Oneirology

by Taialin

First published 3rd of September, 2018

Everypony wants to believe their romance is a perfect one. Fluttershy wants to believe that very, very much.

Everypony wants to believe their romance is a perfect one. Fluttershy wants to believe that very, very much. And Rarity is perfect for her; if only that were true the other way around.

Second in the Flarity "O" Series.
Listen > Language > Lust (NSFW)
Obsolete > Oneirology > O——

Edited by Void Whisperer and Eloquence. Proofread by Steel Resolve and Nova Quill.
Cover art by Nova Quill.

1. Water Lilies

I take a deep breath of the fresh Ponyville air and smile. It is a good day to be out shopping. Then again, any day that promises to end in a date with my marefriend is a very good day. I dance into the Ponyville marketplace, humming a happy tune to myself.

We've had quite a few over the months we've been together, she and I, but that doesn't make this one any less special. Indeed, we could spend every day doing nothing but sharing words over tea and exchanging kisses, and I'd still enjoy doing just that yet months from now. True, consummate love never grows old.

There is a rather poignant difference between being a romantic and being in a romance. There have been more problems with our relationship than I could have ever anticipated—but those hardships only makes the feelings that survive stronger still. It's all worth it for another lazy afternoon tea with my favorite pony.

Speaking of which . . .

I give the pony walking beside me a nuzzle on her cheek. She smiles and coos her appreciation before returning the nuzzle. The pony who was with me through all our trials. The pony who has endless bounds of kindness and forgiveness. The pony whom I love so very, very much: Fluttershy, my sweetheart. Delicate as a flower, yet strong as a gryphon—life saw it fit to bring us together, and life has been a little bit brighter ever since then. How lucky I would be to find a pony who was as benevolent as Fluttershy, and how much luckier I am that she is in my life.

I don't suspect a lot of ponies in Ponyville would have expected the two of us to be romantically involved. It's not as if I made any effort to hide my previous preferences to, well, run after stallions. Even now, that predilection is not really untrue—stallions are the only ones whom I can "look at" with any real attraction. Simply, I'm not interested in mares in that way . . . most mares, that is. Fluttershy is my sole exception; she's the one who convinced me that I could be with her, and we've been together ever since. Even so, it's not really her body that attracts me—it's her entirety. She's special like that.

Leave the surprise to the suitors—and leave my Fluttershy to me. We love each other; that is the shape of the world, and that is all that needs to matter.

Even the mundane shopping trip is made better when I do it with her. For whatever help she does or does not provide in my shopping needs, her company is always welcome. Fluttershy extends a wing over my withers and leans against me, closing her eyes. We walk flank-to-flank, hoofsteps synchronized.

"So, sweetheart, what is it that we need to buy today?" I ask sweetly, softly, not attempting to bring my voice above the noise of the market. I can scarcely hear it, but I know Fluttershy can, what powers of listening she has. If she can hear the rasp of an injured cricket, she can hear me easily.

"Just some flowers and a few apples, I think. We don't need much for our date," she responds just as quietly, not opening her eyes. I hear what words I can make out and read the rest on her lips.

I nod and amble with her lackadaisically down the bazaar. When I see Roseluck's flower stall come into view, I flare my shoulder blade against Fluttershy's wing and point my chin towards it, prompting my next movement. Fluttershy opens her eyes reluctantly and turns them to where I'm pointing. When she understands, she gives me a parting nuzzle and folds her wing back against her side, letting me continue unfettered.

As I get closer to the stall, however, I see Roseluck isn't behind it. Instead, it's—

"Good day, Vital Acacia," I say to the stallion manning the stall. He was hired to cover sales in Ponyville while the flower fillies went on extended holiday—something about an expo, I recall. He's been on the job for a few weeks now, and I've seen him apprenticing with Roseluck a couple times. Today is the first time the stallion's been on his own. Though in reality, he's barely looks like a stallion at all: his powder-white face is that of a doll's and looks far younger than I believe him to be.

He turns to me, stifles a yelp, and falls into a semi-graceful bow. "Hi, Miss Rarity," he says in a reedy tenor. He looks up. "How can I help you today?"

I put a hoof to my snout and chuckle, half from genuine mirth and half from social propriety. It's the ladylike response to such a gentlemanly gesture, and I like collecting the responses stallions have to an attractive mare. Acacia doesn't seem the type who would take it well, but I've been surprised before. "I'd like some flowers for feeding, my dear," I say, instantly dropping to a rather more familiar epithet than I'd usually use, testing him.

He stands back up stock-straight. "O-of course!" he says, clearly flustered. He regains composure admirably, however, and manages to continue without (too much) stuttering, describing the wares behind him. "We have the classic flowers, like roses and lilacs. White chrysanthemums are tasty, too, very sweet. I have a few birds-of-paradise, and those ones just came in from . . ."

He points towards various flowers of varying interest while I observe his movements. He's of a slight build and not very muscular, but what strikes me most is the purity of his coat. White coats take a lot of work to keep clean—I would know! The fact he has to deal with dirt on a daily basis makes his purity all the more impressive. A cultivated beauty not unlike mine, in fact.

He looks under the counter of the stall briefly. "We technically have dahlias, but . . ." He pauses. "Actually, they're your favorite flower, right?" he says.

I chuckle again, genuinely impressed that he knows. I can't remember ever telling him about my preferences. "Right you are, Acacia! You must be very perceptive," I say in a lilting melody, winking. "I'll have a dozen dahlias, please."

He opens his mouth in a silly smile but freezes suddenly, smile twisting. "Um, sure, but . . ." He looks under the counter again. "Filthy Rich actually pre-ordered those, and those are all we have. We won't get another shipment of dahlias until next week. But . . ." He looks back to me and reasserts his smile, the blush on his cheeks proud. "I can deal with him later. For you."

I put a hoof to my chest and mock-gasp, looking at him coquettishly. "Oh, how kind of you, Acacia! Thank you so much, dear."

He's flustered again, clearly not expecting a compliment. He putters about aimlessly and half-starts a sentence or two before bowing again and managing to get out, "I'll arrange the bouquet for you, Miss Rarity!"

While I watch him reach under the counter and bundle up the dahlias, though, I feel a persistent poking on my right side. Fluttershy is there, prodding my flank with her hoof. She's not normally so overtly obvious in her ways to get my attention—a gentle breeze from her wings would have been enough. Nevertheless, I back up to her and murmur, "What is it?"

Her lips are pinched shut, and her brows are furrowed. She says nothing but gestures sharply with her head to a stall behind us. I raise an eyebrow and look towards the stall. It's selling quills, parchment, ink, and other miscellaneous stationery. Twilight could probably spend hours there, debating with the salespony that this blue ink is better than that one. It wouldn't be an isolated incident, sadly. There's nothing else remarkable about the stall, aside from the fact that it's fairly popular with many ponies around it perusing the wares there and a tiny out-of-place emerald leaf behind it. But leaves don't normally, well, bob around so strangely, and it looks oddly metallic . . .

"Spike?" I whisper almost unconsciously.

I purse my lips. My eye has never failed me; I know that's him. Whether or not Fluttershy noticed him as well, I'm not sure. But why else would she have pointed out the stall? I know she's also quite observant, if not in the same way. If she didn't see anything odd, perhaps she heard something that I couldn't, something that brought her to the same conclusion.

Our previous meeting with Spike was . . . less than pleasant. He knows about our relationship now, thanks in no small part to said previous meeting. I can't be grateful enough that he doesn't hate me or Fluttershy for it, but it's been a quite a few weeks since then. He says he's forgiven me, but I don't know how he's been coping. I haven't been in a rush to talk with him again, either; I don't think he would want my company.

"Fluttershy," I begin nervously, "Should we leave? Spike is there, and I don't know if he should be—"

My words are stolen away as Fluttershy wraps me in her wing and turns me towards the stationery stall. "Fluttershy! What are you—th-the flowers!" I say sharply, pointing back to Roseluck's stall with my head. Acacia's still there, half hidden by the bustle of moving ponies, now looking around confused.

Fluttershy stops and looks back at Acacia herself. She turns back to the stationery stall, then Acacia, then the stall again, all the while still wearing a terribly tense look on her face. I still don't know what's going on, why she would want to take me away now when she herself told me we needed flowers, or why she would want to talk to Spike instead, but this sort of panic and impulsive behavior seems rather excessive, even for Fluttershy.

"Is there something wrong, sweetheart?" I say, putting my hoof on her face and trying to instill some calm into her.

Her eyes eventually land on mine. "I . . ." The tension on her face slowly drains away, only to be replaced by that familiar worry, then regret. Fluttershy looks down. "I'm sorry, Rarity. N-nothing's wrong," she says in a despondent and apologetic tone.

I hide a frown. I know her well enough by now to know she's not telling the truth, and she must know that I know that. She's not even trying very hard to hide it. There is something wrong. And yet, I also know she doesn’t want to tell me, at least, not right now, whether to preserve my feelings or as an attempt at actual deception. She might be upset at Spike, or Acacia, or me, or herself; I don't know. How I wish I could read her and figure out the reason so I could solve it, but she is too quiet, in words and mannerisms. I don't know what to look for. I love her dearly, but that doesn't mean I can easily understand her when she's like this.

"Shh." I extend a hoof around her neck and bring her close to me. It doesn't matter, at least not now. My marefriend is upset, and that is my first priority. She puts her head against my breast, closing her eyes. I close mine too and nuzzle her gently.

We all have secrets to hide, but if Fluttershy is happy, I don't need to know them. I don't want answers or truth or chivalry; I've only ever wanted her happiness. That's all I will ever need from her. And if she is unhappy, that is what I will seek to remedy. I hold her to my breast and kiss her on the brow, waiting for that tension to dissolve away. Slowly, I feel her shoulders soften and her neck relax. When I think she's ready, I bring back my head to look at her and speak again, quietly.

"We still need flowers for our date, yes? Can I get them?"

The worry comes back comes back to Fluttershy's face for a moment, but she dispels it quickly. "Come back," she says, releasing me. It's an odd thing she said: I question it in my mind but don't reveal anything on my face. I'm only going to get flowers—hardly something to be concerned about—and when would I not come back?

But I nod and give Fluttershy a brief nuzzle before trotting back to Acacia's stall. He's still standing there with the bouquet in hoof. "Um, hi again, Miss Rarity?" he says. "I didn't know what was happening or if you didn't want the flowers anymore." Said flowers are now bundled nicely and sitting on the counter.

I wave off the suggestion nonchalantly. "Apologies, Acacia. I do want the flowers; I was just talking with my marefriend. How much will it be?"

Acacia reaches for the flowers but pauses when his hoof is on the stems. "Mare . . . friend?" He cocks his head to the side to look past me, double checking who I was talking with. "With Fluttershy?"

I cock my head as well. Here we go again. "Yes, dear, marefriend and Fluttershy. She's very special to me."

"But I thought—"

"Sometimes friendships grow into things we don't expect," I say, waving my hoof in a circle, answering what's sure to be his next question. Playing the friendship card normally puts an end to these discussions—given our reputations, no ponies challenge us on friendship matters. It's not that I want to be brusque, but for Fluttershy's sake, I'd like to keep the details of our relationship on a need-to-know basis. Our best friends know, of course, but while I like Acacia, I don't think he's yet earned the right to know such private matters.

Ah, the tragedies of being an attractive mare!

"I hope you're not upset, dear," I say, putting my hoof on his own and looking into his eyes earnestly while wearing a coy smile.

He can only look at Fluttershy for a second longer before his eyes are drawn into mine—and the spell is cast. "Upset? N-no, of course not, Miss Rarity!" he says, blush proud on his cheeks once again.

I nod. "Thank you, Acacia." I unlock my gaze and bring them to the flowers on the counter instead. "How much are the dahlias?"

Acacia looks at me, then the flowers, then Fluttershy, then me again. Finally, he says, "Sixteen bits, Miss Rarity, but I can make it fourteen for you two."

My hoof comes off of his and presses against my breast. "Oh, you are too kind, darling!" Despite the discount offer, however, I levitate to the counter the requisite sixteen bits plus a generous tip for fabulous service.

I light my horn and lift the bouquet off his hooves, bringing it to my nose for a sniff. Roseluck always sources the most fragrant of flowers; they smell ripe and strong but not overbearingly so. They probably wouldn't remain good for very long, but for now, at least, they're perfect. It's too bad that Filthy Rich will miss out on his flowers, but I'll make it up to him somehow. Probably. "I must bid you farewell, my dear. Good day, Acacia!" I say, offering him a shallow bow before walking away elegantly but swiftly enough that he wouldn't be able to offer me back the extra bits if he noticed.

"Bye, Miss Rarity!" I hear behind me.

Just as Fluttershy asked, I do return quickly, flowers in tow. My exchange with Acacia couldn't have taken more a few minutes. She looks a bit less nervous now, but her eyes are still trained on me, like she was staring the whole time I was at the flower stall.

I swing the flowers around to her muzzle and let her take a sniff of them as well—a preview of the date we have planned. "So, did you want to see Spike?" I ask next.

Fluttershy closes her eyes and appreciates the bouquet of the flowers before answering. She looks to the stationery stall. "Um . . ."

Er, I thought she would answer. She was so insistent on bringing me to him before. Personally, I would rather not at this moment, but it's her wishes that I will attend to. Though right now, I'm not sure what she wants. I follow her eyes to the stall and who's hiding behind it. It's definitely Spike, with the green spines and flash of purple scales. He turns around, and half an eye appears from behind the stall, darting around. Eventually, it finds us, and our eyes meet.

Oh dear. Fluttershy and I look to each other simultaneously before looking back to him. Whether or not she or I wanted to, it can't be helped now. Friends greet each other when they see each other, even if one of them is hiding. Courtesy demands it.

We glance to each other again before I hide the flowers in my saddlebags and we make our way behind the stationery stall, picking through the crowd around it. A sale on quills or something—I'm not sure why it's so popular right now. I can't be bothered to figure out, though; I'm busy wondering what I will say to Spike. Given Fluttershy and I have a date tonight, this doesn't seem like the opportune time to exchange small talk. But . . . I can't avoid him forever, and delaying the inevitable was what caused our problems in the first place.

Once we get through the crowd and on the veranda behind the stalls, I see him, now not peering around the stall but simply sitting behind it, a large sack of presumably stationery materials beside him. His eyes are halfway between me and the dirt in front of him. I stop about five paces away, uncomfortable with coming any closer.

. . .

How easy it used to be for us to converse. He came up to me, hearts in his eyes, and he always started with some affectionate greeting, one I'd respond in kind to. We exchanged goings-on of our respective days. I complained, and he listened. He waxed, and I listened. I asked of him little favors, and he told me he would get it done. Finding things, buying food, organizing fabrics as he's so good at—maybe ten minutes of his time, all while we'd chat. A little charm here and there, and he tried not to let that charm affect him too much.

But the situation has changed, and such easy conversation seems many miles away. Spike wouldn't appreciate such banter now. Charm and charisma are weapons in words, ones I always have close at hoof—what else do I have if I don't want to use them?

. . .

"Hello, Spike," I say, concealing the uncertain quaver in my voice.

"Hi, Rarity," he responds.

. . .

"Are you . . . are you doing well?"

"Fine."

. . .

Fluttershy walks to the bag beside Spike and examines it. "Goodness, Spike. It looks like you bought a lot of things today," Fluttershy says. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, the silent relief I have at ending this farce of a "conversation." She has far less trouble speaking to Spike than I do, it seems. "Parchment, ink, quills . . . an easel?" She gently pokes at the folding wooden structure protruding from the top of the sack. "That bag is almost bigger than you are! Do you need any help bringing it back to the castle?"

"I . . . I should be alright," he responds. The less tense and defensive way he responds to Fluttershy than he did me does not go unnoticed. Spike goes behind the sack and attempts to lift it up. His arms aren't wide enough, however, and where he can lift one section, it sags in other. He tries a different approach, wrestling to the top of the bag. He manages to tie it off and get a hold of it, at which point he starts dragging it along the ground. It works. Nominally. I'm not even quite sure how he managed to buy so many things.

Fluttershy isn't having that, however. She works her head under the bag and manages to lift it onto her back, Spike letting go as his handholds rise away from him. She grunts with exertion and flares her wings out to the side to stabilize the load.

"Are you sure, Fluttershy? I can help," Spike asks, still reaching up to the bag but unable to do more than poke its bottom.

"That's okay, Spike, but thank you—nnf—for offering. This is going back to the castle, right?"

"Yeah," he says, lowering his arms reluctantly.

Fluttershy sets pace back to Twilight's castle, Spike right beside her, ready to catch the load if it ends up too much for her. I lag behind by a few paces, supporting the sack with a discrete bit of magic. It's not particularly heavy, but it is large and unwieldy. I'm very well capable of lifting the whole thing by myself, but I'm loathe to do that if it will cause him to stop talking to Fluttershy. She got him to open up, and I don't want to interfere with that.

"I'm sorry, Spike. I would fly—ngh—you back home on my back, but you bought a lot today," Fluttershy says.

"That's . . . that's okay, Fluttershy. You don't need to. I just wish Twilight didn't wait until all her stocks were completely gone before she asked me to buy more because—" Spike gestures to the sack. "—then she needs everything at once."

"Oh, goodness. But I thought Twilight was organized."

"She is, where it matters, at least. Her research is organized by date in its own library, and her references are alphabetized, categorized by subject, and cross-referenced by author. She just forgets that writing down this research needs, well, quills and parchment. And she doesn't remember until she doesn't have any more quills or parchment to write with."

"How long will this last her?"

Spike looks up at the massive sack quizzically, sizing it. "Four days, maybe three if I restock her coffee tomorrow."

"That's very responsible of you, Spike!" Fluttershy turns her head and favors him with a smile. "Twilight is so lucky to have someone like you to help her."

A subtle blush appears on Spike's face, well-hidden by his complexion. He walks with his chest a little prouder—a small change, but one that conveys confidence. "I mean, she's not normally this busy with research. But what with Starlight taking a trip back to her hometown and Twilight winning a grant to investigate the properties of flash bee honey, she's been super busy working on that and only that. It doesn't help that we only a little sample of the honey left, and it would take a long time to get any more. She's trying to make that sample last."

I tune out a little at this point, satisfied that Spike and my marefriend are getting along, and turn my thoughts inward. Their conversation is easy, almost natural. I feel a brief pang of jealousy at the fact nopony is paying me any heed, but I tamp it down quickly. If he is not eager to speak with me, that's his business. I'm just fortunate he's not trying to break us apart even now.

"So I guess you'll be tending to Twilight's needs for today?" Fluttershy asks.

Spike lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Yeah, pretty much. Have to make sure that she eats and drinks every so often. She forgets if I'm not there to remind her." He shakes his head. "What about you, Fluttershy? What are you doing today?"

Fluttershy stumbles with her next step, and I'm just able to catch the sack and re-center it on her back. She doesn't say anything immediately; she looks back to me instead. I return her gaze, unsure of what to say or how to answer. We both know very well what we're doing, but should Spike know? His once-favorite pony going on a date but not with him . . . how would he react if we told him?

Spike notices the silence and follows Fluttershy's eyes back to mine. "Are you doing something toge—oh. Right." The suddenly despondent tone in his voice tells me that he's put the pieces together. He turns back around and keeps walking.

. . .

Again, the silence. Whenever Spike is reminded of our relationship, any semblance of camaraderie becomes much more strained. He's still my friend, he tells me—but moments like this question whether the words he said came from his heart or his mouth. "Would you rather walk the rest of the way with Fluttershy alone, Spike?" I ask quietly. It'll mean that she and I will be separated, and I can't help with the load anymore, but if it pleases him . . .

There's another conspicuous silence as Spike thinks of what to say. "No . . . it's fine."

. . .

"So . . . how was your day like so far, Rarity?" Spike asks, some false enthusiasm in his voice. I don't know whether he's genuinely interested or looking for meaningless banter. It seems he too is struggling to come to terms with how conversation in our new relationship works.

"It's been . . . pleasant. Fluttershy and I went shopping for flowers, as I'm sure you saw us do." I pause, trying to think of something less . . . consequential to talk about. "Before that, I was just helping Sweetie Belle with her homework. She has an exam next week. It's about . . . Neightonian mechanics? I think? She also said she wanted me to help calculate Scootaloo's trajectory or something." I shake my head, already feeling a phantom headache. "I barely know anything about physics; my schooling days were so long ago, and I never paid much attention in that class. How quickly the little ones grow." Even as I say it, I have a feeling my subconscious was directing that sentence at more than just Sweetie Belle.

"So that's what that trebuchet outside the castle is for . . ." Spike muses to himself. He speaks up. "Do you . . . want me to help with that?"

Despite myself, I chuckle. I don't know what to be more impressed by: that Spike is still willing to do favors for me or that he knows Neightonian physics. Though considering he spends so much time with Twilight, I honestly shouldn't be surprised about the latter. (Also, I should probably have a talk with Sweetie Belle about how friends don't launch other friends into orbit, but I feel like she won't listen.)

"That is very kind of you, but I'm sure you have your hands full with Twilight. I wouldn't want to take you away from your important research. Thank you for offering, Spi . . . ke." Muscle-memory almost has me add "-key Wikey" to the end. Stupid. It's a nice epithet, I must confess, but it's a relic of times gone by. Something tells me Spike wouldn't appreciate it now. Even "darling" sounds a little belittling.

From then on, though, Fluttershy, Spike, and I converse together, and we manage to stay away from consequential topics. Talking with Spike again is not so different than I first believed—just a touch more respectful. And I make sure my words are stripped of flirt and innuendo, however easily it would normally come. It means that even as we talk about ordinary things, there's an underlying tension that's keeping us from speaking entirely naturally with each other. I don't know how long it will take before that tension goes away, if it ever will. I’m just glad that we're talking like friends again.

Eventually we do make it back to the castle just as our conversation topics run dry. Fluttershy lays down on her belly, and Spike and I help unload her burden. I resist the urge to dote on her as she stretches her wings and examines them for damage before folding them back to her side. Those gestures are ones I don't think Spike needs to see now. Even as he drags the sack of supplies up the steps to the front door the castle and I take my place beside Fluttershy again, there's a small distance between us—the difference between amicability and intimacy. I don't want to close it yet, and neither does she.

"You will be fine from hereon, Spike?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, giving the sack another tug. "Twilight'll know where to put everything."

"Please tell Twilight to take a break every so often. So she doesn't get herself sick. I would know," Fluttershy says with a small giggle. "And you should look after yourself too, Spike. I know you two are working very hard, but we want to see our friends outside sometimes. All of our friends," she finishes, smiling.

Spike offers a half-hearted one back. "I'll be sure to tell her that," he says as he opens the door the castle and stands at the portal. Just as the doors are about to swing closed, however, he puts out an arm to bar one open. "Have a . . . have a good date."

We look to each other at the same time. There's hope in her eyes; perhaps things are looking up after all. "We will," we say to him, equally simultaneously.

Spike blinks twice. Just as the doors close in front of him, I see him turn around and bring an arm up to his eyes.

We look to each other again. I can't expect Spike to be ambivalent about this development; I can't expect him to be happy about it. It's a matter of tiptoeing around his feelings as he recovers for however long that will take. I don't know if our presence helps or hurts him in doing that.

Fluttershy puts a hoof on my shoulder. "He'll be okay. He's a strong little dragon."

I lean into her, taking comfort in her contact just as she did in mine not long ago. "I hope you're right, sweetheart."

2. Fire in the Night

The rest of our afternoon passes by uneventfully, and the time of our date fast approaches. We bid each other a brief farewell to return to our respective homes before meeting again. Fluttershy told me to meet her on a vista about a mile out of Ponyville at civil twilight, but she didn't tell me why or what we would be doing, only to bring the food and nothing more; she would bring the rest.

And so I walk up the hill with nothing more than a picnic basket of provisions to find Fluttershy already there, having laid out a blanket for us to sit on. The breeze is light and cool, and it is just enough to lift her mane from her neck and float it in the wind. Every strand glows with a golden sheen, backlit by the setting sun. The golden gild frames her face, soft and gentle, adorned with a tiny smile. She is beautiful.

Fluttershy turns her eyes to me, and her smile widens ever so slightly. I smile back and quicken my pace to join her. Once I do, she extends a wing in invitation, and I place myself right next to her as she drops it on me in familiar embrace. We look to each other again before looking out upon our Ponyville. No further words are necessary.

The view is spectacular. Fluttershy chose for us to meet just as the sun was starting to cast its lovely red hues on our town. It flashes bright on the roofs of the houses where lightning rods and wind vanes have been posted. And as the shadows lengthen before our eyes, ponies turn in for the night, preparing to go to bed and ready themselves for tomorrow. What ponies that are outside fast disappear into their homes. We stay seated, holding each other, silent sentinels watching our town go to sleep. I've always known Ponyville was beautiful, but watching this presents a whole new perspective on that.

Fluttershy lifts an apple from the basket and presents it to me. So round and polished as Applejack's fruits are, I can see my reflection in it. I take a delicate bite of it just as Fluttershy does the same from the other side.

Fluttershy's home is just visible from our current vantage point, the border between Ponyville and the Everfree Forest. On first glance, it doesn't look like a home—perhaps a tree overgrowth—but it's there for those who look, a lovely mix of forest green, earthy brown, and golden orange. A pity, then, that it's so far away from my home on the opposite end of Ponyville. It's almost fitting that they're so far apart; one wouldn't think my cultivated glamor would like to be close to her nearly untamed disposition. That is, if one didn't know the pony inside any better. No—beauty is everywhere. Of course the path between my home and hers is more well-trodden than one would expect.

I light my magic and retrieve a single flower from the basket, nibbling on a petal of the dahlia. Then I snap another petal off and float it over beside me, feeding it to my Fluttershy. We take turns working over the flower down to the head before discarding the root, retrieving another, and resuming anew. All the while not taking our eyes off of our beautiful town. With the slow and intimate way we consume our provisions, it's clear there will be plenty for the animals around to feed on once we're finished.

The castle is the single anomaly of Ponyville, a flash of sparkle in a rustic neighborhood. Long have I thought my home was the most glamorous; I have since conceded that distinction. That fact makes it no less beautiful, though. The crystal that constructs it is translucent, and where the light of sunset hits and pierces it, it creates a dazzling mottle of colors on the ground below, a stained-glass pattern that migrates across the road leading to the castle as the sun's angle grows ever shallower. The castle scintillates as the wind blows; the wind flexes the massive branches of the castle just enough to reflect some of the sun's light into our eyes. There's a pony and a dragon working hard inside, oblivious to the beauty they're surrounded by. Perhaps they would benefit from slowing down and taking some time to appreciate it; Fluttershy has taught me that much.

There's endless beauty to be found, and one doesn't need to go far to find it. These pockets of beauty and tranquility in even the most familiar of places—Fluttershy has a special skill in locating them.

When we're both satiated and slow down in our feeding, I take what's left of our food in the picnic basket and cast it down the hill. The scattered fruits and vegetables are quickly taken up by the rabbits and squirrels and raccoons scampering in the meadow below us.

I lean my head against Fluttershy's. "Thank you for bringing me here, sweetheart. This place is beautiful." But even as I say that, I know she wants to show me one more thing, something possibly even more beautiful.

"Just wait," she says, never taking her eyes off our town.

Slowly but inexorably, the details of the eastward walls of Ponyville's buildings vanish, swallowed by darkness. Shadows grow in length and depth, soon finding every surface of our town and painting them dark. The light of yesterday grows ever weaker as the sun dips farther below the horizon, almost unnoticeable on the land and only barely so in the sky. And once the last light of sunset dies, leaving only a diffuse glow of purple, I feel a light prod against my side.

I look to Fluttershy, and she looks to me. She closes her eyes and faces back forward. I close my eyes and mirror her movement.

As Fluttershy well knows, and as she has since taught me, the beauty of the sight of anything can be complemented—even overshadowed—by the beauty of sound. It's a fast-moving life most of us live, but Fluttershy lives slowly enough to know of another invisible world that's always all around us—a knowledge she's passing on to me. Those quiet and near-unperceivable noises that make up one's soundscape can be of breathtaking beauty if one only takes the time to let them speak.

As we meditate, seconds turn to minutes turn to hours; time seems to matter little when there are no visual cues to tell you of its passage. And there are a lot of things to listen for. Twilight is a wonderful time where diurnal, nocturnal, and crepuscular animals are all active in some capacity.

The birds of day are nearly silent; their waking hours are nearly finished. I hear no chirps or songs or whistling now; it's too late for such things. Only the occasional drumming of wingbeats betray their presence. When they fly, they cross my soundscape and stop behind me with the light rustle of leaves. Then comes another brief drumming as the birds ruffle their feathers for warmth. When they're silent, they seem to disappear in my world. Minutes may pass before they present themselves to me again. And I know, eventually, there will come a time when all the birds fall asleep and vanish entirely.

The owls of night are waking; their lively hours are just beginning. They don't hoot at all, not yet, but they also cross above and behind me with their slower, broader wingbeats. They're such efficient flyers, though; I can just barely make out the sound of their wings, blunt and low. More overt is the breeze that reaches my coat as they fly above us. Thank goodness these owls get along with the smaller birds in the same tree. As much as I love the sounds of birds, I'm not so keen on the sounds of hunting.

I hear a small branch of the tree crack as an owl lands on one, too weak to support its full weight. As the branch breaks, the tree lurches, and every twig and leaf on it rustles and shudders. At the same time, a loud flurry of wingbeats reaches my ears as the birds, startled, briefly take to the air. This cacophony doesn't last long, though; the wingbeats fade away as birds re-land on their perches. Once again, their world grows silent and disappears from my soundscape.

The raccoon is one animal that bridges their life between day and night; they have equal stake in both. Strange, then, that right now, I don't hear much of them. I heard some scampering earlier where I cast our food, but I hear nothing there now. Our food must have been scavenged already, and the raccoons may have moved on.

Fireflies are another creature of twilight, however, and they seem quite active to my ears. The drumming of their wings is faster than the birds and owls, making a low-pitched buzzing sound. I can only hear them clearly when they cross close to my ears, but that happens frequently enough that there must be a lot of them around. There's something in me that rebels against the notion of being surrounded by bugs, but surely, there's beauty to be found here too, so I suppress the urge to swat them away. Truly, it could be any insect flying around us; every insect buzz sounds the same to me. (Fluttershy might disagree.) But fireflies are the only ones who seem to swarm at this hour. And if I'm right . . .

I open my eyes slowly and gasp in wonder. I was right. The curious little things seemed to have congregated around us, investigating who has found their way to their meeting grounds. Despite the darkness, though, I can see them clearly. With the sun well and truly set, sources of light are few. Any semblance of disgust I had is washed away by the moonlight filtering through the tree behind us and the floating green lights our new friends provide.

I prod Fluttershy's side softly, prompting her to open her eyes. When she does, she smiles, having seemingly already identified our new visitors. She clicks her tongue twice, and a single firefly is summoned to hover in front of her. She murmurs a few inaudible words to it, and it flies back to rest of the group, darting around within the mass. A few seconds later, the cloud of fireflies disperses only to re-congregate a small distance away. I gaze in wonder again at the fireflies, now in a ring around us, slowly circling.

The fireflies have enclosed us in our own little world, and my gaze drifts to the only other being inside it. She looks to me, and our eyes lock together. The fireflies cast dozens of moving catch-lights in her eyes, drawing scintillating patterns in her turquoise irises. As if her eyes didn't already sparkle enough. And her face is illuminated by a mosaic of moving green lights, casting short-lived shadows in all directions. This glowing, divine, beautiful being is Fluttershy. A master of nature. Unparalleled listener. Empathy embodied. Kindness incarnate.

The pony I love.

She leans in close to me and whispers quietly, "I love you so much."

Just as quietly, I whisper back, "I love you too."

She moves her head to mine and drops her eyelids. I do the same, rotating my head a little and wetting my lips.

We touch. I shiver.

Slowly, cautiously, I bring my forehooves from the ground to wrap around my lover's body, drawing our bodies together. She brings her own hooves to my back to match mine. Fluttershy moans happily and opens her mouth, letting us deepen the kiss. We draw ever closer still into more intimate embrace.

I only break our liplock for as long as it takes to draw a breath. I plunge back into Fluttershy's mouth, sharing my air with her.

Fluttershy summons a hoof from my back to run through my mane. I always take care to make sure nopony sees me without it perfectly in place, but Fluttershy, as with so many things, is an exception. I feel her hoof running through the curls, and as she does, some locks of hair break off from their companions to float freely and land on my face. I feel my coiffure becoming disturbed, disheveled. Yet, I can't find the means to do anything more than sweep them back when they interfere with our kissing. Let my marefriend play; personal presentation can wait.

I feel a tickling near my bottom, on the cutie mark. I flinch, thinking it an unwelcome animal to our date. Our firefly sentries should have kept them out, surely. But when I bring my tail to sweep whatever it is away, I find it was Fluttershy's own tail doing the tickling. Smiling against her lips, I do as she does and bring my tail over to her cutie mark. But before it touches, she bats my tail away with hers playfully.

Oh, I see. En garde, sweetheart.

We play our little game with our tails, trying to touch each other's cutie marks. We stab with our tails, parry thrusts, and try to gain the upper hoof. It's unfortunate that hers is longer than mine is, more able to strike and defend with the tip; I need to work strategically to get around it. I play her tail's position, feinting close to her body so she moves it there and I can circle around her guard. Surely she's left herself open now; she can't move her tail that quickly to—

Fluttershy whines into my mouth. I pause. It's only now that I realize I've been lax in my kissing while scheming, and she is reminding me of that, pleading me to give her a little more attention. I oblige, extending my tongue again to match hers. But Fluttershy is cunning, and with my mind momentarily occupied on the kiss, she strikes. Before I can counter, she pins my tail to the ground with the root of hers and brings its tip to my cutie mark once again.

Checkmate. I would cry foul for the move, but I won a kiss in our exchange.

I break our kiss and open my eyes for what feels like the first time in hours, Fluttershy following me seconds later. I touch her nose with mine, and we gaze at each other. The night has deepened, and some of our firefly friends have left. Even so, with the meager light and my unfocused eyes, I can just make out a wispy pink blush that seems to be permanently painted on Fluttershy's cheeks.

"Well played, sweetheart," I whisper. Fluttershy responds by unlocking my tail and putting her lips at the base of my horn. I crane my neck and lean back a little to try to match. But when we meet lips again, she drives forward into them, and I lose my balance. The world seems to slow down for us as I fall backwards and hit the ground, the blanket and grass under me cushioning my fall. Fluttershy follows in lockstep, holding me tight and falling with me, never separating her lips from mine.

With Fluttershy on top of me, she leads our dance once again, unlocking her hooves from my back to feel up and down my flanks. I mirror the gesture, bringing my own hooves up to find her wings. Fluttershy's wings willed her to be a pegasus, and they are incredible things. Large, warm, and more powerful than I think Fluttershy gives them credit for. I stroke and massage them gently, pressing just enough to spread her primaries and explore the roots.

When I move my hooves to slip them under her wings, I coax them open, feeling every one of her individual feathers. Her flight feathers are smooth and very stiff, while her coverts are softer and more downy. Every feather is a work of art, and they're all attached to a wingshoulder of phenomenal strength for its size. Everything coalesces together into a magical creation capable of flight. It's a masterpiece of near-infinite complexity, developed to foster an incredible ability. I will never understand everything there is to know about them, and those on Fluttershy intrigue and beguile me every day. The wings flap a few times, seemingly of their own accord, each time casting a mighty breeze to wash over the bodies below. I explore a little further down her wing, past where it attaches to her back. When I brush the point between her wingshoulders, she lets out a squeak and shivers.

Fluttershy wraps her wings around to her front, and her largest primaries brush against me. With strength that bely their appearance, she uses her largest feathers to lift my head from the ground and cradle it from underneath, a more delicate and tender caress than any hoof could provide. I crack an eye open to see a magnificent canopy of yellow feathers all around and above, disappearing at Fluttershy's back. That golden coronet frames her face, eyes still closed, blush more prominent . . . and I don't quite like that expression.

Slowly, Fluttershy starts moving, then rocking, then gyrating against me. Her lips break from mine to kiss in a few other places—my eyelid, my muzzle, my neck, and back to my own lips. In her movements, she starts generating a bit of friction between—

I quickly raise a hoof in the air. Even though she doesn't necessarily see it, she recognizes the gesture. She breaks the kiss, stops her movement, and folds her wings. "Rarity?" she asks, a twinge of concern in her voice.

I know what she's looking for, and I want it too. If only for her. Even as much as I don't want to see that expression, I don't like wiping it from her face. The one and only time when my sexuality and her gender come to conflict . . . It's the one thing I can't give her easily. Just because she's an exception to the rule doesn't mean the rule doesn't exist. I love her despite her sex, not because of it.

I know that it isn't insurmountable by any means, my preferences, but it is an obstacle that has to be overcome. It takes time, and it's difficult. Kissing, cuddling . . . Those gestures are lovely, even moreso from somepony who puts so much into them. But if my sweetheart is asking for more than that, I inevitably start thinking . . .

I’m not gay.

With nothing but our bodies on a night I wasn't expecting her to make advances on me . . . It's just like the night of our very first date. I felt it once, and I never want to feel it again: that horrible feeling of visceral disgust directed towards somepony I love.

I clamber out from underneath Fluttershy and sit up. The fireflies once around us are gone. The only light is that of the tranquil moon and the emerging stars. Even that light is weak and just enough to illuminate Fluttershy's face. Curious . . . but worried.

"I think . . . it's time for us to go to bed," I say slowly, despondently. There's an unspoken apology in that suggestion.

"Oh. Um, okay." Fluttershy says, trying to hide her disappointment. She was hoping for something different.

Should I? Should I continue? I don't want to disappoint her for something I know is possible—for something I know we are capable of. We can try—but what if I fail again? I'll only have disappointed my love even more than she is now. We've already found such magic tonight on this hill; I'll be risking it all by continuing, by trying to give her a greater happiness. I want it. I know I want it for her. She's hurt even now, and I can fix it. But when my first thought at that notion is apprehension, my instinct must be telling me something. I will never be disgusted by Fluttershy again; I will never subject her to that. I cannot—

"Rarity!" Fluttershy jumps up and embraces me in a sudden, tight hug. "It's okay," she says behind my shoulder. Her breathing is fast, almost panicked. It's now that I realize that mine is too. For something that should be so joyous and so easy, with Fluttershy, the one I love so much . . . "I don't mind, really. We don't need to do . . . that if you don't want to. Nothing's wrong."

'Nothing's wrong?' So she is upset . . .

"I still love you, Rarity. Please don't give up on me. I still . . ." She pauses for a moment before breaking our embrace and stepping back.

"W-wait."

I see Fluttershy extending one of her wings to its full span before crossing it in front of her and taking a hold of it in her mouth. She draws her wing across her lips like a sword through a sheath, stopping at the root of her last and largest pinion. She licks there a few times before taking it out of her mouth, moving it to the ground, anchoring the same feather there with a hoof. I realize what she's planning to do a moment too late.

Before I can stop her, she yanks her wing up in a swift motion, and with a sound like the snap of bone, the largest pinion of her right wing is ripped out of its wing. I cringe, recoiling instinctively. I can't imagine what pain that would cause or how sensitive that area is, but whatever the case, Fluttershy doesn't make a sound. Even as a few drops of crimson weep from her wing, she only brings the wing up to her mouth and licks its wound clean like it was just a scratch.

"Wh-what did you do?" I stutter, my previous thoughts completely gone and replaced with horror. Why did she . . . ? How will she fly now, her right wing so maimed and unbalanced from her left? It will be . . . I don't even know how long until that feather grows back to its former length. There must be some long-term damage. It might not even grow back properly. Not to mention that horrible snap.

Fluttershy doesn't answer with words; she takes the pinion in her mouth and drops it in front of my trembling hooves. "It's . . . It's a pegasus custom," she begins, "for a pegasus to give her longest feather when she—" Fluttershy swallows. "—when she finds someone who she feels is a . . . a part of her." She prods the pinion one more time with her muzzle before returning attention to her injured wing.

I'm . . . I'm shocked. I can't respond. Fluttershy's given me gifts before, but this one is so different. Nevermind me being a part of her—she has literally given me a part of herself. It's what makes her a pegasus, what willed her to be one—and a part of it is in front of me. "But wh—why did you do that?" I say again, my voice still shaking. "That's your wing. And this is you!" I point to the sacrosanct feather, not willing to touch it.

She peeks up from nursing her wing. She's cradling it like a broken leg. "I love you," she says simply. "It's supposed to be symbolic of what we're willing to give up for our loved ones." She tries to smile, her eyes moist with tears. I don't know whether they're from pain or weight of emotion. And I don't know which one's worse.

I rush up to her and give her a hug, careful to avoid even brushing against her injured wing or its liberated fragment. "Please, don't. You can't . . . hurt yourself for me. It's not worth it."

"I'm sorry, Rarity," she says, coaxing me away and prodding the pinion with her muzzle for a second time. Like a knight presenting their sword to their liegelord. "You're more important to me than that feather. It doesn't matter what we can or can't do. I just . . . I love you. I need you." She says the last part so quietly I can barely hear it.

I stare at her with awed eyes, as if searching for permission. I'm tempted not to accept this gift for the damage it's caused, but Fluttershy can't accept it back. Eventually, reluctantly, I gingerly pick up the feather with my magic. It's a glorious, regal thing, slightly curved and easily over a foot long. The vane of the feather is perfectly formed and tapered elegantly. There's not even a single break in its barbs, and each one has a tiny serration in it. It looks like a blade but weighs nothing. "Fluttershy," I say, my voice a whisper, "you didn't have to do that."

"I know." She gives her wound one last lick before folding her wing back to her side. The pinion's absence is less visible this way, but I can still see it; her right wing is not as shapely as her left. And there's still a telltale stain of trauma at the root. "But I love you," she says once again, a simple statement that means so much. As if that's the only explanation she needs.

"Oh, sweetheart." I walk behind her and wrap her in an easy embrace. "You didn't have to do that," I whisper again. But I move the feather with my magic to my picnic basket, anchoring it in the thatched weave to ensure it will go home with me tomorrow.

Just as I thought tonight would end in disappointment, Fluttershy instead makes it unforgettable. All the magic we found and the magic she gave me tonight will remain in my heart forever. While I retrieve extra blankets and get ready for sleep, I murmur soft words of gratitude and love and whatever I can think of to show her how special she is to me. It's all I can do in exchange for such a special gift.

It doesn't take long for the claws of fatigue to start at my eyelids, and I can see that Fluttershy is similarly struggling to stay awake. Carefully, I lay her down like a delicate vase. I ensure she falls on her good wing while cradling her hurt one with a hoof. Meanwhile, I take one of the blankets and lay it on top of us, lending some warmth to the cool midsummer night.

I keep whispering in her ear until she relaxes in my embrace and falls asleep. Heaven knows how much she deserves some good sleep now. When her breathing is slow and steady, I close my eyes, my hooves still spooning her from the back, and let myself drift away, thoughts of feathers, fireflies, and yellow pegasi in my mind.

3. What's in a Dream? Part 2

"Goodness me! You are truly impressive, darling!" I sing as I complete my newest client's chest measurements. He's so muscular there, and it is not as if he's lacking in the rest of his body, either. Rippling with strength with not an ounce to spare, it's clear he puts work into his physical appearance.

The rather dashing stallion in front of me bows low when I take my hooves away from his figure. Yes, I could have done them via magic, but measurements by hoof are always more, well, accurate. And he gave me permission! "A wonderful compliment from one as beautiful and worldly as you. Your words make me feel strong as a gazelle bounding through Zebrica," he says.

My eyes brighten and I trot closer him. He's quite tall, so I have to look up. "And poetic, too! I would hope you will order from me more often," I say, winking.

The stallion inclines his head, a coy smile on his handsome face. The gentle skyward curve of his lips are juxtaposed against his sharp and square jawline, his gentility an asset that complements his physical disposition. "I can assure you, milady, that if your custom garments are even half of the creations I see in your Canterlot Carousel, this will not be the last time I will request your services."

"Wonderful, wonderful," I exclaim, clapping my hooves together, very pleased. I'm vaguely aware that I'm being a rather poor example of my usual professionalism in dealing with clients right now. Then again, this is the kind of client I love to have. A repeat, not to mention a well-spoken and gentlemanly one. (And he's handsome!) Am I not granted an exception every now and again? I skip over to my workbench, where my notes are. "What is this suit for, dear?"

His deep, sonorous voice resonates through the room, a smooth and milky baritone, seeming to make everything in the room vibrate. "A diplomatic meeting with the envoys from Prance. I know appearing in one of your custom suits will be sure to impress and start the meeting off on the right hoof."

At his mention of Prance, I spin back around, notes briefly forgotten. "You are speaking with Prench ambassadors? How cultured of you! Do you speak any Prench?"

My stallion offers another shallow bow. "Bien sûr, mademoiselle," he says with an accent so authentic, I would have thought he was a native.

There's nothing to stop it now. I put a hoof to my forehead, pretending to be in a feverish heat. "No, stop! You are simply too much!"

I hear a deep rumble deep in his throat as he chuckles. He opens his mouth to respond:

"Please . . . you're not like this . . ."

I freeze, hoof still to my forehead and contorted in an uncomfortable position. I stand back straight. "C-come again?" I say. Where did that come from? That didn't sound anything like him. Or any stallion, for that matter. He's still standing there, perfectly poised, like nothing is the matter. But that voice wasn't strong, deep, and resonant . . . more feeble, distant, and distinctly feminine. I curl my lip and shake my head.

"Ah, nevermind, thank you." I pretend that I actually heard whatever it was that he really said, responding with something probably relevant. I turn around and return to mundanity, attempting to read my notes . . . but for some reason, they're terribly hard to comprehend. Was I drunk when I wrote this? "So . . . remind me of what you needed from your suit, again?"

His lovely sonorous drone reaches my ears once again, back to its usual deep and rich self. "I think I shall need it to be weatherproof, considering don't go. I don't want to go back . . ."

Ack! What in the world? I stumble back a step and fall to the floor on my rump. Once is a fluke, but twice most certainly is not. There is somepony else here, and she sounds worryingly distressed. Though I swear that I have heard that voice before. So soft and unassuming . . . It kind of sounds like—"

"Milady?" A deep voice lances through my thoughts, and I look back to him. My stallion is still standing off idly off to the side, a slightly concerned look on his face. "Do you feel alright?" He glides forward slowly on stocky hooves, and he offers a perfectly-shorn one to me to help me get up. It takes me a moment to stop looking at the hoof and accept his offer. He pulls me up effortlessly.

"Ah . . . thank you, monsieur." I say slowly. My eyes move away from him momentarily, conflicted. Suddenly, all this doesn't seem quite as important anymore. Like there's something more important I should be worrying about. "Um . . . where were we?" I say, looking back into his turquoise eyes.

Turquoise?

"My suit, I believe," he replies.

"Yes, yes, that is what we were discussing. You require it to be weatherproofed, correct? What say you to stop, please! I-I'm sorry!"

My heart stops and my body goes cold. That demure voice, that fear laced throughout it, that timbre that should have been instantly recognizable. Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could I have been so dense? Whatever emotions I felt before are gone; all that's left is a horror that it took so long for me to recognize her. Fluttershy's cry of distress. I don't know where she is or why she is reaching out, but she needs me. My love needs me.

I whip my head about, trying to glimpse where she is. Dining room, bedroom, upstairs, basement . . . No! I start scampering around, searching for her frantically. Her voice didn't come from any locus, but it seemed to resonate throughout the house; I can't locate it. All I know is that she's somewhere, and she is calling out to me. The stallion I was talking to has all but vanished in my mind.

"Fluttershy, sweetheart, I'm coming!" I cry out in the hope that she can hear me. Every moment that passes only makes my heart pound a little harder. She is in trouble; I'm sure of it. I explore everywhere: in the closets, under the bed, inside cookie jars, trying to find a flash of yellow or pink. Nothing! How hard can it be to find a pony in my own home!?

I know this place inside and out, and I've explored everywhere a pony could conceivably hide and quite a few places only Pinkie Pie could. She is nowhere! And yet, no matter where I am or what direction I'm facing, her voice still seems to come from everywhere, like it's been magically amplified. That only leaves . . .

Nevermind the fact that I couldn't possibly hear her speaking so quietly if she was outside. It's all there is left. I screw my eyes shut and charge out the front door of my Boutique.

The moment I burst out the door, the soundscape around me changes as the quiet domestic sounds of my home is replaced with the rolling roar of distant thunder. Strange. I swear it was a sunny day the last time I looked out the window. I open my eyes to check.

"Where did I . . . what?" I blink and rub my eyes.

It takes me several seconds to find my bearings. I'm no longer outside the Boutique's front door, even though I know I just ran out of it. It's nowhere to be seen. The familiar expanse of my estate has been replaced with eerie looking trees. The branches above are waving threateningly, and the sky is indeed overcast and dark, threatening a storm. There's a winding dirt road in front of me, one that looks frightening and foreboding but also oddly familiar. Behind me, there are only more trees, even though I was in my Boutique not a few seconds ago.

This . . . This flies in the face of all logic. Has Discord enchanted the town again? Is there some world-rending villain afoot that Twilight failed to mention to me? How did I arrive here in this desolate place upon just going out of my front door? Dangerous business, that. I feel like I'm dreaming or something. Dreaming a dream that just turned into a horrifying nightmare.

My ears twitch, and I hear a distant squeak. Her squeak. I can locate it now. She's up ahead. My confusion is pushed to the wayside as another issue of far more importance occupies my mind. I dash forward, following the sole path ahead. Please, sweetheart, hold on. Rarity is coming.

Eventually, the canopy of dark trees thins and breaks, revealing the familiar forest clearing of Fluttershy's front yard, she and another pony in the middle of it. Thank goodness I've found her. I make a start to run to her, but the scene around gives me pause. I've seen her yard hundreds of times, but I've never seen it like this.

The river in front of her cottage has turned into vicious whitewater with dark creatures swimming around in it, and the bridge overlooking it is rotting and falling apart. The cottage itself is mossy and dilapidated, overgrown with ivy and overhanging tree branches, and surrounded by a wide ring of dead grass. It was fine just last night; her home couldn't have fallen into such disrepair so quickly. The only source of illumination is the eclipsed moon, and it casts everything under it in a red glow. There's a supercell of horrendous size spinning above, and it looks like the Tantibus of nightmares could spring out from its center at any moment.

Nightmare?

The sudden change in scenery, the unbelievable deplorableness, the stallion who seemed too good to be true . . . I sharpen my brow and will something to appear, explicitly not using my magic. Sure enough, a teacup cuts into existence in front of my eyes and falls to the ground, shattering.

Dear Luna, I really am in a dream. But is this my dream? I felt like I stepped into another universe when I ran out of my "home," and my nightmares don't usually look like this. And when I study the trees along the path a little closer, they appear strangely blocky and simplistic . . . almost like they're the product of a mind that only wanted them to resemble trees from a distance. No, my dream was must have been just the Boutique. But when I heard that voice crying out for help and ran to it, I must have escaped my dream and ran into . . . Fluttershy's? That would certainly explain her presence and the trees; this is her dream, and they're not important in her mind. How I got here, though . . .

Well, now that I know what this desolate place is, I walk a few steps closer to study the ponies in it, spying Fluttershy and her mysterious companion. That mare has a perfect white coat that almost appears to glow in the light, and her violet mane is coiffed with cascading curls. Her rump is marked with—

Dear Celestia. That's me. Fluttershy's speaking with me.

"Rarity, you're scaring me," Fluttershy squeaks to me but not-me.

She scoffs. "What, are you still bothered by what I'm saying to you? This isn't the first time I've told you, and you say the same pathetic things back every time. The truth never changes, darling, and apparently, neither do your excuses." She's wearing a disinterested face that I know I've worn before—to ponies I don't want to bother me. But I've never looked at Fluttershy with that expression.

"But, no, I—"

"But nothing. Do you know for how long we have been dating?" Not-Rarity raises an eyebrow in a questioning gesture. I know that I do that too, but it's never looked as threatening as it does now. Please tell me I don't look at her like that.

Fluttershy melts closer to the ground. Her eyes are big and wide, and they're glittering with unshed tears. She takes a tiny step back. But not-Rarity only takes a step forward and closes the gap before it can form.

"Three months, Fluttershy. Three months," not-Rarity answers brusquely. "If you are really considering even thinking these things now, you're lucky that it's been three months. There are so many other things I could be doing. Unless you want three months to be all there is?"

"N-no . . ." she answers quietly.

Not-Rarity turns her head away from Fluttershy and towards my direction with a "hmph," acid in my—her—eyes. I tense my forehooves and lower my body, readying myself, but even as she stares at me—through me—she doesn't notice or acknowledge me. "You're a fish in a pond, Fluttershy. And you know this isn't how you express your love to somepony you presumably want to love you back. That feather wasn't love; it was desperation." She turns an eye back to Fluttershy and glares at her in the way Canterlotians glare at non-natives. Superiorly. "What makes you think that would have made a difference?"

"Please, stop," Fluttershy whimpers, trembling.

I've had enough. My hooves are pawing at the ground restlessly, and my breath is coming out of my nostrils in impudent snorts. Nopony has the right to abuse my Fluttershy like that. Especially if it's taking my image.

I charge forward, over the dilapidated river bridge, over the expanse of dead grass. I jump up and chamber my right forehoof against my shoulder. Snarling murderously, I release my hoof and deliver a vicious right hook against that monster's head.

Like punching a ghost, my strike goes straight through my target, shortly followed with the rest of my body. Not expecting the lack of resistance, I fail to get my hooves under me in time and tumble to the ground in a cloud of dust.

I clamber up to my hooves quickly and look around. Not-Rarity is still staring at Fluttershy as if nothing happened. Meanwhile, Fluttershy is staring at me incredulously as if I have two heads. Considering there are two Raritys in front of her, and one of them just phased through the other, that may as well be true.

Her eyes flick between me and not-me, betraying surprise but also fear. "R-Rarity?"

I dash forward again, this time towards Fluttershy. Thankfully, she is substantial, and she and I tumble backwards against the dirt. I wrap my hooves around her in a tight embrace, trying to protect her against those specters that want to harm her in body and mind. Nopony hurts my Fluttershy while I'm around.

"Fluttershy," I say into her shoulder, "it's Rarity. Your love. That thing isn't me." I glance towards the creature behind us. She still hasn't reacted. "It just wants to hurt you."

"What-what's going—"

"You're dreaming, Fluttershy. This is all nothing but a horrible, horrible nightmare." I kiss the side of her neck. "I heard you arguing with somepony in my own dream, and you sounded very distressed, so I escaped mine"—somehow—"and came to find you." I release my hooves and plant them on the ground on either side of her, hoisting my body up so she can see my face and I can see hers. I lick the beginning of tears off her cheeks and try to calm her with a small smile. "I'm here now, sweetheart. You're safe."

Fluttershy looks in my eyes, skepticism and fear still written in her own. I look back with the most unthreatening, loving, earnest eyes I have. Goodness knows she's been scared enough tonight. I don't even know how much longer she was with this thing before I heard her, or how many times she's visited in the past. Over and over in my mind, I say, I love you, sweetheart. I would never hurt you, hoping that my thoughts will manifest in my eyes and calm her pounding heart.

"Touching," a voice I never wanted to hear again says. Because it's mine.

My ears twitch and look back to the pony who interrupted our moment. She's examining her fetlocks idly, like she couldn't care less about the affection I was trying to convey. Then she looks to me with a smile I didn't know I could make. I shiver. "But you don't know why exactly she is scared, no? Because when you do, you'll understand. And then you'll be on my side."

The moment she finishes, Fluttershy stiffens and crawls out from under me, retreating backwards. She looks at me with anxiety-filled eyes. "Don't listen to her, sweetheart," I say. "Whatever it is that you fear, you're stronger than it. You can conquer it!"

"Oh goodness, you're both naïve fillies." My phantom sidles up beside me. "This isn't a problem that can be so easily 'conquered,' as you put it. In fact, as long as you are here"—she points to me with a hoof, then points to Fluttershy—"she will continue to be scared."

My ears twitch again. She's still smiling that same off-smile. I turn to her, brows angled sharply. "Don't you bring me into this," I growl. "I only stumbled upon her dream just now. And I am her marefriend; I cannot possibly be the reason she is scared. Fluttershy fears you, not me." I poke her in the nonexistent chest. "I would never frighten her so."

She looks at me with a brow raised, unfazed. "You say that now, but you're only proving my point. You'll be singing a different tune once you hear her secrets: those secrets she wants so desperately to tell you but won't tell you about in the waking world." She glances to Fluttershy, speaking half to me, half to her. "And now that the real Rarity is here, you can tell her all your secrets now!" Her eyes flash dangerously, turning fully to her. "Your nightmares are about to become real, sweetie."

I look back to Fluttershy. Her pupils shrink to pinpricks before she hides her face in her hooves. An icy cold suddenly grips my heart. I reach a hoof out to her. "Don't listen to her, sweetheart! I know you're scared, but I promise, whatever it is that you want to tell me, we can work this out!"

My phantom mimics my gesture. "Yes, listen to your marefriend! Admit to the secrets you've been holding on to for so long!"

I can't stand her anymore. Few things in this world can drive me to such passionate anger, but add "harassing my love" to the top of that list. I whirl on her. "You have been bothering Fluttershy for long enough! I will be sure to inform Princess Luna of your existence and have you eradicated once and for all!"

"Princess Luna? Whatever do you mean?"

My brow narrows further. "Don't play dumb . . . vile Tantibus. Spirit of fear, created to give your host the same nightmare night after night." It all makes sense; few things but magical creations are so dogged in their quest to cause pain. And based on what that creature says, it's not the first time she's visited. I don't know how that magic escaped and found its way into Fluttershy—or why it's taking my form, for that matter—but once Princess Luna knows, Fluttershy will finally be able to find some restful—

"You wound me!"

I look back at not-Rarity and say, "I beg your pardon?"

"You think I am a nightmare creature?" She holds her chest with a hoof, pouting. "How awful of you to even suggest that! I am not the result of any arcane creation." She points to Fluttershy. "I am simply a manifestation of her fears. A creation of her mind."

My mouth pumps several times before any sounds come out of it. "That's-that's . . ." I stutter. That's impossible. This monstrosity is a product of Fluttershy's mind? She made this creature herself? What darkness is hiding there that she could create something so vile? So this creature isn't some magical construct come to throw baseless fear-mongering accusations; they come from Fluttershy herself. The manifestation of her fears.

A chill runs down my spine. The manifestation of her fears . . . is me.

"No . . . No, I don't believe you," I say, more confidence in my words than I feel in my heart. She simply can't be scared of me. "Why would Fluttershy ever make you, and why would her fears take my form? You lie! She is the sweetest and most loving mare I have ever met. You know nothing of what motivates her."

She ignores me, not batting an eyelash. "Oh, Fluttershy!" that monster calls out again in my sing-song voice. "You don't want me to explain to your marefriend how selfish you've been, do you? How undeserving you are of love but how desperate you are for it? Doing everything you can to keep others from happiness so you can have your own selfish desires?"

Everything she says seems like an utter fabrication—they're so at odds with the Fluttershy I know—but if they were untrue, why would Fluttershy tremble more with every word? Her distilled fear that takes my form . . . It bothers me how good she is at this.

Fluttershy's voice is so tiny I can barely hear her. "Please—"

"Stop? I will when you tell your dear marefriend why I exist." Not-Rarity glares at Fluttershy with an icy venom I can only describe as "evil." "You're pathetic, Fluttershy. Your marefriend is right here, and you can't even find the means to hide your failings? Or admit to them? Or explain anything at all?" She takes a step closer to her with each accusation. "All you can do is stay silent and let the inevitable happen when she leaves you for good. For all that you've done, that's better than what you deserve."

"Shut up," I hiss. I still do not believe the words that come out of not-my mouth. Whether her words originally come from Fluttershy's thoughts or not, they've been so mangled by irrational fear, nightmare, and a sadistic desire to hurt that I don't trust them at all. Not until I hear them from Fluttershy herself.

Not-Rarity only glances at me and rolls her eyes before looking back to Fluttershy. "She can't do anything to me; that's not how your fear works." She puts on a mock-pensive expression. "Though what will happen to me when you do tell her? What is your despair manifested, I wonder? If you tell her, I should say; at this rate, we'll be here—"

"Shut up!" I screech, whirling on her. I can't even bring myself to care about what she's saying anymore. Nothing in recent memory has made me so enraged as that monster using my voice to distress my love so. I put myself between Fluttershy and her, and I look at her with indomitable fury. "I am here, and I will not stand for Tantibus, monster, or fear incarnate speaking one more word to her."

"Fine," she says, completely disinterested. It was as if she wasn't fazed by my explosion in the slightest. "You can take it up with her. She might tell you eventually." She sniffs. "Not that it makes a difference."

So the monster claims I can't do anything to her. We'll see how unbridled fear handles itself when it must do battle with love. I glare at her for a little longer before turning my eyes to Fluttershy. She's still shivering on the ground with hooves covering her face. She lifts her hooves briefly to peer up at me with large, frightened eyes before hiding her head again. Almost too quiet for me to hear, she whispers, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's hopeless now, and I already ruined everything, and you already know all about it, I'm so rude and selfish, and I'm going to lose you because I just couldn't . . ."

I put both of my hooves on either side of her head. When she stops her ceaseless babbling, I slip under her hooves, raise her face from the ground, and give her a gentle hug.

Seconds pass that turn to minutes, all spent in my embrace. Fluttershy remains stiff and doesn't move; she doesn't accept my affection like she usually does.

What does Fluttershy do with animals unfamiliar with her who don't want her help? A slow and non-confrontational approach, I recall, and a world of patience until the animal lets down its walls. Fluttershy is not an animal, but she is frightened. Despite their apparent ineffectiveness, I keep my hooves around her, asking for nothing, simply trying to tell her things in a way fear never could.

"I love you," I murmur softly. "I don't know what that thing has been telling you, but she is wrong. I don't care what she says. I won't leave you. Never." It doesn't matter what she wants to tell me or how scared she is to say it. I need to get across these things before we discuss anything more. Those things that fear forgets to mention. That those things are true now and will remain true when we are finished. That fact is more important than anything she could say to me.

I hum a comforting tune I used to sing Sweetie Belle to sleep when she was younger while stroking her back. If I hope to distance myself from the Rarity who scares her, I should be nothing like her. Not loud, demanding, callous; but quiet, slow, intimate. So long as I can comfort her and keep her mind away from fear, they won't speak.

It takes a long time for her reciprocate in any fashion, but when I feel the muscles in her back relax and her breathing becomes less erratic, I know I'm making progress. "Are you afraid of me, sweetheart?" I ask her.

She buries her face in my neck. She's still shivering, unwilling to speak.

"Does your fear embrace you like this? Does fear care about how you feel? What that Rarity says means nothing; she was made only out of fear and anxiety, and that must mean she knows about nothing else but how to scare and appeal to that fear and anxiety. She knows nothing about joy, kindness, or affection. I know you're afraid, Fluttershy. But I promise that we'll chase your fears away." Again, I resume my humming while she takes in my words and affection.

I lose count l how many times I go over the same tune while holding her, but eventually, she takes her head from my neck. I loosen my arms but don't take them off her body, letting us see each other's eyes again. Hers are facing down. Her voice, when she finally brings it to life, is small and warbling. "N-no," she says, answering all my questions. "I'm afraid . . . I'm afraid that . . ."

"That you'll lose me?" I finish quietly.

She shivers and squeezes her eyes shut, which is all the answer I need. I think back to something not-Rarity said and turn it on its head before echoing it back. "Do you know for how long we've been dating? Three months, yes, but years as the best of friends. Do you think, after all that time, I would forsake you so easily? What could possibly do that?"

Shakily, Fluttershy looks back up, but her eyes gravitate to focus over my shoulder on the only other creature I know to be with us.

I block her line of sight with my own face. "Look at me, sweetheart. Do not let your fears speak another word to you. She is not me, and she does not know the answer. She does not love you."

Fluttershy can only stand to look in my eyes for a few seconds before looking down again. "It's stupid," she mumbles.

"Nonsense. Something that would cause my marefriend such distress and so many nightmares is anything but stupid," I say, lifting her face with my hoof. "I don't want you to have nightmares about this. I don't want you to make monsters of your own mind because you think something terrible might happen if you tell me."

I point to the specter behind me, but I don't look at her; she doesn't deserve the honor. "Would you really rather be tortured, night after night, by that thing that makes your worst fears come true—" I move my hoof to her cheek and caress it gently "—or would you rather talk to me about them?"

She looks at my hoof before looking back to me. Her eyes glisten with moisture, and her lower lip trembles. I blink once, and she's hugging my chest, her face against my coat.

4. Oneirology

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whimpers. "I'm just . . . You always said you couldn't love me anymore, and every time, I ended up alone. I was too scared to say anything when I woke up . . ."

I return the hug, one hoof on the back of her head, one on the small of her back. I turn my head away, trying not to weep myself. I can't bear to see Fluttershy cry. "Then tell me what's troubling you, and we will conquer your fears together."

Her chest heaves with silent sobs. "I'm such a coward."

"No, you're not. You just let your fears get the better of you." I lay my chin on the top of her head. "You don't need to be afraid anymore. I love you, and I will never leave you. That's all that needs to matter."

"A-are you sure?"

Does she really still need reassuring? Nevertheless, I say again, "I love you, and I will never leave you."

Another sniffle, then she nods against my chest. "I'm sorry."

"Shhh." I stroke her back and keep her in my embrace, lending her the companionship and love she needs. For however long she needs. It's a replay of what happened this morning; her happiness is all I need, all I want.

It's strange. When I arrived in Fluttershy's dream, it looked as if it was about to storm mightily. But the weather—if a dream could have weather—has calmed considerably. The sky, while still overcast, no longer threatens of rain or thunder; it's simply a blanket of low clouds. Beyond the weather, other things no longer appear quite as threatening: the grass around the cottage has grown back; the cottage is clean; and the river is calm. I don't need to guess at Fluttershy's mental state; I just need look around.

Even after I feel her breaths calm and her tears stop, Fluttershy keeps her face buried in my chest. I keep stroking her back, remaining patient.

Sure enough, eventually, she releases her hooves and brings her face up from my chest. After wiping her eyes one last time, she says, "Thank you."

"Of course, sweetheart. But do not thank me for love; it's yours. It's always yours." I take her hooves into my own so they rest between us.

"I . . . I'm feeling better now," she says, forcing a smile. "Can we just . . . can we just forget this happened? I'm sure I won't have bad dreams anymore."

I frown. After everything I've seen and heard in her dream, there's no path back. I can respect Fluttershy's need for secrecy, and I will if it's just a harmless secret. But I don't believe her when she implies, once again, that nothing is wrong. She is still insecure about our relationship.

I take a quick glance behind us. She's still here. Not-Rarity is still here. Conspicuously silent, but ever present: a sign that says that the fear that created not-Rarity still exists. Dormant now, perhaps, but left unchecked, that fear will give her a voice again. And Fluttershy's nightmares are sure to return.

"I . . . I'm sorry, Fluttershy, but I'm afraid not. We just can't have these things between us anymore. What will happen when something or someone implies that we shouldn't be together? I won't know how to help you, and I won't be able to talk to you about it. I know there's still something we need to talk about, something you're afraid of." I make a false-glance backwards. "We can defeat her, sweetheart; we can destroy that monster forever. She'll never again warp our relationship into something evil; the only Raritys that will appear in your dreams are the ones who love you." I lean forward and give her a kiss on the cheek. "Surely you can muster up the bravery to explain how we can get rid of her." I give her an encouraging smile.

She looks away and starts fidgeting nervously. She grips my hooves tightly with her own and pulls them closer to herself. Then she looks up to me, worry and fear still written on her face. "Can you . . . can you hold me?"

It's not beyond my notice that Fluttershy takes comfort in my physical affection; that's why I give it to her so often. But she's not one to ask for things for herself, so she never requests it of me—not even a hug. The fact that she's asking me now just tells me how very much she needs it—now more than ever, for so many reasons. Wordlessly, I get up and crawl behind her. There, I sit down carefully, flanking her with my hind hooves. I wrap my forehooves under her own and around her midsection, pressing my chest against her back. I rest my head on her shoulder and start rocking her gently side-to-side. "Is this better?" I whisper, the puffs of air from my words displacing a few hairs from her mane.

With nothing else to grip, Fluttershy brings down her forehooves to wrap around my own. She leans her head against mine and nods silently. It takes a few more patient minutes of sitting in this new position for her to finally speak again. When she does, her voice is quiet and reluctant.

"You're the first pony I've ever loved, Rarity. And the first pony I've ever shared so much with. And the first I've ever kissed, and ever went to bed with. And I was hoping you would be my last, too. I feel like I can be myself with you, and you'll still love me. You'll still hold me. You'll still care for me and make me happy. And I know that I'm so, so lucky that I have somepony as good as you in my life. I love you so much." She squeezes my hooves one more time and buries herself a little deeper in my arms.

"I don't want to let it go. I can't let it go. It's hard enough for me to ask for little things from our friends, and you're all my friends! I couldn't ask for so much more from somepony I liked. Even when we found each other, you did it for me. You're just so . . . perfect in every way. You mean so much to me. I don't know why you chose me when there are so many stronger ponies out there. But I still have you, somehow. If I l-lost you, I would never be able to find somepony like you again."

I cast my memory back to when Fluttershy mentioned much the same thing to Spike so many weeks ago: that she didn't know why I chose her. She interrupted me because Spike didn't need to hear the answer—but perhaps she did. Putting others ahead of herself as she always does . . .

"But then there's you and the stallions you keep talking with all the time. You keep . . . flirting with them. Maybe it's just because I can see clearer now, but when you do that . . . they look at you, Rarity. They look at you with those eyes that I looked at you with for years. They want you, and-and then you talk with them like you want them back."

My mouth hangs open for a moment. That . . . Who was he again? Acacia? "Sweetheart, I don't want them like that, not at all! It's just flirting. I like the effort they put into their character and their bodies. I think it would be nice for me to show them that mares like me are noticing and they like what they see."

"B-b-but that's the problem!" Fluttershy cries, gripping my forehooves a little harder. "You like it! And they like you, every one of them! Everypony thinks that you're so beautiful and amazing that some of them would b-bed you if they had the chance. And when they're boys, you talk about how sexy they are and how you like them, like you would give them that chance. You never do that with me! A-and when we tried tonight . . ." Fluttershy sputters to silence, unable to finish.

"Ah . . ." I know what she means; it's to my shame that I couldn't complete the dance Fluttershy was trying to lead me in. Even after going steady with her, I'm as straight as I ever was. She's right; I don't see her like I do stallions, and I’m not turned on by her beauty; I acknowledge it. As lovely and model-esque as she is, she doesn't light my fire. Nor can I just put a flame to it; I don’t enjoy it myself, and I get nervous.

It makes these things difficult; the sexual attraction in our relationship is asymmetric. Of course I still love her; it's so much more than her body that attracts me. But when she said "please don't give up on me," is this what she meant? . . .

I try to argue back. With the right tools, time, patience . . . "But Fluttershy, don't you remember? We did, on our first date."

"Of course I do, but that was once! How am I supposed to compete with those ponies if they're so attractive to you, and I'm not? If it's easy for you to imagine bedding them, but it's hard with me? I'm so, so happy that you chose me, but I feel like a blue jay trying to feed with a flock of ospreys." Her words come more and more quickly, so much so that I can't get a single word in. Her forehooves grip mine harder still. "You flirt with every boy you find, and every one of them finds you sexy. What happens when you like one of them back enough? What happens when . . . when one of them wins?"

I sputter for a moment, incredulous. "I'm with you, Fluttershy! They won't!"

"But one will! When will you get tired of me, tired of the timid, anxious, scared pony who can't even truly make you happy? I've never felt so loved before with you, and-and I don't even want to think of what it feels like to be alone again. I know it's so selfish and possessive of me to want to keep you all to myself when you should be able to choose who really makes you happy, b-but I just need to know I'll have you with me, that I won't be alone again, that I won't lose you to all the ponies out there who want you too. I can't lose you!"

"Fluttershy! Stop, please!" I insist, cutting off Fluttershy's panicked tirade. Her heart is pounding, and I can feel the sweat coming off her back and wetting my chest. I look to see her face, and she's looking back at me, breathing quickly, fear newly instilled back into her eyes. She whispers "I'm sorry" to me, and I shake my head in return. I start rocking her again while I think of something to say.

So this is the kind of fear that Fluttershy has been living with. I knew she wasn't comfortable back at the flower stand this morning, but I thought it was because she saw Spike; that's what put me on edge. Of course, Acacia could have always been the culprit, but I didn't imagine she felt threatened by him. I can only guess so much if she's not willing to talk. I've never wanted to cause my sweetheart distress, and it pains me to realize that that distress has been building, and this is what it has culminated to. And I am, at least, somewhat responsible. Of course her fears would take my form; my actions are what started this. In hindsight, I should have known better. Fluttershy is sensitive.

"I know it's not fair to you," Fluttershy continues more quietly. Yet her voice still trembles with nerves or fear. "But after I knew what it was like to be with you, I couldn't let it go. I don't know what I would do if we were just friends again, but I still remembered the happiness you gave me when we were together. If I just hid my stupid insecurities like nothing was wrong . . ." Her breaths become irregular again. And why, oh why is she speaking in past tense? "But now . . . I'm scared, Rarity. You just mean so much to me. I need you."

Oh, sweetheart, please don't start crying again. "You won't lose me!" I insist, nuzzling the side of her face urgently. "I promise you, Fluttershy. You won't lose me," I say again. I keep nuzzling her until she backs away from the brink of tears.

I know she's always been scared, but it feels different when she tells me outright that she is. Her telling me implores me to protect her and chase away her fears. She is scared that other ponies will take me away from her. I'm the pony she wants to keep, so I'm the pony who must prove to her that she's under no threat other than her own.

"Fluttershy, I love you," I begin, a simple statement that can explain so many things. Just like this evening when we were awake. "I love you so much. Never, ever forget that. You will always be first in line; I will always help you with whatever you need; and your happiness is always my priority. No stallion, no pony is allowed to have those privileges, not even our friends; it's only you, and it will only ever be you. You are not a blue jay in a field of ospreys. We are a pair of phoenixes ruling the sky together, soaring over the lesser birds who can do naught but admire."

I think back to the dream I had before Fluttershy tore me from it. The mind does what the mind does; I can't control what it chooses to dream about in sleep. And yet, I don't regret having it. Because while that stallion was not real, the thoughts I had about him were. All my thoughts. Perhaps it's time that Fluttershy know about him.

"Before you called me here, sweetheart, I was having a delightful dream with this imaginary client who needed a custom suit. And oh, he was a gorgeous specimen: the strongest chest, legs like tree stumps, and a face so square, masculine, and yet gentlemanly, he would cut a figure in marble. He was a poet; he knew Prench; and he had money to spend. He was entirely, completely perfect—the kind of specimen I would have run after in days gone by."

Fluttershy stiffens against me and opens her mouth to start what would undoubtedly be another panicked apology, but I put a hoof to her mouth to stop her mouth and mind before it runs too far. "And not once did I ever consider chasing him. Not once did I think he would come close to replacing you. He would be another client, albeit a very nice-looking one, and nothing more. How could he ever replace you? The one who's carved out her own special spot in my heart?"

That tension goes away as quickly as it came, and her heartbeat against my chest slows and quiets. "I . . . R-really?" she says.

I nod, trusting Fluttershy will feel the gesture even if she doesn't see it. "You have a hold on my heart, and nopony else does. It is not a fluke that I chose you, so I won't let go so easily. There is a reason why I say everypony is a 'darling,' some are 'dear's, but only one is a 'sweetheart.' It's because you are special, Fluttershy.

"You are brave, strong-willed, forgiving, persistent, and more patient than anypony in Ponyville. You've taught me those things in friendship and in love. There is no other pony who can share in my life like you can. Who understands me, who forgives my foibles, who stops me from making terrible mistakes . . . or making those mistakes worse." We both know who I'm talking about in the last case. "Who brings me on wonderful dates and shows me things I would have never known about; who teaches me how to slow down in a life that seems to move so quickly; who gives me gifts I've never fathomed. How could anypony compete with that? Who else could give those things to me but you?"

It's fitting that Fluttershy says nothing to this; there is no answer. But I feel Fluttershy's muscles soften and her breathing calm, so I know she's listening. "But you are right about one thing, Fluttershy. Those stallions I flirt with, I do see them differently than I see you, and they do attract me in ways that you don’t . . . but believe these words as the truest I've ever spoken: that genuinely, truly does not matter. They don't have a chance, and this is why: If you were to ask me to explain what I liked about those boys, that would take me few seconds, maybe a minute if they were very nice. If you were to ask me the same question about yourself . . ."

I sigh and shake my head in mock-futility. When I feel the warmth on her cheek as a blush comes to her face, I know she knows the answer. "You want to know why I chose you? Oh goodness, how long do we have? Let me count the ways. We'll have long woken up by the time I was halfway through."

Against herself, Fluttershy tries not to giggle, albeit unsuccessfully, bringing some mirth to an otherwise stressful discussion. Her laugh is the combination of everything I love about her: her smile, her voice, her undiluted happiness. She's coming around. As Pinkie Pie well knows better than anypony else, laughter is truly the antidote to fear. I mirror her laugh myself. Time to kill her fear once and for all, I think.

"I love you in too many ways for something so small to rip us apart. Sexual attraction is not consummate love, and I love you, now and forever. I'm sorry if my flirting convinced you of anything different. I didn't know it bothered you so."

"It-it really . . . um . . ." She stops for a moment. "Nevermind."

She knows as well as I do that I don't believe her. And while she and I have been so earnest in this dream, perhaps it's time we should discuss everything on our minds while the walls are down. "But should we truly never mind it, sweetheart? Is there something else you want to tell me?" I've not moved from my embrace behind her, so I nuzzle her neck again, giving her the physical affection she would want, giving her the courage to open up again.

She does eventually, but her words are colored not with confidence, but guilt. "No, nothing. It's my fault. I shouldn't have overreacted to those stallions you see as so much stronger and more attractive than I am." Her voice devolves into a self-deprecating whisper by the end.

I frown and hide a sigh, releasing my hooves. Haven't we gone over this already? "Sweetheart . . ."

Fluttershy turns around so we're once again face-to-face. "I know, I know, you don't love them. I'm not doubting you, I promise. It's just . . ." She lets out a whine of frustration. "It's just that I'm gay and you're not, and we shouldn't be compatible. I know I shouldn't be worried about it, and I know I know why. I'm just . . . nervous." She hangs her head. "I'm sorry. You're disappointed that I can't . . ." She doesn't finish the sentence.

"Fluttershy . . . I am never disappointed in you," I say, raising her head with my hoof. I know that personal worries can't be completely dissolved overnight (in this case, literally). There will always be some worry that lingers. But is there anything else I say to further put her at ease? "Of course you are gay and I am not, but . . . does that not mean I should be equally concerned about you?" I turn away and mock-pout. "Surely you could find somepony who was more able to please you instead of a pony who has such problems just trying. You are a model; anypony would want you."

Her face freezes with mouth agape before turning incredulous. "What-what are you saying, Rarity? You're perfect! Why would I ever leave you for that?"

I turn back and smile wryly. "Indeed. And why would I ever leave you for that, either?"

Fluttershy's mouth remains half-open, but her expression tempers to surprise. I continue. "You don't need to do everything I've ever fantasized about to be perfect for me. That's why they're called fantasies." It's presumptuous to continue with what I want to say, but I want to ensure my marefriend's happiness. These words are for her. "Regardless of whatever shortcomings you think you have, if there is one truth I know, it's that my heart is yours. I bandy my words with ponies I like but never my love and never with you. For whatever may happen during the day . . . you will never find yourself without my hugs, kisses, and affection at day's end."

"Rarity . . ." The expression I see on Fluttershy's face is one I've seen a few times before; I'm getting better at recognizing what it means.

I lean in and offer her my lips, an invitation she takes hungrily. She throws her hooves around my neck and dives into my mouth as I attempt to match her passion. We kiss for several minutes; I reciprocate until Fluttershy breaks the liplock herself, though her arms are still around me. When she is satisfied, I whisper to her, "But if you wish, I'll not flirt with boys when you are around. Would you like that?"

Silence reigns for a good while. I know it's a difficult question. It's not a test, per se—I will always honor her desires, whatever they are—but it offers me a glimpse into how confident she is. Eventually, she whispers back, "No. I . . . I know you love me, Rarity. That's all I need." Then comes the first true, genuine smile I've yet seen from her.

I smile myself and give Fluttershy another kiss. I'm proud of you, sweetheart. "Then if you are amenable . . . I suppose we could start with a certain Vital Acacia," I continue. "I fear he"—and Fluttershy, it appears—"got the wrong idea in our conversation this morning. Perhaps he"—and Fluttershy—"should know that being your special somepony is a full-time endeavor. Would you like to come with me?"

She nods, her head so close it touches my horn as she does. "Of course, Rarity."

We kiss a final time before I return her to my previous embrace. Fluttershy finally melts into my arms as easily as butter and sighs in contentment. This is what we've been missing for so long, and it makes even our simplest moments passionate and lovely. Even if they do happen to occur in a dream. Speaking of which . . .

I look around. We're completely alone in Fluttershy's universe—just she and I sharing a quiet moment in her yard. With no other unwanted visitors to bother us. The storm, indeed, has passed.

I close my eyes. With Fluttershy's body so close and my arms wrapped around her, this is an embrace I could stay in forever. The only position I like more is when we spoon lying down.

Well. Right now, we may very well be doing both at the same time!

I sigh as well and give her a kiss on the neck. She coos her contentment and leans her head against mine. Fortunately, I don't think physical damage here is relayed to the real world, so the considerable passion with which I kiss her should go unnoticed. "I love you, Rarity," she says, the vibrations from her throat conducting to my lips.

I release her and return, "I lo—"

All of a sudden, I hear a loud and shrieking noise, one that drowns on the response I was going to give. I grimace as I feel my mind being ripped away from me. Not painfully, but insistently, incessantly. Away from my body and to another place. It feels like light is piercing my eyelids. I clench my eyes tighter, but that only makes the problem worse. Along with Fluttershy's coat and the dirt ground, I start to feel familiar blankets. I release my hooves and stagger backwards a short distance. Fluttershy's visage seems to grow out of focus, and I struggle to remain in perception of it.

Fluttershy's eyes grow faint to me, but I can see the contentment in them turn to panic as she tries to get closer to me. "Rarity! Wh-what's happening?"

"Ugh . . ." I look up and see a massive red glow, brighter than anything I've seen before. I can feel it trying to rip my consciousness to shreds. "I don't think I can stay here for much longer." I look back down, barely seeing Fluttershy at all. The glow is coming down quickly, taking everything away in light. But I manage to take her face in my hooves and whisper three words to her before she is lost to me:

"Wake with me."

---

Despite being so violently ripped from the oneiric realm, the transition from dozing to wakefulness happens lazily. The shrieking I heard tempers to the far more pleasant birdsong coming from the tree behind us. Fluttershy's visage is lost to me in a sea of light, and it's replaced with that same glow underneath my eyelids. I open my eyes slowly only to recoil and close my eyes again. The dawning sun's light shines right on my face; I suppose that's what woke me up.

I groan and rub my eyes, trying to put some life back into them. When I'm able to open my eyes, I notice that despite my last request and the sun shining on her face just as it did mine, Fluttershy is still sleeping soundly. A pity, that. I was hoping we could have woken together; how romantic that would have been. Perhaps she just needs a little help waking up. I crawl to her front, start drawing shapes on her chest, and sing a little to her.

 The world is waking,
 the day draws near,
 Good morning, sweet Fluttershy,
 Good morning, my dear.

Her eyelids twitch once, twice, then open slowly, revealing loving eyes of turquoise.

"Good morning, my dear," I say again.

Fluttershy yawns and gives me a lazy smile. "Can we go back to sleep? I liked it there."

I chuckle briefly and nuzzle her nose. "Why don't we just lay here for a little while?"

Fluttershy acquiesces by drawing me in with her hooves and returning the nuzzle. I return to kissing her cheek and neck wherever I can. It feels as if we never left the dream.

5. Letters

I take a deep breath of the Ponyville air and smile. It is a good day to be out for a walk. Not too warm, not too cool. Bless the pegasi for keeping the weather so pleasant today. But then again, every day that I walk with my marefriend is a very good day. She's beside me, vibrant life in her well-rested eyes. We've nothing pressing to do today, save for a few ponies we'd like to visit.

"Good morning, Miss Rarity!"

Speaking of which, there's one. My ears perk up, and I turn slightly to see a familiar sight in my peripheral vision. Coat white as snow, fairly skinny build, well-kept, standing in his usual place behind the flower stall. Yes, this is indeed Vital Acacia. He's smiling hopefully, hoping I'll come over for a conversation.

Perhaps I will, but perhaps it won't be to his liking.

I turn back to my marefriend, feigning ignorance and aloofness for just a moment. Fluttershy has undoubtedly heard him too, and she nods in confirmation. I nod back. Worried I was that the events of several days ago would fade from memory, as most dreams do; I'm glad my concerns were for naught.

I turn to Acacia and walk towards his stall, Fluttershy close at my side, raising a hoof in greeting. "Hail, darling!"

He looks up before looking back and responding, "Uh, h-hi?" perhaps briefly confused whether I was referring to the weather. "Wow. Um. Your mane looks amazing today, Miss Rarity," he continues. It's perhaps a rather blithe attempt at flattery—on any other day, at least. Today, though, it's not the first compliment I've heard, and I'm sure it won't be the last.

"Isn't it?" I respond, bobbing my new hairstyle for a moment. I eschewed my usual curls today, opting for a more sophisticated-yet-modern side-swept chignon, pinned in place by a long yellow pinion over a foot long from tip to end. The barbs fold down when they're within my locks, but they splay proudly where the feather's end pokes out the top of the bun.

"Yeah, and that pin is so . . . organic? Is that the word?" He scrunches his face up cutely into an inquisitive expression. "The whole style is really classy. Like you're a princess." His last word is very quiet, like he's too embarrassed to give it a stronger voice. As if his silly smile didn't already provide that message.

I chuckle into a hoof, amused by how charmed he is. It is actually a simple style, all things considered—it's just fairly uncommon nowadays. All one needs is a classy accessory to do it up. Perhaps it is time that buns come back into style?

Fluttershy touches me on the side of my hoof with her own, a subtle gesture that would go unnoticed in the bustle of everyday life. But given that it's Fluttershy, I do take notice, and I know what she's reminding me of. Not that I ever forgot, but the gesture is appreciated nonetheless.

I give my marefriend a nuzzle in return and respond to the stallion in front of us. "It is a good word. But dear Acacia, I'd like you to meet my marefriend, Fluttershy. I'm sure you know her well." I tilt my head to said companion, and she offers a small smile and chaste wave.

Acacia's eyes turn to Fluttershy's, his face still wearing that silly grin. If anything, it gets a little wider. "Oh y-yeah, of course! Nice to meet you too, Fluttershy," he says.

I look at Fluttershy sidelong to find she's already looking back at me. He still doesn't get it, does he? I consider how to break the news to him in a way that won't break his heart. And somehow, I think my usual verbal dancing right now would be rather counterproductive. "And I'm afraid that means I am spoken for, Acacia," I say carefully. "I've only ever looked for one pony to complete me, whether stallion or mare. And she is the one." As if to emphasize what I said, Fluttershy offers me a nuzzle, one which I return. I look back to Acacia expectantly.

It takes several seconds for the sight to register in Acacia's mind, but when it does, his smile grows strained. His eyes flick between the two of us, his mind trying to comprehend the new reality in front of him. "I . . . so that means—"

"I'm afraid so." I inch forward and put a hoof on counter between him and us. "Sorry, dear. I just don't want you getting the wrong idea. You are quite cute and lovely, Acacia—but you'll have to look elsewhere."

Acacia's expression goes from disappointed to confused and settles on an expression somewhere in-between. "R-right. I thought—nevermind."

I shake my head and summon my magic to lift a half-dozen red-and-white striped carnations from the flower stall display plus a half-dozen yellow roses, spinning them around above and behind my head before presenting them to Acacia. I locate a hoof-ful of bits plus another generous tip with my magic and present those to him as well. "I'd like you to have these, my dear. On me. I'm sure you've studied flowers well enough to know what they mean. Yellow roses are, in fact, my second-favorite flower—equally sour, but also quite tangy. Consider it a 'thank you' for the trouble you must have gone through with Filthy Rich to get me those dahlias. I appreciate the lengths you go to to please your patrons."

"I . . ." Acacia looks at the bits, the flowers, me, and my marefriend, his gaze flicking between the four subjects. Eventually, he sighs and says, "It was no trouble at all; I'm just glad you liked them."

"Nevertheless, I appreciate the service." I summon a white ribbon and tie up the bouquet in an intricate knot. "I have to go, but I hope to see you again. You've always been impeccable help to me." I take my hoof off the counter and place it on Fluttershy's neck. We take our leave. "Ta-ta, now!" I call, waving to the pony now behind us.

"Bye Rarity, Fluttershy," I hear back, a touch of disappointment coloring his voice still.

One down; one to go. When we're a suitable distance away, I let out a breath and lean against my marefriend. Fluttershy offers me a nuzzle in return. No words are required for us to communicate. Thank you, she says. No, thank you, I reply.

There are no more bothers from then to when we arrive at Twilight's, the second pony we planned to visit, plus a third entity, depending on how busy all of them are. Once there, I knock on the castle door three times.

"Coming!" a voice rings out from inside. Some scampering and . . . rather worrying crashing sounds come from inside the castle before a quartet of hooves skids to a stop before the front door.

The door creaks open with a mulberry aura, revealing Twilight Sparkle. "Hi, Rarity! Hi, Fluttershy!" she says cheerily. Her mane is somewhat disheveled, but her demeanor is far more normal than I was fearing (or expecting). It seems a little dragon has been doing an excellent job keeping her presentable and . . . sane. The only evidence to suggest something is not quite right is the lab coat on her shoulders, decorated with a few burn marks. (Thank goodness my fireproof fabrics are holding up.) "Sorry, I'm a little busy. We're making really good progress on our flash honey research, though. Although I actually need some more quills today, and I forgot to tell Spike to grab some. Gosh, those journals fill up quick."

I wave my hoof. "Worry not, Twilight; we can get them for you later today. You really should take a break sometime, if only so you and Spike don't run yourselves ragged." Fluttershy nods in agreement.

"Don't worry, girls; I'm fine," she waves off. Then she turns to me, studying me a little closer. "That's a nice hairstyle, Rarity! It's beautiful, and that feather in it is lovely. Do you know who might me selling feathers like that in Ponyville? They would make amazing quills."

I smile again and whip my mane lightly. Leave it to Twilight to be more excited by the feather than the hairstyle. That's what probably drew her attention. Believe you me, Twilight, so am I, though for an entirely different reason.

"I'm afraid not," I respond. "This one is one-of-a-kind. I don't think it's for sale." I nuzzle Fluttershy softly while she presses herself a little more into my side, sandwiching her wing between us. Her bad wing. She's on my left such that it's always between us and nopony may bump it inadvertently and cause her more unnecessary pain. And noponies but us may know about her sacrifice. She can still fly, she says, albeit with some difficulty. But she can't glide or hover anymore until the feather grows back.

"Um—"

"Has my letter been responded to yet, Twilight?"

Twilight looks up and to the side, thinking. She opens her mouth to answer, but another voice cuts in first. Spike walks briskly into the foyer, a navy blue scroll in his claw. "Yeah, here it is," he says, tossing the scroll to me. I catch it in my magic.

I look at the scroll and then back at him. "Thank you, Spike," I say, still unsure of the epithet I should use to refer to him, so I opt for the safe route. "Are you . . . doing alright?" I ask him, not sure if I'm referring to his feeling overworked or that other thing we both know about.

Spike waves off my question. "I'm good," he says. I'm not sure which subject he's referring to, either, or whether he's answering something else entirely. "Enjoy your day, Rarity, Fluttershy." He walks off as quickly as he came. "There's this mess in the kitchen I have to clean up when Twilight tried making lunch for herself. Again."

"Hey!" Twilight exclaims before chasing after him.

I open my mouth, unsure of whether I should say anything else before Fluttershy bars me with a hoof. When I turn to her, she murmurs, "He's fine. Really." And she smiles an enigmatic smile that tells me she knows more about this than I do. After a moment's thought, I close my mouth and nod, deferring to her judgment.

We go to the castle library. It's a public place, just as the Golden Oaks was, but there's a private side room that's closed to all but Twilight's closest friends. It's quiet and homey, very much like a private study, a far more charming room than the sterility a crystal room can convey. Once we're there and both settled on the couch inside, I unroll the scroll for us to read. I read for us aloud:

From the Desk of Her Royal Highness Princess Luna

Greetings, Rarity, Fluttershy. My apologies for the delay in my response. You both are friends of the crown, and your missives are prioritized thereby, but I have had some rather pressing obligations to attend to as of late.

To answer your first question, Rarity, you did indeed visit Fluttershy's dream just as I can do, albeit not in the same way. It is by my affinity to the night itself and my own experience and magicks in dream-wandering that I may survey and guard over them. I may enter and exit the dreams of others as I please, so long as I am not dreaming myself. Therein lies many of my royal duties.

The reason you were able to visit your partner's dream in lieu is likely a product of three different factors, with the assumption that one of you wants to visit the other.

The first is lucidity. Dreams are the product of a soul reorganizing its thoughts while its consciousness rests. Lucidity is achieved when that mind realizes that it is doing that—namely, that it is dreaming. That is when consciousness reasserts control, and things may be done in the dream. It is a rare occurrence; such dreams come fewer than once a year for ponies not searching for them. But it is trainable skill, recognizing a dream state and turning it lucid, if you would be so dedicated.

I put my hoof on Fluttershy's. "Thank you," I say to her.

"Hm?" She turns to me.

I smile. "You helped me gain that lucidity. You called for help."

Slowly, a smile grows on Fluttershy's face as well. She looks back to the letter and leans her head against my shoulder. "And you listened."

I cradle her head with my own and continue reading.

The second is proximity. The location of a particular dream in dreamspace is directly related to the soul's physical location when they entered dreamspace. When two souls are close to each other while awake, their dreams end up close to each other consequently. If the dreams touch, they may influence each other inadvertently. You may think of it as two residences butting up against each other, sharing a wall. In your case, you two were likely sleeping in the same dwelling, if not in the same bed.

"She's right," I say. That really was a magical night.

"Can we do that more often?"

An excuse for us to sleep together more often? I chuckle. "I think that can be arranged."

The third, and most important, is affinity. The preceding two factors are inconsequential should the two souls in question not accept each other into their respective dreams. This is not a conscious permission; it only occurs when a soul finds another so agreeable enough to let them into their consciousness, and thus, dream. My own affinity to the night allows me to visit the dream of any soul who takes solace in sleep at night. I may also facilitate the meeting of two or more souls through my own magic, temporarily moving them through dreamspace to merge them before moving them back when they wake. You two, mayhaps, can visit each other's dreams directly because of your affinity to each other.

You two are, in fact, not the first to experience this dream-walking ability. This is a very rare but not unprecedented incident. When a dream has been created but no soul resides in it, that is a telltale sign that the soul is visiting another. Most often, it is a pony visiting their spouse. I've received a few missives in times past from such couples inquiring on the phenomenon, just as you have. Consider it a compliment to your relationship that you two are capable of what some married couples can do and most cannot.

I turn to Fluttershy, and I see her blushing. I don't know whether she's ever thought about such a thing—I'd be lying if the thought never crossed my mind. Even so, I feel like we have plenty of each other to discover yet before we take that step. Though the thought certainly is appealing, and judging by Fluttershy's reaction, I think she is thinking the same thing. I give her a kiss on the lips before I continue reading.

My apologies for not intervening on Fluttershy's dream, but my primary focus at night is on foals, whose mental state can be more fragile and more easily scarred by a particularly bad dream. And while I seek to keep the worst of dream-monsters from causing harm, I am not omniscient. I was only vaguely aware of Fluttershy's distress until I received your letter.

And you need not fear, as you say, "scandal" about any secrets slipping out of me. I understand that you do not wish for your relationship to be popularized just yet. I explore dozens of dreams in dozens of ponies nearly every night. And as I am certain you have discovered, they are often gateways to truths one would rather leave hidden. Any secrets I find, in dreams or in wakefulness, remain in my confidence.

I hope that your questions have been answered. I wish you good fortune in your growing relationship.

Cordially,
Luna

I roll up the scroll and set it on a side table. "Well. That is certainly good to know. Are you satisfied with that explanation, sweetheart?"

Fluttershy shuffles about. She scoots away from me and reaches for the folded blankets over the armrests of the couch. "Yes," she says, "but, Rarity? Don't you feel a little, um, tired? After all day walking around?" She yawns.

"Hmm?" Is she really that tired? We really haven't been walking around for very long, and she seemed fine while we were. "Not . . . Not particularly. But you can take a nap here if you'd . . ." I look into her eyes. Maybe a little tired, but more . . . beseeching. Like she wants something.

Oh. Oh! "On second thought—" I yawn as well "—I think I could use a little nap. Care to join me?" I close the door to our study and draw the blinds, dimming the light filtering into our room. Nobody will mind if we stay here for just a little longer.

Fluttershy brings the blankets over to me. She settles in right next to me, touching my side. Her wing comes down on top of my back, followed by a light blanket over my front. She smiles to me then closes her eyes, snuggling closer to my body and nestling her head against my hooves under the blanket.

I rub her chin tenderly. Before I succumb to sleep, however, I carefully pluck Fluttershy's feather from my mane and set it on the side table as well. Then I lay my chin on the back of her neck, close my eyes, and let out a great sigh. This is a rather odd idea for a date, and I have no idea whether we'll be successful in it. But I think I could get used to this.