Rarity discovers a strand of gray hair in her mane.
One morning, Rarity discovers a strand of gray hair in her mane. It shouldn't bother her, not really; after all, it was bound to happen at some point or another. But when she begins to see the signs of aging appearing on most of her friends, she is forced to confront a harsh truth about life, and what that means for the future.
When Rarity first noticed the gray hair, she hadn’t known what to think.
She had found it in the bathroom that morning, among the various instruments of grooming. It was barely distinguishable against the ceramic sink. She’d only seen it because her brushstrokes had swept up a short burst of air, enough that the strand had emerged, dancing for a moment, before falling slowly back down to the sink. Rarity had caught it in her magic and held it up in front of the mirror.
The strand was long and thin, more than just a muted gray. When she turned it in her magical grasp, she saw that it was actually several different shades of it. The bottom third, a dark slate, gradually lightened into dolphin-gray in the middle, ending in a platinum-quartz mixture at the very tip. It caught the light so well, almost like a thin smoky prism, that for a moment Rarity forgot it was a gray hair.
Then, of course, she remembered that it was, in fact, a single strand of gray hair, that it was in the place where she had to tug her mane daily, curling and brushing each length until perfectly composed. She almost screamed, but the scream died in her throat; it was, after all, just a single strand, and nothing more. Right?
She let go of her magic, allowing the strand to fall back down onto the counter. Her gaze lingered on the mirror, her sapphire eyes hard and uncompromising. She twisted her head around and brought a hoof up, gently running it through the various thick strands of her violet mane. She had to get up close to the mirror in order to inspect the strands. Once she did, she could make out the violet vibrancy already starting to fade. They had not grayed yet, but were in the process of losing their color. Lines of worry crept up from her frown onto her forehead.
Rarity leaned back. She looked at herself, then at the strand of gray hair once more. How strange, she thought. For now the strand was mute, no longer vibrant, just that single shade, as though all the life had been sucked out of it and transposed elsewhere. Where? The mirror? She looked there and did not see anything of that sort, only a mare, unfamiliar in expression, staring back at her.
She put her brush back into its box, releasing a strained breath. The strand came up. She caught it in her magic, glared at it, but it did not reply, it did not do so much as look back. She sighed, and looked at the trash bin, contemplating throwing it in and being done with the whole matter.
“No,” she said—out loud, the word resonated differently with her, sounded less defiant and poised than she would have preferred.
She brought it out of the bathroom with her and entered her bedroom. From her desk, she took out from one of the drawers a spare, wooden jewelry box which had yet to be used. She opened it, and against the foamy protection inside, placed the strand, watching it curl up almost like a worm. She frowned at it, then shut the box and put it back into the desk drawer.
Suppose, though, that she had missed a few. Suppose they hid behind her curls, but would burst at any given moment! No amount of plucking would do her any good. She looked at the clock, and saw that already it was getting late in the morning. She wouldn’t have time for a full-scale inspection, anyway.
She looked outside. The sky had started to turn blue with summer. It would be a cloudless day, she remembered Rainbow saying earlier.
Rarity nodded, grim-faced. “I’ll need a hat.”
***
Yona and Sandbar had volunteered to man the Ponyville Boutique whenever Rarity had to be someplace else. This elsewhere was usually Manehattan or another city, but it was the most useful when the time came for the yearly meeting of the Council of Friendship. By Rarity’s count, four such meetings had already passed. This fifth was sure to be equally as memorable.
Yona and Sandbar greeted her as she made her way out of the Boutique, but she caught their eyes falling on her wide-brimmed sun hat. She was thankful that she made it a well-known habit that wearing a hat would not be anything unusual, but she wondered if she had somehow failed at hiding the strand. On the bright side, she would be out all day, so they would be unable to question her until much later.
So thinking, she went to the Ponyville train station and bought herself a ticket for Canterlot. The teller in the booth looked at her hat, and appeared in want of words, but she flashed him a smile and trotted to her seat without a hitch. Still, the way his gaze had lingered there slightly worried her. Perhaps the hat was just a little too obvious; perhaps it demonstrated that she was trying to cover up something.
Now in the private carriage, she took her seat by the window. Her reflection stared back. Her hat did seem just a tad bit big, she had to admit, but she hesitated. Very slowly, though, she levitated it off and paused. She looked back at her reflection, she saw that not a strand stuck out, if there were any there. Perhaps she had taken out the only one.
“Rarity!” somepony called.
Turning her head, she smiled at who had spoken. “Fluttershy!”
Fluttershy bowed her head in greeting, her smile small. She seemed to glow in the morning sun, but Rarity knew why. As she took the seat next to her, unloading herself of her small bags, Rarity leaned in and hugged her close. Her pink mane tickled her nose; it had grown, Rarity realized, and after the hug ended, she leaned back a bit to get a better look at it. With the increased length, she had changed up her manestyle, such that now it wrapped itself behind her head in a curling loop. It did so in such a way that suggested no brush had been used alone, but rather that a pair of hands—not hooves, hands—had been employed.
Seeing this, Rarity closed an eye and asked, almost conspiratorially, “And how is my recently married friend these days!”
“Eep!” Fluttershy gasped and hid behind her mane. “Rarity, you make it sound so scandalous!”
“Well, it was a bit scandalous, dear,” Rarity replied. “It’s not every day that the Element of Kindness and the Spirit of Chaos—whom she’d reformed just a few years prior, you should remember—decide to tie the knot.” She winked. “If you don’t mind me saying it: you are glowing.”
Fluttershy’s blush was deep but true. “Is it really that obvious?”
“ ‘Course it is, Fluttershy,” another voice drawled. “You’ve been smiling nonstop ever since, I reckon.”
They both turned their heads. Applejack stood in the middle of the carriage, beaming at them with a somewhat sly look. Her hat sloped at an angle, but that didn’t stop her from giving Fluttershy a knowing wink. “Took you long enough, I might add.”
“Yeah,” another voice rasped. Rainbow Dash flew in and settled next to Applejack, flapping her wings. “I mean, I thought Tank was slow, but man, Fluttershy, you sure took your sweet time with this one!”
“Oh, girls,” Fluttershy demurred. “But, you know. I just… I wanted to make sure that this was what I wanted, you know?”
Rarity almost replied, when an excited voice popped up between them—quite literally. “Of course, Fluttershy!” Pinkie said. “I mean, it’s such a big decision, and you don’t want to rush anything, no siree! I just have one question, though.”
“Yes?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you would be the one to pop the question? I had this great banner and the party cannon all set up! It would have been great!”
Fluttershy giggled. “I’m sure it would have, Pinkie. But I wanted it to be a quiet thing, you know? Plus, it was…”
“A highly romantic endeavor, to be sure,” Rarity finished for her. The pegasus’s face burned crimson once more as everypony else laughed good-naturedly. Rarity could easily recall the moment as Fluttershy had described it to her afterwards: it was early spring, and all the world was quiet, and Fluttershy had taken Discord out onto the forest trail, where a gathering of her small animal friends had come and made the proposal in a series of acorns for him to read. It had been all her idea, and honestly, just thinking about it brought a warm heat to Rarity’s heart.
The other girls settled into their seats, and it was like business as usual. They spoke at length about what they’d been up to, laughed at the stories and jokes, and expressed their excitement at meeting up with Twilight once again. Rarity joined in for a bit, but as the train started to roll and her friends continued their conversation, she found more comfort in simply sitting back and watching. It had begun as a habit ever since the first train ride to Canterlot for the first meeting of the Council of Friendship, and she found that it told her all the juicy stories and changes to their lives that her friends never could, or at least, were never aware of.
For example, when she looked at Applejack as she talked about visiting Big Mac and Sugar Belle recently, she noted the way that she had curled up next to Rainbow, and how Rainbow had not cajoled her or tried to push her away. This was hardly a surprise to Rarity; at least, it was not as much of a surprise as the time she’d seen Applejack’s hat sitting atop Rainbow’s tail, and how Applejack hadn’t fought her to give it back. She wondered if either was aware of what these meant. She doubted it. Still, that didn’t stop her from guessing how long it would take for one of them to notice and make a move, if one hadn’t tried so already. Rainbow had said Fluttershy was slow; but imagine two headstrong ponies taking their time!
Then she looked over at Pinkie Pie. Perhaps to some extent, she had been the one to change the least over the past several years. But this owed to the fact that she was good at what she did, which was keeping Ponyville’s heart alive and beating. The only change that she’d spoken about recently was that she’d gone and visited Cheese Sandwich; but she’d never elaborated if anything else had happened, so the girls were left guessing as to the significance. The last time she’d spoken of him, though, Rarity was sure there had been a gleam in her eyes. She had played it off with laughter, of course, but the memory remained.
Finally, Rarity’s eyes returned to Fluttershy. Perhaps she had changed the most, in the most drastic and overt ways. Still a bit on the shy side, there was no doubt that she’d matured into a more assertive and receptive personality, and her proposal to Discord proved that. Their wedding had only been about a month ago, but the effects, if the glow was to be believed, could still be seen.
Yes, they’d all changed, but, she thought, some things were still the same. Those old fears, those old and terrible fears, which they’d all confessed to having the day that Twilight was to be crowned; they were seemingly now unfounded, illusions best swept under the rug of reality. They were all friends, and that would never change.
Unless…
Inexplicably, Rarity brushed her hoof against her head, right in the area where she’d found the gray hair. Then she pushed her hoof down. No. It was gone. And moreover, it was just one of those strange occurrences that happened to anypony. It didn’t mean anything.
Next to her, Fluttershy said something about the new animal sanctuary, when, all of a sudden, she let out a huge yawn. Her face turned bright red, while Rainbow and Pinke cackled. “Oh, dear,” Rarity said. “Fluttershy, darling, did you get enough sleep?”
“I think I did,” she said, turning to look at Rarity. “But, you know, I’ve just been feeling more tired as of late. Discord thinks it’s because I’m working myself too hard, but I’m only doing what I’ve been doing for the past several years…”
She said more, but Rarity didn’t hear her. She didn’t hear, because she saw something else.
The bags under Fluttershy’s eyes might have suggested a lack of sleep, but Rarity knew sleep lines. Twilight would get them, Rarity would get them, Applejack would get them—they had a certain quality to them which distinguished them from most other facial features. But the ones that hung under Fluttershy’s eyes did not appear like sleep lines. They looked somehow deeper, as though carved under her coat and sewn in the fabric of her skin. They were dark and heavy with something other than tiredness, tiredness which Rarity could not see in Fluttershy’s eyes at all.
They passed into a tunnel. Rarity had yet to respond, but that was okay because Applejack commented something, causing Fluttershy to turn and address her. This allowed Rarity to see her mane much more closely, and for a half second she almost gasped out loud. There, situated just behind a tuft of pink curls, was seemingly a strand of gray hair.
When they came out of the tunnel, though, the resulting sun blinded Rarity, and just as she recovered, she saw that no such strand was there. Nothing but the long, pink hair and Fluttershy’s natural grace. But was it her imagination, or did Fluttershy’s hair seem just a tad bit paler?
“Rarity?”
“Oh!” She shook her head. “Heavens, I’m sorry, Fluttershy. I zoned out there for a second.”
“It’s all right, Rarity. I was just about to ask you how business back at the Boutique has been.”
Finally. A topic she could address without her mind straying. “It has been a busy season, for sure,” Rarity said; and as she went on and on about the increased sales, new designs, and as her friends responded happily or with mild interest, she almost forgot about what she had seen, or thought she had seen. Almost.
“...And that’s why I’ve decided against allowing chickens into the meeting rooms. Prince Blueblood still hasn’t been able to remove all of the feathers!”
Twilight Sparkle said this last part with a laugh. Her face showed a few stray sprinkles stuck to her muzzle, but she levitated over a napkin and wiped them away. Applejack whistled. “Shucks. The poor chicken farmer must be mortified! Did Blueblood call for his head?”
“Of course he did. Luckily I was able to calm him down long enough for him to reconsider.”
“Or,” Rainbow said, “you could just flat out deny his proposal, right? I mean, you’re the sovereign ruler of Equestria, and Blueblood isn’t really much of a prince.”
“That’s true,” Twilight said, “but sometimes you just have to let him think he has some power. That way he doesn’t get in the way of the actual politics.”
“Twilight Sparkle,” Pinkie said, with a mix of shock and awe in her voice. “Never did I think you’d be one to play cooky with the game of politics!”
“You learn how after a bit. You’d learn, too, Pinkie, if you ever considered running for office.” She paused, then said, “On second thought, you probably shouldn’t.”
They were, as they had been for the past five years, seated at their usual seat in Pony Joe’s Donut Shop. And as they had done for the past five years, they’d met with Twilight here, hugged, and after ordering a big helping of donuts, had begun with the usual festivities of catching up. Twilight had much to say, for somehow, in the course of the year, the nobles had much to be worried about. Key on their mind, to no one’s surprise, was the recent matrimony between Fluttershy and Discord—“Congratulations, again!” Twilight had said to the former, causing yet another blush but a happy smile to form. Yet the nobles’ worry about the marriage was not for any reason that they might have expected: rather, instead of being critical, they were almost tripping over their own hooves trying to earn the Spirit of Chaos’s favor. There was talk of pushing Discord into the political realm, talk which was squashed two weeks ago, when Discord made a surprise visit to Canterlot and ‘convinced’ his ‘ardent supporters’ to ‘turn the other cheek’. Discord’s words, there, not Twilight’s.
Fluttershy had nodded at this, seemingly only surprised that Discord had bothered going. “He did say he was making a trip to Canterlot, but I didn’t think he was going to confront anypony over anything.”
“Why not? It’s Discord,” Applejack said. “He’s got about as much pride as Rainbow.”
In the midst of Rainbow’s “Hey!”, Fluttershy murmured, “Because he brought back milk and bread like I’d asked him, too.” They all laughed a little at that, before Twilight had launched into her current talk, that of the fiasco between Blueblood and a chicken farmer.
Rarity, sitting next to Twilight, watched and listened with a silent smile. It was good to see that, at the moment, Twilight seemed as relaxed as she could be. The first year after the Council had been established, she’d been nothing if under complete and total pressure; it had taken longer than expected for the Canterlot hierarchy to get used to a new ruler who was far younger than many of the elites. Rarity could still remember Twilight’s frazzled state and mane, the way that her hooves had taken slow steps towards the table before she’d plopped herself down in the chair and thanked the girls for coming. That might have been the most tired Rarity had seen Twilight, at least recently, so seeing her now full of good humor was a special relief.
The thought of tiredness, however, brought on an unfamiliar feeling in her. She looked across the table at Fluttershy, who was listening to Twilight talk. From that short distance, Rarity could not tell if the bags she had seen were from just exhaustion or if they were something more; indeed, she could not say if they were even there, much like that strand of hair that floated now in her thoughts like a half shard of memory. She still could not decide if what she had seen was just her own scattered thoughts, brought on by that morning’s discovery, influencing her perception.
“Well, you must be happy to hear about Blueblood’s antics, Rarity,” Twilight said, turning to her.
Rarity met her gaze with a smile that she hoped masked her own murky thoughts. “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, Twilight, darling. At least, not publicly. But I will admit to feeling a certain amount of satisfaction to hear that he’s getting his comeuppance, one way or another.”
“Careful, Rarity,” Rainbow said, smirking. “You sound almost smug there.”
“A lady is not smug, Rainbow. She simply expresses a certain amount of—”
“Smugness, yeah, I know.”
Rainbow cackled, closing both her eyes and hitting a hoof against the table. Rarity also could not help but laugh.
Twilight went on: she had received a letter from Princess Celestia, or now just Celestia (“I still haven’t gotten used to that!”), who said that Luna had joined the mail delivery system for Silver Shoals; Spike was on a mission for Dragon Lord Ember, which was why he wasn’t here today with Twilight (“But he sends his regards!”); and more political melodrama that, frankly, sounded less like the nuanced world of royalty and more like an episode from some sitcom.
Then Twilight shook her head. “As much as I’d love to vent about all my princess duties, girls, you know that’s not what I’m here for.”
Rarity let out a faux gasp. “Twilight Sparkle! You don’t mean to say that you’re here just to gossip?”
“Of course not, Rarity. I want to catch up with everypony, that’s all.” Twilight winked at her. “But if that comes out to sounding like gossip, well…”
“Ooh, ooh! Me! I wanna go first!” Pinkie said, waving her hoof in the air wildly. All eyes turned to her, and for some reason, she retracted her hoof and placed her two front ones together, giggling in what, Rarity could have sworn, was an undecidedly nervous manner. “Well… you girls remember Cheese Sandwich, right?”
They affirmed. “Well, last weekend, he came up for a surprise visit, and, um, well—”
She clenched her eyes shut and squeezed the last part out: “He asked me out and we're going on a date soon and I’m really excited and AAAAAAHHH!”
All the girls gasped. “Pinkie! That’s wonderful!” Twilight exclaimed.
Pinkie nodded. “I was going to tell everypony on the train ride here, but then I wanted to make sure Twilight knew, and—”
“Say no more, Pinkie,” Applejack offered. “Ah getcha. Besides, well, it ain’t like we weren’t expecting it.”
“Yeah, AJ’s right,” Rainbow said. “You and he were kinda obvious. Took you long enough. Almost as long as Fluttershy, actually!”
Everypony laughed, Twilight especially. Her laugh sounded young and lively, different than the one she’d given when she finished the story about Blueblood. This was the laugh of a young mare, in the prime of her life.
The last point was particularly important for Rarity, because, thanks to her eye for detail, she had seen how these last few years had been affecting Twilight. She may have been able to finally wrangle the nobles of Canterlot under her hoof, but that did not mean that the previous years of work and toil had not sunk themselves into her demeanor. The fact that she was laughing this loudly suggested she had finally found a moment of respite—a moment which, Rarity knew, Twilight would never willingly take. She had not lost her Canterlot roots, it would seem, though she’d never admit it; sometimes she could be as stubborn as Applejack, though this Rarity would never say.
Thinking this, she looked over at Applejack, and privately noted how she, too, had changed. She still had a stubborn heart, of course, but now it seemed as though she had softened, become just a little more… well, Rarity didn’t want to say suggestible, but when she saw the way Applejack glanced at Rainbow… a mare saw things that her friends could not, after all. She was a seamstress, a designer. She could see the way things would turn out when the product was finished, the way the image would transform from a piece of mental possibility into a piece of realistic proportions.
Still, she had missed the signs that Pinkie and Cheese were planning on taking the next step, or at least taking the first one, in their relationship. A curious lack of insight on her part, when she had seen the passing glances that Discord and Fluttershy had been making, and their frequency, to the point where she’d even privately considered the exact day the question would be popped, and by whom. She had therefore been surprised by Pinkie’s reveal.
Yet something in Pinkie, in saying this, seemed different. It wasn’t just that momentary bout of nervousness and shyness in her. Rarity couldn’t place it at first.
She kept quiet and, with that thought in mind, looked over at her pink friend while she went on and on about what Cheese had said. Nothing at first seemed different, and so Rarity wondered if she’d just been grasping out of the dark; but then, she noticed something. If it were any other pony, she probably would have unconsciously ignored it, but this was Pinkie, the most exuberant and lively and almost comically youthful pony she knew.
Which was why the lines under her eyes, now that she saw them, stuck out like the wrong color of fabric.
Out of their entire group, Fluttershy might have been the second-best pony at picking up little details. Turning to her, Rarity almost asked—in a moment of personal weakness—if she had seen the lines. But her voice caught in her throat.
Fluttershy, sitting next to her, allowed for a close inspection of her face. And what Rarity found were the same bags she’d seen on the train, the same lines that she’d thought she’d imagined. They were fainter, but there. In fact, now Rarity thought that Fluttershy’s coat, normally a rich butterscotch hue, appeared just a tad bit washed out.
Her gaze snapped involuntarily onto Applejack and Rainbow, the most physically active. She frowned at what she saw. They did have bags. A lack of sleep, perhaps; but on Applejack’s forehead there was beginning to form a little series of lines not quite unlike the ones Granny Smith was known for, and her cheekbones were just a little more prominent, the skin starting to seep a little. And on Rainbow, even her well-toned form could not hide similar features, as though she had taken and copied them over from Applejack intentionally.
Rarity almost shook her head. Maybe her eyes were going—but no, she was sure they weren’t. Her optometrist assured her that she had at least another decade or so before she would start needing to wear glasses permanently. She squinted a little at Pinkie, just to make sure. The lines and faded coat were still there. They were there, and they were on Fluttershy, and on Applejack, and on Rainbow.
She looked at Twilight. Her mouth moved, and her eyes were closed in delight, but no sound came out. Everything seemed muted, physically speaking: colors, sights, sounds, nothing there. Rarity tried to see the same signs on Twilight as she had seen on the others, searched each crook of her neck, each feature on her face, under her eyes. Yet nothing appeared.
Twilight was as flawlessly young as ever.
Once more, slowly, Rarity peered at her friends. She felt something cold splash in her stomach as she confirmed: the lines and wrinkles and hard edges existed. They were there, in plain view. On everypony except Twilight.
Her mind flashed to the strand of gray hair. But whose? Her own? Or Fluttershy’s?
Looking at her, she almost missed it, but yes; there, between the pink, peeked out a white rose of a lock.
Rarity gasped, much louder than she’d meant to. Everypony turned to her, and her face became red. “Rarity?” Twilight asked. “Everything all right?”
Rarity forced herself to cough. “Y-yes, dear, sorry! I just—inhaled a few sprinkles, that’s all” Then, hoping to divert the conversation away from her, she said, “But yes, congratulations, Pinkie. I do hope things work out great between you and Cheese.”
It seemed to work. Everypony else expressed their agreement, in time for Rarity to recover herself.
Yet both Fluttershy and Twilight were quiet. Rarity could feel their eyes on her, but she tried not to show her discomfort. After another moment, they looked away, and it seemed as though they were satisfied with Rarity’s quick explanation.
“In that case,” Twilight said, lifting one of the milkshakes up with her magic, “I’d like to propose a toast to Pinkie and Fluttershy. May you both enjoy a long and happy life together with your partners!”
The toast multiplied across the table. Rarity chorused with them, a bit late. She was late not just because of her thoughts, but because through the toast, through Fluttershy’s blushing, she thought she caught sight of something silver streaking through the air in front of the pegasus. It vanished in an instant. But it was enough for Rarity to look around her when nopony else was watching, and see her friends now in a different light.
***
Twilight walked them back to the train station afterwards. It was late, now, and she could not afford to tarry too long; no doubt a couple of stir-crazy nobles were pounding on the castle door, demanding that she raise the moon just three-quarters of an inch higher that night. She said this quite easily, which garnered a laugh from mostly everypony—save for Rarity, who lingered in the back of the group.
She was lost in her own thoughts. This translated into her trot, slow and meandering. If the others called out to her, she did not notice.
I’m not imagining things, am I? Because that would be almost as bad as…
Rarity looked up just in time to see Twilight glancing back at her. Rarity instinctively ducked her head, focusing on the cobblestone path. The moon gleamed against the stone, reminding Rarity all too much of the color that had appeared in her hair that morning.
They were nearing the train station. Yet, a tugging in her heart seized Rarity. She simultaneously wanted to get on and also to stay back. For a moment she wrestled with trying to understand why, and then it hit her: getting on meant having to see up-close the age on her friends’ faces. But staying back meant another moment having to see nothing of that sort on Twilight’s.
Caught between these two differing thoughts, she came to a stop and blinked. Her friends grew closer to the station, but they, too, stopped, noting her distant presence. They turned, first Twilight, then Fluttershy, then the rest.
“Rarity?” Twilight called.
Rarity suddenly felt very sick. She tried for a smile, and tried to explain herself, stepping forward; the ground wobbled, and she felt herself beginning to swoon. Twilight was there immediately, propping her up with her hooves, and Fluttershy balanced her other side.
“Rarity,” Fluttershy said. “What is it?”
“I… I’m not quite sure, dear. I just feel faint all of a sudden.” She licked her lips. “Maybe… perhaps it had something to do with that last milkshake I ate? What was in that thing, Twilight, do you know?”
She tried again to smile, but what she saw frightened her. It wasn’t the fact that Twilight’s face showed clear and obvious concern; no, for that, Rarity loved her all the more. It was the perfect blankness under her eyes and over her cheeks that scared her, the way that age seemed to have magically been lifted off of her body. In Twilight’s eyes she tried to see her own face, but could not tell if any such lines had appeared on her own. She twisted just a bit while Twilight spoke, mind zoning out and unable to focus for a few seconds. She looked at Fluttershy, who was equally concerned; she regretted it immediately the reminder it brought to bear.
The other girls were starting to grow closer, their voices filled with concern. Rarity felt a strong desire to run. She couldn’t let them be near her. Not them and their starting-to-sag eyes. But, so thinking this, a great wash of guilt filled up inside of her.
She looked back at Twilight but could not read her face. She wondered if that was because her eyes were failing in that moment, or a result of the impossible youthfulness that Twilight exuded.
“Please,” Rarity murmured. Twilight stopped talking whatever it was she had been talking. Rarity lightly pushed off of her and Fluttershy and made a serious attempt to balance herself. Her legs seemed to steady themselves. “All right,” she said, and managed to look up at all of them. “I’m terribly sorry, dears. I’m not sure what came over me, but it seems to be passing now.” She smiled, but she also gritted her teeth, as though trying to force it to pass.
Twilight placed a hoof on her. “Are you sure, Rarity? Dizzy spells are no joke.”
“Have you had them before?” Fluttershy said.
“I am quite sure, Twilight, don’t you worry. And no, Fluttershy, I don’t believe I have. Perhaps I’ve just been working too hard, that’s all.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised there,” Applejack said. “You always tended to push yourself too far, Rarity.”
She meant it well, she knew; there wasn’t a trace of malice in her eyes. But Rarity became hyper-aware of how her orange coat washed away in the night. Did Applejack notice? No, of course she didn’t. And Rainbow wouldn’t have noticed hers or her own. Nor Pinkie Pie. Nor Twilight, nor Fluttershy. It had to be her. It always had to be her.
“Do you think you can get on the train?” Twilight said quietly.
“I think so.” Rarity closed her eyes, opened them again, and let out a strained breath. “Yes. I believe so, yes.”
Twilight remained watchful, and Rarity could not bring herself to share her gaze. She felt Fluttershy’s hoof and how it had not once left her side, and while she wanted more than anything to flash them both a grateful smile, all she could do was raise her head and stare straight ahead, so that none were in her line of vision. Resolute, she walked forward, trying to appear strong again. “It was good seeing you again, Twilight,” she said, but there was a buzzing noise in her ears. Her voice sounded small to her. Her thoughts, on the other hand, were large and momentous, and as she crossed the station back onto the train, her friends slowly following behind, these thoughts pursued her just the same.
As Rarity stepped onto the coach, she caught one last look at Twilight. She stood in the middle of the street, watching them, and while one hoof was raised in a happy farewell, her face showed the immeasurable signs of sadness and confusion. “It was good seeing you,” Rarity murmured again.
I just wish I hadn’t had the misfortune of seeing.
Rarity lowered her head, so that none could see her tears.
Was Rarity a vain pony? She would be lying if she said no. She knew vanity, knew what it could do to a pony, knew she suffered from it perhaps more than anypony else. After all, she worked tirelessly to achieve beauty both inward and outward. The idea worked its way into her own philosophy when it came to her dresses, too, such that Coco Pommel once remarked that Rarity had the ability to see the inner beauty of even the ugliest material.
Vanity, Rarity knew, was but the somewhat heavier counterpart to its near-cousin, which had no single word attributed to it but which could be described as, simply, the confidence of personal appearance. It was not something made solely for mares to worry over. Everypony had it: mares, stallions, fillies, colts, dragons, griffons, any creature with eyes and ears, with even the remotest sense of the aesthetic, knew what it meant to be beautiful, and to want to be assured of one’s own beauty. But just as arrogance was the heavy counterpart to pride, and stubbornness to confidence, insensitivity to laughter, and obsequiousness to kindness, vanity was difficult to weigh a careful balance against itself. The scales were finicky. They would dip one way or the other, and unless you were especially self-aware, you would not notice you had become a vain queen until it was too late.
Her line of work entailed a certain level of exposure into the realm of the vain, of course, but it gave her the insight needed to allow her a good level of distance from it. Vanity was necessary in small amounts, she believed. Too much and you were too self-centered. Too little and then you would be doing yourself a disservice. Balance—that was what it all came down to. Dressmaking, spell casting, animal caretaking, apple farming, cloud rearing, party planning—if derived far enough, then you would discover that balance was the key ingredient to it all.
Rarity knew this, and therefore knew the importance of keeping oneself balanced at all times, both physically and mentally—perhaps the latter more so than the former. She was of the mindset that if the mental world was suddenly upheaved, then such an upheaval would translate catastrophically—in her head, this word came with italics, bold, and underlined flair—towards the physical world. And the opposite was true, though perhaps to a lesser extent. Really, she was no psychologist, but based on her musings alone, she wondered if perhaps that was all there was to it. Balance, balance, balance! A healthy pony was a balanced pony, and a balanced pony was a happy pony. Balance, balance, balance—
“Pardon me, Rarity, but you’ve not said a word. Is something wrong?”
“Oh!” Rarity gasped. At once she took leave of her reprieve and realized where she stood: in the middle of her Boutique, outfitting, who else, but Mayor Mare?
“Oh, heavens!” Rarity bowed her head. “I am so sorry, Mayor Mare. I’m afraid I was slipping into thought again.”
“It’s quite all right, Rarity,” Mayor Mare responded kindly. “I was just wondering what your thoughts were on my selection.”
Rarity nodded, and asked her to show off her right side for a moment. They were standing in front of a now-naked mannequin, and Mayor Mare wore the mannequin’s clothes under her jade ascot and white collar. It was one of Rarity’s earlier designs for the summer season which had yet to be bought, and which she had been considering sprucing up a bit just as Mayor Mare came in, asking for, of course, a dress-fitting session. There was a gala coming up, albeit not the Grand Galloping kind, and who better to ask but Rarity for the right dress for the occasion?
Of course Rarity had been perfectly willing to help. But, unfortunately, her mind had trailed into thinking about vanity and the nature of balance. This was yet the next in a long stream of curious thoughts which had been plaguing her ever since that trip to Canterlot a week ago, brought on, no doubt, by what she had seen. She had tried to forget it, but for some reason, the implications disturbed her enough that no thought could just up and leave.
Since then, she had been untrusting of her own sight. Or unwilling. Either way, she had reason to believe her vision was beginning to compromise, and if that was the case, well, that would explain away what she had seen. Or so she hoped.
“So? What do you think?” Mayor Mare asked.
Rarity tilted her head, frowning. “Hmm. Well, it certainly does work with your ascot, but I’m assuming you’ll need something a little more dazzling for the gala.”
“Yes, that’s right.” She described what she would be wearing as accompaniment, and Rarity guided her over to the front window, where sunlit dresses stood against the pale floor. She had Mayor Mare try the dresses on, turning her slowly in the circle of light pooling down through the windows. Rarity could not help but notice the strange way her silver mane caught that light, in the same way that it had at the picnic. And that was the thing, it was only strange: Rarity could not find any other word to describe it.
“Rarity,” Mayor Mare called. “You’re doing it again. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Wha—Oh! Mayor Mare! I… That is…”
“You’re clearly not yourself. What’s on your mind?”
Rarity swallowed. Mayor Mare looked at her with such kind eyes that it made her observation feel all the more scandalizing. A thousand potential explanations circled around in her mind. “Your mane,” she blurted—and inwardly, she cursed that that had to be the explanation.
“My mane?” Mayor Mare fluffed it, but did not appear offended at the blatancy. “Yes, I suppose it is getting a bit long. I was going to get it cut before the gala, actually—”
“No, no, your mane is wonderful at this length, darling. It’s just—”
More of her words caught in her throat. She took a deep breath, then slowly released it. “Can… Can I ask you something personal?”
“Of course you can.”
“Why… why did you choose to dye it?”
For a half-second it was a terribly exhilarating feeling. Truthfully, the question had always been there, ever since the whole debacle with the Gabby Gums incident, and it had been gnawing someplace in the back of Rarity’s mind for the past several years, never quite surfacing so as to be vocalized. But for that singular moment where it became real, Rarity felt a strange sense of release, almost giddiness.
Of course then it was quickly replaced by a thought: how could she say such a thing? This was compounded by the fact that Mayor Mare did not even reply at first.
“Oh, goodness,” Rarity said. “Mayor Mare, I am so sorry, I don’t know what came over me, that isn’t something I should have said, ever! I should have known better, it’s your business after all, and—and besides, gray does look good on you—not that I ever thought it didn’t—I’ve just not been thinking well lately and—I shouldn’t be making excuses, it’s not polite, so I’m terribly sorry, and I know that cannot ever undo the embarrassment I’ve caused you—”
She heard a snort. Rarity blinked, and saw Mayor Mare holding a hoof over her mouth. Then the hoof fell away as laughter erupted. “I’m sorry,” she managed to say from between the pearls. “That’s what you wanted to ask me?”
Wordlessly, meekly, Rarity nodded.
“It’s quite simple, really.” Mayor Mare took a step forward and flicked her head back, tossing her mane. “Silver and gray hair tends to make you look a little wiser. When you’re in a position of authority, you need to be able to act just a little bit. Some mayors have employed loud voices when they’re really soft-spoken, and others will intimidate others with their silence. Every little advantage helps when you’re the mayor, you must know.”
“I hardly would have thought that you’d need all that advantage here in Ponyville,” Rarity said quietly.
Mayor Mare smiled. “Your ringing endorsement makes this job all the easier. And, well, as you said, it does look good on me.” She tilted her head, her smile becoming just a little bit coy.
“And it doesn’t bother you?”
“What, looking old?”
Rarity mentally cursed. Yet another blunder. Why was she making so many of those? “What? Of course not! Why, you’re as fit as a fiddle, as Applejack might say! I mean, you and Cheerilee are the same age, are you not? I’d hardly call that old.”
The other pony’s laugh was still delightful-sounding. “I suppose that’s true. But even so, there will come a time when I will be that age. I guess you could say this is me trying to prepare for it while I still can.”
“I see,” Rarity said, though she maybe saw only half of that reasoning. Her eyes remained focused on the silver hair, and she wondered about it.
“Why?” Mayor Mare said. “Looking for some dyeing tips?”
“Me?” Rarity backed up a bit, but fought for a smile. “Oh, well, I can’t say I haven’t thought about it, but—” A nervous giggle escaped her lips. “I’d like to think that I have a few years of vitality left before I have to make that kind of decision.”
Mayor Mare was unoffended. “Well, if you wouldn’t mind me saying, Rarity. I think you’d look good with a bit of platinum in your mane.”
Rarity’s hoof rose and brushed against her violet curls. “You think so?” she murmured. The resulting nod was kind and reassuring, yet Rarity was unsure if she could justifiably believe it.
Then she shook her head. “Thank you, Mayor Mare. I know this was a bit sudden and… strange to say.”
Mayor Mare waved a hoof. “It’s quite all right, Rarity. I’ve gotten a few questions in the years after the whole Gabby Gums incident, anyway. Besides, it feels good to lay down even a little bit of my experience with somepony else.”
Then Mayor Mare said, “But, if it’s no bother, Rarity, I really would like your opinion on this dress, now…”
“Oh! Oh, of course, yes.” And she gave it. But as she gave it, it was like there were two of her. One talked and gave advice and insight to the mayor, and the other traveled upstairs to her bathroom, where, that morning, she had discovered another gray strand. She thought, for a moment, it was Opal’s, but knew immediately it was hers. When she looked in the mirror, she thought she saw a third dangling loosely behind her ear, but when she lifted a brush and tried to pull it out with her magic, all that was agitated was a purple strand and nothing more. Looking back at the mirror one more time, she even thought there were lines similar to the ones she’d seen on her friends’ faces; but when she blinked they were gone. This should have reassured her. But all that she felt was a sense of detached dread.
Even now, as the first Rarity talked at length about which color would fit the occasion, the second remained in the bathroom, staring at herself, thinking about what the first Rarity had heard, and trying to picture herself with silver streaks, lines and wrinkles, and all the signs of life passing by and on.
***
After Mayor Mare had left with a perfect dress for the occasion, Rarity called on Sandbar and Yona for a quick favor. “I’m going to head out for a bit,” she said to them. They asked her what was going on, if there was trouble, and she shook her head. “No trouble,” Rarity said. “I just have an eye doctor’s appointment.”
“Eye doctor?” Yona said. “What wrong with Rarity’s eyes?”
“Oh, nothing, darling. It’s just a routine eye exam.” She flashed a quick smile, and Sandbar and Yona seemed satisfied with her answer.
The smile slipped away from her face as she made her way to Ponyville hospital. She hoped it was a routine eye exam, but moreover, she hoped that this time she would fail it somehow. It would at the very least confirm that she was simply seeing things, and that she just needed to start wearing glasses more often. A small price to pay for a bit of relief, she supposed.
The afternoon was warm and rich with wind, but as it blew through her mane, she realized she had forgotten to wear a hat. It would do no good now to turn back; she would have to trust that the silver streaks would hide today. At any rate, nopony who passed her by mentioned anything to her, though that might have been because she was moving quickly.
So moving, she burst through the doors, and was greeted by the sight of several older ponies staring back at her. Each had an impressive cloud display on their heads. Rarity paused, her mind racing to catch up with her body. Slowly, she closed the doors and let out a nervous chuckle, then ducked her head as she made her way up to the front desk. The pony there barely noted her presence, but checked her in. “Since you’re here for an eye exam,” she said, “you can go to room two. On the left, please and thank you.”
A nurse escorted her. Once away from the waiting room, Rarity permitted herself to release a breath. Perhaps the fates were conspiring to mess with her head, today. Between Mayor Mare’s mane and those ponies, she was beginning to think that whites were in her future.
The nurse made her wait in the room, and a short while later, the door opened. The doctor pony was a cobalt-colored stallion with a shock of orange hair defiantly pulling itself against being slicked back. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses covered his eyes. He held a clipboard in his magic and glanced over it. “Good morning, Ms. Rarity. I trust you’ve been keeping well.”
Rarity smiled. “I am well, indeed, Doctor Eckleberg.” He had a funny name, but Rarity didn’t say anything about it. “I’m just here for the usual eye exam.”
“So you are,” he said. “Though, you’re a bit early. Normally your eye exams are scheduled at the end of the month, isn’t that right?”
“I just wanted to get it out of the way, that’s all.”
Doctor Eckleberg hummed a neutral note. “Very well. Let’s get started.”
They went through the usual tests. They went into the hall and had Rarity stand a few feet from a distant wall, on which hung one of the sight-testing posters that had several letters of different-sized fonts pyramiding up from the bottom. Doctor Eckleberg had Rarity cover one eye with her hoof and read out the letters; she repeated the action after covering the other eye. Then they returned to the room, and the good doctor had her place her face between the lenses of a phoropter while he flicked a series of disks in front of her. “Read each one,” he said, and Rarity did. She noted the sound of a pencil scrawling across the clipboard, no doubt noting her remarks.
She tried not to lie, though she felt herself consciously fighting to avoid lying anyway. She was unsure if the lenses were intentionally blurring the letters, if they were somehow more obscured this time than the last time last year, or if it was evidence that the fault lay with her eyes. On one hoof, she wanted glasses, if only to be certain that she had been mistaken; but on the other hoof, the implication of such a prescription would mean—
All of a sudden, the lenses went black. Rarity pulled her head back and saw Doctor Eckleberg finishing up his notes. “Doctor?” she asked.
“Yes and yes,” he said; he almost sounded bored. “Remind me, Miss Rarity. You wear reading glasses, right?”
“Why, yes, I do.”
He nodded, flipped the pages in the clipboard, wrote something else, then lowered the item. “Keep using them.” He turned and began to walk out.
“Wait!” she called. He stopped, glancing behind him. “What do you mean? Is that it?”
“Of course that’s it, Miss Rarity. You scored a perfect 20/20, same as the last several years.” He paused. “You don’t seem quite too happy to hear that.”
She didn’t. When he had said the number out loud, she felt something cold splash in her heart. The cold spread through her.
“It’s just… I thought that my vision was, you know, starting to—”
“Fade? In a few years, most certainly. But don’t you worry. So long as you don’t strain your eyes by reading in the dark or by staring up at the sun—Celestia knows how many foals we’ve got doing that on a weekly basis—you’ll be able to make those eyes last almost an entire lifetime without much outside aid. You should be proud of that,” he added, in a friendlier tone of voice.
Her nod was weak, her smile strained and habitual, yet he seemed not to notice. “Come along, then. We don’t want you hogging a room since you’re done.”
They left, and separated in the hall, Rarity returning to the waiting room while Doctor Eckleberg trotted elsewhere, muttering, “If only my other examinations were that easy.” In the waiting room, there were still that large group of cloudy-haired elders, all looking at her with what she thought was some sort of disdain or even pity.
“Would you like to schedule a follow-up appointment?” the secretary pony asked her. And for a moment Rarity considered doing so—considered that perhaps the tests were wrong, that Doctor Eckleberg was a hack. That would mean more tests, more ways of proving herself wrong—
Why on Equestria would she do that?
“No,” she said, head drooping just a bit. “That won’t be necessary. We’ll… we’ll keep it to a yearly schedule, same as before.”
***
That should have been the end of her troubles that day. She thought it would be, as she left Ponyville Hospital, and so thinking, she also began to berate herself. It had been silly to place all her hopes on having poor eyesight. A longshot. An improbability. And not just silly; if she had had poor eyesight, it would still come down to the same fact.
Seen or not seen… The symbols and signs floated around in her mind. They did not taunt her. They had no need to. It was enough for them to exist, now, as both memory and as fear.
She would have to accept them. But how could she? How could anypony easily or willingly come to terms with the simple fact of the matter—she and her friends, minus Twilight, were—
“Oh, there you are!”
A rainbow streak burst through the edge of her vision, before landing easily in front of her. Rainbow was grinning. “Heya, Rarity!”
“Hello, Rainbow,” Rarity said, not bothering to hide her wariness.
“So…” Rainbow lifted a hoof, as though meaning to touch Rarity, then hesitated and rubbed the back of her head. “Uh… how are you holding up?”
“From…?”
“From Canterlot. You know. Feeling dizzy, weak? Don’t tell me you forgot already.” She glanced past her. “I mean, you did just come out of the hospital—oh my gosh!”
Any hesitancy fled. Rainbow dashed forward and gripped Rarity with her hooves. “Rarity, are you all right? What did the doctors say? Is it serious? Is it—”
Rarity, summoning every ounce of calmness within her, carefully pushed Rainbow off of her, careful to avoid looking directly at her face. “It’s nothing serious, Rainbow, really. Just my usual eye exam.”
“Oh. And how did—”
“A perfect 20/20.” Rarity was unable to keep her bitterness out of her voice.
“That bothers you? Why?”
Rarity opened her mouth to answer. But nothing came out. “Rarity?” Rainbow said.
The way she looked at her made Rarity feel self-conscious, and again she was filled with regret for forgetting to wear a hat. No doubt the gray was showing. No doubt of that, and no doubt that the age lines were cropping under her eyes still. Did she know? Did she see as Rarity saw? Oh, heavens, if I hadn’t seen it in the first place; if I hadn’t looked! If I hadn’t found that gray hair! She blinked, tears forming briefly in her eyes.
“Hey, hey, come on, now,” Rainbow said. Her voice became gentle. “Rarity, what is it? You can tell me!”
It was like the whole week had suddenly come and fallen upon her, all the dread and uncertainty culminating into this terrible sensation. It built up in her throat, threatened to spill; and still, by some saving grace, she managed to hold it back. She inhaled deeply, exhaled deeply.
“Rainbow,” Rarity began, “have you ever realized something, and, having realized it, felt it completely warp your own perception?”
Rainbow blinked. Rarity went on. “And, having now your perception so thusly warped, it threatens to crush everything in you?”
“Rarity…”
Rarity paused. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”
“No,” Rainbow said. She smiled, but was still confused. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be, dear. To be honest, I’ve been feeling out of it ever since the last Council. I can’t explain why.” Not to you. Not yet, if ever. “It’s hard to explain, just in general.” Rarity sighed. “I guess… I guess you could say I’ve been feeling some chaos brewing inside of me. And… and it’s eating me up inside, Rainbow. I don’t know why, but it is. I’m not making any sense, though, am I?”
Rainbow shrugged. “Maybe not. But, well, if it’s got something to do with chaos, why not ask Discord?”
Rarity almost scoffed. Going to Discord for advice on anything was just asking for trouble. But then, she thought about it. Who else but he would understand even a little of what Rarity was feeling?
“All right, Rainbow,” she said quietly. “I think I’ll go do just that.” After a brief pause, she added, “Thank you.”
Rainbow grinned cheekily. It almost made the thin bags under her eyes fade away. “No problem, Rares. Happy to help out anytime.”
Then she flew off, without a worry in the world, clearly believing that, for now, the matter had been resolved. Rarity watched her go for a moment longer, before resuming her trot.
When Rarity didn’t at first answer, Fluttershy stuttered, “Not that, I mean, I don’t want you here, or anything like that…” She scuffed a hoof against the hardwood floor, ducking behind her mane. It was still long, and still curled the same as it had been a week ago, like somecreature had tried to tie it into a bun by hand, not brush.
Rarity managed a smile. “I know you don’t, dear. And I apologize for catching you off guard like this. It’s…”
She looked past Fluttershy into the cottage. The animals were awake and eating their breakfast. Angel Bunny, noticing her standing in the doorway, looked up at her pensively. Next to him sat another bunny, a female. Rarity wondered when she’d shown up.
“Well,” Rarity continued again, “it’s a bit urgent, I suppose. Is Discord around?”
Fluttershy looked dubious. She nodded, and allowed Rarity inside.
The animals, as if sensing that some enormity was about to occur, scurried away. Rarity, for a fleeting moment, wondered if it was because they could also see more grays than she had that morning.
“He’s out in the back, teaching Mr. Bear a few tricks,” Fluttershy said. Rarity tried to ignore how tired she sounded. It might have just been the fact that the work at the animal sanctuary had increased, but then again…
They heard Discord chanting, “Okay, three-two-one, let’s go—”
Some sort of brass noise echoed out from the backyard, and when Fluttershy opened the door leading to it, they saw Discord perched on top of a small wooden stage. In front of him was Mr. Bear. He wore a top hat and a monocle, for some reason, and had his paws wrapped around the ends of a trumpet and was blowing for all he could. Rarity was no expert in bear expressions, but if she had to guess, he had a look of pure concentration.
Discord flicked his arm, and in the nearby tree, a trio of squirrels took out acorn-shaped drums and began to play them as well. Around the backyard, various animals were engaged in this display of jazz, playing brass instruments for the most part, dressed somehow in various suits and dresses that reminded Rarity of the Canterlot orchestra shows she’d see sometimes. Discord himself seemed trying to fit that mode, for he wore a straight blue leisure suit and wielded a conductor’s baton easily, but he had opted to change his hair, or rather add some: in place of the bare patches of gray, there now stood a dark-green afro.
Rarity made to call out his name, but Fluttershy placed a hoof in front of her, quieting her. They waited for the song to end.
When it did, it ended on a strong note. The trumpets and saxophones rose and rose. Mr. Bear blasted the final tune, his cheeks red with effort. Discord waved his arm, then clenched his talon into a fist, and the song finished.
“Bravo!” Discord said. He smiled toothily. “Mr. Bear, I daresay you’ve improved this practice session. Why, you may very well be able to take on the stuffy elites of Canterlot at this point!”
Mr. Bear grunted, still red-cheeked. Discord tsked. “Come now, there’s a time to be modest and there’s a time for self-celebration! And that goes for everyone, too: you were all tremendous.” He wiped a tear out of his eye, then turned. “Wouldn’t you say so, ladies?”
“Oh, yes,” Fluttershy said, also smiling. “You were all amazing. Isn’t that right, Rarity?”
“Indeed,” Rarity said, once she could find her voice. “Discord, I never knew you had an ear for conducting.”
“And the jazz?”
“It… makes sense, I think, considering who you are.”
Discord cackled. “I suppose I can accept that. Everyone!” he then called, addressing the animals once more. “Excellent session, all around. Though, squirrels, Jeff and Tom, you were a little slow on the uptake. You managed to make up for it afterwards, but do try to keep the measure, yes?” The squirrels chittered. The animals were then dispersed, taking their instruments and clothing with them to their homes.
Discord snapped his fingers, and his hair and suit vanished. Coiling around and stepping down from the platform, he faced the girls, his grin now even looking just a bit embarrassed. Another change, Rarity thought, though she could not say if that was because of his marriage or just life in general.
“As much as I’d love to assume otherwise,” Discord said, “I can’t imagine you ladies intended to come and see our jazz practice.”
Fluttershy shook her head. “Rarity said she needed to see you.”
“Is that right?” Discord leaned down and looked at her. “Well, that would be a surprise in and of itself. As I recall, you and I haven’t always seen eye to eye at times.”
“Come now, Discord, we’ve all changed.” The word tasted funny in her mouth, but she shook the taste away. It was then that she realized that Fluttershy was still present, and that she had no real tactful way of getting her to leave.
Discord was looking at her, as was Fluttershy, but evidently only the draconequus noticed the need in Rarity’s eyes. He looked at Fluttershy, and offered an apologetic grin. “I’m sorry, dear, but my gut is telling me this is a Lord of Chaos matter.”
“Oh! Yes, of course, I should have figured.”
Rarity immediately whirled on her. “Fluttershy, darling, it’s not that I don’t want you to hear, but—” She paused, then looked down. “I’ll tell you in time, I promise. But… well, I need Discord’s… unique perspective, for the moment, anyway.”
Yet Fluttershy simply smiled. “Of course, Rarity. I’ll just be in the cottage, helping the critters out of their clothes. Take as long as you need.”
And she turned and trotted back into the house before Rarity could attempt to excuse herself any further. Discord made a tittering noise. “You seem surprised by that, Rarity.”
“It’s just… I don’t know. I guess I expected—”
“That she’d be hurt? Why, Rarity, it’s as you’ve said. We’ve all changed.”
“Yes…”
They walked to the edge of the backyard, a good distance away from the cottage. Through the window, Rarity could see Fluttershy going to each animal. She seemed happy, and moreover, young. But every now and then, her mane would flash into view, and Rarity could not help but think that it was somehow fading just a bit each time.
“Rarity,” Discord said, “I may be many things, but I’m not a mind reader.”
“Right, right.” She cleared her throat. “Forgive me, Discord. But… it’s just a bit hard to formulate into words.”
Discord’s powers flashed. Now he sported a full beard, a pair of wide-brimmed spectacles, and a thick cigar. Two couches appeared out of nowhere, and Discord sat down at one. “Then just tell me whatever comes to mind,” he said in a thick accent, puffing a few smoke rings that were the same color as the clouds he’d made for Twilight.
Rarity hesitantly took the other couch. Her eyes flitted between Fluttershy’s distant form and Discord’s faux-smoking. “Today,” she began slowly, “I found a gray hair in my mane.”
Discord nodded. He looked at her from behind the spectacles, his yellow eyes big and luminous. “And that was something worth noting,” he said.
“Of course it was,” Rarity said. “Gray in purple—what pony wouldn’t make a note of that?”
“Mmhmm,” Discord murmured. He reached out to the air and pulled—again from nowhere—a clipboard and pen. He started to scribble something down. Rarity, just a tad bit curious, tried to glance at it, but Discord clicked his tongue and pulled the clipboard away. “Now, now, no peeking at my notes,” he said.
“And what did you do after finding the gray hair?” he then asked.
“Well, I… I thought about pulling it out, or even attempting to dye it and every other strand. Though that would mean going out and buying a purple dye.”
“So you thought about it. But you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t. I…” A lump formed in her throat, for some reason. “I couldn’t.”
“And why is that?”
“I don’t know. I just… I couldn’t get rid of it in any way. It would have seemed… dishonest.”
Discord nodded, readjusting his spectacles and stroking his chin with his cigar-holding hand. “Well, it is understandable for a pony of your disposition”—he punctuated the word in such a way that Rarity gave him a slightly simmering look—“to be put off by such a thing. You know, when I first discovered my first wispy strand—” He paused, then cleared his throat. “Well, you’re not the psychologist so you don’t get to hear that particular story. But my point, my dear Rarity, is that it is completely normal to be shocked by the sight. Especially if it’s your first gray hair!”
Rarity winced. “It’s… not my first, actually.”
Discord stared at her, the pen poised midway between his hand and the clipboard. Then he harrumphed. “You know, part of the patient’s responsibility in these sessions is to be completely honest with their doctor.”
“Discord, be serious!” Rarity hissed.
“I assure you, Rarity, I am being perfectly serious. It seems you, on the other hand, are suffering from hysteria.”
“I am not hysterical!”
“Then why are you, to borrow a term, ‘freaking out’ about finding a couple of gray strands? It’s perfectly normal, you know.”
“That’s because it’s not the strands that I’m freaking out about!” Abruptly, she stood, and drew Discord close to her. She pushed his head so that he faced the cottage, and pointed with her hoof. His protest fell on deaf ears. “Look! Look at Fluttershy! You have to have seen it, since you’re literally living together!”
“If you’re talking about her posterior, I’ll have you know I am a decent draconequus.”
“Discord,” she said, choosing to deftly rush over that implication, “I am talking about the fact that she’s aging.”
She felt herself pulled away as though controlled by something else. A somewhat nauseous feeling gathered in the pit of her stomach. “She’s aging,” she said again, and then said in an even lower murmur, “we all are.”
Discord was still watching through the window. He watched as Fluttershy sashayed back and forth, tending to the animals, before she walked off to the side and away from view. He still watched.
Rarity took a shaky breath. Slowly, though she was uncertain if Discord was even listening at this point, she went back through the past several weeks of uncertainty and trepidation, speaking at length about finding the hair the first time, and the first instances she’d noticed the wrinkles on her friends’ faces while on the train to Canterlot. Then, when she started to talk about their conversation at Pony Joe’s donut shop, a clamp locked itself around her throat. She forced the words out in a voice strained with all manners of exhaustion. “We are all aging, but Twilight—she doesn’t seem to be aging. She’s as young as when she first ascended. She’s not aging in the slightest—”
Her voice hitched. She fell silent, running her hoof along the couch. But for some reason now she noticed that the kind of couch that Discord had summoned was an old and raggedy thing, with slight holes in batches, and the whole thing smelling like dusty velvet.
Rarity clenched her eyes shut. She wondered if the action would cause the faint wrinkles to darken, but she could not make herself open her eyes and see her own revelation face-to-face.
Discord nodded. Slowly, he turned away from the window. His face was long and sad, and Rarity felt her heart break. “I… I’m sorry, Discord. I didn’t…”
Didn’t what? Didn’t think this through? Didn’t realize that Discord probably knew what this meant? Didn’t think that, maybe, perhaps bringing this matter up so soon after they’d vowed to stay together and love one another for all of life and against all of death? Rarity didn’t know. And, in not knowing, she once again fell silent.
I shouldn’t have come here. She looked at Discord. He seemed to have hunched over, and fiddled with his talon and hand. I shouldn’t have said anything. I mean, I’m just a mortal pony. To be like Discord, or Princess Celestia, or, Heavens, Twilight… to be immortal… at least I will not have to face the pain of my own loss as they will. She blinked. The thought felt strangely cynical, and it scared her into a silence somehow deeper than the previous one.
Tense minutes must have passed, but Rarity never knew. She huddled against the couch. I should go. I should go and… and…
Then Discord did something she would not have expected: he began to laugh.
“You… You think this is funny?!”
“No, no! Well, maybe a little,” he said between snorts. Then he stopped—sooner than Rarity would have expected him to. “It’s just… I had that exact same thought the night before the wedding. Almost word for word, actually.”
“You did?” Rarity said, forgetting her previous disbelief.
“Rarity,” Discord said playfully, “you don’t take me for a self-absorbed idiot, do you? I practically ooze empathy at this point.”
She scrunched up her nose at that, but his attempt at humor was successful, at least insofar as disarming her own sense of shame. “The first part, maybe,” she said, low enough that he could not have heard.
“My point is, these are not new thoughts of mine. They are not new for any immortal. Celly herself, my word, I bet she has always had that sense.”
“And… Twilight?”
Here, Discord frowned. “Well, take this as you will. I don’t believe Celestia made her immortal with her ascension.”
Rarity’s hooves nearly gave out from under her.
“But alicorn ascension magic is powerful. In all likelihood, she will be aging much slower than… well, than the rest of you girls.”
“So it’s still the same,” she said bitterly. “We age, she doesn’t, or at least not as quickly, and then…”
“Are you afraid?” Discord asked suddenly.
“Of what? Dying?” Rarity almost laughed. “Discord, everypony’s afraid of dying. It’s… oh, what’s the word?” For a moment she searched, and then one came to her, one that reminded her of how Twilight might talk. “It’s the perfect antithesis to life. The end. The complete and utter rejection, or nullification, of it!” She glared at him. “But what would you know? You’re immortal. You don’t have to suffer through the fear of it.”
“No,” he said. And how he said it—how soft, how gentle, how almost kind. “I simply have to live, watching everypony else suffer themselves.”
Rarity was silent.
Discord looked around as though making sure there were no prying eyes or curious ears. Then he leaned forward, and his eyes took on their usual amused quality, twinkling. “Let me ask you something, Rarity. Do you know why I chose to marry Fluttershy?”
“If you say anything other than because you love her, Discord, I swear to Celestia no drop of immortal blood will spare you my wrath!”
“Of course it was because I love her,” he said warmly. “But let me put it this way: why, do you think, did I marry her, knowing I am immortal, and she is not?”
And Rarity, try as she might, could not provide an answer.
Discord grinned triumphantly, but still spoke with the same measure of kindness. “I asked myself that the night before the wedding. I obsessed over it, even; you have no idea how much. And, let me tell you an even greater secret.” He brought his talon forth, and closed the first and second claws together, but not all the way so as to keep them from touching. “I was this close to walking out, just because I could not answer that question.”
Rarity recovered enough to say, “But you didn’t walk out.”
“No. The next day, I went through with the wedding, kissed my Fluttershy”—here he mimed smacking lips in the air. It was not enough to make Rarity giggle, but she felt her lips tug into a half-smile—“and went, as they say, to make my own happily ever after. I did not walk out,” he said, “and I did not give up, I did not despair, for one simple reason: the fact that I am immortal…”
He snapped his fingers. For a moment, sparks flew out, and jetted into the sky, exploding into miniature fireworks. Just as quickly as they had come, they vanished. Rarity became aware, then, that it was late in the evening, and the sky was starting to turn indigo at the fringes.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Rarity looked at Discord as he stroked his chin and beard. In this way he appeared simultaneously old and young, as was fitting. “It doesn’t matter,” she reiterated.
He shook his head. “Nope. Not one bit. Not even two, if you can believe it.” He looked over his shoulder. In the window stood Fluttershy, and they could hear her softly humming to Angel Bunny and his new bunny friend. “Immortal or not immortal—does that really define anypony, truly? I don’t think so. I think it’s how you live that defines who you are. However long you’ve got—that’s not really important. Not as important as how you fill in the spaces between.”
He looked back at Rarity. “Does it scare me? Of course it does. And I’ve seen the signs, too, you know—well before you came stumbling up to the cottage. But, as I said—it doesn’t matter. When you love somepony, you don’t love them because they’ll make you live forever, Rarity. When you love somepony, you love them because they make life seem like forever.” Discord had a faint trace of red on his cheeks, but his smile betrayed the warmth in him. “That’s what I realized, anyway. And I think that’s what you need to believe, too. Even if you don’t have somepony special right now, you have to realize that there are things you can do to make this short time seem like forever.”
Rarity stared at him, at this draconequus, who had spoken so eloquently, so softly and kindly. Slowly, the tugging of her lips broke out into an actual smile. “Wow, Discord. I never imagined somepony like you could be so sentimental.”
“You call it sentimentality, I call it wisdom.”
“Gained, of course, on the eve of your wedding, in a fit of hysteria.”
“Aren’t all momentous epiphanies preceded by moments of hysteria? All the good ones, anyway.” He raised an eyebrow. “Does that make sense, though? I’m not sure if that’s what you wanted to hear…”
“No,” Rarity said. Then she clarified, “I mean, no, it makes sense. It does. I… I think it was what I needed to hear. Thank you.”
Then she hesitated. “Do… Do you think I’m silly? For thinking about this, worrying about it?”
“Silly? No, Rarity. You’re only mortal.”
She nodded. An evening wind suddenly blew through, soft and gentle, and when it rushed past it uplifted her curls, and she was certain that whatever gray hairs she had been hiding were now revealed. Discord’s eyes trailed to her head, but he said nothing.
“It’s getting late, don’t you think?” he said once the wind had left. “Come. I suppose you’ll want to head back to the Boutique.”
She nodded. They began to leave the little area in the far back, and were walking towards the cottage. Then Rarity stopped.
“I have one more question,” she said. “If you don’t mind.” When he gestured that he didn’t, she said, “How do I live, knowing all this? I mean, I love all my friends dearly, of course. But… now I know.” She fumbled to say more, but found that no more words could be added. She looked at the draconequus and waited.
He neared the door. He paused, one hand reaching for the knob. “Gracefully, Rarity,” he finally said, just as he opened the door. “You have to live gracefully.”
Fluttershy heard them and welcomed them back in. “Is everything all right?” she asked.
“Yes,” Rarity said, but the word was hollow and obvious.
Fluttershy looked pointedly at Discord as though he had some doing in it. Rarity almost explained everything that had happened, but then found she could not. There were too many thoughts in her head. Too many emotions fluttering about in her heart. Enough to last a lifetime, if she was not careful.
“Next week is our spa date, right?” she said. Fluttershy nodded. “In that case, I’ll tell you about it then.”
Rarity trotted to the front door. She stopped again, feeling Fluttershy’s questioning gaze worm its way up her neck. Rarity turned. Over her shoulder she saw age lines more clearly, as though the evening light amplifying them against Fluttershy’s coat. She saw the tiredness in her. She saw the aging.
She looked at Discord. And she smiled. “Thank you, Discord.”
With that, she trotted out into the night.
***
That night she took out the box holding the first strand of hair. She held it up against the moonbeams and examined its every dimension. It glistened like a tear, or maybe like a node of quartz. It was hard to tell, but maybe it was both.
When she put the box away, she did not bother replacing the hair back in it. It fell onto the desk. A stray breeze came through the window, took it in its arms, and carried it out into the world.
When Rarity discovered that a solid streak had begun to show its face in the mirror, she at first didn’t know what to think.
She twisted her head, examining the streak from every side. Mayor Mare’s words echoed back at her: she supposed the color went quite well with her natural mane. Through this examination, she also saw that there were lines appearing under her eyes, and she noted a stiff neck and stiff joints, stiffer than they were yesterday or yesteryear.
She lifted the clump of silver with her magic, and poised a set of scissors right up against it. She paused, considering. Then, with a short sigh, she lowered both and allowed the silver to curl gently into the rest of her mane. It was like something in her had been released. She smiled, and though the smile felt tired, it felt right and whole. It was a welcome change from what the past week had entailed.
From downstairs she heard knocking. She exited the bathroom and trotted up to the door. It was Fluttershy. “Oh,” she said, her pink mane just a little bit dimmer today—but that could have been the effect of the sun. “I was worried that you were going to miss our spa date today.”
“Miss it? Oh, never, darling,” Rarity said. “I was just preoccupied with something.”
“Really? With what—if you don’t mind me asking, that is.”
“Oh, it was nothing, really.” Rarity smiled. “It’s just that I found myself graying today.” She showed Fluttershy her mane.
Fluttershy gasped. “Oh, Rarity. It… it doesn’t bother you too much, does it?”
Rarity paused. There was no doubt that that would be a question she would be getting in the future. And, so thinking, she realized that her friends would be curious as to what had happened to her, why she had been so despondent. Twilight, no doubt, must have been confused ever since that Council of Friendship reunion. She would need to write her a letter; or visit her in person; explain what she was feeling, but moreover, explain what she meant to do about it.
But she had all the time in the world for that, didn’t she? All the time to live.
Rarity stepped outside and closed the door behind her. She smiled, graceful and poised. “Not in the slightest, Fluttershy. Not in the slightest.”
