoM?”

V.III - Good Pep Talk

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Starlight popped her eyes open, and knew something was wrong when she felt warm and comfortable.

Like she was laying belly-first on a blanket hot off a laundry line. Starlight peeled herself off, the surroundings different from the greenery of the Hive but rather a cozy living room, lit by the gentle glow of a lantern beside her. The dead of night, her gut realized, the utter seriousness of it.

Starlight looked to what she was propped against, only to come face to face with a cable-knit sweater she had a feeling would be there. The stallion above it…

“Daddy,” Starlight choked, her mind pounding like a drum. The scene was familiar: she’d been crying again, and ran into his work room instead of sleeping it off—again. “Daddy, I’m so sorry!”

“Punky-Wumpkins, you have nothing to be sorry about.” He hugged her close, because that’s what Daddies do, no matter what. Starlight tried pushing away despite lacking the strength; he didn’t need to keep doing this, she wasn’t worth the constant effort. Especially when it’s been a month since Mommy died, without any change in Starlight since.

Even though he said, “I love you to pieces, Starlight,” she didn’t feel like he did. Only like that was a part of the routine. “Don’t you dare think that way again, you here?” he said when she’d told him as much. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I can’t be happy,” Starlight pointed out.

Daddy laughed wetly. “Neither can I, Sugar Plum. I’m pretty sure we won’t be for a while.”

“You don’t cry about Mommy.” Starlight regretted her disrespect the moment it passed her lips. Her mouth was always getting her in trouble with the teacher, but never had she used it against Daddy.

But he just laughed like it didn’t matter. “Oh, Starlight, Starlight, is that what’s been on your mind?” Sometimes; she choked on the word. “Sweetie, of course I’ve cried about Mommy. I’ve cried more than you have!”

“No way! Then how come I haven’t seen you do it?”

“Because, well, I want to help you more.” That seemed so simple.

He cared more about her feelings than he did his own? Starlight clasped his broad belly tight. “I love you, Daddy!” she cried.

He squeezed her back, smile audible as he said, “And I love you, a gazillion times more than just ‘making you happy.’ Because that’s not what would make me happy! Know what would?” Starlight scratched her cheeks across his Dad-Sweater. “Being with you, and talking to you. Knowing what’s on your mind.” Mommy, Starlight thoughts. Always Mommy, and this sad feeling making a chew toy of her heart. “You’ve been so distant, lately, always locking yourself in your room. I’ve been worried sick and feeling like a pretty poor father, wouldn’t you say?”

But he was the “World’s Greatest Dad,” Starlight’s present last Family Appreciation Day proclaimed it so! “Daddy!” she could only cry, despairing. She made him feel bad in trying not to make him feel worse with talk about Mommy.

But he just hugged her, happy to have at least this after days of disappointment.

Starlight blubbered out sobbing again. Daddy hushed her, rubbing her back in pleasing little circles. “You’re my world, Starlight,” he said. “I only want to be a part of it. If you’ll have me.”

Yes! Yes, yes, yes, of course she wanted him in it. “Would it,” Starlight gulped, “would it be a, a nice place to li-live? M-my, my world?”

The second it took Daddy to answer felt like a million years without breathing. “I love you, my little Light. Even the grossest, most expensive world to live in will be worth every penny, every second, if you’re a part of it!”

She loosened her breath, but… “B-because I have Mommy’s name?” She let out a sob, remembering how many laughs they had when Daddy would call their name and they would both respond.

Daddy grabbed her “chipmunk cheeks” and swiftly pulled her snout to his, saying as he gave her nosey-noses, “It’s because I love you to pieces, you silly goober!”

Starlight giggled, first in being tickled, but another burst forth as his love seeped into her heart, and his words really hit, warming her through and through. “I love you, Daddy!”

He pulled away, red-eyed, but smiling. Sad, but happy because he had her.

And she him.

“You read into things a little too much, kid,” Daddy said, mussing up her hair. Starlight laughed, partially in delight, but also because she did. She really did, and deserved to be named a silly goober. “But you’re a hard worker from what your teacher tells me, and definitely more clever than me when I was your age.”

She looked away, holding a burning cheek. “No…” Starlight couldn’t believe that. Daddy was the smartest pony in the world. Objectively, even!

He scrubbed her mane vigorously. “Yeah, yeah you are!” he gushed. Starlight shrieked, trying to bat him away until he stopped as soon as he began. He smiled, leaning into the sofa. Starlight, panting, grinned back. “You wanna tell me what’s on your mind now?” he asked, teeth baring still. “I’d love to hear it.”

Starlight was still scared, but, if he really did...

“It’s dumb,” she warned him softly. “But I miss Mommy. I keep missing her, even though it hurts to think about her.” Starlight hugged herself, pain beginning to burrow in again. Starlight ought to stop now before she cried, but Daddy said he wanted to hear it and didn’t care about how happy she was compared to how much he loved her. He wouldn’t be disappointed in her. “It keeps hurting and hurting,” she croaked. “But then, I can’t stop hurting. Because then I think about other ponies who might feel this bad!” Like Daddy. Like her classroom seat buddy, Sunburst, if he lost one of his parents.

“I understand,” said Daddy. “Somepony could be feeling and thinking exactly the way you do, right now, Sugar Plum.”

“How do I make it stop?” Her heart seized with hope. “Is there a way to stop thinking like this?”

Daddy frowned, but tenderly touched her shoulder. “Now why would you want to lose a wonderful power like empathy?”

“‘Power?’” Like her magic?

“You’re empathetic,” Daddy enunciated. “That’s a rare trait to have.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

His eyes boggled out of his head. “I know something you don’t?!” he crowed, and Starlight couldn’t help but giggle. “Well, my dear, it means that you can feel what other ponies do. You’d imagine yourself in their place and experience genuine compassion for them. Not a lot of ponies know how to do this, sweetie—” she leaned into his touch as he caressed her face, “—and some just simply can’t. But you? Well, you’re special, Starlight, and I don’t mean that because you’re my little Punky-Wumpkins,” he said, drilling his hooves into her belly.

“Daddy!” Starlight laughed, batting him away with success—but only because he let her, of course.

“I’m serious though,” he continued, smiling still. “Empathy is a powerful thing to have, Starlight. If you can help it, never stop seeing with the eyes of another. Or hearing with someone else’s ears. Understand their perspective, and you’ll be able to feel with their heart, too. You’re a good pony, Starlight. Don’t ever think otherwise. At the core of your being, you are a good pony.”

Good. Because if she could help it, Starlight never wanted anyone to feel this bad. Never ever!

But if she herself made them, especially in her very efforts to prevent that? Not that it would ever happen, but Starlight was never going to forgive herself for that.

She didn’t know why her heart felt like exploding, as if she’d already committed such a horrible, thoughtless deed.

Starlight awakened with a start, gasping for breath. She shouldered the stickiness from her eyes, her fur clinging as though ensnared in webbing, tugging her eyelids back shut. She was still seeing Dad, though—one of the last ponies she wished to think about right now. The rest of her dreams’ contents were fading, and fast, but one thing was unmistakable: Mom, weirdly enough.

I haven’t dreamed about Mom in years, Starlight thought, rubbing across her eyes.

It was disappointing as a daughter that she couldn’t recall what Mom looked like. Ever. Dad, though, he was a stallion who seldom let things put a damper on his spirits, but if he knew that…

If he knew just everything, about what his little girl had reduced herself to, “disappointing” wouldn’t begin to cover it.

At least Starlight was comfortable—hugged in every curve and contour by a soft, warm ocean. Cold only nipped her snout and the tips of her ears, beside the unbroken song of… of a waterfall? Not that it was deafening, nor so soft to be considered a trickle.

And when did she instill a purple canopy to her bed, by the way? Or invite Maud to be snuggled from behind like a big teddy bear?

Starlight’s thoughts ground to a screeching halt.

This… is Maud Pie, right? A stupid question with an appropriate answer: obviously, and Starlight’s muzzle—her everything—was closer than she ever thought possible to Maud, especially the dusty, earthen smell of her mane. Starlight hardly minded this, the rest of her senses alight with fur-on-fur contact, molded by Maud’s firm muscles. She had muscles. She had muscles and Starlight could tell because she was touching her!

And worst of all, Starlight couldn’t even move. Nor breathe. She wouldn't dare in case Maud awakened to this.

It was so gentle, though, pressing and falling away against Starlight’s form. It was tender, warm, and a little bit arousing—it was Maud, and Starlight’s face combusted with how depraved she was being. Even if it’s because she’d never been so close to anypony before, and much preferred this to the horrors of last night groping her stomach, none of that was any excuse! Here Starlight was, taking advantage of a sleeping friend who… who pitied the mare that freaked out so badly, she fainted, apparently, over a little joke.

A nasty one, but a joke nonetheless at the claws of Reeka and Draggle. Who told me that my horn wasn’t even payment… that losing my friends was what I treasured most. So either that’s a lie and I value my magic more, or they’re right and every second I stay here I’m putting them in jeopardy!

And then everything came surging back, hitting harder than before: the party for her she didn’t want but couldn’t refuse, lying this way and that, attacking that lonely little changeling Ocellus and… and just blurting out that she was going to run away? To Fizzlepop? Seriously?!

And she didn’t hide it from Rainbow or Maud, either, and now—Oh, oh Celestia everypony knew. They all knew! They knew how desperate and miserable a pony she was! And they either loathed the time wasted throwing that party together, and now saw Starlight as the lost cause they ought to or they didn’t see that yet, in which case they would try even harder to make her normal when she simply couldn’t.

Starlight couldn’t decide which was worse.

But who would want to waste their time on her, now, when she so clearly rejected it without giving them the grace of saying so to their faces?

And that was all before everything exploded: Fizzlepop, the witches, nearly the Hive and Maud, who was speechless throughout it all. Maud was probably second-guessing their friendship as she lied in bed last night beside Starlight. Maybe wondering if there’s some way of getting out of it.

Because now she was forcing herself to share a bed with Starlight. They slept together.

And Starlight was back in reality, almost forgetting about the little spoon to her big one.

She was still violating Maud’s personal space! A respectable friend would let go, but… Starlight honestly didn’t want to. This warmth embraced her and wouldn’t let go! A swelling, blurry pressure filled her eyes—Starlight didn’t want to be deprived of it, pathetic as that sounded. Within it she felt safe, secure; there was no lies to spin or truths to hide, no way of the witches coming to get her like this.

And besides, her foreleg was caught between Maud’s plushy barrel and the bed, so, she couldn’t move if she wanted to! What, I have to wait for Maud to wake up and find us like this?

A second into that scenario, and Starlight was shrieking internally, tearing herself away before Maud could awaken and beat her to a pulp before never feeling comfortable around her again.

Starlight’s hoof slipped free, her elbow bashing against something soft that cried, “Ow!” A slender warmth snaked across her belly was suddenly cold, weightless, and its owner muttering under her breath: “Starlight, watch where you’re—!” she gasped nasally. “Uh, I mean...” Starlight spun around, coming face-to-face with Trixie.

Herself, somehow, she could understand what drove her to embrace the nearest pony. But sharing a bed with Trixie? Especially after that disastrous road trip they attempted to Saddle Arabia?

They cried out each other’s names at once, Trixie being almost completely red. “I-I can explain!” she said aloud.

“Quiet!” Starlight hissed. “And there are a million different ways you could have started this conversation, but you chose that one?”

Trixie growled, her cheeks inflated like rage-filled sores. “Well,” she whisper-hissed, “you try coming up with something thoughtful on the spot after getting bashed in the muzzle.” She gestured to her perfectly-fine albeit tomato-red face. “This is one of my most valued assets, you know!”

“It literally looks no different from almost every other pony’s.”

Starlight went rigid. “M-Maud?”

“Good morning.”

Was that a good-natured greeting, or an annoyed one at having just been awakened? “D-did, uh, did you just… just, wake up? Just now?”

“...Maybe.”

Trixie propped herself up on her forelegs, cooing like a warhorn. “Maudie!” she cried. “You’re a bad girl!”

“I said nothing,” she said as Starlight sat up, hearing the denial between her words.

“Oh, yes, but your actions speak aloud of a pony who vied to cuddle up to Starlight.” Trixie gasped softly, smiling behind a hoof. “How scandalous. And yes, fairly cute! I’m in full support of that marriage proposition you were ready to give before leaving for the party.”

“Be quiet.”

“My! What would your parents say to you, having made a decision without the Choosing Stone’s blessing?”

“Stop it, Trixie.” Maud was lying on her back now, staring into the canopy. Nothing dusted her cheeks. She wasn’t embarrassed, which meant her willingness to let Starlight hold her wasn’t borne of romantic affection. “You got it all wrong.”

Curse you, Trixie. If last night didn’t happen, Maud would have socked Trixie in the gut. Twice. Once for misreading her pity for Starlight, and again for planting bad notions in their friend’s head.

“Oh, Starlight, relax! I was just teasing… like always!” she added with uncertainty.

A seed of dread Maud had been entertaining—obsessing over how this morning would go—began to tremble deep within as she looked aside.

Starlight sat up beside her, hoof to her heart, inhaling and exhaling, breathing in and out, in-out-in-out-in-out—

Starlight pressed her racing heart, trying desperately to slow it down. What in Equestria’s happening? Maud let herself be touched and hugged and held long after waking up, just so Starlight could sleep better? That went way, way above Maud’s comfort level, it had to! They hardly ever engaged in physical contact!

“Star-light!” Trixie yelled.

“AH!” Starlight yelped, glaring at her currently-annoying friend. “What?! What’s with the yelling?”

Trixie furrowed her brows. “I’ve been trying to get your attention, but you weren’t answering.”

“I wonder why. She was being a terrible joker as per usual, Starlight. Don’t read into it.”

Trixie pointed around Starlight, at the prone pony on her left. “You, butt out! I was just trying to make her comfortable! Unlike you. What made you think that was a good idea, anyway? You know she hates touching!”

“Better than making everypony in the room uncomfortable.”

Starlight didn’t want this. Anything but this. “I’m right he—”

“I’m sorry, Maud,” Trixie sneered, forelegs bent into her sides, “but my barrel of material is fairly exhausted in the morning, especially after what happened last night!”

She meant Starlight’s meltdown. “Girls, pl—!”

“And you continue to shock without much awe. As usual,” Maud muttered.

Trixie gasped, offended. “I awe plenty, thank you!”

“I’m in awe of your perpetual thoughtlessness right now, if that helps. Because no matter what’s happening, regardless of how bad things get, in your head, you’re still number one. It’s truly amazing.”

“No I’m not! I mean, I am amazing! But this nonsense about being thoughtless and selfish? Whatever Pinkie Pie told you about me, it’s not true!”

Maud droned aloud, “I hardly spoke to Pinkie, but good to know whatever insight she had was most likely accurate.”

“Would you two stop?! Stop!” Starlight dove across the bed, and spun round to address the two of them—Trixie, with wild silver hair and… distraught across her face, clear as day, and hitting like a buck to the heart. And then there was Maud, sitting up straight with her pillow as a cushion. “Just look at yourselves, girls. You think this is what I want to hear right now?” And Starlight was at a loss for words, having just blamed her friends for trying their best to comfort somepony so undeserving of it. She groaned at her stupidity. “This’s exactly why I didn’t want anypony making a fuss! Because it’s always the same. Because when two or more ponies disagree over a common goal, no matter how right you personally think you are, there’s another who feels just as passionately as you, thinking they’re just as correct! And your ideas clash and you fight and the whole reason you’re even in this scenario is because of me! I don’t want this, girls! I hate this sort of nonsensical conflict! I hate being doted over when I don’t need it, and no one, not even my closest friends, are listening to what I want!”

“Tell us what you want, then.” Maud’s face was utterly unreadable. “Please, Starlight. I truly want to know what will make you feel better.”

‘Truly.’ Maud hardly ever fluffed up her dialogue. She was dead serious about this.
Starlight couldn’t forget that she was speaking under the belief that her friend wanted to run away and leave her behind. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I’ve no idea what will make me feel better, Maud. What I’ve got going on is way, way above anything I’d ask of the two of you—”

“Bull-pucky!”

“Trixie,” Starlight gasped, alongside Maud’s wide-eyed, “Wow.”

“Pardon my Fancy you two, but Starlight, what you’re telling us right now is absolute crud!” Trixie slammed her hoof into Maud’s brown comforter. “I cannot speak for everypony, but Maud and I? Well, we’re up for anything! Trust your best friend like you did at the Hive all those years ago.” Trixie smiled assuredly, sweetly, as she could be in the darkest of times. “Even if you think we don’t want it, no matter what it is, we wanna be a part of it so we can suffer together! Right, Maud?”

“Yeah,” she drawled for emphasis.

Starlight looked between the two of them—she couldn’t bear Maud and her confident little smile. She’d never worn such a thing, especially at some random pony like Starlight.

She didn’t know what to say. Her mind wasn’t changed, but her friends’ weren’t either, despite last night. Starlight was speechless, despite one thing racing through her mind over and over.

“I… I almost left everypony,” she told the bedding.

“Very true,” replied Trixie. “Last night was quite, quite the hot mess.” Sudden movement to the right, punctuated by a magical hum coupled with Trixie’s indignant grunting implied Maud was about to throw a hoof into her side, and that Trixie was expecting this. “Yes, I-mean-it!” Trixie grunted. “A hot mess! Last night was a sucky hot mess for ev-ery-po-ny. Not just you, Starlight! All of us had a bad time, because all of us messed up, too!”

That was a laugh. Starlight didn’t even see Trixie all night—perhaps that is where she felt she messed up. “Not compared to me.”

“Who cares already?!” Trixie cried over the end to her magical exertion. “Starlight, everything you did just isn’t worth crying over! You’re our friend, and most of all you’re my best friend. You might not have been totally honest with me—which is crazy I know,” she laughed, “because, you and I trust each other like no other—but that’s okay, because, you taught me it’s never too late to improve!”

“Whether it be our skills or ourselves,” Maud added.

“Right, right,” Trixie gasped wetly. “Starlight, come on. Can’t you see you deserve the same treatment, more so than anypony?”

She really, really didn’t though. “How can you sit there and tell me that with a hundred percent honesty? As if you don’t care what I did? And don’t you go telling me that nopony cares, because I know they do!” And suddenly, all of that just felt incorrect. But at the same time it did. Starlight didn’t know, nothing was certain except that she was sorry, which she said.

“But they really don’t!” asserted Trixie. “Nopony cares! Starlight, honestly, for all the shade I’ve been throwing her way, do you really believe that Twilight is more worried about the scene you caused, or the friend who wouldn’t normally make one?”

Except there were many times when Starlight had, especially this past week. She dropped her gaze, seeing before her the disdain on Twilight’s face that she felt deep down—the sprout of annoyance that would inevitably blossom the more she failed. Perhaps when Twilight, frustrated with her failures, would direct them at the source, believing it was in some way wrong. That was usually part of her “Twilighting” process. It was only a matter of time.

Starlight didn’t answer Trixie’s question. The nerve! The answer shouldn’t be so hard! “Twilight’s obviously worried about you, Starlight. This behavior isn’t exactly normal for you, and coming from me that’s not her paranoia talking.”

“You have a way with words.”

“Shut up,” Trixie hissed back. “At least I’m saying something.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Knowing Maud, that didn’t mean she was going to say anything. And Starlight needed somepony to open up to—like her best friend, whom Princess Perfect believed she hadn’t. How preposterous!

“Star-light!” Trixie cried, and her gaze clarified in the blink of an eye. “You can talk to us. You can talk to me. You know that, right? We’re your girlfriends!”

“I...I know.” Starlight swallowed, trying frantically to catch her breath again. “You girls,” she gulped, “are some of my best friends.”

“Then talk to us, please,” Maud muttered. Starlight was shaking like a leaf, bedhead flouncing erratically around her. “Starlight?”

Trixie looked to Maud, and met with a face as worried as she felt.

This was not Starlight. She wasn’t supposed to be afraid of talking to Trixie like she was Twilight! She was supposed to have been nakedly honest with her from the start, she’d done nothing wrong to Starlight and now something that happened last night broke her! Whether it was that lousy Tempest, or…

Bottom line: Trixie was Starlight’s best friend. She knew her best, and it was that strong trust they shared that allowed Starlight to be most honest with her. Without that, Trixie was nothing special. But she knew she was, because of said bottom line.

“Stop being weird,” Trixie demanded. “And heed the wisdom of your best friend for once.” Starlight glanced up briefly—good enough. “We don’t blame you for feeling this way. Alright? Nopony does, but the two of us least of all. We know you aren’t normally like this, Starlight! But, not only have you lost your horn, you’re also feeling dogpiled by everypony while meatheads like Tempest mess with your head and... and nopony listened to Trixie about why the party was a stupid plan! So, yeah, sure, you ran. It wouldn’t be the first time—remember the Sunset Festival?” Starlight cringed, and so did stupid Trixie. “Look, my point is, here, you didn’t actually run! Nothing happened! You let all this stress get to you instead of, you know, talking to me about it. So, please, Starlight. Let’s change that already,” Trixie finished lamely.

It was because Starlight’s eyes had widened until they couldn’t further, and snapped to meet Trixie’s gaze. “I don’t want to.” She swallowed, shook her head. “I-I can’t. Thank you. Both of you. But I don’t want to bring that upon you. I can deal with it myself, Trixie—that’s what everypony but you failed to understand.”

So Trixie was right all along, and Twilight the fool. “If that is what you wish.” She ignored Maud’s indignant staredown. “I always knew you were strong, Starlight, even if other ponies doubt your strength. Very well! Your great and powerful friend will respect her equivalent best bestie and her boundaries!”

“Thanks Trix! You’re the best!”

“Are you serious?” Maud asked. Her wide-eyed look moved from Trixie to Starlight, who jumped from the bed, hoofbeats upon the stone softened by the perpetual roar of the waterfall.

“Starlight,” Maud said aloud.

“Starlight.”

Please leave me alone. She didn't stop, didn't turn around. “I don’t want to talk about anything," said Starlight. "Girls, please, respect that, and leave me alone about it. Please.” Starlight’s heart tingled; it was she who’d spoken. It came so easily, too: the truth. Instead of another in a dozen lies, she silenced her friends thoroughly with the truth.

No angst or drama. No emotional baggage weighing them down.

“Well, okay!” Trixie cheered from what sounded like the tunnel leading to a separate cave entirely. “How about some breakfast, then? You still like pancakes, Starlight?”

“I don’t have pancakes. And Starlight...”

She turned in answer, only for Maud’s expression and current feeling to be utterly unreadable. Starlight’s hairs stood on end. “What? Maud?” But she just blinked. Starlight drawled out an ‘ok’ as she returned forward. “I’m going home, gals. I feel like a zombie, still.” Starlight made her way for the door.

“Bye-bye, Starlight!” Trixie waved. “Come by my wagon soon, and don’t forget that our offer still stands!”

“I don’t have pancakes,” Maud informed them. “And Starlight…”

She looked to her like she was about to be attacked. She never, ever looked at Maud that way. Last night, Maud mused once again. It was becoming a mantra for her. Last night, I should have told her everything.

The cool draft from the waterfall played with Starlight's messy mane, tugged at Maud's with the gentlest of touches. Nothing much was gentle in her life. Nothing simply was a thing at all. The waterfall, though, waking up to that sonorous crash of nature, constantly beating the earth without ever stopping?

One of the reasons she fell in love at first sight of this place, beside Starlight. She loved it, too, and understood why Maud did so: for its naturally made, history-laden walls, the close proximity to a beautiful quartz deposit. She understood Maud's love of the place for its distance from Ponyville and Pinkie, and simultaneously, its closeness there, to Pinkie, and to Starlight especially.

Starlight, who wanted to run away from them. Starlight, who was running now, or close to it: running from her feelings she was so obviously bottling up.

And worst yet, Maud’s reservations last night only validated Starlight's drive to run from them. As if they were some ugly beast the world was not ready to see. Starlight. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you to react to my words. My… weird declaration. It really was odd, like a confession of romantic love to a special somepony. But it’s me, and Starlight might have loved it and accepted it instead of being driven to leave as though I didn’t.

Maybe, if she had half her sister’s courage to be ridiculous, Starlight wouldn’t have broken down like she did. She wouldn’t have cried herself to sleep—something thought impossible, but her best friend often surprised her with casual impossibilities. Such as understanding Maud Pie instead of just tolerating her, like Pinkie’s friends, or finally dropping this narrative that she was fine by making it clear, now, that she wasn't, but deep down she didn’t want Trixie or Maud knowing the true depths of her heart.

Trixie took offense to this, because of course she did.

But it was clearly out of fear of rejection. Sounds familiar. And now Starlight was at the tunnel, about to make the same mistakes Maud had always made.

She couldn't let this happen. “Starlight, wait!” cried Maud, lunging from her bed. Trixie’s impressed “woah” neath the waterfall was ignored, followed by Starlight turning at the cave mouth, her shock dawning by the rapidly shrinking distance that lay between her and Maud.

And then her shock was all the stood before Maud, halting without breaking a sweat. “Um, wow,” Starlight laughed, shrinking back. “Uh, hey there, Speedy!”

That’s right. Neither she nor Trixie had ever seen Maud really move before. Now wasn't the time to be getting flustered. “Relax," she began, for the both of them. "We’re not going to make you stay and pour cereal and milk down your throat.” Trixie might, and that was an actual fear moments ago, before she so desperately believed Starlight’s method of coping was in any way admirable. That poor, stupid pony. “But there’s something I want to say to you before you go. Something I should have yesterday.”

“Okay, Maud. Just… don’t keep me in suspense, now!” She still thought a tongue lashing was at hoof. Over what, Maud had no notion.

“Starlight…” You’re my best friend. But that felt too small. And sudden. And Trixie might cause a scene. “You’re a meaningful part of my life. I enjoy your presence and company. And your insight. Your jokes, too. And how you treat me—”

“Okay! Maud! Thank you!” Starlight bit her lip. Probably thinking of a nice way to telling Maud to stop rambling. “You… don’t have to reach for the stars to make me feel better. I-it’s fine. Really!” Starlight cleared her throat. “I mean it. Thank you, Maud.” She bowed. “You’re kind and patient. But you don’t have to do this for me, really.”

The waterfall roared, screeching for help.

Actually, it was Maud’s brain. She’d failed this utterly, and worse still is that Starlight wasn’t truly listening. Or she did, but she just didn’t care. Or maybe she did care, but Maud’s words had little to no effect because they were so terribly delivered in her awful emotionless deadpan, so it made her seem insincere.

Part of Maud felt she was expecting too much of Starlight right now. Her stomach turned no matter what, and Maud took a breath to still it—this wasn’t the time to be second-guessing herself. Starlight was in pain. She needed somepony with a clear mind and calm heart, neither of which Trixie could provide.

“Starlight, I’m trying to say that I care about you. A lot.” For emphasis, Maud moved to touch Starlight’s shoulder. Hard, accidentally.

“Oof. Unique form of tough love,” Starlight remarked, wincing.

“Sorry.” Maud was terrible at this, and dropped her awkward attempt at affection immediately. “Just know that I worry about you. It would be sad to see you leave.” It would destroy me. I really don’t know if I could go on living normally without you being a part of it. No way would she drop that gushy emotional bomb, though. Make Starlight feel like a prisoner. That’s what Trixie would do, never considering the impact her words have on Starlight. “That’s all,” Maud concluded. “Please don’t be afraid of opening up to me, Starlight. I know what I said in the past, but I’m willing to make an exception for you now.”

Starlight was wide-eyed midway through that. She blinked at last, shook her head loose of all the information now cluttering it. “Uh, wow,” she said. “I’m sure that took a lot for you to say, Maud. But I would never ask you to put yourself in discomfort just to make me feel better.”

Of course she wouldn’t. Doubly obvious she would deny herself healing and attention, knowing Maud would be fairly awkward plunging so far from her element.

It only made her love Starlight more. “I want to, though.”

Her friend smiled sadly. “And what’s that?”

“To help you,” Maud answered.

“Now why?”

This was obviously building toward something. “Because you’re my friend. You would do the same for me. It’s honorable, and it’s right.”

Starlight shut her eyes, her smile crumpling, painful to maintain. She nodded brokenly, hesitantly. “Finally, h-ho-how?” she exhaled, glistening eyes piercing Maud’s soul. “How’re you gonna go about doing that?”

Maud thought she just explained this. “Listening. Being there for you. Giving my own perspective if asked, all without judgement or criticism.”

“S-so sp-spending your li-hife—!” Starlight gasped, clapping her muzzle quiet. The glimmering of her eyes snaked around it, down her cheeks. “You’re amazing,” she croaked, muffled by her hoof. “But you say that now, wait till—”

“I say what I mean,” Maud cut in, killing the thought before it could take root in Starlight’s heart. “Regardless of what you’d done or what you believe you’ve done, I’m your friend. You’re one of my only friends. Abandoning you isn’t something I planned on doing.”

Maud held her breath waiting for a response.

Until Starlight dropped her head, ears wilting, before turning around. “Thank you, Maud. I’ll keep that in mind as I make my way home.”

And she moved down the tunnel, as if nothing of note happened.

That was it. Maud had just bared her heart for nothing, almost died from it for nothing. And Starlight barely understood that, too focused on whatever she’d done to look outside of it, or her own perception.

“Starlight, wait.” Maud even took two steps into the tunnel. Whether that or both or even the slight, slight, slight desperation in her tone brought her friend to a halt, almost tripping as she whirled around, eyes wide and bright with twinkles. “Don’t leave us. Please.”

“Are you trying to guilt trip me into staying here now?” Starlight accused, looking wholly betrayed and likely feeling only that, not out of annoyance. “Is that what you’re doing here? Guilt tripping me so I talk about my feelings to you?”

Maud shook her head. “But you were never afraid of me. You were the only pony who was never afraid of me.”

“Yeah? And I’m not afraid of you now, am I?”

“You’re afraid of what I’ll think of you. That’s why you’re leaving now.” Starlight cringed, hearing this, and Maud knew she hit the stone’s weak point; one more good swing ought to crack her open. “Your reaction tells me I’m right.”

“So what if you are, huh?!” Starlight marched over, even scarier without her horn, for she was only this volatile because of it. “If I don’t wanna share, then I don’t wanna share! And there’s nothing you can do to force me.”

“I started this conversation telling you that I wasn’t going to force anything,” Maud reminded her.

“Well, ya seem to be doing everything you can to make me talk!”

“Maud, just leave her be!” Trixie called, useless as always.

“Only because I’m worried, and you’re clearly avoiding us because you think whatever’s said will change that. I assure you, it won’t.”

“I know that, but—!”

Maud, for the first time since this started, felt her anger flare like a wildfire. “Then why are you doing everything you can to leave us?” Part of her hoped Starlight could feel the rage pushing every word. “Why did you try running away last night if you knew you could talk to me?”

“Because you don’t know anything about me!” Starlight snarled in her face, only to immediately recoil in shock. “I-I didn’t mean it like that.”

Regardless, the damage was done. Her thoughts were known. “Maybe not,” said Maud. “But I would like to.”

Starlight sighed, groaned, and sobbed all at once. “Trust me, Maud. You really don’t.”

This couldn’t be happening. Starlight didn’t care about her friendship and was convinced the pony she truly was couldn’t sustain it.

Then why try in the first place? Why string Maud along all these years if nothing was ever going to come of it?

Part of Maud was screaming, crying to slam the proverbial door in Starlight’s face and call her a liar. But then, she was crying harder at how starkly similar she herself once was. Still was, in some ways.

“So you’re just going to leave us.” Maud’s dead, flat tone matched her inner spirit for once in her life.

“Oh, sweet Celestia, no!” Starlight groaned. “I’m going home to absorb last night without anypony breathing down my neck!” Maud lowered her gaze to the ground, because that is all she had done here and Starlight despised the attempt, and thus tolerated her even less. Never had their dynamic been so thoroughly skewed in the span of a single conversation. “And even if I was, which, let’s just theorize for a moment here, if I’d actually wanted to live somewhere else, or pursue something out of Twilight’s all-encompassing shadow, what would our conversation be like now?”

Maud forced herself to meet Starlight’s pained gaze. “If that’s what you’d wanted, then I would miss you, but nonetheless encourage you to follow your dreams. It would be the same if the roles were reversed, I imagine.”

“Ah, but you see, this situation’s different, Maud. In your answer, you forgot to account for my quality of life suddenly questioned by everypony who thinks they know me better than I do. Sounds annoying, right?”

Then how would she rate its quality this very moment, and after that, would she still be snarky?

“Starlight, I would never want to hold you back,” said Maud, pouring every word with the emotion she could muster. “But it’s clear that you were planning to run because you’re trying to handle this on your own. I know because I’ve done that my entire life.” It was far, far more complicated than that, Maud knew—yet Starlight, by some miracle, winced with emotion.

"Oh, Maud..."

“Everything is easier with a little help. Pinkie was my rock growing up. If I didn’t have her, I’d probably never have gotten my rocktorate. Nor would I've grown the courage to meet her friends, or spend time with you.”

“Stop it, Maud. You don’t understand and you’re just making it harder,” Starlight quivered.

Maud couldn’t stop. Part of her wanted to, but that was the quiet, lonely rock farmer who felt her world began and ended with her own two hooves. She couldn't stop because of her; not when she was finally chiseling away at Starlight's resolve. “I thought Pinkie Pie…” Maud hesitated, curse her, but she had never told another pony this, not even the sister in question. “I thought Pinkie would be disappointed that I was afraid of her judgement. I thought it wasn’t worth muddying her exciting life of bringing smiles to ponies who could actually do that. I think you know her well enough to ascertain my foolishness, but I realized it was all in my head. That sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

Starlight touched her forehead, covering her eyes. “Maud, stop, please.”

“Listen to her already, Maud!”

But she had to understand… “I’m okay with feeling your pain.”

“Maud, stop!” Starlight’s eyes flashed, wet and furious. “Don’t you get what I mean by stop? Stop! Jeez, you talk more than your sister!”

She still wasn’t getting it. And Maud was getting really, really annoyed now. “Did you not hear what I just told you?”

Starlight shrunk a little, eyeing her furrowed brows. “Trust me,” she huffed, “I could do nothing but. And I’m telling you again, Maud, that you have no idea what I’m dealing with here. You’re a great friend, don’t doubt that a bit. But you are being weirdly, and I mean weirdly, emotional about this—you’re usually so much smarter and practical.”

Starlight was trembling before her. Messy of mane. No breakfast in her belly. Eyes wild with distrust and pain packed tight behind a look Maud truly couldn't call sane.

“Fine.” Emotional was a nice way of putting it. More like stupid, naive, a waste of time: Starlight, despite Maud’s suffocating fears last night of how she would react, hardly showed any care at all. Maud was nothing much to her. Just another boring rock on the side of the road. “Go home if you want. Just don’t forget what I said.”

Starlight stiffened her upper lip. “Right back atcha.” She turned, and walked, and soon, Starlight Glimmer was gone.

And when she determined enough time had passed for Starlight to have left, Maud reeled back a foreleg and sent it flying into the cavern wall with a teeth-rattling crash. Dust and debris skated across her home, many pieces plopping soundlessly into her lower and mid-level pools.

“I’m sorry that didn’t go well.” Maud turned to find a silver tail fall unto the bed. She'd almost forgotten Trixie had spectated the whole thing. And rather quietly. “That was what you wanted to tell her, wasn’t it?”

Hardly. Maud rubbed her forehead, the Starlight-shaped ache where a horn would protrude. “I don’t know how you can stand her suffering in silence like that.”

Trixie sat up, smoothing out her mane. “I don’t know how you can even think of trying to force anything out of her.”

“I forced nothing but my feelings on the matter.” Maud hopped up to her mid-level pool. “The rest is up to her.”

Trixie smiled sardonically, knowing of a ludicrous punchline she took a breath to utter: “So you did nothing, in the end, but listen to Sparkle instead of me.”

Maud still didn’t understand what constituted “Sparkle’s” way. “Your way of helping doesn’t actually help Starlight, and you know it.” Maud sat, hind legs touching the water's surface as she scratched her sides. Maud suddenly realized her own nakedness. Shocking. She finished her thought, "Your way helps you, from realizing the ugliness of your soul.”

“Jeez, Maud, somepony’s cranky. Okay, look, Starlight doesn’t need helping! She’s always helped herself, just like me. You girls just gotta respect that.”

“Keep telling yourself that when she’s gone, and you’re wondering what you could have done differently.”

V.IV - Gone to Waste

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This was going to work. It had to. This was going to work. It had to!

It had to.

The table was set. The friends were here. Seven hearts, however hurting, were completely open to Starlight’s, and more than willing to receive hers.

No matter what lay in its scarred depths. She was their friend, all they wanted was for her to heal from whatever trauma she willfully festered in.

Oh, Starlight. You poor, poor pony...

Crinkling parchment nudged Twilight’s thoughts, drawing her to the floating, creasing scroll before her—the latest victim in Princess Twilight Sparkle’s compulsive need to do something with her body other than pace a hole into the floor.

Her gut bottomed-out in a dreadful void. This was going to work, she had to remind herself, it had to. Success didn’t rely solely on this carefully crafted plan she was currently abusing, however. It depended on the conduct of her rather… emotive friends.

“Hey, girls, let’s keep in… mind. Hm.” Twilight hesitated at the perpetual clattering beyond her unraveling scroll. Oh, now I’m being annoying—

“We hear ya, Twilight. What is it?” asked Spike, her ever-present shadow. And confidence.

His reassuring smile reminded her these feelings were just atypical nerves. Just perilously close to the moment of truth, is all. Everypony was on edge. “Remember,” she continued, “that no matter what Starlight shares with us, or not, Rainbow Dash—”

“What? Why me?”

“And Pinkie,” Twilight added, failing to suppress a smile in the way she froze mid-prance at the table, eggs benedict assembly platter on-mane, “whether or not she tells us anything, even if she tells us nothing—”

“No flipping out!” they chimed together.

Perhaps Twilight had laid this on a little thick. A little. “Regardless! Heh,” she continued, scroll waving the heat off her face, “I don’t want there to be any risk whatsoever of Starlight thinking we’ll be angry with her for not opening up. Okay? It’s imperative we mind Starlight when interacting with her from here on out. That means no eye-rolling, groaning, growling, grimacing—”

“Or breathing?” Spike muttered. He clammed up with a single, sharp glare. “Kidding! I’m kidding.”

“Well, I’m not. This is important.” One conversation. Just one where Starlight can meet my eyes again and tell the truth. And then they would debate magic theory again, they would read together, bake and cook, try different teas… talk, about everything—like they used too.

“Twilight?”

She lifted her eyes toward Fluttershy, hugging a pitcher of orange juice. “Is something wrong?” Her heart dropped. “There’s, uh, there’s no pulp in that OJ, is there?”

“Um, no. I-I-at least, I don’t think so…” Fluttershy shook her head, almost attempting a close inspection. “I just wanna say, we all agree how important today is. But just remember, if the, um, ‘what if’ happens, and we can’t get through to S-Starlight…” Fluttershy gulped. “As her friends, we’ll have to be game to try again. And again and again.”

Twilight nodded. “Of course.” Quitting on Starlight was downright unacceptable.

“That’s the most important thing we can do, no matter the outcome, I think,” Fluttershy continued. “Even if we succeed, I don’t think she’ll completely change after one conversation. S-speaking from experience.” Twilight nodded, understanding, and cursing herself inside for even hoping that Starlight bent to their wishes—as if she needed the extra pressure for something she must deeply desire. “But, oh, I do hope we can help her!” whimpered Fluttershy. “At least enough for her to smile again. I really, really don’t want Starlight to keep feeling so bad about herself,” she finished with in a wispy sob.

“Oh, neither do I, Fluttershy—UP! Don’t drop that now!” warned Twilight, as her friend shifted the pitcher to wipe away tear buildup.

“Wow, Twilight—” Dash began.

Fluttershy silenced her with a glassy-eyed glare. “Don’t blame her, Dashie. I’ve been like this all morning.”

“But that doesn’t give anypony an excuse to talk ya down!” she answered, gesturing to the ground.

To Twilight, who had been irritable and spastic every step of the way since awakening them at the crack of dawn. An apology bubbled up through her constricting throat—

“Yes, well, your way of coping doesn’t justify lashing back at Twilight for her way, either. So, um, there,” she finished bashfully.

Dash, slack-jawed, glanced apologetically to Twilight. “R-right. Right, okay. Just cool your jets, Twilight. We got this. And Starlight’s got us!”

Twilight watched her assertive friend place the orange juice where she’d asked. “R-right.”

And Rainbow swooped off, colors trailing behind her as she took a turn washing down the windows to a sparkling sheen. The fastest thing she’d done all morning—and no argument or nothing.

How unexpected, that whole exchange. Although, not quite. Fluttershy knew her best friend better than anypony. If Dash was able to ascertain her meaning by “your way of coping” without further snark, both knew of what was being referred. Knowing Dash, it had something to do with whatever she’d spent “practically all night pretty much” considering what she wanted to tell Starlight.

When was the last time she’d devoted such time to something unrelated to flying or Daring Do?

Twilight trusted her, who moved about the table, setting down plates with methodical repetition. In fact, Rainbow had been quiet all morning. It was unlike her, though, to be fair, abnormal behavior was achingly commonplace nowadays: she was unashamed to have cried just as much as Fluttershy when Twilight almost—well, when she inadvertently ruined Starlight.

All the more reason to fix everything. I just hope it isn’t too late…

“Oh, quit worrying, Twilight!”

“AH! I didn’t say anything!”

Pinkie bounded by, apple juice bouncing upon her back in rhythm. “Nope!” She plopped the pitcher down, animating alongside her words: “But you got this queasy-sickly little look on your face that was all like, ‘Oh! Ah! Starlight!’” she shrilled. “‘I sure hope you absolutely love this yummerrific breakfast feast fit for a best buddy and seven other friends who love her to itty bitty pieces and don’t want her to explode!’”

Twilight had to consciously remind herself that Pinkie’s method of coping was to joke. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

“I know!” She started bouncing over. “You’ve had that look all morning, when there’s really no reason—!”

“No-no-no! Pinkie! Pinkie! Pinkie.” Twilight galloped over, rolling her checklist overhead as Pinkie, impossibly statuesque, swiveled her eyes toward her approach. “The orange juice needs to be six centimeters parallel to the apple juice, not the other way around. Starlight’s going to be sitting at this end over here, so, she’ll want easy access to her favorite juice without feeling the need to ask for help, leading to a potential mess that I’d rather avoid altogether if she’s ever going to talk to me again!” Tableware clanged amidst Twilight’s panting.

She had to wait the torturously long second in which Pinkie’s absurdly stretchy neck stretched, curved, and she nosed the pitcher of molten gold over with a single tap. “So, the apple juice goes here? Or there?”

“Here, of course.”

“Righto!” And Pinkie went back to work.

Twilight sighed, at last comfortable doing so. A prismatic fountain of hair passed overhead, reminding her of a previous concern.

“Rainbow Dash.” She carefully—something very un-Dash-like—set down a platter of flapjacks adjacent to the other, sandwiching the table centerpiece. “Rainbow!”

Dash blinked, turning with a grin that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “‘Sup, Egghead?”

Twilight gulped—that look, the rehearsed emotion in her voice. “Please don’t do this,” she uttered low, so as not to embarrass her.

“Uh, do what?”

“This. What you just did. The…” Twilight glanced around, as if anypony were actually around to gossip about this awful name. Sighing to herself, she finished, “The Starlightism.”

“I was not doing a Starlightism!” Rainbow cried.

“Yeah, ya were!” AJ called from the kitchen.

“I was not!” Rainbow asserted.

“Yes, you were! Aside from being quiet all morning, you just acted like nothing’s bothering you.” Twilight flew up to Rainbow, who shrank back as she said, “And, before you say that you didn’t want to get anypony’s spirits down,” because Rainbow was that prideful and selfless, “what’s the one rule—the one rule—that I stressed up and down throughout making breakfast, trailing back to before we even left the party last night?” Rainbow was stupefied. “DASH!” Twilight clapped her hooves as she said, “Pay! Attention! PLEASE!”

And the dining room fell still.

A beat before Twilight snapped, before she even called out Rainbow’s name like that, the sane part of her brain, suppressed by everything that could and probably would go wrong, recognized the look preventing her from answering.

It was the same look Pinkie had just given her about the juice. The same look everypony sent her way at one point, in the briefest of moments, when they thought she wasn’t looking, or when they suggested that perhaps it’d be wise to wait a day and recover before tackling the Starlight problem, which Twilight quite rudely shot down.

It was that same look they all wore now as Rainbow howled, got in her face, and clapped aggressively with the words, “Twilight! You are making it. Impossible. To talk. About ANYTHING!”

“I know! I know!” Twilight hit the floor, blanketing herself in her checklist. “I know that I’ve been acting like a tyrant. I know you girls know I’m going Twilynanas over this. All of you are the best for putting up with me, but I am well aware, Rainbow Dash, that it would in fact be better to wait until I have a full twelve-hour sleep! I know this, because it’s all I’ve been thinking about since we got back here! But waiting even so much as a day puts Starlight’s soul at greater a risk of being unsalvageable, and there is nothing—I repeat, nothing—that’ll convince me that this in any way a sane idea!”

Rainbow crossed her forelegs, glowering under furrowed brows. “Well, how do you even know she’d wanna eat with us?”

“I don’t!”

“Can’t we get along for one hour without going at each other’s throats?!” Fluttershy shrilled. “Starlight would be devastated if she knew we were fighting over her!”

“Eh, this is about what I expected, honestly.”

Dash went stiff as a board, as did Twilight and Fluttershy. The shuffling and clamoring froze as well. As one they snapped their gaze below, to the doorway, where Starlight Glimmer stood with one leg holding it open instead of her magic. Messy-mane, bemused, for half a second Twilight’s heart soared—it was just like any other day, with “Zombie Glimmer” having just rolled out of bed, until that painful reminder tangled in her forelock signaled the reality.

That she left Maud’s, alone, which solved the “later problem” of getting her to come home. Up until now, in moments of doubt, Twilight wondered if she was so uncomfortable that Starlight couldn’t even stand being under the same roof as her.

That wasn’t the case, apparently. Thankfully. But Twilight’s heart twinged, uncertainty now eating her once again.

“St-Starlight, lovely to see you!” As Rarity trotted around the table, carrying with her a tray of pastries, Twilight teleported herself out of the bundle of checklist to the doorway, putting on a warm, totally-not-stressed-or-tired smile. “Would you like a donut, darling? You look famished.”

“We’re just about to have breakfast,” Twilight added. “All that partying last night had us too beat to go home, so we decided to make it an occasion.”

“W-we’d love it if you stayed!” Fluttershy called from the back.

“And tried my breakfast pastries!” Pinkie chimed in, singing, “I whipped up a platter of lemon meringue danishes with your name on it!”

Applejack and Rainbow smiled reassuringly, warmly. Not a single pony looked as exhausted, nervous, or sad as they felt. This was going to work. It had to. This was going to work, it had to!

And then Twilight looked back, and was met with a soulless smirk. “A random occasion where the table centerpiece is the eight of us at the last Gala?” She nodded to it: all of them, smiling wide in a huddle, dolled up and without a care in the world.

Twilight balked. There was this meaningful friendship-speech she was planning to give at Maud’s, but now, well, she didn’t expect Starlight to have come home willfully! Which was just an awful thing to presume—

“Starlight, my dear, have a donut!” Rarity said, a little too loud—only, it was just crushingly silent. “You must be ready to eat the crystal, you look so skinny. I-in a good way, of course!”

Starlight eyed the platter, then Rarity’s straining smile. “Now how’m I supposed to hold these?” she asked flatly.

“Uh, w-well—I mean, you could, ah, you-your teeth—”

“I don’t have a horn anymore to carry extras,” Starlight explained. “I guess that’s another silver lining. I won’t get fat anymore, since it’s not worth the effort.” She tittered softly.

Rarity followed half a second after Starlight's petered out, her laughter high and frantic and awkwardly forlorn until it cut abruptly short. Now they were with two blushing unicorns.

“Eating is al-ways worth the effort,” Pinkie cheered. “It’s delicious and fulfilling and it makes you happy and healthy!”

“An’ I don’t recall you eatin’ much at the Gourd Fest with me,” said Applejack. “Why don’t you take a load off, have a bite? We got plenty!”

“Thanks, but in that case, I’ll pick later. I’m not really hungry.” Starlight rubbed her forehead, eyes screwed shut. Her horn must have hurt.

“Would you like me to cast the nerve-nullification spell?” Twilight moved to touch her cheek—

Starlight yanked away, eyes wide, and walloping her friend in the heart. “Uh, no! Thanks. Yesterday’s not, uh, worn off yet…”

“So you don’t want to eat, and you don’t want to sit with us, clearly. You’re not even here because you’re doubled-over in pain.” Rainbow Dash landed beside Twilight and Rarity, solemn of face. “Why’d you come over, Starlight?” Her wings weren’t even flared.

Pain did cross Starlight’s face, but it was a brief, fleeting thing she probably forgot instantly. “Well,” she began, smiling feebly, “I was still beat from last night, and I wanted to sleep in my own bed. And think about stuff… Anyway, I heard arguing from the entrance hall, so...”

Nopony said anything. How could they? Honesty would only hurt Starlight, not that she didn’t know the argument’s contents from Fluttershy. “I’m sorry,” blurted Twilight. “You must not have wanted to hear that right now.”

“Frankly,” Applejack said, approaching, “this ain’t exactly the attitude we’ve expected from ya, Starlight. Ya seem… I dunno, gray. Grayer than the calm before the storm. Did something happen at Maud’s, by any chance?” Thank Celestia Applejack didn’t mention Tempest, or what she’d told them. Means she remembered Starlight wouldn’t want to dive into that right off the bat.

“Nothing happened at Maud’s, except that I was finally honest with myself. For the first time in days, actually.”

“Really?” Twilight breathed.

A little too emotionally—Starlight grimaced, exhaling sharp enough for Twilight to wince at her own stupidity.

“Okay, look,” Starlight began, regarding Rarity, Rainbow Dash, Spike, and those in the back, “I can see you girls went through a lot of trouble, once again, into doing something nice for me. And I really, really, really appreciate the efforts. I mean that,” she added, touching her heart. Her smile dropped, as did her eyelids, ears, her muzzle. “But girls, I… just don’t want to talk right now. Ever, really, about last night. Whatever you heard or what you might think, know that I’m not going anywhere.”

It must have been easy to say that to the floor, Twilight thought. “Starlight, am I going to find your room empty later tonight?”

Starlight’s glazed look hardened into a glare. “No.”

“Could… could you look me in the eye when you say that? Please?”

“Could you trust me enough to believe that? Please?”

It wasn’t trust, it’s just… Twilight only wanted her friend back. But she couldn’t guilt her like that, which was the maddening thing!

“Oh, I cannot stand this!" Rarity stamped. "Starlight, my dear, you’ve avoided everypony’s gaze every chance you could! Why in Equestria is that?”

“Rarity,” Rainbow hissed, but it was already out there.

Wincing, Starlight softly uttered, “You think about how I’ve been acting, and you wouldn’t wanna look anybody in the eye, ether.”

“Starlight Glimmer,” said Twilight, “there isn’t a soul in Equestria who thinks ill of you. They just want you—”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘to be happy again,’ I get it! Well, here’s my opinion on what will make me happy again, just in case you were curious.” Starlight waved toward the buffet. “Eat this nice breakfast you prepared for yourselves, and enjoy it, by yourselves. And the next time we see each other, don’t ask me how I’m feeling, don’t ask about the last week, or bring up anything about my horn. And last night especially, don’t! ...Say. Anything!” she piped up as Twilight inhaled, ready to object about the healthiness of this venture. “Don’t even start with me. Please, Twilight. If you really think I’m game to talk about any of that? Especially first thing in the morning?” She scoffed, and Twilight realized she was only staring at her own eye-level—her stupid, fish-like mouth. “I don’t even know what to say. Honestly.” That Twilight was an awful friend who forgot one of the earliest quirks she'd recalled about her friend.

That being she was not a morning pony.

“I understand how horrible this must have been for you, Twilight. Believe me—it’s what I spend most of my time thinking about.”

“Seriously?” Not about her injury, not even her own pain… but what Twilight felt throughout it all, through every mistake Starlight had believed she’d made since it happened, her mind has prioritized Twilight’s behavior, indicating her own sentiments on the matter…

Starlight really didn't care. It had been them, hasn't it?

“Truly?” Twilight whimpered, essentially repeating herself. “Starlight, this past week, I—”

“It’s fine,” Starlight cut in, raising a hoof, “Twilight. You do what you have to do. I’ve not minded.”

You saved my life and this is my fourth time speaking with you since. Fifth if Starlight's horrific breakdown upon realizing what she'd lost counted, but they didn't exactly speak then.

Twilight ached for the days when they'd spend hours together. “Please, please don’t shut me out, Starlight.”

But her eyes drew shut with a pitying Starlight-smile. “It’s nothing personal, Twilight. Honestly, I don’t think I’d have ever talked about this stuff, and if I was gonna, well…” A shrug. “It’s too little, too late for me.”

Twilight didn’t know what to say. What could she, and would Starlight care by this point? They couldn’t force anything on her, that wouldn’t be helpful for any one of their souls, least of all Starlight's. But letting her go like this shouldn't even be considered! Yet they couldn’t pounce on her and force her to spill her honest feelings either.

The reality was just as Starlight said: it's too little a gesture for the scope of her problems, and Twilight was far, far too late to suddenly act like she cared about her well-being.

“I’ll catch you girls later. I’m… I’m sorry,” Starlight mumbled, turning, and dropping her smile before the door closed fully.

“M-me too,” Pinkie choked. Rainbow, feeling the same, smashed the plate of donuts out of Rarity’s magical grasp.

What proceeded after was without a doubt the ugliest, loudest, most tearful fight they ever had.

V.V - A Change in Perspective

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At the top of the entrance hall stairwell, a muffled crash froze Starlight cold. The painful nostalgia of simpler days hurt terribly, how she once whipped a baseball through Dad’s window with Sunburst. Twice, actually. Dad was never angry. “Windows can be replaced,” he always said. Actions could not, though. That never erased what Starlight had done.

Rainbow’s hoarse cry yanked her back to crummy reality: “Donuts? Seriously?! That’s the first thing she wanted to hear from you after last night?!”

“Well, pardon me, but I thought it polite to offer a refreshment before she’s bombarded with reminders of that awful soiree!”

“Oh, yeah, bravo on the attack plan: immediately follow up with a question whose answer we already know!”

“Not everypony can be as level-headed in the moment-to-moment as you, Rainbow Dash! At least I’ve tried! I’ve tried, and I’ve tried, and yet anything I say to her seems to annoy the poor dear! It’s like, it’s like we haven’t spent the last several years being friends, and that Starlight perceives me as your superficial Canterlot pony!”

Silence, and then…

“My word, is that… is that how I’ve always come off to her? For all these years?” Rarity moaned. “D-did she even want her new haircut? Did she simply relent out of a desire to please me?”

Absolutely not. Starlight loved it. To have a genuine friend, one willing to give her, a true villain, something wonderful, and free of charge at that…

In truth, Starlight didn’t know why she had been so hostile towards Rarity. She knew Rarity wasn’t a judgemental mare. And yet, she, like everypony else, had her gut reactions to whatever she came across. There wasn’t a soul who didn’t, and Rarity’s, however patient and generous, was highly critical of a great many things concerning one’s demeanor and appearance.

What, Starlight sometimes wondered in bed, would she think about Starlight, however slightly, regretting the ultimate act of generosity: self-sacrifice? She’d probably think nothing of it if she’d lost her horn for Twilight’s life!

And suddenly, Starlight’s hostility made a lot of sense.

It was a defense mechanism, just like now, her running away, just as avoiding the girls had been all these years. And because of it, instead of putting them in danger, I’m stirring disharmony in the last ponies who need it—

A cacophony of quarreling voices erupted behind the banquet hall door. Starlight tore around the corner toward East Wing before the result of her latest short-sightedness could burrow in her heart. If she fled before it did, then it didn’t really happen, did it?

They weren’t about to start fighting because she was too cowardly to answer their questions. No siree. No, no! I’m in the right! They’re the ones thinking I’m still hung up about my horn, as if THEY barely know me! But Starlight was even more cowardly not to lay it on them, to tell them to stop wasting energy believing her horn was the problem, and they themselves were making it worse. But if I do that, then I make it all the more obvious that I’m my own problem. They cannot, and will not, know about that. It they do, they’ll never leave me alone and live their own lives. I’ll never leave their thoughts in moments where I should. A burning irritation pinched Starlight’s temple, over and over and over until she wanted to scream. AGH! This is so horrible! But if I tell them even half of what the witches tried to do, their will to find Flutter Valley’ll skyrocket—no matter how clearly I express that I don’t want them to, they’ll do it! They had no choice but to accept reality: Starlight didn’t want their help, something they wouldn’t insist upon her lest they feared the strength of her friendship.

What scared Starlight the most, out of everything, was knowing that it would only strengthen her love for them. It scared her so bad Starlight slowed, propping herself against the wall, massaging the ache in her chest. I want to tell them everything. I want to tell them so badly. I want to scream this feeling out and let them hold me as I just cry from my system this past week. Heck, my whole life would come pouring out for sure. The same sob story I’d grieved about up and down until overthrowing Chrysalis.

And what would come after, besides? Nothing good, that’s for sure! No internal growth, most importantly, for Starlight had gained none these last three years—a fact that would surely not be lost on them...

A-and, besides, who knows if Reeka and Draggle were telling the truth, that my real payment is their friendship? Did that even exist anymore? Would they tell her? Was that even the truth or was it all part of last night’s joke? How much of those girls were driven to acting out of obligation, anyway? Rainbow, definitely, and Applejack. Maybe Rarity. Twilight…

Oh, gosh, Twilight… The pity, the heartbreak on her face; this was killing her and yet Starlight still doubted who she was, her drive in doing this. Sh-she cares about me, I’m her friend. Her once-magical friend, which was the basis of everything we’d done together… And now they had nothing, they both knew the reason why, and Twilight loathed the decision she’d made and the mess left with that was Starlight herself.

Starlight’s heart writhed with views conflicting between what she’d hoped was the truth, and what might have been the awful reality. The day she got over all of this couldn’t come soon enough. It’d come faster if the girls realized their lives needed living, which should be any day now, once Starlight quit acting so blatantly troubled.

How many times have I told myself this? To act ‘normal?’ Starlight galloped around the bend of Corridor “C” (cleaning closet hall), face burning with her ever-rising volume of failures, breakfast and Maud being two recent ones. Why can’t I pretend everything is normal, for their sakes?

If she did, then Twilight could go back to helping ponies plagued with friendship problems, saving wounded souls, and tend to the worldly issues she’d dreamed of solving—a dream she’d bashfully revealed to Starlight many times across many late-night reading sessions, to which Starlight truly believed she could and would solve, even if Twilight doubted her strengths, her importance.

And if this mess was fated to end the way Starlight deeply feared, Twilight would at least be okay. She would heal, grow strong, just as Starlight’s first heartbreak did herself. Then, it’d only be a matter of time before Twilight’s next redemption project filled the hole Starlight left behind. Hopefully both would have finally learned from their mistakes, and forged healthier friendships than their current one.

It hurts so much though. To call what they have unhealthy; parasitic. Healing for everypony would come faster if Starlight left for good, but… Part of me, a piece of my heart, it’s screaming as if not wanting this. Vying to make it work. I want to ignore it, I should ignore it, because it’s not what I really want, but… but I… I d-do, kinda—

The columns and doors were zipping by. Starlight couldn’t feel her legs, barely see them.

There was only the emotions she felt a little over a week ago. How maddeningly she ached and yet loved, hated this and even more so herself for falling this far, even if for the worthy cause of saving Twilight. It made her self-pity totally undeserved, but she couldn’t fight it. Just like Rarity couldn’t, nor Twilight herself for the regret she now feels and hatred of Starlight for thrusting it upon her.

And for that, Starlight hated a bit of the pony who was indirectly responsible for all of this. Twilight. But also, not really, because at the end of the day Starlight was the captain of her own fate, and she had none to thank but herself. She should have known better. I should have paused for just a moment and thought about the ponies in my life, how they would feel and if my destiny in Flutter Valley included them.

It evidently didn’t, but that, too, was part of the larger problem.

Starlight rounded another bend, the third from the final before reaching her corridor. Tremors of feeling shuddered her legs in time with the muffled clops, drumming a distant four-beat rhythm.

Starlight had walked these halls dozens of times since this all started. She shivered with loneliness—not a soul lived in the mile radius Ponyville covered who loved her as much as she did them: her friends, those who still think themselves her friends, the ponies of this town who’d wasted yesterday attending the Gourd Fest for her.

And Twilight, too. The pony who’d risked her life to befriend the one who tried to destroy it, and Equestria, and could easily do so again if she wanted to.

While I’ve been pushing and distancing myself from Twilight, from Maud especially… Starlight yanked her door open, only for her horn to disobey her. N-no matter how annoyed any of them feel—which, I guarantee, are at all-new heights—they’re willing to take time out of their days to try and take care of me. The knob wouldn’t turn. And I keep pushing them away but they keep coming back!

I…

Starlight would sooner paw through the door than ask help with it—just one more thing she failed at.

I don’t… know what to do!

...And I don’t want to lose them…

Oh, Celestia.

Oh, gosh, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost a single one of them—!

The door didn’t give. It was getting harder and harder to keep up the act, now, and back there especially. Toward Maud, even. Starlight couldn’t lie anymore, hurt them, she couldn’t even sit down and humor those girls because all she could think about was how they almost got blown up because of her!

Starlight collapsed, weak in the legs. She couldn’t think beyond that, couldn’t feel for anything but the horrible, famished gnawing in her breast.

“Glimmer,” accompanied a sudden prod into her back, making her shriek in fear as she believed Draggle and Reeka had returned to deliver the punchline.

To tear away the false hope, her friends, finishing their deal—”Starlight! It’s me!” hoarsely assured Fizzlepop, gripping her by the shoulders and shaking her as Draggle had when she grabbed Starlight’s belly—

“GER’OFF ME!” She flailed and connected with something she sent snapping left.

A grunt yanked her from the depths of fear toward Tempest, clutching her jaw, smiling, bizarrely. “You’ve the strength of a foal, you know.”

“Yeah?” Starlight swallowed, reacting, “Ever heard of the unicorn who worked out?” Quips; it was always straight to jokes with her. Genuine emotions were frightening with how damaging and unsightly they could be.

“Only once,” said Tempest, her smile knowing. “She could navigate these halls without breaking a sweat. As if she had somewhere, anywhere, to be. Sound familiar?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m out-of-shape,” gasped Starlight, not catching the mare’s falling face.

“Wasn’t going there, not that you’re unshapely by unicorn standards. You’re below-average, I’d say. Average for pegasi.”

Starlight felt relieved to breathe easy. It’s been so long since she last worried about her weight, the last time was long forgotten. “I, uh, wasn’t exactly a supermodel a month ago.”

Tempest’s smile faded. “You and Twilight were healthy and happy a month ago.”

Her elation died, squeezed to death by fear again. “I also enjoyed the taste of food back in the day.” And now, before Flutter Valley but especially after, the thinnest orange wedge went down like a small boulder. “Never thought I’d see the day where I have to force food down my throat.” Starlight’s attempt at lightheartedness died as she really looked into Tempest’s eyes, and found pity gazing back.

Pity. From Tempest, despite disgusting her. “That answers my first question, Glimmer. You didn’t have breakfast, did you?”

Starlight read between the lines. Because of course Tempest had a hoof in that after last night. “No, I didn’t feel like talking to my friends. I didn’t want to. And you know what? I have that right. And you’re strong, Tempest.” But her face fell a tad, despite the compliment. “Like I don’t think there’s ever been a mare in my life as fit as you.”

“Nor the, ah, recent generations, I imagine,” she proclaimed, chest puffed a little.

“So unless you’re in the mood to fight with a full-grown mare, an’ drag her down all these halls all the way to the dining room, well, you aren’t gonna make me spill my guts out any other way. If I even get to that point.”

“Careful now,” she warned, “I might take that as a challenge.”

Starlight chuckled, seeing Tempest upholding that for the sheer sake of it. Anything else, though, Starlight couldn’t maintain a facade against—a surefire breakdown first and foremost, as everything ugly she’d hidden from them finally burst.

Tempest was frowning again. “So you didn’t say a word to them?” she said, astonished apparently.

“N-not strictly speaking!” Starlight defended. “Uh, a-anyway, y-you shouldn’t be so surprised! It’s not the reason I’m avoiding them, not exactly… but-but, with how I’d been acting, you would feel ashamed to be in the same room as them, too! I know you would.”

Tempest’s eyes widened. “I hate how brutally real you can be sometimes.”

It’s because ponies weren’t typically equipped to be slapped with a hard truth. They always became attentive to whatever comes after—more easily manipulated. “It’s my claim to fame, what can I say?”

“Your reason for avoiding the girls would be a nice start.”

Starlight had no choice but to swallow her guilt and shrug. “A multitude of reasons I’ve no reason to share with anypony.”

“I respect that,” Tempest said with a bow, “as well as your ironclad will to suffer in silence. That takes real strength from a pony I’d honestly written off at that other awkward breakfast.” The smiled, as did Starlight, until both were reminded that any word before the word “but” ended up being horse manure: “But do you honestly believe this to be a healthy course of action? Bottling it in? You’ll explode.”

Part of the reason I’m not saying a word to them. At least Tempest wasn’t calling Starlight a coward, though she definitely thought it. “I’m not going to explain my reasoning to you.” The safest route. The safest route. The cowardly route.

“Then you’ll be making the same mistakes I made,” seethed Tempest. Starlight bit her tongue so she wouldn’t cry. There was nothing more she could do. “Glimmer, you’re hurting your friends with this behavior. You realize that, don’t you? Isn’t the guilt unbearable?”

Starlight was about to say yes, for lying of this felt like it would smash her heart to pieces, only for a cry to burst forth, condemning her anyway.

“You’re clearly miserable, Starlight. Everypony sees that.”

She actually called her “Starlight,” the painfully obvious pony who could win a contest for ‘Most Miserable-Looking Soul in Equestria 24/7.’

“So what?” she croaked. “Do you honestly think they’ll care by this point? After? That anything good will come of it, besides? I’ll ask again, Tempest: so what if I’m unhappy? So what?!”

“‘So what!’” Tempest stomped forth, and Starlight shrank against the wall. “So, if you’re this dead-set on alienating the ponies in your life, then give them a courtesy heads up instead of jerking them around! You owe them that much.”

Her voice ringing briefly in the corridor’s crystal expanse, Tempest’s eyes bore wildly into Starlight’s.

Into the windows of her disgusting, short-sighted, arrogant and ignorant soul.

And there, at last, Starlight realized what she had to do. As she nodded, and nodded, and couldn’t stop nodding because she would truly start crying if she did nothing else, Tempest’s expression changed, or rather, it had before, and Starlight failed to notice—flashing from concerned to puzzled, her brow quirked up.

“Alright.” Starlight’s voice sounded as dead as she felt. “I’ll go back. I’ll talk to the girls. And I’ll be honest with them.” Completely honest—including what she wanted of them after sharing.

And then, after this...

Best case scenario: Reeka and Draggle were lying, and Starlight’s new life was not the most precious thing to her. The girls would accept her, keep her, despite how toxic she was. Despite how toxic she was they would respect her wishes, and live their lives without sparing a thought to her.

It was horrible, this reality. For Starlight’s gross heart longed to live with magic instead of friends. She missed her bond with it dearly, even now, her heart panging against a monstrous, empty void squeezed around it.

Starlight loved her magic.

But not as much as the ponies she adored so much it hurt, and she hurt them back in her exact efforts not to.

It was time to take another risk and set things right. Destiny or not, every choice Starlight made walked her down the path she ought to. She had no reason to be afraid, none at all.

This was all she could tell herself as Starlight mustered her strength, hardened her will, and rose, rose, and rose—higher, she felt, and more fearless than she had these last three years.

And she began making her way to the dining hall.

Starlight had forgotten to bid farewell to Tempest. To thank her. She knew from experience, better than Starlight’s, of what was more important than one’s own shame and fear.

Starlight only remembered her role in this as she muttered, “One push is all it takes.”

Tempest Shadow followed in Glimmer’s hoofsteps with a hallway between them. She was glad to avoid dragging Starlight there by force. She didn’t let herself dwell last night on the necessity of this. She might have very well done so had throwing brutal honesty back failed as well.

I just don’t want you making the same mistakes I had. You’ll thank me later, Glimmer.

These ponies, everypony, really, they needed a push to get anything done. But no matter the place, of all the peoples Fizzle had encountered, one thing remained the same:

Everyone had a tendency to cower in their own mindset. That is what’s most familiar, and therefore more trustworthy than the words of anyone else. It is why Tempest herself lived the life she had, and Glimmer, too, if her historical pattern was anything to go by.

But wail them with another perspective, a sound one, and no matter the pony, things were guaranteed to get messy, different—the breeder of conflict—and thus vulnerable to change.

A deep, raw ache emerged in Tempest’s chest, ensuring she never forgot the power of just a mere few words: ‘Wh-why are you saving me?!’ Because it still made little sense, this little princess risking the fate of her home for that of a traitorous too—‘Because this is what friends do,’ answered Princess Twilight. And Tempest understood what was so special about this pony, right then and there.

How Starlight could have possibly forgotten that with stakes so much lower… a mystery for another time. A happier time.

The tail-end of Glimmer marched left at an intersection, head upheld with purpose. Amazing. Despite how indescribably terrified she was probably feeling right now, she’d sworn to pony up and face her friends. No hesitation in her eyes back there, no fear. Just regret, realizing how misguided she had been.

Tempest recognized it all too well.

And knew of the volatile self-loathing that was surely fueling Starlight’s drive. She didn’t even know what the girls knew, did she?

Tempest’s heart writhed. I hope that, by the end of this, as pathetic as it feels, I hope Glimmer’ll still want to call me “Fizzle.” And that… that she’ll still want to be friends with something like me.

When in Equestria was the last time Tempest felt so afraid? Not general fear, but in an existential sense—the longevity of her current status quo?

The heart-splitting roar of an ursa shivered down her spine.

Rarity’s little meltdown was the signal for all of them to step back, the ensuing group hug a security blanket sorely demanded after such a friendship failure.

The worst part? None of them knew what to do. Nothing except to look at their situation from an outside eye.

Twilight wasted no time making this known from the center of their pileup.

“H-hey, girls?” she began, the soft weeping of Fluttershy subsiding last. “If... Starlight, if we're wrong about how she's feeling, even a little? Then, we’re only feeling so bad, and acting as a result of it, because our imaginations are running wild. And in tandem with our emotions.”

“Gosh, ya make it sound so cold n’ calculated, Twi. What we’re feelin’,” Applejack piped up, hoarse from underuse as opposed to the others. "It can't be that simple, y'all, we can't be so darned simple."

“W-we have to be,” choked Spike. Twilight released her stranglehold, blushing as he gasped for air she was too emotional to be conscious of. That, and what he said next were emblematic of their flawed approach: “Girls, we’re really, really close to this issue. Too close to handle it the way it needs to be. I mean, I wasn’t much help either—I was too afraid that I’d say something wrong to Starlight. But if she’s gonna get the help she needs, we have to take a breath and step back. Not just from ourselves, but from her, too.”

“Yes, yes, Spike, that’s exactly what we have to do,” said Twilight, snuggling him again. Assess. Regroup. Plan. This turn changes nothing as far as I'm concerned.

“It feels like anything we do will make it worse,” Rainbow rasped, embraced between Pinkie and Fluttershy above.

“Doing nothing will be worstest,” said the party pony.

“Exactly,” said Twilight. “I feel the exact same as the two of you. But it’s precisely these feelings that are tripping us up. It's what as they had before, all week, and because of that we made it all the harder for us to get through to Starlight." If Twilight had stepped outside of her grief, understood things from Starlight's perspective, then maybe... "At the end of the day, until we hear something concrete from Starlight’s mouth we’ll just be making assumptions on top of presumptions. Acting based on those, like we have been, heck, even this morning, it was all in reaction to what we’d learned.”

How Starlight was willing to end her life, to make herself unhappy, for the sake of them. The cause driving this behavior, the small choices such as shutting everypony out, even Trixie, urged Twilight to ponder the deeper "why" of it beyond friendship.

There had to be a reason. An explanation! Ponies who understood friendship as Starlight had relentlessly assured did not behave so erratically.

“This is all so hard,” whispered Fluttershy. “I… I-I just want Starlight to know that we don’t think badly of her. If she did, i-if she knew that we loved her too much to be so judgemental, then maybe—”

“But she doesn’t know! And she is unwilling to let us get a word in, edgewise!” croaked Rarity. “It’s horrible, it’s selfish of her to have lied to our faces for all these years about believing us and yet…. And yet I do not blame her for thinking this way!”

“Rares,” AJ breathed, "it's gonna be fine. One good, sincere talk'll clear things right up."

“Puh-lease, darling, how many personal conversations have you—have the rest of us—shared with Starlight? ...Hm? With each other? And, mind you, prior to the fallout of our next interpersonal conflict like always?” A horrible, guilty silence answered Rarity. “I know our downfall here. How despite being her trusted friends, Starlight doesn’t believe she can be so open because nopony ever is. Not even us. And she’s forgotten the first lesson we’d taught her in spite of this and I hate it because we did not meet her halfway like we promised!”

“‘Because friends are always there for...’” Twilight remembered.

And Rarity fell apart, crying anew in a staggering breakdown. Laid on top of her, Pinkie shifted, wrapping her other foreleg from Rainbow's withers to around her neck. Sniveling her cries in, Rarity touched them, relieved seeming as her face tilted to the high ceiling.

Twilight bit her tongue so she wouldn’t snap, break down, or say anything that would only worsen their situation. Only because Rarity was exactly right, curse her. Curse her for being so perceptive while Twilight, too blinded by grief, missed the obvious that had lived under her roof for three-plus-years now! Starlight in general, in the way she seldom spoke of her old life, and whatever much she did share were ever-brief tidbits, concluding with a promise to never bring them up, which Twilight had always respected, and wanted to continue doing, but really, truly couldn’t now if it risked Starlight’s future well-being and mental health.

Twilight had to let go of her reservations if they were to save her. “Come on,” she mumbled, shifting, her friends jostling with alertness, “c’mon girls, let’s get some food in us. Take a breather.” A gnawing hunger reminded Twilight that she had been without a meal for almost twenty-four hours. “At the very least, we’ll go talk to her bedroom door. I won’t let her sleep another night uncertain if she’s still our friend.”

“Really? Her door?” whined Rainbow, dejected by the certainty of Starlight denying their presence.

And it was after this when it happened: heavy-hearted, forcing breakfast into their stomachs, licking their proverbial wounds without much spoken as a heavy groan tickled the back of Twilight’s racing mind. The widening eyes of Rarity, Fluttershy and Spike across the table almost drove her to break her neck from swiveling a near one-hundred eighty degrees.

Everypony’s chewing ceased as the groan ceased, silverware and porcelain clattering their last. All eyes were on Starlight, and her eyes, least shocking of all, were on them.

No.

On Twilight’s.

“Th-there is something I would like to say to you all,” she began, strength wavering by the word. Starlight took one, hesitant step forward. Then another, barely any more confidently. “A lot, actually. A-and I understand if you don’t want to hear it—”

“We do!” Twilight felt small, over-eager, ridiculous under Starlight’s stunned scrutiny. “W-we do, Starlight, th-that’s all we want, is to talk—”

“Great,” Starlight cut in, smile feeble. She didn’t move another inch, not to her seat at the breakfast table. Something felt… off. “That’s great,” she sighed. “So… just so flipping great. ‘Cause if I’m about to be honest, here, then I’d appreciate it if you gave me the same courtesy.”

“You’ve no cause to expect dishonesty from us, darling.”

“Ex-actly,” agreed AJ, nodding beside Twilight.

But Starlight’s eyes never left Twilight’s, their icy glaze frigid as ever as she smiled kindly. Dread gnawed anew as one of her best friends uttered the words, “I-I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

And then, blinking, whatever courage held Starlight was overcome with fear she added, “I… I just have no idea where to begin.” She tittered. Hard. And for one full second. “M-maybe this was a mistake!” She began to turn.

“Starlight—” Twilight began, forgoing her own terror.

Only for Starlight to reinstate it tenfold as she brought her hoof down, anchoring herself to this spot, this moment, her eyes screwed shut. “You hate that I gave up my horn, don’t you?!” she cried.

V.VI - Don't Fix What Isn't Broken

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I… I didn’t mean to say that. Much less like th—Starlight clamped her mouth, stifling the urge to howl. She nearly did it again, she almost told herself yet another convenient lie so as to wash away her guilt.

She was such an awful pony. Yet another reminder for her reason being here, because of course Starlight did mean to say that—otherwise, she wouldn’t have.

Tempest’s most recent words came back to haunt her, beckoning her to cease playing this game with her friends’ hearts. I am done… DONE… justifying my awful behavior and choices.

Exhaling, Starlight caught the tail-end of Rainbow’s indignant, “What?!”

Twilight mumbled, hundreds of miles away, “Starlight, I—Of course I don’t.”

Right. It burned, her lungs burned; she almost forgot to breathe, but breathing hurt so much that Starlight held it as Pinkie threw her hooves up, echoing from afar, “We love what you did, silly goose!”

“We’re in a debt that can never be repaid,” added Rarity, somewhere. “Whyever would you entertain such an absurd notion?”

The million bit question. Her throat closed on itself.

“...Starlight?” Fluttershy, the pony who couldn’t fake worry to save her life. “Is there something you wanted to tell us? I-I think that’s what Rarity was trying to say.”

“Precisely. That’s abso-lutely what I meant, darling, it’s just… so... sudden! To so abruptly realize that which has created such discomfort, when our honest intentions were to alleviate you of such burdens.”

“But there ain’t no rush,” added Applejack, waving over Starlight’s attention. She was smiling—smiling—-despite being labeled a degree lower than dishonest scum. “Ya don’t gotta tell us all at once. Or even one of us! We’re jonesin’ to help ya feel comfortable. Nothin’ more to it.”

Rainbow shot up from her seat, literally. “But don’t think for a second that we got a bone to pick with ya! Especially when you were the only pony around who didn’t give up on Twilight!”

And everyone collectively flinched, in their own ways: Pinkie cast her eyes and smile down, Fluttershy grimaced, Twilight blinked, her eyes glassier than before and doubly wide.

“Okay.” And that was that. They just poured their hearts out to this hopeless basket case before them. All Starlight could muster was a mumbled ‘gotcha’ for the effort. Her friends’ words echoed, their weight hitting with greater force as Starlight emotionally dissected them:

‘Of course I don’t,’ because obviously Twilight, even if she felt just as betrayed as Maud, she wouldn’t detest Starlight’s sacrifice altogether.

‘Love.’ They love what I did. In the end, they loved it. They loved that I saved one of our best friends.

‘Absurd.’ Ridiculous. Outlandish. Starlight Glimmer in a single word, who had been wrong. Irrecovably, horribly wrong, and she had done nothing but give her friends heartache.

Their response felt right. It was right.

So why did it feel simultaneously, undeniably wrong? Like their words were at once a comforting hug and a thunderstorm brewing overhead, deep within Starlight’s gut, anchored to the endless depths of Tartarus.

It made a mare wonder. Did they rehearse this? Were they lying to make their feeble-hearted friend happy? Because that’s what Starlight would do. That’s what Twilight had done in the past, and the girls to each other! Even over something as irreverant as a Yakyakistan horn discovered by Pinkie the week before. It wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility.

And it began once more, dang it, it was happening again. The distrust and the horrible thinking. But it made so much sense and despite how painfully her heart twisted Starlight couldn’t blindly throw it into the fire, for it would feel even worse if she ended up being wrong.

Her gut was never wrong, though: there was something they weren’t telling her. “Liars.” The word hissed forth before she could stop herself, but once it was out, it somehow felt good. It felt thrilling to see those ponies recoil, caught red-hoofed.

“What?” Twilight uttered back at equal volume.

“If Maud had a problem with it,” she explained, “then you definitely had some problem—”

“What?” Starlight’s gut jumped; she’d never seen Twilight react this way, so inanimate. Frozen. Spike peaked around her, reminding Starlight of his abnormally quiet presence as he looked to his statuesque caretaker. “Wh-wh-what do you mean?” stammered Twilight. “Starlight? What makes you think that we’re lying?”

It took an attempt for the words to emerge. “Maud had a problem with my decision.” They sat there, waiting. Juding, judging, judging. “Sh-she’s not the type to get entangled in another pony’s affairs, now, is sh—?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Pinkie snapped, startlingly. “You thought she wouldn’t care about what happened to you at all? That’s loco, Starlight! You know her better than that! She lo—mm!” It took both forehooves to silence herself, and yet she herself spoke a few more syllables.

Just Pinkie being Pinkie.

And Starlight wasn’t about to tell her that, no, she would never have thought so lowly of Maud, nor did she accidentally forget about her in the rush of things. Absolutely not, Starlight was too good a friend for that. “I didn’t think she would care as much as she did.”

“Uh, like, I dunno, not at all?” Pinkie slumped, ears following suit. “I thought you were buds.”

“W-we are!” Starlight wouldn’t be surprised if Maud grew tired of the whole effort—of being her friend. Especially after whenever Pinkie would regale her of this morning, and Maud followed suit. “This past week in particular has been, well, eye-opening. I’ve seen many different shades of Maud, like how much she cares about others, and what she’s willing to put herself through for those she does.” She still hadn’t forgiven herself for ditching Maud at the Gourd Fest, and she definitely hasn’t either. “Honestly, Maud is one of the best friends I’ve ever had.” And yet I forgot about her in my blind, bullheaded mission to repay Twilight. “I don’t deserve somepony like that.”

“You mean,” Pinkie squeaked, “you mean, you mean you don’t think you deserve a good friend? That’s… really, really sad, Starlight.”

Words tried and failed and tried again to manifest; that’s definitely what it sounded like. She blotted out the thought, refocused on the gross, comfortable feeling mustered at the prospect of these ponies lying, despite her being so honest and a request for the same. “That’s not the issue here. Despite my asking, you girls still—”

Pinkie, mouth agape, hadn’t registered what came after the feeble label, “‘Issue?’ Issue! Starlight, if there’s an issue here it’s that you tried to end yourse—mmf!” Applejack silenced Pinkie with a well-timed foreleg.

“‘Course we don’t love what happened, Starlight,” she said quickly, ignoring Pinkie’s wriggling within her iron bar of a foreleg. “Not unconditionally. For land’s sake, ya hurt yourself, and ya did it for Twi. Ain’t nothin’ changes what that says about your character, or what you gone and did. But it’s ‘cause o’ this that we feel a might guilty over the whole thing! Now, that don’t mean we ain’t grateful, so don’t go thinkin’ that.”

Regret came slithering up her innards. “It’s pretty obvious that you’re not un-grateful. And I’m not calling you guys total liars, either. Heh, as if that makes it any better,” Starlight muttered.

“But don’cha see why our hearts are a might conflicted?” asked Applejack.

Yes. Obviously. Absolutely. “You don’t have to say it,” Starlight rasped, then swallowed, continuing clearly, “Maud made it abundantly clear that I was being a selfish numbskull who didn’t once consider how any of you felt. Just like now, as I trashed your goodwill with nothing but animosity.”

That was sudden. It was random for the Starlight they knew, for even Rainbow jerked back and blinked, replaying that to herself. “She really said all that?”

A shake of the head. “She felt it though. And I empathized, because I’ve been on the receiving end of that before. We all know how that turned out…” ‘In Our Town! In Our Town!’ Chills skittered down Starlight’s spine. “You could say I’m no different now from how I used to be.”

“Yes you are!” Twilight erupted, her chair screaming against the crystal floor, tipping, and being caught in a teal—no, magenta—glow before hitting the floor. “Starlight, it doesn’t matter how we felt about it,” she resumed softly, the chair rising on four legs, “all that matters is how you felt after the fact. And this, right here,” she cried, slapping the table, “this is exactly what I’ve tried so hard to avoid all week!”

The lying. The drama. The tears and the screaming. Starlight shrank within herself, suddenly the uneducated student she never quite ceased to be. “Does, heh, does it have anything to do with my making another mistake in yet another misguided effort?”

“That,” Twilight sighed, falling into her chair. “That, what you just said. This is what I mean, Starlight. It drives me up a wall. Because no matter what I’ve done, I only made your guilt worse!”

Starlight didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t expecting Twilight to address this herself, but she was so thankful that she did. “You’ve avoided me.” Her throat closed, but a single sob broke forth, and Twilight stood. “And I’ve avoided you! I’m sorry!”

“I am, too.” Twilight touched her heart, wings extended in their glossy, lilac glory. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like a criminal when, in reality, what you needed was somepony telling you that you did nothing wrong.”

‘Nothing wrong.’ The words ensnared themselves around Starlight’s heart, weighing it heavily. She swallowed the chains they were made of, clogging up her throat. “I’ve done a lot wrong.”

“And so have I,” said Twilight. “My mistakes being far worse, I’d say. Because I know how you work, Starlight. I knew if you’d caught just a whiff of dissatsifaction, you would spiral and try and try to make it all better. And despite knowing this well, we lied, poorly. And me, I’ve obscured how bothered I was just so you wouldn’t feel guilty. After our discussion in the foyer, I didn’t truly listen to all that you said. Instead I sought to make your decision my mistake, refusing to see how that would have looked to a pony as speculative as you.” With deadly accuracy, her every word added a link to the proverbial chain, constricting Starlight’s heart until it felt blue, until it couldn’t beat. She was right. Everything she said was always so right. “But I was transparent. We were transparent. In our efforts to make you happy, we were blinded to what, exactly, that would entail to you, personally. Becuase in all the times you were telling me, ‘I don’t want to be commended,’ what you were really saying, I think, was, ‘I don’t deserve to be loved.’ That isn’t fair. The least you deserve is better than what you’re feeling right now.”

Gross. Naked. Obvious. Foalish.

How did they get here? Starlight vaguely remembered wanting to go off on them for lying. “It’s just,” she said hoarsely, “I just thought a point was made in asking for total honesty. That’s all, I’m sorry!” Twilight inhaled to speak, but Starlight’s words felt like some awful attack on them she didn’t intend, as usual. “This, among other reasons, sure, but this here is the heart of why I’ve been so weird lately. I know you girls like you know me…” And with those words, it was out: Starlight had accidentally confirmed Twilight’s fears, what she had just said, something they both realized as her best friend inhaled sharply. “Which is to say, not as well as either of us think. I was scared. I was guilty. I didn’t deserve motion and effort and I certainly don’t now. Take this conversation for instance: it’s clear you had more than one reason acting as you had, but I am too bad a pony to grok that when it really matters. And that’s what I wanted to know, I guess: I’m right to some degree, because that’s just how we are, doing things for more than a singular reason. But... I didn’t want sheer positivity and commendations. I never have. I wanted my friends, being as real with me as they’ve always been. I don’t regret what I did, and I’m not lying when I say I’d do it again. But I am sorry how I’ve conducted myself after the fact, and now.” Starlight bowed, lifting a hoof. An explanation bubbled up to her lips, but Starlight was done excusing herself. “I won’t lie either: I’ve been angry with you girls because of this. A part of me is, I mean. An ugly one. I guess, all this time, I just didn’t want it coming out.”

Fluttershy’s broken murmur broke the silence. “You did something that changed your life forever, because we couldn’t do anything except feel sad and scared of losing Twilight. There was something ugly inside me, too. I felt sorry and I regretted not being able to do anything, but a tiny part of me… of all of us… we were angry, too.”

“Why didn’t you tell us what your plan was, Starlight?” Rainbow asked, brows pushed together.

Starlight shot her head up; she understood them well, their emotions and their reasons for doing so. They had every right, dang it, and yet they had no right to feel angry when they were drowning in their pity party, waiting for Twilight to die instead of doing something about it.

“We would have gone through Tartarus and back—” said Rarity, Pinkie intruding with, “Ten kajillion times over!”

“For Twilight,” Spike finished.

The one who shot her idea down to begin with. “You basically called me desperate and crazy. What was I supposed to think? Twilight’s life was in danger!” Excuses, excuses, but Starlight had always struggled to break bad habits.

All eyes turned on Spike’s unusually quiet self, Twilight in particular raising a brow, indicating that he omitted this from whatever story he told her. “Don’t you remember, Starlight, when I told you I’d get the girls together so we could discuss your plan? I relented! That was me accepting what you were saying. I told you we were gonna do this together, but you ran out the first chance you had!”

That was... correct. That is what started all of this drama and heartache. This was stupid. This was dumb. What she did was stupid. What she did was really, really dumb.

No.

This couldn’t have been solely her fault. It couldn’t have been. Because if it was, she’d truly be the worst friend to have ever lived.

Starlight’s thoughts scrambled, her reason for being angry with them at all hitting suddenly. Without thinking, she latched onto it: “Then why didn’t you cancel that stupid party immediately?” With those words, a tiny, buried flame was stoked, roaring to life in a raging bonfire. “That’s Twilight’s cutie mark on the Tree of Harmony, for pony’s sake! Above Celestia’s and Luna’s, even! How could you think she was going to die? You’re her best friends.”

“Hey, now—!” Applejack started, only for Spike to wave her off.

“So why were you the only one who could do it?” Spike panted, glaring through his tears. He shrugged off Twilight’s attempt to console and jut a claw at Starlight. “If you really believed this wasn’t the end, then how come you went and threw yourself in the fire without the other five Elements?” Because this was her debt to repay, but such an admission would have kicked the hornets’ nest. “I’ve been playing that conversation on loop. Over and over and over, Starlight.” He balled his fists up upon the table. “It’s bothered me so much, because what you said, it did make a lot of sense. And clearly it paid off… So why didn’t you want us to be a part of it?”

Twilight touched her chest. “That’s all we’ve wondered about since it happened,” she said. “That’s all.” ‘And it has me worried sick about you and your twisted brain,’ she implied.

That was easy, though. “I wanted to avoid putting you girls in danger.”

She was met with sad stares all around. ‘Liar,’ they screamed.

“I mean, I didn’t want you to be hurt over my mistake if I was wrong. Like, can you imagine what a fiasco that would be? Eh-heh… um…” Twilight tilted her head, her expression unchanging, completely pitying. “Because, you know, I have been before! Clearly, a-and this’s what friends do! We sacrifice for the good of each other, even if it’s not in our best interests!”

But Twilight said nothing, did not look away. When she sighed, the force of it battered Starlight, almost to the ground she stood on. “There’s a lot I could say to you right now,” she said softly, “but my guilt is not the priority right now. It never should have been.”

“Need I remind you that I didn’t want you feeling guilty for me?” It was such a slap in the face that Starlight almost gave herself one—she would have—if Twilight hadn’t replied in an instant like it was nothing:

“And was that, and all of this, in any way connected to your reason behind avoiding us? Denying our sympathy?”

Yes. Of course. Because Starlight, after all, was only doing this to repay Twilight. So she would stop feeling like a burden on her life. So she would stop being a castle squatter who contributed nothing significant but a higher food bill and the occasional migraine-slash-thrill. Look how far I’ve come from that.

“Starlight?” Twilight whimpered, lips wobbling. “Starlight, please tell me the truth. Tell me what’s bothering you, tell me what we’ve done to drive you so far from us.” The space between Starlight and the feast she had interrupted felt like a mile, so far away that her seated friends tilted slightly. “I love you so much, you’ve no idea how crummy, awful, n’ terrible this week’as been! Oh, gosh, I miss you, Starlight!” Spike stroked their choking friend’s wings. Starlight couldn’t even do that much. Not without getting close to the mess she’d made. “It’s so, so clear that there’s some pain you’re hiding from us, and I want to know why! I want to help you, do you understand me? I don’t care how hard it’ll be to understand, or that it’ll show me something you want to hide! You’re one of my best friends, I mean that from the bottom of my heart.” Starlight felt it too, tugging and warm. Like their old races. “Because why else would you call us liars, and then look like a startled filly as soon as the words left your mouth? Why else would you stand there now, several feet away from me with tears in your eyes?! Let go of your pain and your fear, Starlight, I beg you—!”

“Shut up.” Starlight clawed the blurriness from her eyes, only to make it worse. She couldn’t even do that right, much less have a conversation without somepony blowing up. “Just shut up, please.”

“Why else would you try running away?” Fluttershy asked. “Even now?”

“How many times is it now, darling?” asked Rarity. “Four? Five attempts?”

“Please, stop.” Starlight squeezed her eyes shut. “I want you girls to stop. This is all I wanted to say. I didn’t want this to be a big thing, I’m sorry that it did—”

“‘Stop?’” Rainbow was smiling. She scoffed, cocking a brow. “Stop? Stop!” she roared. “What the hay are we stopping, Starlight? You haven’t let us done anything!”

“Rainbow Dash,” Twilight chided.

“I just wanna know what she’s talking about!” Rainbow folded her forelegs. “‘Cause it’s sounding like you want us to stop caring about you altogether. Is it because of your horn? You feel so useless now that you don’t think you’re worth the time of day?! Seriously?! After what I’d told you on that hill?!”

“That’s a terrible thing to say to a friend, Dashie!” Pinkie cried, shooting up.

Rainbow turned right, towards her. “We’ve been bad friends all week, guys, but this we shoulda done from the start.”

This was going to be so much harder than she thought. “I just want you to stop worrying about me. About this. I’m…” This sounded so lame. “I’m fine. With losing my horn. Honestly, I am. And I love that you girls care so much about me. Really, I do. But I never, ever wanted a fuss to have been made about this—”

“Starlight. You began this conversation by saying you didn’t deserve it,” Twilight reminded her brilliant brain. “And that you were angry with us. On top of all that, a part of you has been fleeing from the prospect of your friends helping since the moment you left for Flutter Valley. Even if you’re being completely honest to us and yourself right now, do you really expect us to believe that you’re fine now, and leave it at that?”

They were such good friends. Too good for broken adult ponies. “Just do what I ask. Please.”

A stetson hit the table, toppling a half-glass of juice. “Them witches take a part o’ your brain, too?”

“Applejack!” Rarity cried.

“No! Cannit! Starlight, you can’t just ask us to plug our ears an’ cover our eyes, an’ go on pretendin’ this whole last week—this entire back n’ forth—just hadn’t happened. We’d have to be the worst friends in Equestria to turn a blind eye to somethin’ like this!”

Such good friends. They needed to see, to understand. “This is exactly why I’ve been avoiding you girls all week.” Starlight rolled her eyes to the ceiling, to keep her tears in. “Because now you want to know everything, and you won’t rest until your nosy curiosity is satisfied after peeling me layer from layer. It’s annoying.”

“Starlight, listen to what you’re asking of us!” Rarity cried. “It’s simply unrealistic!”

“So were the Witches of Flutter Valley. Do the impossible—and believe me, it is—but that’s just it: believe me. Believe that I’m fine. Look no further than how comfortable I’ve been with Trixie all week. And if you’re so worried, take comfort in the fact that I’m dealing with my problems on my own, just like I always have—”

“Why won’t you let us help you? Let me?” Twilight asked. “You never have. Not until you erred and looked to me for guidance.”

“Because you have no reason to get involved! I’m fine!”

“And we’re back to this,” sighed Spike.

“These are things entirely unrelated to my horn!” Starlight winced, and just to put a cherry on top Pinkie said, “Nopony mentioned your horn, ya know.”

“Somepony might think ya aren’t completely fine with it, sugarcube.”

Starlight clapped herself in the face. “Okay, that was bad. That slipped. But-but-but I’ve been seeing friends, and Luna, and Tempest, too, and we’ve talked about it!” Everyone looked doubtful at best, depressed at worst. “And I miss it, obviously I do, and yeah, I’ll be the first to admit that I was lying to myself about how much it affected me, but… But I’m getting better! I’m getting used to it!”

“Don’t you regret it, though?” Fluttershy asked. “Even a little? We completely understand if you do.”

Starlight’s smile dropped, and her heart froze mid-beat. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Twilight cried. “Starlight, you’ve been so distant and skittish since you lost your horn. You do everything you can to avoid talking to us, it’s like, like you’re ashamed that it happened at all! Hear my words, Starlight: you aren’t a bad pony for regretting your loss.”

She was ashamed for many reasons, none of which she was ready to tell Twilight, much less these ponies—all of whom barely knew the real Starlight they were attempting to uncover: I mostly regret losing my horn because of my own mistakes, and leaving you girls to pick up the pieces.

“That won’t happen anymore. I promise.” Starlight swallowed.

“How do you know?” Twilight asked.

No one could know for sure. “We’ve accepted what happened, we’ve talked. The air is clear, so let’s just move on already and get back to normal—”

“What is ‘normal?’” Twilight erupted, standing in her seat, gesturing. “Starlight, what does that even mean anymore? If you mean the way things were before I got sick, then that’s never coming back!”

“Why not?!” Starlight screamed. The ceiling she had struggled to hold above her head, the remnants of her old life, was truly unsalvageable now. “Why can’t we at least try?!”

“Because not everypony can ignore their pain like you,” Twilight answered. “Because you lost your horn. For me. I can’t even begin to tell you how bad that makes me feel—”

Starlight snatched the opportunity. “So you do hate it, you liar!” Salvation. An opening. A leg-up.

“What?! I wasn’t lying!”

“Now girls—”

Starlight cut Fluttershy off. “Yes you were, I knew it! I knew it! You were lying because you, Princess Twilight Sparkle, couldn’t possibly be known as the pony who took her second chance for granted!” She was looking more appalled and hurt and guilty by the word, and Dash ready to buck somepony. “Admit it!”

“Is THAT what you think?! Is that it, Starlight?!” In a harsh flash, Twilight stood before the table, between her friends and Starlight. “That, just because I’m not a hundred percent fine with what you did, I’m suddenly not allowed to feel just a little bit responsible over it? Are you kidding me?!”

“You admitted to being transparent and I’d caught you still lying to me! Like I’m some little foal who can’t take a mistake—”

“A mistake?!” Twilight cried. Shocked friends regarded either one of them. “Starlight you’ve spent all this time boasting how you acted with every intention, that you don’t regret your choice in the slightest—”

“I admitted that I wasn’t being honest—”

In the most halfhearted way possible, as Twilight proceeded, “And then you turn around, casually admit what I’ve been saying for days, but instead of owning up to it in full, you decide to turn around and interrogate me for being dishonest?!”

“Well am I right or not?!”

“Yes, you’re right!” Twiliht sobbed, horn spitting sparks. “You’re right in that I didn’t want to seem ungrateful! You’re right in that I lied to myself, and ended up hurting you worse, in my blind ambition of being the greatest Princess of Friendship I could possibly be!” She lashed the tears from her eyes. “You’re right in that I’ve been a terrible friend, and you have every right to be angry at me for letting it get this bad!”

“And by 'this' you mean me, right?!”

“OBVIOUSLY! Because like it or not, Starlight, you’re a troubled pony!” Everypony gasped, Twilight the loudest of all. Tears fell silently around her lip-sealing hoof.

But her true feelings were out. She had always known, and ignored, the fact that Starlight was a broken, messed-up mare.

And yet, Starlight didn’t want this. She didn’t want this. She didn’t know what to say and she didn’t want this. She only wanted to know the truth and let them know how she felt. She got it, but she didn’t want it like this. She never had. The world would be better if she just shut her mouth and did nothing forever.

“Okay,” Starlight croaked. “Okay, alright, I understand. Thank you. I understand that you’re mad—”

“We aren’t mad about it, Starlight,” Rainbow cried. “Or at you, neither, we’re just upset! We’re miffed that you can’t trust us with whatever’s going on inside your head—”

“You don’t even know me!” Starlight recongized it as her voice, a hatred-regret mixture burning her insides. “How can I be so open to ponies who thought I’d want something as extravagent and embarrassing and motion-heavy as a massive party?”

“Well ex-cuse us for trying to do something nice for ya!” Rainbow snarled, cracking. “Next time we’ll just ignore you altogether, how about that?”

“You do that anyway, so it wouldn’t have been much different from before all this started...”

“Is that really how you feel, Starlight?” whimpered Fluttershy.

Rainbow squeezed her eyes shut, howled, “You JERK!” and flung a starburst-printed plate at Starlight. It missed her by several feet, but despite this Rarity magically yanked the ear of the pegasus behind her.

“There is never an excuse to assault your friends!” she scolded, to which Rainbow said, “I wasn’t tryna hit her!” before the two erupted in a verbal brawl.

Pinkie, comforting Fluttershy, shot Starlight a pitying glance. “Not for nothing, Starlight, but you didn’t go out of your way to spend time with us, either. We never wanted to pressure you, or be overbearing or annoying or uncomfortable. I guess this week proves why,” she croaked, sniffling into the pegasus pony’s mane.

Starlight was, again, speechless. They were right. Of course they were, and that Starlight was wrong—she was the one who avoided them. Always. And it’s because she didn’t want to be a burden. As if that was an excuse for being a lame friend, and then turning around and calling them such in return.

After everything they’ve done...

After all these years of tolerating her and forgiving her...

“I’m sorry for causing so much trouble.” She just wanted to crawl in bed and never come out.

Her voice was so hollow that Twilight tore from her own thoughts, to find her best friend and housemate of three years gawking at the floor, tears soundlessly dribbling down her cheeks.

“I think I’ll go now. Bye. Sorry again.” And she turned for the door.

Tempest’s haunting words came surging back, once again, for the umpteenth time since this morning.

Starlight might or might not do something bad. Something irreversable. She might, but she also might not. Twilight ought not to mention it, but Starlight was about to leave, just like she left the party, attempted so a second time, and fled from Tempest before all of that.

“Starlight, wait.” She kept walking, fueled by whatever drove her to avoid them before today, when she set out for Flutter Valley, and before all of that, whenever she asked for forgiveness over the most frivolous of transgressions. “Wait!”

Starlight struggled to open the door with both hooves. She let out a cry. Twilight wanted to help her, but also not. A glance to Rarity’s gnawed lip, walled in mascara, indicated a similar internal battle. All of them were now standing from the table, the grief that had gripped them moments ago replaced by worry.

“Starlight,” Twilight called.

“Running from your problems won’t solve anything! Just wait!” Rainbow flew forth, almost as fast as her words. “Please! I-I’m sorry for throwing the plate!”

Pinkie dashed ahead, leapt, and wrapped around Starlight. “Please don’t go!” Tears flowed from her clenched eyes, as did Starlight’s, even as she struggled.

“Let me go already! Please! I’m sorry!”

“Why? Why, huh?!” Dash croaked, landing beside her. “So you could up an’ run away from us? Or do what you wanted the witches to, and end your stupid life?!”

Starlight went still, Pinkie prying her damp, matted cheek in an instant, donning the most heartbroken look possible as their friend began to hyperventilate. “It’s okay, Starlight.” She reinitiated the hug, to no effect.

The room spun round and round. They thought that… Starlight wanted to puke. They knew. How did the know? No, they didn’t think... Tempest, she thought that, from what I… Last night…

Tempest.

Told them.

That Starlight wanted to kill herself. Now they’ll never believe she’s okay, and it was her own damn fault. Perhaps Pharynx was onto something with that “suicidal” label.

“That’s enough,” came a rough, smothered voice, before the door Starlight tried so pitifully to open parted enough for a lithe albeit hulking mare to step through. “You’re all poor at this friendship thing, I must say. But I’ll admit that I’m worse.” Fizzle addressed Starlight with the same pitying eyes as all the rest. Even she cared, not for the betrayal, but for Starlight, the one pony in Equestria who seemed to understand her. “I had to tell them, Glimmer. You’re destroying yourself with self-pity, and giving up your horn was symptomatic of a serious mental health problem you can’t go on just ignoring as you have been.”

‘Mental health?’ Destroying myself? That would explain why everypony was so weepy. Starlight had to laugh; leave it to her big mouth to make a bad situation seem worse. It never ended.

She stopped her struggling. Whoever held her—from the sweet aroma, Pinkie Pie—loosened their hold enough for her to shrug out of it. “Listen to my words very, very carefully,” Starlight uttered softly, then, with a sharp inhale, tore away from Pinkie, Tempest, all those gathered before her. Her audience, for the tragedy that was Starlight Glimmer. “I don’t hate my life so badly I would do something so awful. I’m scared of dying, for pony’s sake!” They actually thought she wanted such a thing, just out of the blue. “How could you girls? How could you believe I’d feel that way without it being blatantly obvious!?” They really, truly didn’t know her: the most painful revelation all week.

“How can we NOT?!” Twilight cried. “You were willing to end your life! You regret everything you do—”

“So I’m penitent?! I have a conscience? I hold my mistakes close to my heart and my identity!? Piss off!” Starlight defended. Excused. It didn’t matter anymore—only keeping them at foreleg’s reach, away from her broken self. “I was only willing to go as far as I did because that’s what friendship is all about! Nothing more! And I wasn’t going to let any of you risk it too. That’s it. I would rather die before I let something happen to any one of you. Just the thought makes me wanna keel over! If any of you were ever hurt because of me—?”

“And you regret your mistakes so badly, that you have no problem escaping them through the Afterlife?” said Twilight. “Is that a healthy mindset in your opinion?”

Rainbow took a step closer. “How come you never told us you felt this badly?”

“I’m—”

“We’re your friends, you stupid jerk! If you did that, I—”

“BE QUIET ALREADY!” thundered Tempest.

Rainbow shut her mouth, stunned, then snarled silently as she scrubbed her eyes.

Embraced in silence, Fizzle exhaled gently, and became the only pony in the room to have regarded Starlight with the respect her foalish insecurity had always wanted. “Explain yourself.”

She had no choice. Running was not an option anymore, despite how badly she wanted it. “Twilight, you’re…” Starlight looked to her hooves, their owner sucking in air, certainly thinking she was the cause of this ‘suicidal’ mindset. “I swear… I swear, I swear… that losing my life is just about the last thing I wanna do. But even so, I was and still am willing to stare fearlessly in the face of it if it meant saving your life. There’s nothing more to it. You might deny it and cover it up but you’re more important than any of us. You’re worth it. Don’t you see that?”

Twilight closed her parted lips, swallowing. She blinked the tears from her eyes and hoarsely uttered, “That’s not true.” An inhale, and then, “I’m no more important than anypony.”

Starlight glanced toward the rest. “What do you have to say about that, girls?” They all balked. It said more than an outright denial ever could. When she settled on Spike, he couldn’t even meet her eyes—even he knew it. Fizzle actually nodded.

“Girls!” Twilight cried, betrayed for having her self-assured lie finally broken.

“I mean, she’s not wrong, Twilight.” Rainbow Dash landed between them. “You’re a princess, and… I mean, you saw how many bodies were at your last party. You’re a friend to a-lotta ponies.”

“I’m not more important than any one of you," she echoed like a broken record.

“Fate would have you believe otherwise.” Starlight shrugged. “Why do you think this all happened the way it did, Twilight?”

A shake of the head. “No.” Faster. “No, I refuse to let that be reality!” she said with a stomp. “I didn’t want you sacrificing yourself for me, that’s not what I taught you!”

“Yes you did,” Starlight said, startling her teacher. “You saved me, Twilight. I mean that—you saved me. I could have lived the rest of my life bitter and hateful but believe it or not, you gave me something so special that it makes me, well, it makes me wanna cry honestly, whenever I think about it. You trusted me with your life, in your home, with your trust—me… somepony who inflicted misery upon hundreds of versions of yourself and your friends, all in the name of blind revenge for making me see a truth I didn’t want to believe: that I was woefully wrong, and that I was only hurting ponies. Not helping them. That’s… that’s a debt I was never able to repay, until now.”

“Starlight…” Twilight’s eyes welled anew. “I… I knew you were good. I knew you just needed a friend. It was-it was easy! But this? This, I-I-I never wanted this! I never wanted you to give up your life for me! If you did, I-I would’ve felt awf—”

“Awful, horrible, responsible, yes, but you would have lived. You would have been able to save tons of more ponies.” Starlight blinked her tears away, hardened her face so as not to look disgusting. “Stallions and mares,” she croaked, “fillies and colts who are much more salvageable than me.”

Twilight said nothing. Did nothing. She just shut her eyes, breast throbbing with muffled sobs. “I hate this,” she said. “I hate that you’re right about me and I hate being the cause of your misery. I hate that you keep talking down about yourself, and I hate… this. I just hate this so much, Starlight. What happened to us?” Starlight took a breath—”Is there no fixing this?”

“Like you tried fixing things with Draggle? Or dark magic?” She was a lot like Starlight in the worst ways possible—luckily, Twilight had true friends by her side to stop her from making such rash decisions, and they all glared to her as one.

But Twilight ignored them all as she stepped forward. “Tell me, Starlight, since you seem to have all the answers: how are we supposed to go on living normally, like you wanted, knowing you think so lowly about yourself?”

The half-a-million bit question. Starlight shut her eyes and donned a smile. “By getting a life and living it instead of butting into mine, of course.” When she regarded them again, they all looked mortified, save for Fizzle, who nodded once more. “Your efforts are always appreciated, I mean that. But they don’t help at all, if I’m being honest.”

“So, what?” Twilight stomped closer, glaring through her tears. “So we’re just going to move on, taking what was said today, all your emotional suffering, and just ignore it? Do you actually see how poorly that’s worked out for you this week?!”

Twilight was yelling. It was scary and yet she was doing it out of love. Starlight looked away, inhaled, hardening herself. “That’s been the plan, for most of my life, actually. But know that there’s a fine difference between being happy about something and just accepting it like the laws of physics. I was always being serious, you know, when I said I was ‘fine’ with my horn being gone. Not ‘okay,’ but ‘fine.’ Fine as in, if this is how it has to be, then so be it. I knew I could learn. I knew I would adjust. And even now I know that with time, the loneliness in being cut off from magic, and the utter humiliation in having to relearn how to live, would fade, too.”

“Just like your guilt?” Twilight sniffled. “Because that’s clearly faded.”

“What the hay are you trying to prove here, Princess?” This was getting tiresome—not just Twilight recoiling to every other response, but Starlight snapping and blurting out something thoughtless. “Are you trying to prove that I’m actually miserable, and that your efforts bothering me about it are all justified?”

“N-no!” Twilight’s stammering told the truth.

“I knew it. You girls were being just as desperate as I was, I can tell. Letting your grief blind you to the obvious: that I would absolutely hate making the Gourd Fest about me. That I’d hate how all of Ponyville had to uproot their lives just to make me happy, when I don’t even know half their names. Do you realize how awkward I felt last night? Having to pretend that they didn’t waste their time?” Starlight scoffed. This, all of it, was so very absurd. “And you’re appalled that I wanted to leave so badly. And this, right here is why I don’t want you girls helping me anymore. I’m broken. I can never not make a rash judgement when it’s imperative that I don’t. I’m just… like this. And I can’t help it, no matter how hard I try.”

“Starlight.” A hoof touched her shoulder, and glistening violet eyes met her. “You are not broken. No matter your mistakes, or how much you fail, you keep going. You right your wrongs. You’ve become stronger for it since coming under my tutelage. I mean that. You’re simply flawed. Just like me.”

My flaws are greater. More damaging, and hurtful. Yet after all of this, she truly thought Starlight was a good pony. She was never going to stop. Starlight had to: “Do you promise not to worry over me? That things will just go back to normal?”

Silence. Exchanged glances. This wasn’t going to work, they were going to fight more, argue, scream and cry—“If that will make you comfortable, I guess we have no choice,” said Twilight, never breaking her stare.

All chimed in on their agreements.

And Starlight wondered why this somehow felt worse. Did she just exhaust them into submission?

They would always remember how sudden and extreme Starlight could be, though. They’ll always worry about her, so long as she was around. When she was with them, they would walk on eggshells around her. This was so obvious, if they ever found out the truth about her: that she was a burden not worth their time. It was always going to change the nature of their relationship, and now it has.

It didn’t feel broken, though. Merely hanging by a thread. Time will tell, Starlight supposed.

“Thank you Twilight. You’re one of my best friends. I mean that.”

“I love you, Starlight.”

Starlight felt gutted, and her lips smiling. “Yeah, you too,” she said a little too quickly. And turned.

Now she had to walk away.

Face heated, Starlight left, heart hammering without pause.

And that was it. Just like that. A week of constant worry and sleepless nights, culminating in a single conversation where Starlight pointed out the obvious.

That they hardly knew her, because they never made the effort to understand her. To realize how uncomfortable she always was around them—at least, enough not to be as open as with Trixie.

Twilight wasn’t jealous, though. She was too tired for that.

Simply put, she was the bad friend here, and that, intentional or not, had changed their relationship forever. Now, whenever they were together, Starlight would be walking on eggshells, wondering if Twilight was thinking her feeble, like she needed special treatment. An awful part of Twilight still wanted to give that, doubting Starlight’s incredible inner strength.

She cared too much, and it smothered Starlight. It hurt her. Damaged their friendship.

Perhaps, as she’d said, with time things will get better. But for now…

“Anypony else feel like we lost the big game?” Rainbow asked. Scanning their group, it seemed that Fizzlepop had slipped away without so much as a farewell. What did she think of all this? Whose side was she on?

Did she realize Starlight’s friendship with them was a lost cause? The thought was horrible, too horrible, so horrible that Twilight wanted to—

“I can’t do this, girls.” She felt like she’d been stabbed angrily in the heart.

“I know,” Pinkie choked, flopping down. “I know, I know. This feels just so wrong, like this sort of thing shoulda never happened to us… Losing. But it has. I guess our luck was gonna run out eventually, right?”

“Pinkie…” Even she, their ever-peppy relief, was despondant over this.

Only for her to leap up a second later, startling all present. “But ya know what? Ya know? Here’s some o’ that ‘perspective’ for all’a ya, and I just kinda got hit in the brain with it, too. Are ya ready?”

“Please, Pinkie-darling, say it. Say anything to lighten this dreary mood,” moaned Rarity.

“Right-o,” she chirped. “Well, even though we have each other, and we always pull through for the big win? We ourselfie-selves kinda… don’t. Not always! I sure don’t. And it’s usually one of our faults when something screws up, which I know you girls understand: that the seven of us, we fail ourselves a lot.” Applejack nodded, Rarity lowered her gaze and ears. “Yeah, it’s kinda awful. It stings bad. Cuz there’s nopony more disappointed in us than ourselves. And Granny Pie always told me that we’re our own worst critics, to make me feel better about that. But… it doesn’t change how scared we are. Of other ponies being just as mean as we are when failing ourselves. Starlight’s feeling this worse than anypony, y’know, and we failed as her friends in so many ways. But when we let ourselves down, whenever Starlight does, well, you’re my guest stars. What do we all do? Every time? Hm? Hm?”

Nopony said anything. And then, an inhale beside Twilight. “I move on. And try to learn,” mumbled Spike.

“Ding-ding, Spikey.” Pinkie reeled him into a hug, which he somberly, gratefully accepted. “We grow, that’s what we do.”

“Pick ourselves up by the bootstraps,” said Applejack, coming up and wrapping a foreleg around the two. “Yeah. That sounds about right. Didn’t ever wanna bother my family too much when we had our own hardships to worry about. And sometimes that was sorta my undoin’, just like with Starlight today. Why, mine was a might worse when Ma and Pa…” Her face fell, then the brim of her stetson, only for Applejack to realize she left it on the table, soaking in orange juice.

She smiled tearfully to Pinkie, who took her by the hoof. “We swallow our hurt as a lesson, to avoid it next time. We live and move on… In super-blunt terms, we get ourselves a life and live it. Just like Starlight told us to. And over time, things will get back to feeling normal, I think.”

“But what is there to save now, Pinkie?” Twilight wondered. “Starlight, she…” Hated them now.

“She doesn’t hate us.”

“Wh-what?” Did she mutter something without meaning to?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Pinkie explained. “Because I’m thinking it, too. And so are all of you. But I promise you, Starlight doesn’t hate us. She loves us so, so, so-so-much. She loves us so bad that it hurts. It hurt so bad, she got angry at us because we didn’t return it in full. And because of this, we damaged our friendship with her. Us. Not her.”

Twilight felt a little offended. “Now that’s not—”

“But it’s still there. She told us what she wants, girls, and so we’ll do what we always do: we’ll carry this with us forever, and never make that same mistake again. We move on, and we live. Cuz Starlight already has.”

V.VII - "Dear Princess Celestia, I'm Fine"

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One Month Later

Dear...

The phoenix-feathered quill froze, heavy within the grasp of her magical appendage, stabbing the page neath a weighty magenta glow. Twilight inhaled, remembering that she and the Mother of Equestria were, officially speaking, equals.

Silly her.

Dear Celestia,

First off, thank you so much for these weekly letters! I’ll be honest, it makes me feel like your student again! Oh, and of course, Starlight appreciates your concern. Every time we read one of your letters over breakfast, she just gets this big smile and a blush on her face! Though I wish the two of you could meet for tea, Starlight always insists that you have better things to do. You insist, and insist, I know, but she wouldn’t be the Starlight we know and love if she wasn’t just a tiny bit stubborn.

It hurt, inside and especially out.

Half of Starlight felt logged, submerged in water yet slick with muck, her nostrils clenching at the damp, earthen smell. A panicked exclamation and hurried hooves clapped wetly against the cobblestone.

A groan arose, her own, she realized, as the ringing faded: “My flank… Ow…”

“Miss Starlight! Oh, Miss Starlight, let me...” An ocean-blue hoof came into view, attached to a wagon-laden stallion one had to squint to see past the rainfall—the only relief for her blazing side. “I’m mighty sorry, y-you just came outta nowhere, and...” Blues’ words trickled out, drowned by the gentle patter against her coat.

How did this happen? One moment, Starlight was galloping hard down Mane Street, cutting between huts, the next she was dashed down Whinney Ave. Why was she running anyway? She could just magic her way back home!

Wait, that’s right.

First she was at Trixie’s, again, this time softening the blow of yet another day bothering her with a plate of subpar snickerdoodles (which she made on her own capable self, thank you very much). As she started back to Ponyville, it had begun to rain, and Starlight couldn’t teleport, so she ran. At some point, she must have made another genius move in the form of cutting through the only busy street in Ponyville.

Perfect. Somepony was taking a hot, hour-long shower. Again.

“Miss Starlight? A-are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Ah, uh, are ya sure? You’re looking a tad bit… hungry, actu—”

Starlight batted aside his unneeded kindness. “Watch where you’re going next time. Please. S-sorry.” She rose. “For getting in your way. For s-snapping, too.”

And she limped home, grime and all.

Twilight didn’t dare question it.

Once again, I ask you pardon the messiness of these letters. I know I normally have Spike pen them, but between his duties and mine, there’s only so much time during the day! I have enough to write during lunch though—and, yes, as you can see, my diet has at last made water a staple. No more coffee and juice for this princess! Don’t want to let this new life going to waste, after all!

Spike pushed the daffodil sandwich closer. Twilight didn’t want to touch it. Not even look at it. The taste was good and yet awful, the grassy smell dizzying, the thought of chewing food, or even physically swallowing the stuff, made her want to gag. “Please eat, Twilight.”

“I can’t.” It was a battle just to have one bite, requiring force on her esophagus to take the nutrition her energy-demandent alicorn body sorely needed, and had been lacking for weeks.

Her bones cried out for more sleep, even as she was hunched over her work station, overflowing with scrolls bearing unbroken seals. They didn’t matter, and she used a certain pony’s copying spell to forward a pre-written thanks. Because Princess Twilight Sparkle didn’t ever receive political documents by mail—just fan letters, proclamations of relief from various mayors and leaders, or well-wishes for… for—

“At least have an orange,” Spike murmured, pushing the sphere in front of Celestia’s recent checkup. “You need to eat something today.” His voice wobbled.

If it would make him stop worrying… “Thanks, Spike.”

We’re doing well, thank you for asking! Great, even! I’m keeping myself busy, as always. Lots of friendship problems to solve, so little time. Applejack’s still in the thick of Applebuck Season, really throwing herself into her work, as is Dash with Wonderbolts training, and Rarity her various stores in Manehattan and Canterlot. It’s been lonely, but Pinkie and Fluttershy have kept me company.

And Fizzlepop! She’s been a big help. Around the castle, I mean. To tell you the truth, I probably would have gone Twilynanas without her!

“Eat something. You’re being obvious.”

“Right. Sorry.” Twilight levitated a leaf into her utter void of an inside. It was so empty it hurt, even though food was the last thing on her mind.

“Don’t apologize to me.” Fizzlepop—or, Fizzle, she’d claimed to prefer—clapped her way right, then left, like a sergeant. “Say sorry to Glimmer. Every time we have tea she tells me she notices… Have you even, really tried talking to her since—?”

“She doesn’t want to hear it.”

Behind Twilight sounded a tired sigh. ‘Failure,’ said its tone, ‘why did I take this job?’

“I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried.” Fizzle stopped, perking Twilight’s heart with a pulse of life: regret. “I’m sorry for snapping. And… thank you for not leaving me. You still could if you want.”

A gentle, exhausted chuckle. “Sweet mercy I’m talking to Glimmer in disguise, aren’t I?”

Was Twilight really that bad? She couldn’t tell anymore. And worst of all, she just associated being like Starlight as something terrible. She really was an awful friend, a failure of a princess—

Something slipped around her neck and squeezed, strong, but not hard. “It’ll get easier. For both of you. Keep working at her.”

But I haven’t. I can’t. We can hardly stand in the same room as one another and wheneve we do talk it feels so forced and fake and I don’t know what to do anymore but I can’t go on like this but anything different might drive Starlight away and—Twilight touched her foreleg, grateful for the quiet, non-judgemental presence always by her side. Fizzlepop was amazing. She’d probably never get out of bed if not for her loving assertiveness.

Goodness, loneliness was an awful thing. Self-hatred was unbearable. Guilt and regret… it was too much. So much. How did Starlight bear it? Why did she bear it?

Twilight couldn’t hold herself in any longer, and let the tears flow. “I’m sorry for crying so much,” she gasped.

Fizzlepop, Guardian of Friendship, wrapped her other foreleg around Twilight, her armor’s weight leaning into the back of the chair. It was stiff, it was awkward, it was comfort they both sorely needed right now.

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” she said, bashfully adding, “Princess.”

“Please call me Twilight.” It was so pitiful, but she already had one hurting, fearful friend addressing her so formally. Two would be maddening.

“Apologies, Twilight. I’ll remember next time,” Fizzle said for the hundredth time.

Twilight managed a smile; it was enough.

Oh, yes, she’s settled into her role nicely. Though she’s too shy to say it, I know she’s thankful every day for my trust and kindness. As is Starlight!

Whups, there I go talking about her again. But it’s true! Starlight’s really recovered since losing her horn—as if she needed it in the first place—and has really acclimated to this new lifestyle completely void of her special talent. I’m so proud of her. She’s truly grown into a selfless, independant friend.

I will never regret her coming into my life, no matter what.

Starlight couldn’t help but feel like a leech.

Though they tried their best to hide it, their efforts made it all the more obvious: from Trixie’s waning smiles to Twilight’s forced ones over meals, and Spike initiating painful smalltalk every dang time.

Fluttershy and Pinkie seemed normal. Seemed. But the rest have been gone for longer than they ever would normally, and Twilight never mentioned them much. Or rather, she didn’t after initially speaking of their conveniently busy work schedules. Part of Starlight, when she was lying in bed, thinking about everything, wondered if being near her and Twilight was too much for even her circle of friends.

What was a Princess of Friendship without those who got her that title?

An absurd notion. Those ponies were destined to be together. This felt like victory! At least, it should have. I wanted them to focus on their own lives. I got what I wanted. I’m happy for that.

I’m happy.

Finally, her friends were living their lives instead of wasting them on Starlight’s.

But Maud didn’t speak unless spoken to anymore—or rather, like she used to, more or less. But it said something, didn’t it?

Didn’t all of it?

Did I exhaust them into submission?

Are they truly just tolerating me now as an act of kindness? Remembering the old me they once knew? The uncomplicated Starlight Glimmer? The mostly-all-together-Starlight?

Part of her wanted to ask. A small part.

The rest of her, though, remembered “the day.” The one after the Gourd Fest. The day she told all those who cared and worried about her to buzz off.

It felt like victory. It should have.

So why did Starlight feel like the biggest loser, every waking moment?

Why couldn’t she just be normal?

Why wasn’t she happy?

I worry for her, of course, as all…

Twilight tapped the quill to her chin, another tissue floating toward her. Oh, forget it, she decided, blowing her nose, dabbing her leaky eyes. It’s Celestia. And I’m being just as obvious as Starlight by this point.

And so she continued, ...as all parents do. And teachers.

It annoys her to no end, but, she always knows it comes from a place of caring. As I know your concern does, too. Which is why, with all due respect, I wish you would stop apologizing for your self-proclaimed “failure” a month ago! There is no need! Me, Luna, and Cadance couldn’t unveil Flutter Valley on our own, and one could argue it felt more imperative that we had at the time! Granted, that was before we knew who, exactly, we were looking for…

Twilight considered adding, “and that they were right in front of us, around us, throughout all of Equestria all along.”

A chill skittered down her spine, across her wings.

...we were looking for. But I assure you, the effort would not have amounted to much anyway! Starlight would have appreciated it, of course, but simply put, she’d never accept any development coming from further dealings with those witches. Even the notion upsets her—and I swear, as one of her best friends, I can tell this isn’t some kind of trauma (remember who we’re dealing with! Ha!). Starlight just doesn’t want any of us losing something on her behalf. Nothing.

It’s unfair. I hate it. I know I grief about this every letter and I’m sorry I’m really sorry but it’s just so unfair! She can’t stand the idea of us repaying her, even with something as innocuous as a thank you!

It’s unfair.

And if that is how Destiny wills it, then so be it.

What was that anymore? “Destiny.” The witches in the form of a historial and mythological lie? Is that what the Tree of Harmony truly was—three grisly humans from who-knows-where feeling and guiding every pony’s every action every moment of every single DAY?

Such questions made the world spin, and Twilight feel sick to her stomach. She banished them, as always, for she knew herself, and knew such thinking would literally drive her insane.

I’m fine with it. We are fine.

Please, please stop pinning the blame on yourself. We’ve all failed in this trying time—even me. Even Starlight.

Yours,
Twilight Sparkle

With a mere thought, the Great and Powerful Trixie plucked Mommy’s flower-painted kettle off the campfire, its screeching abating in an instant.

“Hot-tea, for Trix-ie,” she sang low, floating it to her sidetable, beside a plate of snickerdoodles Starlight made. On a normal day it would sit quietly in her wagon, holding memories, but the rain peppering her wagon’s overhang obscured Trixie’s foalish tune, and any prying eyes.

“This is the life,” she sighed, hunkering down in a foldable. A snickerdoodle crashed into her open maw, crunching as earl grey poured itself into a homemade teacup. Quaffing half, a grainy, hearty warmth trickled down her throat, Ponyville in the distance silent, still, and screened in silvery rainfall.

Further back, her best friend was inside that gaudy purple tree-castle, snuggled next to a burning hearth with a good book, like she always said.

Trixie floated another cookie to her parting teeth, when suddenly—”Hi Trixie!” said an upside down, sopping-wet vampire fruit bat.

As any self-respecting pony would, Trixie screeched… and attacked. And gracefully toppled back in her chair while doing so. “EEK! Get away!” she cried over the short, sharp zip of magic, cleanly drilling a hole through the dripping forelock of… “Pinkie Pie? What the—!?” Trixie rose from the dry grass, the hole in her mane clenching shut. “Who raised you to pop out of nowhere and terrify ponies, huh?” she demanded, magically brushing her flank.

“Maud, actually!” replied the little nudge.

Fair point, Trixie decided, as Pinkie dropped before the campfire. “Ooh, toasty. Thanks!” She rubbed her hooves, somehow—and somewhat sadly—not falling forward into the flames.

Honestly, Trixie’s primary concern was a lack of memory in inviting annoying ponies to her wagon. “I’m sorry, did I offer you a place under my—?”

“Hello, Trixie,” whisper-yelled a specific somepony. “Oh, my, that tea kettle is adorable! Where did you get it?”

Trixie grimaced. Of all the ponies, of all the times… She swirled the contents of her teacup before her. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Fluttershy? Pinkamena?” Her swig was deep, near-scalding, and mind-numbing. She hastily refilled, though didn’t show it in a single deft movement.

“Okay, okay-okay-okay, you’re busy so I’ll cut to the cheese,” said Pinkie, adopting a weirdly worried look while hugging herself warm. “We need your help, super-duper-badly.”

“Um, specifically Starlight does,” added Fluttershy.

Over the drumming of rain above, Trixie’s overflowing cup tinkled unto the grass. “With what?” She simultaneously resettled Mommy’s kettle upon the sidetable and floated a snickerdoodle each to Pinkie and Fluttershy, both of them taking it with thanks, Pinkie’s muffled by said cookie in her mouth.

“Starlight and Twilight aren’t getting any better,” she explained between chews. “They’ve been getting worse, and—”

“Let me stop you right there,” said Trixie, hoof upraised. “Worse in regards to what? Starlight’s been fine as far as I can see. And Twilight gets to live again. What does she have to complain about?" Honestly, Starlight was far more concerning, from the occasional sigh, the forced pep, and avoidance of discussing home and grimacing guiltily whenever Trixie joked at Twilight’s expense. “They've been fine.”

“Um, you think that, even after their… argument?” said Fluttershy, as though it were obvious.

Perhaps to somepony well-versed in inane riddles. “Are you telling me you were a part of something, all of you, and Trixie… wasn’t even told?”

The troubled look exchanged between Pinkie and Fluttershy told it all, and Trixie didn’t need the yellow ex-doormat to spell it out for her: “Oh, dear, Starlight must have kept it from you. She… does that a lot. Or, used to, I think, but… not with you.”

No. No. That was absurd. “Oh, she tells me plenty.” In the contents of her tea, Trixie saw a mare more bothered by this revelation than her tone let on. “Every day, in fact. How tired she is, how she can’t stand being home… Pretty standard since she gave up her horn. Aside from that, we chat, go on walks, cook, read, scrapbook, croquet, disk golf...” And her mouth went on, and on, and on, her thoughts and feelings all the while asking:

Why didn’t she tell me? Did she think I wouldn’t understand?

“Trixie,” Pinkie cut in, “are ya sure you know Starlight as well as ya think you do? ‘Cause, I thought I did! And I’m me! I know ev-ery-pony. But Starlight… she almost never sees anypony. She hides in her room whenever she’s not with you, she’s apologizing a lot, and I mean a-lot, now, and—you had to have noticed! You’re besties!”

...Yes, she had noticed a slight difference in her since the Gourd Fest. And it bothered Trixie. It bothered her to hear of her friend’s whinging, remembering how Twilight accused Starlight of not sharing much, even with her best friend. It hurt to remember the old, strong, cocky Starlight. Though Trixie didn’t care enough about the difference between her and the new, gentle, softspoken one. They were both still the same courteous, encouraging, occasionally snarky Starlight Glimmer that had been Trixie’s bestie for years.

It didn’t matter enough to bother her with questions she clearly wouldn’t want to answer.

“So what?”

“And… do you know why she feels that way?” Another glance exchanged between those two, and Trixie sensed something familiar emanating from their gazes. Something like understanding.

As if they, and Starlight, knew what it was like to be a wasteral of society, mocked by everypony, loved by none. At least, until her best friend, and all the rest, followed: the companionship, the hero-glory, the fans and the shows… which she really ought to get back to doing across Equestria, outside of the central glades. Bigger crowds. And a little time away from—

No. That was a bad thought. Bad Trixie! She needs you!

“So, again, what? All I'm hearing is that I was some kind of, what, a mental escape for Starlight? One she doesn’t even use fully?”

Why, though? Where, in her best friend’s heart, was Princess Twilight that Trixie simply… wasn’t?

And with that thought emerged a slew of other selfish, old-Trixie ones: Am I just being used after all I’ve done for her? Does she fully care when we’re together? Is Twilight really more loved than me? Does Starlight still stick around here instead of joining me on the road because of that?

That had to be why. It had to.

And then a little imaginary Maud smacked her upside the head with a rock.

“Trixie? Didja hear us?”

No, but it didn’t matter. Starlight needed her, badly, and these two had come to her for help. “Yeah, yeah, I heardja. Just tell Trixie what needs getting done.”

Fluttershy smiled as Pinkie pepped up, her mane suddenly dry and frizzy as cotton candy. “Alright, great! Because we already got Maud, Sunburst, and Thorax on board!”

Part of Trixie’s heart deflated, just a little.

V.VIII - Trapped in the Dragon Pit

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I still can’t believe… well, all of it. Any of it! My life, my death, the rebirth—everything… just everything since. Like how I ended up, despite it all.

It still feels surreal. A fantasy my brain designed for me to slip into as I got buried in the Frozen North.

Sheesh, that’s a mic-drop. What a day, huh? How did I wind up there? Well, if you haven’t thrown this book across the room, you’ll know soon enough. If you even want to, of course—I don’t blame you one bit if you want to stop reading out of disgust. Because what I did to Twilight, to my friends who stand by me still, it was disgusting.

I guess I still haven’t changed much, if I’m thinking like this. They say old habits die hard, but I don’t think they die at all. They become suppressed. Mine were helped, though, and for that, I have my friends to thank.

I will always be indebted to those ponies: Princess Twilight and the Elements, Sunburst, Fizzlepop, Maud Pie, Trixie.

You might be wondering, how exactly did a pony like Starlight Glimmer end up here? And no, I don’t mean the horn-thing, nah, nor do I mean after that, when… well, when the proverbial manure hit the fan.

Coincidentally, it was that moment that tied back to the beginning, in a way: when they brought out Dad, and he said—sorry, he’s still… ugh, sorry, I still get all, a little bit…

Um. Yeah, I’ll keep all of that in. You can feel my apprehension in the text, right? Trust me, you’re not alone: nopony likes being honest with themselves. But to be able to do that was the hardest lesson I ever had to learn, and it probably always will be.

Woof. This prologue is a mess, isn’t it? Awk-ward! How about we just start on the night things went from bad to worse. When I still thought I could salvage something from the mess. That night, with Daddy—sorry, Dad’s—reminder fresh in mind, I dreamed of the time I forgot. It was clear as day, and part of me likes to think it was the will of Harmony that showed me it. If it hadn’t, I’d have never found myself in the Frozen North the next day.

You have to understand, what Daddy said filled me with… so much. Too much. It became more than a horrible gut feeling at the idea of losing a, uh… a motherly figure. It grew into far more than this subconscious desire, a need, driving my every action. It was scary, it was gut-wrenching, and yet, it was eye-opening. Even if I didn’t see that when I was screaming my head off.

It was like I, until that moment, had been building a house without a blueprint, only to realize I’d been living in a completed domicile all along.

And in typical Starlight-fashion, we had this sort of talk more than once, and I still forgot the point. But this version, where it all began, was the first.

It was at Sire’s Hollow.

One week after the passing of Aurora Starlight, my mother.

She passed of an incurable ailment.

The time was thirty-nine minutes past midnight. I was five and had lost my only friend—before Sunburst saved my life.

“It’s okay to miss her, Pumpkin.”

It wasn’t. Daddy was perfectly happy otherwise: he smiled at the library today, and Starlight just followed him, sniveling like an embarrassing foal—a foal who could walk and read at a grade above her and perform magic no other in town could. Mommy had been proud of her, Daddy obsessed with her, like he was a fan, and he offered her book after book to make her stop dwelling on that which was never, ever coming back.

Starlight tried to smile, drilling this hard life lesson into mind, through the ache in her bosom. But she’d think about the nights Mommy would read to her, and the squeezing inside would clench anew. A vicious cycle it was: Starlight kept reminding Daddy, and kids kept reminding her, and everywhere she looked, Starlight was mocked just by glancing at every mare in town because she no longer had what they did, and everypony knew it.

She didn’t have a Mommy. Everpony knew it, and nopony understood. Some tried, most couldn’t tell her more than sorry.

And it was annoying.

She told them that, constantly. Blue Spruce called her ungrateful, and a meanie when she screamed. So she told him again. More clearly. With her hooves.

She didn’t mean it. Why did she do it? Did she actually want to hurt him?

Daddy promised that she didn’t mean anything by it, but… it existed. Something within her made it happen. Therefore, it must mean something.

“I hate this, Daddy!” Starlight pushed herself from his woolen mire of a sweater, another thing she ruined. “I… I… I don’t want it to hurt anymore! I don’t wanna make you sad and hurt ponies, Daddy!”

“Oh, Pumpkin.” He stroked her pigtailed head over, and over, and over again. “We all have accidents, that’s all it was today. Don’t fret about it.”

“An… an accident?” Foals had accidents. Grownup ponies didn’t: that’s what Mommy always said. Mommy always said she was mature for her age, too. Starlight was supposed to be better than this, but she wasn’t. She was worse now.

“And there’s nothing wrong with missing your mother. I miss her, too! I suppose I’m not doing too good a job of hiding it, though.” Daddy moved his hoof to her back and hiked her close, into his love, his warmth. She hugged tight, in case she lost Daddy too…

“Why won’t I stop,” Starlight gulped, “hurting? I can’t stop thinking about Momma but I miss her and it hurts so much! Is-is-is there something wrong with me?”

“Sweetie, no! No-no-no… Hey, Show me your eyes, Chipmunk Cheeks,” he cooed, grasping her face gently, lifting her to his. His eyes glistened, the candle-flame behind her dancing in their black depths. She was making him cry by accident. She was keeping him up by accident. She was having an accident every minute of every day, even though Mommy called her a grownup, and he was still trying to make her happy. “You loved Mommy like a lot of fillies do. And Mommy adored you just as fiercely,” he said. “The fact that you miss her is simply that: a fact. That won’t change, not even your missing her. So don’t you ever think there’s something wrong with feeling sad, okay?”

Starlight’s gut had plummeted, and wouldn’t rise again. “Daddy,” she found herself saying, “you’re so deep suddenly.”

Daddy chuckled, tears trickling down his cheeks. “I have my moments. Not as many as your mother, but I’ll try to make up for her.”

She didn’t want him to. But if Mommy were here… Starlight laid against the soaked sweater, Daddy’s heartbeat thump-thumping in the distance. “I keep getting mad at ponies.” She trembled, unable to see anything but rejection or scolding, even though Daddy never raised his voice to her. Not once. But there was a first for everything, Mommy had said. “I keep wondering why they think a couple words will make me feel better.”

Daddy sighed and said, “They don’t understand how it feels, my little ‘Light. But they don’t want to see you upset, either, and so they want to make you feel better however they can.”

“O-oh…” Starlight attacked them constantly.

“All you can do from here on out is try. Try and get them to understand. Or just take their sympathy with gratitude! Treat fillies and colts with the same understanding you’d want from them.”

That’s what Mommy always said, too. Starlight often tried, hard as it was, even when most didn’t seem to care. “Does this mean I want ponies to hit me, too? And to yell at me when I just try helping them?” She didn’t dare look up, terrified of the shock in his gaze as he lurched back.

“Chipmunk Cheeks, why—? Why would you think such a thing? You were just angry, sad, and hurting, and some ponies always feel that way! And if not always, then at least once in a while. It’s natural. What’s unnatural is not caring when something sad like this happens! And unfortunately, some ponies are just like that. Probably because nopony cared about what happened to them, not like you would.”

This crushing in her chest that couldn’t stop—feeling that, every single moment of every day, miserable for a thing they couldn’t help at all. And so they took it out on others, hurting them, misunderstanding their intentions. “That’s horrible,” Starlight realized. “All of that is… just so sad.” If she were Princess Celestia, nopony would ever feel lonely like that, never ever.

“And you’re a sweet thing for realizing that,” said Daddy, scrubbing her mane, and scrubbing until she giggled and pushed him away. “Oh, Starlight, my sweetheart. There’s my little girl.” He swept her in a tight hug. “Don’t you ever lose that, okay? There’s not enough ponies in this world who are willing to walk a mile outside their own horseshoes.”

“Huh?”

He made little circles in her back. “I mean to say, there aren’t very many who are willing to do what you do: empathize.” Starlight wondered what that meant, and Daddy could tell. With widened eyes boring into hers he said, “Uh, experience what those around you are feeling.”

That seemed so easy. So nice. Starlight needed that for herself, badly. For somepony, anypony, to understand what she was feeling now. And yet, most ponies didn’t care about any of this. “I don’t want anypony to feel this bad, Daddy. Never.”

He chuckled like that was something silly. And dumb. “That’s a sweet thought, Punky-Wumpkins. But, sometimes, a lot of the time, actually, there won’t be something you can do to stop that. Nothing but be there for them, and try to understand. To open your heart and put yourself in their place. It’s not much to you, but to them, that means a whole lot.”

Open my heart… Starlight had quite a bit to think about.

“Hey, Daddy?” It was some time before either of them had said anything, and Daddy snorted, jerking his head up off the sofa.

“Mm, what?” He rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, little ‘Light?”

“Daddy,” she reaffirmed, strengthening her voice with this newfound burning in her chest, “when I grow up, and ponies feel bad like me, I wanna do everything I can to help them!”

And he smiled. “I’m sure you will, Punky. Because you’re brilliant and kind.”

She didn’t know how, or even what, she totally meant, but Starlight’s heart beat for the first time in days with determination.

To stop ponies from making their Daddy’s cry.

From hurting their friends, and themselves.

Starlight Glimmer decided she would do everything and anything to make ponies happy. Of course, this wasn’t the day she received her cutie mark. Nor was this vow particularly remembered when the plastered smiles of Our Town regarded her, or those of Twilight in the month following her sacrifice.

...and that’s how I was, always, when it mattered most. I often found myself so consumed in my idea of what would make others happy, it blinded me to the reality of who they were.

But that’s that: how this life mission of mine started. Pretty unbelievable for a five-year-old to care in such a way, isn’t it? Most kids are so self-centered, but their world is usually all about them, so it makes sense. They’re doted over. But Mom and Dad, they raised me to consider everypony else, first.

Some would call that a terrible thing to imprint on a foal. I wouldn’t, though—I wouldn’t be who I am now if not for them. And at the end of the day, they were parents doing their best to raise a good little filly. Please don’t think bad of either of them. I wouldn’t be here, dredging up these painful memories, writing this stream-of-thought, if they hadn’t.

I guess we owe everything to Firelight and Aurora Starlight, huh?

My point in all of this, is because of a Hearth’s Warming story Twilight read to me, once. And it said something about the seeds of the past growing us into what we are in the present. It’s relevant to everypony, and I empathize with the main character, even now. The mistakes I made after losing my horn, they’re why I’m still here.

That’s why I’m asking you not to judge, at least not completely, until you reach the end of this memoir.

I hope that, by the end of this, you’ll see yourself and your loved ones in much the same light.

Starlight exited her room, mane weighty with water, plastered against her stump, her cheeks. A long, hot, totally-unintentionally-long shower was a typical start, but now came the hard part: reality outside those porcelain walls.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’ve got nothing better to do today. I haven’t for weeks. I’ll just wander until my legs bring me to Trixie. Again. She could already hear the witches sneering at her to seek other interests, despite the fact that she tried with Trixie, secretly, and failed to find joy in them as well. Nothing excites me like magic used to. Theories, cobbling different charms together, ugh! I loved it! I want to do it so badly!

Her heart kissed the heavens, and her memories plummeted it back to Equestria.

Quit dwelling and sulking already. It’s been a month! The weight crushing her didn’t lessen, but it felt normal, and was easily ignored. Now, what to do today? Perhaps reading? No, Starlight could barely read a paragraph before her mind wandered towards, well, everything.

“Glimmer!”

Starlight’s heart surged into overdrive as she whirled: Fizzle was halfway out her door, bare of her guard uniform. “Hey.” She donned a subtle smile, as did Starlight’s cheek tug upwards, if only a little.

“Got the day off?”

“No. Just taking my time, like always,” Fizzle sighed. “If only to stop Twilight from telling me to take it easy.”

It was a wonder if Fizzle even knew how—always just as tense as Starlight. “So, what’s up?” she chuckled.

“Drowning in my sea of mistakes. Nothing unusual.”

“Ditto.” Still, that didn’t make it not-sad. “Wanna talk about it over tea?”

Without faltering Fizzle replied, “I’ll just take the tea.” Her smile lowered a centimeter, gaze softening. ‘We both know how it’ll go regardless,’ her eyes said.

Starlight understood. Yet she, too, was ashamed enough to ignore it. Neither liked bothering one another like that, despite constant reassurances from the other that it was okay, even relieving.

Two broken records, creating a majorly funky-sounding whole.

“You read my mind!” Starlight winked.

“It’s just...” Fizzle grunted, face held between her hooves. “I can never tell if she’s thankful or disdainful of my presence.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Like, of course she’s happy to have me—she says it every day and I know a liar. But… does she really not have any complaints or criticisms? How am I meant to improve if I don’t know the boundaries I cross?”

Starlight nodded, surged with emotion. It was like Fizzle and her shared the same soul. “You can never know a hundred percent. And that’s the gross, horrible part that makes you feel like a paranoid idiot.”

“Harsh.”

Starlight sipped her tea. “Yeah.”

There was a lull in which neither of them looked up from their cups. “I can’t stand it,” said Fizzle, “I say things she’s grateful to hear, I can actually feel her relief when we… um.” The dark fur underneath her eyes lightened, her eyes flicking away to the armored ponyquin. Clearing her throat, she muttered, “When we, um, uh, hug… But I never knew anything like it! This I can’t tell if it’s acting or not. So my distrusting nature can’t help but put these thoughts in my head: ‘Is this Twilight being herself, or is she sincerely relieved to have me? Is she just sparing a small kindness and trying to make me feel useful? Does she regret having this-this mute signpost of a pony shadowing her every waking moment?’ I mean… she must now the detriment I spare her image.”

Fizzle, hooves extending above her head, clattered unto the table. Starlight gingerly lifted her own teacup as they fell, so as to prevent drippage, and set it back down after another swig. “I know how that feels,” she said.

“I know I’m probably overthinking it… You know I’m overthinking it,” Fizzle added, throwing a smirk, “but neither of us can know for sure. Because I know she’s faking it for you.”

“As we’ve discussed at length, something you don’t gotta tell me twice,” Starlight rambled. “She’s been painfully obvious anyway. And I get why, I totally get why she’s like this after that fiasco in the dining hall, but—oh, listen to me. Listen to me! Because I just have to mention this every single time we talk, but… well, it’s always on my mind. I have to face the results of that every single time we talk. Think like you do. And I just can’t help it.”

“I know.” Fizzle set her face sternly. “And I keep telling you that that was my fault. Stop shouldering all the blame.”

“You had good intentions, though!” Starlight cried, shooting up in her seat.

“And you didn’t?”

Good intentions didn’t mean she practiced them. “Trust me, Fizzle: any other pony would have benefitted from this kind of talk. But I’m just—”

“Not the same kind of pony I am,” Fizzle finished, in her own words. “And that was my grave mistake, which Twilight and her friends were too desperate to consider. I assure you, you’re not broken, Glimmer. I mean that. And yet, in my… zeal, I suppose, of wanting to help, I had given a friend some poorly conceived advice that ended up festering an open wound.”

Starlight wrinkled her nose at the mental image. “Gross. Could you have picked a cleaner metaphor?”

Fizzle leveled her with a serious stare. “This whole situation is ‘gross,’ Glimmer. None of us have done much to clean it up.”

Nothing could be done, though. It was all on Starlight, the broken one and the one who breaks others: Twilight, her friends, Maud—who she hadn’t seen since blowing her efforts off like a jerk. Maybe even Fizzlepop; after all, Starlight was just bringing her down with angst instead of helping her move past it.

“You regret deciding to stay?” Off to the side, a mannequin dressed as Princess Twilight’s one and only loyal bodyguard glistened with not a scratch upon its surface. “There’s not much in the way of action around here—”

“Action? Excitement?” scoffed Fizzle. “Let me tell you something, Glimmer: my life wasn’t a Daring Do adventure. I spent every moment drifting from one to the next, with no consideration for those around me, no feeling inside me but anger. This new life? It’s quiet… a-at least externally. Plus,” she mumbled, lifting her tea, “I... have... you. So, it was a worthy trade, I think.”

Starlight’s heart warmed, and ached. She couldn’t smile for much longer as she thought of their entire dynamic. “I’m sorry for being such miserable company,” she told her chamomile.

“Same.” Fizzle was mirroring her, though simultaneously their eyes flicked upwards, met, and skittered away so as not to seem weird. Two sides of the same coin indeed. “I’m always sorry for attacking you at the Gourd Fest.”

She was looking right at Starlight, her face set in stoicism, while her eyes...

Part of Starlight felt honored to see this side of her: the real, vulnerable side, without that chilly wall of a glare. Starlight didn’t deserve it. None of this. “I’m just sorry. All the time. For everything.”

Sorry for being me, most of all.

“I hope you know,” Fizzle’s eyes scanned the table, “that… you mean a lot to a great many ponies. That’s more than I have, so… be grateful for them. Even when it’s hard to feel it.”

She was. She had to be, otherwise their efforts would be wasted. “And I’m sure they’re totally not regretting the choice to be invested in me.”

“Ditto,” Fizzle threw back.

A feeble chuckle was shared.

An awkward, tea-sipping five seconds later, Fizzle threw her eyes to the grandfather clock and stood suddenly. “It’s time,” she said stiffly, militaristically, which she caught before Starlight could cock her brow. “Um, I mean,” she continued, stiff in a different way, “there-is-something-I’d-like-to-do-with-you-today, Starlight.”

It was something special when the usage of her first name wasn’t the strangest thing about any of that. “Um, oh-kay—?”

“And-don’t-laugh-please.” Tempest glared, her stormy exterior donned. “Or I’ll beat you with your own hooves.”

Starlight’s weighty heart skipped a beat, it was enough to make her hoot. “Oh, wow, is it bad that that prospect actually excited me, if only a little?”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll do it here and now.” Fizzle flicked her mohawked head to the door. “C’mon. The others are waiting for us.”

But she didn’t even bother clearing her little center-table, nor don her uniform. Eh. It’s her house. Starlight shrugged, following.

“If this is another intervention,” she warned in the hall, “I’m just going to turn and walk away. I’m serious.”

“And if it was even remotely such a thing, I’d… probably slam you into the ground and call you a coward for fearing your friends efforts.”

“And then I’d start screaming like a maniac,” Starlight countered. “So, we’d both be a couple of mules.” It warmed the heart to make Fizzlepop chuckle, especially when Starlight seemed to be the only pony capable of such.

“So,” Fizzle said after a while, “are you still a fan of, uh, Dragon Pit, I think is the name?”

Maud was used to slow and boring. She liked slow and boring. Preferred it, actually.

It was Trixie’s groaning and complaining of her costume that made it painful. It didn’t make a difference when Sunburst cast a self-proclaimed “feeble” coolant charm on her—her complaining shifted to Starlight’s walking speed.

As if Trixie had plans today that a little game had ruined.

But it wasn’t long before the library doors were pushed open, and that Tempest pony and Starlight entered.

Everypony here… Oh, gosh. Starlight gasped a breath. This is just like… like…

This was going to be another disaster. It always was. It was going to be horrible and heartbreaking and Starlight could do nothing about it because she could barely control herself when it mattered most.

Her heart sank as the presence of a friend she’d been horribly ignoring came to notice.

Maud’s heart jostled twice, once upon seeing her, and again, painfully, when their eyes locked.

“M-Maud.”

"Hey." Maud's heart rate picked up, impossibly. It hadn't lessened since Pinkie Pie pitched this to her last night, and Maud, helplessly lonely and missing her friend, despite how irritating she's been, jumped on the idea.

Maud was angry. She was so, so angry and she hated it. It was awful feeling so hostile towards a pony, even one as difficult and stressful as Starlight.

She ought to have known better than to mistrust Maud.

Just as Maud should have met her halfway. “I’m sorry for avoiding you.” She didn’t care that the others were present, or that all eyes were on her weird, random self. She didn’t care about her silly little dragon costume, or the colored books strewn about the library.

The world was just her and Starlight.

“I’ve not been much better. I'm really sorry for how I've been acting,” confessed Starlight, ears wilting. Did she hear the sadness in her voice? Part of Maud wanted clarification—to know, desperately, if her emotional display after the Gourd Fest meant anything to Starlight, if she understood at all.

Everypony’s awkward stares, Starlight’s judgement and fragility, pinned these thoughts neath an immovable rock. They didn’t matter right now. Later, maybe. Probably not. Starlight likely didn’t care nor did she remember, and she shouldn’t. Maud wasn’t going to turn into Trixie here and now. She wouldn’t let herself.

“I’m just glad to see you," she replied after the long silence.

It warmed the heart to see Starlight smile, her twinkling sapphire-eyes brightening. “Same.”

Starlight might have been avoiding her. She might have thrown Maud’s vulnerability, her offering of a shoulder, back in her face the morning after the Gourd Fest—indicating how she really considered her dull rock of a friend, her value. It hurt. It was understandable, but it hurt like losing Granny Pie. And Starlight might be the densest material to ever grace Equestria with the paradoxically softest heart of them all, and for that, she was an exhausting presence to even consider having in Maud’s otherwise simple life.

Starlight might be too much for Maud, while she herself wasn’t enough for Starlight, who would have considered her more, thought more highly of Maud and showed it, if that were the case. She would have hung out with her like Trixie, or regaled the truest depths of her heart as she had to Twilight, Pinkie and the rest.

But none of that mattered in the end. In the end, Starlight needed ponies she could rely on to be honest. Who she could trust. Things she claimed Pinkie wasn’t—wrongfully so, regardless of how her baby sister felt about it all. A sit-down was in order for the three of them. Later. Maybe.

Because right now, Starlight was stunned by what was supposed to be a heartwarming sight: the book-tiles winding about the floor, her friends in their dragon costumes.

“It’s Dragon Pit!” Trixie proclaimed, as if Starlight was actually confused by the sight. “Your fave.”

“Uh,” she started, a promising sign, “I, uh… don’t really feel like playing!" Maud's heart stopped, then sunk. "Sorry! So, thanks for coming guys, but I left my shower running, so let me go, uh, go check on that real quick!” Starlight galloped ahead as fast as she could, but only made it about a foot before her tail yanked her into Tempest’s long legs.

“Don’t be a foal,” she said sternly, stepping off her curled tail. “We wanted to surprise you with… uh… this.”

“A relaxing game with friends,” Trixie corrected.

“Uh, it’s called, ‘Dragon Pit?’” Sunburst, in a purple dragon costume, pushed his glasses up. “Come on, Tempest. I-I know you’ve been, well, gone for most of your life, but I know you had a foalhood! Everypony knows Dragon Pit, right, Starlight?”

She merely tittered, red in the face, embarrassed of this now, apparently.

Fizzle turned to them fully, eyes half-lidded. “Indeed. And it was spent outside, playing ball-sports. Not sitting around with dumb games.” Sunburst’s bottom lip trembled. Tempest winced, giving herself a firm smack on the stump as Maud wondered if asking her to stand in King Thorax’s place was one of Pinkie’s brighter ideas.

“I’m sorry,” she said, unsurprisingly. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

And that’s what worries me. Starlight and Tempest in the same room, it was a recipe for something volcanic to transpire.

“Your opinion is abundantly clear, Fizzle,” sighed Starlight. “Sorry. You don’t have to force yourself to play. I know you don’t want to.”

“I want to, though. And you’re not going to change my mind. Got it?” She couldn't possibly say that a little less threateningly.

Starlight looked to her, then each of them, at a loss for words but desperately grasping for some. Maud was reminded of herself in Tempest, or rather “Fizzle,” through the forcing of unpleasantness for the sake of a friend.

Starlight lowered her eyes. “I don’t want to play,” she confessed to the floor. “Thank you. All of you. And I’m sorry you came all this way, Sunburst—”

“You’re just going to send him back?” Tempest gestured to Sunburst, who was baffled only as she did so. “After making the journey south and paying for a train ticket?”

As Starlight’s fear melted into guilt, Sunburst told her gently, “It’s fine. Really! I mean it—my position allows for free rides anyway, and besides, Twilight—”

Tempest said, appalled, “And you’re just packing up and leaving without so much as a peep of protest? And you’re her best friend?”

“No, I am!” Trixie proclaimed.

Maud groaned internally. “That’s your addition to all of this? Are you kidding me?” Oh how she wished she screamed it.

“Everypony QUIET!” Starlight was frozen for a second before she gasped, panting, avoiding everypony’s gaze in favor of the floor as per the new norm. “This is why I don’t want to play. Ponies just fall apart around me.”

“We’re sorry, Starlight.” Sunburst approached, magically throwing back the hood of his dragon suit, his rumpled mane bouncing free. He reached out. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to—”

Starlight lowered his hoof before it touched her chin, which she lifted herself, meeting his gaze. “I love all of you for doing this.” Maud’s heart twisted, and from Sunburst’s crumbling expression, his throbbing shoulders, he clearly felt the same.

“Starlight, don't push us away,” he murmured, his horn crossing over where Starlight’s once was as their foreheads joined. Starlight shut her eyes, accepting this as he added, “I’m so sorry for not coming sooner. You must feel so lonely, like you did after I left for—”

“No.” Her volume matched his, hoof just as forceful as she pushed herself away. “I realize now that you had your life to live. You still do. I was being crazy and selfish and I still would be if I felt any bitterness at all, which, if I’m being honest, I kinda do. Isn’t that awful?”

“But you have every right to be,” said Sunburst. “I’ve been assuming you didn’t want or need me, because… well… take right now, for instance." Starlight's face twisted with pain, indicating Sunburst hit the mark. "Clearly I was wrong, too, and I haven’t been much better.”

“Sure.” Starlight chuckled wetly. “Yeah, but I was worse, and my terribleness overrides your mistake.”

“That doesn’t excuse it, then or now.”

Starlight swallowed, smiling, her hoof never leaving the front of his costume. “Thank you.” She regarded the room, raspy voice a hair louder. “Thank you all for everything. The motion, the sympathy. I wish I could pay it back—”

“GAH!” Trixie howled, galloping forth, the hood bouncing off her mane. “Stop it!” she demanded, kicking aside book-tiles in her gallop. “Stop talking about payment for once!" She froze before their wide-eyed selves, Tempest coldly neutral throughout it all. "Stop feeling like a burden when I keep telling you you’re not!”

“Then tell me, Trix, how is that in of itself not burdensome?”

Trixie just choked, unable to dismiss it.

And Maud realized it wasn’t that Trixie didn’t see it as annoying, but she didn’t care. Yet, she didn’t know how to voice that, preferring to avoid hurting Starlight.

“We don’t care.” Maud approached, throwing her hood back. “Just like I don’t care that you forgot about me this past month—”

“You deserve better, though.” Starlight’s voice trembled, but not her gaze, penetrating and hard: her classic determination which Maud so admired. “All of you deserve better… See? I don’t hear anypony arguing against that.”

“I don’t want better, I want you! I want my best friend back!” Trixie cried.

“She’s spent every day with you, Trixie,” said Sunburst.

“Yeah! But feeling sorry for herself and her stupid overreactive friends, those are the ponies that don’t deserve her!” Trixie swiped a foreleg across her eyes, and Maud scanned the room: all but herself regarded Trixie with sympathy, even Tempest.

Maud felt only dread: this was building up for a while, and she was going to say something terrible. “Trixie, don’t say—”

“Quiet, Maud!” A blue hoof threw itself at her. “You might not care enough to put aside your petty hurt feelings—”

“And you are?” Maud challenged. “I can’t remember the last conversation between the three of us that didn’t involve prioritizing yourself.”

It was a stupid, thoughtless thing to throw her into the spotlight like that. Maud regretted it immediately, unsure of what overcame her. Jealousy. Shame. I’m no different, I just hide it.

She hated herself as Starlight stood there, trying to form words. What could she possibly be thinking now, who refused to play out of fear of something like this? "She thinks everything is her fault," Pinkie had said. "It's really, super sad, and nothing we said made her change her mind."

Of course, Trixie didn’t notice or recall this. Her ego never allowed it. “I have been nothing but supportive of Starlight in this trying time! While you and Twilight were off skulking, I was the one she talked to! Me, Trixie!”

“Stop it, Trixie! You’re not helping!” Starlight cried.

“Why not?!” The mare whirled on her. “I’ve spent all this time making you feel comfortable, and what do I get for it? Nothing! Not even the same honor and honesty you give Twilight!”

One could hear a pebble drop. Boulder could come in spinning plates on a unicycle and nopony would care. Tempest stepped away from the group, probably the wisest one of them all as Starlight sucked air through her teeth, her eyes widening, pupils shrinking and brows furrowing all at once.

“Seriously?” Starlight mumbled, and then, "SERIOUSLY?! All this time, I thought you cared! All this time I’ve been with you, feeling afraid—terrified—that I was bothering you and annoying you and making you waste your time and life on mine! You give me no reassurances, no indication about how you really felt! And then you turn around, sling these demands in my face?! And to top it all off, you just casually admit that it was all to prove you’re a better friend than Twilight?! Still?! AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME, TRIXIE?!"

Trixie, over the course of all of that, had sunk to the floor, belly flat as were her ears upon her head. “I—”

“And I know you’re aware of what I told her and the rest—!”

Trixie shot back up, tears sitting in her furious eyes. “Only after hearing it second-hoof from literally everypony else, yesterday, might I add—!”

Starlight stormed a step closer. “If I wanted to talk to you about that, I would have! You know that!”

“But you didn’t, and that's what I don't know, is why! What? Hm? Did you think I wouldn’t understand?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

Trixie’s voice cracked like a fault-line: “And why is that?! Tell me, Starlight, tell me how I wouldn’t understand despite knowing you better than anypony does in this whole stupid town!”

“Understand?!” laughed Starlight. “That’s just the thing, Trixie—you don’t and yet you think you do. Your hubris makes you think you would when, in reality, it’d just blind you to the obvious!” ‘Like always,’ she omitted but felt deep down, because everypony present knew it. Even Tempest, who let out an, "Oof."

Trixie stormed closer. “Quit speaking in riddles and tell Trixie what's wrong with her already!”

“Because you never cared before!”

A horrified gasp. “After all the time we’ve spent—”

“Despite that, yes!" Starlight stomped closer, pushing Trixie into a seated, wide-eyed defensive. "Because why in Equestria would I suddenly think you wanted to hear any of my problems, when all you’ve done is dismiss them like I have?! You do realize that what I’m doing is unhealthy, do you?!" Trixie paled, her lips parted: she realized it, and probably knew it, deep down. "Twilight might have annoyed me to literal tears, but at least she demonstrated a modicum of concern, enough to make me realize it! And I know you weren’t in denial like me, because I know you well enough to know that you hate it—hate it—when I’m being a ‘downer’ and ‘not like Starlight.’ Well, guess what, sister?! This is Starlight, right here, right now! Screaming, and crazy, with ridiculously high expectations, and flipping her lid when they aren’t met! And I’m willing to bet that right now, you’re going to assert just like ev-ery-pony-else that this ISN’T the real me, as if you know a single thing about me that matters!”

“So now you’re blaming me?!" Trixie cried, hurt. "For your inability to be honest to your friends?!”

Starlight began marching a circle around her. “No! Quit thinking of yourself for once and listen. Listen to yourself! If you really know what I’ve told the girls, then how could I believe you’d understand at all!?”

“Because..." Trixie searched the floor, as Starlight returned to standing before her. "Because I’m your best friend! Because even if I wouldn’t understand, you’re supposed to tell me everything and not be afraid to do so!”

“Says who?”

“Says me!” Trixie cried. “Says the fact that you brainlessly threw away your life for that ungrateful sow, Twilight, complain about her every day, and told her you were willing to die for her just because she was soft enough not to throw you in jail! I’m your best friend, I’ve been your best friend and history proves I understand you better than her!”

“And the years before that, where you asserted that you were my best friend without my acknowledgement?" Starlight huffed. "Sweet Celestia! All the years you spent chanting ‘me-me-me-me-me,’ rubbing our friendship in Twilight’s face—even when she’s not there? How could you understand me, Trixie, when you never think about anypony but yourself?!”

Trixie, tears in her eyes, growled, “I’ve been sacrificing everything—”

“Sacrificing?! What effort has this taken on you—when you’ve spent all this time more concerned with slamming Twilight to the dirt than giving a single fig about how I felt!?”

“You didn’t even want ponies caring how you felt! That’s who you are! Because just like me, you are selfish, you do say stupid things when you don’t mean to, and you do end up hurting the ponies you love because that’s easier then letting them hurt you!" Starlight shrunk back as Trixie stood, jamming a hoof in her breast. "Am I wrong? Am I off the mark? Did Twilight understand this perfectly when you poured your heart out to her?! Deny it, Starlight, look me in the eye and deny it, I dare you!”

“That’s enough,” Maud droned aloud, just as Starlight growled, “Get out.”

All eyes turned on her, Trixie’s horrified as her best friend glowered. “You really only care about your worth beside Twilight? That’s all my feelings have ever been to you? Get out. Now, you miserable brat.”

"Ugh! Well, then." Trixie lowered her horn, holding a scorching glare. “Fine. But just for the record, I would have understood you perfectly,” she croaked. “And you would have avoided making a foal of yourself in front of Twilight and her friends.”

Starlight cackled sadistically. “Well it’s too late for that now, huh?”

“Yep. It sure is. When you’re done being a 'miserable brat' like me, you know where to find the Great and Powerful Trixie.” She swallowed, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Or perhaps not. I don’t know. Only thing I do right now is that I can’t deal with this. Goodbye!”

And in a pink flash, Trixie was gone, her dragon suit crumpling to the ground. “...Goodbye,” Starlight told it.

Maud didn’t know what to say, if anything could be said. Tempest was unreadable. Sunburst, biting his lip, sidled up beside Starlight, drawing a frightened gasp from her. “I’ll go find her. She knows you’re having a rough time. We all do.”

Starlight looked to the costume. “Why am I like this? Why…” Tears filled her eyes. “Why do I keep hurting the ponies that I love?” Damp tracks carved down her cheeks.

Maud forgot the others were there as she stepped to Starlight’s other side, hiking close. “I love you.” Her voice hitched, though it wasn’t audible. “I love you and I’m sorry for being such a bad friend.”

Starlight shook her head. “Y-you don’t hafta say—”

“I’m not forcing myself to say anything. I never have. I’m a coward, too—”

“Maud, please.” Starlight stepped back, away from both of them, Tempest making room for her to do so. “Don’t start comparing yourself to me to make me feel better. Don’t bring yourself to my level.”

“I’m not.” Her chest lurched painfully, but Maud powered through it for Starlight. “We’ve both been poor friends, all things considered. You acknowledge your faults but I’ve been too ashamed of mine.” That’s part of why you’re so amazing… You don’t think it, but you’re even braver than Pinkie Pie. She held that in, but why now, of all times? Why did Maud have to feel embarrassed now?

Did Starlight already think it was too much? She answered, avoiding Maud’s gaze altogether, “I would have been ignorant of my faults forever if none of this ever happened. That’s bad. They’re obvious, Maud. They do nothing but hurt ponies. Look at what I’ve done to you. All of you.”

“Starlight,” said Sunburst, “how come you refuse to acknowledge that we just don’t care about that. We’re your friends. We wouldn’t judge you.”

“I wouldn’t either,” said Maud.

Starlight, watery and fierce, shot up to meet her’s. “How am I supposed to know that? How was I ever supposed to know that from you, Maud, who told me that you never wanted to talk about our feelings?”

Never had Maud been filled with so much regret. She really failed at this friendship thing, but never did she think a mistake was carved so deeply from day-one. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was afraid of failing to be the friend you needed if you ever came to me for that.”

“We both know it’d have never come to that anyway. I mean, look at me. The real me.”

But she just saw Starlight: the same friend who was always ashamed of her faults and failings, just like herself, and Pinkie, Trixie, Sunburst and even Tempest. “Let me make it up to you. It’s hard to believe but I promise—I promise, Starlight—” to which her best friend met her gaze, mystified, tearful, apprehensive, “that I won’t ever judge you.”

“Everypony judges each other, though. Even if they can’t help it.”

It’s why Maud had always been afraid. “And that’s why I’d understand. Give me a chance.”

Starlight’s lip trembled, her glistening eyes dropping. “It’s too late for me, Maud.” Her forelock fell before her face. “Wanna know the horrible thing? Even now… even after hearing this, all of it, from you and Trixie… part of me is still doubting its authenticity.”

Maud’s heart twisted. Her throat closed, but her words rasped through it. “Despite what I said?”

A hesitant nod. “Despite your efforts, yeah. Despite you leaving your comfort zone since losing my horn. Despite opening your heart and exposing it bare to me, to Sunburst and Fizzlepop, yes, I’m still not sure if what you’re saying is just a desperate attempt to get me to stop being a mopey little foal. I’m sorry. I can’t help it and I’m sorry. But I don’t want you doing this to yourself anymore.”

You don’t want me to be your friend? Isn’t that what friendship was, though? Powering through hardships for the sake of others?

If not that, then did Starlight truly just consider her sacrifice a repayment for Twilight’s perceived “troubles,” like Pinkie said? Was that the honest truth?

Maud didn’t know what to say. She thought that was just Pinkie being dramatic, misunderstanding Starlight. She thought Starlight was that amazing of a friend. Now, she didn’t know what to say. Now she was suddenly a foal again, uncertain of how to talk to ponies, fearful of their true feelings, and just shutting up altogether.

“What if I want to?” It was her voice. It was her heart. It was the best Maud could think of and indicative of the mediocre friend she had always been. “What if I don’t care how hard it is?”

“You’d be wasting your time. And if you really, truly felt so passionate about somepony like me?” Starlight muttered with disdain. “Then make it easier on your friends, and yourself, and be honest from the start. That's one takeaway I can give from this mess.”

This sounded like a breakup. Maud was, in a word, speechless. And breathless—inhaling, it was a harsh, broken sound she never heard from her own lips.

It was a sound that yanked Starlight from her gloomy stupor, replacing it with a look of heartbreak. “Maud…”

Something damp and warm tickled her cheeks. “I understand,” Maud said simply. “If that’s how you perceive the value of our friendship, then I won’t waste your time ever again.”

With what little strength remained in her forelegs, Maud tore that stupid dragon costume off. She’d never need it again.

Starlight mumbled her name as she exited the library. Maud powered on, pretending not to hear.

What have I done? Starlight knew exactly what: she just broke something fragile and beautiful.

Maud was being… She was being herself. Not forcing herself to be something she wasn’t: she genuinely loved Starlight. She genuinely wanted to shoulder her burdens, to understand her one and only best friend.

Just as Starlight had always been Trixie’s best friend. They gave me kindness and an offer of empathy, and I threw it back in their faces, mistaking it for a burden in of itself.

But they didn’t care that it was.

They didn’t. Just like I…

And I made them think I didn’t care, either.

What have I done?

“Starlight.” Not another. Please, she couldn’t handle losing another—a stallion stepped into view. A familiar one, with sorrowful eyes boring into her soul, seeing it for the first time. Except he regarded her no differently from how he normally did. “I was offered to stay in the East Wing by Twilight.”

Of course Twilight organized this. Of course she still hadn’t given up on her awful friend, like Starlight so wisely presumed.

“So, if you want to talk, I’d be more than happy to do so. Whenever. 1B—that’s the first corridor, though I’m sure you’re aware.” He tried a feeble smile that crumbled immediately neath Starlight’s misery.

It somehow felt worse, never realizing her home—temporary home, Starlight felt, her days truly numbered now—was organized in such a way. Such was her arrogance and ignorance.

“A-and the room beside mine, 1C,” he continued, pushing up his glasses “we were all going to visit him with you. Your father, h-he came, too.” Starlight heart stopped. “He’s been really worried. Not that he’s shown it but I could tell.”

Of course he has. Despite demanding Twilight never to contact him without her permission, she went and did so more out of worry for Starlight than the sanctity of what was left of their friendship.

It sounded so familiar. It sounded like Trixie and Maud. It sounded like Daddy and his limitless tolerance for his awful daughter. It sounded like Starlight, who was willing to deprive herself of amazing friendships just to make their lives easier, as well as her own life for the sake of a pony so much more deserving than she.

“Thanks.” Her voice was as hollow as it felt. “Take me to him, Sunburst. Fizzlepop. Please, just…” Her throat closed, she gasped, and a heaving sob threw Starlight to the ground—or it would have, had a soft, warm amber glow not caught her, followed by a pair of orange forelegs. “Please, take me to my Daddy, please.”

V.IX - It's that Simple

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Starlight’s heart must have been bruised black by this point. It slammed particularly hard against her rib cage, the pain a plea to cease dwelling about what just transpired. It was pointless. What's done is done.

But Trixie’s betrayal surfaced—She… she only cared about topping Twilight, Starlight's brain tried so feebly to argue—-followed by Maud’s silent tears, coupled with the violent, effortless tearing of the suit. I only made a simple request: for her to stop worrying about me.

She got what she wanted. Who was she to complain?

Starlight, as always, had doled this upon herself.

And I made Trixie cry for it.

“Remember that time the Map sent us back home, and we thought it was to get our parents to stop fighting?” Sunburst lead the way, wearing a smile; something about Dad being here—the one pony Starlight knew she couldn’t avoid forever if she tried. “Starlight?”

“Yeah,” her mouth replied. I made Maud cry. I… I made Maud cry! Starlight’s throat closed, her eyes welled. She blinked hard as she walked, gulped with twice her might, as much as she could muster on an empty belly.

An accustomed feeling, not hard to manage after eating became as much a choir as showering, and her stomach would ache and almost reject the food.

“Suicidal,” Pharynx labeled this behavior a month ago. Starlight couldn’t help it. She could never, ever help it, no matter how hard she tried.

Trixie, I… I’m so sorry. My mind blanked and I know, I KNOW, you weren’t doing this because of Twilight but I just felt… betrayed. Like a foal.

A foal who rejected reality. Who denied it and fought it with demented conviction, as Starlight had in her revenge against Twilight.

“Starlight, di-did you hear me?”

She exhaled, “No. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, like an instinct. Or maybe not. “I know that doesn’t mean much right now, but I mean it.”

They rounded a corner. “Thanks.”

Sunburst sighed out his nose. Starlight, chest lurching, avoided his likely-exasperated face. She would tell him to abandon her along with the effort, but it would, in all likelihood, end with more screaming and arguing.

“I just don’t have it in me.”

“Huh?”

Starlight almost froze, realizing she'd spoken aloud, but she didn’t even have the strength for that. Or lying. Or looking him in the eye as he turned. “Anything, anymore.” My friends were only trying to help and I kicked sand in their eyes.

“Hey.” Starlight ignored his concern, only to walk into a white-splashed hoof. “Your friends are still your friends,” she heard.

Starlight had to laugh, even if it would and did come out a feeble, hollow thing. Before he could follow-up with an, “I’m serious,” Starlight told him, “You don’t know Maud and Trixie like I do.”

His hoof left her. Pitifully, she wanted the contact back. Starlight failed to remember the last time a pony touched her. It felt like years.

But Maud tried to. Sunburst reminded her, “Those girls still love you, Starlight. I know that feeling well-enough to know it doesn’t just go away.”

“How?” she asked the carpet.

“Because I was more than happy to resume being friends with you, of course. I looked past your crimes. You were still you beneath them all, just like you are now.”

He made it sound so simple. But ponies were far more complicated than that. “I hurt…” The emptiness ached, to even think about their names right now… “They won’t forget how I’ve hurt them.”

“But we keep telling you, Starlight, that at the end of the day, these things just don’t matter. Didn’t you learn that from Twilight—?”

“Cease your incessant ramblings, Sunburst,” said a commanding voice taking up the rear. Fizzle’s gentle, albeit tired, tone surfaced, “She doesn’t need nor want this right now.”

“I’m just trying to keep her mind off things,” he mumbled, poor guy.

The hollowness within panged for the friend who was still trying after that embarrassment downstairs. “I appreciate it, Sunburst. You’re a big help,” she lied.

Their walk resumed in painful silence.

As they rounded into the corridor he and Daddy were staying in, she caught a glimpse of Sunburst’s miserable gaze with a matching smile. “You and I both know I’m not. I’m sorry I can’t… I couldn’t… be more for you, Starlight. I-I want to, but—”

“It’s fine,” Starlight mumbled sharply. “Really. It’s great, even. Your efforts are wonderful, it’s just… I’m just—”

“Stop.” A halt came as softly as his voice. “Stop that. Please, Starlight.”

It was so unlike him, typically loud and wordy, that Starlight forced herself to see what she’d done to her foalhood friend: Sunburst’s glasses, reflecting the prismatic crystals draped all around, concealed whatever emotions emanated from within. “However you were about to finish that, just don’t. Please. I-i-it hurts to hear you talk like this. To know you think of yourself that way.” Penitence hitched his voice.

“Sunburst…” What to say, anything for that matter… Starlight’s mind was white screen, her chest a bottomless pit.

“I’ll give you two a moment.” Starlight turned, where Fizzlepop gave a nod before marching round on soundless hoofsteps. Off to find Twilight, to report what happened. Starlight couldn’t bear to imagine more than that.

Sunburst continued as she watched Fizzle leave. “I’ve been ignorant before. And I see clearly now, just how much that hurt you.”

She regarded him, shocked. “Sunburst,” Starlight gasped, “I avoided you at the Gourd Fest. Nopony knew what I was up to!”

“I, uh, was referring to the time I’d met your friends, and failed to notice not only that I was ignoring you but I was just rubbing it in without any care.” He lowered his head.

Now Starlight was making him feel bad. “It wasn’t you, though! It was me!” she cried, leaning, and tilting her head to catch his glistening gaze. “It was me, Sunburst. I was the one being miserable instead of feeling happy for you, to have made some new friends... And besides, that’s not even what made me…”

She couldn’t finish, her shame closing her throat.

“Yes, Starlight? I’m listening.” He touched her cheek, lifting it as he himself did. Sunburst’s face was too blurry to know for sure if he was genuinely tearing up.

“I…” His hoof reassured her, harder. “I,” Starlight squeaked, “I just, I was angry and sad because… because you seemed to have a stronger bond with them after just a single meeting. Our interests, you know? Or lack thereof in my case…”

“Oh, Starlight.” He laughed wetly. His hoof never left her, and she leaned into it, as if to trap the feeling and imprint it for when he inevitably left her. “For a pony so smart, you have a bad habit of missing the obvious.”

She sniffled. “Gee. Thanks.”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled.

Sighing, Starlight replied, “You’re not wrong, though.” He almost never was.

“Regardless,” he continued, still smiling somehow, “after we turned back to adults, I… I wasn’t thinking about what you did. I wanted to know why—not in the sense of your reasoning for using the age spell, but why you felt the need to do that with me. So, I did what I always did, and researched. I spoke with Maud and Trixie.”

“I doubt they listed the myriad of common interests we shared on a daily basis.”

“Ah, no, they didn’t.” She lurched forth as Sunburst’s hoof left her, only for it to return immediately after scrubbing his eyes. He still smiled. “What they told me, well, I couldn’t help but feel a little envious.”

Starlight’s heart stilled: what made a pony, one so content in spending his time with books, be jealous of her meager friendships?

Sunburst answered, “I’ve never forgotten what they said. Trixie, though she didn’t say this directly, of course, but you and her shared common ground in growing from a dark past, and all the baggage that came with it included. It was clear to me you were one of the few ponies, perhaps the only pony, Trixie felt comfortable enough to be... more of herself around. And Maud? Well, aside from having a similar sense of humor, she said she enjoyed your presence. For somepony as introverted as she, you can imagine how much she treasures the time spent with you, regardless of how many words are spoken. She's comfortable being herself around you. I doubt you ever judged her, or sent a strange look her way.”

"Of course I haven't. Who am I to judge?" Starlight's smile made itself known only as it faded. “I’ve been horrible to them both.” Her voice trembled. “Maud and Trixie, they’ve bent over backwards trying to be the friends I need. But what they gave wasn’t enough for some reason. It’s like I needed something more.”

“You needed it spelled out for you.”

No. I needed to meet them halfway, but I was always too afraid to ask for more. And yet, they wouldn’t have cared. Not even a little. “I don’t know what to say. To them or you.” Or Twilight… goodness, what could she say?

“You don’t have to say anything,” said Sunburst. “I saw the way your eyes lit up just now. Just… please stop blaming yourself as if we’ve been completely blameless. Nopony’s perfect, especially when it comes to talking.”

Starlight’s heart stopped once again. Sunburst had no reason, no need, to do all of this for her. To come from the Crystal Empire and leave Flurry Heart to her parents. “Thank you,” she breathed, diving into him, and locking him in a hug. “Sunburst. I'm so thankful for you, you know that?”

His cloak rippled as his forelegs ensnared her. “Don’t mention it. I know you do. I mean it.” Their throats bobbed together, beside one another.

“Right,” Starlight gasped. “And I know you care. And that you are, and always will be, my best friend.” More words bubbled forth, restrained, even though Sunburst just painted out the obvious. ‘Nopony’s perfect. Especially when it comes to talking.’ “I’m sorry I haven’t been the most attentive or open friend.”

“And so am I.”

They remained embracing one another for however long, until a chipper voice announced beside them, “It seems you’re taking my job here, Sunburst!”

Starlight shrieked, falling back, only to be caught in a twin-tone aura familiar and warm, despite her inability to sense their unique imprints—amber and gold.

“Whup!” chuckled Dad. “Careful there, Hon-Bun!” He smiled like nothing was wrong, not offended or disappointed by his mess of a daughter.

Upon setting her down, he remarked, “Sunburst, your dad-speeches are on point, son! Tell me, have you gotten a lot of practice with Princess Flurry Heart?”

“Uh, n-no, sir!” Sunburst straightened, head held high. “The deepest conversation we’ve shared is who gets to play the firefighter.”

“An important dilemma for the little tyke, I don’t doubt.” In the doorway to his personal guest bedroom, wearing an aquaberry cable-knit, Daddy smiled still despite meeting Starlight’s eyes. Only when she dropped them did he frown. “You got nothing to be afraid of, little ‘Light.”

He saw right through her. Deny it she would, but there wasn’t a pony who understood Starlight better than Daddy, herself included. And she actually thought she could ignore this fact, and him, after everything that happened. I have so… so much to make up for.

“Dad, I—” Her voice broke. Starlight pressed a hoof to her lips, but a sob broke through anyway. She was a foal. Always had been. “I’m so sorry!”

He didn’t falter in his relaxed facade as he lowered to his haunches, forelegs wide.

“Daddy, I’m—!” He grunted as she practically tackled him. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry about everything!” She didn’t even wrong him as badly as her friends. Or perhaps she did. The worst part was not knowing for sure, her own father. Her friends were one thing but her own father.

“You’re okay, sweetie,” he murmured, squeezing tight. “I got you.” And all the apprehension came wailing out. “I got you,” he whispered through the screaming in her head. “You’re okay, sweetie. You’re fine. I got you.”

Dad just sat back, propped upon his forelegs.

Starlight held her breath as his glass of water swirled before him, before Dad quaffed it all at once. “That’s quite a tale, Sugar Plum,” he sighed, looking into the cup. “I wanna make it clear right now that I’m not surprised about any of this. And I don’t mean that in a bad way, nor a good way, mind you.”

‘You’ve always been obvious,’ he was saying. That stung. It shouldn’t, but it did. “Here comes the part where you say, ‘I am disappointed, though.’” Starlight braced herself.

The glass clinked against his foldable dinner tray, upside-down upon a plate once full of food, save for a roll Starlight still didn’t want to eat. “That’s how the cliche goes, I guess,” chuckled Dad. “But to tell you the truth, I’m not. Of course I’m concerned, but are your choices really something I have the right to be upset about?” Dad shrugged. “Whether that makes me a bad parent or not is out of my hooves, I’m afraid—you’re a grown mare, Starlight, and you’ve clearly accepted the gravity of your actions without little old me sitting you in timeout.”

“O-oh.” This wasn’t at all what she expected—as usual. “Uh, say, Dad! Am I a bad pony for assuming you were gonna, I dunno, hate me?”

Maybe it was the absurdity of the notion, maybe it was her lighthearted approach to something quite messed-up, but Dad lost his smile as his ever-sleepy eyes widened.

Starlight’s thoughts scrambled to recover. “I-I-I mean, what I’m trying to say is… you’re not mad? At me? F-for, uh, for avoiding you?” The fact that he wasn’t surprised by most of this… It wasn’t good nor bad, apparently. “Are you ashamed to have such a mess-up of a daughter?”

“Absolutely not,” he replied on the spot. “Forgive me for not asking what made you think that—”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve been asking myself that question for a while now.”

“And I was about to say, I’m not curious because, well, this is who you are, Punky Wumpkins. Not in the sense that you make mistakes—”

“Ah, so a liar and a coward, then.”

Dad smiled wryly. “No,” he drawled. “You’re Starlight Glimmer, and you’re a silly pony who doesn’t want to be hurt the way you were after Sunburst left.”

Starlight’s gut emptied. “You make it sound so simple.” She chuckled feebly.

Dad hunched over, hooves between his hind legs. “I’ve never been surprised, Pumpkin. Not after your mother passed away. How long it took for you to talk to other foals. It broke my heart, and if I felt any apprehension towards you, it was towards you being hurt like that again.” His voice hitched, his smile persisting strong.

“Daddy,” Starlight squeaked, throat tightening as she caught his glazed, loving gaze. “You almost never bring her up… I’m sorry.” She knew how it hurt for him, how he kept their marriage photo—a foldable double-frame—closed except on their anniversary.

He squeezed his eyes shut, silver glistening though as he chortled low. “Don’t apologize to me, sweetie. You always do that, you goober.”

Starlight hid her burning cheeks, smiling. “Sorry. Ah, s-sorry for being sorry.”

“You did it again!” laughed Daddy.

“I’m sorry!” He just laughed harder, filling the room, as well as Starlight’s breast. She had to join him—this couldn’t be real, she shouldn’t feel this good right now. But Dad was laughing, and so was she, gasping for breath she had been so short of as she confessed her stupidity.

Reality wasn’t so easily ignored, though. His reason for being here, a month after the domino that started it all, hadn’t left her heart unfettered since, and weighed heavily once again as she muttered, “I am, though.” His amusement vanished. “About everything. To you, obviously. I am.” It wasn’t to the girls who needed an apology most, and would have a harder time accepting it, perhaps even believing it. “I… wish I turned out differently sometimes. All the time, honestly.”

“I know.” The casual acceptance, the lack of an argument, yanked Starlight’s attention to Daddy’s sympathetic smile. “I feel the same, you know. Sometimes, anyway. I wish I was a more respectful father.” He leaned back again. “But,” he exhaled, “that’s just how it goes sometimes. We’re lumps of clay when we come into this world as foals, shaped by our lives, and we can’t help that.”

Can ponies change once they’re molded and dry? Starlight was about to ask.

“I grew up feeling safe and comfortable, your grandparents never making me feel ashamed or alone. That came with its own baggage, good and bad, and the sad reality is it helped you just as much as it hindered.” Starlight inhaled, ready to object, even though he was partially right; but he shouldn’t feel bad because of her. “And you,” Dad continued, pointing, “Starlight Glimmer, losing Aurora at such a young age, followed by Sunburst, they’ve made you as empathetic and concerned a pony as they have one who mistrusts and defends, and is independent to her occasional detriment. You don’t have to justify yourself for me, sweetie, nor anypony else. There is zero shame owning up to who you are.”

Starlight had to blink twice. “Wow, Dad, that’s… really wise of you! I think.”

He tilted his head toward the ceiling, a fond smile growing. “Your mother gets credit for that nugget of truth.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.” Dad grinned so goofily that Starlight had to snort. “She worked hard to get me to love myself—this was years before you were born, mind you. And, look at that: you got her brain and heart. My dashing looks and foalishness.”

“Oh, for sure.” Starlight reflected on what he said, and realized her warm, gently-beating heart loved him more than she ever had before now. “I think I got her heart through you, at least. If… what you're saying has any merit.” Which it absolutely did. For all her strengths and triumphs, flaws and all, they tied to how patient and love-filled his parenting was. “Thank you, Dad,” she said, met with a wobbly smile.

“I was always so stressed out about my work,” he explained, “pouring over books. Trying to beat the deadlines before they stacked up too high for me to manage, until Aurora showed me a better way. A healthier way: talking. Being on the level with my boss. He and I came to an understanding after just a single conversation. Forever after, I learned to smile at my problems and see them in another light, and not be afraid of all those messy what-ifs."

Starlight loathed her inability to read such things in a positive light—especially because Dad was trying to help her. “So how bad a problem am I, in said light?”

“Well, let’s unpack this.” Dad propped a hoof under his chin, pondering, “Removing the proverbial light from your little whoopsies—”

“‘Whoopsies?’ Dad, I made my friends—”

“I’d say you look like my baby girl, trying her best to make everypony happy.”

He just accepted her. There wasn’t a disdainful, shamed bone in his body. Dad was just… being himself. Just like her friends. Just as her friends would. They offered her the same and Starlight acted like she didn’t know them at all—the very thing she accused Twilight and the girls of being.

Everything was Starlight’s fault, that hadn’t changed, but Daddy cared about her too much to despise any of it.

Just like Maud and Trixie. And I… I…

A sob tore out, followed-up by an, “I’m fine, I’m just…” Starlight didn’t even know.

“Relieved? Scared?”

A mess. “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know anymore, my chest feels like it’s full of static and it wants out and I just want to scream.” Starlight gasped for breath. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“You’re the captain of this journey. There’s no rush or judgement to the destination, sweetie.”

Starlight didn’t even know where that was. It meant she didn’t know what she was doing here. She was just wasting time in the end.

Dad was merely brought up to speed, and now he was cursed knowing his daughter hated herself too much to ever be truly happy, even when she was given the best life a pony could ask for on a silver platter.

From Twilight getting sick, to the existential terror of losing somepony more than just a simple friend. From her views on destiny, to what must have been a fateful meeting with the witches from a storybook (a revelation that made Dad quite pale). She spared no detail on their horrific appearance, because Daddy kept asking questions about them, and he seemed gleefully disgusted. For the sake of his sleep, she agreed they were akin to Tirek as opposed to, well, gods.

And then came everything which led to this moment: the lying, the fights, the fears, even the inane notion that ostensibly hurting her friends was less painful than them wasting their lives trying to fix her. She bared herself completely, down to the core of her black little soul and that which fueled every mistake ever made: desperation, fear, arrogance.

And Daddy heard it all, smiling and nodding. It was just like the time she confessed of her crimes, and he judged her just as harshly as he did back then.

He said his piece, and he didn’t hate her. But there was nothing left, save for guilt—the root cause of it all. All she could do was sit there, unable to look her father in the eye anymore, despite him coming all this way to help with something that shouldn’t need helping.

“I’m sorry you went through all this, Pumpkin. That you feel so darn bad.” He didn’t move to hug her for a fifth time, remaining seated on his bed, herself in a tall red chair across from him, a dark fireplace at her back. “I wish I could have been here for you. A fool’s errand in your mind, I know, and I understand your reasoning for maintaining distance.” Word took a while to reach the remote hamlet of Hollow Shades. Once it did, Daddy admitted, he needed Stellar Flare to remind him of his little girl’s refusal for that kind of attention, that she would reach out if she wished and was strong enough to handle a new lifestyle without him babying her, especially after learning from her and Sunburst’s friendship mission.

He sent a letter anyway. One of many lost in a pile of thank-yous that found its way into the trash. He understood that, too.

Starlight was so grateful, and horrible, and paradoxically longing for his doting. This was everything she wanted from her friends at the start, and she hated this distance between them and how it was her doing. What she hated was it being wrought in the most painful way possible.

“You must be real proud of your daughter now, huh?”

“I am proud,” Dad said sincerely. “I’ve never not been proud, even when you stumble. You try, Punky, and you try hard with good intentions. That sort of thinking doesn't absolve you of your guilt, though, I know, and I wouldn’t be so proud of you if it did. But when your heart is in the right place, all I can see is the filly who clung to my sweater one midnight, and vowed to never let any pony feel bad. ‘Never,’ I believe was your wording.” His withered eyes shot a cheeky wink.

Starlight’s facial temperature doubled as she looked to the ceiling. “I said that? Jeez. Kids say some pretty out-there things.”

“You ingrained it in your heart, though. You might not realize it, but you did.”

Has he not been listening? “Dad—”

“Despite your mistakes,” he said aloud, silencing her, “despite those, I say it’s what you’ve always done. And that’s what I see to this day: a mare of empathy, albeit one whose potatoes are a little mashed with fear.”

“That’s the problem, I guess,” Starlight sighed.

“It’s a more common problem than you think.”

“Well, that’s obvious.” Now it was, anyway. She need not look further than Maud and Trixie, although their “problem” didn’t drive them to hurt ponies, only themselves. That’s assuming they considered their communication challenges at all. They didn’t seem to, and it would be presumptuous and kind of awful to hope so besides. “I know ponies who are much stronger than me, Dad. Healthier in the mind than me, while I… I say some pretty… very evil things as some twisted sort of defense mechanism. And in spite of what you said, in spite of everything I’ve been told by everypony these past few weeks...” she sighed shakily, expelling her anger until only regret sat festering in her gut, “I still don’t understand them; why my friends are willing to look past all of this. Like I know why, that they’re my friends, but… I always wonder, I can’t help but wonder, why am I worth the stress? The difficulty, the hopelessness? I honestly don’t think I am. And so, I suppose, that’s where the assumptions come in—that they’re just trying to make me feel comfortable or some other ulterior motive.” There was a moment where Dad said nothing, and she refused to see what his reaction entailed. “That’s why I’m stuck, making these same stupid mistakes again and again.”

“Sweetie, you have to trust your friends to act on their wants, too.”

“But they don’t!” Starlight cried, furious again for some stupid reason. “They don’t, Dad! When it comes to other ponies they’re willing to sacrifice anything to help them, even if they don’t want to!”

“Sounds like you, in my opinion.” His smile was there, and then gone. “But how can you know that they don’t want to help?”

Starlight’s throat clenched. “I don’t,” she gasped, dropping her head. “And it’s torture.”

“If you can’t trust your friends, then who else besides me?”

“A nice thought, but I hardly trust myself.” Starlight’s belly squirmed, even as she squeezed it. “I hate this,” she murmured. “I hate…” Everything. Nothing. What I do and say to myself and my friends. I hate how my brain works. I hate how useless I am. I hate how hopeless I am. I hate.. I hate… “...myself.”

“Starlight…” Dad just looked so miserable—her latest victim. Her peppy pop.

“How do I start loving myself, Daddy?” It was the best she could think of, and she sounded so weak, so fragile.

Desperate.

It was her true self, what Trixie saw, whether Starlight liked it or not. “Trixie, earlier, she really read me like a book. She was always paying attention, Dad. Always. But she never cornered me, never made me feel uncomfortable, and whenever I did it was after the fact when I would think of all the stupid things I said and did and-and…” Starlight’s voice gave out. She sniffled, cleared her throat, continuing thickly, “She was what I wanted in a friend. More than a teacher, more than a dad. And I shut down when she saw me for what I was—a self-hating pain in the neck who never learns. Please, Dad, I never asked you for anything but I’m begging you now: how can I start loving myself so as to stop hurting other ponies?”

When Dad didn’t answer immediately, his face wrinkling in thought, an addendum formed on her tongue: “At least, how can I stop second-guessing everything I say? Like... like right now, I guess.”

Dad didn’t seem to be listening, for he spoke deliberately, as though considering each word carefully: “Fear, love, guilt…” He leveled her with a serious gaze. Not a sound in the world but his tender tone of voice, and the rapid-fire thundering of her heartbeat. “They make us do some outlandish things, honey. They can also make us do evil things. Look at those bad guys your friends have battled over the years. You’re far from the monster you think you are.”

Nightmare Moon, and Princess Luna, came immediately to mind. “I guess I have no right angsting over these things. But that’s exactly what I’m—”

Dad huffed, bringing his hoof down against the bed with the harshness of a colt. “What is it with your generation, Starlight?” he wondered pleadingly. “I have to know. You kids constantly invalidate these very real feelings you have as a problem altogether. That isn’t healthy. That’s what makes ponies like, well, not unlike you.” Starlight attempted an answer—”As a parent, it breaks my heart to think about ponies like you, who don’t even have their own Firelight to talk to about these things. It makes me all the more glad for Princess Twilight, I think she’ll teach future generations how to communicate better. To be better friends, you know?”

“She will,” Starlight replied without a thought. “I know she will. She’s already done great in bringing other kingdoms into the fold.”

His smile returned. “Equestria will never lack for friends.” Then it was gone. “But to answer your question… It’s a tricky one, that’s for sure.”

Starlight remembered Reeka’s haunting words. She never forgot them, neither from her bedroom encounter, nor those of the sisters’ ambush at the Gourd Fest. “I feel like… like I’m destined, I guess, to just screw up and lose everypony,” she confessed carefully. “Like a self-fulfilling prophecy from those books we used to read. I realize now, deep down, I always had this low opinion of myself that I was just used to ignoring. It’s a little symptomatic of how I treat my many, many mistakes.”

Dad tilted his head. “I always thought you made peace with them, and learned.”

“I don’t, or at least I hardly do, and that’s the thing. Because losing my horn, over a boneheaded rush? Doubting my friends or ignoring them, because I was bitter and guilty over that? This fiasco forced me to face the music. It epitomized this flaw of mine: denying what’s inconvenient for the sake of my own happiness. How much more selfish can a pony get?”

“You have to ask yourself why you’re like this, Starlight. And really think, too. Don’t just write it off because you’re ashamed to know the truth.”

She couldn’t ignore it anymore even if she wanted to. “I guess assuming the worst in ponies was easy… because, well, because it’s less terrifying to ‘know’ falsely than to seek the horrible truth and be stuck with it.”

Daddy’s eyes brightened, and Starlight hoped he was struck with more fatherly wisdom. She hoped so badly it hurt. “Well, there’s your problem, sweetheart.” He hunched forward, forehooves tapping three times before regarding her again. “I think I’m going to break character, Starlight, and be completely frank with you.”

Her gut sank. In his language, “breaking character” was Dad-talk for a major gut-buck of reality.

“You,” he began, hesitating, “can’t keep making these ‘colossal mistakes,’ feel bad about them, and continue barreling into them out of a fear of making more. That’s not okay. That doesn’t help you grow, especially when the problem has always lied in these insecurities you keep locked up inside. You need to eliminate them. Not try, not if you want to be happy. You need to be better than this.”

‘You need to be better than this.’

The room, and Dad’s stern disposition, tilted aside. “That sounds so simple.” Starlight’s gut churned with guilt. “Oh, gosh, why? Wh-why can’t I ever see these things for my—?!”

“Up-up-up!” Daddy waved his hoof. “No more of that.” Starlight sniffled, through sheer force of will keeping her tears in. “I’m not talking as your father, Starlight, I’m saying this as your friend: you have. To be. Better. You have to be better,” he restated, clapping each word. “Everything that’s… ‘wrong’ with you, as you say, it’s-it’s never the ponies in your life and their judgement that drives you to error.”

“I know. But I still—”

“It’s not the guilt you have, either. Or the promise you made to me that night twenty-odd years ago… It’s you, right now, Starlight Glimmer. And you have the power to learn from these mistakes and grow, like everypony else.”

Starlight felt a pressure well behind her eyes anyway. And shame. And anger. “I don’t know how. I’m a grown mare, and I have no idea if I can.”

“It’s just growing up, Sugar Plum. And trust me, growing up is hard. But, the funny thing is, we never stop growing. Look at me, and Stellar Flare. Look at Sunburst. Princess Twilight. The Elements. Even Princess Luna, from what you told me. They all struggle with mistakes rooted in their past, but they grow from them instead of ignoring them, or feeling bad about themselves—because the latter? That doesn’t make what you did okay. Nor is fixing the present mistake and nothing more. That doesn’t fly in the long-term. Fixing yourself does, though. Changing. I cannot stress this enough, sweetie. It’s hard, but it really is as simple as that.”

“I don’t know if I can do that!” Starlight couldn’t take it anymore—the reality, the realness, how insurmountable a task this seemed. And after everything she did, was there any chance of changing the fate she set for herself? “I don’t… I just don’t know if I can.”

Starlight gasped; she was shaking, her forelegs, spine, everything was shuddering out of her control. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, staring holes into the space of bedding between Daddy’s hind legs. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Look at me, Dad. Look at me. Even now I can’t help how volatile I am. I can’t change that. How can I?”

Daddy fell forward from his bed, almost catching her gaze in the process. “Starlight, please look your father in the eye. You have nothing to be ashamed of with me.” It was difficult, but she trusted him enough to make the effort, to meet his sad, proud face. “There we go,” he murmured. “Look. I understand how you are, Starlight. You can’t help yourself from reacting with passion, that’s simply your personality. But what you can do is take measures to prevent it from coming out in a bad way. Ignore your fears, because you know those get you into trouble. Be empathetic to others first before confrontation, and that will steer you right, I think. No, I know it can. Because you can do anything when a personal stake isn’t on the line. That right there is your real power, Starlight. Not magic.”

Starlight’s hoof touched her horn, only to be pricked by a spiny stump. A useless, ugly growth—nothing she could think of would ever be so ironic.

“I know you don’t feel confident without it.” Dad took a step closer, the distance between them four feet. “Magic is just a tool, as far as I’m concerned. Your worth, though, runs much deeper than that.”

“But my cutie mark, m-my destiny—”

“Is just a symbol on your flank. You, my baby girl, have an understanding of the magic of friendship that I don’t think even Twilight fully realizes yet. Nor you for that matter. You help ponies, you can feel for them, even when you’re afraid of them. And whether you mean to or not, they understand you on a level that most ponies find comfortable.”

It’s… it’s just like what Sunburst said...

Starlight never broke her stare, neither did Daddy, who maintained a genuine, warm smile throughout all of that. It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t a veiled attempt to get her to stop whining—he was being sincere, as a father and a friend.

As had Twilight, and Trixie, and everypony else. What Dad just said made sense. Perfect sense!

“I’ve been horrible to everypony,” she heard herself for the hundredth time, “but this is the first time in years, maybe my whole life, where I feel like I can change something for the better.” Like she can smile, and she did, because Daddy did so with tears in his eyes. It was a sign. It had to be! “I just don’t know where to start—” Starlight stopped herself, stopped her doubts and fears.

The starting line stood before her.

Starlight fell forward from her chair, stopping a foot before her patient, kind, and understanding father. She didn’t deserve him, that much was obvious… but perhaps with time, she could feel good enough not to despair over how good her life really was.

Still is, actually. There’s still a chance to fix everything. I need to reach out and grab it without any doubts!

Dad grabbed her in a hug before she could act on this. Starlight let the dam burst at last. “I love you, Daddy! Thank you, I’m sorry!”

“I love you, too. My little ‘Light.”

“I was just so… so ashamed of what you would think of me. I couldn’t stand it,” Starlight snorted, “you knowing how badly I screwed up!”

“Oh, sweetie, I could never think that way of you. Especially when you’re a grown pony well-aware of a mistake when she’s made one.”

Starlight laughed and cried and snorted and blushed—her heart beating a little freer and less traumatically now. “I love you, Daddy.” She almost apologized for saying that twice.

His hug tightened, squeezing her heart into goo. “Love you more, Punky-Wumpkins.”

Starlight’s heart soared; she would never get tired of those nicknames, so long as they weren’t uttered in public, of course. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“On the contrary,” he said brightly, “when I heard from Stellar, about what you did? I couldn’t begin to tell you how proud I was! You’re… you are selfless, Starlight Glimmer. You really are.”

“N-no… I’m really not.”

“Yes, you really-really are,” he said a little forcefully. “I know you feel a little, oh, shall we say… ashamed of this debt-repayment narrative you’re running with. Whatever your reasons… your actions, Starlight, changed the impossible, and made ponies all the way in Hollow Shades fall to their knees and cry with relief, realizing Princess Twilight was safe for years to come.”

The thought of ponies moved in such a way…

Daddy added, beginning to stroke her mess of a mane, “You know, many of them were praising you like Celestia herself.” Starlight felt hot in the face.

When he pulled away, grinning, damp of face, Daddy grinned. “You look ready to pop, my dear. Shall I tell you who, specifically, was saying these things?”

“No, thank you,” Starlight laughed breathily, “I… it’s different, hearing the ponies back home act this way. But…” Something coiled round Starlight’s heart, slowly constricting it with every word: “But I kinda can’t bring myself to feel happy about it. I just can’t. Maybe it’s because of everything, but… Daddy, all I can think about is what I did to my friends. What I’ve been doing, to all of them.”

“Now that I’m not particularly proud of,” he said pointedly, albeit a tad lightheartedly.

This whole conversation was the closest he ever got to being dead serious, enough to drop his silly persona. Starlight hid her face in his shoulder. “Ugh, I know. Trust me, I hate myself doubly hard for this—”

“No. Nope.” Daddy broke away from the hug, depriving her of warmth, but she realized why as he pointed to the door. “No more hating or shame or any of that bull-pucky. You have a fine young mare named princess who’s been worried sick about you.”

Starlight didn’t need to be told twice. She did, however, need to prove to Dad just how much she needed to hear all of this, and loved him for it.

So she broke down her reservations, and swept in to peck him on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon, Dad!” she called back, galloping for the door.

“No running in hallways!” she heard him from the corridor. “You might slip and get a boo-boo!”

V.X - As Simple as That

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“I did not guide her all the way to her father.” Fizzle bowed, raising a foreleg. “Partly because I conclude that it would have gone no differently from our previous attempts, and mostly due to the likelihood of my silence doubling her anxiety.”

Her shoulders lifted and lowered, a subtle rhythm Twilight only noticed because she had finally finished. She hid it well, but Twilight knew how to read Fizzlepop after spending hours a day with her for the past month.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Twilight crossed her forelegs, draped over the bed’s side. “I know it’s hard, seeing her continuously fall apart like this.”

“We’re doing our best.” ‘But it isn’t enough,’ her spiteful tone implied.

“I know,” Twilight mumbled, ‘I don’t know if anything will be,’ suggested her pitiful tone. She offered a hoof, saying, “Rise, please, Fizzlepop.”

A shake of the head. One eye opened, pained as it cast a glance toward a wilted-ear Fluttershy and Pinkie before shutting again. “I’m worried she will do something drastic. Her despondence with Sunburst was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. She didn’t look scared or guilty, Princess. She looked like nothing, she looked hollow, and I—” Fizzle’s head shot up, keeping her body low as her eyes betrayed her own forlorn hope. “If I may… have permission to spend the day watching over her. Perhaps even the night.”

“She loves slumber parties.” Pinkie donned a cautious optimism, the kind that would uplift Twilight’s spirit at any other time. “Maybe Starlight wouldn’t think twice. Not with you, Fizzy, she’s been more open with you than any of us these past couple—”

“She won’t accept it.” Twilight stood, staring straight ahead, away from Pinkie’s hurt, Fluttershy’s deepening pity, Fizzle’s downcast eyes. “It’s not that she doesn’t trust you. Or even her friends. Starlight… knowing what I do now, it’s all but certain that she no longer trusts herself around anypony.” If Fizzle hadn’t tagged along with Sunburst and Starlight, she might have given in to Pinkie’s confidence.

“You’re right.” Fizzle had her eyes shut, muzzle lowered. “My friend is in as fragile a state as it is, and unlike her I know myself well enough to second guess how this would play out. I would try to make her feel better. Or talk about it. I would do everything I can to convince her that her fears are imaginary, but she would have none of it. It might lead to her saying something that would break out friendship, regardless of how I dress it.”

“You really think she wouldn’t listen if it came to that?” asked Fluttershy. “Even if you explained your feelings?”

“I…” Fizzle shook her head, her tall, wilted mohawk flouncing with the motion. “I don’t trust my ability to do that without being aggressive—something she doesn’t respond well to, clearly. Besides, it’s likely she’s already written off her friendship with Trixie and Maud. If those two didn’t bear such fresh wounds, I’d bring them over myself and tell them to abandon their hurt for Starlight’s sake. But Glimmer, she would have none of that. The effort would assuredly make things worse, I’m afraid.”

A soul-crushing silence took over, lasted for five seconds before it was too much. “So… that’s it, then.” Twilight swallowed the raspy bug in her throat before flapping away from her bed. She wished Spike wasn’t helping Rarity right now, she could use his wisdom. “Starlight won’t listen to anypony. She refuses to believe that we are worried about her, is convinced that she’s unsalvageable, and is more than content to avoiding ponies for the rest of her life, now. That’s it.”

“What?” Fluttershy hissed painfully. “What are you saying, Twilight?”

What she said replayed itself twice. I think I just wrote off Starlight as a lost cause. Twilight wanted to cry. She should. This was awful and horrible and mostly her fault for being a selfish Princess of Friendship in the first place. “I…” Her voice gave out as a squeaky wheel would. “I don’t know.”

This shouldn’t have been a surprise.

This should not have been that big of a surprise.

Twilight strode by, avoiding eye-contact with everypony. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Pink forelegs latched around Twilight and yanked her into a sweet-smelling warmth she lacked the heart to resist. “I thought it was a good idea,” Pinkie squeaked. “I really, really did. I’m sorry for making things—”

“No, don’t, please,” Twilight breathed, shutting her eyes. “If anypony’s to blame, it’s me for worsening the situation by not being honest with Starlight from the start.” I should have told her from the start. When I met her in my bedroom, I should have asked for her motives, why she was so calm about the whole thing. Twilight rolled her aching eyes toward the crystal ceiling of her bedroom. “I thought I was being respectful by not questioning her strength, when it was the most glaring warning sign in the world. I gave her a poor impression of what I wanted, and everything that followed was a result of this thoughtless, idiotic need to cleanse myself of any guilt! And I know, girls, I know we’ve spoken at length about why she did this, that it wasn’t me, that she was possessed by this crazy notion that she had been burdensome on my life. But… it’s a friend’s job to notice these troublesome signs before they fester as they have now. I think about her, and I can’t help but wonder what I should have done differently. What I should have said in all those times she prattled on about her mistakes and her guilt. Instead of saying, ‘you’re okay,’ ‘they’ve forgiven you,’ I should have met her halfway and opened a dialogue for her to talk. I should have proved to her that I was willing to talk instead of just telling her she could. But I… I didn’t want to be… weird. I didn’t want to be nagging, or make her uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have been so self-centered. So afraid. I should have realized all those times she thanked me, all those refusals to accompany us on our daily hijinks, all these signs indicative of something more, and I noticed none of them!”

“Oh, Twilight.” Fluttershy hugged her from the side, Fizzlepop flanking the other, pressing her broken horn in Twilight’s mane. She was in a cocoon of love—something nopony had ever given Starlight in all her years living here. She almost always pushed away hugs when they were initiated by somepony else—Starlight, that is. Twilight was a fool to write those off as her not being that kind of pony, embarrassed in private for assuming her new friend was as affectionate as the girls who became her special clique.

Twilight was so blind. She was so afraid. “I was a fool for taking on a student. I had no experience, no business trying to become the rock a troubled pony like Starlight so clearly needed.” She needed a professional, if such a thing existed for a pony existed. Desperate research after the Gourd Fest proved otherwise, but Twilight hoped in a miracle avenue that didn’t involve those witches.

And then a horrible thought stopped her cold.

She tuned in to Pinkie saying, “You’re amazing, Twilight. I think ya just need to pour your heart out to Starlight, all messy and sad like this. It’s honest, and she needs ponies to be honest with her, badly.”

Like she would even want to hear a word from Twilight now, ignoring her current state of mind.

“Um, Pinkie,” Fluttershy began, Fizzle finishing, “Perhaps, but now isn’t the time. Trust me, Princess,” she murmured, pulling away with big, glimmering eyes. “I’d love nothing more than to encourage this, but I’m familiar with her state of mind. She’ll do nothing but push you away, and you’ll push back with equal self-assurance that you’re in the right. It’ll be the brunch after the Gourd Fest all over again.”

Starlight hated herself. She always had and she only felt worse. “I’ve given her a month,” Twilight cried. “An entire MONTH! If we can’t talk now—!”

“She’ll be around tomorrow,” Pinkie quickly reassured. “Gives you two time to cool off!”

Twilight gasped a sob, massaging an ache well beyond her hoof’s reach. “I can’t stand the thought of her sitting there, all alone.” The thought of it, everything that happened… The horrible notion Twilight got about the witches returned to haunt her. “I can’t stand this anymore! If Starlight went and did something senseless—”

Fizzle rose. “Okay. Alright, I’ll go and—”

“What if she tries to see the witches again?” Pinkie held even tighter, as if that would prevent her from teleporting over. “What if she offers them something more to get us to forget about her?!” The thought was so terrible that she cried out. “Oh, gosh, what do we do? What can I do?”

Silence.

“What can I do, girls?!”

Horrible, crushing silence.

“Girls! What do I do?!” All eyes avoided hers, far away in useless thought. “I’m…” A pitiful sob slipped through. “I’m so lost. I’m lost if I lose her and I’m lost if I do nothing.” Did they even have anything anymore?

Did Starlight just hate her now? Was that what she thought underneath all those painfully awkward breakfasts and dinners?”

“I don’t—” Twilight gasped. “I don’t know…” Her breast heaved, her vision blurred. “What to do anymore, I don’t know anymore, I don’t, I don’t…” Nothing except cry, apparently. Twilight gave into it in full, especially as Fizzlepop abandoned restraint and nuzzled her behind the ear, and Fluttershy renewed her hug.

The Princess of Friendship, Twilight Sparkle: her life was saved by a friend who probably regretted it every waking moment, and hated herself for it.

What did she do to deserve these wings? These friends, this castle? Tutelage under Celestia herself?

If she couldn’t help this sweet, scared little pony now, if she never had in the first place…

“What good…”

“...is my life?”

https://youtu.be/yl8f2mWB6X8

Starlight staggered away from the tilting door to Twilight’s bedchamber. Something ached, something hard trying to get out. Breathing. She gasped, gasped, and gasped. I need to keep breathing.

I need to…

“I’m just so tired of all of this,” Twilight mumbled.

Starlight needed to leave. Right now.

She had come to apologize. How and with what, she didn’t even consider. She just galloped, chasing this fleeting hope that maybe, hopefully, everything could be solved in a single conversation.

She would drop on her knees, she had decided. I won’t be selfish anymore. I’ll face my fear and apologize! Upon reaching Twilight’s door, and hearing a low voice mumbling on the other side, Starlight had hesitated. How dare she barge in on them when they were having a moment?

But then Twilight started to cry. Horribly.

She was wailing. Starlight reduced her mentor and friend to this with her thoughtless, poisonous behavior.

And it didn’t stop. Only a moment, where she questioned the worth of her life like Starlight often had. She… she is upset with me. She is tired of me. And worst of all… most horribly of all…

She brought Twilight to her level. She made the Princess of Friendship feel as bad as the most broken pony in all of Equestria. And the only reason she didn’t tell Starlight to take a hike was because she was Twilight, and she never, ever would.

Starlight, too, didn’t know what to do now. She just stood there, gawking at the crying she caused behind the princess’s door, in the princess’s castle, which she lived off of for years and gave nothing but misery and hardship in return.

Go. Starlight’s hooves stood rooted to the carpet, tethered to useless, trembling legs. Was it hunger? Fear? Guilt?

Starlight should apologize.

But she would make things worse. She already thinks I’d go back to those monsters. Maybe I should—Starlight should go, that much was clear now.

But she wouldn’t move.

Twilight would never accept her just up and leaving like that.

If only there was another… Wait. Her heart stopped cold, a brilliant idea came to mind. If this is really it, if I’m really doing this, there’s only one way I can pull this off with none being the wiser—

A clap of thunder shot her to attention.

There was another, and another directly behind her, followed by another, and another, and another-nother-nother—Starlight whipped around, and was met with a Celestia-sized mountain of flesh, draped in a royal blue, with a handkerchief to match concealing what had to be a horrible mouth.

Hydia slammed her warty paws together, over and over and over. “dOn’T mInD mE,” she chirped. “JuSt EnJoYiNg ThE mOmEnT.”

Her eyes betrayed nothing, black, scab-edged pits betraying nothing. Starlight lacked the energy to feel horrified by the fact that she was numb to her appearance. Maybe it was after being groped by her sick daughters. Maybe it was the fact that she realized, once again, she was being a naive foal barreling thoughtlessly into what would’ve been another disaster.

“There isn’t going to be a moment,” Starlight informed her, assuming this conversation would be muffled to the rest of the world. “You heard her. If I barged in there, feeble apology in-hoof, she’d have thrown it back in my face for all the trouble I’ve caused her.”

Hydia spread her arms, heavy flesh nearly sagging to her waist. “HeY, aT lEaSt SoMeThINg StUCk FrOm DaDdY, pUnKy-WuMpKiNs.” Her teasing wobbled through the air, snaking round Starlight’s brain as though spoken directly in her ears.

“If you’re trying to make me feel embarrassed, you’re gonna have to try harder to make me care right now.” Starlight dropped her head, just to keep what little food she ate today—tea, that is—burrowed in her gut. “But, hey, you’re not wrong. Dad told me that I have the power to fix my mistakes, grow, and change. I came promising myself one thing: that I wouldn’t be selfish anymore. That’s not changed in the slightest, far as I can see.”

“oH? aNd WhAt HaS?”

Her reason for being here was all the more apparent. Starlight lifted her head, forced herself to look Hydia in her nonexistent eyes, as if she even needed them to see the gut-knotting terror shuddering down her forelegs.

“I-I’ve thought about this, for a while,” she said, swallowing her trepidation. “What you told me at Flutter Valley—you and your daughters, or whatever the heck you are, if you’re even a set of three, or one split into many, or something in between.” Hydia was still as a statue, palms upturned to the heavens, her heavens. “Part of me’s always expected this, but like always, I’ve fought hard to deny myself the reality of my mistakes. And it got to a boiling point that burned the ponies I still love, despite the deal we’ve made.”

Hydia’s arms lowered to her broad hips. “YoU’vE aLwAyS bEeN bRiLlIaNt WhEn It MaTtErS mOsT,” she echoed, almost sounding fond of Starlight’s blunderings. Sincere or not, her opinion was the last Starlight cared about.

“That’s right,” she said. “It finally clicked in my incredibly thick, hornless skull—’that which you treasure most,’ it isn’t my horn. Your daughters spoiled the surprise, I’m afraid. I thought they were lying for a while, hoped, really. But one thing you guys have been consistent on was your sincerity. And your knowledge. It’s cleverly worded, the things you share, but I suppose watching your victims squirm is part of the fun.”

“iT hAs ItS mOmEnTs.”

“Yep. I’m sure it does. But I’m not twisting in the wind anymore: it’s clear now, more than ever, what it is I traded in exchange for Twilight’s life.” Starlight almost said that she was happy about it, but she was done lying to herself, tricking herself. “I’m fine with it.”

“YeS,” hissed the monster, upturning a palm with the care one would give a glass statue. In an instant the glistening warmth of the corridor evaporated, the crystal mobiles’ prismatic luster dimming, plunging them both in an abyss Starlight’s gut felt at home within at once.

Only for the mottled, harsh topography of Hydia’s pocked face and hand to be bathed in a blinding burst of turquoise flame, wreathing a thick chain of thirteen links, each boasting a dull, specific color.

“OuR bUsIneSs Is FiNaLlY aT aN eNd.” With a clench of her fist, a link at the end, colored pink, shattered with a heartthrobbing twang. “bY dEsTiNy’S WiLL, tHe BoNd Is BrOkEn fOReVeR. aNd yOu WiLL oNlY kNoW hEaRtBrEaK tO tHe EnD oF yOuR dAyS.”

The shadows speckling Hydia’s hideous mug shuddered wildly.

Starlight’s heart thundered in her chest.

It hadn’t stopped since hearing Twilight’s words.

This was it. This was it.

She knew it was coming but she denied this outcome every day with. The only path now was forward, to a future she had no hope of changing, no matter how much confidence Daddy instilled in her, regardless of all the sweet words her friends lied about for her sake.

This was the reality, and it was happening, and had happened long before Starlight met Twilight, and this whole roller coaster of a life she loved so dearly had begun.

“Alright, then.” Starlight swallowed. “May I go now?”

And then Hydia did something Starlight never expected to see: she straightened, a flinch if nothing else. For a second, she had zero clue as to what was about to happen.

“YoU kNoW,” Hydia mumbled, “I’vE hAtEd PoNieS aLL mY lIfE. wItH eVeRy FiBeR oF mY bEiNg. yOu’Re PrEdIctAbLe. PeTtY. DeStRuCtAbLy cHiLDiSh At HeArT.” The flame dissipated, and the corridor returned to light. “BuT dEsPiTe HaViNg SeEn ThIs CoMiNg… I LiKe YoU, sTaRlIGht gLImMeR. yOu’Re GoInG tO dO fInE wOrK, i CaN tEll.”

Starlight shut her eyes, an ache blossoming beneath her broken horn. “Just get out of here already,” she mumbled.

There was no response.

And when she returned to reality, Starlight found herself alone.

She wanted to waste not a second longer setting things right. A final look back at Princess Twilight’s door brought tears to her eyes, and half a moment of hesitation, hope, regret, and finally, the hardening of her heart.

Time to make a trip to the Mirror Pool. Starlight bit her tongue as she broke into a hard gallop, bit even harder as she powering through the tired ache in her joints, the emptiness in her gut, the coppery tang in her mouth and the fragmented shards of her soul.

The memories of what she so thoughtlessly gave up to the Witches of Flutter Valley were not so easily ignored.

But Starlight was going to make things right, and she wouldn’t dare let herself shed tears over it.

Not a single one.

V.XI - Don't Look Back

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In the midst of the sun’s descent, Fluttershy mustered the strength Twilight sorely lacked, left her in Pinkie and Fizzle’s hooves, promising she would help Starlight.

Not to confront. Not to question, nor even comfort, hard as resisting would be (which would be very, very hard). But Starlight needed strong friends, honest friends, now more than ever, and that is what Fluttershy was going to be.

So... they were just going to talk. Honestly and openly. About whatever and wherever their conversation took them. Hopefully to an understanding, if Fluttershy played her cards right. She’d better. If it was an even bigger mistake to invite her father over…

Fluttershy couldn’t imagine herself wanting to say a word, not to anypony, in Starlight’s place. Not after hearing that terrible fight with her best friends.

Poor Trixie and Maud. Poor Starlight. Poor Firelight. Things would be different if Fluttershy just… She didn’t know. Never had in moments such as these. But if I’d done something against Hydia instead of sitting there, screaming…

Discord tried his best to eliminate these dark thoughts. He really did. And he succeeded, mostly. The fact that he didn’t completely squash them wasn’t a failure, but rather Fluttershy’s, her inability to help herself from wishing she was… more, she supposed.

Just more than weak and helpless Fluttershy, who stood up to a dragon but not some yucky flesh ball in a cloak.

The thought of being “more” for Starlight, whatever that meant, was actually sort of exciting. It infected Fluttershy with Pinkie’s unshakable optimism, steeled her soft little heart, brought her to the air. The thought of getting Starlight to open up without conflict, as was her specialty, brought Fluttershy whipping around corners like Rainbow Dash would.

Suddenly, she was in front of Starlight’s door. “Oh, my,” gasped Fluttershy, blinking as she dropped to all fours, one after another. “Was that a record?” Did she top her wbpm record from hurricane season way back when? Fluttershy shook her head, and knocked for what drove her to such desperate speeds.

No response. It was okay, though; it’s what she expected.

Fluttershy knocked again. “Starlight? Are you there?” she called. It was an invasion of privacy, but she put her ear to the door anyway, simultaneously thinking an apology in Starlight’s direction.

There was stillness, save the quickening beat in Fluttershy’s breast. “St—?”

“Sorry,” came a muffled, meek voice. “It’s unlocked.”

“O-okay!” The ease of this was, offensively, unexpected. “I’m coming in!” she announced out of politeness. With no response, Fluttershy shrugged. Her wing turned the knob.

She stepped through, into a dim bedroom, and froze cold.

Either side was black, bisected by pale golden light shining in through the one open window, gleaming around Starlight Glimmer like a halo, whose back was to her—a pink mass which curved slightly out, then dipped inwards, and rounded sharply around her flanks. Fluttershy smothered a gasp; Twilight had shed tears recounting how little Starlight ate nowadays.

A slight breeze wafted in, carrying a posie’s subtle grassy aroma and stirring her messy tangle of a mane. She was like a ghost.. In that chilling moment, above the horizon, the sun and moon passed one another, and the sky adopted a purpling tint.

“I’m sorry,” said Starlight, watching the display. “I can’t stand looking anypony in the eye right now. Deny it all you want, but I know inside you’re afraid of me freaking out again. You know I would. I know I would. That’s why you pretend you aren’t annoyed by me.”

Silence. Dumbfounded speechlessness was Fluttershy’s greatest possible response.

Until now, her mind raced with all the ways this conversation could go; how it probably would go if she slipped and let herself get emotional. There had been plenty of time for that already, following the quiet, crushing hours of Fizzlepop Berrytwist’s concerned recounting of the afternoon’s events (she called it a report, but Fluttershy had lived with enough predators to know what the tough-guy routine looked like).

Not a single thought anticipated Starlight just blurting out that which everypony suspected, and only Twilight had been brave enough to question twice: her lack of eye contact.

Until now, Fluttershy and by extension the rest weren’t confident as to why. Starlight had always avoided it like she did their eyes. Their judgement, she suspected in quiet.

“I know how you feel. I’ve always been afraid of ponies judging me, too.” Starlight didn’t budge. Fluttershy trotted forth on hoofsteps light enough to catch a mouse by surprise. “You know,” Fluttershy continued, halting behind Starlight as silver dusted the sky, “I, um, never told anypony this, but I was always afraid of making a fool of myself. I was afraid because I had done that constantly in flying school. I couldn’t help it, and the bullying made me afraid of trying other things. Things like singing and meeting ponies… and helping friends when they need me not to be so scared. And you know what? That ended up painting an image of me I thought I’d never get out of. Even my best friends, even Twilight, they’d assume I was naive and helpless without realizing it themselves half the time.” Fluttershy blinked, her mouth agape for half a heartbeat—a moment she realized just what she said, how much she said it, and, with a warming heart, to whom. She just knew Starlight wouldn’t judge her for this, that she would understand. “Thank you for hearing all of that without laughing. N-not that I thought you would! But, um, you know. Most ponies aren’t so empathetic like you.”

“You were able to reinvent yourself into a better version of you,” said Starlight. “I’m incredibly jealous of that. How petty, am I right?”

Fluttershy choked silently—it wasn’t quite Starlight’s usual casual approach to these things, she sounded like she didn’t really care either way. The pep in her tone, however forced it might have been at times, was gone.

“I’m sorry, but may I ask a question?” she asked, turning her head slightly.

Fluttershy took it as an invitation to sit beside her. Starlight returned to the black, rolling ocean of the Equestrian Central Glade, crowned in her namesake. “Of course,” she said. “You don’t have to apologize for that.” Starlight was silent. Fluttershy moved, hesitantly, and stroked her tree-stiff foreleg to no reaction. “I would love to just sit here and talk with you. It’s been so long, Starlight. I miss you.”

“I’m sorry.” Her muzzle lowered, forelock swinging partially beside her glassy-eye, hiding it. “I say that a lot these days. I’m sorry for that, too. But I am.”

Fluttershy inhaled and stopped short of a thoughtless assurance that it was okay, that she had nothing to be sorry about. As if Fluttershy ever believed her friends when her anxiety totally hadn’t made something worse.

“Friends forgive each other.” She wrapped a wing around Starlight, who inhaled sharply at the contact but didn’t recoil from it. “Twilight has, you know. I’m sure it’s hard to believe, but all she wants is to help you through all this negativity. She doesn’t care about being upset anymore. And we’re too worried to be mad either.” Starlight just stared as her breathing quickened, stared and breathed. Did Fluttershy say something—? ”You had a question,” she realized. “I’m sorry for changing the subject, Starlight. What was it you wanted to know?”

She bit her lip, attempting to speak. “F-Fuh-Fluttershy?”

“Yes, Starlight?” She squeezed her terrified friend tightly into her warmth, a pleading reassurance that normally worked on nervous critters. “I’m listening, I promise you, I’m listening.”

Starlight inhaled, but held it, mouth agape. Tears filled her eyes. And then, “Do you—?” she croaked, then cleared her throat. Quieter, Starlight resumed, “Did you, in all those years… did you ever feel, like you just wanted to… disappear?” Her eyes shifted to regard Fluttershy, huge with pupils no bigger than bread crumbs. “That you think it’d be better for everypony if you just… left their lives forever?”

A chilled, shaken breath pushed past Fluttershy’s lips, no words like she intended. Please don’t leave. “Only briefly, Starlight.” Please don’t leave. “Before Twilight came to Ponyville. I’d feel like such an embarrassment to Rainbow Dash, and Rarity and Applejack, even.” I know it’s hard and you tried a couple times already, but please, please don’t leave us like this. That won’t solve anything. The nighttime sky wobbled left and right. The words left her throat a feeble rasp. “They made me realize quickly how silly I was being, though. And even then I never paid these thoughts much mind, because I’d ask myself, ‘What about my responsibilities? My animals? I can’t just leave them, all alone and worried about me.’”

Starlight returned ahead, her eyes upturned to the sky, salted with countless stars.

“You know...” Fluttershy hesitated. Was this a good time to bring it up now? But for goodness sake, Starlight was talking about some very unsettling things. “I… sometimes, I would think about how awful my friends would feel if I left Ponyville altogether. No letter, not even an explanation. They would feel awful, and responsible, and I couldn’t bear making them feel as bad as I did.” It wasn’t a whole truth, but Starlight undoubtedly saw herself in this scenario. She had to, she was just like that.

Starlight, a vaguely detailed silhouette by this point, began to quiver, her chin trembling hard.

“Starlight—”

“That’s beautiful, Fluttershy.” A harsh sniffle carved through the silence, which reformed immediately as she continued, “I’m so, so happy you were able to change and learn to love yourself.”

“Oh, only because I had my friends to help me along the way. It took some time, and I’m still not perfect, but I owe what I’ve achieved to those girls.”

Starlight exhaled a long, damp breeze. “That’s nice,” she whispered. “That’s so nice.”

Fluttershy’s words came as quick as her building desperation. “It was. It’s wonderful. And you have that, too, Starlight. We all love you, and we’re worried about you.”

Starlight trembled. And that was all. Fluttershy didn’t loosen her hold, for fear she might get up and run away. Not a muscle twitched, however.

Not for the hour they sat together, and Starlight broke the silence with a meek, “I’d like to go to bed now.”

“Of course, Starlight. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

It took a second for her to nod, and it was barely perceptible. Fluttershy told herself she was being paranoid, to stop herself from interrogating the poor thing as she watched her climb into bed, as she bid Starlight goodnight.

She told herself this more than once the whole way to Twilight’s room.

Baby steps pathed the road to success here.

The book on something by who-cares fell from Twilight’s grasp as her bedroom door opened.

Twilight told herself to remain on the bed, to be calm, to not pounce on Fluttershy immediately as she finally pushed through the door.

She failed all three, though she loopholed the last by teleporting into the pegasus, for ten feet between her and the foot of Twilight’s bed felt too far for a three second flight. She’d been waiting an hour, dang it! Not even Pinkie could distract for so long, as she fell asleep curled up on a beanbag chair in the corner, confident in Twilight’s favorite past time distracting her hornet’s nest of a brain.

Twilight wasn’t in the mood to control herself a second longer for Fluttershy’s sake, though a guilty part of her wished she had as her gentle friend cried out, “Oh, my!” whilst falling on her butt, rolled unto her back, and gawked at Twilight, towering above.

“You’ve been gone an hour! Is she okay?” Fluttershy took a breath—”Is something wrong?!”

“Well, um, she—”

“Fluttershy! You’re one of my best friends and literally any other day I wouldn’t think twice about your speech patterns but please-please-puhleaaase cut the um’s and oh-my’s and just tell me how Starlight is!”

Her pegasus friend adopted a look unlike anything Twilight had seen from her before. In a cold, dead tone to match, she murmured, “Get off me first, please.”

Twilight still had the grace to blush. “Sorry,” she said, stepping carefully around Fluttershy’s splayed legs.

She feared that even Fluttershy had reached her limit with Starlight as she rolled over, rose, and turned without making a sound. “Now take a breath,” she instructed, just being the group caretaker and nothing more.

Twilight inhaled to her lungs’ limits and slightly beyond, only exhaling when Fluttershy expelled her fears with a feeble smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“She’s about as well as you’d expect, but I watched her get into bed for the night. She’s willing to see me, at least, tomorrow.”

Twilight staggered back a step. It was something. It was almost nothing, but it was something hopeful. “An-and what did you talk about, Fluttershy? Did she say anything out of the ordinary?” It felt awful, calling this the ordinary now.

“I don’t feel comfortable revealing specifics about a conversation I’m sure Starlight assumed was private,” said Fluttershy, frowning slightly. “But if you really want an idea, she was open and honest with me, at least for a few minutes.”

A few minutes? That shouldn’t have been as strange as the fact that Starlight was open and honest, seemingly from the get-go. “What were you doing for an hour?”

“Just sitting together, looking at the stars. She... seemed to be considering running away again. But I talked her out of it.” A surge of icy-hot pain surged up Twilight’s back, making her shudder, her wings ruffle. Fluttershy’s sprung in fear as she cried, “Twilight?”

“Fluttershy, think!” Twilight stressed, making her poor, trusting friend shrink. “If Starlight was truly so open, if she was considering running away again, and waited until you left…”

The cool confidence Fluttershy boasted a sentence ago shattered with one, heartbreaking look. “N-n-no! Sh-sh-she wouldn’t—w-we talked, I told her that—”

“It doesn’t matter what you said, Fluttershy!” They didn’t have time for this; Twilight ignited her horn, pure power groaning before her frontal lobe. “We know now that Starlight would do anything to avoid sharing her pain! How could you be so irresponsible?!”

She didn’t give Fluttershy a second to defend herself, which Twilight regretted, too. She regretted so much these days, and now her thoughtless mistakes might have cost her Starlight, and she cared about that more right now.

For she stood alone now in Starlight’s room.

“No.” When her eyes found the open window, Starlight’s crazy conviction in trading her life for Twilight’s hit like a noxious wallop to the belly. “Please, no, please, no, please-no-no-please—!”

Dozens of feet below, the expanse of what was technically their backyard bore no broken, twisted body of a once-horned unicorn.

Twilight cried out—screamed, really—with relief.

There was still hope.

Twilight imagined herself in Tempest’s den, and then she was.

And there she was, choking on tea with classical music groaning away on her phonograph.

“Sorry! Starlight ran away—gather as many ponies as you can and form a search party!” She only spotted a glimpse of Fizzlepop’s hollow expression before magenta flashed before her, giving way to the firelit warmth of her own bedroom.

A gasping Fluttershy was getting her back rubbed by Pinkie. On any other day Twilight would apologize profusely for scaring her so.

“Gather the girls, I’m going to look in all of her usual spots, she ran away.”

And so Twilight did, starting with the train station. When that was all she could logically think to look, sans Starlight’s close friends, Twilight appeared in Manehattan, for Rarity and Spike, then the Wonderbolt Academy for Rainbow Dash.

They returned to a town of tired but worried ponies, many of whom held lanterns in their mouths or magic.

It was every adult in Ponyville, save for Maud and Trixie, who were too remote to hear the commotion, and Sunburst and Firelight, who were completely forgotten about in the panic of it all. Twilight didn’t waste time entertaining the notion that Starlight would seek comfort in any of them.

She barely regretted brushing off everypony’s concerns, too many not understanding if Starlight was foalnapped or she just went on vacation without telling anypony. All that mattered, she told them, was that Starlight needed to be found.

It was only five minutes into the search before Flitter alongside her sister Cloudchaser cried out, “I see her! Over the hills to the north!”

“Starlight!” Twilight cried over the pop of magic. “Starlight, where are you going? Are you trying to leave us?! Leave… me?” she whimpered.

Starlight’s mouth dropped open with all the excuses she had, which were none, before quivering like a soda can about to explode.

Twilight stepped closer, reaching out, ready to comfort and console and tell Starlight she loved her and that she was sorry for everything. Starlight tripped out of range, her eyes skittering to the gathering pegasi above, Rainbow among them still in uniform. Twilight waved the intimidating sight off, but they either didn’t see or were too haunted by the look on Starlight’s face, and the disturbing circumstances, and probably Twilight’s disheveled mess off a state.

“I… I can’t do this anymore!” Starlight cried. “I’m sorry! I just can’t live here like this, I’m sorry!”

It pained to see her so terrified. It was agony to know she was driven to this because Twilight was too afraid to talk to her honestly. “Starlight, it’s-it’s okay, you’re okay.” She stepped closer to her friend’s utter terror. “Just… just come home with me, and we can—”

“I’m sorry,” Starlight whimpered before dissipating into a wisp of pink light that snaked east, toward the Everfree.

“What the—?!” Twilight choked.

“Cooome baaack, Starliiight!” Pinkie tore after the fleck of light, having been between Twilight’s gathering fliers and Ponyville. The dumbstruck pegasi zipped after her after a bark from Rainbow.

Twilight already knew what it was, and her legs lost all strength, so suddenly, that she crumbled to the grass, watching half of Ponyville vanish into the dark forest, one by one their lights flickering between the murky treeline.

It had been years, but that magical wisp, its origin in the Everfree, the signs were unmistakable. We sealed it though, how could she have gotten through?

How could she have gone and tricked them like this?

Where was she now?

“This can’t be happening,” Twilight breathed. “This isn’t real.”

But it was the realest nightmare she’d had in weeks: Starlight Glimmer, at last, ran away from home.

“Next stop, the Crystal Empire!” called the conductor.

What a long train ride. Starlight was finally where she wanted to be. The moustached stallion stopped her by casually barring the way out her car.

“Miss, it’s constant winter out there and you don’t even have a scarf,” he said. “The Crystal Empire is where you want off, this here is just a junction at the Frozen North’s border. There’s naught but mountains, snow, and beasts even Celestia herself isn’t entirely aware of.”

But no ponies. And there were caves to keep warm. And green valleys nestled behind the highest peaks for her to graze on, until she reached the edge of Equestria and crossed beyond.

I’ll be lost forever if I look back.

Nopony would be around for her to ruin, or worse, recognize her. “This is exactly where I want to be, sir. So, please, let me off.”

After a few moments, he lowered his foreleg and stepped aside. Of course he didn’t care enough to argue further. Starlight was, after all, the customer, and this guy was more concerned with what he’ll do when he finally gets home than some suicidal mare.

“Last chance to change your mind,” he said.

An appealing thought. But I’ll be lost forever if I look back. Starlight stepped out into harsh winds and blinding white bullets of cold.

“Good luck, ma’am, with whatever it is you’re doing here,” he called out, tipping his cap.

The train left.

Starlight, at last, had done something selfless for the good of everypony.

End of Act V (Kindness): The Broken Teacher

(Magic) The Broken Bond - VI.I - We Can Still Fix This

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“I was afraid I might go back to the pony I used to be. But I realize that, sometimes, you don’t have a choice. You have to step up. And I have changed! I can handle it.”

Magic

The Broken Bond

Starlight’s gone.

She ran away.

She ended all her friendships.

I wasn’t a pony she could talk to honestly.

Starlight’s gone because of me.

She’s alone because of me.

She’s suffering because of me.

I don’t deserve this castle, these wings or these friends.

I don’t deserve her happiness, her horn, or a second—

A crash of thunder rolled overhead. The front doors. Someone must have forgotten to shut them. Fizzle must have seen and slammed them with all her might—she’d left upon realizing Starlight had been long-gone.

That she’d left hours ago.

Twilight left her for hours instead of comforting her after such a horrible fight with Maud and Trixie, preferring instead to fester in her own guilt.

Was Starlight so different? She, like Twilight, believed themselves to be acting in the interests of others, when the town’s worth of crestfallen, saddened ponies said otherwise. It made Twilight think, would she end up like Starlight down the line? Was she ready to carve out her wings as recompense for this surreal nightmare?

The thought sent prickling-hot terror surging down her legs, hitched her breathing. Goodness, no. What would her friends think?

A second, even more chilling though, struck Twilight: Was that the one thing keeping Starlight in my home? A slew of others galloped forth, a byproduct of an analytical brain juiced by pressure of society expectations: Was it after losing her horn, or even longer? Did believing she lost those friendships egg on this behavior? Could we’ve done more to lessen these fears? Did our avoidance exacerbate them?

Twilight clenched her teeth, swallowing despair, refusing to let it out.

Muffled hoofbeats erratically pummeled the silence, dogging Twilight as she led them… somewhere. Wherever this corridor took them, her hooves walked them. Who knew, who cared? There was nothing left them, nothing but the gutted feeling Starlight left behind.

Why did they still follow? Why her? Why was she worth so much to Starlight—?

“Twilight.” Spike, soft of tone, pat her barrel. “Twi, somepony came into the foyer.”

She didn’t hear what he said. She did, but she wasn’t listening. It was probably important. “Okay.” Twilight glanced behind her, where five pairs of eyes pointed to the floor, as ruddy as dying coals with about as much luster. Rainbow wasn’t even flying. Pinkie’s mane hung heavy, a greyed curtain.

Exhausted. Heartbroken. Regrettable. These were the words a foal would use to describe their faces, but a surface level was all Twilight could manage before focusing on the crystal maze ahead, pushing their pain out of mind for the sake of competently leading them to wherever she was going.

A soft flutter of gasps resurfaced behind her. “I can’t believe she’s gone… If, if I just—”

“Consarnit!” Applejack had demanded back outside, then she asked. Now, she begged Fluttershy, “Quit fussin’ about it, t’ain’t nopony’s fault! She chose to move on, for corn’s sake, nopony made that girl leave!”

“Have a little heart, Applejack!” Rarity, as furious about it as she was, and just as heartbroken as Fluttershy, kept herself confined to ladylike weeping. “We don’t all boast a heart of stone, you know.” Those two were the only ones who cried audibly, and stopped upon completing what felt like a years-long journey to the castle.

“S’not like she’s buried six feet under. Y’all’re actin’ like she’s gone-gone.”

Fluttershy’s crying became wailing. Twilight wanted to join her, to just sit down and let loose, but her hooves wouldn’t stop moving, and if they did they might never move again. Rarity scoffed. “Must you be so insensitive?!”

“I ain’t tryin’ to be! But that pony’s been one tangled ball o’ demons since the day we met ‘er. I love our friend, I really do. But the day she slandered our good will was the day I realized that this was only a matter o’ time. She hated bein’ here, gals. Hated our efforts, hated the imaginary manure she’s been shoveling about us to justify it… She wanted out. It stings. Stings like nothin’ else, not since Ma and Pa passed. But this’s just like that time. My advice? These things happen, and it’s easier for everypony the quicker you move on.”

Nopony objected. Fluttershy snuffled her cries. And then, a soft, squeaky little voice piped up. “Starlight hurt badly enough to wanna hide her feelings, too.” Pinkie’s, it had to be, albeit as sharp as used sandpaper. “Look where she is now, Applejack.”

“Somewhere alone and despising herself.” Muffled hoofbeats followed Twilight’s uplifting remark, or perhaps Applejack was disquieted by Pinkie’s haunting allusion, and the rest submerged into reflection.

What a mess. They were a mess. “Twilight Sparkle!” Starlight was a mess, and she left with the intention of never, ever being found. Nothing was going to be right again, Twilight couldn’t see herself ever forgetting this. “Hey! I’m talking to you, Princess!” How would she carry on with her duties, pretending her disastrous attempt at healing Starlight wasn’t hanging overhead?

“Twilight,” Spike muttered with a pat. Startled, she realized he kept in pace, never letting his claw leave her side. But he stared behind them, alongside everypony else, to where Trixie stood at the corridor’s threshold. Baggy eyes and a star-spangled nightcap suggested she appeared straight from bed. But who told—?

Maud. Arriving last by virtue of her “Maud Sense,” she was truly speechless after Twilight broke the news to her, but far from emotionless—her eyes wide, disbelieving, didn’t lessen as she simply turned and left. Pinkie was little more than a fly to her after that.

She couldn’t believe what she heard, yet she didn’t question it once, or object to it either. Notions which hurt, but Twilight would be lying if she said she didn’t feel the same. None of us are surprised.

But it hurt, worse than anything Twilight felt before.

“I said,” Trixie told the heavens, “How DARE YOU STAND THERE LOOKING SORRY FOR YOURSELVES, when STARLIGHT IS OUT THERE, feeling HORRIBLE AND ALONE?!”

Six pairs of weepy eyes turned to Twilight. I guess I have to say it. Sighing, her bones screaming, heart wailing, Twilight’s hooves dragged her towards Trixie. “You’re more than welcome to prove that dedication to her yourself.” She stopped between Rainbow and AJ.

Trixie snarled, stomped the carpet. “For Celestia’s sake, you’re not even going to try?”

“I’ve tried for weeks,” said Twilight, enunciating every word. “I’ve done everything I could think of. The reality is Starlight’s done now, with this, us, I suppose her life here, too.”

Trixie knit her brows. “So, that’s it, then? You’re just writing her off as a lost cause?”

“She did for you. For all of us.” Twilight groaned, shutting her eyes as an ache blossomed beneath her horn. “I don’t have the will, the energy, the anything to spar with you right now, Trixie. I’m done. I’m done. Understand?”

Trixie closed her parted lips. Eyes glistening, she said, “I don’t, if I’m being honest. Starlight consulted a ridiculous foal’s story, was lucky enough to have her crackpot theory confirmed, all so she could save your pitiful self. I can’t believe you’re giving up on her after that.”

It felt like Trixie was right, but Twilight felt horrible as opposed to apathetic. She loathed herself to the last atom, hearing that.

She still cared. And part of her hated it, the waste of energy and tears. The rest screamed Starlight’s name, her memory, her smile and her laugh, her sacrifice, her fears, the thought of how awful she must have felt, right now and earlier—to be driven to this level.

Twilight forgot all the rules of social politeness, and screamed for Trixie Lulamoon to shut the hay up. “I have not! I will never forget about Starlight, nor would I give up on her if there’s even a chance of getting her back! But we live in reality, Trixie. And in reality she left us without so much as a letter. Not even a goodbye. Not to me, and certainly not to you. She had a ridiculously honest clone take her place, as if I’d have never realized it after one conversation! This is the reality, Trixie: Starlight is somewhere out there, feeling awful, yes, and yes, completely alone… and she, who felt like a burden on you and me and everypony who knew her name, wanted it that way. That was preferable in her mind than us spending our time caring about her.”

“But we do! We do care about her! How can she think otherwise?!”

“That, I’ve been wondering for about a month. I really, really have. My best theory, my only theory, is Starlight didn’t think so. And the reason for that, at its core, is we made her feel this way. All of us. And we tried to help, but our good intentions were, at best, scripted lines she didn’t allow herself to buy. I’m sorry, Trixie. This was the end result of our efforts—we didn’t understand Starlight, and our hubris, our fear of that reality, blinded us to the signs that she was, and always has been, a dark and troubled pony.”

Still as stone Trixie stood, lips parted and trembling. “You,” she breathed, “you shut up right now…”

“Scout every corner of Equestria if you want, you certainly have the freedom to do that and I encourage it. If nothing else, it might prove to Starlight just how much you care about her.” Twilight exhaled. “But I’m just done, Trixie. I have nothing left in me, no room for tragedy, no more heart left to break, as melodramatic as that sounds… I’d just go crazy if I put myself through more. And that would do nothing but make her feel worse.”

Sniffling, Trixie held her head up high. Technicolor stars from the crystal mobiles strung about glittered in her eyes. “Lucky for all of us, the Great and Powerful Trixie is severely lacking in the sanity department.” Twilight didn’t get a chance to process that before she vanished in a flash of pink light.

“Trixie…” Whatever she had planned, Twilight hoped her unbelievably strong spirit would persist if she failed. It’s no wonder she and Starlight made such a strong pair.

A prickling, blurring sensation overtook her vision. Twilight whirled, stormed ahead, eyes squeezed shut. “Go home, girls.”

Rainbow scoffed. “Yeah, right.” They followed, refusing to leave alone Twilight like this, or perhaps they themselves didn’t want to be. Neither did Applejack—it was telling.

Either way, Twilight was thankful. She would set beds, but perhaps a warm “cuddle puddle” was sorely needed.

So Twilight walked. She didn’t know where, but it wasn’t the place she spent most of her time instead of Starlight’s bedroom, or even her door.

Oh, gosh. A cry exploded forth, and her legs paddled in a full gallop. What am I going to do about her bedroom?

“Uh, why are we here?” It was as much a bafflement to Twilight as it was to Spike.

“There ain’t no mission we gotta go on, right?” So what if they did? And when has Applejack ever begrudged hard work?

“Is… is it possible you can find Starlight via the Map, Twilight?” asked Rarity. “Is that why you brought us here?”

Rainbow spat laughter. “That thing’s never been helpful! You think it’s suddenly gonna do something for us now?”

“It’s worth a try if nothing else,” said Fluttershy. “Maybe… I don’t know, maybe the Elements could work, if there isn’t a spell Twilight can use?”

“Yeah, I think I got a ‘rainbow laser’ in me,” said Pinkie. “That’s what we’re doing, right? Rainbow lasering it? Those are at the Tree of Harmony, Twilight. We gotta get ‘em, first.”

A buckball-sized lump refused to go down. Nothing Twilight could say felt sufficient, or worthy of their dedication; even now, they clung to hope more so than her. Yet, some part of her still approached the crystalline double doors. Is my subconscious desperately trying to save Starlight?

The smooth, gleaming doors parted suddenly. Twilight’s mane stirred from a sudden draft, flowing towards where Rainbow appeared before her bolt-emblazoned throne.

“Hold your horses, Dash,” said AJ.

She shook her head. “Can’t,” she rasped, clearing her throat, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Trixie’s right.” Rainbow laid her hooves upon the Cutie Map’s smooth surface. “Starlight would move mountains for us. Yeah, she’s made a big stupid mistake, but who hasn’t? We suck just as hard.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Rarity muttered, Pinkie adding at equal volume, “I would, personally.”

“And even then, Starlight’s loyal to the core,” said Dash. “And I’m not gonna roll over and accept that she’s just gone forever without a fight. So, Twilight, do your thing!” But Twilight didn’t have a—”Girls? Are you with us?”

I don’t have a “thing!” A small, cheering army rose up behind Twilight, enveloped her in words and warmth as marched ahead, taking place at their respective thrones. A warm, gentle weight lingered on her back, combed her mane.

“Trust ‘em, Twi. Whatever you had planned, it’s worth a shot,” said Spike. The girls nodded, every one of them smiling despite the pain radiating from their eyes.

Waiting.

For her to do her “thing.” Her brilliant, well-thought-out “thing.”

Rarity’s face fell. “Twilight, darling?”

“Is something wrong?” Fluttershy approached two steps.

Following her their hope died, one after another. Twilight couldn’t bear the sight, the thought that she gave them false hope. “I… I’m sorry, girls. I don’t actually have a thing.”

“Twilight,” started Rainbow.

“I don’t even know why I brought us here!”

“Yo, Egghead!”

“What?!” Twilight slapped a hoof over her mouth.

Rainbow either hid it well or she didn’t care that Twilight just snapped. “Don’t start. Don’t even. Start. There’s no way I’m gonna become a sad-sack like when you got sick.”

Rarity flicked her full, gleaming mane. “Nor will I. Trixie’s conviction has moved me. I don’t plan on spending the rest of my evenings upon my Fainting Couch, regretting not having done more when Starlight surely would have.”

“And me neither!” said Pinkie, her mane beginning to curl. “We’ll spend the next forever or two looking far and wide for that silly-filly!” A short, sharp gasp. “I’ll bring snacks!”

“I’ll help, too.” Fluttershy propped herself upon the table. “Though I hope none of you mind me having to leave to feed my animal friends, or if I bring a critter or two back with me.”

“Aw, shoot.” Applejack flicked her stetson up, her eyes bright and green. “The more the merrier. I’ll lend a hoof on the ground, round up some folk when we got a direction to go in.”

What did they think they were going to do here? “You girls do realize I don’t have a plan, right?” And even if she did… the Map wasn’t going to be of any help.

“Why so hopeless?” Rainbow cried. “You heard all that destiny malarky Starlight was spouting! How can we just accept that this is the end? That we walked here for no reason?” Twilight couldn’t believe anypony, let alone Rainbow, was the one making the most sense out of this.

Every instinct, every ounce of logic, was screaming for Twilight to turn around and go to bed. But the weight on her back was gone, Spike sprinted ahead, and shouted “For Starlight!” The girls echoed his cry. They were doing this, and without her wasn’t an option.

It wasn’t.

Not to them.

And not to Twilight.

She appeared beside him again in a literal flash. Before them, a glorified table.

This was ridiculous. And crazy.

So was Starlight. And Twilight. Pinkie, Rainbow, Rarity could be called such. Even Trixie, Maud, and Sunburst. Firelight. Tempest.

So many ponies who would go to any length to help Starlight, forgive every transgression a non-friend would hold against her. They loved her and, though she demonstrated it an occasionally twisted way, she loved them on a level incomparable. It was high time they repaid her in full.

The key must have lied in the table that never helped, not once. That was its purpose and theirs, right here and right now. For when there was a great need, a friendship that needed fixing…

“Please.” Twilight had nothing else to give, to do, but lay her hooves upon the frigid surface. “I never asked for anything from you. Not once. I’ve done everything you needed me to, and I ‘ve done so wholeheartedly, without complaint.” What was she even speaking to, if not the witches? Twilight refused to dwell, because Starlight was out there alone and hating herself. “But now, just this once, I need you. Do this one thing for me, and I’ll… I’ll never hide my fears again.”

“Please.” Pinkie braced herself against the Map. “Let us have our friend back. I Pinkie Promise I’ll do the same,” she added under her breath, going through the motions.

“She doesn’t deserve what she’s enduring as we speak,” said Rarity, adding a daintily-placed hoof. She swallowed audibly. “Least of a soul far more generous and less judgemental than one such as I.”

Fluttershy practically slammed both forehooves and her wings as well. “I’ll never let my fears control me again.”

“And I’ll give my danged back-left if you swindlin’ freaks are listenin’ now.” Applejack pinned her stetson upon the table with chilling conviction.

A feeble chuckle from Rainbow, and a smirk to match. “I’ll take that offer and raise ya two wings.”

“Starlight’s gonna be so mad about this,” chuckled Spike. “But who cares, right Twi?”

From side to side, six fragile smiles beamed warm upon Twilight’s heart. “Everypony...” All of these sacrifices they were willing to make, despite how grim and impossible the odds felt. “The magic of friendship has never let us down, something I lost sight of in my throes of self-pity—”

“Twilight, add your hooves to the friendship moment already!” Pinkie cried. Chuckles arose all around, even fluttering in Twilight’s breast.

She found her hoof already upon the Map. “I want her to make the decision,” said Twilight, to the nodding of her friends, “knowing full-well that we love her, that we always have, and that she has nothing to fear from us. Nothing to doubt. I’ve been trying and failing to keep her in our good graces, when I should have focused on what Starlight truly wanted. Not I. Whether she returns home or not doesn’t matter to me. I just want Starlight to love herself—because she’s more than worthy of that if nothing else.”

And the Map answered, expelling a gust of magic, bellowing as great as a whale. Blossoming from the center, light formed a bed of mountains, plateaus, townships and rivers—Equestria. Witches or not, Starlight was somewhere in their domain, and someone was helping them.

Someone was helping them!

Twilight held her breath as the image flickered against its efforts, as if struggling to remain awakened in some desperate bid against destiny.

“Uh, has it ever done this, y’all?” said Applejack, keeping her hooves planted.

As did Fluttershy, wings and all. “Oh, wait!” she cried. “Look! I think I see words forming.” Indeed, the Map’s image became less with every shuddering beat, letters appearing in its place instead.

“Well, what’s it say?” Rainbow cried, swaying left and right. “I can’t read it from this angle.”

“Uh…” Applejack scratched her mane. “‘Somethin’-you.’ What’s that first ‘un mean, ya reckon? Ain’t that Old Ponish?”

“None that I’ve ever seen.” Twilight had a pretty good idea what it meant, though, and even who it was from.

In proud, gold letters, the Map presented the words, “FUCK YOU.”

Then the magic went dark.

Rounding a corner nearly brought her muzzle to muzzle with Firelight, his face twisted in fury, glowing not solely from the luster of his horn. “Excuse me, Princess,” he snarled, his suitcase settling down. “I appreciate your hospitality but it’s best I’d be on my way.”

A mare roared from down the hall, “How can you not even care?!” Fizzle came storming into view, teeth gritted as a starved carnivore’s, fighting for the sake of it. “Your own daughter, fleeing without a trace! And you have the nerve to suggest she’s in a healthy state of mind?!”

“I said no such thing!” Firelight snapped, throwing his voice down the hall. “But I will not accept an insult to her mother’s name from a pony so selfish she didn’t once consider the lives ruined in her quest for contentment! You are in no place to judge, kiddo.”

Fizzle towered directly over the dauntless father, living up to her namesake with eyes piercing her dark disposition. “I did consider them, and I didn’t care. That’s the difference between your backstabbing foal and me.”

Firelight smirked. “No, sweetums. The difference between you, the one that matters, is my Starlight cares who she’s hurting, even when she’s wrong about it. Not because she’s angry at a world she has more reason than you to despise.”

“You dare—?”

“I can, I will. She empathizes, an alien concept to you, clearly, but that’s not to say I misunderstand your pain.”

“You understand nothing.”

Twilight reached for Firelight. “Tempest—”

“I feel just as betrayed, just as confused, and angrier than you can even imagine.” He stepped out of range. “Believe it or not, I feel the same as you, right now. I’m not blaming her, though, and I can tell that you only want to. You failed her, as have I. But I’m not looking for someone to pin the blame on.”

She grit her teeth. “You’re weak. You pathetic old stallion—”

“Tempest, that’s enough!” Rarity cried, and was ignored.

“—you’re too feeble to level your daughter with punishment. Probably never have. No wonder she listens to nopony.”

“Ah, see? Now you’ve moved back to blaming my parenting.” There was unimaginable pain behind his wobbling smirk. “I feel for you. I truly do. To have walked the path you have must’ve entailed quite the lonely foalhood.”

“Get out of here!” Tempest’s forehooves thundered down the hall, rattled Twilight’s heart. “When it comes down to it, you’re the reason she’s like this! Think about that as you return home to your comfy, stable life, you conceited mule of a pony!”

Firelight nodded, then turned to regard Twilight and the others. “I’m so sorry,” she said. Nothing change how this turned out, or lessen the pain Firelight was feeling, or make up for their responsibility in all of this.

A hoof firmly clapped her on the shoulder. Surprised, and even more so, Twilight found Firelight had donned a smile. “You’re all wonderful ponies. You might not think it now, but you gave my little Starlight the greatest years of her life.”

“How can you tell?” Pinkie muttered.

His eyes twinkled. “She never left Ponyville without a friend until tonight. And if that’s not enough, when we spoke earlier—” behind him, Tempest’s face wrenched with pain and frustration; these had been speaking for a while about a great many things, clearly, “—she wouldn’t stop talking about her friends. How they’ve tried, and what she did to them… she cared about you more than she did herself. Please, if she doesn’t ever come back then, please, don’t sour her memory thinking she couldn’t care less. You were her entire world.”

Twilight couldn’t think beyond how angry she felt, couldn’t feel beyond the roaring pain in her chest. Firelight’s words struck her deep like a shot of Starlight’s magic during their countless duels, deadly accurate but ten times more painful than their lost and hurting friend would ever allow in the heat of battle.

“She wouldn’t have left like this,” seethed Tempest, “if what you’re saying is right.”

Firelight cast a pitying glance over his shoulder, and leaned close while pulling Twilight toward him so he could whisper, “This one has a lot to learn about friendship, your highness.”

Twilight gasped, pulling away. “I wish we could have been worthy for her.”

Firelight huffed pityingly, moving to dry her tears. He had a fatherly touch. “Don’t think like that. You were more than enough for her.” Not an ounce of resentment colored his words. He was truly Starlight’s father.

Twilight tried to obey his one request. She really, really did, with all her might. But a guilty sob burst forth. “I miss her so much.”

“I know she feels the same.” Twilight wasn’t certain of that, but she wouldn’t voice such a baseless, emotion-fueled assumption. With silence reigning, Firelight released her shoulder. “I have to gallop, ladies. Sorry to say.” His suitcase floated beside him. “I got a train to catch, and a life to return to.”

“Hey.” Fizzlepop held her head high, her eyes glistening with frustration. “You’re only content because you know she’ll always have you. Think about that on your way home.”

Twilight was ready to scold her bodyguard, was going to, if Firelight wasn’t smiling as he shook his head. “I’m content because my daughter made a decision that would bring peace to herself down the line. I’m sorry if I come off as uncaring of your heartache, ladies. Believe me when I say that I know how you feel. I know what it’s like to feel responsible for her choices, and then angry, both at yourself and her.” Tempest glared aside as he regarded her. “All I ever wanted for Starlight was for her to be happy, and if this is what it takes then I have no choice but to accept it and hope that she is.” He returned to Twilight. “I hope you see it that way, too. One day.”

Twilight couldn’t think, only feel. Angry and regrettable and hollow altogether: Firelight was a better friend of Starlight than she could ever hope to be. The best Twilight offered was a tight, wing-encompassing embrace. “Have a safe ride home, Firelight. I hope so, too.”

Nodding one last time, they watched as he left in a hurry. Twilight’s concern and hurt stretched beyond her own as an icy presence lingered behind them. Fizzlepop hadn’t moved a muscle, head turned away, except for her muzzle having tilted to the floor, eyes wrenched shut.

She was incredibly vicious and rude to Starlight’s father. But she was hurting on a level even Twilight could barely comprehend: she lost the one and only friend who truly understood her, and was thrown aside once again like she was nothing. “Fizzle—”

“Don’t you dare call me that. Never again.” Twilight didn’t see the blue of her eyes again as Fizzlepop turned around marched off. “I’ll be in my quarters. Don’t hesitate to see me if the matter is urgent.”

In a wasteland speckled with patches of brown, dying grass, Starlight collapsed, her belly groaning and caved into her barrel.

Those who spectated her giggled among the howling winds, delighted to have finally reached this point.

“T-T-Twi-light!” Pinkie cried. “Your heinie is glowing!”

“Huh?” Twilight could barely hear.

“It’s your cutie mark!” said Rarity. “The Map, i-it’s—!”

Sparkling. Humming. Against logic and the crushing force within her chest, something uplifting surged within Twilight, through her horn, and brought forth images of that not-useless table.

With this image in mind, and those of her friends beside her, Twilight brought herself and her friends to the Cutie Map. She forgot to close her eyes as the flash of magic blinded her.

“No way,” she heard Rainbow breathe, spots of lilac still fading from Twilight’s eyes.

“But why now?” said Applejack.

Two starbursts encircled one another endlessly above an icy plane nestled within snow-bearded mountains.

“I’m sorry, girls.” Twilight had nothing of value to add. Nothing more to do. Nothing except teleport to the Frozen North, to where a magical beacon of sorts signaled her to Starlight Glimmer’s blinking cutie mark. “I’m sorry, but I have to—”

“Go.” Pinkie smiled weakly, color returning to her curling mane once more, albeit slow and hesitantly. “We’ll see you girls real soon.”

“But I wanna—!” Applejack touched Rainbow’s flared wing, lowering it but not her apallment by this cruel development.

“I do, too,” she said. “I sure as shoot wanna tag along. But they need to more, I reckon.” One by one, they regarded the Cutie Map, and met Twilight with reassuring smiles.

She loved them all so much. “We’ll be back soon,” said Twilight, approaching them for one last group hug.

VI.II - The First Lesson

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Spasms shuddered all over, wracking Starlight horribly yet it was the only thing she felt through what must have been a frigid, sodden coat of wool.

Numb. She was numb. I’m numb and I can’t move. Did she even have legs anymore? If she were to lift her head, would they be frozen black and hardly recognizable?

Who knew? Who cared? Starlight couldn’t do that if she wanted to.

I’m gonna die here. I am. A blanket of filth in the sky hung precariously close, it seemed, suffocating Starlight, pinning her in this creeping, pallid burial mound. Sheets of freezing needles whipped overhead, their sting abated long ago. Or maybe it was moments?

Moments, she decided. Almost forgot… snow piles up fast around here.

And it piles up heavy.

And wet.

Cold, too. So cold it invoked memories of hot chocolate, hot tea, hearths ablaze and reading with Twilight, swaddled in robes and blankets.

She’s probably hates me by now. If she’s even figured it out. The clone wasn’t exactly a perfect copy, but it wasn’t meant to be. Kind of. Who knew? Who cared? After all, the Starlight Glimmer Twilight was misled to know was a completely different pony now.

It shouldn’t hurt so badly now. An ache tried to claw its way out—like a parasite that never, ever died. It only slept, lulled like a false sense of security when Starlight would be too ignorant of her propensity to make a foal of herself.

Sudden cold surged forth, an icy shadow overtaking over her brain, making everything flash a white even brighter than before. Spasms overtook her, Starlight’s bones screamed, as did she: a feeble groan, drowned out by the eternal roar of the Frozen North. Stop shaking. Get up. Her useless body trembled. It had to be a stampede of Hydia-knows-what, except the cold sinking its icy fangs into her bones spoke an obvious truth.

Starlight often missed those, all throughout her life.

Perhaps this would be the last time.

No.

NO!

I have to keep moving!

I… Her legs wouldn’t move, pinned by the blizzard. I have to though.

But what was the point? There was nothing in this frozen wasteland. The valley of rolling green hills was buried in snow, the grass that wasn’t coming in patches so sparse that the lone mouthful she managed went down like a rock, and she couldn’t stand the agony of sudden sustenance. Refusing that dinner roll Dad had offered felt asinine in retrospect. As did a great many things. But refusing to eat because she couldn’t stand the act was stupid if living was still, at the very least, a base motivation.

I never think things through.

Lying here felt easier, and all the more enticing. Starlight was only going to fail again, hurt others, if she made it through this. So, why bother? Her destiny was to know heartbreak to the end of her days.

What a stupid plan. Unless a miracle fell upon her silver platter, as they often did, this was the end of the road.

At least Twilight had lived in the end. I’m fine with this. A calm bloomed warm throughout her core. I hate this, but I’m fine with it.

I’m here because of my choices, after all.

Never looked for that geography textbook’s publication date. Or background checked the author. Any idiot with a quill and a bit of social pull can get their drivel on the market. A greater curiosity was how Twilight accepted material so clearly out of date.

Maybe it wasn’t anypony’s fault, and Starlight was still looking to shovel more blame. Hydia and her brood could’ve willed this storm to have a laugh. Or mark a fitting end to the Hilariously Tragic Life of Starlight Aurora Glimmer.

Heck, maybe it wasn’t even them, not directly. Maybe she lured some windigos herself, another primeval myth drudged into reality thanks to her ignorance.

Most interesting was the fact that she cared enough to think about it at all. Is my brain distracting me from the fact that I’m dying? Thinking had always been her form of coping, regardless if it was a healthy kind or not.

“Starlight!” cried the wind. She really was dying—her passing into the afterlife was heralded by an illusion of Twilight Sparkle, of all ponies. “Starlight, please, where are you?!”

Louder that time, followed by a four-beat rhythm crunching through the snow.

Starlight’s lungs froze still. No way—”Oh, my gosh!” The voice was directly above her. “Starlight, hang on! Just hang on, I-I’ll cast—” A broken exhale cut off this very convincing illusion, followed by the sonorous awakening of magic. Abruptly, the storm’s howls muffled as though safely on the outside, and Starlight plunked by a warm fire.

A damp icy-hot fire—a toasty sensation which coursed through Starlight, unfreezing her joints. A great, life-giving gulp of air filled her breast, the coarse landscape receded. Humidity enveloped Starlight, soaked to the bone but warm, finally she was warm and it was among the best feeling she could recall experiencing. Even the muck beneath her, cloying to her belly, provided a refreshing coolness on her undercarriage; the valley—no, just her immediate surroundings, were a mire.

Starlight planted her hooves, the muck and limp brown grass slurping them as she shoved against her crying bones. They begged in agony like nothing else, and Starlight groaned louder the higher she rose, the greater the ache increased. “Come… on!”

A new warmth, air but a gentle cloak at once, yanked her up, and Starlight’s back hit a wall of similar making before realizing she was shoved.

And a snarling mug appeared before her, but the lilac bubble wouldn’t grant more than a centimeter of personal space. “What in the wide world of Equestria do you think you’re doing?!” Twilight, she realized. It… you—”Is this how you planned on leaving us: trading your family for some unmarked grave?!”

You came for me. You went looking for me anyway.

“What is wrong with you?!” Twilight sobbed. Sobbed. For her. “Why’s doing this to yourself preferable to just talking to me, Starlight?” Starlight couldn’t begin to understand her words—the fracturing between syllables, the harshness. “You honestly thought I wouldn’t tell the difference between you and some hairbrained clone!? Are-are you actually stupid, Starlight?! Or did you just not care about how I felt anymore?! Or any of your friends for that matter!? ”

“N-no…”

“THEN WHAT?! WHAT?! Do you honestly think that any of us, that Trixie, would just forget you ran away from home, from us, and live happily ever after, like no big deal?! WAS THIS YOUR BRILLIANT PLAN, STARLIGHT?” Everything—the world, Twilight, Starlight’s thundering breast went still for but a moment. The wind outside roared.

And Twilight wrenched away, blubbering in every heart wrenching sense of the word.

All for Starlight.

This worry for Starlight.

This effort coming out here for Starlight, in spite of how she left. Why? The word was lodged in her throat. Why are you doing this to yourself, Twilight? After everything…

No matter what Starlight did…

Twilight, you still…

You still care about me.

And she was still talking. Ranting, the words coming out a garbled, muffled ring in Starlight’s ears. Her tears flowed, wracked her, shattered the nonsense spewing past her snarling, quivering lips into snotty gibberish.

The only thing clear: her total lack of anger.

Twilight still cares about me.

She never stopped.

And I just ran away with a plan even more boneheaded and selfish than the one that started this mess.

It didn’t need to be a mess, though. None of it.

But Starlight made their mess hers. And she broke Twilight, made one of her, too. I… Starlight lost her breath. All I did was end up hurting ponies. Again.

A great, heaving gasp tore her throat open, and as it closed, Starlight screamed. “I AM SO SORRY, TWILIGHT!”

https://youtu.be/0hHutHFLZ9A

The racing in Twilight’s heart stilled, then rumbled at triple the magnitude. Her anger, grief, all of her shattered to nothing towards the red, crumpled face of Starlight Glimmer.

“I-I-I know that you want me to be happy,” she gasped into her hooves. “An-an’ that I shoulda been smarter, an’ taken responsibility t-to fix my mistakes, but I just feel so… s-so bad about every STUPID thing I’ve done!”

This needed to stop. The tears, the self-hating. “Starlight.”

She hyperventilated, mouth contorting for words. “I… I-I… I…”

Twilight’s throat clenched shut. “Starlight, please.”

She screamed hoarsely. “I keep believing I’ve done something good n’ right but I every time I never do! I brainwashed ponies ‘cause I didn’t wanna lose another friend, I brainwashed your friends because I didn’t wanna lose you, I lost my horn because I thought you deserved to live more than me! But then I lost my friends and I lost you and I didn’t wanna hurt you guys so badly again, but I just ended up hurting you guys just like I always have and I just. Want it! TO! STOOOP!”

Her stump sparked, Twilight’s ears rang; her scrawny, mangy body thrashed with sobs. “S-Starlight—”

“I keep making things worse and worse and worse, and I don’t know what to do! But I ran an’ I screwed up even more, if that were possible! I just don’t know what else TO DO!” The loathing in her voice was bloodcurdling. “I only know that you’d be better off without me; that other ponies who need you girls would be helped without my sorry self hanging around and mooching off your kindness and ho-hogging your attention! I’m helpless, Twilight, I know you hate this about me, I know you want me to be strong Starlight as always, but I can’t help but think about all the time you spent on me coulda been for somepony better—!”

“STARLIGHT GLIMMER!” That was too far. Too far.

And Twilight got exactly what she wanted: silence, save for the silly, hurting student shrinking within herself, shuddering, squeaking, snivelling.

She probably felt disgusting right now. Ashamed. Embarrassed.

A tightness, the same that ensnared Twilight’s soul since the day they became friends, squeezed a muffled cry from her breast.

The real Starlight sat before her, and all Twilight could think to do was hug her tight.

Calm. Calm. Calm-calm-calm, be calm. Be a princess, and a friend. She stayed her hooves, at least. “Starlight.” No response. Twilight shut her eyes, the Frozen North screaming all around, her Bubble of Warmth humming, her friend crying. “Starlight, please look at me.”

She was met with a shaking head, a quivering mud-caked mane. “I can’t.”

Twilight lifted a hoof, but stopped short of caressing her mane. “Okay. That’s okay,” she breathed. “You don’t have to, and that’s okay. But, please, listen to what I’m saying at least. And really listen.”

No response. Twilight had nothing, save for her useless words. All that was left between them was hope—hope in Twilight’s title, her destiny, the fact that she was out here and so was Starlight. Hope that this was some horrible contrivance that would better Equestria down the line. Hope in their friendship, that there was a chance of saving it here and now.

Twilight could only hope, as she had countless times in the past, and with stakes far greater than Starlight not just hearing but listening, too.

“Starlight? Are you going to listen?”

A frantic shake, a perpetual denial of eye contact. “I am.”

This was the best Twilight would get. “I have never… ever… wanted you to be happy. Not for the sake of it, that is. But I came off this way. And that’s the reality of it. I’m sorry for that. I am. All of this, this whole entire mess really started because I wanted to avoid shame and regret being on the forefront of your thoughts… and mine.”

She ceased her shaking, exhaled hollowly, as if realizing, ‘Truly?’

“In my desperate efforts to grasp this reality, to make it real,” said Twilight, “I was negligent to how I’d be perceived. How you’d feel towards my relief that you were satisfied with your decision when you were so clearly not. It made you feel ashamed when you couldn’t be proud, and because of that, you tried even harder to live up to these ridiculous expectations we placed upon ourselves. This, Starlight, is why I’ve tried so hard to make up for it.”

Starlight peered over her hooves, a cautious foal.

“But it didn’t stop there,” said Twilight, herself now the one unable to meet her gaze. “Not twenty-four hours after realizing how you truly felt, I did everything I could to avoid piling on more, assuming your reaction for the worst and—” Starlight gasped, uttered an apology while covering her face. Twilight inhaled, hardening her heart, powering through for Starlight’s sake. “And in doing so, I was all the while ignorant and thick-skulled about what would truly, genuinely benefit you in the long run. You’ve always preferred a blunt approach, but I was frantic to make you… happy,” Twilght gasped, “and that is the worst, most horrible way I could have gone about this.”

Long, mournful sobs echoed in Starlight’s hooves. Twilight touched her, and she flinched away. “Twilight, no!” she cried, flashing her her tear-soaked face. “No, this… this isn’t your fault. I’ve… I felt the same. I’ve done the same, but ten times worse! In my mind you and the girls were always these horrible, judgemental ponies when all you were tryna do was help me! I realized constantly that I was wrong but I can’t stop it! I can never stop thinking like this, ever!”

“That’s okay.”

“No it’s not!” And she was suddenly forgetting her pain, her weakness, and stormed into Twilight’s face, pushing her towards the opposite end of the bubble as she ranted. “I’m horrible, and selfish, and I hurt you girls because I was too stupid to wanna talk about any of it! You should hate me, Twilight—all of you should hate what I do and that I can’t ever change, regardless of what I learn or how often I do!”

“Starlight, stop!” Twilight reared up, grabbed her face. “Stop it, please. Please, stop this. Stop blaming yourself like this. Please.”

“I can’t.” Starlight wept, gasped, and gasped some more, the smeared muck halving her face carved by a widening gap of damp, pink fur. “Why? Why do you do this to yourself?”

Twilight nearly asked the same so thoughtlessly. “The same reason you sacrificed your horn for me.” What she said didn’t even register until Starlight almost brought her down, too, collapsed and caressing the price she paid. “Starlight. Look at me, please.” Twilight squeezed her cheeks, held her words until Starlight opened her eyes, then rose to meet hers. “I have spent the last month… absolutely losing my mind over you.” The awkward breakfasts and dinners. The small-talk. Remembering the jovial interactions they shared, without a shred of hesitation in either’s hearts. “I’ve spent every... single day,” Twilight squeaked, “watching helplessly as you fell apart, little by little. As you became more distant from me and the girls. As you scurried off to your room for hours at a time. Every time you failed to look me in the eye, and realizing that after everything, all I did these past two years was suppress your darker feelings instead of helping you through them.”

Tw-Twi-light—”

She barely heard over her own gasping cry. “Starlight, you mean so much to me, I care about you so much. I mean that, I really do, but all those times you casually expressed your discomfort in my home and my forgiveness of your crimes, I brushed them aside with equivalent nonchalance and instilled the impression that I didn’t care!”

“But I acted like I didn’t care, Twilight! Don’t blame yourself, please!”

“Well I’m your teacher!” Within a heartbeat, they were frozen in the tender warmth of the bubble, of each other. “I’m your teacher,” Twilight whispered, bringing the remnants of Starlight’s horn against her own, “and I hardly ever acted as one. Just your friend.”

“And that’s what I loved about being with you.” Starlight gazed into her soul, eyes tear-filled, unflinching. “You didn’t ever treat me like a problem that needed fixing. With you, I felt normal. Because of you, for stretches of time between mistakes, I felt like an actual pony. And that was the best I could hope for after everything I’d done to… tah…”

Twilight encircled one hoof around her head, pushed the other against her lips. “That was always my intention, Starlight.”

She was stock still. And then, welling up, “I don’t wanna lose you.”

“You haven’t.” Twilight mustered the strongest smile she could manage while whimpering. “You haven’t, Starlight. I care about you now as much as I did then.”

“But I will lose you! I already have and you haven’t realized it yet.”

“And what makes you think I’m lying?” Twilight wasn’t angry, just hurting, and scared. She didn’t want to lose Starlight either. “I think about how I feel, I look into my heart, and I find that my feelings are unchanged. I love you, Starlight. I still love y—”

“Hydia!” Starlight was rigid, eyes wild, ruddy as her cheeks. Then she started convulsing, her face crumpling. “She told me I’d lose what I treasured most, and my horn was the means to that end—”

This was crazy. That monster was crazy. That horrible, awful monster! “Starlight—”

“I lost you girls, I lost all my friends and then Hydia came to me and said that our deal was finally complete when I heard you saying you were tired of me last night!”

The thought of her constantly living in fear of the witches’ foreboding words, for a month… Starlight was still, even now, unbelievably strong. If Twilight had heard such words, she would likely tumble down a similar path.

She was fairly close, actually—would have if not for Luna and Spike.

“Starlight, listen to me.”

She snarled. “No, you listen to—”

“Those were powerful, gruesome monsters you were dealing with. You understand that?” Starlight’s eyes raked up and down the forelegs still nuzzling her, and would never truly let go. “Those were monsters who took immense pleasure in watching us suffer. Monsters who came to me one night, flaunted your horn—the idea of saving you before my eyes—crushed it, and then left. These were monsters who had zero intentions of playing by any rules. Monsters who were acting for their own pleasure and nothing more.”

“I-I…”

“They were villains, Starlight. And villains lie.”

Faster she scanned Twilight’s forelegs, up and down, down and up. Then the bubble around them. And finally, Twilight’s face—her eyes last. “Twilight,” she choked, stifled by a sob. “Oh, gosh, I’m such an idiot, Twilight!” And she threw herself into her chest, embracing her. Crying, soaking her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” A hug—it was a hug, the first they’ve had since the night Starlight awakened from her spell-induced coma.

The first Twilight could remember her initiating since she graduated. It had been literal years.

Twilight snapped out of her reverie and ensnared her back. She would never let go. Never. “Shh, shh.” She stroked Starlight’s trembling back, again and again, in circles, then again, whispering, “You’re okay, you’re okay.”

“I’m not.” A snotty snuffle. “Oh, I’m really not, Twilight. You did what you thought was right and I put you through unbelievable pain without once thinking rationally.”

She did. Absolutely. “But I don’t care, Starlight. None of us do. Do you remember the first lesson I taught you?”

She felt a nod, a damp chill pecking her shoulder. “I do,” said Starlight. “Friends will do anything for one another. No matter the cost.”

And it all circled back to that fateful choice—the one made in Cloudsdale fifteen years in the past, and a similar one, a month ago, in the ruins of wherever Flutter Valley lied. “I’m such an irresponsible foal,” Twilight breathed. “Oh, Starlight, that wasn’t my intended takeaway. Never. I didn’t want the weight of a debt on your shoulders. That was the last thing I wanted. What I mean, what I meant back then, was… was, y-you remember the song? What the girls and I taught you in the week that followed?”

Another nod. “Now I do. Of course.”

“‘Friends are always there for you,’” Twilight sang in a broken melody. “At the time, it was to demonstrate that true friends will never abandon you for such petty shortcomings. That, in spite of our differences, we’d stick together, help one another, no matter the cost to ourselves. We cared about you, Starlight. I mean it: we cared. I never told you that outright because I felt you disliked pity, but—”

“I never wanted more than I already had,” Starlight inadvertently finished. Harsher on herself, of course, but that was the truth of it. “I couldn’t stand it,” she croaked. “And I still can’t, Twilight. I guess, in the end, that this is my selfish reason for running away.”

“Oh, Starlight, you’re not selfish.” This poor, hurting pony. All of them have been ignorant, distant—no wonder she felt they didn’t know her at all. “I’m sorry you were never comfortable being honest with us.”

“I am, too.” She sniffled, and pulled back, keeping her hooves on Twilight. “I’m sorry, too. I should have known better—”

“And that’s something we always experience. There’s no shame in that!” She smiled weakly.

It only deepened Starlight’s frown. “Nothing compared to what I’ve done.”

Twilight maintained her honest feelings: smiling, in spite of her pain. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I hurt you the same way, after all.”

In dropping her head on Twilight’s shoulder, Starlight’s horn grazed Twilight’s cheek. “I’m so stupid.” A faint burn ran the length of her muzzle.

It was microscopic compared to the warmth of Starlight’s touch. “You’re not.”

“But if I just talked—”

“None of this would have happened, I know,” Twilight finished. “I’m in the same boat, I’m afraid.” But she didn’t care. She didn’t care because Starlight was listening, she was realizing, and she was feeling bad about her actions and learning as she always had. “Starlight?”

Stifled chokes answered.

“Starlight, in all my years of living in Ponyville, charged with learning friendship, one lesson I always failed to learn was that it’s okay to rely on friends to help. This has been my consistent failing, even to this day.” Starlight’s uneven breathing filled the silence. “Friendship? It’s not a give-and-take affair. It’s really, truly all about letting the ponies who you care about, and care for you in turn, inside your world. They want to be a part of that! Otherwise, they wouldn’t feel so hurt in being denied this.” Starlight shivered, wracked with what had to be guilt. “That’s what friendship is, Starlight—not just making the ponies you care about happy, but having a bond you wouldn’t share with any random stranger.”

She was silent for a moment, and then, “You girls have done this for me all these years. You, Trixie and even Maud, at least this past month… And I—”

“Can still mend what’s been broken. That’s the idea of fixing, Starlight.”

She pried away, forelegs squeezed around her throbbing, narrow stomach. “I can’t just ignore what I’ve done to them, Twilight! I made Maud cry, for goodness sake!”

“And she’s willing to overlook that! She cares about you, Starlight, just as deeply as I do.” Twilight pat her sore but mending heart. “That’s why I’m forgiving you now.”

“Oh, why do you all care about me?” Starlight asked the bubble’s dome. “Why am I so gosh-darn worth all this nonsense?”

“Because we know you care on a level few ponies really do,” said Twilight. “Because I have somepony I just couldn’t live without anymore—somepony who knows me well enough to unabashedly tell me like it is. Who can do that without making me feel judged or silly—something not even Spike can manage! And Rainbow Dash to fail at in the heat of the moment, too.” Starlight cast her gaze aside with knitted brows. “I care about you because you’re my friend. Because we share a bond uncommon to even my closest friends, that doesn’t make sense to anypony but us! You’ve failed, sure, and you hurt me. But so have I, and no friendship is without its hard times. But you, Starlight, you get back up quicker than anypony I’ve met. You take your guilt and try your best to turn it into something I’m inspired by.”

Pained eyes snapped to meet hers. “B-but I—!”

“I understand that that’s why you always hid from us,” Twilight said aloud, then gentler, “that you couldn’t look us in the eye—because you regret what you’d done not solely for the loss of your magical abilities, but because of the pain you felt it put us through. I know that doesn’t lessen the guilt you’re feeling, and I can’t promise that that’ll ever go away, because that simply isn’t who you are. But what I do know, is that even now, in this horrible, asinine decision you made… it was done with the best of intentions, without fear or desire of absolving yourself of guilt, but to—in your mind—attone.” For the umpteenth time Starlight fell apart, cupping her face to hide it. “And for that, regardless of how you fail,” Twilight continued over her cries, and Starlight’s, “that is why I’m able to look past your failures. It’s why your father is able to do the same! And Trixie and Sunburst and Fluttershy and all the rest: we love you, Starlight. You’re a caring, selfless, amazing pony, and I am so, so sorry it had to come to this before I was able to tell you!”

“T-Twilight?” She didn’t look up.

“Yeah?” Everything was still—Starlight, the moment, Twilight’s heart… even the blizzard outside. Twilight glanced to the heavens, catching the tail-end of a ghostly herd galloping off into the jagged horizon.

“Twilight, I’m…” Starlight’s gaze was downcast. A green, filmy tear clung desperately to her snout before she rubbed it off.

With a thick sniffle, Starlight met her eyes, brows set and determined. “I think I’m ready to go home now.”

VI.III - This "Feeling" Magic

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The first thing Starlight felt was a mighty shock all over. Her breast tore out with a shrill gasp, like she just plunged into a below-freezing pool.

A second passed, then her sweat-slick body acclimated. A refreshing coolness enveloped Starlight, sighing her gasp as it warmed.

Magenta spots danced before the amber-bathed glow of Ponyville. Starlight blinked several times, chest churning all over again despite the tenderness settled on her back.

Twilight retracted her wing, turning with a smile that dispelled Starlight’s anxiety, mostly. “Is this far enough?”

“Y-yeah, yeah. I’m still not ready to see your—I mean our friends, if I’m being honest. I need time to reflect,” said Starlight, tapping her temple—crusted and smelling of dirt. “Ugh, and a bath.” She shook her hoof of the filth, like that made her less dirty.

“We can teleport to your room, if you’d like.” Twilight sidled up beside her. “I get it, you need time to mull this over. It’s been a lot, I know. But the others will happily understand.”

Starlight believed it, but she shook her head. “I can walk like this. I’ve done so much by this point that looking like crud is beyond my realm of caring.”

“Not Rarity’s,” giggled Twilight.

“No, not Rarity’s.” The thought of her nonchalantly fussing over Starlight without so much as a reprimanding brought a smile to her face. It was so Rarity, but still an almost stereotyped version of the generous pony. “In all seriousness, given what you’ve told me, I doubt she’d care much.”

“No, no, she definitely wouldn’t right now.” Twilight wore a broad, fond smile. “She’d even peck your muddy cheek and be fully aware while doing it.”

A thought flashed by—a twisting gut fear in the form of Rarity’s offer to restore her physical confidence with a mane styling, and to vent with a talk. Starlight could have used that, but she didn’t trust Rarity in the end. “I wrote her off as shallow and judgemental, and I know she isn’t that way when it really matters.”

“Starlight…”

Maybe a talk with them was in order. Sooner rather than later, even.

“...she doesn’t blame you. Remember, after the Gourd Fest?”

Not at all, not about Rarity, and that was terrible. But she flashed Twilight a determined smile, lifted her hoof, stepped forward. “Let’s not keep them waiting,” said Starlight. “What’s say we get walking alread—aah!” Sudden pain shot up the legs she stood on, folded them like twigs. The grass rushed up to meet her—things which occurred to her only after being caught in a magical aura.

“Are you alright?”

Twilight’s concern was so heartwarming that Starlight chuckled, despite it being her fault. “Uh, I am, I think.” Starlight did need to breathe, though. And sleep. And eat—her stomach roared. The two of them exchanged blushing, pucker-lipped stares. “I, um, have my appetite back!” She could eat like an ursa major right now, and perhaps have room for the beast itself.

Jokes, of course.

“Alright. So we can go about this two ways.” Smirking, Twilight propped Starlight and her foreleg around the somewhat loftier withers she boasted. Twilight returned the incidental hug. “We can clamber over all these hills and through town like so. I am absolutely shameless and delight in starting everypony’s morning with this, especially after how last night ended.”

Starlight certainly deserved the embarrassment. “Not that I mind, sorta,” she said, “but I really, really don’t want to be judged and bombarded with questions until the moment I can address everypony outright.”

“Is a public speech really so different?”

“It is! Don’t act so incredulous after everything we said back there.”

Twilight tittered. “Sure, okay. I get that. And Option-B…”

“Oh, tell me, what’s Option-B?”

“Option-B is teleporting straight to the kitching and gorging ourselves on ice cream, tea, and coffee cakes until we can no longer stand the taste.”

“Weren’t we gonna end up doing that regardless of Option-A’s inclusion?”

Twilight shook her head. “Option-A would give us more time to talk, think, you know? I may very well reconsider our meal plan and substitute it for an oatmeal and salad instead.”

For this, Starlight didn’t need nor want to think twice. “I’ll take B, thank you.”

Starlight paced around the table. She glanced at the clock, then milled about some more. Repeat five times, until finally, it wasn’t her imagination: the clock’s minute hand finally ticked to one minute past 6am.

It was like waiting outside the Map Room all over again, ready for the judgement of Princess Twilight and the Elements of Harmony, whose friendship she tried so hard to destroy.

A sharp ping popped behind her, shuddering the room with a pink flash like lightning. Whirling, only Twilight’s cheerful smile and how it reached her eyes untangled the mess of emotion ensnaring Starlight’s heart.

“They said—”

“Did you tell them I was sorry?” Starlight had to know now. Not in a second, not after her speech. Now. Twilight inhaled, but Starlight also had to know, just as badly, “DId you tell them that we’d talk over dinner?” That’s when she noticed the metric-ton of rope looped around Twilight’s rounded neck. “What’s, uh, whatcha got there?”

Twilight glared, dry as a desert. But then her smile returned before Starlight could apologize for interrupting. “The girls are on their way home. They were merciless in their questions and messages of their own.”

Six messages. Starlight already felt the beginning twinges of a headache forming. “Any chance you can summarize them?”

“I’ll do you one better: I felt the same and knew you would, too. So, to put it succinctly, we’re relieved to have you back, so much so that not a single one accepted your apology, because there’s nothing to forgive.”

Starlight could imagine a few choices words from, well, any one of them. She chose not to feed the pressure squeezing her innards any further. “We’ll air our laundry tonight and know for sure. Anything, uh, anything else?” That rope was so weird.

“Pinkie loves you.”

“Aw.” Obviously, but still, nice to know for sure after everything. “And the rope? That really has me curious.”

Twilight placed a hoof upon it, bulky enough to rival Big Mac’s yoke. “Applejack gave this to me. She wants me to restrain you to your bed until tonight, or at least to my hoof.”

“Jeez, AJ.”

“That’s what I said. But her anxiety is warranted, you have to admit.” Twilight’s pace picked up just quick enough to tell of her own. All fears regarding Starlight were so absolutely valid, she couldn’t feel offended by them. Just guilty. “And,” Twilight continued, hesitant, “everypony said some variation of ‘please don’t leave again.’ I… didn’t want to tell you and make you feel bad, I-I’m sorry, but they really wanted me to tell you, and also that they only cared and were out of their minds with worry. Applejack’s going the extra mile by heading to the train station and ‘demanding’ the clerk to deny you a ticket in case—”

“I deserve it.” Twilight’s eyes shot up, and were shocked further by the smile Starlight bore. “Seriously. I’ve been awful to you guys. I’ve lied and hurt and dragged you through the mud.”

“I wish you didn’t carry such a weight on your shoulders, though.”

It was sweet. “Oh, you know me, Twilight. I don’t let go of my guilt. Without that, I’d never learn.”

Twilight was frozen a moment, then dropped her head, eyes shut. Her nod was as nonexistent as her hoarse whisper. “Yeah. Of course. I just… Starlight, to so nonchalantly and bravely take this after everything, it’s… you are strong. You are. I’m sure you’re tired of hearing that—”

She was. “Oh, who doesn’t love a little bit of praise?” It really, truly, didn’t feel like anything special—And oh, gosh, I’m repeating my mistakes. “Actually,” Starlight cut in, over Twilight, “sorry, but I honestly don’t really like, uh, hearing that. N-not because I feel unworthy! But, like, everypony has stuff they gotta deal with, and if they didn’t, then nopony would function. So, I just never saw myself the way you guys did, I guess. Still don’t.”

“That’s feeling unworthy, Starlight.” She shot Twilight a ‘whatever’ deadpan. “I’m serious. You might not see it, but everypony who knows you, they understand the kind of life you lived. How you perceive yourself, why you made these choices. Starlight, you’ve… lived a life full of pain, and heartache. More so than anypony I’ve ever known. I wouldn’t blame you if you gave up one day—which, I guess, is why we’re so forgiving of how you ran away last night. And yet, you never let your sadness obscure your mission. You keep going, trying to improve or to help, even when you’re being a complete and utter moron about it.”

“Jeez, Twilight!”

She laughed wetly. “You said you deserved it!”

“I know, I do! It’s just, I’ve never heard you insult somepony before.”

A pause, and then they both laughed.

Twilight wiped her eyes, smiling at her glistening hoof. “In seriousness, that’s what I find so inspiring about you. Your strength, and your courage when your back is against the wall. For you, specifically, that is to say, with your experiences in mind and the fact you hadn’t become a much darker pony... it’s honestly amazing.”

“Oh.” Starlight scratched the back of her very messy mane. “I guess I’ve been missing the point like always, eh?”

“You haven’t had much of a frame of reference.” Twilight’s smile died, her eyes staring into the kettle stove and beyond. “I sometimes wish, badly, that you didn’t lead such a sad life. Even if it meant we’d never meet. Nopony should have to go through the kind of pain you have.”

“I’d go through it all again to be here now.” Twilight looked to Starlight, stunned, then happily when it occurred to them both that she was looking another pony in the eyes. “Can we gorge ourselves silly now?”

A gentle laugh, a “Yes, absolutely,” and Twilight magicked the rope away whilst plates, teacups, and a pot full of water flew to their respective places.

Smiling all the while.

Despite what the last month has been like, despite—No. Stop it. Starlight stomped, demanding her own attention. You’ve already apologized. She’s already forgiven you. This lack of forgiveness is all in your messed-up head.

In reality, there was nothing to fear from Twilight. No judgement from her, no need to feel guilty, no fear that she would… she’d…

Actually, Twilight might do something stupid. Maybe.

She almost had, after all.

But…

But unlike Starlight, Twilight had a support system that knew just what to say to snap her out of it. Not that it was fair to expect this from Trixie or Maud, and judge them for what amounted to their own personal shortcomings, but they weren’t friends for their perfect wisdom.

That’s what Twilight was for, and hers was undoubtedly judgement-free. So why does my chest hurt every time I look at her?

“Twilight?”

“Hm?” She looked to Starlight, then became concerned above the countertop of ice cream, pastries, tableware and the like. “Something’s wrong. What is it, Starlight?”

Her face must have been as obvious as always. Starlight hardly understood what possessed her to ask for Twilight’s attention, except for the twisting in her chest, sending shudders up her throat as the princess walked around the counter, worry plastered on her face.

“Starlight?” She stopped, a foot of space between them.

“I…” A gut-churning thought of her working harder than she already has kept the words from coming out.

But Twilight proved that no sacrifice was too great for friends.

And that Starlight would always be hers. “Even though I don’t doubt what you told me, I still feel just horrible about everything. What I put you all through.”

The relief in Twilight’s voice was palpable. “That’s perfectly understandable, Starlight. The feeling will… well, it won’t necessarily pass for you. But it will become easier to manage once you and your friends have a chance to vent.”

An utterly fun prospect, for sure. “And I’m sure that’ll go swimmingly.”

“You might be surprised. Don’t doubt them, or the strength of your friendships.”

Starlight could already see Maud performing an Arabian triple-buck on her sorry face. And Trixie… sure, she’s determined to scour Equestria to find her best friend. She won’t be happy to know her dedication was overshadowed by Twilight’s literally-fateful luck, but whether or not that would overshadow her relief in finding Starlight was an uncomfortable thought to say the least. There was no way of knowing where she was now to stop her sooner. The best Starlight could do was keep an ear to the ground and hope. Hope that Trixie would understand, if anything.

“Um, Starlight? Equestria to Starlight?” A purple wing waved in front of her. It lifted, unveiling Twilight’s wary smile. “Sorry if I’m being annoying. But you had a thousand-yard-stare and—”

“No, no you’re not being annoying.” Starlight rubbed her forehead. “I just have a lot on my mind. Talking about it would be reassuring, no doubt, but I could just remember one of those wisdom-nuggets you’ve served me. It’d be redundant, talking about it. That’s all.”

Twilight hesitated before folding her wings, straightened her posture—Starlight often wondered if she realized this was her ‘I’m a princess’ routine. “If that’s how you feel, I won’t pry further.” Turning, she approached the counter. Starlight followed as the steaming pot lifted from the stove. “You know,” said Twilight, the gurgling water poured into her porcelain teapot, “I’m really… No, I’m happy most of all, but also relieved to know that all this craziness, the root of conflict, it was your own remorse.”

This had to be a joke; Starlight was being idiotic. “If I’d just talked, though…”

She watched a slice of coffee cake float to each of their plates, a tea bag simultaneously plunk into their cups. Twilight said, “If you’d just talked, then you wouldn’t have learned this valuable lesson today, would you?” She shook her head, a fond smile in place as three scoops of vanilla bean plopped over their healthy breakfasts. “My dad always said that hurts are the lessons of life. Like scraping our knees, we do everything we can to avoid that pain again. We take precautions.”

“Makes sense.” That chest-parasite wouldn’t die so easily, though, nor ever be satiated. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’ll probably end up hurting the ponies I love in my efforts not to!” Starlight said with feeble cheer. “That’s what I’ve always done, Twilight, what can I do to prevent it in the future?”

And then Starlight remembered, and went stock-still a beat before her hoof hit her face. “Ugh. You were right out there in the snow, Twilight: I’m actually stupid.”

“Starlight,” she said in a reprimanding tone, “I was scared, I don’t really think you’re stupid.”

“Yeah, well, I am. I’m a stupid mare with a canyon of open space between her ears. Words pass through and never stick, nothing but all the heavy, dumb crap it grows itself.”

Twilight looked the textbook definition of emotionally confused. Starlight’s smirk must not have helped. “I’m, uh, I’m anticipating a ‘eureka’ moment is on its way!” She forced a laugh, not that it obscured the wariness in her tone.

She didn’t want Starlight freaking out again—perfectly understandable… and simultaneously awful. But I’m going to do what Dad said, and think before acting. But there was a second half to his advice, one in the form of a lesson Twilight taught back there in the Bubble of Warmth.

“I meant what I said before, Twilight. How I’m not going to forget my guilt, I mean. But you’re not wrong, either. Hurts are a lesson, so instead of mindlessly diving into the next one, I’m going to try my best to reflect first. Plan. To actually analyze the situation and the ponies I know, instead of presuming my gut knows better.”

Twilight blinked. “Uh, wow.” She shook her head, donning a curious smile. “Where’s all this coming from, if I may ask?”

“Something Dad told me earlier just clicked with what you said in the Bubble of Warmth. Or, a lot of somethings, I mean. Squished together in a single idea.”

“Oh?” Twilight tipped the teapot from her cup to Starlight’s. “And what’s that idea?”

She couldn’t help but fear Twilight’s own doubt, her own anxiety. It was warranted, but it was awful to think about. “It’s a good one this time. I promise.”

“They normally are. Only misguided, if anything.”

Right. Starlight watched a whitish-yellow glob, like an egg mixture, pool at the base of her coffee cake. “Well, here it is.” She took a deep breath, and looked to the ceiling for the sake of her thought-train. “Every mistake I’ve made has been because I thought I knew better. Yes, rooted in good intentions, like Dad had said, but ultimately fueled and given shape by this… selfishness, I guess I had. Call it what you will, but I’m ashamed to say that I’ve always been just plain afraid. That’s what drove me most.” Starlight, elbows propped, took her chamomile in both hooves and blew on it before her. “I was always able to make up for it, though. Until this past month. I’ve messed up worse than ever because I couldn’t get over myself and talk to you girls.”

“I’d be a bad teacher if I denied that much.” Twilight was in the same position, except with forelegs folded and teacup hovering nearby. “Sorry, please continue.”

“I guess the point I’m trying to make is that I have nothing to fear from my friends. And if I do, I should be able to express those freely without my mind latching to the worst case scenario. In essence, I’m ready to talk and think instead of just plain thinking. Twilight, I’m… I can’t promise I won’t make a mistake every now and then, nor will I ever fully love myself. B-but I—!”

“Starlight—”

“But I’m ready to start trusting ponies again! Because… because at the end of the day, we’re all the same. Aren’t we? When you cut to the heart of it, all of us every day, we’re just the culmination of every experience that came before. We act on those, in good ways and bad. I understand what that’s like, better than anypony. And I think, no, I know… that my friends aren’t any better or worse than me. We’re just… us.” Starlight sipped; mind-numbing warmth slithered down her belly and spread. “And I wish I realized that sooner, because now more than ever I want to… I dunno, make myself known to the ponies in my life. The real me. The one you described back there, who’s comfortable to be around and famously free of judgement. Who can give advice to her friends, not because she knows better, but because she has a perspective that understands what it’s like. What it’s like to be… alone and afraid inside.”

Twilight blinked. Then shut her mouth.

Starlight ducked behind her breakfast, hot enough to melt it probably. “Uh, rant over! Eh-heh… sorry about that.”

A big laugh grabbed her by the heart. Twilight wiped a tear from her eye, then another, and another until she was rubbing her ruddying face. It teased a smile out of Starlight. A big, stupid one. She didn’t even know why. “You ok?” she asked.

It took her a few attempts, both to stop crying and to stifle her laughter. But eventually, Twilight crossed her forelegs, smile wide and face red as her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I was trying to say that I’m so proud of you. Right now, I’m trying to word how it’s like you’re a different pony. But the truth is, you’re not. You’re the same Starlight I know and love, the Starlight who was passionate about the things she cared about, namely other ponies. And that makes me so, so relieved, and happy, and… just regrettable that I doubted you so.”

The prospect—no, the fact that Twilight acknowledged this—felt like a ninety-degree incline that needed crossing. Simply daunting. “I don’t think it’s that special,” she mumbled. “Let’s eat before this melts already. Eat ‘till we make ourselves sick.”

A giggle and a nod. “Right, right. Apologies, Starlight. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable…” Her lips contorted though, joyous to be sure, but… it’s like there was something more.

But then a spoonful of food-shaped sugar flew into her mouth, and Starlight decided she was just hungry.

Or maybe she wanted to apologize more. “You aren’t offering to feed me,” Starlight chirped, “which would actually annoy me. So you’re good, princess.” She didn’t get a look at Twilight’s reaction before Starlight face-planted into the first meal she had in weeks.

“Oh, thank Celestia, you pig out, too!” Starlight glanced up to where Twilight mirrored her, ice cream splatting everywhere. Starlight laughed into her treat.

From then on, they only spoke between mouthfuls. Most of it was nothing particularly worthwhile, or even dignified in most cases. It was bliss. Surprising facts were shared throughout, the magnitude of which rose as their “breakfasts” shrank. Such as from the start, moments following the initial gorging, Twilight revealed that she ate Hayburger like this. Starlight confessed she had never stooped to eat there in a pitiful attempt to feel mature.

Halfway through, with a gurgling stomach and brain lazy on three cups of chamomile, Starlight shared the story of her mother, and the promise she apparently made weeks after losing her. She didn’t think of how abrupt and sad this would be for her now-emotionally fragile friend. Twilight, solemn for several moments, brought up her foalhood dolly, Smartypants, and how she still slept with her to this day. Starlight took delight in the idea of such a benign secret, and revealed she was fond of naming her plants to have someone she could vent to.

It was easier than keeping a journal, she argued, though it wasn’t a necessary defense in front of Twilight. “I bet you’re glad to have those now,” she said, “instead of a diary, huh?”

“Well… I might not need Greeny the Ficus anymore.”

Twilight snorted, flushed and grinned all silly-like. Starlight’s gut turned; was targeted to her specifically? Or the nickname? She wrote it off as the ice cream not sitting well.

A smart pony would stop, but not a starving one. They continued with the feast.

At last, with naught but crumbs melting in a vanilla puddle, Starlight said she honestly didn’t have anything else to share that Twilight didn’t already know. But immediately, Starlight apologized for lying as she so casually regaled her encounter with Reeka and Draggle outside the Hive, minus a demeaning, smelly detail. Twilight admonished Starlight for hiding this, as did she herself, and for failing to see it as yet another one of their twisted mind games.

Starlight was such a stupid foal, and she felt hot under her coat as though she were one, being reprimended by her mother. “You know,” she said, smiling over the feeling, “it’s harder to take this seriously when we’re dressed in ice cream like this.” Twilight looked down, twitched her snouth left and right, then burst into laughter, teasing some chuckles out of Starlight.

And then the dull ache in her belly exploded into red-hot pain. For a moment, she was happy believing it was solely the food.

Seconds later she was prostrating and regretting before a metal bucket, mane telekinetically pulled back as she yarfed her only meal. She didn’t want Twilight to worry about something so benign. “I haven’t felt this alive in a month.” She wanted to die. Her voice wobbled in its now-semi-hollow depths.

“I didn’t think you were being literal!” said Twilight, brushing a hoof down her back as she resurfaced.

“I wasn’t, but this is fun.” That, despite the pain, was an honest truth.

“You mean it?” It was like this reveal took her breath away.

“I mean it.” Starlight lifted her head, mustering a smile for the pony who saved her soul.

Twilight’s expression was the textbook definition of heartfelt until a beat after their eyes met, then it became strained. A damp washcloth appeared and was scrubbed vigorously across Starlight’s face. “I agree,” she said after magically wringing it under the faucet. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I needed this.”

“You and me both.” Starlight sighed, falling back into the cabinet.

Twilight took a seat beside her, exhaling deeply. “I was so… so afraid that you hated me after stumbling so much. Offending you.”

“I have incredibly high standards in your mind.” That was dumb of Starlight: not just because she thought the same of Twilight, but because this was a genuine, horrible feeling they held inside for the past month. “Sorry, that’s my defensive mechanism again. But, yeah, I know just how you feel.”

Twilight shook her head. “If I’d only talked to you… we would’ve had tonight’s conversation several weeks ago.”

Starlight breathed in, in, in… and exhaled. “Yeah. That’s my life in a nutshell, honestly. Coulda’s and shoulda’s. ”

“Mine too,” Twilight murmured. “You know that most friendship problems stem from a lack of communication? It’s not just us.”

The last month weighed terribly on Starlight’s mind. “I hate that. It honestly ticks me off. If ponies understood one another better, or made the effort too… that would nip a lot of conflict in the bud, don’t you think?”

Seconds passed, and Twilight said nothing. Worry began to gnaw, urge Starlight to turn and find the princess facing her with soaking pairs of great amethysts and a wobbling lip. “I missed you so much. I missed your brain.” She gasped, shuddering. “I missed this, just being able to… you know…”

“Talk?” Starlight finished. “Without worry?”

A gooey snuffle. “Yeah.” It was un-princess-like. It was Twilight.

“Yeah. I missed you, too.” Egregious pain sat stewing in her gut, whacking it about.

The passing silence of a few seconds felt like a painful many hours. Like there was so much more that needed voicing, despite all that needed saying was already said. “Hey, Twilight, when the dust is settled…”

“Yeah?”

Starlight didn’t know. She really didn’t know. There was just fear—memories of her mistakes so grievous, and her many flaws—gripping her by the heart. “I really, really hope we don’t regress. Or rather, I don’t regress, into the absolute pill I’ve been. Walking on eggshells around each other and whatnot, it was just… so maddening, I couldn’t stand it. I could hardly function, hardly breathe half the time! I was always too scared of overstepping and prying, and if I’m being honest, part of me still is despite what you told me.”

“We’ll…” Twilight perked up, nodded once. “We’ll communicate. Take it one day at a time. No more lying about how we feel. Okay?” Starlight’s chest filled with warmth. Twilight craned her head, worried by the silence, but Starlight just forgot to smile at her. “That sound good?”

It was enough to rely on with confidence. “Great, actually.”

Twilight tilted her head against the cabinet, eyes shut in bliss. “Great.”

Another silence settled, albeit more comfortable than the last.

And yet, something heavy sat nonetheless. Not horribly so, but… more. Like a shadow across her back that Starlight had only just forgot was there. It wasn’t her impending apologies, that was a heart-twisting sort of anxiety anyhow, and besides, she wanted those. She didn’t dread and vie to run away from them, not again.

Nor was it anything relevant to Twilight herself. Heck no. Although a flash of guilt speared through her, it wasn’t the mare specifically that caused it. Not after all they discussed, in this comfortable atmosphere between them.

Starlight truly didn’t want to lose this again.

But why… does it all feel so incomplete? Like an ending? That’s when it hit her: three shadows loomed overhead, to be exact, and they knew as much about them now as they did when Starlight first encountered them.

She shot up, gasping. “Twilight? Twilight!”

The young princess thrashed about. “Agh! What? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I… I don’t know! I really don’t. But I can’t stop feeling like the Ladies of Flutter Valley aren’t finished with us.”

Twilight paled, turning solemn as she shook her head. “Me neither. They’ve been on the back of my mind and haven’t left since… well…”

“Everything. Yeah, same here.” Chill raked Starlight’s forelegs, even as she hugged herself. She almost saw her breath ghost before her, but it was of course her crazy imagination again. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been honestly obsessed since we’ve met. I’ve lied to myself that I wasn’t, of course, but… you know. If I was living up to that assurance, I wouldn’t have kept the Lickety Split’s journal under my bed. I wouldn’t have left the map to Flutter Valley there, either.” She had to snort at that. “I make it sound so planned. ‘The map.’ Like I charted my course carefully and didn’t just pop over to random crops of woodland, hoping to run into a sign.”

“My gosh. How did you manage to find them so quickly?”

Starlight snorted again, hapless to the core. “A lighter version of the question that’s been haunting me for weeks, all with the same answer: I dunno, or fate, or their will… It’s scary, Twilight. And a part of me is doing all this, this thinking and stowing of mementos as if anticipating going back there. Even though there’s no way—no way—I’ll ever step hoof in that forsaken place again. And neither will you!” She snapped, almost punching Twilight in the nose.

She waved her hooves in defense. “I won’t, Starlight. We won’t, calm down. If we see them again, though, we’ll… do what needs to be done, whatever that is. Okay? We’ve come too far to get overpowered by some awful monsters now, don’t you agree?” Twilight pumped a hoof like a little go-getter, unaware of its trembling.

Starlight pretended to be filled with confidence. “Okay,” she exhaled, more relieved that she wasn’t going to seek them out. “Alright, good. I just got you back, after all.” Twilight cooed as Starlight heartily yanked her into a one-legged hug.

Excellent. She hid hear fear for once.

Because Starlight, really, truly didn’t want those monsters to mess this up again, or worse, take away any of her friends.

‘You will lose that which you treasure most.’

‘And you’ll know heartache, and only heartache, till the end of your days!’

Horrible monsters. Awful monsters. Disgusting monsters.

Everpony’s sure been descriptive in their views on these witches. These things from… some place. Everywhere, and nowhere. They had unimaginable power, were basically the Gods of Magic, if Starlight were to honor them with an actual title.

Yet they looked like walking corpses.

They did all of this torture for fun.

Their appearance was indicative of their souls, no doubt about that. But…

But honestly…

“They couldn’t have been born that way.”

“Huh?” Twilight leaned over, brow cocked. “Are you talking about the witches?”

That was unimportant. They were Destiny themselves, or the pilots at least. So why all of this nonsense? Why bring Starlight and Twilight together, tear them apart, then bring them back together with a call of the Map not five minutes after giving some foreign “piss off” with it?

It made no sense. It made no sense that Starlight would be named as a fateless pony by them, when, clearly, she still had more to do. That much was obvious, even though the specifics weren’t.

“Twilight? How exactly did you get your wings, by the way? I’ve always been curious.” Starlight had never felt it was her business knowing the details, presuming Twilight would divulge them if she felt they needed knowing. “I know you fixed your friends’ cutie marks, finished Starswirl’s spell, that there was a flash and you wound up in the Ethereal Realm… but what else happened? Is there anything missing from that?”

Twilight shook her head. “Sadly, no. It’s just as mysterious to you as it is to me. Even Celestia said it was simply ‘my time,’ just like it was when Cadance got her horn.”

“Wait, Cadance was a pegasus? Huh. Interest—wait, woah-woah, wait… Celestia didn’t give you your wings?” Twilight shook her head. “And neither did she or Luna? I mean… they just got them?”

“Starlight, where are you going with this?”

Her head pounded now. “I don’t know.” Why would the witches give them wings? “Why do you think finishing Starswirl’s spell made you a princess?”

“Actually, I didn’t become a true princess until I got my castle. That’s when my authority and title of ‘Princess of Friendship’ was recognized by the country.”

“So you just became an alicorn. Not for anything special—”

“Hey, completing Starswirl the Bearded’s masterpiece was special!”

“Regardless, the purpose and reason behind that led you… here.”

“Reasons? Who’s? The witches?” Twilight’s intuition was startling, especially in the way she scooted over, sitting before Starlight with a firm expression. “Starlight, I thought I told you—”

“Yeah, they’re monsters, Twilight, and so was I!” Both winced at that reaction. What was that about? Why did she suddenly feel defensive over them? “Sorry. I-I’m sorry, sorry.” Starlight rubbed her temples. “I… do know where that came from. I won’t lie. But… you can’t be seriously ignoring this, Twilight. You! Miss Curious, Freakout Extraordinaire!”

Twilight rubbed her forehead. “I know, I know. I also understand these questions swarming around in your head, believe me. But… you said it yourself, Starlight. And I know it too. These things have power unparalleled to even Celestia. Even if we had all the answers, what could we do with them?”

Starlight inhaled, primed to argue… and she didn’t know why. She had no clue why she had any will to continue dwelling on the beings lurking in their wildland dwelling. “I don’t pity them, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I am curious. I mean… they had to have been something else, right? Before becoming entangled in our lives, giving cryptic fortunes that might not even be true?” If she and Twilight were together now, after Hydia promising their bond was broken…

It had to mean something. “Twilight, what was so special about that spell you finished? I don’t think I’ve really given it a good look.”

Twilight lowered her muzzle. “I was too afraid to ever cast it after what happened to my friends. They weren’t even in the room, and it affected them anyway! So, apologies, but I couldn’t tell you.”

“I remember.” Clearly the memory still held fear over Twilight. What impact would these past several weeks leave on her in the long run? Starlight wanted to be hopeful, but this was also Twilight she was dealing with. “What was it for? Did Starswirl ever say?”

“I always thought the spell was Starswirl’s attempt at honing friendship magic. Turns out I was half-right… He explained that it was more of a binding spell, designed to bring destinies together. He claims it worked as intended, since its one and only casting was his portion of magic in the Seed of Harmony.”

“Woah.”

“But you need the magic of friendship for such a spell, and it can’t be cast or learned in books. That’s what he failed to understand, no offense to Starswirl’s genius. But I grasped it after a year of studying in Ponyville, and that, I believe, is what marked me worthy of Ascension.”

“Interesting.” If there’s one thing that stuck with Starlight out of this horrible experience, it’s that everything happened for a reason. Not always a good one, or a happy one, but a reason designed by something or someone.

Perhaps Hydia. Or someone above even them.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” said Twilight, eyeing her warily, “the witches had nothing to do with it—that’s a magic separate from everything else in Equestria. Something Tirek learned the hard way.”

Starlight wished to tell her of all the crazy thoughts running through her head, but she didn’t want this theory to run away from her, forgotten in the details.

“Twilight, I’m gonna need to see that spell again.”

‘From all of us together,’

‘Together we’re friends.’

‘With the marks of our destinies made one,’

‘There is magic without end.’

It was just as confounding as it was the first time she saw it. It didn’t even have an effect, it was more of a statement if anything. Most infuriating of all, “You know this doesn’t even rhyme?”

“That’s what I said!” Twilight magically took the journal from Starlight’s hooves. “It goes against everything we know about magic, even the basics. I feel ridiculous, not even knowing what, exactly, it does, but I’m not alone in this.”

“My head hurts.” Starlight massaged beneath her horn. It might have been a headache or one of those random pangs. “So, the question is… were the Elements working themselves, or was it the spell that activated them?”

“That’s your question, not mine.” Starlight leveled her with a sweat-inducing stare. “Look, I’ve long-accepted that the Elements are… situational, shall we say, in what they do and when. Part of me thinks they have a kind of sentience of their own.”

Starlight stood. “You mean to suggest they only work when they feel like it?” She waved to the crystal dome of the library. “Like if you think about it too hard, your head starts to hurt and you ask yourself, ‘Why this? Why then?’ Which naturally leads to questions about the ‘who,’ I imagine. And I say, who or what decides what they do and when, if not Hydia, Reeka, and Draggle?”

Twilight held her stare, utterly dumbfounded, and dropped her muzzle. “I dislike how much sense you’re making. I wish I could deny what you’re saying, argue, and debate. Part of me would rather this devolve into a friendly magic duel, like we used to when we’d disagree on magical theory.”

“But now?” Starlight inhaled deep, sighed just as strong. “Now, all I can do is hold my tongue and think. And thinking about this too long… it’s either headache-inducing or terrifying.”

“Agreed,” said Twilight. Her hooves clacked in a cacophony of applause—she was standing—and suddenly she turned Starlight’s face towards her. “Please don’t do something regrettable. Not without your friends. I don’t want to lose you again, Starlight. That’s what I’m most afraid of right now. More than Hydia and her spawn.” Her eyes trembled, searching the paling mare before her.

Starlight didn’t need to imagine the utter terror gripping Twilight’s heart right now; she felt it too, and was willing to do anything to stop the princess from doing something equally as selfless, shortsighted, and emotionally charged.

Starlight lowered the hoof from her face, held it tight between them. Twilight, astonished, looked from it to Starlight. “I’ll never make you cry again.” It came out in an instant, but her heart didn’t writhe in protest, and felt stronger instead. “I promise.”

Twilight managed a smile. “Right,” she exhaled, sniffling, blinking the moisture from her eyes. “And I won’t make you afraid again. Promise.” She let go, dragging her gaze back to the discarded journal, opened to Starswirl’s recently-completed masterpiece. “Whatever comes next, however it looks, we’ll face our destinies together.”

Starlight grinned. This felt too good to be true, and some idiot part of her just had to blurt out, “For now!”

As if preparing for the worst.

She laughed and gasped and grunted all at once as a hoof punched her in the breast. “Jerk.” A feeble strike from a kind, quivering pony.

“Sorry. Part of me is a natural pessimist I guess.” Starlight broke eye contact with Twilight as her eye caught the peculiar journal. She approached, the bizarre spell’s wordage coming into focus. “You know,” she said, scanning it over, “if I had to guess, this spell sounds more like a promise than an action.”

“It does. Another reason why I never wished to cast it. What effect would it take?”

Starlight turned to her. “Sounds a little random, huh?”

“What are you—?” And Twilight’s eyes popped open. “Like the Elements.”

A grin. “Like your entire life, and mine. If this is friendship magic… well, don’t you think it should be given a little more, I dunno, focus? A direction?”

“What do you mean? I mean, how would that work?”

“Well, think about it! You wouldn’t say friendship is random, right? There’s an art to it almost. A goal. You’ve spent these last several years, popping all over Equestria and befriending tons of different ponies. And creatures. And in doing this, you girls have represented the Elements, using them to solve these future friends’ problems.”

“Uh-huh…”

“So… what is the root cause of these problems, underneath the superficial details?”

Twilight rubbed her chin, then muffled a gasp. “Communication,” she realized, “just like…”

“Just like this past month.” Starlight’s chest felt ready to burst, a strange and almost forgotten feeling. But she was excited; this was exciting! “Twilight, you mind flipping to the next page for me, and writing something?”

A feathered inkwell hovered beside her. “I saw that spark in your eye. You thought of something brilliant, haven’t you? Ooh! Are you combining this with another spell?”

Starlight hid behind her absolutely appalling mane—a second reason to flush with a nigh-sunburn. “You could say that.”

Twilight plopped down, flipped the page, tapped residue ink off the quill tip. “What did you have in mind? Is it a note or a new spell?”

“More of a modification.” Starlight sat beside her. “I’m not so sure about the wording, but… I dunno.” She smiled, shrugging. “Part of me just feels… correct, I guess. Like this is what I have to do. Who I am. You know?”

“Like it’s your destiny. You’ve always been a bit of a spellsmith, after all.”

Starlight wouldn’t go that far, it was usually done out of convenience. But she nodded, albeit with clear uncertainty, for the sake of argument. “I just think this needs… a little bit of empathy.”

‘From outside we’re together,’

‘But deeper at our core.’

‘With hearts made one,’

‘There is magic forevermore.’

Twilight came up with the rhyme. She and Starlight retired to their rooms for the day, giggling like fillies over having sated their OCD-ness.

Interlude: "I have nothing to be afraid of anymore."

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Starlight opened her eyes, and her heart stopped.

The azure crystal of Twilight’s—or rather, her—gifted bedroom, wasn’t there. Nor the plants she had neglected to feed, or the wok station with its layer of dust.

There was simply nothing.

She shot up and in the blink of an eye found herself on four hooves, the bed out of sight no matter where she looked. Damp heat, her panting, hit her in the face. A closet? Starlight gazed upon what she expected to be a ceiling, but instead found three pairs of beady white eyes based with crestfallen arcs.

Starlight shuddered. “What are you?!” she exclaimed.

‘Help us, Starlight,’ said four voices—-female. The faces didn’t move. ‘They’re coming to destroy us. We don’t want to die. We don’t want to die!’

“Go away!” she cried, covering her face and cutting off the shadows. “I don’t want anymore of this!”

A weight so gentle caressed her mane, scratched behind her ear. Three claws joined, one caressing her racing chest, and another upon her withers. “You’re going to do great things, my little Light.” It was her father and the mares in one. “Your worth... deeper than that.”

But she was exhausted. Just so tired of heartache. “And you will know heartache,” they said.

“And only heartache,” added a familiar, motherly voice. “Until the end of your days… and as your teacher I am so, so proud of you.”

The encouragement lended the strength needed to open her eyes.

An abyss she awakened to. No eyes or masks of despair pleading. Just a large gemstone in the distance, glowing soft like a star. ‘We don’t want to die!’ it cried, before six hooves of the Elements, bigger than tree trunks, crashed down and shattered it.

“NO!” Starlight’s heart broke in half. Rage consumed her. “You idiots, you always act before thinking! All of you,” she whimpered as pony-shaped shadows, millions of them, sprung up all around: an audience, eyes like pilot lights fixated on her, analyzing her every move for all time, “all of you act without thinking, without feeling and I’m sick of it!” She didn’t care how she looked—they needed to hear this. “If you stopped thinking inside yourselves and talked for once, you’d be a lot happier, I promise!”

Starlight couldn’t stand it, the sight was too much. Far too much for her, and she sprinted blindly ahead without daring to peek open at the road ahead.

And she ran, and ran, and ran. When she couldn’t run anymore, she had no choice but to see where her choice had taken her.

Herself, she found, upon a throne-shaped visage construed of beating hearts, healthy and red and shaped not anatomically correct, but akin to the classical cartoonish rendering of them. This Starlight’s legs were crossed, hind and fore both, smirking with a disgusting sort of self-satisfaction she recalled in her own, swelling breast. She was proud of herself, Starlight realized. It was intoxicating, so lovely was the sight and Starlight didn’t know why. Especially as the mirror of her had hooks stretching the smile—pale hooks, warty and tipped black with talons. Upon her head, a jester’s cap.

“This is fine,” the queenly Starlight hissed through her teeth.

A scream belted out of the real one’s breast, and she whirled away.

Only to find herself once again, now lying upon a bonfire greener than the most sinister of emeralds. The timber feeding it looked familiar, as if shaped like Canterlot. All around her friends were gathered—Twilight and the Elements, the princesses, Sunburst and Fizzle—shedding tears, smiling.

Trixie and Maud were farther back, however, the latter of whom uncharacteristically wailing albeit without a sound.

“I’m sorry for hurting you all,” mumbled the burning, broken-horned unicorn. Not a burn appeared upon her coat, she was utterly fine despite the green flames consuming her. “I really am. But if this will keep you warm then I’d do it again and again. Because I love you all, far more than I do myself. You’re all worth so much more than me.”

Starlight, horrified, scanned up the column of smoke. It was a faint pink and teal, and within the gloom a starburst hummed gently.

‘Empathy,’ mused the quartet from before, ‘a natural growth stemming from friendship.’ The starburst seemed to grow a ponytail of teal smoke. ‘A necessary piece for it to be complete.’ The tail split into two. ‘A forgotten element, you could say.’ The symbol, striking Starlight in the heart, dizzying her with a nostalgic onslaught, erupted into pink embers which rained all over the darkness. Everywhere.

Like stars in the night sky.

Starlight returned to find her visage’s eyes shut, a magical aura leaving out her horn and taking the form of a leaping foal. The teal magic turned soft pink, grew a mane done up in pigtails. She smiled at Starlight directly, despite lacking a horn and boasting a gaping hole in her chest.

“When I grow up,” she cheered, “and ponies feel bad like me, I wanna do everything I can to help them!” The filly reached behind her and donned a jester’s cap. “But that’s okay,” she continued, smiling at Starlight. “I don’t care what happens to me. I don’t care if the ponies I love hate me for it. Because at the end of the day, I understand how they felt, and I made them happy.”

“But it’s so selfish!” Starlight herself cried. “You don’t even care how they feel, how can you be okay with that?!” The filly just smiled sadly, and shrugged.

Beyond her, beyond the awful, green-inflamed horizon, the sun rose and dispelled the wicked sight. It gleamed rays of six brilliant, beautiful colors. Starlight was alone again, but calm of heart.

“Right,” she realized. “That’s why.”

And the four voices enwrapped her heart, encircled her mind, urging her, ‘Look back, Starlight Glimmer. Always look back and you will never be afraid again.’

With no choice, she had to obey. Her hooves shook as one hoof after the other rose, swung around, pivoting her to whatever horror lay beyond her.

It was Twilight, tears rolling down her cheeks, but smiling nonetheless. It was Trixie, face frozen in utter heartbreak, but alive. It was Maud, drawn within herself behind closed eyes, but smiling. Beside her stood Pinkie, smirking—oddly enough—with eyes upturned in a manner Starlight could only describe as confident. The other Elements were kneeling, wearing faces at peace, despite the bandages crossed upon the gaps in their breasts.

It was all of Equestria, boasting a similar visage—hurting, but seeing Starlight, and healing.

It was, deep down, all she ever wanted.

But Starlight didn’t understand, she couldn’t possibly fathom what they had to be happy about in the face of such tragedy.

“See?” said the filly’s voice from somewhere. “This is worth it. All of it, everything was worth it. Doncha think?”

“‘Everything?’” Starlight gazed behind her, searching the prismatic sunrays, but she only saw them burning away the darkness to an open sea of blue—the sky, cloudless. “Are you saying I’m going to hurt these ponies?” Her innards writhed.

“You should know better than anypony by this point!” scolded the filly. “That sacrifice is at once a beautiful and dangerous thing. But friends will understand! And everypony will be your friend, so at the end of the day, it’s fine!”

Fine. Fine. It always had to be “fine.” Never “good” or “great.”

The sun was now high in the sky, boasting seven different rays now. She hadn’t a chance to see the bottom one, a pink so soft and gentle that even she failed to see it until having taken it all in.

It was quiet; silence had enveloped her completely, pounding in her ears. “I really ought to stop rushing into things without thinking.”

The sun’s blazing face flickered, distorted. Dark shapes she at once recognized and didn’t but only because she didn’t wish to, flashed before her:

A silhouetted mare upon a throne of ponies grinned a wicked white smile, hugging a two-pronged scepter grasping a magic-tailed starburst. She had friends who would never leave her, who she understood were hurt like her, and she was happy.

‘From outside we’re together,’ chanted an indecipherable amount of voices: the four from earlier, her many friends, her own and the filly’s.

‘But deeper at our core.’ The mare tumbled from her throne, shoved by a broken-horned unicorn with pale tears rolling down her face. She fell, and fell, and fell for what felt like forever. ‘But deeper at our core, deeper at our core! DEEPER AT OUR—’! She fell into the open-forelegs of a winged shadow with a straight-cut mane.

The silhouette without a horn plummeted from above, straight into the wicked unicorn, and they came together unflinchingly.

‘With hearts made one…’

She gently pushed the alicorn away as a pair of wings sprung out from her sides. The taller princess lowered her muzzle, rose a knee.

‘...there is magic… forever… more.’

And the image pulled back, revealing the whisperers all standing at the new princess’s sides, some smiling, and others frowning.

‘Forevermore...’

Faster it zoomed out, uncovering more ponies in rapid succession, more and more and more until an entire country seemed to fit inside the sun’s warm embrace.

‘FoReVeRmOrE.’

The echo hissed inside her brain, at the back of her head. Starlight’s neck prickled. She whirled, and found the ghastly Ladies of Flutter Valley gathered around a rotten box titled, “The Old,” in crude black marker.

At once, their heads snapped to her. “We HiJaCkEd YoUr DrEaM,” they said as one, the four voices from before—with the fourth female’s taking the place of the demon’s, and speaking loudest of all. “To GiVe YoU cOmFoRt. EvErYtHiNg HaPpeNs FoR a ReAsOn, StArLiGhT. yOu KnOW iT iN yOuR hEaRt To Be tRuE, wHy YoU aRe WiLLiNg To BeAr SuCh SuFfErInG. yOu KnOw It MaKeS oThErS hApPy, HoWeVeRmUcH yOuR fRiEnDs HaTe It.”

Starlight didn’t know what to say. Her heart did, though: “I know, I… I know.” She wiped the welling pressure, the blurriness, and the burning pain from her eyes. “Everything I’ve been through was a lesson. They’ve helped me understand creatures even as awful as you.”

Except she didn’t. She didn’t know why she was saying these things, only that it was right.

“LoVe. SeLf-SaCrIfIcE. EmPaThY.” They stepped away from the box, revealing their fingers entangled in strings gleaming seven distinct colors. “tHeSe CoMprIsE tHe MaRe YoU aRe NoW.”

She couldn’t breathe—her breast filled with air but it wasn’t enough. Starlight gulped, gasped, and gulped cyclically. “If I can give myself to others…”

“...tHeN yOu WiLL. It’S jUsT wHo YoU aRe AnD hAvE aLwAyS bEeN.” The strings stretched and stretched with each step they took, separating from one another, fading like spectres in the sun’s righteous light.

A sliver of purple rose from the “The Old” box, and Starlight heard a voice. Her own.

“I think this just needs,” she echoed as a winged marionette of Starlight Glimmer rose, contentment painted upon her spherical wooden head, “a little bit of empathy.”

“That’s all,” she felt driven to breathe, happy and crying and she didn’t know why. “That’s all a hurting heart needs.”

The witches, ghosts, froze on the spot. They said, “I like you, Starlight Glimmer.”

And in the blink of an eye, the witches were gone. “The Old” was gone. The marionette held in midair for one glorious moment before plummeting, clattering woodenly against the abyssal ground. Starlight didn’t feel the need to save it, because this, too, felt right.

Even though she was alone, despite everything horrible and wonderful she just witnessed.

VI.IV - Shoulda Seen This Coming

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Starlight awoke gasping for air, flinging forward as though to fill her lungs instantly. A chill enveloped her soaking coat.

What was that? She’d been drowning, or so it felt, and resurfaced only at the last possible moment. Why am I so afraid? Her chest swallowed deep, it felt, like anxiety juicing her hollow like an orange.

Only, it wasn’t.

I’m… I’m not afraid. Simultaneously a miracle and a disturbance, marked by little more than a cuddling warmth which snaked throughout her body. Contentment, right? It had been so long she wasn’t sure, and to what, even more uncertain.

After all, she’d laid her head fearing the evening, her friends. That’s right. I made an edit to Starswirl’s spell, then opted to grab some shuteye before dinner… and an apology to the girls.

That’s right.

She had that to do.

...Fun~

This was all assuming those mares still accepted Starlight deep down, and weren’t just putting on a—Stop. Stop it. This kind of thinking doesn’t help anything.

Starlight stamped out the dread trying to worm its way in. What did she have to fear, other than that which lived and died in her own head?

The scariest place in Equestria, she joked with a snort. With Twilight, the world and ponies, they don’t have to be so scary anymore. This was the mantra she recited as she climbed out of bed, showered, wrangled with her toothbrush for a sorely-needed cleaning and her hairbrush as well.

No fear. No fear.

But why was she so nervous?

Why awaken this way, like something terrible had happened in her sleep?

Perhaps it was a blessing that Starlight didn’t often remember her dreams. Just feelings, if nothing else. This one must have been terrifying, yet pleasant, too. Nothing more.

The sun hung high in the sky; amber which previously bathed Starlight’s quarters pierced the dining hall in pale golden shafts.

“I… guess it wasn’t sunset,” she muttered, to the crushing response of absolutely nopony.

Four chairs stood at the feast table’s sides, empty, no places set before them. Starlight blinked, and suddenly there were platters and bowls all over, brimming with mouth-watering foods; seven chairs surrounded the setup, devoid of the friends who now regarded her with fear, apprehension, disgust, and pity. The post-Gourd Fest breakfast had returned with punch to the gut.

And then they were gone, the table reset, four chairs standing alone and patterned with light. Starlight’s roiling gut lingered, until she inhaled, thinking to herself calming words.

This certainly wasn’t going to be like that time, whenever it would come. I only overslept. No biggie. Everypony will understands, hopef—Of course they did. Twilight said so herself: they were happier at Starlight’s return than angry by her running away.

So I have nothing to be afraid of anymore. Her heart twisted and writhed.

Then snapped into pieces to the sound of, “Starlight!”

“What?!” she cried, whirling.

Standing in the doorway was Spike cradling a steaming bowl. Across his parted lips, a smile trembled forth. “Starlight.” He sounded happy.

Happy to see her.

Happy—despite being the most distant and disregarded out of everypony by Starlight’s negligence. “You still care.” Starlight swallowed as he adopted a puzzled, empathetic expression. “I mean, you’re still happy to see… m-me…”

Spike, stock-still, suddenly jogged over. The aroma of strawberries and cream oatmeal teased a starved ache to shiver down Starlight’s tongue as he placed it upon the table behind her. He pivoted around, latching around Starlight’s forelegs. “I was afraid you’d left again, but welcome back.” His words came stiff and thick. “Glad you finally remembered we’re your friends.”

A lump choked her. “Y-yeah… yeah, me too.” She freed a leg, encircled his noggin. “Thanks. Um…” She hugged him, debating as she bit her tongue until Spike pushed away.

“What’re you thanking me for, exactly?”

“For…” Starlight kicked, clunking against the crystal. She met his eyes. “For not hating me, if I’m being honest. Sorry if that’s horrible and judgemental! I’m just so scared of saying the wrong thing, and-and I—”

A finger pressed against her lips. Peeking around it, a sad smirk and gleaming emerald-eyes. “Everypony says the wrong thing sometimes, Starlight. What’s important is explaining what you mean, so nopony takes you the wrong way.”

That sounded even harder than what Daddy told her. “In that case, you should hate me for disregarding your feelings for the sake of what I so conceitedly believed would be a better quality of life.” Starlight lowered her gaze. She had the power to do it again. “Wouldn’t be the first time I did that, anyways.”

A gentle force lifted her chin, and her eyes, the short distance toward meeting Spike’s. “We can’t hate you, Starlight.” He retracted his claw, balling it. “I mean, sure, the way you acted made us feel a little bad, but we’re close enough to know you weren’t doing it maliciously. We were just worried, is all, and wanted to make you comfortable any way we could.”

“Right.” Starlight sighed out her nose, her guilt remaining lodged within however. It would do neither of them good. “Of course it was nothing like I thought in my head. And you hit the nail on the head, as usual, Spike! If I’d just explained how I felt instead of being childishly ashamed—!”

“Starlight.”

“Like, I made you guys feel just awful! Hated. Unloved. Despite all my intentions aiming for the opposite!” Spike wrapped around her again, the act clenching Starlight’s throat. She gasped, trying to blink her vision back to clarity, then conjure up a tissue only to realize she never would again. The thought brought for a single, bitter sob. The one consoling her summoned another. ”I’m so sorry for brushing you off, Spike… Y-you knew how I was from the s-start, but I—!” He tried shushing her, but this needed to be heard. “But I tricked you before I left! And I and everypony else brushed you off ‘cause we were too stupid and afraid of the truth… I should have listened to you from the start, Spike. Then none of this would’ve ever happened.”

And Spike simply chuckled.

Of all things, she heard a chuckle! Spike pulled back, eyes twinkling emeralds and a smile as heartbreakingly radiant. “That’s my life! I’m used to it, Starlight. I care more that you’re here and talking to us again.”

She didn’t hear that last part, only that Spike had grown accustomed to being ignored, and lending himself as a stability only when called upon. “I’m so sorry. Nopony should feel like ‘the Outcast.’”

“Starlight, I’m a pony in a dragon’s body. It’s always been like that, and it doesn’t bother me, really! Just like how…” His fast took a crestfallen turn. “Just like how you’re used to… um—”

“Life dumping its waste all over my head, yeah. I rue the day Twilight realizes you’re just like me in that regard.”

“Well, I got thick scales,” boasted Spike, demonstrating this by scratching his arm, nails screeching as though raking across a chalkboard. “Meanwhile, you…”

“...My entire heart is like a callus.” A second later Starlight cackled.

Spike added his boisterous colt-like laugh, and the two of them looked to one another, giggling, blushing, before returning to covering their mouths, yet hooting still like this was the funniest thing in the world. “I gotcha!” he said.

“And you get me.” Starlight tried to catch her breath. “I like that, Spike. What you said. You’ve always been one of the wisest ponies I know.”

Spike waved a claw. “Naw, I wouldn’t say that… The girls are leagues above me when it comes to life experience. Same as you!”

“Me? Smart?” Starlight blew a raspberry at the notion.

“You are! When you’re not caught up in your own head.” Spike fiddled with his claws a second, then reached and tapped the bowl closer to Starlight. He hadn’t insulted her by giving a spoon—the indicator that this was for her, not him or Twilight.

“I made this for ya,” he said, displaying an amethyst bordered in gold. “Twilight did something magical, connected this to your bedroom or something. It said the place was empty though—”

“A foal-monitoring spell?” Starlight smacked her burning cheek. “I can’t believe this, she’s actually—!” A sigh. “She’s worried about me, reasonably so, and is being practical while doing it.” Then there was Spike, shrinking under her scrutiny. “Twilight’s charged you with keeping watch, didn’t she? Does that mean she’s not here?”

Spike bit his lip, kicking the ground. “Look, Starlight, I know you liked doing things on your own. But I thought to surprise you with something nice like breakfast in bed!”

“This is perfect, Spike. Thank you for dismissing my needless guilt.” She smiled more kindly than she felt. But this was still a kind, unnecessary gesture that he went and did regardless.

Starlight turned towards the bowl, catching Spike out of the corner of her eye pumping his fist. “I knew it, Twi, I knew it,” he hissed.

Starlight chuckled, and face-planted into her oatmeal. The sweet mush was miles above the stuff she ate last night, or rather, yesterday morning. With warmth it filled the hollowness in her belly. Her heart had settled finally, too—perhaps she was just hungry and nothing more.

Spike guffawed at the sight he returned to. “H-hungry?!” he cried. Starlight went rigid, her eyes meeting his, then returning to the bowl clutched in her two hooves, the poor thing on the receiving end of one heck of a tongue bath.

Unfortunately for her, Spike could never resist a zinger when the opportunity arose. “You know we have soap and water for cleaning those, right?”

Starlight practically threw the thing a foot or two away from her. She switched to a more dignified propping upon the table. “Do you have more?”

“Not if you’re just going to waste all my lipstick like that again, young lady!” Starlight tilted her head. Spike almost choked, but this definitely wasn’t his strongest joke ever. “Your face,” he explained, scratching his head, “you look like a foal who just found her mother’s medicine cabinet.”

Starlight flushed and wiped her mouth, shrieked at the gunky sticky mess on foreleg, then scraped it on the table, shooting him a wide grin.

Spike would have pumped a fist if he wasn’t carrying another bowl. The joke was still good—she just didn’t get it at first. “I’ll make you another serving,” he said, walking to the seat across from her. “I only made enough for two, and I’d give you this one if it wasn’t dusted in sapphire!”

Delectable stars twinkled across his porridge. Spike licked his lips, ready to dive in with Starlight’s gusto.

As he took a seat Starlight said, “Wait, you’d make more? Aw, then don’t sweat it, Spike. Now that it’s settling, I’m feeling kinda full.”

Whether or not that's true, Spike wasn’t going to insist on her. He left it at, “My offer stands, and it’ll stand to the end of time.”

A humored grunt, and then, “Thanks, Spike… For believing in me, too.” He was puzzled, but Starlight, seated now, only gave a smile propped on her forehooves. “If you weren’t around, Twilight might have lost hope much sooner. Not just in me, but herself, too. We’d not be having this conversation if not for your… well, you!”

Spike lowered his face, spooning his oatmeal. “I didn’t do that much, Starlight. I was just… me, I guess.”

“And that was plenty.” Starlight grinned, eyes squeezed shut like she was in pure bliss right now. “Thanks for being you, Spike! I owe more than an apology, but I promise to make the rest of my time here under you and Twilight’s roof worthy of your efforts.”

And it just got heavy again. Even worse, Spike failed to keep a straight face as emotion tightened around his throat. “Dang it.” His spoon dropped, clattering against the bowl’s edge as he scrubbed his eyes. “Starlight, you dummy,” he sniffled, “it’s ‘our roof.’ Not mine’r Twilight’s.”

“Right! Right, sorry. Sorry.” She was grinning despite herself. Spike couldn’t help but join her, because she was back, and she was smiling again. Just like Twilight wanted.

“Where is Twilight, anyway?”

Spike’s spine went stiff. “Sh-she’s at Canterlot for the day. Seeing Princess Celestia and thanking her and Luna for their help this past week.”

Just like we rehearsed.

“Oh.” Starlight frowned a moment. “Well, no biggie. When you finish I’ll head out and see to the other ponies. I got a lot of apologies to make.” She scratched her head, bashful. “And some more ugly-cries to cry. Hopefully some of the last, f-for a while, of course.”

A chill iced over Spike’s heated core. Oh, crabapples, this isn’t good!

Part of Spike cried out, to assure that there was nothing wrong with crying, especially now, and that Starlight had nothing to be ashamed of. He wished to tag along and tell her that the others wouldn’t dare consider these things apologies, just sorely-needed talks between friends.

He wanted to keep that smile on her face. To spend time with his friend. For her to take it easy, finally, after a month of living in irrational fear of her pony family.

But stopping Starlight here and now was more important than any of that. “Wouldn’t you rather watch a movie? Or read?”

Starlight smiled. “Honestly, yeah, more than anything. But if I don’t do it now, then I’ll be spending the rest of my day thinking about them. I have to do this now, Spike. Like, right now.”

“But they’re all busy!” Spike masked himself with a mouthful of oatmeal. Followed by two more. The gnawing in his chest wouldn’t fill though.

Starlight cocked a brow. “And how do you know that? I mean, half of them are back from important business-stuff. The others never leave town. You were with Rarity, even, how come you haven’t accompanied her if she went back to one of her boutiques?”

It was so easy to forget just how freakishly perceptive Starlight was in light of this crazy past month.

“You’re sweating like you got something to hide.” Starlight knitted her brows, touched her heart. “Please be honest with me, Spike. Is everypony mad that I slept through dinner last night?”

“Of course not!” he said sincerely.

“Then why don’t you want me seeing them?” Her face fell. “Oh, don’t tell me it’s another party. It’s another party, isn’t it?”

Spike bit his nails. Would feigning disappointment make her more upset with those girls? Would the obvious lie worsen it? Should he just tell her?! After all, she may very well be the key to keeping Twilight safe.

Twilight, worried Spike. She’ll be okay. They’ll be fine! The pieces lined up, there’s no reason they wouldn’t be—Starlight proved that much. But her reaction, if she found out, it’d be… well, it definitely wouldn’t be pretty.

“Spike, please be honest with me,” Starlight cried.

He couldn’t stand the pain in her voice. “We weren’t expecting you to wanna see anypony today!”

“And why does that matter? Isn’t that a good thing?” she genuinely wondered.

“It is! And Twilight would totally be proud of you—!”

“If she was actually in Canterlot?” Starlight cut in. Her eyes widened toward the one second Spike was stunned into silence. “I knew it,” she said, then snarled, “I knew it! Why is she hiding from me, Spike?”

“She’s not, I swear! Starlight, look, you two can talk tomorrow, I promise. For now, let’s just spend some quality time together, yeah?”

Starlight’s face set into neutrality. “We can.” She inhaled deep, eyes boring into Spike’s. “After I know what Twilight’s up to. Because you’d happily tell me what she was doing without hesitation if it wasn’t meant to be a secret. I know you well enough to know that much.” Spike was stuck. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say that Starlight would believe without somehow poking more holes in it. He was stuck, he failed Twilight and the girls, and now Starlight was going to tear into him until she found the truth. Maybe, just maybe, if he stalled her long enough, Twilight and the girls would return from—”Flutter Valley.” Starlight’s voice was faint, her eyes wide. “They all went to Flutter Valley, didn’t they? Despite what I told them, despite my threats, despite Twilight swearing she wouldn’t go… Your silence tells me I’m dead-right. I don’t even need to see your face.” Her eyes had lowered towards her empty bowl. “How, though? How could they possibly know where I found…”

And her eyes snapped to meet his. “S-Starlight?”

“She went into my room, under my bed,” uttered Starlight in a cold, dead voice, “while I was sleeping?!”

They have no right.

But they were totally in the right.

She lied to me.

But of course she would—of course she’d view it as her duty to do so, both for Starlight’s sake, and to keep Equestria safe. Any sane pony would the same. Heck, Starlight already had.

I’m so angry.

Because it made absolute sense why Starlight would be left behind. I’m baggage. A hindrance. I’ll be bait for the witches and have nothing to offer the girls when the confrontation comes.

But they’ll be killed, or be tortured. Something irreversible will happen. Twilight will lose everypony, or Starlight will lose them all instead, truly fulfilling Hydia’s promise. Twilight said it herself after all: they’re villains with a sick sense of humor.

It made sense.

It only made sense.

But Starlight wanted to scream, and cry, and hug her friends tight and never let them go anywhere again.

Even Spike, but his insistence on getting in her way both hauntingly mirrored the evening this mess started and irritated her to pieces. Even though he, too, had valid reasons for doing such.

He stuck his arms out, scowling—a speck in this great hall. “There’s no reason to do this,” he said. “Just drop it, Starlight, please. They’ll be back before you get there anyway.” Starlight didn’t slow her step. By now it was evident that he wasn’t trying to permanently impede her (not after trying to act the ball-and-chain with his own person), but slow her down any way he could.

“I’m actually exhausted right now,” she said aloud. “You’re strong, Spike, in a lot of ways I’m jealous of. And you’re stubborn as a mule, as any good friend oughta be.” Starlight stepped around the dragon, and Spike was a veritable reflection, never leaving her front. She pushed, he hugged, she pushed harder and he hooked his claws into the carpet. Starlight had to chuckle, she was too proud of him now to be angry towards him. “Feel that, Spike? My muscles are weak now, my energy next to nothing.” He hugged Starlight’s forelegs, fueled by the very terror she vied to use on Twilight. “You’re doing good. Whatever Twilight asked you to do exactly, you’re close to winning.”

‘Close,’ but she wouldn’t let him. Wet warmth soaked the fur where he pressed his face—he knew it, too. “Stop fighting like this, Starlight. Why are you so determined to find out?”

“Honestly?” Starlight laughed. “Despite the reality being all but fact, I wanna make sure my rage isn’t misplaced. I wanna never jump to conclusions again. And I guess some pathetic, desperate flicker of hope inside is burning on the wish that I’m wrong, that I’ll find everything as it should be.” Lickety’s journal, the map. She ought to have burned them—another potential disaster that was obvious in hindsight.

Spike shook his head, wiped his eyes, nuzzled her all at once. “You torture yourself constantly, Starlight. And so does Twilight. I hate it, it hurts to watch and I don’t know what to do to make you see.”

So suddenly Starlight ceased exerting force against him that she stumbled a step against his strength, and Spike collapsed, clutching to her still. “See what?”

“I didn’t want Twilight doing this either. ‘Cause I knew this, right here, this woulda happened no matter what. But Twilight took my fears, your reactions, all of those ponies explained them away or justified this insanity, just like you did a month ago!”

The room spun, Starlight’s head wobbled it seemed from deja vu. She fell, causing Spike to collapse into her chest. His face was dry as a bone, and warm like pavement under the sun. Shudders rippled down Starlight, and not solely from the sensation. “Are you telling me… that I… I made those girls…”

Spike bunched her fur in his fist. She felt him snarl before he yanked himself back to reveal it. “Stop doing that already! The two of you, just stop… stop… hating yourselves, for Celestia’s sake!”

It was exactly what she feared. “This’s made her ‘suicidal,’ too.” She didn’t even realize that Spike might not understand the term. She hardly felt him there, saw him gritting his teeth at her.

Perhaps he understood, typically the most mature out of all of them. “Twilight… doesn’t show it much.” His gaze lowered, his grip tightening, pinching the skin beneath Starlight’s coat. “She doesn’t show it ‘cause she’s ashamed of it, like you. I know her, Starlight, I know her and she always pretends that I don’t but I do. I know how she can get when she feels guilty, I know she blames herself even when things are just out of her control. But this time is worse because like all those times, she feels like she should have been!”

In control of Starlight, that is. Their friendship. It was her realm after all, and she very nearly failed in the worst way imaginable. Starlight could barely swallow the lump in her throat, let alone speak.

Spike continued, “Please, Starlight, I don’t want you to hurt yourself further over this. Or Twilight. Neither of you see what you’re doing to one another, you’re both so stuck in your own heads!”

“Sh-she’s doing the same stupid, irresponsible, selfish thing that I’ve done.” Starlight tried her very best to steady her breathing. Keyword being ‘tried.’ “Why, Spike?” She circled her forelegs around him, needing the physical contact. “Why is she just falling into the same mental traps that she knows I’ve plunged down all my life? That she herself nearly had this past month?” A gasp tore forth, a cry as Starlight realized, “Why doesn’t she care about her own life, or how her friends ‘n family will feel about it if something happened to her?!”

Did she not understand, after all this time, why Starlight sacrificed with such eagerness?

That this… and her actions in turn…

Starlight nearly choked: this was beyond friendship.

It felt like an obsession if anything. Not towards Starlight, just as it hadn’t been for Starlight herself—not wholly anyways. Rather, it was a sense of duty, compounded by regret and guilt and the hope that doing something insane will fix everything, outside and inside even more so.

“This is all my fault.”

“No it’s not, that’s what I’m saying! Starlight, look at me.” And she did, but only by the guidance of Spike’s claws. His eyes were bright, glimmering, and set with a mix of rage and love. She’d never seen such intensity from him. “Listen to me, Starlight, and tell me: how can you or Twilight ever move past this, if the two of you hate yourselves too much to understand why you’re here in the first place?”

But they did understand. “We love each other, Spike. We’re also obsessed with feeling good about ourselves and making others feel the same.”

And he released her face, his claws remaining upraised as if to catch the fly that was Starlight’s fleeting attention. He saw it in her flickering eyes, gazing about the hall to find anything but his scrutiny—now more than ever Starlight needed to get up, to move, to find Twilight and save her from making a horrible mistake like she herself had. She was wasting time. They were wasting time—“Talking.”

The word cut through Starlight, her thoughts. She blinked, realizing but confused as to whether that came out of Spike or not. “Talking, Starlight,” he said, reaching beyond her doubts and grasping her absolute attention. “You two have a lot to discuss and it won’t be pretty, but you gotta if you wanna get through this, I know it!”

Starlight was speechless. Did he really just say that, echoing her thoughts the other day?

Spike hugged himself, bit his lip. Self-conscious. Suddenly a child again.

An actual child. At least by dragon standards.

You brilliant little boy.

“Spike?” Starlight inhaled, her lungs pushing past the thick pain wriggling in her breast. “Spike, let me go. I promise I’ll bring her home, and we’ll all return safely. We’ll return so Twilight and I can talk, empathize with each other, and finally grow up. And not just us, but our friends, too. That’s you included, big guy. You’re as much a part of this as all of us. I won’t hear any argument about it.”

He was stunned before suddenly interested in picking his claws instead of watching Starlight’s likely manic face. She was ready to start begging when he suddenly met her gaze without fear. “How’re you gonna get there? Maybe… maybe I can send you to Celestia via dragonfire.” A great idea, if time wasn’t of the essence. “You can’t teleport anymore, not without hurting yourself.”

Starlight ignored the lurch of terror piercing her breast, donning a smirk. “Exactly.” Starlight reeled her forehooves in, smiled apologetically, and said, “Sorry for being a hypocrite. I…” She might not actually survive this, or the encounter. Anything was possible now.

“I love you, Spike. You’re a great friend.”

Worry crossed his face, emotion welled in his eyes. “Starlight, wha—?” And she shoved; watching him fly down the hall, reaching beyond all her might, Starlight summoned the magic flowing in and around her, envisioning the veritable citadel gate that was Flutter Valley’s threshold, shrouded in fog, and steeped in ink.

And she pushed out, screaming as lightning or something equally as searing pierced her forehead.

VI.V - A Little Bit of Empathy

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Twilight massaged the stiffness in her neck. Simply stopping herself from bending it at a ninety-degree angle would be prudent, but so would penning a letter to Celestia, discussing this with Starlight, and, heck, just talking to her from the start. Like a friend, however hard it might have been for them both.

Altogether, letting go of her volatile emotions fueling these selfish decisions.

To stop being afraid. Stop doubting yourself, she thought, hardening her heart. This is for the best. This was the best, most efficient way to help Starlight. Arguing over an inevitability would only strain their freshly-mended bond.

Of course it would have.

Twilight shuffled, a bid to occupy brain space not unlike chewing bubblegum. The effect became null once rationalized as such, like with every other distraction, every justification. She cursed her brain.

What am I doing? This isn’t right, it can’t be, it doesn’t feel like it, she thought, and then, Yes it is. For Starlight, Equestria, this is right.

Rarity came into sight, who laid on “the plushest bed” of grass bronze as a sunset, yet remaining upon the edge of life with nopony to water it. Beside her, Applejack was advising the proper way to band the sticks together.

“You need any help, girls?” asked Twilight.

“For the last time,” Rainbow moaned, dumping a bundle of dry and crusty vine nearby, “we got this, Egghead. Save your magic for the real part. If you gotta help these knuckleheads with the raft, then make sure it’s—ah…” She rolled her hoof, sweetly trying to decide something nice but condemning herself regardless.

“‘Practical,’ is what you’re tryin’ to say,” finished Applejack. “We aren’t wasting our time with frou-frou nonsense, y’hear?”

Rarity huffed. “Not that I blame you for presuming my mindset is ‘there,’ as it were—”

“Not that anypony’s even can be!” Pinkie cheered, to no one’s amusement.

Rarity continued, “I care not for the beautification of what will be an ugly mode of transportation regardless. I wanted this done five minutes ago, Applejack—nay, I wanted this done a month ago!”

Applejack spat the vine she was yanking into a tighter knot. “We’ll sink like a well-fed pig an’ be… consarnit, black stuff-food if this ain’t plugged n’ shaped proper-like!”

“Actually, it’s no deeper than a filly pool! Look! See?” All eyes turned to Pinkie as her tongue made a cheeky advance on the inky substance coating the tip of a crooked makeshift oar. “Ohh! I gonna lick i’!”

And then she was yanked into Fluttershy, bumping snouts with their friend’s pale, set face as she tugged once more, retrieving the oar. “Please,” muttered Fluttershy, taking flight, “don’t joke like that.” She flew to the other side of the raft, which looked almost if not totally complete by Twilight’s reckoning, and dropped it beside a second half-made oar. “I appreciate your efforts, Pinkie Pie. But you should rest… get a good nap before we… we go.” A gulp, and Fluttershy looked a shade whiter.

Pinkie smiled, though her hurt finally showed. “Y-yeah, yeah-yeah I totally get it. No prob, Fluttershy. If you need cheering up,” she added, curling up away from the group, “I’ll be here.”

“Oh, Pinkie,” sighed Twilight. She was definitely trying, cartwheeling without pause until now. Trying to distract them—distract from their purpose being here, from what little they actually knew, even why they were here in the first place.

It was all in vain, as she’d just admitted—for even her mind was elsewhere—but she was trying.

Except one look at anypony’s glazed, distant eyes told that none were here with the mindset to fix a mistake of Starlight Glimmer’s. What, precisely, depended on the pony, and that is where their mind festered—and would continue to do so until this business was put to rest.

Twilight found herself regarding this half-dead world once more.

Starlight somehow spent the past month restraining her curiosity, or perhaps ignoring it, for the sake of functioning normally without this place and its lost history hanging overhead.

Before Twilight, around and around each other the trees together twisted, knotted, stabbed and embraced, as if working together whilst fighting to reach the deep blue above. Tall or squat, a stump or a hundred-armed sentry, whether crushed beneath five curving trunks or piercing all to reach the heavens, it didn’t matter to the masters of this domain. Theirs was made a fortress taller than Canterlot Castle, and luck was on the girls’ side to have flown south on a clear day rather than a foggy one like Starlight.

Before Twilight, the woodland arched into a tunnel spilling out to a bottomless darkness. Those comprising it were smooth as carved wood, Twilight noticed upon sending a wisp of light that was quickly swallowed. Their nakedness, smeared in ink that wasn’t quite the same substance, revealed them to have been shewn of bark. Why? How? What was that ink?

Twilight didn’t entertain the thought any longer than she had when they first arrived.

Starlight hadn’t told them about all of this. Why? Did she know something, or was she that afraid? What was there to be afraid of?

It was fine. It was fine!

The raft was getting its finishing touches by Applejack. Together with Rarity, they’d bound together splinters gathered by Pinkie using vines Rainbow Dash retrieved from one of the distant clusters of partial-life.

The wind sighed, nipping Twilight on the nose. Beneath the crushing atmosphere, the girls murmured to one another. Perhaps Twilight’s Element simply weighed heavy now, unused to sitting on her head after so many years in the Tree of Harmony.

Nonsense. She had donned it fine when confronting the Pony of Shadows. Nay, it was not the crown nor the uncertainty of what was about to happen, for her friends by her side and the secret weapon she’d packed ensured a happy ending for all.

But it was so very quiet. Scanning the horizon behind her, backed by serene blue stood several of mangled biomes which surely teamed with life an era long ago. They were even more quiet. Unmoving. Possibly screaming if they could—how else must it feel to continue existing with nary a shred of life?

Only Fluttershy was brave enough to comment on their state, the atmosphere’s weight. Pinkie joked but ignored it. The rest had worked diligently picking apart the landscape for a raft.

After today, nopony would have to fear this cursed place again. None will have to suffer a union with the Witches of Flutter Valley. Or listen helplessly to her friend’s screams in the night, gripped by nightmares borne of grisly creatures that none could comprehend unless seen with their own eyes.

Perhaps that will be the challenge of this fight, wondered Twilight. Harmonizing and using the Elements in the face of those monsters.

What was there to worry about? Friendship would pull through… but for how long after the fact? What would these things say? What would they do, would they look like? Draggle essentially broke Twilight by crushing Starlight’s poor horn before her very eyes, and she didn’t dare imagine what the other two looked like! Just how would her friends react when true to-the-core evil stared back? Fluttershy admitted she is still ensnared by the memory of Hydia breaking Starlight’s horn off—Stop it, right now.

Fretting would do nopony any good, especially the girls. Twilight just had to take her uncertainty with a “one step at a time” mentality (ignoring how many times she told herself this in the last several minutes).

Twilight sighed. Whether it was paranoia or instinct, this suddenly felt wrong. Almost ill-timed. “Girls—?” Behind her, a crash like glass charged with magic rippled through her, rocking her core while humming in a three-tone moan.

And then silence followed the girls’ collective shriek, shooting up from their spots to take a stance. Rarity, hoof on her Element and teeth bared, held for a full second before her eyes grew wide, and that hoof covered her dropping jaw. The rest followed suit in some variant; Twilight just struggled to blink.

She knew immediately who it was, and did not dare turn around. She didn’t dare make it reality, and dare to process the worst case scenario that had come to pass. Dead. Dead. She’s dead she died because I underestimated… her… ag-ag-again—A shrill cry burst forth and was smothered by her hoof. On Twilight’s back her joints burned dull, her wings flared and stiff in reaction to that distinctively broken teleportation sound.

She could not look. She could not bear whatever sight was ready to greet her, what had stunned even Applejack into a rhythm of hard swallowing.

It was Fluttershy, with tears in her eyes and a smile stretching from behind her hoof, who broke the silence: “S-Starlight…”

And everything snapped into clarity: the heart-pounding quiet Flutter Valley, a ragged pony gasping sobbing and laughing all at once behind Twilight, directly in her ear it seemed.

“H-hey!” Everything was demanded of her just to rasp that. “I said ‘hey.’ Look… Look at me. Please, l-lo-ok—” A gasp. A pant. Sobs. Twilight couldn’t tell which were hers or Starlight’s. “I… said look at me you LIAR!”

The hatred in her voice alone…

The girls whizzed by, and a wiry speck followed on the horizon. Finally, upon a quivering foreleg, the other buckled beneath her, was Starlight Glimmer, forehead billowing smoke like a chimney. No blood though, not a speck.

Her eyes welled, burning deep into Twilight’s, charring her soul. So much pain was in those eyes. “You…” A cry tore ragged from Starlight’s throat, and her forehead slammed unto her buckled foreleg, cradling it. Her mane, wiry and split all over like always, glistened with sweat. Another scream. Twilight had to help her, save her friend. Something, anything!

Why? Starlight cursed. Twilight tried to summon her magic, but all spells she knew were forgotten. Why did I think this was a good idea?!

“Why?” It was her own voice. Twilight was lost, Starlight was perfectly alive yet her heart wouldn’t stop galloping. She suddenly knew what she had to do, she wanted to scream and cry and let Starlight know how stupid this was. “Why did you do that?! Don’t you realize you could have died!? This, everything, it would have been all for—!”

“You,” Starlight snarled, pushing against the earth and her own exhaustion, “...are the last pony who—ugh!” Starlight collapsed, but kept her glare trained on Twilight. “Got no right, scoldin’ me about stupid, insane, selfish stupid stupid STUPID suicide missions!”

She was absolutely right. Twilight had no words. None. She couldn’t possibly—except, no, this was entirely different! Because… because she had her friends now. Except for Starlight…

What is—? Why am I thinking so… irrationally? This seemed like such a good idea, a necessary one, back in Ponyville.

“Hey,” Rainbow whispered, “what’s a ‘sue-his-hide’ mission?”

“A lawsuit I think!” Pinkie hissed.

Twilight shut them out; Starlight was being irrational, too, and she had to realize that. Twilight inhaled, opened her mouth as the logical part of her brain cried out that she was just trying to bring Starlight down to her miserable level.

To hear that pony roar “SHUT UP!” was relieving after the initial lurch of terror.

And that is when Starlight apparently, finally, took note of the ponies behind Twilight, as a softer, more wounded emotion washed her rage away.

https://youtu.be/MOZBt5h7nyI

“I’m sorry you’re out here. And for yelling, and turning my back on everypony and hurting you all so badly. I’m so, so—oh, words can’t begin to express or amend how I’ve treated you all this past month.” Starlight bit her lip.

A low whistle behind Twilight. “Won’t say I ain’t ticked with how bad you’ve worried us,” said Applejack. “But there ain’t nothin’ to forgive. That there’s the honest truth.”

“R-right. So, uh, so I’ve heard.” And Starlight grimaced, eyes wrenched shut. She cupped her smoking stump, gasping raggedly, and returned with a gentler firmness. “I am well… well aware of how crazy I sounded before. Apologies for that, too. But I actually kinda don’t care right now, so I guess I'm lying again... To tell the truth, I never actually cared, at all, about being nice. It was always so hard for me—the extra steps in guarding my language depending on the pony. I’m sorry for hiding that… and a bunch of other things.”

“Hey, Starlight,” attempted Pinkie, “it’s okay—”

“No.” A shake of the head, and Starlight collapsed on her rump, exhaling roughly. “No, it’s not. For you, sure, but not me. And I’m too scared, miserable, and a whole mess of other things to give a flying feather about courtesies right now,” she said as she massaged her horn, tied to a string of smoke. “So please, listen to what I have to say and ignore how I'm saying it.”

It must have hurt bad.

What am I waiting for?

Twilight remembered and cast the doctor’s numbing spell, subconsciously taking a note from Starlight in combining it with a mending charm.

She hissed louder than a basilisk, drowning Twilight’s feeble apology. But her muscles uncoiled, her trembling ceased. And Starlight’s eyes opened on her, gripping Twilight cold. She was ready to start yelling again. Deservedly so, but that didn’t make being on the receiving end any more pleasant.

“Thanks for that,” she rasped. “But we’re talkin’ here and now... Calmly. Let’s please refrain from yelling, yeah? Forget that I teleported here, and-and I know I shouldn’t have, but—”

‘But.’

BUT?!

“Enough with your ‘buts’ and excuses, Starlight, for goodness’ sake!” A small, tiny, insignificant part of Twilight’s brain flared, glowering hot on her cheeks. Everything else just didn’t care as her voice cracked like dry earth again and again: “I cannot tell you how much I can’t stand this, how you always—always—dismiss your pain as if it just doesn’t matter to anypony! And I know we covered this. I know you’re strong, and wise from the experience; I know you see it as a lesson and I know painfully well how little you care about what it does to you! But I’m not you—I can’t just ignore how I feel like you, because when I do, I end up going on these selfish, stupid, asinine ‘sue-his-hide’ missions that just makes you feel worse and I’m sorry!”

And Twilight gasped, gasped, gasped. Her heart stopped altogether, weighed down with something constricting.

“Ouch,” muttered Rainbow, following with a sharper “Ouch!” courtesy of Applejack, definitely.

Starlight just gazed dumbfounded, or disgusted or horrified, by what her former teacher had been reduced to. Twilight found the sight brutally honest, unbearable as a result. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for this and all of that what I just said, Starlight. Oh, this is all so… out of order. Me, you, this situation.” And it was all because of Twilight: her guilt, her mistrust, all of it. “I wish…” Her face burned. “I wish I was better, I wish I was different. A pony worth admiring and sacrificing yourself for—” And there it was, out in the open. Twilight really just said that? Her heart did not writhe in protest; it sank deep, grave with shame. “I’m… selfish, too. No matter what I say here, or what you think, at the heart of it I dragged us all out here because I was still ashamed of my guilt... Knowing I was the cause of your suffering?” she told the ground. “This whole mess has been the biggest mistake of my entire life.”

Starlight flinched, remained defensive. “I know, Twilight. I know exactly how you feel.” Her ears wilted. “It’s awful. It makes me wanna scream.”

Twilight did, too. But fear, shame, everything Celestia taught her flooded her mind and clogged her windpipe. “I can’t forget about these last several weeks, Starlight. I just can’t,” Twilight breathed. “Nor can I can’t forget about the way you pale every time those creatures are brought up. And I certainly cannot forget the fact that I had the power all along to eliminate your fears. After realizing this, we couldn’t sit a minute longer when there was action to take.”

“It just took defiling my privacy, first, huh?”

Twilight’s skin prickled, stabbed everywhere at once with hot needles. “Yes,” she gasped. “And it was horrible, not just doing it, but rationalizing it, too. And, heh, look at me. Look at how I’m still trying to rationalize it.”

But of all things a smile appeared. Starlight met Twilight’s gaze. “You’re not. Because I get all of that,” she said. “If you think I didn’t realize this immediately… then, deep down, you’re only trying to get me to understand how you feel. Not excusing yourself, because clearly,” she scoffed, gesturing to the monstrous woodland behind them, “none of this is okay with you. But I get that already, too.” Starlight touched her chest. “That’s not what I’m talking about. Why I’m hurt. At least not right now. What I’m angry about, I guess, is you can’t stand the thought of me being dead weight. A hazard.” She spoke louder, more emotionally. “When we finally talked for the first time in weeks, I had thought that meant something more than guilt on your end! I thought that when you said we’d tackle the future together, that meant I was finally gonna stop feeling like a pupil and more like a friend! But… that isn’t the case. Clearly. I’m still somepony to be tended to with hugs and good vibes instead of honest, brutal, deserved reality checks.”

Twilight struggled to inhale. “That’s not what I meant. Starlight, you know—”

“You know me, I thought! You know how I read these things and from the words I’m seeing it seems as if that was just fluff to make me feel good about myself! How much of that was sincere, Princess?!”

“No! That’s not it!” Twilight cried. “All of that was true, Starlight, I swear—I couldn’t have lied if I meant to!”

“Then you lied to yourself!” Starlight’s eyes flashed wetly. “‘We’ll face them together.’ That’s what you said.”

“Starlight—!”

“I thought we were gonna start being fearlessly honest with each other. Clearly not! Because you’re still afraid of me—!”

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you again, Starlight!”

And a sob burst forth.

A stupid cry, again.

And again.

Twilight actually hiccuped. She shielded her shame. “I can’t, Starlight! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for making you feel like this but I couldn’t stand the thought of an even worse scenario then the one we’ve been in for weeks!” It was more than that, though. So much more. “I couldn’t stand thinking about how alone and afraid you are, even in a crowded room… and not being able to do anything about it but accept you don’t care! I still,” she gasped, wavered, “I still hate what I did to you, even! I keep saying this but I do, I really really do—it makes me sick!” Her belly was afire, and no amount of futile squeezing would smother her misery. “And what I made you do, your poor horn, it-it-it just makes me feel, s-so, bad—”

Twilight nearly tumbled back as she was tackled. Warmth locked around her, somepony with the scent of old books and magical char.

“You dummy, I’m sorry.” Starlight wept in her ear. Twilight was frozen—kindness, and so soon even. “Sorry for flying off the handle. Sorry. You were… you’re so kind and great and fearless for doing this for me. And trying to keep me safe. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The woodland-spotted horizon melted, a blurry mass falling together. “M-me too. F-for everything.”

“We’re alike in a bad way, Princess. We got a lot to work on when we get home.”

She sounded so sure. So confident. As if she knew how this day will end and that it’d be a happy ending, undoubtedly.

“S-Starlight.” Twilight had never been crowned in a sky so blue, so bottomless. “Oh, Starlight,” she breathed, hugging her back.

“I’m sorry for scaring you by teleporting. I wasn’t thinking but I was too scared and worried not to do something crazy, y’know?”

Twilight knew exactly what she was talking about, and was unable to stop herself from feeling fond. “Like you care more about me right now, about your friends, than you do yourself?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you got me. I guess it’s always been obvious.”

“Kind of,” giggled Twilight.

Starlight huffed sheepishly. “But I get it. I really do.” She pulled away, a trembling smile on her face. “But you know what I learned?”

Twilight sniffled, shouldered her left eye of tears. “What?”

“Actually...” Starlight blushed, scratched the back of her head. “Actually, uh, I have Spike to thank for this one.” She sat back, hooves crossed upon her heart as she smiled at the space between them. “We care a lot for others. I’ve… accepted that about myself, despite my mistakes, believe it or not. And so do you, your ability to sympathize is boundless—otherwise, you’d have never seen something worth saving from a one way ticket to Tartarus. And for years, I’ve wondered why that is. And you’ve wondered for weeks why I so brazenly hurt myself if it means bettering the lives of my friends. It took Spike to make me realize that, you and me, we love everypony far, far more than we love ourselves.”

The notion sent an immediate jolt of terror surging forth. “N-no I—!”

Starlight was ready for this as she sealed Twilight’s words with a hoof. Flatly she uttered, “A neurotic upstart with the pressure of being Celestia’s pupil; figurehead of a common social construct you only just began to learn the nuances of several years ago.” She released Twilight’s lips with a smirk. “It’d be not just weird but arrogant if you didn’t set a high bar for yourself!”

Twilight could say nothing. Everything was either a denial or a rationalization that Starlight had already broken down to its simplest elements. Shameful. Utterly disgusting. What in Equestria did Celestia see worth in her, besides her cutie mark?

Surely Starlight would be a better Element of Magic than she.

”Hey, what’s with the face?” Starlight asked. “You always talk like you’re not allowed to have any weaknesses.”

“Because I’m supposed to be better than this!” Twilight cried. “Don’t you understand? I’m—! I’m not a normal pony like you, or any of you! And I hate that. I hate being…” It was so ugly, just thinking about it. Twilight tried scrubbing her forelegs of the shivers. “I… hate… being something that demands perfection,” she said emphatically.

“Says who?” A hoof gripped her shoulder, warm and unafraid even now. Even as Twilight herself felt embarrassed by what just transpired. “Whoever told you that you needed to be perfect? Celestia?”

“No!” She’d always encouraged Twilight just as Starlight was now.

“Your parents, then? Or Spike?”

The worst joke ever. “Definitely not.”

“Anypony?”

Twilight groaned. “Me! Alright? Nopony else, just me!”

“And why’s that?”

“Because…! Because…!” It was too much. She just didn’t get it. “UGH! Because ponies expect better from me! Because they might not say it, but they do, I know they—!” The hooves upon her chest pressed harder. “I know it. The Canterlot elite—”

Starlight laughed, and her laugh became a groan as she cupped her eyes. “Oh, gosh you sound just like me right now,” she muttered. “Well, let me tell ya, Twilight. Nopony likes comparing themselves to a friend they consider perfect. Speaking from experience right here, and it’s a crummy feeling.”

Twilight had never realized. “D-did I—?”

Starlight held up a hoof. “No, no, you didn’t do anything. It was all me. My problems and how I used them as some sort of standard. Like you. If I’m being honest, I still feel that way, only now I want to use that to match my peers.” She cast a smile to the ponies behind Twilight, unflinching. They had had an audience and Twilight completely forgot how they would feel, what they would think of this shameful display. “But being open and real, like we have been these last couple days? Twilight, I’m more comfortable around you now than I ever have before. Other ponies will feel the same if you let them know the real Twilight. Not a wannabe Celestia. Like, who cares what the Canterlot elite thinks? They’re a speck in the world, the real world, we live in.”

What she said made so much sense. And was absolutely terrifying. “Ho-how can you be so sure?”

“Because, well, what Equestria needs is the pony I sacrificed so much for. The pony who cares so deeply for her friends she’s willing to break their hearts if it meant making them feel better. Equestria, I think, doesn’t want another Princess Celestia, this divine, flawless figure we know isn’t the case. A friend is what it needs, what I need. Don’t you see, that’s where you’re at your best? All the times you aren’t mimicking Celestia?”

Twilight inhaled, ready to just deny it without knowing why.

But there was the various kingdoms Twilight had befriended through the efforts of her friends, who followed her example. From Pinkie and the yaks, Rainbow and the griffons, to Starlight and the changelings.

There was all the ponies they helped via the Map.

The Two Sisters themselves, who only in recent years had a true friend in Twilight rather than another subject they had to act for.

Discord, all of Ponyville, the lives they all touched across their various adventures.

All of whom were changed for the better, true, and also become one worried face out of hundreds the day Twilight was thought to have her last party.

And then there was Starlight Glimmer, biting her lip in hopes that anything she said got through Twilight’s thick, single-minded skull.

Starlight, who gave up her world for the sake of Twilight’s. A friend. Not a princess’s.

There… might have been some validity to her words. Twilight thought to say these words, to apologize or explain herself and how she understood. Something in her face made Starlight grin, tear up, and hug her once more before she could get a word in.

Twilight’s heart warmed as she closed her forelegs over Starlight’s spiny back. She was such a frail thing now. They had a lot to fix after today, she thought, but her health was primary.

“Thank you,” was all Twilight needed to say.

“It’s funny,” said Starlight. “I thought we’d have this heated debate about the witches and what we should do. But now? I see you all here with the Elements of Harmony, and I am, too, and after talking like this I know now… this is right. This is where we need to be, right here, right now.”

Twilight hadn’t realize it, but she felt the very same now: confident, whole, totally without fear. It would be scary, sure, but this day would end with the seven of them together, and the Witches of Flutter Valley banished to the Aether, turned to stone, trees, or whatever Harmony needed done to them.

Everything would be just fine.

“Hey, gals!” Pinkie cried. “Lookie lookie!” They parted, turned towards the girls gathered and smiling at the citadel’s maw. “We finished the raft while you were having a moment!”

“Let’s kick this off already, ya hear? We’re burnin’ daylight an’ who knows how slow the goin’ll be.”

“Girls,” Starlight breathed, “oh, you guys, I completely—”

“Save it, ya weirdo!” Rainbow winked. “We’ll have our moment on the ride over. This place is giving Fluttershy the creeps the longer we wait around!”

Fluttershy, grimacing, said nothing, did nothing, but stare a thousand yards away. Twilight recognized that same look from the mirror.

One look at Starlight, the very same they had seen countless times since the incident, suggested the same.

VI.VI - The Long Road Ahead (to recovery of course)

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“Anypony else... reckon that...” grunted AJ as she rowed, “we’re bein’ lured into the manticore’s den?” She stalled, panting once before muttering “Tarnations.” She resumed. “I mean, them witches apparently know we’re a-comin’ already… Ugh, c’mon now,” she exhaled, “an’-an’ they’ve known since ‘fore we even left, from what Starlight here is tellin’ us. So—hup—why let us—hup—come this far?”

“...Makes no sense!” wheezed Rainbow Dash, straining against the black molasses.

“No sense at all... Right, y’all?”

The squelching below answered. Reality was the clearest thing in their current predicament, or perhaps too frightening to acknowledge as boldly as AJ.

From the back, Pinkie politely chirped a quivering, “Sure does!” The thunderous softness of her voice vibrated like AJ’s in this tunnel, shuddering through Twilight.

‘Tunnel.’ Such a benign word for a place blacker, more all-consuming, than the abyssal night. It was clear now, why Starlight of all ponies struggled to put it into words.

When she first entered Froggy Bottom Bog to save Fluttershy (supposedly, and in her arrogance prove Pinkie wrong), the air was pungent with a sodden woodland aroma to the point of it being sickening. Twilight remembered the disconnect she experienced while trodding through, how the swamp tilted left and right. ‘Impossibly weightless,’ she remembered writing, back when she was just a unicorn, ‘my brain heavier than stone.’

A fairly unpleasant experience. Not one that lingered equally as the heart-pounding survival instinct which took over, driving Twilight to flee for her actual life from four maws big enough to swallow a cart.

Only now, almost four years later, was Twilight reminded of that feeling in such disquieted company.

And only by how utterly deranged the present was.

This place wasn’t muggy, beastly heavy with humidity like Froggy Bottom Bog, nor cool from a breeze whistling through like any woodland. Nor did it groan with swamp insects. There were no birds singing or even a swamp beast howling over territory, scattering them in a sonorous escape.

It was simply nothing. Dead. A deep, all-encompassing silence somehow louder than the hum of two unicorns’ magic, and the muted suckling of poles leaving and stabbing the stagnant, inky river.

And after remarking it herself, Rarity shared that her magic, too, felt so much… less. As though it wouldn’t have mattered if everypony could produce light or none at all—barely three feet from Starlight’s snout stood a shadowy wall, pushing back and back as they rowed, always fooling or perhaps playing with Twilight’s paranoia and anxiety in making her believe that this time, surely, there would be a turn or a fork or a scrap of life or light or something or anything besides more gnarled, naked, splotch-stained trees. Fluttershy resorted to keeping her eyes on the floor.

It really put a damper on their newfound confidence. Maybe it was just Twilight. Perhaps everypony felt it, and that’s why they hadn’t really said anything since Starlight informed them, “It’ll be like this for about an hour.”

And then she took point, and hadn’t relinquished herself since.

Part of Twilight feared she was avoiding her friends and feelings again. But that clearly wasn’t the case, at least not after yesterday.

No.

With those stiff haunches, buckled forelegs, furrowed brows and clenched jaw, why, she wouldn’t be Starlight Glimmer if this wasn’t her way of making up for being “extra baggage,” putting herself between the ponies she loved and whatever horrors awaited them in the darkness.

Something panged Twilight just now, a tightness. Not fear alone nor anxiety…

No, just anticipation of a fight, a fearless resolution to throw herself in front of the witches’ grisly paws before the girls would even lay their eyes on true horror. Illogical, disturbing, and yet it felt so, so right. This desire to protect: fuel for these bad decisions, most terribly of them occurring last night when Starlight still hadn’t woken up—how she couldn’t, no matter the amount of shaking and pleading.

So Twilight similarly decided what was best for her, like a tyrant instead of a princess.

Except… Starlight assured her that nopony wanted a princess more so than a friend they could trust. If it was really so simple, though, why hadn’t Celestia ever told her?

Was it a test?

Or perhaps, most blasphemously, Celestia herself didn’t quite understand the magic of friendship either.

Twilight shook her head. That was tomorrow’s problem; the now’s, with sickness and passion fighting in her soul, was protecting her friends.

And I’m not alone. A side-glance at the blue half of their bubble of luster was Rarity, steeliness targeted ahead with a hunched disposition. It told of a pony who had seemingly forgotten who she was, what she’s spent years trying to show the world (and only half the effort for her friends in private).

From her trembling bottom lip to the stare locked ahead, it was clear Rarity had left behind in Ponyville the refined pony she wanted to be, and completely donned who she was deep inside: a soul fiery with passion.

Twilight thought back on Rarity this past month. To all the times she stacked herself against Starlight’s example. How she grieved with Twilight for the pain their friend was in. Their responsibility in all of it.

Part of Twilight wanted to say something, as Starlight did for her. To make Rarity not carry the heavy burden she hypocritically did herself.

It would be futile. But still…

Accepting her friends’ pain was not an idea which sat well with the Princess of Friendship—as it should be.

But addressing it right now could do more harm than good.

“Um, Starlight?” Fluttershy was less afraid than any of them, it seemed. “Wh-why, exactly, do you feel so bad about the things you’ve done?” Plop, plip… plop-plop, plip-plip, went the oars. “I, um, I-I’m not trying to say you should ignore them. But I… can’t stop thinking about the brunch after the Gourd Fest. What you said, and… how deeply your mistakes have affected you, and how you keep apologizing.”

It was a problem that Twilight should have addressed, but didn’t in an effort to prevent more of the same. Such awful logic Twilight, couldn’t stand it and her instincts screamed at her to repel the notion. But for the life of her and her worry for Starlight, such a thing was impossible.

I had distanced myself for her own sake… and hurt her terribly as a result. Twilight’s brain clenched not just from the maddening darkness embracing them, but a wallop of deja vu. I keep deciding what’s best for everypony without really understanding what it is they want, or need.

“Um,” continued Fluttershy, “w-w’ve… all hurt one another before, some worse than you have... i-in my opinion.” Even after all these years, the Iron Will fiasco lingered as a scar in her memory. “But after forgiving each other, the next step is forgiving ourselves. I know that you know that you’re not the only pony here who struggles with that step. But I manage with the reminder that yesterday’s Fluttershy isn’t today’s, because she learned. She’s stronger for it. While they definitely hurt to think about—”

“Fluttershy.” Starlight didn’t move a muscle. “Please, cut to the heart of it. Don’t think, just say what you’re getting at. Please.”

Plip, plop, plip-plip, plop-plop, went the oars.

“Okay. Sorry in advance, Starlight.”

She chuckled, its mirth amplified utterly by the darkness smothering them, lifting the mood, at least Twilight’s, if only a little. “Nothing you say will offend me, Fluttershy. I promise.”

Twilight turned in time to see a smile upon Fluttershy’s face before it vanished. “Okay.” She inhaled deep. “Starlight, I don’t think you’ve ever forgiven yourself. Not once. And that’s why you’ve tried so hard this last month to make things better. S-so I don’t think you will get better until you yourself learn to forgive. Um, yourself.”

A second passed.

And another.

Up ahead, the air hissed. Witches? Twilight’s hairs stiffened, only to fall upon hearing Starlight exhale. “Fluttershy?” Her meek voice was even softer aimed at the abyss. “Imagine, for a second, that you neglected to… say... deny an animal the care it needs. Or better yet, forget to feed it. Right off the bat,” she added quickly, “just the thought is unfathomable. Right? Maybe even ridiculous.”

Fluttershy grunted, forehead glistening blue and magenta. The more Starlight spoke, the lower her gaze fell, her frown slunk.

“You’re so absolute in this opinion: never would you do such a thing, make such an obvious mistake. This is your world, after all, and you’d do everything to preserve it. But! Nothing lasts forever, except friendship apparently… And so one day, your fate’s tested. Maybe one critter needs an urgent trip to the vet, or the Map summons you on a quest, and throughout all of this Discord cannot be reached because he’s twirling around on some other plane of existence. Whatever. Forget the minutiae. Point is, one lone critter falls by the wayside and doesn’t get the attention they need. They’re left hungry, sick… abandoned. Neglected. With nothing they are left wondering if you just forgot about them, or didn’t care about their needs compared to everyone else’s. They torture themselves deciding which is less painful. Now you might never know if this is what they truly think. But you do anyway… even if they won’t ever tell you this.”

Twilight blinked, back in the neverending blackness and no longer in her room—though she was still obsessing over where she went wrong, knowing full-well where and how she did.

One scan of the others’ solemness indicated a similar trance.

“You think about how they feel constantly,” Starlight continued. “And what that says about you, and if you really were as good as you thought you were, and it just makes you feel worse and worse as the world feels heavier and heavier and harder to even exist in—!” Fluttershy whimpered, Starlight spun around, eyes wild and wet. “Uh, oh, gosh I’m sorry, for putting this awful thought in your head. F-forget it, forget it. You clearly get the poi—”

“No.” Hard, welled eyes rose to meet Starlight’s. “Continue, don’t apologize, please.”

Starlight’s parted lips pressed shut with a nod. “R-right. Anyway, you try rationalizing it, horrible as that is. Not in justification so much as to make it so it’s not totally your fault. But... there’s this, ah, part of you, right? A little voice or something that nags you and ties your guts with its words—because it knows a great deal of the blame is on your shoulders, and by proxy, so do you. You feel horrible for even entertaining such a thing, even though others do it constantly for far less and they care equally as much.” The oars paddled away. Starlight turned towards Twilight, eyes full of hurt, awash in magenta. “So would forgiving yourself be even possible after all of that, Fluttershy?”

Twilight would have nodded if not for the miserable look in Starlight’s face, resolute in her feelings. Hopefully for the time being. Fluttershy, on top of that, had made it perfectly clear: self-forgiveness was up to the individual alone.

To deny Starlight by smothering her with affection would be missing the point of all of that.

“Never,” Fluttershy whispered, then louder, joining with Starlight’s gaze, “I’d never forgive myself. But I’d do everything I could to make sure that never, ever happens again.”

Starlight glanced behind them, shivered at the nothing awaiting, and returned to Fluttershy. “Ex-actly. So you understand, now, how I feel? Why I’ll never forgive mys—?”

“But still, at the very least, you should learn to love yourself.” Fluttershy rose on all fours. “To look past your mistakes and see the genuinely good pony underneath them. Because that’s the real you, Starlight. I mean that.”

“Sure as sugar,” said AJ, Rainbow adding, “Yeah, no way would anypony do what you did while lookin’ for nothing in return! That’s a hero whether ya like it or not!”

“Abso-tutely-lutely!” Pinkie hopped, though the raft remained calm as a placid lake (not that their current environment would allow much more).

Starlight’s eyes danced to each of them. Twilight fought against everything not to chime in—this was their moment, after all. “Y-you guys…” murmured Starlight, practically booming in this smothering darkness, “...you guys,” she swallowed, “stopped rowing.”

Rainbow zipped before her, forelegs crossed, smile cocked. “Yeah, ya don’t really care about that right now.” Her wings thumped thrice. “You’re about as excited to meet these creeps as everypony but me.”

Starlight tittered. “Right. We get it, Dash. Nothing at all in this whole world scares you.”

“Ya got that right!”

Starlight shook her head, a fond smile in place. “You’re not stupid, Dash. You’re brave, and we need that now more than ever.”

Dash looked stricken, so much so she lowered to the raft, saying, “Y-yeah… wait, are you calling me a liar?”

Starlight opened her eyes, peering straight into Rainbow’s. “Can you make a promise for me?” Their brave friend’s looked anything but as she only parted her lips. “You girls are… something to me.” She looked to each of them, Twilight last. “Everything. Not a single word feels good enough to me, and… and I sound like an idiot,” she laughed, cupping her eyes, “I’m sorry, this’s so lame and I’m an idiot—”

“Enough of that,” said Rarity gently. “You’re beautiful, Starlight. What is it you were going to say?”

Starlight held a quivering stare on their, until now, silent friend. Her eyes screwed shut. “If one thing happened to you girls on this excursion then it’ll all be my fault—I got the witches involved in our lives and I’m the main reason you’re here now. So—Rainbow?!” The pony in question flinched and fell as Starlight’s damp eyes flashed towards her. “Rainbow, no matter what we see or what they say to us in there, I want you to promise me—! ...Promise. Me. That you’ll help keep us together. Don’t let any one of us play the hero.”

Rainbow looked ready to shatter, sitting there, wings at half-mast. “Totally,” she squeaked. Rising, clearing her throat, she gave a nod. “We’re all in this together, Starlight. You don’t ever have to be afraid of losing us.”

“Never again,” Pinkie added softly, a smile to match, and a hug to follow.

Starlight just swallowed, nodding. She patted her twice. “If anything happens to you girls… I’ll do something crazy.”

Twilight’s gut froze over. “Nothing will,” was the best she could offer.

As Starlight gave her shoulder a nudge, a gentle signal for Pinkie to step away, Fluttershy approached wearing a look of forlorn. “Starlight… this is what I mean. You’re ready to shoulder all the blame for something we as a group of friends wanted to do.”

Applejack, who’d taken the center-rear and both oars, and was powering ahead without so much as a grunt, called out, “And don’cha start… with that manure... ‘bout us doin’ this cuz we’re obliged to!” She gasped. “Y’hear? That crud cut us mighty deep when ya slung it our way!” Applejack cursed the land before doubling her efforts.

“I understand why you feel the way you do, I do!” said Fluttershy. “But if you had it your way, well, we’d might as well be back in Our Town nodding at everything you say.” Starlight, gaze wide and empty, couldn’t meet those of her friends any longer. “How is that fair to us, and our own wish of repaying your friendship in kind?”

“...For goodness sake,” Starlight croaked, dropping to her rump. “This isn’t… that’s not… I mean, you’re… absolutely right, Fluttershy. All of you.” She lifted her gaze, twinkling like deposits of sapphire. “It’s shortsighted stuff like this that makes it so hard for me to let go of my mistakes. You girls are so compassionate, so patient and kind and understand while I—! I’m…” Starlight snarled, shook her head. “You see one pony and I see the same one, but worse, I know her. I am her. I know a lot of what she does is for selfish reasons. Every single time.”

She glanced, avoiding Twilight’s stare. That would not do. “You aren’t selfish, Starlight,” she said. “Everything everypony does in every household in every city… we all, at the end of the day, do what we want. That’s not to say we’re all selfish, that would be pessimistic and quite selfish to think in of itself, I feel. But, well, look at me. Look at your friends right here. If you’re selfish, then I’m selfish for risking Equestria to Tirek’s rule. In exchange for my friends? Yeah, I’m ready to do something that crazy and irresponsible without a second thought or regrets.”

“But-but you couldn’t have known that it’d turn out fine!” she cried.

Just the thought of Tirek… what he might have done, had she not agreed to the trade.

Twilight smiled, relieved that horror was just another memory. “I knew we’d manage, though. Together! Because if there’s one thing that’s stuck with me across all these years, it’s that I’d rather be loved than alone. Therefore, almost everything I do… is...” Twilight’s heart stopped, despite darkness peering in through her veil of magenta, she was witness to a bottomless blue sky—her “eureka” moment.

“Everything I’ve ever done since coming here,” she thought and spoke at once, “has been for that goal of getting ponies to like me, and because I liked them back. Because I wanted friends and I wanted to be an example Celestia could be proud of. That’s me, mistakes and triumphs all… Starlight? Starlight!”

All gathered had taken a step back, regarding her with worry their friend would not allow herself to regard as Starlight rocked her head in her hooves. “Everything I’ve ever done, triumphs and all, has been to make ponies happy… No matter the cost to myself.” Her eyes welled.

“Daddy… was…”

Her eyes shot up to meet Twilight’s. “You were right. All of you were right and I—!” There was a soft gasp, a breaking cry. “I’m so… stu-pid!” The others closed around her; Twilight allowed them to have their time. “I’m so weak! I thought to myself—I thought, and reassured, and believed that I didn’t matter and you wouldn’t care and you never have but I was wrong, I was so, so wrong! And I almost ruined you guys for-f-for-for—”

Pinkie, gently, wrapped herself around Starlight’s shuddering form. “You’re not alone,” she said. “There’s a yucky part of me that feels lesser than my friends. That I’m not doing or adding anything but a headache.”

Fluttershy embraced them, sandwiching Starlight. “I sometimes think I’m only kind because there’s nothing else I can do.”

Starlight sobbed over Pinkie’s shoulder as Rainbow, throwing herself around them, hurriedly cried out, “I-I’m afraid of what ponies think of me!”

Rarity laid upon the huddle. “I’m false,” she muttered. “So very false. In everything but my selfish drive to be such.”

In no other world would Twilight have considered Rarity ever labelling herself a liar. Or Rainbow as insecure, Fluttershy’s low self-esteem or Pinkie Pie’s deep, inner sadness.

A pressure built within, on her tongue, within her eyes. “I’m… I’m all of those things,” said Twilight. “In my own way.”

“Get in here, Egghead,” called a misty-eyed Rainbow Dash.

An idea struck Twilight as her heart throbbed with want—a silly one she felt she had to do. While maintaining her light, Twilight envisioned herself beside Starlight, forelegs wrapped around her.

In an instant, she was, and jostling everypony back in surprise. Of course she wrapped them in a levitation field so as not to send them into the tar. Shrieks and laughs and tears filled the air, none more clear, warm, and real right now as Starlight’s, her cheek nuzzling against Twilight’s.

“Hey, Applejack!” she heard Pinkie say. “Got any deep dark shames you wanna share?”

“Deep n’ dark?” Applejack pondered the turquoise above, Rarity sitting up before her, wiping mascara away. “Nah. I’m as straightforward as they come.” She rowed for three more beats. And then, “Though, I gotta be, I suppose. Grown used to it though. For the farm. Not always easy, I gotta say.”

“Cry, Applejackie! CRY FOR FRIENDSHIP!”

“Hard pass, hon.”

Starlight giggled. “I get that, too, AJ.” Her smile turned to Twilight, and was replaced with a blush. “Uh, Twi? You mind?”

“Wait, one more. I don’t get this often.” She gave one last greedy squeeze to Starlight before letting her go. Deep down, Twilight felt this was her trying to remember what it felt like to hug her again.

It had been too long. It might always be that way.

Starlight rubbed her shoulder, grinning away bashfully. “I am stupid,” she said. But I’m ready to start learning again. Teacher.”

Twilight’s heart skipped a beat. Then she composed herself. “V-very well, my pupil.” Her voice cracked—it wasn’t a decent composing. “We’ll, um, we’ll see about supplementary friendship lessons when things have settled down.”

“Yeah. ‘When.’” Starlight lifted her smile to the magenta-painted shadow. “I like the sound of that.”

“Hey, y’all! I see a light!” AJ cried.

Starlight shot up, aghast. “Wait, what?! Really?! We’ve been going for like, twenty minutes!”

Applejack rowed even harder, the stuff beneath them clapping almost with enthusiasm. “All’a y’all unicorns and the like, yer magic’s convenient an’ all,” she gasped. “Sure. T’ain’t nothin’ against the pure muscle of an Apple Family farmhand. ‘Specially one lookin’ to right her wrongs n’ give ‘er kin a good night’s sleep.” She glared pointedly their way, Twilight and Starlight’s. “That means the both-a ya, ‘specially!”

Starlight turned away, toward the expanding speck of white. “Yeah, Ma, we heard you.” Twilight looked away so as not to embarrass her; Starlight was grinning, crying, blushing, and giggling.

VI.VII - Hydia, Reeka, Draggle

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The instant it squelched over the clearing’s mucky, blackened lip, Starlight leapt from the raft just in case Hydia was waiting to drop out of the sky.

From the treeline to the clearing centerpiece, the world stood still and untouched, dead, and clear as a summer day. A veritable graveyard, an Equestrian kind and not the atypical setting of horror novella fame.

Behind her, an appropriate crypt-like quiet sans a four-beat set of hooves squishing one after another upon the wiry grass, tangled amongst itself like shaved copper all the way to the statuesque treeline enclosing them.

Starlight put a foreleg to her eyes and beheld the sun, its sights set on them—a great eye big as a lake and just as blue, its golden iris burning mid-center. Fissures rimmed it, lined by the gnarled, twisted fingers of dead trees reaching as if to escape Flutter Valley. Though its expanse couldn’t be taken in a single image.

“It’s soooooo big!” Pinkie noted.

“Keep sharp, girls,” said Twilight, eyes narrowing. “Anything can happen here. Starlight? Get behind us. Please.” But ahead was that glowing boulder crowning a large flat-topped rock. “Starlight, don’t go out there!”

“Or what?” she genuinely wondered, turning. “You think they’ll do whatever they had ample time to do before our waltzing in… here?”

Her words died upon taking in the unease of her friends, scanning their surroundings, alert as rabbits for a predator that just wasn’t going to come. Some wore their fear fearlessly, like Fluttershy and Rarity and Twilight, though the quickness of AJ and Dash’s flitting eyes, their parted lips and hunched postures, were signs just as blatant.

Guilt once again crept up her guts. “Girls…”

A simultaneous snap at attention, wearing those emotions (or trying not to). Pinkie just smiled, her breast oscillating ever so slightly, and striking Starlight in the chest.

She could tell them once more that the witches are powerful but sluggish in the physical world. Or assure that fate brought them here, guided them, and would keep them say and that they had nothing to fear when they had each other—a detail Twilight had added the last two times Starlight waltzed this verbal dance.

But they knew all of that already, clearly, before she’d arrived. And only now was it obvious that her assurances didn’t, and would never, assuage their unease.

For Starlight Glimmer felt the very same a lifetime ago, in the exact spot where they now stood, and in a fog thicker than the fear within her. The final difference being a fact which, by all accounts, made this a pleasant day for such foul business.

Whenever that would come. And that was just it—the uncertainty, the fact that anything could happen regardless of how it ended, as Twilight just so wisely warned them.

‘There is nothing to fear but fear itself,’ Starlight remembered reading once. But that’s a lie, because there’s something a lot more terrifying than knowing what to be afraid of—not knowing what to fear at all. The unknown: a black hole filled with Harmony-knows-what.

She had, once again, been arrogant of her knowledge and ignorant of the others’ perspectives.

“Girls,” she attempted, “girls, I-I know we’re used to villains who are… shall we say, a little grandiose? Obvious?” Fluttershy nodded; Pinkie’s smile faded, her brows knitting. “Not just in their method of approach, but their motivations, too. I won’t lie to you—I’ve no clue what’s about to happen here. But… to be fair, that’s pretty par for the course, isn’t it?”

“Flyin’ by the seat of our trousers?” Applejack flicked her stetson, alighting a humored smile. “Shoot, you’re not wrong there, Starlight.”

She sighed her laugh. “Don’t go praising me yet. I just realized how unnerving this must be for you all. Over half of us here don’t even know what we’re about to see.” Apart from Twilight using the ever-disturbing “gory” adverb once, and stopped after Fluttershy had burst into tears.

“I think it’s kinda exciting!” Pinkie hopped until she stood between her and the gang. “Ya know? Like, we’re walking through an actually-actual old pony’s tale we all knew as fillies! We’re facing the first bad guys some of us have ever known!”

“Pinkie, this is not—”

“No, no, I gotcha, Twi! I do! This is ‘dangerous and super duper serious,’” Pinkie chided, “and so what if Hydia is hideous and her foals are unspeaka-bifficly grody? I’m sure Rarity and I’ll could put their ugga-ugliness to proper ponish by the time we’re flying home!” Said pony tittered into her hoof, and a couple more arose around Twilight.

“I guess,” she admitted, a smile forming. “I just—”

“Don’t want us getting hurt, which is totally sweet of you! Classic diet Twilighting, right there,” Pinkie said, winking. “But as far as my little eye can see, we got time to unwind and prep our brains before we blast the baddies with rainbows.” Pinkie let go of her forehead to bounce her balloon-shaped Element. “Piece of cake, I know it, and I brought some for the occasion, too!”

“Pinkie’s right.” Starlight approached, the group’s eyes on her again, and swallowed the surging up her throat—she might never get used to this, happily regarding her again without hostility or apprehension, but she could weather it for their sake.

Perhaps even forgive herself for it. Later.

“The witches didn’t come to me immediately last time I was here. And I know for a fact that they’re listening to us right now,” she muttered, then shouted behind her, “so you’re not fooling anypony! ...But alas, if I were to guess, they’re gonna bide their time. Wait until we’re lulled into a false sense of security, or—” Apprehension bled into the more fragile ponies’ expressions. “O-or! Or, they... won’t even come at all! Because... they know we have them cornered! And-and if that’s the case, well,” she chuckled, bobbing back to the giant gemstone humming faintly, “we can just nab their big ol’ rock and either make them come to us, or we Harmonize that in of itself.”

It was easy as ever, tricking herself into believing what she said wholeheartedly.

“What is that thing, anyhow?” AJ stepped forth, squinting past Starlight. “Looks to me like one of them crystal ball doohickeys. That how they know everything?”

Starlight inhaled, but Rainbow zipped above them, reaching out. “Why don’t I just swipe it now and break it?!”

“Hold on, hold on! Starlight,” Twilight began, approaching alongside the others, “how do you know what that is? Or what it’s for or what it does?” Her tone held a hint of, ‘Why did you not tell me about this?’ Which hurt, but was blameless.

Starlight consciously maintained her easy smile. “Oh, I don’t. But I think I remember they didn’t come until I almost touched it. That’s gotta mean something, right?” Twilight leered back and aside, eyeing it unconvinced. “Look, it’s a bad plan, I know—”

“But it’s our only plan, perhaps,” she finished.

Fluttershy touched her side. “Do you recognize it, Twilight? Is it an artifact?”

“I’ve never read of such a thing before, no.”

Rarity cleared her throat. “Pardon me, ladies, but I’m our resident gem expert here,” she said, stopping beside Starlight, eyes on the stone. “It’s beautiful, I’ll admit. It possesses a luster unlike any I’ve seen before. It belongs in a museum, I’d normally say, and that it’d be a shame to shatter it—or it would be, had I not been aware of its dreadful connection to Starlight’s suffering.”

“Rarity,” she couldn’t help but sigh, hot under the coat.

“But I’ve learned much from Maud in the time we’ve spent together,” Rarity continued, addressing the group undeterred, “and I at least know the power of magic-infused stones are measured by their size and said glorious luster.”

“That’s… true,” Twilight realized, Starlight nodding as it hit her as well. “They, the witches I mean, they must have made this, used it for something.”

“Can you glean something from this perspective, then?” Rarity stood dignified, but her forehooves rubbed against one another as Twilight rubbed her chin.

“Maybe their unnaturally long life?” Starlight turned, the stone a nondescript blob in the distance, its glow was so intense. Like a star. “It’s not impossible, but if that’s why they… look the way they do… well, that’s one mystery solved, right? And it might be the key to defeating them for good.”

Only then, in the tensifying quiet, did Starlight realize she had only avoided the dreaded k-word.

“Welp, I’mma tad spooked now.” Applejack came up beside her. “You’re suggestin’ somethin’ mighty dark, there, Starlight. Mighty dark. An’ I ain’t talkin’ about the solution.”

“I know.” To create a soul gem wasn’t just outlawed in every nation across the globe; it was on a level beyond the heinous act of using it for black magic. “But we’re dealing with the kind of filth that would definitely stoop so low.”

“Yes, but,” Twilight hesitated, “we know Humans. They just aren’t capable of honing magic. How can Hydia manage this, let alone any magical feat? And how can we be sure that’s what it’s used for?”

Starlight’s heartbeat drummed in the distance. Farther back, Applejack’s controlled breathing and Twilight’s heavier, trembling pace wafted quietly. Wingbeats droned into clarity above them all, followed by Dash’s, “I’m gonna go smash it.”

“No, don’t!” Starlight, Twilight, and Fluttershy cried at once.

Rainbow flinched within herself, curled up and hovering. “Geez! What’s with you guys?”

Twilight answered, “We don’t know for sure. It might be something important, I mean…”

She gestured to Starlight. “These things are more than mere monsters. To do something so thoughtless, well, it might do something irreversible to Equestria itself! Do you want that?”

“It’s a rock!” Dash cried, legs outspread. “And it’s the rock of these lunatics who took Starlight’s horn, who destroyed this entire land and probably a ton of other things even worse!”

“Yes, but—” Fluttershy, gaze withering under theirs, whispered to the immortal marsh, “...but when have we ever ended somepony’s l-l-life?”

A stillness fell so heavily that even Rainbow was grounded. “Right,” she croaked. “W-we can just swipe it, then. No prob.”

It was time to reel them all back in. “That’s right,” said Starlight, smiling, “no problem. None at all! ...Alright? We got a plan, we have an understanding of these things—far more than silly old me had—and most importantly, we got each other.”

“Absolutely.” Twilight came beside her, turned, and addressed the group, “No matter what happens, I have faith in our friendship and ourselves. The circumstances might have been built upon a tenuous foundation—” Starlight swallowed, being the unspoken reason for it all, “—but this is no different from all the evils we’ve overcome before. And it will end the same as it always has.” Her hoof extended, face-down. “Together.”

Nopony hesitated to copy her, to chime the same. Only Starlight had, she realized as soon as they faced her expectantly.

“O-oh, I’m a part of this, too?” she genuinely wondered. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t mean to assume—”

“Join the friendship moment already, ya silly!” Pinkie didn’t wait, or allow, Starlight to object: grabbing and yanking her forth, and adding her hoof to the stack.

Their smiles, all of them were warm.

None forced.

And they were all for Starlight. Each other. Themselves. This… this’s what friendship is. Starlight had been a self-cursed fool.

A dummy. An idiot. Reactionary, unreasonable, selfish most of all.

But she had also been theirs, and they hers—best friends and something a little closer, like family, even those who weren’t present.

And family—as Twilight demonstrated this past month, and Starlight herself, in a roundabout way—never gave up on each other.

“Alright.” Starlight swallowed. Then smiled. “Together.”

“Together!” they cried, throwing their hooves into the air suddenly, as well as Starlight. Everypony laughed, for no reason other than the fact that they loved each other and felt rejuvenated once more.

Starlight saw this loving bond as she was lifted forward by Twi and Rarity’s telekinetic pull upon her forehooves—in the way Rainbow stood between AJ and Fluttershy in a three-way, one-armed hug, grinning as Dash murmured a pep talk to her closest friends.

Behind them by the raft, Pinkie riffled through her saddlebags, both the only pony to remove them and who could fit her entire person into that tiny space.

As well as an entire tent, literally popping out and landing, already set up with its tethers in the marshland. “Good thing I prepared for the long haul!” she sang.

Rarity scoffed, amused. “And here I thought Applejack and I were the excessive packers.”

And then, Equestria quivered. “HoW pReCiOuS,” the air itself seemed to gush.

Stiffness overtook everypony. Rarity whirled away from Starlight, searching the blue sky, the treeline. “Wha-wha-what in Equestria was that?” She looked to the sky once more. “Ladies?!”

Applejack, doing the same, pressed against her side. “I’m thinkin’ we all know the answer to that.” She pawed the earth.

Laughter howled across the heavens, raking over Starlight down to her very soul.

“Hydia,” Fluttershy breathed. Her eyes beheld the ground, wide and trembling as her parted lips. “I-I’ll never forgot that laugh. It’s her, sh-she’s h-h-here...”

“Don’t be scared, everypony!” Twilight teleported to the circle, standing before Starlight with a snarling Rainbow Dash dropping beside her. “Show yourselves!”

“And we won’t use excessive friendshipping!” Pinkie hopped in place. Starlight spun around once, seeing they had enclosed her. Protecting her, seemingly without consciously doing so. “Oh, witchies!” Pinkie sang. The air wobbled, whispering distorted sounds. “Come out, come out, wherever you—!”

“ThIs Is A lOvElY gAtHeRiNg YoU’vE aCqUiReD, sTaRlIgHt GlImMeR,” Hydia continued. “AnD iT wAs By ViRtUe Of YoUr ChArAcTeR tHaT eVeRyPoNy’S hErE!” She sighed, purring, “YoU dIdN’t HaVe To Do A tHInG bUt ReCeIVe ThE sILvEr pLAtTeR. wHy Oh WhY mUsT gOoD tHiNgS hApPeN tO bAd PeOpLe?”

“Don’t listen to her,” Twilight whispered.

“bUt ThIS cHaRaDe HaS wOrN iTs WeLcOmE. NoW tHaT yOu’Re All rIgHt WhErE wE wAnT yOu,” a ghostly chuckle stirred their manes, “We CaN fInAlLy BeGiN tHe FeAsT!”

“F-f-feast?” rasped Fluttershy.

“W-wait! You said you couldn’t eat!” It was Starlight, she realized, and she just screamed.

“We LieD,” drawled a deep-voiced female, backed by the same sinister vocalist. “Ya DeNsE iDiOt. wHy’d Ya tHInK wE leTcA LiVe aLL ThIs TiMe?”

“...This was a trap.”

A blonde tail flicked, gently batting her in the face. “Easy, now, sugarcube—”

“I knew this was a trap!” Starlight did it, this was all her fault, she played right into these monster’s destiny-bending claws and she cursed them all. Their families, their friends, none would ever see these six wonderful ponies again and it—-”All my fault!” She clasped her ears. “This is all my fault, it’s always my fault!”

“Starlight!” Twilight face filled her vision, crouched upon the grass. It was terrified. “It’s okay. You’re okay. They’re just villains—” Starlight couldn’t hear, wouldn’t; Twilight was saying this. She was always just saying things, even now as face resembled curdled milk, so pale and rigid.

Reeka’s cheer echoed, encircling her brain loud and clear with a mocking, “Ah, YeS, ‘CeLeStIa.’ YoU kEeP oN mUtTeRiNg ThAt, RaRiTy.” Gasps of their country’s ruler streamed from the right. “ShE’s iN nO pOsITiOn tO ReScUe, nEvEr hAs! NoT In AnY mEaNiNgfUl wAy.”

“Quit yapping and hiding, already,” squeaked Dash, “and show yourselves like you actually got a point to make!” Rarity kept muttering the princess of the sun’s name all the while.

And then, a thunderous, “If YoU iNsIsT.”

https://youtu.be/QywCfg4dr5M

“WelCoMe, PoNieS, To OuR hUmBlE aBoDe!” Reeka cried. “iF iT’s A sOuRcE oF cOmFoRt, PlEaSe, dO KeEp CaLLiNg OuT tO tHe FaLsE gOd, CeLeStIa.”

A low chuckle, and Hydia continued, “oR tHe IdEa Of EquEsTrIa, eVeN.”

“oR tHe GrEaT wArDeN, hArMoNY!” added Draggle. “WhAtEvEr WiLL mAkE tHiS lEsS tErrIfYiNG, pLeAsE, PicK sOmEtHiNg To sWeAr bY—”

Across the clearing Reeka howled, “AnD StArT pRaYiNg NOW,” before the treeline exploded into shards spiraling ahead of a jawless, potheaded flesh-mountain barreling towards them, the foot half her size clawing through the soil behind her.

Everypony screamed at once as darkness fell overhead.

A massive foot, a twig-leg partially blotting out the sun. Starlight shrieked, “Everypony dive!” She didn’t allow herself to think, only to tackle Fluttershy in case she froze up.

Rolling over, the sky was eclipsed by a walking, lanky tree with a lion’s mane and glowing red eyes and one rake of a claw reeling back—-”STARLIGHT!” Yellow forelegs squeezed around her and the world spun round and round, and suddenly a presence stood over her putrid with moist earth.

The smell also radiated from the trench carved by Draggle, who reached for them with one hand and tossed aside the mound of muck.

“I won’t let you touch her!” Starlight heard the hoarse cry before seeing a brown and yellow pegasus dart into Draggle’s midsection.

The witch staggered back a step.

And then yanked her off by her tail, eliciting a sharp cry which devolved into loud, frantic screaming as she was held overhead. The shadow of a hook-nose and pointed chin parted by a sliver of blue sky, threaded with wire snapping apart one by one.

“Mm-Mm! PoNy FlEsH!” Draggle cooed.

A bloodcurdling scream yanked Starlight into reality, up upon her hooves, and towards Draggle. “No.” She galloped. “NO!” All she could do was envision a blasting spell before crashing into Draggle’s leg. Despite being able to completely enwrap herself around it, the thing was stiffer than stone.

“GeT oFf, FiLtH!” The world whipped to and fro, Starlight’s insides thrashing as well, the denim material scratching her cheek and drying her eyes but she would never let go.

And then, “AJ! The leg!” Hoarsely, “The broken one!”

“On it!” Cyan dashed by, a meteor crashing through the atmosphere before there was a crackle like so many twigs being shattered at once. The leg Starlight hugged stabbed into the earth, and for half a second she saw Applejack winding up a buck into the brown splintered bone protruding from Draggle’s calf.

Another crackle, and the portion of her leg spiraled out of sight, the length of a broomstick. Draggle soundlessly toppled to the side, Fluttershy hovering, gasping safely out of reaching with wild wide eyes. “Thanks!” she cried.

The rake which was actually a claw but erect as one suddenly sprung up and over, arcing towards Starlight. “YoU cRuMmY pOnIeS!” And suddenly Starlight was beside a panting Rainbow Dash, several meters away from Draggle’s paw as it slapped upon the grass, AJ and Fluttershy backpedalling out of range. In an insane burst of movement Draggle contorted like a doll unto all fours and lunged for Applejack, only for her to be tackled out of the way by a grimy cyan blur, which then arched back around to wallop the witch’s hair-shrouded head, eliciting a thick crunch.

“Why me?!” cried a hollow voice to the right.

Rarity—that wriggling twisting tail was unmistakable, its owner clasped in a pair of warty claws with her head lodged into the giggling Reeka’s windpipe.

“yUm-YuM, yUm-YuM!”

The pitch of Rarity’s screaming climbed and climbed, echoing within the witch, and was cut off by a thunderclap entwined in a sharp squeak, followed by Pinkie blasting like a bullet into the broad curves of Reeka’s stained dress. One claw flew off of Rarity, the other slipping but grabbing her tail, instantly she started pummeling the cracked ashen wasteland of her mouth’s remains.

Pinkie scurried up, grasped her hind leg, started yanking. “Unhand me!” Rarity wound back her hoof as pale blue light ignited the fissures of Reeka’s throat like a pumpkin. “UNHAND—” Pinkie yanked, Rarity walloped, and a muffled twang of magic passed all at once, “—ME-YAH!”

They fell embracing one another as Reeka staggered back, howling with laughter, her face vomiting liquid flames and embers. “ThAt WaS fUn!” The ground trembled under the impact of her foot crashing forth. “LeT’s Do It AgAiN!” She lunged. Rarity and Pinkie cried out, scrambling away; Reeka tackled once more but they kept their distance, shrieking, Pinkie putting herself closest to Reeka and looking to the witch with unflinching terror. Reeka on all fours chased them like a foal, giggling like one.

And Starlight was just sitting there. Watching. Powerless. “Sto—ah!” Pain flared upon her haunches from where she fell, and she nearly fell on all fours but caught herself upon a foreleg.

“yEs,” hissed the air, a distinctly pleased tone. “FlEe AnD fIGhT fOr YoUr LiVeS!” A broken, forceful cry followed by the ting of a concussion blast. “iT mAkEs Us FeEl sO vErY aLivE.”

A lavender blur arced in the corner of Starlight’s eye—across the clearing, an alicorn spotted in mud, wearing an aggressive mask she’d not seen since Cloudsdale fifteen years ago, fired another magenta blast which Hydia caught and crushed into dust.

“YoU’rE rEmArKaBlE, tWiLy! EvEn As I SmOTheR yOuR mAgIc YoU hAvE tHe StReNGtH tO pOwEr ThRougH iT!”

Twilight’s horn ignited. “I’m only this strong because of my friends!” Another discharge careened for Hydia’s cloaked face, only for her to move her claw in the way.

“AnD yOu’Re StiLL wEaK!” She reached out despite being several meters away from the airborne princess, yet her paw clenched shut and whipped around overhead. "YoU uNdErStAnD lEsS tHaN sTaRlIGht! DISGRACEFUL!" she cried as Twilight followed, yelping, trying to cast a field around herself but slamming so hard and sudden unto the earth that mud, grass, and her own person splattered on impact.

And then Hydia blinked into existence sidled on top of her. “My ChILdReN!” she roared, black pits trained on a trembling, whimpering Twilight. “SaDlY iT’s TiMe FoR oUr FuN tO eNd.”

What!? To the left Draggle, using her spear of a half-leg, pinned Fluttershy through her plumage, and held a thrashing Applejack and Rainbow over her gaping maw.

“CrUsH tHeM iNtO jElLy!”

On the right Rarity’s legs and tail flailed frantically from Reeka’s throat. Upon her back, Pinkie’s forelegs were lost in the folds of her neck but the strain and tears on her face spoke of a desperate, almighty effort to prevent Rarity from going down completely.

“UsE tHeIr SpInEs As DeNtAl FlOsS!” Hydia’s voice thundered across the clearing. “KiLL tHeM!” Where, gripping Twilight’s horn in one claw and tearing off her handkerchief with the other, she revealed a gullet overflowing with jagged, brown-stained fangs. “KiLL tHeM ALLLL!”

And suddenly, none of this made a modicum of sense. It didn’t, it couldn’t and it shouldn’t and the girls were too scared to see that!

“Everypony STOOOOP!”

The struggles and cries of protest lingered - a muffled muted sound under the weight of the witches' absolute stillness.

VI.VIII - The Sunstone

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“Wh-wh-why…?” Fluttershy quivered, pinned under Hydia’s kneecap—or rather Draggle’s, indicated by the dull shivering. “Why aren’t they m-m-moving? Girls? What’s happening?!” Her shrilled overhead as well as below, within her own rattling breast, and where Hydia’s dusted heart once beat.

She was everywhere. They were everywhere.

Soon, everyone and everything will be nowhere.

Quiet. Finally.

They were so close. So damn cl—”Get off me!”

Reality flooded back, unpleasant as the act of murder: whimpers, snuffles, confused little coos and wriggling like a rat’s. Hydia suddenly wanted to crush the Upstart of Friendship, obese with all her silver platters; to simply press down and watch as her entrails blast gloriously from her mouth like a hose. But magenta streamed warmly, powerfully, through Hydia’s fingers before flashing white, snatching away the mass gripped within her cold fist.

And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to give chase. Never had. As reality goes, to do so would be pointless anyhow. She knew it. Starlight knew it.

Similar sensations of feeling tingled Hydia’s throat, slipped through her fingers. They were vague however, as if her paws were gloved and her throat took food after being scalded by tea.

What a delightfully mortal experience! How enchanting these past few weeks have been…

Like Twilight, who’d vanished by strength of will compounded by fear—an emotional cocktail only those with something to lose can truly experience, and not just remember doing so…

I could make it easier for them. She couldn’t cease their efforts completely in removing her magical fetters; to do so would render this ordeal a minor scuffle at best, and all Hydia truly had to her name was her dignity, and the illusion of all else.

Yes, thought Hydia, far, far in the back of her mind, beneath the crimson screen of rage towards these ponies. Yes, that’s it. That’s why we’re doing this. It has to be this way, and we have no choice but to accept it.

Such thinking was second nature. Automatic. It was maddening to think about, but alas, Starlight Glimmer stirred up the status quo by remembering them.

Soon…

It would all be over so… so soon.

The one more deserving of wings addressed her friends by the raft where Rainbow had placed her (as if that would save her if Hydia really (could have) tried).

Starlight inhaled, but choked upon seeing the state of Destiny’s Generosity. “Rarity,” she gasped, “a-are you—?”

“I do not care.” The wretch sported one hell of a thousand-yard-stare.

“But your super pretty mane, it’s all slimy and gross!” Pinkie combed back her mangled purple locks, only for them to slap like soggy hay against her face.

“I truly hadn’t noticed,” she said, nonplussed. “Once more, I do not care. In fact, I find myself wholly, completely unconcerned with myself, in fact. Oh… I’d said that twice in the same sentence. How unsightly.” Her thoughts sounded doubly far from wherever she was looking—possibly the fact that she was very nearly “eaten”—until she started to giggle.

“Oh, Rarity.” Glimmer wrapped her in a hug, how sweet.

The tittering erupted into a cry, a scream. “What was that?!” She thrashed away from Starlight. “What’s the meaning of any of this!?” She flung her forelegs about the clearing. “What do they want, where did they come from!? Why—I mean, I thought that—I thought—I-I-I thought we were sincerely going to die!” And she fell on her rear, twisting her destroyed mane around her hooves, crying out, “We’re going to perish in this Celestia-forsaken pit of Tartarus, aren’t we!?”

Hydia didn’t need either of hers—hadn’t for centuries—to know almost none of them wanted to even speak. Any who were completely sane wouldn’t, thus why Rarity and Starlight were so talkative.

“We’re not.” One of Glimmer’s eyes were beginning to fog, and not just with tears. “We can’t—not trying to give a rousing speech here,” she chuckled, the only one to do so, “uh, but, um, I-I mean to say that we literally cannot die here… We can’t, I’m serious! Think about it: if that’s what they wanted, well, why wait?”

“Maybe they’re playing with us,” shrilled Fluttershy, “like a feline with cornered prey!”

“And just how do you—?!” Rarity choked, embraced by Kindness.

“We won’t ever let them touch you again,” she said.

The pitifully false mare broke down, sobbing into her friend’s shoulder—the side whose wing Draggle, and by proxy her family, had felt the need to puncture, leaving her feathers tattered and their owner grounded.

Whatever was left of Hydia by this point in time surmised it was to prevent Fluttershy from spoiling the illusion of peril, perpetuating the conflict needlessly. Everything else that followed today was an exciting mystery—even their broth would not reveal Equestria’s future.

Only a hint that Hydia and her idiot daughters would be no more.

“Starlight.” Twilight, heavy with mud, exhaustion, and a char-tipped horn, denied every instinct her body was screaming for her to heed—to drop down, to sleep, to stop thinking altogther. “Starlight,” she exhaled once more, “tell me… us… your hyp—… hypothe—… thingy. ‘Lease.” The weak little brat tilted right… tilted, and tilted, and finally she fell against the abrupt appearance of Honesty. “S’horry… Ay-J’h—...”

“Take it easy, now.” She stroked Twilight’s groaning head. “If them cretins so much as twitch funny, then…” She dared to glance behind her, but the flesh suits remained as statues and still managed to prickle her flesh. “We’ll protect’ ya, sure as sugar. I won’t let ‘em separate us again. I’ll lasso us together if that happens!” Each were too within themselves to take up her cry. “Uh, s-so, Starlight—?”

“Let’s just blast them already!” snarled Rainbow Dash, always feeling first and thinking never. “We have the chance right now, so let’s Harmonize or whatever so we can go home!”

“Dash—” wheezed Twilight.

“It doesn’t work so easily, you know that. You know they work whenever they feel like it,” Starlight cut in, literally through Wonderbolt’s war-path with an outstretched hoof.

“Then what? What’re you saying?”

It was desperation shading her harshness, and Starlight must have known this, even though her ears wilted with a wince. “I’m just saying that it can’t be as simple as that. And I know, I know, this sounds absolutely insane, but take a look at where we are! Think about what we’ve been through and—”

“Starlight, hon.” Applejack propped the princess, feeble both of strength and smile, in a one-legged hug. Both donned tired, reassuring smiles. “We’ve come this far runnin’ on hope an’ faith alone. Ain’t nopony gonna start doubtin’ ya when we’re in no position to be doin’ so. An’ you’re right—this is plum crazy. But I think I speak for everypony when I say I’m desperate enough to give anything a try if means gettin’ us back to our kin.”

Starlight’s eyes, big and wet, regarded the reassurances of her undeserving friends. Undoubtedly she was mentally filing through the “kin” that awaited them in Ponyville—from the fillies to Spike and their animals—before even considering herself.

“Right,” murmured Starlight, though she was right there in the witches’ ears, in their very own heads even. “So am I,” she said. “I’m desperate to give anything a try, too.”

Pinkie reared up beside her. “Me three!”

Rainbow Dash landed, slugging her in the shoulder. “We’re all with ya, Star-light!” She and Glimmer yelped as the pink one squeezed, lifted, and spun them around once. The others laughed, even Rarity with her running makeup. It was the perfect cover for Glimmer to rub her paling eyeball.

Ugh. These ponies. Get on with it. They still needed Twilight to notice it first. Dignity impeded Hydia’s itching tongue. But a pang of disgust speared the belly of her meat puppet. This was true madness—possessing the power to divide them into bloody cubes, but lack the genuine freedom to act upon it.

Hydia fondly thought to herself her last words, flavored in nostalgia, burning with desire: ‘Crush them into jelly. Use their spines as dental floss. Kill them. Kill them all.’ The way their hearts collectively raced painfully within each and every one of them… was delicious.

Their final month has been nothing if not entertaining.

“Starlight, what are you thinking? Please,” hastily added Twilight. “I don’t want to worry anypony, but I can’t bear the thought of our backs turned on these creatures. I feel like they could ambush us at any moment now.”

She hadn’t been alone in stealing glances back. The faces of the silent betrayed this truth, even if their antagonists hadn’t caught each and every one.

“Right,” said Starlight. “Sorry, I was trying to think of a way to word this without it sounding too… shall I say, unbelievable? I mean, there’s no way I can phrase this normally without sounding like a conspiracy theorist, so I’ll just come out and say it: my gut is telling me that something fishy’s going on here. That... whatever this is aside,” she stammered, gesturing across the clearing.

“How exactly so?” hissed Rarity, all wrapped up within Fluttershy.

“I mean, just look at this one! Like she’s basically a skeleton!” Draggle’s shell—from where they stood, sunlight streamed past her arms arched toward the heavens; coupled with her broken leg branching out as Kindness had left it, she was like a tree of Flutter Valley. “I’ll never forget the way I saw her contort just now, and move like some kind of a demon.”

As she scratched her eye, and really got in there, Twilight added, “I’ve seen her do that to me, too. She also made your… your horn appear before me, and sh-she crushed it like an eggshell.”

Starlight winked hard with her right as Twilight pretended not to be concerned. “And I’ve seen them just appear out of thin air on more than one occasion!” she continued, pretending as her heart rate increased. “These things have fiddled with the Cutie Map before, and rendered Twilight and I’s magic null. And after everything we’ve done, they expect me to believe that our final confrontation is a slug in the mud? That their endgame was just to eat us?” Starlight regarded each of their pondering expressions. “And if you disagree with what I’m saying, then answer me this: why are they stopping now?” Not one of them argued.

Then Pinkie scoffed. “H-heh, geez! The more I think about it the more ridiculous this is, right girls? Right?”

“Because clearly their, uh, ‘bodies’ don’t need to eat,” said Rainbow.

Starlight added, “And they once told me that anything they do eat tastes like ash or something. Could be a lie, sure, but… why share this with me at all?”

“Pity points?” Hydia very nearly burst forth to smash the stupid flier into giblets.

“Even if that’s what they wa-anted—!” Twilight struggled to rise as she waved off Honesty. “Why… ow, ow, ow… why wait in hiding,” she grunted, “until the seven of us are finally together?” She stood tall on her feeble-legged lonesome. “That would have been more advantageous, if their goals were to end us or our special bond. Would it not? Even more so, it’d have been prudent if they’d attacked the other day when we were,” hesitating, Twilight glanced aside, “when we were divided.”

Starlight winced.

Rainbow compounded Hydia’s desire to splatter her upon remarking, “Maybe these guys are just really crummy villains.”

Laughter shot a hoof into the air. “You all!” She tapped her chin. “Raise some very good points. Especially you, Glimmy!”

“Shoot, give ‘er a little credit. We woulda still been runnin’ round like startled hens had ya not come along!”

The bitch flushed over praise heaped upon her for possessing one-and-a-half eyeballs and a working brain between them. How much longer must they suffer this tripe—?

“Starlight? Did they… hurt your eye?” Twilight craned forth, only for Starlight to cover it. “I noticed you kept rubbing it.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just…” She saw something deeper in Twilight’s exhaustion beyond physical tiredness. “It’s just been getting a little blurry. Think I might have something caught in it! No biggie at—” Twilight swung, pawing her hoof away. Starlight could have, but didn’t, put up a fight, “—all… eh-heh. Eh…”

She grimaced away, but Twilight pulled her shameful head back and looked her in the eyes.

In her mismatched eyes. They flooded on the spot. “I’m sorry, Twilight. I was just so scared that the thought of something happening to me—”

“Does it hurt?” exhaled the princess.

Starlight looked stricken for a beat, then snorted, thickly replying, “N-no. I… I don’t feel anything there.” She gestured around her face’s upper-right quadrant. “Numb.” Her milky pupil quivered. “I… I don’t care, though. Really. I still got a second eye.”

Her smile crumbled in the face of Twilight’s curdling facade. “I do,” she whispered, crossing her horn with the remains of Starlight’s. “But I know what you’re about to say, and this isn’t the time or place to debate over guilt.”

“Can’t be helped now, anyway.”

“Unfortunately not.” Twilight sniffled, melting back into the group of worrisome friends. “So, getting back on track, I figured you had something in mind for—”

“i’M tIrEd Of WaItInG!” Reeka boomed, drawing shock and terror her body’s way, though it still lay prone on its elbows, hands cupped before her. “I wOUlD pLaY sOmE mOrE, bUt It’S rUiNEeD iF yOu sEe ThE pRoP’s StRiNgS. tHeRe’S nO pOiNt In EvEn TrYiNg AfTeR tHaT.”

This intrusion felt right, deep down, like it was necessary. It had to be this way, for everything that ever happened always had.

And yet…

And yet the sheer stupidity of Reeka’s childish nature always confounded Hydia. Must she be a pouting whelp about it and prolong the inevitable in the process?

That’s what was most annoying about this outburst.

“YoU cOmPlEtE aNd UtTeR—”

“Aw, ShE’s RiGhT Ma—ErR, HyDiA! hYdIa.” Draggle the Fool dropped her huge paws as if stones were tied to them, thumping the ground whilst maintaining her poised half-leg. “We’D lOoK rIdIcUlOuS iF wE kEpT iT gOiNg, dOn’ChA tHinK?”

‘Ridiculous…’ Ridiculous?!

An age ago some petulant mare named Twilight, coincidentally, had thrown such language her way: “You ridiculous villains are not welcome in Ponyland!”

Why?

Why was she thinking about their past lives now, of all times?!

“i DiDn’T aSk YoU tO ThInK!” Hydia snapped.

Because Draggle—for once—was right. They would look ridiculous. They are ridiculous. Everything they’ve ever done and were was fucking ridiculous but finally—finally—an end was upon them and yet, and yet… “yOu PiSs Me OfF, tHe BoTh Of yOu. AlWaYs.”

Except not really. She didn’t need to drag them into this, but they were so pathetic that she had to. It was her fault for having to suffer with them all these years. For having them. For bringing them to this land in the first place and, most damning of all, being the right kind of awful in order to make them like this.

This loss in my chest… I hadn’t felt this way since...

“YoU’rE,” Hydia groaned, “StArTiNg To MaKe Me—Me—HaVe ReGrEtS. tHaT’s A fIrSt, IsN’t It?”

Reeka dared to start, “It Is, HyDiA—!”

“ThAt WaS rHeToRiCaL, yOu DeNsE dUnDeRhEaD!”

“Starlight,” Fluttershy whispered, “what’s, um, what’s-uh-what’s going on?”

“Absolutely no idea.”

That bored tone of voice, coming from her of all ponies. “YoU dArE mOcK me—?”

“Where’re ya comin’ from, anyway?” Laughter climbed up Reeka’s head and jammed her face down her throat. “Helloooo in theeere?”

“Pinkie Pie, you get out of there this instant!” Rarity galloped forth, as if she could save her even if she tried.

As if Hydia could actually kill them if she tried, too. But no. They always get their happy ending. That’s how it worked for ponies. I hate you all. So, so much…

Laughter’s poofy head popped out. “C’mon, Rarity! What’s she gonna do? Bite me?” she teased, playing with Reeka’s one and only tooth. It crunched, twirling around and around within her decayed skull.

“What a disturbing little sound!” the pony noted.

She hopped toward the one who thought to save her, beaming to little reassurance. Reeka snarled, “yOu’Re All So IrRiTaTiNg,” before disassembling and reforming just as instantly beside Hydia’s.

She blinked over in the eyes of the two startled ponies.

“LeT’s GeT tHiS oVeR wItH aLrEaDy,” she continued. “CoMe AlOnG, pOnIeS. dO yOuR tHiNg.”

The urge to kill tinted everything red, it felt like. But Draggle cut in, physically reappearing beside Hydia as well. “QuIt GaWkIn’ AnD eNd Us AlRrEaDy.” None moved a muscle, or even obeyed Draggle’s simple command. “HuRrY uP!”

How? How could this be the way it ended, with not solely a whimper, but a laugh first and foremost? A joke where they were the punchline?

They hadn’t even realized where to aim the damned rainbow yet. “YoU In-SiPiD oFfSpRiNg—”

“Alright, alright, what’re you playing at?” Loyalty took flight, guarding her pathetic friends. “This’s obviously some kinda trap. Right, Starlight?”

She shrunk under the proverbial spotlight. “I mean,” she stammered, “I guess you could say that. If I’m right, they could nullify even the Elements’ effect. So… repeating Dash’s question, what is it you’re trying to achieve here?”

Before her idiot offspring could inject more stupidity, Hydia snarled, “We’Ve No ReAsOn To EnTeRtAiN yOuR cUrIoSiTy.”

“Again, with the vague nonsense! That’s the one thing that’s been consistent with you three since we’ve met—”

“Starlight.” Twilight folded back the wing she nudged her with. Starlight had to turn fully to actually see her. “We don’t have to play with them anymore. Don’t you understand? ...Whatever their goals are, they know, deep down, that they can’t hurt us. They won’t beat us.”

She was absolutely right.

And Hydia hated it. “YoU sTiLL uNdErStAnD nOtHiNG! ThIs IsN’t So CuT aNd DrY, aNd YoU pOsSeS tHe GaLL tO aCt LiKe YoU kNoW aNyThInG—”

“Shut up.” Twilight Sparkle, who even now trembled where she stood.

Hydia physically recoiled.

“You’re absolutely right. I have no idea what’s going on, and it’s that very unknown which terrifies me,” she squeaked. “But I understand friendship because of a life that’s been guided by your hand, apparently. But the funny thing is, is while that’s always been what scared me—the not knowing—throughout all the battles and tribulations we’d faced they’ve always ended with us on top, and the darkness you’ve thrown our way on the bottom. I never needed to be afraid, and I don’t have to be—ever again. All of that has been a stepping stone to this moment right here, right now, and everything that will follow! It’s strange to me, this fearlessness,” she admitted, exchanging worry, and then a smile, with Starlight, “but I’m finally starting to understand the faith Starlight has in us, in our friendship. So I might not understand you, Hydia, and I probably never will—!”

“SiLeNcE!”

“But don’t you dare presume to understand the things for which I live for!” she cried. “You lie, and you harm, you enjoy suffering and flaunt your prophetic knowledge as if it’s some kind of benefit. But I know who you are, now, and it’s thanks to Reeka—you’re little more than puppets who can see the strings.”

Hydia felt gutted. Naked.

Exposed and damnably small.

“You won’t win here,” said Twilight, “and the darkness which threatens us never will! Whether it’s a misunderstanding between friends or a fight, a raging centaur or three pieces of carrion squatting in a bog, acting as if they themselves matter: you. Won’t! Win!”

“InSoLeNt BuG!”

“EVER!” And Twilight erupted beyond Hydia’s invisible hand clasping her horn, shattering the compression smothering her magic, and wreathing the others in a pinkish aura.

“YoU dArE... pReSuMe To kNoW uS?!” Hydia clenched her fists, Twilight’s words echoing deep in her memory:

“My love…”

And nostalgia’s chains constricted her for the first time in over a thousand years.

“My sweet, protective wife… you know better than to outright duke it out with these horses—ah, ponies. Our family, we’re aliens to this land! They have every right to be afraid of—”

Hydia opened her wretched mouth and bellowed with her mortal tongue, so booming was her cry that it disturbed the half-dead grass around them and the distant ponies.

“...Ah. I see. You got into a fight with that Firefly, because she called Rhonda and Doris names. ‘Draggle’ and ‘Reeka,’ tch. Childish. Just ignore them! Water off a duck’s back. Two tears in a bucket, fuck it. All that stuff! ”

Firefl—no, Rainbow Dash, that was her name now, snorted as she casually supported her ever-struggling friend with a shoulder. “You bad guys always start crying when we’re about to beatcha!”

“Well of course she would call us ‘apes.’ We’re different here, and if we want to settle and make it home, we have to—”

“HoW’rE yA dOiN’ tHiS, pRiNCeSs!?” Reeka cried, truly not understanding (because she chose not to for the sake of her sanity). “YoU sHoUld Be ScReAmIn’ RiGhT nOw! DoUbLeD oVeR iN pAiN, foRcIn’ YoUrSeLf LikE tHaT!”

“Sorry!” gasped Twilight, eyes like runny pilot lights. “I don’t really care about what happens to me now, because I know nothing with finality ever will!” She regarded those gathering at her side. “Girls,” she rasped, “girls, I understand what we gotta do here. One of you, please, go into my saddlebag. Hurry. I brought… just in case… a spell. Star… light’s… Forgot the wording.”

As if she’d lived with them all her life, was a part of Destiny’s safety net, Starlight clasped the saddlebag on the side she was on and just so happened to remove Starswirl’s once incomplete, now modified spell.

Hydia knew it would play a part today. And yet, it never stopped driving her insane—the way fate always worked in ponies’ favors.

Always.

Even when they tried to murder the country.

“You… you’re going to fire this like a spell, Twilight? Do you know what it’ll do?”

Even when they allowed Grogar to run the remnants aground with foul beasts. The Pillars, the first safety net, emerged from the darkness, bearing a torch of Harmony to the Chaos they unleashed.

“I know. I know. We keep having this discussion, but—listen! ...Listen up: we cannot lay a finger on these ponies. To do so would be to validate their fears. And this is such a kind, peaceful land, you know that. But…”

Hydia took a deep, mortal breath… and roared.

The spell floated in the way. Twilight read, “‘From outside we’re together—’”

“...Don’t cry for me, Hilda. You have to be strong, and wise. So that I can pass on into heaven’r wherever, reassured that our little girls are in good hands.”

Her roared swayed the trees, and the bitches before her. Except for Twilight. “‘But deeper at our core! With hearts made one—’”

NO!

“I’m not disappointed in what happened today, Hilda. Not over that fight. Just worried, but not at all disappointed. Because...”

I can't die yet! We don’t deserve this!

Her very soul rocked the earth between them, willing it to rise in a soil tsunami as Draggle and Reeka’s cried in protest, but they never, ever understood. “MoMmA,” they sang, “wHaT’rE yA DoIn’?!”

“Because you did it for them. So, thank you, my love. Thank you.”

“I HATE YOU!” screamed Hydia, somewhere far, far away, before her husband’s death bed.

“Thank you for trying to protect our family’s dignity.”

“I HATE ALL OF YOU!” A maw of earth and stone rushed forth to swallow, crush, and murder.

But Princess Twilight howled beastially against the desperate mashing of Hydia’s invisible hand, discharging the greatest blast of magic she’d ever mustered. The land she’d sent was gone. Smoking chunks pattered the area, Hydia and her brood, the magenta field singing as it rained upon them, reeking everything of scorched earth.

Through the dust and smoke, seven faces glared back. Even Twilight’s, despite Starlight and Rainbow hoisting her up, themselves without breaking their stares.

“Can’t say I’m a fan of you either,” quivered the otherwise dauntless princess. “For everything you’ve done, I can honestly say that you, without a doubt, are the first villains whom I’ve hated more so than felt ambivalent or fearful towards.”

And Hydia grinned a grin which touched the corners of her eyes—and ever so slightly, the upstart goddess’s head recoiled. “ThErE wiLL cOmE a DaY wHeRe YoUr HiGhNeSs Is HaUnTeD bY tHiS coNDeMnAtIoN.”

She might be blind to the future, but feelings were more powerful, more clear than anything tangible—the very same which stayed her hands and words, which lulled her to sleep for centuries, and disturbed them awake the day a pony named Starlight Glimmer approached.

The feeling was deep and regrettable; vengeful, and toxic. The feeling was heartbreak, and the magic had undoubtedly been the signature potency of the one glaring at her now.

“I believe you,” she said. “But we’ll weather it as we always have.” Her glowing eyes regarded the ponies on her left, those on her right, and finally, the wretched before her. “Together.”

Only Starlight donned knitted brows toward Hydia’s promise.

And even so…

“YoU’rE fInAlLy BeGiNnINg To LeArN, pRiNcEsS tWiLiGhtT.” Hydia gave a single wave. “FaReWeLL.”

The page of Starswirl’s journal obscured her stone-set grimace. “‘From outside we’re together, but deeper at our core. With hearts made one, there is magic forevermore!’”

The Elements remained as they’ve always been: simple catalysts for Destiny’s magic—their magic—seeped deep into the land itself. It was for recording the means of tapping into the magic they called “Harmony” which granted Twilight Sparkle wings and the title of princess.

Modifying it with “a little bit of empathy” allowed a forgotten, primal, more emotion-based magic to taint that purity with a healthy bit of Chaos.

That had nothing to do with the side effect occurring within the facets of Harmony’s current incarnations: upon uttering the incantation’s final word, the Magic-crowned princess ascended as if by the Elements’ will, like always, her glowing face a blank, almost baffled expression.

The others’ eyes flickered white at once, ascending from where they stood until forming a circle of six. A rainbow sprouted and split from Twilight’s horn at the apex, snaking downwards, toward the Elements latched around their necks, but piercing beneath them where their hearts raced like they were about to explode.

Starlight Glimmer remained grounded, face writ with dejection that she wasn’t truly a member of their special circle, and never will be. Her worry shone as one by one the ponies’ eyes ran with tears.

“What’s this all about?” Even Hydia didn’t understand. She didn’t care to, because it was finally time to go.

A prismatic light shot from each of the Elements’ hearts, joining in the center to create a starburst and, as a result, a visage of Twilight’s cutie mark.

“HeRe It CoMeS!” Reeka rubbed her hands together, smacking her lips within the Aether.

A six-tone blast barreled towards them, hit, carved a tunnel through the decayed woodland at their backs, but felt like a cool breeze of air against their skin.

“DyInG sUrE iS pLeAsAnT,” Draggle remarked.

Because these idiots, despite Glimmer’s notes, failed to understand that their bodies were not the vessels of their soul. Starlight looked over, galloped despite the burning sprain in her flank. She had clearly already acclimated to a one-eyed lifestyle, turning fully between them and her pathetic friends.

The rainbow seared icily through them. Reeka performed a yawning motion. Draggle scratched her side.

Starlight was baffled. Then her eyes fell upon the Sunstone, glowing innocently upon a flat-topped rock.

She was putting it together, but the speed at which she was doing so was unacceptably ridiculous.

“GeT ThE sUnStONe, YoU dOlT!” Hydia roared inside her head, so suddenly that she jumped a foot in the air before dashing, ducking under the blast despite it being higher than Celestia.

She hugged the massive thing to her breast, exhaling with relief and terror and confusion, the source of it all directed toward the witches and their, to her, strange behavior.

Her face went slack, eyes wide and shuddering with the colors of her friends streaming by. For a second, as that was all Starlight Glimmer ever needed, she held the Sunstone out before her, considering its weight and the strength of her emaciated form.

Then, she tucked it under a foreleg, and leapt off the pedestal.

Only her hoof grazed it.

But the force of the blast was enough to send her bulleting into the Witches of Flutter Valley.

Flutter Valley was gone. Her friends were gone. The witches were gone.

Just nothing, albeit an admittedly beautiful nothing. Between the bottomless turquoise, melting up into a midnight sky, and stars everywhere, Starlight had to wonder if she was somehow blasted into space.
With her luck, that was a very real possibility.

“Oh, thank me, you’re finally awake.” Starlight shrieked, despite the speaker sounding quite relieved; she was about to apologize and excuse herself for not expecting anyone here. “Hey, gals, she’s awake!” And the pony, it turned out to be, galloped off.

How in the…? Starlight whipped around, where it was very, very clear she wasn’t in space, or anywhere specific for that matter.

For she saw the tail-end of a mare her age with flowing white hair like Celestia’s trailing behind her.

She was galloping to a circle of human females in white dresses, their faces downcast. One wore a pot upon her head, another a horned helmet.

VI.IX - Hilda, Rhonda, Doris

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There was no ground.

Keep calm, Starlight.

She was standing in outer space.

Just don’t spazz-out.

She was standing in outer space with some random pony and the witches.

“DON’T SPAZZ, STARLIGHT!”

The ragged cry of her name played back, quieter, quieter, and quieter, until there was only a gentle hum of the stars above.

“Too late!” hollered Reeka from the distance. Too far to make out the “finer” details of her face, she looked paler than usual. And perhaps it was the airiness of this strange place, but she didn’t sound quite so demonic either.

And then Starlight was staring at the endless stars beneath her, and her stomach lurched up her throat. In what reality was there no ground? This was the realm of Discord, it had to be.

Or perhaps it was a nightmare, or purgatory—Starlight’s punishment for being one of the worst ponies to have ever lived. Yet the solid plane beneath her hooves was obviously very real. No hoofbeats, however.

How did I get here? One minute, Starlight was holding that big glowing rock, because the spell was doing nothing to the witches yet they themselves, weirdly enough, were doing nothing. They hadn’t done anything! So why? Why did they do nothing, and Starlight wind up—?

Oh.

That’s right.

I jumped into the rainbow beam!

Another brilliant, carefully considered choice by yours truly. Yet, she didn’t feel heavy of heart—even at the thought of being dead. Was that worrisome? What would Twilight think if she knew—?

“Oh, gosh, Twilight! Everypony…” They were alone in that swamp, wondering where Starlight was!

Wherever ‘this’ exactly… was…

Oh.

It made a horrible amount of sense.

Oh please no. Not now.

A pit opened inside her belly.

Not when I’m on the cusp of getting my life back! I take back what I thought—I care! I do care!

The air was thinner, filling her lungs sparsely the deeper she breathed, but the more she breathed the more she needed. The more she needed, the wheezier and louder her gasping grew. “Oh, gosh,” rasped Starlight, clutching at her breast, “I’m dead! I actually killed myself, and I didn’t even think that would happen this time!”

She just wanted to fix her stupid mistake.

Oh, I had to dive in with that STUPID rock! I could try and throw it, first, before doing something rash again, but no, instead of keeping to mind what the witches had been doing this entire time—that is to say, absolute JACK—instead, I pictured myself as Daring Do and played the hero!

“At the worst possible time—!”

“Quit your mewling, already!” snapped somepony, a voice that was harsh with age and bone-chillingly familiar. “You’re not dead. Though you’ll soon wish you were.”

“Really, Hilda?” The void echoed from every direction, colored in the honest, doting inflection Celestia was loved for. “Are you trying to make this harder than it needs to be?”

The weirdest part was that it sounded like the pale mare from before, who—after spinning around trying to find her in this nothing-ocean—was found seated by the witches, facing them.

And sweet Celestia, was her mane tremendous. It could cocoon all five princesses with locks to spare, easily. Almost ridiculous-looking, attached to a one-third its size.

“We all know how this will end,” she said, the void betraying her efforts to whisper. “You might as well not fight it.”

“Oh, this again: the dignified whimper,” groaned Hydia. “You’ve been vomiting sunshine and rainbows about this pony—”

“Because I know her,” the mare stressed, leaning closer.

“Correction,” a finger from the smallest cloaked mound shot up. “You’ve seen her. Flashes, specifically. No different from a face you pass by on your way to the supermarket.”

“You be silent.” The dark tone of voice chilled Starlight. It sounded like herself.

Hydia threw her head back in a laugh, horns for once at equal size and poised to fork Starlight from miles away. “Oh, my dear, tell me! Tell her! Remind us all the way you cried out, laying eyes upon her hornless head.”

“Stop it, Hydia.”

“‘Hydia?’ You’d have been wise to hold your tongue. Now I’m angry. Starlight Glimmer?!” She did a slight turn, keeping her face obscure whilst lashing a finger at the pale mare. “Yes, this one here? It’s been so long, you know, that she forgot your face! She never knew your favorite book, either! Or your preferred tea, whether you’re a morning pony or a night owl—nothing like that! None of the nonsense you petulant ponies pride yourselves in knowing as a measure of your friendship herds. The funniest part? She only knows you for your misery! Because she’s willed it to happen—!”

“It doesn’t work like—!”

“Just for the sole purpose of saving her sorry hide from this forever-purgatory!”

The pony shot up. “That isn’t true and you know it!” Her voice fractured, thunder rolling across the cosmic heavens.

“But now she’ll never trust a word you say, if I recall your ravings clearly. She’s lost faith in you before even knowing your horrible name—and now we’ll suffer for certain, forever, as I’ve always known we would. Such is our fate,” Hydia muttered.

“I thought we were friends, Hilda! Why ruin everything now?!”

“Because you don’t understand evil like I do, you optimistic dolt! God, God, God I cannot stand this about you two-faced equines. Acting so pompous and all-knowing when you’re little more than conceited children playing at human adults. And the moment that reality is shown you snap and go crazy and act as if there’s a bad guy that must be slain. A scapegoat more often than not. And others always suffer for it, just as it does in our world. But at least we have the freedom knowing it’s all our fault, and not some couch potato of a goddess. Fuck you, Destiny. Just fuck you.”

“Holy smokes,” Reeka hooted. “Been keepin’ that in for a while, huh, Ma?”

Silence. And then, “You’re cruel,” croaked the stars. “Hateful. I know those times we’ve laughed and bonded weren’t fake.”

“Based on what? When have we ever had a reason other than circumstance to interact?”

Starlight didn’t care. About any of this. She honestly didn’t, except for the pulsing ache beneath her horn. “I feel like I’ve jumped to the final chapter of a book! Can somepony please answer my questions—first and foremost, how to get out of here?!”

Silence.

Then a tall, thin human rose.

She leaned forth, cupping her eyes.

Then her ear.

“...WHAT?!”

“Seriously? Ah, no. You know what? I’ll come to you.”

“WHAT?!”

“Just sit tight, I’ll come to you!” Starlight cried hoarsely.

As she approached, Reeka’s unmistakable titter arose from the distant quartet. “What? What’d she say? ‘Shit tight?’”

Draggle chuckled, hands to her long face. “How grody!”

Something in Starlight’s brain snapped—this place, these witches, her friends alone and probably scared senseless—all of it was too endure this juvenile, low-brow humor.

She bellowed into the heavens, then charged.

Charged.

And charged.

Eventually she was nearing her target, still seated as her daughters stood. Starlight would conk her on the back of her head, make her return them to the real world. “Woah, woah!” Reeka’s pudgy palms shot up.

Draggle tugged Hydia’s white, baggy sleeve, only for it to be smacked off. “Momma, she’s out for blood!”

“Let her try.”

‘Try.’ As if I can’t do anything! Starlight snarled. I’LL SHOW YOU ‘TRY!’ Starlight’s tried and failed all her life before, this would be no different, no different at all! And she leapt as Hydia began to turn.

And her heart jumped to her throat the instant before colliding with the softness of her bosom, for Hydia from behind, at first, seemed exactly as she had back in Flutter Valley—massive, as tall as Celestia, with horns and stringy orange hair.

Those were the only similarities with the Hydia Starlight knew.

“Woah,” Starlight breathed, inches from her beady, lavender-caked eyes, “you’re not horror shows!”

Hydia deadpanned. Even her horns, they were part of a helmet, not her actual skull. “I’m not being facetious when I say that’s one of the kindest things you ponies have ever said to me.”

“But I’m serious!” Starlight leapt back, landing on all fours as Draggle and Reeka joined their mother’s sides. They, too, looked vastly more alive than within the real world. “Your skin is clear and clean, you have all your parts! You’re moving like the living and you sound normal, even! This is…! Oh, this’s a little surreal,” Starlight slurred, the trio tilting clockwise before her. “I… I need a minute, I think. M’... sorry.”

The sight of the witches fell away in a blur, the stars following them, following, following until her back squished against an… ‘an immense, soft warmth’ wouldn’t come close to doing it justice. There was power humming against her back, a great power coursing through the hairs of her coat, the skin beneath tingling pleasantly.

Familiarly…

It was like—no, had to be—a cloud bundled within a blanket, one freshly dried with a heating charm, and then soaked for a millennia in… in… magic?!

That was crazy, yet what else could so suddenly bind Starlight’s heart in complete nostalgia the moment it’d clicked? It was unmistakable, this feeling—like seeing Sunburst, or any familiar face, for the first time in forever. For it was Twilight’s magic, and her own. The signature of Trixie’s mana, alongside that of Celestia and Luna and Cadance. Sunburst’s. Daddy’s.

The faint but traceable residue inside Maud and her little sisters. Spike. The girls and their siblings. Every tree and every blade of grass, the moon in the night and the sun in the day.

It was everything at once, hitting, wailing upon Starlight’s mind, body and soul with feelings—once-tickles in her horn when using magic upon, or from, a given thing. Now a sensation enveloping her in something she decided then and there to never, ever leave again: warmth.

So lovely and familiar.

Oh. Oh, my gosh, it’s…

The turquoise, silver-dusted heaven above began to blur.

It’s been so long I’d almost forgotten…

Her throat closed.

I’d forgotten… what this feels like.

She couldn’t hold it in a second longer. She didn’t care about the witches, what they’d say or even about where she was now. In this moment, she didn’t even care about her friends, neither the ones worried sick about her now or the ones whose hearts she’d broken. That which had been broken away, leaving a gaping hole in her chest, was now refilled and overflowing.

These tears, she had no shame to cry them—a lifetime first to be sure.

“You’re crying, yet happy?” chirped the gentle-sounding… pony, from above her, and tenderness cushioning her back vibrated with a chuckle. “It’s been an age since I’ve witnessed such a complicated mix. I envy you, you know?”

Starlight opened her eyes to the visage of a pale head crowned in smoke. “Wha’?” She scrubbed her eyes, sniffling. “This is… are you some kind of alicorn-like pony?”

She had a smile like Celestia’s, but not her wings. Her magic was tenfold by comparison, if Starlight could sense it without a horn. “Of all you just experienced,” she chuckled, “and this is what comes forth to mind first? Ah. You’re a curious little pony, is that it? Amazing.”

Starlight felt hot in the face. “W-well… yeah! So what? I don’t know who you are or,” she trailed off as she sat up, pushing herself off the warm bed—a white coat, firmly corded with muscle, and yet paradoxically soft. “Or what you are,” she breathed, stilling.

This… was one enormous pony.

And Starlight was getting her hooves all over her. “Gah!” She wrenched away, hugging her forehooves close. “S-sorry about that! And fainting! And calling you a ‘what,’ and—”

Her hoof eclipsed all else as she tapped Starlight on the nose. “I am a ‘what,’ you silly. Hadn’t you heard?”

Starlight’s eyes grazed the mare lounged before her. “Uh, s-sorta…” She was only half listening to the behemoth, entranced by her pupiless eyes. Her smile eased the eeriness, as did her aura.

Maybe that was just an instinct. Something deep inside which kept Starlight rooted as phantom dregs of warmth teased her heart, not unlike the feeling of magic she was previously overwhelmed by.

No, she thought before the gaping pit could reopen, it’s not like the magic, it… it… it just is.

“You got this presence that kinda overwhelms me.” Starlight sucked her lips in on the spot, cheeks igniting to the sound of this pony’s hearty chuckle dancing amidst the stars. “Sorry. That was kind of stupid.”

“Yeah, it was,” said Hydia.

The large pony sighed with a smile equally as content. “We’ve only shared a few words, but being with you is as every bit an honor as I dreamed, Starlight Glimmer.”
Starlight, thinking back, had an inkling as to why. “Uh, ex-excuse me?” In a twitch of movement the pony’s head tilted. “Did you... bring me here, by any chance?”

“Um.” The mare suddenly stood, towering on legs to match her hulking frame. “In a sense, though not directly. Kinda. Sorta. Maybe a little.”

How expectantly vague. “You, uh, you’re starting to sound like these three, eh-heh.”

“She does?!” cried Reeka and Draggle, the former adding, “Just what have we been reduced to out there?”

The pony’s muzzle, frowning as she replied, was not unlike a Saddle Arabian’s. Starlight only heard her survival instinct ablaze, roaring to run.

What? What is going ON?!

Starlight vied to scream, but flashes of Reeka’s mutilated face surged forth and dried her throat as the large pony turned fully to the witches. But not she herself. I’ve yet to see them up close and in such a well-lit environment. I don’t think my stomach is ready for that in case Hydia was the only normal-looking witch.

However, part of Starlight also thought to see them, to tune into their conversation for the sake of information.

But… it was the witches.

She ought to run.

But she had to face her fears, for the sake of her friends!

The witches though… and… this mountain of a pony. She could crush Starlight and not even care, if she had so much magic in her she felt like the stuff...

This realm produced no single source of light, and thus no shadows, yet Starlight was swallowed in this being’s all-encompassing presence, who proclaimed herself a “what.” Starlight was stupid to think this was a pony like her—from afar, in this endless plane of existence with just a singular eye, an accurate sense of her stature was impossible to glean without being right in front of her. Not only was she the size of Celestia (maybe even bigger), but she possessed a physique that dwarfed Big Mac by comparison.

She was unlike anything, or anyone, rather, Starlight had ever seen. At least that was enough to erase the encroaching guilt, having not seen AJ’s brother in over a month due to her borderline insanity.

The pony’s head twitched to Starlight. “Apologies, Starlight Glimmer, for speaking as if you weren’t present. I’m sure you have some questions,” she said, unsmiling.

A barking laugh. “Yeah! A few! As in, who are you? Where am I? What happened, where are my friends, am I dead, and what are these things doing looking all—” she turned her head, “—a-alive, oh…”

“Tch, rude.” A figure almost twice as tall as the mare stepped into view, crouching—the long, smooth face of Draggle the Fool, eyes hazel and not glowing red, frown set in a grimace instead of being knitted as such. Her bandana upheld a bonfire of hair, nowhere near as wild as it was before. “I dunno who you think you are, but you won’t get nowhere callin’ people ‘things.’ Y’stupid little pony.”

Gone was Starlight’s constricting sense of self-preservation, her head filled with nothing but uncertainty.

The status quo now was a befuddled, daunting sense—they were as huge as she remembered them being, the sisters, but everything else was wrong. The simple white gowns, their skin all smooth-looking, manes shiny and fluffy, eyes… just eyes. And they were full of apprehension, or downright apathy in the case of Hydia.

Miles better than two rats threatening to poke their heads out, at least.

Hydia moved her hands to her hips. “Take a picture if you’re going to gawk, stupid pony.”

“Ye-yeah.” Reeka glanced to either side. “Stupid pony.” She squinted, leaning forth, then lurched back, eyes boggled. “Holy smokes, she is tiny. Like really, seriously puny. I bet I could eat her in one bite!” She laughed heartily, freckled cheeks aglow.

“You’ll lose those big blocky teeth if you try.” Starlight touched her forehead, pricking the frog of her hoof on a spiny little crown. “I can still kick you really hard.”

“Cease your blustering, little pony.” Hydia reached up and aside to the unsuspecting Reeka and clapped her on the back of the head so hard it cocked her pot, to no reaction but a small wince. “That’s for laughing at your own joke.”

“I know.” Reeka adjusted the headwear.

“Uh, hello?” Starlight waved.

“But you are correct, Reeka,” said Hydia, “they’ve truly gotten tinier.”

Starlight tucked her tail between her legs. “You’re the giants, here!”

“Ha! Back in our day, ponies were almost as big as this one here.” She jerked her head to the pale mare, who nodded in agreement.

Something shifted in Starlight’s belly, letting it rise above a lingering, dragging weight. “So, it’s true, then.” Despite her suspicions and faith in Lickety Split’s journal, it was something else to have these thoughts which had haunted her a month being outright confirmed. “You really are… You’re really the cause of everything.”

“What?” Hydia snorted. “Your stunted growth?”

Starlight was half-listening, boring into the bottomless space below, the sea of stars backdropped by turquoise. “You weren’t always like this. You became this. The magic of Equestria, it… you aren’t actually it, that’s… oh, that’s such a relief to—!”

“‘Equestria?’” Hydia groaned. “Gag me. Well, it’s miles above ‘Ponyland,’ so that’s something.” She regarded their tall, silent spectator. “Didn’t see that in your visions, did you?”

“I never said I wasn’t aware. My foresight only lent me flashes of what would be. Sentiments. Of all that’s important.”

“Tch. Save this one’s horn.” She jerked a thumb at Starlight.

The mare still gazed upon the heavens, it seemed. “I saw the banner of a nation restored which you’d have nearly broken. And that was enough.”

A chill ran through Starlight. Could this pony be some kind of prophet? Is that why she’s so powerful? Unless… no. The witches’ double-voices, that couldn’t have been… No, that can’t be it.

There was a cold chuckle. “Now who’s shooting themselves in the foot?” Hydia opened a palm to Starlight. “You think this one will take the ugly origins of her homeland kindly?”

“Oh,” she rasped, then swallowed. “I already know about all that.”

Three sets of eyes gaped upon her. “Wait, what? How?” cried Reeka. “You some kinda fortune teller, too? Is that how ya wound up here?”

She looked to the pale mare, who just shrugged. Starlight had no idea how being a fortune teller would result in her being here.

“It was Lickety Split’s journal,” she said. “Now her?”

Draggle groaned. “That annoying little filly. You tellin’ me she’s the reason we’re chewin’ the fat with ya? Everything relied on her?”

“Oh, Doris, please. You know that’s not how life works.” The pony opened her featureless eyes upon Starlight. “She was equally as important as the hooves which passed her notes—those of her daughter, and the son that followed, until reaching the community possession of the swamp hamlet Lickety had established not far from the borders of the land your actions had forsaken. The pillar whom saved the divided country, the alchemist bearing the boon of my Healing aspect. She handed it to the familiar of Sorcery, who even I know is acclaimed for his beard as Starswirl.”

“Among other things,” muttered Starlight. Chief among them being conceited and stuck in his ways. At least for a thousand years.

“And from his disappearance, his proteges acquired its possession, which was then lost in the transition to the capital upon the tallest mountain in the land. Yes, that must have been how the history played out. It is all of these moving parts which hold equal importance beside the stone-willed resolve of Starlight Glimmer.”

From the left, a purr like that of a great tomcat shocked her with a lurch of fear, only for Starlight to find Draggle’s head flopped over, dryly regarded by the large pony as she snored even louder than before.

Her head shot up. “Woah! Sorry.” Draggle clasped the side of her head. “It’s been a while since we’ve had one of Destiny’s ramblings.”

‘Destiny?’ A rock plummeted in Starlight’s belly, and plunged deeper beyond the limits of her stomach. “Is… is that really your name? Who you are?” I had my suspicions before, but this outright confirmed it.

“Everything gets by you, clearly.” Hydia huffed, clasping her hips. “Common among ponies, honestly. No wonder Destiny saw this taking so long.”

Destiny narrowed her glowering eyes. “You misremember your history, though I acknowledge your ignorance as a side effect of time’s passage.”

Reeka huffed. “Gee, thanks.”

“Nay, Starlight Glimmer,” she continued, “Destiny is the name graced to me by my bondmates, here. For I possess none in reality, though go by many to your people. I have acquired an… attachment,” she chuckled, “to this one: ‘Destiny.’ If I may be so bold, especially with circumstances such as these, would you proceed to call me as such for the sake of comfort and practicality on your part?”

Starlight… had just about a hundred more questions, though some were just answered. Others, however, nearly so, and she couldn’t decide if she wanted the answer to them or not. Her brain sloshed too weightily left and right to decide. “Uh.” She blinked. “You don’t need to convince me. I’d have called you that if you just asked.”

Destiny beamed. “Much appreciated. Though you appear disturbed by this revelation. I assure you—”

“Hold up.” Assurances were the last thing Starlight needed. Especially from this… goddess, it seemed. ‘Destiny.’ What have I gotten myself into?

“Give me answers,” she said, lowering her hoof. “Then I’ll decide how I feel about it.” She turned to Hydia, who raised her brows. “You seem straightforward, however rude.”

“The one thing I have the autonomy to pride myself on these days.”

Starlight snickered—such a dark and layered joke, a relatable one to boot. Hydia smiled wryly as she asked, “Can you tell me what you’re doing here, then? What did that blast do to you?”

“‘Blast?’” Hydia turned to each of her puzzled daughters, before her eyes brightened. “Ah! You must mean the rainbows. Eugh.”

“I like picturing that.” Draggle took a seat, hugging a long, pale leg to her chest. “The rainbows.”

“We know you do, dummy,” groaned Reeka.

“It sounds badass.” Draggle grinned to Starlight, as if she herself knew what that word meant. “Is it badass? Like is it a cannon you fire or something? Destiny never gives us a straight answer, you see. She says it’s more a physical manifestation of feelings, but I dunno what that looks like—!”

Destiny touched her shoulder. “Now, now, Doris, don’t overwhelm to poor thing.”

Being handled like a foal, on top of their absurd denial? “Oh, please!” Starlight cried. “As if you aren’t the ones who’ve been generating the magic to do it! The four of you—you’re here, aren’t you? In this...” She waved vaguely to the stars. “Magical place? You gotta know the goings on of the world, don’t you?”

Suddenly Hydia, on silent but weighty-looking footsteps, powered into her face, deliberately snarling every word, “We haven’t seen anybody but this one’s face for one-thousand years. Get that through your dense, dumbass skull.”

“N-noted. Sorry.”

Suddenly she lurched back, her arms held by Reeka and Draggle. “Momma!” chided the former, the latter adding, “She’s got a long going on, don’t overwhelm her! But… thanks for defending me.”

Hydia shouldered from their hold. “It’s not as if it makes a difference! I want this song and dance to reach its inevitable conclusion already. She’ll learn one way or another. She’ll have no choice. Or have you forgotten?”

They lowered their eyes, misery writ on all three of their faces. The whole of Starlight largely didn’t care. And yet…

Yet…

She recognized what she saw: so much pain, exhaustion roiled within them, clearly. Starlight couldn’t help but feel a little bad—not to mention how they were stuck here in this purgatory for a thousand years. I should have joined Tirek in Tartarus for what I’d done. But I got rewarded and they’ve been cursed. Much of the witches’ behaviors made… not all the sense, but some of it felt more believable.

“Why don’t we start with something simple?” She lowered herself to the… ‘ground.’ “Tell me about this place. How’d you wind up here? How did I?”

“Holy shit, she thinks that’s simple!” laughed Reeka.

Hydia stretched her arms out, palms upturned. “Our humble abode, first things first! Welcome,” she cried, draped sleeves swaying as she swept their beautiful surroundings. “You’re looking at the whopping population consisting of… five sorry souls, that’s right, there’s you, though, it’s arguably four. Though arguably one if you get existential about it... Take a look around! Get comfy. We got limitless space and double the amount of time.”

“Sure. But what exactly is all of this?”

“This personal Hell of ours,” said Hydia, “is known globally as the Aether. Colloquially, the all-encompassing arse of Destiny.” She turned to the mare in question, smirking at her deadpanned expression.

It was funny.

That was funny.

But everything else made it impossible to laugh, to smile or even think of anything besides what this gargantuan pony…

Everything had clicked with that explanation, everything made sense.

Sweet Harmony—Was that one of her names in Equestria?—even her size felt woefully insignificant. The fact that she even had a visage such as this…

Destiny. Magic. The witches overtook the land and its magic, as writ upon the pages of Lickety’s journal, more or less, and confirmed outright as early as her first trip to Flutter Valley.

The magic of the land… it’s source… I had a suspicion but I was right: it’s not them. It’s really not so horrifying as I thought and Twilight refused to believe.

Wait.

Wait.

I’m getting ahead of myself again. Again… Always…

Was that one of the things about her that Destiny made so? To save the witches here and now?

Is that right? Is that my purpose?!

“Aw, that made her shed a little tear,” cooed Draggle’s voice.

“Worry not.” A massive paw clapped Starlight on the back. “You’ll grow accustomed to the bleakness of your new existence.”

It hardly registered, the fact that Hydia—the very hand which broke her horn off—was clasping her in a position poised to snap her neck if she desired so.

“Wait,” Starlight uttered feebly, turning to Destiny. “So… so this is… really all you? This is… all the magic in Equestria?” She swept the heavens above.

“You could say that.” Destiny smiled.

“But…” She turned to Hydia, the feedback sloshing in her thoughts lagging, or so it felt. “But you’re, I mean, you stole all of that. And… and the, what was it, ‘the Sunstone?’”

As she collected her thoughts, she perceived Hydia and her daughters donning puzzled looks, then the mother was the first to brighten with comprehension. Reeka mumbled, “Right, that thing.”

Starlight continued, “That’s what you used. To turn yourselves into Destiny, basically.”

Looking back to the witches, the young girls were turned away, their faces downcast. Hydia just looked tired. “‘Basically.’” She chortled. “So simple a word. But this was not something as basic as proclaiming the sky blue, the grass green. You forget the depths of human error, rage and arrogance.” She hunkered down, stretched her skirt self-consciously over her knees. She didn’t meet Starlight’s eyes. “Yes, little pony. ‘Basically’ that’s what happened.”

Starlight swallowed, then blushed—it was the only audible thing, her pounding heart, too, she was certain. “Why don’t you tell me ‘exactly’ what happened, then?”

She was surprised to find Destiny’s massive form sitting beside her, face crumpled with regret. “You,” she croaked, emotion echoing in the distance, “...are quite accepting of this, of me, Starlight Glimmer.” Her gaze shifted, gazing upon the stars above.

“That’s basically my whole deal.” Nopony laughed.

Hydia’s beady green eyes swiftly met hers. “Can your stomach can handle the whole truth?” She glanced to Destiny, still morose. “Can you ‘love and tolerate’ the three of us, after learning of what we were and, apparently, what led to us becoming the three you know now? Why, you’re made of sterner stuff than most ponies, I suppose. But you never know someone’s breaking point…”

Starlight looked over, Destiny’s eyes drawn shut. “I have faith that I’ll come to understand it.” She probably wasn’t looking, or even listening. Crazy to think, this goddess was still just a pony, or at least felt like one.

“Regardless of your faith, I assure you—wait, no,” Hydia muttered, scratching the fat of her neck, “I’ll answer for you, instead, and preemptively dismiss your self-assurances: this story is a story you will come to hate. Your supposed faith will be shattered, your worldview shaken to its very core, it will make you question your very existence and despise the ending!”

Starlight remembered thinking exactly the same not too long ago, in a blizzard, with her teacher asserting otherwise. “And how can I possibly hate something we’re smack dab in the middle of?”

“Exactly my point.”

“We’re in a story that will never end,” sighed Reeka.

“The ceaselessly turning wheel of misery, miscommunication, regret and rot and misery again,” said Hydia.

“The cycle of hate.” Starlight had to double take to process that Draggle muttered this. When she gazed upon Destiny, her somber, wilted-ear disposition told of the inconsolable guilt and regret which haunted this broken family.

Starlight found her heart fully enraptured before even knowing the details. She couldn’t help herself. “How did this all start?” she asked.

“That’s... a long and sordid tale. But, hey, we got nothing but time, now. Our story begins…” she inhaled deeply, exhaled with equal vigor, “with the greatest mistake we ever could have made. But… you’ve already gleaned that, little pony, yes, yes, you’re certainly more perceptive than most. Why, I doubt you’re the type to play judge, jury, and executioner without the full picture. Not like those others…”

Her voice was so chilly that the word shuddered through Starlight. “‘Others?’”

Hydia lifted her gaze, glaring at something far, far into the past. “Those ponies never liked us.”

“We entered this world when a solar eclipse in ours coincided with one here. The sun and the moon weren’t controlled by ponies back then, you see.”

“Myself, my husband, and our two daughters were dragged here.”

Waves of green rolled endlessly into a haze, meeting a brightening sky so blue it couldn’t have been real. This isn’t real. This can’t be… There was even a visage like a castle where a jungle of skyscrapers once peered back outside the hospital room. Actual jungles—no, forests, green as green could be and unlike anything found on 2050 Earth—cropped up all around the surrounding distance.

This… had to have been a dream; the smog of New York City, the city itself no less, wouldn’t just up and vanish like this. It just wouldn’t—!

“Pappa!”

Hilda’s breath caught in her throat, and she whirled. Rhonda was clasping Johnathan’s frail hand, the yellow of her sundress smeared in grass blood. That in of itself confirmed this reality. It felt realer than John’s sunken face.

He smiled upon the azure heavens above, where twin celestial bodies slowly parted ways. The eclipse… this… is Earth. Isn’t it? thought Hilda

A groan, and then, “Is this Heaven, girls?”

“Maybe, Pa.” Doris lifted his head up, so gentle she was that Hilda didn’t notice until he was resting on her denim-clad lap. “Shut your eyes, there, old man. Almighty God’s on his way.”

John, a sigh rattling past his lips, obeyed. So weak was his smile, shaking like that. And Hilda just made his situation worse—without the basic care to ease his pain, now he would… he’d—

“Momma, where are we?” Doris’s slim little face pleaded to her, clasping Hilda’s heart.

“You think I know, squirt?” she rasped.

Rhonda’s round face turned to her, eyes twinkling as they flitted left and right. “What happened to the hospital room? Why’re we outs-sigh… ou’sigh…” Her eyes gaped.

Poor thing was shaken.

I made a wish, Hilda realized. ‘Save my family from this tragedy. I’ll do anything.’ That was my wish. But the words would not form. Her damned throat kept closing.

“Momma,” Rhonda breathed. “Momma, look.” She rose a flaccid finger.

And then, in the distance:

“I saw the beam hit somewhere around here, Twilight! Come on, come on, double-time it!”

“Wait, Firefly! I’m not as fast as you!”

A smile grew on Rhonda’s face. “Horsies, Momma.”

“We were met with apprehension, of course. Strange creatures in a strange land and all, whose current situation mattered less to me than the preexisting one of my beloved.”

“You ponies possessed the kindness to help us, though.”

“At first.”

She was horse-sized, unlike the others, yellow as butter and a mane like seasmoke.

She was a horse queen. Rosedust was her name. And this specific region of her land was Flutter Valley.

Hilda was too busy computing this to comprehend that she was also a unicorn, and was washing John in magic. “There,” she sighed, the glow of her horn dissipating. The mature voice of a mother, unlike those squeaky annoyances that found them. “I cannot do much for his ‘can-sir,’ but this will dull his nerves and eliminate the pain. Please, ask for me if it must be reapplied. I will come.”

“Um, thank you.” Hilda lowered her heating head. “Y-your grace.”

Rosedust chuckle. “Please, your home’s formalities are unnecessary. All my little ponies possess grace, no more than I. Mine own self is merely the one who leads them.”

“If you say so.” Hilda straightened, sniffing; this cabin had a mighty earthen odor, though it was the least of her problems. “Thanks to your subjects. For having this built. And furnished! A-and in a nice locale, to boot.” Outside their only window, beaming over Johnny’s chest as it fell with nary a sound, were a wall of evergreens jittering in an unheard breeze. “So fast, too.”

“Back then, I was insecure enough to believe Queen Rosedust tucked us away for her people’s sake, and not our own.”

“Magic is a wonderful convenience.” She and her horn both winked.

Hilda clasped her belt loops, unsure of what to do with them. “We had our own magic,” she said, filling the silence. “Technology… Wonderful convenience.” She flushed, an idiot for just parroting the queen.

Rosedust laughed at her ineloquence.

“Looking back… I know now it was in good-humor. That she was good.”

“So,” she said, “you say you were an… an ‘accountant?’ And a flipper of these ‘burgers?’” Hilda felt the heat creeping up her ears. “Amazing, to possess two skillsets. Are all Hoo-mans so multi-talented?”

Before Hilda could dismiss her miserable part-time, the door slammed open, heralding a squealing pig in a dress.

“Rh-Rhonda?!” The child flew into her arms, her great mother who presumed any animal spoke in this land, and that her own daughter was one of them, all caked in mud.

“Oh, dear,” she faintly heard over Rhonda’s cries.

“They—! They called me a monster and threw mud at me!” She snorted. “They called, me, ‘Ree-ka-haa-haa!’”

“Beat them up, Momma!”

“Beat them up like you did Richie down the street!”

“Remove those pitying eyes of yours, little pony.”

“Eh? You ‘understand?’ Pah! You know not what it feels like to be an outsi—”

“Yes I do!”

Starlight pursed her lips.

Hydia and the rest looked as if she just screamed. She probably did, she didn’t know—there was only emotions, a sinking heaviness in her chest Hydia must have experienced too.

“I… I know what that’s like. Bullying,” she reaffirmed. “I can’t stand it, and that’s not all I’m hearing so far: to be thrust into a place you’ve no business being in, receiving hospitality you didn’t ask for nor think to deserve?” Trembling, Starlight exhaled, gulped her emotion as the life mission she’d set for herself flashed by. “And to feel like the world’s out to get you, and how you just want it to stop.” She startled Hydia by locking gazes. “Don’t sit there and tell me you were fine with the derision for your, quote, ‘stupid daughters.’”

“Hey, I did not call them that this entire time!”

“But you have. Every chance you got where I come from.”

Guilt flashed across Hydia’s face, and deep in Starlight’s gut. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “What is this?” she muttered. Then aloud, towards Destiny, “Is this our long-awaited punishment? Did you send her here to haunt me with my blunders all over again?!”

Destiny gasped, grasping her breast. “Hurting you is the last thing I ever wanted, Hilda. You know that.”

Hydia wrenched away, hissing, clenching a fist to attack… only to bring it down upon her knee.

“How many times have I told you this?” asked Destiny.

“Shut up! I get it! I—! ...I’m sorry,” Hydia sighed.

Only then did it hit Starlight, just how long these four have been together. Longer than a thousand years… They had so much time to talk, to open up and understand their situation. To hate each other, to cry, to laugh and forgive.

They had to have been friends on some level.

Starlight wanted, more than anything, to hear the rest of their story. “So, this incident with the name calling…” Four pairs of eyes were drawn towards her. “It fanned your fear, your hatred of ponies.”

“I wasn’t the best person to begin with, little one.”

“But that couldn’t have helped.”

A snarl, a blink, then a nod. “Of course it didn’t.” Draggle and Reeka lowered their faces. “I’ve had a lot of time to reflect since coming here.”

“I can imagine.”

“Figured, if I’d made more of an effort to change their preconceptions instead of falling into them, well, we’d have been less than dust by now. And you, well, you might never have been born.”

“Now that’s the real tragedy out of all this.”

They looked to her, stunned, until registering the smirk Starlight bore. All at once the three witches howled while Destiny looked concerned.

Even though it was just a joke.

“Besides,” continued Starlight, smile weighed by her own blunders, “I wouldn’t be here if not for my own fall from grace.”

“Pah!” Hydia threw her head back. “You’re funny, pony. As if we… I… had any grace to begin with. From what I understand we became genuine monsters out there—that’s us at our core. It’s my doing. Don’t be so condescending as to treat this circumstance as some kind of hidden good.”

“That’s kinda what it is, though, by design,” said Starlight. “These bad things? They’re lessons, for us and others. I’m telling you this now because of what I learned!”

Hydia chuckled dryly, lowering her head with a shake. Draggle rose what seemed like a meter on her knees, tapping her fingers together. “You’re real nice, Starlight. Thank you for sayin’ that.”

Sudden, stupid emotion clogged Starlight’s throat. Swallowing, not thinking about it, remembering what they did to her, she said, “Getting back on track… please, tell me about John. I-if that’s okay.”

“Ah, Johnny. Yes, it’s okay, little pony.” Hydia’s eyes twinkled at the heavens. “I still remember his face. That goofy laugh of his.”

“He was the coolant to my fire.”

“And I was desperate.”

“Just so… fucking desperate… to save John.”

Outside the evergreens jittered, sucked in one direction as if ensnared by a twister. It didn’t matter. Hilda’s day out was shorter than expected regardless of the weather. Hopefully Doris and Rhonda were being treated well.

The walls groaned, reaffirming themselves against mother nature’s bullying. Hilda, hand gloved in a dishtowel, lifted the squealing teapot from over the fireplace, abating its cry. Flames crackling, her plodding footsteps, wooden groans—unpleasant sounds all, albeit the only ones in the cabin.

It was a small comfort, she told herself, as she carried it to the roughly carved nightstand beside her and Johnny’s featherbed. Blessedly silent. A small comfort.

She felt useless. For both him, her family, and in this society. Their new… home.

I am fit for no job in this land.

But they had such small comforts to be thankful for.

These ponies’ queen was kind enough to do this much for him. Everything for them, really, and she had no cause to do so, much less accept repayment in the form of service. She refused, almost as if to say she didn’t wish to be further associated with the outcasts of her queendom.

She has no reason to divulge her reasons to me. I’m wrong to think this way.

But still, it felt wrong, and for Hilda that had always been enough to arouse suspicion. For that implied reasons—not good ones—but the personal variety kept close to the other party’s chest.

It was infuriating. Especially when Queen Rosedust declined with such a smile. It felt fake now.

And the ponies didn’t make it easier, perhaps the reasoning for this—they often mixed “freeloaders” and “layabouts” in their mix of nicknames whenever Hilda sent them running for the hills with but a roar. But Rosedust never pressed, nor mentioned such altercations, almost as if completely unaware. The queen of this absurd land—of course she knew. Hilda was too cowardly to bring them forward.

Maybe she didn’t seek punishment because humans, twice the size of her subjects, were much stronger and hostile.

Maybe she was afraid of the answers Hilda sought.

“Sweetie,” croaked someone beside her, “what’s so damn fascinating about that teapot?”

She replied, seeing only the sapphire petals adorning its side. “Got a floral print of something I’d never seen before.” The last thing her Johnny needed was to fret over her state of mind, where it was most of the time.

“Gonna shoot in the dark here: Rosedust still won’t let you work in the Grand Archives.”

It was a feeble lie, especially the prior one in blaming the weather for her early return home. As if something measly as a little gale stopped Hilda from doing what she wanted.

“Hope you didn’t throw something,” Johnny remarked. A weak smile told of its lighthearted nature.

Hilda couldn’t help but smile, born of love and bemusement. “I wanted to.”

“Hey, character development. Lookit that.”

A lie: Hilda blinked and saw Rosedust’s shock after narrowly dodging, ‘The Grimoire of Healing Miracles,’ which slapped against the gate of the Restricted Archive.

“Yeah,” she wheezed. “That’s me alright.”

“But the ponies cared more about keeping their magic to themselves than giving me the chance to save him, dressing their reasons in worry for my well-being. Ha! As if they cared for the monster whose kin were chided as such;”

“You said we have the ability to harness your land’s magic!” Another day, another bout of begging. This time Rosedust was fully intent on donning the cold shoulder, brushing past, a planner and pen floating before her. “Can’t you permit us this much?”

Rosedust didn’t stop, nor turn. “Nothing will come of it! Hilda, I’ve expressed multiple times that there we lack the righteous means to save your husband.”

She followed Rosedust’s hoofsteps, like a damned child. “Yes, yes, the keyword being ‘righteous,’ though.” Finally she halted, turned. “I know for a fact that it comes from the soul, and that our souls can be used to—”

“So you broke into the Archives? Into Restricted?”

“For my own people, yes, how dare I? I had to take matters into my own hands. But don’t worry, I didn’t keep anything.” What’s morally worse is she kept this from Hilda. “You lied to us this whole time,” she said. “You lied. How good would you have felt the rest of your days, sacrificing Johnny for the sake of your knowledge?”

“You’re absurd!” Rosedust snarled, her cheeks aglow. “You broke several laws, and my trust, for something you know nothing about! Tell me, in your strict, brutal world, how would they treat what’s considered a wrongdoer?”

“Tricky question. Despite our money grubbing ways, we still provide the means possible to save a life. So...”

Rosedust shook her head, planner slapping shut. “What you’re suggesting is dark, Hilda. Dark and evil magic used by villains who constantly threaten the sanctity of my kingdom.”

“With what? Crashing your parties? I’m tellin’ ya, we’ll only do what we need to save—”

Rosedust stormed close, got in her face. “No, you won’t,” she seethed. “We’ve no notion of what a human soul is capable of. What this sacrifice will do to it.”

“Oh, so you’re concerned about our well-being all of a sudden?”

“What do you think I’m doing now, entertaining you like this? Or everything I’ve done since finding you homeless and afraid?”

Hilda blurted out from the depths of her consciousness, “Maintaining your image, I’d say. Common practice of the politicians where I’m from.”

Rosedust lurched back, eyes wild. “You dare equate me to those abominable mongers?”

“How can I not? You say one thing but do nothing about the behavior of your subjects—-”

“I’ve tried, Hilda, but I’m not a tyrant! I cannot control their thoughts, their feelings or their freedoms!”

“Then stop,” Hilda roared, swatting Rosedust’s planner to the ground, “pretending that we’re yours! Stop acting as if you have dominion over us freaks, who you keep out of sight and mind in some remote forest, and stop. Saying. That this is for our own good, because if that was ever a priority you would do the work to prove that! Teach us! Explain to us, educate why my asking is so damn wrong!”

“You have done nothing to earn that trust. Nothing to prove you’re different from this overextending, overly greedy people from whom you originate.”

Hilda clenched her fists, only seeing red—dark crimson, and Johnny lying in bed, her children crying, the ever-changing excuses. Today’s flavor of the week was trust? “Then give me a chance to demonstrate it instead of excluding us from everything!”

Rosedust rubbed her forehead. “You still refuse to understand why I’m declining you. That, at its core, is why I can’t easily trust you.”

“Then we’ll leave!” Rosedust shrank back; Hilda’s voice had never cracked like that, not since realizing she was pregnant with Doris before graduating. “If your people’s safety is so concerning then we’ll leave. North, wherever and whatever’s out there, we don’t care. We’ll make our own way in this world. You’ll never hear from us again.”

Hilda dropped to her knees. Then her palms.

Finally, her forehead.

“Please, Queen Rosedust, I’ve never begged for anything but I’m pleading now.”

“H-Hilda—”

“Help me save my Johnny!”

“You’ll destroy yourselves if you walk this path, don’t you understand?”

“I don’t care!”

“Hydia—!” Rosedust pinned her mouth shut, but it was too late. “I…” she squeaked, “I didn’t mean… to say…”

Hilda was leaving, ignoring the cries of her real name, the apologies. They were fake, just like this self-righteous, self-serving queen. You laugh at us, too? Very well. We’ll give you something to laugh about, and succeed or die trying.

They were never going to speak on good terms again, the sincerity of which was built on a foundation of niceties and self-aggrandizing intent.

“Looking back, I realized…”

“No. No, no, that’s a lie.”

“For even then, I knew the ponies feared us with good reason. We were things of anger, desperation, selfishness. They were pure and kind, carefree. Innocent.”

“And we so boldly presumed to handle an element not even native to our world. Of course they would fear things as dangerous as us. But I was too deep in the throes of shame to think of it this way, and I thought my relationship with the queen was irrevocably shattered.”

“Figuring it all but scorched earth, I talked my embittered daughters into ransacking the castle library in the dead of night. We stole everything which seemed slightly relevant to our mission, from scrolls on basic sorcery to forbidden tomes wrapped in chains.”

“Oh, we were stupid—I… was stupid.”

“But John expired before I could realize that. Or even find something close to a means of saving him.”

“He died happily, though. Saying… saying our kids were in capable, loving hands.”

“...”

“...Naturally, I blamed someone that wasn’t myself. The one who’d acted out of line on a daily basis.”

An acrid, earthen smell arose from the mound before them. Hilda’s fingers twitched, weighted by a coating of mud, tight with exhaustion.

They had lacked shovels. The ponies would surely chase them out of town if they’d come begging, not that she would stoop so low as to act on the notion.

There was a ting above her thoughts of John, followed by another, another and another until it was like hail battering the roof of a car.

Annoying. Hilda gripped the stupid horn of this stupid helmet Doris had snatched from the Archives and snuck upon her head. This whole damn world is annoying. Absurd. Her arm hammered forth. Unfair. Rage boiled out from her gullet as the headwear thumped wetly into the dirt.

Panting, crying, the world was but a crimson screen. “This’s all their fault.”

“It sure is,” Doris breathed hoarsely.

Rhonda spoke for the first time since crying over John’s corpse. “B-but what are we gonna do now? We can’t go back there! But we can’t leave either! We can barely control this stupid magic—”

All true. Absolutely. Most of it was Hilda’s fault. She whirled, roaring in Rhonda’s face for it. “Silence, you mewling worm!” She shrank back, and Hilda crushed the last bit of pity and warmth she had for her daughters; kindness and playing by the rules only let the ponies take advantage of their courtesies. “We will get our revenge. We’ll make those bitches pay! We won't rest until we’ve returned their cruelty with equivalent malice!”

Their dignity, their souls, their lives. All of it will be repaid in full.

“R-right. We’re right behind you, Momma! Right, Dory?”

“That’s ‘Draggle.’” Reeka’s huge eyes swiveled to Hydia’s. “And you’ll refer to me as ‘Hydia,’ from now on, Reeka. Those ponies want to label us monsters? Well, we’ll become something to be afraid of.”

“But…” Draggle embraced herself. “But those names are—”

“Names and nothing more!” said Hydia. “Those ponies think they had power over us, labeling us with such childish, derogatory nicknames. But we’re gonna own them, make them ours, until those names are uttered with unease rather than laughter on their lips.” Her girls exchanged glances. “Are we in agreement?!”

They nodded frantically. Afraid of their mother. “Yes, Mo—Hydia!”

Well, at least they were obeying. Perhaps there was a lesson in this about the limitations of kindness and the absolute driving force behind fear.

“You know well by now, the magic of this world does not allow the utilization of souls to be done lightly. It’s a taboo in your country, an unthinkable horror in Rosedust’s. But without the genes to harness our inherent magic as a pony would, our souls were the only means of doing so.”
“I didn’t care about what would happen. I was angry. Just so angry at everything.”

“We’d become villains, then, if such a dramatic label was even appropriate for a dynamic consisting of naught but cold shoulders.”

It was high time their clothes got some size adjustments.

Reeka hunkered a third tub, followed by Draggle adjacent. “I gathered a cauldron of mud, a bucket of dirt, and a tub of groundwater,” said the lankier daughter, adjusting her overalls.

“Nu-uh! I got the groundwater!” Draggle almost toppled over, a living Leaning Tower of Pisa, after an elbow in the thigh from Reeka. “That was the harder part, right, Momma?” They were already spotted in patchwork, Draggle’s overalls—the garments she’d arrived wearing almost four years ago.

“You’re a dummy.” Draggle smacked the pot her little sister had taken to wearing, sending Reeka’s body jittering with a solid ring. “I had to wait for your fatass to be done to get the mud! What with this darn drought we’ve been havin’.”

Hydia only saw Draggle’s knobby knees nowadays, now beginning to bare from her ever-increasing age. They turned to her, the drawl she inherited from Johnny digging into her attention. “Momma, who had the harder work?”

Reeka slammed into her, leaning her freckled face into view, squishing against Draggle’s legs. “It was me, right?!” Reeka’s dress was in the same state, but looking a little tight around the bosom. She was no longer a pudgy little girl, either, but a pudgy half-woman.

Draggle pried her off with a filthy bared foot. “All you did was trick the ponies into doing the hard work.” When did they lose their shoes? The days just melted by, one after another. “I had to dig and get dirty!”

“Momma, her foot is touching me!”

Oh, they’re fighting again. Hydia pinched between her eyes—even after growing adept at ignoring their proverbial dick-measuring contests, just knowing they were competing irritated her to no end. “You’re both idiots. We all had to play our part, and now the real work begins.”

“We’re doing magic?” Reeka’s eyes glowed above cradled, ruddy cheeks. “Finally for reals?!”

Hopefully. Hydia turned to the stone she often studied at, for the sake of the sun’s lighting. “If we align our emotions together, we should be able to, yes.” She picked up the book, the chained one, and turned to her daughters. They crowded around, fighting briefly for the best view before relenting to pressing their faces together.
“‘The Smooze?’” Draggle read.

“Sounds silly.” Reeka stuck her tongue out.

It certainly did. These ponies and their ridiculous names. “With our negativity,” said Hydia, returning to the pillar, “and the materials of Ponyland’s natural earth gathered, we might create a construct of negative energy that will cover every square inch of this fake utopia!”

“Such a petty plan. Damn, but that song we sang, that thrill of victory…!”

“The idea of making them as miserable as us…”

“It was all so intoxicating.”

“We were beaten, of course. But not dead—the ponies slighted me, I thought, by refusing to dirty themselves with a lawful execution.”

“So we came back… to take their perceived ‘unnatural’ dominion over Flutter Valley away.”

And they’d failed again.

Queen Rosedust hovered above, surrounded by the land’s most heroic pegasi and unicorns, afloat in some abominable holy ring—a visage which drove a scream out from Hydia’s breast.

“Damn you!” she cried. “Damn all of you! How?! How could this happen?!”

The object of their failure, thought to be the key to their victory, shone like a star atop the regent of this land. “The Sunstone will never bow to your will, Hydia. It is as conscious as you or I!”

“Ridiculous!” she cried. Reeka and Draggle groaned at her feet, smoldering from the ponies’ attack. “All of you are ridiculous!”

“I pity you creatures, truly I do.” Rosedust was the only one, bowing her head in sorrow while the rest glared with hate—proving her insincerity. “To use the Sunstone’s power like that, to control the celestial bodies? It’s as bullheaded and narrow-minded as I’ve come to expect from beings of hate.”

Hydia had lost. Failed. Was humiliated. Again. “Damn you!” Her pitiful insult fractured like the earth had around them. “I will get back at you, you’ll see!”

“I highly doubt that,” boomed Rosedust. “Evil never prevails indefinitely. The Sunstone will not allow it. And the magic of this land is not for the likes of you to wield!”

“Now, go!” She lassoed them together in pure magic.

“Crawl back into your dark forest where you belong, stew over this loss with bitterness, and come back when you learn some manners.”

They were sent flying back to their domain.

“A pitiful scuffle, all things considered.”
“But my revenge was far from satisfied. I’d grown madder by their derision, their victories, their easy lives and trouble-free woes.”

“I was a bitter woman turned wrathful. Just because they had what I felt was denied us out of spite.”

“Our pathetic attack wasn’t a total loss, however. For the Sunstone was something I now fully comprehended.”

“Or so I thought.”

Wet warmth seeped around Hydia’s feet. The coppery tang of blood stung her nostrils, tainted her mouth, made her want to vomit.

Almost, anyway.

Hydia stepped over Rosedust’s corpse, taking her time pressing into the queen’s royal neck until feeling several, muted crunches ripple up her calf.

Above her throne, the Sunstone was embedded. “The inherent magic of this land…” she stepped up the cushioned seat, “...within arm’s reach.”

“I can still hear her screams as we struggled, her pleads of reconsideration.”

“How they were silenced after I’d shoved… bringing her temple against the throne from which she ruled.”

“I… constantly wished I’d listened, our first years in this Hell. You, Starlight Glimmer, have dredged up this regret for the first time in what feels like eons. Congrats. It’s the least I deserve.”

“...”

“...Starlight?”

“...”

“You’re disgusted. Angry. I don’t blame you. I don’t suppose there’s any use in relaying the rest—”

“No.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, devoid of emotion.

But the tears in her eyes muddied what would be a sensible picture. “‘No…’ what?” said Hydia, droning to mask her uncertainty.

The tiny pony swallowed. “I wanna hear everything. The rest, and what came after.”

Hydia saw nothing to lose, as she had none to risk. “If you insist.” She sighed, biting both her tongue and flashes of the damned ritual: the one she’d discovered, she’d constructed, performed, and ruined a great many things in doing so.

But something Starlight had said birthed a new thought. “You know?” Hydia prompted. “Realizing that soul transmutation is outlawed in your country, I’m starting to believe such a rule was brought about by our actions.” No response. Hydia wasn’t going to dare and read her face. “As humans are wont to do, we underestimated the true function of the Sunstone, and the storm our meddling in the natural order would bring.”

A bitter chuckle.

“Want to know the worst part?”

“Not that I remember next to nothing after enacting in the ritual, nor the fact that I have the blood of an innocent, good, conscious individual on my hands.”

“No.”

“It’s that I know myself well enough to be certain that I didn’t care for the lives I was destroying.”

“And from the sounds of it…”

“...I still don’t.”

Thunderbolts hissed from the heavens—a veil so black it could have been night. In fact, it was, but for little more than a moment before the sky glowered like a heavenly hellscape.

Then it was dark again.

Bright and hot a moment later.

Night.

Day.

All by Hydia’s sadistic will.

The landscape fractured wherever lightning struck all the while, birthing an inferno as tall as the trees they inhaled, growing fiercer by the second, billowing smoke like a chimney into the sky and invoking further assaults from above.

One blasted Rosedust’s castle to a smoldering ruin.

Ponies hurried frantically with buckets of water, others fled for the north. Without leadership or control of the weather, the race was divided on whether saving their home was even feasible. One team of heroes charged into Flutter Valley’s infamous evergreen dwelling of the ones who’d started it all, only to be chased out screaming by a torrent of hatred made manifest: oily-black goo, now void of eyes or silly voices. The Smooze had come to ravage the countryside once more.

From its birthing place, from within a clearing, by the ruins of a cabin torn asunder by the force of an unwanted bonding, three humans roared into the heavens, howling, laughing, dancing like madwomen.

Their eyes glowed red, as ruddy as the stone they were now infused with, and were full of wrath.

We can’t control it, thought Hydia, the future flashing before her eyes and her daughters’, we never will. The last thing she remembered seeing was a mare leaping into a prismatic beam.

And then there was nothing ever again.

“And yet, we didn’t kill a single pony,” sighed Hydia.

Reeka inhaled, held her mouth open for a second of consideration before uttering, “Thank God.”

Air struggled to fill Starlight’s breast, crushed against the weight of what she’d learn, the horrors they unleashed, how frighteningly similar her own sins were.

“‘And yet’ is a cold comfort, I get it,” she said. “I nearly ruined the wonderful reality Twilight and her friends had made. I was angry, too, you see. And yet she didn’t, she stopped me. So of course that makes it all okay, right?” A shake of the head. A sympathetic smile. “It never will.”

“Exactly.” Hydia hadn’t met her eyes for most of the story. But now she was done, and still couldn’t, though she tried twice. Faintly, Starlight could hear Twilight cry, ‘Why won’t you look at me?!’

The notice of a plot hole sprung to the forefront. “But how can you be so sure,” asked Starlight, “if your souls have been here all this time?”

“Because they had become me, and I them,” said Destiny, silent until now. Her cheeks were damp. “Because the future was already written by the visions I had, which ceased to manifest further past the point we became one. It ended with you. As you can see, even their turn was preordained.”

Hydia shook her head. “This infuriated me upon first learning this…”

“...I refused to believe that we’d become puppets.”

To her cry of confusion, a soft voice all around answered: “We are here.”

There were just stars. Stars and nothing. This was nowhere! Save a white pony, empty in the eyes… Standing there, smiling so condescendingly.

She didn’t seem to care as Hydia stormed over, past her fussing, idiot offspring, crying about being “naked” despite coming in these loose white gowns.

“What do you mean ‘we’re here with you?’ Where is here?!”

“‘Here’ is me,” she said, her voice fainter than a breeze. “‘Here’ is you. We are together, as I’d foreseen. But fret not, fret not, for this won’t be a permanent status quo. Another will come in time.”

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be! They were just in Flutter Valley! “We were on the cusp of ruining those ponies! How?! How can we suddenly be—?!” And then she felt it—the nothingness inside, where her soul once writhed with magic. “It’s gone… It’s all gone, what happened to it?!”

“We are here.”

“Stop saying that, you dolt!”

“But you are here. Your magic is you, and I am magic.” She tilted her head in a twitch of movement. “What do you struggle to comprehend? It’s simple: one thing has led to another, as all things do, and now you’re here.”

“The rest…”

Destiny inhaled deep. “I can elucidate the rest.”

Starlight was already enraptured, if not for the subject matter, than the very clear fact that Destiny, from that first face-to-face encounter to the present, had clearly undergone some internal changes.

Made her seem a little more alive.

“When I see the future, or rather, back when I did,” she explained, “it was never as if the thing was guaranteed by virtue of my seeing it. It still had to develop naturally. I would lay the foundations, moving weather patterns and bestowing the Soul Brand—’cutie marks’ in your culture—upon individual ponies. But even those were governed by their natural instincts. What you call ‘a personality,’ shaped by my meddling and their own life choices.” She smiled fondly at the despondent witches, frowning at their lack of response before readdressing Starlight. “So you can see why the name ‘Destiny’ is so fitting.”

“I guess, but…” Starlight scratched her horn stump. “There’s one thing that still confuses me. How did this stop, uh, you guys from wreaking havoc on ponykind? ‘Cause you guys have all the power in the world! You even threatened our lives more than once but just… just chose not to. Why?”

“Definitely not because of our merciful nature,” huffed Hydia. “And that’s what has escaped us all this time. Apparently, Destiny cannot see herself as one can’t without a mirror.”

“Only disasters,” said Destiny. “Strife. Out of control weather and dark forces gathering… and inevitably dispersed by the light of Harmony—a new magic following our fall.”

Draggle thumped herself on the chest. “It was definitely my kindly nature which made that happen.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Dory,” muttered Reeka.

Destiny upheld a hoof. “My theory, all this time, has depended on whether Hilda and the rest had seen the same future, the same deadend, as I had moments before our souls were joined.”

“And if they had,” said Hydia, “if they were us, knowing the futility of even trying, why, perhaps a subconscious part of us combined with the part that was Destiny continued to act in her stead, in order to reach that insufferable end. We’d have wanted it to be over. I know I would. ”

“Now that you mention it…” A chill shivered down Starlight. “You guys were talking really strangely all the time about things like this. Yet, you still fought us as if to resist it.”

Hydia shrugged. “I got nothing. Only, you put yourself in our shoes. Put yourself in a position of obtaining phenomenal power while simultaneously realizing it to be a prison you’ve condemned yourself to.” Coldly, she uttered, “Let’s see how stable your mind is after that.”

What felt like a long silence was promptly broken by Reeka. “We always did like terrorizing ponies,” she said. “We probably tricked ourselves into believing we still had it all. Dove into the role of these scary forest gods.”

“That definitely sounds like us,” mused Draggle.

“Yeah.” Hydia pushed herself off the invisible ground. “Petty as hell and pitifully desperate. It fits the bill.”

Starlight’s head pulsed. “Oh, my gosh.” She rubbed her temples. “This is so much at once.” The stars above zipped into view, then collapsed down as she felt the world coming up to clam unto her back, only for that to be a magic-soaked cushion. “Thanks,” she breathed, to which Destiny nodded. “I just can’t believe,” she thought aloud, “that all this time, this whole month… the entire history of Equestria, even, our source of power, our guiding hoof and the destiny we always sang about was really just this… this four-way conglomerate driven to insanity by their own mistakes, and everything that ever happened was so… I could be here.”

A sheepish chuckle, and Reeka’s large, freckled smile slipped in overhead. “You’re a lot less angry than I thought you’d be.”

“Indeed,” said Destiny.

“I’m… not,” Starlight realized. “I’m not happy either, goodness no. I’m… angry! Still! I’m furious with you for what you did but at the same time I’m… I’m just sad.” Reeka meekly left her sight. “Call me soft or a stupid pony again, I don’t care. But you’ve all lived, the four of you, such harder, worse lives than I have. I just don’t have it in me to make this personal. Doesn’t feel right… And I’m still hung up on the ‘why’ of it all!” For Destiny surely didn’t understand her own purpose—she simply was, always. “Like, why me? Why you guys? Why did this Ponyland place and Flutter Valley have to go up in flames? So many questions.”

Why the Elements of Harmony, and what point did the witches see in creating them? Did they even care, or were they acting on instinct? It would be great to have them here, too, actually. They could explain a lot, assuming they had the faculties to do so.

“Well, whatever conclusions you reach, I’d be entertained to hear them.” Hydia’s voice sounded distant. Sitting up, Starlight found her trudging away, scratching the orange hair beneath her helm. “But keep your feelings to yourself. I’ve no need for them.”

To so coldly abandon any notions of sympathy… She was in pain. A deep, heavy ache not unlike Starlight’s. “But Hilda—”

“Oh-hoh!” She whirled, holding her hips. “The pony recognizes me as human! Took your people long enough, only a handful of centuries, give or take. I’m flattered, but it’s too late for me, I’m afraid. Take your aching heart and shove it up your arse—I’ve no need for it.”

Starlight scowled. “Hey, no one’s forcing me to empathize with you.”

“No one but yourself!” Hilda knelt before her, bringing them at eye-level. “I know your type, I’m afraid. Sympathetic to a fault, the lot of you! Because you’re so desperate to convince yourself that you’re a good, enlightened person, that you lose sense of your moral code in your efforts to pin the blame of another’s crimes on a force outside their own control.” Starlight stammered. Hilda grew a sour smirk. “I’m not wrong. But we’ve made peace with the fact that we’re monsters. That we’re here because of my choices. That’s the reality, and it’s unforgivable.”

She wasn’t wrong. Not at all. “But that isn’t my point.” Starlight pushed off of Destiny, propping upon her forelegs. “You’ve all suffered in this prison for what must have felt like an eternity, and outside, too. As far as I can see, you realized your mistakes!” Hilda groaned, rising and turning with a roll of the eyes. “Just how long does a punishment need to be?”

“For what we’ve done?!” Hilda gestured to her daughters, still seated and lowering their miserable heads. “What I’ve done?” she breathed, patting her own breast. “There is no fit punishment, other than the eternal variety.”

She turned away, lowering her horned head. “You’ve all eternity to realize that, however. Perhaps a little less if you manage to be right, which I doubt, but stranger things have happened. I am sorry… being the reason for your current state and all. Both within and without of this Hell.”

“Hilda…” I understand your pain. Talk to me. Let me help you stop feeling this way! The words caught in Starlight’s throat: she knew it well, how forcing one to change their mind would only serve to harden it, tempered by the demons inside.

“Guess I’ll have to prove it,” muttered Starlight. Suddenly, settled upon her shoulder, a familiar coziness that seeped through and bled throughout her core. “Destiny?” Starlight found herself graced by a sympathetic smile.

“You have plenty of time before the spell ends,” she said.

“Spell?” She probably meant the one Twilight and her friends were using that Starlight had edited.

Destiny continued, “The flow of time, our perception of it, is far different from that which you experience in the physical world.”

Another cold comfort. But it was something! Starlight felt it in her bones, strength and hope mustering by the confidence and smile Destiny shared. They both were convinced of Starlight, that she had a reason for being here.

Three of them to be precise.

“But,” she objected, a nagging unease drilling through her chest, “how much is that? The time, I mean. I’d like to gauge it for ease of mind’s sake, is all.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Destiny tittered. “About a second in the real world passes as what feels like a year within the Aether.”

Starlight took a full five seconds to process that. “One second equals to a whole entire year?!”

Destiny tapped her chin. “Or maybe it’s three.”

Hope returned. “Oh, great! So, three seconds equals to about a year in this place?”

“No, three years.” A heavy something plummeted in her gut. “One second out there feels like three years in here. Sorry if I’d misled you!”

Oh, my gosh.

I’m gonna spend like ten years in this place.

I…

I kinda hate my life.

“...Starlight?”

But if it’s to save these lives…

It’ll be worth it, she decided.

Starlight Glimmer, soul infused with that of the hybrid Sunstone, learned of its origins immediately in real time. Upon touching the beam, even.

In the “years” that followed, she frequently worried about her friends on the other side of the blast.

Just what was her spell doing to them, as tears poured from their lustrous eyes?

What is happening to me? wondered Rarity. What are these… notions, that I’m getting?

There was no ground beneath her hooves, nor ghastly Flutter Valley, dead and silent around her. Just blinding white. No magic wreathed her, no tugging in her chest that normally accompanied the Elements’ beautiful, prismatic discharge.

There were only feelings and wants, both feeding into one another, fueling them: sentiments both completely alien and yet, paradoxically, vaguely familiar.

Albeit far more intense than her demeanor normally permitted. Ergo, they had to be false. The had to be.

But if she was feeling them, and had felt them before, how fabricated were they, truly?

Could Rarity dismiss them as peculiar symptoms of the spell, when she herself couldn’t wholly deny having ever felt such things before?

After all, the burn of competition had smoldered in her breast countless times in the past. Not just with winning a fashion show, but every time she would enact the sacred ritual of handing off her work to a client; every time she would bite the inside of her lip as they scrutinized, hoping to Celestia they would deem it perfect as she boasted a smile so cocksure.

That same feeling constricted within her breast even now, tighter than ever before. So much so she could hardly breath. In this moment, thinking back on those times, winning the hearts of her audience felt like the only thing that mattered in this world. If only for the sake of validating her existence and the blood, sweat, and tears she’d poured into her life’s work.

Suddenly, Rainbow Dash’s whale-sized ego seemed perfectly validated. Why hadn’t Rarity ever realized this before?

She understood the fear perfectly now, for if she’d failed, the whole world would deem Rarity an unworthy failure. They might not say it, but they would certainly think it. Rarity’s throat couldn’t closed; such dark thoughts, ones she expelled on an almost daily basis, suddenly hitting all at once.

The art of dressmaking was her world, and if she stumbled in that world, did she even deserve to stand tall again? What luck and grace smiled upon her, to give her such rare an opportunity as to have “made it” at all? Was she just in the right place at the right time? Did ponies only care for her work because she was affiliated with royalty?!

She felt ready to start Twilighting right then and there.

But she couldn’t! If Rarity were to crumble, let her true feelings show… why, it’d be the end of the world. It’d be the end of her identity as an ever-happy, fun-loving—!

No, that wasn’t right.

Rather, a composed and dignified mare, who totally had her identity as robust and ironclad as the professional life she sacrificed so much of herself to bring to life.

Absolutely.

And Rarity suddenly realized just how plain and unremarkable she truly was. Or rather, she had always known, but this truth she often kept buried and denied from coming into light was abruptly thrust forth: how her efforts to stand out only emphasized the pathetic filly she was trying to hide.

If they ever knew this, her best friends would be happier not to be concerned with her. No matter how much it might hurt, no matter how much she loved them. They really were her everything: so much so she would do away with the facade for them if need be, but never otherwise, for Rarity, the rest of her, was that facade.

And it’d be the end of her world if that facade was ever shed, naked under the light for all to see. It’d be the end of her life as a smiling party pony.

Wait.

That’s, again, not right.

No… that isn’t me. And I know it.

I know my friends love me.

I know I’m fine with me.

But a part of me…

Is not ever really.

Rarity was… absurd, to put it simply. She boasted poise and self-confidence when they were often the inevitable road to rashness, judgement, vanity—things which caused trouble for her friends more often than not. Part of her, a quiet part, believed they would all be better off if she stayed holed up with her animals.

Or her dresses, rather.

But… no! NO!

Rarity had responsibilities! She had a duty to her kin, her friends! No matter how hard the going got, no matter how often she wanted to give up, regardless of however many times these dark thoughts would creep in she had absolutely zero. Right. To burden others bigger problems on their plates.

More complex ones, at that.

After all, if Rarity had survived this long keeping such dark thoughts locked away, why, she could certainly do so for the rest of her life.

Like Starlight, the selfless, caring friend with problems far grander, more deeply-rooted. than her own.

STARLIGHT! Rarity remembered. Just what kind of a friend was she, to so quickly forget the seventh of their group?!

Heavy, miserable feelings festered within Rarity.

All of this just proved how pathetic a pony she was. When she wasn’t being vain she was being overbearing. She hurt her friends over the most trivial of things, adopting a posh inflection all the while—and why even? For some forgotten effort to hide her Ponyville roots?

Why?

Why was she so ashamed of them? Of her friends that one time in Canterlot?

And why did it hurt so, so much to think about?

Perhaps a part of her still was. Ashamed, that is.

Perhaps it showed how truly a vile mare Rarity was. Always has been. Hay, her “generosity” was clearly just a subconscious effort to hide the fact that she’s anything but—a desperate balance against the grime of her soul, nothing more!

Yes.

That’s it.

That’s the ugly, horrible pony I truly am—!

...Oh, goodness. Finally, a sound uttered forth: a whimper rippled up her throat. Followed by another. And another. Goodness, what is happening to me?

What are these… these notions that I’m getting?

They were far, far more powerful than usual.

“That’s… a lot to take in,” sighed Hilda. “If I were to guess at the cause of it, our selves have been wounding one another. To suggest an outside force in a land as gentle as yours, why, it’s absurd to consider.”

“R-right. Makes more sense, actually,” shuddered Starlight. “‘A-abuse,’ was the word, right?”

Destiny nodded grimly. “Some things never change. It seems the flow of time isn’t the sole driver of change.”

The Aether sang its soft, almost invisible tune. “We became crazy frickin’ monsters,” Rhonda, the igniting spark behind this discussion, said at last. “Nothin’ deeper to it.” Her downcast mug had adopted the consistency of curdled milk.

“We all know that’s nonsense,” Hilda told her. “My guess? Either to sustain a semblance of… normalcy, in their deluded minds—horrible as that sounds—we resorted to abusing one another. Or, alternatively, it’s to vent their fears and frustrations. Mayhaps it’s both.”

Silence, and in that silence, the grisly trio festered in what had to have been everyone’s mind. Doris’s broken leg, Rhonda’s boil-coated, pus-soaked foot, Hilda’s rotten eyeholes—still clear as day in Starlight’s brain, after all this time.

And they apparently did that to each other. “My gosh,” she breathed. “That’s so horrible.”

“Tell me about it.”

But Starlight had no right to judge them for their complicated, former dynamic. “N-no offense!”

“I’m not the same woman, little one, to get enraged at having a blatant fact thrown in her face.” Hilda’s mouth twisted. “It’s true. You saw the proof of our bitterness toward each other writ upon our bodies.”

Still, the fact that they had such hate, to harm one another to the point of becoming walking corpses…

“At least you don’t seem that way now! Silver—”

“Can the silver lining shit, Starlight… Just this once,” Hilda sighed. Her face darkened, glaring somewhere far, far away. “Don’t mistake it for a growth of character. I just learned quickly that the effort was empty. We were indestructible here, painless… And I’d lost any reason to be angry with them, at the world.”

Only because you redirected it at yourself.

“You sure had plenty of time to think, though.” Starlight refused to believe that was all—that Hilda accepted the way of things with zero thought. If one thing was clear after knowing her for so long, it’s that she wasn’t the thoughtless sort.

She was highly intelligent, and very emotional. “Sure,” came hesitantly, “time has been a harsh but effective teacher.” Without looking up she reached out, drawing a smile from her daughters as their hands touched. “I had something to chew on. Introspection. All of that shit, given me a cooler head.”

“And a kinder heart.” Doris was smiling, good-natured as always. Unfortunately, it was for the sake of her mother’s ease of mind, and the four present knew it.

Hilda turned away. “Tch. I’m tired if anything, sweetie.”

“Have you guys ever, you know, had a heart to hear—?” Starlight stopped herself. “I-I’m sorry, that’s so rude of me to ask. It’s none of my—”

“Yeah, yeah, we aired our laundry,” said Rhonda, waving off. “Close near the beginning, too. You shoulda seen Momma cry, it was like finding a unicorn!”

“Rhonda!”

“That’s a human expression,” she hissed, ignoring Hilda’s cry.

Starlight tittered. “I figured as much. No worries, I think I got the jist after hearing about Earth.”

There was a lull in conversation, enough for Rhonda’s smile to fall away, melting back into the pallid misery following the truth of their current states. “I sorta wish I hadn’t asked now.” She gripped her elbows. “About us. My poor foot...”

“That couldn’t have been pleasant to hear about,” said Destiny, smacking Rhonda’s back.

“Even less to see,” shuddered Starlight as the pudgy witch grimaced. “Be thankful you guys can’t seem to feel any pain out there.”

Hilda chuckled dryly. “Yet another iceberg in a sea of cold comforts.”

It had been what felt like months before Rhonda had mustered up the courage to ask for the details concerning... themselves. Starlight had been too light on the descriptive language, for their sakes, making Hilda snap for her to get on with it, claiming they would know the nitty-gritty inevitably.

So she sort of, kind of… word-vomited all the horrible images that had been burned into her memory since that first encounter. By the time she was done, even Destiny was looking grim, but none more so than the mother.

“What’s interesting, in a morbid sort of way,” she said suddenly, turning away, “is our lack of eyes. Was it a ‘Three Stooges’ mishap, or something more?”

“You’re right, that’s a little morbid,” said Starlight, to which Hilda barked a bitter laugh.

“Perhaps, in a bout of insanity, we gained the notion that the future would be obscured if we’d plucked out our eyeballs.”

“Except for me,” said Rhonda. “Shielded myself in this handy dandy cookin’ ware before ya could, Momma.” She punctuated with three metallic clunks upon her helmet.

Five chuckles filled the Aether.

This was bad. Bad, bad, bad.

Pinkie understood fully what was happening—after all, she grokked her friends so well they might think of it as creepy if they, too, experienced the intense, borderline obsessive love she felt for each of them.

Within seconds, when this spell was done, her dynamic with the girls who made her entire world would be changed forever. Dashie would walk on eggshells, guarding her jokes because she knew a wrong remark could mistakenly cut Pinkie deep. Twilight’s knowing smile, a big fake mask from here on out, because she was nice enough to try and pretend she didn’t know Pinkie’s actual deal. After all, that’s what she did to herself! Pinkie almost mistook that for her own bad habit, but her anxiety festered in the form of a fear of disappointing the Cakes and her family.

Everypony… their friendships were going to change. And it was terrifying.

It was clear as cupcakes what was happening to them: she felt Dashie’s anxiety about her self-worth, as well as Rarity’s, and Twilight’s, and Fluttershy’s, too. Applejack’s desperation to keep it all in was so absolutely normal that Pinkie thought Starlight’s spell had skipped over.

But it was just familiar.

Soon, Pinkie thought, as a vague, wet warmth slithered down her cheeks, everypony will now how fake I am.

How weak my heart is.

They won’t see me as the fun party pony anymore.

Just that weirdo who liked to play pretend. All because it was more fun to make her friends happy than sad with her private, neverending downer party.

Pinkie couldn’t decide how much of this was Starlight’s soul mixing with hers, and how much was her own.

She was just scared.

“They’re way more together than I am.” The stars above, bathed in a deep, ocean-like blue, was more calming compared to those seeped in turquoise within the “ground” they currently, and often, laid upon. “I hope you can understand, now, why I’m always going on about how they saved me. If it wasn’t for them…” Starlight swallowed. “Well, I’d be alone and miserable at best. Still blaming cutie marks for my failings as Sunburst’s best friend.”

The stars hummed a low, nearly imperceptible sound. Tranquil, massaged the brain if one were to consciously focus on it.

“Wow,” breathed Rhonda, “your friends sound just perfect, Starlight.”

How could she think that, after knowing basically all that there was to know about Twilight and the others? “I mean, they clearly have their issues, and times where they falter. But… I mean, they’re adults. Way more grown up than me, you know? And I’m like two years older than them!”

“Wisdom comes with age,” Hilda remarked, pointing to the heavens. “That’s more important in my book.”

The consolation was appreciated, made her tickle inside. “Thanks, Hilds,” chuckled Starlight, despite the case not being so for herself. “But they have this way of… of composing themselves when the going gets tough. Rather than throw a pity party for themselves, they get back up and do what they can to fix what’s wrong. That’s the grown-up thing to do. While I, well, I run away and cry and pretend I don’t do either. Basically.”

“Bullshit,” muttered Doris. “That’s all bullshit, Starls. After all that, I can tell you’re definitely gonna be a changed pony by the time you get outta here. No life story has an ending you can’t write yourself!”

“Sans our own,” muttered Hilda, her gown rumpling as she moved. A glance over revealed her broad back facing Starlight.

The poor thing.

“You… you’re like us!” cried Rhonda, deaf to Hilda’s pessimism. “Yeah! We’ve wondered about who we are and why we’re here since waking up in this place. And since then, we’ve kinda made… a sorta... peace, I guess, with our flaws being the answer to both.”

“You’re more than your flaws,” Starlight asserted. “All of you. Rhonda, you love those ‘video games.’ And Doris, you love your stuffed animals so much that you still miss them!” She wished she had an answer to the other suggestion; how their flaws are the reason they’re here.

There had to be a better one than that.

“And this is why you’re awesome, Glimmy,” said Draggle. “You’re nice as hell. You always know how to lift a mood. I mean it.”

“Oh, stop. I can’t…” Her topics of conversation often brought the mood down, and her attempts at smalltalk and humor was either pitiful or snarky.

“Naw, it’s true!” There was a clank. Starlight tilted her head back, finding Rhonda having done the same, her pot upright and half-obscuring her face. “Since talking to you, seeing how you see things, well, it made sense of what Destiny’s been trying to tell us all this time. We’re responsible for ourselves, but how we react to others, too. And, honestly? We were absolute bitches back then. We did deserve this kind of fate! But… I’m starting to feel… you know,” she mumbled, flushing, “a little bit okay with that… Plus, you don’t make fun of me! You’re literally the nicest pony who ever lived!”

Before Starlight could deny this exaggeration, there was an, “Amen.” Doris cradled the back of her head, looking fairly relaxed.

“Sorry if that sounded like a buncha nonsense.” After a meaningful shake of the head from Starlight, Rhonda continued, “A-and as for you? Well, you stumble now and again, sure, but since then realizing your crimes, you’ve interna… eternal… um.”

“‘Internalized?’”

“That’s the one! ‘In-ter-nal-ized.’” Rhonda had good ideas (many, in fact, several of which amusing in the stories where she would pawn off hard work to Doris or the ponies). She just never got to finish schooling, sadly. “Yeah, you internalize your mistakes and make sure to never make them again. And it sounds like Twilight’s helped ya through your worst one, the one that kept making more.”

Hilda turned back around, propping herself on an elbow. “That was your biggest problem: enlarging your mistakes to make them bigger than they really are.”

Starlight exhaled, feeling a pressure well behind her eyes. It was a happy sort, partially for Twilight, partially for these friends she’d made. By now, she knew them better than she had herself pre-horn loss.

“Well,” Starlight croaked, “when your whole world is comprised of those mistakes, it’s hard to dismiss them like they’re nothing.”

“Damn straight,” said Doris. “But, and sorry for throwin’ this back, but you’re more than your mistakes.” Hilda grunted agreeably.

“I know. It’s just easy to forget in the moment.” The Aether hummed around, moaning as the softest breeze in the widest cavern would. “I’ve endured a lot of emotional stuff since…” Starlight huffed. “Well, my whole life, honestly.”

“Yeah,” Doris intoned. “I’m real sorry you can’t remember your momma’s face. I feel like… because of us… little tragedies like that became more normal since our influence tainted Ponyland.”

“You couldn’t have known, don’t be sorry.”

“So many ponies… good ponies, like that Scootaloo and, and Maudileena Pie… they don’t live carefree cuz of something we were too angry to care about.”

Looking over, Doris’s eyes were squeezed shut. “Hey.” Starlight rolled onto her stomach and touched her shoulder, drawing her startled, glistening gaze. “It’s because of these things we’re stronger and more united than ever. Hearth’s Warming? Come on, that’s a holiday built on the good that comes from hardships! The unity of it all. It’s a good thing!”

“Yeah, but still…”

“‘But still’ indeed. I know how that is.” No amount of consolations, cold comforts, or silver linings would undo the thought of the suffering this family had inflicted without a moment’s consideration for those lives. “I know, Doris. All too well, I know the pain of regret. But look at it this way: we’d have never valued our bonds if the survivors’ descendants hadn’t survived that. Just like I’d never be the pony I am if I hadn’t lost my mother.”

Sniffling, Doris nodded, and threw on an upside-down smile. Starlight mirrored her before rolling back into a lazy lounge.

“Truly, you’re too good for this world, Starlight Glimmer,” muttered Hilda. “If you were our friend back then, why, Rosedust might still be alive. We’d be a distant memory. Ponyland would still be a paradise, albeit a flawed one.”

“And you ponies would still be comparatively ginormous!” Rhonda giggled, inciting the rest to join.

Save for one. “Destiny? You’ve been quiet for awhile now.” Doris hesitated a second, and then, “Destiny.”

A heaving, suffocated gasp cleaved through Starlight. “Destiny!” She spun over, standing in an instant. The rest clambered to their feet as the large white mare shielded her eyes.

“D-don’t mind me. I’m sorry.” Sleek tracks carved down her cheeks, into her fluttering mane. “Don’t mind me. Continue with your discussion. I’m s-sorry!”

The voice break snapped Starlight out of her shock. She swooped in, forgot her inhibitions about personal space as she cradled the goddess’s head. The contact, being caressed entirely by her mane, filled Starlight’s chest to burst, overwhelming even the tightness in her breast.

“What’s wrong?!” This had never happened before. “Use words, Destiny!”

Starlight felt the swallow, the gasping, shudder throughout her body. As the family gathered on either side of her, Destiny wiped her cheeks. Her knitted brows, the twinkling of her diamond-like eyes… “Destiny,” Starlight breathed.

She was responsible for this.

“I’m sorry,” squeaked the mare. “It’s, I’ve just been listening to what you were saying—oh!” Destiny clamped over her mouth, only for sobs to burst forth. “I think about the ponies trying to live happy lives like you, and I…” She cupped her muzzle. “I knew what was coming,” she cried, muffled. “I saw it all. I saw you, but I was too pious to even try and change it.”

Starlight swallowed. “You couldn’t have done anything. You really couldn’t have, you weren’t—”

“I know! I know I wasn’t the same then as I am now, but it’s just so… so sad, Starlight. I can’t help but think that if I understood mortals better I could have changed fate. I could’ve urged a kinder version of the path your people walked. I’m sorry, Starlight. I’m… I’m sorry for everything!”

Starlight could only stroke her mane, for any words would hit a shielded heart.

“And even when you leave,” Destiny continued, “however that may be, it won’t matter because… because all of this made me lose one of my best friends!”

“I promise I won’t forget you.”

“But I’ll never be a part of your world again!” Starlight went cold: she just assumed this was Destiny experiencing loss, and it was, but it ran on a far deeper level than she thought: “Without your horn, you’ll never feel me guiding your magic! You’ll be so heartbroken, you’ll always be heartbroken because of me! You’d broken our bond but it’s all because of me!”

“That’s not true!” Starlight cried, startling Destiny. “That isn’t true, because… because the friendships I made, the strength which drives me to sacrifice… you’re still a part of that, inside and out.” Destiny swallowed, gazing above. “And I’d have never realized you were there. Never. Not if I hadn’t come here.”

“I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay, Destiny… It’s okay,” she breathed. “I swear on my heart, I’m not saying this to make you feel better. Well, not just... I’ll miss you for sure, but I’m never going to forget how it was you who’d given me this life. Despite everything, I wouldn’t change it. Ever.”

“S-Starlight…”

It would take more than a single conversation to fix this, for sure. Destiny was as impressionable as a foal, and she was hurt, making this a difficult situation.

“I’m not leaving until you realize that,” vowed Starlight.

And something struck her in the heart just then.

“And it’s not just you,” she realized, looking to each of the somber witches gathered. “You girls… I think I finally understand why you three had to be here. Why it couldn’t be three ponies, or Destiny herself here.” A smile grew. “Oh my gosh, it—! You! You three, no, four are why Equestria evolved into a land of Harmony!”

From Kindness to Loyalty, to the perspective I gave tryna change the Magic which holds it all together, gives it life… and changed these four…

She would relinquish her soul if she was wrong about this—which she wasn’t. Starlight was certain of it.

To their quizzical, guarded dispositions, she explained her theory. Or, rather, her discovery.

It wasn’t flopping unto the mucky earth which made Twilight gasp, jostle the world as it flashed into clarity. The pain upon her belly, the burn in her lungs, they were dull aches beside the writhing in her soul.

“Girls?!” she cried hoarsely, scrambling for her broken, hurting girls.

Behind her they were staggering, their faces soaked and eyes ruddy. Hunched over, gasping, clutching their breasts. Rarity, closest by, held hers in both forehooves.

Rarity, who feared the whole world that judged her every move.

“Darlings—oop!” she squeaked through Twilight’s constricting hug.

“I’m sorry.” She loosened her hold, nuzzled Rarity’s cheek. A feeble comfort, she understood, for the pain she kept buried beneath bravado and charm. “I never realized just how much of a front you put on. How important your dresses are, or how desperate you are to maintain your image. I know I never mocked these things… but I truly never considered them beyond a surface level, either. I’m so sorry, Rarity.”

Rarity went rigid. And then, “I understand now.” She returned the hug twofold, muttered so only Twilight would hear. “Then in that case, never… ever again will I dismiss your anxieties as a mere overreaction.”

A chuckle, and then, “Deal.” Twilight opened her eyes. Through her misty veil, the treeline behind them a smeared dark canvas, she saw the bodies of her family paired up in similar fashion.

Pinkie’s muzzle shot up from Rainbow’s shoulder, and a wail tore through the tranquility.

“Oh, my gosh.” Twilight let go and on command it seemed Rarity arrived at the same conclusion. As did all the others as they joined Rainbow’s fierce embrace.

“I’m sorry, I’m so super sorry!” Pinkie cried. “I’m the worst friend ever, and you’re all gonna think I’m fake and bad and-and-and—”

“Hush now,” AJ muttered thickly, squeezing her from behind. “You shut your darned mouth right now. We love ya to pieces, you hear? You’re mah family, got it? Same goes to all’a y’all.”

“Girls…”

This was strange. By all accounts this spell had an unprecedented effect that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. And yet, Twilight found herself uncaring. For it was too beautiful to question, and she had friends whose very real, very personal feelings were not just laid bare to each other, but experienced.

The one commonality between them?

Between the sentiments they shared?

“You’re all my family, and I’m yours,” said Twilight. “We all have aspects of ourselves we’re ashamed of showing. I’d like to tell you now, if that wasn’t obvious yet, that none of us… well, we care, but we don’t care enough to love each other any less.”

“If anything,” Pinkie said, “it’s made me love you girls even more. S-sorry if that’s creepy and overbearing…”

“It’s not creepy, Pinkie.” Rainbow nuzzled her mane, said aloud without any hesitation, “It makes me happy to be your friend.”

They all feared judgement. They each carried shame. Every one of them wore a front for the sake of preserving one another’s happiness.

It was so much like Starlight Glimmer that—

And Twilight’s gut dropped. “Starlight,” she breathed, sensing their seventh missing. “Starlight!”

“Starlight!” the girls cried as one.

As they untangled themselves Twilight turned away, toward the witches she until now had completely forgotten. “Where are you, Star—?!” And there they were.

All four of them.

The commotion behind Twilight fell silent. “Starlight,” Fluttershy squealed happily.

AJ whistled. “Well I’ll be.”

“Sh-should we—?” Twilight stretched a wing in Pinkie’s way.

She managed to find her voice after three attempts. “Let her do this.”

The Aether’s song enveloped the silence. Another day, another bout of trying to change the witches’ mind.

With all due respect, it sounded like a crock when spoken aloud.

“You’re really convinced of that, huh?” Hilda, arms folded, stared pensively at the bottomless space beneath her. “That we’re the lynchpin that saved your country, despite being the ones who want to destroy it.”

“I’m not convinced of it,” said Starlight. “I know it for a fact.”

“Based on what?” hooted the witch. “You’ve offered nothing but theories! Just because we’ve acted under Destiny’s will, it doesn’t mean that—”

“But Destiny herself didn’t understand any of the Elements when you came here! Laughter, generosity, none of it!” The mare in question nodded, stepping beside Starlight and asserting her stance on the matter. “Without those virtues, what makes you think she could’ve willed them into existence without the humans who already possessed them in the first place?”

“It’s almost like you’re painting us as the heroes of this story,” said Doris.

“Accidental ones, if anything,” snapped Hilda. She gestured to Starlight and Destiny. “You both know me well. Am I what you would call a loyal woman? Or a kind one?”

“You have the propensity for it,” said Destiny. “You all do. Each and every one of you. I learned that in our time together.” Starlight nodded. “And like it or not, it was your souls and mine together which birthed the Tree of Harmony. That’s an indisputable fact: human beings, dark as they are, have the power to save hearts.”

“I think my head hurts.” Rhonda fell on her butt, massaging her temples.

Starlight approached and took a seat before her. “It’s not that complicated, actually.” She flushed. “Sorry, I’m bad at explaining things. Especially with something so out-there even I don’t fully grasp it. But look at it this way: if the witches out there wanted their imprisonment to end, you would do something to give us the means of achieving that. And because of that, we’ve been able to build a better and stronger nation than the one you destroyed. A bigger one, where we’re beginning to align ourselves with dragons and gryphons!”

“And using those tools you provided us, intended or not,” Starlight concluded, “it’s allowed us to banish darkness completely devoid of Harmony. Like King Sombra, and the Pony of Shadows. But it’s not destroyed you.”

Hilda’s brows furrowed. She hugged herself tighter. “Which means…?”

“Which means…” Starlight inhaled, then exhaled. “It’s proof that you can be saved, too.”

And in that moment, the entirety of the Aether was gone. Starlight’s heart throbbed as she took it in: gone were the stars, the turquoise below, and deep ocean-blue above. In their place, stretched from horizon to horizon: the colors lavender, cyan, orange and soft yellow, a regal purple, and bubbly pink.

A luster tore Starlight from her awe, and proceeded to rock her soul as she upheld a glowing foreleg. A quick self-check revealed her entire body was alight.

“Wh-what’s going on?!” Rhonda cried, clutching the arm of a dumbfounded Hilda as Doris took her other.

Destiny appeared beside Starlight, eyes wide. She, too, gave off a glow—that of the Elements wreathed her white coat. “It’s time we must part. This is it, my friends: a fate centuries in the making.” She turned, smiling upon Starlight. “I know not what will come of your memories here. In all likelihood, the feelings will linger, but all will be condensed into vague flashes like those of a dream.”

A sinking feeling gripped her by the heart. “You said that before, I just… can’t believe it’s happening now.”

Destiny swallowed. “Neither can I.”

And she said nothing more—respecting Starlight’s tendency to shoulder guilt, even when she had no control over such things.

She was always so considerate, and kind, and funny. She had just learned to be empathetic, too. It felt so soon, having to part ways after what felt like an entire lifetime.

She didn’t want to lose that.

She didn’t.

I… I love this pony, Starlight realized.

Realizing this, she cried out and leapt, tackling Destiny. Laughing, she closed a foreleg around Starlight and held her close.

“I’ll really miss you guys.”

“As will I,” said Destiny. “But you’ll never be alone. Remember that if you ever feel lonely. It’s as you told me some time ago. We’ll always be with you, our experiences together. We leave, but with an imprint on one another’s souls.”

“Girls?” came a soft little voice. Rhonda was tapping her fingers together. “What’s, uh, what’ll happen to us?”

“If I were to guess,” said Destiny, dropping Starlight as they exchanged one last smile, “your souls will leave this place. They shall be expunged of darkness and disharmony. Redemption, that’s the word our little friend here has used.”

“NO!” Hilda roared, tearing away from her daughters. “I refuse! I’ll stay here alone!”

I knew this was going to happen. Starlight galloped forth. “Hilda, wait—”

She lashed a finger, almost stabbing her in the eye. “Silence! I know what you’re about to say, and I’m telling you now, I’m not going to let you save me! The both of you,” she snarled at Destiny. “It doesn’t matter how much you plead, or cry, or tell me that what happened wasn’t my fault. I brought this fate upon myself—”

“Hilda!”

“—and I shall pay all eternity for it.”

“Hilda.”

“What—?!”

Starlight reared up, latched around Hilda’s neck, stiffening her. “You’ve suffered enough,” she whispered. “You paid for your mistakes a thousandfold.”

“B-but I...” Her frail voice died.

“It’s time to move on,” said Starlight. “Accept your mistakes. Make peace with what you’d done.”

“But how can I?!” Strong arms squeezed around Starlight, and the invisible ground fell away. “How can I when those whose lives I destroyed are so far away?!”

A tricky question. “I can’t speak for the dead, Hilda. And it’s not my place to forgive you for crimes that I wasn’t even aware of until coming here. But what I can forgive… I already have.”

“S-Starlight…”

“If I could return to the moment I’d met you three in Flutter Valley, knowing everything up to this very moment…” A laugh, a sob, burst forth. “I’d do it all again without a second thought!” Starlight cried. “I feel your pain, I do, but please—please—for my sake and your own please forgive yourself! Please!”

Please…

Please stop feeling guilty when I’ve long-since forgiven you.

Starlight, in that moment, finally understood why no ponies ever held a grudge against her for her crimes:

“You’ve made my life so much better, and I can’t wait to live it.” She blushed, and whispered, “I love you girls so much.”

“I’m sorry,” breathed Hilda. She gasped, “I’m so sorry for all you’ve suffered.”

Starlight laughed wetly. “And I’m sorry for all the pain you went through for my country’s sake.”

“Destiny is a cruel mistress,” said a voice behind her. Hilda, startled, let go of Starlight. She dropped, turned to find the large, godly mare smirking. “But she can also be merciful.” Then her smile died. “Unfortunately, the semantics of magic are set in stone.”

“Whadda ya mean?” asked Doris, sniffling.

Destiny exhaled. “Outside, our souls will have become untangled. It won’t take long, but time will certainly start to catch up with the bodies, and you will… expire.”

Decay, in other words. Starlight looked up at the three hollow, paling faces. “O-oh,” Doris squeaked.

Starlight touched her hand, then Hilda’s. Reared up, she donned a strong, cheerful smile for their sakes. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be with you until the very end!”

Hilda’s lips trembled as she put a palm to her breast. “Thank you, Starlight. You are truly too good for this world.”

She grinned, a pressure welling behind her eyes. “Oh, don’t thank me!” she laughed, hiding the pain of this departure. “I just had a great teacher.”

Destiny saw her world for what felt like the very first time. She felt the wind in the sky, and the plants on the ground. The beasts of the forest, and the ponies all around. Each and every one of them, the good and the not so good.

She felt the Harmony, the Elements ingrained in the hearts of each of them. It was as beautiful as it was overwhelming—surely, time would be needed to process and become acclimated with the new way of things.

But Destiny cared little about that right now.

For far off, almost as if in the back of her mind, an old and powerful magic burned defiantly. Lingering, like a dying ember refused to be snuffed out.

In the land once known as Flutter Valley, in a clearing where long ago an otherworlder’s family dwelled, where Destiny herself had died and been reborn twice now, ten individuals were concluding their final crossroads.

Hilda, eyeless, felt around the grass. On her right was Rhonda, grasping feebly at the mouth she no longer had. Doris adjacent clutched her broken leg, emitting pained sounds with mutilated lips. Rhonda felt around for her pot’s handle, but couldn’t unwedge herself, for she lacked the muscle mass. Doris clasped her eyes and wailed. Hilda, whimpering, felt for something.

Until a pair of hooves touched her hand, silencing and stopping her efforts cold.

https://youtu.be/FZU6zm7LnIo

Doris followed, a wing flicking against the hands gripping her stump, as did Rhonda, another wing brushing against her side.

These appendages were not yet registered by their owner. Clearly, with eyes drawn shut and smile peaceful, she simply willed herself to ease the discomfort of her friends.

“It’s okay,” murmured Starlight Glimmer. “I’m here now. You don’t have to suffer alone anymore.” The flanking witches fell forward, their noises desperate. Her forelegs stretched out. “I know you’re in pain,” she said as they closed around her, “I know you’re confused and hurting so deeply you can’t even comprehend it. You feel guilty, and ashamed.”

A sob burst forth from Hilda.

“But I’m here now,” continued Starlight. “I don’t remember much, but my heart does, and I know you feel this, too. You know me, and I know you. That warmth you’re feeling now? It’s my love for you, and yours for me.”

Hilda found Starlight, and hesitantly lifted the pony into her before squeezing her fiercely. Doris and Rhonda embraced, their arms stretching around each other.

“I forgive you,” Starlight whispered from the center of it all. “And I know if she saw you now, Rosedust would have forgiven you too, and apologized for everything from the depths of her heart.” They wailed, overwhelming her words so soft spoken. Starlight’s face crumpled as she endured the heartbreaking sounds. “Forgive yourselves. Please, forgive yourselves!”

As their hug tightened, pain trembled through their bones, their skin beginning to flake away. Her stump sparked with a sob—she was trying to warm them, dull their nerves. Destiny lacked the mouth to cry out.

“You don’t have to suffer anymore. I know there’s good inside you. Let it out, and pass on content. This is the best I can offer you, I’m sorry!”

The witches settled, one by one. Pain trembled them, quivered around Starlight. And their souls, however meager, flared out. A final act of magic, their first act of selflessness.

Destiny felt it inside them, their inherent magic, but stronger and more primal. Emotion-based. It was the magic of friendship, and Destiny had the power to lend a hoof, guide its journey outward.

Their skin ceased to dust, instead hardening. Their blemishes sunk away, their bones turned to goop and their bodies began to grow. Fuse. Stretch. Root into the ground, reach into the sky.

Transfiguration. Metamorphosis. They were changing.

Starlight, consciousness lost after all she’d endured since their initial fight, was held out before them. The witches’ growing never ceased, seemingly unstoppable. Destiny understood, and she encouraged the efforts they were putting their very souls into..

“Wh-what’s happening?!” cried Fluttershy, struggling to maintain her footing.

“Everypony out!” Rainbow Dash had already taken flight.

Destiny almost failed to notice the shivering of the earth.

“But what about Starlight?!” Pinkie whooped as she was levitated by Princess Twilight, having taken air herself.

“She’ll be fine! I know she will!”

They left, carrying one another out of the forest despite the weight of their exhaustion and each other.

It was a good thing, too: the life being born here broke the perimeter of the witches’ clearing, toppled the treeline like dominoes, rendering it into splinters swallowed by the mounding muck and soil.

Holy light exuded from their conjoined, singular body, burning away the carcass of the Smooze.

In the blink of an eye for Destiny, but after a frightening eternity for the ponies resettled outside the woods, the witches’ growing stopped. The trembling of Equestria ceased, and the ever-present fog had dispersed, carved to ribbons by their natural luster.

A clear blue sky served as canvas for the final act of Hilda, Rhonda, and Doris.

Leaves colored one of six—no, seven—seven gentle, beautiful colors splayed across the heavens, waved from a thousand fingers long as a township each, upheld by a tree trunk white as the souls of the recently deceased. Within its canopy nestled a sleeping princess, snoring harshly.

Destiny glimpsed into the future. It wouldn’t take more than a minute for her heartstopping new form to be frantically found. Further into the future, Destiny saw ponies taking far longer to walk the new landmark’s mile-wide perimeter.

And further still, she saw Flutter Valley once again full of life, and populated by ponies.

The future was secure, and Destiny never peered into it again.

VI.X - A Destiny Millennia in the Making

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In no less than two days, word had spread. Within just two days, the dark cloud overhanging all conversations regarding “Princess Twilight’s selfless ex-student” was alight with joy, excited gossip, and theorycrafting for the future of their ever-flawless nation.

The press attacked like a swarm of honeybees: the hottest story in recent memories.

‘EQUESTRIA’S ELUSIVE NEW PRINCESS!?’ read yesterday’s paper.

‘HER BACKSTORY SEEPED IN MYSTERY - AN INSIGHT, PG. 9’

‘THE MYSTERIOUS PONY ALWAYS ACCOMPANYING PRINCESS TWILIGHT - WHO, REALLY, IS SHE?’

“‘The Princess of Empathy!’ decrees Her Highness Celestia.”

Surrounded by these proclamations: a monochrome photograph of this crippled alicorn in the midst of wing-clasping her startled face, looking back as she fled toward the castle of Twilight Sparkle.

Chrysalis, queen in name and fury only, had tried.

She’d failed.

And now Starlight Glimmer was a Princess of Equestria.

Slapping it against the cave floor, tackling it, Chrysalis tore into the newspaper and its single-minded articles, pawed at it, her snarls animalistic shrilling into the pitch of pitiful. Pitiful!

But this was all I had left!

Blood-hot rage flooded her breast, burst, rang haggardly throughout the cavern and back. Mockingly. ‘This is how far you’ve fallen’ her dwelling screamed. ‘This is what Starlight has reduced you to!’

Pathetic. Ripping up newspapers. Pathetic. And thinking a hole carved out of Canterlot Mountain was giving her ridicule, no less. Pathetic!

So pathetic...

Chrysalis rolled over, before her eyes a bottomless darkness like that within her core. She wondered: What did dealing with those witches even achieve?

It all felt so, so surreal, hearing that Princess Twilight was going to die. A small part of Chrysalis even pitied the tragically young creature—a part she effectively squashed.

That didn’t lessen the surrealness, however. Chrysalis had to seek it out for herself, and so she did with an innocuous face. She didn’t see the princess physically, as the line to do so at her “last celebration” was absurdly long. But all those miserable faces had made it evident: Twilight Sparkle was unsalvageable. At the time, she fantasized Starlight Glimmer lost in the throes of despair, bawling so bad it explained her absence from the party.

Sweet payback, Chrysalis had mused, for such a tragedy to render her enemy as lost as the shamed queen had felt the day she turned her changelings into traitors.

It was as she was prepared to leave, satisfied, when Chrysalis spotted Starlight Glimmer march through the foyer, out the front door. She shook her surprise immediately, her curiosity potent, for this was a pony who moved with an absurd amount of purpose.

And so Chrysalis had followed, stalked Starlight Glimmer as she flew south by way of balloon. On and on she flew, past the Equestrian border and beyond the Bad Lands. To where, or rather whom, Chrysalis didn’t dare approach until that garish balloon took off bound for Equestria.

There, from the mouths (but not quite) of three ugly beasts, she’d learned: Queen Chrysalis, too, possessed the power to chart a course for Destiny.

“Ensure Twilight Sparkle is destroyed,” she demanded. “Make all of Equestria feel my despair. For this, I will give you everything. My body, too, if need be. This is all I have left to give.”

And the mother replied, “TiS aLrEaDy In MoTiOn.”

They had known of her arrival, apparently, and preemptively inflicted the princess with an ailment foreign to this land in anticipation. A delight, initially, until Chrysalis realized they were contradicting Starlight Glimmer’s trade.

“YoU sHaLL aTtAiN yOuR hEaRt’S dEsIrE rEgArDlEsS. wItH vArYiNg MiLEaGe.”

And Chrysalis was fool enough to trust such devilish creatures.

Now they were “redeemed,” fallen to the power of Harmony as all those flimsy of heart have in encounters past. They stood now as a colorful smudge on the horizon, visible faintly from Canterlot above.

A scrap of newspaper, awash in green light, displayed a monochrome rendering of the tree captured from atop a mountain. “‘She’s taken to calling it Rosedust’s Pillar,’ comments Princess Twilight, ‘though she’s not told me why!’” Chrysalis dragged the shred back, flicking it behind her.

I know why I failed.

Once again, she had thought too small. Poisoning Princess Twilight was neither good enough, nor did it inflict the most suffering possible upon her precious little student. They had a way out: each other. Soft antagonists like the witches didn’t help. These factors together comprised inevitable defeat for the bad guys, always.

That’s the reason why she’d failed, and because she’d failed they were both still alive and stronger than ever of body and soul.

Starlight didn’t even seem to care that she’d lost her horn!

Alright then, Princess Twilight. Princess Starlight.

Perhaps it was time that she learned what it was like—to lose all she holds dear, for her joy to surge forth as bile from her wretched guts!

To die on the inside, render her naught but vengeance in her heart. Once she did, Chrysalis could die content, knowing she’d finally won.

By the time she was done, Starlight Glimmer will never, ever know happiness again—she won’t know anything! EVER AGAIN!

Chrysalis howled with laughter, her mind racing to formulate.

She had a promise to uphold, after all:

“...There is NO revenge you could ever CONCEIVE OF that will come CLOSE to what I will exact upon YOU one day, STARLIGHT GLIMMER!”

“Come on down, Starlight!” Twilight added softly, “Your people are waiting.”

It felt like a million miles below to the foyer, which had nothing to do with Starlight’s extra four inches. Her breast stirred as painfully as it had long ago, amidst the days before she grew accustomed awakening in this strange castle belonging to a strangely forgiving princess.

Suddenly her dear friend was this enigma once again: so large and imposing a figure with certain motivations lurking beneath her facade of a smile. Yet the presence behind her, shrouded a ways up its monstrous frame, was a thing several times terrifying.

Just a door. But one that held so much meaning—this barricade between Starlight and the rest of her life.

“Yeah, no.” A shake of the head. “No, I can’t do this.”

Twilight frowned—obviously she wasn’t going to delay this inevitability again. Deep down Starlight knew she couldn’t do this to herself, nor to those camped outside three days now. But I close my eyes, she thought, and I see their judgement, the criticisms and the gossip that would flood in and drown us within the year.

I can’t do this.

I could barely face my friends a week ago, how can I possibly be fit to face Equestria?!

She steeled herself for an urging from Twilight.

Who then popped out of existence instead, reappeared beside her with a foreleg slung across her withers. “T-Twilight?” So close. So warm. Comforting. She’s trying to comfort me, a princess… “I’m sorry. This is kinda pathetic, isn’t it?”

The hug hardened, but wasn’t any heavier. Her warmth seeped through Rarity’s coronation dress—white silk, pink ribbon lining the gown in rows.

“Still nervous?” asked Twilight.

Herself so transparent that Starlight barked a laugh. “I-is it that obv-obvious?” A nuzzle gently pressed into her neck.

“Your legs are shaking so bad, Starlight,” murmured Twilight.

“O-oh. So they are.” Her forelegs wobbled and she tried with all her might to stop them. ”I… I don’t understand why I’m so afraid, Twilight,” Starlight laughed, hiding her pitiful inability to control her own legs. “I mean, I gamed it out, this coronation. We rationalized it together...”

Twilight lifted with a smile. “Hey, I still get anxious about being at the center of crowds. Just pretend—”

“No. No. No matter how many times Pinkie says it, I can’t imagine everypony as a cupcake. My brain just doesn’t work that way.”

“Neither does mine,” chuckled Twilight. Her gaze shifted towards the stairs, her smile receding into whatever soft emotion stewed within. “Pinkie means well though.”

Starlight’s belly turned with regret; ever since Flutter Valley, when she wasn’t in the throes of conversation, Twilight’s thoughts were devoted completely to her friends. “I know she does.”

“She hates what fear does to ponies.” Twilight was scowling, as if she herself felt Pinkie’s rage that instant.

“Yeah.” Starlight bit the inside of her cheek. You’re like this because of my spell, she thought. All of this, it’s because of me. How I hurt everypony, and left them with scars so deep none but I can see them.

With that, Starlight’s innards writhed not solely at the thought of stepping outside. She understood, suddenly, the source of her reservations, realizing, I haven’t changed at all.

“Twilight?” Her teach—fellow princess—stiffened back to the present. “I think I just figured it out. The issue, I mean. And it’s not the coronation.”

Twilight, as she trusted, didn’t judge or wave her off. She faced her, concern in her eyes. “What’s on your mind?”

Everything. Too much to pinpoint, to delay further. Furthermore, she’d spoken with her friends already… or most of them, rather…

“Huh! Maybe it is just nerves,” Starlight lied. Equestria’s waiting. Those poor ponies outside are waiting to see their elusive new p-p-p—... “Yeah, it’s nerves. I’d promised today would be the day, after all. Only way to move forward is to push on ahead, after all! So let’s get this show on the—!” Trixie’s wagon flashed forth. “The… the road.”

“Starlight, wait!” There was a hesitant, outstretched foreleg before her. “This… this is starting to sound a lot like, ‘my problems don’t matter, the greater good needs me now,’ kind of talk. Don’t you think?” Starlight turned but couldn’t look her in the eye.

Twilight hummed. “Is your vision any better? I notice you keep turning to see me with your left.”

Was this really the time? “I’m used to it. The color-correcting contact is a little annoying, but the feeling’s become normal. I’ll at least be able to see half of… of all of Equestria,” she squeaked, “without looking too fishy.” Starlight shook her head. “But come on, Twilight. You think that’s what’s stopping me? A tiny nuisance like that?”

“When it was one of your excuses, then yeah.”

“Oof.” ‘Excuses.’ Such a cruel but accurate word.

“Just trying to cover all the bases, Starlight.”

And reel me out of my classic mental trap. Thanks, Twilight. “Alright, fine… I am scared. Of this, it’s big! And other things, I guess.” Trixie and her wagon came surging back, their last words to one another spoken in rage and guilt. “B-but it’s fine! So what if I’m afraid? Or I feel bad? Equestria needs me!”

“There you go, avoiding your problems—”

“I know, I know.” Starlight began pacing to and fro either stairwell. “You’re going to reason with me, watch. ‘You’ve endured a lifetime of hardships to reach this point, Starlight. You deserve this. Nopony knows about your horrible history anyway! And those who do have either forgiven you, or’ve written your recent behavior off as trauma from losing your horn. You have nothing to be afraid of anymore, not after all you’d done and learned from Hilda.’ Which, I still think pure emotions and zero solid evidence make for a pretty weak scientific paper.”

“Oh, you’re not worming your way outta this one! First of all, you just need to look out a window to see the proof! Second, we’re doing that research project on Destiny, and third, you’re gonna help me. No buts about it!”

Starlight chuckled. “I’ve consigned to my fate already.” It was their duty to share this with Equestria regardless.

“Besides, it’ll be fun.” Twilight smiled softly, a blush dusting her cheeks.

She… Of course she’d enjoy doing that with Starlight. I was such an idiot, to think our friendship began and ended with spellcasting and theorycrafting.

“I’m sorry for being so nosy. I just don’t want you shutting me out.” Starlight found Twilight wearing the ‘sad eyes.’ “I understand if you still have a lot of reservations about it. But I also understand—or rather, I like to think I know—that there’s a part of you ashamed of avoiding whatever’s on your mind.” She saw right through her—Starlight didn’t bother suppressing her gutted reaction. “So… I want to help. If it’s something I can, which, I’m sorry if I’m being a needless worrywart. Er, so much. These past few days especially. It’s just hard! You know, not to be in ‘parent mode’ after, well, you know.”

Their encounter in the snow four days ago. Everything before that. “Yeah.” Starlight swallowed the lump in her throat, looking Twilight in the eye. They were finally at level, she realized. “Thank you for worrying about me, Twilight. Always. It shows you care, really! And I love that about you.”

“Of course I care.” Twilight reared up, took Starlight’s hoof in both of hers. “Even before this, I always worried about you. You’re one of my most precious friends.”

The whole world shifted. I… am? Stupid Starlight, daring to question this—had she truly learned nothing? I am. Yes. So are you, Twilight. The words caught in her throat, in her fear of accidentally ruining this.

“I don’t just want to be a part of your life,” she continued, “I want to nurture it in any way that I can.”

Starlight had no idea what to say, what to do except place her other hoof overtop Twilight’s. “Thank you. For that, for being my friend, f-for—”

“Everything?” A tilt of the head, the sweetest smile Starlight had ever known.

Nodding, blinking away her tears she breathed, “Yeah, that. So… I guess, if you really wanna hear my problems—”

“Always.” Twilight’s hooves tightened around her own.

Starlight swallowed. “I am nervous, still. And guilty. And I don’t think I’m right for any of this, despite how many times you told me otherwise!” Starlight groaned to the heavens, losing sight of what she was afraid of again, then yelped as a pair of big, soft claws groped her coiffed mane.

A display which made her dear friend giggle into her hooves, dropping Starlight’s in the process. “You’re very expressive with your wings!”

She burned hot all over. “Wh-well, what can I say? I’m an expressive pony.” And the world’s worst flier ever, but that was the literal least of her concerns right now.

Twilight hummed, rubbing her chin. “Perhaps a different approach,” she muttered, then aloud, “Starlight, what makes you most anxious when it comes to mind? I won’t let you go out there until you’ve addressed this at least.”

That was easy. “My friends… M-my best friends,” she mumbled. They were all she could think about following “the Great Freakout,” as Pinkie called it, when Starlight awakened to a new world in which she had an extra pair pair of limbs and the country’s destiny on her shoulders.

“I thought you’d smoothed things over with them yesterday?”

“We did! Agh, dang… gimme a sec.” Starlight massaged the twinge beneath her horn—only to softly gasp at being reminded of the cold silver enshrining the remains.

‘It’s a plate with a hole in it,’ Dash had muttered, who was helping Rarity in place of Spike the other day, preparing for a coronation their great friend was too scared to confront. ‘Don’cha feel like that’s kinda… attention-grabbing?’

‘I disagree.’ At first, the gut-assumption was as shallow as Rarity having made it.

However…

‘Starlight’s prepared to do away with her shame. She wants all of Equestria to understand that her amputation is not a weakness, but a symbol of her empathetic conviction towards others, even towards those who’d scarred her in the first place. I find it a beautiful statement, darling. Truly I do.’

The pony who requested this piece, the one looking back in the mirror, scrubbed at the tracks in her cheeks. She ached with loss, of having thrown away her bond with Destiny. And for scaring her friends senseless. But it was this very crown that highlighted the cornerstone of Starlight Glimmer, Princess, that made her into the pony of today.

‘It’s perfect,’ she’d said. ‘Thank you, Rarity. I really couldn’t have said it better myself.’

‘Yes, well,’ her voice had grown soft, ‘I’ve come to understand what it is you carry, and your desire to prevent others from feeling the same.’

Yeah, that spell… Starlight gut turned. I think I might’ve done something a little bit… permanent to my friends. Though they hadn’t had a chance to sit down and talk about what, exactly, that is between the seven of them, Starlight noted an increase in gentle words and genuine courtesies between them, as well as frequent displays of physical affection.

Starlight made it clear she still wasn’t a fan when buried in a group hug that went on for ten seconds too long. If they were acting this way towards her alone, she would have felt as if they were treating her differently, but this behavior extended towards one another—

Twilight’s suspicious eye filled her vision. “You sure you guys have talked about everything, and you’re not just saying that to make me less worried?” she sneered.

“What gave you that idea?”

“You were spacing out with this look on your face.” Twilight pretended to adjust a pair of glasses. “Classic telltale sign of Starlight reflecting guiltily on something she’s hiding.”

“I’m not—! I mean I wasn’t—!” Starlight groaned; it’d be nice to mindlessly laugh at her mentor’s performance, but it was clear Twilight was acting to hide her own valid, pressing concerns.

“Look,” sighed Starlight, “you’re not wrong, but you aren’t exactly right either. I got a lot going on, Twilight. I wasn’t thinking about my friends, though, honest…” Another sigh. “And I guess that’s my problem, right there: avoiding it like always. Even when we spoke this morning, it felt like… like there’s some kind of wall between us.” She hung her head. “I still don’t want there to be conflict, but what if I annoy them by asserting that something’s wrong?”

Twilight smiled wryly. “Like I do?”

“No! No, no, you’re absolutely in the right here. And I know I seem annoyed by it, but at the end of the day, I’m glad you’re acting this way. Really!” Starlight added with a blush.

Her fellow princess giggled in a way that highlighted Starlight’s stupidity and ridiculousness. Speaking from the heart was embarrassing and clumsy still, even despite Twilight clearly adoring it as she grinned in response.

“And that’s exactly the way they would see it!” she said. “I’m sure of it.”

Starlight tilted her head.

Twilight lassoed her in another sorely-wanted hug. “I’m willing to bet that Maud and Fizzlepop feel the same way. That they know there’s something you’re not telling them. Something they want to talk about, but you aren’t.”

She was ready to reactively object the notion, but it made a stupid amount of sense for that to be the case. “I was gonna say that isn’t possible, since I told them they could talk to me about anything… but then I remembered you telling me the exact same thing years ago.” Starlight upturned her chin, forcing a smirk. “Turned out flawless, didn’t we?”

Twilight gave a laugh. “Perhaps they’ve concluded you have more important, princessy things to do than address their unimportant worries.”

The notion hurt so much that Starlight tore away. “That’s not true!”

Twilight, smiling because she knew exactly how to play Starlight, pointed up the stairs behind her. “Then go to them, Princess. Your friends are what made you into the pony you are today.”

“R-right! Yes, yes, of course!” Starlight whirled, then galloped up the steps.

Twilight hollered, “Remember, either side of Fizzlepop’s room! Wait, I’ll teleport you!”

Spots flashed before Starlight’s eyes, her coat tingling just as briefly. She tried calming her heart, its drumming against her hoof at the same time.

“Hoo’h,” she gasped. “Sheesh, Twi. Give me more than one second to brace myself, huh?”

A second later, her gut weighed heavy once more. Oh, who am I kidding? I wanted to savor the walk before confronting… them. Three doors stood before her, from the center hung a shield embellished with a pair of fireworks mid-burst.

Starlight made a hard pivot for the right. “Sunburst?” she sang, knocking. “You free in there?”

A crash indicated otherwise. “Uh, c-come in!”

Suppressing a giggle, and the image of having startled him, Starlight pawed at the doorknob and… pawed at it… pawed at it! “Dang it!” she growled, bracing herself against the door.

Suddenly it gave way, unmuffling the sonorous song of magic on the other side just prior to it fizzling out. Starlight was frozen gawking at the floor, then suddenly tilted upright and dropped on her hooves.

“Sorry about—oh, oh wow.” Sunburst magically adjusted his glasses, ogling her in disbelief. “You look astonishing.”

Starlight flushed. Part of her still felt ugly with her broken horn, but she knew Sunburst’s reactions to be genuine. “How brave of you, to compliment a mare’s appearance so brazenly.”

Now it was his turn to feel silly, glowing all red and whatnot. “Ah, err, it was more of an observation, really.”

“Oh, how unintentionally smooth!” Foreleg to her eyes, Starlight tilted back in a swoon. “Sly dog, Sunburst! How in Equestria have you not grabbed a girlfriend yet? Or boyfriend, whatever.”

Sunburst smiled, shrugging. “Don’t really feel like it. I’m married to my job, if anything.”

“Ah. Don’t tell Flurry Heart, she might get jealous.”

“She’s at that age, alright. You know she popped in the way of Shining’s attempt to give Cadance a kiss?”

“That’s adorable.”

Blood returned pounding in Starlight’s ears.

And there it was: the dreaded lull. Within that, Starlight was able to take in Sunburst’s appearance: his unruly mane gathered in a dapper ponytail, beard combed, and for once, his cloak had been shed for a burnt-orange jacket and dress shirt combo. Around his shoulders hung a fabric midnight-blue fading into pink as it reached his withers, the whole article speckled with diamonds: starlight, honoring the coronation and his status as the Crystal Empire’s new court mage. “You look good, too. Dapper.”

“Oh, thank my dad for this.” Sunburst’s amber magic played with the collar. “He and Mom insisted.”

“Hand-me-downs, too?” Starlight swooned once more. “Sunburst, you’re getting me all riled up over here!”

“Har-har, har-har.” Grinning, he turned for the vanity desk. Magical humming and pages thumping shut indicated he was in the midst of writing something. “So, Starlight, are you here to tell me it’s cancelled?”

“Uh, no, of course not.” She would have felt offended had this been spoken at the crack of dawn yesterday.

“Then are you here to lose at Messy Marey once more?” He turned his smile on her. “I’m always game to annihilate you with my flawless strategy.”

Starlight snorted, approaching. “Yeah, yeah, keep acting all smug. I’ll counter you one day.”

“Alright, then, alright.” Sunburst placed a stool behind him and a beanbag for Starlight. As they took their seats, he said, “So what’s wrong?”

“Wrong? What’s wrong? Nothing’s wrong! Why does something have to be wrong?” Total knee jerk reaction—Starlight kept her hooves on her stomach, away from her face, a groan inside her thoughts.

Sunburst’s smile turned to one of knowing. “Well, from what I’ve gathered, the coronation is happening today. But you aren’t here to ease your nerves with a game. Ergo, something must be wrong.”

Am I that obvious? Starlight, a princess, couldn’t possibly agree. “Do I need a reason to see one of my oldest and bestest friends?”

“Starlight Glimmer,” exhaled Sunburst, removing and breathing on his spectacles, “I don’t think you’ve ever done a single thing without a good reason.”

This last month would disagree. “Sheesh, all those years apart. They’ve really done a number on your understanding of me.” An instant later, Sunburst’s reassuring words before reuniting with Daddy surged back, disagreeing doubly loud.

He wasn’t fooled besides: “No offense, Starlight, but you were never that complicated.” Sunburst spoke sincerely as he manipulated his shawl, wiping down the lenses. “At least not to me.”

She bristled, for how dare he presume to see right through her? “Alright, then, wiseguy: what’s my oh-so-good reason for coming up here, if I may so inquire?”

Sunburst replaced his spectacles, adjusting them with a hoof. “Well, considering Twilight teleported you up here…” He smiled softly at Starlight’s wince. “I’m thinking you had something you wanted to talk to me about. Something so important that it delayed your coronation until it’s done.”

There was no resentment in his eyes, no hesitation in his voice or word choice. Sunburst had nothing to hide. “Can you be honest with me, for a second, please? A-after hearing what I have to say?”

It must have been her scared, soft tone which drove him to adopt a similar demeanor, hunching forward. “I always try to be. So, what’s up?”

Coiling in her chest tightened to burst, pouring out everything: “I’m scared, Sunburst. I’m so scared of everything! I swore to myself I’d be honest about my past and give it my all, but I think about how ponies might react and judge me, and then I just get so tangled up inside that I can’t breathe!”

Sunburst nodded. “What else?”

“Oh? Oh, really?” He was so sweet. So patient. Understanding. “Well, how about the fact that I can’t think of a single reason why Twilight couldn’t just copy me and implement it into her rule? She’s so much better at this royalty stuff than me—and I know I’ll learn and I tell myself constantly that I’ll get better, but the idea of failing ponies and hurting them, it reminds me of how badly I bungled it with my friends and it’s—it just scares me. Wh-when I think about how ready I was, acting all gungho as I faced the witches with the girls, I wasn’t going in there expecting myself to gain all these responsibilities!”

Her foalhood friend nodded once more.

“And the worst part? This isn’t even it, mind you, but every time I talk to you guys, I feel there’s this pain between us that I’m just too afraid to bring up! Like you and me, we’ve shared our sorries and hugged and had our song about being ready for the future—” Sunburst smiled fondly, “—but I keep… thinking… about how I left you here,” Starlight realized, to her horror. “I ditched you without any consideration for how you felt. Twice! Three times if you consider the Gourd Fest!”

“S-Starlight—”

“How can I confidently help ponies looking to me for wisdom, when I’m too afraid to confront a friend who accepts my faults and tells me he doesn’t care about them?!”

Sunburst sat back, brows knitted. “Well, you’re confronting him now, aren’t you?” Starlight swallowed, blinking away her tears. He shot up from his seat. “Starlight… take a step outside yourself and look at this scene right now: the fact that you care this much about how little old me feels proves you’ll be a wonderful Princess of Empathy.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But nothing.” He sat on the floor beside her. “You’re my friend. And soon, you’ll be a friend to many, many ponies. Foals and fillies, mares and stallions who are currently hurting like you, are as scared as you, and need you now more than ever to tell them what’s what.” Sunburst smiled—a wide, honest, loving smile. “I won’t lie and give empty platitudes: there’ll be those who don’t understand you, just as Twilight has. You’ll face pushback. You might falter and question what you’re doing. But as far as I’m concerned, the difference between you and Twilight? The reason why this is your destiny, and not hers?”

“It’s because you crumble like her, you risk folding and reconsider boundaries that, prior, you considered crossing… just like her. But at the end of the day, you push right back. You change minds instead of enthralling them at the last moment.” His every word was at once like a warm hug around her heart, and a chisel hammering upon it. “You’re a strong pony, Starlight. And a good friend. I really can’t think of anypony more qualified than—”

“I still hate myself,” whimpered Starlight. “I think,” she gasped, “th-tha’s why... I’m—”

Forelegs, the smell of books and pumpkin spice, enveloped her. Starlight exhaled, then wailed inside his shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” hushed Sunburst, stroking the back of her neck, carefully avoiding the sculpted mane. “Watching you over the years has proven that: change is a steady thing. And the more ponies you help, the more you’ll love yourself. I know you well enough to know that.”

She had always been eager to help Sunburst when they were kids, whether it be with magic or simply curing his boredom. Starlight had loved having that with him. She loved him. “Don’t tell Twilight,” Starlight uttered. “You’re one of my best friends, Sunburst. Thank you for this, but please don’t tell her.” She didn’t even know what her point was—she was just babbling from the heart.

Don’t tell her I keep hating myself. She might grow tired of me.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Sunburst, his voice sincere but grated with emotion.

Starlight sniffled, patting him on the back. “Can’t believe I’m still avoiding Twilight after everything,” she said to the ceiling.

“You’ll find your way to her, you always do.” Sunburst huffed. “Just keep to heart what I said this time, eh?”

Starlight pulled away, sniffling. She looked him in the eye as she wiped her running mascara. “I never forgot. Sunburst, if it weren’t for you, I’d have never talked to my dad that night I ran away. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have remembered something so far gone despite it being so important about myself.”

Sunburst blinked, his eyes glassy. “Well, hey, whatever helps. I’m always happy to be of service.” He gave a silly little curtsy—still seated, of course. “M’grace,” he uttered deeply.

Starlight laughed, shoving him away. “Dork.” They shared a chuckle, wiping their eyes and finishing simultaneously. She sighed. “Love ya, Sunburst.”

A nod. “You too, Starlight.”

She considered asking him about Trixie, but she had taken enough of his energy. “Mind if I… stay here? Just for a few minutes. Gotta calm down and muster the will to face…”

A grim sigh. “Maud. Yeah. Take all the time you need.” For it wasn’t Maud personally that she was afraid of—it was Starlight’s reaction if her display here served as ample foreshadowing. “Don’t rush on my behalf.” Sunburst’s hoof was suddenly on her hind leg. “I like being with you.”

‘I like being with you.’

It was so simple, so genuine, yet felt like so absurd a lie. Coming from most ponies, it’d have been theorized as such.

Starlight smiled, grateful of Sunburst’s… just Sunburst. Everything about him.

Everything seemed normal when she spoke with Maud yesterday. It hit Starlight as she sat in Sunburst’s room, the occupant humming whilst scribbling in his journal: this was precisely the problem.

At least, that’s what made her uneasy when thinking about the stern, shy mare.

It’s not like Starlight hid anything. She went through the crying shtick, bowing, explaining as best she could her unjustified and atrocious behavior towards Maud. And not just how she’d avoided Maud the entire month prior.

But for making Maud’s friendship feel worthless in Starlight’s pathetic attempt to save her from being hurt like… like...

Anyway, the ease of it was what drove her heart crazy.

I’m… just so precious to Maud, I was her first friend outside of family. She put herself out there, her heart on the line for me, and I went and damaged a genuine diamond in the rough: beautiful and hard, but fragile as can be.

Perhaps the self-loathing part of Starlight wanted Maud to hate her for it. It would be easier on her consciousness for sure.

Maud confessed that while it had upset her, she understood that Starlight didn’t mean anything personal about it; she was going through a rough time, feared burdening her friends. She understood, and that’s why she felt unworthy of insisting her emotions upon Starlight. They’d hugged, vowed to be more open with one another. Relieved tears were shed—wailed, really—by the oh-so-composed princess, for most of her fears had been cobbled together in her messed-up brain, the only place they existed.

And Maud didn’t hate her for it. Of course she wouldn’t.

By all accounts, Starlight’s attempt to “patch things up” with Maud were already duct taped shut.

I’m not expecting her to hold a grudge, thought Starlight, trotting past her own bedroom door, but she was definitely quiet when we ate and played games last night, more so than usual. It meant something.

There had to be something unspoken between them—something impossible to broach with other ponies around. Talking about myself, of course. I’m the one who lies to herself and uses mental gymnastics to pardon her issues. Whatever it precisely was concerning Maud Pie, she would realize it the same way as with Sunburst: by speaking openly.

How terrifying!

Starlight reared back a forehoof, and just before hitting the door a crack wide enough for Maud’s placid face opened. Obsidian laced around her throat, her mane done up in a messy top bun.

“Princess,” she greeted.

The tension inside Starlight exploded. “Maud, I told you that I don’t want anypony—!”

“It was a joke.”

Of course it was. “E-even so,” Starlight mumbled, cupping a cheek warm enough to seep through her slipper. “I especially don’t want friends giving me special treatment over this. Too weird.”

Maud’s brows knitted—a small gesture to most, but for her, a signal of deep concern. “Sorry it made you more angry than exasperated.”

It didn’t make her—“Wait, you were making a joke with the purpose of exasperating me?”

“It was to make me laugh. Guess I’m off my A-game today.”

“H’um...” In other words, to brighten her own mood. “So…”

“So.” Maud blinked. “Is the coronation cancelled again?”

“No, it’s not!” groaned Starlight. “Sheesh… And for the record, you didn’t make me angry. I was… scared, I guess.”

“Of?”

“I dunno! That... you didn’t see me as the same old friend anymore, maybe? Or worse, someone better.” Starlight’s heart trembled up her voice: “Change scares me, I mean c’mon.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” Maud opened the door fully, giving a complete view of her simple black gown. “Come in,” she said with a subtle flick, throbbing the amethysts clinging to her ears.

Starlight entered, ogling her side profile. “Ooh, I like your tail.” It was tied up in a bun mimicking her mane’s, accompanied by a side slit on her gown revealing the cutie mark—a rock.

“It’s nothing special.” Maud sat, reaching down her dress to retrieve Boulder from his usual spot to massage him.

Starlight wandered, voiced a slight ponderance in her search for smalltalk: “How’d you know I was about to knock, anyway?”

The door closed, then silence. Then, “Maud Sense.”

“Ah.”

“Did you need something?” Maud asked, slightly quicker. Maybe it was Starlight’s imagination.

“I need a reason to see one of my best friends?” No response. Regret quickly poisoned Starlight. Maybe I’m annoying her. Or maybe she can tell I’m lying, despite our promise.

Starlight spun around, saying “Maud, I—” and her frantic search for words ground to a halt. “Woah,” she breathed, “Maud, i-is… is something—?” Her chest tightened so bad it ached. “Oh, gosh…”

The gaze of Maud Pie was, in a word, hollow. A sight Starlight had only seen one other time, and had never, ever forgotten for being the cause of it. “Maud?” Her eyes weren’t pointed at Starlight, just her hooves briefly before wrenching shut of all things, slow and painfully.

“Maud…” Starlight’s legs were already moving.

And then froze as Maud snapped: “Stop.” It was uttered in her usual tone, but Boulder fell from her hoof, unto the carpet, muffled but louder than a crack of thunder in Starlight’s heart.

“What is it?” she asked.

“That was a lie,” said Maud, eyes holding shut. “I was peeking through the crack under my door since you teleported in.”

Thanks a ton, Twilight. Starlight shook off her annoyance, but the thought of Maud awaiting her friend lingered. “You wanted to see me that bad,” she realized. “Oh, gosh, Maud, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you’d—”

“Want to?” Starlight was gutted. Maud’s shoulders throbbed once—a laugh or a sob, a chilling mystery. “I give that impression. It’s no wonder you think that way, even after what I said.”

“Maud, that’s…” She expected to be cut off. The silence felt much worse. “That isn’t what I was thinking. Well, I kinda was—I mean, oh, to be honest, yeah I was, but… Argh! Stupid! Why am I always so—?!” She exhaled deeply. No fear. She’s your friend. No fear. She’s your friend. “I was scared, okay?! I don’t know what’s wrong, but I know whenever I think about you, I find it so hard to breathe or think or-or anything! That’s why I’m here, honest.”

“I scare you.” Maud’s eyes opened into slits, drilling through the carpet between Starlight’s silver-shod hooves. “I get that.”

This was all so sudden—the pain in Maud’s eyes, what she was saying—that it took a moment to gather herself. “Maud,” stammered Starlight, “when have you ever held such insecurities? You’re one of the most confident ponies I know!” By avoiding Starlight’s gaze, it hit her: Dragon Pit. Maud trying to be the friend Starlight needed, coldly turned down under the assumption she was forcing herself into a role that made her uncomfortable.

It was all Starlight’s fault.

Always it was Starlight’s fault. “Oh… oh, gosh, this is—!” she choked, smacking herself on the breast. “This is all my fault!”

Maud’s face flickered up, eyes widened to their usual state. “No—”

“Because I completely blew you off and doubted your feelings back when we were playing Dragon Pit!”

“Starlight—”

“Maud, I’m so, so—!”

“Starlight.” A pair of hooves clamped her face. “Hush. Please.” Calm eyes burrowed into hers. “Stop blaming yourself. I am. Not angry. About. That.”

She was so kind. Always. Maud had to have been lying, or sparing her feelings. Something, anything, not just Starlight continuing to hate herself and bringing her friends down to her level!

“Then why aren’t you?” Starlight croaked, swallowing. “Better yet, how come I feel like there’s a barrier between us you won’t let me pass?” She remembered Twilight’s comforting words, recalled Maud’s that fateful day over Dragon Pit, and her confession prior:

‘I was afraid of failing to be the friend you needed if you ever came to me for that…’

“Maud, let me in. Please. I know I’ve been a blind, deaf friend—”

“How can I let you in when you hardly ever know what you’re looking at?” Maud inquired so concisely, but Starlight knew, from the flush tinting her cheeks pink, that she was dying inside.

Beneath her words, the meaning rang loud and clear: ‘How do you expect me to trust that now when you’ve forgotten about me first, then avoided me, and shot me down several times amidst both—all because you believed I didn’t care like everypony else does?’
Once upon a time, Starlight, guilty, would defend herself by saying it was more nuanced than that. And it was, but for Maud specifically she ought to know by now just how loving and genuine a friend she was.

“Because you were always the friend I needed. And I was too deaf and blind to see that.” Starlight’s rasp was deafening against the enshrouding silence.

“I’m sorry,” said Maud, squeezing her cheeks to prove it. “I really am for saying that. I shouldn’t expect you to understand and believe me when I myself am hardly ever op—”

Starlight shook her head within Maud’s grasp. “You’re blameless. I misunderstood you in the past, true, but not always! And you know it. You’ve every right to hold resentment; I know you never do anything if it’s not for a good reason.” Starlight couldn’t help herself—and by shaking from her iron grip she in turn annihilated Maud’s personal space, disregarding her wish of avoiding touchy-feely stuff—and embraced one of her best friends tight. “You bared so much of yourself to me the day we fought.” Maud stiffened like a board. “Gonna guess you’ve never done something like that before, sans family. And despite what we said yesterday, you’ve barely talked.”

A shallow, wavering inhale by her ear nearly sucked Starlight’s heart right out of her throat. “I barely talk, period.” She couldn’t help but snort. “Have you known me the last two years?” Starlight giggled harder.

“Maybe!” she breathed. “I know how much you love to joke, like right now. Lately you’ve been more responsive and initiative in a group setting.” All those wonderful memories were now tainted in her heart by Starlight’s cruel dismissal of her character. “And now, looking back at yesterday, it feels like you’ve regressed. It’s hard not to think you still… are angry. Either at me, or…” Starlight’s gut plummeted.

As it did with Sunburst, everything clicked, and she realized: “Or yourself…”

The distance, the quietness, brushing off her own resentment as unwarranted. It was hauntingly familiar.

She pulled away, finding Maud’s brows knitted and her eyes glassy. Before she could find the words, her friend’s monotone was softly spoken: “How did you notice all of that?”

A forehoof, fiddling with the black rocks on her throat, Starlight sat and took into both of her own. “Because you’re my friend,” she said, gazing up into Maud’s wandering eyes and seizing them. “You’re one of my best friends, and I care and I worry about you. I’d feel terrible if something happened to drift us apart, or if you were hurt because of something I didn’t see.” Starlight dropped her hoof, clasping her own thundering chest. “I said it yesterday, I’ll say it again, and probably a hundred more times between now and the day I die: I’ve been a bad pony and an even worse friend. To you especially, Maud: you stripped your soul bare to try and make me feel better, and I kicked dirt in your eye. I understand completely if all this has been because you hold some hatred for me. I know I deserve it.”

Maud held her gaze, then shut it painfully, turning away slightly. “Oh, Starlight…”

“Maud?”

It took several moments and the fear of rejection to manifest before Starlight was answered: “You’re doing it again,” murmured Maud, voice chilling her spine, “you’re going off presuming how other ponies feel about you. That, I hate most about you.”

Starlight felt like she was bucked in the throat, even though it was totally in the right.

“And I don’t blame you,” Maud added. “Because I’m guilty of the exact same thing.” She blinked, tears suddenly cleaving through the fur on her cheeks.

She was sobbing inside. “M-Maud!” Starlight breathed. “Don’t cry!”

Her friend stepped forward, hoof to her breast, brows knitted, eyes glassy. “I told you this already, but I am a coward, Starlight. I may not give the air of one, but deep down I’m just as scared of other ponies as you. The day I told you all this the first time, it was the day I truly realized how similar you are to me.”

“And that… scared me most,” she mumbled.

“How you pushed us away, the lifelessness in your voice—a resignation to this horrible self-image…” Maud’s eyes were wide as possible, glistening for Starlight to make out her horrified face staring back: never, ever, would she expect Maud to speak this much, this passionately, despite sounding as mellow as ever. “Starlight, how you felt in that moment, or always had, was so familiar that it terrified me. I saw myself in you, and because of that, in a snap decision… I abandoned you, presuming in your time of need you were just as unsalvageable as me.”

“To be honest, I pretty much was. Don’t blame you for thinking that, honestly.”

“But you wouldn’t have. You proved that by saving the witches. The same willpower and faith applies to Twilight.” Maud blinked hard, returning to face Starlight. Her eyes opened, placid demeanor returned albeit shimmering powerfully. “Which is why I can’t believe you care about somepony like me. Instead of insisting myself upon you like Twilight, I let my petty hurts and feelings control me.”

Starlight smiled, batting her eyes, only to make them blurrier. She chuckled wetly, rubbing them, finding Maud’s eyebrows lifted and her lips parted, astonished. “Oh, Maud,” she said. “How can’t I love you, after realizing how you’re just like me, deep inside?”

“‘Love?’” Maud uttered lightly.

Starlight chuckled. “Sorry, th-that sort of slipped—”

“Say it again.” Maud pursed her lips, her gaze flickering aside of all things. “Only if you want to.”

She’s starved for love but afraid to take it, just like me. Starlight decided she didn’t care about personal space: Maud needed her, and she needed Maud, so she wrapped her forelegs around her eye-widening friend and yanked her to the carpet, squeezing her tight with all four legs latched around her.

“I love you, Maud,” she said, heart twisting, face ablaze. “You’re one of my best friends. I mean that.” Silence. Glancing down, Maud’s face was blank, her eyes agape. “If you’d like, you can hug me back. Whenever you want, even.” Starlight’s own face burned hot; this felt too familiar, too childish. Maud might reject her. Maybe. But her belly swarmed, her heart tingled, and she felt a frantic drumming from the front of Maud’s dress against the crook of her foreleg.

It felt like a million years before Maud fully wrapped her forelegs around Starlight’s midsection. The squeeze, however, shocked her back to the present—it quivered with apprehension. “Is this okay, Starlight?”

She tittered. “Sure is.”

“Thanks. This is awkward but I’m really happy right now.”

Starlight burst out laughing. “That makes two of us!”

They remained this way for several long, tender moments, until: “There’s a lot I want to say that I’m still afraid of saying.”

“Me too,” Starlight confessed.

“Because I don’t think anything I could say will properly convey just how much I… um…”

“It’s okay.” Starlight squeezed. “You don’t have to force yourself.”

“You did.”

The softness of Maud’s voice was painful. “I’m me, and you’re you. Maud, do you understand why breaking that balance makes me feel terrible if I’m the cause of it?” A nod, Maud’s bun poking Starlight’s jawline. “I regret reacting how I did. We’d have suffered a lot less had I been unafraid of your presumed judgement.”

Her chest throbbed, but uncertainty gnawed at her gut. A devilish whisper: She could still be annoyed with me. Or afraid, thinking I’ll judge her despite everything.

Beneath her, a hoarse, nigh-imperceptible, “Me too.” Maud undoubtedly felt the same if admitting just that took all her courage.

This felt like a job for Cadance, but also for the Princess of Empathy. “I got a spell,” Starlight chirped softly, enjoying the gentleness of the moment. “It needs some tuning, but it should help you and I understand one another on a—well, this’ll sound weird, but an indescribable level. Got a lot going on right now, might take a while. I swear on our friendship, Maud, that I’m not going to forget. Or avoid it, even.”

“Okay.”

Uncertainty poisoned Starlight against her petty will. “Uh, was that a whatever-okay? Or a sure-thing-sounds-good-looking-forward-to-it-okay?” No immediate reply. She’s thinking. Or she’s nervous. Thinking, or nervous, Starlight had to tell herself. Maud’s ear was right against her aching heart, after all.

Or maybe, chimed a sudden thought, she hates the idea but is just going along with it because she doesn’t want to offend you! Oh, how can I possibly placate this—or respond, even!?

“Neither,” she replied at last. “I want to do it. If this will help us understand one another better, then I absolutely want to.”

Such passionate desire in her vocabulary. “M-Maud—”

“However,” she cut in, touching Starlight’s foreleg, “there isn’t a single part of me that feels good or is looking forward to it.”

“Well, why not?”

Maud lifted her head, perma-glare flanked by amethysts carved into four-pronged starbursts. “Because even if we promise to one another we won’t, it wouldn’t matter, because both of us are afraid that it might inflict irreparable damage on our friendship.”

A swallow, gulping down nothing for a belly painfully hollowed-out. I hadn’t even thought of that… you stupid, rushing, arrogant pony. “Well,” said Starlight, donning a smile, “you aren’t wrong. That’s on my mind and it’s cause for concern. But the fact that I didn’t guess your reaction properly is evidence enough of the benefits this would bring. If all goes well, we’ll become just as close as I am with Twilight! Or even—!”
Trixie…

A deep, almost tired-sounding sigh. “Communication is difficult for me. That’s why I’ll go through with it as well. ”

Silence fell again. Starlight wanted to voice one of her unspeakable thoughts. “Maud? Do you ever regret becoming my friend?”

“Never,” she answered immediately.

And that was it. Starlight wanted more, and knew Maud was being shy. “So, why not?” she asked lightly.

“Because then my life would be lonely and boring.”

Fair enough. Starlight sighed, her misery bubbling up, clogging her throat. “Pretty sure that… that Trixie does. I keep, you know, hoping that she’ll teleport in front of us any second now. Fireworks and all.”

A squeeze from Maud. It didn’t let up—a mutual regret ate at her. “She’ll come,” Maud hoped.

Starlight barely heard, barely registered the other pony beneath her as she fantasized towards the ceiling: “Even if she acts as if nothing happens, even if she makes it clear that her and I have so much to work through and sort out after this… heck!” Starlight laughed wetly. “I don’t even care if she comes in just to start yelling at me! Because anything—!” The shadows above blurred together. “Because anything like that proves she still cares enough to wanna be my friend.”

“You’ll see her again.”

Starlight wanted the same enthusiasm. She truly did. “Except Sunburst cast a spell for Spike’s dragon-mail to seek out Trixie’s magical footprint. Twice, they did that! And she’s yet to come, she probably never will! Not after how I abused—!” Starlight shook her emotions out, rested against the bed. “Sorry, Maud. I don’t wanna bring the mood down ag—”

“Talk to me, Starlight,” said Maud, softly adding, “please.” It was a plea, a redacting of their friendship’s only rule of no feelings-talk.

“If you say so.” Breathing deep, Starlight prepared herself to pour everything Trixie-related from her heart (and tear ducts) with the only pony in Equestria who would truly, fully understand.

It began with a cry into her mane: “She hates me now, Maud!”

A sonorous hum sang aloud upon breaching the Entrance Hall, gripping tight Starlight’s spine so swift and firmly she froze, still in all but shuddering legs. A page turn broke the monotonous melody, breaking something painfully within and yanking out a gasp.

Fizzle threw her eyes toward the ceiling, mouthing, ‘For the love of—’ before taking one of Starlight’s sashes in her mouth and yanking her back around the corner.

Starlight gasped as she was slammed against the wall, wings spread on either side of her, pinned by Fizzle’s hooves. Electric blue eyes bore into hers, sharded horn stump grinding against sharded horn stump.

“I’m sorry.” Starlight grinned apologetically.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“Look, I can’t help how I feel, okay?” One wing was free, the offending hoof reeling back beside Fizzle’s head. “It’s not like I was gonna—oh-h’oh!” Starlight coughed, prodded by a silver-clad shoe. “Was that necessary?!” she hissed, fearing Twilight would, for once, register something outside of her reading zone.

“Unfor—ugh, yes. You wore a face that said you were going to put this off, maintain your precious illusion with the princess. Just like you had for a whole month—poorly, might I add. Pitifully so. Therefore, yes. I had to get you out of your cyclical train of thought, and to do so, I decided to hit you. Yes, yes, unfortunately, yes.”

I guess you were telling the truth back there: you hate how aggressive you’ve been. For warmth now radiated from Fizzle’s cheeks, wrapping Starlight’s core in the fuzzies. “Aw, you feel bad for once!” Her eyes flared, ablaze with icy fury. “I’m kidding, you always care. Sorry.”

A lowered gaze. “Yes, well, all jokes sprout from a seed of truth, if I recall correctly. I’m aware that I haven’t been the warmest, nor most honest, friend you deserved.”

Starlight frowned. Destiny knows how I’d have hated being teased like that in your shoes, or was rudely reminded of my flaws. “Sorry. Not cool.”

Fizzle shook her head. “Forget that, and me—this is about growing some guts and meeting your fears in the field.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing this past hour?”

“Giving your biggest demon the go-around: Princess Twilight’s reaction to the fact that you haven’t changed at all.”

Starlight felt shot with an arrow. “We just got done agreeing that I’ve changed a lot! You tryna break me down here and now?”

“I was voicing your very obvious reservations, considering what you told me and how highly you regard Princess Twilight. So relax.” Fizzle suddenly registered her hoof twisting into Starlight’s wing. “Um, yes. Relax,” she said, dropping her second charge to her hind hooves. “Apologies, I forget myself.”

Starlight sat there, grooming her ruffled plumage, swallowing whenever she would cross the tender flesh beneath. “This is gonna bruise probably,” she muttered.

“Uh, may I—?” Fizzle reached for her unattended wing, open at half-mast. Starlight rigidly slapped her hoof aside.

“No dice,” she said. “You don’t get to make up for it, you have to sit there and feel bad about yourself for,” Starlight gasped, threw a hoof to her forehead as she breathily shrilled, “for inflicting great harm upon me on the day of mine own coronation!”

“Ugh.” Fizzle buried her face in her hooves. “What’s wrong with me, Glimmer?”

Starlight smoothed her other wing. “A great many things,” she sighed—several feathers were painfully bent upwards. “Just like me. It’s why I forgive ya, so stop feeling hung up about this last month, eh?”

“I’m not—I mean, I no longer—”

Starlight rasped, “‘I was voicing your very obvious reservations, considering what you told me and how highly you regard Princess Twilight.’” It fit too perfectly.

Fizzle, lips parted, found herself speechless. Hollow, clearly. Starlight could hear her thoughts, as she just voiced them back in her room: “It’s truly absurd, your tolerance. Its durability and depth. Not just for me, but others as well. Yet, you were given a pair of wings, a title, and phenomenal power you cannot ever use yet hadn’t realized until my bringing it up. So who am I to dismiss your sentiments, a guilty self-hating traitor? ...Starlight Glimmer, you’re an anomaly. I… don’t feel worthy of your companionship. But I thank you for it.”

Starlight smiled sympathetically. “Look,” she said, drawing Fizzle gaze, “I know better than most that a few nice words and promises aren’t going to erase how you feel. It’s gonna take time. But one thing that I learned through all of this? Shouldering all the guilt—it hurts others more than it helps.”

“But I—!”

“Was trying... to the best of you ability. To help something you never thought you’d have: a friend.” Starlight sighed, her chest filled to burst. She clasped it, trying to suppress the feeling and capture it simultaneously. “The fact that you did, Fizzle… is why… I…” A hapless shrug. “It’s why I love you, y’know?”

Starlight felt her cheeks about to combust. Surely they would’ve, had Fizzle not stiffened on the spot, eyes agape, throat throbbing with numerous successive swallows in her attempts to make sense of this.

“You…” Five seconds passed; she could muster nothing more.

Starlight nodded. “We’ve known each other for just over a month,” she said, smiling. “We fought and disagreed mostly, I know. After hearing your confession, and you hearing mine, it’s clear for most of it we felt guilt and tension around one another, about one another, even.

“But not always,” Starlight added. Fizzle met her eyes, entranced and hurt and trying not to be so eager. “I remember all the times I felt the exact opposite. And I like to think you do, too. It’s why you tried so hard to help me. Why you nearly shed a tear back in your room, because you’d felt so bad for all of it.”

“I didn’t cry,” she rasped.

She was totally going to. “Well, I did.” Starlight huffed, smirking. Swallowing her emotion. “Fizzle, I treated you and everypony so dang badly. But my worst, or close to it? Is whenever I’m reminded of how I tried leaving your life without a word.”

“I…” Fizzle cleared her throat, wet her lips. “I told you I understood—”

“You did. But you also felt hurt and betrayed. You felt like I didn’t care.” Starlight sighed, her wings slapping the floor. “Fizzle, they’re not enough to make up for how I made you feel, but I hope the tears I shed in your room was a start. To prove how special you are to me.”

Plate armor clunked as it shifted together, Fizzle rising blank-faced, either containing tears, confusion. Could be anger, even.

Starlight’s breast thrummed, followed by another. And another. Another-another-nother-nother-nother—it was going crazy, she realized, her thoughts and she supposed her feelings poured into a single notion: Please don’t think I’m cringey and weird.

Please don’t reject me.

At last Fizzlepop Berrytwist blinked her glassy eyes, scrubbed them, whirling away as she did so. “You don’t need me to talk to Twilight,” she rasped thickly. “You’re the strongest pony I’ve ever met. I…” Her muzzle lowered, then perked up. “I was so obsessed trying to find what she saw in you that I hadn’t realized it’s what she felt in you. As you did her—why you saved her, tried forsaking your own happiness to preserve hers.”

“Fizzle…”

“Because now,” she said, “I feel that for you, and because you do me, I’m willing to give our friendship another try. A better one.”

Starlight grasped for words. “O-of course.”

Her head turned slightly, though Fizzle’s face—consciously, perhaps—remained out of sight. “So go get coronated already. I’ll get the others and we’ll meet you in the dining hall. And when the party’s over… how about we make some tea and talk? About… about books, I guess.”

Of course. Of course! “Yes! Yeah, totally!” Relief flooded Starlight’s breast, her smile and her eyes. “I’m looking forward to it! There’s this one historical fiction I’ve been reading right? And it—”

“Starlight,” Fizzle said aloud, turning… with a smile. With glassy eyes, and damp fur lining them. “Get out of here already.”

Flushing, she bowed. “Sure thing, my loyal aegis!” Starlight giggled, her excitement, her relief, everything that went well with her three dear friends was enough to send her a foot in the air via singular wingbeat, and land her facing the way to the Entrance Hall.

She took one step when suddenly—”Princess!” Starlight threw back a glare, only to have it shattered in the fires stoked by Fizzlepop’s loving eyes, her genuine, heartwarming smile. “You’re my friend,” she said, then, bowing, “thank you.”

I should be the one bowing to you. To everypony. Starlight ran forth, forgoing both their reservations about physical affection to crash into her friend and hug her tight.

Fizzlepop, a heartbeat later, was possessed by the same desire.

Twilight didn’t care at all that Starlight still held a strong dislike for herself, and for the things she’d done.

It shouldn’t have been surprising for Starlight. After all, her reveal wasn’t so to Twilight. Why am I so much weaker in every way?

Starlight covered her discomfort, not solely borne from the great door standing before them, with exasperation. “I still can’t believe you were eavesdropping on us!” she cried, turning to face the one by her side. “With all three of my friends!”

“I was worried, I’m sorry!”

“Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Eavesdropping—”

“Starlight—”

“Element of Eavesdropping!” Twilight planted her face in Starlight’s gown. “C’mon,” she laughed, “you know I’m teasing!”

Twilight picked her head up, gesturing wildly as she said, “Oh, are you? I don’t know! How should I?” Her glossy, styled mane flounced about. “For all I know, you could be secretly offended that I didn’t think you could handle it and in doing so breached your privacy!”

Starlight tittered once more. To Twilight’s flushed, pouting face she said, “I love this.” Her mentor reeled. “I love that you’re concerned about me, and even more so that you clearly understand how I feel, though not totally, no offense.” Twilight tilted her head.

“Look,” Starlight sighed, turning to face her fellow diarch—a dizzying thought. “Oof, ok.”

“Are you feeling nauseous?”

A shake of the head. “No, it’s just that… well, you could say I was hit with an epiphany as I met with each of my friends. Like, I’ve always tried to make everypony around me as comfortable and content as possible,right? But... in my effort to do so, I often went and lost sight of what they themselves would actually want. Thanks to Sunburst, Maud and Fizzlepop, it’s finally hit me that the best way to make all of us happy is to be as honest as possible. Good or bad, I noticed how, when putting my silly feelings out there instead of hiding them away, it made for a deeper and more real conversation than most I’ve had, well, all my life, really. It made me feel good, it made my friends feel good. Most importantly, I always heard what I needed to say, and they in turn heard what they wanted to hear without quite realizing it.”

Sunburst had realized his closeness to Starlight’s comfort zone, how she was willing to bare herself completely to him without much hesitation. Maud and Starlight understood, at least the idea if not the precise depths, of their care for one another. Tempest and Starlight had come to truly grasp their similarities to one another, speak of them, and most importantly, believe in them.

Whereas Twilight…

“You carry so much guilt with you, Twilight. Even after all we’ve talked about, the scars of this last month won’t go away. I wish I could wave my horn and make them so, I do. It sucks to know the kind of pain you’re in.”

“It’s... it’ll take time,” Twilight rasped, glistening eyes meeting Starlight’s. “I know. We’ve said this every day, twice a day, it feels like. I guess, if nothing else, that speaks of how badly we want to leave this ugly chapter of our lives.”

Starlight shook her head, frowning genuinely. “I’m eager, too. But not in the same way. This whole experience has been at once a wonderful yet horrible chapter for me, honestly.” To Twilight’s humorous appallment, Starlight grinned. “I’d have never realized any of what I’d said if I didn’t lose my horn! I would still be the same old Starlight, blown about by her conceit and her fears.”

“You… really see it that way?” Twilight sounded hurt that she ever considered it to be a lie. “Truly? Y-you’re not just saying that to make me not worried?”

https://youtu.be/MjKl3kyQlZ4

Starlight nodded. “Listen, I don’t want us to brush aside the pain we’ve experienced, inflicted upon one another.” Though deep down she didn’t consider the gravity between the two comparable, nor any of what the girls believed they did to Starlight register as bitterness or heartache. “But I also don’t want you to forget the good that came of this.”

She fluttered her wings for example.

Twilight ventured a smile. “Y-you consider them good now?”

Starlight folded them, her chin upraised. “I think so, yeah. I still have my reservations, no doubt. But they’re nothing compared to what I feel whenever ponies like me come to mind—the ones who need help and love and understanding, as I had. I want to find them, Twilight! I want to help them more than anything. I mean it.”

Twilight’s dress crinkled as she stepped forward, foreleg outstretched. Starlight leaned into the hug, the warmth and love of the pony she considered her very best friend: never judging, never hating, only wanting the best for those around her.

“I love you,” breathed Starlight, gasping as her throat abruptly closed.

A sniffle. “You too,” Twilight whispered.

Emotion blubbered past her lips. “Thank you for saving me, Twilight! Again and again!”

“You too,” she whispered once more. “Thanks for being my friend, Starlight.”

“I should be the one thanking you, dummy!”

Twilight pulled back, smiling—grinning—despite the tears rolling down her cheeks. “There’s no need, it’s why I’m here!” she chirped.

A beautiful soul, through and through. I should be thanking you, Destiny, for bringing our lives together.

“So?” Twilight was turned towards the door, but facing Starlight with a smile, cheeks dry. “Are you ready, Princess?”

“Not even a little. But let’s go for it. I’m done letting my fear control me.”

The doors, enshrined in a magenta glow, parted to an ocean of colored bodies.

End of Magic - The Broken Teacher

(Empathy) The Broken, the Mended - VII.I.I - The Second Day of the Rest of Your Life

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VII

Empathy

The Broken, the Mended

ACT I of III

Seeing with the Eyes of Another

Chapter I of V (XV)

“See what I did there? You just said all the things YOU needed to hear!”

A threat loomed from behind.

And fear flashed up Toola’s throat. Her instincts flared, electrocuting her spine, down her legs so sharp she sprung aside without a second to think. A pie crust exploded upon her incomplete painting before she hit the carpet, chilly flecks of acrid banana-sour paste drizzling her face.

One second Toola couldn’t breathe, the next there wasn’t enough oxygen in the world.

Her incomplete painting, now a chunky blonde abstract.

A wooden clatter reverberated miles away—Toola’s jaw hung, no longer clutching her paintbrush.

My incomplete entry...

Toola stood, whirled, tearing off and slamming her beret unto the living room carpet. “You ruined it!” she crackled. “Why the hay did you do that, Coconut Cream?!”

A twisted face, her grey hoof batting aside their now-empty picnic basket. “Oh, you suddenly care about how I feel?! You didn’t when you cancelled our picnic! You didn’t even look me in the eye!” Coconut’s own welled—puffy, ruddy coals bejeweled with amber.

Toola’s heart twisted. It was because of her painting, definitely. Coconut had no right to do that, she was the jerk here, she deserved to cry for this. “Maybe ‘cause this is a little more important, don’cha think?”

“Oh, wait, that’s right, that makes sense,” Coconut breathed, then sneering: “my feelings suddenly matter cuz I ruined your precious painting.”

The scope of her selfishness made Toola gasp. “As if I got this far because I wanted to?! You were the one who pressured me into the first, the-the school competition—!”

“Because I knew you’d be amazing!” Coconut cried. “And you were, you are! But ever since then you’ve been blowing me off like you don’t even care about your best friend!”

Her jealousy was totally obvious. “Of course you’d think I’m doing this because I don’t like you. You’ve always been so paranoid, Coconut, you’re so annoying and stupid about that!”

Coconut stamped her hoof. “Just stop acting like you don’t care about me! You’re my best—!”

“I was,” Toola cut in. “Before you were tryna hog my every waking moment!”

“That’s not fair! I only kept asking to hang cuz you keep canceling on me!”

No, this wasn’t fair; Coconut knew it, and she was trying to make Toola feel awful for achieving her dream. “You know my creativity comes in bursts. How can you not understand that?”

“How can you not understand how I feel?” Coconut lurched forward, gasping wetly, her tri-colored mane flouncing with the motion. “Being brushed aside like this for weeks, being your only friend for years?! I hate you so much, you complete and utter LOSER!”

This was too much. Toola threw her foreleg to the door. “Get out of my house!”

Her painting was ruined. She had nothing to display for the nationals. And Coconut clearly hated her now.

Too much.

“Fine! I hated you anyway!”

The harshness of her voice whipped Toola beyond her skin. She couldn’t even bear to look in the direction of Coconut’s little hoofbeats as they galloped by.

Something within coiled in anticipation of the door handle lifting, the door creaking open, slamming shut, and Coconut’s muffled sobs fading into forever-nothingness.

A knock on the door, three gentle raps, preceded any of that.

Toola looked over, Coconut’s welled eyes flitting from her to the door.

“Um,” Toola croaked. Swallowing, she finished clearer: “C-come in?”

The latch lifted from the other side, the door groaning as both halves swung open as one. Sunlight poured in, radiating from behind a pink-coated pega—no, an ali—alicorn?! With a broken horn!

“Princess Starlight!” Toola realized to her horror.

Coconut scrambled back, collapsing instantly upon her rear. “P-P-P-Princess Starlight?!” she gasped.

To see her best—ex-friend equally unprepared for a royal visit was a cold comfort.

Toola stepped before her mess of a painting, taking a knee as she tried to still her breaths. “I’m sorry, P-Princess, m-m-my mom isn’t he-here right now.” Always such an awkward, stammering dummy! Always!

For whatever reason, Princess Starlight didn’t seem annoyed by this inconvenience, nor Toola’s social incompetence; she giggled like Princess Celestia—like a warm hug around the heart. “There’s no need for that, girls. Nor any bowing. I dislike it when friends give me special treatment.”

None of that registered. Toola, too relieved to have her nose to the floor, fantasized her burning face catching the hardwood afire and freeing herself from this embarrassment.

“Wh-what are you doing here, missus?” Coconut managed bravely.

“A little birdie told me you’re having a bit of a friendship problem,” said the princess. “Mind if I come in?”

Coconut’s gaze fell back, begging for help. ‘The princess is asking like this is my house. How do I answer?!’ it cried.

The fact that she would waste time on a couple of no-ponies like them almost made Toola forget her manners. “I-if you want,” she told the floor. “We can tell you what happened. It’s kinda dumb though, so you don’t gotta stay if you don’t want.”

“Oh, but I do want to,” said Princess Starlight, a sympathetic frown as she entered. “Your feelings matter just as much as anypony else’s.”

Toola snapped to attention, nodding a heartbeat later—something in her eyes glittered.

It was chilling as it was warming. Comforting as it was sad.

Pain: deep, aching, understanding pain. Perhaps it was confirmation bias, perhaps the rumors were true, and the Princess of Empathy had earned her wings like all the rest.

For the most part.

Like all the rest, it was through trials and noble displays of character. Unlike those so high and glowing, unreal and untouchable, something heavy within Equestria’s newest monarch emanated from her gaze, dripping from her sincerely kind words.

Whatever it was, it weighed her down to earth, lent her a worldly aura.

An aura which said, ‘She’s just like me.’

It’s like ponies’ve been saying, Toola thought as the room tilted around, as Princess Starlight entered, exchanging muffled words with Coconut. How her senses—she can tell when a friendship was about to end and she comes in to salvage them. And now she was here. Somehow, someway, the Princess of Empathy was going to save her and Coconut’s.

Part of Toola didn’t want that—a small, bitter, pathetic part of her. I don’t deserve this royal visit, Princess Starlight’s time…

This had to be a dream.

This is how it’s been every day, every week now.

Before my coronation was done, before I even opened my mouth to the ponies outside, the Cutie Map called for me and me alone.

I’m so tired. My heart aches—so many sad, silly ponies with stories painfully familiar.

But it’s so, so worth it.

Atop the roof of Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, within its garden enclosure, Raya thankfully, finally returned towing a steaming tea set. Her eyes naturally found Distant Heart’s—drawn to her little step sister out of concern, despite doing nothing to deserve her affections.

It said something when a princess of all ponies had to be the force that brought them back together.

I don’t care what this princess says, thought Distant, glaring aside into the blue expanse, away from anypony else. The kind of mare I am’s done nothing to earn Raya’s affection. I’ll give her a happier life, distance myself and focus on my stud—

“Why do you keep doing that?” breathed Raya, her voice burrowing through Distant’s thoughts. As she turned to her older sister, Raya, harsher, drenched in emotion: “Why do you keep giving me side glares before looking away? Are you really going to waste Princess Starlight’s time with that, too? Really, Dis?!”

Distant mustered all her soul to keep at an appropriate volume. “Be calm, Raya. We’re entertaining a Princess of Equestria here.”

“Oh, d-don’t mind me—”

“I could care less!” Raya cried. “How am I supposed to act natural when you always give me mixed sig—”

“It’s ‘couldn’t.’ You couldn’t care less.” Distant Heart truly didn’t care though.

“Being smarter than everyone had always been your idea of fun,” step-sister sneered.

That is until Mother remarried and brought Raya crashing into her life.

“Actually!” Princess Starlight bore a crooked smile, and Distant’s heart stopped cold a second too late: “Your marefriend told me something really interesting, Raya.”

“Y-your Highness—”

“That it’s her escape. You apparently know this, so… do you not believe it?” She glanced at Distant, brief but long enough to communicate the necessary evil of revealing this.

“Look at that,” seethed Raya, “look at that! You’re so ashamed you didn’t even tell her we’re step-sisters!” Emotions were clouding her vision, blinding her to Princess Starlight’s lack of reaction.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Raya—”

“So of course I don’t believe you! You lie and you love me only when it’s convenient for you, and it makes me feel like a freak!”

And Distant’s heart stopped cold—deep down, she just couldn’t bear the idea of Raya hurting because of her. “I do it to keep you safe, you little fool.”

“Yeah, I’m the fool!” Raya croaked. “I’m the idiot big sister who fell stupidly in love with you—an emotionless rag some widowed chump grafted into my family.”

A sardonic titter, surely at the rage exploding across Distant Heart’s face, who uttered softly, “You just told a Princess of Equestria about our—”

“Because she wants to help us, you loon! You won’t just glower her away!”

“Raya has a point!” said Princess Starlight quickly, drawing both of them to her. “I know this is awkward, a-and painful! But, talking like this? Openly and honestly, no matter how bad it hurts?”

“It’s how real, lasting change comes about. Lying and hiding your feelings will only serve to harm not just yourself, but others in the long run. The ponies you care about.”

“Trust me,” Starlight continued. “I know.”

And the curly-maned filly dove into her chest with nearly enough force to bowl her over, wailing as the parents looked on, morose and neglectful.

Their only child squeezed Starlight as if she were her actual mother—not a cold perspective, considering she herself had done more for this little Cozy Glow in an hour than her overworked parents had in years.

“I know what it’s like,” said Starlight, closing her wings around the tiny pegasus. “To not only crave the world, but to feel justified hurting ponies to get what you want.” Cozy shrieked—not because she’d brought others pain, but because she didn’t care, and her parents had broken down upon realizing their part in this. Now she thought she was broken, too.

A familiar ache devoured Starlight’s innards as she powered on: “That way of life, though, it isn’t sustainable. All it gives is an illusion of happiness before you find yourself surrounded by false friends and a hole impossible to fill… Cozy, as a princess, I must advise directing your ambitions to a healthier, more productive outlet. But as your friend? I’m not telling you to abandon them. But you must consider your future, and ask yourself what it is that will make you happy.”

“And denying that, as I’ve told dozens before you, is the root of why I had to come in and tell you this.”

She was supposed to be the Princess of Empathy, yet she had the gall to dictate ponies’ lives as if she understood a thing about them.

“I don’t have to listen to you.” Lily Love shot up, glaring, failing to flinch this upstart princess—the first in Lily’s life, considering her “scary” black-on-black appearance, but she was too furious to care. “You’re a complete and utter witch, you know that?”

“I am.”

Princess Starlight was drowned out by Angel Hope: “My Love!”

“The truth often hurts, a pain I inflict daily,” she continued, admittedly so casually.

“You didn’t even object,” Lily said, turning on her beloved, “does that mean you agree with her—that we should split for good?”

Angel shuddered, silent, ever spineless. Lily had forgotten the kind of pony the little mare was, and she hurt her because of it. I hurt her.

“Oh Celestia,” Lily breathed.

“It just hit you, didn’t it?” Perhaps Princess Starlight was correct: perhaps Angel would do well if she’d left her life. “I know that look intimately well. You’re an abuser. Possessive. Too conceited to look reality in the eye.”

“Be quiet, you!” Lily snapped.

But she couldn’t silence the truths evident here. Suddenly, the begrudging of Angel Hope’s spine tasted awful. For if she had possessed one, Angel Hope wouldn’t be a gentle friend, would’ve never given the kindness so many throughout Lily’s life, from her foalhood up to now in her teen years, had denied showing.

They would both be hopelessly alone.

“Angel.” The pony in question, her pink-on-pink color, gained a third, darker tint in her cheeks as she regarded Lily. “Do you… agree with our guest here?” Those two swapped glances, Starlight Glimmer nodding subtly. “Do you think we should… p-part ways—temporarily… until we learn to love ourselves enough to make one another happy?”

“I… sound really freaking selfish,” Lily realized, gaze shamed to the ground. “But I don’t want to lose you. I really, really don’t!”
Angel Heart breathed deep… too deep, too long—it was agonizing. She exhaled shakingly, and said looking her best friend fearlessly in the eye, “Lily, she’s right, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” All she ever wanted was to make Angel happy. If this was the way to do it… “Whatever makes you comfortable. I don’t ever want to hurt you again.”

“I’m so sorry!” the elder pegasus cried. “It hurts, it hurts so bad but she’s right. We’re only going to destroy each other if we don’t change something within ourselves.”

“And that…” Startled, they both turned to the standing Princess of Empathy. “That, girls, was the first step: admittance. Thing is, you’re never going to change if you don’t start talking to one another. Openly,” she added, turning from Angel Hope to Lily Heart, “fearlessly.”

Princess Starlight shook her head, her beautiful mane flouncing gently with the motion. “Stop worrying about how one another may react, because you both love each other too much to hold a grudge. And stop prioritizing one another as if your self doesn’t matter. Because that’s what keeps fueling this vicious cycle of hope and despair.”

‘I didn’t mean for… well, I don’t know what my aim here was.’

Captain Fizzlepop’s confession an hour ago—underlain with Twilight’s whimpers as she massaged a cooling salve into her charge’s wing. ‘I truly don’t. I took one look at his new wings and thought... Urgh! I just—! The thought of him hurting you, Twi, it unsettled me—terrified—me deeply. I thought in acting I would avoid a catastrophic fallout between the two of you. In doing so, I made the grave error of equating him to the Ursa who’d butchered me.’

‘I only wanted Spike to be aware of himself, the reality of the differences between our species. That’s it.’

‘But look what I’d done instead.’

‘I’m sorry, Spike.’

‘I wish I could take it all back, but you’re somewhere too far away for ponies to reach you now.’

Dang it, Tempest! Starlight had understood, completely: putting aside her job as the Royal Aegis, Fizzle merely acted the role of an overprotective friend. But in doing so, she pricked a sore spot for Spike she’d no idea had been there all his life.

And now...

A roar cracked like thunder, rumbled the earth. A roar etched with rage, fear and pain.

A roar separate from the flames’ devouring Everfree Forest, bellowing from the drake towered only by his own smoke towers, newly-formed wings spanning across the woodland.

Clouds in tow, weather ponies buzzed insect-like from where Starlight stood shaking. This is my fault. I could have said something, anything! But my stupid anxieties kept me from horning in on Twilight’s territory.

But Spike, she only realized now, was family, too. ‘I don’t want to lose you,’ her heart writhed. Okay. Stop moping. Twilight can’t get through to him. So this calls for a little touch of Empathy… I hope!

He reared up once more, leering over the canopy he now claimed his home. Spewing flames of emerald into the dusky orange sky, the hauntingly beautiful sight chilled Starlight to the bone despite the heat all around.

If only it was solely that which gripped her by the throat.

Yet something far more dangerous, more personal, darkened her soul with apprehension. Starlight unfurled her useless, clumsy wings despite herself.

No. She shook her selfish head. This isn’t the time to be afraid. A friend is hurting deeper than anypony but you can imagine.

Starlight steeled her writhing soul as Spike marched deeper into the woodland, away from the “attack site” as everypony but Dash was calling it.

To her, Starlight and Spike, it was clearly more of a “keep away from me, please, I’m a monster unfit for pony society” site if anything.

Destiny, she prayed, please don’t let me mess this up. Her wings slammed downward, the ground leaving her hooves in a balmy gust. I hate flying. She flapped again. I hate flying. And again, grunting with all her feeble might.

Flap.

Hate.

Flap.

Flying.

Flap.

So.

Flap.

Freakin’ MUCH!

Flap-flap-flap.

Confidently afloat above the carnage, Starlight breathed deep. “Spike!” He kept marching. Okay. Dig deep within yourself, Starlight. Canterlot Voice, Canterlot Voice, Canterlot—The ground was like a million miles up, suspended not by reliable magic but Starlight’s pitiful flying ability.

Fear latched around her throat, pushed outward by exhaustion—and cracking hilariously—as she hollered, “SPI-IKE!” The cry echoed across the land, mocking her voice’s breaking like a pubescent teen’s.

Awkward silence.

Rainbow Dash guffawed in the distance.

Unlike back on the ground, sweat plastered Starlight’s forelock to the length of her face. But she knew she only had Dash’s ribbing to look forward to because Spike’s booming footfalls had ceased.

A scaled, spearlike muzzle pointed to her, green eyes softening as they locked gazes. Relief flooded in, cleansing Starlight’s embarrassment. “Spike,” she exhaled.

And hot air rushed up from below, and a scream from Starlight’s soul—and of course the Canterlot Voice worked perfectly well here.

The flames wreathing Everfree’s border widened, rushing up to swallow her. Starlight’s conscious effort to remain afloat was overwhelmed. “Crud!” she boomed, flapped, falling faster and faster. In the back of her mind, the cuss heard throughout Central Equestria would surely be heard again within the pages of those starving tabloids.

A hard, albeit soft, cool surface smacked against her belly all too soon. Starlight picked her face up, shock and awe punching her dizzy as she was held before Spike’s massive head.

“You could have died, Starlight,” he boomed, a slight purr deep within seasoning his every word.

Sweet Celestia, he sounded kind of epic. “Yeah, well, kinda but not really. Alicorns are tough, remember?”

“But not indestructible.”

Only then did she realize the emerald flecks twinkling in his eyes: full as kiddie pools, and doubly huge. “Twilight knows it was an accident, Spike. She does, and she didn’t care for a second—!”

“She backed away, she was afraid of me! She hates me now!”

Oh, boy, this is too much deja vu for me. “She doesn’t, Spike. As soon as the adrenaline wore off she wanted nothing more than to find you! She didn’t even care about tending her burn!”

“Look, I know how you feel!” she continued. Rising, her ragged words came spilling forth. “What Fizzle said had scared you. That your molting was the beginning of the end, that you’d grow up into a dragon too fierce and alien to continue living amongst ponies!”

Great, scaly brows furrowed. Throughout that speech, his eyes flickered to the destruction he’d caused to his new home.

Of course he blamed himself for the molting process giving him such bad allergies.

“I know, Spike. Believe me, I know—when I got these notions myself, I did everything I could to greedily hoard the status quo. But in doing so, I also got bigger and bigger, and inevitably warped my fate into the very thing I tried so hard to avoid! I became something I will forever be ashamed of!” Something monstrous.

Once again, it didn’t help that Twilight had been missing the point—that being she thought Spike was hoarding objects again, and accusing him constantly of such despite his insistence on not knowing the cause of his growth.

“Don’t hold it against Twilight—you know as well as I do how she gets when her family is in danger.” From Shining and Cadance’s wedding to Starlight’s downward spiral, to the current situation with Spike. “It’s all because she didn’t want to lose you. In reality, you’re definitely going to hurt her more than that burn by leaving. You know this, you’ve seen it yourself when I tried doing exactly what you are right now!”

Spike grumbled low, “But you’re a pony, I’m a dragon. You can go back and make amends. But one day, I’ll do something worse. Hurt ponies... irreversibly.”

He would never, ever kill ponies, even by mistake. His very actions now proved this, just as Starlight’s misguided intentions had in the past. And yet, just as she had then… “But doing exactly that to Twilight’s okay, because she’s just one pony, right? She’ll live, besides, so it’s fine. Am I wrong?”

Spike snarled, hot air blasting her in the face. “I see what you’re doing, but you’ve no idea, Starlight! No idea what it’s like to actually hurt the ponies you love!” he cracked.

She fell back, frozen in a staredown. For one, single heartbeat, everything ground to an absolute halt.

‘Actually,’ he had said.

‘Actually!’

First, she was dumbstruck. Speechless.

Then, Princess Starlight Glimmer snarled back—calmly at first. “Is… is-is that what you think, Spike? Those physical hurts are the ones that matter most? Because let me tell you, let me tell you, now, Spike, you ready? It’s certainly NOT!” she boomed.

Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.

‘NO!’ roared the fire Spike stoked within her. “Because that stuff, the thing you did: burning Twilight? It sucks, yeah. It hurts that you did it. And I know it’ll take a while for you to forgive yourself, even though Twilight’s already over it! But the truth is, that’s petty nonsense compared to the pain she’s going to feel tomorrow when she realizes she failed you.”

“But she didn’t—”

“She did.”

“This was my—!”

“She did! In her mind she failed you, because like it or not, she’s your family! She loves you to pieces and would do anything to make you happy! If she can’t do that, then in her mind, it doesn’t matter what you think or did in the past—to her, she failed. She will always think she’d failed!”

Spike threw his head back, roaring hoarsely into the smoky heavens.

Old wounds reopening within her soul, wet warmth snaking down her cheeks, Starlight couldn’t help but smile. I will save you. I will be your Sunburst, your Firelight, your Twilight in one.

Now, it was time to attack the root cause of his behavior:

“But don’t ever forget what she told you this morning!” Starlight continued. “Told both you and me: deep down, we’re somepony worth loving and having in her life. We'll always learn from our mistakes, always! We’ll change and adapt! I can’t speak for the future, Spike, so I’m not going to plant false hope in your head. All I can do is say the facts: Twilight loves you. I love you! Celestia, Luna, Cadance and Flurry Heart—that connection we share will never, ever change!”

From today, to tomorrow, to the ends of eternity, the bond of immortals will never change.

“And that, I guess, in a nutshell, is why the Cutie Map brought us here today.”

Starlight.

Twilight.

And Pri—Celestia.

It was nice, having a friendship problem be so mellow.

The Princess of the Sun turned to her former student. “Twilight,” she intoned, voice loud in the stillness of her bedchamber, of the moment.

The Princess of Friendship turned to her former teacher. “Pri—erhm, Ce-Celestia?” she squeaked. Sniffled. Then dove into the larger alicorn, almost knocking her back as her forelegs spread open. “I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I’d no idea how badly I’ve alienated you all these years!”

“It’s okay,” she murmured, rubbing a bared hoof between Twilight’s wings. “It’s more than okay, my very best friend.”

Starlight’s cutie mark began to tingle—her signal to leave these two to their friendship.

Perhaps mellow wasn’t the right word.

But it was exceedingly less stressful having lived both ponies’ lives (basically) on top of knowing them so personally.

That’s not even mentioning the warmth that filled her as Starlight made her exit, threatening to burst her chest wide open, to sob like a filly.

The warmth of having helped birth a deep, meaningful bond between two ponies who, despite their differences, loved one another beyond measure.

They always, always reminded Starlight of how close she got to losing the life she had now.

Author's Notes:

Bam. Whaddups, my buttercups?

Sorry it's been a while - between work, my writing side job, holidays, irl drama, and overall lack of motivation, it's been hard to muster the will to continue. I'm sorry for that, truly. But I'm back into the swing of things! I intend to have The Broken Bond completed before July!

We got 14 chapters left after this - that's right, 14!

What is this, though? It's a little long to be an epilogue. Well, it's not really an epilogue - more of just the "final chapter" of the story where everything that had happened convenes into its foreseen conclusion. What I've had planned for two years now. After all, Starlight still hasn't fully healed from what happened, and neither has Twilight. There's some promises and plans she has to uphold with both her friends and the citizens of Equestria. What does it all mean? Why did Destiny pave this path? Read on and find out! It's pretty exciting!

Fun Facts about this Chapter...

- It takes place over the course of just one month.

- The OCs were all based off characters and their relationships that I really love for one reason or another. In order:

- Raya and Distant Heart are based off Mei and Yuzu from the manga, Citrus: two step sisters who fall in love with one another. It starts off as a messed up relationship, as Mei (Distant) was a messed up person, but Yuzu loved her as a sister first and genuinely wanted to make her happy, thus leading to Mei developing genuine, (to her) frightening feelings.

- Lily Love and Angel Hope are based off Madoka and Homura from Madoka Magica: spoiler-free story short, they both care so much about one another they're willing to subject themselves to a lifetime of horror and misery to make the other happy. It's as heartwarming as it is sad and toxic.

I had others planned, but the chapter was getting too long and I think with what's given you guys got the gist of how Starlight operated.

As for Spike, in case you are confused, he underwent his molting process around the same time I estimated it did in the show's timeline. But with Fizzlepop present, she - only wishing to protect Twilight from being harmed as she was - inadvertently triggered Spike to fear the longevity and strength of their bond moreso than he had in the show proper. This led to him unwittingly "hoarding" again, but now with the time and feelings spent with his friends. This caused him to grow and create friction between him and Twi. We cut to after the fact when this sparked into a fight that ended with Twilight hurt by one of his molting sneezes.

As for Celestia and Twilight's bit at the end, I always felt that Celestia wanted and craved a genuine friendship where she and those she considered friends were all equals. The Cutie Map called Starlight and Twilight to her in order to discuss the way they perceive one another.

Hope you all enjoyed!

VII.I.II - Destiny is But a Fancy Way of Perceiving the Ongoing Tragedy that is Human Error

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AKA: "Destiny wills herself into Starlight's dreams to tell her future because she can't live knowing Starlight has no idea it'll come, even though in doing so she knows she's dooming Starlight to that future regardless, but chooses to do so anyway because Destiny is now tainted with the complexities of friendship"

Even though Cadance offered to teleport her home, Starlight enjoyed the long ride after a day’s work, the quietude of it.

Early on she embarked on yet another guilt-ridden search for answers, as if this need for solitude meant she was avoiding her friends and life’s purpose. Luna had dismissed such fears immediately as an introvert needing to recharge their magic batteries. She’d empathized completely, and it made sense to Starlight.

Plus, though completely unrelated and not really an issue at all, taking a train at this hour ensured the Castle of Friendship would be sound asleep, and thus, unable to rope Starlight into doing anything.

Part of her always wanted that, though - a reminder that they still loved and wanted Starlight Glimmer.

The rest would rather fall dead-asleep, however. And in her own bed, instead of surrounded by disappointed friends who would assure they weren’t upset; that they “empathized.” Starlight saw those strained smiles. They weren’t obligated to be completely honest, but it was difficult to trust them implicitly because of that.

It sucked. It was a bad feeling, knowing this. So, Starlight avoided it when she could, and the train was the answer.

Tonight’s journey was altogether too long and not long enough. Screeching arose as the floor beneath Starlight squealed to an eventual halt. Punctuated by a whistle, and that ding-ding by the conductor, the train was announced at having arrived in Ponyville.

Pops and cracks shuddered throughout Starlight as she rose, stretching her limbs one at a time. Wings were useful for that at least—like a new back stretch. Felt great.

“You have yourself a good night, your highness,” said Mr. Waddles, passing by.

“Thanks, you too.” They exchanged smiles, even though Starlight wished her elders weren’t so stubbornly old fashioned. The creaky little stallion was cute though, so he always got a pass.

A similar exchange was had with Conductor Ticket Taker upon exiting, the moustachioed pony taking out his pocket watch as she turned away from the train. In a way both humorous and a little sad, Starlight had been spending more time with him than any other since Flutter Valley.

Flutter Valley… Hilda, Rhonda, Doris, and…

Swallowing, Starlight looked to the trio in the distance. Beyond Canterlot, their great tree’s crowning silhouette eclipsed the night’s smattering of stars. My longtime friends who I know nothing about, she mused. Destiny works in roundabout ways.

She breathed deep, suddenly a swell arising which Starlight exhaled out her mouth in a surprise-yawn. Home again, she thought. Bed beckons me.

The moon was high, casting Ponyville in soothing blues. Nights had become Starlight’s new “book by the fireplace,” or her sorely missed cups of chamomile: an endcap to the day. Cool and quiet, soothing on the brain and heart, which had been working nonstop since dawn—these are what gave calm to the everchanging storm of living. Navigating the streets, Starlight found the lanterns to be dark, and save a few night owls wandering about and huts still aglow, sleep had claimed the village Equestria considered home to the Princesses of Friendship and Empathy. The Diarchs of Bondship to those more dramatic or artistic (according to Rara, who just last week had buried the hatchet with her old manager, Svengallop).

Hearing such things over and over, helping those who did and receiving their emotional thanks in turn, gave Starlight the ability to start feeling the same way, little by little. Even towards the Castle of Friendship. It was less frequently thought of as “Twilight’s castle” and more often just “home.”

She would have a fit if she knew I still thought that, mused Starlight, the crystal citadel looming ahead. Moonlight suppressed its gaudiness while the tree seemed to glow softly, ethereal in a way.

Pushing through the door—Thanks as always for modifying this, Spike, Starlight thought—into a darkened foyer, a distinctly un-bookish aroma jolted her awake. A warm earthy smell nuzzled her core: coffee roast.

Who’s brewing coffee at this hour? And Starlight’s mindless stroll froze completely. Hold up, either somepony’s studying late, or I’m about to be—!

The sconces all around roared to life, accompanied by the squeaks of party cannons erupting into confetti—all of it colored pink, purple and teal.

A mass of magenta flashed before her, giving way to the cry of, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STARLIGHT GLIMMER!” from the sudden existence of her castlemates, her best friends, Daddy, and… and…

No Trixie. As always.

Starlight ate her dejection—today was apparently her birthday. “Uh, huh! Wow!” The weight of this gathering, the efforts, their patience with her, walloped Starlight in the head. “Holy smokes,” she laughed airily. “I… completely forgot! Wow, thanks guys!”

Their smiles reached their eyes—genuine. Maud’s little smirk particularly noticeable, implying a Pinkie-grade grin.

A special magic permeated the air, seeped within her very soul and writhed within warmly. Unspeakably so.

A magic she felt to this day, still, squeezed her breast tight, made her feel lighter than air.

A magic that felt better than any other before her injury. A magic she would trade for nothing. A magic which brought tears to her eyes, and a familiar, feathery weight that laid across her back.

“I can’t believe I forgot!” Starlight giggled, eyes closed from smiling. “Thank you, everypony! Thank you so much for this!”

‘They really love me,’ this magic said, words thrumming with feeling within her core.

They love me! Starlight replied, everypony cramming all around for a group photo. And I love them.

Always.

The party was executed better than Twilight could have hoped. There was no apprehension or dismissal of the occasion from Starlight, which was comforting progress to see. At least on the surface—a sadness filled her gaze and she would stare into the distance now and again. AJ wrote it off as exhaustion, but Twilight knew better, and wished she could have tracked down Trixie.

All seemed fine for now, though. “Seemed,” being the keyword. No. Stop. Stop making problems that aren’t there, she had to tell herself more than once, constantly over the last several weeks.

She watched Starlight recline away from her crumb-speckled plate, stretching her wings out and massaging a satisfied belly. She looked so much healthier than she had a month ago. Even her hair was so voluminous and gleaming, combed to perfection thanks to the earth pony manebrush courtesy of Rarity.

“Great work as always, Pinkie,” Starlight groaned, her face aflush as the skin around her stump—the one she’d sheepishly asked to scratch it lay curled upon the table, wings encasing him in a ball. “Seriously. That dessert tower was the bomb.”

Said pony whipped her cake-caked face from the leftovers Starlight permitted her. “Actually, it was Cup and Carrot who’d baked this triple-decker beauty! I just licked the bowl clean.”

“T’ain’t clean if you’ve gone an’ coated it in drool.” Applejack smirked.

“Ladies, please,” Rarity groaned, standing to join Fluttershy cleaning.

“Compliments to the chefs, then,” said Starlight. “Or, bakers, rather.” Pinkie bobbed her head agreeably—she didn’t seem appalled anymore at Starlight having forgotten her own birthday. She had succeeded in making everypony laugh over it, provoking Rainbow to chide the newest princess for “Twilighting” about her own work ethic.

Maybe they were cutting too deep. That’s what a silly, fearful little part of Twilight fretted over, even as Starlight laughed and blushed and pretend-bristled. A prayer was cast to Celestia, and Destiny, that it was read with good nature—that she understood they were only worried not just about her health, but her emotional wellbeing most importantly.

To Starlight, always aware and anxious of how others perceived her, the jokes could definitely be taken wrongly, and that’s all it took to make Starlight feel sorry and potentially spiral again.

She’d held back her apologies tonight, not a single one uttered despite Twilight’s insistence to talk honestly about her feelings. Nopony blamed Starlight for coming back late, they preemptively assured as much up and down.

Still, though…

Maybe I’m not taking it far enough. After all, acting afraid like this isn’t meeting Starlight halfway. That isn’t fair, but… she doesn’t need to be afraid of me worrying over her every day if I’m wrong, which I very well could be, thought Twilight, watching Fizzle throw a snoring Spike across her back.

“Bedtime for you, big guy,” she said, smiling from him to Starlight, then Twilight. “I will return shortly.”

Always the trooper. “That won’t be necessary, Fizzlepop. Take your armor off, it’s time for you to turn in, too.” Twilight was smiling, but her kindly tone booked no argument. It was too late for that, and not the right place for a disagreement.

Sighing as she turned, Fizzle relented with a humored, “Fine, fine.”

Starlight threw her head back, covered her mouth before a yawn bellowed out of her, rubbing her aching eyes. She was beastly tired, her bags dark grey drooping half an inch down her cheeks.

Because she never liked coffee, a constant flow of her favorite—apple juice—had helped Starlight survive the party with a modicum of pep. The excitement made it seem effortless, but her eyes were beginning to sag now that it was down to the seven of them, and the energy was sinking to tranquility.

Rarity—for her magical glow was unmistakable—poured another round in her mug. “There you are, darling.”

“Kind thanks,” Starlight muttered, quaffing half of it. Twilight followed her gaze to their resident multitasker, telepathically disposing of streamers and paper plates in the garbage whilst Fluttershy bopped about, taking down Pinkie’s doodled Starlight banner.

“How do you feel about being twenty-seven?” Twilight asked, distracting herself and the birthday filly.

She thought a moment. “Like I’m twenty-six.” Chuckles arose all around. “No, but seriously,” Starlight continued, leaning against the table, “thank you. Everypony. I mean it. I’ve never been one for celebrating my birthday—”

“Which is a cuh-rime!” said Pinkie.

Starlight shrugged haplessly. “But it’s so nice being reminded by all of you, how much you care about me. I mean that.”

I hope the day will come soon when that isn’t so shocking, thought Twilight, heavy of heart.

“Of course, Starlight.” Fluttershy tied a garbage bag closed. “You’ve done so much for so many ponies. We would do anything for you—you’re one of our best friends.”

Her smile receded slightly, as did her gaze lower. “I wouldn’t go that far...”

Regarding what? writhed Twilight’s gut.

“My work and crimes have balanced out, though, I feel.” She glanced at Twilight, then met her eyes fully with concern—curse Twilight for having an honest face! “Hey, that’s a good thing! I’m not feeling as guilty anymore, really!”

It’s not that. “Starlight, I hate to ask you this...” hesitated Twilight, “really, I do, but—”

“Twi, no,” warned AJ.

Starlight’s eyes shot about, fear and doubt knitting her brow. It was too late to backpedal. “I’m asking because I care: are you sure you’re not overworked, Starlight? I mean, I know you’re directed by the Map and all, but…”

“But, what? I can’t just ignore Destiny’s call. Not that I would, anyway, if there’s somepony out there who needs me.” Her tone was firm and befitting of an authority like Celestia.

“No, I know, you’re right,” Twilight prattled on, easing her with a hoof. But you seem to be throwing yourself into it wholeheartedly, not even complaining despite coming home dead tired every night. “I just can’t help but be concerned.”

Starlight blinked heavily, crossing her forelegs on the table. “Twilight, this’s gonna be hard to hear,” she began, head tilting, “but do you think I’m sacrificing myself for the sake of others again, just because I’m happy with this neverending workload?”

Despite there not being a hint of hostility in her tone, Twilight scrambled to deny the deadly accuracy with which Starlight surmised her feelings: “N-no! Well, sort of! But… Starlight, you’ve done more in just a month than I had my first year in this castle. It’s a lot, and I worry it can’t be good for your soul to keep reliving and experiencing others’ pain.”

Plus, I miss you. We miss you! Some of us can’t help but feel like… like you’re actively avoiding us as much as possible…

“Yeah!” Pinkie cried. “Like, you’ve been on fifty-four missions since the day of your coronation. Oh, before I forget, happy thirty-second-day-since-becoming-a-princess-versary, Starlight!”

“Thanks, Pinkie. Look, Twilight,” she slurred sleepily, “I won’t deny the obvious: you’re absolutely right. This is so much work, it’s pretty demanding on both my mind and soul. And patience,” she snickered. “Definitely patience. And yes, before you assume, there’s a good chunk of me that doesn’t consider it as hard as most ponies do. And why should I? I don’t feel bad about it! I mean, look at Applejack! Hardly anypony does as much work, or harder work, than her!”

“Darn tootin’.” Twilight shot a glare, and AJ withered. Shame on her for thoughtlessly agreeing with Starlight, that physical labor was the only valid kind of “hard work.”

“But it’s because of that,” Starlight continued, having missed the brief exchange as she was drawn to her plate, “what with the easiness of my work and what it’s for, and who it benefits? I’m more than happy to do it. I’m honestly eager to give up my free time if it means preventing others from repeating my mistakes. Don’t you get that?”

Hurt wrinkled her face. Softly, she asked, “Do you understand why this is all so important to me, Twilight?”

“I do, I really do! It’s just…”

Worried. Nagging. Pressing. Smothering. I’m acting just like I did when you lost your horn. I…

I suppose…

I’m just scared of losing you.

And despite everything wonderful going on in your life, Twilight realized, heart sinking, I care more that I’m losing you anyway.

What a Princess of Friendship she was. Admitting this aloud would be even worse, would plague Starlight’s mind with guilt and make her choose.

That would be horrible to do to her.

Applejack turned, setting her hat aside. “We just wanna make sure you’re not keepin’ anything in, sugarcube. Like, we completely understand if you’re feelin’ all frazzled-up about your work and whathaveyou. I know I get sick of all that farm labor now and again. It’s good to vent, s’all Twi an’ the rest of us are tryna say.”

Starlight perked up, sad smile in place as she regarded those surrounding her—Applejack, Twilight and… she huffed, amused by Rainbow snoring into her cake.

“I’m sorry if I’m making you guys worry.” She sighed. “And I’m sorry I haven’t been a good friend lately. Or, ever, really. But I gotta ask, you do trust m—?”

“Starlight, sweetie!” Rarity cried, having returned that moment. “You’ve been a gem of a pony. We understand and completely support your work ethic!”

“Naw we don’t,” Applejack turned, aghast, surprising everypony at the table. “We was addressin’ this today, weren’t we?”

“We never agreed on that—” Rarity began, only for Starlight to drone, “Stop! Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop-stop-stop. All of you. Stop.”

Silence. Rainbow snorted sharply, whipping her half-frosted head erect with a, “Whassat? Wha’s happening?”

“A lovely night getting somewhat derailed by a few presumptuous ponies thinking I haven’t changed a bit,” stated Starlight.

“Th-that ain’t exactly what we’re—”

Starlight upheld a hoof, smiling at Applejack. “Not intentionally, no. But I get it. I wouldn’t trust me either, believe me.” She exhaled, hoof to her breast, taking a page from Twilight’s earlier advice weeks ago, purging her chest of looming anxiety. “You’re all wonderful friends for worrying about me. I couldn’t be any happier for Destiny having brought us together. I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”

“However,” she added pointedly, “I can tell there’s still some very real, very understandable tension lingering between all of us. Tension that, if you want me to be completely honest, here and now, makes me kinda… not exactly love being around here. I haven’t been honest about that till now. And I’m sorry for hiding this—I’m part of the reason we’ve gotten to this very moment.”

Twilight felt that in her gut, the buck upon hearing this. A glance around the table showed the rest felt this too.

“Is that why you take the train instead of being teleported home?” asked Fluttershy, her and Rarity retaking their seats. A “family meeting” was approaching, they could tell.

Starlight shook her head. “No, that has—” She sighed. “Okay, yeah, kinda. B-but I just like my quiet time, honest!” She looked about as Twilight doubted this. That seemed like a lot of work for something she could just ask for, and Starlight must have realized this. “What? What’s with the looks?”

Twilight leaned forth, wishing she was beside Starlight to touch her. “We just want you to be happy and comfortable around us, Starlight. There’s no judgement from us, ever. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do! But…” And she shook her head. “There’s no judgement from me, either. So don’t be afraid of telling how you really feel, okay?”

A chorus of agreements brought a relief to her face. “Good,” she murmured, eyes closing as she leaned back.

And Twilight felt horrible for lying so blatantly. She exchanged glances with a grim-looking AJ.

Snoring brought everyone’s attention back to Starlight. “We kept her up for too long,” said Rarity. “A princess needs her beauty sleep.”

The others’ replies buzzed like moths muffled in cotton. Twilight couldn’t stand it: “She kept herself up.” Silence. There was only her empty coffee mug, the one thing she could stand now. “Starlight didn’t want to be rude. That’s why she avoids us instead of coming off as ungrateful or antisocial.”

A heartbeat, then Rarity uttered stiffly, “Yes. We’ve all come to this conclusion, as discussed. As I said, we’ve kept her up for too long, and should have allowed her to retire.”

Applejack nickered. “Why do I get the feelin’ that nothin’s changed?”

“Why do I get the feeling that you guys are worrying over nothing,” grumbled Rainbow, hoof propping her, “and that we’re gonna make Starlight snap again like she did a while ago?”

It was too soon, too raw, too painful—Twilight couldn’t help but cry softly, enwrap herself in the soft security of her wings.

“Rainbow Dash!” Fluttershy admonished while running a feather-light pressure down her spine.

“What?! You said the same exact thing, loads of times!”

“Yes, but you could have been a bit more delicate about it,” she hissed.

Rainbow stood in her chair. “Twilight's admitted that she doesn’t listen to anything but the cold hard facts.” Her voice fractured with anger, and desperation: “All of you know that that’s what she’s like, not to mention how much she hates that about herself! So don’t look down on me like I’m the bad guy here!”

“Dashie,” Pinkie mumbled, touching her iron-stiff foreleg, “we just don’t wanna start making Twilight feel bad—”

She tore away from Pinkie’s touch. “You know I’m not trying to!” she cried, emotional. “You know I never meant to hurt my friends’ feelings! But this is different, I’m telling you guys that you’re all getting too worked up worrying about Starlight, and you’re just gonna get all of us and her seriously hurt again! Do you really want that?”

Twilight barely understood her words, too stunned by Rainbow’s display, even after having seen it loads of times since Flutter Valley.

”No, you just don’t wanna fail her again,” mumbled Pinkie, frowning at the empty cake platter. “So you’re telling yourself that nothing’s wrong with Starlight. But you got all feelsy with her when we did that spell, just like us. She’s so afraid of being a bother and what other ponies think of her that she’s stuffing all her feelings down with work.”

“Pinkie—” Dash started.

“I know what I’m talking about.” Pinkie’s firm voice trembled. She sighed, her bouncy cadence returned, tinged sadly: “I’m sorry for being like this. I just really wish Starlight realized how much we love her.”

“Ah don’t think that’s the problem.” Applejack placed her stetson on, holding it there as she regarded the unconscious alicorn beside her. “Been watchin’ her closer than a bloodhound amongst sheep, since we got ourselves tangled with them witches. She’s definitely happy when we’re together. That girl’s way more comfortable around us now than before.”

“But completely, though?” prompted Rarity.

First stock still, Applejack collapsed suddenly under the weight of emotional exhaustion. Weary-eyed, she said, “Naw. Can’t say that. She’s still scared o’ somethin’. That much’s for certain. An’ I can’t rightly claim that sleep’ll come soundly tonight knowin’ she still is.”

Twilight moaned at the complexity of it all. “This is just like a month ago: we’re cursed if we do something and cursed if we do nothing, and because Starlight didn’t feel anything that we felt during the spell, the reality of the matter is she doesn’t know us as well as we know her. And what’s worse, the Starlight we know was a Starlight who still didn’t know what her future held, or even what the idea of ‘tomorrow’ would be once we left Flutter Valley! We don’t know what she’s thinking for certain now, girls! We. Don’t. Know!”

A tense silence was held. Because nothing more could be said. Now it was just tension and awkwardness.

“Fat load that thing did for us,” grumbled Dash, crossing her forelegs. “We already knew each other pretty well before Destiny body-swapped our emotions.”

A silent agreement.

“But we know each other better now,” said Fluttershy. “And Starlight.” She perked up, leaned over to regard Rarity down the table. “Thank you for helping clean, by the way. You’re a really nice pony, Rarity, and I’m glad to have you in my life.”

A hoof to her heart, Rarity gave a wilting smile. “You’re wonderful as ever, sweetie. This false mare feels truly worthy of all your love.”

“Barf, gag, you’re making my heart explode.” Rainbow smirked lazily. The other two rolled their eyes, Fluttershy announcing, “You’re wonderful for caring about us all, Dashie.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know I’m awesome.” Her cheeks reddened, regarding her plate as she mumbled, “For sure, now, anyway.”

Twilight smiled as Fluttershy sighed, hooves to her chest. “I am happy for the spell doing this much, at least. I feel just awful, thinking about how little you thought of yourself, Rainbow Dash. All of you!”

“I do love y’all,” Applejack added, misty-eyed. “We still fight, but it’s more ‘cause we care than anythin’ of ill intent. Kinda… kinda like family.” Her voice trembled. “Y’all are family to me. Y’get what that means, right?”

Pinkie hugged the air in Applejack’s direction. “I love you, too, sister-cousin-Jackie!” She brushed Dash’s mane aggressively, playfully. “This spell made you a lot more comfy in being honest with your emotions, Dashie! It’s honestly so cool!”

She swatted her away, smiling with a flush. “Yeah, well, don’t tell anypony, alright? I’m only like this because it’s you guys.”

Twilight leaned back, smiling despite her Starlight-related worries. “I will never regret this,” she announced, drawing everypony—save their newest princess—to the head of the table. “No matter what happens next, we’ll always be thankful for Starlight bringing us closer together. I think it’ll take time, making her fully comfortable with us. But whatever we’re feeling, real or not, it’ll find itself resolved. And we’ll come out together, even stronger friends. All seven of us.”

Smattered in stars, the sky and the ground and the distant horizon, too—all of which backdropped by violet and turquoise fighting for dominance—was unspeakably beautiful, achingly familiar, and terribly empty.

It was like being inside a marble, a setting which made Starlight’s head spin with heartrending nostalgia, not understanding why.

“Hello?” she called, spinning around and back. “Have I been here… before, by any chance? ...Hello?”

“Yep! Hi!”

“FUDGE ON A FLYING FEATHER!” Starlight shrieked, whirling, a monstrous grin ready to greet her. An earth pony, glowing like moonlit snow with eyes to match—featureless windows crowned in a waving turquoise mane. She was twice as big as Celestia.

Am I about to die?

Is this a dream?

Is this our God?

Have I finally died?

No!

I have so many ponies I still need to help!

So much flooded Starlight that she didn’t know what to say or how to feel. “Who are you and why do I know you I think?!”

The mare craned back, grin receding to a smile as she boasted a draconic height. “I’ll give you three guesses, and your first two don’t count.” Her voice was soft and nurturing with a tinge of childishness, completely contrasting her gargantuan size.

And suddenly it clicked, and Starlight’s eyes widened as she gaped—an act which made her old friend chuckle. I don’t want to be weird, she said, restraining herself from crying, from hugging her. I mean, this is basically God I’m talking to.

“Well,” she said lightly, turning away, “I should think of two things to say before guessing Destiny.” Suddenly she collapsed under a warmth toppling over her, closing around her with two burly forelegs. But it wasn’t crushing her lungs, nor even heavy—just a warm, comforting security which reminded her so much of the magic she once used every hour of every day.

“Starlight—”

“I missed you,” Starlight gasped, realizing. “Destiny, even before Flutter Valley, when I lost my horn, I’d tell myself that I didn’t and that I wouldn’t. Miss you. But I did anyway. I’m weak. I still miss you, every single day.”

A shaking exhale above. “Watching over you, I’d no idea. Only frustration was what I saw, but never grief.” Whispering, “You are so… so strong, Starlight Glimmer.”

It was hard to believe that when she opened up to everypony, and everypony who knew of her story had said that. As if out of reflex than genuine respect. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are!” Destiny cried. “Only you would have the strength to save the souls of Hilda and her kin. Only you could light the way to Equestria’s fate.”

So deep was Starlight’s doubt that she latched onto the peculiar wording of that last remark: “Light it, but not to lead Equestria, like they usually say in these ‘cosmic destiny’ plots?” Not that she was complaining. Leading was a whole other can of worms from winged relationship counselor. “Destiny… you still there?”

Maybe this was just another prophetic dream, and not a true reunion. Maybe it was just a regular dream borne of a subconscious longing to see the friend whose bond she so thoughtlessly sacrificed. “Please, say something.”

A hum above instead of answers, massaging the back of her head. “I've missed this,” murmured the embodiment of magic, and the guiding hoof of fate. “Truly, I have. You’re a bright and sensitive pony, Starlight. There’s none quite like you. We spent such a brief time together as we are right now, face to face, but I’ve not once forgotten it. ”

“Well, I’m sorry I did.” Even if she couldn’t help it, Destiny must be holding some amount of resentment. “Really,” Starlight shuddered, “I am sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, don’t be,” Destiny urged. “I was always with you, Starlight.” The hug tightened, squeezing out of Starlight a pitiful, singular sob. “And I always will be. You’ve not forgotten that since your research paper with Twilight, yes?”

She lacked the voice, shaking her head instead. And yet, still it nagged her that something was wrong about all this. That squeeze was at once reassuring and somewhat desperate. It felt sort of unlike Destiny, but then again, she could be this way because of Starlight, who often changed those around her, for better or worse.

“Destiny, is this… is this real? Or am I dreaming?”

“Both, my friend. This is the Dream Realm, a plane within that which all magic—my very essence and that of all living things—resides. It’s as real as the cake you stuffed yourself with before arriving,” she chuckled.

Starlight made a sound like a laugh, but her heart writhed so bad that she whimpered, too. She had missed Destiny, she realized, deeply and genuinely. She had wanted to see her again, but never knew until now.

“Why did you take so long? Why now?”

“Y-you’ll laugh! Oh, you’ll see just how mortal I’ve become.”

“Because Destiny forbid, you develop some emotions,” Starlight jested.

“I forbid indeed,” she said urgently, suddenly.

Starlight flinched. Destiny genuinely didn’t want this, it seemed. “A-are you okay?” Perhaps she came to punish her for this. “Destiny?”

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “As you can see, or perhaps not, it is dangerous for a thing such as I to have emotions.”

“I’m afraid I don’t see, no.”

“Emotions give way to passions, passions take over old priorities and become new ones. And new passions, why, they might bring about ruin, and hurt those I love.”

Starlight mulled this over, swallowed her own emotion. “Is that why you’re here now? Because you… feel something for me? N-not anything romantic, I’m not saying that—!”

“Goodness, no, Starlight! That’s unfathomable!”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“I mean—!” She exhaled sharply, explained, “Even if I were feeling such things, the last thing I would do is curse you with irreciprocal love. That’d be cruel.” Destiny exhaled once more, wavering. “I know what that would do to you. I know your whole life, after all.”

“Great.” Starlight blushed, all her embarrassments, from her recent suggestion to back when she was four and old enough to remember something worth cringing about, surged forth. “So, uh, what took you so long to come see little old me? Not that I’m offended, but… there seems to be some great, embarrassing reason for it.” Destiny hummed, hesitating. “And if you know me as well as you do, you’ll know I wouldn’t ever laugh about something you’re so clearly sensitive about.”

There was a deep breath in, and a long, ragged exhale out. “Emotions make living simultaneously harder and so much more fulfilling, Starlight, do you believe that?”

“I think about it from time to time.”

“Why, in case you’ve failed to notice, I must actually breathe to collect myself!” She laughed as Starlight did, then the gentle hum of the cosmos enveloped them until Destiny mustered her courage again: “I’ve tried to see you by way of your dreams, ever since the day we met. I couldn’t manage the power, however. It takes a lot to manifest as a physical form, you see.”

“Ah, so you’ve been storing energy since then?”

“That would make no difference, as I myself am a store of energy… And just to give you an idea, you know how some ponies suck in their guts to look fit?”

More cringy memories surged forth. “I’m unfortunately intimate with that technique, yes.”

“You know how hard it is to clench your muscles like that, even for just a minute?”

“Again, unfortunately, yes.”

“Imagine doing that for your entire body, which encompasses the universe. That’s me right now.”

Suddenly, Starlight felt incredibly guilty. “I’m sorry for wasting your time, then.”

“It’s okay.”

“That’s gotta hurt or something, right?” At the same time, it was incredibly fascinating to think about. Just applying the labor for such a feat was like a spirit-strength-exercise.

“In a manner of speaking, but as I said it’s okay.” A tender, wet-warmth nuzzled Starlight’s ear. “Being like this with you is giving me strength. Mi Amore Cadenza would label this the power of Love, if I’m not mistaken. Her teachings and philosophies parallel mine own willpower.”

She could say such intimate things without any fear. It was at once remarkable and utterly embarrassing. “Well, Love is still an aspect of your magic, after all!” Starlight gave an airy laugh. “This is so surreal, hearing you of all ponies say that. T-to me, about me… y’know?”

Humming agreeably, Destiny continued, “And it was the Magic of Friendship which generated the rallying push needed for me to manage manifestation, here within your dreams.”

Starlight remembered that magical feeling earlier in the night, within the mortal plane where her dearest friends and family surprised her on her birthday. “This is a nice birthday present then. Is that why you’re able to see me now, because of that?”

A sheepish laugh. “Ah, no. Well, you see, Starlight, because your magical essence manifested eleven months before your physical birth, my idea of a ‘birthday’ is a little bit different from that of mortals. I forget such inconsequential things in the grand scheme of the Universe.”

“Right. Obviously.” The stars shuddered, blurring into a twinkling mess. “Fair enough, sure, yeah. That actually does make sense, mind-boggling as it is.” Starlight backed deeper into Destiny’s pillow-like warmth, gazing upon the endless night sky that was at once Luna’s domain and her own self. “So… something else gave you that boost to willpower over here, huh?”

I wonder why, in more ways than one. It felt silly to always see things this way, but history with the pony-god-thing currently embracing her encouraged consideration on the timing and significance of such a turn of events.

And then Starlight’s jaw dropped, the evening flooding back. “Oh, crud, hold up, there’s some weirdness going on between the girls and I. And you’ve come to tell me that if I don’t fix it soon, then everything will burn. I’m saying this now, it’ll be way, way easier if you just lay off with the constant Friendship Problems. Not that I’m complaining! Just sayin’.”

Destiny stammered, meaning she was either partially right or way off base.

Or a smug little jerk, upon a second’s reflection.

“That… sounds a little contrived, Starlight, and for something I’ll have the Map assist with, at that.” Destiny hummed. “Actually, I didn’t even think about that being a problem until you brought it up. It’s so clearly resolved and so minor I hardly noticed. Huh. Perhaps you telling me this now is the reason why it’s sorted out.”

“Uh, sure.” Was Destiny always this… godlike? Starlight felt like this huge pony was a bit more observant and reserved before. “Maybe that’s what needed getting done, then. I’d like to stay a bit longer tho—”

“Why would I go through the effort of seeing you just for that?” Destiny thought aloud, or perhaps asked directly, it was hard to tell without seeing her. “And for all the effort it took to see you?”

Starlight explained, “Hilda and the others, I think they did something like this once. In a dream. I don’t remember much, but the day before we all formally met I had some freaky night terror where they did exactly that. I think. I dunno, they filled my brain with… images. Like I said, it was a dream. I don’t really remember anything specific except that it happened.”

“I wish I had just an inkling of what you saw. Perhaps they already did my work for me. Or tried to, anyway.”

“Oh? But I thought—or rather, I feel like I was told this, but none of you knew what would happen after the moment we met up?”

The Universe sang its soft song, until Destiny uttered among the humming stars, “Mayhaps they, in their deformed sense of self, tried to pave your fate.”

Starlight swallowed, acutely reminded of the harsh grasp of utter terror forgotten since Flutter Valley. Now this sounded serious. “And… uh, w-why would they do that? How even?”

Destiny inhaled, and exhaled. Then inhaled again and held it. Starlight bit down her tongue—clearly this was Destiny’s reason for coming here, to warn her. It had to be. Had to be.

“Why, you ask?” Destiny posed. “Because they hated you is my guess. You saved them, yes, and they wanted that, but they hated you deep down. I… knew their original selves for a long time, Starlight. I suppose, you could say, I’ve known them most of my life, mortal a concept as that is.”

Starlight couldn’t imagine what that must feel like, to see someone every single day and suddenly just… not. It wouldn’t be so different from losing one’s horn. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I hadn’t realized how you must be feeling now that they’re gone. How’re you holding up, Destiny?”

“Empty from their loss, and overwhelmed by the scope of all reality suddenly thrust back upon me.”

“Sheesh. Has it been difficult?”

“Part of me remembers it all, but much feels fairly different from the days of old. More complicated. ‘Human,’ they would say. This witches’ influence, their humanity, is still etched deep within the foundations of the land. It is the basis for Harmony, after all—the progenitor of Friendship, Love and Empathy.”

Starlight cracked a joke before her head could start aching: “And yet, I still got these things to lug around, courtesy of their efforts.” She ruffled her wings against Destiny’s forelegs. “If they thought this new lot in life would be some kinda curse, they’d be really disappointed with an anticlimax. I don’t regret it at all.”

Destiny chuckled, a pleasing sound, only for it to taper into a sad sigh. She was trying to match Starlight’s levity, but more weighed on her mind, clearly. “You may not recall how they were when you met in this place.”

Sentiments Starlight had no memory to support, only feelings, spilled past her lips before she could process the comment: “Melancholy and defeated. Snarky and rude, but passionate and earnest in what they believed.” Awakening with wings and a title, there was a part of Starlight that, deep down, had considered them friends, and felt emptier in a different way from when she lost her horn. In private, she mourned their loss, always had at the sight of their final act towering in the horizon. “I understood them,” she confessed. “I respected them. Hated them and pitied them.” Even, maybe, loved them. Old anxieties buffered such thoughts from being spoken aloud.

Destiny continued, “True all around. But in the beginning, they were very twisted, angry people. This only deepened upon acknowledgement of their downfall, their part in it. You can imagine, then, how vastly the mania and grief they experienced within the physical plane emphasized these traits, and directed them at the one who they saw would liberate them—Starlight Glimmer, a pony who had everything and said she wanted none of it, yet all of it. Too ‘selfishly loathing’ like them to recognize her own blatant faults.”

It was a familiar song. “As if I’m the first to be like this.” So embittered her words, that Starlight was taken aback by her sudden shift in tone. “Sorry,” slipped out like a knee jerk.

“The ‘how,’ their way of doing this, rather, it's well…” Destiny sighed. “I must confess to you, Starlight: my newfound emotions have weakened me greatly. They’re the only reason I’m even here, breaking rules I’d never known were in place until I crossed the threshold. Though I cannot—should not—directly influence the way of things, just by speaking to you now, I am. In acting on these feelings, I know that by my very nature I am dooming you and Equestria to an arduous path. I have seen it, I can stop it, and yet my love for you has made it unavoidable. I feel like I’ll die of heartache if you barrel ahead uninformed and blissfully ignorant.”

“Destiny?” She had gotten very serious all of a sudden.

“A path which, for the sake of everything, must be walked.” Destiny hissed, groaned and snarled suddenly. “Curse this! Everything I say makes it sound like an excuse, when really I am just acting for my own sense of relief!”

“Destiny—”

“It’s sickening, Starlight Glimmer!” she cried, her voice rumbling across the stars. “What I’m about to share will be a horrible thing to bring upon anypony, especially you, my one and only friend still existent within this world. For this, I apologize from the depths of the cosmos.”

“Well, quit building up the suspense and tell me, please!”

“Before I do so, you must know one thing. Just one, Starlight. It's why, I feel, the path to your inevitable fate will be one I’ve seen you walk proudly and happily, in spite of the difficulties ahead.”

She was so emotional. So scared. So regrettable, and yet, spoke with such conviction that even if she wasn't omnipotent across space and time… Starlight would still believe her. Wholeheartedly.

After all, they were friends.

“Don’t be scared, Destiny. I’m ready for it,” she said, voice wavering with the drum of her heart.

“Yes, yes, of course… Starlight?”

To her name, she stiffened for the sake of her own soul and Destiny’s.

“Starlight,” Destiny repeated, softer, “between now and the upcoming Gala, the choices you make will be tainted by this cursed knowledge. And yet, paradoxically, or perhaps not given your character’s strength, you will throw yourself wholeheartedly and happily into it. You will measure and analyze every step you take. Nerve-wracking, I know, and I can’t attest to how you’ll feel every moment, as you can sometimes wear a masterful facade when nopony’s looking for it.”

“However,” she added, fondness palpable in her gentle voice, “every day is filled with smiles genuine, and love from the ponies you care for most. Many happy tears will be shed, and you won’t regret a single one.”

“This I’ve seen, and now you will know.”

And so she told Starlight Glimmer everything.

And Starlight listened with rapt attention at what awaited her at the end of this road.

And she awakened in her bed, terrified. Not quite for herself, for that was a whole other can of worms too early to really think about.

No, she was terrified for the ponies in her life, and what they would have to go through.

She awakened angry about this. Just this, and not Destiny, for it was really not her fault for being more of a flawed pony than an impartial goddess.

Starlight mulled for an hour about what was revealed.

And she left her room content.

Scared, but content.

A hard road lay ahead for Equestria, but Destiny would guide them true with Starlight’s help. This, after all, was her ultimate purpose for living, and when looked at it in that regard, it was fine.

It was seriously fine.

Starlight had a lot of work to do—starting with some today, here, in the castle she still hesitated to always call her home. For the Cutie Map called her while frying herself some kale.

Her, and the six ponies she owed this life to were demanded by Destiny’s will to meet in this very castle.

Starlight, already resolved to keeping their conversation a secret, had an inkling as to the “friendship problem” at hand.

She found herself more scared of that than she was of what Destiny told her.

All in all, nothing’s really changed.