The nightmares started… Twilight can’t remember just when. But they’ve gotten worse and worse, and why won’t Luna help, and now they’ve even stopped bothering her. That scares her more than any nightmare ever did.
The nightmares started… Twilight can’t remember just when. But they’ve gotten worse and worse, and why won’t Luna help? Now they’ve even stopped bothering her! That scares her more than any nightmare ever did, but that strange voice in her head helps. It makes sense of the dreams, explains to her how the magic can do anything.
If Luna did start all this… she’ll soon regret it.
“Wha—?” Twilight jerked her head up and stared at the pastry case right under her nose. A nose now flooded with wonderful scents of cinnamon and nutmeg and—when had she come to Sugarcube Corner? Oh… yeah, for some coffee. But Pinkie was still shaking her by the shoulders. Twilight swatted Pinkie’s hooves away. “Stop it, Pinkie! I’m not asleep.”
Oh! No, she shouldn’t—shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t Pinkie’s fault.
“Is somepony grumpy-wumpy today?”
Twilight exhaled sharply and rubbed her bloodshot eyes, then took Pinkie’s hoof in her own. “I’m sorry, Pinkie. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Like too many mornings lately, she had to fight to hold in tears, and she didn’t even know why. But a little coffee must have spilled on the burner, and that stench always gave her a headache.
“Aww, that’s okay!” Pinkie said as Twilight finally let her hoof go. “Everypony has a bad day once in a while.”
“Not just one day.” Twilight shook her head and forced a tight-lipped smile. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately. It’s giving me a short fuse, but it’s not fair to take it out on my friends.”
“Well, here then!” Pinkie trilled. She shoved an orange-cranberry muffin across the countertop. “Something sweet to make you sweet again. Hehe!”
“Thanks, Pinkie,” Twilight said through her yawn. “For the muffin and for not prying.” She leaned over the counter and gave Pinkie a one-hoofed hug. Nice, warm contact—something she’d lacked recently. She could feel Pinkie start to pull away, but if it bothered her, she didn’t let on. Probably just a longer hug than she expected. Twilight could almost taste the sweet fruit before even sinking her teeth in.
Pinkie shrugged. “I figured if you were ready to talk, you’d talk. ’Cause I’m always ready to talk.”
It wasn’t really the best time for that. Twilight let out a little chuckle and took a bite of her muffin, its tang sparking her from her lethargy a bit. “I will if I need to. It’s nice to know I have a willing ear, though.” She closed one eye again and pressed the spot next to her horn where that headache was starting. No reason to dump her problems on Pinkie. What could she even do about nightmares?
It would all be over soon anyway. She had to believe that. Show a little patience, and her problems would all work themselves out. And now it was Pinkie who flashed a sympathetic smile and pulled Twilight into a hug, all warm and safe.
Princess Luna focused on the little ball of light in her mind, but for all the racket going on in the next room, she could not hold her concentration. “Dawn Ember!” she barked toward the laboratory that adjoined her study. “What is going on in there?”
“Lookin’ for some more beakers,” her student shouted back.
“In here,” Luna replied. “They have come back from being washed.”
A unicorn mare with a pale yellow-green coat and even paler mane emerged from the door and made a beeline for the tray of glassware by the hallway. Ember lit up her horn as bright as she could and barely lifted one end of it, dragging it along the rug. But when she looked up through her tangles of forelock, she left the tray in the middle of the floor and eased up to Luna’s desk.
“Again?” Ember said.
Luna stifled a yawn and lay her chin on a stack of test papers. “I am afraid so. I can scarcely cover the foals’ nightmares, let alone the adults’.”
Pursing her lips, Ember slid a sheet of paper from the scrap pile and took a pencil in her magic’s unsteady grip. “Well, whose do you remember havin’ to pass up? We’ll make a checklist, and if some o’ the same names come up, help ’em first. The rest must’ve solved their own problems.”
“Checklist…” Luna chuckled and shook her head. “You remind me of…” Dawn Ember raised an eyebrow. “Never mind. Not a bad idea, but if I could only track down that one.” Luna rubbed a hoof between her eyes.
“Still haven’t found it?” Ember clicked her tongue and reached for Luna’s hoof. “Why’s it so tough? Just… follow the bad dreams, right?”
Luna lifted her head up. “This one is not a dream, not in the normal sense.”
“Really?” As if it might set things right, Ember frowned at her blank page. “How do you follow it then?”
Luna’s eyes wandered toward the window. “I do not know. It is like… if somepony whispered in your ear while you slept and… coerced you into living out your worst fears!” She pounded a hoof on the desk, and one of the bats clinging to the rafters overhead opened an eye. “But since it is not the subject’s own dream, I cannot trace it.”
“Oh.” Ember fidgeted with her forehooves. The young mare always took things so personally.
“It is not your fault. I guess I must continue checking randomly until I luck into finding it. And in the meantime, that poor pony suffers.” Luna gritted her teeth, but she forced the knots out of her shoulders as Ember began tugging at her matted mane. No need to make her a victim as well. “Please. Do not let me keep you from your work.”
Ember drew her eyebrows together, but at Luna’s smile, she returned to her tray of beakers. She switched two of them before pushing the whole assembly again with her forehead. “They were out of order,” she said at Luna’s questioning glance.
“But… they are identical.” Luna wrinkled her brow and flicked a hoof toward her student.
“None of them are ever perfectly identical.”
Luna chuckled again. Surely she could not be serious! She had decided several days ago that Ember must be deliberately trying to keep her spirits up. And it was working.
“Why not get that mane cut?” Luna replied, eliciting some indecipherable sound from Ember. The badly needed grin lingered for a while, and then Luna, alone once more, propped a cheek against her hoof, closed her eyes, and sought out that dream light again. Maybe tonight she could finally discover it and set a pony free.
Twilight Sparkle watched the moonlight spill through the window of her bedroom. She’d heard of that idiom before, and it seemed especially appropriate. Spilling, running all over, pooling on the floor, getting where it wasn’t wanted. The moon mocked her and had done so for weeks. It might as well have been Princess Luna herself.
At least it gave her a bit of distraction from… She shuddered.
Please. Please don’t let it happen again. She pulled the blanket up a little higher so it covered her muzzle, then flicked her eyes around the room to find something, anything that could occupy her attention. The chemistry book on her nightstand… No, she’d already recited all the elements in the periodic table. She already knew there were precisely two hundred ninety-six nails in the wooden furniture she’d brought in to break up the crystal motif. The constellations on her star maps, the titles of Daring Do novels on the shelf downstairs, her school transcript… nothing.
Soft snoring emanated from the shaded spot under the windowsill. At least Spike could sleep well. She glowered toward him, but… No, it wasn’t his fault. She hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about her nightmares, but he’d sensed something and insisted on sleeping in here.
She could handle them herself. It was… It…
Twilight’s head sank a little further into her pillow until she gasped and her eyes jerked back open. Pressing them closed as she rubbed a hoof at the bags underneath, she grimaced at the bright yellow moon-shaped blob dancing on the inside of her eyelids.
After another glance at the window, Twilight whispered into the darkness. “I am master of my own mind; I have control of my own thoughts, my own dreams, my own vision. I am master of my own mind; I have control of my own thoughts, my own dreams, my own vision.” Outside, a cloud drifted across the moon and dragged a heavy velvet shroud over the landscape, and somehow the odor of burnt coffee lingered in her nostrils. Was Princess Luna doing this on purpose? Why didn’t she help? Twilight yawned so hard that her head shook, and her limbs felt terribly heavy.
“I am master of… my own mind; I have… control of… my own thoughts…” Her eyes drooped shut.
Twilight made her morning sweep of the castle’s library: check the after-hours book drop, file away magazines that had arrived in the mail, straighten the chairs, dust off the tables. She would put on some coffee in a minute; the smell would wake Spike, and he could get started on breakfast. Good old routine, one of her dearest friends. On her way to hang the feather duster back in the broom closet, she paused in front of the array of mirrors standing in the middle of the floor. They… they didn’t belong there.
No! The—the nightmares always started with mirrors. She held a hoof to her mouth and trembled.
Empty mirrors, without her reflection, but in all five of them, she spotted Pinkie Pie hopping up the road like a big, goofy kangaroo. And then her own reflections finally appeared: one scowled, another shook her head. A third pointed and laughed silently, the fourth gritted her teeth and seethed. What did they want? But the last one, in the center mirror, wore an unsettling smile, like some malevolent imp watching a coiled snake about to strike at Twilight from behind. She stared at that mirror intently, raising an answering hoof to touch the one stretched out to her until it tapped against the cool glass, and a shock—
In the blink of an eye, the reflections disappeared, and Twilight’s hoof felt… numb, and somehow green. Green and wrong and—no. No, it felt right. She’d been looking at things all twisted before, but now… That same curious little smile invaded her own face, and she turned toward the glass door where Pinkie waited, the usual overflowing basket of envelopes dangling from her mouth. Another party?
“Already?” Twilight grumbled. She stalked over to where Pinkie’s crossed eyes were pressed against the window. “What is it?” Twilight said after opening the door halfway.
“It’s been almost three weeks since my last after-party party!” Pinkie shouted, pushing her way in and grinning as if Twilight had clapped her hooves and squealed. Instead, Twilight sighed and willed Pinkie to walk away quietly, but simple body language was usually washed away in the torrent of thoughts through that hyperactive head. “So, are you coming?”
“No.” Twilight raised a hoof to shut the door behind Pinkie, but somehow she hadn’t moved.
“Are you suuuuuure?” Pinkie said, leaning forward within inches of Twilight’s face.
“No.” Twilight swung the door back around until Pinkie’s hooves blocked it, but she wouldn’t budge.
“No, you’re not sure, or no, you can’t go?” A toothy grin stretched across Pinkie’s face.
“Pinkie. No. I’m not going.” Little by little, Twilight leaned into the door and shoved Pinkie out into the hall, finally clicking the latch into place. At last, some quiet.
“I’ll just leave this here for you!” Pinkie trilled through the window as an invitation drifted back and forth on its way to the ground.
Twilight frowned at where it had landed. The welcome mat. She hadn’t been very welcoming, had she? At least Pinkie was too oblivious to notice. Twilight scrunched her nose up. Maybe she should pick up the envelope. No, sometimes being a friend meant telling Pinkie when she needed to tone it down. How else would she know?
Back out in the street now, Pinkie doled out her little envelopes to whatever townsponies had nothing better to do than to listen to her pitch. Just because she liked to party didn’t mean everypony else had to indulge her. They weren’t helping.
Twilight slumped her shoulders. She’d have to be the one to do it.
A little smirk slithered over Twilight’s face and coiled up to strike. She slipped out the door, trotted down the street after Pinkie, and hid behind a rain barrel when Pinkie stopped to brandish another invitation.
“Tonight at eight o’clock sharp,” Pinkie declared. Junebug ran her eyes down the glitter-covered piece of paper Pinkie had extended to her and opened her mouth to reply.
Let’s give her a little disappointment to dampen her mood. Twilight reached out with her mind. A little gap here, an opening there. She twisted her way into Junebug’s thoughts, poking around as if picking a lock. Going merely on touch and finesse, tumbler and pins well out of sight, but she could feel them sliding into place, all arranging themselves into perfect order.
“No, I have to… clean out my closet,” Junebug answered with a feeble smile.
“Oh.” Pinkie stared ahead for a moment, but soon burst into the same grin she would have used if Junebug had promised to attend and bring a wagonload of cupcakes with her. “Okay, then! I’ll catch you next time.”
Twilight snorted, stirring up a little cloud of dust on the barrel’s lid. How was she supposed to get anywhere if Pinkie wouldn’t play along? She stepped out from behind her cover and slunk after her quarry, hurrying from shrub to doorpost to tree trunk as she followed Pinkie another half block.
“I hope you’ll come to my party!” Pinkie exclaimed to Bon Bon.
Her eyes closed, Twilight cast her magic about once more, finding the little cracks and crevices in her target’s mind and wrapping her tendrils around it. Fertile soil tilled, a seed planted, a suggestion made. A nettle growing up among the flowers and choking them out.
“I’m sorry,” Bon Bon said, shaking her head. “I already had plans. My sister’s coming in from… Appleloosa. Yeah.”
“Appleloosa?” Pinkie asked. Bon Bon nodded. “Didn’t the only train come in an hour ago?”
Yes, put the pieces together, Pinkie. Everypony’s getting tired of you. No, Twilight didn’t feel that way! She opened her mouth to cry out, to—
Another shock jolted her, and Twilight’s mouth wrenched into a grin again. She chuckled from behind her tree.
“She’s stopping by… Canterlot… first. To do some sightseeing,” Bon Bon said. The smile on her face would have crumbled under a slight breeze.
“Well, bring her along, silly filly! I’ve never run out of cake before, and I’m not gonna start now!” Pinkie’s eyes were already sparkling at the prospect of welcoming another new pony to town.
“She’ll be… too tired from the journey.” Bon Bon stood there fiddling with her hooves and looking at the ground.
For a minute, Pinkie subjected Bon Bon to a one-eyed, frowning inspection, then called her toothy grin back for an encore. “Oh. Okay!” Without missing a beat, Pinkie was off, bouncing down the road again.
Twilight scowled and pounded a hoof against the tree. What did she have to do to make Pinkie understand? It was time for the direct approach.
She fell into step behind Pinkie again, through a couple of turns and eventually into an alley. No doubt a “shortcut” on this horribly inefficient, meandering route that crisscrossed all over town.
When she was deep into the shadows, Pinkie must have heard the hoofsteps behind her, because she cast a timid glance over her shoulder, then put her basket down and beamed. “Oh, hi, Twi! Hehe! Did you change your mind?”
“Maybe,” came Twilight’s oily response. “What’s going on at this party?” She leaned against the wall and swished her tail.
“Oh, just the usual,” Pinkie said as she flicked a hoof and closed her eyes. “Cake and confetti and punch and streamers and…”
The usual? It was always the same thing over and over and over again. How many times could somepony pretend to be excited about that? With each word grating on her ears, Twilight’s jaw tightened. How could somepony be so insufferably… happy all the time? Pinkie wasn’t even watching anymore—she was busy seeing whatever saccharine tableau occupied that empty space in her head. This had to stop.
Pinkie paused mid-sentence to scratch a bit at her neck. Twilight had managed to tune out the sound, but Pinkie kept spouting her inane chattering. Then again a minute later, Pinkie scuffed a hoof at some little tickle in her throat. Another few syllables, and she rubbed harder before coughing. Pinkie knit her brow as her eyes wandered up to Twilight’s glowing horn. “Um… Twi? Are you doing that?”
All I have to do is twist. Just twist, and that incessant babbling will go away. The constant interruptions, the endless invitations, the maddening nonsense, all gone. One corner of Twilight’s mouth curled up.
Her ears drooping, Pinkie’s voice rose to a squeak. “Twi?” She coughed again, and her breath came out in rasps. “This… isn’t fun. Twi?” She swallowed hard against the pressure on her throat. “Twi? I… trust you…”
Twilight flung her blanket off, sending it halfway across the room. Her heart racing, she sat up and sucked in deep breaths of cold night air. She held her hooves to her mouth and trembled. The moonbeam had migrated over to her legs, leaving her head engulfed in shadows.
“Not again! Not again!” she hissed into the veil of darkness. She raised leaden forelegs to massage her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. Her mind immediately dredged up the awful sound of Pinkie’s struggling gasps—she jerked her eyes open and concentrated on the clock. Through sheer will, she forced that rasp out of her mind, only the breeze’s light whisper and her own panting filling her ears. Then… the soft rustle of cloth.
“Tw-Twilight?” called a sleepy voice from near the window. The silver light glinted off Spike’s scales as his head popped up. His own built-in armor against the world—if only she could conjure something like that herself, against… whatever this was. He rushed to the side of her bed and put a claw on her quaking shoulder. “Aw, Twilight? Again?” After a few tremulous breaths, she nodded. He leaned forward to hug her, but she flinched away before letting him touch her again.
“I-I’m sorry, Spike,” she said, leaning her head against him. “I don’t mean to worry you.” She sniffled and tried to steady her breathing. He didn’t deserve to be roped into this.
“Who was it… this time?” How did he even know that much? She’d never told him anything about her dreams. She must talk in her sleep.
“Don’t concern yourself with it, Spike.” No sooner had she built her wall than she let a sob escape her throat and tear its foundation away.
“Please, Twilight.”
“It—it was Pinkie. I—” Twilight clenched her eyes shut and shook her head vigorously. She took a corner of the pillowcase and wiped her tears away before turning her face on Spike again. “It’s just a bad dream. I’ll be fine.”
“But it’s been weeks now. Shouldn’t you ask for help?” he asked, tightening his grip on her shoulder a little.
“It’ll pass. Just give it time.” Who would help anyway? Apparently not Princess Luna.
“You sure?” He gathered up his tail and fiddled with it, like he always had as a hatchling.
“It’s okay,” she said with a strength she didn’t possess, then waved him off and rolled out of bed. She stumbled down the stairs to brew a pot of coffee. As long as she didn’t burn any. Her head throbbed already. It would be dawn soon, anyway.
Twilight sat at a desk in the library’s main room with a steaming mug of coffee beside her. Her fifth cup, but the richly bitter taste hadn’t chased the phantoms from her head. Her chin briefly sagged toward the oaken surface before snapping back up. She’d already had breakfast, cleaned the dishes, and suggested Spike go back upstairs for a nap, since he’d been awakened unexpectedly early, no thanks to her. Or to Princess Luna, for that matter. After taking a minute to blow on her drink, she sipped at it, then looked up at the creaking door.
Rainbow Dash poked her head in and waved. “Hey, is the new Daring Do novel in yet?” Twilight continued staring at the wall and propped her head on a hoof. She couldn’t do cheerful right now. “Twilight?”
“What?!” Twilight snapped, then immediately flattened her ears.
“Um… You okay, Twilight?” Rainbow opened her wings halfway and slunk half a step back out the doorway.
“I’m sorry, Rainbow Dash.” Twilight let her hoof fall to the desktop and fought down the tingling in her stomach. “I’m just… not feeling quite myself lately. I don’t know why.” Her chest tensed up, trying to force out more words, but… No. It was bad enough that Spike knew. She didn’t need to spread word around to anypony else, feed the rumor mill, air her personal business. Still, Dash always stuck by a friend.
Rainbow Dash went rigid for a moment and sidled a couple more steps out the doorway, but then she gritted her teeth and came in, letting the door swing shut behind her. After a steadying breath and sigh, she said, “Do you… want to talk about it?” Twilight shook her head, and Rainbow let her shoulders relax. Rainbow Dash didn’t care. She’d rather be anywhere but here right now. Was that what loyalty meant to her? Going through the motions when she’d lost interest? “Okay. But if you need to—”
“I feel like I’m not in control.” The—the words had slipped out. Why would she say that? To her, of all ponies? Twilight jammed a hoof against her mouth and bit down on her tongue. Why was she bothering, anyway? It wasn’t like Dash could help. Pegasi were just too… flighty. They never stayed focused long enough to be useful.
“Oh.” Rainbow’s shoulders tightened again as she looked back at the entrance.
Just fly away, Rainbow Dash. Twilight took a long pull of her coffee. It’s what you want. You made a show of it, at least.
“Well, I guess I’ve always felt like you gotta choose your own destiny.” She had that look on her face that she got whenever she tried to scavenge for words longer than a syllable: squinting and a bit cross-eyed, like she might find them balanced on the tip of her nose. “Make stuff happen yourself, y’know?”
“Hm?”
Rainbow shrugged. “If you want something, make it yours. Take it.”
“That… actually makes sense,” Twilight said while tracing a few circles on the desktop with her hoof.
“Good.” Rainbow puffed out her chest and fluffed up her feathers. She probably thought that was some pearl of wisdom. Stale platitudes aside, she was trying. “Now, about that book?” Her neck craning forward, Dash pointed her nose at the bookshelf she knew so well and scanned for an unfamiliar title. Yes, problem solved, crisis averted, and swear allegiance to Daring Do.
“No, I’m not expecting it for another two days.” Twilight looked up and forced a smile, her hoof frozen where it had been following a swirl of wood grain.
“Oh.” After a few moments of incredibly loud silence, Rainbow scratched a hoof at her leg. “Well, I’m gonna take off, then. Gotta do prep work for tomorrow’s thunderstorm.” Twilight let out a soft snort. Goof off, more like it. It was nice to be below a book and a nap in the pecking order.
Returning her attention to the desk’s surface, Twilight laid her head down. She didn’t hear any hoofsteps—Dash must have been flying—but the door’s creak and click echoed in her ears. Afterward, just silence again. The clock ticking, a few leaves rustling in the breeze. That clock—she glanced over. Dash had only been here about ten minutes. Still another couple of hours until lunch. Ticking away. Tick, tick. Her chin sank a little lower. Tick, tick, like a sewing machine’s rhythm as it stitched the minutes together. Twilight blinked slowly.
In Twilight’s bedroom stood a full-length mirror that she didn’t remember. She glanced around. Everything else was in place—her mattress, her telescope, Spike’s bed, some clothes. She peered at her reflection, but something wasn’t quite right about it. She moved a hoof, and the image moved with it. She took a step forward, and her reflection did the same.
Cocking her head, Twilight let her eyes wander over the glassy surface. Some imperfection, some niggling detail threw the whole thing off, but she couldn’t figure out what bothered her about it. Finally, she settled on her mane. The stripe was on the wrong side. Well, it was on the right side—that was the problem. A mirror should flip it to the wrong side. “What…?”
“I’m just having a little fun with you, Twilight,” the reflection said as it stepped out.
Twilight backed off until she bumped into her bed. “Who are you?” she demanded as she took a defensive crouch.
“You really don’t remember me? We’ve been having these talks for weeks now.” She took another stride toward Twilight, who sidled along her bed frame a little closer to the door. The double smirked and paced out a leisurely arc around Twilight. “I am you. At least the better parts.”
“I don’t understand…”
The double wafted Twilight’s words away. “Your friend Rainbow Dash was onto something, you know. You need to learn to take control.” She pursed her lips and stopped near the hall. “None of this wishy-washy stuff,” she added, flicking a hoof in the air.
Twilight returned a blank stare. She’d already gotten the self-help babble from Dash and didn’t need it from herself as well.
The double sighed and rubbed her temple. “You remember when Pinkie wouldn’t shut up? And then she finally did? We made it happen. We took control.”
Backing harder against her bed, Twilight gasped and held a shaky hoof to her chest. “But that was a dream!”
“Doesn’t matter.” A sly grin permeated the double’s face. “We knew what you wanted, and we made it happen. It felt good, didn’t it?”
“No… no, it didn’t,” Twilight replied instantly as she shook her head vehemently. “It felt wrong. I-I didn’t like it.” She squeezed her eyes shut as if she could force that sight out of her memory: Pinkie gasping for air, and Twilight letting her have just enough to stay conscious. Just enough. A tremor shot through her body, and she gagged.
“You can’t lie to me. We were there.” The double jabbed a hoof at Twilight. “We were enjoying ourselves.”
“But she’s my friend! I couldn’t do that to her!”
“We knew it was a dream. We had fun doing it. I remember our smile.” The same one returned, that little serpent. Even though it had been on her own face back then, Twilight knew it on sight. “Anyway, that’s beside the point. Magic isn’t about right or wrong or any other irrelevant rules there might be. It’s about doing. It’s about power. It is both the ends and the means.”
The double waved a dismissive hoof at the town outside the window. “Let everypony else worry about what they want to call it. The magic is the thing. We can’t deny it.”
“But… there are so many things that magic can do for us!” She leaned into her words, forcing them into that double’s ears, making them take root. “I learn spells to help ponies—to make life better for all of them!”
The double had begun laughing even before Twilight finished speaking. “No, we don’t! We learn magic just for the sake of learning magic. Each spell is a stepping stone to bigger and better things. Have we ever asked ourselves why we’re so eager to learn magic as quickly as possible?”
Twilight’s eyes opened wide. That couldn’t be right; she’d never be that selfish. She studied magic for everypony. She did. “I want to… help more ponies. If I can get to the next tier, cast even more powerful enchantments, I can… No, I… I-it’s not about me. It’s all for them—I-I just need to get stronger so I—”
She stared at her twin and worked her mouth silently. She could feel what her lips were saying, and she dared not give them a voice, but each time she exhaled a sour breath, there was a slithery whisper: “I want more…”
“Now, you’re finally being truthful.”
Twilight shook her head. She didn’t want to think about this, didn’t want to admit—No, not admit. There was nothing to admit! As hard as she could, Twilight tried to steer her thoughts elsewhere, but they piled on, crushing her beneath their weight. More.
“We love that sense of accomplishment.” One slow step at a time, the double approached Twilight, coming closer, right up to her face. “More knowledge, more strength. That electric surge of power throughout our body when we’re weaving a new charm.” She bared her teeth, in much the same way a timber wolf did when it had some prey cornered. “It’s… thrilling. It’s knowing that there are few out there who can challenge us, and the number is diminishing all the time. Admit it.” Twilight winced at the use of that word. “We like being superior to everypony around us.”
“Y-yes—No!” Twilight’s knees quivered underneath her. “These are my friends! I’m not better than they are!”
Gradually, the bedroom walls faded away, only to be replaced by the library’s main floor. Beds became tables, clothes folded into books, and the crisp scents of linen and soap sharpened to those of old paper and ink. Twilight looked up from the biography she was reading at her desk to see Rainbow Dash reclining on the couch and paging through a novel.
Twilight’s double stood leaning over the back of the couch and glared down at its occupant. “Like this one?” she said, her voice dripping venom as she jabbed a hoof at Rainbow. “This is your equal?”
“Hey, Twi”—Twilight winced as Rainbow’s words stabbed into the peaceful silence—“what’s this word? P-e-n-u-l-t-i-m-a-t-e.”
“Penultimate. It means ‘next-to-last.’” Dash was reading and learning, and that was a good thing. It was. As librarian, Twilight did have that responsibility. Twilight took a deep breath before returning to her own page. She only made it through four paragraphs.
“Twi? How about pl—plim—plimpest?” Rainbow didn’t even bother tearing her eyes away from her reading. No “excuse me,” no “sorry.”
“Palimpsest. It’s an engraved slab.” Several times, Twilight tried to work out some stinging punctuation, or at least to shush her, but too much time had passed now for it to be spontaneous. It’d seem deliberately mean.
“Oh,” Rainbow grunted. She nodded faintly and followed her progress with a hoof.
Twilight breathed easier as she made it through two more pages. Only the clock continued in the quiet.
“Twi?” Rainbow said, and the other Twilight over by the couch laughed out loud.
Twilight gritted her teeth and snorted.
With a small wisp of wind, the double’s horn lit up and levitated a large dictionary off the shelf. Ink lifted from the pages, and words peeled away, flitting about in a swarming knot. Tighter and tighter they writhed, until a jet-black ball hovered behind Rainbow. “We could force this into her head. Through her skull or down her throat or something. Maybe then she’d shut up.”
Twilight frowned and shook her head. “Just leave her alone. She’s trying.”
“Trying what?” the double erupted through her laughter. “To be a burden?”
Rolling her eyes upward, Twilight forced out a heavy sigh. Apparently Rainbow couldn’t hear what her twin was saying. That was just as well.
“What’s res-respr—This one?” Rainbow asked, holding up her book and pointing out the offending word.
“I can’t see it from here,” Twilight growled.
“Could you come over here, then?” Her half-lidded eyes keeping her place, Rainbow reached back and beckoned.
Twilight snapped her book shut and stomped over to the couch. “Sure. I’ll stop what I’m doing to accommodate your vocabulary.” She looked past Rainbow’s gaping mouth to where her hooftip rested on the page. “Resplendent. Adjective. Showy, luxurious, visually impressive. Any more? Should I just stay over here for you?” she barked.
“Oh.” First looking up wide-eyed at Twilight, Rainbow then folded her ears down and let her gaze drop to the floor.
“Familiar scene, huh? Why do you put up with her?” The copy shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Remember what we did to Pinkie?”
“It’s not necessary,” Twilight said in a monotone, her hoof held to her forehead.
“Of course it’s not necessary. This isn’t about what’s necessary.” The double ambled around the couch and cast a vulture’s scrutiny down on Rainbow. “It’s about what’s possible. Do you have a dream? We can make it happen. Do you want something? We can take it.”
Her wings sagging at her sides, Rainbow closed her book and slinked off to the door. “S-sorry to bug you, Twilight. I’ll just… finish this at home.”
Something was different in Rainbow’s eyes. Something Twilight had never seen before. She was walking out the door instead of flying, and her wingtips dragged on the floor. She glanced back one last time and held Twilight’s gaze with an apologetic grin—not the kind for a misunderstanding between friends, but one offered when bumping into a stranger on the street. Then she was gone.
After coughing up the breath caught in her throat, Twilight shook her head. Somepony had to say it. Rainbow deserved that, and if she couldn’t see it, then that was her loss. “See?” Twilight said, pointing a hoof at her departing guest. “She’s leaving. Problem solved.”
“Fair enough. But you can’t tell me you’re not glad to be rid of her,” the double said as Twilight set her jaw and massaged her temples. “You got what you wanted anyway. It’s quiet. And she has nopony to blame but herself. She caused the problem, but she told you how to fix it, too. Oh, they all have their uses—” she glanced out the window “—but it’s time you worried a little more about us. Or at least came to realize that you actually have been all along.”
Twilight couldn’t argue. That other Twilight understood a lot of things but was a little too… blunt, too coarse about it. Take the edge off, give it a softer touch, and…
Take care of the magic, and everything else would fall into place.
Twilight’s eyes went blurry, and she was just… too tired to think. That was it—too tired. She blinked a few times, and she needed to lay her head down on the couch—did she even have one?—but only for a minute. Did she even have a couch in the library? The pillow was so soft and warm, and did she even have a couch—?
Twilight picked her head up off the table and wiped a thin stream of drool away from the corner of her mouth. A dream.
Stiff muscles gave a brief protest as she stood, yawned, and shielded her eyes from the sun’s glint off a brass candlestick. It was the first time in weeks that she hadn’t awakened shaking from a dream. In fact, it hadn’t troubled her in the least. It should have. She knew that. She knew it. But it hadn’t.
A quick glance at the clock told her she’d slept through lunch, and she really wasn’t in the mood to cook something this late. She tossed her saddlebags over her back. “I’m going out, Spike!” Twilight called on her way out the door, not even waiting for an answer. For all she knew, he was still asleep.
What time had the clock shown? All that had registered was that it was well past lunch, but the low sun told her that it must be getting close to dinner. The market would be closing soon—she could pick up something cheap that the farmers would rather not have to haul back home.
Back and forth, she threaded her way through the wooden carts and the wonderful odors: the cloying tang of overripe peaches, the dusty scent of potato bins, the airy smell of cucumbers, the pleasant bite of green onions. Her mind moved over and let her nose drive, leading her on past the tangle of wagons until she arrived at Applejack’s stall. Only a few apples rolled around in the bottoms of the large buckets, but more than half of the baked treats remained on the shelves.
Twilight leaned against the wagon and laid a foreleg on the counter like she’d been lounging there all day. “Business good today, Applejack?”
“Hm?” She pricked an ear toward Twilight while scooping the last few fruits out of one bucket into a customer’s bag. “Oh, yeah. Sorta. It’s been a hot one today—” she swiped a hoof across her forehead “—so not too many takers on the cooked stuff, but we can have those for dinner at home tonight.”
“You… eat the leftovers that nopony wanted?” Twilight scrunched up her nose.
“What’s wrong with that? Just ’cause an apple’s at the bottom o’ the barrel doesn’t make it bad. And I would’ve made the same stuff, anyway. Now, it’s already done, and I don’t have to cook twice today.” Applejack’s steely gaze dared Twilight to say otherwise.
Under the weight of that stare, Twilight merely shrugged. “Makes sense.” She swept a nonchalant glance around at the thinning crowds.
“I’ve only got about a half hour left before time to head home, anyways.” Applejack gave a wry smile and surveyed the well-stocked shelves. “Ponies wanted somethin’ cool today, so apples sold like hotcakes—er, cold… You know what I mean. Heh.”
Her eyes still off at the horizon, Twilight muttered an “uh-huh.”
Applejack followed her line of sight to the wall of inky clouds behind the distant mountains. “Yup, gonna be a big ’un tomorrow.”
“Huh? Oh. The storm. Yeah, must be, if they’re going to take an entire day getting it ready.” Twilight swished her tail back and forth once, then shook off her stare and snapped her head around to face Applejack. “Say, what do you think of Rainbow Dash?”
One eyebrow raised, Applejack shoved her hat back far enough to scratch her head. “I s’pose we get along just fine. Good weather pony, great flyer. Why?”
“I don’t—” One quick sigh later, Twilight squinted at the storm clouds again. “Doesn’t she ever, y’know, get on your nerves?” A frozen gape waited for her when she looked back to see why Applejack hadn’t answered. At least she could be quiet—a skill several of her friends sadly lacked. So, what would it be? Tact or full disclosure?
“Well… from time to time, I guess. Nopony gets along perfectly, Twilight.”
Tact, then. Being honest only so far as it suited her purpose. Twilight had a better word for that: guile.
Applejack’s jaw tensed as she took a measured breath and pulled her hat back down. “Got a bee in your bonnet about somethin’?”
Her hoof scuffing at the dirt, Twilight sank to her haunches and sighed. She’d have to play this one carefully. If Applejack got angry, she’d clam up—and Twilight actually wanted her to talk for a change. Maybe Twilight hadn’t given Dash a fair chance, and if anypony could convince her of that, it was Applejack. Or if Twilight had been on the mark, Applejack needed to see it. “No. It’s just that… she was in the library reading, and… she kept asking questions. Made it hard to get anything done.” Twilight sold it with a forced-but-not-forced laugh.
“Shucks, sugarcube,” Applejack said as her knotted shoulders relaxed. “You oughtta be glad she’s readin’ at all. You’re the one who encouraged her.” She chuckled and let her easy smile have its usual spot back. “’Sides, when was this? She stopped by on her way out. Said she hadn’t been there more’n five minutes.”
“Oh.” Twilight waved a hoof at last week. “No, it’s been on and off again for a little while. I was thinking about it today.”
“Yes’m, how can I help you?” Applejack asked as her ears swiveled toward an approaching mare.
Twilight gritted her teeth and frowned at the back of Applejack’s head. Lost her. Oh, well. Twilight needed to see to dinner soon, anyway. All those pies, turnovers, and crumbles that nopony wanted…
“Whole orchard o’ Empires came ripe today. Special, five bits a dozen,” Applejack remarked to her customer.
Her stomach rumbling, Twilight glanced at her distracted friend, then at the stacks of food in front of her. Inside her head, her own voice echoed through the gnawing hunger: Want something? We can take it. She licked her lips and strained her nose a little closer to the nutmeg-heavy aroma, then gave the small crowd a quick scan. Nopony was facing her way. It didn’t seem fair, though. Twilight’s hoof flinched toward the money in her saddlebag, but… No. She’d trade honesty for honesty. If Applejack would drop the act and give a straight answer, then Twilight would thank her for the food and pay. Her eyes fixed on Applejack, Twilight levitated a small apple tart off the shelf and gulped it down.
“Thank you kindly, ma’am, and please come again!” Applejack called as the mare trotted away. She turned back to Twilight and plopped down on her haunches. “Now, where—? Oh, yeah. So, what’s all this about, then? Dash do somethin’ to get on your bad side?”
Twilight whisked a hoof across her mouth to dislodge any stray crumbs that might remain. “No, not exactly…” This wasn’t getting her anywhere.
“Exactly what, then?” a stone-faced Applejack said.
Twilight should have planned this better. How to coax it out of her? She sat open-mouthed and scratched at the ground. “Um… You didn’t answer, though. Does she ever bug you?”
“Look, sugarcube. I don’t mean to get in the middle o’ y’all. I’d just hate to see some petty argument split y’all up.” Giving a goofy smile, Applejack poked a hoof toward Twilight’s shoulder.
All Twilight wanted was a simple answer to a simple question, but Applejack wouldn’t give her anything more than evasion and misdirection. I guess you can’t lie if you never say anything. Twilight flinched away, out of Applejack’s reach. “Never mind. Isn’t it closing time anyway?”
“Seems so,” Applejack said. She sighed and got to her hooves. “Talk to me if you need to. You know where to find me.”
Talk to her. The one friend that Twilight actually wanted to talk, but she’d only circle the subject without ever getting there. She was no different than the rest.
Applejack’s gaze stayed fixed on Twilight while she folded up the various collapsible parts of her wagon, but the small group of foals gradually surrounding her managed to wrest her attention away. “Heh. If I have a couple apples left, I usually give ’em to the young ’uns,” she called over the noise of the clamoring children.
“Leave it to me. I can handle that.” Twilight levitated the last three apples out of the array of buckets and juggled them in front of the colts and fillies. Their sparkling eyes followed each toss and every feint until all three pieces of fruit hovered in a row. One or two clapped their hooves, but most couldn’t tear their gazes away from those sweet apples bobbing in their purple glow. “Keep your eyes on the apples and tell me how many there are.”
“Three!” a colt immediately shouted while he rocked up on his hooftips for a better view.
“Are you sure?” Twilight made a show of straining to press them all together, finally panting as she managed to merge them into one large fruit. The children all laughed, and the smallest filly licked her lips.
That trick was for the kids. “Now, let’s see if I can get those apart again,” Twilight said as she flicked her mane and waved her hoof with a flourish. This trick would be for her.
She gripped the apple between her hooves and tugged, stretching first one way and then the other. She grunted and gave it one final pull. With a loud pop, Twilight now held one in each hoof. Taking a bow, she split the two apples into enough pieces for all of the children to have one, then floated the slices out to all the eager hooves. “Thank you. I’ll be here all week,” she said as she swept a hoof across her body. She chuckled at all the cheering and squealing foals galloping off to their homes to prattle at their parents about the amazing display of magic they’d seen.
Her audience gone, Twilight turned back to the wagon, where Applejack had finished stowing her various bins and baskets. Applejack was facing the other way, buckling herself into the cart’s harness. Twilight’s eyes flicked back and forth between her friend and the pile of fritters peeking out from under the tarp that covered the wagon’s bed. Applejack, up front… pulling on a knot in the rope with her teeth. Crisp pastry in the back, surely cold by now, but that cinnamony smell…
Applejack wouldn’t miss just two of them. She wouldn’t even know they were gone. Served her right for being dishonest.
Twilight teleported a pair into her saddlebag. A rushed farewell, a quick wave, and she was trotting back toward the castle. And only three steps later, she stood face-to-face with Apple Bloom.
The filly cocked her head and squinted up at Twilight. “Ain’t you gonna pay for those, Twilight?”
Sparks scurried on sharp little legs up Twilight’s spine, and her heart raced. “Um…” Trusting eyes gazed back at her, awaiting their answer. Too trusting. She fought down the lump in her throat. What difference did it make that it was a child? In fact, that made it easier. Children would believe almost anything, and even in the worst case, Apple Bloom would learn a valuable lesson. Who better to teach her than Twilight? And free of charge, too.
“Of course!” Twilight said through her best smile. She patted Apple Bloom on the head. “I don’t have my bit purse with me today, but Applejack knows I’m good for it. I’ll settle up with her tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Apple Bloom looked at the ground for a moment, then wrinkled her forehead. “Okay,” she said a little too slowly. She trotted past and fell into step behind her sister.
Twilight rolled her eyes and shook her head. She might have actually enjoyed giving Apple Bloom a full explanation of why saving the town from an Ursa Minor, an embodiment of chaos, Nightmare Moon, and Tirek warranted the occasional consideration. It wasn’t like anypony else there could do what she did. Simple-minded earth ponies. She deserved a reward now and then, and if nopony would give her one, then she could take it. Nothing overly complicated: if she wanted something, she would take it. She bored a glare into Apple Bloom’s back.
Continuing on her way back to the castle, Twilight levitated an apple out of her saddlebag—the third apple she’d been juggling. With a loud crunch, she took a big bite and sucked at the juice that tried to run down its skin. Applejack was right. Just because it was at the bottom of the bucket didn’t make an apple bad. This one, for example, tasted especially sweet.
Twilight brushed a hoof at something dark that kept flicking through her peripheral vision—a gnat circling her head, maybe. Or a strand of mane. She must have swiped at it a half-dozen times, but when she arrived home, it had either gone away or merely slipped her mind. Last bite, then she tossed the apple core into a flowerbed for whatever birds or bugs might want it and went inside.
She gave Spike the night off and enjoyed a dinner of fritters, a quiet evening of reading, and for the first time in weeks, a good night’s sleep.
Twilight sat at one of the cafe’s outdoor tables with her chin propped on a hoof. Ponies trotted about Ponyville, going this way and that to whatever tasks occupied their mundane lives. There went Plumb Bob off to some carpentry project, Kit and Kaboodle heading back to their craft store, Mrs. Cake taking the babies for a walk. Just the usual midday traffic. A hind leg continuously tapping against her chair, Twilight slumped her shoulders and watched the stroller pass.
Actually, Mrs. Cake wasn’t so bad. Fairly businesslike, caught up in her work. Celestia knew how she managed to put up with Pinkie Pie, though.
Twilight levitated another few stalks of hay off her plate and chewed at them as an afterthought. She could almost take a nap, even though she’d been sleeping better, no thanks to Princess Luna.
“A refill on your water, ma’am?”
Twilight returned a slack-jawed look for a moment until her eyes came back into focus. “Yeah.” She drained the last few swallows from her glass and shoved it over to the table’s edge, where the waitress poured her some more from a pitcher.
Over the waitress’s shoulder, Twilight could see Rarity trotting toward her boutique, each hoofstep sending up a little puff of dust into the dry air. Twilight’s gaze automatically popped up to the black clouds crouched over the edge of town like a great panther. It wouldn’t be dry much longer…
When Twilight looked back down, the waitress had gone. Rarity let out a gasp and approached the table. Perfect. Yet another pony who didn’t appreciate the value of silence.
“Oh, hello there, Twilight!” Rarity chirped, breaking from the sunny tune she was humming. She unlaced the silk tie under her chin and levitated her broad-brimmed white hat onto the table. “And how are you this fine day?” The thunderheads behind her, she flicked a hoof toward the clear eastern sky.
Twilight grunted. Some ponies only saw what they wanted to see.
“Oh… an iced tea, please,” Rarity said to the waitress who had materialized beside her, then floated a compact out of her saddlebag and dabbed a fresh coat of powder onto her cheeks. She smiled into her mirror, then leaned over the table with a glint in her eye. “I must tell you, Twilight—I had the most wonderful idea today.” Giving her mane a toss, she reached for Twilight’s hoof.
A chill running through her face, Twilight fought the urge to jerk her hoof back. She clenched her jaw and closed off her throat against the rising growl—
“Here you are, dear,” the waitress said as she set Rarity’s tea down, and after smiling her thanks, Rarity diverted her hoof over to corral the glass and take a sip.
“Anyway,” she said as Twilight slowly let out a long breath. “It seems to me that our Elements of Harmony were such pretty things, but of course, they really weren’t the sort of accoutrement we could have worn in public—perish the thought!”
Twilight forced an exaggerated grin, but if Rarity detected any insincerity, she didn’t show it. She kept babbling on about whatever unimportant thing had grabbed her fancy that afternoon, but… Now that Twilight thought about it, she did have a nice voice. Not when she was whining, of course, but get her in her element, when there was an impetus behind her speech, and her passion showed through. If Twilight concentrated, she could tune out the words and hear only the lilting, lyrical quality. Little melodies, building momentum here, a trill of laughter there, all falling into a steady rhythm and settling in a resolute tone, only to start again with the next thought. Twilight leaned her cheek against her hoof again.
“…Would be tantamount to flaunting them, I'd think, which just isn't becoming of a lady. In any case…”
After a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Twilight glanced down at Rarity's coat. Well-kept, and a rather fetching shade of ivory. Pretty eyes, and that mouth… A frown stole over Twilight's face as Rarity kept flapping her gums and spewing meaningless words. How had she never noticed that none of her friends knew when to be quiet? She could easily fuse that mouth shut, sew it closed with her own thread. She had to stifle a giggle at the thought, but Rarity wasn't paying her any attention, as usual. Seal those pearly teeth behind…
Actually, Rarity did have a nice mouth, too. That little dimple that formed right near the corner whenever she was tickled about something, the glossy lip balm she had in inexhaustible supply… the way she carefully formed each word, like a sculptor obsessing over the finest nuances of shape.
“…A line of custom jewelry. Just think of it!” Rarity's eyes glimmered, and her hooves gesticulated wildly with each sentence. “Pendants, necklaces, chokers, all proudly displaying a gem version of the wearer's own cutie mark! Of course, it would be difficult to produce them at an appreciable pace…”
Appreciable. Twilight played the scene back in her mind and savored every detail. The way Rarity's lips touched lightly, delicately, to form that “p”—only enough to utter it subtly, not force it out like some bitter pill. How she didn't slur the “i” and “a” together into one indistinguishable wad of sound. The fragile curl at the tip of her tongue when she pronounced the final “l,” like the airy sorbet that ends a fine meal with a contented whisper.
Her head sinking harder against her hoof, Twilight let an easy smile invade her features. Yes, no need to stop that lovely voice, as long as she could ignore the meaning. Style over substance, after all. That certainly described Rarity.
So Twilight let the mellifluous tones wash over her ears, hearing them flit up toward the sky, then cascade back to the earth, like the trickle of a mountain rill over the rocks. Just the sound, the enunciation, not the insipid message. Every few seconds, the light breeze would stir up the soft tips of that immaculate coat and carry the exquisite scent of her oleander perfume. Twilight’s gaze wandered up to Rarity’s eyes and lingered there, transfixed, as a warmth slowly suffused her body.
“…Twilight?” Rarity cleared her throat. “Twilight?”
Twilight blinked and shook her head. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“So what do you think?”
A lot, actually. Twilight’s mind whirled with several disjoint trains of thought, none related to what Rarity had been saying. But all of those trains surged forward, their momentum carrying them to the same destination: If you want something, take it.
“Um… Rarity, it’s pasta night tonight. Maybe you could join me?” Don’t sound so weak. Power is confidence. You don’t ask; you take. Twilight forced her eyebrows back down. It was a statement now, not a question.
“Twilight, you know the Chamber of Commerce meets tonight,” Rarity said, waving Twilight’s request aside. “So what do you think of my idea?”
“Oh. Right.” Twilight’s ears drooped, and she returned a tight-lipped smile. “Tomorrow, then?”
“Twilight, I…” Rarity’s eyes traced down a bit to where Twilight could feel her blush radiating like a hot coal. “Oh, Twilight, I… I-I’m sorry—I don’t…”
Icy bolts forked like lightning through Twilight’s chest, and her head throbbed. “It’s… okay. Forget about tomorrow.”
“No, no, Twilight. Please don’t take it the wrong way—It’s not that I’m not flattered, but—”
Twilight had never seen Rarity get flustered quite like this before. But now she had to listen to what Rarity was saying again instead of just enjoying the music. Flattered? She’d better be flattered. She considered herself such a prize, but the real rarity was a pony with Twilight’s talent. Stuck-up bi—
Wait. She didn’t really feel that way about Rarity, either. Then why? Sure, she was pretty, and those lips… but Twilight hadn’t exactly kissed anypony before. And a kiss from Rarity really would be something to brag about.
That was it.
Rarity made such a show of playing hard-to-get with everypony. But Twilight could get whatever she wanted. Take it. That’s what the magic is for.
Some rather interesting spells had come to light while researching the Cutie Mark Crusaders’ “accidental” use of love poison that Hearts and Hooves Day…
Rarity had finished saying whatever she had to say and gazed back, waiting for a reply. That vapid stare. It almost pained Twilight to see it on a fellow unicorn. Or former fellow—
“Tonight it is, then,” Twilight said.
“Hm?” Rarity knit her brow and cocked her head as Twilight gradually brought a subtle glow to her horn.
Dawn Ember trotted in from the hall and through Princess Luna’s study, on the way to the laboratory with another tray of soil samples balanced on her back. On any given day, her teacher might stay riveted to whatever she had on her desk, she might smile an acknowledgement, or she might ask about the latest round of experiments. She even tended to wear a bigger grin when Ember had a date planned, or not a date, or—she squeezed her eyes shut for a second. It was complicated. But how did Princess Luna know? Ember couldn’t remember ever having mentioned Copper to her. Today, though, she looked up once. Just a perfunctory glance. But her head whipped right back up again.
Ember stopped short, and three of the specimen jars toppled onto the rug. She even backed away one step as that intense stare approached. “Princess?”
Her eyes wide, Ember held still as Luna circled her. She even looked like she was sniffing and tasting the air as Ember might, but… the Princess couldn’t do that. She didn’t have that kind of magic.
“P-Princess?”
Luna cocked her head. “By any chance, are you the pony having those… odd dreams?”
“N-no!” Ember stood up straight and blew her tangled forelock out of her eyes. Why would Luna think that? “I would have told you! I-I mean… how would I even know?”
“True…” Luna stopped pacing, a hoof held to her chin. “It would feel like you had thoughts you did not want, I suppose. We remain who we are in a dream, after all. You would have done things vastly different from what you would have chosen.”
A smirk danced its way across Ember’s lips. “I wouldn’t exactly choose to go swimmin’ in a pond full o’ grape soda, but I dreamed it the other night…”
Briefly, Princess Luna looked away. “No, I—” She blinked and pursed her lips, then met Ember’s gaze again. So… she really was serious. “I try not to intrude in dreams where I am not needed. And I prefer to stay out of the dreams of ponies I know well. It can be… awkward. But I still get impressions, hints from ponies, like I do now. And I could have sworn…”
She shook off whatever thought had gotten stuck in her head and walked back to her desk with a small frown. “You would know,” Luna said. “I could not see the dreams directly, but they had nothing outlandish or fantastic like—” she muffled a snicker with her hoof “—a pond of grape soda.” But her sudden smile faded just as quickly. “I mean something like harming your family and… liking it.”
Another jar fell to the floor. “N-no! Princess Luna, no! I would have told you! Please, I—” A raised hoof stalled her, and… well, the Princess didn’t look angry.
“I apologize. My error. For some reason, it felt very similar to you, just then, but I do not know…” Too quickly, Luna became absorbed in her documents again. “Please, go back to your work. I am sorry to have bothered you.”
After a moment’s pause, Ember crouched down to pick up the fallen bottles. Then she returned, as ordered, to the laboratory. Princess Luna never broke her gaze from her papers.
Twilight flipped another page of the new Daring Do novel as the rain pounded and the wind howled outside. The book had shown up a day early, a fact which Twilight had conveniently forgotten to share with Rainbow Dash. She was busy with the storm anyway.
From the kitchen, the sound of boiling water rolled, barely audible over the deluge. Spike was off doing something with the Cutie Mark Crusaders. Twilight didn’t even remember what he’d said they had planned, but he wouldn’t return home for another few hours still.
A soft knock sounded at the door, and Twilight’s ears swiveled toward it as her smirk leached all the warmth from the room. She slid a bookmark into place and trotted over to the entrance quickly—no need to keep Rarity out in the rain. With a flourish, she opened the hidden door at the back of the castle and swept a hoof toward her private apartment. “Welcome, Lady Rarity! How good of you to join me in a repast this fine evening.”
For a moment, Rarity lingered on the stoop, her coat radiating the orange glow of the dying sun still visible in the last patch of clear horizon. She then stepped inside and levitated her umbrella to a clear spot on the floor. Giving a coy little smile, she trotted over to take one of the seats at the table Twilight had prepared, Twilight’s quickened pulse matching her hoofbeats.
Beautiful mane, flawless coat. Those ocean-hued eyes that hinted at similar depths… but sadly there were none. A shallow bauble on hooves. At least this particular love charm had the side effect of rendering the subject mute. The spellbook had listed that as a defect, and Twilight had to admit that in most cases, it would seem so. But not this one.
Twilight strolled into the sphere of dancing candlelight around the table and helped slide Rarity’s chair closer, then trotted to the kitchen to retrieve the evening’s meal. She turned off the stove’s burners, scooped up helpings of pasta, doled out spoonfuls of sauce, and grated some cheese on top, finally balancing a warm, crusty roll on the edge of each plate. And back to the table with their dinner, which landed gently in front of each of them.
Grinning demurely, Rarity averted her eyes and hunched her shoulders up. A brief, silent giggle made her head bob as she nudged her glass toward Twilight with a hoof, the twin flickers of light illuminating her features.
While she poured cider into each of their goblets, Twilight sought out those eyes again where they lay shrouded beneath Rarity’s mane. She reached a hoof out and turned Rarity’s chin forward again, but couldn’t make herself meet that gaze.
What was it about her eyes? They’d always had some unexplainable quality that drew everypony in.
Twilight sat in her chair and beckoned toward Rarity’s plate. She levitated her own fork up to enjoy that afternoon’s effort of spaghetti pomodoro.
Sampling for herself, Rarity twirled her fork to snare up a small nest of noodles and tomatoes, then savored a delicate bite. She bounced her shoulders in tacit laughter and floated a serviette up to dab some sauce from her lip. Alas, pasta never was particularly conducive to remaining spotless.
There were those dimples again…
Rarity leaned forward, half-lidded eyes at once questioning and insisting. Those eyes. A chill streaked down Twilight’s back, leaving her coat standing on end, as she mirrored the gesture. Their muzzles hovered just inches apart, and Twilight could feel Rarity’s warm breath on her nose. Those eyes, deep pools of crystal purity, gazing back with… a faint purple glow.
Twilight hesitated, drew back for a second. It wasn’t real. But so what? She would have her prize just the same.
Her resolve hardened, Twilight squinted into those eyes again, into the purple glow again, into… her own reflection. Her own face, her own eyes…
Twilight’s breath caught in her throat.
Her… own eyes… glowing green, dark mist trailing from the corners. She shrieked and backed away from the table, tripping over her chair and tumbling to the floor. How…?
Her chest heaving, Twilight stared up at Rarity, who just stood there, watching, judging. “What!?” Twilight screamed.
Rarity smiled softly and batted her eyelashes, exactly as she was supposed to do.
“This isn’t my fault!” Twilight shouted, a sob erupting from her chest as she pushed herself along the floor, away from that impassive figure towering over her.
Rarity smiled softly and batted her eyelashes, exactly as she was supposed to do.
“Don’t you look at me like that! Go home! Just go home…” Twilight hid her face in her hooves and cried as quietly as possible. “Please…” she hissed, “just go home, and forget this ever happened.”
Rarity smiled softly and batted her eyelashes, exactly as she was supposed to do. Then, along the walk home, in the driving rain and without her umbrella, she forgot.
Hours later, Twilight heard Spike come in through the front door, walk past two barely touched dinners and two guttering candles, and stop in front of her, where she’d stayed all evening: huddled in the corner and bleeding emptiness all over the floor.
“T-Twi, what’s wrong?” he said hurriedly, in an unnaturally low tone. “Please, what’s wrong?”
She could hear the faint scratching of his claws on the floorboards as his knees quivered.
“What happened?”
She never looked up. “Spike, I-I need to send a letter to Princess Celestia. Now.”
Silence. Normally, she would have repeated herself, but… he must be shocked. Yes. That was logical. She would give him a minute.
“Y-yes, Twilight. Right away.” He jogged over to the writing desk and pulled out a blank scroll and a quill, then rushed back. “What do you want me to write?”
Logic, facts, figures—Twilight could focus on those. They were calming, definite, fixed. “I don’t know.” That was a fact: a fact that she had no facts, except that one, and… Her body started shaking again. “Just tell her—tell her I need her help. And quickly.”
Spike scrawled something in haste, probably illegible, and then came the soft crackle of its remains heading toward Canterlot. Twilight felt a claw on her shoulder. She cried into her hooves as he sat silently beside her. Sometimes, her friends did know when to be quiet.
Less than an hour later, among the fat raindrops the clouds continued flinging at the ground, a chariot landed in the street outside.
Twilight stared at the wall of a rather spartan room in Canterlot Castle. She sat bundled in a blanket on a hard stone bench, and she remembered being wet, but… she thought she was dry now. Yes, her forelock lay plastered against her face, but it had stopped dripping. So why was she shivering?
Her head bobbed forward a little with each heartbeat. How long had she even been sitting here? Was it morning now? The small disc of wall she could see through her tunnel vision revealed nothing. She didn’t remember sleeping. She did remember… something crumbled, darkness, lurching around in the wetness and the wind. But it was all a gray blur.
And Spike. He’d helped her. Was it morning now? How long had she sat here?
She’d… wronged her friends somehow. No! They’d wronged her. They’d held her back, made her weak. Where had that other Twilight gone? She always made sense, gave such good advice. If only she could sleep. How long had she even been sitting on that cold bench? Was it morning yet?
Scowling, Twilight brushed at some dark shape that kept teasing at the edges of her vision and glanced around the room. It was little more than a widened section of hallway, except for the ornately carved wooden double doors across from her, with a guard on either side. Why hadn’t she noticed them until now?
This was… one of the non-public side doors into the throne room. Why was she here? She could ask the guards, but they wouldn’t help—they were very pointedly not looking at her. To the left, the hallway merely came to a dead end, but to the right, it ran—
Twilight jumped, and her heart pounded. Princess Luna stood there, motionless and expressionless, just another part of the stone wall. She wouldn’t help, either. Twilight remembered her. She remembered being very angry with her. Her scowl deepening, Twilight gritted her teeth as the fog lifted from her mind.
Luna had never helped her with those horrible nightmares—in fact, Luna had probably sent them in the first place. Jealous of her favor with Celestia, jealous of her growing power. But that other Twilight had shown her the way, and she was better for it. Twilight continued to glare, but Luna showed no reaction, just staring back implacably, as if studying a laboratory specimen.
With a loud click, the large doors opened, and buzzing conversation echoed from within, a few empty suits prattling on about “the state of the Crystal Empire.” Twilight’s ears perked toward Princess Celestia, trotting out the far side of the room. Then Princess Cadance and Shining Armor slipped out, not even noticing Twilight there in her shroud.
But Luna showed some signs of life. She gasped, broke into a wide grin, and trotted up to Cadance’s side. Cadance wrinkled her brow at the unexpected greeting, but Luna paid her confusion no heed, nuzzling her neck. “Another one! When is the blessed event?” she asked, angling her head toward Cadance’s ribs.
Cadance gaped, looking back and forth between Luna and her husband before she blushed and gave an embarrassed grin. “We… we haven’t told anypony yet. It’s still quite early.” She flashed a meaningful stare at the guards, then smiled more warmly at Luna. “How did you know?”
Luna held a hoof to her mouth and giggled. “The little one is dreaming. I can sense it.”
Deep in Twilight’s gut, a fire burned. Her jaw clenched tighter, her breathing hastened, her mind seethed as that treacherous Luna fawned over Cadance. And her brother stood there with his chest puffed out over his precious secret. “You no-good slug!” she shouted as she lurched to her hooves, letting the blanket fall back on the bench.
He jumped and forced a guilty smile. “Oh… Hi, Twily! I didn’t see you there. What’s wrong with… your eyes…?”
The pig actually had the audacity to grin at her. “You wouldn’t tell me about your wedding! Your own sister! And now you weren’t going to tell me about this? I thought I meant something to you!”
Shining Armor worked his mouth for a moment before any words would come out. “But… Twily! We haven’t told anypony. We weren’t keeping it from you. Honest!”
“You don’t trust me!” she screeched. Her chest heaving, she shot a blaze of magic at him.
He barely had time to put up a crude shield before the torrent’s force slammed him into the wall and pinned him there. His own horn lighting, Shining Armor pressed back with the best warding spells he could muster, but still he was driven into the stone blocks, which began to crack. Stinging, acrid smoke coiled away from him.
A white fog clouding her vision, Twilight bared her teeth. Swirling wind whipped at her mane, and magic buzzed and crackled in her ears, obscuring any other sound. Behind that shield, her lying brother kept mouthing his feeble excuses, and she wept for him. He at least deserved her pity.
Everypony, everything, all of this just needs to go away! she thought as she squeezed her eyes shut against the tears and burning fumes, and she imagined herself wrapped in a warm cocoon. Safe. And warm. And calm.
Twilight stood in the sand, a gentle sea breeze combing ripples through her coat. Nearby, a small trowel and upturned pail leaned against the sand castle that safeguarded her little corner of the beach from any hostile forces. She splashed into a shallow tidal pool, sending a few minnows wriggling for whatever nooks and crannies it afforded, and a pair of tiny crabs skittering for their burrows. Unfortunately, it also washed off the sand cutie mark she’d crafted for herself, leaving her once more blank-flanked.
Twilight trotted down to the water’s edge, held her nose high, and took a deep sniff. Salt tingled on her lips as the spray from the breakers dotted her face. What a beautiful day!
Up and down the strand, as far as she could see, ponies frolicked in the surf, tugged kites behind them, kicked a ball around in the dunes. But the sun was setting, and most of the families were packing up and leaving. With a chill creeping into the dusk wind, Twilight hunkered down onto the sand and felt the stored warmth radiating up through her belly. She closed her eyes and listened to the waves. Warm. Safe. Calm.
“Twily!”
Twilight thought she might have heard something, but she opened an eye to peek, and nopony was around.
“Twily!”
Now, she was sure. She swiveled her head around, but still nothing.
“Up here!”
She stood and turned toward the low cliff above her, and Shining Armor smiled down at her.
“C’mon!” He couldn’t keep his voice from cracking at that volume. “Mom and Dad have been worried sick. We left half an hour ago and thought you were right behind us. They’re up here, by the road.” He beckoned her along, and she ran to pick up her shovel and pail, then galloped over to the path that wound its way through the rocks. Stopping to catch her breath, she couldn’t keep her legs from shaking.
She… She remembered that day. She hadn’t even known she was lost, but her brother had found her just the same. One instant, embroiled in her own fantasies, and the next, overwhelmed with what might have been. But he was there.
“Twily!” he called again, but in a much richer tenor. “Twily, stop!”
The sound sheared right through the magic’s whirlwind, and the white faded from her vision. Shining Armor, still pressed to the wall, had sunk against the floor. Beads of sweat ran down his face, and he raised a hoof to brace the last remnants of his shield.
Brother!
Twilight cut off her magic immediately, laboring for breaths of sulfur-fouled air while she staggered forward a few steps, then collapsed in a heap. The two guards had assumed flanking positions around her, their spears gripped in their teeth. Luna stood near Shining Armor and had taken careful aim at her with the blinding radiance on the tip of her horn.
Lights danced in front of Twilight’s eyes, and her head swam. Now that the threat had passed, Luna let whatever spell she’d been charging dissipate, but… Twilight had never seen her move to attack. Luna would have blindsided her! She shuddered, and a wave of nausea swept over her as she blacked out. Her disintegrating mind heard one last thing.
“Take her to my sister. Now.”
Twilight awoke and slowly picked her head up off her hooves. She lay on a thick carpet with an odd assemblage of colors—an orange square, green triangle, yellow circle, the last of which ran up and over her foreleg as well. Frowning at the oddity, she traced the light back to the stained glass window above her, its stylized sun and the real one behind it providing her own personal spotlight.
Based on the sun’s angle, Twilight figured that it must be late morning. But what day? Trying to think about it made her head hurt. The last thing she remembered… Had Princess Luna attacked her?
“Ah. You are awake.”
Twilight whipped her head around to face the familiar voice’s owner, then struggled to her hooves. She didn’t bow. “Princess Celestia! What’s happening? How did I get here?” She scanned the silent throne room; except for the two of them, it was empty.
Celestia took Twilight’s chin in her hoof and directed her head first one way and then the other, all the while peering at her eyes. “To answer your first question: more than you realize. And to the second: you asked me for help. Do you still feel that you need it?”
“I… don’t know.” Bits and pieces of the preceding weeks drifted back down onto her memory like ashes. “When did I come here?” She could still taste tomato sauce, but a smell of singed… something flooded her nose.
“Last night. There was… an incident. You’ve been asleep in here ever since.” She finally pulled back from Twilight’s face, and whatever she’d seen had her frowning. Two large cushions floated over from a stack against the wall. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”
The hairs on Twilight’s back stood on end, and she had a sudden urge to remain standing.
“Please.” Taking her own place on one of the cushions, Celestia patted the other.
Twilight let out a sigh and lay on the empty one.
After taking a deep breath, Celestia smiled gently and began. “Twilight Sparkle, I’ve always told you that friendship is magic. This is undeniably true. Conversely, magic is friendship. But magic is so much more. You must already know this; you’d become a gifted wielder of magic before you had any mastery of friendship.”
Twilight watched in the momentary silence, then nodded.
“Magic is love, magic is heartbreak, magic is pain, magic is jealousy. Magic is death.” Celestia blinked once and waited for Twilight to absorb her words. “Friendship is one of magic’s most powerful expressions and one of the greatest avenues through which to pursue it. But magic permeates all things. It has a life of its own. It wants what it wants.”
Now Celestia had Twilight’s attention. Her gaze locked on the princess’s face, even as Celestia stared down at the floor between them.
“Most ponies have a small enough amount of magic that they don’t ever notice its influence. Others may feel a perceptible tug, but can make the right decisions using their own consciences. It can take a real effort for those who have unusual talent, like you, but it is never overwhelming. So how would a pony become corrupted by her own magic?” Celestia snapped her head up and glared pointedly at Twilight.
Her muscles knotting, Twilight set her jaw. This had turned rather personal. Had Luna already gotten to her sister? She’d had all night…
Celestia sighed at the lack of a response. “To be sure, there are those who do not care to resist, like King Sombra.”
Twilight’s hoof flinched toward her eye, where a dark wisp still danced at the periphery of her sight, but she held it in check just in time—no, not in time. Celestia’s eyes had glided down to the hint of movement.
“Those are easy cases, because they’ve proven themselves irredeemable. Only twice before have I encountered a pony who truly wished to resist but could not.” She swallowed hard, and was she trembling? The mighty Princess Celestia, trembling?
Celestia met Twilight’s gaze once more. “I was the first, and I was responsible for the second.”
Twilight’s eyes shot wide open, and her body went rigid. Celestia had been like… this… once?
Her horn radiating a soft light that reached toward Twilight, Celestia said, “I will share a few memories with you. Then you will understand.”
Celestia soared over the landscape and surveyed a long day’s work. Her beloved ponies, engaged in their fractious tribal squabbling, had turned their energies to exploration and development as a means of gaining an advantage, and had spread through a rather large portion of the continent in the last few centuries. She would have to make an attempt to unify them somehow, but that was for another day.
Now, she had to make sure that the world was a wondrous enough place for everypony. Beyond the tribes’ ancestral territories lay only featureless dirt—certainly nothing to entice anypony beyond the familiar ruts they had always trod. She had spent the better part of a decade patrolling far to the north and strewing sun-kissed meadows in the lee of majestic peaks that she’d molded out of the monotonous terrain. Rock-filled bays, mineral-rich hills, rolling fields of rippling grain stalks, windswept snowscapes—all manner of resources and aesthetic pleasures lying in wait for those courageous enough to find them.
As was the daily custom—excepting that this phase of the project had occupied Celestia on her own for the better part of two weeks—her sister met her at dusk to see what Celestia had wrought and to add her own touch. Luna would sculpt the coastlines of sand and stone with her tides, paint the shine of moonlight onto the glaciers and scatter it over the snow, and speckle the sky with stars. Certainly, Celestia had more work to do, but at least Luna had fun with it.
When Luna came in for her landing, her eyes momentarily strayed to the bags under Celestia’s eyes. “Sister, Thou shouldst ensure that Thou hast rested enough. We are concerned for Thy well-being.”
“Nonsense,” Celestia said, flicking a hoof. “We are enjoying Ourselves. Fear not, for We shall do so in good course, once We have completed Our task. But see! See what We have created!” Celestia launched herself skyward, with Luna close behind. She finally stopped several miles aloft, the entirety of the land arrayed below her.
“There!” Celestia cried, pointing to a whirling column of air as it meandered over acres of wheat and tore an ugly scar across the landscape. “We call it a tornado. See how it reneweth the earth?”
A large black cloud drew Luna’s eye. “And that?” she asked, inclining her head toward it.
“Wildfire! It purgeth all that is unworthy. See! Flood, blizzard, sandstorm, drought.” She pointed out each in turn. “We have made and named them all! Are they not marvelous?”
“To what end?” Luna asked, her gaze rising from the land beneath to the green glow in her sister’s eyes. “What wouldst Thou do with these new… creations?” Her brow creased.
“Dost Thou not see? Should any unworthy invaders from other nations approach, We can wield them against said foes. Ice to freeze their progress, fire to rain from the sky, wind to strip them of their resolve, water to drown them until they stop struggling.” She chuckled and tossed her head. “And if necessary, Our own ponies can be made to suffer. Look at their petty bickering, how they mewl and yelp amongst themselves. They would not dare turn on Us if they knew what destruction Our wrath could bring. And We might force them into curtailing their irksome skirmishes.”
Luna stared back, open-mouthed. She searched Celestia’s face but kept returning to her eyes and the streams of dark mist trailing from them. “Sister…”
“Earthquake!” Celestia declared, paying Luna no heed as she watched the ground tremble and reduce an ancient uninhabited town to rubble. “We call this a volcano!” Fire spewed into the dusk sky, and burning rivers trickled over the countryside, laying waste to all that stood in their paths.
Luna frowned at her sister and conjured a subtle glow to her horn. She closed her eyes, her frown deepening as her head slowly twisted to the side and cocked. “Very well. We shall take Our turn now.” Her shoulder twitched.
Before returning to their home in the clouds, Celestia pursed her lips and watched the seething lava’s progress. She frowned as well. It had seemed like such a good idea mere hours ago.
It must have been a month later. Celestia had lost track of the days since that… strangeness. She still admired her volcano—and the few more she had created since—for their awesome beauty, but it no longer made sense to turn nature against her ponies like that. Or even enemies. However, Luna had been acting oddly of late.
“We see that Thou hast been productive today, Sister,” Luna said as she inspected the creatures milling about below.
“Yes.” Celestia pointed a hoof off the cliff’s edge. “Manticore, hydra, timber wolf. All to populate Our newly finished lands. In time, they may spread throughout the continent.” She nodded, and for the first time, Luna grinned at one of her creations.
“Well done, Sister,” Luna said through bared teeth. She then winced and held a hoof to her forehead. “We have created one of Our own as well. Wouldst Thou like to see?”
Celestia nodded as her sister’s horn glowed, no doubt to make some dramatic reveal. Luna had not taken any interest in the new animals before. But now that she considered the matter again… why had she made those horrid things?
“Sister, W-We must say something.” Luna held up a hoof to silence Celestia. “We hope that with the completion of Our land-forming project that Thou wouldst refrain from further great expenditures of magic. Pray agree, dear Sister. We—We cannot stress this point enough.” Her knees wobbled.
“Certainly, if Thou thinkest it is that important.” Celestia finally turned away from her creatures to face Luna. “What else?”
“Our creation—it is a windigo.” Glancing far to the south, Luna waved a hoof at a few of the pony encampments. “Though terrible, We believe… it shall serve to unite… the tribes.”
Celestia wrinkled her forehead. “How?”
“We… cannot explain. Please… trust Us in this. Go to Thy rest now. Go.” Luna grimaced and sank to her knees.
Celestia took flight from atop the cliff. She thought she might have heard Luna whisper, “And then never trust Us again.”
“I-is he finished?” Luna asked from where she lay on the ground.
Celestia shook her head with a dour frown on her face. “No. But he is trapped. We can seal King Sombra away in exile, but unfortunately, he will take the entire Crystal Empire with him. Perhaps in one thousand years’ time, We can make his defeat final.”
“One thousand years,” Luna hissed. “Yes, Thou canst recover Thy strength. Slowly. Remember what We have said about rationing Thy magic.”
Celestia nodded and stooped down to cradle Luna’s head. “We understand. But rest now. We will carry Thee back to Our castle. Save Thy breath.” She stroked her sister’s mane where it flowed from beneath her helmet. “Shh.”
Luna shook her head quickly and coughed. “We cannot fathom how Thou couldst emerge victorious over both of us in such a short time. But it shall not happen again,” she added with a sneer, even as her tears trickled down her cheeks.
“No,” Celestia whispered as she closed her eyes. “Why hast Thou done this?”
“Because Our magic is better suited to taking on that burden. And one of Us must remain strong.” Luna took a long, shuddering breath and clenched her teeth. “Now banish Us as well, Sister. Quickly. We have absorbed what We can. Time runs short.”
“No. No…” Celestia could only shake her head.
“Thou hast no choice. Please!” Spreading her wings, Luna writhed in the dirt and groaned. “Please! We cannot fight… Wouldst Thou trade one thousand years for eternity?”
As her sister convulsed in front of her, Celestia set her lips in a taut line. One thousand years. A steep price, indeed. And it was all Celestia’s fault.
She gathered the Elements of Harmony around her and lit her horn. The moon shone down on both of them, and Celestia turned her face up toward it. Not too far away, but distant enough to isolate Luna. Perhaps she would take some comfort in being united with her essence. And perhaps she would be able to see Celestia each night when she stood in a high place and told Luna that she loved her. Luna would always be able to watch—she would see to that. Gritting her teeth, Celestia reached out and wrenched the moon in its orbit to ensure that the same side would always face Equestria.
The first night of the next thousand years. Each glowing its own color, the stones circled Celestia faster and faster, and the swirling wind tore her tears away. She bent low over her sister’s quivering body to kiss her on the forehead. “We love you, Luna. I love you.”
“You see, Twilight, my sister’s magic is more absorptive and reflective in nature, commensurate with the moon’s properties, while mine is more radiant.” She formed a wry smile and sighed. “As the eldest, I was the first to feel the magic’s influence in that manner. I thought I could control it. I thought I had controlled it. And so I kept casting immense spells, oblivious to the effects they were having on me.”
Twilight wrinkled her brow and stared off at a point through the wall somewhere. She reflexively swatted at the dark traces that had dogged her peripheral vision so much lately, but… they were barely there anymore.
“And my sister kept siphoning off that built-up power, unbeknownst to me. It was new to her as well; she had no more knowledge of what to do with it than I.” With a shrug, Celestia swallowed hard and fixed her eyes on Twilight. “We’d never fully recovered from our conflict with Discord, and after subduing King Sombra, my connection to the Elements had grown tenuous. I… couldn’t do it that night, however. I foolishly gave myself another chance, but…”
Celestia pointed at Twilight. “I understand you have already seen what happened next: our final confrontation. Banishing Luna broke my connection to the Elements for good. The stones do not well tolerate… injustice.”
“That’s why you needed us,” Twilight said from her faraway thoughts. She finally blinked and met Celestia’s gaze.
“Yes.” Her smile finally taking on some of the sun’s warmth, Celestia reached a wing toward Twilight, but then drew it back. “I needed to groom successors. But this… development has severed your own connection to the Elements. You couldn’t use them now if you tried. If you still had them.”
Celestia took a deep breath and drew herself up to sit as tall as possible, then glared down her muzzle at Twilight. “So, Twilight, my one-time faithful student. Without such world-altering employment of power, what is it that lets your own magic overwhelm you? Or are you yet another who is drunk with false promises?”
Twilight snickered. “You have been an admirable teacher in that regard.” She gasped and held a hoof to her mouth as she fought back tears. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m trying. Really.” After taking a moment to squeeze her eyes shut, she held her breath and bit her lip. “What’s happening to me?”
Celestia shook her head. “I don’t know. But I will assist as much as I can. Perhaps you should remain in the castle so that I can monitor the situation closely.” She sidled over to Twilight and wrapped a wing around her.
A few long minutes went by in silence, but Twilight could feel her labored breathing relax, little by little. Just as it had ever since Celestia had lain down near her, now that she thought about it. Was that all it would take? Her mentor’s steadying presence?
“There. Is that any better?” Celestia asked in a honey-laden tone.
“I don’t… Actually, it is. What did you—?” Strange. Twilight flicked an ear where a draft must have brushed it, but the sensation returned. Stronger this time, like… breath and…
She rolled her widening eyes slowly to the side to see Celestia nibbling softly on her ear. Her body went rigid, and an icy shock jolted through her skin. “P-Princess?” she asked with a wavering voice. She slid out from under Celestia’s wing and staggered to her hooves. As she turned back to Celestia… She gasped. Her—her eyes! Green, with purple streaks wafting from the corners!
“Oh, Twilight. Don’t act so surprised.” Her smirk growing, Celestia rose from her own cushion and advanced on Twilight, step by step. “The magic wants what it wants, after all. You are no stranger to that.”
Twilight had backed all the way to the wall, and still Celestia strutted forward, her hips swaying and her teeth showing through her grin. Her eyes roved up to Twilight’s ear again, and she licked her lips.
“Sister!”
Twilight and Celestia both jerked their heads toward the side entrance. Luna strode in, the door swinging shut behind her, and uttered a soft hiss. She clenched her jaw and leveled a squint at Celestia. “Shall I save you from yourself again?” she barked.
Celestia’s leer slowly faded from her face, then she shook off whatever was gripping her mind, her eyes squeezed shut. “I… I apologize, Twilight,” she said to the floor in front of her. “I was… just—”
“Just taking on more than you could handle, Sister. Again.” Luna imposed herself between them and glared at Celestia. “She was absorbing the magic’s darker aspect to ease your burden—” she patted Twilight on the shoulder, then turned a frown back on her sister “—and overdid it.”
On wobbling knees, Celestia walked over to the low rise below the throne and collapsed at the bottom, still keeping her eyes fixed on the carpet. She heaved a sigh and held a hoof to her forehead. “Thank you, Luna. And I really do apologize, Twilight. This spell is… rather difficult for me to manage all at once.”
“Her magic is not attuned to this purpose,” Luna said in response to Twilight’s raised eyebrows. “She can cast such spells, but not very efficiently. I suppose she has already shared that history with you?”
Twilight sank to her haunches. “Yes. I-I understand. And Princess Celestia—I don’t blame you. I-I did… something s-simil—” She bit her lip and averted her eyes, the flavor of garlic and basil flaring up on her tongue again.
“Perhaps you both could do with some rest.” Luna directed a pointed stare at Celestia, who nodded and blinked at the purple mist in her eyes. “You may use your old quarters, Twilight Sparkle. I trust you remember the way there.”
“Yes, Princess Luna…” Twilight replied in a hushed voice.
“Good. I must see to my own student for now, but we will speak later. All of us,” Luna added. She raised an eyebrow at Celestia, who gave a brief nod before laying her head on the woolen runner.
Luna trotted away, heading back out the side door—she noted the scorched and cracked masonry from the previous night with a frown—and made her way through the twisting corridors until she’d arrived in her study. She waded through the stacks of paper and past the heavy star-embroidered cloths draped across the windows. A pair of thick candles burned in their cast-iron sconces on the wall, sending webbed shadows throughout the room. After taking a moment to scratch behind the ears of the few bats hanging from the ceiling beams, Luna flopped into her chair and gazed over the weighty ebony desktop. Against the wall stood a few brass instruments—telescopes and astrolabes, mostly—glinting in the flickering light, and a large pad of blank paper on an easel near the door.
Finally, her eyes rested on the broad inclined drafting table in the corner. Luna took a deep breath, swelling her chest. Covering the tabletop was a large sheet of parchment with the night sky’s major features: planetary orbits, meteor shower sources, cometary paths… and just beginning to fill in one minute corner, exquisitely detailed markings of stars, all pencil-drawn. Hundreds of them, within a scarce few inches, all named in impossibly small print, and many of them repeatedly erased and shifted by some infinitesimal distance.
Luna gave a soft snort. Someday she would finish her chart. Someday.
“I thought I heard you in here.” Luna’s student stepped in from the adjoining room and squinted into the study’s ever-present dimness.
“Ah. Dawn Ember,” Luna replied to her student. “Any progress today?”
“I made a potion that cures warts. Nothing interesting.” She swept a half-lidded glance around the room, but her eyes flicked deftly to every crack and crevice, at last settling on the gypsum dust from the bits of crumbled plaster on the windowsill. Only Ember could be so interested when she was bored, everything around her a potential source of material. “I don’t know. Seems kinda trivial.”
Luna leaned back in her chair, sending a loud creak echoing throughout the room, and let the corners of her mouth curl up. “You continue to impress me, Ember.”
“Why? I can barely cast a lick o’ magic.” Ember sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “And I’m older’n any other unicorn in my class by several years.”
“This again?” Luna asked, tapping her hooves together. “Your magic is subtle, but real, unique, intuitive. Or are you questioning my judgment?”
Ember blushed faintly and eyed Luna through the unkempt strings of forelock spilling over her face. “I should get back to my studies.”
Luna smirked and turned to the nearest pile of paperwork. “Are you planning on meeting up with Copper—is that his name?—again tomorrow?” Even without looking, Luna had no doubt that Ember’s jaw hung wide open.
“I—I… Yes, Princess.”
“Good. I like him.” A quick glance revealed a broad grin on her student’s face and half-lidded eyes directed far in the distance. Any time the poor mare got flustered lately, she’d adopt that same far-off look and soon calm down. It did not require a princess’s experience to discern why. “You can do without studying for one night. Take some extra time off. You could get your mane cut.”
“As soon as you do.”
The bats stirred at the sound of Luna’s laughter. She hoped Ember enjoyed their occasional verbal sparring as much as she did. It was always a nice respite from…
Luna’s grin faded. “You remind me of Twilight Sparkle in some ways. Have you ever met her?”
“I don’t think so. But I know the name.” Ember stared over her shoulder at the new soil samples in the laboratory behind her. Was she even listening? No matter.
“You are alike in a lot of ways and different in many others.” Luna’s eyes glazed over, and she swiveled toward the covered windows.
“Mmhmm.”
Through the thin strip of glass visible above the curtains, Luna could see one of the castle’s towers—Twilight’s old room. “What are we going to do with you, Twilight Sparkle?” she said through her sigh.
Ember raised an eyebrow and stood watching a bit longer, then turned and silently walked back into the laboratory.
Twilight Sparkle had spent all day alone in her old room, and nopony had come by. Luna was the one who had suggested that they talk, but nothing. Had she shuttled Celestia off somewhere so she couldn’t interfere? What was Luna playing at?
The stars all leered down at her, and Twilight glared back, for what little good it might do. Further down, many other points of light shone from around town, but one by one, they winked out, leaving only streetlamps and the occasional insomniac’s candle illuminated. One other source, though—from Luna’s study across the courtyard. A shadow paced back and forth behind the cloth that obscured the windows, but the half-spread wings and long horn betrayed its identity. Back and forth, over and over again, rather like a goldfish in its little enclosure, too stupid to realize it’d been in that same spot countless times.
The figure paused and parted the heavy drapes. Could Luna see her? It was quite dark in Twilight’s room, but she imagined Luna could see in the dark very well.
Poor Luna. She really did try. A nostalgic grin sneaked across Twilight’s face before she had a chance to stop it. Teaching her to control her voice, coaching her in how to speak… helping her to keep her temper in check. She’d been kind of… adorably inept back then. A good student, eager to learn, but as soon as she thought she’d absorbed what she needed, Luna went back to strutting around as if Twilight were just another subject.
Twilight’s grin faded. Luna was never going to get it. She had already given up the greatest power she’d ever possessed, and all because she’d rather play her little divide-and-conquer games than stay focused. Just like a foal who, enamored with a shiny key, holds it up to the sunlight while the incoming tide buries the dingy old chest containing the real treasure. On her second try, no less. Twilight had bested Luna once already. And what stood, here and now in this shadowed room, was something more than just Twilight.
She caught her head sagging toward the windowsill and shook her lethargy off. No sleep. She couldn’t afford it, not during the night, at least. Not with Luna still awake. She’d wriggle her way into Twilight’s dreams, twist her thoughts, give her some more of those terrible nightmares. Those… No, they weren’t that bad. She’d been very blunt to Rainbow Dash, but her friend needed to hear it. And she’d taken Pinkie by the neck, but… she wouldn’t shut up. She didn’t hurt Pinkie, in any case. Just a little fun.
What had been so bad about those dreams? Twilight remembered feeling upset, but not why. She slapped a hoof against her forehead and winced from the impact, but at least the pain brought a moment of clarity. Luna was working something subtle. Twilight couldn’t figure out what yet, but she would.
She couldn’t count on any help from Celestia, though. Luna wouldn’t allow it.
Twilight sneered. Luna. Always in the way. Twilight probably wasn’t strong enough to challenge her yet, but give it time. Luna wouldn’t dare harm her, anyway. Not when Twilight had Celestia wrapped around her hoof. But for now… Twilight couldn’t stay here.
This place—maddening. Too many voices, too much bustle. Even at night, attendants, guards, staff, scurrying through the hallways. The city slept, but never Canterlot Castle. She needed… space. Space to think, space to be alone.
Like the library. Twilight’s jaw relaxed, her mind flooding with images of cheery candlelight, musty books, a cup of hot cocoa, and the ebb and flow of the subtle magic which had sustained the old hollow tree and now resonated through the crystal walls of her new home. Well, maybe not cocoa in this warm weather.
Spike would be there…
Twilight giggled in spite of herself and nibbled on the tip of her hoof. She could see it now: “Twilight, can I get you some tea? A daisy sandwich? That book on your nightstand? Whatever you want. I’m just so happy to have you home!” She could envision his face lighting up, the way he’d always crowd against her when she’d been away. She had to smile along with the phantom Spike there in the dark. Of course, he wouldn’t come right out and tell her he wanted to see whatever gift she’d brought back for him. First, the small talk—he’d ask what had happened…
He’d ask. The ghost beside her let out a whimper and directed glistening eyes up at her. “Twilight, you had me so worried! You never told me what was wrong, and you left so suddenly. Please, Twilight. What happened? Did Princess Celestia help?” She couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t admit—that word again! There was nothing to admit. Nothing.
But he would ask. They’d all ask. Pinkie, that silly mare, always bouncing around with a goofy grin. Twilight had to laugh, but… Pinkie was so irritating. Try getting some peace and quiet around her. Rainbow Dash. Bold, fun, true. And a nuisance. On a rare occasion, she might pry an intelligent thought from her head. Applejack, the straight shooter, tells it like it is. But to be honest, she could shut up about her farm. Everypony works. Everypony. Some ponies just have other things going on in their lives, too. Fluttershy could simply blend into the wallpaper, and nopony would notice. Useless. And Rarity. She’d had her chance.
In place of Spike, Rarity’s crystalline eyes hovered in the starlight, watching her. Those beautiful eyes—they twinkled, and Twilight could see herself in them again, could see… her own green eyes again, with purple mist trailing from their corners. Twilight jerked her head over to the wash of moonlight on the stone wall near the window. I-I’m sorry, Rarity! I…
No matter. Celestia couldn’t keep Twilight here in this room smelling of dust and mold, whatever promises she might have made. Celestia sure seemed to have taken a shine to her. The corners of Twilight’s mouth twisted back upward as she chuckled into the shadows. Perhaps she could use that to her advantage.
No! That’s not the way it happened! Twilight shook her smile off and threw it into the room’s farthest, darkest corner. She… she needed to clear her head. She needed to get away from here. This room, this castle, this city… They constricted her thoughts, wrapped their coils around her mind. Squeezing.
In a flash, Twilight saw the room as if through another’s eyes, at a distance. Out the end of a tunnel, or… the top of a well shaft. She only had time to suck in half a gasp before it was gone. Right back into herself, in this infuriating place!
She pressed her hooves into her temples and opened her mouth to scream, but held back at the last moment and glared at that window across the courtyard. This was exactly what Luna wanted. The light extinguished—it was still well before midnight, so no way Luna was going to sleep. Some other duty… She might even be on her way here.
Twilight jerked to her hooves, then rushed out of the room and down the long staircase to the ground-floor entrance. She opened the door a crack and peered outside. Two guards on patrol in the street: the same pattern as when she used to live here. The princesses were nothing if not predictable. Minute after minute she listened, gauging the guards’ speed and location from the echoing hoofsteps. One had just rounded the corner to the north, and the other wouldn’t walk by again for three more minutes. She counted off another fifteen seconds in her head for good measure, then was out in the street, running. Running for the main gate, running for freedom, running for… she didn’t even know what, she realized as her breath came in ragged gasps. For some semblance of control, maybe.
The large city gates had closed for the night, leaving only the small pedestrian door. No way could she slip through that undetected. Twilight had already made up her mind: no levitation and no flying, or she might be seen against the moonlit sky, and no teleportation, or the flash of light might give her away. But she had to risk it once—she didn’t have any other way.
She pressed her body against the thick stone bulwark that ran around Canterlot’s border and gritted her teeth. No windows nearby, no pedestrians around, no direct line of sight to the guard post at the gate. She probably wouldn’t find a safer spot to try. About twenty hooves straight out should do it. Twilight fixed her mind on the view outside that wall, outside the city, as if she could touch it, pull herself toward it. The smell of old masonry, the green leaves outside, the taste of damp night air. Then came that familiar warm surge, and… that same view sat in front of her, a few branches out of place and the stars not quite how she’d imagined them, but she was free. Free.
Shuffling hoofsteps sounded from atop the fortification, and Twilight’s heart raced. She ducked into the scrub, stayed motionless, held her breath until her lungs burned, but nopony called out a challenge or raised an alarm. Two flashes of light, a split second apart, on either side of the barrier, and nopony had seen.
Her smirk led the way into the darkness as Twilight picked her path through the forest, her pace quickening the further she got from the city. She needed to reach Ponyville before daybreak. Earlier, if possible.
The moon still hung high in the sky when Twilight emerged from the trees beside the well-rutted carriage track from Canterlot. She hadn’t passed any wagons, but it hadn’t cost her much time on the uneven ground, either. She trotted past the first few buildings and made her way toward the library, and when those leafy boughs finally sheltered her from the moonlight, her heart leapt. Home!
Stretching up as high as she could, Twilight peered in the ruined window and craned her neck toward the blackened remnants of the stairs, and then even that melted away into the shadows. Right. Not her home anymore, not even there anymore.
She trotted on to her castle and around to the back corner, where the living quarters looked out over the countryside. The main room was dark—no surprise there—but she couldn’t detect a flicker from upstairs, either. Spike hadn’t left a light on for her, just in case? Had he given up waiting, or had Celestia replied to say she wouldn’t be back tonight? Twilight’s shoulders slumped. She hoped he would have done it anyway, if only as a show of faith in her. As much as she’d like to blame Luna, Twilight had watched her all day, and she’d never left that study.
So it was really Spike, on his own. He’d accompanied her since the beginning of her magical journey, and—and she wanted him there by her side for all of it. She shook her head and wiped her cheeks dry. She needed to figure this out. But not here. It—it didn’t feel like home right now. She knew where she needed to go. It’d all work out. A-after she’d had time to think.
She left the castle behind. Other buildings slithered past, all dark and lifeless and looming over her. Carousel Boutique, its creative spark extinguished for now, lost something when it wasn’t in constant motion. Sugarcube Corner, utterly alien in its silence and locked doors, hunkered down for the night.
A sudden urge to rush up and knock on that door tugged at Twilight’s shoulder. In seconds, she could say everything would be okay and hug Pinkie—the possibility sucked at Twilight’s mind like a parasite. She deviated a few steps from her path through town, but no. Pinkie would want to ask questions, too.
Twilight fought down a low growl in her throat and took a deep breath to regain her focus. She needed quiet. She didn’t need to deal with anypony. With an extra urgency in her step, she continued on her way out of Ponyville.
By the time dawn broke, Twilight was panting and shoving through the underbrush along the Everfree Forest’s edge. She took a moment to stop and pluck some wild raspberries from a thorny vine and gulp them down. Sour! She spat them out immediately. For a moment, she stood there, seeds and red juice falling in clumps off her tongue. But… she was hungry. She hadn’t even thought about it before, but now that she did, her legs shook. Nothing around—just trees and dirt and those unripe berries and… She stomped a hoof. Nature sure could be useless. She wolfed down every disgusting berry in sight and concentrated on tasting as little of it as possible.
On her way again, along whatever road lay ahead, some invisible force pulling her more strongly the further she got. She could feel it now, like rope around her neck, but… it had been there the whole time. Barely, but she recognized its presence now. After taking only a moment to drink from the river and devour a scant patch of dandelions, she prodded her weary legs into a gallop once more, across the shallow rapids, over a deep gorge, and finally into the ruined castle on the far side.
Twilight stumbled up the stairs, her warped vision skewing and twisting the next step and the next… Out into a big room. She tripped on a loose paver, banged a knee on some debris, now the room was sideways! Stinging on her shoulder against the cold floor. She’d fallen. Not sideways, just… down. Back on her hooves, not walking, sliding as it pulled her, dragged her toward—
She collapsed onto the dais that long ago held the royal throne.
Dawn Ember paused halfway up the long stone staircase leading to Princess Twilight Sparkle’s old room. Well, current room too, she guessed. She’d played down her reaction when Princess Luna mentioned her name, but no way would she miss a chance to meet a legend like Twilight. One of the greatest spellcasters ever, and yet approachable, or so she’d heard. She’d even seen the bedroom before, preserved as a tribute ever since Princess Twilight’s coronation. Yes, a tribute, not a tourist attraction. Some ponies just assumed they could commercialize whatever, but Princess Celestia never would have allowed it. As if she could stop the ponies selling souvenirs and celebrity star maps.
Not much to be done about it, though. Ember continued up the stairs after looking out one of the narrow windows for the clock tower on the far side of the castle. Almost eleven-thirty. Maybe Princess Twilight had gone to sleep already.
Ember knocked lightly at the door and watched the light from a nearby sconce dance across the polished wood. “Princess Twilight Sparkle?” she said in a hushed voice. She waited a moment, but no answer.
Without a sound, she opened the door a crack and peered into the blackness, a yellow blob of leftover torchlight still flooding her vision. “Princess?” she said again on her way in, but after a few paces, she sat on the floor. Not awake, apparently, and no need to bother her. She turned to leave and—
“Twilight is not here.”
Ember jumped and held a hoof to her racing heart. “Princess Luna?” Her eyes still hadn’t adjusted, and she couldn’t see her mentor in the dark. No, in the middle of the room—a faint glint of diffuse moonlight off Luna’s horseshoe.
“I had hoped to speak with her, but she has left.”
Ember had only heard that tone of voice from her once before, when she’d failed a trigonometry test that had caught her completely unprepared. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“No need to explain. We all have our heroes, and Twilight makes for a good one.”
Princess Luna strode over to her, and Ember imagined that even in the dimness, the Princess could see the blush on her cheeks clearly. But soon enough, something else crept into Ember’s consciousness. Something sour, dark red. Something she’d felt before. She knew what would come next.
“What do you sense?” Princess Luna sat directly in front of her and stared implacably ahead. Ember had long since learned how to read her, though. That warmth behind the features, the same care as a mo—
As a mother.
Ember closed her eyes and brought a weak glow to her horn. But her thoughts didn’t drift immediately toward the room’s acerbic flavor.
The purple light drifting through the cabin’s windows complemented the yellow glow from the hearth. Chanterelle had gathered a number of canvas pouches and was spreading the herbs, roots, and fungi they contained over several metal trays, which she then set on the bricks to dry. One batch in front of the fire, and another coming off to be tied up in neat little bundles and stashed in the bins by the door.
Ember watched her mother intently, taking in the deft movements of her hooves, the timing, the placement, and more than anything else, the sweet, pungent, earthy aromas curling up from each tray. Every little gesture drew Ember’s eyes along with it, like a puppy on a leash.
With each glance down at a much younger Ember, Chanterelle smiled a little bigger. “You see that one, dear?” she asked, pointing at a gnarled, fibrous root. Ember leaned forward to peer at it and nodded. “Ginseng. It’s good for making tea, and it helps with a number of chronic health problems. And that bark over there—”
Ember scrunched up her nose and reached for it, then hesitated, held back.
“Go on. You won’t hurt it.”
Ember took a strip in her hooves and turned it over several times. The color, shape, texture, all pretty… ordinary. She gave it a sniff.
“That’s willow bark,” Chanterelle said. “Pain reliever and fever reducer.”
After one more close look, Ember bit off a small corner and held the remainder against her cheek while she chewed. Her horn lit up, but faintly, barely enough to penetrate the room’s darkness. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Yeah. It feels slow and… cold. That makes sense. But it turns black and red.”
Chanterelle squinted back at her. “Black and… red?”
Ember knit her brow and shook her head. “I don’t know. That’s just how it looks when I close my eyes.”
His pipe puffing away in regular rhythm, Fennel’s eyes sparkled when Ember looked up at him. “It can be good for your heart but bad for your stomach,” her father added.
“What about that?” Ember asked as she grabbed a small stalk of yellow flowers. She smelled it, but it didn’t seem like anything special. Might as well try a bite—
“Don’t!” Chanterelle shouted. “Spit that out!”
One more chew, and Ember blew it into the fire and screwed up her face. “Bitter!”
“That’s foxglove,” Chanterelle said, reaching for her nearly empty cup of water. “Here. Rinse out your mouth and don’t swallow. Spit it back in the cup.”
With an “ecch!” Ember obeyed and wiped her hoof across her tongue.
“Too much is poisonous, but a little bit is a valuable heart medicine.” Chanterelle held a hoof to her chest and chuckled. “Just ask next time.”
Ember pointed at the platter sitting in Chanterelle’s lap. “What are those?”
“Morel mushrooms. What do you make of them?” Chanterelle held one out to her.
Ember broke off a piece, and when Chanterelle nodded, she gave it a chew and closed her eyes. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like anything. What does it treat?”
“Hunger,” Chanterelle answered with a laugh. “Mixing them in a preparation of milk and flour makes a wonderful gravy. They’re for dinner tomorrow.”
Ember smiled back. It was rather tasty. The flavor reminded her of… of… Her drooped eyelids popped back open.
“Looks like some little filly is about ready to get some sleep,” Fennel remarked through a smoke ring. He reached a foreleg around her and corralled her over to a cot against the wall.
She lay down facing the fire, and Fennel draped a wool blanket over her. Nice and warm against the evening chill, with the fire’s radiance playing on her face. Warm, and just listening to the crackle and pop from the hearth, and the insects humming outside. The one place in the world where she felt safe. Safe and warm and calm.
Ember grunted and nearly spit on the floor. But that wouldn’t get rid of the taste.
She never liked it when Princess Luna asked her to do this—to use her magic on a pony. It worked only by analogy, though. Tastes, colors, whatever impressions she got and could compare to ones she’d felt before, from the magic inherent around her.
The day after Fennel had first found her, when he’d taken her to the nearest city, Vanhoover, to ask about missing pony reports, that was how she knew. She knew that after they’d camped overnight, throwing that yellow rock in the fire’s ashes would get the timberwolves off their trail. The thing had made her nose hurt—orpiment, Fennel had called it—so it stood to reason that something with an even more sensitive nose might soon find it couldn’t smell anything else for the rest of the day. And that poor sketch artist at the police station, with a case of food poisoning. They’d all laughed when a filly told her to eat her charcoal stick. All except Fennel. And now it was a common treatment for poison.
With any new touch, smell, taste, she was lost until she had a known quantity for comparison. But this sour taste, this dark red… She’d encountered them enough times, whenever Princess Luna asked her to help track down a rogue magic-user. But never before so strong. She almost choked on it.
“What do you sense?” Princess Luna asked again.
“Same,” Ember said, wrinkling her nose. Princess Luna nodded. So she already knew. Why involve her, then? Nature was one thing, ponies quite another.
“I suspected as much,” the Princess replied. “But I need to know where she went.”
Even worse when Princess Luna ordered her into bloodhound mode. The land and the plants welcomed her, meditated quietly with her. They wouldn’t keep up if she rushed them.
Princess Luna’s stony gaze said plainly that she didn’t have time to waste. Unfortunately, time meant little to the air and the wood and the stone floors. “It might take a while,” Ember said. The pungent, warped magic hung thick in the room like molasses. Finding a faint draw in there, a small afterimage of the caster’s mindset, was like picking out one gnat among the swarm and following it. If only Copper were here. She could use his strength.
“Whatever time you need.” Princess Luna blinked and tightened her jaw. “But when you find it, I go alone.”
That suited Ember just fine. She sniffed the air again, tasted her lips. Already a musty odor, like moss, but out of context, it meant nothing. She grimaced, but not at the sensations rolling through her mind.
Using magic against a pony…
A ray of late-afternoon sunshine had finally crept that last infinitesimal distance to pry its way through Twilight’s eyelids. She pushed herself up onto her haunches and squeezed her eyes shut even harder. How long had she been asleep? And no dreams…
Twilight at last glanced around the room at the crumbling stonework, the openings where ornate windows no doubt once covered gaping arches, the blocks piled into a crude seat beside her, and—her eyes flicked back to a hint of movement. A bit of pink swaying in the breeze, and some of the pale yellow light bathing the far wall took on a distinct shape.
Fluttershy.
The bile rising in her stomach, Twilight glared at the intruder, but when Fluttershy continued standing there like another of the stoic pillars, Twilight settled on the stack of rocks that had been a throne. No—would be a throne. Her throne, in the wild, away from all those other ones in her old castle. Alone. This place needed a little attention, sure, but it would gleam with its former majesty again. All of the Castle of the Two Sisters would, and then she’d have to think of a more apt name for it.
Twilight blinked a few times, then spoke as if addressing an irksome peasant. “How did you know I was here?” she asked while inspecting her hoof. She reclined on her velvet cushions and surveyed the rich tapestries and gilded fixtures adorning the walls.
“Some of the animals told me,” Fluttershy replied, at least in Twilight’s estimation. She’d only made out a few syllables of that mumble. Her mouth still hanging open and her chest still tensed to coax a few more words out, Fluttershy raised a bent foreleg, but then averted her eyes and snapped her mouth shut.
Twilight had only caught a brief glimpse of Fluttershy’s eyes, but they weren’t that usual malleable softness that would adapt itself to whatever everypony wanted them to be. That gaze had been hard, callused… resolute. The plain stone surrounded them once more, all the finery torn away by that starkly real moment. Twilight’s heart raced.
“Just go away,” Twilight growled, her ears folding back. Fluttershy didn’t budge. Her forehead creased, but she remained stock-still, staring at a spot on the floor in front of her. “Nopony likes you, you know. They’d say something, but you just melt into the background, and they forget you’re even there.”
Fluttershy blinked and examined the floor a little further to the left, and her feathers puffed out. Curious… Birds did that when threatened. Did pegasi, too? It didn’t make her look intimidating—just fat.
“Do you even realize what I could do to you?” Twilight got to her hooves again, but the longer that waif refused to back off, the more Twilight’s teeth gritted. “Just go away!”
Still Fluttershy stood, her perked-up foreleg quivering. She swallowed hard and let her mane fall across her face, but little flecks of tempered steel gleamed in that gaze from behind the pink cascade.
Twilight’s own eyes glimmered, and one side of her mouth curled up. There were other ways of getting to Fluttershy. Fun ways.
One flash of purple light later, and Fluttershy reappeared far above, against the ceiling. Her eyes shot wide open, and she yelped as she plummeted and flailed her legs. Like that would do her any good. Halfway down, she fought off the vise of fear that Twilight knew would be clamping her wings to her sides. Fluttershy flared them out and swooped away as best she could, but still grazed her knees on the floor and went tumbling.
“Just run away, Fluttershy. It’s what you do best.” Twilight’s chuckle was lost in the scrabbling of hooves against loose stone.
Fluttershy stood once more, her knees shaking badly, and snapped her wings back to her body. A spasm surged through her chest, but then there was that firm jaw again, jutted out to hold back tears, common sense, words that she couldn’t say. Now she showed some spine? Not even Fluttershy would be predictable anymore. Very well, then. The thing about spines—they break.
“What’s it going to take to get you to go away?” Twilight shouted. “I just want to be alone in the quiet!”
Fluttershy only gulped and stared at Twilight’s hooves, her sentry post resumed.
Twilight’s horn blazed once more, and an immense dragon filled the room, the setting sun’s rays gleaming off his metallic scales like fire and scattering in iridescent patterns on the walls. He swung his long neck around and thrust his snout within inches of Fluttershy’s mane.
She held her ground. Somehow. She collapsed onto the floor, covered her head with her hooves, and whimpered like a pathetic foal, but she held her ground. As Fluttershy trembled in the dust, the dragon roared in her face, a blast of hot, sulfur-scented breath sending her mane streaming back. But there she stayed, gasping for air and losing the battle against the sobs that wracked her chest. In the ensuing silence, she peeked with one eye to see the illusion dissipate.
Twilight laughed. The tear streaks on Fluttershy’s muzzle, her struggle to remain soundless, simpering on the floor—but neither would she move. Twilight’s grin bent out of shape under the weight of that simple fact. She squinted at the cowering figure and shouted, “Why won’t you just go? You’re not wanted here!”
One leg at a time, Fluttershy propped herself up on unsteady hooves, her jaw clenching. “I’m not leaving. If you want it quiet, I think you know I can do that better than anypony—” she punctuated her statement with a sharp nod “—but I’m not leaving.” She wiped the dampness from her cheeks and finally returned Twilight’s stare.
Twilight ran up to her and jabbed a hoof toward the door. “Get out!” she screamed. The tight line of Fluttershy’s mouth broke again as her lower lip puffed out and she blinked away fresh tears. “Go on! Cry! See what good it does you,” Twilight spat.
Her voice coming out in a squeak, Fluttershy leaned forward and hooked a foreleg around Twilight’s neck. “I’m not crying for myself.” Tremulous lips moved to Twilight’s ear, and Fluttershy whispered, “I’m not crying for me. It’s for you. Something’s horribly wrong, and I don’t know what.” She pulled Twilight tighter into the hug until their cheeks rested together. “I still love you, Twilight. You’re my friend. Spike told me you went to see Princess Celestia, but he didn’t know why. We’re all worried.”
Twilight gasped and ripped herself out of Fluttershy’s embrace. She shoved her friend away as hard as she could, fell to her haunches, and scrambled backward. “Stop it! How dare you talk down to me!” She recoiled and grimaced, her eyes squeezed shut. “Why won’t you leave?” Twilight yelled. Her horn sparking to life again, she gripped Fluttershy’s wing joints with her magic and slammed her to the wall. The impact wrenched a dull cry from Fluttershy’s throat.
The floor just out of reach, Fluttershy struggled against the purple glow for a moment, then let her body go limp. A few teardrops stirred up minute dust clouds on the ground as she gave up any pretense of holding back. “I’m… sorry…” she keened in spurts through her crying. “I’m sorry I… couldn’t… help you…”
Twilight’s eyes began to gloss over, and a white fog obscured her vision of that pegasus with her back pinned to the stone blocks. The mist wrapped close around her, warm against the encroaching evening coolness, safe from any threat, calmed from her fury at Fluttershy’s interference.
“Enough!”
And it was all gone. Twilight whipped around to where Luna had soared in through a gaping hole in the ceiling. The storm subsided, its rage abated—no, refocused. Luna had dogged her relentlessly, allowing her no rest, waiting for an opening. And for what? Some petty unvoiced grudge. At least Twilight agreed on one thing: she’d had enough.
“Put her down!” Luna kept her wings fully spread, blotting out the low sun and casting Twilight into shadow. “Somehow, I knew you would be here. This place—” she wrinkled her nose and waved a hoof around at the ruins “—always seems to draw us.”
Twilight sneered back and let Fluttershy slide down the wall, but kept hold of one of her wings. She twisted it slowly, her grin broadening with each passing second until Fluttershy cried out.
Twilight winced at the sound of that plaintive wail and nearly gagged.
How could she…? No. She shook her head. Why couldn’t she think? What was Luna doing to her? This place… always seems to draw…
“…Us?” The word echoed as if somepony else had spoken it, reverberating down… a well? She could imagine it, the spot of light at the top of the gloom, but… gone now, and—she shouldn’t have taken her eyes off Luna. She looked back—her heart skipped a beat. The princess stood nose-to-nose with her.
“Leave Fluttershy alone. I will not ask again.” Luna’s tone was measured, controlled, as if she were stating a simple fact. But those eyes—they blazed like stars, glowed like something from a nightmare, bored into her to where she couldn’t breathe. She… couldn’t…
Twilight pried her gaze away from Luna and sucked in a deep breath as she glared at Fluttershy and released her. Gingerly rubbing a hoof at her wing, Fluttershy dropped to her haunches. And didn’t leave.
“Us?” Twilight croaked again through her suddenly parched throat and turned to look somewhere vaguely near Luna’s face.
For a long minute, Luna stared back wordlessly, nightfall beginning to obscure her features and make her blend in with the other long phantoms creeping in from the room’s corners. Then, after a false start, she spoke. “Another time, Twilight Sparkle. For now, you will return to Canterlot Castle with me.”
And what are the odds we make it all the way there? Twilight thought, a smoldering ember reawakening deep inside. She lunged, head lowered, and a white-hot beam lanced from her horn.
Luna braced her shoulder against Twilight’s rush and conjured a shield on reflex, but not before some of the attack had found its mark. Grimacing at the wisp of smoke rising from the charred coat on her side, Luna flung Twilight’s magic aside and cast a stream of her own energy.
A dozen strands of midnight spiraled toward Twilight, and she managed to sidestep them—mostly. A single one had brushed her leg and sent a shock through her—no, from her. The glow surrounding her horn arced down to that tendril during the brief moment they were in contact and wrenched the stored-up magic from her. Her knees buckled.
Just from that half-second… To be totally stripped of her magic, even for an instant. Her power, her identity, her life, gone. Was—was this what it felt like to be one of those filthy earth ponies?
Another half-second went by. Luna, of course, had not stood idle. Twilight’s legs jerked out from beneath her, and she fell to her side with a heavy thud.
More and more of those strands of night’s essence snaked up from the hoof they had snared and intertwined around her body, pressing, squeezing, glowing white as they tore her magic away. A cocoon of starlight, but… cold, dangerous. She thrashed against it, but the threads only tightened against her and crushed the air from her lungs. Twilight’s mouth hung open, trying to gasp, trying to scream.
Luna leaned even closer, their muzzles almost touching. “You will return to Canterlot Castle with me.” Luna’s voice had taken on a hollow, echoing quality, and Twilight’s skin… buzzing, numb. Sparks danced in her sight. “Whether you remain conscious is up to you.”
Twilight bared her teeth, twisted her shoulders one last time. Lungs burning, getting lightheaded, everything… going black.
Dawn Ember would have waited in Princess Twilight Sparkle’s room, but something told her she’d be out of place and in the way there. Besides, she wouldn’t have any idea how long it would take to find her and bring her back.
If, she might have interjected, but Princess Luna had no glimmer of doubt in her eyes when she’d left. Ember loved the Princess. She really did, like nopony else—well, not any more than her parents, she guessed, but different.
She really loved Princess Luna, but sometimes, her teacher could sure scare her. And all this dark magic business… Ember might end up hating herself for it later, but she’d follow Princess Luna anywhere, do whatever she asked.
Why even think about that now? It wouldn’t accomplish anything, and it rarely did any more than make her cry. Ember returned to staring out the window of her bedroom.
If she’d gone back to the laboratory, next to Princess Luna’s study, maybe she could see when… No. The laboratory faced the wrong way, so she wouldn’t have a view of Princess Luna’s return to Princess Twilight’s tower chambers. If in fact they went back there. And Ember didn’t exactly feel like being around her mentor’s things right now.
She loved Princess Luna, but she didn’t like her when she got like this: obsessed, cold, rigid. Much like whatever target she was hunting down. And Princess Luna didn’t like herself either, during these times. That hurt the worst.
It had taken hours, until well after daybreak, to give even as much as a direction to Princess Luna. But she hadn’t needed any more than that.
So Ember had returned to her small apartment to get some homework done, except that there it sat on her desk, untouched. This part of the castle also faced the wrong way, so she wouldn’t notice when Princess Luna—
Against the sunset, and just in time to raise the moon… Ember couldn’t tell in the poor light what Princess Luna had clutched in her hooves, but it didn’t take much imagination to guess what—who.
The Princess didn’t head toward Twilight’s room, either. Her eyes burned like watch fires as she settled onto the battlements on the far corner of the castle and beckoned a few guards toward her. She—she was shaking. Rage? Fatigue?
It didn’t matter which, Ember supposed. She should have told her teacher not to go. She should have refused to help.
And yet she knew she never could have made herself do either, not in a thousand years. So there stood Princess Luna, trembling, as the guards took her burden from her. But not the real one. Not even Ember could do that, as often as she’d tried.
It—Princess Twilight, she corrected herself—lay motionless in the guards’ levitation spell, with dark, glowing strands crisscrossed over her. This was bad. This was really bad.
And it was all Dawn Ember’s fault.
She still had another day before she needed to complete her assignments. So she spit out her pencil and started toward her mentor’s study. She would have to coax Princess Luna out from the huntress’s guise, and then sit with her, for as long as she needed. For as long as they both needed.
With a snort, Twilight jerked awake and immediately winced at the pain in her neck. Must have slept on it funny. Her eyes still closed, she tried to raise a hoof to rub that knot, but her foreleg wouldn’t move. What had happened last night? Something told her that if she opened her eyes to find out, she wouldn’t like the answer.
She opened them.
All around her stood walls of stone, the same dreary grays and whites of Canterlot, with their smell of dust and maybe even a hint of burnt coffee. Did that mean—? Was Celestia nearby? She almost smiled.
Twilight tried to raise her head to look around, but… luminescent cords held her down. It all came back to her. Luna.
At least Twilight had a thick cushion to keep her comfortable on the cold, hard floor. But those insidious lines crisscrossed over her back and around her hooves, even encircling her horn. She forced her suddenly rapid breathing to slow, then clenched her jaw and focused on untangling herself. The glow of her magic instantly leapt into her bindings, which flared brighter for a few moments before returning to their faint thrumming. So, no magic.
Luna. Twilight ground her teeth.
She could at least twist her head and see around the room. One window, a single wooden door… It stood wide open. Twilight blinked. Would Luna be so careless?
Twilight tried to wriggle her way out from under her restraints, but even the soft rustling of that cushion echoed like dry leaves off the unadorned marble and granite. Two white heads soon peered around the door jamb, and one of the guards immediately left. What else could she do? Twilight slumped back into the pillow. The remaining guard just stared. Come a little closer and see what happens. She’d glare at him, but it hurt her horn to keep straining that far to the side; she settled for a rough sigh and turned back to her forced view of the wall.
Minutes later, the first guard returned… No, too many hoofsteps. He wasn’t alone.
The door closed gently, then more hoofsteps moving around Twilight, in front of her. She didn’t have to look. Only the dead of midnight could send that particular chill down her spine. But no need to panic. Calm.
Twilight slowed her breathing and gazed up at Luna, who peered back as if observing the contents of a beaker. But there was something to her eyes—a filament of heat within the cold. No matter. Still and calm. Show Luna that she could relax. And after another moment, Luna began lowering herself to the floor.
With a snarl, Twilight lunged against the cords and flung a bolt of flame at the princess, but it only shot a few hooves’ distance before getting diverted, absorbed into those parasitic bonds. Twilight would have screamed, but Luna had favored her shoulder, the one Twilight had burned last night, and flinched. Barely, just a twitch of her head. “Not so self-assured, are you, Luna?” Little victories. They’d be big ones soon enough.
Luna lay the rest of the way down, just past where Twilight’s magic had reached. She closed her eyes briefly, and a few of the strands holding Twilight’s head down retracted so that she could sit up.
Luna was… letting her go? No, she still couldn’t move anything but her head. A show of trust? To what end? Twilight squinted her glowing green eyes at her jailer. Nothing left to do but wait.
The silence pressed into Twilight’s ears harder and harder until Luna finally sighed. “I pity you, Twilight Sparkle.”
How dare she! The purple mist swirling from Twilight’s eyes grew darker and gathered in pools around her forelegs, but she forced down the rising fire in her stomach. Something about that frown. Luna held up a hoof, and her ears drooped. She should be gloating. If their positions were reversed…
“I do not say that to belittle you. I mean it in earnest.” Luna pursed her lips and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Your friend Fluttershy was correct. Something has gone horribly wrong—something I do not understand.”
Luna returned her gaze to Twilight’s face and searched it. That intense stare, tracing back and forth, but the corners of her mouth sank the longer she failed to locate whatever it was that she sought. And still those eyes: the trace of warmth from before had only spread, a reawakened ember beneath the insulating blanket of snow and ice. “From all I know about magic, this should not be happening. I intend to find out why it is.”
Twilight settled more easily onto her cushion and looked away, but the soft glow of starlight remained in her sight, ice blue tempering her own tint of green.
“I think,” Luna continued, “that even in your state, you can see why I will be attending to this matter instead of my sister.” She rose to her hooves and took a tentative step forward, Twilight’s eyes widening now that the princess was in range. “King Sombra embraced the dark magic. He welcomed it. You do not, and yet cannot resist it. There is more fear and regret in your countenance than determination.”
Luna’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What has happened to you?” Twilight fixed her face in a sneer, even as tears began trickling down her cheeks. Why was she…?
Stop it, Twilight! Stop acting like such a foal!
Luna watched one of the teardrops on its journey to the floor. “We cannot keep this up indefinitely, of course. The magic required to renew this confinement spell—” she waved a hoof at the lines holding Twilight down “—will soon prove too taxing for me. My time grows short.” Her mouth hung open as if to say more, but she abruptly turned for the door.
“Your time?” Twilight growled through a ragged breath.
“Yes. My time to find a solution. Or perhaps my time to…” Luna returned to Twilight’s side, even closer than before. Close enough that she wouldn’t be able to evade another attack…
Twilight flinched at the light touch on her shoulder, and soon the head of steam urging her to act had faded. Here she was with the perfect chance to strike out at her rival, and—
“You may never know how much Celestia and I love you, Twilight Sparkle,” Luna said with the first smile Twilight had seen on her in ages. “But you are dangerous. We cannot allow that threat to remain. If we fail to determine a way to heal you, the only option left would be… banishment.”
Twilight’s jaw dropped, and she began to shake. The soft touch withdrew from her shoulder, and Luna trudged to the doorway, heavy and lethargic, her wings drooping almost to the floor. “You can’t!” Twilight screamed, straining against her bonds once more. “Not if you love me like you say you do!”
“Not banishment for you, necessarily,” Luna said as she glanced past her shoulder, her head hanging low. “For me. I served my sister’s sentence. If possible, I will serve yours as well.”
Then she was gone. Twilight didn’t even see her leave. Just a vague memory of the hinges creaking. No time for anything but the one thought that consumed her, the only thing that would dispel the feeling of being trapped in a pit within her own mind: Luna… loves me.
Twilight buried her head in the cushion and wept as quietly as she could.
Once more, Dawn Ember stood contemplating the door to Princess Twilight’s room. Not her chambers, though—what had now become her room, after Luna had carried her limp form back from the Everfree. A secret, of course, but much of the castle staff knew by now. All trustworthy ponies, though, and word wouldn’t make it beyond the walls until Princess Celestia gave the okay.
Come to think of it, Ember had seen precious little of Princess Celestia through this… incident. Princess Luna would surely insist on doing whatever she could if Ember were ever in Twilight’s place, ever did what… Well, what the rumors said about Princess Twilight, if true. Princess Luna would defend her vehemently and—
Of course. Princess Luna would also have the wisdom to stay out of a situation where her personal feelings would seriously compromise her judgment. Still, Princess Twilight Sparkle. How could anypony stay objective?
Ember peered around the corner one more time at the pair of guards flanking the door down the hall. A very plain door this time, very sturdy. The kind that kept something in, not out.
The guards might let her in, if she asked. Or if she heavily implied that she was there on Princess Luna’s business. Not a lie. But she’d never spoken to Princess Twilight before, and—Luna was right. A bit of hero worship, maybe, but it especially stung when a hero fell so far.
If she had fallen. Ember had recognized the taste of that magic, but there could be an explanation. There had to be. Princess Celestia’s chosen one, ever since her legendary entrance exam to the school.
And Ember’s own failure at the same exam, before she’d believed she had a magical talent at all.
Dawn Ember sniffed at the air as she followed Fennel through the streets of Canterlot. Did the city have a unique character, all its own, one flavor? Or just a mishmash of everything in it?
As they got closer to the school, more and more unicorns trotted by, levitating their stacks of books. And Ember dragged her own bag across the ground, her horn’s paltry white glow nearly overtaxed by just that. If she failed the entrance exam…
She’d take it for Fennel and Chanterelle. She’d take it and try her best.
Fennel showed their invitation to the guard at the gate, and then a student, considerably younger than Ember, ushered them through a maze of corridors and staircases, and eventually to a large, empty lecture hall. “The examination board should arrive momentarily,” he said without any indication that she warranted more attention than the same flagstones he saw on the ground every day. And then he left them. Alone.
Waiting. She hated waiting. And that tingling—good thing she’d only had toast for breakfast. She’d worried about having an empty stomach, but now she cared more about how it might abruptly become empty again. After a few minutes of silence, Fennel finally took a seat in the front row and beamed back at Ember.
She blushed. “Dad…”
At the back of the room, a door swung open, and three unicorns entered: a scowling mare, a yawning stallion, and another mare with a gentle smile. They took chairs in the back row as a colt pushed a cart in from the side door. On it was an odd assortment of wooden parts and a small egg in a bowl.
The sour-faced mare immediately spoke up in rapid-fire fashion. “Out of those parts, construct a machine that can crack the egg without spilling the contents, then split the shell open and put only the yolk in the bowl. There are no fasteners, so your magic will have to hold the parts together as well as provide the motive force. Go.”
Ember stared back, her mouth agape. “No, I brought some samples to show you…”
“Young lady, you don’t bring your own test. If we allowed that, we’d have every unicorn in the land here trying to guess which card in the deck we’d picked.” She sniffed and poised a pencil over her notepad. “You’ll take the test we’ve given you. Now, please begin.”
Ember glanced at Fennel through the tangled forelock that had overgrown her eyes, and then to the pile of wooden pieces, her mouth hanging open again. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead. I can’t do magic.
She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth to fire up the strongest glow on her horn that she could muster. One of the smaller wooden parts scraped and jerked across the cart’s top, then another, which tipped up on its end and strained to stack itself atop the first, but… An enormous breath exhaled, and Ember held a hoof to her throbbing head. Both blocks clattered to the floor.
Ember fell to her haunches and sat panting, those eyes boring into her from across the room. Even from that far, she could practically smell the coffee on their breath. She squinted at the blocks again, willing them to cooperate. It was now or never.
She parted the hair from in front of her face put her all into making one block float. Just one. Any one. After a moment, one of them tilted up in fits and starts, like a robin bobbing for worms, but it too toppled over, falling with Ember as she sank to her knees and fought to stay upright against the sparks dancing in her vision. “I’m… sorry…”
“That’s it?” the self-appointed spokesmare said. She clicked her tongue and snapped her notebook shut.
Fennel rose from his seat, a fire smoldering in his eyes. “How do you expect a filly to do that? There’s no way the blank flanks that come here could handle that test!”
“Your daughter is also a full two years older than our normal applicants,” she shot back, halfway rising from her chair. “The test is age-appropriate.”
“So it’s demonstrate a couple o’ specific spells you’ve chosen or go home?” His voice raising, Fennel waved a foreleg at the ceiling. His voice… raising. He never did that. “How is that fair?”
“These are very basic spells, sir,” the mare answered through her set jaw, her voice taking on an edge as her eyes lingered on Fennel’s dreadlocks and Ember’s rat’s nest of a mane.
“Nonsense!” Fennel stalked over to the cart, swiped all the assorted pieces to the floor, and hefted his saddlebag on top. “Charcoal. She demonstrated its use to help reduce the effects o’ poisons.”
“That’s not new,” barked the stallion. “That’s been a home remedy for years.”
Ember backed away and pressed her side into the wall, her eyes fixed on the small picture of a mortar and pestle on her flank. She didn’t want to be any trouble… She held her hooves to her ears, shook her head, felt the blood draining from her face.
“Well, it was new to us out in the sticks. And she found a way to process it that made it faster-acting!” he shouted as he slammed a pouch of charcoal powder onto the cart. The standing mare jutted her jaw forward. “This one!” Fennel yelled as he held up a brown ceramic amulet. “Infused with sulfur, realgar, and wolfsbane. Unless he’s starving, a timber wolf won’t come anywhere near somepony who’s wearing it.”
“Does that really work?” the formerly silent mare asked, her eyebrows raised.
Fennel shook and rattled a letter with Canterlot Hospital’s logo emblazoned across the top. “And three years ago, when she was just a filly, she figured out that a mining explosive would make an effective heart treatment!” He stood, red-faced and panting, while Ember tried to conceal herself behind the cart.
The outspoken mare huffed and strode out of the room. The stallion’s frown deepened.
Ember couldn’t stop shaking. When she was rejected. When she was laughed out of town…
The remaining mare floated her glasses onto the desk in front of her and took a deep breath. “Sir, please understand… I don’t doubt that what she’s done is real and even impressive. But it’s just not the kind of thing we teach here.” She rubbed her eyes and gave Ember a sympathetic smile. “In fact, it’s a very uncommon talent. I hear of it from the zebras, but not in Equestria. If we accepted your daughter, what would she do here? We’re just not equipped to develop that kind of magic.”
“Where, then? Where does she go?” Fennel leaned on the cart for support and looked near Ember, but not at her. “Somewhere across the ocean?” His voice cracked.
“I… don’t have an answer for you. I wish I did.” Her gaze flicked toward Ember briefly, then down to her glasses.
“I will teach her.”
All eyes shot over toward where Princess Luna had entered from the side door, and once Ember had recovered enough to reassert control of her body, she bowed deeply. Fennel was still standing. She poked his ankle, but she couldn’t get his attention. If he didn’t regain his senses soon, he might be arrest—
“Rise, all of you. Please.” Luna strode up to Ember and raised her chin with a hoof. “So this is what I sensed. My own magic tends more to the understated, but I have never encountered any quite like yours… It is like—” she squinted and cocked her head while a thoughtful smile sent its tendrils across her face “—intuition without awareness.” Luna closed her eyes, and the midnight-blue glow from her horn lit Ember’s face. “Like the flower that knows exactly when to bloom, but not why.”
Ember stared back. S-somehow, the words… She would have never thought to explain it that way, but Luna—Princess Luna—had it perfectly. Did she understand?
Princess Luna knelt in front of Ember. “Nature whispers to you, but she speaks in riddles, yes?”
Th-the Princess… Dawn Ember nodded her head clumsily. She probably would have still, no matter what the Princess had said. But that was right. Yeah…
“And no other magic works enough to be useful? Even though you have presumably sought advice from a magic teacher where you live?”
Ember pursed her lips and shook her head. “I can make enough light to see in the dark a little.”
Rising to her hooves, Luna turned to the remaining mare at the back of the room. “Admit her and assign her a room. Non-magic curriculum only, private study hours with me first thing each morning and with the Royal Gardener each afternoon.”
Fennel stood, his mouth hanging open. And then the sound of a clearing throat drew Princess Luna’s attention toward an armored stallion at the side door. “Ah. I see that I must attend to other business at the moment. I will have one of the senior students show you around—pardon me, but I have neglected to ask your name.”
“D-Dawn Ember.”
“Well, Dawn Ember. Your guide can also recommend somewhere to get your mane cut, if you wish.”
By reflex, Ember pulled a clump of her forelock across her eyes and held it to her nose.
“But…” Ember started; Princess Luna only chuckled.
“I understand. Until later, Dawn Ember.” Princess Luna strode out of the room, beckoning for the two remaining examiners to follow. And with her departure, the room lost something… A certain solidity, a firmness—and the sheen of starlight.
Fennel had said his good-byes, shooed her on to follow the guide, and promised to write often. Which he did, every week, like clockwork.
No way they could afford the train trip again, but Princess Luna had furnished a student rail pass and a generous monthly stipend, which she saved up and took to her family every time she visited. Fennel would argue that it was her money, but Ember would say that it was what she wanted, then shoot Chanterelle a meaningful look. And once outnumbered, he’d relent.
Her life had changed that day. All their lives had. Princess Luna had made her dream happen.
But the one thing that stuck with her most, after all these years, was how alone Fennel had looked when she left him behind in that lecture hall.
For her own good, he’d said later on in a letter. He would be fine.
And for her own good, Ember turned around and headed toward Princess Luna’s study. Her mentor had left a note asking her to stop by anyway. Princess Luna could fix this. She could fix anything. And Ember wouldn’t want to remember Princess Twilight this way. She’d introduce herself later, after Princess Luna had straightened everything out.
The walk back to her study had never seemed so long for Luna. Fortunately, she’d learned the castle’s layout well enough that even if her eyes were open, she wouldn’t need to pay attention to where she was going. As it was, a glowing image of Twilight floated behind her eyelids from where she’d stared at her sister’s student at length.
All day long, she sat at her desk and turned things over in her mind. Like compost. And like compost, the more she turned it, the more it smelled.
Nothing made sense. Nothing. Save for Luna and Celestia, magic should not be strong enough to make an unwilling servant of anypony, and even the princesses knew to be vigilant now, for themselves and others. How?
For quite possibly the hundredth time that sleepless day, Luna rubbed her eyes and started at the beginning. Some piece of logic must have been escaping her. And as she met with failure yet again, her thoughts turned to the inevitable backup position: how could she take on Twilight’s affliction for her?
Faint hoofsteps scuffled from the hallway, past Luna’s desk, and toward the laboratory. Luna didn’t look up. “Anything new today, Dawn Ember?”
“No. At least not research-wise.”
“What then?” Luna exhaled sharply.
“This.”
Finally abandoning her train of thought, Luna glanced at her student and froze. The wild, tangled growth of pale-green mane was gone. Ember’s forelock, now clipped straight across, curled gently above her eyes, and her neatly trimmed mane was combed to one side. Order out of chaos—a stripe had even appeared where none was evident before, tinted a slightly darker shade.
Luna’s heart sank. She never failed to notice the look on Ember’s face when asked to assist in hunting down dangerous magic. Yet Luna kept coming back to ask her. And here Ember was the one making a conciliatory gesture.
“You kept complaining…” Ember said, letting her eyes wander toward the window as she blushed.
Luna broke into a grin. “Do you like it, Ember? You should never compromise who you are.”
“I’m getting used to it.” Ember slanted her head toward a “See Me!” note tacked to the laboratory door. “So, what did you need to tell me?”
Luna’s infectious grin melted away, and she steepled her hooves against her chin. “I have made some… arrangements for you. Your work with the Royal Gardener has proven most rewarding. When you have finished your coursework at the end of this term, I want you to spend a month studying with the Royal Geologist. And then I would like you to take an apprenticeship.”
Ember wrinkled her brow and scuffed a hoof at the thick rug. “I thought… I was being a good student…”
“Dawn Ember, you have been a wonderful student. But I told you when you first arrived here that I did not fully understand your magic. Nopony here does.” Luna forced a smile and briefly flicked her eyes to the window, to Twilight’s old room across the courtyard. Empty now. Of course, it had stood empty the entire time Luna had been here, except for one recent night. But Twilight was here, just not where she belonged. Chaos where there should be order—Luna glanced at Ember’s mane again. “At best, I have created opportunities for you, but I am not the mentor you need.”
“Oh.” Ember’s eyes traced a few of the complex swirls in the carpet’s pattern. “I’m… sorry…”
“You need not apologize,” Luna said, rising from her seat. “I have learned much from you, and there are few ponies who can claim to have taught me anything. However, the opposite is not true: you have learned precious little from me, nor can you. The time has come for me to entrust you to one more capable than I. Zecora, a zebra who lives near Ponyville, has agreed to teach you. She is rather gifted in these arts.”
Ember’s mouth hung open, and her eyes widened. “L-leave? Again?”
Luna held a breath. She had to tread very carefully. Her poor student would always react so quickly, so rashly at the thought of being left alone.
“Fear not, my faithful student. It is not far from here.” She beckoned Ember over and took her pupil’s hoof in her own. “I still expect you to deliver progress reports personally, here at the castle. I think monthly should suffice.”
A glimmer returning to her eyes, the taut line of Ember’s lips curled upward. “Thank you, Princess.”
“You—you may…” Luna choked, coughed on her words, and tried again. “You may have to deliver them to my sister, however,” she added, her voice breaking.
Luna clenched her jaw until it hurt, forcing her face into an impassive mask of stone. “I may find myself… indisposed.”
The princess swore she could hear every individual grain of sand in her hourglass scraping through the pinched center and landing on the pile. More seconds gone, seconds that may be meaningless to Luna, but that Ember would never get back again. She owed Ember so much. But she owed Twilight so much more.
“Indefinitely,” she finally croaked.
“Why…?”
Luna leaned forward over her desk and took a deep breath. After a long, hard stare, she answered. “I have a debt to pay. I am sorry that it must affect you in this manner.” She stood and forced another smile, both of them regarding each other a while longer until Luna once more broke the silence. “I am not going anywhere yet, though. Get some sleep. I will see you in the morning.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Ember tugged at her book bag’s strap with her magic… but still couldn’t lift the whole bag. She dragged it behind her on the way out.
And in that dark doorway, the ghostly afterimage of Luna’s student glowed in her eyes… until Luna glanced at the pad of white paper on the easel by the entrance.
“Twilight Sparkle!” she shouted and stumbled backward over her chair. “How did you get free?”
The purple unicorn made no reply, merely watching.
Her chest heaving, Luna looked to the door and considered summoning her guards, but Twilight had moved to block the way. And yet… she was the wrong color. Luna held a hoof to her chest, and Twilight turned purple once again as she drifted with Luna’s gaze from the dark hallway to the white paper. Just sliding, not blinking or walking…
Luna slowly approached and reached out a tentative hoof, tapping the image on the nose. An illusion? No, it was too dependent on the background, and it did nothing but stand there. What possible use would that be?
But her cutie mark: a mortar and pestle. Luna had been staring at Dawn Ember for minutes on end, and now against white…
Luna’s eyes shot wide open, and she bolted out the door.
Dawn Ember sat on her haunches and fought down the tingly jitters dancing in her chest. It wasn’t often that somepony found herself summoned during the night before one princess, let alone both of the royal sisters. Worse, she had no idea what was going on. No explanation, no assurances—just a “Sit down, please,” and then silence. And they were staring at her.
“Yes,” Princess Celestia finally broke in, “she bears a passing resemblance to Twilight Sparkle, now that she has gotten her mane cut, but—”
Princess Luna sharply raised a hoof, and the silence oozed back in to smother Ember. The furrow of her brow deepening, she glanced back and forth between the princesses, but Luna’s glare added a hasty “And sit still, please.” Ember held her breath and tried not to blink.
“Now look at Bronze Patina,” Princess Luna said, pointing at the white pegasus guard who had removed his armor. “Quickly.”
At his sovereigns’ request, the guard stood with his wings flared to present a large white background, but the raised eyebrow was entirely of his own bidding.
“There!” Princess Luna hissed. “Do you see it?”
Princess Celestia’s mouth hung open. “She is… a perfect double of Twilight Sparkle! But what does it mean?” she added, whirling to face Princess Luna. “An afterimage?”
With a slow nod, Princess Luna levitated a scroll she’d insisted on bringing up from the student records storage on her way here. At least the brief stop had given Ember a moment to catch her breath. Princess Luna unrolled a little of the scroll and jabbed a hoof at it. “And look at that date. Does that stir anything in your memory?”
Princess Celestia let her gaze drop to the floor, but then she jerked her head back up, and her eyes widened. She mouthed something silently, but Princess Luna had apparently deciphered what she was trying to say and nodded in reply, her wings unfurling halfway. Finally, Princess Celestia found her voice and turned to Ember. “This date is your birthday?”
Now that the oppressive stillness was broken, Ember wished it would return. “I… I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
Ember couldn’t meet that intense stare anymore and watched her hoof scuff against the stone floor. She couldn’t muster anything above a mumble. “That’s the day my parents found me in the woods. We decided it’d be my birthday.”
Princess Celestia leaned forward. “And who are your real parents?”
Her jaw set, Ember scowled and grumbled an answer. “They are my real parents. They raised me.”
Princess Celestia’s hoof immediately went to her mouth, and her shoulders stiffened. “I… I apologize, Dawn Ember. I meant no offense.” She waited until Ember had made a half-smile and shrugged off her ire. It was okay—Princess Celestia wasn’t really thinking that way, but it got old hearing that question. Nopony ever thought first before saying something like that. “But with whom did you live prior to that day?”
“I don’t remember anything before that. Just waking up in the woods. And my ears ringing.”
Princess Celestia frowned at the floor. “Please. Tell me about it, to the best of your memory.”
Dawn Ember awoke and immediately scrambled to her hooves. She gritted her teeth and looked around for the source of the explosion—her ears still rang from it—but nothing echoed through the forest. Just green, as far as she could see. Quiet green, much like herself. Her knotted shoulders relaxed, and she blended into the foliage. By color, she supposed, but in spirit, too. Just another leaf among the underbrush.
She pricked her ears for any further trace of whatever sound she thought she’d heard, but nothing. Gone, maybe never there in the first place. That darker green patch a few dozen paces away certainly hadn’t reacted to it.
For a moment, she watched it. Picking through the leaves, grabbing a few and stashing them away, without much direction. An earth pony stallion, but when she closed her eyes, he felt like part of the landscape. Green, slightly cool, and slow-moving. At least, that was the impression that rolled through her mind, and she’d learned to trust those… when? When had she ever felt something like that before? She tried to think back, but nothing came to her. Not only about her feelings, but… nothing at all.
Yet it didn’t seem wrong. The forest didn’t remember. It knew the here and now, no more. So what about this other piece of the forest? He belonged here as much as she did, if her instincts meant anything.
She followed him around on his meandering path but kept her distance. No need to interrupt. His wanderings eventually took him around the far side of the hill, where she began to pick up the bitter scent of wood smoke.
And then… a clothesline, woodpile, small garden near a bend in the creek. Behind it all, a one-room cabin built right into the slope, just another part of the forest.
It was perfect.
She trotted right up, like she owned the place, and stood staring at the stallion above her on the porch. “You from around here?” he asked.
“I dunno,” she answered with a shrug and a small frown. Something told her that her answer should upset her. But it didn’t. Wherever she’d been, she was here now, and it just fit. One with the hills, the trees, the sky.
“You lost, dear?”
She shrugged again and smiled, her eyes darting to his brown dreadlocks and some kind of leaf he had for a cutie mark.
He finally turned all the way around. “What’s your name?”
“D-Dawn… Ember?”
An easy laugh escaped his lips. “You askin’ or tellin’?” When she squinted in place of a reply, he continued, “Name’s Fennel.”
Her smile only grew. She snorted a laugh and swiped a hoof across her nose, but she didn’t say any more. At least until a loud growl resounded from her stomach. For the first time, her cheeks felt more warm than the cool mountain air brushing against them for… as long as she could remember.
“Look,” Fennel said, “my wife, Chanterelle, is inside. Probably still havin’ her mornin’ coffee with the local mailmare. Thrush knows everypony ’round these parts. If anypony knows where you belong, it’s her.”
He beckoned her toward the door, but all those names didn’t mean much to her. Where she belonged, though? She had no doubt of that.
“We’ll get you some lunch, too,” he added with a wink.
She trotted right in to catch the wonderful smell of hot vegetable soup, just as a voice from within called, “That you, Fennel? Who you talkin’ to?” The voice’s owner, a gray earth pony mare, sat at the table. Her brown mane and tail were braided, and a pair of mushrooms adorned her flank. “Who’s this?” she asked.
Ember walked right up to her and hugged her. “Goodness!” the mare said through her sudden grin.
“Ah!” Fennel said as he came through the door. “I see you’ve already met Chanterelle. And this—” he pointed at the blue-gray pegasus next to her “—is Thrush.”
Everything about this place—the smells, the tastes, the sounds, the ponies—just felt right. All warm and safe and calm.
“You seen her before?” Fennel asked from the stove, his back turned as he ladled out four bowls of soup.
Thrush gave her a glance up and down. “Can’t say as I have, but I’ll ask back at the office. If nothing there, then you might want to take her to the Guard outpost in Vanhoover.”
Ember hopped into an empty chair and took a deep sniff of steam from the bowl he set in front of her. “Sounds like a plan,” he answered. She waited until he’d brought over the rest and taken his own seat, then grabbed a spoon in her hoof and dug into her soup. So good! She couldn’t remember eating anything that tasted this great, but then she couldn’t exactly remember eating anything before.
When she’d gotten to the last bit of broth at the bottom, she set her spoon down and shoved her snout right into the bowl. She sat back in her chair, her belly all nice and warm and full, and watched the curious look Fennel shot her. He patted his forehead. “Why don’t you just levitate it?” he said, his eyes flicking between her spoon and her horn.
“Oh, I can’t do magic,” she answered. Very terse, very matter-of-fact. But how did she know that?
Chanterelle leaned over toward her. “Give it a try, sweetie.”
With a light sigh, Ember brought the strongest glow she could to her horn. She focused on the spoon, pictured it in her mind, and imagined it floating up, over, and into the bowl. It barely rocked side to side. She clenched her jaw and poured even more resolve into it, but if her horn lit up any more, she couldn’t tell. And the spoon merely scuffled along the wooden tabletop and clinked against the bowl.
“Maybe you just need more practice,” Chanterelle said. She poked her nose toward the offending silverware. “You can work on it some more later—”
“No!” With a growl, Ember flopped her head down onto her forelegs. “No, it doesn’t work, and it never will!” She was well past the age that she would have shown some magical talent if she had any. Though if she’d actually tried it before, she couldn’t recall.
“I can’t do magic.”
“You never recovered any memories earlier than that day?” Princess Celestia asked.
Dawn Ember twisted her mouth into a wry smile. “No. A few vague impressions, maybe. But nothing definite, like anything I’d actually done.”
“And the Royal Guard? Did you check with them in Vanhoover, like Thrush suggested?”
“They took a missing pony report and circulated it all over Equestria.” Ember didn’t exactly like discussing the before time. It never led to any progress, and thinking about it just made her skin crawl. Maybe she’d been nothing. And she couldn’t get more alone than nothing. “No responses on it, so after a year of keeping me on as a foster child, they adopted me.”
The Princesses exchanged a quick glance and raised eyebrows. “Perhaps,” Princess Celestia said amid a rustle of feathers, “it is time to pay my faithful student a visit. I suspect we may find what we seek with her.”
“Wait here,” Princess Luna said to Ember with a pointed stare before striding after her sister.
Dawn Ember happily obeyed. She felt much more fatigued than she should have from that… encounter, but it always left her weary to try dredging below the bedrock of her memories. The same, every time. Tiring, frustrating, and ultimately fruitless.
She pulled out one of the cushions from beside the throne and lay down on it. Then she let her eyes wander up to all of the stained glass windows around her. With only a quarter moon in the sky, she couldn’t make out much detail, but she’d seen them often enough to remember how they looked, particularly the less ceremonial ones, showing Twilight and her friends as a group. Not alone.
After one more glance around the empty room, Ember let out a heavy breath and laid her head on the pillow. Alone.
Celestia and Luna slid noiselessly into the room where Twilight stayed in confinement. Avoiding the dirty dishes that the guards had quickly learned to leave until well after Twilight had fallen asleep, the princesses stepped up to her cushion. Twilight lay on her side, her eyes closed and her chest rising and falling steadily.
“I prefer not to force dreams,” Luna whispered, “particularly from memories. I also prefer to stay out of the dreams of those I know well, but… I think you would agree that it is necessary in this case.” Her eyes glinted in the meager torchlight from the hallway.
After a thoughtful pause, Celestia emitted a soft snort and nodded. This could end up being a very personal intrusion. Her own student… She bit her lip as Luna’s horn touched her own, and a feeling of velvet spread over her body, at once bundled around her and stretching to infinity. It… pressed against her chest, like being underwater or… buried in sand. Fighting, struggling for the surface, thrashing now—
“Breathe,” echoed a muffled voice through the dark, and when Celestia’s lungs felt like they would burst, she sucked in a huge gasp and snapped her eyes open. She stood beside her sister in one of the school’s lecture halls.
“Is—is it always like that?” Celestia rasped.
Luna shrugged. “No. At least in my experience, I knew what to expect after the first time, but I have never shared this with anypony else, not in this way.”
Celestia took a few steps toward Luna and lowered her head to nuzzle her sister, but… grave matters needed her attention right then. At least Luna’s soft smile acknowledged the sentiment.
And still Luna sat. What was she waiting for? This was her domain, after all.
As if on cue, Luna replied. “I know your closeness to the situation makes this difficult for you, Sister, but I was not present when these events occurred. Perhaps you should take the lead for now.”
Luna was right. This place represented a memory almost as special to Celestia as it was to Twilight. Even if she hadn’t witnessed much of it directly, she’d felt it. But now, she had to do the exact opposite and approach a cherished moment with as cold an eye as possible. For Twilight, then…
A strained grunt caught Celestia’s attention. She whirled to see a filly gritting her teeth, putting her all into coaxing a feeble spark from the tip of her horn. And in front of the filly sat a large egg atop a wooden cart… Twilight. Twilight Sparkle’s entrance exam, and apparently Dawn Ember’s birthday, too.
Her eyes squeezed shut, Twilight frowned even more deeply, but still the egg sat motionless. Across the room, her parents shared a nervous glance, and Twilight mustered her last bit of resolve. The glow on her horn intensified, radiated… and fizzled out. Standing on wobbling knees, she stared at the floor, her eyes briefly darting toward her parents. “I’m sorry…”
She’d only trudged one step back to them when an explosion rang out, and a ring of color soared across the sky. As it swept over the castle, Twilight jumped, her eyes shining like the sun at midday, and a surge of magical energy expanded from her horn, engulfed the room, the castle, the city…
“Stop!” yelled Celestia just as Twilight’s parents turned into plants, and the image froze. “Can you back up to the explosion?”
Luna nodded, and after a quick blurring of the world around them, Twilight once again stood in front of the egg. The rainboom stretched across the heavens—Celestia couldn’t help but admire such a rare thing, but… no. She didn’t have the time now. It was a perfect memory, in every detail, but still just an image.
Again, Twilight’s eyes jerked wide open and surged with magical energy. And again, that radiant sphere would soon flash out like a supernova, leaving a scent of ozone on the air. Celestia leaned forward on the tips of her hooves, anticipated the moment when she might catch a bolt of lightning—it would be that quick. Her mouth already tensed to give the word…
“Stop!”
A flawless globe hung in the air surrounding Twilight, its pearly iridescence warping the reflections of everything in it. And in the time it had taken Celestia to say that single word, it had already grown several paces wide.
Celestia circled it and prodded here and there with a hoof. Her own distorted face stared back. Her sister, too, and the as-yet-oblivious entrance examination panelists, and somewhere beneath it all, the murky outline of filly Twilight. Celestia poked her muzzle through the barrier and sent slow ripples undulating across its surface. One of them caught her eye, and she walked around to the side facing the window, where a pale, milky version of the rainboom stripes outside curved across Twilight’s bubble. All of the colors, in proper order, but…
“Here.” Celestia pointed at the reflection, and Luna joined her. The purple band—a blob of pale yellowish-green interrupted it, but when she gazed out the window, the rainbow still arched, as pristine as ever. The light green wasn’t a reflection.
Celestia pushed her way into the sphere and held back a smile at that face of childlike wonder. If only little Twilight Sparkle knew all that lay in store for her. And just as quickly, the smile faded. Yes, if only she knew…
Leaning next to Twilight’s horn, Celestia sighted toward the anomalous green patch. “Northwest,” she remarked, her voice making a hollow echo inside the enclosure. “Where was Dawn Ember found?”
“As she said, near Vanhoover,” Luna answered, and her silhouette on the sphere’s surface held a hoof to its mouth.
“You were right, Luna. Dawn Ember is somehow involved. We know how Dawn Ember is. Now we need to know what she is.” Celestia shook her head. The motionless filly stared back, innocence preserved for all time. “What did you do?” she whispered to her future and past student.
Celestia held a hoof to her chin for a moment. “Go back again, Luna. Please.”
For the third time, Twilight leaned toward the egg and gritted her teeth. And Celestia paced around her while keeping an eye toward Luna. “What do you know about her? Dawn Ember, that is.”
Luna shrugged. “Very much like Twilight Sparkle in some ways: extraordinarily intelligent, studious, fiercely dedicated.”
The breath Luna held in said more than the words left unspoken. “But…?” Celestia coaxed.
“But… her magic is entirely intuitive. It is in the background, passive, making use of the energies around her. She cannot command any power and has no confidence in her abilities.” Luna winced and hesitated, but continued when Celestia gave her a warm, gentle nod. “I have not even bothered to place her in any magic classes—she can barely levitate a pencil and will never have the capacity to do any more than that.”
Celestia closed her eyes and let the new facts swirl around in her mind. She had to make sense of this. She had to. For Twilight’s sake. With enough time, it would come to her, but she didn’t have—
“She works with the innate magic of her surroundings,” Luna added, chuckling as she twisted her mouth into a wry grin, “instead of drawing on her own power. She is almost… distrustful of… magic…” Her eyes shot wide, and she gasped at her sister.
“I don’t suppose—” Celestia jabbed a hoof toward young Twilight “—there’s any way to get inside that mind.” There could be no useful answer, but Celestia gave the universe a few seconds to provide one. “In any case… Those sound like qualities that might trouble a foal with magical aspirations. Qualities that one might prefer to rid oneself of when desperate to impress.” Celestia bent her head low to look into Twilight’s eyes. “Qualities that the inexperienced might unwisely count as undesirable.”
Luna slowly nodded her head, but then squinted at her sister. “Surely you do not mean…?”
“We must be distrustful of magic, after all,” Celestia replied with a grave resonance. “The magic wants what it wants. And what it does not want is to be tamed by a conscience. It might cast that off if it found one distracted enough.”
“But… I have never heard of such a thing!” Luna puffed up her feathers as if she could ward off unpleasant truths with a bit more insulation.
“Nevertheless… you’ve felt magic’s influence.” Celestia resumed her orbit of Twilight. “You know what it might do of its own accord, given the opportunity: somepony’s greatest wish staring her in the face, but just out of reach and slipping away.” She exhaled sharply and tried to shake off the direction her thoughts were taking, but the tightness in her throat wouldn’t ease, even for a second. “Go forward again until her power awakens.”
As before, a boom resounded, leaving Celestia’s ears ringing. And Twilight’s body spasmed, her eyes awash in magical illumination. Everything became still again. Celestia hadn’t even needed to ask.
Celestia peered closely at those youthful eyes. And the minuscule tendrils of purple mist trailing from the corners. “You know what this means.”
Luna drew a shuddering breath and dropped to her haunches, her wings spreading across the floor. “There is nothing we can do to help her.”
For hours, Dawn Ember waited as ordered, though honestly, she’d spent less than half the time awake. What did any of this have to do with Princess Twilight? Ember had never even met her.
That seemed a little odd. Both students of a Princess, at one time or another. And now a Princess herself, the Princess of Friendship. Wouldn’t she make it her business to meet as many ponies as possible? But they’d never crossed paths, as many times as Princess Twilight had visited the castle.
She’d heard the stories, of course, about how Twilight would run away from party invitations to bury her nose in a book. Yeah, books were great, but who could stand being so alone?
Look at her now, though—she knew practically everypony who came up to her, and she could remember some anecdote or shared moment for each one of them. Something just drew ponies to her; she never had to be alone.
And in all these years, Ember had only managed one friend. Well, Princess Luna, too, but she didn’t count. It had never gotten any better. She’d come to this school, not knowing a thing about practical magic, and spectacularly failed her entrance exam; Twilight had blown the test away and still managed to top herself time and again. Ember had arrived after leaving her sole friend back home but hadn’t scrounged up one meaningful relationship during her time in Canterlot. Not for lack of trying, either—she’d attended every social gathering she could find, at least early on, but she simply never fit with anyone she’d met. Twilight had gone from shrinking violet to friend magnet with little direct effort. So different.
But the one friend Ember did have… She blushed and held a hoof to her nose, though the empty room held no possibility of prying eyes. “Friendship is magic,” she’d heard Princess Celestia say on more than one occasion. The one kind of magic she’d never questioned, that she’d felt on her own without a doubt. One little piece of common ground with the Princess of Friendship, even if it took a misfit to befriend another misfit.
“Still no news from Vanhoover, eh?” Chanterelle asked when she opened the front door of her cabin.
Thrush passed her a small box and two envelopes, then shrugged and shook her head. “It’s the strangest thing, Chanty. She’s the sweetest filly. I can’t fathom why nopony’s stepped up to claim her or even say they know her. Been what now, six months?”
Long ago, Ember had stopped pricking her ears toward those conversations. She didn’t care anymore. Nothing would ever come of it, because she belonged here.
Thrush must have seen something—she stepped in and gave Chanterelle a big hug. “…Someday, somepony’ll walk up, a-and… that spare cot will sit there empty again.” Ember only caught a snippet of Chanterelle’s whisper, but she’d heard that enough times.
If only Chanterelle shared her certainty. Nopony would ever come. She didn’t want them to, anyway. She’d tried to reassure her before, but Chanterelle would only say that a filly shouldn’t worry about such things, then promptly drop the subject. So Ember did what she could.
Ember got up from the hearth, and the hushed voices stopped. “I love you, Mom,” she said with a quick squeeze of Chanterelle’s hoof.
Her mom didn’t answer, but her eyes glistened in the morning light. “Chores, young lady.”
Ember nodded and ran out to the yard, where she helped Fennel empty the drying racks and stow a few perishable herbs in the chiller box submerged in the creek. As quickly as she could, she blazed through her morning routine, then dashed back into the house. “Mom, Fennel found a bunch more of those ginkgo leaves I told you about!”
“Great!” Chanterelle replied, swiping a foreleg across her eyes. “They’ve been good sellers. Never woulda figured they’d have any use.”
Her attention returning to her coffee cup, Chanterelle glanced toward the kitchen counter. “Oh!” She jerked her head back to Ember. “I meant to tell you—those Miner colts that live to the east? The younger one got into some poison mushrooms yesterday.”
She placed her hoof on Ember’s shoulder and got those wrinkles around her eyes that she always did when she smiled. Ember loved them. They reminded her of some old etchings or woodcuts she’d seen, each tiny line carved with care and bearing the memory of a laugh. “I told them to burn a few dry twigs and make him eat ’em.”
“Did it work?” Ember asked, her eyes sparkling. She bounced on her hooftips at Chanterelle’s nod, but she needed to hear the words, too.
“I won’t tell you what happened after he ate it, but… we can just leave it that he’s doing better, and much faster than he has any right to, eh?”
Ember took a short hop into the air. “I knew it would work!”
Last chore. Ember pulled her blanket over her cot and smoothed it out, then set her corn-husk doll on the pillow. Everything squared away.
“Should we give her mane a cut?” Fennel asked from behind her, his voice echoing in his coffee mug. Ember frowned a bit but stifled a giggle when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chanterelle shaking her head. “You sure? It was pretty neat when I first found her.”
“No. I think it suits her better long. She seems to like it, too,” her mother answered. Ember blew her forelock out of her eyes and snapped a nod.
Chanterelle rose from her seat and set her cup in the sink. “Ember, why don’t you go on over to the Miners’ and see if Copper feels well enough to play?” She reached for a paper bag on the counter, and the way the contents bounced across the tile, it was pretty full. “Here. I made some cookies after you went to sleep last night. You share these with him if his mom says it’s okay.”
Maybe two months ago, she’d met him. Weird colt. They got along great, of course. Takes one to know one…
“And if you come across those Cedar twins on your way, please just leave ’em alone for once.”
Ember took the bag in her mouth. “Yes’m,” she mumbled over the rolled-up top. She gave Chanterelle another quick hug before rocketing back out the door.
After a good ten minutes of galloping through the forest, she stopped to catch her breath and sat on a moss-covered rock. Sun-dappled ferns swayed in the muted breeze that managed to get below the trees, and she closed her eyes to concentrate on the feeling of uneven warmth on her coat. She was getting brown from the rock and kind of an ice blue from the moss, but understated, in the background. Sometimes her mind needed a rest, too.
Ember unrolled the top of the bag and had a look inside. Eight cookies! Four apiece. She’d need a little more energy for the rest of her trip, so she went ahead and ate one of hers. The steady crunching in her ears masked the birdcalls, and then… Well, she couldn’t have an odd number, so she ate a second one, too. That still left six—three for each of them.
Tearing off down the path again, Ember made her way up a low ridge and back down the far side, along a dry creek bed, then into a stand of pines, where she stopped for another snack. More crunching in her ears, accompanied by a woodpecker skittering over the evergreens’ bark to see what insects it might dislodge. Then one final stretch through forestland and a couple of jumps over low thickets before she cantered up to her destination.
A dark blue mare answered her knocking. “Mrs. Miner? Chanterelle sent me with some cookies to share with Copper. Is he feeling better?” She held her bag up, as if such a thing needed proof.
“Yes, and I hear I have you to thank,” Mrs. Miner answered, tousling Ember’s already-tangled mane. “He’s playing out back. Why don’t you go on and find him?”
Ember nodded and picked up her bag, then trotted around the house. The land behind it ended in a rocky escarpment that ran hundreds of hooves down to the river below. With a very clumsy and deliberate flapping, Copper was just descending from a tall pine tree, his mouth full of pinecones. When he landed, he spit them all out except one and flung it as far down the slope as he could. It bounced from stone to stone, rattling all the way, until it finally splashed into the river. He watched it until it had wound its way around the next hill and out of sight.
She walked to the slope’s edge and peered down. Judging by the number of pinecones littering the rocks, he must have been at it for hours. One at a time, the rest of his supply clattered to the water below. Was this supposed to be entertaining? He hadn’t seen her yet; he was crouched to launch himself back at the trees. “What are you doing?”
Copper looked back at her with a frown that said only an idiot would need to ask, but he didn’t stand up. “Throwin’ pinecones down the hill.” He was actually serious—none of that curl to his lip that he got when he was making fun of somepony. He really thought that was the part that needed explaining?
“Why?”
Copper shrugged.
“Is it fun?”
Copper shrugged again. Must be a boy thing.
“Maybe the trees don’t like you pulling those off.” In her experience, plants deserved more respect than some ponies, especially when that pony was a dumb colt.
“’S what they’re for. Spreadin’ seeds and such. I figure sendin’ ’em downriver spreads ’em more’n they ever coulda hoped. So it ain’t hurtin’ none.” He closed his eyes and snapped a nod as if that were the end of the matter.
He was right. But no way he’d thought of that until just now. Dumb colt.
Copper’s eyes drifted down to the bag beside Ember. “Whatcha got there?”
“Cookies. There’s one for each of us. Mom baked them last night.” She should have thought to wipe the crumbs off her mouth before she said that. But he didn’t notice.
He smiled and nosed his way into the bag, then scarfed down his cookie in three bites. “Thanks. Say, why weren’t you levitatin’ those? Seems easier’n carryin’ it.”
Ember sighed and hung her head. “I’m no good at magic. You know that,” she muttered.
“Who ever heard of a unicorn that couldn’t levitate nothin’?”
Why did he always have to say that? He wasn’t trying to be mean—she’d seen mean before, and this wasn’t it. She drooped her ears and said quietly, “Who ever heard of a pegasus that works underground?” Maybe he heard. Not that it mattered. Dumb colt.
After a long, silent minute, nopony had said anything, and only the breeze rustling through the evergreens chimed in. Finally, Copper pointed at the bag. “Ain’t you gonna eat yours?”
“No.” She shoved the paper sack toward him. “You can have it.”
Three more bites, and it was gone. Then another long silence until he spread his wings and lurched to an unsteady hover. “C’mon. I’ll get you some pinecones.”
Ember flashed a half-smile and trudged over to the top of the slope.
In the quiet throne room, Ember chuckled to herself. A couple of oddballs, pressed together out of necessity, though she liked to think they would have become friends no matter what.
It had to work that way, didn’t it? Quality over quantity. She’d rather have one dear friend who made her life full, whom she looked forward to seeing every single day she woke up. Better that than a hundred acquaintances she could take or leave. And what a friend!
Chanterelle had figured it out long ago. The way they acted around each other, the way Copper’s parents somehow always sent him over to stock up on their medicines when Ember went home for a visit. The way Copper insisted that he could do so much more for the family business if he got a good education in mining techniques rather than relying on traditional knowledge. And at a school just outside Canterlot, no less.
Still, he’d return to the family mines when he graduated. And when Ember finished as well, they could surely use another herbalist in the mountains, back home. Finished school, that is. And… and her apprenticeship. What had prompted Princess Luna to decide that so suddenly? And why had she looked so miserable about it?
No, it hadn’t been fair of Ember to say that Princess Luna didn’t count. She was most definitely a friend. There, Ember had doubled the number already! Two friends, and one with something very clearly tearing her up inside. If only she could do something to help, to ease the burden.
Suddenly, Dawn Ember felt like she understood Princess Twilight Sparkle very well indeed.
Twilight Sparkle awoke with a start. She would have leapt off her bed, but—oh, yeah. Still tied down to her cushion on the floor, with her nose stuffed into a corner of it. A corner damp with drool.
Morning again, but without the sun in the sky yet. The last time Twilight had awakened in the castle, Princess Celestia met her with a gentle voice and a warm gaze. Not much chance of that now, she supposed. When her heart had stilled, she found herself smiling.
Why? She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and tried to blink the fog out of them. If not Princess Celestia, then she could use some company, even Rarity or…
Applejack! She’d had the most wonderful dream about Applejack! Her smile only broadened at the memory of it. At least it had started out that way, but then it got interrupted. And a dream had never felt so real before.
“Profit’s down a little, sugarcube. That’s all.” Applejack sat in one of the library’s big, soft reading chairs and kneaded the brim of her hat in her hooves.
Nopony else in the room right now—no need to keep quiet about it. “If you need a loan, just say so,” Twilight replied. And despite their solitude, Applejack still widened her eyes and cast a furtive glance around.
“No, no. Ain’t no call for that.” Applejack shook her head and sank further into her seat, the pillows surrounding her like a little fortress. “Fruit prices came down this week, but our trees are healthy. Nothin’ long-term, just a temporary setback. We got other crops, too.”
Of course Applejack would never accept money. It took her friends long enough to convince her to let them help when Big Mac had gotten injured years ago. But everypony can pitch in a hoof. Not everypony has money to lend. That must make it more personal somehow. A whole community? That’s what friends do. An individual? That’s a debt. And Applejack hated debts.
“I’m sorry,” Twilight said, hiding her smirk with a hoof. “I didn’t mean a loan. I’d just give you the money. You know I’d do anything to help.”
Applejack’s forehead wrinkled, and she averted her eyes, even ducked further behind a cushion. “I appreciate it, Twilight, but we don’t need it. I’ll just have to… to dip into Granny’s hip replacement fund.” At a noise from across the room, she jerked her head over, but just a book in the return slot. They were still alone. “Again,” she added under her breath.
“Really.” Twilight walked around back of Applejack’s chair and put a hoof on her shoulder. She wouldn’t be able to see Twilight’s smile there. “You know I’d do that for you. Honestly—” she had to hold in a giggle at her choice of word “—I don’t even need the money. It just sits there, gathering dust.”
“Oh.” The corners of Applejack’s mouth quivered. Barely. But she almost asked. Twilight was sure of it. “I… I hadn’t expected. Guess I still always saw you as a student, y’know? But Princess Celestia’s student, come to think of it, and a princess yourself now.”
Applejack sat silently for a moment, nodding to some imaginary conversation in her head. “Yeah,” she added.
“I’m sorry.” Twilight circled back to the chair across from her friend and sat down. “I didn’t mean to seem insensitive. Really, I don’t have a good handle on money. I’ve never been one for indulgences, and I basically live in public housing. Maybe I don’t have much money, but you’re welcome to any and all of it.”
Those lips, twitching again. Predictable, but still fun to watch. Maybe she—
“I don’t even know what a job like ‘princess’ pays.”
She asked? She really asked…
Twilight’s mouth hung open. Not a question as such, but in her own way, Applejack had invited an answer.
“Around… five thousand bits a week,” Twilight said, selling it with a shrug. Applejack’s eyes shot wide open. “I-is that a lot?”
Applejack didn’t reply, and Twilight had to fight to keep a grin from sprouting up. Instead, she forced a frown. “I-I don’t even know what things cost, Applejack. Spike’s so good with a budget, and he manages the finances these days.”
Still speechless, Applejack rubbed a hoof down her muzzle. One tug on the hook already.
“Sorry it’s not enough,” Twilight said. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard.
And like any simple fish, Applejack took the bait. “No, sugarcube. Don’t feel bad. Don’t matter what it is—I wouldn’t take it. But just so you know, that is a lot. Even if it weren’t, don’t you dare feel ashamed.”
“I knew it,” Twilight muttered. “I have only two, maybe three hundred thousand saved up, and it can’t even help a friend. You don’t have to spare my feelings.” She held her pose—the thought of whipping up a few tears crossed her mind, but no need to go overboard.
In truth? Princess Celestia had considered fiscal responsibility a very important part of Twilight’s career both as a student and a public servant. She made about eight hundred bits per week, easily less than Rainbow Dash or Rarity. Or Applejack, for that matter.
Applejack gritted her teeth and bit off a word Twilight never would have pictured her using. “Look, we’ve talked to a doctor about Granny, and…”
She was going to ask! A thrill ran up Twilight’s back. That mare would actually choke down her pride and accept money! But of course, Twilight couldn’t let her good friend compromise her morals, so she’d decline, for Applejack’s sake. Surely, an Apple wouldn’t want a token gesture. And with that line crossed, Applejack might even beg.
The world bent, shimmered, reshaped. And Twilight felt herself torn from her library. Ripped away, forced into—
The school. But they hadn’t used those old chalkboards for years, not since her third term there. In front of her, a dragon egg on a small cart. She knew this place!
Just like before, she went through all the motions of attempting to open that blasted thing, and just like before, she succeeded, rather brilliantly. But Princess Celestia hadn’t attended, not until afterward. Yet she’d watched the whole time. Three of her: one peering closely at Twilight, one pacing around her in a circle, and one talking to…
Princess Luna. No, her banishment wouldn’t have ended yet. What was she doing here? And why involve Celestia?
What did it mean? And what had Celestia found so interesting about those bands of color?
Twilight’s face burned. Luna, manipulating her dreams again, and not long after she’d promised to assume Twilight’s sentence, were one pronounced. She’d like to play both sides, it seemed.
Did she hope Twilight wouldn’t notice? Did she think she could insert herself into Twilight’s past and endear herself that way?
She had no right! To rummage around in somepony’s memory—a breach of trust, a horrible violation!
From the start, this whole business had come about through Luna’s meddling, but Twilight could never figure out her angle. A power play, certainly, to take out a perceived threat, but why do it this way? To convince everypony that Twilight had gone insane? Possibly, but rather troublesome, hard to predict, and incredibly arrogant to assume she could overpower Twilight in doing so.
Twilight had almost talked herself into it. Luna was quite arrogant. She’d taken on a humbler demeanor that one Nightmare Night only to gain acceptance, stave off loneliness, not because she’d magically reformed her need to look down on everypony.
But… Twilight could read deceit in a pony’s eyes. Luna had said that she and Celestia, both of them, loved Twilight. She could have left it at Celestia alone, and by including herself, she might be drawing Twilight to play right into her hooves. Those eyes. Luna had shown no subterfuge in making that one raw statement, and just as she felt herself sinking into that well shaft again, to watch herself do things she shouldn’t… For now, she could still wrestle her way out with the strength it gave her.
Princess Luna loved her.
Princess Luna had several hours until anypony would miss her presence in Canterlot. Not that she needed to explain herself, but in this case, discretion protected more than just her.
She soared low over the Everfree Forest’s treetops, where few, if any, ponies would see her. Even so, she couldn’t let her mind wander. The innate magic below already tugged at her thoughts, and it only worsened the closer she got to that old castle. A residual magic in that case, no doubt. Few ponies understood how powerful such a thing could be.
Twilight had apparently noted some on her travels through the portal, and even here, the Elements retained some inherent abilities, despite the stones themselves having been restored to the Tree of Harmony. And the Castle of the Two Sisters—the stirring energy had precluded any possibility of her ever living there again. Fortunately, her current business need not direct her that way, though she constantly fought the impulse to go. During her brief fight with Twilight—her two brief fights, she noted, her thoughts drifting back to her return from exile—she’d let herself sink into their velvet embrace. The first time, quite deliberately, but the second, before she had noticed.
But no, today’s errand led her just outside the forest, to a humble cottage she’d visited one time, a few years ago. She didn’t expect this occasion to go any more smoothly.
Princess Luna alit at the peak of an arched bridge over a stream. With a sigh, she took a moment to peer over the low stone walls at her reflection in the water below. How many ponies still thought of her as some nocturnal terror, some menace in the shadows? How many would assume, based on old legends, that she couldn’t actually cross this running water, or that she wouldn’t have a reflection?
With a petulant toss of her head, she trotted down the inclined paving stones and up the short walk to the nearby house. She knocked on the front door, and amid a flurry of animal noises from inside, she waited. Should she try to stand tall and command obedience? Kneel and appear less threatening? The latter seemed more in line with what she could imagine Twilight recommending, just like her last time here. Nothing had helped.
The door opened a crack, and Fluttershy poked her head out. “Y-yes?” A short squeak followed as Fluttershy gasped softly.
Twilight’s way, then. Luna eased herself down to her knees, but Fluttershy only lowered her own head, almost all the way to the doormat. “May we talk?” Luna said.
“I-I…” Fluttershy shielded one of her eyes with her mane and trembled.
Luna envisioned a breezy hillside awash with moonlight, and the papery rush of moths emerging. The scent of moonflower, the light tingle of frost on her coat. A smile came easily, one she knew she’d need. “Please,” she said. “For Twilight.”
Her lips pursed, Fluttershy nodded and swung the door the rest of the way open. But those same lips quivered as Luna regained her full stature. “Please. Do not be afraid.”
“Y-y-yes.” Fluttershy backed away, her nose still pressed to the floor. “Y-Your Highness.”
With a slow breath, Luna stepped over the threshold. She’d never actually made it inside before. All the birdhouses, burrows, nests… What a charming and functional home! Much like her own study, everything with a purpose. And out of the corner of her eye, up among the ceiling beams—
“Hello, little one,” Luna said, flapping up to the ceiling to scratch under the chin of a small brown bat. It stirred and cooed at her. “Magnificent creatures, but rather misunderstood, don’t you think?”
“Oh, yes!” Fluttershy replied, her eyes instantly afire. “They catch harmful insects, pollinate so much—” She cleared her throat, and finally the tension in her shoulders slackened.
“I am afraid I do not quite share your affinity with all animals, but I do enjoy a rapport with the nocturnal ones.” Princess Luna clicked her tongue at it, and the bat nestled into its perch again, then went still.
Fluttershy stood, and any trace of a tremor left her. “Please excuse me a moment, Your Highness. I’ll put on some tea.”
“That sounds lovely. And it is Luna. Just Luna.” With a nod, Fluttershy left for the kitchen, and Luna settled onto the couch. A few birds and rodents eyed her curiously, but they all sat in a silence only occasionally punctuated by the clink of mugs and the rush of water into a pot.
Most of the room’s decorations served the animal population—little homes, places to perch, ropes to climb. A spray of rose petals on the end table lent a splash of color and fragrance, but like almost everything here, they served double duty—a gopher hopped up and made a snack of the closest one. Even on the wall, a half-eaten birdseed sculpture in the shape of…
Luna held her tongue until Fluttershy returned with two steaming cups balanced on a tray between her wings. No, on one only—the other hung by her side, with an ugly bruise near the shoulder, now that Luna could see it clearly. That poor mare.
She levitated the tray onto the coffee table to save Fluttershy the effort. Then she leaned forward to breathe in the tea’s herbed scent. Black tea. Strangely appropriate, and very possibly intentional, but Fluttershy’s grin betrayed no joke. Luna waved a hoof toward the birdseed and rolled her eyes at the face she recognized in it. “Is Discord here?”
“No, not today,” Fluttershy replied into her cup. When she noticed Luna’s gaze on her injured wing, she blushed and folded it closed with a wince.
“I apologize for not arriving sooner, Fluttershy. Perhaps I could have prevented that.”
Briefly, Fluttershy’s body trembled, but she didn’t shrink away. “Wh-what’s wrong with her?”
Luna sighed. “That is precisely why I wish to speak with you. Have you told anypony what happened?”
“No.” Fluttershy shook her head and patted the white rabbit that crawled into her lap. “I had to think about it first, and I didn’t want to start rumors. Besides, I might have… deserved it…” Her eyes averted to the window.
Luna’s hoof immediately shot forward to cover Fluttershy’s, which flinched back as she jerked her head around. “No! Do not ever believe that! You quite possibly were trespassing, but for a good reason.”
In case she might find solace in whatever Fluttershy had seen out there, Luna glanced out the window herself. “Twilight did not deserve what happened to her, either,” she whispered. “Neither of you did.”
Fluttershy hid behind her teacup, but she did slouch into the cushion.
“I must ask that you keep what you witnessed to yourself.” Luna sat up straighter and allowed herself a more authoritative tone. Fluttershy paled—regrettable but necessary. “For her sake. My sister and I only now understand what has caused this, and I believe Twilight is resisting it with all her might, but nopony can sustain that degree of effort indefinitely. Her strength—”
“Will she be okay?” Fluttershy set her drink down. “I need to know.”
Was this the same timid creature who couldn’t open the door? Her jaw set, her eyes glinting like spearheads, her mane brushed back behind an ear.
“Y—” Luna let out a sigh. “I do not know. I will do everything I can to help her. Including—”
Fluttershy knit her brow and stared back in the silence.
“I will do everything I can.” Had she hidden the waver in her voice? “I do not wish to alarm all of her friends when I have nothing but speculation. I assume you have talked with them?”
“Yes.” Fluttershy nodded. “We met two nights ago, in the library, before…” She barely flexed her sprained wing. “Applejack and Rainbow Dash only noticed her acting funny. Pinkie didn’t say anything. Rarity… I don’t even know about her. She kept trying, like something was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t find it.”
Luna took a sip of tea, if only to maintain an air of routine. “Even without your stones, the power of the Elements still pervades your group,” she said, waving a hoof toward town and the castle glittering over it. “Reduced, but still present.”
For the first time, Fluttershy formed a warm smile. “I know.”
“Gather your friends again. Share your friendship with her and each other. It will help. Just do not alarm them needlessly. If we have news, I will deliver it personally.” The tea had cooled enough that Luna could swallow down the rest of it.
“I-I will.” With a shrug, Fluttershy pointed her muzzle toward the door. “But only five of us, counting Spike. Rarity left for Canterlot already. She said that something told her she needed to be there. Do you know why?”
Luna frowned. “I am afraid not.”
The low sun outside caught her eye, and she stood to leave, but—that intense gaze. Of course.
“I did promise you an explanation, but it is only for you, and I must apologize for its vagueness—I do not understand it well myself. But your friend’s magic is uncontrolled. It seeks its own ends, and she increasingly agrees with it. We must find a way to restore her… conscience, for lack of a better word.”
Fluttershy had reached for her tea again, and now fumbled to set it down without spilling it. “Oh dear—” she gasped “—I might have t-told Rarity that Twilight hurt me. But nothing more! I p-promise! I said I hadn’t, b-but…”
Luna nodded gently. “It is alright. Keep a vigil, with your friends, through the night,” she said, draping a wing over Fluttershy and drawing her close. “It will help.”
She rose and walked away as the sun neared the treetops in the distance, then turned to look back over her shoulder from the doorway. “This is quite possibly the most important test Twilight Sparkle will ever face.” And with her wings flared, she leapt toward the sky and the spires of Canterlot.
“I… I’m not real?” Dawn Ember said as she huddled in her chair across the desk from Princess Luna. One massive fact, too big to fit in her head. She brushed at the hairs of her cutie mark. She felt real. But how would she know what real felt like if…
Her mind twisted in knots, and Ember tried to stop shaking, without much success. Who ever heard of a unicorn that couldn’t levitate nothin’? Maybe nopony had, because maybe there was no such thing.
“Twilight Sparkle created you, but that makes you of no less substance than the rest of us. You are alive, sentient, intelligent…” Princess Luna stood and walked around her desk to wrap a wing around Ember. “You are respected and loved, as well.”
Ember stared at the wood grain on her chair’s arm. Did it matter? “I guess…” A sharp breath, out through the nose. “I guess it never surprised me that I couldn’t remember any further back. It never felt wrong.”
“Because it is not wrong,” Princess Luna answered. “Only part of what makes you unique.”
Unique? No, she’d splintered off from somepony else, and—she swallowed—Luna wanted to put her back now. Not fair. Not fair, either way, to her, who’d forged her own life, or to Twilight, who’d had hers come crashing down through no fault of her own.
Princess Luna didn’t often hug her. She rarely hugged anypony. It couldn’t keep Ember from shaking, though. “I understand. And I agree—she’s more important. I just…” Ember forced herself to look her teacher in the eye. She needed to know. Fennel, Chanterelle… and Copper. “What’ll it be like?”
How would she tell them? Ember choked on the words, but she shoved them out. “After, I mean. Still myself, in her head? Or…” Strong. She had to be strong in a moment like this, not whimpering, not—Ember wiped away those stupid, cowardly tears as her voice rose to a squeak. “Will I die?”
Her face blanching, Luna held Ember even more tightly. “No, no! I apologize!” She shook her head vehemently and bit her lip. “I did not wish to give you that impression! You poor dear!”
Dawn Ember froze. She’d seen calm, angry, bored… once in a while, happy. But never this.
“No, you are complete,” Princess Luna continued. Her mouth agape, she flicked a hoof to spur the words out as she took a few steps back. “When the lawn develops a bare patch, you take some seed from the healthy part and plant it—it spreads on its own. You do not sacrifice the one for the other,” she explained, her words rushed.
Oh…
Ember’s heart quickened a little. Why had she assumed that? Thinking that Princess Luna would have… But just knowing now, she couldn’t suppress a smile, and she hugged Luna back. “Ugh, I feel like such an idiot!” Sparks danced up her back as if she’d just caught herself before tripping off a very high ledge. Still shaky, but for a completely different reason now.
“No. Please. I should have explained better. You will be in no danger.” Luna rubbed a hoof down Ember’s neck, but her ears perked as Princess Celestia stepped through the door, nearly stumbled on the edge of the rug, and levitated a crown onto the desk. A crown that used to hold the Element of Magic.
“I-I’ve brought it…” Princess Celestia’s jaw trembled, and she stared at the crown’s polished surface. And in that moment, for the first time, Dawn Ember didn’t see her as some divine being. Just another pony, scared beyond her ability to cope. Not that eternally resolute face, the steady posture. For the first time ever, pain. Why didn’t Princess Luna do anything about it? Ember nearly flinched to hug Celestia, nuzzle her, do something. But it wasn’t her place. She’d only met Celestia a few times, mostly as a result of this business, and… it wasn’t her place.
And even… Ember fought off a tingle in her nose. Even with Luna’s reassurances, did that impulse mean anything? If she wasn’t really a pony? Especially when Princess Luna, a real pony, didn’t feel the same? She’d just held Ember when she needed it, so why not now, for her own sister?
“If—if this doesn’t work…” Princess Celestia said. Her knees shook almost as much as her mouth. “We should prepare a place in the Royal Mausoleum. I-I’ll see to her needs personally, make sure she is fed, comfortable. Warm. Safe.” Her voice cracked. “Not alone.”
Fed? But… in a mausoleum? Ember squinted at her mentor, but Princess Luna wore her usual stoic mask.
“Sister, perhaps somepony else should—”
“I said I would see to her personally!” Celestia jutted her chin forward, squeezed her eyes shut, spun around, and trotted from the room, her wings dragging along the floor.
Princess Luna sighed and finally let a frown intrude. Then her eyes flicked toward Ember, and her mouth hung open. “We… had discussed what to do…” She squared her shoulders, but she couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice, the same one she’d had when she told Ember she might have to go away. “I am prepared to force a permanent sleep if we cannot find a solution. Banishment, of a sort.”
And again, Ember’s hooves ached to wrap around somepony’s neck and hold her close. Did real ponies feel this way, too? Even if not… Twilight would. No question. She didn’t… Well, she guessed she did know why she could say so definitely. Still. Twilight would. And despite Ember’s own doubts, Twilight carried that title: Princess of Friendship. If Twilight… if old Twilight would, then it must be right.
“I should get back to my experiments,” Ember said, already a few strides toward the laboratory. As much as she needed Princess Luna right now, the sisters needed each other more.
And a wistful smile glimmered on Princess Luna’s lips. She didn’t need to say it—she gave a small nod and walked out the door, in the direction Celestia had gone.
A sunbeam crept across the floor and illuminated tiny motes of dust that danced in their own intricate patterns. Patterns that ebbed and flowed slowly throughout most of the room, but swirled more erratically near Twilight Sparkle’s muzzle with each soft breath. The light relentlessly tiptoed over Twilight’s cushion and up her cheek until it finally rested on her closed eyelids. In response, she squeezed her eyes shut even tighter and nestled her head deeper into the pillow.
“Twilight,” a hushed voice called. Twilight wrinkled her nose at it—she recalled it from a troubled dream last night—and let out a snort before going still once more. Then a bit louder: “Twilight.”
She raised her head and blinked. A few paces away, Celestia lay on the bare floor. Her rumpled wings hung loosely from her sides, and dark bags underscored her eyes. Twilight instinctively smiled. Celestia! She tried to stand and walk over to her mentor, but her face fell as the magical restraints kept her rooted in place. The castle…
Luna had brought her here. A scowl formed, but just as quickly disappeared, and her heart raced. Luna… had promised her something. Luna… Luna loved her. But there was more.
“Twilight, we…” Celestia began, but she jerked her gaze away from Twilight and threw it to the far wall.
Twilight followed with wide eyes as Luna strode into the room, sat beside her sister, and placed a hoof on Celestia’s shoulder. With a sigh, she took up Celestia’s burden. “We have determined the nature of your… condition.”
Celestia’s burden. That was it! Luna had promised to bear Twilight’s as well. She raised her eyebrows and held her breath. This might all be over soon?
“I gather my sister has already explained much of this to you, so I will be brief.” Luna took a deep breath and leaned into Celestia’s side a little more. “We each have an innate ability to control our magic, to ensure that we use it responsibly. It is… akin to a conscience, but more subtle. Normally, it is not an issue—earth ponies and pegasi do not wield enough magic for it to overwhelm them, and very few unicorns do, either. That is, unless the unicorn is unusually powerful and ignores the warning signs. Or deliberately surrenders himself and allows the magic to seek its own ends.”
Luna shook her head and gazed up at the ceiling. “Twilight, your case sits firmly in the middle. And therein lies our dilemma. Celestia and I are the only known cases of the former, and likewise Sombra for the latter, at least that eluded our efforts to snuff it out immediately. We have no precedent for you.” Now her eyes wandered to the window.
The sky wouldn’t be any more help than the ceiling. Why wouldn’t Luna even look at her? A metallic tang lingered on her tongue.
“You truly wish to resist your magic’s dominance,” Luna continued, her ears folding back. “I can see it in your eyes. Your admirable progress in researching friendship shows that you retain an honorable heart. But…”
Twilight’s jaw clenched, and her shoulders knotted. Luna never beat around the bush like this. She didn’t want Twilight to know something. Luna—she’d lost! And she refused to concede. How arrogant must Luna be, that she couldn’t even bow out gracefully? But what was wrong with Celestia? Why couldn’t she bring herself to speak? Twilight swallowed hard.
“During your entrance exam, a rainboom startled you into releasing your latent power,” Luna said. Yes, Twilight remembered that day well. She cracked a smile as her eyes flicked toward her cutie mark. “Your magic sensed an opportunity at your distraction. It ejected your self-doubt, your connection to the natural energy around you, your internal checks on your own magic. And ever since, little by little, you have sought magic for its own sake and fallen victim to its assurances that no harm would come of it.”
Luna craned her neck back to the door and beckoned to somepony waiting in the hallway, just out of sight. A pale, yellow-green unicorn took a few timid steps into the room, then hurried to Luna’s side.
Twilight gasped. It—it was like looking into a mirror! Except for the color… and the cutie mark. She’d seen this unicorn around school once or twice before—Luna’s personal student, if she remembered correctly—but her mane had always been overgrown, unkempt… rustic. But now that it was trimmed, brushed, and not hiding her eyes, she was a dead ringer.
“When that happened, Twilight Sparkle, you created something new. Somepony new.” Luna nudged Dawn Ember forward a little. “She appears as an afterimage of you, and vice versa; stare at one long enough and see the other.”
Dawn Ember ran a hoof through her mane, blushed, and managed a weak smile. She extended a hoof, but that wisp of smile faded when she looked down at the restraints preventing Twilight from reciprocating. “I’m… Dawn Ember,” she mumbled, her eyes still locked on the fibers of moonlight wrapped around Twilight. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Twilight’s mouth hung open. Created? “I… made her?”
“Yes,” Luna answered. “But more importantly, she is a part of you. A vital part, and one that your magic saw as a threat.”
“How…?” Twilight could only stare at Ember. A new pony? All those years ago? Like me… Part of me… What’s she like? Could she be a friend? A colleague? With a faint smile on her lips, Twilight’s eyes glinted in the morning sun. A rival? Come a little closer, Dawn Ember. This won’t hurt a bit…
Celestia snapped her head up and pulled Ember back to her. “Don’t approach any closer than this,” Celestia said, pointing at a chalk circle drawn on the stone floor. “She cannot harm you out here.”
“Twilight,” Luna called. Twilight turned her head but let her eyes linger on Ember for a moment. Ember would only stare at her hooves. Shame. But Ember wouldn’t play along, so Twilight finally gave Luna her attention and let the smirk disappear from her face. “When this first happened to Celestia, she fought it. Neither of us understood it, and I absorbed the darkness from her because I could not bear to see her suffer. I fought it as well, but we both determined that time was the key: I needed time to build my resolve against what I had become, and when I realized that I could not do that alone, to await my opportunity to break free.” She wrapped a wing around Celestia, who had begun crying softly. And Twilight had admired her. Such weakness, openly displayed. No wonder Luna chose this time to unleash her coup. “My sister needed time to regain her strength so that she could give me that opportunity. Or, as it turned out, to find another method for doing so, once we had forfeited our connection to the Elements.”
Twilight rolled her eyes. This rigmarole again. “So how long will you hold me here, then?” she barked, jerking her body against the magic tendrils. Letting out a little yelp, Ember retreated behind Celestia.
Luna sighed. “You do not understand the gravity of the situation,” she said as she raised her voice and squinted back. “On the one hoof, banishment worked because the magic had corrupted neither of us. On the other, my sister was forced to destroy King Sombra for voluntarily sacrificing his last shred of morality. Or at least attempt to destroy him.” Luna at last rose to her hooves and flared her wings with a frustrated snort. “What would you have me do?”
“You don’t have the guts,” Twilight spat. Or did she? The words hung there, echoing inside her head and rumbling like thunder, but she didn’t remember saying them. Luna looked so far away, as if at the end of a tunnel or… the top of a well.
A well… Yes. The occasional drip of water sounded, and Twilight sat on her haunches in cold, thick mud. Freezing! She lurched toward the flagstone walls and tried to get a hoofhold, but slime and slick moss coated the rock.
“Help!” she shouted, her voice reverberating in the stone shaft. She could barely hear Luna’s voice over the howling wind far above, but enough words floated down that she could understand the princess’s intent. Her heart raced, and her breath momentarily caught in her throat. “Help!” she cried again.
In reply, a purple mist seeped down from the sky and billowed out to fill the space above Twilight. Just relax, it seemed to say. It will all be over soon. It swirled around her and pressed in. She—she couldn’t breathe! C-cold, so cold, enfeebling…
Twilight coughed and choked on the smoke, fanned enough of it back to create a small air pocket, sucked a giant breath into her lungs, screamed. “Luna! I’m still here! Please help me!”
As Luna waited for a response to her question, Twilight sat, motionless, at last emitting a barely audible whimper. “I am losing patience with you, Twilight Sparkle!” she roared. “Shall I obliterate you for the abomination you have let yourself become? And destroy a part of our hearts with you? She”—Luna jabbed a hoof toward her sister—“would never forgive me!”
And still a speechless Twilight gaped back.
“Or shall I send you into exile? Without even the basic means to combat your own magic, what good would it do?” Luna stamped a hoof. “After a thousand-year banishment, you would have no more self-control than you do now, and the magic would have long since consumed you entirely.”
Her body shaking harder and harder and her eyes blazing, Twilight pointed a hoof at Luna. She’d seen it all now, the full extent of Luna’s treachery. “Liar!” she screeched. “You told me you would accept banishment in my place!”
“Sister!” Celestia jerked her head around, and her jaw hung open.
“Does that surprise you?” Luna glanced at Celestia out of the corner of her eye. “Better than anypony, you should understand my reasons.” Celestia merely stared.
A new fire igniting in her eyes, Luna turned back to Twilight. “To what end would I take on your punishment? To find that after a millennium, it was all for naught? That you had devastated Equestria in my absence or later forced my sister to exile you anyway? Your magic is unconstrained! If I take it from you, it will just build up again. There is nothing we can do for you!”
Twilight wrinkled her nose and snorted. “You’re nothing more than a filthy liar,” she muttered. “You made a promise you never intended to keep, then pulled it out from under me.”
At the edge of the chalk line, Luna twitched forward and bared her teeth, but held her ground.
“Are you going to let her do this to me?” Twilight asked Celestia through her sudden rush of tears.
“I can’t intervene, Twilight,” Celestia replied quietly. “You’re too close to my heart for me to trust my own judgment. My sister has the right of it.” And still she wouldn’t look Twilight in the eye. What a sniveling lackey she’d become!
While Celestia squeezed her eyes shut, Luna leaned a few inches into the open space around Twilight, swept her wings forward, and clenched her jaw. “The only safe course is permanent banishment, Twilight Sparkle, a fate to which you might prefer destruction. I certainly would not relish eternal solitude.”
Her lip quivering, Twilight squeaked. “You—”
“No. I told you that I would serve your sentence if possible. And I have explained to you why it is not. The time for discussion is over.” Luna fell heavily onto her haunches once more and folded her wings in. “No more crocodile tears. No more baiting my sister. No more prodding to get a rise out of me.” A silvery, steely glimmer returned to her eyes, and she pursed her lips. “I had hoped that whatever contemptible persona your magic had manifested could realize that it already occupied an extraordinary position of power and be content. But if you are determined to play this charade until the bitter end, we can be done with it now.”
“Luna!” screamed Twilight silently with her last breath into the well shaft overhead. The purple fog closed in on her, cold and damp. “I didn’t want this!”
Luna backed up a step as Twilight clutched at her chest and flicked her eyes back and forth between the princesses. Twilight moved her lips as if to say something, but only a strangled gasp emerged.
“Oh?” Luna said with a raised eyebrow. “A bit of fight left in you, then? Good.” She placed a hoof on Dawn Ember’s shoulder and guided her out from behind Celestia. “Mark my words: she is your last hope. What you tossed aside as useless is the most vital part of your continued existence. If your magic would rather rule in solitude than concede, and if you cannot find the strength to fight one last battle, then so be it.”
A giggle rose in Twilight’s throat, and it soon grew into a cackle. Her? Dawn Ember had spent most of her time cowering behind Celestia, and she was supposed to be Twilight’s salvation? An immense, toothy grin clawed its way across her face. “You see? You see?” Her ears folding back, Twilight’s maniacal eyes bored into Ember. “They don’t even ask you! You’re just a pawn to them! They’d chew you up and spit you out without a second thought, all just to save their precious Twilight Sparkle.”
Ember creased her brow and shied back a step at the continuing laughter, then glanced up at Luna.
“SILENCE!” Luna yelled, her Royal Canterlot Voice shaking the room. “Tomorrow morning. First thing.” She wheeled and trotted toward the door, Celestia and Ember hastening to follow.
“If,” Luna added as she glanced back over her shoulder from the hall, “Dawn Ember finds anything worth saving.”
Dawn Ember winced at the princess’s words and missed a half-step on her way out of the room.
Left alone again, Twilight let her laughter echo into the corridor, but she soon bored of it. She needed a plan. Dawn Ember shouldn’t be too hard to intimidate, but Luna… Always Luna. Something soured in the pit of Twilight’s stomach, and she grimaced, shivering as she laid her head back down on her cushion.
Unable to keep her thoughts together, Dawn Ember scuttled about her room and tried to imagine what items she might need overnight. Toothbrush, washcloth, something to read. A pillow… Actually, no. She wouldn’t get any sleep, not with what Princess Luna had planned. A plan that she’d shared with Ember and nopony else, in fact.
But what good could she do? She had no magic to speak of—just the ability to read magic around her, not to use any. And poor Princess Twilight…
Ember certainly didn’t relish sleeping—well, trying to sleep—in the same room as her, in the dark. That maniacal look in her eyes. Ember shuddered. But then something deeper, behind all the posturing, like somepony trapped under the frozen surface of a pond, silently pleading for her life.
When Princess Luna had asked her, what other choice did she have? Of course she’d help. And Princess Luna had promised that Princess Twilight couldn’t get free of her restraints. Still, who’d want to spend the night through the bars from a snarling wolf?
With a sigh, Ember tossed her saddlebag back on the bed and picked up only her book. She wouldn’t feel like sleeping or eating anyway. And likely wouldn’t be able to concentrate on her reading, either, but something felt wrong about going empty-hooved.
She did take the crown, however. Princess Twilight’s old one—it no longer had the Element of Magic in it, but maybe it still carried some residual magic. Princess Luna had left it with her after that confrontation in Princess Twilight’s cell. Every little bit might help, she supposed.
Ember only had a little bit, and it had taken years for her to become convinced of even that.
“Was that Thrush with the mail?” Ember called out the front door.
“Yeah,” came Fennel’s voice in reply. “Letter for you.”
She wrinkled her forehead. Who’d write to her? “What is it?”
The old planks creaked as Fennel walked in and tossed the letter onto the table beside the trays of herbs she’d prepared for drying. “I dunno. ’S your letter.” He wore a smile that strained to keep something in.
Ember reached for the envelope and tore it open, only then noticing the Canterlot postmark. Quickly, she scanned down the few paragraphs, but really, she’d learned all she needed to know from the letterhead.
“P-Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns?” Too much… She—
Her eyes misted up, and she choked on her words. “Y-you…” Ember pressed the letter to her chest and sniffled hard. “You want me gone?” she said in a harsh whisper.
Fennel’s face immediately fell, and he shook his head, but Ember didn’t wait around to hear what explanation he’d try to give. The letter fluttered down from her grasp.
“Ember, no!”
She dove onto her cot and pulled the blanket over her head. A one-room house didn’t exactly provide many hiding places. One of his ankles popped as he crouched down next to her, and she felt a hoof on her withers. “I can’t do magic,” she mumbled into her pillow.
“Ember, it was the response from Canterlot Hospital last week,” he said softly. “The nitro worked. A minin’ explosive worked as a heart treatment.”
“I know.” Ember sniffled hard. “It felt like the same color and warmth as the foxglove every time I went over to Copper’s.”
He gave her shoulder a little jostle. “Yes. It’s beautiful that you do that. Your talent.”
Nearly half a year ago… she’d cooked up some home remedy—Chanterelle helped with the stove, of course. Something minor, just to help with burns. When she’d finished, a small white mortar and pestle adorned each of her sides. But her parents had done this for decades.
“You ought to get yourself trained up. You know we’ll miss you somethin’ fierce, but no unicorn out here can do what you do. We’re holdin’ you back.”
Ember clenched her jaw. “I can’t do magic,” she repeated.
“Of course it’s magic. What makes you think it’s anything else?”
She didn’t answer. Yeah, magic. Everypony had a little, but unicorns especially. She couldn’t even levitate her books around school, which her classmates liked to point out. Except Copper…
The cot sagged as Fennel sat on the edge. Ember kept staring at the log wall a few inches from her face, all the burls and knots she could see plain as day, even in her sleep. “Ember, you have a very unique gift. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“But it’s not magic. I can’t even levitate a stupid fork to eat dinner. I’d be two years older than anypony in my class, they’re not going to care about my earth pony gardening routine, and I can’t do magic!” She pounded a hoof against the wall. “Just let me stay here. Please,” she hissed. “Please.”
“Ember.” If she pressed her head into the pillow harder, maybe she wouldn’t be able to hear him. “Ember!” He took her chin and turned it toward him, but she kept her eyes averted. “What you do isn’t remotely close to earth pony magic. It’s time you understood that.”
“Yes it is. Just earth pony magic.” She was lucky she could do even that much. Not too many earth ponies had a horn, but… Who ever heard of a unicorn that couldn’t levitate nothin’?
“I just figure out what herbs and plants and minerals are good for what uses,” she continued. “Same as you. I learned everything from you.”
Fennel sighed and rubbed his eyes. “What you learned from me was only the beginnin’. I taught you all I knew, and you saw the patterns, made the connections. Then you went beyond what I know.”
Somehow, she felt that this had been a long time coming. She’d make him see. Even if it meant he didn’t want her around anymore. Even if it meant she’d be alone. She finally sat up and looked at Fennel.
“Ember, earth pony magic makes me able to recognize an herb, cultivate it, prepare it. But do you realize how I know what it does?” She waited for an answer, but… he had that dull gleam in his eye that said he was a rock that wouldn’t move. One earth pony trait she wished she had sometimes… The answer would have to come from her. She wiped her cheeks dry and shook her head.
“Luck. Sheer dumb luck.”
Ember stared back at him. She knew those words, but they didn’t belong there, hanging in the air between them. They shouldn’t be coming from him.
“Somepony a hundred years ago chewed on this leaf or that by accident or superstition and found that it actually did somethin’ useful. Even in the best case, maybe he saw an animal eatin’ it and figured out why, but the animal sure didn’t give it much thought, either.” He’d been talking faster and faster, but he stopped suddenly. Sure, he didn’t hear the colors, feel the scents like she did, but that was her way. He could do it, too. It was just different for him. It had to be.
“I know what chamomile does because my grandmother knew, and she knew because her grandmother knew. That’s it.” She scooted a little toward the wall. She didn’t like it when Fennel raised his voice. He never raised his voice. “We don’t do what you do. You figure it out. You see it. And every little time it happens, your horn is glowin’. That is magic!”
She’d… never seen him this upset before. He’d always just sit there, calm as ever, and wear her down with patience. He took a deep breath and smiled, only a little, but enough to make some of that warmth creep back into his eyes. “You owe it to yourself to develop your gift,” he said, pointing at her cutie mark. “It’s not somethin’ big and flashy. But it’s what an ember does: It burns long after the fire’s gone out, but just as hot. It keeps a flame goin’ inside, where nopony can see.”
He’d said his piece and been nice about it. Now it was time for hers. “I won’t get in. But if you want me to go away…”
Fennel sidled further onto the cot, next to her. “That’s not it at all. Do you know how much joy you’ve brought us? Didn’t you see that extra spring in Chanty’s step this past year? Don’t you see how you nearly bring her to tears just by callin’ her ‘Mom’?”
“She… does?” Ember fiddled with her hooves and breathed deeply. “Just didn’t seem like, y’know, I needed to. Like she understood.”
Fennel reached a hoof around her back and gave her a squeeze. “I’d love for you to stay here, but that’s just me bein’ selfish. I’m not gonna keep you hidden in the middle o’ nowhere only ’cause you’re my favorite helper. You deserve better.”
“But this is home. I-I don’t wanna go!”
He hugged her closer and kissed her on the forehead. “I won’t make you. You’ll always be loved and welcomed here. But please think about it. Think about what more you could do with the right schoolin’. And if after all that, you still feel like this is where you belong in the world, then there will always be a place for you here.”
Ember twisted her mouth into a frown and flopped sideways back onto her pillow. She didn’t want to think about it. If she did, it might start to make sense.
“I’m sorry,” Fennel said, pushing his mane back and leaning into the wall. “That didn’t come out like I wanted. Ember, imagine you had a little one o’ your own who was an amazin’ piano player. She’d plink away at the local schoolhouse and make all the children happy, and she thought that was enough. But you knew you’d never seen anything even close to what she could do, and the only one around who could teach her more was a fiddler—a good one, but still… They’re just too different. There’s only so far she could go like that, but you knew she should be playin’ in fancy concert halls in all the big cities. Wouldn’t you want that for her, even if it hurt to see her leave?”
It started to make sense.
Fennel patted her again and brushed a hoof over her cheek. “Think about it. Please. And whatever you decide, we’ll support it.” He stood and walked out, giving her one last backward glance, and left her to her thoughts. Thoughts she didn’t want to deal with right then. Not alone.
Twilight sat with her head up as high as possible, eyes closed and ears pricked to the little sounds around her. A good bout of meditation would focus her mind, and she couldn’t exactly do anything else. She’d lost all track of time, except that the sun had set a while ago. And nopony had brought her dinner yet.
Dinner. That’s what she got for losing her concentration.
Her stomach rumbled its complaint at being ignored for so long. But it too fell to the wayside when the door’s bolt shot open like a blacksmith’s sledge against his anvil. One of the pegasus guards—Twilight had never bothered to learn their names—poked his head in and announced, “Visitors!”
Dawn Ember strode in, followed by a dark green stallion and a gray mare, both earth ponies. Ember tossed a couple of careful glances in Twilight’s direction, but they otherwise paid her no heed, merely congregating around a small table in the far corner and striking up a hushed conversation.
A minute later, Rarity walked in, wearing a smile held on by frayed thread. She kept approaching—she didn’t know! Closer, too close! Twilight gestured her muzzle toward the chalk line on the floor and finally dredged up her voice. “Rarity, you should stay back. I don’t want…”
“Twilight,” Rarity said as she knelt directly in front of her, “Princess Luna has already warned us. But you’re my friend. It wouldn’t be right.” Rarity’s eyes remained fixed on a point just in front of her hooves, and the seconds ticked by.
No! Twilight wanted to say. It’s not safe! But just as she took in the breath that would give her words life, that familiar scent of oleander filled her nostrils. And as hard as she’d fought to speak, now she had to hold back tears. Her—her fr—
Rarity flung her hooves around Twilight’s neck. “No matter what, you’re a friend,” she whispered in Twilight’s ear. “Never forget that, dear. You’re a friend.”
She pulled back to swipe a hoof at her own tears and met Twilight’s gaze. “I’m sorry I’m the only one who could come. Of course, all of us know that you’re having some—” she waved a hoof in a circle “—issues, but nothing specific. Except… Fluttershy.”
Twilight’s eyes opened wide, and she looked away. Rarity’s hooves had flinched. Barely, but still…
Rarity pursed her lips and took a deep breath. “She’s fine, Twilight—just a little sore, but fine. She confided in me because she thought that…” A hoof flicked toward her horn. “Well, as a unicorn, I might have some understanding of what was happening to you, dear. I… didn’t have anything to tell her.” Rarity patted Twilight’s hoof, but when she continued, her voice cracked. “Is it bad?”
Twilight let her eyes drift thoughtfully to the side and shook her head. “Not right now. But… I’m losing, Rarity. I’m losing.”
“Nonsense,” Rarity replied with a scowl, but the slight curl of her mouth and the flick of her hoof belied her stern facade. “That’s why the princesses have you here, yes? It’s certain to be okay—you’re in good hooves. Look, I’ve brought you something—” She twisted to her saddlebag and levitated out an exquisite silver bracelet with a large star-shaped amethyst, then snapped it around Twilight’s foreleg. “I wanted you to know what you meant to me. Dresses, jewelry…”
With her eyes squeezed shut, Rarity waggled a hoof in front of her muzzle. Twilight had never seen Rarity get so flustered before. Unless she faced the prospect of getting dirty.
Rarity stifled a nervous laugh, and her face had fallen. “After all, how does one wrap a friend in the luxuriant fabric of one’s love? Not only pleasing to the eye, but granting her that beautifully warm lightness of knowing how closely—” she brushed off one of the tears trickling toward her nose “—and fiercely her friendship is treasured?” Her gaze wandering out the sole window, Rarity held a hoof to her chest.
Twilight couldn’t help but smile. Rarity was always off on some tangent, following a romantic flight of fancy. But this one was awfully direct. “I know, Rarity. I know. You—”
A twitch shot across Twilight’s cheek, and it became a jolt by the time it reached her chest. Rarity… love… “I-I’m sorry,” she quavered. “I wasn’t thinking, didn’t know what I was doing, i-i-it—”
Rarity blinked a few times and braced a hoof under Twilight’s chin. It—it helped her to stop shaking. A little. “Whatever do you mean? You haven’t done anything to me.” The first genuine smile Twilight had seen from her that evening crossed Rarity’s face. “And the princesses will have all this sorted out tonight. They’ve asked me to stay over so that I can hear their announcement in the morning.” She punctuated that fact with a sharp nod, and her shoulders bounced with her giggling.
Timidly at first, as if touching Rarity might burn, Twilight leaned toward her, then nuzzled her neck, gathering her in close like a bundle of fine cloth. “Rarity, I am sorry,” she rasped in her friend’s ear. “I hurt Fluttershy, I stole from Applejack, I—I tried to make you love me. I couldn’t help myself, but that’s no excuse.”
Rarity raised an eyebrow. “Certainly not! I’m sure I would remember such a thing!”
Twilight’s head shook in reply. “It’s not like that. It’s not what I wanted. Not that I never could—” Twilight snorted. When had words ever failed her before? But now that she needed them most— “No matter how I say it, it’s not going to come out right!”
Releasing her friend from what manner of embrace she could muster with only her head free, Twilight breathed deeply and stared at the same green pillow that had been her only constant companion since what felt like a lifetime ago. “I hope you can forgive me someday. But maybe you should go.” Her jaw set, Twilight willed away any more gathering tears. “I want you to remember me like this, before I—before I lose control again. I-I don’t want you to see that. You’re lucky it’s been this good while you were here.” She gazed into the amethyst on her bracelet. Her own eyes, for once not green, shone back. “I love it. I really do. I know how much thought you put into everything, and it means a lot. It’s not lost on us, Rarity. Really. But… you should go now. Please.”
Rarity drew back and frowned, then nodded and walked for the door, any bounce to her step gone. As she passed the guards, she called back, “You are a true friend, Twilight. In the end, that is what’s important. I’ll see you in the morning.” That hollow stare, though—like a mask put on to shield her from the outside world. Yes, like that silly dragon costume she’d made so they could chase after Spike. The truth locked up inside, where it couldn’t harm anypony, even Rarity herself.
“Good-bye,” Twilight whispered as she watched her friend go. Eventually, she couldn’t even hear Rarity’s hoofsteps anymore. All trace of her gone. Except—that bracelet was beautiful.
She didn’t know how long she’d stayed lost in that deep purple gem before the chattering voices across the room brought her back to reality. Twilight glanced over at Dawn Ember and her parents. At least she assumed they must be her parents. Where were hers? Oh, yeah… Off in the Crystal Empire visiting Shining Armor and Cadence, now that they’d made her second pregnancy public. The guards wouldn’t shut up about it yesterday.
Her mom and dad probably didn’t know what was happening—Shining Armor had only witnessed a little, which was pretty… noteworthy, she supposed, but even he didn’t realize the half of it. He must think he was still protecting her somehow.
Twilight sniffed and buried her snout in the cushion to stifle a sneeze, and next thing she knew, the dark green stallion had crossed the the room to her. He gave one last glance back at Dawn Ember and cleared his throat. “Excuse me… Twilight Sparkle?”
She nodded into her pillow, but didn’t look up.
“I—I don’t understand how, but Princess Luna tells us that you’re the one who… created our daughter.” Brushing his dreadlocks back, he lay down in front of her and continued in a soft voice. “So, you’re kind o’ her mother. Or somethin’. I just—oh, sorry. My name’s Fennel, and that—” he pointed at the gray mare still chatting with Ember “—is my wife, Chanterelle. We raised her since she was a filly, and she’s just the most delightful pony. I think o’ how full our lives have been since I found her. I felt… I felt like I needed to thank you.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Twilight saw him reach a hoof over to pat hers, but he hesitated, changed his mind. Yes, those restraints covering her must seem a little intimidating.
“We love her so much, and you must be a really special pony if—if she’s a part o’ you.” She finally chanced a look at his face, and his eyes sparkled as they roved around the floor. “Thank you. I can’t say it enough.”
Another sound of hoofsteps drew both of their attention—a bronze-colored pegasus, his wings held out to his sides with the tips turned down. “Copper!” Ember shouted and rushed to meet him halfway. “You’re here, too?” Tucking his wings back in, he gave her a light kiss on the muzzle.
“Childhood friend,” Fennel said through his chuckle. “But somethin’ more now.”
Cast aside. Was that another part of her that she’d let go? Didn’t she deserve—? No. She couldn’t think that way. Look what happened last time, with Rarity.
“I’m sorry. I should quit botherin’ you.” And just as quickly as he’d come over to Twilight, he headed back to his daughter.
His piece said, his conscience satisfied. Maybe he even thought that would make Twilight feel good. She did feel somewhat… warmer.
At the bottom of the well, Twilight still sat, but it had become rather shallow—she might even be able to climb out if she tried. No wind howled overhead, no purple smoke swarmed around her. Only broad, blue sky, rippling grass, and a few wispy clouds. “Is this how you get your last kicks in?” she shouted into the air. “Letting me have my mind back just in time to see my life crumble around me? Letting me see friends for what I know will be the last time? Letting me have control when nothing I do will matter?” As her voice rose to a scream, her throat burned, her body shook, and tears splashed in the mud. She reared up and reached her forelegs over the stony rim, trying to hoist herself out into the sun-warmed meadow and scuffling for a hoofhold—
Her own face stared down at her. “Oh, this isn’t the end. I can play a part as well as anypony.” The double burst into tears and clasped her hooves next to her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Princess Celestia! I don’t know what came over me, but everything is okay now. I’ve learned from my mistakes,” she blubbered.
“I won’t let you,” Twilight growled. “I’ll fly into a rage and hurt somepony if I have to. Anything to get you banished to where you can’t do any more harm.”
“See?” her twin replied, tapping a hoof on Twilight’s nose. “You can do what’s necessary when you need to. I’ve been telling you that all along. Oh, the things you could have learned from me.” She sighed, her breath stirring up a wind that only grew, smearing the few clouds around to blot out the sky. “But you no longer have any choice in the matter. I just can’t understand why you keep fighting me. All the knowledge, all the power—I can give you everything you’ve always wanted, if you’ll just let me,” she added, her hoof curled to her chest.
“And you never will understand.” Twilight leveled a harsh grin back. “Who I am is more important that what I am. You’ve never been a ‘who.’ You’re a thing, and it drives you crazy knowing it’s something you can’t ever have.”
Her jaw trembling, the double bent down nose-to-nose with Twilight. “And for all that, you’re still weak,” she spat, giving Twilight’s shoulder a rough shove.
Twilight braced her hind legs for the expected jolt a short drop down, but none came. Her heart leapt into her throat, and the tingle in her chest made her cough as she looked behind her. Rock walls rushing by, no bottom in sight, tumbling further and further into the blackness.
The heavy door thudded against the wall, and Twilight’s eyes jerked open. A bright lantern floated into the room, and she tried to rub the sleep and glare out, but… Right. Her legs were still tied down.
Squinting into the glow, she could soon make out Luna’s face lingering in the shadows. “It is time,” the princess declared simply. It was a fact to her, and nothing more.
Twilight held her shoulders steady through the urge to tremble. “I thought I had until morning.”
“It is morning—just past midnight.” Was that a little gleam in Luna’s eye? She was actually enjoying this. From off in one of the shadows’ deeper recesses, Twilight heard Dawn Ember roll off her cot and trudge over to the light. A smell like burnt coffee drifted in from the hall.
“I see,” Twilight said with a prim little nod. “If I hadn’t come here for help, I wouldn’t be imprisoned. I suppose that’s the type of treatment I can expect.” Her lips curled up, just a touch, at the sight of that bandage still covering Luna’s burned shoulder.
“Twilight Sparkle, you are entirely correct. If you had not acted when you did, this would have festered far too long before we discovered it ourselves.” Luna blinked once and regarded Twilight with an icy stare. “And no, we would not have afforded you the luxury of confinement in that case.”
Perhaps a show of submission… Twilight slumped her shoulders and hung her head. “Very well.” After a short pause, Luna closed her eyes, and Twilight’s bonds loosened. Luna strode forward with Dawn Ember across the chalk line, which blew away in wisps as a breeze swirled through the room.
In an instant, Twilight lashed out with a hoof, grabbed Ember by the neck, and wrapped a band of magic around her throat. Over Dawn Ember’s yelp, Luna gasped, backing off a step and lowering into a defensive crouch.
“You’re going to release these magical bindings,” Twilight said, her low, calm voice blending in with the stone. “Then you’re going to let me leave. Once I’m out of the city, you can have your precious student back.” Luna squinted and jutted her jaw forward, a glow beginning to spiral down her horn. Not so fast, Luna. The hostage wheezed harshly as Twilight tightened her grip and maneuvered to keep Ember between her and the princess. Kicking out a back hoof to disentangle it from the dimmed cords, Twilight tried to—
Luna whipped her head to the side, and the line draped over Twilight’s shoulder went taut. It flared to life, sucked in Twilight’s improvised garotte, and yanked her to the floor, her head cracking against the bare granite.
A flash of white, ringing ears, a torrent of pain. Somepony scurrying away. Voices, can’t breathe! Warm, trickling across her forehead, her face lying in it. But c-cold. She shivered, one eye blurry, the other—a dark shape loomed over her! “No!” she wheezed, dizzy, wincing away from the glowing horn. But it touched her cheek. No way out.
No… no more pain. Only numb. And a far-off voice, seemingly from her memory: “You may never know how much Celestia and I love you, Twilight Sparkle.” She nestled into the words, nebulous or not. At least until another voice sounded, a different voice, starkly real. Twilight finally opened her eyes.
“Hello, Princess Twilight Sparkle,” Dawn Ember said with a weak smile.
No. No! She shouldn’t have come, she… she shouldn’t be here!
A pale spark danced on the tip of Twilight Sparkle’s horn. The feeble light lurched outward into the dank space at the bottom of the well and pooled in the crevices and chips among the flagstones. Far above, a minute spot of sky served only to glint off the thin green slime coating everything. Even so, purple smoke intermittently blotted out the daylight as it roiled in the whirlwind and cast Twilight into shadow once more. Despite the shade, the atmosphere remained still, humid… oppressive.
Had somepony called her name? No, not here. She folded her ears back and closed her eyes to see if the images dancing in her head might show her whether Princess Luna had managed to free Dawn Ember from… Twilight grimaced and held a hoof to her forehead. No images in her mind’s eye, only blackness. But why did her head ache? She expected to see a trickle of blood when she pulled her hoof away, but nothing. Wait, why blood? She almost shook the thought from her head, but something told her it would be a mistake to move that quickly.
Another peek upward—the purple mist made no motion to come down and harass her. Maybe… Luna had done it. Exile. But to somewhere more permanent than the moon. She wiped a foreleg across her eyes to brush the sweat away. So humid here. But if this was it…
Twilight let her shoulders relax and finally opened her eyes all the way. Dawn Ember stared back, only a few paces away. Another one of those hallucinations, or whatever they were? At least she looked different—she wouldn’t be hard to tell from that other Twilight. After one more glance at the cloud overhead, Twilight cocked her head, squinted, and slowly reached a hoof out to prod her companion’s nose.
Dawn Ember’s mouth quickly wrapped into a smile, and she giggled. “You must be the real Twilight Sparkle.”
Twilight’s jaw dropped. That was really—?
Backing off, Twilight shook her head. “No! If you’re here… Princess Luna has to banish me! She has to! Go back and tell her. Quickly!” She dared a glimpse at the smoke above, then held up a hoof to ward off the intruder.
Ember approached anyway, pressing past Twilight’s trembling foreleg to place a hoof on her shoulder. “It’s okay! We have time. This,” she said, waving at the air and flicking her eyes around at the walls, “is in your mind. Princess Luna can keep it up for a while, if need be.” Twilight gulped hard and gave Ember an anemic shove, but Ember only gripped her shoulder more tightly and peered at Twilight’s forehead. “You hit the floor pretty hard. Princess Luna called a medic. I didn’t hear much before I came here—it sounded like you’d be okay, but you should probably take it easy.”
Twilight rubbed a hoof near her horn and widened her eyes. “It’s okay,” Ember repeated slowly.
“How…?” Twilight let her raised foreleg fall to the mud. She forced herself to draw a steady breath—Ember simply didn’t know what she was dealing with.
Ember grinned wider. “I’m dreamin’, too.”
Twilight finally returned the smile and slumped her shoulders. Both confined to a dream—yes, then time wouldn’t really matter. But still, Princess Luna had better know what she was doing. Wait, though—she’d heard a little about Dawn Ember before. Not exactly a magical powerhouse. “What can you do, though? Your magic is so… different.”
Her gaze dropping to the ground, Ember shrugged. “Princess Luna had a long talk with me to prepare for this. It’s not my magic that you need, but it should help.”
Twilight lay down in the muck with a sloshing sound and pricked her ears forward. After a minute of silence, Ember hadn’t continued. Twilight at least had the fuzzy picture, but Ember couldn’t assume she had all the details, right? “Um… So, about your magic?”
Her head jerking up, Ember folded her ears back. “Oh! I’m sorry. Um… Where to start?” Ember took a deep breath. “It’s like I can feel the magic inherent in things, especially nature, but most o’ the time, it’s just a frustratin’ guessing game.” Inch by inch, her eyes wandered up toward Twilight’s horn. “All unicorns have a little o’ this magic. It fades into the background, gives you a connection to the world around you, but it’s passive. And weak, I s’pose. You don’t even notice it’s there.”
Ember tapped a hoof at the murky puddle in front of her, then frowned at the moldy-smelling ooze clinging to her foreleg. “When it’s all you have, though, it really changes things. I guess that’s never happened to a unicorn before.”
Twilight rubbed her chin. That was fascinating! A unicorn bereft of normal magic, stripped down only to the underlying subtleties that guide it all. How would her own magic act without…?
No. She lacked that base herself. How had she learned Rarity’s gem-finding spell then? Without that link to the natural magic… Of course. Rarity had no sense for the gems’ inherent magic, only their presence. Twilight didn’t have that aspect to her magic. In a way, she was also unique. How did her spells perform differently as a result? How would Ember’s version compare—for the few ones she could cast? “That’s quite interesting,” she muttered, her eyes growing wide. “I wonder if—”
Ember held up a hoof. “While time is… pliable here, we can’t ignore it altogether. Let’s try to stay focused.”
“Oh.” Nodding, Twilight sat up again. “Of course. Well, since Princess Luna seems to have coached you, what do we need to do?” As she peered back at her sort-of twin, the leaden weight in Twilight’s heart hit bottom again. She had to let Ember try, but better to get this over with soon. Luna would really imperil her own student? Dream or not, Twilight couldn’t trust that they were in no danger. Why would Luna take such a risk?
And just as quickly, that terrible gravity tore her in two directions. Luna loved her. She really did. And that love would expose them all to a terrible evil. If only Princess Luna would exile her and stop grasping at fleeting possibilities.
“Princess Luna said that I needed to help you find what was lost—that you needed to be whole again.” She shrugged and flashed a grim smile. “I don’t know exactly what that means. I guess we’ll have to wing it.”
“But what I lost was you,” Twilight answered, jabbing a hoof toward Ember.
“Yeah. It’s kinda hard to explain, eh.”
Twilight smiled in spite of herself. Something had caught her ear—some tone, mannerism, inflection—that immediately brought her back. At her childhood desk, she’d stayed up all night after attending her first Summer Sun Celebration. She’d finished yet another magic book, wolfing down every piece of knowledge it had to offer. A weak purple glow lit the front cover of the next one, and it shuddered, lifted in fits and starts. And opened. There was that soft rustle of a page turning, and she—she hadn’t touched it! She wanted to jump up and down, but that energy would serve her better by delving even further into that volume, and the next, and the next. Another page flip sounded, but just under it, an even quieter whisper: “Don’t rush. Stay in control. All in good time.” Well, not a whisper. She hadn’t heard the words; they were simply there.
“This is going to sound odd,” Twilight said, “but… I remember you. Your voice, anyway. Not the actual sound, of course, but the feeling, the presence. When I was just a filly, telling me not to rush ahead with practicing my spells, saying I needed to learn to walk before I ran, warning me to take it one step at a time. Then it went away. I thought it was because I didn’t need it anymore.” She gazed off into the past and faintly shook her head.
“I don’t remember any o’ that,” Ember said to the mud. “Nothin’ before I woke up in the woods.”
“I’m sorry—I’m letting my mind wander again,” Twilight replied. Her mouth formed into a grin, but it was left alone in that sentiment. “I’m supposed to… find a way to recombine us?” She raised an eyebrow. “That’s just—I don’t even…”
“I’ll try to explain.” Ember squared her shoulders, shut her eyes, and bowed her head. “Princess Luna said that you needed something from me. That’s all—not a two-way exchange. I’m already… ‘complete,’ she said. I’m all I’ve ever been and all I’ll ever be. But you’re missing a check on your power, a ‘healthy skepticism of magic,’ as she put it. A few more bits, too, but—” Ember looked up and pursed her lips “—I guess you can live without those. I thought she already told you that, though. Hasn’t she?”
Twilight could only nod. Not everything, but enough, and she’d picked up the rest herself. Would she reclaim that magical connection to the world around her, too? And Copper. Would she…? “So there’s hope?”
“I-I don’t know. Princess Luna didn’t say what it would take to make it happen. She might not know, either. But she gave me this.” Ember twisted her neck around to pull the crown that used to contain the Element of Magic from her saddlebag with her mouth. With her mouth? Ember poked the crown toward Twilight a few times before she understood and took it with her magic.
“I’m sorry,” Ember said through her one-sided grin. “I can’t levitate somethin’ that heavy.”
“But it’s only a few pounds…” Twilight creased her brow.
“I know.”
“Oh.” Ember wasn’t kidding—she really had no use of even rudimentary magic. Twilight waited for the explanation to continue, but Ember didn’t chime in with anything else.
Twilight did catch her staring, though. “Sorry,” Ember said immediately. “I-I’ve just wanted to meet you for a long time. I would have expected to feel more starstruck, but… but now that I finally got a chance, it’s almost like I know you already.” She flashed a sheepish smile.
Twilight returned a sharp nod. “Good. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Ember’s eyes roved up to the stone walls all around them, and she raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you just fly out of here?”
With a shake of her head, Twilight stretched out her wings. Ember wouldn’t have known, but… Ugh, did pegasi feel this way, too? She folded her ears back and glanced at the rows of skewed, bent, missing feathers. The more she held them out, the more they stung, and her wings shook, and…
She folded them back in, and her cheeks burned red. “Ever since I fell down here, they don’t work.”
Ember’s eyes shot wide open. “Oh! Sorry again—I didn’t mean to stare. But your wings… The missing part of you must be responsible for them, at least some. But… I-I know. Well, I don’t, but I know how pegasi can feel about… because of Copper.”
Twilight smiled back, a little, warm, cottony one. Ember did get it.
After lapsing into a stare again, Ember cleared her throat, then gestured toward the crown and Twilight’s head. “If this is what ends up working, I guess we’re supposed to use our magic somehow?”
Her ears drooping, Twilight sighed. “No, it produces its own magic when the wearer feels the spark of true friendship. At least it used to. I don’t know what good it would do without the gem.”
Ember’s eyes glinted, and she sat up straighter. “Oh! Well, you’ve certainly got good friends. I’ve heard plenty about the other Elements. And the pretty one who visited you?”
“Rarity,” Twilight grunted. And she was pretty. Her eyes focused somewhere beyond the wall. She could almost hear that silken voice, smell the delicate perfume. As before, a warmth suffused Twilight’s chest, but… different now. Like when she’d seen her Gala dress for the first—well, second time. Or when Rarity had helped make her first sleepover a success. But nothing like that travesty of a date. At least she could finally see it. She fiddled with the new bracelet on her foreleg. Yes, Rarity was pretty, and Twilight had twisted that in just about every way except the right one: the simple admiration of a friend.
“Yeah,” Twilight said, once the mold-slicked stone registered in her consciousness again. She jostled her head—wincing, she rubbed a hoof above her left eye before continuing a little more quietly: “They’re all something special. And you seem to be good friends with Copper. Was that his name?”
Ember giggled and blushed. “Uh-huh. Copper Miner. Gotta be the only pegasus to work underground. Fits with a unicorn who can’t cast spells, huh?”
Twilight laughed to herself. Yes, they were quite the collection of odds and ends. “So there’s no shortage of friendship here. Is that all it takes? I can’t believe it’d be that easy.”
Averting her eyes to the side, Ember angled her ears back. “I don’t think so.” She sniffed the air, and a dull glow surrounded her horn. “I don’t know for sure, but… it doesn’t feel right.”
“Oh, is that how it works?” Twilight asked, her ears pricked. “Your magic, I mean.”
“Yeah. I just sense how things are sometimes, feel the magic around me. It’s anything but straightforward,” Ember said, rolling her eyes and snorting. “It’s all about tryin’ to match patterns with ones I’ve felt before. I wish I could explain it.” Ember scuffed a hoof at the mud and etched a small crescent moon in the ground. “Princess Luna once said, ‘Nature whispers to you, but she speaks in riddles.’ I guess that’s the best description I’ve ever heard of it.”
“So… What’s nature saying now? It won’t work without the actual Element?”
Ember shook her head. “I don’t know. I normally have to figure it out against patterns I’ve seen before, but this is new. I don’t think it needs the Element of Magic. Maybe some residual magic still exists in the crown. But it’s not Magic you need—it’s friendship, and the crown still symbolizes that. At least Princess Luna thought it might help.”
“Well, I have to try,” Twilight said, struggling to her hooves. “At the very least, it’ll give you some data.” As Twilight slipped the crown over her head, Ember nodded. “Now, think of your friends at school.”
“I… don’t really have any,” Ember replied. Twilight laughed, but—the way Ember sat there, hanging her head…
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean…” Twilight patted Ember on the shoulder. “I was just remembering my own early days as Princess Celestia’s student. It seems we’re alike in some ways, too.” After a brief sigh, she continued, “Think of Copper, then. The crown will draw on both of us.”
A soft smile wriggled its way across Ember’s face, and she shut her eyes. Her breathing slowed, and Twilight mirrored the gesture as she sank to her haunches. Eyes closed, horn extinguished—for now.
In Twilight’s imagination, a scene trickled in like daybreak flowing over the landscape. Pinkie Pie, grinning with her whole body, chattered away noiselessly and fussed with the bunches of balloons bobbing about. Next to the cake lay several boxes, the wrapping paper all torn and the contents hanging out: dresses, saddles, jewelry that Rarity had made for her over the years—a hoof moved instinctively back to that amethyst bracelet, its reassuring solidity making her sink a bit further toward the ground. Then Rainbow Dash, struggling to read. Fluttershy’s bandaged wing. Her chest tightened. That wasn’t a cake on the table at all. An apple fritter. Like the ones she’d stolen. So stupid! But no. That was the point!
Her skin tingled, her jaw clenched, but still that—what had Rarity said?—“beautifully warm lightness.” It started in her chest, then surged toward the crown, and even through her eyelids, she could see the growing illumination. The pain of a friend wronged—that had to be a part of it, too. That was real friendship, not something from a bedtime story.
Twilight’s eyes shot open, suffused with light, as the crown’s glow tore into the gloom. Ember too: floating, eyes awash in white, now barely visible in the glare. The luminescence filled the well shaft, wrapping Twilight in such warmth, safety, calmness… She gasped, swallowed hard, reached her forelegs toward the sky.
And the light died. Twilight and Ember fell back into the muck with a splat.
Her ears flattened, Twilight hung her head. She wiped the mud from her forelegs onto her sides, then leaned over to hug Ember. “Thank you for trying.”
“No!” Ember wiggled out of the embrace and backed off a few paces. “That’s not it. Don’t give up—listen, you must know some spells for puttin’ things back together.”
Twilight shrugged and straightened the crown on her head. “We can give it a shot. I suppose it’s possible the crown might incorporate the spell.” She lit her horn again—she’d probably need to coach Ember through the meditation—but Ember wore a frown.
“There’s still somethin’ missing!” Ember said as she punched a hoof into the dirt. “I wish I knew what it was.”
Twilight shielded her face from the splash of mud. Maybe acknowledging the pain she’d caused still fell short of the mark. But what else could she do? All of those lessons on friendship—a clue must lie in there somewhere. Which lesson might apply to—?
“Not now!” Ember shouted, and Twilight jerked her gaze over in time to see Ember swatting something away from her face.
Twilight bent closer, and—a little purple strand? Like a minuscule tendril of hair, it drifted on the air currents with the other motes of dust. “What’s that?”
Waving at it again, Ember said, “My magic. I haven’t seen it this annoyin’ in a long time.”
“That’s… worse than normal?” Twilight raised an eyebrow.
Ember snorted and glared at the wisp. “Yeah. But, y’know, I don’t have much magic. And control of it is kinda the reason I’m here. Yours must have gotten terribly big by now—what is it, the size of a cat or somethin’?” Twilight rolled her eyes upward and clenched her forelegs together. Following Twilight’s gaze, Ember gasped, drooped her ears, and gulped. “Oh…”
The massive purple cloud writhed above them, filling the well shaft and leaving only Twilight’s weak spark to provide light. A chuckle sounded, and a few ribbons of fog spiraled down beside Twilight and coalesced into shape—her shape.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” the copy said with a smirk. “It sounded like such an interesting conversation—pity for you to stop on my account,” she said, holding a hoof to her chest.
Ember gaped, and her eyes shot wide open. “It can talk to you?”
“Doesn’t yours?” Twilight asked, her brow creased.
“I’ll thank you not to refer to me as an ‘it.’ I am a pony, after all,” the double said, turning her nose up at Ember.
“I’ve never seen anything like this!” Ember shouted. She paced a lap around Twilight’s twin and took a close look at her mane, eyes, cutie mark.
Twilight groaned. It’d be dangerous to provoke the other Twilight, but Dawn Ember didn’t know any better. She rubbed her eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but—
The copy sneered at Ember. “Oh, I remember you. You’re the garbage I threw out all those years ago. Managed to convince somepony you were useful, did you?”
“N-no… I mean, yes, I-I…”
“Don’t give her the satisfaction,” Twilight muttered out the side of her mouth as she imposed herself between them. “She just wants to get a rise out of you. Don’t play along.”
With a snort, the double shouldered her way past Twilight. “So you know what to do with rocks and plants, huh? Congratulations. You excel at being an earth pony. Your real parents must be so impressed.”
Ember’s eyes glinted like knives, and she ground her teeth. “They are my real—”
With a pointed stare, Twilight shook her head slowly.
Ember drew a sharp breath and set her jaw. “I don’t know what you think you’re accomplishing. You’re gonna get yourself exiled and take her—” she jabbed a hoof at Twilight “—down with you? And for what? Just so you can say you never gave in?”
Purple mist swirled around the copy once more, and when it cleared… Twilight’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know it could do that!
Where the duplicate Twilight had just stood, a perfect imitation of Dawn Ember smiled back. “If you’re so concerned, why don’t you join us in exile? I could use a toy. Or better yet, go in our place.” The fake Ember lit up her horn.
Twilight’s stomach lurched, and she scuffled her hooves for a purchase, but… she was floating! No! She grabbed at the stones as she passed, but her hooves only slid over the slime-caked walls. And that infernal fake hanging in midair beside her, leaving Ember at the bottom.
“We’ll just head on over to your body. You can wake up in this one,” the copy said. “Be sure to tell Luna all about it. I’m certain she’ll believe you.”
Baring her teeth, Twilight built up her magic to attack—no, it wouldn’t work. That thing was her magic. She couldn’t use it against itself, and on her own, she’d only managed a simple light spell and evoking the magic already inherent in the crown.
She cocked a foreleg and braced to take a swing at—
“You’re scared,” Ember stated flatly while glaring up, her snarl curling into a knowing smile. Her look-alike turned and narrowed her eyes. “You’re scared, and you don’t know how to deal with it, so you lash out at any convenient target. You’re stubborn, you don’t consider the consequences o’ your actions, and you want instant gratification. I know exactly what you are.”
Released from the magic’s grip, Twilight fell back into a mud puddle. What she was? Just magic, right? She gaped at both Embers—the airborne one flew down nose-to-nose with the earthbound one, whose horn emitted a faint glow.
“Twilight, I can’t use much magic, but I can feel it,” Ember said, her smirk growing. “And I’ve encountered enough illusion magic from the first-year students to recognize it. She’s not what she appears to be.”
Well, of course. It’d changed from Twilight to Ember right in front of their eyes. “I know. She’s supposed to look like me.”
“No,” Ember replied, shaking her head. “I mean—think about it. Who would demand her way, throw a tantrum when she didn’t get it, and let everything go to Tartarus instead of relenting?”
“I-I don’t…” Wait. That would mean that all those years ago—Twilight stared intensely at the fake Dawn Ember.
“She tries to seem like you, as an equal, but she’s not,” Ember said. She sighed and smiled at the copy, but not that smirk from before—only warmth radiated from her face, and she bent low as if she were coaxing an animal from its hiding place. It glared back.
“She’s a child, Twilight. A child, lost, afraid, and alone.”
The fake’s eyes seethed while it took a few deep, measured breaths. Then the mist circled around it once more to obscure it from view, and when it dissipated, all went with it, leaving the now-unobstructed moon to shine silvery tendrils from the small patch of sky high above. And they illuminated a blank-flanked filly Twilight Sparkle, the fire gone from her gaze.
“Sometimes children can be the most cruel,” Ember said.
Twilight couldn’t tear her attention from that foal, its head hung low and its lip trembling—no, her head, her lip. So much flooded into Twilight’s mind, her thoughts trampling each other to be the first one out, but one had already taken root: a child, not an “it.”
“Twilight,” Ember continued, “the mist made sense, but not her. Magic shouldn’t manifest itself as a separate being, communicate on its own, speak with you. It’s just an extension o’ yourself.” She swatted away the purple fleck hovering in front of her face again. “Like that,” she added, giggling.
Twilight gasped and finally wrested her gaze from the filly. “That means—that’s why it didn’t work! You’re not the only missing piece!”
Ember nodded and reached a tentative hoof toward the child, but drew it back. “She couldn’t throw you out, too. Magic can’t exist on its own, after all. But she did create a fissure between you, and she couldn’t have anticipated the result: separated from any meaningful contact, stuck as a child herself, and playin’ along until she decided to make her move. She needed the real Twilight Sparkle, and that infuriated her.”
Twilight sighed over the sound of soft whimpering next to her. “The real Twilight Sparkle.” She snorted. “Or what’s left of her.”
“You’re not…?” Ember began, but Twilight held up a hoof to stop her.
“The Twilight everypony knows is a mix of her—” Twilight tilted her head toward the filly “—and me, mostly me. But I’m not Twilight Sparkle any more than either of you.” And that poor foal. Sitting there, shaking. All full of bluster not five minutes ago, but reduced to a heap now. Sometimes the truth only made things worse. If only she’d known—the horrible things she’d said, the signs she’d ignored. “I’m sorry,” Twilight whispered.
Her younger self sniffled, angled her ears back, and wiped a hoof across her nose. “Stop it,” she said.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Fighting back her own tears, Twilight wrapped her hooves around the quivering child.
The filly’s eyes shot wide open. “Stop it!” she said again, at a shout this time, but Twilight only hugged her closer. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she coughed out another “stop it,” and then went still.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Twilight continued to whisper as she rubbed a hoof up and down the foal’s back. “I wish I’d known. It must have been horrible.”
“You told me I was a thing,” the double squeaked through her blubbering. “That I’d never know what it was like to be alive.”
“Shhhhh. I know. I know, and I’m sorry.” What good had all those lessons in friendship done her? Twilight clenched her jaw. Betraying her friends, one by one, and because she’d betrayed herself first of all. It’d never occurred to her to confront her magic with anything but violence and threats. To confront herself. There could be no mistake—Twilight shared every bit of the blame. She knew that.
As she stroked the filly’s mane, she could feel all those built-up years of solitude trickling down her back, and a few tears ran down her own cheek as well. “It’s time to make up for that, Twilight.”
“But that’s your name,” young Twilight replied. She pounded a hoof on Twilight’s shoulder.
“Shhhhh. It’s yours, too. Everything is yours, too—our name, our home, our friends. I love you, Twilight Sparkle.” She tucked the filly’s head beneath her chin and whispered into her ear, “You’re a part of me—one that I can’t live without. One that I don’t want to live without.”
Twilight closed her eyes and kissed her ward on the forehead. When she opened them again, all three ponies sat in a moonlit glade, the stalks of grass rustling in a gentle breeze. “I have to accept all that I am. Every part. Do you forgive me?”
The filly rubbed her eyes and nodded quickly. But that wouldn’t do. Twilight raised the child’s chin with a hoof and met her gaze. “Do you forgive me?”
For several long moments, the foal searched Twilight’s eyes. Then she perked her ears up, smiled, and nodded slowly.
“Thank you,” Twilight said. She nuzzled the little pony’s neck. “Are you ready to go home?”
“Yeah,” the filly answered, her bloodshot eyes fixed on the moon overhead.
“Thank you, too,” Twilight mouthed to Dawn Ember. She reached out a hoof, and Ember walked over to join them in a hug.
One last time, Twilight Sparkle closed her eyes. A warmth emanated from her forehead, and she didn’t need to look to know that the crown had bathed them all in its glow. She didn’t have to ask herself if it would work. She didn’t have to search for that spark.
She merely had to love what made her Twilight Sparkle. All of it.
Twilight’s eyes sprung open, and she sputtered for breath, cough after cough wracking her chest. Where was she? Her forehead hurt, her chest burned—she couldn’t stop coughing! Her head jerking each time—it only made the pounding in her skull worse, and why did it hurt?
She managed a gasp, and something metallic fell off her and clattered to the floor. Softness, like cotton, on her forehead, but when she tried to reach for it, she couldn’t move an inch. Then the light—a deep, midnight-blue glow right in front of her face. How had she missed it? Pr-Princess…
“Lu—” she wheezed, but the coughing started all over again. Stars danced in front of her eyes, and the light turned even darker now. Smoke, purple mist, pouring from her mouth and nose, each particle of it carrying a little weight off her heart. And each flying into a tangled luminescent web, strung across her back and holding her to the floor. The strands’ glow diminished steadily until they had sponged up the last wisp of that darkness, finally becoming completely black and flaking away like rust.
Free.
A shaky hoof tapped at the bandage on her forehead, then she sank into her cushion, her chest heaving. Luna’s magic dissipated, and she stood there, watching, waiting. Twilight could feel it. As much as she wanted to honor the Princess—bow, give her a hug, do something—her body would only let gravity have its way.
She rolled her eyes up at Princess Luna. “Thank you,” she rasped, adding a faint smile when Dawn Ember appeared next to her. She tried raising her head—ow! Throbbing again…
She just needed to rest. A little rest, and she’d feel… Her eyes drifted shut.
“I can’t thank you enough, Princess Luna,” Twilight said from her chair on the balcony of her old castle room. “You did so much for me, and I’d blamed you for everything, even though it was my fault all along.” Luna’s mug of coffee steamed from the table between them. She must have gotten it from the kitchen for this wing of the castle, two floors down. The occasional clink of metal utensils rang through the windows below, and even more coffee aroma wafted up, slightly burnt. But it didn’t seem to bother her anymore.
“Not at all, Twilight Sparkle. I had hoped you would have the strength to persevere, and it seems I was correct.” Luna smiled, but… shouldn’t she be asleep now? Bags under her bloodshot eyes—yes, the last week had left her rather ragged, too. “I must warn you, though: Do not expect your magic to go easy on you. It has a certain nature that it cannot change. But you have the tools you need now.”
Twilight ventured a halfhearted nod and looked away. “You went out of your way for me. I can’t help feeling like you gave me special treatment.”
“I did what I would have done for anypony,” Luna replied with a wave of her hoof. “But your case was decidedly unique. I daresay we have learned quite a bit of valuable information from it. I never would have suspected the full nature of your malady.”
Twilight grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut. “Dawn Ember told you everything?” She glanced up to see the Princess nodding. Presumably, Luna knew how to exercise some discretion. Of course she did. She hadn’t gone blabbing about Twilight before, and wasn’t likely to start now.
Twilight maneuvered her blushing cheek behind her mane as best she could. “I’m sorry. Princess Luna, I owe you an apology. I blamed you for the nightmares, and…”
“You were under extreme duress. I cannot hold you personally respons—oh, it appears you have visitors,” the Princess said. She broke into a grin as a guard ushered in Fluttershy, Applejack, and Rarity. Everypony bowed, and Applejack slid her hat off, but Luna immediately clicked her tongue. “Please rise, my little ponies. Now is not the time to stand on ceremony. In any case, I have business that requires my attention this morning. I will speak with you later, Twilight,” she said before slipping past the new arrivals with a nod and heading inside.
“Oh! More of you showed up!” Twilight’s gaze remained on Luna’s retreating form for a moment before darting over to her friends. “Girls, this means a lot to me. Thank you for coming!”
“Shoot, o’ course we would, sugarcube! Spike, Rainbow Dash, and Pinkie Pie woulda come, too, but they’re back in town settin’ up your welcome-home party.” Applejack moved to take Princess Luna’s vacated chair, but Rarity slid into it first and made a show of wincing and rubbing her hooves. One sigh later, Applejack settled onto the stone floor and crossed her forelegs. “It was tough keepin’ Spike from comin’, but I figured it might be best. He’s still shaken up from the night you left.”
Twilight nodded gravely, but then her ears perked up. “Party?” Twilight asked, raising an eyebrow. “But I won’t be going home for a couple more days.”
“Oh, we know that, dear,” Rarity said with a flick of her hoof. “It’s actually going to take them that long. I… wouldn’t blame you if you showed up fashionably late.” She leaned over and whispered out the side of her mouth, “A day or so should do it.”
A brief giggle escaped Twilight’s lips, but… blame. Sometimes a single word could bring a good mood crashing down. She’d prepared what she wanted to say and rehearsed it dozens of times that morning, but walls don’t criticize. Or get hurt. She set her jaw and—
“I was so glad to hear Princess Celestia’s pronouncement that you’d been cured,” Rarity said, her eyes sparkling, “but of course you were. Why else would she have set up such an event, dear?”
Twilight choked down the lump in her throat and tried to ignore the tingling in her chest. “I’m glad you three are the ones here. I have something I need to say to you.” If not for the blazing sun, she would have sworn a frosty wind had just swept through. Fluttershy stopped her fidgeting and stared back at Twilight with the other two.
Eyes closed, deep breath. Then Twilight looked at Fluttershy and waited. Waited for Fluttershy to quit averting her face, waited until her eyes widened a bit as she mouthed a little “oh…”
“You first, Fluttershy, because you’re the only one who actually knows what I did to you. I was cruel. You are the kindest pony I know, and I repaid that with hate, mocking, and abuse. I wouldn’t blame you for giving me the same in return, but I hope I can someday earn your kindness back.” Twilight pursed her lips, and Fluttershy surrendered to the ground’s tug on her gaze. A light blush, but also—Twilight held back tears—barely perceptible movement: testing, flexing that injured wing. If the first one was already going to be this hard…
The whispering breeze might as well have been a gale-force wind for how it overpowered the heavy silence. Another gulp, and Twilight turned to Applejack.
“In the face of honesty, I lied and stole. I took a tart, an apple, and two fritters from your cart that day in the market.” Applejack gaped at her, then quickly shut her mouth and glanced around at Rarity and Fluttershy. She’d seen this before, once, when Applejack had caught Apple Bloom in a lie—the set jaw, the clouded face. And there came the first few tears that Twilight’s willpower couldn’t keep in check. Applejack waved a hoof and wore an easy “what’s the big deal?” smile, but… the way those eyes didn’t quite look right at her, the way she worked her hooves against her hat’s brim. Twilight had broken something, crossed a line irreparably. Like when a foal found out too young that Santa Hooves didn’t really exist—a wholehearted belief shattered, never to be regained in quite the same way.
“Petty theft, but I didn’t need what I took. I did it just because I could, because I’d twisted your actions into something that needed punishment. Apple Bloom saw me, and I lied to her, too. Of course, I’ll pay you for it, but more than that, I promise I’ll work to regain your trust. I-I hate the position I’ve put you in: having to keep an eye on me or very conspicuously not doing so. I’ll… send Spike to do the shopping until we have a chance to talk more.” Why did that have to hurt so much? Not the theft itself, but just knowing that Twilight was capable of it… Applejack shook her head, barely, but without stopping. “I’m sorry,” Twilight squeaked, then she reached for Applejack. But Applejack kept staring, so Twilight could only let her hoof dangle by her side.
Finally, Twilight faced Rarity, and like the previous night, Rarity’s features froze into a pleasant, attentive look, but her eyes focused on some other world. How much did she remember of what Twilight had already told her? Some ponies only heard what they wanted to hear…
Twilight had to keep herself from stamping a hoof—Rarity might think it was directed at her. What had Princess Luna just said!? She imagined shooing a small purple cloud away from her face and took a deep breath.
“Rarity… from one who gives so freely, I tried to take what wasn’t offered. And again, it wasn’t for any other reason than to prove I could. I trivialized you and your feelings, and I’m going to have to do the most to make it up to you—to feel worthy of this again.” Twilight tapped a hoof against her amethyst bracelet. “I… hesitate to bring it up, but our friends here can be kept in confidence, for your sake.”
Twilight glanced at Applejack and Fluttershy, who both nodded immediately. Rarity continued to stare off at who knew what.
“I forced you into a dinner date with me.”
Applejack raised an eyebrow and exchanged a sidelong glance with Fluttershy.
Though every fiber of her mind told her to look away, Twilight kept her sight centered firmly on Rarity’s eyes, but… was she even looking back? Was she listening? “We almost kissed, before I came to my senses. But I used a spell to mask your memory of it.” Rarity’s pupils narrowed just a touch and flicked over to Twilight’s muzzle, where those words had brought her back from wherever she’d been. For better or worse, Rarity was here.
Twilight concentrated for a moment and lit her horn, and an instant later, Rarity let out a quiet gasp. “Oh… Oh, my…” she said, holding a hoof to her chest.
A fresh rush of tears burned at the corners of Twilight’s eyes, and she blinked them back as much as she could. “I’m sorry, Rarity. I’ve risked your friendship most of all, and I beg your forgiveness. All of you.”
“Um…” Fluttershy said.
Twilight jumped—a sign of life from somepony who would always rather blend into the background? She clenched her jaw. No. Those were her thoughts from when she hadn’t been in control. She knew better now.
“But it wasn’t you who did any of that, Twilight,” Fluttershy continued, her good wing spread halfway. “It was, well, bad magical Twilight… thing…” She added a smile, even showing a bit of teeth.
Fluttershy, always willing to give somepony the benefit of the doubt. “But in a way, I did do those things,” Twilight insisted. “In part, anyway, and I have to take responsibility for it. I could only be… made whole again by accepting all of those pieces of myself, the good and the… misguided. That Twilight is still in here,” she said, tapping her chest with a hoof.
From inside, a door latch quietly rattled, and Twilight glanced into the dim room. She gasped. Princess Luna had been listening. A fire started in Twilight’s belly, but she quenched it just as quickly. The Princess had a right to know, and probably did already. She stood in the doorway to the hall, on her way out, but pointedly nodded back. “Good for you, Twilight Sparkle,” she mouthed.
“Sugarcube, you’re our friend,” Applejack said, jerking Twilight’s attention outside once again. “The Twilight we love is still in there, too, and we ain’t about to leave her behind. ’Sides, it ain’t like you didn’t suffer any.” She pointed her muzzle at Twilight’s bandaged head. “This here’s taken its toll on all of us, and we’ll all come through it stronger.”
Fluttershy nodded and flared her wings fully. Only a brief tic marred her cheek, but she held a firm smile the whole time.
“We’ll talk,” Rarity said as she reached over to take Twilight’s hoof in her own. “But after all the time we’ve spent together, I know you to be a pony of good character. We will be fine.”
Twilight’s eyes glistened—how did she even have a tear left in her body after the last few days? “Thank you, Rarity,” she whispered, patting her friend’s hoof.
Rarity peered through the railing and into the courtyard below, where a pale yellow-green unicorn trotted toward the castle gates with a bronze-colored pegasus. Rarity angled her head in their direction. “Isn’t that the mare who was in the room with you last night, Twilight?”
Craning her neck to see past the balcony’s edge, Twilight nodded. “Her name is Dawn Ember. She’s going to be studying with Zecora next term. I’ll introduce you all to her then—I think you’d like her.”
Home.
Twilight lay in her own bed in her own room in her own town. After a couple of additional nights in Canterlot Castle—to make sure her injury wasn’t too serious, ostensibly—she’d come home.
She knew the real reason for the extra days, of course, and she agreed wholeheartedly. It never hurt to play it safe.
Please. Please let it happen again. The last two nights, she’d had the most wonderful dream. Maybe Princess Luna had sent it and maybe not, but she preferred thanking the Princess for something she hadn’t actually done over failing to acknowledge something she had. Better to err on the side of gratitude.
Soft snoring from the basket under the windowsill again. It had taken Spike forever to fall asleep or even release Twilight from the bear hug that had lasted practically through the entire party, then all evening. And he’d insisted on staying in here instead of his own room, at least for tonight. But fall asleep he had.
“I am master of my own mind; I have control of my own thoughts, my own dreams, my own vision,” she said into the still night air, over and over again, until her eyes wouldn’t stay open without considerable effort. Even with that snoring echoing off the crystal walls.
She glanced out the window and up to the moon. “Thank you, Princess Luna,” she mumbled as her eyes drifted shut.
Twilight lay on her back against a hill’s gentle slope, the night sky spread out above her. On one side, Dawn Ember poured two cups of tea from an insulated bottle, and on the other, Twilight had a foreleg curled around a young, blank-flanked version of herself. No mirrors this time, no concealment.
Her hoof aimed just above the distant treetops, Twilight said, “See that one? That’s the pegasus constellation. And if you look away from it a little, you can see a smudge of light in your peripheral vision. That’s a galaxy.” The filly grinned and nodded with each new discovery, and did Twilight even feel her snuggling up a bit?
“I’m glad you’re here,” Twilight said as she turned to Dawn Ember.
Ember raised an eyebrow and glanced back and forth between them. “Oh, she’s not so bad. You do a good job of keeping her in line, and I help if things get out of hoof.”
Twilight hugged her look-alike closer and kissed her on the forehead. “I’m glad you’re both here.”
A wisp of steam wafted up from where Ember had set Twilight’s tea in the grass, then Ember chuckled and took her own place next to Twilight. She leaned back against the hillside and crossed her forelegs behind her head.
Warm, safe, calm. And not alone.
“You were always welcome here. Both of you.” Twilight smiled and reached for her tea—no, still too hot. She’d give it a minute to cool down. Instead, she hugged her free hoof to her chest, where a—how had Rarity phrased it?—a beautifully warm lightness was spreading throughout her.
Friendship. With all the wonderful ponies she’d met. And last of all, with herself. What else could simultaneously lift her up and bring her to her knees? Now, that was power. And she’d had it all along.
