Friendship is Some Unexplainable Science and Certainly Not Any Form of Magic, Part One

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Twilight chewed the end of her pencil and frowned. That’s not right. She scratched out the formula again and tried to recall how it had been written in the textbook she’d read the night before. Isn’t it supposed to be something like this?

The math problem didn’t answer, of course. Scowling, Twilight bounced her leg impatiently and returned to chewing on her pencil. First period, advanced functions. Teacher: late. Classmates: way too loud. 9:03 am, eighty-seven minutes to go. Mood?

She paused to think for a second, her leg slowing to a stop. I’m... okay. Maybe a bit ‘meh’.

Today was a ‘meh’ kind of day for Twilight.

When the teacher finally arrived, Twilight had already read through her schedule seven times and rearranged her pencil case twice. 9:09. Almost ten minutes late. She hadn’t had Miss Cheerilee as a teacher before, but tardiness didn’t exactly make a good first impression.

“Sorry for the delay!” Cheerilee called out as she entered. She staggered across the front of the bustling classroom to drop a tower of papers on top of her desk. “It’s a madhouse out there, really. Should have expected that, I suppose; I’m sure you’re all so excited to start off the year on the right foot.”

The chatter in the room died down slightly as the students turned to Cheerilee, only to resume seconds later even louder than before. Someone pushed their desk across the floor with an awful scraping noise. A balled-up piece of paper bounced off the chalkboard and missed the trash can by a good five feet.

Twilight swore she saw Cheerilee’s eye twitch.

“Alright!” Slightly shrill, Cheerilee forced a smile and grabbed a piece of chalk. “Welcome to advanced functions. I’m your instructor, Miss Cheerilee,”—she dotted the ‘i’ with a hard thwack—“and I’m very excited to be teaching this semester. Any questions before we get started?”

The class quieted again briefly. Then another ball of paper hit the board, and Twilight winced as Cheerilee snapped the stick of chalk in half.

It took until half-past the hour to finish passing out the textbooks. Twilight managed to get one that still had its cover intact, though the pages were water damaged and it smelled a bit like dirt. I’m pretty sure this textbook is older than me. A quick peek at the publication page under the cover confirmed her theory. It’s even older than Shining!

She let go of the cover to close it, but instead of the soft thud she’d expected, a loud bang echoed through the air and startled Twilight out of her thoughts. Immediately the classroom hushed, and panic seized her heartbeat for half a second in the silence—but then she quickly realized that the noise hadn’t come from her textbook, but instead from one of the two people framed by the wide-open door at the front of the classroom.

“Sunset Shimmer,” Principal Celestia said with a long-suffering sigh. “That was unnecessary, really.”

The second person by the doorway—Sunset, apparently—shrugged. “My bad.” She crossed her arms defiantly and stepped out of Celestia’s way into the classroom. Her glare raked over the rest of the class from front to back as she entered, and Twilight quickly looked down at her desk to avoid eye contact.

“Erm.” Cheerilee cleared her throat. Her eyes darted nervously between Celestia and Sunset before finally settling on Celestia. “Good morning, principal. Is there a... reason you’re interrupting my class?” She motioned to Sunset and added, “Rather loudly, too.”

Celestia sighed again and pinched the bridge of her nose. “My apologies, Cheerilee. It seems that Sunset here lost track of time—”

“Tried to skip class,” Sunset corrected.

“Lost track of time.” Celestia shot Cheerilee an apologetic look and said quietly, “I’m sorry about this. You know I wouldn’t normally interrupt, but it’s the first day, and the program only allows so many tardies...”

Surprisingly, Cheerilee’s expression softened. “Oh. I... of course. Sunset, was it?”

“Yep.” Sunset emphasized the ‘p’ with a sharp pop and grinned.

“Here.” Cherilee flipped open one of the textbooks, wrote down its number on the tracking sheet, and handed it to Sunset. “Don’t lose it. And as for your seat...”

Twilight’s stomach sank. The classroom was nearly full, and the only two available desks were either the one in the back corner with the wobbly leg, or the one to the right that she’d ‘reserved’ with her bag.

“...But I don’t think the custodian’s fixed it yet. And—ah.” Cheerilee raised her eyebrows. “Twilight, is there any reason why your bag needs its own seat?”

Her face burning, Twilight quickly pulled her backpack off the desk and stuffed it under her chair, hyper-aware of her classmates turning to look at her. Not trusting herself to speak, she instead shook her head and stared down at her desk.

“...Well. Thank you for moving. Sunset, why don’t you help me pass out the worksheet before you settle in?”

“Will I get expelled again if I don’t?”

“Sunset.” Celestia’s voice was sharp, and Twilight knew from experience how annoyed she must have been to take that tone.

“I’m kidding. Don’t you know what a joke is?”

Twilight could hear Sunset start to move around the room, could hear the clack of the chalk as Cheerilee continued writing on the board, could hear her classmates giggling and whispering and talking in hushed voices. Probably about me. She wanted to throw up. Being singled out in class was bad enough, but in front of Celestia of all people? She anxiously risked a glance up through her bangs toward the door just to see Celestia staring back at her with her brow knit in concern.

Somehow, her concern made Twilight feel worse. She ducked her head again and tried to ignore the tears pricking at her eyes.

A minute later she heard the sound of the door closing. Celestia had left. Then—

“Here.” A piece of paper slid in front of her face and interrupted the view of her desk. Twilight stared at it for a second before remembering, the worksheet, stupid! Sunset waggled the paper expectantly. “Hello? You good?”

“S-sorry.” Twilight winced as her voice cracked. She took the paper.

Sunset shot her a look, but didn’t say anything else. Instead she pulled out her chair and plopped down with her own worksheet. Her backpack dropped in the middle of the aisle with a heavy thump, and she kicked it under her desk with one intimidating black combat boot.

Twilight’s stomach flipped anxiously. She did her best to ignore her new neighbour—and her pounding heartbeat—by turning her attention to the worksheet. At least it was math class. Maybe solving a few problems would help her calm down.

It took a while, but eventually Twilight felt her face cool off and her heart rate return to normal. The classroom wasn’t completely silent, as Cheerilee had allowed them to work together if they wanted, but the atmosphere was much calmer. Calm enough to focus, at least.

She finished the last question on the front more slowly than she’d have liked to, but still quick enough to be a bit satisfied. A few seconds after she’d flipped the worksheet over to start on the back, something tapped against the corner of her desk.

“Hey,” Sunset said from across the aisle. She tapped her pen on Twilight’s desk again and asked, “What’d you get on the first question?”

Twilight glanced up and frowned. Why was she asking her? No, too confrontational. She settled for a more neutral, “You won’t learn anything if I just tell you.”

Surprisingly, Sunset let out a small laugh. “Well, yeah. But I also won’t learn if I don’t know that I’m wrong. I just wanna compare answers.”

A pause. “You’re finished already?”

“Yeah. You’re done the first half, right?” Her pen tapped three more times impatiently. “If I know I’ve done the front correctly, I’m not gonna bother checking the back ‘cause it’s the same concept.”

Twilight didn’t know how to respond to that. But she didn’t sense anything malicious in the request, and it was a little impressive that she’d finished both sides of the worksheet so quickly. Regardless of any potential mistakes from rushing. So, despite her instinctive hesitation, she pushed her paper toward Sunset and muttered, “...Okay. You can check, then. But be quick.”

Sunset grinned and took the sheet. “Thanks.” She placed it beside her own and started checking, making small marks next to each question on her own sheet. Twilight noticed her handwriting was neater than she’d expected. Huh.

“Done.” Sunset clicked her pen triumphantly and passed back the paper. “It’s Twilight, right?”

“Yeah.” What would be best to say next? “But, um, how do you know my answers are right?”

“I mean, you look like a total dork. I figure you know what you’re doing.”

Oh. Twilight wilted slightly. Embarrassment burned against the tips of her ears. Right.

“But I mean, I really don’t know for sure. We could both be wrong! I don’t think we are, though; this stuff is just review.” Apparently finished explaining, Sunset reached for her bag and stuffed her finished worksheet down the side of it. It crinkled audibly, but she didn’t seem to care.

“...I guess that makes sense,” Twilight said, uncomfortably aware of how long she’d been silent. She reached for her pencil to return to her own sheet, but her trembling fingers fumbled against its uneven surface and accidentally knocked it off the side of her desk. Shoot.

The pencil fell to the floor with a clatter and rolled about a foot across the tile floor. Twilight moved to pick it up, only for Sunset to do the exact same thing.

“Oh, I can get that for you.”

That was in my mouth earlier was the only thing Twilight managed to think before Sunset picked up the chewed-up pencil and leaned across the aisle with her elbows on her knees. “Here,” she said, and held the pencil out. “But... can I ask you something before you start working again?” Her voice lowered, as if she didn’t want to be overheard. “Are you doing okay?”

Twilight tried to avert her eyes from Sunset’s piercing stare. Her stomach flipped uncomfortably. Fear squeezed at the back of her throat. It was an uncomfortable question. And she’s gotten way too close. Before her thoughts could spiral she locked her gaze on her wayward pencil to ground herself and stammered out a weak, “W-what are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean. When Cheerilee assigned me my seat, you looked like you were about to cry.”

“It was obvious?” That was horrible news to Twilight. She didn’t think she’d been that bad, but if the new girl had noticed, then of course the classmates that had been around her all through high school would have picked up on—

“No, I don’t think it was obvious to most people,” Sunset said slowly. “I just...” She leaned back and fiddled with the pencil almost sheepishly, oblivious to the teeth marks. Twilight wanted to scream. “I’m pretty empathetic, I guess. I’m good at knowing when someone’s got something bugging them. So.” She fell silent, as if waiting for an answer.

“I have social anxiety,” Twilight blurted out. Oh my god I said it. Then, before Sunset could respond, she quickly added, “And I need my pencil back so I can finish the worksheet. Sorry.”

Sunset stayed quiet for a second. Just as Twilight prepared herself for a bad reaction—like sneers, or mocking, or pity—she instead nodded slowly, and sat up straight. “No, it’s my bad. I shouldn’t have taken it without asking.” She placed the pencil back on Twilight’s desk and pulled her legs out of the aisle so she was sitting properly again. “Hope I didn’t bother you much.”

Shoot shoot shoot, say something, Sparkle! You’re being weird again! “No, you weren’t bothering me.” Yes! Good! “No one really talks to me, so I guess it was kind of nice.” No!

Oblivious to Twilight’s mental warfare, Sunset turned back to the side and furrowed her brow. “No one talks to you?”

“I think they’re intimidated by Celestia. But I’m also really awkward. I don’t blame them.” And I don’t know when to shut up, apparently!

“Why would they be intimidated by the principal?”

“She’s, um... a family friend? Sort of?”

Sunset snorted. “Okay, yeah, that’s a little unusual. People probably think they’d get in trouble with her if they did something wrong on your watch, right?”

“Y-yeah. But they also don’t bother me for the same reason. I guess she’s a double-edged sword.”

“Seems like it.”

With nothing left to add to the conversation (and the relief that she’d managed to stop rambling), Twilight finally turned back to her worksheet. As she did, Sunset leaned back in her chair and pulled out her phone. Phew. She placed the end of her pencil back against her lips and exhaled a shaky breath. That... could have gone a lot worse, I guess.

It didn’t take her much time to breeze through the rest of the problems and start on the bonus. While it wasn’t mandatory, it posed a bit of a challenge, which Twilight thoroughly enjoyed. But just as she began to read it, a small slip of paper bounced against her desk and landed in the middle of her worksheet.

Frowning, she picked it up and unfolded it. Then she shot Sunset a confused look. “We sit next to each other.”

Sunset nodded.

“This is ridiculous.”

Instead of replying verbally, Sunset scribbled something else on another piece of notebook paper, folded it into a packet, and tossed it over with a smirk.

Twilight sighed. The things I put up with. She reluctantly unfolded the second message and compared the two notes. The first one read, “Sit with me at lunch? —SS”, while the second had a doodle of a frowning face with scribbled hair that was clearly meant to represent Sunset.

Unbelievable. She rolled her eyes and pushed the notes to the side of her desk. She’d deal with them after the bonus problem.

It was just two minutes before the bell when Twilight finally tossed back her answer: yes.

“I have history next,” Sunset half-shouted in an attempt to be heard over the noisy hallway. “But let’s meet up at lunch, okay?”

Twilight nodded slowly. It wasn’t like she had any other plans. Or anyone else to sit with, for that matter.

The two of them pushed their way through the crowd to their lockers—their surnames were close enough alphabetically that they were assigned to the same hall—and went to grab their belongings for their next class. As Twilight swapped out her heavy math textbook for a fresh notebook, she heard someone beside her let out a loud gasp.

“Ohmigosh! Who’s that with you, Twilight?”

Huh? Confused, Twilight closed her locker door and came face-to-face with a wide-eyed girl she’d had in a few classes the previous year. Oh, it’s Pinkie Pie.

“Hey,” Sunset said from Twilight’s other side. She closed her own locker and leaned up against it with her arms crossed. “I’m Sunset Shimmer. I’m new, I guess.”

“You shouldn’t guess about something like that, silly. Either you are, or you aren’t!” Pinkie held one hand out in front of her and continued, “Nice to meetcha! I’m Pinkie Pie. Do you have any allergies?”

A shadow of uncertainty crept over Sunset’s face as she hesitantly shook Pinkie’s hand. “Why do you ask?”

“So you don’t get an allergic reaction, duh.”

“But why would I—“

“Y’know what, to be safe I’ll just make things peanut-free. That shouldn’t be a problem, right? Unless peanut is your favorite flavor. Is it?”

“Uh.”

“Awesome! I’ll meet you after school in the front foyer, okay? Try not to be late!” With that remark, Pinkie let go of Sunset’s hand and disappeared back into the crowd.

Sunset didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then she asked carefully, “Is that… normal for her?”

“I think so,” Twilight said.

“And what did I just get roped into?”

“Probably a welcome party. I think she’s head of the social committee.”

“...Huh.”

The bell rang, and the swarms of students started to disperse toward their classrooms. Twilight gave Sunset a wave over her shoulder before heading in the opposite direction to her next class: computer science. It wasn’t a required course, but she’d added it to her schedule for two reasons: she’d run out of science and math courses to take, and the computer science course had assignments in place of examinations. A ‘bird course’, as Shining called it.

The lab was fairly empty when Twilight entered. The teacher, Mr Cranky Doodle, was preoccupied with setting up at the teacher’s desk. Of the twenty-ish student machines only three were occupied—one at the front by a bespectacled boy Twilight didn’t recognize, and two in the back corner by a pair of girls she didn’t expect to see in a computer lab.

“Hey, egghead,” Rainbow Dash called out. Beside her, Applejack elbowed her in the side and she corrected, “I mean, Twilight.”

“Hey Rainbow,” Twilight sighed. She dropped her backpack on the second-last seat in the row and sat down on the furthest one. There wasn’t any malice in the nickname anymore, but it still stung. “I didn’t know you two were in this course.”

Applejack cracked a grin and joked, “I figured I’d give these modern doohickeys a shot.”

“And this course doesn’t have finals,” Rainbow added.

“Eeyup. That too.”

Of course that’s why, Twilight thought to herself. She snuck a glance at their computer screens, then raised an eyebrow. “And because the school machines don’t have the search filter?”

“It’s ‘cool math games’, man. It’s not like I’m looking at porn.”

“Rainbow Dash.”

“What? You’re playing too, AJ. We’re both not looking at—ow! Jesus, dude! You got razors for elbows or something?”

Twilight didn’t know what she should have expected from those two. It wasn’t worth speaking up about anything, though, so she left them to their bickering and turned her attention to her own computer. Not even a minute after she logged in did the bell ring to announce the start of class.

The sound of the bell died away, and Cranky loudly cleared his throat. “Welcome back, students.” He scanned the near-empty class and muttered, “Well, to the few of you that are here, anyway. I suppose that makes attendance easier on my end.”

As he launched into his droning explanation of the course, Twilight leaned her head on her arm and tuned him out. She’d gone over the outlines of all her courses already with Celestia to prepare herself for the semester—one of the perks of knowing the principal, she supposed. At the other end of the row Rainbow and Applejack looked similarly bored, but they at least had the decency to pretend to pay attention. Unlike Twilight.

“...So that’s that. If you have a question about the assignment, just come up and ask me about it.” Satisfied with his speech, Cranky leaned back in his chair and pulled out a novel. “Go on. You can start now.”

Even though Twilight hadn’t been listening, she already knew what the first assignment was thanks to her pre-semester preparation. Spreadsheets. Ugh. That’s hardly even programming. She glanced up at the clock. 10:41. I’ve got eighty-four minutes, but I doubt I’ll even need half that.

And she didn’t. Twilight breezed through the assignment and submitted her spreadsheet at five past the hour. She probably could have finished quicker, but the hushed giggles and whispering from the pair at the end of the row had made her lose her train of thought multiple times. Regardless, that still left her with a large amount of free time that, quite frankly, she didn’t know what to do with.

As she contemplated her options, she realized the sound of her typing had been absent long enough for Cranky to take notice. “Done already, Miss Sparkle?” he asked, squinting at her over the cover of his book.

“Y-yes.”

“Mm. Alright.” He narrowed his eyes further and pointed over to Rainbow and Applejack. “Have those two started yet?”

Twilight snuck another glance at their screens. “Um.” The two computers very clearly did not have spreadsheets on them, and instead displayed what looked suspiciously like cool math games instead.

Then the window on one computer quickly minimized, and Rainbow leaned across Twilight’s line of sight to shoot her a pleading look.

“...Yes,” Twilight lied.

“Mm,” Cranky grunted again. He turned back to his book. “Very well.”

After a minute of silence Applejack let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks Twilight,” she whispered. She closed the game she’d been playing and said, “We owe you one.”

“You can pay me back by getting started,” Twilight half-whispered back. “You know if you use the period to work on the assignment, you don’t have to do anything at home, right?”

“Lame,” Rainbow grumbled, but she closed her game as well. “Then since you’re not doing anything, wanna give us a hand?”

“You won’t learn anything if I just tell you.”

“Yeah, but we also won’t learn anything if we don’t know how to start.”

She’s got me there, Twilight admitted. She weighed her options for the rest of the class again. It’s not like I have anything better to do. “Fine,” she decided. “I’ll help you set up, but that’s it.”

Applejack nodded and slid her bag off of the empty seat on her other side to make room for Twilight. “Mighty kind of you. We gave the instructions a good try, but...” She trailed off into silence, then shrugged. “Well. Maybe if you go through it with us it’ll make a bit of sense.”

Once Twilight logged off and moved over to the other computer, she managed to explain enough of the assignment to get both Applejack and Rainbow started on their spreadsheets. Eventually, during a stretch of silence as the two of them worked, Rainbow cleared her throat.

“Um. So. Did you do anything cool this summer, egghe— I mean, Twilight?” she corrected sheepishly.

Twilight blinked. She’d done a few activities with her family she’d found exciting, but she was pretty sure they didn’t qualify as ‘cool’. “Not really,” she answered.

The stretch of silence returned, this time filled with an awkward tension.

“...You can say more than that, you know,” Rainbow grumbled. She smashed the backspace key a few times with more force than necessary and slouched down in her chair.

Anxiety immediately pooled in the pit of Twilight’s stomach. She stared down at her lap and tried to ignore the sudden pressure building around her throat. “S-sorry. I...” The words she wanted to say wouldn’t come out: I don’t want you to make fun of me. “I don’t talk to people much,” she said instead.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Jab. “Ow!”

“Don’t mind Dash,” Applejack interjected. She lowered her elbow. The tone of her voice was filled with an emotion Twilight had to hear far too often: pity. “It’s perfectly fine if you like keepin’ to yourself. Why, my brother’s about the same. Talks even less, I reckon.”

Twilight hated being pitied. Being such a pitiful person. She managed a nod. “Yeah. I know.”

“And we’re sure grateful for your help. I don’t think we’d have gotten very far on our own.”

“Yeah,” Rainbow added, “you’re real good at this stuff. Even if you’re kinda hard to talk to.” She frowned, and mashed the backspace key again. “I’m kinda surprised you covered for us, actually. I had you pegged as a teacher’s pet, y’know?”

“I...” Twilight trailed off again. Why had she helped them? “I didn’t see any point in getting you in trouble. We’re all here to learn, right? Getting scolded isn’t going to help you do the assignment.” The explanation felt hollow, but it seemed plausible enough.

“...Huh. Well.” The pause stretched on for long enough that Twilight thought she’d finished talking, only for Rainbow to append a quiet, “Thanks, I guess.”

The two of them returned to the assignment, and Twilight stared back down at her lap. She’d survived another conversation, hadn’t she? But this one had been different from the one she’d had with Sunset. It was unfamiliar and awkward, and left the bitter taste of pity rising at the back of her throat.

“So how was your class?” Sunset asked. She stirred her soup with long, lazy strokes, as if she didn’t intend on eating it at all. “I slept through most of mine.”

They were sitting in the cafeteria at a slightly-secluded table pushed into a corner. Twilight had picked it—after all, she’d spent most of her high school lunches at that very table.

Over five-hundred lunches, and all of them alone.

Of course, Sunset posed her question just as Twilight took a large bite out of her sandwich. “Itch wash—” She chewed, swallowed, and cleared her throat. “It was fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Do you want the details?”

Sunset laughed. “Not really,” she admitted. “If you tried to explain it, I’d probably just go back to sleep.” She lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips, only to lower it with a frown. “Ugh. Still too hot.”

“You weren’t joking about sleeping?” Twilight asked. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. No matter how boring she’d found a course in the past, she’d never been bold enough to take a nap. A lack of boldness, and... one other reason.

“It was just an introduction. I already took this course at my old school, y’know.” She paused. “Well, one month of it.”

Right. Sunset wasn’t just a transfer student. “You were expelled,” Twilight said bluntly.

“Yep.”

“Why?” It can’t have been for academics.

At that, Sunset grinned. She put her spoon back on her tray and pushed it to the side. “You sure you want to know?”

Twilight shrugged. “If you want to tell me.”

“You’re not gonna believe me.”

“Try me.”

Still grinning, Sunset nodded. “Suit yourself.” She reached over to her bag and stuck her hand inside, pausing for dramatic effect. “The reason I got expelled was...”

Another pause. Twilight rolled her eyes and took a bite of her sandwich.

“...this!” Sunset pulled a rectangular object out of her bag with a flourish. She set it on the table with a satisfying thump, and Twilight immediately recognized what it was.

“That’s a book, Sunset.”

The book looked old, like something that might have been found at an antique book store. Its cover was made of worn leather with a red-and-gold sun emblem embossed at the center, and the edges of the pages were uneven and rough. Though it wasn’t overly large, with the amount of pages Twilight estimated it probably weighed more than a textbook.

So in short, yes. It was indeed a book.

“It’s not just a book,” Sunset corrected. “It’s a source of magic.”

Silence. Twilight nearly choked on her sandwich. “You’re joking.”

“Yeah, that’s what the assholes who tried to steal it from me said,” Sunset said, an almost wistful expression flitting across her face. “But I didn’t need magic to put ‘em in their place.”

“You’re joking,” Twilight repeated. She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. “You mean, like stage magic? It’s a book on those sorts of illusions?”

The wistful expression faded into disappointment. “No, I mean real magic.” She picked up her spoon again and exhaled sharply. “I said you weren’t going to believe me.”

“Of course I don’t believe you!” Her voice slightly shrill, Twilight glanced around to make sure no one was listening before continuing, “Do you even hear yourself? Magic is a fictional device used in children’s stories. It’s got no basis in science or mathematics, and for all intents and purposes has been proven to be impossible. How can you possibly believe in something like that without proof?”

To her credit, Sunset waited patiently for Twilight to finish before she responded. “I had proof, once,” she said. “Proof of magic.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “Sure you did.”

“It’s real,” Sunset said, irritation creeping into her tone. “This book is the proof. When I was younger, I would write into it and the book would write back. Look at this.” She flipped to a section closer to the front of the book and spun it around for Twilight to read. “That’s my handwriting”—she pointed to a more childlike version of the handwriting Twilight had seen in math—“and that’s the book’s writing.” This time she pointed to areas on the page covered with ink-black writing so neat it could have passed as typeface. “See?”

There’s a marked difference, sure, but... Squinting a bit to read, Twilight gave the pages a quick skim. “I agree that two different people wrote this, but you don’t have proof it wasn’t just another person.”

“Well, no, but—”

“Can you show me how it works, then?”

“...No. It doesn’t work anymore.”

“And why doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know. It just stopped, okay?”

“So if you don’t know why it stopped working, you don’t know how it worked in the first place,” Twilight mused. “Perhaps it’s some sort of magician’s trick, with pre-printed dialogue that can be made to appear. Similar to invisible ink.”

Sunset groaned in frustration and tossed her spoon to the table with a clatter. “I shouldn’t have brought this up. Look. You asked why I got expelled, right? I’m changing my answer.” She snatched the book out of Twilight’s hands and said sharply, “Some bullies stole something that belonged to me, so I got in a fight and won. They went crying to the teachers and I got kicked out. End of story.”

“I...” Twilight trailed off, ashamed. She’d gotten carried away again. “What you’re trying to say is just unbelievable, isn’t it?”

“I know it is,” Sunset said. She placed the book back on the table and sighed. “It’s just that I know it’s true. I know what I saw. But no one else ever believes me. At this point I probably wouldn’t even mind if someone pretended to, even if they didn’t actually.” She laughed weakly. “But I get it. It’s fine. I honestly don’t know why I tried to tell you about it.”

A familiar feeling crept its way up Twilight’s neck. Familiar, but not one she was used to wearing herself. Pity.

“I’m sorry that no one believes you,” she said quietly.

“It’s okay.” Another weak laugh. “I’m used to it.”

Silence. Twilight suddenly wasn’t in the mood to finish her sandwich. What do I do now? She swallowed hard, and tried to push another uncomfortable thought out of her mind: Have I messed things up for good? But what can I even say to fix this? As she tried to think, Sunset moved to take the book back and put it away. Do something, Sparkle!

“Wait,” Twilight said lamely. When Sunset stopped, she added, “I can’t believe you without proof, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try, okay?”

Sunset paused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that if I see something with my own eyes, I’ll believe it,” Twilight said. She pointed her finger at herself and said, “So if I see something magical and can’t disprove it right away, I’ll definitely want to look into it.” She turned her finger around to point at Sunset and continued, “Then since you’ve seen something magical you want to prove, all you have to do is show me something magical.” She paused. Her outstretched hand wavered. “Um, does that make sense?”

“Not really,” Sunset replied, but she was smiling slightly. Her mood seemed to have brightened a little bit. “But personally, I don’t need to understand something to believe it.” Then, as if she’d just had an idea, she reached into her bag and pulled out a pen. “Here. You try writing in it.”

Twilight blinked. “Me?”

“This thing hasn’t worked for me in years.” She flipped to the most recent page and showed it to Twilight. “See? I wrote that last week and nothing happened. But maybe it’s like a genie, and each person only gets so many attempts, or something. Maybe it’ll work for you instead.”

“Oh, so we believe in genies now?”

“Ha-ha.” Sunset rolled her eyes and handed Twilight the pen. “Just try it yourself. You can disprove my theory and prove to yourself that it doesn’t work at the same time.”

“I... okay. I guess that tracks.” Pen in hand, Twilight stared down at the book. It didn’t seem particularly special. She frowned, and looked across the table to Sunset. “What do I say?”

“Dunno. Whatever you want.”

Twilight wrinkled her nose. That wasn’t much help. I guess it doesn’t really matter, she decided, and put the pen against the page to write.

Hello. My name is Twilight Sparkle.

Nothing happened.

After nearly a minute Sunset let out another sigh, this time much more dejected than before. “So that’s that. It still doesn’t work.”

“That’s that,” Twilight echoed, still staring at the book. It was childish to expect anything else. Foolish, really, to think that anything would—could—write back. Belief without proof was an irresponsible endeavor, after all. And without proof, Twilight Sparkle could not believe in magic.

And that was that.

At least, until the book wrote back.

Friendship is Some Unexplainable Science and Certainly Not Any Form of Magic, Part Two

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It was supposed to be impossible. But there, right before Twilight’s eyes, were words on the page that weren’t there a moment ago—the same tidy, ink-black print she’d seen written in the beginning of the book.

Hello, Twilight Sparkle, the text read. So glad to finally meet you.

That was all Twilight allowed herself to read before she slammed the cover shut. Her mind reeling, she jerked away from the book as if it had burned her and scrambled to her feet. “What the fuck,” she squeaked. “What the fuck was that?!”

Sunset seemed surprised as well, though she was much more composed. “I don’t know,” she answered. “I mean, that’s what used to happen, but I don’t know why it decided to work now.”

“Nothing worked!” Twilight snapped back. “What did you do? How did you set that up?” She grabbed her backpack and clutched it to her chest protectively. “You knew what I was going to write, didn’t you? And you had this prepared ahead of time, to play some sort of twisted prank!”

Then, Twilight realized far too late that she’d started yelling.

The other tables in the cafeteria noticed the commotion, their heads turning toward the once-isolated corner. Slowly, the whispers started up, soft murmurs that grew into a constant and buzzing chatter. I should be nervous, Twilight thought, squeezing her backpack harder in an attempt to shrink behind it. Her face started to burn. Oh. Correction. I AM nervous.

She could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears as she stood frozen, paralyzed under the scathing gaze of the crowd. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t weave her thoughts together—everyone was looking at her, at the freak who’d harassed the new girl over a stupid book, and now they’d all be justified in hating her more than they already did—

—and then Sunset was at her side, one hand on her waist, her body acting as a shield between Twilight and the crowd.

“Come on, Twilight,” she hissed. “Let’s get out of here.”

Before Twilight even processed what was happening Sunset had pulled her past the crowd and out the cafeteria’s entrance, the chatter of the lunchroom fading behind them. She tried to get a grip on her thoughts, but then Sunset let go of her waist and grabbed her hand instead and all Twilight could think about was how too-warm and too-sweaty her fingers felt.

I don’t know what’s happening, she managed to think as they ran. The sides of the empty hallway seemed to stretch higher and higher as they hurried past. It made her dizzy just looking at them, so Twilight scrunched her eyes shut instead and tried to think. I don’t know what’s going on! I wrote in that book, and then what? It had to be planned, right? It couldn’t possibly be—

“—ilight! Come on, look at me.”

Twilight forced her eyes open, only to come face-to-face with Sunset. Her back was pressed up against something solid—the bathroom wall, she realized—and her lungs suddenly felt like they were on fire. They’d stopped running. And I didn’t even notice.

“Are you okay?” Sunset asked, drawing Twilight’s attention back to herself. She squeezed their linked hands gently, and the action sent what felt like a bolt of electricity up Twilight’s arm.

“Am I okay?” she echoed. The floor of the bathroom lurched—or was that her knees wobbling? “I’m fine! Perfectly fine; why wouldn’t I—”

“Twilight.” Sunset’s hand squeezed again, her voice strained with concern. “I think you’re having a panic attack.”

Oh.

She was underwater now, the pulse of her heartbeat louder than the hum of the fluorescent lights, a steady thump-thump that threatened to drown her. “Oh,” she said, taking a shallow, shuddering breath. I’m hyperventilating. I’m not getting enough oxygen. I can’t breathe. I’m going to pass out.

A hand pressed on Twilight’s shoulder, guiding her down the wall until she was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest. “It’s okay,” Sunset said, her voice rising over the deafening thump-thump. “You’re okay. Just focus on your breathing, alright?”

“Okay,” Twilight choked out. She tried to take a deep breath, but her lungs wouldn’t listen. Her chest spasmed as it rejected the air, bile burning at the back of her throat. It’s not working. I can’t breathe!

“I’m right here.” That was Sunset again. “I’m not going anywhere. Just breathe.”

Darkness ate at the edges of Twilight’s vision, creeping over her eyes until all she could see was black. Oxygen deprivation, the scientific part of her brain realized, before all of her thoughts dissolved into panic.

“I can’t,” she gasped.

“You can,” Sunset said firmly. She grabbed Twilight’s other hand in hers. “I’m here, Twilight. I’ve got you. Just try to breathe.”

Okay, Twilight thought, a single fragment of coherence bubbling to the surface. Okay. She focused on the feeling of Sunset’s hands and tried again: a breath in, a pause, a shuddering exhale. Okay. Another breath in, another pause, another exhale. Okay. Okay. Okay.

The darkness receded as Twilight counted out her breaths. It became easier with each one, until she realized she’d started breathing on her own again. The storm calmed and her heartbeat faded out of earshot.

Then all Twilight could hear was an empty, ringing silence.

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispered.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Sunset said, her voice soft. She sat cross-legged in front of Twilight, still holding both of her hands. No trace of judgment or anger was visible anywhere in her expression. Only concern.

“I don’t know why I get like that.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m making you waste your lunch hour on me,” Twilight said, her voice cracking on the last syllable. She tried to pull her hands away, but Sunset grabbed them back.

“It’s not a waste,” she said sternly. She shifted her hands so that her fingers intertwined with Twilight’s. “And you’re not making me do anything. You needed someone to get you out of there, and I was just in the right place at the right time. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

I haven’t?

Sunset was so earnest in her comfort that Twilight didn’t know what to say—she wasn’t used to that. Panic attacks at school were supposed to be spent freaking out alone in the washroom stall. Not with someone who genuinely seemed to care.

“Thank you,” she managed eventually. She squeezed Sunset’s hands back for the first time, then let go. This time Sunset didn’t stop her.

The two sat in silence again. Twilight could tell that Sunset wanted to talk about that, what with the way she kept glancing over at her bag. But I don’t know if I can handle it right now.

Instead, Twilight asked, “What class do you have after this?”

“Physical education,” Sunset replied. “Same as you. Fun, right?”

“Shoot. I forgot about that.” Twilight buried her head in her knees with a groan. “I can’t believe it’s a government requirement.”

“Hey, hey. I’ll be there. And you can always tell the teacher you aren’t feeling well; I’m sure they’ll believe you. Like, no offense, but...” She nudged Twilight’s shoe with the toe of her boot and teased, “You look like you just spent the last half-hour hyperventilating.”

Eyebrows raised, Twilight looked up from her knees. “Funny. How could you tell?”

“Lucky guess?”

Twilight opened her mouth to respond with a sarcastic quip, only for the bell to cut her off. She glanced at the clock above the sink and frowned. 12:55. Lunch is over. She turned back to Sunset and said quickly, “We’ll talk later, okay? I... I promise. Just give me some time. Please.”

“Deal,” Sunset agreed. She pushed herself to her feet and offered Twilight a hand. “Now c’mon. We’ve got a gym class to get through.”

“Well, now I don’t want to get up.”

She took the hand anyway. It felt like Sunset—strong and steady and warm.

“Welcome back to physical education, champs!” Coach Iron Will bellowed. He started to pace up and down on the grass in front of the bleachers, continuing, “Iron Will’s my name, trainin’ students is my game! So who’s ready to have some fun and play some spoooooooorts?!”

Twilight shrank down on the bench as her classmates erupted into cheers. She recognized Rainbow Dash and Applejack up at the front, whooping and hollering like lunatics. I can think of a hundred places I’d rather be than here. At least she had Sunset. Although... Twilight glanced over to her right to see Sunset joining in on the cheers. Ugh. Sports.

Iron Will and three of Twilight’s classmates headed to the gym to grab the equipment, which gave the rest of the class some time to socialize. The weather was pleasant—warm enough to wear gym shorts comfortably—and the soccer field was in pristine condition.

Nice weather isn’t going to be enough to make me enjoy myself, though.

“Don’t make that face,” Sunset said, pulling Twilight from her thoughts. She wore a grin and a gym shirt tied with a hairband that exposed half of her stomach. Twilight was pretty sure it went against the dress code. “Where’s your team spirit?”

“I forgot it at home,” Twilight grouched. She slid further down the bench and crossed her arms.

“But I brought plenty of extra.”

“I don’t need your charity.”

“Boo.” Out of retorts, Sunset stuck her tongue out. “Well, whatever. I can’t force you to have a good time.”

“Oh, that’d be quite an impossible feat,” a voice said from Twilight’s left. “Our dear Twilight here goes as well with ‘sports’ as oil goes with water.”

Surprised, Twilight turned her head to see who’d spoken. A few feet down sat a girl wearing her gym shirt the same way as Sunset, though for some reason it looked far more professional on her. Twilight recognized her from classes she’d had in the past, but couldn’t quite place her name.

“It’s Rarity,” the girl said, seeming to notice Twilight’s hesitation. She smiled and stuck out her hand. “We had English class together last year. I’m glad to finally have the chance to speak with you, you know.”

“Oh,” Twilight said. She shook her hand. “I’m Twilight.” She paused. “You knew that already.”

“Of course! Who doesn’t know you?” Rarity extended both of her hands, her fingers making ‘L’ shapes to frame Twilight’s face in the center. “Principal Celestia’s niece, and quite possibly the smartest student in our year—that’s you, isn’t it?”

Embarrassed, Twilight tried to slouch further in her seat. She was nearly on the floor of the bleachers at that point. “Yeah.”

“You’re her niece?” Sunset asked, surprised. “I thought you said family friend?”

“She is a family friend,” Twilight grumbled. “But she’s close, so she’s an auntie. And my parents call practically everyone ‘auntie’ or ‘uncle’. It’s not a big deal.”

“Hm. Well, if you say so,” Rarity said, a bit of the excitement draining out of her. Then, undeterred, she crossed her legs at the knee and leaned forward. “Now, Twilight, aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“Huh?” Twilight felt herself start to slide off the edge of the bench.

“To your friend, darling.” Her tone was gentle, but slightly exasperated. It was the same sort of tone parents used when explaining things to a particularly dense child. “Pinkie’s up in arms planning her get-together, you know. I’m curious to meet the person who’s gotten her so wound up.”

We’re friends? That was news to Twilight. She opened her mouth to respond, only for Rarity to keep talking.

“Though, I suppose I’m only assuming. I caught a glimpse of the two of you during lunch when I was in the art room—you seemed to be in quite the hurry.”

“You saw us?” Sunset joined in the conversation, leaning behind Twilight to get a more direct line of sight to Rarity.

Rarity nodded. “Only briefly. You ran down the hall at such a frightening pace, I nearly thought something was chasing you!”

“No, nothing like that.” Thankfully, Sunset didn’t go into any further detail. “I’m Sunset Shimmer.”

“Rarity. Charmed.” They were too far away to shake hands without invading Twilight’s personal space, so Rarity settled on a dainty wave. “How are you enjoying your first day at Canterlot High?”

“It’s... been interesting.”

“Oh? In what ways?”

Sunset raised her eyebrows, a mischievous smirk creeping onto her face. “Well, it’s been a lot more magical than I expected.”

Thunk.

Gravity finally pulled Twilight off the bench and onto the floor. Ow! Ass, meet metal, she grumbled internally. Outwardly, she shot Sunset the most withering glare she could muster while sprawled at knee-level.

Thankfully, Iron Will and the other students returned not even a minute later, each of them carrying some sort of soccer-related equipment. The only thing Twilight recognized was the mesh bag filled with checkered balls—she had no idea why they needed pylons, or what the bag of multicoloured cloth was for.

“Alright!” Iron Will shouted. He blew three short bursts on his whistle and yelled, “Now pick up your bootstraps; it’s time to run laps!” Then, when no one moved, he blew the whistle again. “Let’s go!”

Reluctantly the class climbed down from the bleachers and followed Iron Will as he jogged around the field. Twilight found herself at the very back, staring at the heels of Rarity’s sneakers as she struggled to keep up. Sunset had started out beside her, but she’d given up trying to hang back with Twilight and was now nearly half a lap ahead of her.

I think I can taste my lungs. This is the worst!

As Twilight started her second lap, someone slapped her on the shoulder as they ran past—Rainbow Dash, who was leading even Iron Will. Great. Now I’ve been lapped, too.

Not seeing the point any longer, she slowed down to a walk. She really wanted to sit down, but getting a side cramp sounded just as bad as running more. In front of her, Rarity stopped running as well, along with the girl she’d been keeping pace with. They adjusted their pace until suddenly Twilight was walking with them side-by-side.

“Well,” Rarity tried, very out of breath. She wiped the sweat off her brow as elegantly as she could. “I’d say we’ve done quite enough running for today.”

The girl on Rarity’s left ducked her head in agreement. While she wasn’t as out of breath as the other two, Twilight noticed she seemed a little shaky. Parts of her hair had slipped out of her ponytail and were dangling in front of her face. She’s got really long hair, Twilight thought to herself.

“I just don’t know how they do it,” Rarity continued, a little bit of envy in her voice. Twilight followed her gaze across the field to where Rainbow was still going at top speed, Applejack only a few metres behind.

“I’d never be able to run like that,” the other girl sighed. She tried to push some of her hair out of her face without success. “Rainbow used to wait for me in grade school, you know. But I could always tell how much she wanted to run at the front of the pack.” Then, as if just remembering Twilight was there, she added, “Um, you went to our school too, didn’t you, Twilight?”

Twilight nodded. The connection to Rainbow seemed to pull a name out of her memory. Fluttershy. “I remember. She’d always get the most ribbons on track-and-field day.” And rubbed it in everyone else’s faces.

“Except in high jump,” Fluttershy added. She let out a small giggle. “She never quite got enough height for that one.”

“Hey losers! And ‘Shy!” That was Rainbow, zipping up from behind and barrelling past. They’d been lapped again. “Later, losers! And ‘Shy!”

Twilight rolled her eyes and watched Rainbow round the corner of the field. They’d made it back around to the bleachers, she realized, so instead of following she took a right and headed off the field. Cramps be damned, she needed a break.

“Twilight?” Rarity called out after her. “Where are you going?”

“I’m done with this,” she called back. She climbed up the rickety metal stairs and threw herself onto the end of the topmost bench. Oh, sweet relief. My poor legs. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Rarity and Fluttershy had followed her off the field as well.

“But we’ll get in trouble if we just stop, won’t we?” Fluttershy asked.

“Eh.” Twilight didn’t like to play this card much, but... “I’ll just tell Celestia if we do.” Except that I know Iron Will won’t say anything anyways.

“Ooh, how daring! We’d be glad to join you, then.” With a clap of her hands, Rarity strode up the stairs as well and sat down a row in front of Twilight. She then patted the bench beside her expectantly and said, “Come now, Fluttershy. Let me try to fix your hair into something more tidy.”

The bleachers faced directly onto the soccer field, which gave Twilight an excellent view of the rest of her classmates as they ran. She spotted Sunset as she rounded the bend to finish another lap—probably her third or fourth one at that point—and gave her a small wave.

“Quitter,” Sunset called up as she jogged by, a smile on her face.

A few minutes later Iron Will blew his whistle and hollered, “Good hustle! Bring it in!”

The students on the field made their way over to the center, but Twilight made no move to get off of the bleachers. Iron Will stood a good head above everyone, which made it very easy for Twilight to spot the daggers he was glaring in her direction. He looked as if he wanted to shout at her, but for some reason he restrained himself and averted his gaze.

That’s right, Twilight thought, suppressing the urge to gloat. You can’t make me join.

“He really isn’t doing anything,” Rarity said, surprised. She snapped Fluttershy’s hair elastic against her wrist and shot Twilight a suspicious glance. “I wonder why that is?”

“Tenth grade,” Twilight said automatically. Fluttershy’s eyes widened in realization, but Rarity didn’t react.

“What happened in tenth grade?” she asked.

Twilight crossed her arms, a smirk forming on her lips. “He got put on probation that year, right? That’s because of what he did to my class.”

“What he did?”

“He didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer back then,” Twilight explained. “There are things that you can’t expect fifteen-year-olds to do, but he didn’t get that. So during one class, as punishment, we had to run laps the entire period. No breaks, no stopping, no nothing.” She turned to face Rarity and continued, “And you know that kid—I forget his name—who’s got asthma?”

The gravity of the situation finally seemed to dawn on Rarity. She covered her mouth and gasped, “No!”

“Mhm. Turns out when you don’t let the asthmatic kid get his inhaler, there can be some pretty serious consequences.” She stared out at the field and watched as Iron Will started to set up some pylons. “Celestia went on the warpath after that. I almost felt bad for him.”

Fluttershy nodded feverishly. “Oh, I’ll never forget the look on Principal Celestia’s face when she arrived at the field.” She shuddered. “It was terrifying.”

“Yeah. I think she was just really worried, but...” A chill ran down Twilight’s spine as she remembered how her mentor looked that day—calculated, vengeful, and cold as ice. “...Anyways. The kid was fine, at least. I think people mostly remember that day because of the emergency vehicles.”

“Oh.” Rarity blinked, then clapped her hands together. “Oh! Yes, of course. I do recall a commotion early that year, what with the sirens and the horns.”

“Yep. But it was really only the people in my class who knew about Iron Will.”

“Goodness. I mean, I suppose Principal Celestia had her reasons for keeping him around, but...” Rarity trailed off, absentmindedly combing her fingers through Fluttershy’s hair. “Well. I can’t say I’m very fond of him now after hearing about all that.”

“He’s a gym coach,” Twilight said, her voice dry as sand. “No one’s fond of him. Except maybe the jocks.”

The conversation petered out into a comfortable silence. The sun was warm, and it was entertaining enough to watch the rest of the class try and run soccer drills. Twilight also noticed that half the students were wearing blue pinnies over their gym uniform. Ah. That’s what the cloth was for.

She looked over at Rarity, who had started to pull Fluttershy’s hair together into a braid. Her fingers were dextrous, moving with a precision that could only have come with prior practice. Fluttershy sat patiently in front of Rarity, her eyes closed and a small smile on her lips.

They’re pretty good friends, I guess, Twilight thought to herself. She looked back at the field and spotted Sunset’s fiery mane amidst the sea of gym shirts. Is that what friends do, then? Braid each other's hair?

Sunset successfully finished dribbling the ball around the pylons, and threw her hands up with a victorious shout. When she did, another thought bubbled to the surface of Twilight’s mind: Is Sunset my friend?

“There,” Rarity declared, breaking the silence. She looped the elastic around the end of the braid and pulled her hands back. “Oh, it turned out absolutely gorgeous!”

Fluttershy reached behind to feel it, and swept it over her shoulder. The flyaways from earlier had been neatly tucked away, and her face was no longer obscured.

She looked happy, Twilight realized. Like Rarity had done her a favor much greater than just braiding her hair.

“Thanks,” Fluttershy said shyly. She leaned back against Rarity and threw her hands out with a giggle. “I can see, now!”

“And I’m happy to help,” Rarity said. She wrapped her arms around Fluttershy’s stomach and gave her a squeeze. “You have such lovely hair, after all. It’s always a pleasure to have the chance to style it.”

It was such a casual display of affection that Twilight didn’t know what to think. Rarity seemed to be a very touchy-feely person, so maybe that was just her personality, but... was skinship a requirement for being friends as well?

She looked back to the soccer field, partially to gather her thoughts and partially to avert her eyes from the PDA. They’d finished drills and had started a proper game of soccer to finish up the class. Twilight’s eyes were drawn to Sunset again, this time as she jogged up the side of the field to prepare for a pass.

Applejack kicked the ball high into the air, and Sunset jumped up to receive it. It bounced against her chest and dropped to the ground in a controlled manner, where Sunset then maneuvered around the opposing player and kicked the ball away to Rainbow. She started running again, and Twilight found herself staring at the way Sunset’s sleeves had been rolled up to show her shoulders.

Something flip-flopped in Twilight’s stomach, an odd sort of feeling she wasn’t familiar with. She averted her gaze, and the feeling subsided a few seconds later, only to return as she watched Sunset take a shot at the goal.

Huh.

The bell to start the last class of the day rang at 2:30 on the dot. Twilight had barely had enough time to change out of her gym clothes and rush across the building to make it to her next class—English with Mr Magnet.

Thankfully, she’d made it with seconds to spare. Un-thankfully, though, the only remaining seat was right at the front next to a certain someone Twilight dreaded having class with.

“Hey Twilight!” Pinkie Pie chirped.

“Hey,” Twilight sighed. She scanned the room once more just in case she’d missed an open spot—she hadn’t—and sat down next to Pinkie. How on earth will I survive an hour and a half of her?

“Sooooooo.” The word was said in a sing-song way, Pinkie leaning closer to Twilight at the same time. “As head of the social committee, it’s up to me to make sure that new students feel super-duper welcomed, y’know? And I thought to myself, what better way to welcome people than with a party? But the only new student in our year is Sunset Shimmer, which would make things totally awkward if she was singled out in front of everyone—”

Mr Magnet clapped his hands to get their attention. “Good afternoon, class! I hope you’re all ready for a fabulous year together. Now, if we could all just quiet down so I can go over the syllabus...”

Instead of stopping like Twilight hoped she might, Pinkie only lowered her voice to a stage whisper and kept chattering in Twilight’s ear.

“—so I figured I could just have a little get-together at the park with my friends, and then ask her if she wanted to come with. But then I also thought, hey, that Twilight Sparkle seemed to be pals with Sunset already! So maybe Sunset would like to see a familiar face? I guess what I’m trying to say is, are you interested?”

Twilight tried to filter out Pinkie’s rambles from Mr Magnet’s speech. She wasn’t successful. “What?”

“I’m inviting you to hang out after school too, silly.” Confused, Pinkie tilted her head to the side and said, “Hasn’t anyone ever asked you that before?”

“Obviously not,” Twilight replied dryly. It was just Pinkie being Pinkie, but the question still felt like a slap in the face.

“Oh. Well, then this can be your first time!”

Twilight frowned, but considered the proposal for a second. Sure, she survived lunch with Sunset one-on-one, but with a large group of Pinkie’s friends? Maybe there’s a body bag in my locker somewhere.

Pinkie blinked expectantly. “Is being silent Twilight-code for ‘yes’, or ‘maybe’?”

“Sorry, Pinkie,” Twilight said. She tried to sound apologetic and explained, “I, um, have a meeting with Celestia after school. It’s kind of too last-minute to cancel on her.”

“Aw, boo. We could wait for you, though! How long does that take?”

“Um.” Embarrassed, Twilight slid down in her chair and tried, “Two hours?”

“Oh.” The smile melted off of Pinkie’s face and she deflated slightly. “Well, that’s okay. I hope you have a good meeting, at least.” She perked up a bit, and added, “But since you’ll see her, can you tell Principal Celestia I’m reaaaaaally sorry about skipping detention today?”

“What.” Even though it was a question, Twilight said it more as a statement.

“Since I can’t be at the park to welcome Sunset if I’m still at school. Duh.”

“How did you get detention on the first day?”

Pinkie shrugged. “I dunno! But apparently they don’t like it when students borrow the kitchen to make cherry-chocolate cupcakes on lunch break. Who’da thunk it?”

Twilight squinted. Don’t they keep the kitchens locked? Deciding not to question it, she said instead, “I’ll... mention it if it comes up.”

“Thanks!”

“A-hem.” The clearing of a throat startled Twilight, and she jerked her head up to see an unimpressed Mr Magnet standing in front of them. “If you ladies are finished with your conversation, I’d like to start my class now, hm?”

“We’re done!” Pinkie chirped, unfazed. She pulled a pencil out of her hair—or was it behind her ear?—and said, “And we’re doing journaling, right? I love that kinda stuff!”

Mr Magnet raised his eyebrows. He seemed a little impressed. “So you were paying attention after all. How wonderful!” He took a step back and spread his arms wide. “Yes, as Pinkamena said, we shall journal! The prompt is on the board if you need help getting started, but otherwise”—he glanced at the clock—“you have until three o’clock. Now get writing!”

Twilight spared the clock a glance as well. About twenty minutes, then. Her face felt a bit hot from being singled out, but at least Pinkie had salvaged the situation before she had to say anything. To get started she opened her notebook and wrote her name and the date at the top. Then she paused. So what do I write about?

The prompt on the board was no help. She’d already documented what she’d done during summer vacation on her own time, and she wasn’t keen on writing about that again. Of course, she hadn’t written about today’s events yet, but...

A silly idea struck Twilight. She glanced around nervously to make sure no one was watching, shifting her notepad close to her body to hide the paper. When she was sure the coast was clear, she placed the tip of her pencil on the page and took a slow, shaky breath.

Hello. My name is Twilight Sparkle.

Then she set her pencil down and waited.

The words stared back at her almost mockingly. The page stayed exactly the same, which for some reason was both relieving and aggravating at the same time. Feeling stupid, Twilight snatched her eraser and scrubbed out the words with more force than necessary. She was back at square one, then, with only her name, the date and a grey smudge on her otherwise empty paper.

Okay. Let’s try this again.

Eventually, at two minutes to the hour, Twilight had filled out the page. She tapped the end of her pencil on her desk as she went over what she’d written one more time.

Twilight Sparkle
Tuesday, September 5

It’s the first day of my last year of school. My schedule this term is alright: advanced functions, then computer science, then physical education, and then English. I guess phys-ed is my least favourite of them all.

There’s a new student in my class this year. Her name is Sunset Shimmer. She talked to me in the first period and invited me to sit with her at lunch. She seems okay cool nice. We had a good time at lunch together.

That sentence was a lie, but Twilight wasn’t willing to hand in a journal about supposedly-magical books and anxiety attacks.

She’s good at sports too, even if she doesn’t like phys-ed as much as someone like Rainbow Dash. I sat out during soccer today, so I watched the rest of the class play instead. It seemed like she had a good time. She didn’t score any goals but she tried her hardest, which is better than what I did.

I hope that Sunset and I can become friends this year. I’m looking forward to eating lunch with her tomorrow. If she wants to, at least.

Twilight pursed her lips. Most of her journal had ended up being about Sunset, she realized. But that wasn’t too weird, right? It was only natural to want to write about other people.

Probably.

Mr Magnet collected their journals as soon as the clock struck three, and Twilight spent the rest of the class half-listening to his lecture and tuning Pinkie Pie out, just waiting for the day to finally end.

Mentors and Mysteries and the Malice of Dreaming

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Twilight stared at herself in her locker’s mirror and straightened her tie. She flattened her fringe with one hand in an attempt to tame the flyaways, but they simply sprang back up as soon as she let go. Darn it.

The hallway was deserted—a stark contrast to what Twilight had to navigate during the day. Since clubs didn’t start until the club fair next week, there wasn’t any reason for students to stay past the final bell. And while she’d hoped to say goodbye to Sunset before the end of the day, by the time Twilight had managed to make it back to her locker from the English classroom Sunset was already gone. Dragged off by Pinkie, probably, she reassured herself.

Satisfied with her clothes and conceding defeat on her hair, Twilight gathered her belongings into her backpack and closed up her locker. She then started walking down the hall on a route she knew like the back of her hand.

Head down the hall to the front foyer. Take a left into the staff wing, and a right into the main office. Wave at Mrs Mayor. Head straight into the waiting room—make sure to close the door behind you—and hang up your coat and bag on the coat hooks.

Since she didn’t have a coat, Twilight only had her backpack to hang up. The waiting room for the principal’s office was small, with only two chairs against the wall and some space to hang belongings. It had two doors facing each other on opposite walls—the one that led to the main office that Twilight had entered from, and the other that led to the principal’s office.

The principal’s door had no windows or decorations, just a nameplate that read ‘Principal Celestia, MEd, MBA’. It wasn’t any different than other doors around the school, but for some reason Twilight always thought it felt clinical and cold.

Standing in front of that door, Twilight took a deep breath and finished reciting her steps.

Finally, knock twice on Celestia’s door and wait.

She knocked, and waited.

Then the door opened to reveal Celestia, looking completely professional and put-together as she always did. She appeared the same as she had that morning, except without the stress from Sunset wrinkling her brow and a small smile on her face. “Hello Twilight,” she said warmly.

“Hi,” Twilight said, trying not to squeak. The tension from the day seemed to lift off of her shoulders almost instantly. She could see Celestia’s office through the doorway, the same as ever—a plush red rug in front of her stately antique desk, a set of bookshelves along the right wall filled with books in tidy rows, some filing cabinets on the left side with decorative knick-knacks sitting on top of them, and Twilight’s favourite part: two honest-to-goodness suits of armour, one beside each curtain framing the massive window on the back wall.

“How was your first day back at school?” Celestia moved to the side to allow Twilight to enter, and motioned to the second chair beside her desk. “Oh, and feel free to help yourself to one of those if you like.” She pointed to a plate on her desk holding an arrangement of baked goods.

Cherry-chocolate cupcakes, Twilight realized. She opened her mouth to relay Pinkie’s apology, only for Celestia to cut her off.

“Miss Pie stopped by just a few moments ago to drop them off before she skipped out on detention. She mentioned that she’d asked you to apologize on her behalf, but decided to save you the trouble instead.” She winked, and added, “And I do appreciate a good bribe, you know. Especially when it comes to sweets.”

Twilight sighed, relieved. “Oh, thank goodness. I wasn’t sure how you’d react to her, um, just deciding to skip.” She sat down on the chair—her chair, she thought, with a tiny flicker of pride—and scooted up close enough to the desk that she could lean her elbows on it.

“Everyone skips detention at some point, Twilight,” Celestia said, still smiling. She sat down beside Twilight on her desk chair and picked up one of the cupcakes.

“Not me,” Twilight declared. “I’ve never even gotten detention.” She paused, then processed what Celestia had said. “Wait. Even you?”

“Even me,” Celestia confirmed. She peeled the wrapper off of the cupcake and took a small bite. A few crumbs scattered down on her desk as she did. “Whoops.”

Giggling, Twilight picked up her own cupcake and started to recount her day. Celestia was a good listener, nodding along and interjecting comments at appropriate points. She smiled when Twilight mentioned passing notes with Sunset, raised an eyebrow at the ‘cool math games’, and praised Twilight for helping Rainbow and Applejack with their assignments.

And then Twilight got to lunch.

“...So, since Sunset invited me, we sat together. Shining packed me a sandwich, of course,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I tried to tell him I could just buy a hot lunch, but he insisted he pack my lunch for the first day.”

“That sounds like your brother,” Celestia said. She’d finished her cupcake and had turned her full attention to Twilight, leaning back comfortably in her chair.

“Yeah. I waited for Sunset to get her lunch, and then we sat at the table in the corner I normally eat at. And then...” She trailed off. “Um. This is where things get a little weird.”

The smile faded from Celestia’s face. “Weird?”

“Well, I asked Sunset why she got expelled—I kind of figured that out from when she back-talked you during first period—and she started telling me about this book. This, um.” Twilight swallowed hard and said weakly, “This magic book.”

At the word ‘magic’ Celestia’s entire demeanour changed. One moment she was familiar and casual and the mentor that Twilight loved, but the next moment the walls went up and she became impossible to read at all. Her smile was gone, and her body language shifted into something almost threatening.

“What?” Celestia asked darkly. “Magic?”

“It’s not real, obviously,” Twilight tried to clarify. Was it just her, or had the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees? “But she was so insistent! She even went so far to set up this, um, this trick, where when I wrote in the book it somehow made these words appear, and I really don’t know how she managed to do that but—”

Twilight’s ramblings were cut short by Celestia abruptly pushing herself to her feet.

“You wrote in it? What did you write?” She towered over Twilight as she spoke, pinning her to the chair with her icy-cold glare.

“I-I just introduced myself—”

“And what did the trick say?”

“It just said it was nice to meet me. Or um,” Twilight tried to remember the exact wording and corrected, “it said ‘nice to finally meet me’. Which is strange, right?”

Celestia's eyes widened, and she nodded almost imperceptibly, dipping her head only a few millimetres. “Very strange. It’s a very strange trick that Sunset Shimmer set up.” Her face twisted. “Cruel, almost,” she added, though for some reason Twilight felt it wasn’t aimed at her.

“I don’t think she meant to hurt me,” Twilight said quietly. “I... I panicked when that happened. And yelled at her. And then everyone started looking at me, and I had an attack, and...”

Finally, Celestia’s expression started to show some cracks. She took a deep breath and held it, then exhaled in a long, controlled breath. “Were you alright?” she asked. Her tone was gentle once again.

Twilight let out a breath of her own. “Yeah. Sunset helped me. She got me out of the cafeteria and sat with me until I calmed down.” Feeling guilty, she balled her hands into the pleats of her skirt and managed, “She’s really, really nice, Celestia. Please don’t get mad at her. I really wanted— I thought that—”

Hot tears bloomed at the corners of Twilight’s eyes. Oh no. She pulled her glasses off and blinked rapidly to try to clear them up.

“I want to be her friend,” Twilight choked out. The tears were coming now, despite her attempts to hold them back. “She’s the first person to look at me and not see something wrong.”

Wordlessly, Celestia sat back down and passed Twilight the tissue box from her desk. An uncomfortable silence enveloped them, broken only by Twilight’s sniffles and the rustle of tissue.

“I’m sorry you felt that you couldn’t tell me this,” Celestia finally said. “And I’m sorry for how I acted just now. Magic is...” She let out another steady exhale. “Well, it’s a sort of deception best reserved for performances, if that. Trickery and nonsense and delusions. Nothing good can come out of associating with someone who actually believes in it. You know this.”

Twilight blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “I know.”

“But.” At that, Celestia leaned over and pulled Twilight into a tight hug, ignoring her protests about getting snot on their clothes. “I also trust your judgement. And it makes your auntie so happy to know that you’re finally putting yourself out there and making friends.”

“I wouldn’t make it plural yet,” Twilight corrected weakly. She sniffled and wrapped her arms around Celestia to return the hug.

“Perhaps not,” Celestia admitted. “But every journey starts with a single step.”

“Even if I never take another step after that?”

“Even then.”

“And... even if that first step was because of something you hate?”

Silence took over for a brief moment, until Celestia said in a quiet voice, “Even if it’s because of that. You are your own person, Twilight.” She let go of Twilight and pulled back, placing her hands on her shoulders instead. “There’s no manual on how to be a mentor, or an aunt—I’m still learning. And I have to recognize when to give you room to make decisions on your own.”

Twilight nodded. Celestia was a little blurry, what with her lack of glasses and the tears obscuring her vision, but even then Twilight could see the pride on her face.

“How does that saying go, again?” A teasing grin joined the pride as Celestia said, “Something like, ‘take chances, make mistakes, and get messy’?”

Oh my god. Twilight couldn’t stop the snort of laughter that escaped her. “Did you just quote Ms Frizzle at me?”

“With how often you made me put that show on for you, I think it’s my right to, really.”

“I was like, eight!”

“And I’ve sat through each episode probably eighty times,” Celestia joked.

“Ugh.” Touché. Twilight gave her eyes a final wipe before returning her glasses to her face. She felt a little better, though it was always hard for her to relax after facing the other side of Celestia. “Um. So you won’t get mad if I try to make friends with Sunset?”

Celestia shook her head. “I promise that I won’t. Although,” she added, smiling in a sort of pained way, “perhaps you could keep the magic to a minimum.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

“And don’t write anything else in that book.” The ice was back, though not as blatant as before. It hid between Celestia’s words, biting at her consonants and the breaths she took between. “Promise me, Twilight.”

Twilight ducked her head in agreement, a bit of nervousness worming its way into her stomach. “I promise.”

We both made a promise in the end, Twilight realized a bit later as she went over the readings for her English class. She glanced over at Celestia, who was too focused on her paperwork to notice that Twilight had stopped reading.

But... for some reason, I don’t know if these are ones we’ll keep.

While Twilight normally stayed in Celestia’s office until six, Shining Armor texted her at a half-past five to ask if she wanted an early ride.

“He’s got a date with Cadance,” Twilight explained, gathering her things. “And since he’s leaving the barber’s now, he'll pass by the school in a few minutes. I figure it’s easier than making him go out twice, right?”

“Of course.” Celestia put her pen down and rose from her chair to see Twilight off. “Say hello to both of them for me, won’t you?”

“I will.” They exchanged one last quick hug before Twilight waved goodbye and exited the office, making sure to close the door on her way out.

That went... well. She paused, notebook and pencil case still gathered in her arms. I mean, as well as anything involving both ‘Celestia’ and ‘magic’ could have gone.

Her bag was still hanging on the hook where she’d left it. Twilight grabbed it and started to pack her things away. But as she zipped everything up and moved to sling her backpack over her shoulder, a thunderous crash echoed throughout the room that caused her to flinch and drop her bag on top of her foot.

What the hell was that?!

Then, a second thought: Did that come from Celestia’s office? She nudged open the door to the main office with shaking hands to check for anything out of the ordinary, but could only see an unfazed Mrs Mayor typing away on her computer. The noise clearly hadn’t come from there.

Okaaaay. Okay okay okay. Twilight pulled the door closed and took a few big breaths. First things first—check on Celestia.

She tiptoed across the room and raised her hand to knock on the door, only to pause. It was faint, but she could hear someone talking on the other side.

Celestia? Twilight listened to the speech pattern: Celestia would say something, then there would be silence, and she would start talking again. Oh. She’s on the phone. And I probably shouldn’t interrupt her.

Then Twilight remembered the crash she’d heard. She swallowed nervously and wrapped her hand around the doorknob. On the other hand...

Just a peek, she reasoned with herself. I’m not going to eavesdrop. It’s not spying. I’m just making sure she’s okay. Before she lost her nerve, Twilight took a deep breath and pulled the door open an inch.

As soon as she peeped in she identified the source of the crash—one of the suits of armour had toppled over and lay scattered on the ground. Celestia was still in her chair, but she’d spun it around to face out the window which meant she hadn’t noticed Twilight crack open the door.

“Stay out of this,” Celestia barked. Twilight couldn’t see her face, but she knew by the sound of it that Celestia was pissed. “This is your final warning.”

A pause. The person on the other end seemed to say something that upset Celestia, because she suddenly kicked one of the pieces of armour on the floor. It skittered across the floor and into the wall with a metallic clang.

“Upset? Of course I’m upset!” Another pause. “No, don’t you dare.”

Nervous, Twilight tried to back away from the door. This was obviously a conversation she wasn’t meant to hear. But before she could, Celestia kicked another piece of armour and spat, “You think I don’t know the meaning of my own name? Of my niece’s name? How little do you think of me?”

She means me, Twilight realized.

“Fine. Mock me all you want. But know that I will do anything within my power to keep you away from her—even if it costs me everything.”

Celestia turned her chair to the side slightly and Twilight caught sight of the scattered armour’s helmet sitting in her lap. The evening sun from the window reflected off the metal surface and onto Celestia’s desk, patches of light dancing with every subtle movement.

Then Twilight followed one of the gleaming lights to where Celestia’s cellphone sat on her desk charging, and her stomach dropped.

What?

She quickly pushed the door closed and blinked. That’s... what?

Mind racing, Twilight picked up her bag and tried to ignore the wave of nausea that’d just swept through her. Earbuds, she rationalized. She was using wireless earbuds. The phone was face down, so there’s no way for me to know if it was on or not.

Even though she knew Celestia still used wired earbuds with the clunky adapter. Even though she knew Celestia’s phone was charging because it had died not even half an hour earlier. Even though she hadn’t seen any earbuds on Celestia’s desk or on her person at any point that day.

Wireless earbuds, Twilight repeated to herself as she headed to the front of the school. It has to be that, because otherwise...

She didn’t want to entertain the thought. That scenario was supposed to have two constants: that you needed two people to hold a conversation, and that there was only one person in the room. Ergo, a phone had to be involved.

Right?

Shining’s car was idling by the front steps when Twilight exited through the school's main doors. Still a bit uneasy, she pushed what she’d witnessed to the back of her mind and headed down the stairs.

“Hey,” she greeted, getting in the passenger side.

“What’s up, Twily?” Shining waited for her to fasten her seatbelt before taking the car out of park. “First day went okay?”

Twilight glanced over to him, then did a double take. “Uh. Whoa. Better than your hair, at least.”

Shining wrinkled his brow with concern. He kept his eyes on the road as they turned out of the parking lot, but Twilight could tell he was shooting himself glances in the rearview mirror. “Is it that bad?”

“I mean...” She squinted at his hair and tried to find something nice to say. It didn’t look like he’d gotten it cut that short, thankfully, but the top of it was pushed back and flipped to the side in a style that Twilight recognized from some of the boys in her grade. She settled on, “It’s salvageable.”

He groaned. “I knew it. As soon as they pulled out the mousse I started having second thoughts.”

“It’s not as bad as the man-bun though.”

“We don’t talk about that.”

Giggling, Twilight leaned back and turned her head to look out the window. They didn’t live that far from the school, thankfully. Some 80s rock station blared faintly in the background as they drove, Shining tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the music.

Twilight enjoyed the absence of conversation. They didn’t need to fill the silence.

Their car turned into their driveway just as the street lights flickered on, the setting sun tinging the road a warm orange. The maple tree on the lawn was just starting to turn red—a sign that autumn was on its way.

“Mom’s out playing tennis and Dad’s working late,” Shining explained when they got out of the car. “And Cadance is coming over at six-ish. I’m gonna start on dinner—you got a preference?”

“Not really,” Twilight said. She thumbed her code on the keypad to unlock the door and held it open for Shining as she entered.

“Pasta it is, then.”

Twilight snorted. “You know, she’s going to eventually catch on to the fact that the only thing you can cook is pasta.” She held up a finger as Shining tried to protest and added, “Anything you make from frozen doesn’t count.”

“You could help me, you know,” he grumbled.

“But it’s your date.”

“It’s your dinner too.”

“And I know how to use the microwave,” Twilight said, kicking off her shoes and heading up the stairs to her room. She turned back around to give Shining a little wave and teased, “Have fun impressing Cadance.”

He gave her a dainty wave back. “That’s the plan!”

Twilight’s room was at the end of the hall on the second floor. She closed the door after she entered, which helped block out some of the sounds from the kitchen, but she could still hear the clanks of pots and pans through the vents. Oh well.

She dropped her bag by her desk and crossed the room to flop down on her bed. Somehow just being in her room hit like a truck—the day had been exhausting. Sighing, Twilight rolled onto her side and checked her phone. 5:44. Cadance will be here in a bit. She locked the screen and dropped it onto the carpet with a dull thud. Ugh. I just want to go to bed.

Twilight frowned at herself for even thinking that, then reached for her bedside table and grabbed a day planner with a pencil in the coil spine. Flipping onto her back, she thumbed through the pages until she hit an empty one.

Last one was... this morning. She flipped a few pages back. Hm. It’s been a week straight now. But I can’t take a melatonin this early. Not that it helps.

Muffled music started to float up through the vents. Twilight recognized it as Shining’s cooking playlist—calmer, slower songs that he called ‘lo-fi’.

Screw it, she thought. The journal dropped to the floor to join her phone. It’s just a nap. Cadance will wake me up with the doorbell anyway. And I probably won’t even fall asleep.

So Twilight closed her eyes.

Celestia was dead.

She lay face-down, battered and beaten and completely still.

Twilight just stared. She was supposed to feel something for her mentor, wasn’t she? But she felt nothing but loathing. Anger. Disgust. That woman was nothing but a thorn in her side. An obstacle stopping her from fulfilling her destined purpose.

Blood as black as tar oozed from underneath Celestia’s body, seeping around Twilight’s ankles. It pooled higher and higher until Celestia was no longer visible and all that remained was Twilight, knee deep in a metallic and bloody sea.

Then the scene shifted.

The sea was gone, replaced by an empty room of blank white walls. It was startlingly bright, so much so that Twilight almost felt the urge to shield her eyes. Instead, just like every time before, she looked down.

This time Sunset lay sprawled across the floor. She faced away from Twilight, her hair dangling over her shoulders in such a way as to expose her naked back. Twilight felt objects appear in each of her hands—an open book in her left, and a feathered pen in her right—just as Sunset’s body shook with a strangled sob.

A different emotion gripped her as she stared down at Sunset. Pity.

“It could have been me,” Twilight said, in a voice that didn’t feel like her own. “It was always supposed to be me.”

She lowered the pen to the book and wrote.

And as she did, the same words tore open the blank canvas of Sunset’s skin, carving every letter on her back deep enough to make her scream in agony—

—and then Twilight felt herself choking on vomit, and she threw herself out of bed and across the hall just fast enough to empty the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

The music downstairs paused. “You okay, Twily?” Shining called up the stairs, a hint of worry in his voice.

Shivering, Twilight wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m fine!” she lied. “Saw, uh, a spider.”

“Raid’s under the sink,” he said, not pushing it further. The music started back up. Twilight spat out another mouthful of bile and gripped the toilet bowl hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

Fuck. That was a new one.

She tried to think back through her nightmare from the start. Celestia was expected; she was used to that. The blood sea was only a few months old, but it had definitely lost its shock value. The empty room, though, was a toss up. Sometimes Mom and Dad. Sometimes Shining. Her stomach churned. Sometimes Celestia again.

But they’d never been alive. It was always bodies and blood and silence. Never torture.

The sound of Sunset screaming echoed in her ears again, and Twilight dry-heaved. Nothing came up. Fuck fuck fuck.

“It’s the book,” she said out loud. Her voice was croaky and her mouth tasted like acid. “That’s all.” My brain’s just spooked from what happened at lunch and somehow used that in an even worse nightmare than usual. She took a deep breath and pushed herself to her feet. “It’s the book.”

The doorbell rang—Cadance had arrived. Twilight flushed the toilet and washed her hands, forcing herself to take slow, even breaths. It took just a swig of mouthwash and a minute to fill out her dream journal for Twilight to feel her terror fade and her tiredness return. Her head felt foggy, like it was filled with cotton, and her bed was just as tempting as it had been twenty minutes ago.

No. Not yet.

She closed the journal and headed downstairs instead. The nightmares would return later—they always did—but the smell of spaghetti and garlic bread was much more inviting to Twilight’s empty stomach than vivid dreams and vomit.

Fueled By the Sun's Ambition Infernal / A Thousand-Year Prophecy's Destined Repeat

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Twilight fidgeted with her fork, twirling it around aimlessly in her reheated pasta. She could see Sunset at the front of the line paying for her lunch, which meant that in a few minutes she’d be heading over to Twilight, which in turn meant they were going to talk about that.

They’d spoken briefly during functions, where Twilight had managed to ask Sunset if she wanted to eat lunch with her. Sunset had agreed without hesitation—a good sign for friendship, but a horrible reminder of the conversation Twilight had promised the day before.

Me and my big mouth, she grumbled. She stabbed a meatball to see if it helped her feel any less nervous.

It didn’t.

“Man, you must really hate spaghetti,” Sunset said when she arrived. She plunked her tray down on the opposite side of the table and sat down across from Twilight. “What did that poor meatball do to you?”

Embarrassed, Twilight pulled her fork out and set it to the side. “I don’t—” She took a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m just kinda stressed.”

“You need to talk about it?” The teasing lilt vanished from Sunset’s voice, replaced with concern.

“Maybe.” A pause. “Do you want to tell me about Pinkie’s welcome party first?”

“Oh. That.” Sunset wrinkled her nose and let out a nervous sort of laugh. “I mean, it was okay. But it was also kind of a lot, y’know?” She waved her hand around in a circle as if searching for the right way to explain things. “It’s like, she invited a bunch of her friends, but since they already knew each other it got kinda awkward with me there.”

Twilight winced. “I’m sorry it didn’t go that well.”

“Eh, the food was really good though. That Pinkie girl can bake.” Sunset shrugged. “So I dipped out after an hour and went home. Maybe it’ll be easier to hang out with ‘em one-on-one.” Then she brightened and added, “Like with you.”

“Me?” Twilight asked, surprised. Why?

“Do you see anyone else here?”

“No, it’s just...” She trailed off and stared down at her spaghetti. “Are you sure you’re not just here because you feel like you have to help me?”

Sunset made an indignant noise and gave Twilight’s shoes a light kick under the table. “Are you kidding? Twilight, I’m sitting here because I want to be here. Nobody’s making me.” She kicked again. “And why wouldn’t I want to spend my lunch with the smartest, snarkiest, and magical-est person I’ve met here?”

“Most magical,” Twilight corrected. The smile that had started to form on her lips instantly faded. “And please don’t say that. That’s actually part of what’s been bothering me.”

“Oh. Sorry.” The bench of the table squeaked as Sunset pulled her boots back and leaned forward on folded arms. “Again, if you need to talk about it, I’m a pretty good listener.”

“There’s a lot to explain.” And where do I even start? None of the things on Twilight’s mind were that easy to bring up in the first place. After weighing her options, she took a deep breath and decided to start with the most normal one: “Celestia wanted to stop me from hanging out with you because you think your book is magic.”

Sunset blinked. “Ah.”

“So I promised her I wouldn’t write in it again, and she promised to stay out of this, but” —she took a deep breath—“I also promised that we’d talk about what happened, and I know that you want me to try writing again, right?”

“I...” Sunset averted her eyes. “Yeah. I was hoping you would.”

“And part of me really does want to understand how the trick works,” Twilight said, trying to let her down gently. The disappointed expression on Sunset’s face was almost like a knife to the gut. “But I don’t want that at the cost of being your friend.” There it was—the f-word. She’d actually gone and said it.

“But if you don’t believe in magic, who cares if I do?”

Twilight bit her lip. “Celestia. Me, to an extent.”

Sunset frowned. “It doesn’t affect you,” she muttered. “It shouldn’t be a big deal.” Still, she straightened up and forced a weak smile. “But, I get it. I’m not gonna ask you to go behind your aunt’s back for me. I’ll... I can figure out what happened on my own.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I get it.”

They sat in silence for a while, Twilight picking at her spaghetti. She wasn’t very hungry anymore. Across the table Sunset seemed to be doing something similar to her pizza, peeling the pepperoni slices off and stacking them on the corner of her plate.

“Can I tell you something else?” Twilight eventually asked.

Sunset looked up from the remains of her lunch. “Sure.”

“When I met with Celestia yesterday, I overheard something weird.” She stabbed a meatball. “And I saw something that you might consider magical.” Another stab. “I don’t, of course, but—”

“What was it?” Now Sunset was interested, an excited gleam twinkling in her eyes.

“She was talking to someone, and she was really upset about something. But...” It hurt to admit it, but Twilight knew she’d have to face the truth eventually: “There was no one else in the room, and she wasn’t using her phone.”

“Really?!”

“Unfortunately.” All of Twilight’s meatballs were now squashed together on the prongs of her fork. She tossed it back into her container with an irritated huff. “I’m obviously not going to look into it any further, but if you want to, I’m not going to stop you.”

Sunset smiled—a genuine one, not the fake one from before—and leaned across the table to grab Twilight’s hands. “This is great! You don’t have to break your promise to Principal Celestia, and I get the chance to investigate another potential source of magic!” She let out a giddy laugh and gave Twilight’s fingers a squeeze. “You’re the best, Twilight. Just watch; I’ll definitely find proof to show you that magic is real. Promise!”

Twilight tried not to think about how sweaty her hands were and instead forced a nervous smile. “Great.”

Their next class—physical education—was uneventful for Twilight. But by contrast, Sunset had a mischievous streak and a magical mystery she wouldn’t wait to investigate, classes be damned.

(She’d catch Twilight up later, of course, though perhaps with an abridged version that left out some less than flattering moments. A reliable narrator Sunset Shimmer was not.)

And so her brief misadventure went something like this:

It was pouring rain, so Iron Will had to relocate his class to the gymnasium—an old, dingy one that smelled strongly of sweat. It was supposed to be expanded and renovated, but Sunset knew those plans wouldn’t be put in motion until long after she’d graduated. Man. Bureaucracy sucks.

Once everyone had shuffled out of the changerooms, Iron Will blew his whistle and hollered, “Listen up, slackers!” For some reason he seemed louder and angrier than usual, something Sunset thought impossible until then. He jabbed his finger in the direction of two students and ordered, “You, you: captains. Dodgeball. Two teams. Get picking!”

When nobody moved, he blew his whistle again. “NOW!”

“Yikes,” Sunset whispered to Rarity as the two unlucky captains scrambled to the either side of the circle in the centre of the gym. “I wonder what’s gotten into him?”

“I can’t say I have any idea,” Rarity whispered back. She idly examined her nails as they waited to be chosen and added, “Though, I do feel sorry for whoever gets on his bad side today. That’s a disaster just waiting to happen.”

“Oh, geez. Yeah, I don’t see that going well.”

“Indeed. You know what I think?” Turning to Sunset, Rarity cupped her hand around her mouth and hissed, “In his current state, he’d probably send you straight to Principal Celestia just for looking at him funny.”

Really? Something that could almost be considered an idea popped into Sunset’s head. “Just, straight out of class? No warnings, no nothing?”

“Mm, probably not.”

“And for anything?”

Rarity squinted at her. “Darling, what are you suggesting?”

“Oh, y’know, I’m just thinking out loud.” Sunset tried to play off what she’d said with a wave of her hand and a nervous laugh. “It’s nothing, really.” Yet.

The two captains started picking, obviously going after the most athletic students first. Rainbow and Applejack were the first to be chosen and ended up on opposing teams, something they seemed quite happy about.

“Curly Winds.” Right team.

“Valhallen.” Left team.

“Uh, Cloudy Kicks?” Right team.

“Dude with the mohawk; I dunno your name.” Left team.

Sunset crossed her arms and waited. Eventually she was chosen by the right team, and she headed over to stand next to Fluttershy—she’d been picked much earlier on due to Rainbow successfully intimidating her team’s leader.

The crowd thinned out until only Twilight and Rarity were left. Sunset winced internally at the sight. Being chosen last didn’t exactly boost morale. Twilight had her gaze fixed firmly on her sneakers while Rarity continued to examine her nails.

“Um...” Sunset’s leader looked torn, his gaze darting between the two. He looked to Rainbow, who up until that point had been vocal suggesting who to pick next, only to be met with silence. “Rarity,” he eventually said. It sounded almost like an apology.

Rarity opened her mouth to say something, but then decided against it. She headed over, leaving Twilight alone and last.

There’s a tension here, Sunset realized as she watched Twilight automatically shuffle over to the back of the left team. It felt like static electricity building in the air, an almost tangible emotion that no one seemed to want to acknowledge. Pity? She snuck a glance at Rainbow, who was pointedly looking anywhere besides Twilight. And... guilt?

Before Sunset could read into it any further, Iron Will dumped a pile of dodgeballs in the centre circle and blew his whistle. “If a ball collides, you sit on the side!” He pointed to the space outside of the main floor markings along the wall. “Now, start at the back, and on my mark, attack!”

The two teams quickly dispersed to the back wall of their respective sides and got into position, everyone making sure their foot touched the back line. Iron Will raised his whistle again, and Sunset leaned forward in anticipation. Legs, don’t fail me now.

The whistle blew and Sunset shot off like a bullet toward the centre pile. Rainbow got there first and started tossing balls behind to her teammates. Sunset managed to catch one, then immediately ducked as another one whipped through the air where her head had been and smacked against the back wall.

“Whoops!” Applejack lowered her arm. “Sorry, Sunset.”

Sunset chucked her own ball in retaliation, then had to duck again as Applejack caught the rebound and lobbed it back at her head. “Hey!”

“Below the shoulders!” Iron Will barked over the sound of projectiles flying back and forth. He stood with his back pressed to the side wall and his hands on his hips, watching the match like a hawk. A ball bounced off the wall beside him and he yelled, “Watch your aim!”

Sunset’s idea from earlier suddenly resurfaced. She quickly raised her arms and called out, “Dash! Throw me a ball!”

“Kinda busy!” Rainbow yelled. She hurled a ball from each hand at Applejack. Both missed. “Just catch one yourself!”

I could, but... Sunset flinched as another ball narrowly missed her face. “Applejack!” she protested.

“Sorry again!”

Well, I can still work with this. Sunset backpedaled to grab the ball off the ground and gripped it tightly in her right hand. Okay. Here goes nothing!

And then she turned to Iron Will and chucked it as hard as she could at his head.

About five minutes later Sunset found herself waiting outside of the principal’s office. The only sounds she could hear were the muffled clacks of Mrs Mayor’s keyboard from the other room and the rhythmic ticking of the clock.

Sunset sighed and leaned back to tilt her chair on two legs. Well, it worked. And that expression on his face was pretty good too. She tipped back further until the back of her chair hit the wall. So all that’s left is the hard part.

After a few more minutes the door to the principal’s office clicked open and Celestia stepped out. While still standing tall and imposing as usual, she’d oddly tucked her left arm behind her back under her suit jacket instead of through the sleeve. Huh.

“Sunset Shimmer,” Celestia said, her voice a bit strained. “Four on the floor.”

“Sorry.” She let her chair fall back down with a thud and got to her feet.

“Step inside, please. Let’s make this brief.”

Nervous, Sunset followed her into the office, a small shiver rolling down her spine when the door shut. She’d met with Celestia before she’d transferred, of course, but that had been at her old school. This was the first time she’d actually been in Celestia’s office.

The room had an intimidating atmosphere, especially with the suit of armour flanking the left side of the window. Sunset wasn’t sure if the perfectly organized bookshelves made the mood better or worse. Worse, she decided. That’s way too tidy. Still glancing around, she stepped onto the carpet and stood awkwardly in front of the desk, not sure whether she should sit on the smaller chair beside it or not.

Celestia crossed the room and sat down. She did not offer Sunset a seat.

“So.” There was no obvious emotion in Celestia’s voice yet, only controlled neutrality. She shifted the arm behind her back so it rested on her lap, still obscured from Sunset but now by her desk instead of her jacket. “Explain what happened.”

“I hit Coach Iron Will in the face with a dodgeball.” Sunset paused. “Intentionally.”

“Why?”

“So I’d get sent to speak with you.” The barest hint of surprise cracked through Celestia’s expression, so Sunset pressed on. “You can give me detention, suspend me, whatever. I won’t fight it. Just give me the chance to talk.”

Celestia raised her eyebrows and said slowly, “And you didn’t just use my office hours because...?”

“To catch you off guard.” At that, Sunset smirked openly and crossed her arms. Some of the intimidating look was lost without her jacket, but even in her gym uniform it sent a clear message of defiance.

“...I don’t quite know how to respond to that.”

“I talked to Twilight, okay?” Sunset stepped forward until the toes of her gym shoes were touching the desk. “I know you have some sort of problem with magic, and with me.”

“Again, I don’t quite know how to respond to that.” Celestia’s mask remained on, but Sunset could feel a few more cracks splinter through it: the edge to her voice, the slight tightening of her jaw. “And this isn’t the best time for idle chit-chat about imaginary concepts. I have things to attend to right now—a consequence of your chosen communication method.”

She shifted the arm hidden on her lap and Sunset swore she heard the clank of something metal.

“But I’ll grant your request,” Celestia continued. She wrote something on a piece of paper with her exposed arm and slid it across her desk to Sunset. “Detention. Is that satisfactory?”

Sunset stared at the sheet and grit her teeth. She hadn’t expected to get much out of Celestia, sure, but at this point she was just going to end up leaving empty-handed. “Just perfect.”

“Good. Then I suggest you see yourself out, before you make any more decisions you might regret.”

“You seem pretty anxious to get rid of me,” Sunset said, making no move to pick up the detention slip or exit the office. “Do you treat all your students like this?” She watched Celestia’s arm out of the corner of her eye and said, “Do you treat Twilight like this?”

There it was again—the soft scrape of metal-of-metal at the exact same time Celestia moved. Gotcha.

“I have been very patient with you, Sunset Shimmer,” Celestia snapped. She leaned across her desk and jabbed her index finger on the top of the slip. “But it would do you well to remember that my school is the only one in the district willing to give you a chance. And while I understand that your antagonism may come from a place you feel is justified”—she pushed the slip forward again—“I am not obligated to tolerate your harassment any more than I am obligated to keep you enrolled in my school. Is that clear?”

Silence. Sunset took the paper from the desk and gave Celestia a sullen nod. “…Yes.”

“Then I’m glad we could come to an understanding.”

“Sure.” Not wanting to push things any further, Sunset turned on her heel to leave. As she reached the door, though, Celestia cleared her throat.

“And, Sunset?”

She stopped, and turned back around. “What?”

“Thank you for helping Twilight yesterday.” These words were sincere—the first genuine emotion Sunset had felt from Celestia their entire conversation. The contrast was so jarring that Sunset almost couldn’t believe she was still talking to the same person.

“I... yeah. No problem.”

“You’re dismissed then.” Celestia leaned back in her chair, then added, “And do try to keep the detours to a minimum on your way back to class.”

Define minimum, Sunset thought to herself as she left the office, though she knew better than to say it out loud. She closed the door behind her and took a moment to gather her bearings. Hm. There’s around an hour left of class, and then we’ve got that assembly during fourth period to end the day.

The gears of another idea started to turn. So I can either head back to class like a good student with barely any info, or... Sunset tiptoed across the waiting room and pressed her ear to the door. She could still hear Mrs Mayor typing away. Our meeting was pretty quick. She probably won’t even notice if I stay longer, right?

Her mind made up, Sunset shoved the detention slip into the pocket of her gym shorts and scooted back over to stand beside Celestia’s door. It was a long shot she’d be able to hear anything, but being as close as possible was the best chance she was going to get.

And then she waited.

It was agonizing.

Patience was not Sunset’s strongest suit, and boredom was her nemesis. Seconds, then minutes ticked by, each rhythmic click feeling longer than the last. After ten whole minutes with no sound from Celestia, Sunset was nearly ready to throw in the towel and leave.

Then she finally heard something—the faint murmur of Celestia’s voice from the other side of the door. Sunset quickly pressed her ear up to the wall and held her breath.

“...stage... during the assembly... speech...”

Frowning, Sunset tried to make sense of the few words she’d caught. It didn’t sound like anything out of the ordinary. A conference call about the assembly, maybe?

“...so stay out... interfere with... if you...” A hollow clang rang out, much louder and clearer than Celestia’s voice. There was a second of silence, and then Celestia suddenly increased her volume until she was speaking loud enough for Sunset to hear her through the door.

“Fine! We’ll do this the hard way.” Something slid across a surface—a desk drawer?—followed by the clatter of multiple metal objects. “If disassembly won’t dissuade you”—something heavy landed on what Sunset assumed was Celestia’s desk—“then I’ll just have to make sure that you never leave my sight!”

Never mind. Definitely not a conference call. Sunset took another big breath and strained to hear more, begging her heartbeat to stop thumping in her ears. This is big!

The sounds stopped briefly, and Sunset heard Celestia get up from her chair and move to the right of the room, then return back to her desk. When she spoke again her volume was back to normal, only bits and pieces of what she said making it through the door.

“...better if you’re... one place...”

Then Sunset felt a familiar sensation radiate out from the office—an odd, magnetic pull that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It was a feeling she thought she'd never get to experience again prior to her lunch with Twilight the day before.

Magic.

It took a second to sink in.

Oh my god, Celestia can use magic!

Sunset moved without thinking; consequences be damned. She threw open the office door, fully prepared to catch her in the act—

—only to see Celestia sitting at her desk, the pieces of a second suit of armour spread across the top and not a single trace of magic visible anywhere in the room. She froze at the sight of Sunset, as if she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“What are you doing?” Sunset blurted out.

“I—” There was no time for Celestia to pull up her walls, and she practically exuded nervous energy without them. “Repair work,” she managed. “What on earth are you doing?”

Uh-oh. Sunset hadn’t planned that far ahead. “Um.” Come on, brain, think! “I was just, uh, thinking about our conversation and, er, wanted to come back and apologize for my behaviour?”

Celestia squinted. “By... barging into my office?”

“I, uh, was really excited to apologize.” Sunset ducked her head before she talked herself into a worse excuse and lied, “Sorry about earlier. And I guess for barging in, too.”

“Erm. Thank you, I suppose.”

They awkwardly stared at each other for a few seconds, neither knowing what else to say.

“Well.” As much as Sunset wanted to ask Celestia about her arm, she didn’t want to push her luck. Catching someone off guard was one thing, but keeping them there was a whole other problem that Sunset wasn’t willing to attempt. The arm would have to wait. For now.

“Indeed,” Celestia said lamely. She cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter. “Was that all?”

Sunset scanned the room again just in case there was something magical she’d missed—there wasn’t—and made a mental snapshot to process later. “That’s it!” she said, a little too loudly.

And then she closed the door and speed-walked out through the main office as fast as she possibly could.

God, I hope she doesn’t expel me for that.

At least she’d confirmed Twilight’s story; there hadn’t been anyone else there and Celestia hadn’t been on the phone. And of course there was the distinct burst of magical energy that she’d felt outside the door. The entire situation reeked of magic, which was both exhilarating and confusing at the same time. What was she doing, then?

Sunset went over the image of the office in her mind as she headed for the gym. A few things seemed different compared to how they’d been during their first conversation, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

The pieces only clicked after class in the changeroom when she unzipped her bag: there had been a gap in a row on one of Celestia’s bookshelves. And among the scattered armour Sunset swore she remembered seeing the gold-embossed leather spine of a very familiar book.

“What on earth did you do?!” Twilight didn’t even bother trying to keep the panic out of her voice as she whisper-yelled at Sunset. The hall was packed with students and she knew she was on the verge of making a scene again, but in her internal battle between frustration and anxiety, frustration had come out on top. She continued pacing back and forth in front of their lockers and hissed, “Why did you hit Iron Will? What did you say to Celestia? What am I going to do when I see her after school?!”

“Twilight.” Sunset slammed her locker shut and adjusted the strap of her bag. “First of all, breathe.”

“I—!”

She did.

Since Twilight couldn’t talk and breathe at the same time, Sunset finally had her chance to speak. “Look. I saw an opportunity and took it. Was that so wrong of me?” She quickly raised her hand to stop Twilight from interjecting and said, “Maybe so! But it’s already happened. Worrying about it isn’t going to change that.”

Twilight scowled and slammed her own locker door. Everything Sunset said and did just seemed to add to her pile of ‘things-to-freak-out-about’. Sure, she’d removed one item from the pile by surviving another gym class, but at what cost? My sanity, it seems. “And you didn’t just use her office hours?”

“Well how else could I catch her off guard?”

Silence.

Then, unamused, Twilight turned around and started walking away.

“Hey, hey hey hey!” Sunset scrambled to catch up and whined, “C’mon, Twilight. If she had time to prepare then I wouldn’t have been able to catch her in the act. Isn’t that the whole point of an investigation?” They reached the end of the hallway and joined the mob of students funneling into the auditorium, making their way toward a row at the very back.

“Catch who in the act of what?” Twilight asked once they got to their seats, even though she was sure she wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Principal Celestia in the act of using magic,” Sunset finally answered, as if that was a perfectly acceptable and normal sentence a person could say. She looked so pleased with herself that Twilight very nearly wanted to question not just her own sanity, but also Sunset’s.

“Explain,” Twilight said instead. She sat down and thanked her lucky stars that no one else was close enough to overhear whatever Sunset said next.

With an eager nod Sunset plopped down next to Twilight and pulled her bag into her lap. “You remember what happened when you used my book, right?”

“Yes.” Unfortunately.

“And do you remember the feeling you got when the words appeared?”

Twilight frowned and cast her thoughts back to the day before. She remembered a lot of doubt and skepticism and... pity. That too. But when she tried to think past the point she wrote in the book, her memories dissolved into a tangled mess of anxiety. “I... I don’t know. Sorry.”

“No, I...” Sunset trailed off and nudged Twilight’s shoulder with her own. “It’s okay if you don’t. I know a lot happened all at once.” Then she unzipped her bag and pulled out that. “Magic just feels magical, and I don’t know how else to explain it. But whenever this wrote back to me I felt something I’ve never felt anywhere else.”

“...Uh-huh.”

“I know you don’t believe me yet.” Sunset smiled again, that pained, defeated grin that Twilight hated. “You need your proof. Which is why now that I’ve found something for you to compare it with—”

“You’re accusing Celestia of using magic,” Twilight interrupted. She felt frustration, irritation, anger bubble up in her voice with each word. “Something that one, isn’t even real, and two, she hates more than anything else!”

Sunset furrowed her brow, confusion painted across her face. “Yeah, you told me. But haven’t you ever wondered why? Isn’t that just as weird as believing in it?”

“No! It’s—” Twilight stopped herself and took a deep breath to try and dispel the edge in her voice. It didn’t work very well. “She hates deception and tricks. Dishonourable things. That’s a completely normal stance for someone to have.”

“But she freaks out specifically with magic? And not, I don’t know, crimes or something?” Sunset was pressing hard now, asking questions that Twilight didn’t want to admit she couldn’t answer. The frustration that had been building since gym class, since her nightmare, since that goddamn book suddenly turned into a pressure she couldn’t bear.

Something had to give.

“Why does it matter?” The words spilled out before Twilight could stop herself. “I know she has her reasons, and even if I don’t know exactly why yet, I trust her! So why should I listen to you and your fictional obsession over someone who’s practically family to me?”

And as soon as those words left her mouth, Twilight regretted ever saying them.

Sunset just stared at her for a moment, frozen in place. If time ever stood still it was that moment—Twilight’s words still hanging in the air as that horrible fake smile of Sunset’s withered and died.

Then, her expression hardened. She shoved her book back into her bag and stood up in a single, stilted motion. “Okay,” Sunset said simply. “I get it.”

“Wait, I didn’t—”

“I get it,” she repeated, and Twilight felt a guilt as sharp as knives stab deep into her gut. “It’s like you said before: I’m just wasting my time.”

“You’re not,” Twilight managed to say, before the guilt spread up to her throat like a stranglehold and choked out any other words she might have said. You’re not.

Instead of responding Sunset just turned and walked away—out the end of the row, down the aisle, and across the space in front of the stage to the middle of the furthest, frontmost row. When she sat down all Twilight could see was the back of her head, and then when a group of boys took their seats one row back Twilight couldn’t see Sunset at all.

For a second all she could do was stare.

Then it sank in: I think I fucked up.

Twilight pushed her glasses up to press her palms to her eyes and took a slow, shuddering breath. But I can still fix this. I just... I just have to apologize, right?

But it would have to be more than that, she realized. More than giving Sunset false hope that she’d ever manage to convince her about magic, more than a half-hearted offer to inspect some magical proof, more than dismissing genuine belief because she didn’t believe in it herself.

Sunset deserved a friend who actually believed in her. And for Twilight, that would mean not just an apology, but to go against everything Celestia had ever taught.

Her mentor’s voice echoed in her head, a memory from years and years ago: To give belief a chance is the very same as believing, Twilight. You must never allow yourself to take that risk.

Twilight swallowed hard and stared further into the blackness through her palms. But if I can’t take a risk, then...

Her guilt coiled around her throat again. Then I can’t fix this. And this was it.

The lights dimmed and the doors to the auditorium closed. And as the spotlights turned on and Celestia stepped onto the stage, Twilight Sparkle wished for the first time in her life that she could believe in magic.

The Arcane-Faith Star Shall Aid Its Escape / And Bring About Nighttime Eternal

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Assemblies were simple, boring ordeals. Twilight had sat through the welcome assembly three times already and didn’t see why her final one would be any different.

Each year followed the exact same template: Celestia gave a speech, then let the student council give their introductions, and then she invited students to stay behind and ask questions after the assembly. The speech was the same every time, the council members offered cheesy introductions that always fell flat, and Twilight had yet to see another student besides herself stay behind to ask anything.

But that was just what assemblies were: simple, boring, and predictable.

Until they weren’t.

The first thing Twilight noticed when Celestia stepped up to the microphone was her jacket. Her left sleeve—Twilight’s right—hung empty over her shoulder, the corresponding arm tucked away underneath and behind her back.

The second thing Twilight noticed was her face. There wasn’t a delicate way to phrase it: Celestia looked awful. Her skin was sickly pale and ashy, and Twilight had never seen bags under her mentor’s eyes before. Celestia was supposed to look perfect and capable and predictable. Not like this.

The third and final thing Twilight noticed was the blood.

It wasn’t obvious, and she was sure that even students in the front row would miss it if they weren’t looking for it. But to Twilight it stuck out like a sore thumb—a single, crimson smear at the corner of Celestia’s mouth. Impossibly faint, yet incredibly obvious since she doesn’t wear that shade of lipstick, she never liked red, why else would there be—

Celestia tapped the microphone and pulled her lips into a tight smile, stretching the red smudge along with it. “Good afternoon, students.” Her voice was clear and steady, but Twilight’s stomach sank at the controlled coldness in her tone, a desperate worry clawing at her insides.

The auditorium quieted, and all eyes turned to their principal.

“It is my distinct pleasure to welcome you all to Canterlot High School. I am honoured to once again have the opportunity to open our start-of-year assembly.” She glanced around the room and continued, “Each school year has its challenges, as many of my returning students may have already noticed I’m already facing”—she gestured to herself teasingly, which elicited a round of laughter from the crowd—“but I am confident that all of you have the potential to overcome obstacles and succeed here at CHS.”

That last bit wasn’t part of her usual speech, Twilight noted. It was played off as a joke, but she knew Celestia well enough to realize why she’d drawn attention to her appearance.

She couldn’t find a way to hide it, so she didn’t have a choice.

Because Celestia was perfect and capable and predictable. Assemblies were simple and boring and predictable. If she wasn’t, and if they weren’t, then what was Twilight supposed to do?

And how on earth could she help fix it if she didn’t know what was wrong?

Celestia carried on with her usual script, and for a while Twilight managed to convince herself that things were fine. The worry in her stomach settled slightly as she clung to every word of the speech and watched the little red smear bob up and down as Celestia spoke.

She was so focused on the blood that she nearly missed when Celestia stopped.

Twilight didn’t know what part of the speech Celestia was on, only that the auditorium was void of her voice. The sudden silence blanketed the room, and an awful pressure joined the gnawing anxiety in her gut.

Celestia took a step back from the mic. “Terribly sorry,” she said, her voice now laboured and strained. The audience started to murmur in confusion. “If you will allow me a moment to gather my thoughts—”

And that was all she said before the lights went out.

They weren’t stranded in absolute darkness—it was the middle of the afternoon, and the windows on the side wall didn’t have their curtains drawn—so Twilight and the rest of the crowd could still make out what was happening on the stage.

It was a terribly odd sight to behold.

Celestia’s entire body shuddered, and the arm she’d hidden behind her back suddenly jerked to the side and extended straight out. She winced as she did—the motion seemed involuntary and didn’t match the rest of her body—and Twilight’s ears registered a metallic scrape when her arm moved.

Then she noticed the gauntlet. It covered Celestia’s arm from fingers to elbow in a silvery metal that Twilight instantly recognized. The armour from her office. But why on earth was Celestia wearing it?

“Students!” Celestia commanded the crowd’s attention once again, though this time with incredible urgency. “You must leave now!” Another shudder wracked her body, and when no one moved to leave she grabbed the microphone stand and slammed it into the stage floor with a bang. “LEAVE!”

That finally did it. Students bolted from their seats toward the doors, their nervous murmurs twisting into shouts and screams. Twilight tried to follow the panicked mob but only managed to make it out of her seat and into the aisle before her knees buckled and sent her tumbling to the floor.

Shit shit shit!

Celestia needed help, but how could she do anything when her body was gripped by a paralyzing fear that sucked the very breath from her lungs? Celestia told her to leave, but how could she when her legs wouldn’t work and her eyes wouldn’t see and her ears heard nothing but the pounding of her heart and—

“Twilight!”

And then there was Sunset, grabbing at her arms and dragging her to her feet. Twilight crashed back to reality the same instant a burning pain erupted in her chest.

She took a breath before Sunset even had to remind her. “What’s happening?!” Another gasp. “What are you doing here?!” And what about what happened earlier?

“You needed help,” Sunset said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She grabbed Twilight’s hand and started to pull her toward the exit. “I’m just in the right place at the right time.”

But you would have to go out of your way to pass me, Twilight wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. “Celestia,” she choked out instead. “I have to help her!”

“Not like this, you won’t.” Sunset kept pulling her away from the stage, so Twilight tore her hand out of Sunset’s and stumbled a few steps back.

“But—”

“Twilight, listen.” A sort of desperation leaked into Sunset’s voice as she blurted out, “It’s magic. This whole thing just screams magic. And if you can’t pull yourself together then you’re just going to put yourself in danger!”

“But I don’t believe in magic,” Twilight argued. “Celestia doesn’t believe in it!”

“It doesn’t matter if you believe in it or not. It’s still happening.”

On stage, Celestia’s gauntlet lit up with an unnatural golden glow. The hair on the back of Twilight’s neck stood on end as a strange sensation swept through her like a wave of electricity. Beside her, Sunset grit her teeth.

“That’s what magic feels like,” she said. “But whatever she’s doing—”

The golden glow sputtered, then suddenly winked out. Twilight could only watch in horror as Celestia spat out a mouthful of blood and staggered backward, sweat dripping from her brow. “Leave,” she repeated weakly to the nearly-empty room.

Then the doors to the auditorium slammed shut on their own, and something exploded out of the gauntlet with a horrific metallic screech.

Twilight didn’t know what she was looking at; couldn’t process it—objectively, it was a dark-coloured smoke-like substance, but logically it made no sense at all. The thing unfurled itself above the stage until it resembled some sort of horrifying balloon, a shadowy tendril extending from the hovering mass back down to Celestia’s arm.

Her panic surged again, but Twilight forced herself to take a deep breath and squashed the panic back down into her internal problem pile. Sunset was right—she had to keep it together if she wanted to help. And the only way she knew how to was with feelings locked away in compartments she refused to ever process.

So in went fear, in went logic, in went the guilt that threatened to strangle her. She buried them down as far as they’d go and instead tried to focus on the only thing that mattered: helping Celestia.

That was the number one problem in the pile. Everything else could wait.

“Okay,” Twilight said, partly to Sunset but mostly to herself. She took another breath, slower than before, and gave her face a few stinging claps to ground herself. “Okay. Okay, okay, okay. I can do this. I’m going to do this.”

But instead of agreeing with her, Sunset narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “No, you’re not.” She grabbed Twilight’s arm again and spun her around to face the doors of the auditorium. “You are finding a way out of here while I deal with the principal.”

“But I can help!”

“How?” Sunset’s nails dug into the skin of Twilight’s wrist enough to make her wince. “By not believing in it?”

Oh.

Sunset’s expression softened a bit. “I’m not mad at you,” she said gently. “I’m hurt, but I’m not mad.”

“I’m sorry,” Twilight whispered, the same time as the shadow on stage screeched again.

“We can talk after, okay?” Sunset shifted her grip from Twilight’s wrist to her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Just stay safe and let me handle—”

“Oh my god,” a voice interrupted, and Twilight’s stomach dropped. “Stop fucking flirting and help us get the hell outa here!”

No. No no no.

Rainbow threw herself against the doors again, a combination of indignation and panic painted across her face. “Come on!”

It was only then that Twilight realized not everyone had made it out.

There was Rainbow, crashing desperately into the main doors; there was Applejack, banging on the windows; there was Rarity kicking the side door, Fluttershy tugging on its handle, and Pinkie trying to unscrew the hinges with her bare hands.

Five other prisoners in the auditorium. Five people that Twilight so desperately wanted to avoid.

“Why didn’t you leave?!” Sunset yelled, and to her credit Rainbow had the decency to look embarrassed.

“I— I dunno, it looked kinda cool—”

“And the rest of you?”

The other girls halted their escape attempts and turned to face Sunset, each wearing a vastly different expression.

“I just stuck with Rainbow—”

“Well, excuse me for having the decency to check on my friends—”

“I was trying to avoid the crowd—”

“I forgot my bag!”

“Be quiet!” Celestia thundered. Her gauntlet lit up again with the golden glow as she yanked backward, pulling the shadow connected to it down a few feet. “It is taking all my concentration just to keep this monster bound—”

And then her gaze landed on Twilight.

In that moment, everything Twilight understood about fear paled in comparison to the terror she saw in Celestia. Something broke behind her eyes when she met Twilight’s, and the gauntlet’s light instantly sputtered out.

A cackling laugh tore through the air as the shadow ballooned outward, twisting and folding in on itself to form a sphere as black as pitch. As it grew, the tendril attached to Celestia’s gauntlet thrashed around and dragged her off the stage into the ground with a mighty crash.

“Celestia!”

Twilight started to run toward the impact just as Celestia screamed, “STAY AWAY!”

She froze in her tracks, and Sunset grabbed her arm to pull her back again. “You’re hurt!” Twilight protested. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I want to help—”

“Sunset Shimmer,” Celestia interrupted, ignoring Twilight completely. She pushed herself up on her elbows and coughed, more blood splattering onto the tile floor. “How much do you know of magic?”

“However much you’re willing to tell me,” Sunset fired back. She swung her bag around and pulled out her book and a pen. “So unless you think writing to a magical book is going to do anything, you better tell us how to help you and tell us fast!”

The hovering sphere pulsated with a rumble that shook the floor. Cursing under her breath, Celestia gave the tether between her and the shadow one last feeble tug before relenting. “Alright. This… is Nightmare.”

The shadow screeched again at the mention of its name and tried to pull itself free from Celestia’s grasp. She grunted, and the golden light returned long enough for her to drag the sphere a few feet back down toward herself.

“I’ve been keeping it sealed for nearly a decade—”

Ha! You, keep me sealed?

Nightmare didn’t speak—it echoed in the back of everyone’s head, deafeningly loud and impossible to block out. At the sound of its voice a terrible pressure surged in Twilight’s chest and she stumbled back against the wall for support, her vision ringed with black.

Don’t make me laugh.

“It talks!” Pinkie gasped, and Rarity quickly slapped a hand over her mouth to stop her from saying more.

“Unfortunately,” Celestia spat. She pushed herself to her feet to glare pointedly at Nightmare’s hovering form. “And it speaks nothing but lies.”

You flatter me, Nightmare purred. It floated down until it was nearly eye-level with Celestia. But all lies are born from fragile truths. There is no deception but your own.

The pressure built up to a near-painful level, and Twilight couldn’t tell if it was the effect of Nightmare or her own anxiety. Everything started to blur together—sounds and sight and touch all fused into one overwhelming fog.

Help, she tried to scream, but no sound came out.

You deluded yourself into thinking that you could stand against me. Only Nightmare’s voice cut through the haze, echoing in Twilight’s mind like a curse. It’s adorable that you think so highly of yourself!

Something crashed into the ground, followed by a chorus of screams.

But I am NIGHTMARE!

Another crash.

And no one can stop the inevitable!

There was a final, devastating impact that shook the entire room. And for a moment Twilight felt nothing but silence.

Then someone shouted, and the pressure suddenly vanished from Twilight’s chest. Her senses came back one by one until her vision finally focused and the terrible scene before her came into view.

Celestia lay crumpled in the centre aisle, the shadowy tether pulled taut between her and Nightmare. And standing with her back to Twilight was Sunset, her book held high above her head.

“I said,” Sunset repeated, “Shut up!”

“Don’t,” Celestia protested weakly. A stream of blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth. “Just save... Twilight...”

Do you mock me, girl? Nightmare spoke again, its teasing lilt replaced with cold fury. Who are you to defy my will?

“I’m the fucking chosen one,” Sunset spat back, her fingers white-knuckled on the spine of her book. “And I’m the one who’s gonna take you down.”

Silence. The sphere stilled, its shifting shadows slowing to a stop. You? Stop me?

And then Nightmare laughed.

It laughed high and cold and mocking, its form writhing around itself in mirth. As its laughter died the sphere morphed into a new form: a faceless and shadowy humanoid bound to Celestia at its ankle.

And who told you that? it asked.

Sunset’s arm wavered. “My book—” she tried to say, but Nightmare cut her off with a cackle.

The hero of a prophecy from a magical book! Isn’t that convenient? Another round of laughter wracked its new body. Then it suddenly convulsed, and in the blink of an eye appeared directly in front of Sunset with its tether stretched as far as it could reach.

“What the—”

I’m a liar, Sunset Shimmer, Nightmare said, and thrust one shadowy hand into the book with an electric crack. And the only prophecy you fulfill is me.

And then the tether exploded.

Celestia tumbled into the side of the stage across the room with a crash, while at the same time Sunset flew backward like a ragdoll, slamming into the wall beside Twilight and collapsing to the floor. Her book landed a second later, face-down with its pages splayed and smoking.

They both didn’t get up.

Shit!

Twilight darted over to Sunset as another shockwave rippled through the air. Every window in the room shattered simultaneously, and Applejack just managed to dive out of the way as the curtain rods above detached and tumbled down. Then the walls trembled, and everyone barely had time to scramble away as a barrier of purple flame erupted upward and encircled the entire room, cutting off all methods of escape.

“What the hell did you do?!” Rainbow screamed, her voice cracking. “That just made it stronger!”

Sunset coughed and shook her head to clear it, one arm looped over Twilight’s shoulder for support. “I don’t know,” she croaked. “I thought—”

“Well, think a little harder next time! Oh, wait!” Rainbow jabbed a finger toward the flames blocking them in and yelled, “There is no next time! We’re all gonna fucking die!”

Above their heads Nightmare giggled and clapped its hands together. Even without a face Twilight knew that it was smiling. I must thank you, ‘chosen one’. You fulfilled your purpose better than I thought. It twisted around so it hung upside down and gloated, Almost too easy, don’t you think?

Before anyone could react it vanished in a puff of flames and reappeared over Celestia’s body with a pop. She tried to push herself to her feet only for Nightmare to shove one shadowy leg down on her back and slam her into the floor.

I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time, Celestia, it hissed, thrusting its arm down to grab Celestia by the neck. It’s taken me far too long to gather my power—all due to your accursed meddling in that which you cannot understand. But now, it said, its grip tightening with each word, I’m whole again. Except for one last piece.

Celestia sputtered and tried to remove Nightmare’s claws from her throat. “Don’t you dare,” she begged.

Hm, Nightmare said, unamused. I dare.

And then the pressure from earlier slammed back into Twilight, knocking all the air from her lungs and thoughts from her head. Sunset cried out beside her, but the words didn’t register—there was only pressure and pain and icy numbness centered in her chest.

This is what dying feels like, Twilight realized, dimly aware that her feet had somehow left the ground. Through hazy eyes she saw Nightmare turn to face her from across the room, one of its clawed hands stretched toward her heart.

I’m going to die.

Something inside her tugged, and Twilight felt as though she’d been lit on fire. She was freezing and drowning and burning up and breathless, unable to even scream. Everything turned to shadow as Nightmare ripped apart her very soul. And then—

And then—

And—

Light burst through the darkness, blinding and real. Whatever Nightmare had drawn out of Twilight snapped back into her as Sunset swung a curtain rod through its body with all her might.

“Catch her!”

Nightmare’s magic evaporated and Twilight dropped like a stone. Before she even registered falling she landed in a tangle of arms—caught just before her head smacked against the ground.

“Holy shit,” Rainbow breathed, her arms wrapped under Twilight’s back. Pinkie and Fluttershy mirrored her position on Twilight’s other side while Applejack and Rarity supported her hips. They quickly lowered her to the ground so she could stagger to her feet.

What the hell was that?! Twilight managed to think, just barely able to string her scattered thoughts together. Her voice was trapped behind the familiar pressure at the back of her throat, the ever-clinging curse of anxiety a noose around her neck. Shivering, she pressed one trembling hand to her chest where Nightmare had struck her but felt nothing but her heart pounding beneath her skin.

Why? she wondered. Why did it go for me?

Well! Even cut clean in half, Nightmare still remained. The two shadows twisted back together to reform into a single figure of smoke. I almost felt that.

Sunset swiped at it with her makeshift weapon again, the rod passing through harmlessly each time. “Fuck you,” she growled.

As she raised the rod over her head for a final swing it suddenly lit up with a golden light. Nightmare’s form stiffened in surprise just before Sunset slammed the rod down on its head and set it crashing to the ground.

“Bet you felt that!”

Instead of speaking, Nightmare responded with a monstrous roar. Its form exploded into smoke again and shifted back into a sphere, hovering barely an inch off the ground and struggling to keep itself together.

Celestia, it hissed. Ever a thorn in my side.

Across the room Celestia lowered her gauntlet and coughed. She stood tall and confident despite her tattered suit and injured body, her eyes burning with a fire so unlike the icy glares Twilight was used to. “Good work, Sunset,” she said, and the magic around both her gauntlet and the curtain rod vanished again. She then beckoned to the side door barely visible behind the flaming barrier and said, “Quickly now!”

Twilight and the other girls—except for Sunset, who remained beside Nightmare poised to strike—scrambled alongside the back wall of the auditorium toward Celestia. Each time Nightmare tried to rise back into the air Celestia powered her gauntlet and Sunset struck it back down with her magic-veiled curtain rod, preventing it from shifting back to its humanoid form.

“Twilight!” As soon as they reached the barrier Twilight found herself pulled into a bone-crushing hug. “Are you hurt?” Celestia asked. She pulled away to frantically grab the sides of Twilight’s face, examining her for injuries.

“I don’t think so,” Twilight managed to say. “Are you?”

Celestia shrugged off the concern and pulled Twilight back into an embrace. “Not badly,” she said. “But this isn’t about me. I need to get you and the others out of here.”

“Celestia—”

“Twilight, I can explain later. I promise. I’m so sorry for having to keep this from you—”

“I just don’t understand!” Frustrated, Twilight untangled herself from Celestia and stepped back a few paces. “This goes against everything you’ve ever taught me. Everything I believe!”

“Not the time!” Sunset yelled. She shook the curtain rod pointedly, and Celestia quickly raised her arm again to empower it just in time to strike Nightmare back down.

“A-and that! How are you doing that?!”

“Really not the time!” Rarity screeched. She threw out her hand toward the flaming wall and fixed Celestia with a panicked, slightly-manic glare. “Can’t your glowing whatever-it-is do anything about that?!”

A hollow clang rang out through the auditorium as Sunset whiffed her next swing, the rod slamming into the side of a row of seating—Nightmare had split itself in half to dodge her attack.

I grow tired of these games, Celestia, it said, a disgusted edge to its tone. The two smokey halves swept past Sunset and high into the air, whirling together to form the humanoid shadow once more.

Celestia coughed again. She sounded worse than before and looked the part—disheveled clothes and tangled hair shattered her illusion of strength. “And as I said before,” she rasped, wiping the blood from her mouth on the back of her once-white sleeve. “I will do everything in my power to stop you.”

Hm. How interesting. Nightmare raised its hands in mock surrender. Then I’m curious to see the extent of your resolve!

It then tilted its head to the side and smiled, tearing a crescent moon out of the shadows that formed its face.

I hope Twilight thinks her life is worth it.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. Twilight froze in place, Nightmare’s words still echoing in her mind, and slowly turned her head to Celestia. “My life?”

“I’m sorry,” Celestia whispered. She raised her hand again.

“What does that mean?”

Silence. The golden glow of the gauntlet flickered in time with Celestia’s shaking arm.

Twilight took another step back, her heart dropping to the pit of her stomach. She knew without turning around that the other girls all had their eyes on her—where else were they supposed to look but Twilight, someone so pitied and useless and weak?

It’s not worth yours, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come.

Nightmare revelled in her horror, a menacing cackle spilling out of its new mouth and ringing in the back of all their heads. Can’t bear to face the truth, girl? That your beloved mentor would die for her cause? That she’d take her secrets to the grave instead of trusting you with them?

“Stop,” Celestia ordered, her voice wavering.

Let me tell you a story.

“Please.”

The story of the woman who thought she could outsmart a monster of the arcane.

The way Nightmare spoke was mesmerizing; Twilight couldn’t find the strength to look away. Figures of smoke shifted within its body as it spun its tale, featureless and familiar all at once.

The woman who believed if she interfered with a prophecy, her dear protege’s life might be spared.

There was that word again: prophecy. It sounded ridiculous to Twilight, but then again so did hovering shadow creatures and magical gauntlets—at that point suspension of disbelief was crucial to keeping her sanity in one piece.

“What was the prophecy?” she asked, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Nightmare smiled wider. There is meaning in a name, Twilight. A meaning that my kind is bound to heed. It extended one spindly claw toward Twilight and continued, You know the meaning of yours, don’t you?

“Evening star,” Twilight answered automatically.

And hers? The claw drifted over to Celestia.

“Divine sun.” She clenched her fists, nails digging into the base of her palms. “Just get to the point.”

Hm. Nightmare didn’t falter, its hand still stretched toward Celestia. What do you think that woman assumed, it said lazily, tracing its claw in the air around her trembling stance, when I told her my next appearance required a star?

“Don’t listen to it, Twilight,” Celestia hissed. She clenched her fist with a metallic clank, the motion sending a ripple of strain through her whole body as she reignited the magic in her glove and Sunset’s curtain rod. “So long as I still stand, no harm shall come to you nor any of my students.”

She spoke with a false bravado that Twilight nearly believed, keeping Nightmare’s attention while Sunset crept up behind it with the glowing rod clutched tightly in her grip.

That a star who believed in the arcane would be the one to inherit my destiny... When Celestia learned how fate would orchestrate my revenge, what choice did she have? It spread its arms wide as Sunset inched closer, nearly within reach. She thought that the only way to protect her beloved niece from my return was to prevent magic itself—and she actually succeeded! I cannot yet sway her star!

Sunset raised her weapon to the tune of Nightmare’s cackle, and for a single, fleeting moment Twilight thought that they had won.

But there is meaning in a name, Celestia.

Nightmare split itself apart before Sunset struck, the rod whiffing through smoke and cracking harmlessly against tile. She yelped at the unexpected impact and lost her grip, and the makeshift weapon skittered away along the floor and out of reach.

It knew all along, Twilight realized exactly as Nightmare reappeared behind Sunset, rising out of its own shadows with a wide and wicked grin. It was just toying with us!

And suns are just stars that burn too bright.

And before anyone could react it stabbed its arm through Sunset’s back and out her chest, directly through her heart.

The Trial of Integrity and the Weight of Regret

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It all happened so quickly.

The flame barriers around the room immediately snapped back toward Nightmare with an electric crack. Paralyzed with fear, Twilight could only watch in horror as Nightmare dissolved into shadows and funneled into the wound in Sunset’s chest.

Then a hand grabbed Twilight’s shoulder and spun her toward the exit.

“Go!” Celestia ordered, her face twisted with anxiety.

“But Sunset—”

“Listen to me!” The urgency in Celestia’s voice killed Twilight’s protests in the back of her throat. “There’s a book on the desk in my office. I need you to go find it and bring it back here while I deal with her.”

A terrible laugh echoed through the air, a twisted combination of Sunset’s voice with Nightmare’s that sent a shiver down Twilight’s spine. “Please don’t hurt her,” Twilight begged, unable to stomach looking at the shadowy figure in the corner of her eye she knew was no longer Sunset.

“Just be quick,” Celestia said instead.

“And please don’t die.”

And then Twilight ran. Away from the monster and the magic and the two people she desperately wanted to save, and through the side door as fast as her legs would take her. Another cackle rang out behind her, and no sooner had she crashed through and out of the auditorium did the door slam itself back shut.

She skidded to a halt and turned to run toward Celestia’s office, only to find that she faced a solid wall instead.

What?

“Twilight!” Fluttershy’s voice called from behind her, and she turned to see the others standing around looking just as confused. “Are you alright?”

“And where the hell are we?!” Rainbow added. She waved both her hands around her as Twilight finally took a good look at her surroundings.

They stood at the edge of a room that resembled the school foyer—a large, open area with multiple halls attached—except that the area where the front doors should have been was instead framed by two sets of stairs leading to the second floor. Fiery barriers blocked the other halls, and even if they had been able to travel down the staff wing Twilight was pretty sure the offices would also be part of Nightmare’s facsimile.

She reached back out to the auditorium door and pulled. It didn’t budge, and she couldn’t hear anything from beyond it. Then, as if on cue, the chandelier above their heads lit up with purple flames. It cast the room in an ominous hue, beckoning them toward the only way forward: the stairs to the next floor. Great. Perfect. Wonderful!

“I think we have to go that way,” Twilight said, breaking the tense silence. She raised her arm to point toward the stairs across the room, trying to keep it steady. “It’s obviously a trap of some sort, but—”

“Wait a second,” Pinkie interrupted. “A trap? Like, something dangerous? Why would there be something like that in the foyer?”

“Because of that... thing.” She couldn’t make herself say Nightmare’s name out loud. “I don’t know how, but something’s clearly happened to the school—”

“And the monster’s the reason why it’s suddenly all spooky in here?”

Rarity snorted at Pinkie’s question and threw her hands up in frustration. “Well there isn’t a better explanation for our predicament, is there?!” she huffed, and stomped her foot on the tile floor with a sharp clack.

Pinkie deflated a bit. “Oh. Yeah, I guess not...”

“But we’re together,” Fluttershy said, in a voice so quiet that Twilight nearly didn’t hear her. She gave Pinkie’s shoulder a comforting squeeze before shrinking back into herself. “That’s a good thing, right?”

“I mean, if I had to choose between not being here and not-not being here...” Pinkie paused to think, then shrugged. “Yeah, I’d choose not being here, ‘cause it’s kinda freaking me out.” She forced a smile that didn’t do anything to hide the panic in her eyes.

No one had a response to that. The silence returned, and once again Twilight made the decision to shove aside her disbelief for the sake of her sanity.

“You can stay here if you want,” she said, turning to walk across the room, “but I have to help Celestia, and that means I need to find that—hey!”

Applejack yanked her back, one hand wrapped tight around Twilight’s wrist and her face white with fear. “What the hell, Twilight?!” she asked, her voice raised and strained.

“Ow,” Twilight whined. She tried to pull her arm away, but to no avail. “I could say the same to you—what the hell?”

“You’re actin’ crazy! You’ve got a death wish or something?” When Twilight tensed up, she backpedalled and corrected, “I mean, you can’t just go on about there bein’ traps, and then go throwing yourself right into one!”

Twilight furrowed her brow in confusion. She glanced over to the floor between them and the stairs but saw nothing but tile. “What?”

“Yeah, I second that,” Rainbow piped up. “What’re you on about, AJ? It’s just, like, floor.” She took a step forward as if to demonstrate, only for Applejack to throw her arm out in front of her to block her path.

“Are you blind?” Applejack barked. “There’s funny symbols all over the floor, like those traps you see in movies. You can’t miss ‘em!” She pointed to a blank tile a step in front of Twilight and said, “See? That’s a triangle, and to the left is a star, and—”

“Darling,” Rarity said, her tone slightly higher than normal and filled with concern, “I don’t know what on earth you’re seeing, but there certainly isn’t anything there.”

“And I’m tellin’ you there is!” She turned to Fluttershy and then Pinkie, only to be met with nervous shakes of the head from both. “But it’s there! I don’t understand—y’all really can’t see anything?”

Twilight finally managed to extract her arm from Applejack’s grip and took a deep breath. Something’s not right, she realized. She doesn’t sound like she’s lying. “Hold on,” she said slowly, and pointed to the tile in front of her. “You see a symbol here, Applejack?”

“It’s got a triangle right there in the centre. Clear as clear can be.”

“And you think it’s a trap.”

“Well, I don’t know what else it could be. It’s got trouble written all over it!”

“Okay. Let’s prove it, then.” And before Applejack could stop her again, Twilight moved her leg forward and pressed her foot against the tile before quickly pulling it away.

Instantly a spiked shadow tore out of the floor and skewered the air Twilight’s foot had occupied a half-second before. Her heart leapt into her throat as it whizzed by her face, and she involuntarily stumbled back a few steps.

“Oh shit,” Rainbow breathed at the same time Rarity let out an unholy shriek.

Twilight swallowed down her heartbeat, her mouth suddenly much drier than it had been before. “So there’s definitely a trap,” she managed to croak out. “Or, traps plural.” Reluctantly, she turned back to Applejack. “...How many types of symbols are there?”

“Er...” After a second of scanning, Applejack held up a hand with all her fingers splayed. “Looks like there’s five different types of shapes.” Her hand wavered. “And I guess that means triangles are, uh. Spikes.”

“Wonderful.”

“Ooh, ooh! I’ve got an idea!” Pinkie waved her arm high above her head and blurted out, “We should test them all like Twilight did! And then if there’s a safe one we can use those to get to the other side!”

Slightly surprised that they were on the same page, Twilight gave Pinkie a nod of agreement. “That’s actually what I was going to suggest. Applejack, do you mind pointing out the other tiles?” She paused. “And I refuse to be the only one who plays target practice.” Or else my heart might give out before we try them all.

“I can do that, sure.”

It took a bit of maneuvering, but eventually Applejack guided Twilight, Rainbow, and Pinkie to three different tiles—Rarity and Fluttershy couldn’t be convinced to try one, so Twilight begrudgingly agreed to do another—then positioned herself in front of a fourth one.

“We go on three,” Applejack directed. “Ready?” Three nods. “Then one, two, three!”

They all stomped forward and stepped back. The tiles activated just as quickly as before, this time with different effects: Pinkie’s burst into a tower of flames like the barriers; Twilight’s vanished and left a gaping hole that she couldn’t see the bottom of; and Applejack’s released a wave of shadows that folded along its centre and snapped shut like a trap.

Rainbow’s, however, did nothing.

“Lame,” she grumbled, stepping on it a few more times to make sure. “Well, whatever. At least now we know which one’s not gonna kill us.”

“Right.” Applejack began rolling up her sleeves, taking a deep breath and standing up as tall as she could. “So here’s the deal—I'll go across first usin’ those safe tiles, and y’all make note of where I’m stepping. Then I guess you just follow my lead.” She looked over her shoulder at the others and raised her eyebrows. “That sound like a plan?”

Twilight nodded, her heart still pounding from adrenaline, and said slowly, “I can remember, but someone else should write it down just in case.”

“Or record it,” Pinkie added, and pulled out her phone.

“I doubt that thing would let us use technology—”

“And I still have battery left! Score!” The camera flashed, and Twilight discarded her argument with a sigh.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “You record it, I’ll memorize it, and that should cover all our bases.” She turned to Applejack, then hesitated. “Um—”

“I got this,” Applejack said quietly. She took another deep breath and carefully stepped out onto the same tile Rainbow had tested.

Just as before, nothing happened.

“Okay, I’m gonna cross now. Ready, Pinkie?”

Pinkie raised her phone and shot her a thumbs-up with her free hand. “Ready!”

At that, Applejack slowly set off across the room, weaving a twisted trail across the tiles as she followed a path only she could see. And while the stairs weren’t that far away, the amount of detours meant it took all of Twilight’s concentration to remember the route.

Finally, Applejack stepped onto a row of tiles in front of the stairs and turned back to face the others. “The traps end here,” she said. “So now that we know the path—”

Before she could finish speaking the floor started to rumble. Twilight quickly glanced around for any signs of danger, but saw nothing. The shaking stopped moments later, and the room remained exactly the same.

Then Twilight saw Applejack’s expression, and her stomach dropped.

“What happened?” she asked, even though she didn’t want to hear the answer.

“The traps,” Applejack said weakly. She pointed to the tiles that looked exactly the same as before and swallowed hard. “The symbols are all mixed up.”

Somehow Twilight’s stomach sank even further. “But what about the path?”

“Completely different.”

“What!” Rarity whipped around to Pinkie and wrenched the phone out of her hands, sputtering, “But then that means the video is useless! So how on earth are we meant to get across without getting lit on fire or spiked or both?!”

Pinkie extracted her phone from Rarity’s grip and gave her a reassuring pat on the head. “Well, we’ll just have to ask AJ. Duh.”

“Ask her? To what, carry us across?”

“No, silly. I mean if we just go one at a time, she can tell us where to step!”

“I...” Rarity faltered. “I suppose, but... still!” She shot Applejack a withering glare and grumbled, “You will take this seriously, won’t you? Considering that, I don’t know, our lives are at stake?”

Applejack nodded, unfazed. “‘Course, Rare. As funny as it’d be to see you try and dodge all these traps on your own—”

“Not helping!”

“—I wouldn’t do anythin’ to put you or the others in danger.” Her expression softened, and she added, “You do believe me on that, right?”

Twilight watched the protest drain from Rarity’s posture and felt herself tense up at the same time in response. No. No no no. This isn’t happening. This can’t be the only way.

“Fine.” Rarity crossed her arms and took a step back. “As long as I don’t have to go first.”

“Nooooo problem.” That was Rainbow, confident and loud as she stepped up to the first row of tiles. And of course she’d trust Applejack, Twilight noted almost bitterly. She bit down on her tongue to stop herself from saying something she’d regret.

It was easy for Applejack to guide Rainbow across. When she said which way to turn, Rainbow followed instantly. There was no hesitation; no doubt; no fear. An outsider wouldn’t have known there were traps at all.

As soon as Rainbow reached the other side the floor shook again, and Twilight reluctantly discarded Rainbow’s path from her memory. She’d hoped that Applejack was the catalyst, and that perhaps the path would remain the same after she’d crossed—but of course it wouldn’t work like that.

Of course not.

Pinkie started crossing as Twilight drowned in her thoughts, desperately trying to find another solution. But nothing surfaced, and the floor shook once more when Pinkie leapt over to Rainbow’s side.

Next was Fluttershy, who stepped up with a determination Twilight didn’t expect her to carry. She took much longer, testing each tile with her foot before stepping onto it, but managed to cross safely without activating any traps.

The floor shook. Rarity hesitated.

“Twilight,” she said, wringing her hands, “I don’t suppose—”

“You go first, Rarity,” Twilight interrupted. Her mind raced as fast as her heartbeat, the engines of her body working overtime to stay afloat. “Please.”

Reluctantly, Rarity took her turn. And after a scare where she went left instead of right, activating a flame trap and needing a hundred reassurances to take another step, she finally made it—indignant and terrified yet still in one piece.

Then the floor shook for the final time.

“Alright,” Applejack called across. “Whenever you’re ready, Twilight.”

Twilight didn’t move. She locked her gaze on the first row of tiles, trying to remember if there was a pattern to the first one. A pattern to the tiles, to the safe spots, to anything. If there was some way she could figure it out on her own.

“Twilight?” Concern leaked into Applejack’s tone. “You good?”

No, she wanted to respond, tears pricking at her eyes. No, I’m not good, and you know I’m not, but we just keep tiptoeing around like everything’s fine—

“I can’t do this,” she said instead.

Applejack furrowed her brow, confused. “Why not?”

Silence. Twilight blinked hard to clear her vision. “Why would you help me?” she asked, trading the question for one of her own.

“Why?” Her surprise seemed genuine. “Because you’re here with us, and I can’t just leave you stranded—”

“And I should trust you now?” Twilight said, struggling to keep her tone neutral. “That just because you helped your friends you’ll do the same for me?”

Finally, Twilight saw understanding dawn on Applejack’s face, only to be quickly replaced by that horrible emotion she despised so much. A terrible silence blanketed the room as they both fell quiet, no one daring to break it.

I hate being pitied, she thought miserably, especially when it’s coming from you.

“Look.” The silence finally broke, though not by Applejack or Twilight but by Rainbow. Her tone carried the very same pity as Applejack, laced with another emotion that Twilight couldn’t quite place. “I know we’ve got, like, shit to talk about, but can’t you wait until we’re not in the middle of some fucked-up adventure movie deathtrap?”

Surprisingly, instead of agreeing, Applejack shook her head. “It’s fine, Rainbow,” she said, quieter than before. “I get it.”

“What’s there to get, though?” Rainbow shot a pointed glance at Twilight and muttered, “We all crossed fine. She’s got no reason to freeze up.”

“But she’s got no reason to trust me, either.”

And that was the problem. As much as they were civil, as much as Twilight could tolerate Applejack as an acquaintance, she was nowhere near ready to literally put her life in Applejack’s hands. Because trusting a friend was one thing, but trusting a witness; a bystander; a bully?

Of course she couldn’t. No one would.

“You never helped before,” Twilight said finally, her voice cracking from nerves. “Even if you never did anything to me, I still knew you were on their side. Her side.” She turned her gaze to Rainbow for a second before directing it back to Applejack. “But I’m supposed to believe you want to help me now? When all you have to do is point me one step out of line, and then oops! No more Twilight! Really?!”

Her voice rose along with her anger, not giving anyone else the chance to respond. “But of course you think it’s easy for me to trust you—you never had to acknowledge what happened! I come back and suddenly everything’s roses and sunshine and fine.”

“Twilight—” Applejack tried to say something but Twilight’s thoughts kept spilling out, bitter and no longer buried by silent resentment.

“I never even got an apology.”

And with those words still hanging heavy in the air, the room began to shake.

Unlike with the tile swaps, the rumbling didn’t stop. The chandelier above swayed back and forth in a creaky arc that sent shadows dancing in every direction. Twilight stumbled as the floor lurched beneath her feet, but managed to catch herself just before she stepped onto the trapped tiles.

What’s happening?!

“Twilight!” Applejack’s voice rose above the rumbling, urgent and desperate. “I don’t mean to change the subject, but we might be running outa time!”

“But I—”

A terrible cracking noise split the air. Twilight spun around to see the furthest row of tiles crumble away to nothing, leaving only a dark and bottomless drop. Then the next row trembled more violently than before, cracks spreading along the surface of its tiles.

“Twilight, listen to me.” Once again Applejack took over, her words punctuated with the sound of splintering stone. “I didn’t do right by you in the past; it’s true. And there’s nothin’ I can do to go back and change that.”

The second row disintegrated and the third row started shaking, leaving only two rows between Twilight’s and the void.

“But I’m beggin’ you to give me another chance. Even if you never trust me on anything else, believe me when I say that I want to help you now!”

“And why is that?” Twilight countered, her voice shaking almost as much as her legs. “Because now you just see me as someone to be pitied?” She clenched her fists as the third row crumbled away. “I don’t want sympathy—I’m sick of it!”

“That’s not why! If you’d just—” Applejack cut herself off as the row behind Twilight’s heels cracked. “The tile to the left of the one in front of you is safe! Try it real quick first if you don’t believe me—just hurry up!”

Reluctantly, Twilight shifted over to stand in front of the tile Applejack pointed out. She gave it a quick tap with her shoe and, when nothing happened, stepped onto it completely.

“See? I told you the truth.” Relief washed through Applejack’s voice, though Twilight didn’t feel the same.

Yeah, for a single tile. But even Twilight knew better than to keep arguing at that point. “Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll give you that.”

“And it’s not sympathy, or pity,” Applejack continued, her tone shifting to something softer. “I promise that I don’t look down on you like that. Never even once.”

Now that was a surprise. Twilight stared at her, not even bothering to try and mask her disbelief. “You don’t?”

Applejack nodded and pointed to the tile in front of Twilight. “Of course not.”

“But I don’t understand.” Twilight tested the tile, then took another step forward. “If not pity, then what?”

The last row of tiles before the traps crumbled away, and Applejack pointed to Twilight’s right. She had the time to test and step onto the tile indicated before Applejack finally gave her answer:

“Guilt.”

…Oh.

How was Twilight supposed to respond to that?

The first row of trap tiles cracked, snapping them both out of their stupor. Applejack quickly indicated the next tile and continued, “At first I thought it was just kid stuff, y’know? Boys being boys; teasin’ girls they have a thing for ‘cause they don’t know how else to get their attention.”

Twilight stepped forward, then right. She didn’t bother testing the tiles with her foot anymore. “Yeah.”

“And even when I got the feelin’ things were goin’ too far, I didn’t want to be the one to step up and say something. I didn’t know you well enough, I told myself. It wasn’t my responsibility.” She lifted her head to look Twilight straight in the eyes. “I regret that choice more than anything.”

Another row vanished into the abyss that now took up more than half the room. Twilight shook her head to clear it and stepped to the next tile. “You did in the end,” she said quietly.

“Not soon enough.”

“But you did. And I guess—” Twilight choked on her own words as she tried to sort her feelings out. The topic had finally come up at the most inconvenient time possible, and she had far too much adrenaline in her bloodstream to try and shut the conversation down. “I guess I understood why you didn’t want to speak up,” she said after a few seconds. “They make it look so easy in those stupid bullying assemblies—it’s not. But I was just so angry at you. I still am, I think.” She stepped to the left twice. “Because it’s easier to blame someone else than yourself.”

Applejack shook her head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I could have said something. Told my brother, or my parents, or Celestia.” Another step, another row fell away. Only a couple rows of tile remained between Twilight and the other side, a good few metres apart.

“You were trying to deal with it on your own. No one can blame you for that.”

“I was stubborn, Applejack.”

“And so was I.” She pointed to the next tile and cracked a small smile. “Too stubborn to bring up what we shoulda talked about ages ago, until some horrible monster-thing gives us no choice. Fancy that.”

It was poetic in a twisted way. If Twilight weren’t so terrified by the situation she might have even laughed.

Then the row behind her started to wobble and she instantly became aware of just how precarious her position was. She looked to Applejack for the next instruction only to see her staring intently at the floor instead.

“Hold on,” Applejack said slowly. “We, uh. Hm. We might have a bit of a problem.”

Twilight’s stomach flipped, anxiety threatening to take over. “What’s wrong?”

“Well I don’t want you to freak out—”

“What’s wrong?!”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s, uh, the path.” She swallowed hard. “It’s not gonna reach.”

Cold terror slammed into Twilight, all of her hope evaporating in that instant. “What?” she croaked.

“It doubled back on itself. I shoulda realized sooner; pushed you to get moving before too much disappeared.” Applejack’s voice rose with her panic, though she somehow managed to keep her tone steady. “Shoot!”

“Then what do I do?!” Twilight felt her voice go shrill; felt her hands start to tremble. The final row behind her tumbled into the abyss, and the floor beneath her feet began to quake. “Help me!”

Swearing under her breath, Applejack wiped the sweat from her palms on her jeans and yelled, “You gotta jump, Twilight!”

“W-what?!”

“There’s no other way!”

“That’s impossible!” Cracks splintered through her tile. “It won’t—”

“Listen to me!” Applejack shouted over Twilight’s protests, all politeness overridden by concern in an instant. “On the count of three you jump!”

“But—”

“I promise you’ll be fine!”

“How do you—”

“Please, Twilight.”

Twilight crossed her arms over herself in an attempt to stop from trembling. She wasn’t athletic or tall or strong; the metres that separated her from Applejack might as well have been miles—equally impossible to cross and a death sentence as soon as she fell into a trap of spikes or flames or—

“One!” Applejack’s voice cut through her thoughts, and the world lurched.

“W-wait—”

“Two!”

“Please, I can’t—”

“Three!”

And, with panic cold as ice rushing through her blood and voice and brain, Twilight screwed her eyes shut and jumped.

It took her an eternity to fall, but also half a second. She hurtled through the air at a trajectory she instantly realized was far too shallow—and no amount of promise could alter the laws of physics. I’m dead, she thought. It echoed over and over: I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead I’m—

And then Twilight slammed not into the floor but a pair of arms that wrapped around her torso and yanked. She let out an involuntary shriek as she toppled forward over the rest of the traps—just narrowly missing the wave of flames that erupted directly behind her back—and collapsed in a heap at the foot of the staircases.

Immediately a chorus of voices assaulted Twilight’s eardrums, concerned and overlapping each other all at once.

“Holy shit, AJ—”

“Are they both—”

“Can someone please put her sleeve out—”

“That was way way way too close—”

“You alright, Twilight?”

Twilight opened her eyes to a concerned Applejack leaning over her, the rest of the girls hovering in view just behind her head. They were all slightly blurry—Twilight reached up to feel for her glasses and found they’d been knocked askew from the fall.

“I think so,” she wheezed. “How—”

“AJ caught ya,” Rainbow interrupted, and it was only then that Twilight noticed the state of her saviour.

Applejack sat sprawled beside her covered head to toe in soot. The sleeves of her flannel were singed black, and past the edges ringed by dying embers Twilight could see the reddened skin covering the backs of her hands and forearms. When she noticed Twilight staring she quickly forced a smile over her grimace. “Hurts no worse than a sunburn, don’t you worry.”

Stunned, Twilight pushed herself up into a sitting position and examined herself. While she was covered in the same amount of soot and had a few scorch marks on her tights and her skirt, the worst of her injuries were a bruised hip and a sore shoulder from the landing. No burns.

“Why?” she finally asked, a tremor in her voice.

“I got too close to the trap is all.” Applejack misinterpreted the question as an inquiry to her injuries, not her motivation. “Not your fault though; we both stepped on it. I just wasn’t quick enough pullin’ you back.”

“I mean, why did you catch me?”

Applejack chuckled at that, low and relieved. “Because,” she said, “I promised you’d be fine. Wouldn’t look too good if I didn’t keep my word.”

Twilight exhaled a shaky breath. “I guess so.”

“And... because I owe you a proper apology.” She got to her feet with a pained grunt, then extended her hand to Twilight. “I should’ve spoken up sooner when you were gettin’ bullied. And when you came back to school I shouldn’t have just skipped to the niceties and pretended nothin’ happened. Even if it was easier to not think about it, it was for my sake, not yours. And that was wrong of me.”

Applejack’s hand was caked with ash. But beneath the grime and calluses Twilight felt a sturdy sort of warmth.

“I’m sorry,” Applejack finished. She gave their linked hands a squeeze as she pulled Twilight to her feet.

Before Twilight could respond a light flashed from between their fingers. She blinked in surprise as a tiny pinprick of gold danced down Applejack’s arm and looped across her skin in an elegant and glittery cursive. Then the speck winked out, leaving just the golden word inscribed upon her wrist.

“What on earth was that?” Rarity leaned in to get a better look, and Twilight quickly let go of Applejack’s hand to give them space.

“More magic?” Fluttershy suggested.

“But not the scary magic,” Pinkie added, standing on her tiptoes to prop her chin on Applejack’s shoulder.

Or anything but magic, Twilight protested to herself, but her heart wasn’t in it anymore. She didn’t bother moving to join the group, comfortable in her position across from them with all the space between.

“So what’s it say?” Rainbow was the last to join, brushing past Twilight to stand at Applejack’s side. Her gaze remained locked forward almost unnaturally, as if she didn’t want to risk looking at anyone else.

Applejack raised her arm and squinted at it for a few seconds. “Integrity,” she read out. “Huh.”

Huh, Twilight echoed as the others dissolved into discussion about what the word might mean. She flexed her hand in front of her face and stared at it, almost daring the light to return and write something else. Integrity, and an apology.

And despite everything, somehow the weight on Twilight’s shoulders felt just a little bit lighter.

The Trial of Compassion and the Contrast of Pity

View Online

Much like the false foyer, the second floor of Nightmare’s creation resembled part of the school: a long, straight hallway with a door at the end. But the similarities ended there—it had suits of armour instead of lockers and barriers of flame and shadow in place of classroom doors.

Great, Twilight thought, a little bit winded from the climb. She paused at the top of the stairs and leaned against the wall to catch her breath. That staircase was unnecessarily long.

The other girls had led the way up, and from her position behind them Twilight could see that they had gathered at the start of the hall, clearly lacking the confidence to take another step. She held her breath as Pinkie gingerly prodded at the hallway’s floor with her sneaker, then released it when nothing happened.

Safe. At least for now.

“Doesn’t look like there’s any traps here,” Applejack said after testing the floor herself. She glanced over the group and raised an eyebrow. “And none of y’all see anythin’ strange?”

Everyone else shook their heads. Then they all turned around to Twilight, who shook hers as well.

“Sweet.” Rainbow quickly returned to her usual attitude without the threat of imminent danger dangling over their heads. She pointed her thumb to the door at the end of the hall and asked, “Who wants to race me there?”

No one said anything. Twilight resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Wow. You guys are lame.”

“Oh, I love a good race,” Pinkie chirped. She started walking, and the rest of the group—including a miffed Rainbow—matched her pace to follow. “But if movies have taught me anything, there’s no way we’re getting to that door without something going wrong.”

She’s probably right, Twilight grumbled. She still hadn’t moved from her spot against the wall. For some reason her breath was taking its sweet time coming back. And was that a headache coming on?

“But we aren’t in a movie,” Rarity argued.

“You don’t have to be in a movie to learn something from them!”

Definitely a headache. Twilight grunted as the dull throbbing turned to sharp, a hundred knives chiseling at the inside of her skull. Suddenly everything was too bright and too loud and too much; an overwhelming blast of sensations only overshadowed by the pain in her head and the pressure in her chest.

She blinked. Pressure?

And then the pieces clicked, but far too late.

A crack as loud as thunder blasted through the air, and in an instant the exit disappeared behind a hulking mass of shadows that stretched from floor to ceiling. But its body wasn’t the same as the vaguely-defined shadows they’d seen before, Twilight realized, her vision refocusing as the pressure in her chest eased off. It had limbs and claws and fur and fangs—a fully realized monster; black as pitch with eyes of flaming blue.

“Manticore,” she whispered, the word appearing in her head as if someone else had thought it for her.

Then the monster—the manticore—opened its mouth and roared. And everything went to shit.

“Everybody run!”

At Rainbow’s warning the other girls scrambled away as fast as they could, all screaming at the top of their lungs. The manticore roared again as they retreated and lowered itself into a defensive stance with its wings spread and stinger poised to strike.

“What do we do?!” Rainbow reached the entrance first, followed quickly by Applejack and Pinkie. Rarity stumbled behind them a few seconds later, struggling to keep up in heels, and a trembling Fluttershy brought up the rear.

“Oh goodness,” she squeaked when she finally caught up, her face pale and voice hardly audible. She grabbed Rainbow’s arm for support and took a few shallow breaths, her panicked gaze settling straight ahead on the back wall barely holding Twilight upright.

Then Fluttershy’s gaze drifted down to Twilight, and her expression faded from terror to confusion. She opened her mouth as if she were going to say something—

“We can’t get through here with that thing in the way,” Applejack cut in. She slammed her fist into her palm with a smack and declared, “That means we gotta fight it.”

“No!” Rarity protested. “Absolutely not!”

“But they even gave us weapons.” Rainbow jerked her head to the suits of armour along the right wall and said, “Kinda obvious what to do, don’t you think?”

“You can’t possibly think I’m going to go back and swing a stick at that creature—”

“Ooh, ooh! Dibs on the axe!” A suit of armour clattered to the floor as Pinkie tore the double-edged axe out of its grip and hoisted it high above her head.

The sound of the armour’s crashing metal pounded into Twilight’s skull and pulled a groan of pain from her throat. She rolled her body so that she leaned against the wall with her whole back instead of just her shoulder and pressed the base of her palms against her temples in an attempt to reduce her headache. I can’t help them like this, she managed to think. The pressure in her chest squeezed in response, almost as if it agreed.

Fluttershy let go of Rainbow and raised one hand nervously beside her shoulder, her eyes darting between Twilight and the others. “Girls—”

“Then I want a sword!” Rainbow knocked over another suit of armour to grab her weapon, and the resulting clatter sent a ripple of needles over Twilight’s scalp.

“Girls, I think—”

The manticore growled over the rest of Fluttershy’s sentence, a low rumble that reverberated through the entire hall. It pawed at the ground and bared its fangs in their direction, waiting for them to make a move. In response Applejack snatched her own sword from yet another suit of armour, then tore a shield from one of the piles on the floor and tossed it like a frisbee along the floor to Rarity. “Here!”

Rarity made a face as the shield skittered to a stop in front of her. She gave it a nudge with her foot, not making any move to pick it up. “What do you expect me to do with this?”

“Figure it out!” Applejack snapped. She gripped her sword with both hands and leveled it at the manticore, Rainbow and Pinkie flanking her on either side. Then, when the manticore roared once again, all three raised their weapons—screaming as they did—and charged.

Half of Twilight was glad to see them take action against the beast—they had to deal with it somehow to move forward after all—but the other half of her stewed in exasperation at their reckless method of leaping in head-first without asking questions. And even though she had no halves of herself left to ration, another part of Twilight twisted in fear as Rainbow rushed to strike at the manticore’s forelegs.

Something’s wrong.

Rainbow’s sword connected with pitch-black fur, and in an instant Twilight’s headache wrapped around her skull and squeezed. She hissed in pain and tried to steady herself, but another pulse from her headache stripped her of her balance and sent her toppling to her knees. Then Rainbow swung again, and Twilight felt a scream escape her throat as the manticore’s mangled leg dissolved to shadow and the pain in her head increased to agony.

“Twilight?”

Through tear-blurred eyes Twilight saw two figures turn to look at her—look down on her. She saw Fluttershy’s concern and Rarity’s wide and worried eyes, but her brain refused to process it; the only thing it allowed her to register was that wretched feeling she despised so very much.

Her headache squeezed again. Twilight felt an anger she didn’t own surge beneath her skin and bared her teeth like fangs. “Stop it,” she spat, desperately clawing at the floor with her fingernails in an attempt to draw the pain in her head somewhere else. “Go away!”

But Fluttershy ignored the warning and leaned in with her hands on her knees. “You’re hurt,” she said. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement of fact.

Then across the hall Applejack stabbed her sword into the manticore’s side, and Twilight lunged.

Rarity just barely managed to maneuver the shield at her feet in front of Fluttershy before Twilight slammed into it with her full weight. “What are you doing?!” she shrieked, shoving Twilight back a few paces before pulling Fluttershy to her feet. “Leave us alone!”

Fluttershy shook her head and tried to push the shield away. “We should—”

“Yes! We should join the others; exactly what I was thinking!”

“That’s not going to—”

“I’m sure if we defeat the beast it’ll stop whatever madness has taken over Twilight—”

“If you would just listen to me—”

But her protests fell on deaf ears. As Rarity backed away Twilight saw her own frustration mirrored on both Fluttershy’s face and the surface of the shield. She froze at the sight, and for a moment the headache waned and she could think again.

Something’s wrong with me.

Her lungs heaved for air, desperate to draw the breath she couldn’t seem to take on her own. And in her split second of clarity Twilight realized that Fluttershy wasn’t looking at her, but at something slightly behind her and above her head—but then the blinding pain returned at the same time Pinkie slashed her axe through the manticore’s scorpion tail and Twilight lost herself again. “I said go away!”

“That’s perfect; we were leaving anyway!”

“Good,” Twilight spat. She clutched at her head as her mouth moved on its own, begging herself to stop. “You’re just like the rest of your friends.”

“And what on earth is that supposed to mean?!”

“Rarity!” Fluttershy finally raised her voice, using one arm to block an indignant Rarity from turning on Twilight. “Just listen to me,” she begged. “Can you please go and stop the others from hurting the monster any more than they already have?”

“From hurting it? Fluttershy, darling, we’re supposed to defeat it, aren’t we?” Rarity shot Twilight a pointed glare and stage-whispered, “Because it’s clearly gone and done something to her!”

Twilight grit her teeth at the comment and tensed up, her body itching to leap into a fight. She was both passenger and driver of her own mind, a confusing mix of two selves battling to pilot the body attached to both.

“Yes! It has,” Fluttershy agreed, visibly exasperated and running thin on patience. “But no one else can see it!” She pushed Rarity by the shield back toward the manticore and stood up straight, the most confident that Twilight had ever seen her. “So please just trust me, and go stop everyone else!”

“I—” Rarity swallowed hard, for once at a loss for words. She shot Twilight one last nervous glance before finding her voice to reply. “Alright,” she agreed reluctantly. “I’ll... I’ll try.” She backed away and, when the manticore behind her howled and beat its wings against the walls, turned on her heel to trot toward the fight as fast as she could, waving her arms and shield above her head. “Everybody! Hellooo!”

Twilight watched her go, a pang of relief curling around the resentment boiling in her stomach. “Why don’t you go join her?” she snapped at Fluttershy, who hadn’t moved to follow. “She’s on your side, isn’t she?”

“She is.” Fluttershy didn’t seem at all affected by the venom Twilight spat. “But I think you need my help more than she does.”

“Again with the pity,” Twilight complained. She took a step toward Fluttershy, closing the distance enough to put the other girl in arm’s reach. “I don’t need any of that. I don’t need you here.”

“And I know you’re not yourself right now, Twilight,” Fluttershy said simply. She took a step forward, and by instinct Twilight stepped away to keep her space.

“I’m fine,” she argued. She tried to retake the step she’d lost, but her body froze up at the motion.

Then Fluttershy took another step, and another, and then Twilight found herself backing away on autopilot, a familiar panic drowning out her anger. “You can’t see them, can you?” Fluttershy asked, her voice gentle. She continued before Twilight could form an answer: “Though, I suppose it’s hard to see something behind your back.”

Twilight’s shoulders hit a wall—the same wall she’d clung to for support only minutes earlier. She was cornered.

“It’s the monster’s wings,” Fluttershy explained. She reached up to touch the air beside Twilight, running her fingers over nothingness. “You have them too.”

And then, as if a switch had flipped, the world shifted and Twilight saw her wings; felt Fluttershy’s feather-light touch on skin she didn’t have. She yelped and jerked away, only to accidentally pin another phantom body part against the wall—a segmented tail topped with a curved stinger that rose from the base of her spine above her head, the tip aimed directly at Fluttershy’s neck.

“Oh,” she croaked out. Her body suddenly felt cold as ice. She tried to back further away only to hit the wall again and feel the pressure of her own back against the wings and tail. Their presence could only be described as malicious, formed of the same black shadows as Nightmare and the manticore yet somehow twice as dark.

Then another thought occurred to Twilight. Fluttershy. She approached me despite this.

A cold sort of dread washed over her at the idea of lashing out with a weapon she didn’t know she had. She tried to lower the tail but both it and the wings didn’t seem to respond to her, even though she could feel them just as clearly as her arms and legs.

“I don’t think the others can see them,” Fluttershy said, drawing Twilight out of her stunned stupor.

Twilight blinked. Her headache throbbed behind her eyes. “Others?”

“My friends.” She tilted her head to the side slightly, motioning down the hall where the other girls faced down the manticore. Thankfully, it seemed Rarity had been able to talk them down, though they still watched the beast in battle stances with weapons raised. And surprisingly the manticore didn’t try to fight back. It only growled at them, stretching its injured body protectively over the exit and stopping anyone from advancing further.

Huh.

But even as the hall quieted Twilight still felt an anger burn from deep inside. Her headache had faded with the fight, but not completely. And the pressure in her chest she now associated with Nightmare kept prodding stubbornly at her lungs and stealing away her breath.

“Of course I’m the odd one out,” she said flatly. The leathery manticore wings behind her twitched in time with her words. “Even magic seems to know I don’t belong.”

“That’s not true,” Fluttershy whispered.

“What; that I’m not part of your little clique? That I’m not Twilight-fucking-Sparkle with a target on my back?” She barked a laugh, a single sharp syllable. “I don’t know why I care so much about what you guys think of me. None of you would even get it.”

“That’s not true!” Again Fluttershy spoke up, this time clenching her hands into fists at her sides and raising her voice above Twilight’s. She straightened up again and took a deep breath, looking Twilight directly in her eyes without a trace of fear. “I was the same,” she said firmly. “You weren’t the only one at CHS who had to deal with bullies.”

Twilight faltered a bit. “Still,” she argued, “you had your friends to support you. You weren’t alone.”

But Fluttershy just shook her head. “Not until Rarity transferred.” Her gaze drifted back to Rainbow as she said softly, “I suppose I got left behind for a bit. Alone”—she reached out to brush her fingers over Twilight’s wing again, an oddly pained expression dancing across her features—“and just like you.”

“You’re nothing like me!” Twilight clung to her anger, desperate to find a reason to turn on Fluttershy. She used one arm to shove the wing out of Fluttershy’s reach and growled, “You’re fine now; whatever bullying happened couldn’t have been that bad. You wouldn’t understand even half of what I went through!”

But instead of agreeing or trying to argue back, Fluttershy gave Twilight a long, defeated look that spoke volumes louder than her words ever could. And under her gaze Twilight’s anger collapsed to sour and gut-wrenching guilt.

No way.

The manticore’s growl ceased its echo. Everything stilled.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she muttered after a beat of silence. “I— I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t,” Fluttershy agreed softly. She pulled her arm away from Twilight and instead lowered it to pick at the hem of her shirt. “But it’s a private thing. I... I don’t bring it up unless I have to. I don’t mind that you didn’t realize.” The motion of her fingers slowed to a stop. “No one deserves to have their personal life passed around as gossip, after all.”

Twilight choked out a laugh. “I deserved it.”

“Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” She leaned her head back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling, away from Fluttershy’s piercing stare. “I never told anyone to stop. I never tried to get help.” Her headache slowly returned with each word, feeding on her self-deprecation and bringing back anger along with it. “I pretended I was tougher than I was and got what I deserved.”

From the corner of her eye Twilight saw the manticore rear back on its hind legs, and instinctively she threw her head back against the wall just hard enough to make a low thunk. The pain just fueled her fury, and when the manticore howled she clenched her jaw in response, imagining what it would be like to scream along.

She heard the sharp scrape of metal as the other girls readied their weapons.

Then Fluttershy spoke up again, unyielding in her persistence. “It’s hard to listen to you talk about yourself like that,” she said. Her fingers worried into the fabric of her shirt, though from habit or nerves Twilight couldn’t tell.

“Talk about myself like what?”

Fluttershy hesitated. “You blame yourself just as much as you blame everyone else,” she explained. “I don’t think that’s fair.”

“Who cares about fair?” Twilight rolled her eyes as the manticore crashed back down on all fours, oblivious to the shockwave from the impact that swept past her. “It’s just facts. Logical conclusions drawn from a situation I could have prevented if I wasn’t so useless.”

“But that’s not true at all!”

Twilight froze. Her wings flared, and the manticore bristled. “What?”

“You’re not useless,” Fluttershy said, her tone an even mix of exasperation and concern. “You faced all that harassment on your own, and even if you don’t think that was the right choice, you still did it.” She let go of her shirt and reached out to Twilight again with pleading eyes and gentle hands. “I couldn’t do that. I needed my friends to stand up for me before I could even think to stand up for myself, but you? You were stronger than me. You’re—”

“Don’t say that!”

Twilight felt her body move on its own, grabbing one of Fluttershy’s arms by the wrist before either of them could blink. Fluttershy squeaked at the motion and tried to pull herself free, but Twilight just squeezed even harder, nails digging into the fabric of her sleeve.

“Was I strong enough to speak up?” she snarled. “Strong enough to fight back? Strong enough to handle things on my own?”

Down the hall the manticore pounced at the other girls, its teeth snapping inches from Pinkie’s head as she dove out of the way. The floor shook as it landed, and it quickly spun around to lash its tail in an arc, catching Applejack and slinging her into the side wall with a terrible crash.

“No! I didn’t do anything!” Twilight squeezed harder, her brain filtering out Fluttershy’s pained whimpers from the screams and roars. “You think that’s strong?!”

“Yes!” Fluttershy’s voice cracked, high and shrill. Her eyes bloomed with tears that the anger in Twilight’s mind didn’t let her process. “Can’t I believe that for myself, even if you don’t?”

The floor shook again as the manticore caught Rainbow, pinning her to the ground beneath its paw. It howled down at her louder than ever before, flecks of shadowy spittle splattering like oil across her face. As Rainbow struggled to free herself the monster’s tail lashed out again and connected with Rarity’s shield, knocking her back into Pinkie and sending them both crashing down in a heap.

The manticore bared its fangs at Rainbow, and instantly Twilight’s headache pounded against her skull and wrenched away her control. She felt her body lunge as she shoved Fluttershy to the ground and used her full weight to pin her down under the flat of her arm. When she landed her wings unfurled completely—each one wider than Twilight was tall—and the scorpion tail whipped out to stab the air just inches from Fluttershy’s throat.

“Stop lying to my face!” she shrieked. “Stop trying to give me your pity!”

“I’m not lying!” Fluttershy whimpered, trembling beneath Twilight and her rage.

“Stop being so nice to me!”

Her own tears bubbled to the surface as she spoke, dripping down against the lenses of her glasses and blurring her already-hazy vision. Internally her humanity begged herself to stop, but the irrational and monstrous anger refused to relinquish its control.

Then out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of movement; heard the rapid thud of footsteps against the floor. Twilight raised her head just enough to see Applejack charge the manticore, aiming to slash through the leg trapping Rainbow beneath it. She tensed up, preparing for the inevitable pain to ricochet back to her, but—

“Wait wait wait!”

It was Rainbow.

She shouted at the top of her lungs, stopping Applejack in her tracks seconds away from swinging. A pang of confusion overrode Twilight’s anger at the sound of her voice—why did she speak up?

“Dash?! What on earth—”

“Something’s not right!” Rainbow yelled. She struggled against the leg holding her in place and explained, “This thing could have totally crushed me by now—or gored me, or bit my head off, or finished you off while you were down—”

“What’s your point?” Applejack cut in. “It’s probably just playin’ with its food, like cats do!” She raised her sword again, and Rainbow quickly threw out her hand in protest.

“But maybe it’s not!” She slapped her hand against the manticore’s black fur, receiving nothing but a growl in response. “And now it’s not even fighting back. Isn’t that weird?”

“I don’t think—”

Applejack’s protests died as the manticore interrupted her with a low, rumbling snort.

Slowly, it raised its paw just enough for Rainbow to scramble out from under it. Once she got to her feet and staggered over to Applejack the manticore sat back on its haunches with a crash that shook the entire hall. The flames of its eyes still glared down at the four girls attempting to slay it, but it made no move to attack them back. It just waited, and watched.

Like a guard dog without orders, Twilight realized. Or... it was just bark without bite.

The manticore growled again, as if it were responding to what she had thought. Twilight shivered as the sound washed over her, dousing her anger with shame and guilt. She blinked a few times to collect herself and drew a slow, shuddering breath.

What are you doing, Sparkle?

“It’s okay,” Fluttershy murmured, interrupting her thoughts before they spiralled, and Twilight looked back down to see no fear or hatred or disgust within her expression—just pity so gentle that Twilight could almost accept it.

“Something’s wrong with me,” she whispered back, her mouth dry with guilt. Fluttershy nodded carefully, the stinger still inches away from her throat. Twilight didn’t trust herself to move, and instead added, “I don’t mean just right now. There’s still—” She choked on her words. “I didn’t get over it,” she said instead. “I couldn’t. Not like you.”

Though they occupied the same hallway, the other girls and the manticore might as well have been miles away. She and Fluttershy occupied an unnoticed and fragile space only kept private while backs were turned—a space that would shatter as soon as someone realized what she’d done.

But Fluttershy didn’t call for help or struggle. She was just there, one hand atop the arm that kept her pinned—when had that happened?—and her gaze locked to Twilight’s. “It’s okay to still be upset with them,” she said. Her other arm slowly reached up to Twilight’s face, pausing just before her fingertips met skin. “Maybe you’ll sort things out, maybe you won’t. Everyone has their own way of getting better.”

Twilight didn’t try to move away. “But I’m not better,” she admitted. Fluttershy’s hand brushed against her cheek, gently tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. “And I don’t know why.”

The hand paused as Fluttershy went quiet for a moment, as if she was trying to decide on a response. “Why do you hate being pitied?” she finally asked.

“I...” The question seemed to come out of nowhere. Twilight furrowed her brow as she tried to put her thoughts together in a way that would make sense. “I don’t want to wallow in sympathy,” she said eventually. “I don’t want to be looked down on like I’m something that needs to be protected.”

“Even if that pity came from kindness?”

“Especially then,” Twilight said. She felt her headache throb again at her words, though nowhere near strongly enough to overpower her again. “Save it for someone who deserves it—not me.”

Fluttershy frowned. Her hand had inched up beside Twilight’s temple, cautious and slow. “You don’t deserve kindness?”

“Well, no, but—” Twilight fumbled her words before she corrected, “I’m not going to play at being a victim and feel bad for myself when I could have tried to stop the bullying in the first place.”

Then someone at the other end of the hall cried out, and Twilight knew even without looking up that she’d been spotted—and that meant Fluttershy’s friends would soon swoop in to save her from the manticore named Twilight Sparkle; the monster with a grudge for something she should have already gotten over.

But then Fluttershy moved before Twilight, straining to press her hand against the side of Twilight’s head without touching her neck to the stinger. “Being nice to yourself isn’t self-pity,” she said firmly over her friends’ concerned shouts and pounding footsteps. “You don’t play a victim by being kind.”

Her hand closed on air, and suddenly Twilight found she couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“Being nice to yourself means allowing yourself to heal.”

Fluttershy pulled her fist to the side with a swift tug. And the second she did Twilight felt her headache vanish, a thousand knives dislodging from her mind and scattering to nothingness. She gasped for breath as the pain left her—air came easy, no longer choked away by Nightmare’s influence—and the strange anger wrapped around her thoughts dissolved with the shadowy wings and tail, leaving her the sole owner of her body once again.

And as Rainbow skidded to a stop in front of her Twilight watched as the manticore they’d abandoned faded away. Its fur became smokey, its eyes dimmed and burnt out, and then between blinks Twilight suddenly found that it was gone, silent and without a trace.

“What are you doing?!” Rainbow yelled, sending Twilight crashing back to reality. Her sword wavered as she pointed it down at Twilight, who wasn’t sure if the hesitation came from not wanting to hurt both of them or just not Fluttershy.

“It’s alright, Rainbow,” Fluttershy said quickly. She lowered her arm, and only then did Twilight see the pointed jet-black spike clutched within her fist—as sharp and menacing as an ice pick.

“That was in my head?” she breathed in disbelief. Fluttershy nodded, and Twilight suddenly felt nauseous and faint and dizzy all at once. Then, remembering her position, she removed her arm from Fluttershy and scrambled off of her, acutely aware of Rainbow’s piercing glare following her every move.

I could have hurt her, Twilight thought numbly as Rarity helped Fluttershy back to her feet. She didn’t bother trying to stand up, and instead pulled her knees up to her chest to create a makeshift barrier between her and the others, trying her best to stay grounded with slow, shallow breaths.

The other girls gathered around Fluttershy and started talking in lowered voices—though Twilight didn’t have to be able to hear their words to know they were talking about her. She took another breath in, then held it, then let it out.

Don’t freak out. Stay calm.

“Hey.” That was Rainbow again, stepping away from her friends to stand between them and Twilight with her swordless hand propped up on her hip. “What the hell was that?”

Twilight kept her gaze locked on her knees and shook her head. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to do it.” An image of the spike Fluttershy had removed popped into her head, and bile instantly rose at the back of her mouth.

“Are you gonna do it again?”

“I—” She pressed her forehead to her knees and exhaled. “I don’t know that either.”

Rainbow scoffed at her response. Then Twilight heard someone step forward, and she caught Applejack’s voice whisper something to Rainbow, who grumbled a reply under her breath.

“We’ll, um, give you some space, Twilight,” Pinkie piped up, loud enough for Twilight to hear. Her voice sounded hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure of what she was saying. Twilight didn’t move, and after a few seconds of silence the other girls started walking away, still talking to each other in hushed, nervous tones.

Their footsteps faded to the end of the hall, and Twilight exhaled into her knees.

Why had she done that? Why was it so easy to fall back to anger; to go on the defensive over every little thing? And even if magic—something that Twilight hated to admit might be real, much less that it had something to do with what had happened—was involved, she still had an uncomfortable question to answer for herself.

Had Nightmare made her act that way? Or were those actions her own, just freed from inhibitions?

Twilight pressed her forehead harder against her knees and tried to ignore the guilt welling in her stomach. The motion squished her glasses uncomfortably into the bridge of her nose, so she raised her head up to adjust them a bit—

—only to see Fluttershy sitting silently across from her with her hands folded in her lap. When her eyes met Twilight’s she dipped her head slightly into a nod that sent a clear message: we need to talk.

“I’m sorry,” Twilight blurted out.

Fluttershy nodded. “I know.”

“Even if that was something to do with Nightmare, I still...” She trailed off and broke eye contact. “I wasn’t strong enough to stop. It was like I was just watching myself attack you, and I couldn’t do anything about it.” A choked laugh escaped her throat, almost the same sound as a sob. “I wish I wasn’t so useless.”

“You’re not useless,” Fluttershy corrected. She tilted her head to the side, her hair cascading over her shoulder as a pale waterfall—Twilight couldn’t look away from the motion, and she found that when it stopped she was once again looking Fluttershy in the eyes. “You figured out the traps on the first floor, and you didn’t let Nightmare hurt anyone on this one. That’s not useless, Twilight.”

Really?

Her praise felt foreign and uncomfortable. Twilight didn’t know what to say after that; couldn’t find the words. “Thanks,” she settled on, though it felt awkward to say out loud. “And, sorry. Again.”

Fluttershy’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. “Thank you for apologizing.”

“Y-yeah.” Twilight took a few more shallow breaths in an attempt to calm her racing heart. “I... I could have hurt you. Or... worse.” She swallowed hard. “I’d say sorry a thousand times if you wanted. You didn’t deserve to go through any of that.”

“A thousand may be a bit much,” Fluttershy admitted. “I think I’m happy with just the one.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Twilight slowly gained back control of her lungs. Her shaky breathing was the only sound between them, apart from the faint whispers at the end of the hall, until finally—

“You know, those boys only left me alone because they started going after you,” Fluttershy said quietly. “And while I had Rainbow to defend me in grade school, as soon as she and Applejack got on friendly terms with them...”

Instead of trying to ask questions Twilight remained silent, and listened.

“A-and I guess deep down I was grateful to you.” She lifted her head and shot Twilight a pleading glance. “Isn’t that just awful of me? The whole school turned against you, yet the only thing I could think of was, ‘at least it wasn’t me this time’.”

Before Twilight could respond Fluttershy averted her eyes and worried her fingers into the hem of her shirt. “And then they got suspended, and you didn’t come back.”

A cold dread seeped back into Twilight’s lungs. “But I did come back,” she tried. “At the start of grade ten. I only missed a term.”

“And our bullies came back in January,” Fluttershy said simply. She pulled her hands into her lap and laced her fingers together so tightly her knuckles paled to white. “One term is all it takes.”

I’m sorry, Twilight’s instinct was to say, but she refused to let the phrase pass her lips for something she knew apologies wouldn’t fix. “Yeah,” she said instead. “I figured that out too.”

There was so much more Twilight wanted to say to her, but her stress-addled brain couldn’t find the right words. Thankfully, it seemed Fluttershy was at a similar loss. Just before their silent stares crossed over into the realm of awkwardness she pulled her clasped hands up in front of her—almost like a prayer—and whispered, “That’s it.”

Twilight exhaled. “Yeah.”

“Thank you for listening. It... it was nice to talk about it.”

“Yeah,” she repeated lamely. The pressure in the air between them was almost suffocating. But since her legs felt more stable and her breathing had evened out, Twilight somehow ignored the tense atmosphere and pushed herself to her feet. “I think I’m good to keep going now,” she mumbled, halfheartedly changing the topic.

Fluttershy nodded. “Only if you’re ready.” She got to her feet as well, then slowly raised her arms and held them out. “And... could I give you a hug?”

Twilight blinked. That was a new one.

“Only if you’re alright with it.” Her arms wavered. “There’s just a lot going on, isn’t there?”

“I...” Twilight didn’t know whether Fluttershy’s question was directed at their present situation or at herself or both. “Yeah,” she decided. “I guess that’s fine.”

With permission granted, Fluttershy closed the space between them by stepping forward and wrapping her arms around Twilight’s back. She was a good head taller than Twilight, who found that her chin just barely managed to rest on Fluttershy’s shoulder.

It was a different kind of hug than Twilight was used to. Not uncomfortable, though, she thought. Just different.

Then a flash of gold appeared in Twilight’s peripheral vision. She pulled away from the hug just in time to see the same light that had appeared on Applejack finish tracing something on Fluttershy’s wrist.

“Oh!” Fluttershy noticed too, and quickly pushed her sleeve down so they both could look.

“Compassion,” Twilight read. “Plus integrity from earlier.” She raised an eyebrow. “So it’s pointing out character traits?”

Fluttershy giggled as she replaced her sleeve. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

A familiar nervous heat rose to Twilight’s face, and she quickly cleared her throat. “It’s just a guess,” she mumbled.

Once again Fluttershy laughed, a soft sound so different than the laughs Twilight had heard directed at her. Then a thought popped into her head at the memory of those sounds. “You mentioned you went through the same things as me,” she said. “Before, I mean. When we were... fighting.” She hesitated, then finally asked, “Did you mean everything?”

Fluttershy smiled again, though it carried a sad sort of strain beneath it. “I did.”

Equal amounts of curiosity and hope fueled Twilight’s next question: “Then how did you get through it?”

And at that the sadness disappeared from Fluttershy’s smile, leaving Twilight with an expression that she might once have considered pity but instead recognized as respect. “Because you made it,” she said. “And if you could survive your bullies all on your own, why couldn’t I?”

Admiration was equally as unfamiliar to Twilight as friendly hugs and praise and kindness, contrary to the pity that seemed to stick closer than her shadow. But when she rejoined the others their pity didn’t seem to sting as sharp anymore—icy edges melted by just a tiny spark of pride.

The Trial of Optimism and the Terrors of the Past

View Online

Canterlot High School cafeteria—loud, crowded, and thankfully the setting to only fifty minutes of Twilight’s daily schedule.

She appreciated the routine she’d become accustomed to after the first few weeks of high school, simple as it was. A sandwich in one hand, a pencil in the other, and coursework spread across the table made for a familiar setting amidst the chaos of lunch period. There were still a few variables in the process, such as if other students wanted to use the rest of the table or what she brought to eat, but Twilight figured that the core experience of lunch had finally been perfected to be productive—exactly how she liked it.

She took a bite of her sandwich and wrote down the answer to another problem on her worksheet with neat, slow strokes. With over half an hour left in the period she could afford to take her time.

Twilight managed to finish two more questions and three more bites in relative peace. But just as she started reading the last problem a shadow fell across her papers and interrupted her train of thought. “Hey,” someone said from behind. Their voice rang high and raspy, and Twilight immediately recognized who they were without even looking up.

“Rainbow Dash,” she replied. Her pencil scratched out another line to punctuate her clipped response.

“Aw, c’mon. Don’t be like that.” Rainbow ignored the polite way out of the conversation and instead sat down next to Twilight, her backpack dangling off one shoulder and nearly onto the floor. “Whatcha doin’?”

Twilight pursed her lips and tapped the worksheet with the end of her pencil. “Homework.”

“During lunch?”

“It’s efficient.” She took the second-to-last bite of her sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. “It means I don’t have to take it home.”

Rainbow scrunched up her nose and stuck out her tongue. “That’s so lame. You’re just wasting the only good part of school on some stupid homework.”

Sighing, Twilight finally looked up to fix Rainbow with a pointed glare. “What do you want?” she asked curtly. “I thought you didn’t want to be seen with people outside your ‘coolness criteria’.” She narrowed her eyes. “Did that trio of goons you hang around put you up to this?”

“What?” Rainbow laughed nervously, and her eyes most definitely did not drift across the cafeteria to a table occupied by three boys snickering back at them. “No way. I, uh, just wanted to see what you were doing.”

“Uh-huh.” Twilight raised an eyebrow. “And we were such good friends before this.”

“I—” Rainbow sputtered for words, but didn’t manage to find them. The ensuing silence then seemed to take the wind out of her sails and she slumped her shoulders in defeat. “Ugh, fine. Those guys kinda dared me to go talk to you—I guess they forgot you went to our grade school.” She paused. “But, uh, I can’t really blame ‘em. You’re sorta like a super-awkward ghost.”

“Wow. I’m flattered.”

“Well it’s kinda true, y’know,” Rainbow muttered, just the slightest bit indignant at being called out. “You never talk to anyone, and if you’re not doing homework you go and stick your nose in a book. Of your own free will!”

It didn’t take much social proficiency to see that Rainbow had some very strong thoughts on that particular topic. Rather than argue—and considering the sanctity of reading was on the line it was very tempting—Twilight just shrugged and finished the last bite of her sandwich, then turned away from the conversation and back to her work.

But that just seemed to irritate Rainbow even more.

“Oh, and of course math is more important than the actual human trying to talk to you.” She kicked the table hard, and Twilight had to quickly steady her water bottle before it toppled over. The students at the other end of the bench shot Rainbow dirty looks, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Twilight shrugged again, still not looking up. “I don’t have anything else to add.”

Rainbow made a noise halfway between a grunt and a scream. “God,” she hissed, “you’re so weird. You’re really freakin’ weird, Twilight.”

“Mhm.” Name-calling always stung a bit, but it wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before.

“Hoops was right—you’re really just lost in your own head, huh?” She poked her index finger aggressively into Twilight’s arm. “Or maybe you’re a robot?”

“Maybe.”

“No, you’re too much of a dork. My phone can carry more of a conversation than you can.” Rainbow poked her again, then slung her bag over her shoulder and stood up. “Like, maybe try reality on for size. Talk to people. Make a friend. Be normal.”

“Sure.”

“Hey, I’m just tryna look out for you. ‘Cause otherwise, in four years you’ll be valedic-whatever of a class who doesn’t give a shit.”

In response Twilight nodded her head almost imperceptibly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Sure hope you do.” With that parting remark Rainbow spun on her heel and strode off, calling out over her shoulder, “See you around, egghead!”

That’s a new one. Twilight frowned down at her worksheet, an odd sort of feeling welling up in the pit of her stomach. One of the girls at the end of the table giggled, and Twilight just managed to catch the word egghead pass from lips to ear.

She felt their gazes burn her temples and forced herself to keep quiet and keep her head down—nothing good would come of speaking up. It’s no worse than anything else I’ve been called before, she reasoned. Just leave it alone.

The answer to the last problem was seventeen. Twilight wrote the number down to the tune of teasing snickers and words whispered behind her back.

The maple leaves fell one month into the school year, blanketing streets and lawns alike in shades of red. But then with rain and time red turned to brown, and the once-beautiful sight became a mudstained mess.

Twilight liked autumn. Until the red started leaking inside as well.

Egghead, the nail polish spelled in crimson strokes. The bright colour stood out against the grey of her locker, the letters getting smaller and slanted at the end as the writer ran out of space. Twilight took a moment to process it, acutely aware of the way other students flowed around her, whispers and giggles and stray elbows bouncing off her back.

She eventually pulled open her locker with a resigned sigh, debating whether to risk dropping off her lunch or not—someone had stolen the lock a week prior and she hadn’t yet figured out an excuse to ask her parents for another—only to be instantly met by a shower of papers spilling onto the muddy floor.

I left a binder behind again, Twilight realized when the papers settled. Frustration welled up behind her eyes, both at herself and at whoever had pulled all her notes out and set them up between her locker door.

Inhale. Exhale.

A few deep breaths numbed Twilight’s frustration down to apathy. She knelt to gather her things, though already a good half of the papers were wet or trodden upon with dirty shoes. Someone nearly stepped on her hand as she reached for a sheet that had slid into the centre of the hall, and another person’s bag smacked into the back of her head when she pushed all the papers together into a single, soggy stack.

But Twilight still kept her head down and her mouth shut. They were just one set of notes; she could rewrite them if she needed them. Her school-loaned textbooks were safe in her—admittedly heavy—backpack, and she’d already learned to keep anything valuable on her person or at home altogether.

So it wasn’t a big deal. She could handle it.

The murmuring voices in the hall quieted behind her back as she peeled one of the papers off of the pile. Then, before she could salvage anything else, a dirty sneaker suddenly stomped down on the centre of her notes and ground them into the floor.

“What’s wrong, egghead?” a familiar voice jeered. “Didja lose something?”

As if things couldn’t get worse.

Twilight didn’t have to look up to recognize her tormentors. Hoops spoke with a teasing drawl, masculine by nature and teenage by grating cracks; Score could never contain his wheezy snickers behind his massive palms; and Dumb-Bell lived up to his unfortunate name—Twilight knew the laces on the shoe crushing her papers weren’t undone by choice.

Her heartbeat rose to the back of her throat. Twilight didn’t have to attempt a reply to know that anxiety had already choked away her voice.

So instead she froze, and said nothing.

“Aw,” Hoops said, the nasal undertones of his voice cruel and mocking. He took a step forward so his shoes entered Twilight’s vision and his body cast a shadow across her face. “Looks like egghead’s gonna crack.”

“Heh,” Dumb-Bell snorted. “I get it. Crack. Like an egg.”

Twilight still said nothing; did nothing. And as Score stepped up to complete the makeshift triangle that pinned her between them and the lockers she lowered her gaze and waited for the inevitable blades of insults to split her skin.

Except they never came.

The trio didn’t even manage to get a word out before someone behind Hoop defused the situation with a single question: “What on earth is goin’ on here?”

Interventions didn’t normally arrive in stetson hats with southern accents, but Twilight was willing to take what she could get.

“AJ!” Hoops’s personality flipped like a switch, going from bully to bootlicker in an instant. He pivoted his stance to lean against the closest locker with one arm and flipped his hair out of his eyes. “Why, we’re just spending some time with the smartest student in our grade. What’s up?”

But Applejack didn’t fall for it. Her gaze trailed down to where Dumb-Bell’s sneaker remained planted on top of Twilight’s notes. “It sure don’t look like quality time to me.”

The sneaker quickly pulled back. “Uh,” Dumb-Bell grunted. “Was an accident.”

“Yeah! It’s not our fault the egghead’s such a klutz,” Score added with a tone that suggested exactly the opposite.

“...Right.” Applejack glanced over to Twilight, her brow furrowing slightly as she did, but she didn’t press any further. When she looked away Twilight bit her tongue and swallowed down the urge to speak up. “Well, whatever’s happened, you three’d best hurry up. Dash told me to kick y’all in gear so you make it to the field for warmups.”

Hoops pulled a face. “Ugh. Why does she even care about that?”

“‘Cause last time you were late she got stuck with Wiz Kid,” Applejack deadpanned. She raised one eyebrow and said, “Do you really wanna put her through that again?”

“Fine.” Hoops reluctantly stepped away, flicking one hand over his shoulder to signal the other two to follow. “We’ll see ya at lunch, AJ.”

Applejack returned the gesture with a half-hearted wave. “Later.” She waited for the boys to disappear into the rapidly-thinning crowd before she looked back down to where Twilight remained kneeling beside her open locker. “You’d best get goin’ too, Twilight.”

How long had it been since Twilight had heard her name pass a classmate’s lips? It seemed foreign compared to her new names of freak and weirdo and robot and egghead.

“Yeah,” she replied automatically, her brain still trying to find a definition for the feelings clawing at her chest. “I will.”

And no matter how loud Twilight’s mind begged for help, Applejack could not hear words formed from silence—and in that silence she chose to leave the elephant in the room alone.

Just like she had every time before.

You have to handle this, Twilight reminded herself, even though each day seemed to make her burden that much more impossible to bear. She wadded her sopping notes up and trashed them as the bell rang through a silent hallway, Applejack’s pity-filled, distant eyes still burning against her skin.

Heads down, mouths quiet—that was all they could do. Just two passing ships unwilling to ever rock their boats.

December. Lunch period of the last Monday before winter break. Slightly snowy; definitely cold.

And the worst day of Twilight Sparkle’s life.

She should have realized something wasn’t right as soon as Hoops sat down across from her—no one had eaten lunch at her table since she’d ceased to be Twilight. No Score; no Dumb-Bell. Just Hoops and a hundred alarm bells ringing on deaf ears.

Slowly, Twilight lowered her pencil and stared.

What does he want now?

Hoops folded his hands together on the lunch table and smiled with all his teeth. “Hey, egghead.”

Anxiety began to creep up Twilight’s spine. “Hello,” she said quietly, her mouth suddenly dry as chalk.

“Whatcha up to?”

The question was innocent, but Twilight couldn’t help but hesitate to answer. “Just homework,” she finally said. Then: “Did you want me to move?”

“What?” Hoops seemed genuinely surprised at her response. He leaned forward on his elbows and shook his head, his brow creased so slightly that Twilight almost believed his concern was real. “Naw, you’re fine. I’m here to talk to you.”

Twilight blinked. Had she heard him right? “Me?”

“You see anyone else here?” His smile somehow grew even wider. “Of course not.” He flicked his bangs to the side and made eye contact for the first time. Something malicious lurked behind his irises, but Twilight didn’t have the courage to call him on it. “I’m basically doing you a favour, egghead. You should be thanking me or whatever.”

He waited.

“Thanks,” Twilight whispered.

“There we go!” Hoops kept staring at her, despite how his hair was slowly sliding back into his eyes, but Twilight couldn’t withstand the terrible unease radiating from the situation any longer. She ducked her head and started shuffling her papers back together, her heartbeat pounding in her ears—and not just her ears, but in her throat and chest and the tips of her fingers.

Fight or flight; freeze or fawn. Twilight had thawed, and she knew she had to leave now.

She shoved her pencil and papers into her backpack haphazardly at the same time that Hoops clicked his tongue. His smirk faded into a frown with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. “Leaving so soon?”

“I...” Her throat closed up, so she nodded instead.

“And here I thought I was doin’ a good deed by burying the hatchet.” Hoops leaned back on his bench and crossed his arms. “Guess there’s no point if you won’t even hear me out.”

Twilight should have ignored him.

She should have ignored his too-sweet smiles and too-dark eyes.

She should have ignored the lie he spun solely to keep her back to the cafeteria and her eyes on him.

But she didn’t. And because she hesitated, Twilight had her back turned when a pair of footsteps pounded up behind her—and she knew too late that it was a setup, just like always, all at the hands of Hoops.

Something smacked against Twilight’s head hard enough to knock her glasses down to the end of her nose. A cold and slimy substance dripped down the back of her neck.

“Check out the egghead!” Score’s voice pierced through the air from Twilight’s left, louder than anything else in the cafeteria. The other students’ chatter died away as she numbly reached up to touch where she’d been hit. Her fingertips came back yellow.

Someone giggled.

Twilight heard a cellphone snap a picture.

She shouldn’t have turned around, but her body started moving before she could stop herself, twisting in place to try and process what was going on. She turned, and Twilight found that past Score and Dumb-Bell hundreds of eyes and phone cameras peered back.

Everyone at every table was watching.

Watching, and doing nothing at all to help.

And as Twilight’s anxiety escalated past every threshold she’d ever known—a choking ice in her lungs, a staccato beat in her blood—something squeezed at the centre of her chest, a terrible pressure that bore down on her heart and blackened the edges of her vision.

And then the world went quiet.

Hoops said something to her, but Twilight didn’t hear. Suddenly, she was numb to sight and sound. Her body moved on autopilot, jerking to its feet and grabbing her bag with one trembling hand.

She felt the egg yolk drip down her forehead and suppressed the urge to cry.

And Twilight remembered later, when she allowed herself to recall the events in the cafeteria, how Hoops had taunted her as she’d walked away. She didn’t remember all of the names and slurs he’d yelled at her, but she would never forget how his final insult had been cut off by a fist to the face.

She didn’t see the fight, but afterward her brain pieced together the clues that her anxiety had hidden while she lived it—two chairs scraping across the tile floor, Score’s whimpers drowned out by Applejack’s furious voice and a stinging slap, and Rainbow snatching back her egg carton from Dumb-Bell before socking Hoops across the jaw.

(Rainbow had supplied the ammo, knowingly or not. Twilight had figured that out later when a morbid sort of curiosity had her sneak onto Celestia’s computer to read about all five suspensions.)

But in the moment she knew nothing of the brawl breaking out behind her back. The numbing pressure drove her through the hall with stilted, trembling steps, whispering in her ear to run away, get out, leave everything behind.

Her memories stalled after that. It was only after a worried hand gently touched her shoulder that Twilight felt herself return to reality, still drowning in a silent panic that stole away her voice.

Mrs Mayor’s hand was very thin, Twilight managed to think. She didn’t understand anything coming out of the secretary’s mouth, but the small part of her vision not consumed by static saw that her words were quick and her eyes were scared.

Then Twilight recognized four syllables—Ce-les-ti-a—and she realized that her secrets were out.

She didn’t protest when Mrs Mayor guided her to the staff wing and pounded frantically on Celestia’s door. The strange numbness still had control over her body, and Twilight didn’t know how to get it back.

“Do they know now?”

Twilight broke the silence halfway through the drive home. Her voice had returned earlier, but she could hardly bear knowing the answer to the question she’d finally asked.

Celestia tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Her eyes stayed locked on the road ahead. “I didn’t know I was supposed to be a secret.”

A defeated laugh escaped Twilight’s lips before she could stop herself. “Who would want to be stuck in your shadow?” she said, bitterness drenching every one of her words. “I just wanted to pretend I had a chance to fit in—to be just me. Not ‘Principal Celestia’s niece’.”

“Twilight—”

“Guess I can’t pretend now.”

The muscle in Celestia’s jaw tensed ever so slightly. Before she could reply Twilight rolled her head toward the passenger window, not caring how the egg drying in her hair rubbed off on the leather seat.

Pinkie Pie sat on the edge of the bathtub, and for a moment Twilight realized that something wasn’t right.

“Hi Twilight.” The greeting was subdued, if not hesitant—an odd thing to come from Pinkie.

“Hello,” Twilight replied automatically. Her brain overwrote her unease with numbness, and she turned to the mirror above the sink like she was supposed to.

Dried egg caked the top of her head, shell and all. She reached up to touch it and found that her hair crunched beneath her fingers. Hair wasn’t supposed to crunch. Eggs weren't supposed to be smashed on heads. She leaned over the sink to press her forehead against the mirror and exhaled a shaky breath. The surface of the mirror fogged. An overwhelming wrongness prickled behind her eyes.

Then Pinkie spoke again: “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not to you,” Twilight said sullenly. She winced at how harsh she sounded and added, “Sorry. I’ve got a lot going on.”

“I know,” Pinkie said, and for some reason the matter-of-fact tone of her voice sent a ripple of disbelief down Twilight’s spine.

“Look,” she said slowly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but someone like you wouldn’t understand.”

Pinkie didn’t seem offended by that. “Why?” she asked.

“Because you’re happy,” Twilight replied. “And I am not.”

The numbness nudged at the back of Twilight’s head, a pointed reminder that she had a part to play. She turned away from Pinkie and pulled the mirror open so she could scan the shelves behind. Need something stronger than soap.

Pinkie waited a few moments before she spoke again, still carrying that knowing tone within her voice. “You know that phrase everyone says?” she said, content to talk over Twilight’s movement. “‘It gets better’?”

Of course Twilight had heard it. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and grabbed a bottle from the cabinet.

“I’m gonna let you in on a secret, Twilight. It doesn’t.”

That was new.

Slowly, Twilight turned on her heel, her curiosity allowing her to break out of her motions and go off script. “It doesn’t?”

“It doesn’t,” Pinkie echoed.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Twilight said flatly.

“Well, that’s because I’m not done.” Now that she had Twilight’s attention, Pinkie shifted over on the edge of the tub and patted the space beside her with one hand. “I’m not gonna make you talk if you don’t want to,” she said, “but maybe I can talk instead. If you’ll listen, I mean.”

Twilight stared for a few seconds. Somehow she found the strength to put the bottle in her hand down beside the sink. “Okay,” she said, and stepped over to Pinkie. Her motions felt floaty; weightless, almost. “Listening’s fine.”

She sat down, and the numbness faded along with her script.

“So,” Pinkie said once Twilight had settled. “Things don’t get better.” She kicked her feet gently as she spoke, her heels tapping against the side of the tub in an offbeat rhythm only she could follow. “That’s what Pa always told me. Isn’t that awful?”

Twilight wasn’t sure if she was supposed to agree. She offered a nod. “Yes?”

“Yes! I mean, what kind of parent tells their kids that?” Pinkie scrunched up her nose and said, “It’s like, come on! Did I peak at the tender age of four, when I was still blissfully unaware of the universe and its harsh reality?”

“I... what?”

“Junior kindergarten starts at four, Twilight,” she explained. Then she pointed one finger up to her hair. “And kids are really, really mean.”

...Oh.

Twilight shifted uncomfortably, both because of the narrow ledge and because of what she was listening to. But before she could figure out what to say Pinkie beat her to it, a soft smile on her face.

“I’m going somewhere with this, I promise. ‘Cause you know what Pa would say every morning I helped Ma set up her flat iron?”

Twilight was pretty sure she knew the answer to that.

“He’d tell me things don’t get better,” Pinkie repeated. She made a face again, exaggerating her irritation with a dash of disgust. “And y’know, the first time he said that, I couldn’t believe it! I just about started bawling my eyes out before the second day of school.”

It was a bleak mindset, Twilight agreed. She considered herself a realist, even a pessimist sometimes, and the phrase hadn’t helped her feel any better—so how much worse would a child react? And to hear that from your own father?

Although, she couldn’t say she felt worse. And it was easier to listen than it was to talk.

Maybe Pinkie did understand after all.

“I heard that phrase every other morning for months,” she continued. “And I hated it! I hated having to get up early, I hated sitting still enough that Ma wouldn’t burn me, and I hated that it didn’t make a difference.” She pulled one of the longer strands of hair that framed her face so it stretched taut, then released. “They just found something else to laugh at instead.”

Twilight felt a lump form in her throat. She swallowed hard to clear it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry. I’m not done.” Pinkie’s heel-kicking slowed to a stop. She turned in place to look at Twilight and raised one hand to point directly at Twilight’s heart. “Because every time Ma finished with my hair, Pa would then sit me down on the edge of the counter and tell me the rest of the saying.”

The rest of it?

“Things don’t get better,” Pinkie said, then smiled. “You just get stronger.”

And Twilight suddenly realized that she’d written Pinkie off far too early, because she’d expected hollow cheers and well-wishes just to receive understanding like a punch to the gut.

“And I did,” Pinkie finished, and Twilight couldn’t help but notice how the curls of her hair bobbed as she spoke—something she’d always known Pinkie Pie to have, and couldn’t possibly imagine her without. “Eventually.” She tilted her head to the side, her eyes calm and steady and knowing all at once. “I think you got stronger too.”

Oh.

Twilight dropped her gaze down to her palms, no longer able to meet Pinkie’s gaze. Her eyes felt hot. “I—” Her throat strangled the rest of her sentence into a sob.

But she’s right, isn’t she? It... wasn’t as awful the second time.

Then her train of thought stalled. Wait. Second time?

The wrongness returned, and Twilight finally recognized its source. No one had been in the bathroom that day. Not her brother or her parents or Celestia, and certainly not Pinkie Pie—no one had been in the bathroom. No one had been there to see her at her worst.

“This isn’t real,” she whispered, her voice choked out to a rasp. “Because this isn’t what actually happened.”

Pinkie nodded silently. The look on her face spoke louder than any words ever could.

She knew how this was supposed to end.

A flurry of emotions welled up behind Twilight’s eyes. She had lived the worst day of her life twice over—once by bullies, and once at the hands of Nightmare—and the scars still ached the same as they had when fresh. Bits and pieces of reality flooded back through her memories alongside her silent tears: Celestia, the assembly, the trials, Sunset.

“We have to get out of here,” she croaked. A few rapid blinks cleared her vision, and she cleared her throat. “We’re wasting time, and I don’t know how long Celestia can hold off that monster—”

Pinkie held up a hand to cut her off. “It’s okay,” she said. “You’re the last one. And I don’t think time works the same in dreams.”

The last one? Twilight furrowed her brow. “What do you mean by that?”

“About time? Well, I’m pretty sure we haven’t actually been in here for half a school year. But if you meant about being the last one...” Pinkie shrugged and said carefully, “I kinda maybe had to help everyone else out too.”

Twilight stared at her, stunned to silence. The remnants of her assumptions about Pinkie crumbled away to dust. She did this for everyone? Went through five of these terrible dreams?

That’s... incredible.

“Oh, but please don’t try and ask about anyone else,” Pinkie added, oblivious to Twilight’s shock. “This sort of thing is super-duper private, okay?”

“I...” Twilight blinked a few times. “Of course.” She hesitated, then asked, “Um, how much exactly did you see?”

“How much?”

“Of... this.” She gestured around the bathroom, then pointed at herself. “Of my memories.”

Pinkie pursed her lips. “Oh. Well, all of them, I think.”

Twilight wilted. Shame rushed to the tips of her ears, burning like fire. Right. Of course she did.

“Sorry. I was kinda just along for the ride.” Pinkie scratched her cheek with one finger as she spoke, her voice bordering on apologetic.

“Don’t tell anyone else what you saw,” Twilight begged. “Please. I know everyone’s already heard rumours and come up with their own explanations, and I’ve come to terms with that, but I’m just trying to put this behind me—”

Once again Pinkie held up her hand to stop Twilight, this time using her fingertips to draw an ‘X’ in the air over her heart. “Promise I won’t. Cross my heart, hope to fly”—she pulled her hand away and pressed her index finger against the eyelid of her left eye—“stick a cupcake in my eye.”

It was an odd series of gestures seemingly from nowhere. Twilight could only stare in response, utterly confused. “...What?”

“What?” Pinkie asked innocently.

“What was that?”

“Oh!” She repeated the motion, then grinned from ear to ear. “It’s a Pinkie promise—you can’t ever, ever break it.”

Twilight laughed despite herself. “I’ve never seen that before,” she admitted, and raised her right hand in front of her with her pinky finger extended. “I thought a pinky promise was with this.”

“Well, we can do that too if you like.” Pinkie reached over and linked her finger around Twilight’s own, then gave it a gentle squeeze. “There! Doubly promised.”

And then something pulled at Twilight’s heart—an inversion of Nightmare’s all-consuming pressure—and the world dissolved.

It was a bit like waking up, she thought, except that she could still clearly remember every word she’d said to Pinkie in the bathroom, still picture every expression on her face. They didn’t fade away like dreams. Her new memories were real.

Then she blinked, and she was real too. Suddenly Twilight was standing, and in comparison everything from the floor to the air to the clothes on her back felt solid. Things had weight. Things seemed normal.

A quick glance around confirmed it: a spiral staircase in front of her, four shaken-up girls sitting on its steps at various levels, and Pinkie’s finger still intertwined with hers—except now it was so tangible she could feel her pulse beneath her skin. The remnants of a familiar golden glow faded from Pinkie’s arm, and when Twilight let go she could make out a new word scrawled on her wrist.

Optimism.

“Thanks,” Twilight whispered, before even Pinkie had a chance to speak. “For helping me, I mean. You didn’t have to.”

From her seat on the steps Rainbow raised an eyebrow. “Whatd’ya mean?” she asked, a bit gruffly. “You really think Pinkie Pie would leave without you? That any of us would?” She paused. “Okay, wait. You have a case for some of us, I’ll admit—”

And Twilight laughed again, a single, quiet syllable escaping past her lips. “It’s fine,” she said. “I’m... glad that you all waited for me.” Somehow, the Rainbow of the present didn’t seem as scary as the Rainbow of her past. They were all slightly different people now, she noticed. Her and Applejack and everyone else. We’ve all grown up.

“Well, duh,” Pinkie snorted, and rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “You think I’d go to all the trouble to save someone a seat in English class of all places, just to throw ‘em to the wolves when things get tough?” She blew a raspberry. “‘Course not!”

“I— wait.” Twilight furrowed her brow. “That was on purpose?”

Instead of answering, Pinkie spun on her heel to face the others and smacked her palms together with a loud clap. “Welp! Places to be, stairs to climb, right? Time is real again, if you haven’t noticed!” She darted up the steps and around the others, poking and prodding them to their feet. “C’mon! We’re like, halfway there!”

“Only halfway?!” Rarity made a noise halfway between a groan and a whine, though she didn’t resist when Pinkie yanked her up from where she sat. “How on earth do you know that?”

“Easy.” Pinkie pointed to Applejack, then to Fluttershy, then to herself. “Words.” Then she waved her finger a vague circle at Rainbow, Twilight, and Rarity. “No words.”

“No way,” Rarity hissed.

“Signs sorta point to ‘yes’ on this one, Rare,” Applejack said. She tipped her hat and teased, “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be next.”

“Well now you’re just tempting fate!”

Twilight watched as the two dissolved to bickering, and absently thumbed the spot on her own wrist where a word would go. She was still on the outside of their little group, a stranger looking in—but each trial seemed to close the distance between them just a little bit more.

Trials and monsters and golden words. Twilight didn’t want to believe in magic; didn’t want to trust in something she didn’t understand. But as they climbed the staircase she pretended that she could believe, allowing herself to wonder briefly what her word might be.

Author's Notes:

this is probably my favourite trial, and perhaps my fav chapter in the entire fic. it's super fun to play within the boundaries of the written word and find ways to "show, don't tell" in a way that makes sense to readers. at least, i hope it made sense! to me it's all about finding a balance between what only the characters know, what only the readers know, and how to reveal that information to both of them in way that's interesting to read.

also, for those wondering about the choice of the pegasus bully trio as twilight's bullies, the main reason was that i wanted guy characters so it would stop being so annoying to have every speaker in a scene use "she" there are other reasons too, but i'll save that for a post-mortem writeup when everything's finished

in terms of the trial itself, pinkie is both incredibly difficult and super easy to write at the same time. rewatching sunset's backstage pass a few times really helped me solidify her portrayal, and i hope that this rendition managed to retain her upbeat character in a more grounded way appropriate to this version of the "laughter trial" (rip to giggle at the ghosties lol)

anyway, long author note again! thanks so much for reading, and i hope you enjoyed the chapter - we're halfway through the trials now, so please look forward to what the remaining two will have in store

The Trial of Altruism and the Selfishness of Being a Hero

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When they reached the next floor Twilight was greeted with the sight of a very familiar door across a decidedly unfamiliar chasm that spanned an entire hallway. Though she was the last one to arrive, it seemed that no one else had found the courage to cross the threshold into what was presumably another trial. She ended up having to stand on her tiptoes to peer over Rarity’s shoulder toward the door at the other end of the pit.

Principal Celestia, MEd, MBA. Even from afar Twilight knew what the text on its nameplate spelled out.

Amidst their collective hesitation Applejack once again took it upon herself to lead the way forward. “C’mon, girls,” she said, and crossed over into the room with a slow and deliberate step. When nothing happened she motioned over her shoulder for the rest of them to follow. “Seems fine so far.”

With her reassurance the others slowly fanned out onto the small section of the hallway that still had floor. Twilight took a moment to hang back and scan the room for clues, though there wasn’t much to see—just a bottomless pit lined by blank walls that stretched about a hundred metres, and Celestia’s door embedded in the wall directly opposite the entrance.

It only took a minute for them to fully examine what little area of the room they could. Pinkie spoke the words on everyone’s mind not long after the minute had passed: “Now what?”

“Dunno.” Rainbow kicked at the ground and frowned. “Thought there was supposed to be some test for somebody or whatever.” She glanced around again, as if something might have changed in the few seconds since she’d last looked. “But I don’t see anything.”

“I don’t either,” Twilight added.

They turned to Rarity. Rarity quickly averted her eyes.

“Ah.” Applejack crossed her arms. “There it is.”

“There what is?” Rarity retorted, the shrillness of her voice doing a very poor job of hiding her guilt. “There’s nothing here; it’s a dead end. So obviously we must retrace our steps and find another room that doesn’t require me to do anything dangerous or frightening or—”

Fluttershy nudged Rarity’s shoulder with her own, silencing her nervous tirade. “Rarity,” she said gently.

Rarity hung her head. “Fine,” she grumbled. She raised her hand and pointed over to where the floor ran out. “There’s a riddle of some sort written on that tile.”

That caught Twilight’s attention. “Could you read what it says?” she asked. When the others turned to look at her she shrank back from their gazes, though she still managed to keep talking despite the nervous hitch that wormed into her voice. “It’s just, I’m pretty good at riddles. So, maybe I could... help?”

Thankfully, Rarity perked up a bit at her suggestion. “Oh! Of course, that would be wonderful!” She glanced over at Applejack and raised her eyebrows. “Who knows? Perhaps this is a trial for two?”

Applejack rolled her eyes in response. “Just read the dang riddle.”

But everyone else had their own trial, Twilight noted as Rarity couched down next to the edge to get a better look. I don’t think this one’s mine.

“Here’s what it says.” Rarity cleared her throat dramatically and began to speak.

“I can bind a thousand strands / Shades from silver, bronze, and gold / So tie what falls before your eyes / And keep me close at hand.”

Silence. Once again all heads turned to Twilight, who tried her best to not make eye contact with anyone when they did. “Um.” You’re so eloquent, Sparkle. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders before trying again. “Well, the word ‘strands’ sticks out to me. Maybe we should start there?”

“Strands. Strands. Strands.” Pinkie repeated the word a few times, rolling it around her mouth at different pitches. “Like... strings, right? A thousand strings?”

“It makes me think of fibres myself,” Rarity said. She patted the sleeve of her top to emphasize her point. “Fabrics and thread and such, you know?”

Those both make sense, but... Out of habit Twilight reached for her backpack to pull out a notepad, only for her hand to connect with empty space. She frowned, and instead settled for fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. “It also mentioned precious metals, or perhaps colours.” She let go of her skirt and moved upward to pick at the cuff of her blouse. “Something that ties strings of colour. Coloured fibres. Fibres around...”

She blinked, then reached up in front of her eyes to mimic the riddle. Her fingers brushed against her bangs as she did.

Tie what falls before your eyes.

“A hairband,” Twilight said suddenly. “That’s the answer.” I think.

Rainbow squinted at her, incredulous. “What? You figured it out already?” When Twilight nodded in response she shrugged her shoulders and said, “I mean, you’re probably right, but damn. Save some for the rest of us.”

Her tone was light. Friendly, almost. Twilight didn’t feel the sting she normally felt lurk beneath her words.

“Right, then.” Applejack clapped her hands and glanced around. “Anyone got a hairband? Might as well see if somethin’ happens with it.”

Both Rarity and Pinkie did, though in the time it took for Pinkie to wrangle one around her many bracelets and off her wrist, Rarity had already retrieved hers. “It’s my trial,” she said, “so it’s only fitting that I do it.”

Right, Twilight agreed. Anxiety twisted in the pit of her stomach. It’s hers. Not mine.

Rarity placed her hairband down where Twilight assumed the riddle had been written. As soon as she did a pure-white circle flared to life around it, and the hairband slowly dissolved into shimmering dust.

Then the floor trembled. When the circle of light faded another section of flooring rose up from the bottomless abyss, inching upward at a snail’s pace and rumbling to a stop in perfect alignment with the previous tiles. After it settled the room stopped shaking and returned to the same state as before, save for the additional few metres of floor bridging across the pit.

No one said anything for a few moments. Twilight stared at the new section and, when she decided she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary on its surface, turned back to Rarity. She wanted to ask if there was another riddle, but the fact that it wasn’t her trial made her hesitate. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to be helping.

Thankfully Pinkie spoke up to fill the silence: “So what’s next?”

“Next?!” Rarity threw her hands up over her head. “You mean I have to go over there and read another—” She sputtered indignantly, then relented just as quickly. “Ugh. If I must.”

Although Rarity only agreed to step forward once both Applejack and Rainbow assured her it was safe—Rainbow even went so far as to stomp as hard as she could next to the edge, the sole of her sneaker out far enough that Twilight started feeling a bit nervous for her. But the ground didn’t budge, and after a bit of coaxing Rarity eventually settled back down at a different tile to read the next riddle aloud.

“Alone I make just half a pair / A decoration out of sight / And though I hear your secrets too / I have no mouth with which to share.”

It was just as short as the last one. When she finished speaking Rarity clapped her hands together and steepled them beneath her chin. “Well, Twilight? Any thoughts?”

Twilight blinked. She had some ideas, but... “It doesn’t bother you?” she asked instead.

“Hm?”

“This is supposed to be your trial, right?” She ducked her head slightly, her bangs tilting forward to obscure the top of her vision. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

But Rarity just laughed, still crouched down on the ground with her hands clasped under her chin. “Oh, darling,” she said, the pet name a stark assumption of familiarity, “you wouldn’t ruin it.”

“...I wouldn’t?”

“Of course not. Each room we’ve encountered in this awful place has been, quite frankly, absolutely horrid.” Rarity huffed dramatically and rolled her eyes to emphasize her point. It was a rather silly gesture, Twilight thought. Then again, Rarity was a rather silly person. “We don’t even know these are trials at all,” she continued. “Perhaps there’s no end to them, and they just dole out strange words to whoever’s persistent enough to try their hand. So then why should we assume that Nightmare—who may I remind you seems to be some sort of evil smoke monster intent on causing us harm—would tailor its domain to us as individuals?” Rarity shrugged, then batted her eyelashes at Twilight almost teasingly. “So in short, no, Twilight. You won’t ruin this for me. Quite the opposite, actually.”

It was impossible to process such a speech all at once. Twilight almost believed that Rarity had rehearsed it. “I... see.” She didn’t know what else to add on to that, though. Do I say thanks? Was there even a compliment in there to say thanks to?

Fluttershy giggled at her response, bringing one sleeve up to cover her mouth as she did. “Rarity,” she chided, “we all know you love your theatrics, but perhaps you could try to tone it down for Twilight?”

“But no one ever asks Pinkie to tone it down,” Rarity whined.

Pinkie’s hand shot up. “Not anymore!” she chirped.

“Regardless.” Fluttershy lowered her arm and stared down at Rarity, her gaze strangely stern. Twilight felt very thankful she wasn’t on the receiving end of it. “Please try not to overdo it.”

And surprisingly Rarity relented. She lowered her hands from her chin to instead grab at her knees, then rocked back slightly so she was sitting on her heels. “Well. What I meant to say, Twilight,” she said, her voice more serious but still light in tone, “was that I appreciate your help. You’re not doing anything wrong—if you were, I’d be the first to say something. Okay?”

Twilight nodded slowly. “Okay.” She shot Fluttershy a grateful glance, and received a smile in return. “Then, um, maybe we should read the riddle again.” She resisted the urge to fidget with her skirt and admitted, “I’ve sort of forgotten what it said.”

“Oh,” Rarity said with a laugh. “So have I.”

The tension broke. When Rarity repeated the riddle, Twilight allowed herself to listen without guilt—her doubt had ebbed. It wasn’t gone, but it had been beaten back far enough for the time being.

“Right,” Twilight said after Rarity re-read the whole thing. She was pretty sure she knew the answer, but... I don’t want to seem like I’m showing off. Instead of guessing, she held up her index finger and glanced around at the others. “First, we need two of the same thing, since it’s a ‘pair’.” She held up a second finger. “Next, it’s something that ‘hears secrets’. In other words, something found near the ears. And finally”—she raised a third finger—“it’s a type of decoration, like an accessory. Does that make sense?”

Applejack squinted at her. “I dunno how you got all that, but yeah. Makes sense, I suppose.” She scrunched up her nose as she thought for a moment, then ventured, “Wouldn’t be earbuds or anything like that, would it?”

“Good guess,” Twilight said, slightly surprised. “But then the part about ‘no mouth’ wouldn’t line up, since earbuds can make sounds.”

“Darn.” She shrugged, then turned to Rainbow. “Well, I tried. You got anythin’?”

“Uhhhhhh.” Rainbow glanced around, obviously staring at everyone else’s ears. Twilight watched as her eyes passed over Rarity, then quickly flicked back. She noticed! “Is it earrings?”

“Yes! I mean,” Twilight corrected, bringing her voice back down to its normal level, “that’s my guess, at least.”

Rainbow blinked. Then she grinned, a wide smile spreading across her face. “That basically means I’m right. Right?”

Before Twilight could protest the other girls nodded in agreement—Pinkie furiously up and down, Fluttershy once, Rarity with an approving hum, and Applejack with a short ‘eeyup’. “Wait,” she stuttered, “it’s just a guess. I could still be wrong.”

“You’re Twilight Sparkle,” Pinkie said matter-of-factly. “You won’t be.”

“I—” Twilight’s ears burned, except this time not from shame but from an emotion she wasn’t familiar with. The urge to fidget finally won out—she grabbed at the hem of her skirt and worried her fingers into the fabric. “But I’m not one-hundred percent sure.”

But Rainbow just shrugged off her protests and instead asked, “How much, then?”

“What?”

“How sure are you? What percent?” She jabbed her finger in Twilight’s direction, but not in an accusatory fashion—there was no aggression behind the gesture at all. “Whatever the difference is, we’ll make up for it, plus a hundred percent on top.”

“But why would you do that?” It didn’t make sense to Twilight; that they would trust her judgement so easily when she struggled to even trust at all. Her nails caught on one of the seams on her skirt. She dug her fingers in to stop herself from scratching. Why do they trust me? “It’s not like I’m one of your friends,” she mumbled.

“Well—” Rainbow faltered. The hand held out in front of her wavered slightly. “Well, no, you’re not, but that doesn’t—”

“It’s because we see something that you don’t seem to see in yourself, Twilight.” Rarity finally spoke up, catching Rainbow’s fumble and keeping the conversation alive. She reached up and unhooked her earrings—left, then right—before continuing, “You’re the smartest student in our year, if not the entire school—I don’t think anyone would dare disagree with that.”

Twilight snorted. “So? That’s just grades—”

“You’re brilliant at logic and problem-solving—”

“But that doesn’t mean you should—”

“And,” Rarity said loudly. She extended her hand in front of her, her earrings resting atop the centre of her palm. “We know you’re right,” she finished, and rotated her hand so the earrings tumbled down to the floor, “because out of all of us, you’re the person best suited for a trial like this.”

A ring of light appeared the second her earrings connected with the ground. Both of them crumbled away to shimmering dust, and the room trembled as another section rose out of the abyss. The new part was larger than the previous one—it reached about halfway down the hall when it settled into place, leaving only fifty or so metres between them and Celestia’s door.

The room stopped shaking. Rarity pushed herself to her feet and raised her eyebrows. “See?” she chided, stern and gentle all at once.

Twilight drew a shaky breath. All of their praises were uncomfortably familiar—it felt strange to not follow them up with name-calling or shoving or some sort of method that pulled the rug from under her and left her singled out.

It... wasn’t the worst feeling in the world, she supposed. Perhaps she’d get used to it.

Rarity was still waiting for an answer, though, so Twilight ducked her head in a silent nod and tried to bury her stray emotions even further down. “Sorry about your earrings,” she said instead.

“Oh, don’t mind that.” Rarity dismissed her concern with a wave of her hand. “They were hardly sentimental; I won’t miss them at all.”

Twilight pretended not to notice the way her voice caught on her last few words.

With the riddle solved they once again could continue further down the hall: Applejack and Rainbow at the front, Twilight at the back, and the other three just in between. At the halfway point Fluttershy slowed down in a way that was surely intentional, but when she did Twilight made sure to adjust her pace to prevent them from crossing paths.

The walk to the new edge wasn’t very long, but Twilight was glad it ended nonetheless.

When they reached where the floor ran out, Rarity crouched down and swept her hand over another tile. A small furrow worked its way into her brow as she did. “I suppose I should read the next one,” she said slowly. “Though I can’t say I like the font they’ve chosen this time. It’s very...” She paused. “Severe, let’s say.”

The air suddenly grew thick; ominously so. Apprehension filled Twilight’s lungs alongside each breath she took. But no pressure squeezed her heart, so she exhaled as much of her fear as she could and focused on the words read by Rarity’s trembling voice:

“But dream not of wealth foregone / For greed stays hands from sacrifice / You must give everything you can / Else none shall carry on.”

Twilight immediately recognized the riddle’s darker tone—no lighthearted analogies, no cryptic descriptions of frivolous trinkets they might have on hand. Sacrifice stood out most of all. And when the others turned to her, somehow willing to trust her judgement, she hesitated.

Not from a lack of confidence, but from what she thought the riddle meant.

Her nerves must have been obvious, though, because Rarity just sighed into the silence and shook her head. “That won’t do,” she said. Her voice was quiet—she knew, Twilight realized. She figured it out too.

“Everything.” Twilight spoke before she could stop herself. The ominous feeling only seemed to tighten around her lungs. “If we want to keep going we have to sacrifice everything.”

Applejack went pale. Twilight saw her eyes flick upward briefly toward her hat. “You sure?” she croaked.

And when Twilight glanced around she saw that everyone else reflected Applejack’s disbelief with their own unique tells: Pinkie twisted one of her bracelets around her wrist; Fluttershy ran her thumb over the ring on her finger; Rainbow gripped something in her pocket hard enough to make the muscles in her forearm tense up. By contrast, Twilight felt no attachment toward anything she had on her person—perhaps a blessing born from the habits she’d developed over those worst months of her life—and, apparently, neither did Rarity.

“Wait a minute, now.” Rarity kept her tone light despite the tension in the air, trying her best to ease the mood. “I believe this is my trial, is it not?” To emphasize her point she slid one of her rings off her finger and set it down on the floor with a sharp clack.

Once again the circle appeared, though it was much larger than it had been the times before. It spread outward until it reached nearly a metre in diameter, expanding just slow enough for Rarity to scramble back away from it. Her ring remained intact for a few moments after the circle stopped growing before it too dissolved away into pure-white stardust.

Another segment of path shook the room as it rose up. It wasn’t much, Twilight noted—just barely as long as the initial section. But this time when it attached itself the circle of light remained outlined on the tile floor instead of fading, a brilliant white divider encircling empty space.

The room stilled. Rarity removed another ring. Before she could add it, though, Fluttershy quickly raised her hand. “Wait,” she squeaked, and Twilight saw that she had one of her barrettes clasped against her palm. “Please let me help too.”

“You don’t have to—” Rarity protested, but Fluttershy just brushed past her and tried to place the clip inside the light.

But as soon as her fingers crossed the circle the light flared up, and she immediately flinched away from it with a yelp. Her barrette tumbled out of her hand and into the circle as she did—it clattered to a halt and remained on the floor, completely unaffected by the light.

“Oh,” Fluttershy breathed. She nursed her hand against her chest and winced. “That didn’t work.”

“Are you—”

“I’m fine,” she assured Rarity. “Just like, um, touching a hot kettle by mistake.” To prove her point she released her injured hand and extended it, flexing the fingers in and out. “I think I was mostly just surprised.”

“I...” Rarity gave Fluttershy one last concerned glance up and down. “Alright. I suppose if you insist.” She turned back to the circle and placed another ring inside. Then, as the room shook, she tried to pick up Fluttershy’s hair clip and place it inside herself, but to no avail.

She doesn’t get hurt when she touches the circle, Twilight noted. Though when Rarity added her necklace she hesitated with her hand inside its bounds—as if parting with it was just as bad as physical pain—and Twilight noticed how her skin began to shimmer. Not hurt, but still not safe.

After Rarity removed her final piece of jewelry the furthest section of flooring reached three-quarters of the way down the hall. Less than thirty metres remained between them and the door to Celestia’s office—they were so close.

But...

Twilight’s heart sank as she stared at the impossible stretch of nothingness ahead. Each piece of jewelry had only added around a metre of flooring in return. So even if they risked jumping the last metre, that still meant Rarity would have to give up twenty-ish things if they wanted to make it to the end.

She turned to Rarity. No earrings, no necklace, no rings on her fingers. Even if she removed all her clothing—which Twilight really didn’t want her to try unless absolutely necessary—it still wasn’t going to be enough.

The circle wouldn’t accept outside help, but Rarity had nothing left to give. Did we miss something? Twilight wondered, her gaze trailing up from Rarity’s hands to her shoulders to her face. She didn’t dare think her thoughts out loud, lest she break the silent tension forming in the air. Is it even possible to—

Rarity glanced over at Twilight before she could finish, as if she’d heard her thoughts. Their eyes met across the stillness.

It’s possible, her expression confirmed—an answer to an unspoken question written clearly in sapphire blue.

And suddenly Twilight knew the answer too.

“I think I’ll need a bit of privacy for this next part,” Rarity said, her voice still light enough to rise over the gravity of their situation. Her eyes flicked away. Twilight felt her throat close up at the suffocating, unbearable sweetness in her voice.

“Uh.” Applejack coughed awkwardly. “You sure?”

“We can’t just float our way across, darling.” She grabbed the hem of her top with both hands and repeated, “So, I’ll need a bit of privacy. Okay?”

“I—” A pause. Applejack shoved her hands into her pockets and took a step back. “Okay. Just... we’ll be right over here, alright?”

Rarity nodded. “Of course.”

“And don’t you dare do anythin’ stupid.”

“Applejack, please.”

“Because, I dunno, I’ve just got this awful feelin’—”

“Dude, c’mon.” Rainbow cut her off before she could finish and stepped between the two of them with her hands on her hips. “Give her some space. Or else she’s just gonna strip in front of everyone, and I really don’t wanna see th—ow! AJ, let go!”

Applejack dragged an indignant Rainbow behind her as she stomped back down the hall. Pinkie skipped after them without any hesitation, with Fluttershy trailing just behind them all. Only Twilight remained by the circle, still rooted in place with honeyed dread choking away her voice.

She opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came out.

“If you won’t join them, Twilight, could you at least turn around?” Rarity kept up the act, smiles and all. She lifted the hem of her shirt again and raised her eyebrows. “Because I really didn’t peg you as the type to—”

Twilight stomped her foot to interrupt. Her hands flew to her throat, clawing at her skin in a desperate attempt to coax her voice free. Please, she begged silently. Stop joking. I know.

Rarity’s gaze softened. Her smile faded to a grimace. “Oh,” she whispered. Then her brow creased. “Are... are you alright?”

Twilight shook her head.

“Right. Of course not.” She let go of her shirt and instead raised her hands as if to reach out to Twilight, but then hesitated. “Are you trying to stop me?”

A nod.

Rarity’s shoulders sank. She lowered her hands. “But,” she said slowly, “what else would you have me do?”

Silence. Twilight shook her head again. I don’t know.

“We can’t go back,” Rarity said, and this time Twilight tasted bitter realism between her words. “We can’t go forward. If we stay here there’s no chance of saving anyone else, much less ourselves, but if we take a risk?” She took a step backward. “If we make a sacrifice?” Another step. “Then at least we have that possibility.”

The sweetness soured. Twilight found enough of her voice to whisper a strangled, “Why?”

Rarity paused. Her gaze drifted briefly, and Twilight didn’t have to turn around to know where it had landed. But instead of answering she just shook her head and took another step back. “I don’t know,” she lied. “Perhaps it’s just because I’m the only one who can.”

And with those words Rarity took her final step backward across the boundary drawn on the floor and entered the circle of light.

“No!”

The rest of Twilight’s voice returned far too late—too late to talk Rarity down, too late to stop her, too late to call for help. She heard the others turn at the sound of her shout, but at the same time they realized what was happening and started sprinting over, Rarity’s skin had already turned to shimmering light.

The hallway rumbled as the final pieces of the floor crept up one after the other from the abyss. They rose at the same rate as the light that began to eat away at Rarity’s body, the same way it had consumed everything else she’d sacrificed.

The path forward was finally within reach. But in exchange not all of them could make it across.

A chill seeped into Twilight’s lungs—despair, she realized. It spread like frostbite through her veins, and as she struggled to draw breath filled with ice a single thought came crashing along with it:

They’ll miss her, won’t they?

And without a second thought Twilight scrambled forward and threw herself at Rarity across the circle’s shining bounds. Its light flared up in warning as she crossed it, but the searing pain she anticipated never arrived—instead a familiar pressure slammed against her heart and nearly knocked her off her feet.

“Twilight?!” Rarity’s voice soared to shrill. Before she could say anything else Twilight grabbed her wrist and tried to pull her back.

“Please,” she begged. “We can figure something out!” Something gold flashed beneath where her hand squeezed into Rarity’s skin but Twilight didn’t have the time to process it. She pulled again. Rarity dug in her heels.

“You’re going to get hurt!”

“And you’re going to die!”

The pressure intensified, and Twilight felt her knees wobble. She gave Rarity’s arm another desperate pull—again to no avail—before her vision blurred and her strength faded enough for Rarity to rip her arm out of her grasp. Not again, she managed to think.

“It’s alright,” Rarity tried, still forcing a smile even as her legs dissolved to dust. “Don’t worry—”

“It’s not alright!”

Applejack’s voice pierced the air and drowned out Rarity’s hollow assurances in an instant. Despite her fading vision Twilight could still see the others clearly through the wall of light that separated them—while they all wore terror across their faces, Applejack seemed the most distraught of them all.

“Get outa there!” she pleaded. She tried to reach across the light only to instantly flinch away in pain. “Agh!”

And finally Rarity faltered, if just for the split second before she managed to reply, “I... I won’t.”

“Stop being so dramatic!” Rainbow shouted. She clenched her fists at her sides, clearly resisting the urge to punch the barrier that would only burn her back.

“It’s not for drama,” Rarity barked back, her teeth bared and most of her lower body obscured by light. Her voice just barely trembled as she spoke. “I’m doing this for you!”

“But we don’t want this!” This time Fluttershy spoke up, louder than Twilight had ever heard.

“It doesn’t matter what you want, I’m—”

“It matters!” Pinkie was the last to chime in. She no longer wore a smile—just fear and panic and disbelief all mixed together. “You matter! So stop it!”

“I—” Rarity choked on her words. “But—”

The light crept past her stomach, crawling up her arms to the elbow. It moved higher and higher at a constant speed that was both agonizingly slow and far too quick. Outside the circle Twilight could hear the others screaming, but their words no longer registered. Everything dulled to numbness.

But just before her vision faded Twilight once again caught sight of golden light amidst the white—a faint scribble hovering in the empty space Rarity’s wrist was supposed to be. For some reason the sight of the word—altruism—gave her pause, and in that single second of clarity the pressure on her heart involuntarily released its hold.

There was no time to think. As soon as Nightmare’s influence vanished Twilight felt the circle’s magic turn from blinding to burning against the surface of her skin. She moved at the same time the pain registered, the sudden burst of adrenaline driving her forward into a distracted Rarity with enough momentum to shove her completely out of the circle.

“What—”

Rarity’s body reappeared the second she left the light—she stumbled off balance as her newly-formed feet hit the ground and collapsed in a heap on the still-rumbling floor. As she fell her expression twisted from shock to confusion to panic, all focused directly back at Twilight in a single, terrified stare.

There, Twilight managed to think above the agony burning her from the inside out. You’re—

Her legs crumpled beneath her as the rest of her thoughts dissolved in the excruciating pain ripping through her entire body. An anguished scream rose above every other sensation as the light tore her existence apart—a voice that Twilight no longer recognized as her own.

Then the scream vanished and the world blazed to nothing but brilliant white.

The Trial of Devotion and the Unspeakable Truth

View Online

For a brief moment Twilight Sparkle did not exist.

In that eternal second there was nothing but nothingness; an empty and infinite expanse of white. Though it was Twilight who had stopped existing, perhaps the rest of the world had disappeared as well.

The second passed. Twilight Sparkle did not exist.

And then she did.

Pain came first—electric and sharp beneath her skin. Her body struggled to process the sudden change in gravity, no longer on her knees but flat on her back across cold tile. Then came sight, blurry and out of focus. Twilight just managed to make out the hallway ceiling before a hazy blob of colour leaned into her field of vision and blocked the rest of the world from view.

Pain. Sight. And finally, sound.

“—the fuck were you thinking?!” Even with her eyesight out of focus Twilight could still feel the panic radiating from Rainbow’s entire being. “Why did you do that?!”

“I—” Twilight tried to respond, but her words tangled in her throat and morphed into a shuddering cough. I don’t know.

“You could have— you almost— we were—” Rainbow straightened up and started to pace in and out of Twilight’s field of view. “Fuck!”

Twilight exhaled slowly. Her mouth tasted like ash. The floor was cold. The floor was shaking. Something was pressing into the small of her back. The ceiling was blurry. She squinted to try and bring the world into focus, then realized that a familiar weight no longer sat on the bridge of her nose. My glasses.

Slowly—painfully—she pushed herself up with her elbows into a half-sitting position to gather her bearings. To her left was the abyss; to her right was Rainbow. The sounds of swearing and pacing blended seamlessly into a grinding rumble as multiple segments of flooring sank back into the darkness below.

It would have reached, Twilight realized as the final and farthest piece disappeared below. Whether me or Rarity, it would have been enough.

Rainbow passed across her vision again, her hands clasped behind her head and elbows framing her face. “Why?” she repeated. She kept moving along the same path as she spoke: back and forth, back and forth.

Twilight swallowed nervously. “Rarity,” she tried.

“Bull shit.” Rainbow stopped in her tracks, squarely between Twilight and the hazy group of colours on the opposite wall that she could only assume were the other four girls. “You didn’t have to jump in there after her. We could have talked her out of it, or found another way, or, or— I don’t know!” She glared down at Twilight and barked, “Explain!”

“Why does it matter?” The floor was still uncomfortably cold, but Twilight didn’t care. She eased herself down onto her back again and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, desperate to avoid the conversation she felt looming over their heads.

“Why?! Are you really gonna— Is this how— Oh, and you still won’t even look at me?” Rainbow’s voice rose. Twilight pressed harder, sparking stars beneath her eyelids.

“I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt,” she said carefully. “That’s it.”

Rainbow made an indignant noise. “But you don’t include yourself as ‘anyone’, right? So it’s okay for you to get hurt instead of us? Because of us?!”

“It wasn’t on purpose.”

“How are we supposed to believe that?!” Her pacing started up again, faster than before. Twilight felt each step reverberate through the ground against her back. “You put yourself in danger before we could even turn around!”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t you know how it looks to us?”

“Rainbow—”

“Why would you just throw your life away?” Rainbow’s pacing halted again. “Why?!”

Her question was rhetorical. Of course she knew why. Everyone did. And though it was common courtesy to overlook skeletons in closets, Rainbow was too far past the point of politeness to care.

“Why are you always so fucking desperate to kill yourself?!”

There it was.

Even with her sight obscured Twilight could picture Rainbow clearly in her mind’s eye—clenched fists and flared nostrils and wide, guilty eyes. The perfect portrait of someone who’d leapt before she looked, painted in suffocating silence.

Twilight let out the breath she’d been holding. She said it.

Someone on the other side of the hall made a noise. Pinkie. “Maybe that’s enough—”

“It’s fine,” Twilight interrupted.

“But—”

“It’s fine.” She removed her hands from her eyes and blinked out of darkness into blinding light. Blood rushed to her face as the pressure lifted—the resulting sensation of lightheadedness was almost pleasant.

The silence persisted when Twilight sat up. As she did the object prodding her lower back stuck briefly to her vest, then clattered to the floor beside her. A single glance down revealed her missing glasses—crushed, with one of the arms snapped clean off.

She didn’t bother trying to put them on.

“This isn’t the same as then,” Twilight said. “I swear.” As she spoke she stared up directly at where she assumed Rainbow’s face was supposed to be, confident to do so only because of her shortened sight. “You have every right to think the worst of me, but I have every right to disagree.”

Rainbow’s blurry form hunched slightly. “That’s not what I’m trying to do,” she muttered.

“Then why do you care about my motives?” Twilight tilted her head to the side and forced down the nausea brewing in the pit of her stomach. “Why do you care what happens to me? Now we’re just back where we started—there’s no way for us to cross. At least not at the moment,” she added, remembering how the remaining segments of the floor had disappeared when she left the circle. “If the only way to create the bridge is through a sacrifice, then eventually someone has to...”

She trailed off as she spotted something golden between the haze of tanned skin and black joggers, right at the point Rainbow’s wrist should have been. “You got a word.” It wasn’t phrased as a question—she knew.

“I... yeah.” Rainbow’s voice grew even quieter.

“Without a trial?” Confusion set in over Twilight’s irritation, and curiosity took precedence over them both. She got to her feet and closed the distance between them—Rainbow came into focus about a foot away, and for the first time since she’d fallen to the floor Twilight could make out more than a haze of blended colours.

She should have noticed sooner.

Rainbow looked more ghost than human, chalk-white dust caked through her hair and over the top half of her body. Like ashes, Twilight thought, until the chandelier above caught the residue at the right angle to reflect light back in every direction. Or... stars. She reached out on instinct to examine it, but Rainbow immediately took a step back.

“You don’t wanna touch that stuff,” she warned. “Stings real bad.” She held up her hand to show Twilight the streaks of red slashed across in tiny, narrow rows. “Worse than a papercut, but like, just by a little.”

Twilight withdrew her hand. When she looked closer she could see more cuts beneath the layer of white: microscopic tears in Rainbow’s shirt, pinpricks of red dotted across her face. Her palms and forearms seemed the most injured—Twilight assumed the deepest cuts were from when she’d first tried to brush herself off.

Her eyes trailed to Rainbow’s word again. It was too out-of-focus for her to read. “There was a second trial? And you passed?”

Rainbow hesitated. “...Yeah.”

“What was it?”

Once again she hesitated. Her gaze dropped from Twilight and landed on the ground between their feet. “You,” Rainbow finally answered.

Twilight froze. Me?

The pieces clicked into place—how she had ended up on the ground rather than in the circle, who had been the one to pull her away from certain death. But even as she realized what must have happened Twilight still struggled to believe that it was actually the truth.

Rainbow Dash, save her? She’d sooner freeze hell herself than entertain the thought.

“I guess I’m a bit of a hypocrite,” Rainbow muttered. “Yelling at you for risking your life when I went and did the exact same thing.”

Reality felt wrong. Facts no longer made sense. Twilight could only stare at Rainbow, stunned to silence by disbelief. Somehow she managed to find her voice and string together a single word: “Why?”

Rainbow took another step back. The distance between them was still close enough for Twilight to see a more subtle expression hidden behind her eyes. “I... I had to, okay?” She exhaled sharply. A cloud of stardust scattered from her shirt as she did. “Even if someone hates my guts, there’s no way I’d just stand by and let them die for me.”

Twilight tried to swallow. Her mouth felt far too dry. “I don’t hate you,” she whispered. Not anymore.

“I saw you in there, and I— I panicked, okay?” Her voice cracked from emotion, though Twilight couldn’t identify what. “I thought you were trying to... y’know.”

“I wasn’t,” Twilight said quietly. “Not on purpose.”

“And then you started disappearing, and the bridge started coming up, and you were just screaming—”

I was?

“But all I could think about,” Rainbow continued, her voice strained, “was that you were planning to die to get us out of here, and— fuck,” she hissed. She moved to rub her eyes but stopped after remembering the powder coating her skin. “After what the guys—what we—did to you? I don’t think I could live with myself.”

Twilight didn’t know what to say to that.

“Isn’t that selfish of me?” Rainbow let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “I save my own ego, and somehow that’s just as noble as everyone else.”

She held out her arm, and Twilight could finally read the word scrawled upon her skin: Devotion. A word for saving a life despite selfish intent, and a bearer who couldn’t believe she deserved it.

Even though Twilight hated to admit it, she knew she and Rainbow were more similar than she’d thought.

“Give yourself more credit,” she scolded.

Rainbow withdrew her arm and frowned. “For what?”

Twilight pointed to her own still-blank wrist and raised her eyebrows. “It’s not much of a trial to save a friend. Or even an acquaintance. But how many people would bother to save someone that doesn’t like them?” She let her wrist fall back to her side. “I don’t know that I would.”

“I was just thinking about myself.”

Twilight shook her head. “So was I,” she said. “Rarity, you, everyone else—it’s not your fault you were dragged into this. We’re here because of my aunt, trying to save my friend”—she didn’t hesitate to use the f-word that time—“from some sort of... creature that’s...” She resisted the urge to clutch at her heart and took a breath. “From a creature that’s somehow connected to me.”

Rainbow’s protests died out. “...Yeah,” she said lamely.

“I feel responsible, in a way. Isn’t that just as selfish?”

“I... I guess.” Rainbow blinked a few more times to clear her eyes. “But... that’s also pretty brave of you, eg—” She froze. “I mean, Twilight.”

Twilight sighed. Old habits died hard, she supposed. “Thanks,” she muttered.

“No, shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t call you that; it was stupid of me to start up all those nicknames in the first place—”

“Rainbow,” Twilight tried. “It’s fine.”

“You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings—man, I’m such an asshole!” Rainbow threw her hands up above her head in frustration. “If I wasn’t a walking papercut I’d let you get me back with as many punches as you want, but I guess I can’t even have that, huh?!”

“It’s really fine,” Twilight said. For some reason she had to resist the urge to laugh. Or maybe it was to cry? “You’re trying. I... appreciate it.”

“Oh.” Rainbow stopped, then lowered her arms. “Offer’s always open if you want, though.”

“...Sure.”

“And like, there’s no way you’d hurt more than AJ and her ‘bows of steel—yikes!” She ducked to avoid the stetson that whiffed past her head and smacked against the opposite wall.

On the other side of the hall Applejack lowered her arm. “Think that’s my cue,” she said, her tone intentionally light in contrast to the heavy atmosphere still clinging to the walls of the room. “Sorry ‘bout her, Twilight. Says more than she means to, ‘specially when she shouldn’t.”

Don’t we all, Twilight thought, though she didn’t say it out loud. “How’s Rarity?” she asked instead.

“Alive, thanks to you.” Applejack crossed over and retrieved her hat, making a point to glare over her shoulder as she did. Twilight hoped the Rarity-shaped blur on the receiving end of it had the decency to look remorseful. “Glad you’re alright too.”

“Somehow,” Twilight agreed. “But...” She turned to the abyss between them and the final door. The circle of light at the edge still shone bright, somehow seeming colder and harsher than ever. “...we’re still stuck.”

No one could deny that. Despite all the heroics they were back at square one: Rarity with no possessions left to sacrifice, and a circle that wanted one of their lives in exchange for a way to escape. Nothing had changed.

Right?

“We’ll figure something out,” Pinkie said, though it didn’t sound like she believed what she was saying. “We’re all gonna get out of here together. No sacrifices allowed!”

Twilight looked over at her. The girls remaining by the wall were blurry, but the longer she focused the more she could make out—that was Rarity sitting with her head in her hands, wasn’t it? Was that Fluttershy or Pinkie crouched beside her?

“Together,” she echoed. Her fingers twitched, moving on their own to fidget with the hem of her skirt. Right. Either we all make it out, or none of us do. Everyone, or no one. None, or... Her fidgeting stilled.

None or everything.

“Rarity,” Twilight blurted out, not bothering to check if anyone else had been speaking. “Can you read the riddle again for me?”

The Rarity-shaped blur made a sniffling noise. “Why?” she whimpered. “To rub it in my face that it’s my fault we’re stuck here?!”

“That’s not it,” Twilight said quickly. It was definitely Fluttershy beside Rarity, she realized. Even though she hadn’t moved she could make out the paler pink of her hair more clearly, so distinct from Pinkie’s brighter hue. “We might not have solved the riddle—there might still be something we’re missing.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Rarity snarked. She lifted her head from her knees, mascara-laden tear-tracks painted down her cheeks, and hissed, “Something else I got wrong that nearly got you kiiiii...” Her voice slowly died away, and her mouth fell open in a silent ‘o’.

Twilight ignored the strange reaction and took a step forward. “You didn’t get me killed. I’m still here, aren’t I?” Just that single step seemed to clear the haze around her eyes, even though she should have still been much too far away to see.

“Um, Twilight?” Fluttershy tried.

“I think there’s another way out of here. I just need you to confirm it for me, okay?”

But Rarity kept staring back in silence, mouth agape. “Uhh,” she managed. The perfect picture of eloquence and grace. “Haah?”

Twilight squinted. “What?”

“Ohmigosh,” Pinkie blurted out. “Twilight, you’re doing something magic!”

And finally Twilight noticed that the edges of her vision were a little too bright, that her sight was suddenly far clearer than it should have been without her glasses. Whatever had appeared around her eyes was moving—dancing, almost—with a ghostly blue-green light.

“Oh,” she squeaked, and instantly the whatever-it-was disappeared and returned her eyesight to normal. Oh, what the hell?!

“Now how on earth did you do that?” Applejack wondered. She took a step closer to Twilight’s side with her brow furrowed and her arms tightly crossed.

“Do what?!” Twilight yelped. Her voice shook as her panic rose, just barely able to keep her limbs from trembling too. “What happened? What was on my face?!”

“Some, uh, magical flame-y, fire-y stuff.” She waved her hand in front of her eyes to emphasize it. “Just ‘round here. Kinda looked like glasses, if you can believe it.”

“Magic isn’t real,” Twilight responded instinctively. She didn’t know whether to freak out or run away or both. “And even if it were, I don’t want any part of it!”

“Looked pretty cool, though,” Rainbow added, then quickly twisted to the side to dodge Applejack’s elbow. “Hey! You tryna get sliced?!”

“You tryna get jabbed?”

“Oh, be quiet, the both of you.” Rarity waved her hand in their direction—Twilight could at least make that out through the blur—and got to her feet. She too moved closer to Twilight, still a bit disheveled, with a sort of wonder plain across her face. It didn’t take perfect vision to see that.

But in response to her silent wonder Twilight drew a shallow, shuddering breath. “This isn’t good,” she argued. “Your so-called magic means Nightmare, and you saw what it did to me earlier—what I did to Fluttershy.” Though, oddly enough, she hadn’t yet felt its pressure squeeze her heart. “What if that happens again?”

Across the hall Fluttershy shook her head. “It won’t,” she said calmly.

“You don’t know that.”

“But you don’t know that it will,” she replied.

Twilight didn’t have an answer to that.

“Why, perhaps it’s part of your trial,” Rarity suggested. She motioned around the hall at everyone else: Applejack and Rainbow at Twilight’s side, Pinkie and Fluttershy against the wall, herself between them and Twilight. “You’re the last one, after all.” She reached to grasp Twilight’s wrist and lifted it gently, exposing the still-blank skin beneath her sleeve. “I think it’s quite fitting.”

Twilight didn’t try to pull her arm away. “What,” she asked instead, “that I’m last?”

Rarity shook her head. “That you’ll finish this trial,” she corrected. “It’s practically been yours from the start—Rainbow and I just happened to get in the way.”

And Twilight could only stare, her arm still trapped in Rarity’s gentle grip. It was fitting, wasn’t it? To go back and solve the riddle of a trial she hadn’t thought was meant for her.

She hesitantly turned her head to the tile beside the circle of light where the riddle should have been written. It’s my trial, she thought, almost desperately. It’s my trial too.

Something blue ignited at the edges of her vision, and her eyesight sharpened. And when Twilight finally looked down she no longer saw blank stone but four lines of text engraved upon its surface, clear as everything and everyone else she saw.

The others sucked in startled breaths at the sight of the flames, but Twilight tried her best to ignore them. She swallowed down her racing heartbeat and put all her focus on the riddle lying at her feet. “Give everything you can,” she whispered. “Else none shall carry on.”

Rarity’s eyes widened. “You see it too?”

Twilight nodded carefully, then freed her hand from Rarity’s. Just being able to see clearly again helped quell her anxiety—even if the reason why wasn't something she wanted to think about for too long. “I have an idea,” she said slowly, “but again, I’m not one-hundred percent sure.”

She stepped over to the circle, making sure to keep enough of a distance from it so that it wouldn’t look like she intended to cross its threshold. Everyone’s eyes burned against her back, a feeling that once might have made her anxious instead a reassurance that they were at least willing to listen. One deep breath—followed by one slow, calm exhale—was enough to silence the heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Then she turned back to the others and held out her hands.

“Everyone gives everything,” Twilight explained. “That’s how we all make it out.”

Even in spite of Nightmare’s influence on the school, the inside of Celestia’s office appeared the same as ever—a plush red rug in front of her stately antique desk, a set of bookshelves along the right wall filled with books in tidy rows, some filing cabinets on the left side with decorative knick-knacks sitting on top of them, and half of Twilight’s favourite part: an honest-to-goodness suit of armour flanking the left side of the massive window on the back wall.

But the strangest part of the room—ignoring the large glowing circle carved into the centre of the rug—was the leather-bound book atop Celestia’s desk. It shone with a golden light that shook its spine and sent tremors through the wooden surface beneath. Whatever power lay within its pages was just barely contained by mere shackles of paper and ink.

Then the circle flashed brilliant white, and it could no longer be ignored.

Six girls tumbled out of the circle with all the elegance and dignity of someone forcibly ejected across the fabric of reality. A screaming Rainbow Dash slammed into the side of the filing cabinets and crumpled to the ground. Applejack smacked her head against the desk. Rarity hit the bookcase. The books hit Pinkie. Twilight crashed into them both.

Somehow Fluttershy managed to fall neatly in the middle of the carpet, the best for wear out of them all. The circle winked out beneath her as she sat up, its purpose fulfilled after having delivered everyone whole and (relatively) unharmed.

“Oh,” she gasped. “It worked!”

“Great,” Applejack groaned. She let her head fall back against the desk again with a thunk. “Can’t say if that’s the better outcome, though.”

“Oh, goodness. Is everyone—”

Twilight shoved herself off of Rarity’s face and scrambled to her feet. “Where’s the book?” she interrupted. The eyesight-enhancing flames had vanished, returning her to a magic-less and blurry existence. She scanned the room at a frantic speed and immediately spotted the shuddering golden glow above the desk. There!

Then a thought struck her, prompted by the colour of the book’s aura. She’d passed the trial, hadn’t she? She’d figured out the riddle’s true meaning and found a way to save them all—surely that was an ordeal judged as equal to what the others had to face.

She stole a glance down at her wrist.

Nothing.

Her heart sank at the sight. Why? she wondered. All her excitement evaporated, replaced by a confused and gnawing disbelief. What am I doing wrong?

“Hey.” Pinkie spoke up from her position beside Twilight’s feet, quick to sense her sudden shift in mood. She nudged her elbow against her shoe and said, “You figured it out. Doesn’t matter what Nightmare’s dumb trials think. Right?”

Twilight exhaled slowly. She clenched her fist and pulled her sleeve up as high as it would go, perhaps with a bit more force than necessary. “Right. Doesn’t matter.”

The others picked themselves up as Twilight wallowed in her frustration, torn between her desire to fit in and her staunch refusal to think about anything and everything magical. It was a stupid thing to get upset about, she tried to reason. It doesn’t matter.

Lying to herself wasn’t easy, but at that point she’d had plenty of practice.

“Okay,” Twilight said, once everyone stood around the office in various states of disarray. “Step one, we get the book. Step two, we bring it back.” She paused. “I... don’t actually know what happens after that, or how we’re going to even get it to Celestia from here.”

Rarity made a face. “That is a bit of a problem.”

The facade cracked. Twilight’s panic reared its ugly head. She somehow managed to shove it back beneath the surface of her thoughts and kept her eyes locked on the glowing book in an attempt to ground herself. “There must be a way somehow,” she said. The window on the back wall overlooked only darkness, so that wasn’t a promising lead, but perhaps... “Rainbow, can you try the door?”

“Uh.” Rainbow leaned over and cracked open the office door. “Good news: definitely goes back to where we were, but...”

She swung the door open all the way to reveal the same bottomless abyss they’d just managed to cross, except this time from the opposite end.

Twilight’s heart sank even further. “Oh.”

“Circle’s gone, too,” Rainbow added. “Pretty sure we just made a one-way trip.”

No. No no no. They’d come so far—surely they hadn’t made it to their final hour just to fail. Celestia was counting on Twilight, wasn’t she? But if Nightmare had interfered and sent them galavanting around a illusory school while they could have just stayed and helped Celestia the entire time—

“Twilight?”

Pinkie’s concerned voice jerked Twilight out of her thoughts. She blinked back to reality and remembered that she still stood at the centre of everyone’s attention, cornered under their expectant gazes with no idea what else to do.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. She wrapped her arms around her stomach defensively and tried to control her breathing. “I thought— I didn’t realize we wouldn’t— I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Fluttershy tried, but she was too late for Twilight to hear.

“I don’t know where we are; I don’t know how to get back; I don’t know how to do the one thing that Celestia asked me to do!”

The world spun. Darkness spread through Twilight’s vision, the familiar creeping black of panic—not Nightmare—drowning her within its grasp. She squeezed her stomach harder and backed up until the curve of her spine bumped against the wall. She’d failed. There was nothing left to try. And Celestia or Sunset or both of them and all of us are going to—

“Hey.”

A voice broke through Twilight’s jumbled thoughts. But it wasn’t Applejack’s stern drawl or Fluttershy’s gentle comfort or Pinkie’s matter-of-fact insight or Rarity’s manicured concern.

Slowly, Twilight lifted her head.

“You don’t get to give up like that,” Rainbow snapped. She stood with her shoulders squared and her hands on her hips, glaring with a fire that Twilight could feel from across the room. “Stop beating yourself up when we haven’t even fucking tried to get out of here!”

Twilight could only stare in response. What?

“I mean, if you wanna stand in a corner doing nothing, be my guest. Just means that I get to step up and show you guys what a real plan looks like!”

“Rainbow,” Applejack tried to interrupt. “C’mon now—”

But Rainbow ignored her. She turned to the desk beside her without breaking eye contact with Twilight and raised her index finger. “Step one!” She snatched the glowing book off the desk and held it out triumphantly in front of her. “We get the book.”

Oh. Twilight’s mental lightbulb finally flickered to life amidst the darkness of her panic. That’s what she’s doing.

“Step two,” Rainbow continued, and smiled with all her teeth. “We bring it back.”

And at that the rug beneath Rainbow’s sneakers began to glow with a golden light.

It wasn’t the rug itself shining, Twilight realized, but Rainbow and each of the other girls. Warm light radiated from them like an aura, flashing outward and driving back the darkness of the office until every wall was bright. No shadows could remain in their presence, flimsy and fleeting against the warmth—except for the single, elongated silhouette cast by the only person not granted a light.

Twilight wanted to speak up, wanted to protest, wanted to do anything but stare at what was happening like a hapless and shell-shocked fool. It was beautiful, and it was terrifying, and it hurt. As soon as the warmth brushed her skin something shuddered against her heart and sent a cold terror shooting up her spine. Blue flames immediately burst to life around her eyes. Pressure—Nightmare—slammed into her lungs.

And then a thought she didn’t think echoed throughout her mind: they’re going to leave you behind.

“Wait,” she choked out, but it didn’t seem that anyone could hear. “Please wait.”

They’re the ones who get to play the heroes.

“Stop!”

Five heads finally turned, surprised at her sudden outburst. Twilight saw recognition flash across their faces as they remembered she hadn’t received a word.

But you, Twilight?

She tried to reach out to them; tried to stretch her hand toward the warmth so different from Nightmare’s icy cold. “Don’t go,” she begged. “Please.”

You don’t deserve to even try.

Twin waves of black burst out of the shadow behind Twilight’s back—one on either side, each a sea of shifting tendrils that moved faster than the eye could track. They arced around toward her and snapped back taut, tiny strands of shadow wrapped tight around each of her arms. Two larger shadows reached out of the wall and grabbed her torso from either side, and it was only then that Twilight realized they weren’t tendrils but a hundred pitch-black hands of every size.

“What—” was all she managed to get out before a shadow wrapped around her mouth and her shock morphed to heart-pounding terror.

Then Pinkie screamed, and time unfroze.

Immediately the hands dragged Twilight backward—by instinct she dug in her heels and fought back with all her might, but the shadows didn’t seem to budge at all. Desperation ignited alongside her panic as she struggled, and just before her back hit the wall she threw her whole weight forward against her bonds in one final and frantic attempt at freedom.

And it worked. Her right arm tore away from the darkness, and for a split second Twilight believed she had a chance.

But then the shadows pulled her legs from under her and sent her crashing to the ground. Twilight lost her leverage and her hope in a single instant, both vanishing the moment her shoulder smacked against the floor. All she could do was stare helplessly back at the others as the hands dragged her the remaining distance into the void, yanking her across the floor so harshly that the friction burned against her skin.

Then, three things happened.

First, a voice: “Twilight!”

Second, the sound of feet scrambling across the room.

Third, the feeling of leather and light pressed into her outstretched palm.

“We’ll find you!” Rainbow shouted. She used both her hands to wrap Twilight’s tightly around Celestia’s book and squeezed. “I don’t know what the fuck this thing is supposed to do, but if anyone can use a book to kick Nightmare’s ass, it’s gonna be you!”

With the last of her strength Twilight just managed to clamp her hand around the book’s spine before the shadows dragged her through the wall. Rainbow screamed something after her—a desperate final demand that Twilight made sure to burn into her memory:

“So you better not fucking die before we get there! Promise me!”

Then the darkness pulled her under and everything went black.

Author's Notes:

and that's the end of act 2!

apologies for another cliffhanger, but you had to have been expecting this given how the original episode goes i'll be returning to my normal biweekly update schedule for the final few chapters, so nothing new until the new year and then some. we're in the home stretch now!

in terms of the trial, it was a tricky decision to have rainbow's happen "off-screen", but with the story now being told entirely from twilight's POV (except for that pesky section in C4 with sunset i couldn't work around) i felt it was a good choice. it may feel like rainbow got the short end of the stick in terms of getting not a lot of interaction with twi, but i think given the setting of the story and their shared history it feels more natural to delay anything meaningful until later on.

hope you enjoyed the chapter, and i wish you all the best for 2023 and beyond

The Trial of Empathy and the Catalyst of Belief

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Twilight had always been curious about the house across from the library.

It was hard to not be curious—the gothic-style architecture stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the neighbouring houses and the plaza on the opposite side of the street. There were never any cars in its driveway, but she noticed that whoever lived there didn’t let the grass grow too long and made sure to take in the mail before it filled the mailbox.

So it couldn’t have been abandoned. It was always just so... empty.

Being a twelve-year-old in summer meant taking advantage of every possible way to stave off boredom, and Twilight had a bus pass. But books could only hold her attention for so long before thoughts of the House (she decided it deserved to be a proper noun) started creeping back in.

Don’t think about it, she scolded herself. She flipped to the next chapter of the book in her lap and stared harder at the words on the page. The library had air conditioning and beanbag chairs. There was no reason to go outside. There was no reason to walk over to the crosswalk and cross the street and trespass on someone’s property—

Twilight snapped her book shut. Jaywalking would be faster this time.

She’d lasted all of two hours that day. Longer than the beginning of the summer, but not as long as her personal best of four.

The librarian looked up from her computer when Twilight dropped off her book in the reshelve pile. “Going out so soon?” she asked.

“Mhm.” Twilight adjusted the strap on her bag and lied, “I’ve got money for lunch today.”

“Well, doesn’t that sound lovely?” She pointed over to the reshelve pile. “Will you be back after? I could hold your book for you if you’d like.”

Twilight shrugged and turned on her heel to leave. “Oh. Yeah, sure.” She managed to walk all the way over to the main doors before she remembered her manners and added a quick “Thank you!” over her shoulder.

Then the doors clicked shut behind her and Twilight’s thoughts returned to the House.

She hadn’t actually done anything criminal yet, she reasoned on her walk across the plaza parking lot. It was perfectly legal to ring doorbells. If no one came to the door it was totally fine to peer in a window—just to check if someone was home! And if the first time she’d looked through the backyard window she’d seen a room that looked straight out of a wizard’s tower, who could blame her for wanting to catch a glimpse of the wizard himself?

Well, okay. Getting into the backyard was a bit borderline. He could have tried a bit harder to lock the gates.

A Monday morning in summer meant traffic was light, though given that the library was a smaller branch on the outskirts of town Twilight hardly ever saw vehicles apart from the bus anyway. Still, she made sure to look both ways before crossing the street at the library’s turn-in. With her luck, the one time she didn’t check would be the one time a car came speeding through.

She made it to the opposite sidewalk in one piece. And once again Twilight found herself standing directly in front of the House—except this time, she realized, something was different.

The porch light had been left on.

Someone stopped by over the weekend, she decided. It must have been on Sunday after she went home, since she was sure she’d have noticed otherwise. But wait—had it been on when she’d gotten off the bus? Twilight racked her brains, but despite her best efforts she couldn’t remember if it had been on or off. If it was already on it wasn’t a big deal, but if it had been turned on while she was in the library...

Then someone could still be inside.

Suddenly, the prospect of actually meeting the wizard was a lot scarier than Twilight had thought it would be.

But she couldn’t just go back to the library. What would the librarian think, knowing that she’d lied through her teeth about lunch for the nth time? There were no ways around it and no going back—scared or not, Twilight had to investigate the House.

Slowly, she stepped onto the driveway. Then she took another step, and another, until her legs were marching up to the porch of their own accord. You can do this. Three more steps to the porch stairs. You can do this. Two more steps. C’mon, you can do this! One left.

But then her nerves won out, and before her shoe made contact with the porch Twilight took a hard left into a dash across the front lawn and down the side of the House where she threw herself flat against its siding, hand over her mouth and heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Okay, she managed to think. She took a few shallow breaths into her palm to try and calm herself down. Maybe I’ll just... take a look around today instead. Yeah. She lowered her hand and instead squeezed it around the strap of her bag until her knuckles whitened. Don’t wanna scare the guy off or anything, right?

She turned to the fence beside her and tugged the handle. It swung open easily, like every other time she’d tried. A quick peek around the corner into the back garden didn’t reveal anything out of the ordinary. Just the same tidy lawn and greenery around the little cobblestone path that led to the back door. Her gaze trailed over to the larger window on the right side—the wizard’s window—but it also appeared identical to the day before.

Twilight took a deep breath. In and out, just like always. Nothing to it.

She crept across the lawn in silence, keeping close to the edge of the House just in case someone might have been looking out from the second floor. The summer atmosphere did nothing for her wound-up nerves—every cicada buzz and bird chirp and squirrel chatter threatened to set off her reflex to turn around and bolt. When she reached the flowerbed in front of the window she took care to step around the well-tended shrubs at her feet.

Then, her back against the House, she craned her neck around to peer inside.

The inside of the wizard’s room appeared the same as ever—plush grey carpet beneath a stately antique desk, bookshelves along the right wall stuffed with books in disheveled piles, some display cabinets on the left side with odd contraptions and papers and even more books visible behind their glass doors, and Twilight’s favourite part: an honest-to-goodness suit of armour standing proud against the wall behind the desk, just beside the door.

Oh, and the second suit of armour on the other side of the desk with a sheet over it. Twilight didn’t know who the wizard was trying to fool with that. The sheet didn’t even cover down to its knees.

She scanned the room to check if anything had changed. The desk seemed messier than usual, with a different set of papers and folders spread out across the surface than the day before. Some of the books on the shelves seemed like they’d been shuffled around, and the cardboard boxes stacked in the corner by the cabinets were definitely new. Someone’s been up to something.

Still on her tiptoes, Twilight inched closer to the window to try and get a better look. Maybe she’d be able to read something on the desk if she squinted hard enough. As she moved over she involuntarily leaned her arm on the top pane of the window to keep her balance—

—only for the window to swivel slightly in response, the lower half rotating out to bump against her stomach.

Instantly Twilight froze in place. That’s new, she thought. Then, a second thought: oh, shit. She stumbled away from the window and threw herself back against the side of the House, her heart pounding in her throat.

Trespassing, the sane part of her mind recognized. She couldn’t find an excuse for an unlocked window—the gate was already stretching it in the first place, much less actually entering the House. And if the wizard was upstairs; if she got caught?

Twilight didn’t want to think about that.

Instead she squeezed the strap of her bag with both hands and drew her shoulders up to her ears. She could come back. One day, when she found the courage, she’d ring the doorbell and meet the wizard in a proper, legal way. Just not today.

In the meantime she’d have to be satisfied with glances of magic and mystery stolen through a window, and nothing more.

So, with a resigned sigh, Twilight let go of her bag and took one last longing look inside. I could definitely get in there, she noted. It’d be easy. I’d just... She scanned the room to find fuel for her imagination. I’d go in, grab a book from the desk, and leave. She pursed her lips. I’d finish reading it by the end of the day, and then I’d return it before anyone even noticed it was gone.

Her hand moved on its own, reaching up to push the window further open. It’d be really, really easy.

She crouched under the glass and straightened up so that the top half of her body passed through the window and into the House. If she thought about it long enough she knew her nerves would find a way to talk her out of it—so she didn’t think. Twilight took her first steps into the House at the same time she held her breath, two slightly-dirty sneakers touching down one after the other onto the pristine and silvery carpet.

When no alarms went off, Twilight moved.

She reached the desk in three steps and grabbed the closest book she could. There. She spun on her heel as she reached for her bag, desperate to stow the book away before she made her escape—

But she forgot about her surroundings, and her bookbag swung too wide. Twilight realized her mistake just as her bag connected with the sheet-covered suit of armour and sent it crashing to the floor.

Shit!

The carpet muted the impact a bit, but it didn’t matter. Instantly Twilight heard a thump come from the ceiling directly above her head, then footsteps.

Someone’s here!

There was no time to think. Twilight dropped the book to the floor and scrambled for the window, panic coursing through her veins. The footsteps crossed over to the other side of the House and started descending at the same time Twilight reached the window and managed to get one leg back over the sill.

And then she felt it.

An electric, magnetic sensation that sent the hair on the back of her neck up on end. Twilight lurched to a stop halfway out the window, unable to ignore the source of the peculiar feeling. She looked back over her shoulder to see if she could spot anything, but nothing had changed. Just the toppled armour tangled in the sheet across the floor, and the book she’d dropped—

Her eyes widened.

The footsteps reached the main floor.

Twilight unhooked her leg from the window and darted back across the room to snatch the book away from one of the armour’s disembodied gauntlets. She didn’t know how it had managed to grab the book; she didn’t know what on earth could have possibly caused that strange and electric feeling; but she did know that she had to find out no matter what.

The leather of the book felt like fire and guilt against her palm as she ran, just managing to hop through the window and bolt across the yard as the footsteps approached the door. Twilight didn’t dare look back to see if she’d been spotted—all she could do was run and run and run, until her lungs protested and her legs burned and she had to swallow down the beat of her heart.

She took a different bus home that day. The librarian held on to a book that no one would come back for, and her pattern of summertime curiosity came to an abrupt and delinquent end. And while the spoils of her crime were not enough to sate her curiosity about the House across from the library, Twilight did learn two things from the book she stole.

One, she could never, ever go back. Not to the library, not to that bus route, and never again to the House. She couldn’t be sure if the wizard had seen her, and she certainly wasn’t going to make it easier for him to find out who she was.

And two:

Magic was real.

Under the covers in the dead of night—that was the only time Twilight truly had to herself. Those few precious hours where her house (not home) was silent were more valuable than anything else. No arguments echoed up the stairs, no television chatter bounced between the walls, and no adults were awake to bother her about anything and everything.

There was just silence, Twilight, and the magic book.

(She remembered the night she’d first written in the book vividly, though it was pretty hard to forget a conversation that had left a permanent record on paper in ink. All her disappointment at stealing a blank book had quickly shifted to shock, then wonder, and then delight after words she hadn’t written appeared on the page out of thin air.

Wow, she’d written after she’d calmed herself down enough to hold a pen. A magic book!

Wow, came the book’s reply seconds later, a human girl.

Even without a voice it managed to have an attitude. For some reason Twilight found it rather charming.)

Her wonder had worn off with time, but her curiosity still remained intact. After so many months Twilight had finally gotten into a comfortable routine: as soon as the hallway light flicked off she counted a hundred seconds before she slid out of bed to retrieve the book and her tools from under her mattress.

Okay, she wrote as she got back under the covers, clicking on the flashlight between her teeth to illuminate the pages of the book. Where were we?

We certainly weren’t exchanging pleasantries, the book responded.

Very funny. Twilight flipped back a page and skimmed their conversation from last night, just barely able to read the blocks of her own tiny, cramped writing. It was partly to conserve the pages she had available, but also because writing under a bedsheet was much easier when her elbow moved as little as possible. She flipped back after she caught up and wrote, You were telling me something about stars, weren’t you?

Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Twilight rolled her eyes. There’s no point in being cryptic when the proof is literally on your other side.

The book lay still for a few seconds. Then: Oh, fine. Always straight to the point, aren’t you, girl?

I prefer to think of myself as efficient.

They’d quickly developed a rapport, though Twilight did wish the book was a little more cooperative and a little less of a pain-in-the-ass. It’d been nearly half a year, yet she’d barely managed to learn anything about magic during their conversations. The book had its own agenda—she knew that, and she knew that the book knew that she knew—and it wasn’t about to let her benefit from its knowledge without receiving something in return. Sometimes Twilight felt like she spent hours pulling teeth trying to learn something from it, only to realize she’d been tricked into operating on a shark.

Names are powerful things, girl, the book eventually wrote. The sensation of magic pulsed from its pages in time with the words appearing, snapping Twilight out of her thoughts. You humans bestow names upon living and inanimate alike without a second thought. Yet through a name something once useless can evolve into so much more. Perhaps a conduit. Perhaps a hiding place. It paused for a second. Perhaps a prison.

Twilight scrunched up her nose. And this relates to stars how?

I’ve heard patience is quite a virtue, girl.

Sorry.

The book lay still for a moment, as if to taunt her. Thankfully, after nearly a minute it wrote, Certain patterns of stars have names, do they not?

Constellations, Twilight supplied.

Yes. They shift and change, but somehow the human eye finds ways to pick out patterns in an unfamiliar sky. It’s admirable, really. You should be proud that your kind realized this defense mechanism thousands of centuries ago.

The flashlight wavered between Twilight’s teeth as she quickly wrote, Defense? From what?

And if Twilight had been paying attention she might have heard the book’s trap snap shut around her; might have remembered that whatever entity dwelled within its pages had its own reasons for tolerating their conversations. But she was far too engrossed in the mystery of magic to keep her guard up, and the book easily latched on to its opportunity to strike:

From a creature of darkness both bound and freed by those chosen by the stars.

And before Twilight could even try to think about what the book meant by that, another block of text faded onto the page.

Now, girl, tell me: do you know the meaning of your name?

If elementary school ended with a whimper, high school started with a roar. There had always been rumours about her, whether because of her detention record or the near-perfect grades her teachers reluctantly handed back, but the addition of magic just made things ten times worse. They weren’t kids, her classmates parroted. They were teens. Almost adults. No one had time for kiddy shit anymore.

Twilight realized pretty quickly that high school wanted her to choose: wear a magic-shaped target on her back, or be the one to shoot at someone else.

Easy choice.

“So you’re that frosh chick who believes in fairytales,” an upperclassman taunted one week into the school year. His massive frame blocked the hallway, towering so far over Twilight that she could barely even see his eyes beneath his dirty-blonde fringe.

“Sure,” she replied, and slammed her locker shut. “So what?”

“You five years old or something?” He rubbed his chin and smirked. “Does that put us boys on a watchlist, huh? Because let me tell you, even if you’re a freak, with a face like that I wouldn’t say no if you—”

He never finished his sentence.

It took Twilight just three seconds to send a message that spread from the crowded hallway to the entire school overnight: one to tuck her hand into her bag and press her fingertips to the book, one to lunge forward at an inhuman speed to sweep her leg through his knees and knock him off his feet, and one for his head to hit the ground with a skull-splitting crack.

Silence.

She pulled her hand away from the book, and the magic she’d borrowed faded from her control as the hall erupted into chaos.

“Oh my god—”

“I can’t believe she just did that—”

“But he definitely deserved it—”

“Yeah, for sure—”

The bigger they are, the book remarked dryly in the back of her mind.

Twilight stared down at where the boy lay crumpled in a heap, his shoulders shaking and chest heaving from barely-contained sobs of pain. She didn’t feel bad about it, she realized. Maybe she should have?

Instead she squatted down beside him and stared him directly in the eyes. “So you’re that guy who likes to pick on people half his size.” She raised her eyebrows. “You five years old or something?” she echoed.

The boy gasped a snot-filled, watery breath in response.

“Mm.” Twilight pushed herself back to her feet. “That’s what I thought.”

Going out of your way to make a good first impression, little star? the book asked.

“We’ll see,” she replied quietly.

Oh, it chucked, they will.

News spread fast, and before the bell for the next period could ring Twilight found herself being dragged through the crowded hall by a teacher furious enough to risk laying hands on a student. She didn’t care—whatever punishment the school wanted to hammer down paled in comparison to the message she’d finally sent:

I’m not afraid to fight back.

She smiled for the smartphones as the teacher hauled her to the office, the middle finger of her free hand raised across the centre of her lips.

“You hear about that girl that bodied Blueblood last week?”

“Man, she’s crazy! I just can’t believe she didn’t clock a suspension for that.”

“I mean, he definitely deserved it.”

“Oh, a hundred percent.”

“And, get this: no one even knows how it happened. Jet Set had a front row seat to the whole thing, but somehow he still didn’t even see her move!”

“That’s... kinda scary, man.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause like, Jet was watching. You know how he is with the frosh.”

“That’s so gross, dude.”

“Ha ha, I know, right?”

“Yeah.”

“...”

“...You think she’ll run for fall formal?”

“Oh, fuck yeah, man. She’s got my vote locked with legs like that, crazy bitch or what!”

Somehow, despite the fact that she didn’t attend any of them, Twilight claimed the school’s seasonal thrones one after the other. First the Fall Formal, then the Winter Ball, and then the Spring Fling to sweep the entire year.

What do you gain from these victories? the book asked after she tossed the crown for the Fling into the back of her closet and flopped on top of her bed. Why do those human children want to crown you queen?

“I don’t really know,” she replied into her pillow. After taking a second to think she rolled onto her side and shrugged. “Maybe they like me.”

Fear is more likely, little star.

“Hey, I didn’t put them up to it. They made that choice on their own.”

Twilight couldn’t see the book, but somehow she knew that if it had a body it would have been eyeing her with an intent and catlike curiosity. Then will you take advantage of that for the next time?

She blinked. “What?”

The next crown. Will you vie for the throne? Dare you rule those insignificant beings as the prophesied chosen star?

“They’re just high school dances,” Twilight tried to argue. “They don’t mean anything.”

But the ambition to do so means everything.

“I—” She hesitated. Memories from the school year floated up to the forefront of her mind—electricity in her blood as she kicked Blueblood to the floor; mouthing off to an unfair teacher while her classmates egged her on; receiving another detention in the middle of serving one; students scattering out of the way in hallways to make room for her to pass; slammed stall doors and stolen lunch money and the thrill of provoking people until they dared to try fight back.

High school meant perfect grades, endless entertainment, and a reputation that earned the nickname she wore like a badge of honour: she-demon.

Yeah, Twilight decided, and this time her thoughts rang clear enough for the book to receive their signal. You’re right.

Oh?

That school needs a monarch. And whether they like it or not, I’m the one who’s standing next in line.

Tenth grade began under a ruler with an iron fist. Over the first term Twilight claimed another crown, her reputation ballooned from crazy to delinquent to bully, and the shadow she cast over the school grew just a little bit longer.

December. The evening of the last Monday before winter break. Slightly snowy; definitely cold.

And the day the magic left.

Twilight had forgotten how lonely her thoughts were when she was the only one contributing. The book’s voice had suddenly disappeared during lunch period, and without its presence the world felt far emptier than it had before. In its absence the only certainties Twilight’s bedroom had left were math homework, the muffled blare of the television downstairs, and a foul mood.

(How many days are left again? she’d asked earlier, after she’d finished eating her lunch.

From today? The book made a noise almost like a hum. Nine-hundred and ninety-six.

And do all prophecies have to take so long?

This one does.

I’m flattered you’re willing to wait.

Oh, time is no deterrent, chosen one, it said, and Twilight felt her heart flip a bit at the title she’d finally earned from it—not girl, not star, but chosen one. A decade is nothing compared to a millennium, and the darkness that you will face is just as old as I am. As you anticipate your role in preventing its release, that terror of a thousand years eagerly—

And then it stopped.

Twilight frowned into the silence and tapped her fork against her tray. Everything okay?

No. A pause. I’ll be back in a moment.

What?

But it never heard her question, for it was already gone.)

“Bit longer than a moment,” Twilight muttered under her breath. She stared harder at the paper in front of her in the hopes that it would somehow finish itself. Someone downstairs turned on the microwave, and in response the television volume cranked up louder to drown out the hum.

The world was too loud and her thoughts were too quiet. I might really be going crazy after all.

It never came back. Not after days or months or even years. And while Twilight eventually adjusted back to a magic-less life, some habits were harder to justify without the book’s encouragement in the back of her mind.

Her iron grip started rusting in eleventh grade as routine and reputation dragged school life into a monotonous bore. Fear was predictable. Testing limits was no fun when she’d already soared far out of anyone else’s reach.

And… it was kind of lonely at the top of the food chain.

Not that she’d ever admit that out loud.

But actions spoke louder than words, even more so when said actions ceased to be. Twilight knew her peers noticed her withdrawal from their torment—though a few well-placed glares were enough to stop anyone from confronting her on it—and she also knew it was only a matter of time before what little control she had left slipped away entirely.

Eleventh grade finished with her ninth seasonal crown. Twelfth grade started with her tenth, if only by the slimmest of margins. Then, a week before the Winter Ball, it happened.

In a slushy, freezing-cold parking lot in front of the school, Twilight finally met her match.

“Hey!” someone shouted at her across the empty lot. “You’ve gone soft, she-demon!”

Snow splattered against the back of her jacket before she could turn around. Twilight grit her teeth and spun on her heel to face her attackers, cutting a mark into the slush beneath her boots.

“How so?” she barked back. She didn’t recognize any of the five girls grouped up beside the snowbank—freshmen, she figured. They’d have to be new if they had the guts to pick a fight with her.

“You used to have a spine!” The same girl chucked another snowball that Twilight just narrowly managed to sidestep.

“Yeah!” another one piped up. “Think nobody noticed when you turned into a washed-up”—she chucked a snowball—“lame-ass”—another snowball—“coward?!”

The first shot hit the parking lot, but the second nailed Twilight in the shoulder. She stumbled back a step from the impact and grit her teeth harder to muffle an involuntary grunt. “Says the ones staying at a distance,” she retorted. She squeezed both hands around the strap of her bookbag to balance herself and yelled, “Why don’t you come here and say that to my face?”

She was bluffing. Probably. Five-on-one wasn’t at all stacked in her favour, especially without magic, but...

“Gladly!” the first girl—the leader, Twilight decided—shouted, and vaulted over the snowbank to start marching over across the parking lot. The other girls followed after her, tossing their backpacks behind them into a pile on the snow.

They’d called her bluff. Twilight had no choice but to show her hand.

“Shouldn’t have expected a fair fight from frosh like you,” she sneered. “Figures you’d only have the guts to come at me in numbers.”

The leader scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Ooh, now you care about playing fair.” Only a few metres remained between them, a distance that shrank with every step she took. “But, hold on, don’t you have magic?” She grinned wickedly and lowered her hands that had made air-quotes around the word. “Now that doesn’t sound fair at all.”

Twilight swallowed hard and tried to ignore the sweat somehow beading on her freezing skin. “How so?” she managed. “You actually believe I can—”

And then a fist connected with Twilight’s stomach and knocked all the breath from her lungs in a single gasp.

“Nah,” the leader droned. She pulled her arm back and bared her teeth in a wicked grin. “You don’t stand a chance.”

Ah, shit.

Twilight dropped to one knee, off-balance and breathless from the punch. The slush from the parking lot instantly soaked through her jeans and into her skin at the contact. “Fuck,” she coughed out.

The leader raised an eyebrow and waved her goons forward. “Wow,” she said dryly. “Not even gonna fight back?”

“Nope,” she rasped, and grinned despite the fear bubbling into her blood. “You guys aren’t worth it.”

Because despite how badly Twilight wanted to fight back; despite how badly she knew she’d get her ass kicked without magic to back her up, there were two problems with that plan: that they were on school property in plain view of the front windows and the security cameras, and...

She tightened her grip on her bag and tried very hard not to think about what would happen if the book inside got trampled into a slurry of snow and mud.

“Tch.” One of the leader’s eyes twitched as she clicked her tongue. She raised her arms again as if to shove Twilight onto her back, only to pause before her hands met the leather of her jacket.

She’d noticed.

“You’re holding on to that bag real tight,” the leader said slowly. “Got something important there?”

“Got a reason to stick your nose in my business?” Twilight fired back.

That did it. The leader shifted gears from shoving to snatching, one hand shooting forward to grab the strap of Twilight’s bookbag. “Indigo!” she barked. “Help me get this off her!”

And at that Twilight’s thoughts slammed to a halt—she no longer had petty quips or insults or plans that might get her and the book out unscathed. If they took her bag— If they put their hands on the book— If they destroyed her only hope of ever finding magic again—

“Don’t you fucking touch me!”

Twilight slammed her elbows down on the leader’s arms and twisted hard, using the bag clutched between both their hands to yank her off balance and down to the pavement with a wet thud. The leader shrieked another order at her lackeys, but Twilight didn’t hear it. The only thing that mattered was getting the book away from her thieving, undeserving hands—

She scrambled through the slush and planted her knee on the leader’s stomach to pin her on her back. “Let go!” she snarled. She let go of the bag with one hand and crushed her forearm down against her throat. “Let go let go let go let go!”

Something smacked—kicked—the back of Twilight’s head hard enough that her vision blackened to stars. Hands pulled at her jacket in an futile attempt to break her hold. But in her consuming desperation she refused to yield, bearing down with all her strength on the windpipe of the girl beneath her arm.

The strap of the bag stopped cutting into her neck when the leader's hands went limp.

That’s what you get, Twilight thought before finally easing herself off. She didn’t resist as two of the girls dragged her back by the collar of her jacket so the remaining ones could rush to their leader’s side. The two who’d grabbed her threw her to the pavement and descended upon her, and she quickly curled around the bag clutched to her chest to defend it against the pair’s kicks and slaps and screams. The book was safe. That was all that mattered.

By the time a teacher realized what was happening and rushed to break up the fight, a chill had seeped from the freezing ground into Twilight’s bones and numbed her battered limbs. She uncurled only after her attackers broke away, and when she pushed herself up into a sitting position she saw a kaleidoscope of colours already forming on her skin—purples, yellows, reds, and blacks. The palette of a petty fight.

She turned her head to look over at where the leader still lay sprawled on her back. Her eyes were open and her chest heaved with every breath, but even at a distance Twilight could see the massive bruise painted across her neck.

Expulsion.

Twilight wished she could say she hadn’t seen it coming.

As freshmen with no history causing trouble, the other five girls had managed to escape with the much lighter slap-on-the-wrist of a week’s suspension and a month’s detention. But as for Twilight? The infamous bully with a reputation nearly as bad as her track record?

“You may already be aware,” her former principal explained in clipped and icy tones, “that the board has recommended to carry your expulsion forward to all schools in the district.”

Twilight stayed silent at the news and kept her gaze locked to her lap. The blinds to the office were shut, casting the entire room in an ominous light despite the sunshine just outside.

“The next step of the process would normally require you and your parents to meet with the board to decide on your student action plan; however...” The principal shuffled some papers on her desk and cleared her throat. “It seems you’ve been granted a lifeline.”

“...What?” Twilight finally looked up from her knees, confused. What does she mean by that?

“Let me finish,” the principal snapped. After a few seconds of silence she continued, “The trustees that reviewed your case suggested that you would make a good candidate for the gateway program offered at one of their schools next year.”

Twilight snorted. “Pass,” she said, as bluntly as she could. “I’m not gonna be a charity case for some stuck-up trustees.”

“Don’t talk back to me,” the principal hissed, and slammed one palm against her desk with a bang for emphasis. “While I cannot force you to accept such a generous offer, I can inform you that if you proceed with the student action plan then the program will be completely off the table. Is that clear?”

Silence. Twilight bit back her urge to snark and instead muttered, “What’s so good about it anyways?”

For the first time since Twilight had entered the office, the principal’s expression softened slightly. “Well,” she said, “it’s a second chance—you get to finish the courses you need in a... less-hostile environment, shall we say, so long as you keep your behaviour within the bounds of reason. Which, may I remind you, means”—she raised one hand and counted off on her fingers—“No physical altercations, no extorting your classmates, no disrespectful language, no skipping class—”

“Okay, I get it.”

“And,” the principal finished, “you must attend counseling.”

“I don’t need—”

“Your parents have been informed about your options. It’s necessary that you enroll by the end of the month, but the required duration is very flexible.” The principal raised her eyebrows. “In fact, I would dare say it’s entirely up to you.”

The rest of Twilight’s protests died in her throat. Any argument she could come up with felt flimsy against the gravity of her situation—she’d finally fallen into the grave she’d dug herself.

“Which school?” she eventually asked.

It wasn’t an agreement. She hadn’t signed any contracts or shaken any hands. But somehow her former principal recognized the defeat laced through her words and, without words or judgement, slid the manila folder she’d prepared Twilight across the surface of her desk.

She didn’t finish counseling before the school year started.

Not because she hadn’t improved, but because she finally let herself admit it helped.

Sunset Shimmer sat at the desk by the back window, and it was only then that Twilight realized something wasn’t right.

Because those were her glasses and her chewed-up pencil and her backpack on the seat of the adjacent desk. It was all exactly the same as the day before—except for Twilight. And as she stared in disbelief at the spot where she was supposed to be sitting, Sunset looked up from her desk to where Twilight stood frozen at the front of the classroom.

They made eye contact.

The whites of Sunset’s eyes had turned pitch black.

But before Twilight could even begin processing that terrifying change Sunset’s expression quickly twisted to confusion. “What the fuck,” she blurted out. “You’re me. Why the hell are you me?”

“This isn’t real,” Twilight whispered back.

“Wait.” Sunset’s chair scraped back along the floor as she jolted to her feet. “Did you see my—”

And then the world dissolved.

It was like waking up all over again, Twilight managed to think, except this time it wasn’t from a dream she’d ever lived. Reality returned to her in pieces for the second time that day: Celestia’s office. The shadows. Being dragged through the wall into darkness. The book.

Twilight opened her eyes to a sideways view of the auditorium with Sunset standing centred across her vision. Despite the lack of glasses her sight was clear—somehow corrected back to normal by blue flames that wouldn’t leave.

“What—” she croaked, disoriented. She managed to roll over from her side to her hands and knees, the book from Celestia’s office still clutched tight to her palm. What was that?!

Then she lifted her head and saw it:

Celestia was dead.

She lay face-down, battered and beaten and completely still—

—was what Twilight’s mind assumed in the split second before Sunset kicked one of her still-intimidating combat boots into Celestia’s shoulder and flipped her onto her back.

“What did you do?!” Sunset yelled. She kicked again, and this time Celestia grunted in pain when the boot connected with her ribs.

“What I had to,” she choked out, the golden light from her gauntlet flickering weakly with each word. “To protect her from you.”

At that Sunset screamed again, wordless and primal, and Twilight was suddenly very thankful that neither of the two seemed to have noticed she’d woken up. The part of her brain that expected the room to fill with a sea of red quieted down with every laboured breath Celestia took—injuries be damned, she was still alive.

You made her forget! it wailed—it, not Sunset, Twilight realized, as the words echoing at the back of her mind rang with the same suffocating weight Nightmare’s wordless voice once had. Because what good were borrowed vocal cords for conveying the anger of a demon wronged?

And yet somehow you dare call ME a monster?!

Shadows erupted from the scorched carpet beneath Celestia’s back, bursting forth so suddenly they sent Sunset’s hair whipping in their wake. They twisted into a writhing mass of darkness that rushed high into the air before morphing into a pitch-black replica of an object that Twilight recognized on sight: the helm of the armour from the office.

And for a single moment the auditorium fell into a suffocating silence. The shadowy helmet hung suspended and still above the pair as if it were holding its breath.

“I hate people like you,” Sunset said softly. It was her own voice, with her own conviction behind each word. She raised one hand out in front of her with her fingers splayed and narrowed her eyes to slits. “Someone so intent on punishing the world for what she saw in the mirror.”

“Not the world,” Celestia managed. “Just a woman.”

The helmet above their heads shuddered. Sunset flexed her fingers like claws. “Whatever. I don’t care how you justify your actions—it’s time you learned they have consequences.”

Celestia closed her eyes.

“And I’m going to make you remember every moment you tried to forget.”

Sunset clenched her hand into a fist, and the helmet dropped. But instead of colliding with any force like an actual helmet would have, it landed perfectly and silently around Celestia’s head—the shadows parted and reformed on contact so quickly that Twilight almost believed it had no physical form at all.

But then Celestia convulsed and threw her head back against the carpet with a metallic thunk, and Twilight immediately retracted her previous thought. Terror clawed against her insides at the sight of her mentor writhing in soundless pain, and just as she worked up the courage to raise her voice—

“Oh, geez.” Sunset made a face. “Sorry. That wasn’t me. Gimme a sec.” She opened and closed her hand a few more times until Celestia’s body relaxed and her arms fell limp against the floor. As she stilled the golden aura around both her gauntlet and the book beneath Twilight’s palm flickered, faded, and died.

Is she—

Twilight killed that thought before it formed—even at a distance she could see the faint rise-and-fall of Celestia’s chest beneath her tattered suit. Still alive. She’s still alive.

“Sorry,” Sunset repeated, but this time she turned so she faced where Twilight knelt frozen against the ground. “That you had to see that, I mean. Not that I did it.”

She sounded like Sunset. She moved like her; talked like her; carried herself in the exact same way as the girl that Twilight had seen skewered through the heart—but her eyes were black and her voice was laced with an ice that Sunset never had.

“Are you Nightmare?” Twilight whispered. She somehow managed to push herself up to stand on trembling limbs, Celestia’s book clutched tightly against her chest.

Sunset blinked. “Not completely,” she replied.

“But you’re not Sunset.” It wasn’t phrased as a question.

“Kind of?” Once again Sunset pulled a face. “Like, I think I’m still me? But that thing’s also floating around in here”—she pointed to her forehead—“with all sorts of magic and memories and whatever else mixed in with the part that’s ‘me’. So...” She shrugged. “Both yes and no, I guess.”

Oh. That wasn’t very reassuring. Twilight squeezed her arms tighter around herself and took a half-step back. “Why did you bring me here?” she asked instead. “What do you want?”

“Always straight to the point, huh?” Sunset grinned in response, and Twilight couldn’t help but notice the way her canines glinted in the blue-purple candlelight—had they always been that sharp? “Real efficient. I kinda like that.”

Twilight took another step back. “Please just give me an answer.”

“Whoa, okay. Sorry.” The grin vanished, and an oddly determined frown formed in its place. “I just wanted to know why that monster was so interested in you.” Sunset tilted her head to the side and stared at Twilight with an unblinking, blue-black stare. “What’s so special about Twilight Sparkle?”

Nothing, Twilight wanted to reply, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“I mean, I know why,” Sunset continued. She tapped her forehead again to emphasize her point. “But for some reason Nightmare’s memories don’t match up with you. So I thought, hey! I can just borrow its powers for a little bit and find out the truth for myself!”

Truth?

“And of course it was easy to find you. All I had to do was pull you back here, send you to dreamland, and take a quick peek at a few of your memories. You weren’t even gonna notice I was there.”

Twilight furrowed her brow in confusion. “But I saw your memories too,” she argued. The talk of memories and magic powers had lit an oddly uncomfortable fire beneath her skin that she could no longer flee. “Why?”

Sunset’s frown hardened. Her upper lip curled into a sneer that exposed her teeth. “Wow,” she snorted, “you really don’t remember anything.”

“What are you—”

“I figured Celestia was all sorts of fucked up if Nightmare hates her guts this bad, but damn.” Her expression twisted from disgust to a familiar pity that Twilight hated to see her wear. “All this just to make sure you didn’t find out she failed her ██████.”

Twilight blinked. “...What?”

“Guess she thought you’d end up like ████ did if she didn’t interfere.”

There it was again—a crackling, high-pitched static in place of human words. The fire under Twilight’s skin itched at the sound of secrets she wasn’t allowed to hear. “How are you doing that?” she whispered.

Sunset narrowed her eyes. “Doing what?”

“That sound— Didn’t you hear it?”

“There’s no sound, Twilight—”

“There was!” Forget the fire—pressure had returned to squeeze her heartbeat back to racing. “When you said who I’d end up like, I couldn’t hear their name—”

“Who, ████?”

“There it is again!” The book Twilight clutched to her chest like a lifeline only added to the pressure pushing back against her lungs. Something was wrong—terribly and magically wrong.

“But I don’t hear...” Sunset trailed off mid-sentence as some sort of realization dawned on her, her words falling away to a silent disbelief that only served to reinforce the wrongness in the air.

You don’t even know her name.

All of Nightmare’s prior anger paled in comparison to the controlled and even fury carried calm within its voice. Any doubt that Twilight had about who stood across from her immediately vanished—no matter how much it sounded or moved or looked like Sunset, the malice that twisted both its voice and Sunset’s features made one thing very clear to Twilight: that’s not Sunset anymore.

Nightmare thrust out one arm with an electric snap, and suddenly the book within Twilight’s grasp lit up with an aura of blinding white. Before she could react it effortlessly tore itself from her arms and hurtled back toward Nightmare’s—Sunset’s—waiting hand.

Oh, that woman spites me even now, it hissed. It caught the book out of the air without blinking, the spine smacking to a stop against its palm. It’s such a pity she won’t witness the last of her hope destroyed.

“No!”

But it was too late.

The white aura dissipated, and immediately a spiked shadow burst up from the ground and cleaved the book in two, drowning out Twilight’s panicked shout with the sound of a hundred pages tearing all at once.

The cover hit the ground first—because of course leather was heavier than paper, Twilight noted numbly—one half landing on either side Nightmare’s still-extended arm. The pages followed close behind, fluttering down like leaves from where the remnants of the spine hung mangled around the spike.

Get the book. Bring it back. Of course it wasn’t going to work, Twilight managed to think, despair flooding her senses and mixing with her panic into an emotional cocktail her brain could barely start to process.

I failed.

A hundred moons I’ve waited to do that. Nightmare strode past the book without a second thought, paper crunching beneath Sunset’s boots with every step it took. Twilight felt her body automatically mirror each step in the opposite direction, the part of her mind not frozen in panic still sane enough to keep as far away from Nightmare as she could. The last of the papers scattered in its wake and spread further across the carpet—as if even the corpse of the book wanted to flee from the monster wearing Sunset’s face.

Nightmare kept advancing. The aisle began to slope behind Twilight’s heels, and she didn’t have to count the rows of seating in her peripherals to know that she was running out of space.

Are you afraid, child of stars? Nightmare asked.

Twilight resisted the urge to nod and took another step back.

Because while our confrontation has been an inevitable part of my return, it continued, it is a pity that fate dealt the hand she did. Then, almost as if it were mocking her, it tilted its head to the side and opened its mouth to speak instead:

“I always did hold a fondness for you,” Sunset—Nightmare—said matter-of-factly. “Perhaps ████ left me with her heart, for I cannot explain why I so strongly wished that you would be my heir.” Its voice softened further. “Before that woman meddled, it was always supposed to be you.”

The floor leveled out. Twilight’s back hit the stage.

But even I cannot change fate. It closed the distance separating them with every step, one after another until only a single meter remained between. Whether I to you or you to I, you cannot keep what was not yours to take.

It raised its hand, and suddenly Twilight was reminded not of how it had subdued Celestia, but of all those hours ago in the very same auditorium when she felt its pressure for the very first time. And when Twilight remembered what Nightmare had said back then, and Celestia’s reaction, and the terrible feeling that had nearly consumed her whole—

“You’re going to kill me,” she whispered.

Nightmare blinked slowly. Yes, it confirmed. I am.

Suddenly Twilight’s knees felt weak—she had to grab on to the stage behind her to keep herself upright. Her vision flickered in time with her pounding heart, the fire around her eyes struggling to hold its form.

“But I don’t want to die.”

Fate was cruel. Twilight hadn’t believed it until she’d said it, but as soon as the words left her lips she knew that they were true. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to die anymore.

And it is regrettable that you never had a choice.

Nightmare clenched its hand into a fist and the pressure in Twilight’s chest once again surged to an unbearable, unbreathable intensity. Something tugged against her heart and lit a fire under her skin and filled her lungs with ice and blood with bubbling panic. Her vision dissolved to a familiar blur—the flames had vanished, she realized—before a creeping darkness then began to eat away at the edges of her sight.

But this time her voice remained behind.

“Please,” Twilight begged. Words spilled out before she could stop herself—despite her panicked gasps and empty lungs she somehow still managed to force her tongue to speak. “Please don’t— Please don’t kill me— I promised—”

Nightmare’s expression didn’t change at all. Its arm remained extended straight out and unwavering.

“I made a promise,” she babbled. Her voice raised as the world turned hazy and her fingertips went numb against the stage. “I promised Rainbow. I— It’s so unfair! That I finally have a reason to live— That I even want to be alive— But now I don’t even get a choice!”

Everything was cold. The pressure tugging on her heart pulled back further, and through nearly-blackened vision Twilight thought she saw a flicker of something solid phase through the centre of her blouse—but then the world went dark and she could see nothing at all.

“Please,” she choked out. Her words sounded muffled and far away. Fog faded in between her thoughts. “Please, Sunset— Please—”

And then there was silence—

And then there was nothing—

And then—

—the pressure stopped.

It wasn’t a sudden change. It took nearly half a minute for Twilight to realize that she was still there. She could feel the stage beneath her freezing fingers and the collar of her shirt brush against her chin with every heaving breath she drew. Breathing. She was breathing—but far, far too fast. Hyperventilating.

Then a sound pierced through the pounding echo of her heartbeat: a shallow, breathless grunt.

Slowly, Twilight lifted her head.

“Fuck,” Sunset—Nightmare?—gasped. The distance between them was close enough that even with blurred vision Twilight could make out the pained expression on her face. Her clenched fist trembled midair—she clutched at her forearm with her other hand to try and steady it, but to no avail. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She staggered back a step and broke her pose, both arms dropping limp to her side. But the trembling still continued, even as she raised one shaking hand to the centre of her chest and clawed her hand into the fabric of her shirt.

“What is this?” she wheezed, though it didn’t seem like her question was directed at Twilight, but at herself. “What have you done to me, girl?”

As if in response Sunset’s other hand shot up to her face, her palm pressing against her eyes and her fingers tangling into the fringe of her hair. Despite the physical strain on her body that seemed about to tear her apart, a voice devoid of ice cut clear and unwavering above it all as a single, defiant command:

“Get... the fuck... out of my head!”

And with those words the skin of the wrist pressed against her cheek erupted into brilliant golden light.

Time never passed the same in panic, and Twilight had always found that it was easier to count in breaths. So at the sudden sight of magic with her body frozen against the stage she locked her gaze on Sunset and started counting up from one.

Six breaths for the light to fade to a gentle glow.

Two breaths for Sunset to lower her hand from her face.

One breath to open her eyes.

One breath to make eye contact.

Oh, Twilight realized between shallow gasps, her eyes are blue.

Blue—just blue, ringed by a human and familiar white. Twilight couldn’t bring herself to look away or even blink, terrified that if she did the darkness would return. She held her gaze, and her train of thought derailed. Numbers jumbled together in the crash. She’d lost count.

“Hey,” Sunset croaked. “Hey, hey hey.” She stumbled forward with stilted, trembling steps, still staring back at Twilight with those blue, blue eyes. “Look at me.”

It took eight breaths for Sunset to cross the space between them.

Five for her to reach both arms out to Twilight’s sides.

Six to gently pry her hands from the stage.

Three to hold them.

One to squeeze.

“Just breathe,” Sunset whispered. She raised Twilight’s hands up beside her shoulders, and Twilight felt her elbows catch on the edge of the stage—just in time to keep herself upright. “I’m not going anywhere. Just breathe.”

A familiar electric jolt raced up Twilight’s arms at her touch. Her fingers began to thaw against warm and gentle skin, and the golden light illuminating them from Sunset’s wrist finally started fading away. Only when the telltale twinkle of looping cursive flickered at the edge of her sight did she tear her eyes away from Sunset’s and glance over at her word.

Empathy.

“I’m sorry,” Sunset said quietly. “I almost— I’m sorry.” She squeezed again. Twilight drew a slower, deeper breath. “But you’re okay now. You’re okay. And I—”

She faltered.

Twilight took another breath.

“It always ends up like this,” she said finally. “Every single chosen one for over a thousand years. I— I know that now. I know all their names and faces and...” She swallowed hard. “And that all of them don’t survive.”

And suddenly the air in Twilight’s lungs turned cold as ice.

But Sunset didn’t give her time to respond—instead she shifted her palms against Twilight’s so that their fingers intertwined. “You saw my memories. You know the type of person I am now, right?” The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled, defeated and self-deprecating. “It’s like I was born to play the villain in our stupid fairytale.”

No, Twilight wanted to protest, but her words caught silently at the back of her throat.

“You’re— you’re a better person than I am, Twilight. You went through so fucking much. And if one of us was always gonna go down with Nightmare, I’m glad that it was m—”

“Don’t say that.”

Sunset flinched slightly at Twilight’s interruption. “But it’s true,” she argued back.

“No,” Twilight wheezed. She forced herself to take a slower, deeper breath before she continued, “You’re... a good person... too.”

“You can’t possibly think that—”

“I can.”

“Twilight—”

“I don’t care about memories,” Twilight choked out. “Just facts. Proof. Evidence.” She squeezed Sunset’s hands with as much strength as she could muster, desperate to communicate the resolve her voice could not. “You stopped Nightmare... from killing me.”

“But I nearly didn’t.”

“Twice.”

“Okay, so the first time just cancels out the second—”

“And you helped me... yesterday. At lunch. Just... like this.” Twilight ran her thumb over the edge of Sunset’s hand to emphasize her point. She could feel her own pulse under her fingertips—it seemed calmer than before. Quieter. “You’ve been a good person to me.”

The world was still, if only for a moment. And in the silence Twilight could pretend she’d never heard of magic books or demons in gauntlets or bullies with fiery hair.

Monsters didn’t exist in moments. It was just her, and Sunset, and warm, steady hands.

But then the moment ended, broken by a sharp and sudden exhale between gritted teeth. “Oh,” Sunset managed. “I... I think it’s coming back.”

Twilight squeezed her hands again. Her fingers weren’t cold anymore—just slick with nervous sweat. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

“I— I don’t know.” Sunset bit her lip and shot a glance back over her shoulder. “Celestia might have been able to do what she did last time, but... I destroyed the spell.”

“Last time?”

“████ was—” She stopped herself when Twilight winced, then corrected, “Someone was the one before me. Before Nightmare’s magic killed its host, Celestia used that book to expel it from someone and seal it away for a bit, but...” Her voice trailed off.

Twilight frowned. The pieces were easy enough to put together: “But something else happened as a result.” Her breathing had started to even out and her legs felt steady, so she pushed herself up a little straighter and stared Sunset intently in the eyes. “Something bad.”

“Yeah.”

“And something else is preventing me from hearing anything about it.”

Sunset nodded, then grimaced. Her eyes flickered for a moment—not in colour, but briefly to an emotion Twilight could only describe as despair. “I-it doesn’t matter now. Nightmare’s almost awake. The spell’s gone, and Celestia’s in no shape to help you. I’m already a goner, but you still have a chance—”

“Not if that chance means taking yours,” Twilight snapped. “I refuse to accept that. That thing can’t possibly be invulnerable—there has to be some other way to stop it.”

“Yes,” Sunset tried, exasperated, “there was. And I destroyed it.” She tried to extract her hands from Twilight’s grip, only for Twilight to squeeze tighter in response.

“Then I’ll figure it out by myself.”

Disbelief flashed across Sunset’s face. “You can’t,” she argued. “And I’m not saying you’re not smart enough to, but that you literally can’t—there’s some sort of magic stopping you from learning anything related to Nightmare’s previous host. All you’ll hear is static.”

Twilight narrowed her eyes. A thought had just occurred to her—why couldn’t she of all people know what had happened? She was Twilight Sparkle, a person who had never believed in or been involved with magic. Except that contradicted the evidence of the word-blocking static and terrifying pressure that only seemed to be affecting her. So then had Nightmare done something to her during their first meeting? But that couldn’t be right either—it had said she’d taken something from it, which meant their paths would have had to have crossed before then.

But if Nightmare had been sealed away since Celestia removed it from someone, when could she have possibly...

And then it hit her.

The only and obvious explanation that had been staring her in the face all along.

“I was involved last time, wasn’t I?” Twilight blurted out.

Sunset visibly flinched. She tried—and failed—to pull her hands away again. “I—”

“But between then and now something happened to my memories. That’s why I don’t know the someone Nightmare seems to think I should.”

Somehow, Sunset’s expression seemed to twist even more. “████,” she replied. Twilight didn’t have to understand static to know she’d hit the bullseye.

“Then if I was there,” she continued, “if I still have those memories that Nightmare says I’ve forgotten, I might have seen how Celestia managed to stop it.” The gears of an idea started to spin. “So even if you can’t tell me what happened, maybe you can still show me.”

“Twilight, what—”

But Twilight was already moving, unlinking her left hand from Sunset’s so she could pull her closer by the wrist. Caught off guard, Sunset stumbled forward a step at the same time Twilight lifted her captured arm and used her own hand to press Sunset’s over both of her eyes.

The world went dark again.

“You can show me,” Twilight repeated. “And... I’ll find a way to fix this. Promise.”

“But I could hurt you,” Sunset breathed. She didn’t try to move—neither closer to Twilight nor to pull her hand away. “I could kill you. Nightmare’s about to take me over again, and if you’re stuck in some memory when it does—”

“You won’t.”

“You can’t know that.”

“No,” Twilight admitted into the darkness. “I can’t.” But despite the terror of uncertainty racing in her blood, she managed a smile just faint enough that the corner of her lips brushed against Sunset’s thumb. “But I believe in you.”

Belief without proof was an irresponsible endeavor, but Twilight didn’t care anymore—if magic and monsters could flip the world on its head simply by existing, then Twilight Sparkle could surely do one better and flip the world right back.

The skin on the wrist of her hand still interlocked with Sunset’s started to burn as soon as the words had left her mouth. In response Sunset whispered something under her breath that sounded like a neighbour to a swear, then shifted her raised hand slightly against Twilight’s eyes.

“Okay,” Sunset said reluctantly, and Twilight immediately felt a pressure throb against her heart in response. “Then I’ll— I’ll see you when you wake up.”

She gave Twilight’s hand one last squeeze. Twilight returned it. Her hands are still warm, she noted.

Then the world shifted from darkness to bright and weightless, and the warmth vanished from Twilight’s skin as she opened her eyes to a final, familiar dream.

The Final Trial

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The door in front of Twilight seemed much larger than a door had any right to be. The handle aligned perfectly with her collarbones, and each panel of the dark brown wood that formed its surface stretched nearly half her height. She craned her neck to look at the top edge—miles away. Then she looked down at her shoes—

Right, she realized, kids are ridiculously short.

The dream hadn’t stripped her of her memories, thankfully, and Twilight could clearly recognize she no longer inhabited the body of her teenage self. Her reduced height was the biggest giveaway, but there were other differences too—her hair pulled back into a ponytail, her legs bare below the knees of a ridiculous pink-and-purple skort that she’d have been mortified to wear past puberty—eight or nine, then, she decided. It’s probably summertime, too.

She tried to turn around to get a look at her surroundings, but her body refused to cooperate with motions further than a few inches off its predetermined path. Great. Relegated to a spectator, she grumbled internally at the exact same time her child self opened her mouth and asked the door, “So can I come in yet?”

Something clattered from behind the door. “Nope,” a voice replied.

“But you’re taking forever.”

“Twilight, it’s barely been five minutes.”

“Same thing!”

“Oh, so five minutes is forever now?” Something swooshed, like fabric billowing out to settle. “Then what happens at six minutes—forever plus one?”

Twilight crossed her arms, even though the person behind the door couldn’t see it, and declared, “No, then I’m gonna stop waiting forever and go do something else instead.”

The person behind the door snorted. Twilight recognized it as the type of laugh adults made when kids did something adorably annoying. “Alright, alright. Just give me thirty more seconds.”

And of course Twilight’s past self had to count each second out loud. It was an odd feeling to have her mouth speaking completely separately from her thoughts, especially when they were mostly filled with sympathy for whoever the person dealing with her antics was. They must have the patience of a saint.

“Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine.” She reached out and wrapped her hand around the doorknob, then pushed as hard as she could. “Thirty!”

The door flew open, and Twilight’s heart nearly stopped at the sight she saw inside.

The wizard’s room was nearly identical to how it had been in Sunset’s memories—plush grey carpet beneath a stately antique desk, bookshelves along the far wall stuffed with books in disheveled piles, some display cabinets with odd contraptions and papers and even more books visible behind their glass doors, and the twin suits of armour standing proud against the wall behind the desk.

But as much as the similarities stood out, so did the differences. For one thing, the view of the backyard through the windows was nearly dark, a stark contrast from the memory’s sunny day. The lights in the room were off, and instead various candles of different shapes and sizes positioned around the edges of the room illuminated the space with a warm and flickering glow. The suits of armour held a different pose than usual—in order to balance candles between their hands, Twilight realized—and the centre of the room had been cleared away to make room for a large black tarp covered in an intricate pattern that looked like it belonged in a fantasy novel: a magic circle.

“So?” a voice asked from beside the door. “Worth the wait?”

Twilight turned toward the voice. “Absolutely,” she replied, the word filled with a childlike wonder so foreign to the shell-shocked teenager seeing through her eyes.

Because the voice belonged to a woman, and Twilight didn’t know her name.

She knew she should have known—the woman wore Celestia in her features so clearly, even with her hair and eyes a different hue. She had the same dimple at the corner of her mouth; the same high cheekbones; the same playful twinkle just behind her eyes. No one who’d ever met them both could deny that she was related to Celestia—but Twilight had absolutely no idea who she was.

“Well! I’m relieved to have your approval.” The woman stepped over to close the door, then reached down to ruffle her hand through Twilight’s bangs. “You’re lucky you’re my favourite niece, you know. I don’t go through all this trouble just for anyone.”

Niece.

“I’m your only ‘niece’,” Twilight complained, though she pushed the woman’s hand away with a barely-disguised smile.

An auntie.

“Really? Why, Twilight, I hadn’t noticed that at all!”

Celestia had a sister.

And a sickening thought quickly followed alongside Twilight’s sudden epiphany: She’s the ‘someone’ Celestia tried to save.

But there was no time to process that thought, for the memory kept marching onward regardless of the still-reeling Twilight paralyzed behind the eyes of her younger self. She couldn’t stop from trying to stare at Someone, even as her body turned away to examine the rest of the room.

“Well, I noticed that this whole setup is way too much effort for just stargazing,” Twilight felt herself point out. “What are we really doing?” She paused, then added, “And we’re still stargazing, right? ‘Cause the maximum eclipse is supposed to be just after eight-thirty, and even if it’s not a total eclipse I still really wanna—”

“We’re still stargazing, Twilight,” Someone interrupted gently. “And before you ask, it’s only a few minutes past eight. We won’t miss it.”

I don’t remember ever having this much of an interest in astronomy, Twilight thought, frowning. But the excitement stirring in her blood felt genuine—a product of her own curiosity rather than something Nightmare could have fabricated. Did... did I forget about that too?

“Then what did you set all of this up for?” her voice asked.

Someone smiled wide and stepped over to her desk. “Is having my favourite niece stay over not reason enough to celebrate?”

Twilight raised an eyebrow and shot Someone the most withering glare her tiny self could muster. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh, wow. Who taught you to be a smart-ass?” Someone blinked, then corrected, “I mean, smart-butt.” She slid open the top drawer of her desk and continued, “But I’ll admit you got me—no matter how special it is to have you stay over...”

Someone pulled a rectangular object out of the drawer with a flourish, then set it on top of her desk with a satisfying thump.

“…I’ve been planning for something way more important than just a sleepover.”

And immediately both versions of Twilight recognized what the object was.

“Magic spells,” her body gasped.

Celestia’s book, her mind thought.

“Bingo!” Someone replied, and slapped her palm down flat over the sun emblem on the book’s cover. “Tonight’s as good a night as any for you to finally try your hand at some real magic.”

Twilight waited for her younger self to voice the familiar retort she thought she’d known her entire life—magic isn’t real; magic doesn’t exist; magic is fictional and fantastical and lies. But instead of a rational dismissal she heard her voice ask something completely wrong instead:

“You’re really going to show me how?”

And Twilight didn’t hear anything else after that.

Not that she physically couldn’t—if she put her mind to it, she probably could have listened to Someone’s explanations or her own excited questions fired off one by one. But how on earth was she supposed to listen to the chattering of a child while the world crumbled to pieces around her?

Because Twilight Sparkle had never believed in magic, yet her memories seemed to think that she once had.

“...and I figured we could do something before we stargaze.” Someone’s voice faded in over Twilight’s silent shock. She flipped through the pages of the book idly with her free hand as she spoke. “It’s pretty simple, and I thought you’d get a kick out of ‘spooky’ magic during an eclipse.”

“Yes!” Twilight nodded her head up and down furiously. “Absolutely; just tell me what I need to do and I’ll—”

Someone interrupted her with a snort and a raised hand. “Hold your horses, Twilight,” she said sternly. “You haven’t even let me explain anything.”

“That’s okay!”

“No, it’s not,” Someone corrected. She shut the book with a snap and lowered it, her expression hardening to something much more serious. “Remember when I told you about the time I tried a luck spell without reading the whole thing first?”

Twilight felt her excitement immediately wilt. “...You cast it on yourself by accident,” she mumbled.

“And then?”

“Bad luck for a month,” Twilight sighed.

“Bad luck for a month,” Someone agreed. “You have to remember that real magic isn’t the same as in books or movies. It’s more like...” She trailed off with a frown as she tried to find the words. “I guess it’s like playing a game where you don’t know the rules.” Her mouth twitched into a smile. “Like teaching Shining how to play chess.”

“Oh.” The analogy didn’t clarify anything for Twilight, but it seemed to make sense to the version of her in the memory. “So you try to move your bishop like a rook, and...”

“Bad luck for a month.”

“Bad luck for a month,” she echoed, defeated. After a second of hesitation she tentatively asked, “Was it really that bad?”

“We can find a way to calculate the probability of flower pots dropping when someone walks under them, if you want.”

Twilight shuddered at the thought. “I changed my mind,” she decided. “You should explain everything first, and then you tell me what to do.”

“Perfect,” Someone said with a wry grin. She flipped back through the book to the page she’d been on and opened her mouth to speak, only to be immediately interrupted by two sharp knocks rapping against the office door at the exact same time. Both Twilight’s body and Someone flinched at the sound—they’d been too wrapped up talking to notice the footsteps that had approached from down the hall.

The handle turned and the door cracked open before either of them could say anything. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” a familiar voice called out.

And Twilight didn’t miss the way Someone’s demeanour darkened, turning to steely eyes and a clenched jaw and white knuckles around the spine of her book. “There’s no point in knocking if you’re just going to come in,” she muttered.

“Well, I wanted to check in on the two of you.” The door swung further open, and suddenly Twilight was face-to-face with the Celestia of her childhood—younger by nearly a decade and yet still recognizable in almost every way. She hadn’t ever thought time had changed her mentor much, but the contrast between present and past was far more blatant when not viewed as a gradual shift. No laugh lines. No grey hairs. No ice in her eyes.

Just a Celestia whose very presence made Someone bristle in response.

“We don’t need to be checked on,” Someone retorted. She turned away from Twilight so she faced Celestia with her shoulders squared and the book on her open palm held between them like a barrier. “Thought you were too busy to join us anyways.”

Celestia wrinkled her nose. “I am busy,” she said slowly. “I just thought I’d take a quick break between courses to see my sister and my niece. Was that wrong of me?”

“It is when you’re interrupting, yes.”

“Whatever could I possibly be interrupting?” A raised eyebrow joined Celestia’s wrinkled nose to create an expression Twilight immediately understood as exasperation. “Seems like you’re just standing around in the dark. I do pay for electricity; you’re very welcome to use the lights if you want.”

Someone’s eyes narrowed to slits, and her jaw tightened even further. “Yes,” she said, the single word dripping with enough ice to cause verbal frostbite, “I am aware.”

The air in the study grew thick with a tension that Twilight’s younger self didn’t seem to understand. It was terribly awkward to witness a spat between siblings, but even more so when she couldn’t stop herself from trampling over the tension with innocent ignorance. “Are you working again tonight, Auntie?” she asked into the silence.

Celestia glanced away from Someone and forced a tight smile. “Unfortunately so,” she admitted. “But I’m looking forward to hearing about the eclipse and the movie tomorrow at breakfast.”

“And about the magic!”

“And about the...” Celestia trailed off. The smile faded. “The magic,” she finished. “Yes. About that.” She turned back to Someone and added under her breath, “You’re still leading her on about this stuff?”

“I’m not leading her on,” Someone whispered back between clenched teeth. She cleared her throat and said loudly, “Twilight, could you make sure the telescope is set up? I just remembered I may have forgotten to... take off the lens caps.”

It was an obvious lie, but Twilight hated that she fell for it regardless. She gave Someone a thumbs up and tiptoed around the magic-circle blanket to inspect the telescope on the other side of the study. Thankfully, even though she could no longer see Celestia and Someone, she still managed to catch the hushed conversation that appeared to have gone straight over her younger self’s head.

“Why do you police my interests so much?” Someone spoke first, her words harsh and hurried beneath her breath. “Can’t Twilight and I just have a little fun?”

“I’m ‘policing’ your interests because I’m worried.” That was Celestia. Her voice rang low, but not nearly as close to a whisper as Someone’s was.

“Worried about what?”

A pause. Then: “Have you started looking for a full time job yet?”

“Why the hell are you bringing that—”

“I’m sorry if it seems like I’m badgering you, but you just spend so much time on this occult nonsense that I know you can’t possibly have—”

“Because part time is working out fine! I’m making enough for rent, aren’t I?” Someone’s voice raised on the last two words, then quickly corrected to hushed on the following sentence: “Mind your own business for once and leave me alone.”

Twilight fiddled with the eyepiece of the telescope, careful to avoid touching her fingers anywhere close to the lenses. The ridges of its dial bit into the pad of her thumb when Celestia finally replied, “I might be moving, Luna.”

Luna.

The name felt like an electric shock and a bucket of ice water all at once. Her name was Luna.

“What? Celestia, what are you—”

“I got an offer from CPA.”

“But that’s on the other side of the city.”

“I... I’m considering accepting it.” Celestia exhaled, then drew a nervous breath. “The pay is only marginally better, but the administrative connections are invaluable when it comes to the PQP in a few years. Plus they’ve guaranteed I’d get experience in both the intermediate and senior divisions next year, and—”

“And you just expect me to uproot my entire life to move too? Are you serious?”

“No, I— Listen to me.” Her voice strained to keep below a stage whisper. “I’m not forcing you to come with me, but I also can’t put my life on hold forever.”

Luna inhaled sharply, but said nothing. Celestia took that as permission to keep talking.

“If you want to stay here, I need to be confident you’ll be able to take over the mortgage on your own. Two properties is beyond what I can afford, and I can’t possibly justify commuting a half hour across the city and then back here again daily—”

“You think I could afford to split rent in one of those fancy downtown condos either?”

“I...” A pause. “No. I suppose not.”

Twilight leaned down to peer through the telescope’s eyepiece, then straightened up a second later. “Everything looks good,” she declared. “You already took the caps off, I just had to—”

“Then what the hell do you want me to do?!”

Luna’s voice pierced through the tension, whispers and forced smiles finally abandoned for frustration. She slammed her book shut again at the exact same time the barrel of the telescope jerked down into the windowsill with a crack.

Both Luna and Celestia froze. The tension closed around the silence.

“Sorry,” Twilight breathed. She hadn’t meant to jump, but Luna’s anger had exploded out of nowhere in such a startling manner—

“No, we’re sorry for shouting,” Celestia quickly corrected. She shot Luna a glare out of the corner of her eyes. “Aren’t we?”

“I—” Luna’s expression softened. “Yes. I’m very sorry you had to hear that, Twilight.”

Twilight opened her mouth to say something, then decided against it. She ducked her head into a nod instead. They seem more concerned with my feelings than with each other’s.

Apparently satisfied with her apology, Celestia reached over to the door’s handle and took a step backward into the hallway. “I think it’s best for the both of us if we continue this discussion tomorrow morning,” she said carefully. “I need to get back to work anyways. Don’t want to keep you from your... magic tricks, after all.”

Luna rolled her eyes. “Goodnight, Celestia,” she muttered.

“Goodnight Luna. Goodnight Twilight.”

Twilight raised her hand and waved across the study. “Goodnight, Auntie.”

Then the door closed, leaving the tension and silence lingering behind.

“I’m sorry about that,” Luna repeated once the sound of Celestia’s footsteps faded down the hall. She took a deep breath and ran her hand through her hair from forehead to nape, only exhaling once her palm lay flat against the back of her neck. “I should have just told her to leave. It’s not fair to get you wrapped up in this kind of grown-up stuff.” Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “And don’t worry about the telescope; I’m sure it’s fine. Lord knows I’ve dragged it through things far worse.”

Relieved, Twilight nodded again. Rather than responding to anything Luna had said, though, she instead asked, “Are you mad at Auntie Celestia?”

Luna didn’t answer for a few seconds. She took another deep breath. “...A little bit, yes,” she admitted quietly.

“Because she doesn’t believe in magic?”

“What?” The corners of Luna’s mouth twitched into a smile. “No, that’s not why.” She let go of her neck and moved her arm behind her to lean back against her desk on her free hand. “Celestia’s a ‘big picture’ type of person. She’d work herself to death in the present if she thought it’d bring a better future. But I’m not the same as her.”

“Oh.” Twilight scrunched up her nose. “I sort of don’t get it.”

“Well, consider what we’re doing right now.” Luna tilted her head toward the telescope and explained, “Stargazing won’t help me apply to jobs. Spending time with you won’t update my resume. My ‘occult nonsense’ is just a constant reminder to her that I’m wasting my life in the present instead of preparing for the future. Does that make sense?”

It did—to both the Twilight of the present and the past. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I get it.” Maybe even more now than I did then. “And I guess I hope you can figure out how to not be mad at each other.”

“Oof. Bit of an impossible task for me there,” Luna joked.

“And...” Twilight hesitated as long as the memory would let her. She felt stupid even thinking her next statement, but the words spilled out all the same: “...I hope you can prove to her that magic’s real one day, too.” Heat crept up her cheeks and into the tips of her ears. “It’s not nice of Auntie Celestia to look down on the stuff you like. And I really like that you actually listen to me, and that you do all this cool stuff when I come over. Because even if grown-ups aren’t supposed to believe in magic, and even if when I grow up I’m not supposed to believe anymore either, and even if stuff like luck spells won’t ever be enough proof for people like Auntie Celestia... it’s really real, right?”

The question hung in the air between them. Twilight hadn’t been able to tell until that moment whether Luna honestly believed in magic or not, but as soon as she heard Luna’s response she understood:

“You believe in magic, Twilight,” she said gently. “And so long as you do, that’s belief enough for me.”

The tension lifted once Luna remembered the time and quickly busied herself informing Twilight about every aspect of the ‘real magic’ they were to perform. Dramatic irony, Twilight decided as she watched Luna’s over-the-top gestures and theatrical explanations leave her younger self absolutely starstruck. With a performance like that I’d bet that sometimes she even has herself fooled.

Because magic wasn’t real—at least, not to Luna. Not like it was to Twilight. But Luna entertained the idea regardless with her thrift store spellbooks and supercentre candlelight, content to play pretend if it meant making happy memories that Twilight wasn’t supposed to forget.

It was a bittersweet sentiment, Twilight thought, despite the nausea threatening to rend her stomach from her throat. Whatever they were doing, Luna had put her whole heart into it for Twilight’s sake.

A ghost summoning spell, her mind supplied helpfully—it had finally processed Luna’s speech into coherent thought. They were to perform a charade Twilight knew was normally doomed to fail, if not for the fact that Luna was Someone and Someone was gone.

She tried to swallow. Her body didn’t listen.

Instead Luna creased the spine of her book and flipped it around to Twilight. “And just in case,” she said, not without a bit of excitement in her voice, “I’ve bookmarked this passage about a banishment spell—better safe than sorry if a spirit wants to stick around, y’know.”

Twilight took the book and immediately started skimming. What a joke, she thought internally. Putting so much effort into pretending some handwritten ‘spells’ in a secondhand ‘spellbook’ were real? That much dedication would have been worth so much more if applied to something else. Not following nonsense about banishing spirits written in ink-black writing so neat it could have passed as typeface—

Her heart skipped a beat.

Why did the book’s handwriting look so horribly familiar?

“Wait,” Twilight felt herself say, “what about the part at the end?”

Luna blinked. “What part?”

“The...” She squinted, then sounded out syllable-by-syllable, “The ‘Elements of Harmony’.” Twilight looked up from the book, confused. “It says this spell isn’t as good as that one.”

“Oh! Right.” Almost sheepish, Luna leaned down and flipped forward a few pages until a different chapter stared back up at Twilight in the same nearly-perfect writing. “It was an interesting read, but there wasn’t much of an explanation on how to actually use it. Plus, in my opinion it seemed more like a purification spell than a protection spell. I just figured we’d be better off with the other one.”

“Hm.” This time Twilight’s past self scanned instead of skimmed, giving any memory-based spectators plenty of time to read ahead.

Section XII: Undocumented Magical Phenomena

The Elements of Harmony

While us humans possess no innate magical ability on our own, there are records of encounters with the arcana and beyond enabling us to tap into harmonic magic for a temporary period. However, though the sheer power of harmony is formidable enough to have even once brought chaos to order, what little understanding we have of harmonic magic indicates that a single human cannot activate nor utilize harmony on their own—only in combination with others is there potential for harmony to exist. It is perhaps the most human magic of all, as it is seemingly empowered by those most in touch with the qualities that serve to define us as humans.

The pieces clicked for Twilight before her body finished reading. She’d seen the exact same handwriting twice over—once in memories that hadn’t belonged to her, and once in the words that had appeared beneath the sentence she’d written in a nearly-identical book.

Pressure immediately slammed into her lungs.

Not from Nightmare, but from fear.

“I think you’re right,” her voice said. It sounded warped, as if she were underwater or a hundred miles away or both. “The first one’s easier. Besides, if we get a nice ghost we won’t even have to use it!”

“Fingers crossed,” Luna agreed. She took her book back from Twilight and stepped forward with her socks just barely touching the edge of the blanket at the centre of the room. Her free hand held one of the candles from her desk, and she squatted down on her heels to place it in the middle of the blanket before asking, “Are you ready?”

A nod. “Ready!”

And Twilight was absolutely powerless to stop them.

She moved against her will around the room to each candle one-by-one, her arms folded behind her back and her shoulders straightened as high as they would go. Bend at the waist. Blow. Stand up on tiptoes. Blow. Kneel down on one knee (not both). Blow.

Candle by candle, flame by flame. The study darkened further with every wick extinguished until all that remained was the final candle at the centre of the blanket’s circle, and the pale glow of the moon shining in through the windows behind Twilight’s back.

She stepped on top of the blanket and knelt down. A deep breath in, and then—

Blow.

The candle went out.

Twilight held her breath for what seemed like an eternity—an endless wait for the inevitable horror she knew was supposed to arrive. Nothing dared move in the moonlit silence of the study, a stillness broken only by the too-fast and erratic heartbeat pounding loud against her ears.

But then the eternity stretched too long, and the tense anticipation faded to a confusion that both versions of Twilight felt in unison: It didn’t work?

“Hm.” Luna flipped back a page and pretended to reread their ‘spell’. “I thought a spirit would make a bigger scene than this.”

“Maybe I did something wrong?” Twilight tried.

“I’m sure you followed everything perfectly. If anything, this one’s on the ghosts.” Grinning slightly, Luna raised one fist in mock anger and proclaimed, “You hear that, spirits? Spoilsports, the lot of you!”

“Aw, Auntie, c’mon—”

“Dare you play hooky the night my favourite niece has come to stay?”

“Stooooop!”

“Absolutely shameless!” Luna lowered her fist and her voice, then added in a whisper, “You think that’ll get them to come out?”

Twilight stifled a giggle and whispered back, “I think you might have scared them even further away.”

“Cowards.” Twilight choked on a snort of laughter following her deadpan delivery, a sound which only seemed to make Luna’s grin stretch wider. “Still, the spell was pretty cool, right?” she asked. “Did you notice the blanket’s glow-in-the-dark?”

“It’s—?” Twilight jerked her head down to look. She’d been too focused on the candles to notice anything else. “Oh, wow. Where did you—no, how did you get this?”

But Luna just winked and teased, “A good auntie never reveals her secrets. I need to have some ways to impress you, after all.” And with that remark she got to her feet and tucked her book under her arm. “Now let’s clean up quickly and get set up for the eclipse,” she said, stepping over to the door to flick on the lights. “You think we can do it in five minutes?”

Ever competitive in all things organization, Twilight shot to her feet as well and gave Luna a mock salute. “Bet we can make it in three.”

And, true to her word, they did. There wasn’t much to tidy, really. All Twilight had to do was gather up the candles into a cardboard box—while being careful to not spill any of the wax pooled in the hollows as she did, of course—and help Luna fold the blanket back up into a neat little square. By the time the third minute came around all the supplies had been tucked away in their box beneath the desk nearly thirty seconds ahead of the deadline Twilight had set.

“Thanks for setting all that up,” Twilight said as she watched Luna adjust the telescope one final time. She sat on the edge of the desk kicking her legs in a slow rhythm against the front panel: one, two, one, two. “It was fun to try a real magic spell, even if it didn’t really work.”

“Too bad the ghosts didn’t want to play along,” Luna sighed, one eye pressed against the eyepiece of the telescope. “I can only imagine what the look on my sister’s face would have been if we had actually gotten a spirit to show up.”

The heel kicking slowed to a stop. Twilight felt her giddy energy vanish almost instantly at the mention of her other aunt. “That’s why you wanted it to work?” she asked with a frown.

“Well, it’s not the only reason, but... sort of a nice little bonus, don’t you think?”

“Oh.” Twilight’s frown deepened further. “It’s just, I wanted it to work because a ghost spell sounded cool. Not because I wanted to rub it in Auntie Celestia’s face.”

Luna blinked. “I mean, it’s not mutually exclusive, Twilight,” she tried. She lifted her head from the telescope and glanced over her shoulder at Twilight with an odd, unreadable expression. “Of course I thought the spell sounded cool too. When I read the chapter I knew it was right up your alley, and I wanted to do what I could to have you try it out tonight.”

“But then—”

“All I’m saying,” she continued cooly, “is that if—when, really—you do something magical, I’ll be the first one to say to Celestia ‘I told you so’.”

The barrel of the telescope dipped slightly when Luna let go, though it didn’t drop far enough to hit the windowsill. The tension returned, smothering the study alongside the insect chatter and summertime heat wafting through the opened window. Disappointment and bitterness and irritation radiated from Luna’s hunched silhouette, alongside… something else.

Twilight exhaled a nervous breath into the stillness. Something was wrong.

“...I just wish she’d bother to listen to me in the first place,” Luna eventually muttered.

And somehow Twilight knew they weren’t talking about magic anymore.

“I wish she wouldn’t work herself to death for some shi— stupid career path she never even wanted. I hate that she never has time to join us for movies, or dinner, or literally anything other than five minutes of ‘goodnights’ and the occasional breakfast if I’m lucky.” Luna’s voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “She calls it dedication, ambition, whatever. But to me it’s like she barely gives me—us—a second thought.”

Ambition.

One of Sunset’s memories flashed to the surface of Twilight’s mind—four lines of perfect handwriting on a dog-eared and bookmarked journal page. And though she’d never read them with her own eyes, the number of times Twilight had seen them through Sunset’s had burned each and every word into a memory of her own.

Fueled by the sun’s ambition infernal.

“Auntie Luna,” Twilight tried to interrupt, “I don’t—”

But Luna kept going, her words tumbling out so fast that Twilight could barely keep up:

“Then on top of hounding me over my career, and merely tolerating the fact I’m a disappointment without a five-year plan, now I have to think about moving. And I don’t even get a say in the matter!”

A thousand-year prophecy’s destined repeat.

“God, do I wish she would just listen for once in her life—to me, to you, to anything she doesn’t want to hear.”

She jerked her hand out to emphasize her point. It smacked into the telescope and sent the end spinning into the frame of the window. Something cracked. Luna didn’t seem to care enough to find out what.

The arcane-faith star shall aid its escape.

And over Luna’s shoulder through the half-open window rose the moon, its pallid surface clearly visible against the cloudless sky. The eclipse, Twilight thought numbly. They were going to miss its peak—even if the shadow was barely visible and even if it wasn’t comparable to a total eclipse at all, they were still missing it.

And bring about nighttime eternal.

“It’s just,” Luna finished, blinking far too many times in a row as she did, “I would do anything to make her choose her family over her fucking job.”

And it was only then that Twilight realized the moon’s light had turned to red.

But wait—that didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t supposed to be a total eclipse, so why would it—

Snap.

The study lights went out.

Instantly Luna stopped moving, one hand gesturing furiously to her side and the other tucked neatly over the book held beneath her arm. Her confused expression sent a shiver rippling down Twilight’s spine despite the slightly-humid air.

“A power outage?” Luna whispered to herself. She lowered her hand. “Twilight, can you check the hallway lights?”

Twilight gave her a nervous nod and slid down from the desk. “Okay,” she breathed, and headed for the door.

“If they’re also out, then we might need to go flip a breaker—”

And then every window in the study simultaneously exploded inward with a thunderous BANG.

The house shook beneath their feet. A shower of glass pelted against Luna’s back and sent her lurching off balance. “What the f—”

Then a terrible shockwave followed not even a second later, rippling out from the centre of the room with enough force to knock Twilight off her feet and into the carpet beside the door. On the opposite side of the room Luna stumbled backward against the shattered frame of the centre window, one arm crossed protectively over her face to defend against the glass fragments that suddenly reversed their course and shot back out like bullets into the walls and the ceiling and the garden just outside.

“Auntie Luna!” Twilight shouted. She scrambled back up on trembling legs, the familiar thump-thump of her heart beating at the back of her throat. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t—”

“Is this part of the spell?!”

“No!” Luna lowered her arms slightly to look Twilight in the eyes. Even across the darkened study Twilight could see they’d widened with a fear strong enough to island her irises in white. “I didn’t plan for this, I—”

And then the shadow at her feet raised its arms and laughed.

The laughter rang high and smooth and without any noise audible to human hearing—instead it echoed at the back of Twilight’s head so loud it deafened all other sounds her body tried to process. Her younger self clamped her hands down over her ears to try and block the noise, but Twilight knew too well it wouldn’t work.

Then the laughter trickled away into a voice as cold as ice. You’d do anything? her shadow asked.

Luna froze. Her shadow didn’t.

Why, I believe I can work with that.

The shadow shuddered, then suddenly stretched wide over the silvery carpet until it all was cast in black. Twilight backpedalled against the study door in an attempt to avoid standing on it, but it was no use—it merely passed beneath her socks as if she wasn’t there.

Run, Twilight tried to tell herself, despite the fact she knew it wouldn’t work. Get out of there!

The centre of the shadow—the centre of the study, now—twitched, then twisted. Smoke billowed from the carpet like a chemical reaction gone wrong, pouring out to engulf the study walls with black. And against the backdrop of a full moon painted red rose a humanoid figure formed by the very shadows from which it came: the weightless, faceless monster with a smile carved as empty space.

Nightmare.

Its body finished forming facing Twilight, and when its limbs uncurled to their full length she swore its smile sliced through its body even more.

Well, woman? Nightmare swivelled away from Twilight to face Luna, its body turning soundlessly on legs that hovered inches above the ground. One of its spindly arms stretched toward her with its claws curled around an open palm. Do you want the power to prove your sister wrong?

Luna’s terrified eyes flicked down to the hand for a split second. She opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out.

Hm. I’d like an answer sooner than later, really.

“I-I—” Her voice trembled. Nightmare flexed its claws expectantly.

Then Twilight heard footsteps on the floor above their heads. They moved over the hallway and started pounding down the staircase. Celestia, she realized in horror—and it appeared her younger self had noticed too.

“Use the other spell!” she screamed to Luna, and threw her back against the door to hold it closed. Nightmare’s head whipped around toward her at the sound of her shout, but for some reason it made no further moves to silence her. “Hurry!”

That seemed to snap Luna out of her shock. She quickly yanked her book from beneath her arm and started flipping through its pages as fast as her trembling fingers would allow. “Holy shit,” she swore. “Holy shit holy shit holy shit—”

The footsteps hit the main floor. Nightmare shook its head at Twilight in mock disbelief. You free me just to lock me up again? It withdrew its hand and made a sound like television static—an exasperated sigh. Such a pity. We could have done this the easy way, you know.

Luna stopped flipping. She’d found the spell. “Holy shit I hope this works,” she breathed, and raised the book with both hands in front of her—

A knock at the door.

“Luna?” Celestia called. The handle rattled against Twilight’s back. “What on earth was that sound?”

And for just a single second Luna faltered, her gaze shifting away from Nightmare and over to the study door. Twilight’s stomach dropped when she saw Luna’s eyes flick to the side—because she’d looked away for a single second, and that was more than enough time for Nightmare to make its move.

Be grateful I let you pretend you had a choice.

Its body burst apart into smoke and dropped like liquid to the shadows pooled over the carpet. The study door pounded against Twilight’s back with increasing strength as a horribly familiar scene played out in front of her eyes. Just like Sunset, she realized as Nightmare blinked back into existence through shadows behind Luna.

It’s all exactly the same.

And Luna didn’t even get a chance to speak before Nightmare thrust its hand through her back and out her heart.

“No!”

Everything happened all at once after that: Twilight bolted across the study at the same time Luna toppled forward at the same time Nightmare and all its shadows funneled into her body through the wound at the same time the book slipped from her hands and fell to the carpet at the same time Celestia threw herself against the door and burst into the room. Twilight managed to snatch the book from the floor as she ran and caught Luna in a panicked hug with enough force to keep her standing. “You’ll be okay,” she felt herself sob. “I can fix this; I promise I can fix this; you’ll be okay—”

“What is going on?!” Celestia interrupted. She thrust one hand toward the opposite wall and shouted, “And what in the world did you do to the windows?!”

“Auntie!” Twilight clung tighter to Luna’s waist. “The spell— The ghost— We didn’t mean to—”

Celestia’s gaze bounced between the windows and Twilight and Luna and back. Her expression twisted into a confusing mix of anger, concern, and fear. “Luna,” she said finally, her voice straining to keep calm. “Please tell me what’s actually going on.”

“Hold on,” Twilight tried, “the ghost is— I need to use the spell to—”

A hand gently pressed against the top of her head to cut her off. Familiar fingers ruffled through her bangs.

“It’s okay, Twilight,” Luna said quietly. She untangled herself from Twilight’s arms before she could protest and straightened up to face Celestia. “Let me talk to her.”

Twilight’s mouth went dry. The whites of Luna’s eyes had turned pitch black.

But in the darkness of the study Celestia didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. “I don’t have the time to deal with this,” she groaned. “I was supposed to take photos for listings next week—is that why you’ve done this? Because you’re upset that I need to move?” She crossed her arms. “Explain yourself!”

Luna grit her teeth. “Shut up,” she snarled.

“I will not!” Celestia took a step forward. “You’ve destroyed part of my property—”

“Oh, it’s all yours, is it?”

“—endangered my niece—”

“A laughable claim, considering you hardly spend time with her when she’s here—”

“—and now you can’t even bother to offer me an explanation why?” Another step forward. “And so help me, if you try to pin the blame on magic, I will not—”

“Stop fucking talking!”

Luna clawed her fingers and thrust her palm forward, and immediately a pointed black spike burst out of the carpet at Celestia and jerked to a stop barely a hair’s width away from her neck. Celestia flinched reflexively at the sudden movement and went still as a statue, as if her brain was struggling to catch up to the input from her eyes. Then a moment later she crumbled, her eyes widening with fear and her mouth parting to release a strangled croak.

“Wow,” Luna said dryly. She flexed her fingers, and the spike shuddered in response. “That look on your face is even better than I thought.”

Behind Luna’s back Twilight clutched the book to her chest and started inching away as quietly as she could. She knew Celestia would be fine—she’d lived to the present at least, years longer than the memory’s time—but her past self had no such reassurance. Without that knowledge two thoughts repeated over and over in her head above the panic thrumming beneath her skin: Do the spell. Stop the ghost. Do the spell. Stop the ghost. Do the spell—

“Aren’t you proud of her?” Luna took a step forward, and this time Celestia stumbled back two steps in response. “Twilight was right all along—and yet you never even bothered to give her a chance.”

“Luna,” Celestia whispered. “Luna, I—”

“Is this real enough for you, then?” The first spike dissipated as a second shot past Celestia’s cheek. “Is this proof enough for you?” The second vanished. A third grazed her shoulder and tore through the fabric of her jacket. “Is it?”

Do the spell, Twilight repeated to herself, her eyes still locked on Luna’s back. She opened the book and flipped through it with a trance-like calmness that didn’t match her shaking hands. Stop the ghost.

“I’m sorry!” Celestia blurted out. She backed into the bookcase behind Luna’s desk hard enough that a book toppled off one of its over-full shelves. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” A spike glanced across her cheek and she yelped in pain. “I’m so sorry, Luna!”

Do the spell. Trembling, Twilight raised the book with one hand, her thumb pressed between the pages of the spell that Luna had marked. Something seemed off, though. Wasn’t Celestia supposed to cast it? Isn’t she supposed to interfere?

“A little late for apologies,” Luna snarled as she strode across the centre of the room. Three spikes pierced out of the carpet at Celestia’s feet—one on either side and one more to threaten her throat—and trapped her against the bookcase.

Twilight took a step forward, then another. Her free hand floated up from her side with its fingers splayed, as if reaching for something. Stop the ghost.

“Luna—” Celestia choked on her words. The spike at her throat moved up to press against her skin.

Do the spell. Another step. Luna remained just a single pace out of reach.

“I hate you so much,” Luna lied. Her voice cracked. The fingers of her outstretched hand began to tremble. “I—”

One final step. Stop the ghost, Twilight echoed, and reached out to press her hand into the small of Luna’s back.

A blur of motion—

A startled shout—

The high-pitched whistle of air splitting apart, and then—

Pain.

Excruciating and indescribable pain.

Oh, Twilight managed to think as she stumbled away from Luna. Her eyes wandered down to the pitch-black spike protruding from the centre of her chest, then back up to where Luna stood horrified and petrified with one clawed hand still outstretched.

Oh.

The world spun. Everything turned on its side—no, I fell, Twilight corrected through her mental haze. I fell, and it hurts, and I’m cold, and it hurts—

Blood as black as tar oozed across her vision, seeping out from underneath her crumpled body and soaking through the carpet. Her awkward viewing angle made the pooling liquid appear as wide as an ocean—an illusion of a metallic and bloody sea.

Someone screamed. Celestia. Luna still didn’t move a muscle, but a puff of smoke exploded behind her as the spikes surrounding Celestia instantly disappeared.

The world blurred. Twilight blinked it clear, and suddenly Celestia was there, kneeling into the carpet and staining her pants with red.

“What did you do?!” she shrieked. Her voice sounded distant despite its volume. “What did you do?!”

“I didn’t mean to,” Luna whispered. Her eyes were wide and fearful and white. Not black. Instinctively Twilight’s hand twitched against the pages of the book still held between her fingers. Right, she remembered. The spell.

Everything hurt, but it didn’t matter. Everything was cold, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered anymore to Twilight was the book, and the spell, and finding a way to stop the ghost. With the last of her strength Twilight managed to raise her arm up just enough to push the book up from the bloody carpet and into Celestia’s lap.

Celestia jumped when the book made contact with her legs. “Twilight!” She immediately clutched at Twilight’s wrist and squeezed it tight. “It’s okay, you’re going to be...”

Her voice faded out to a dull whine. Twilight felt her heartbeat retreat from her fingertips, leaving them cold and stiff and numb. She let go of the book.

Up to you, she tried to convey without her voice. All up to you.

And then her heartbeat faded further, and Twilight Sparkle died.

...At least, she should have.

But even though her heart had stopped beating and her body lay sprawled limp across the carpet, the memory carried on. The pain vanished with her life, and suddenly Twilight—the spectator, the bystander—found that she was free.

Huh?

She sat up. Her body didn’t.

...Huh.

Then Luna let out a terrified, gut-wrenching wail, and Twilight quickly scrambled out of her body and to her feet so she could better observe the scene.

“Bring her back!” Luna screamed. She clutched at her head with both hands and curled in on herself at the waist. “I know you’re still there—I know you can bring her back!”

Celestia squeezed Twilight’s wrist tighter. “You’re okay,” she whispered blankly, even though Twilight knew she couldn’t feel a pulse beneath the skin within her grip. “You’re okay, you’re okay—”

And why should I help you?

Nightmare finally returned, this time speaking at the back of all their minds instead of using Luna’s voice. Celestia whipped around to face Luna at the sound of it, clearly terrified out of her wits.

“She— she’s the reason you’re free!” Luna sputtered. She balled her hands into fists. “Does that mean nothing to you?!”

Correct, Nightmare agreed. Though, it’s a pity that a believing life so young should end so soon.

“That was your fault, goddamnit!”

“Who is talking?” Celestia whispered, glancing frantically around the study. “Who are you?! If you can help Twilight—”

Nightmare laughed again. The both of you are fools, it said, its tone frosty. I do not help those who offer me nothing in return.

“Anything,” Luna blurted out.

Celestia’s eyes widened. “Luna—”

“I’ll do anything. Please.”

Anything? That seemed to get Nightmare’s attention. Do go on.

Having finally piqued its interest, Luna drew a shaky breath and offered her hand in a handshake toward the empty air. “That book we used contains a spell,” she explained, her words hurried and her voice raised. “With it I could have you banished from my body and sealed away again. And I know it works,” she added before Nightmare could interrupt. “You may be in my head, but it’s a two way street—I know you’re not a ghost, demon.”

Hm. Clever, aren’t you?

“But since you’ve been so kind as to share with me how you work, I’ll make an offer I know you can’t refuse.” She raised her hand higher. “If you save my niece’s life, I swear that so long as you possess me, my sister and I will never use that spell against you. Never.”

“Luna!” Celestia finally let go of Twilight’s wrist and pushed herself to her feet with the book clutched tight in one hand. “What are you saying?”

“You can have my body; you can have your freedom. But only if you bring Twilight back.”

Nightmare let out a curious hum. And if I refuse your deal?

“Then I’ll fight against you every second I still live.” Determination flooded Luna’s voice—she meant it, Twilight realized. And the burning conviction reflected in her eyes made Twilight think she could actually succeed. “For the rest of my life and until your magic kills me, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you from hurting anybody else.” Her outstretched hand showed no signs of wavering. “You’ll use me for nothing. My sister will banish you when my body fails. And for the rest of your eternal existence you’ll be forced to remember that you could have done so much more with me had you just agreed to save a single human girl.”

It didn’t seem like a bluff. In fact, it seemed like a deal weighted far too heavily in Nightmare’s favour—an offer that it had no right to refuse.

You make an interesting proposal, it hummed. Though, I can’t say I see what’s in it for you. Black smoke coiled out from beneath the sleeve of Luna’s shirt, twisting down her wrist and into the air as a disembodied approximation of a hand. But if you and that sister of yours swear by these terms—

“We swear,” Luna confirmed. She locked eyes with Celestia over her shoulder. “Right, sister?”

And once again Twilight saw her mentor reflected in Luna’s face—a calculated, unreadable mask of emotions atop an expression filled with ice. Something secret passed between their gazes, and while Twilight had no idea how to read its meaning it seemed that at least Celestia understood. She held Luna’s gaze for a moment that stretched longer than it should have. The muscle in her jaw tightened.

“I... I swear,” Celestia finally agreed.

As soon as the words left her mouth the shadowy hand solidified. Then it’s a deal, Nightmare cackled, and snatched up Luna’s waiting palm in a handshake to seal their oath.

Another shockwave rippled through the room when their hands met, though not as destructive as the one before. Twin bolts of white light followed with a flash—one shot down Luna’s arm and vanished beneath the skin of her throat, while the other zipped through the lapel of Celestia’s blazer and winked out.

Then the shadowy hand let go of Luna’s and began to grow. It stretched out high into the air, peeling itself away from her before unfurling back into Nightmare’s humanoid form. Its limbs flexed. A smile sliced through the darkness of its face.

Very interesting choice, ladies, it said, its voice laden with delight. It’s rare to find a human willing to make a pact with stakes as high as this.

Luna lowered her arm and glared up at where Nightmare’s eyes should have been. “Fulfill your end of the bargain, demon,” she spat.

With pleasure.

Nightmare raised one arm toward Twilight’s body and flexed its claws. The spike in her chest shuddered, and as it did Twilight—the spectator—felt a familiar pressure tug against her heart. The same spot, she noted absently. It was almost too morbid a scene to look at, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn away.

Treat this not as a resurrection, but as an exchange, Nightmare said slowly. All mirth had left its voice—instead it spoke in tones Twilight almost misheard as kind. White light surrounded the spike. A fraction of my power lent to guarantee a freedom I have rarely known.

The spike began to shrink, turning smaller and finer until the tip finally disappeared under the bloodsoaked fabric of her shirt. The light faded. The pressure squeezed. Twilight felt her pulse return beneath her skin.

Nightmare lowered its arm at the same time her body drew the first breath of its second life. And so long as you keep your oath, it finished, the girl will live.

“Twilight!”

Immediately Celestia dropped back to her knees and scrambled over to Twilight’s still-unconscious form. She pressed two fingers to the side of her neck and, once she felt her heartbeat, pulled her body up into a hug with a wordless sob. Behind her, Luna’s shoulders visibly slumped with relief.

“You kept your word,” she said to Nightmare.

Of course I did. It tilted its head to the side innocently. I would be a liar if I didn’t.

Luna stared at it for a few seconds, as if she expected it to change its mind. Then, when it didn’t, she turned to Celestia. “I’ll keep mine as well, then,” she said, directing her words at Nightmare even though her body faced away.

Celestia stilled. She straightened up and looked back over her shoulder to meet Luna’s gaze, Twilight still clutched tightly in her arms. “What will happen to you?” she whispered.

“Exactly what I promised,” Luna replied carefully. “This demon will share my body, and I will do nothing to stop it from wreaking the havoc it so desires.” She lifted her chin. “And so long as it possesses me, neither shall you.”

There it was again: that odd, clinical phrasing of their deal. So long as it possesses me. Twilight furrowed her brow in thought. Why would Luna bother to word it in such a specific way?

“That spell,” Celestia tried to ask, but Nightmare shook its head to interrupt.

If you use it against me, the girl’s right to life is forfeit, it said calmly. Those were the terms of our deal. I do hope you don’t consider breaking them, if only for the child’s sake.

“But Luna, if that means you’ll—”

“I’m doing this for Twilight,” she said simply. Her eyes narrowed. “Besides. Even if you wanted to use it, you don’t know how, do you?”

More hidden messages. More purposeful emphasis on words passed between the tension. Celestia’s shoulders rose defensively. “Of course I don’t.”

“Then guess there’s no point in even reading it.”

They stared at each other silently. Without breaking eye contact Celestia slowly moved her far hand—the one with the book, the one furthest from Nightmare—so that one finger curled around the book’s cover to feel for a certain creased page within its leaves.

Just that simple gesture spoke volumes to Celestia’s response in their unspoken conversation: I understand.

Enough stalling. Nightmare snapped its fingers, and in a split second it disappeared into a cloud of smoke, then reappeared behind Luna with one hand on each of her shoulders. The girl lives. I want the freedom you promised in return.

Luna closed her eyes. “Then take it,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

And so it did.

Another backstab, another wound, another rush of darkness from the shadows into Luna’s heart. Though much of the shock value had been lost on Twilight—she had seen it happen three times over at that point—it was the first time that Celestia witnessed the horrific way Nightmare seized its host.

“No!” she sobbed. Twilight’s heart sank at the despair in her voice—Luna was Someone and Someone was gone, and even though Celestia couldn’t have known that yet, it seemed that deep down she understood it was farewell.

All the shadows vanished with an air-splitting snap. Celestia’s hair whipped out behind her. Luna stumbled forward at the impact. She shuddered slightly as she caught her balance, then stretched her arms out in front of her and raised her head.

Black eyes. Cold eyes. Nightmare.

They made eye contact. Celestia inhaled sharply. She pulled Twilight closer, twisting slightly to position herself between her and Nightmare before she asked, “What have you done to my sister?”

Nightmare grinned with Luna’s face and straightened up. “Why, I’m helping her,” it sneered. “Poor woman—ever scorned by her only kin, and yet without the power to have her voice be heard.” It paused to work its jaw, both hands pressing its fingertips into its cheeks as it did. Twilight found its motions familiar, like that of a person putting on a new pair of shoes. “Resentment is just perfect fuel for entertainment, don’t you think?”

Celestia bared her teeth. “Let her go,” she snarled.

Nightmare grinned wider. “You’d have to make me,” it taunted. Its eyes flicked pointedly over to the book still clutched in Celestia’s hand and added, “Oh, that’s right—you won’t.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re a monster.”

“That is what you humans tend to call me, yes,” it said dryly. It flexed its fingers one by one, then rolled its wrists. “Now, I wonder where I should start?” Something popped when it stretched its neck. “I don’t want to burn dear Luna out too quickly, after all. Though I’ve so many ideas on how to slay that selfish reputation of yours that I hardly know which one to...”

Its voice trailed off when Celestia stood up, Twilight’s body curled behind her and the book held open in one hand. Her eyes burned coldly in the blood-red moonlight—calculated and anguished and furious all at once.

Nightmare clicked its tongue. “Don’t push your luck, sister.”

“Do not call me that.”

A golden aura erupted around the book and flashed out into the darkness with a light so harsh it painted long shadows up all four walls of the study. Celestia’s hair and jacket blew backward in the magically-induced windstorm, and she gripped the book’s spine tighter against the recoil to prevent it from flying out of her hand—despite its frantically fluttering pages she managed to keep its cover open to the spell she’d bookmarked with her thumb.

Across the study Nightmare’s—Luna’s—face twisted briefly in surprise before morphing back to a crueler, more arrogant expression that Twilight hated to see her wear. “So you’ve decided!” it called over the hum of magical energy pouring out of the book. “The life of your sister over your niece!” It threw its arms wide and shouted, “I wonder if Luna will be happy with your choice?!”

Celestia glared at it but said nothing. She extended her arm out straight with the book held steady at the end.

Nightmare’s smile instantly vanished. It took a step away from Celestia and dropped its arms. “You’ll kill the girl if you use that spell,” it snarled. “Her blood is on your hands, not mine—do you really think Luna will forgive you for this?”

But Celestia just narrowed her eyes and calmly stated, “I never said I’m using it on you.”

And in a voice unwavering and clear Celestia began to read the spell:

“For just a hundred moons’ delay / Shall stand a prison mortal made / And that which sleeps shall bide its time / Within what object seals away.”

Another ripple of gold light tore through the air. Nightmare doubled over when the light struck, something pale peeling away from its body when it did—an outline like one of its smoky shadows, except cast in a blue so pale it passed as white. The smoke held its form for only a brief moment before it dissipated into the magical windstorm howling through the study.

And when Luna’s body straightened up with its eyes still black as pitch, Twilight suddenly understood exactly what her plan had been.

Ha! Nightmare’s mental voice effortlessly boomed above the uproar. That’s a pleasant surprise. Afraid your sister wouldn’t uphold her end of our deal, are you? With how little she thinks of you, I suppose I should have expected—

“Do not misunderstand my actions,” Celestia cut in. “Luna wanted this. She’s trusted me to do this for her in her stead—no matter how desperately I wish I wouldn’t have to.”

To free me fully? To end her life yourself? Nightmare cackled loudly. Do you consider it an act of mercy to separate a human’s body from her soul?

The pages of the book flared with light. And before Twilight’s eyes a familiar pinprick of light appeared beneath the passage Celestia had read: four more lines of text in looping cursive printed gold.

“What were the terms of our deal again, demon?” she asked. “What conditions on Twilight’s life prevent me from using this spell?”

Nightmare narrowed its eyes to slits. So long as I possess your sister—

“And isn’t that an interesting way to put it?” Celestia traced the finger of her other hand down the book’s page and raised her eyebrows. “If Luna’s soul no longer has a body, are you really possessing her?”

Nightmare froze.

The pieces clicked.

And when the gravity of what she’d said finally sank in it lunged frantically across the study at Celestia with a furious and guttural roar—

The book snapped shut. Nightmare’s nails just barely managed to graze Celestia’s cheek before a golden shockwave blew it backward and into the opposite wall of the study with a bang.

Luna—Nightmare—collapsed face-down against the carpet. Celestia lowered the book. A single red rivulet ran down her face as she recited the second section of the spell:

“And those who dare defy their fate / Twice over part in consequence / Farewell to myth and man alike / Farewell to both before too late.”

The whole house shook. Books and papers and pens and trinkets flew from their places and scattered in the storm. The cabinet doors behind Celestia whipped back and forth like flags. Behind the desk the barrel of the telescope crashed through both suits of armour and sent pieces flying in every direction.

Another flash of gold light. Luna’s body convulsed on its hands and knees, and suddenly Nightmare’s smoky form split apart from her back—its head and shoulders lifted away from hers, but its limbs still remained connected as it desperately tried to brace itself against the wind.

You lying woman! it howled. Its left leg tore free and dissolved into obsidian smoke. You dare assume your kind can trick a demon without consequence?! Its right leg followed, leaving only the upper half of its body clinging on. How wretched must the bond of sister be for you to so willingly throw your own away!

Celestia flinched slightly at its words. She sucked in a shallow breath and raised one hand to wipe her cheek, obscuring her eyes from Nightmare with her wrist. “I’ll get her back,” she whispered, just barely loud enough to hear above the storm.

Nightmare barked out a laugh. Its waist scattered away to nothing. If only you mortals maintained existence separate from your forms! it cackled. Poor Luna—she’d make good company in our time as prisoners if that were so!

“I’ll get her back.”

And I’ll have my revenge, Celestia. Nightmare’s chest began disintegrating. Vengeance in its sweetest form comes cold—do you really think another hundred moons means anything to a prophecy written in the stars? It yanked its right arm free and jabbed one claw toward where Twilight’s body lay, gloating, That girl is mine!

Celestia’s eyes flashed behind her hand, a reflection of the storm’s brilliant golden light. “You won’t have her,” she hissed.

Its outstretched arm scattered away. Her belief will free me, it sneered. And when it does I’ll either revoke my borrowed power or have you face her as my heir. Its face twisted. After all, we’ve no agreements on the duration of our deal. A hundred moons of life is more than generous—and either outcome facilitates my revenge!

Nightmare’s final arm vanished in the wind, severing its connection to Luna’s form. Celestia lowered her hand from her face and snarled, “Then I’ll prevent her from freeing you in the first place.” Her hand clenched into a fist. “She’s still a child; she’ll outgrow magic long before the spell runs out.”

But before Nightmare’s face crumbled away its moon-like mouth curved into a gleeful and sinister grin. Even after a monster takes her aunt? it taunted. She’s seen proof of magic, Celestia—nothing short of a memory spell could break belief like this!

Celestia’s eyes narrowed. Her fingers twitched reflexively against the book.

Then with those parting words the light tore Nightmare’s remains apart, consuming it within a golden glow that curled in on itself at the centre of the room. A beam of light shot out from it toward the carpet, then the ceiling, then the bookcase—it flashed over and over again at different angles until it finally struck the helmet of one of the fallen suits of armour.

The storm ceased. The corresponding pieces of armour scattered across the carpet shone pale blue-white, then gold.

Luna’s body collapsed face-down against the carpet when the light blinked out, battered and beaten and completely still—

Oh, Twilight realized, suddenly seeing through both the eyes of her unconscious body and through her memory. The dream was real.

And then the world dissolved.

Darkness.

Infinite nothingness. Unbearable pressure. Darkness.

Twilight tried to open her eyes, then realized that they’d already been open to an unending sea of black. Her body still felt weightless—like in dreams, in memories—but the terrible pressure crushing her heart felt far, far too real.

No ground beneath her feet. No light with which to see. Pressure. Darkness.

One by one she collected her scattered thoughts—Celestia, Luna, the book, Nightmare... dying. Twilight shuddered. She wished she hadn’t remembered how that felt. Then there was the deal, the spell, a prophecy, a hundred moons, a suit of armour—

An image of a shadowy replica of the helmet flashed to the forefront of Twilight’s mind. Sunset. Finding a way to save her—that was the reason why she’d wanted to see the memory in the first place. But...

It hadn’t worked.

Someone didn’t die, but she also hadn’t lived. And everything that Celestia had done to Nightmare was with the power of the book Twilight had seen destroyed. Nothing in the memory seemed of any use to saving Sunset or banishing Nightmare or stopping it from trying to take the fragment of its power back and killing her—so was that it? Twilight fumbled at her shoulders in the darkness and squeezed her arms tightly around herself. Was there really nothing she could do?

Even Celestia failed, she thought to herself bitterly. Why did I think I’d be able to figure it out?

Her heart squeezed. Icy numbness started spreading beneath her fingertips.

If only I could use magic without that stupid book.

The pressure intensified. Fog spread through Twilight’s thoughts. Her heart squeezed again, and she felt her eyes slip closed—

And then the skin of Twilight’s wrist began to burn.

Blinding light flashed out from her arm into the darkness, the tiny pinprick still powerful enough to illuminate everything within her sight. Suddenly she wasn’t weightless but halfway real, experiencing a blurry snapshot of the world overlaid atop the darkness seen through eyes that were nearly closed.

“I’ve got ya,” a faint voice gasped. “I promised you’d be fine—I’ve got ya.”

Twilight blinked. The voice sounded distant and underwater, yet very, very close. Who...?

“Just hold on a little bit longer,” a second voice whispered. Twilight felt a hand brush her bangs out of her vision and to the side, lingering momentarily against her temple.

“You can do it, Twilight!” A third voice cut through the fog above the first two, followed by a brilliant flash of white light and a panicked yelp. “Ow! Guys, her aim is getting better—”

Another light flashed across Twilight’s view. Someone shouted. The floor trembled. Floor, she recognized dimly. Not carpet. At least, not carpet as soft as the study’s. She tried to move her legs. Sensation flooded through her limbs as she did, and her brain managed to orient herself—legs sprawled out over scorched auditorium carpet, shoulders propped up on someone’s lap, head tipped back as far as it would go, and eyes half-closed staring up at a blurry ceiling.

The burning sensation increased. Twilight felt her eyelids twitch.

Someone squeezed her hand.

“Can you hear us, darling?” The hand squeezed tighter. “Terribly sorry for taking so long—whatever magic is on our side doesn’t seem to know right from left!”

Magic? The ice melted from Twilight’s fingertips. She felt real, finally—no longer suspended in infinite darkness but rather just an inch away from returning to the waking world. But the book said humans can’t—

Something exploded in Twilight’s peripherals. The sound and light startled her senses awake, and she snapped back to reality just as something—someone—slammed into the nearby carpet and tumbled beside her face. She blinked. Her vision cleared to blurry, then burst to clarity framed by flames of blue.

“Oh, hey,” a voice wheezed.

Twilight tipped her head back further and locked eyes upside down with a battered Rainbow Dash.

“Kept your promise,” she mumbled into the carpet. “Knew you would.”

And finally Twilight found the strength she needed to sit up and figure out what the hell was going on.

Sunset—Nightmare—stood tall at the centre of the auditorium’s stage, her eyes back to blue-on-black and her palms outstretched in front of her. Her fingers flexed, and instantly a ring of black spikes materialized above her shoulder and shot like bullets up the aisle to Twilight’s right, carving bright white trails of light into the air before they slammed into a row of seating with a series of splintering cracks.

The spikes evaporated into smoke. Pinkie popped up from behind the chairs-turned-pincushions and stuck out her tongue. “Missed again!”

Another ring of spikes fanned out, and Pinkie quickly dove across the aisle behind a different row.

“What is she doing?” Twilight breathed. The second barrage of spikes pounded against fabric and plywood—not Pinkie. “Why is she—”

“Distraction,” Applejack wheezed. Twilight glanced over to where she was crouched at the edge of the centre aisle, her shoulder bleeding and the back of her flannel torn to shreds. “Dash and her... they’re the fastest.”

“Are you—”

“Fine,” she said firmly. Her knuckles whitened against the carpet. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. Just... glad we got t’you in time.”

Twilight blinked. She spun back through her memories to try and make sense of what Applejack had said. When she’d last talked to Sunset she’d been backed against the stage, and yet somehow between then and waking up she’d moved all the way up the aisle and behind the seats.

She blinked again. Her thoughts slowed down long enough for her to take a better look at the girls around her—Applejack keeping lookout; Fluttershy kneeling with her legs just behind Twilight’s back; Rainbow breathing shallow breaths into the carpet as she watched blood drip down from her likely-broken nose; Rarity crouched at Twilight’s side with one hand still clutched tight around her own.

“You all saved me again,” she realized. Rarity gave her hand a squeeze.

“Of course we did.” She smiled faintly, and at such a close distance Twilight could count the trails of red smeared across her cheek. “You said it yourself—we’re all making it out of this horrible ordeal alive. That includes you and Sunset both.”

Right. Sunset. Another round of spikes whistled through the air somewhere across the auditorium. “I don’t know how to save her,” she said quietly. “I thought I’d figured out another way—but I was wrong.”

She let go of Rarity’s hand and risked a glance over the top of the seating at the stage. Sunset launched another attack at Pinkie, and Twilight swore she saw black flames splinter briefly through her forearms. The spikes connected with the floor. Twilight quickly ducked back down.

“That weird book didn’t do anything?” Rainbow rolled over and sat up cross legged with one hand pinching her nose. “Why the hell’d we go through so much trouble for it, then?!”

Twilight hunched her shoulders. “It did work, but—”

“Great! Then tell me how to blast her with knowledge or what the fuck ever. Oh, or is just more of the mind-magic glowy shit your aunt did? ‘Cause I can still work with that.”

“It’s not—”

“Probably works better than a tackle, huh?” She flexed her shoulder and winced. “Hope it hurts less, too.”

“Won’t you listen?” Twilight protested, only for a hand to gently grab her attention by tugging at her sleeve. She turned to look—Fluttershy.

“Here,” she said, and pushed a tattered, soot-covered object into Twilight’s lap. “We got to it before Nightmare did, it’s just that none of us really know what it’s supposed to do in the first place. Except maybe Principal Celestia, but, um...”

Fluttershy’s gaze wandered over to the section of seating on the opposite side of the aisle. Behind the seats lay Celestia, still breathing but unmoving with the shadowy helmet locked tightly around her head. The other girls had at least moved her out of the line of fire, but they clearly hadn’t managed to wake her up.

“...yeah,” Fluttershy finished lamely.

Twilight swallowed hard at the sight. She’s going to be fine. She did her best to bury any uneasy thoughts and instead looked down to inspect the object resting on her legs.

It was a book.

But wait—this one had its cover still intact and its pages attached at the spine. It was nearly identical to Celestia’s, and Twilight couldn’t fault the other girls for mixing up the two because it bore a sun emblem so similar to the book from the office—a slightly different mark embossed in red and gold.

Sunset’s book.

When Twilight reached down to turn it over, the cuff of her blouse pulled back briefly to expose the skin of her still-tingling wrist. And it was only then that she realized something gold was written on her skin.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She pushed her sleeve back.

There upon her wrist were six cursive letters strung together as a single word: belief.

“Oh!” Rarity gasped. “You got your word?” she tried to ask, but suddenly Twilight could hear nothing but the deafening crash of ideas connecting one-by-one at the back of her mind.

Seven trials. Seven words. Golden magic that carried a warmth contrasting Nightmare’s ice. No innate magical ability. Borrowed power. A second chance. The pressure living in her heart. The prophecy of a believing star. She flipped the book in her lap open to a random page—near-perfect handwriting in jet-black ink. It matched the passage she’d seen briefly in her memories. The qualities that define us as humans.

And finally:

The elements of harmony.

Twilight snapped back to reality in time to witness a wave of spikes skewer the carpet barely a metre away with force enough to send shockwaves rippling out beneath her legs. A second later Pinkie tumbled over the row of seats in front of them and rolled to a stop beside Rainbow with a pained grunt.

“Status update,” she coughed. A spike vanished from her thigh and left a hole in her leggings that framed a puncture wound the size of a dime. “I’m, um, kind of running out of steam.”

“You’re unbelievable, Pinks,” Rainbow said in a voice filled with nothing but pride.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“Well, I got good news for ya—Twilight’s up.” She pointed the thumb of her free hand over at Twilight and asked, “So what’s the plan? Figured out how to use that thing yet?”

Humanity’s magic.

“I have an idea,” Twilight said finally. “But I’m not one-hundred percent sure.”

And collectively the mood hanging over the other girls shifted to relief. Fluttershy’s shoulders slumped. Rarity exhaled so sharply it nearly whistled. “Gotchu covered on the rest if you want,” Rainbow mumbled into her palm.

A wave of white light arced up the centre aisle. Twilight stole another peek at the front of the auditorium—Sunset had lowered her arms; instead she stood with the toes of her boots nearly hanging off the stage and a ring of spikes rotating threateningly behind her back. Pitch-black fire danced within her hair.

“Give me the girl!” she snarled, and Twilight quickly ducked back down before she was spotted.

“I— I think I’m going to sound crazy for this,” she whispered to the others. “It feels crazy. My confidence on this is practically zero, and if you asked me if I knew what I was doing I’d say I don’t, but...” Her wrist burned, and this time Twilight saw golden light flare through the fabric of her sleeve. “...I think that knowing what to do doesn't matter at all.”

Applejack raised an eyebrow. “Go on,” she said slowly.

“It doesn’t matter at all,” Twilight repeated. “It doesn’t matter whether I know what to do right now or not, because as long as I believe we can do something I’ll always have a chance to find out what.” She thrust her wrist forward and explained, “That’s what this means. We don’t have magic spikes or shadow monsters or whatever else on our side right now—we just have each other. And that doesn’t matter!”

Something onstage exploded. A wave of purple and black fire rippled out above their heads and splashed against all four walls. Clumps of embers scattered from the impact and ignited a flaming barrier that flashed outward and surrounded the entire room in an instant.

Twilight flinched at the sudden heat roaring at her back and tried to keep going: “We survived everything else Nightmare tried on our own, didn’t we? Then why would this”—she gestured around at the remains of the auditorium—“be any different?”

The floor rumbled. Twilight didn’t dare breathe after she finished, terrified that everything she’d said hadn’t made any sense at all to the others. Their expressions didn’t change for what felt like an eternity, and just as Twilight felt a nervous sweat start beading on the back of her neck—

“Yeah, that tracks,” Rainbow said with a grin. The skin beneath the hand pinching her nose illuminated her face in gold. “We’re fucking awesome.”

“Dunno about awesome,” Applejack deadpanned, “but I think Twilight’s got the right idea.”

“Yeah, that we’re awesome.”

“That we’ll figure this out, Dash.”

“That’s what I said.”

“I—” Twilight drew a shallow breath. Their banter wasn’t doing much to calm her racing heart. Okay. At least they seemed on board. She hadn’t even told them the crazy part. “That’s where I’m coming from,” she explained. “There’s definitely a way to stop Nightmare—that’s what I believe. So...” She squeezed Sunset’s book tightly with both hands. “So please just believe in me too. Okay?”

And before anyone could stop her she stood up and stepped into the aisle to face where Nightmare waited centre stage.

“Twilight!” Rarity whisper-shrieked, but it was too late. Sunset spotted Twilight right away—and when she did the spikes rotating behind her immediately ground to a halt. She raised her eyebrows. Twilight met her gaze.

“Good choice,” Sunset sneered. Black fire flickered through her face where the skin pulled taut. “Glad I didn’t have to injure those friends of yours to force your hand.”

Friends. Twilight kept her breathing steady and tried not to think too hard about the magic burning Sunset from the inside out.

“Don’t take it personally,” she continued. She snapped her fingers to dispel the spikes to smoke, then leapt off the stage and landed catlike in the aisle with a nearly-silent thud. “Me, I’d love to keep you around, but spiky-magic-brain-demon here just isn’t gonna let that fly. ‘Power’ and ‘revenge’ and blah, blah, blah.” Sunset rolled her eyes. “You understand, right?”

Twilight didn’t answer her. Instead she broke her gaze to glance down at the book and flipped forward through its pages with her thumb. I should be nervous, she thought, her heartbeat pounding steady in her ears. Her mouth felt dry. Correction. I AM nervous.

But...

She stopped flipping. There it was—a familiar line of text she’d written just the day before. And despite the fact that her present situation was so much more dire than shouting in the corner of a crowded cafeteria, no anxiety twisted in her hands or gut or throat.

I’m nervous, but I’m not scared.

At the other end of the aisle Sunset raised her arm. Her hand flexed. Pressure nudged against Twilight’s heart.

“I do understand,” Twilight finally replied. She shifted her grip on the book to the top of its spine so she could balance it against one arm. “What happened to Luna; why I was made to forget about magic; why you had to change your plans and go after Sunset instead of me—and how I’m going to beat you at your own game.”

Sunset blinked. The pressure squeezed harder. “What?” she barked.

Her vision went dark at the edges. Twilight forced herself to keep talking, a familiar magical burn spreading up from her wrist to the fingertip of her free hand. “Do you really think you’re some all-powerful being fit to play with human lives like toys?” Her legs wobbled. She traced her finger over the book’s pages as steadily as she could. “Because if that’s true, there’s a glaring contradiction I’d like you to explain.”

“What are you getting at?” Sunset clenched her hand into a fist, and the pressure mirrored her grip around Twilight’s heart. White light flared around her hand—but so did a fainter, golden glow beneath it. “I am all-powerful! And once I take back the piece of my power I’ve so graciously let you borrow, I’ll—”

“—still be bound to a prophecy outside of your control?”

Sunset froze.

Twilight blinked away the darkness in her eyes and straightened up. “That doesn’t sound very ‘all-powerful’ to me. If any believing ‘star’ can summon you at their whim, then I’d say you’re no better than a slave.”

A chorus of hushed ‘ooh’s rang out behind the seating to her right. “Daaaang, Sparkle,” Pinkie stage-whispered. “You tell her!”

Twilight did her best to stop her ears from turning red.

Then—

Insolent child! Nightmare thundered. It discarded Sunset’s voice to fully demonstrate the fury in its own. How dare you tarnish the name of a demon such as I?! The light around its fist flared up—and suddenly Twilight’s chest felt as if it had caved in around her lungs. I’ll have not just your heart for that, but your head as well!

The world lurched. Something pulled at Twilight’s heart, and she stumbled backward, winded and breathless and cold and weak. But just as she lost her balance and toppled over—

A hand on her back.

Another on her shoulder.

And then it was five hands with five words belonging to five girls confident enough in her crazy idea to step out in front of a monster and catch her before she fell.

“You’re insane,” Rainbow laughed.

“In the best way,” Rarity added.

“In the right way,” Fluttershy corrected.

“We see what you’re gettin’ at,” Applejack said firmly, her hand squeezed tight around Twilight’s shoulder, “and if it were anyone else doin’ this I’d say there’s no chance that they’d be right, but—”

“—you’re Twilight Sparkle,” Pinkie finished with a wink. “You won’t be wrong.”

Only in combination with others can harmony exist.

“Alright, Nightmare,” Twilight gasped, propped up back to standing against the others’ arms and trust. “Answer me this:”

She flipped Sunset’s book around and thrust it forward. Gold cursive marked its open pages left to right, scrawled beneath both Twilight’s earlier introduction and Nightmare’s cryptic, brief response—a mark of two promises broken both in act and word:

I believe in magic.

“Do you know the meaning of my name?”

Time stopped.

Sunset’s eyes widened—

Twilight braced herself against the other girls—

Nightmare let out a furious howl and lunged forward up the aisle at an inhuman speed with one clawed hand desperately outstretched at Twilight—

A light flashed out from the centre of her heart.

And then everything exploded to brilliant white.

The light ripped through air and the aisle and the carpet and the stage and Sunset—an all-encompassing blast of magic that eradicated shadows in its wake. The sheer force of the detonation stopped Sunset midair for a split second—her hand still reaching, her face still twisted with rage and terror—before sending her flying back across the auditorium and into the base of the stage with a bang.

Then the knockback hit, and one by one Twilight felt the girls behind her lose their balance and tumble away with a chorus of shrieks. The impact struck her last, and yet instead of flying backward alongside the book effortlessly torn out of her hand her feet met air and stayed. The flames around her eyes burned bright, and suddenly a jolt like a static shock stung against her forehead and at her back, just between where both her shoulder blades framed her spine.

If darkness had still existed in that moment, she might have noticed that her shadow now had wings.

The last of the light washed through the room and burned away. When it blinked out, Twilight still remained hovering a foot above the aisle. She drew a shaky breath. Black feathers scattered in her peripherals. Electricity ignited in her blood. Twilight Sparkle felt alive.

But it wasn’t over yet. She may have severed its connection and opened its prison doors, but Nightmare had no intention of willingly leaving its host. At the other end of the aisle Sunset staggered to her feet with burning skin and black eyes filled with hatred and fear and hope and anger all at once. Twilight had seen those eyes before—in a memory that she’d once forgotten.

Don’t think you’ve won! Nightmare snarled. It shuddered, and for a moment Twilight could see its humanoid shadow form superimposed against Sunset’s—but then it vanished and Nightmare retained its hold. What delusion has you convinced of finding victory in a prophecy’s repeat forced premature? You can’t destroy a demon—no matter how much of that blasted harmony your kind dares to muster!

Twilight just stared down at it in response. Because for all of Nightmare’s bluster and all the fear that it had caused, the panic in its voice only served to evoke a familiar sort of emotion she hated feeling herself wear.

Pity.

“You’re right,” she finally said. Her voice and pulse felt far calmer than they should have. “We can’t. Perhaps because it’s impossible, or perhaps because we don’t know how.”

Nightmare gasped out a laugh. So you drive me from this vessel with full knowledge of your futility? it jeered. Over and over, again and again, I always return. Resentful hearts have borne vulnerable hosts since my creation, and so long as a single star believes no prison made by mortals can ever hold! Sunset’s mouth twisted into a fanged and desperate sneer. Just as your constellations will scatter to nameless lights in time, so too will mankind eventually realize the definition of inevitable!

It thrust one hand forward, and a wave of jagged obsidian rushed in time with the motion along the floor of the aisle and up toward Twilight—

Her wrist burned. Just before the spikes struck a golden barrier burst to life in front of her to intercept, shattering the spikes on impact and rending their pieces back to smoke.

Nightmare recoiled in shock, stunned to silence.

Twilight let herself drift down until her shoes met carpet instead of air, the palm of her word-marked arm pressed against her heart. Pressure squeezed beneath her skin when she spoke. “I don’t need to destroy you. I just need to stop you from hurting anyone ever again.”

Ha! As if a human girl could—

It stopped abruptly mid-sentence.

Then, one hand shot to its chest to clutch at an invisible pressure Twilight knew it had never felt.

She pulled her arm away. The pressure on her heart turned to a sharp tug, and suddenly a crackling, pointed fragment of pitch-black magic emerged from her chest and settled hovering in the air. It appeared the same as Nightmare’s power in all but function—it didn’t hurt; it didn’t steal her vision or her voice. Her heartbeat still pulsed steady in her ears.

“You say that I’ve borrowed your power?” she asked. The fragment sparked. “I think it’s really you who’s borrowed mine.”

And Nightmare screamed.

Black flames erupted on all sides of Twilight from floor to ceiling, scorching the remains of the carpet to smoldering ash. The gold barrier returned in time to prevent it from harming her, but it did nothing to stop the fire’s heat from splashing against her skin.

This isn’t possible! it wailed. This won’t be possible! I refuse to let you take another step!

Twilight grit her teeth. She wasn’t burning up, but she still burned—with confidence, with magic, with the heat that threatened to suffocate. It’s desperate, she realized. It’s desperate because it knows it’s lost.

She stepped through the fire. It parted harmlessly around the barrier, and all the heat and flames vanished back to smoke.

I’ll— I’ll just use you for my revenge! Nightmare’s arms snapped straight out in front of it, and suddenly a massive beast leapt out of its shadow with its maw stretched out in a furious roar. Celestia—don’t you hate her for what she’s done? Don’t you blame her for everything you’ve gone through at my hand?!

The monster—the manticore—pounced. Twilight exhaled slowly and raised her head to meet its pained and panicked eyes the split second before its jaws snapped shut. “I don’t hate her,” she said quietly.

The manticore bit down on golden light. Its body dissipated at the contact and scattered into the air. Twilight took another step forward.

Then aren’t you scared, girl? Don’t you know what I’m capable of? Nightmare’s form flickered again through Sunset’s skin, barely able to retain its control. It thrust its arms forward again, but with far less force than it had before. Shadows burst down the aisle from its fingertips and painted Twilight’s vision to weightless black.

You’ll go mad with power, it thundered, like every other human host before you. What makes you think you’ll stand a chance against me?!

The darkness splintered. Light broke through the shadows as she countered, “What makes you think I won’t?”

Another step forward. Twilight saw a past version of herself mirrored in Nightmare’s body language—back against the stage, eyes wide with panic, hands trembling so violently the tremors travelled up its arms. Sunset’s hands. Hands now nearly close enough to touch.

But those hands clenched to fists before she could reach them, and a circle of pure white light blazed to life around Twilight’s feet. Then you’d be unstoppable, Nightmare tried, its tone shifting to panicked encouragement, and nothing would be able to stand in your way. The circle flared. Twilight felt its magic attempt—and fail—to eat away at her legs. We’ll make the perfect team, you and I!

Desperation and lies. Nothing more. Twilight stepped across the circle and closed the last of the distance between them—

Is that what you really want, Twilight?!

Nightmare slammed its fists against the stage, and a hundred—no, a thousand points of light flared behind its back in rows, forming a massive grid that stretched from wall to wall and stage to ceiling of the auditorium. A spike emerged from each light and swivelled down to face where Twilight stood, all of them twisting synchronized to look down on her like endless eyes.

Then Nightmare lunged forward and everything launched. Trails of light streaked behind each bullet as they fell—like falling stars, like shattered glass, like a thousand magical spikes hurtling down toward a human girl—and though the sheer power behind the spectacle should have inspired at least the barest hint of fear, all Twilight found she felt was pity for it having even tried.

The spikes fizzled out when they hit her barrier. She grabbed Sunset’s wrist out of the air before it struck her and met Nightmare’s terrified blue-black eyes with a silent and furious glare.

Her hand was warm.

“The only thing I want,” Twilight breathed, her voice calmer than her thoughts, “is my friend back.”

And with the fragment of Nightmare’s stolen power still hovering charged before her, Twilight raised her other hand to Sunset’s heart and pulled.

She came to when the light faded—though Twilight really wasn’t sure if any time had passed at all. She still stood at the base of the stage with Sunset’s wrist clutched tightly in one hand and the other ghosted inches over the neckline of Sunset’s shirt. Her heart beat steadily and free of pressure. The fragment had disappeared.

Then Sunset toppled forward, and Twilight just barely managed to catch her before she went down face-first into the floor. A jumble of thoughts instantly exploded in her mind: holy shit we did it; holy shit I think the plan somehow worked; is this jacket real leather or pleather or something else; oh, gross, her hair is in my mouth; wait does it count as a hug if—

Sunset jerked upright and slammed the top of her head into Twilight’s chin. “I— ow!” she yelped.

“Ow yourself,” Twilight hissed. She resisted the urge to rub her chin and ran her tongue over where her teeth had clacked together. “That hurt.” Then she blinked. Looked down.

Blue eyes. White whites.

It worked.

“You’re okay,” she tried to say, only for Sunset to grab both of her shoulders at the exact same time and bury her face against her neck.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” she mumbled.

Twilight felt as though she couldn’t breathe. “It’s not your fault,” she managed to force out. Thankfully her lungs still worked, even if her brain thought they didn’t. She inhaled as slow as possible and prayed that Sunset couldn’t hear her heartbeat through her skin.

“Twilight, it is. I hurt you; I hurt those other girls—I know you want to blame it on Nightmare, but part of what it did was up to me.” She squeezed Twilight’s shoulders. Twilight awkwardly navigated her hands to the small of Sunset’s back.

It felt wrong to receive an apology, even after everything that had happened. She could so easily place blame on Sunset, or on Celestia, or on herself—but it felt wrong. Especially when the apology came from the person Twilight owed one to instead.

“If that’s how you see it,” she said eventually, “then I accept your apology.”

Sunset went still. Then she let out a weak laugh into Twilight’s collar. “I thought I’d have to do more to convince you,” she admitted. “But it’s good that—”

“If,” Twilight interrupted, “and only if you’ll accept mine first.”

And finally Sunset lifted her head to fix Twilight with a stare filled with disbelief. She opened her mouth to protest, so Twilight quickly continued speaking before she could get in a word.

“I’m not good with people,” she explained. “I’m not good at this whole ‘friend’ thing—both making one, and being one.” The toes of her shoes dipped, and suddenly Sunset started clinging to her shoulders with far more weight than she had before. “And when this whole mess started, I said something stupid that I shouldn’t have and hurt your feelings.” She paused to think. “I, um, don’t remember exactly what it was right now, except that it was stupid and you had every right to walk away from me—except I guess you came back for some reason when everything went to shit, so maybe you didn’t exercise your right—but the point I’m trying to make here,” she finished, her breath running out and Sunset’s fingers digging desperately into her shirt, “is that I’m really, really sorry. And—ow—I hope that we’re still friends.”

Silence. Twilight squinted at Sunset through her flaming ‘glasses’ and added, “Okay, that’s really starting to hurt, can you maybe—”

“Holy shit,” Sunset breathed, “you’re flying.”

Twilight blinked. “What?”

She looked down.

“Oh, what the hell—”

And then her glasses and wings and whatever the hell was on her forehead blinked out of existence as soon as she noticed her shoes weren’t touching the ground, and immediately the both of them dropped down half a metre and tumbled off their feet into the floor.

“What the hell,” Twilight repeated. She pushed herself up on her elbows and tried to process what had just happened. But then her scattered mind went back too far and she immediately remembered that oh yeah, this also happened when we blasted Sunset, and oh yeah, my crazy idea to reverse uno card Nightmare actually went and worked, and oh god, if this is permanent—

“That was the most amazing apology I’ve ever seen,” Sunset interrupted, her hair splayed out beneath her and her face way way way too close. Twilight snapped back to reality just in time to feel Sunset wrap one arm around her shoulders and pull her back down on top of her into a hug.

Oh.

And then—

Does it count as a hug if—

“Using magic is kind of a cheap move,” Sunset said, grinning from ear to ear into the top of Twilight’s head. She exhaled a giddy laugh, and Twilight froze at the sensation of her stomach shifting beneath her own. “Of course I accept whatever the hell you’re trying to apologize for. Definitely equivalent, right?” Her voice turned teasing. “You hurt my feelings, I tried to murder you; all water under the bridge, am I right?”

I think you’re trying to murder me again, Twilight managed to think. Somehow she forced her voice to grumble out a dry, “It’s not a competition.”

“Not with that attitude.”

“Sunset.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

They lay there in silence for a moment. Twilight didn’t dare try to move away.

It’s really over, she finally let herself admit. It’s really, really over. Cryptic farewells and stolen magic and her questionable mortality be damned—she didn’t have to think about that yet. Not right away. Not when still sprawled on top of the girl she’d fought so hard to save.

A hand squeezed Twilight’s shoulder. She scrunched her eyes shut and focused on breathing as steadily as she could. It’s warm.

Monsters didn’t exist in moments. It was just her, and Sunset, and an overwhelming sense of relief.

“You know,” Sunset said eventually, “all of this counts as proof, right?”

Twilight blinked into her shoulder. “What?”

“Y’know.” She poked Twilight’s temple with the index finger of her free arm and clarified, “Proof of magic.”

The silence returned. One second stretched to two, then three, then—

A piercing wolf whistle shattered through the silence. Twilight jerked her head up in time to see Rainbow pull her fingers from her mouth and dissolve into a fit of laughter at the top of the aisle, with Pinkie following suit a second later at her side.

Right, Twilight remembered. She finally noticed the top of Fluttershy’s head poking out behind the seats, and Applejack’s back turned pointedly away from her and Sunset, and the cheeky expression on Rarity’s face that made Twilight’s stomach squeeze in fear, and Celestia sitting in one of the surviving chairs with a smile twitching at the corners of her lips. We’re in public.

And then Sunset’s statement processed, and Twilight felt her train of thought slam straight through its station and derail off its tracks in a spectacular mental explosion of airborne carriages and world-shattering shock—because with all the adrenaline and life-staking danger going on she’d buried far too many hang-ups for her future self to handle, which hadn’t seemed so bad when it had been the present but now the burying was in the past and the present was the future and suddenly a compromising position over a girl with blue eyes and warm hands and a shit-eating grin didn’t matter at all, since—

“Oh my god,” Twilight whispered into the wreckage of her life. “Magic is fucking real.”

Epilogue

View Online

September 6

The evening after the Incident was a blur.

They stumbled away from charred carpets and shattered windows into a front lot full of parents and flashing lights. Officers and paramedics and reporters mobbed Celestia the second they spotted her limping down the steps; Twilight just barely managed to draw a single breath of fresh air before a frantic Shining Armor grabbed her in a bear hug and swept her away to his car.

Her parents were there too—they’d taken the minivan. They were worried. They had questions. What happened? Are you okay? Why weren’t you answering your phone?

Because it’s still in my locker and probably dead, she wanted to say, but she didn’t have the words. Instead she leaned her forehead on Shining’s shoulder and mumbled a faint, “Tomorrow,” into his sleeve.

The sky was dark. She was so tired. Relieved, but tired all the same.

Twilight didn’t remember the drive home, or taking off her shoes, or climbing up the stairs to her bedroom and throwing herself into bed. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow—her first sleep without a nightmare in a long, long time.

September 20

Even with magic, life went on.

Somehow Celestia played the Incident off as a gas leak to all the governing bodies that cared, and—apart from the auditorium being closed off and assemblies being held on folding chairs in the gym instead—school life resumed as normal. It was surreal, almost. That one day they were fighting against a magical demon for their very lives, and the next their hardest battles were math problems and phys-ed.

Life didn’t change much at first. Despite everything they’d gone through, Twilight wasn’t sure she’d call the other girls her friends. Acquaintances, maybe. Allies. Sisters-in-arms, if she had to get more specific.

(Except for Sunset. Everyone other than Sunset.)

They rotated in and out of her routine each day like clockwork: Sunset passed her notes in first period; AJ and Rainbow were the champions of ‘cool math games’; lunch had her isolated table seat two instead of one; Rarity and Fluttershy joined her watching on the sidelines in gym class; somehow Pinkie made English class more tolerable, not less.

When they talked to her it was about the mundane. They talked about everything other than the Incident. At least, as far as Twilight knew. Maybe they’d brought it up amongst themselves.

“Maybe,” Sunset said when asked about it. She slurped her soda. Twilight took a bite of her sandwich. Chewed. Swallowed.

“Should I want to talk about it?” she asked when her mouth was empty.

Sunset didn’t respond right away. Eventually between bites of pizza she answered, “I think you should ask yourself that. Not me.”

Twilight frowned into her lunch. That was a non-answer.

“I mean,” Sunset continued, “it’s really real, y’know? Magic and demons and all those spells Luna—”

“But maybe I wish it weren’t.”

“I—” A pause. “...Yeah.”

An awkward silence filled the air around them, broken only by Twilight’s phone vibrating face-down against the table. Two short buzzes and no sound—a text message. She flipped it over and checked the screen.

Celestia: Please just let me know when you’re ready to talk.

Twilight stared at the message for a moment. Then she flicked the ringer to silent and placed her phone back down on the table, doing her very best to ignore the nausea churning sour within her gut.

October 5

It was terribly strange to have her family bring up Luna in conversation as if they’d never forgotten her at all. But Twilight had remembered, and the spell had broken, and magic seemed to have a way of sliding the pieces back together like nothing had happened in the first place.

“It’s so wonderful she’s on the up-and-up.” Her mother reached for a napkin from the holder at the centre of the table, then nudged the salt and pepper shakers over to Shining. “Luna, I mean. If I’m honest, I’d nearly given up hope of hearing any positive news.”

Twilight squeezed her cutlery reflexively. Suddenly her appetite was gone.

“You know Auntie Celestia,” Shining said through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “She’s stubborn in all the right ways.”

“It’s nothing short of a medical miracle she’s still with us, really. Oh, perhaps when she’s well enough I could interview her for my next—”

“Dear,” her father gently interrupted. “Let’s not get too carried away.” He finished slicing a perfectly even piece of roast beef and nudged it across his plate into his gravy. “If we ever want the hospital staff to even let us on the premises we’ll need to keep up some pretense of restraint, won’t we?”

Her mother snorted. “Oh, boo. A few questions never hurt anyone.”

“Dear.”

“...Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything. Shouldn’t risk it.”

Shining tried—and failed—to suppress a smile. “Better safe than sorry. Especially if we’re going to see her this weekend.”

“Oh, goodness, that soon?”

“I mean, I don’t have work, and Dad’s always free on weekends, and you didn’t put anything in the calendar for Saturday, and Twily—”

“I can’t go,” Twilight interrupted. She shoved her chair back and stood up from the table, her dinner still untouched atop her placemat. “And I... I’m not feeling well. Sorry. Excuse me.”

Her mother opened her mouth to protest, but Shining stopped her with a gentle kick under the table. Twilight pushed her chair back in and ducked her head to avoid their worried gazes as she speed-walked out of the dining room and up the stairs.

She just managed to make it to the bathroom and lock the door before it happened.

Twilight hated it.

But it always happened regardless of what she thought. All she could do in protest was hug her knees tight against her chest, curl against the side of the bathtub, and pretend that she could ignore the flickering blue-green light reflecting off the porcelain in the darkness.

“Go away,” she whispered to it. “Go away, go away, go away.”

Even when she managed to force it back down and into its cage, it never left completely. It left its signature in the little things—scattered, horrible things.

The light eventually faded and her heartbeat slowed to steady not long after. Once it did, she gathered up the evidence from the bottom of the tub and flushed fistfuls of feathers down the toilet in the dark.

October 19

With Celestia’s office still out of the question, the library quickly became Twilight’s preferred after-school study spot. It wasn’t ever perfectly quiet, but at least it was better than the hallways. Better than all the alternatives.

Sometimes Sunset would join her, but most of the time she was on her own. Which was fine, of course. She didn’t really mind either way. Frowning, Twilight stared down at her notebook and tried to catch the train of thought she’d just lost. Focus.

She managed to focus for all of three minutes before a pair of footsteps padded across the library carpet and came to a stop at the other side of her table.

“It’s not taken,” she sighed, without looking up from her work. “That chair, I mean. You can have it.”

“Uh.” Rainbow cleared her throat. “I, uh, don’t need a chair, Twilight.”

She blinked. Glanced up. “Oh.” Rainbow Dash in the library, and looking for her? That was a new one.

“So, uh. Hi,” Rainbow said slowly. She lifted one hand to her shoulder in a wave. Twilight mirrored the action.

“Hello,” Twilight responded carefully. She resisted the urge to turn around and check if Rainbow had made a mistake; if she had meant to speak with someone else. “...Do you need something?” she asked.

“I— Okay, listen,” Rainbow began, one hand fidgeting with the strap of her backpack. Her eyes darted back and forth from the table to the ceiling—looking everywhere except back down at Twilight. “I wanted to ask you something, and Sunset said I’d find you here, so... y’know that book you were reading in class last week? The one with the fire and monsters and shit on the cover?”

Twilight blinked again. She had no idea where the conversation was headed, and quite frankly she didn’t think it was worth her time to guess. “Yes,” she answered. “Why?”

“Well it— I just wanted to— After I saw it I— aw, fuck me, man.” She tipped her head back and groaned, “This was a stupid idea. I’m stupid. You’re gonna think I’m fucking stupid for asking you this.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“Not yet you don’t,” Rainbow snorted.

“Try me,” Twilight challenged, her eyebrows raised and her curiosity piqued.

Surprisingly, a smile slid its way across Rainbow’s lips in response. She tilted her head back down. Made eye contact. “You’ve been hanging out with Sunset too much,” she said, her grin widening. “Not like that’s bad or anything, though.”

She swung her backpack around before Twilight could respond and unzipped the main pocket. When Twilight leaned forward in her seat she just managed to catch a glimpse of the cover of the aforementioned book inside.

“The librarian helped me find it,” Rainbow explained. Her voice seemed sheepish, almost. “But, uh, the stupid part is, I totally didn’t realize it was a series. And, like, that this one isn’t the first one.”

“Oh.” Twilight leaned back. “That’s it?”

“Yeah.” She paused. “Feel free to laugh or whatever. Call me stupid for not knowing shit about books.”

But Twilight just shrugged. “It’s an easy mistake,” she said lightly. “The author didn’t use numbered titles. A lot of series don’t, actually.” Then the penny dropped: “So, are you trying to ask me to help you find the first one?”

Rainbow’s shoulders slumped with visible relief. “If you’re not busy,” she admitted.

Twilight glanced back down at her work. She was in the middle of her English essay, and it was pretty difficult to get back into the swing of writing after an interruption, but...

“Sure,” she said, and folded her notebook closed. “I’ve got a few minutes.”

It was strange to walk with someone else down the library’s narrow aisles. It was unfamiliar to pull one of her favourite books off the shelf and hand it to Rainbow Dash. It was odd to wonder whether she’d enjoy reading it. Whether she’d want to read the rest of them too.

“I know you’re not a book person,” Twilight said before she could stop herself, “so if you don’t end up liking it, you could always try the movies.”

Rainbow visibly brightened at the prospect. She flipped the book around to scan the back. “For all of ‘em?”

“Up until the sixth or seventh one, I believe.”

“Are they good?”

“Um...” Twilight pursed her lips. “Personally, I prefer the books, but—”

“Books it is, then,” Rainbow decided, and tucked the book securely under her arm. “Thanks a ton. I’ll letcha know when I need help with the second.” She grinned again. “Probably won’t be anytime soon, though.”

She could have just looked it up, Twilight knew. Or asked the librarian, or turned to the last page in the one she’d checked out and looked at the order there. She could have just chosen to watch the movies or not even bothered trying the series in the first place.

But Rainbow bothered. Rainbow tried. She went out of her way to ask Twilight—and it didn’t feel anywhere close to pity, or being forced.

“I’m happy to help,” Twilight replied, and truly meant it.

November 4

“Nah,” Sunset said with a shrug. She dunked a fry in one of the cups of ketchup spread across the tray between them and popped it in her mouth. “Gonna wait a year, I think.”

It was supposed to be small talk. The type of conversation Twilight had heard her classmates toss around with gradually increasing frequency as the days crept on. Hell, she’d even brought it up with Rarity and Fluttershy that past Friday during phys-ed. But Sunset—

“You’re not applying to any universities at all?”

She shrugged again. “I mean, I don’t know what I wanna do yet.”

Twilight felt her stomach twist. She stared down at the table and resisted the urge to fidget with her straw. “Some programs you don’t have to declare a major in first year,” she tried. “Cloudsdale’s pretty flexible. Everfree too, I think.”

“There’s still a risk I’d get stuck in a program I hate, though,” Sunset said. She dunked another fry. “Plus, a gap year gives me a year to work. Save up, y’know?”

“But I’m sure your grades are good enough to get entrance scholarships at least.”

“Okay, and then after that?”

Twilight wilted. Right. Scholarships could only stretch so far. “...Sorry,” she mumbled.

Sunset’s expression softened. It shifted from the neutrality of discussing the future over fries in the corner booth of a McDonalds to something warmer. Something understanding. She kicked Twilight’s shoe under the table. “It’s okay, Twi. A lot of people take a break before uni. It’s not a big deal, really.”

The urge to fidget won out. Twilight rolled her straw between her fingers to ground herself in the feeling of the other end raking back and forth through half-melted ice. “I guess I just assumed everyone applied,” she explained quietly. “I don’t really know what I want to do either, but I’ve still made my list—and my parents are even okay if I want to submit more than three.” She stifled a giggle and added, “Though Shining said he’d charge me a processing fee if I go over ten.”

Sunset snorted. “He a bank or something?”

“For my mom, yeah. She gets so paranoid using her card online.”

“Aw.” Another fry drowned in ketchup. “That’s kinda cute. In, like, an old-person way.”

“My mom’s not that old, Sunset.”

“Eh, bar’s not that high.” She scraped the last of the ketchup onto the end of a fry, then pointed it toward Twilight like the world’s greasiest paintbrush. “Parents? Old. Teachers? Way old. Mrs Mayor’s old; Celestia’s old; hell, once you go to uni you’ll qualify for a senior’s discount, ‘cause I swear I’ve seen first years downtown with grey hairs and wrinkles to boot. Did I tell you about the...”

Sunset’s voice faded out to a dull whine. Suddenly the air felt far too thick to breathe. Twilight stirred her straw faster and tried to focus on the sound of rattling ice, but the noise caught in the fog and faded to a whisper before it reached her ears. Her stomach turned. It rattled furiously against the bars of its cage.

Go away go away go away go away—

A bar tore loose. The edges of Twilight’s vision lit up blue-green.

“...Twi?”

A hand pulled hers away from her straw and brought it down to the table. Sunset. She stared down at their hands for a few seconds and drew a shallow breath.

“You’re, um...” Sunset motioned to her eyes with her free hand. “You okay?”

Twilight inhaled through gritted teeth and shook her head. She didn’t dare speak—instead she blinked slowly and deliberately, her eyes locked on the back of her hand and her mind focused on Sunset and the feeling of their intertwined fingers and not it.

On the seventh blink the flames finally flickered out. When they did, Sunset gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and asked quietly, “Is this because I mentioned Celestia?”

“I—” Twilight forced herself to nod. Blinked again.

“Still avoiding her?”

Another nod. “I know we need to talk,” she whispered, guilt laced through her words, “but I can’t— Even the thought of seeing her— I just don’t know how I feel about everything that happened yet,” she managed.

Sunset hummed softly. She rubbed her thumb against the side of Twilight’s palm. “There’s no time limit on feelings.”

“Of course not, but...” Twilight exhaled a shaky breath. “I feel stupid for not knowing what my own feelings are, I guess.”

“Hm.”

They both fell silent. A minute passed, and then—

“Do you hate her?”

Twilight furrowed her brow. “Of course not.”

“Even after everything she did?”

“I know she was just trying to keep me safe. Even if her methods were... extreme.” Twilight swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. “It’s not her fault I’m stuck with magic I don’t want.”

Stuck with magic. Stuck with it. A volatile and unpredictable power with a mind of its own—both a blessing that kept her heart beating and a monstrous, nightmarish curse.

Sometimes she regretted having taken it. Had she left the prophecy intact and let it run its course, perhaps she could have kept her life and her normality for a full thousand moons. Over eighty years. By the time Nightmare would have returned for her she’d have been too old or too dead to care too much.

But...

Sunset squeezed her hand again, and Twilight was once again reminded that the price of normality was Sunset—her first and closest friend. And no matter how many times she played back the Incident in her mind, the outcome—her choice—always remained the same.

“Do you forgive her, then?” Sunset asked eventually.

Twilight couldn’t answer her. Not then. Not yet.

November 18

Everyone had their own quirks when it came to texting, Twilight realized.

She hadn’t noticed it before when her sample size was so small. Her parents and Shining and Celestia all used autocorrect, and their messages tended to stick to the realm of grammatically correct and same-y. Cadance and her didn’t talk much, but when they did she deviated from the norm slightly by topping her texts with plenty of emoticons and exclamation marks.

And then Twilight met Rarity.

wjos cominh tot he mall wogj me todsy???

And, seconds later: sry jist gotm y nailsdine

Incomprehensible and indecipherable. Far worse than her usual method of sending voice messages and forcing Twilight to wade through a sea of audio clips just to piece together a conversation. She’d tried to show Rarity how to do speech-to-text instead of straight audio, but no matter how many times she explained it the concept never seemed to stick.

(Well, at least two words of the first message were legible.)

The responses flooded in before Twilight could even open the keyboard to reply:

man the only reason im awake rn is cuz ive got a fuckin opener

Rainbow always responded as soon as she could. No caps, no punctuation. And apparently no sleep either, what with a morning shift on a Saturday.

rip dash, Sunset replied, then added, and sorry rarity, i already got an outfit for the dance. kinda wanted to spend the day in bed tbh! And then a third text: send me pics tho so i can judge

Multiple texts with multiple thoughts, as if she’d pressed ‘send’ before she’d finished writing. Knowing Sunset, Twilight suspected she probably did.

I still got the three stooges tearing the kitchen apart, Applejack sent. She texted in a straightforward manner, albeit with a few grammatical quirks that set her messages apart. Unless you want to take em off my hands for the afternoon?

oj fuvk no!!

Y’know I really see where Sweetie gets it from now.

gottem said Rainbow.

lmaooooo said Sunset.

i thoguht youwe re suppoaed to be workinh rainbow!!! said Rarity, followed immediately by a voice message that Twilight didn’t bother to listen to.

oh shit she got my name right

Pinkie, whose icon Twilight had seen lurking at the bottom of the chat, picked that moment to send her first message of the morning: GIRLS look at this!!

What followed was a picture of the sludgiest-looking iced cappuccino that Twilight had ever seen. She thumbs-downed the picture out of principle. Five more immediately followed her lead.

pinkie what the fuck is that asked Rainbow.

an iced capp!

well you sure as hell didnt get that one from me

ot look slike shjit

yeah tastes like it too honestly!

then why, Sunset said with two separate messages, are you still drinking it?????

Pinkie’s indicator didn’t drop down with the rest of theirs. After ten seconds Applejack decided, Think she’s gone.

ok imputtimg hre down aas a no, said Rarity. twilijgth?? fkuttreshy????

Twilight frowned down at her phone. Sure, she had nothing planned for the day, but she wasn’t going to next week’s dance. She didn’t need to buy an outfit, or get anything from the mall. She opened up her keyboard to decline—

I’d say yes but Zephyr’s going to want to tag along and I can’t put you through that Rarity :(

Out of all their friends Fluttershy was the only one of them to use any sort of emoji on a regular basis. Mostly the text-based ones, and frequently as a form of punctuation.

ditch him said Rainbow.

ditch him said Sunset.

dicht him said Rarity.

hhhhh I know girls I really really really wish I could :((((

And that left Twilight.

On one hand, she could stay in bed for the rest of the morning. Make something for brunch, get around to vacuuming, maybe even tackle the growing pile of laundry in the corner of her closet. She could wear her pajamas all day and blast the album Sunset had recommended through the living room speakers and dismantle that old alarm clock Shining had found for her to tinker with.

But on the other hand she had the opportunity to be a good friend.

Okay, she sent before she lost her nerve. Can I meet you there at 10?

And, after a flurry of surprised messages from the other girls that nearly made Twilight’s phone buzz right out of her grip and a quick scramble around the house to get herself ready and out the door, she did.

Well, two minutes to ten. The bus was a bit early. But it didn’t matter much, because as soon as Twilight crossed the parking lot and went through the food court entrance she spotted Rarity sitting at one of the tables with her purse in her lap and her phone in her hand. At the sight of her Twilight swallowed down her nerves and shoved her hands into her coat pockets. Suddenly the prospect of hanging out one-on-one was much scarier than it had been a minute ago.

“Hey, Rarity,” she called out when she walked over. Her voice didn’t crack. I’ll take it.

Rarity glanced up, then lit up. “Twilight!” She shoved her phone into her purse and got to her feet, a wide smile spreading across her lips. “Don’t you worry—you’re right on time, and I wasn’t waiting long at all.”

“That’s good,” Twilight managed.

“Then shall we?” Rarity asked, and waved her hand toward one of the halls leading out of the food court. “I’ve already got a place in mind, so we can start there if that’s alright.”

“Sure,” she replied with a nod. They started walking. “I’m, um, not really looking for anything anyways, so I don’t mind just keeping you company.”

“Really? Not anything?”

“Well, I’m not going to the dance, so...”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “Oh, but you don’t need to go to a dance to buy yourself something nice.” She raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps I could pick something out for you—”

“Pass,” Twilight quickly interrupted.

“Ah. Applejack’s warned you away from me, has she?”

“Warned me if I’m not careful you’ll turn ‘picking out something’ into ‘buying me something’, yeah.”

They turned a corner. There was a bit of foot traffic in the mall, but it was far less crowded than Twilight had expected it to be. Perhaps ten o’clock was still too early for malls—but who was she to judge? She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d gone to one.

“Just in here,” Rarity said. She pulled Twilight by the elbow through the entrance of a store filled with mannequins and clothing racks and displays of neatly-folded clothing stacked up in rows. It was one of the larger retailers, she realized. A department store.

And while Twilight was completely out of her element, Rarity took to shopping like a fish to water. She marched up and down each section, combing through racks in a blink of an eye and somehow always able to retrieve what she wanted in the size she needed. Twilight soon found herself playing support and defense at the same time—each new dress or top or skirt added to the pile in her arms meant fending off another outfit Rarity wanted her to try.

“Okay,” she protested when Rarity held out a garish pink-sequined vest. “One thing. But only if you get what you want first, and I’m making no promises to buy it afterward. Deal?”

Rarity grinned, a sort of sneakiness leaking through her teeth. “Deal.”

(And thankfully she stopped with her ‘suggestions’ after that, though Twilight had a sinking feeling she’d selected ridiculous outfits on purpose to make her crack.)

It was only later after they’d finished their tour of the mall and all its offerings that Twilight realized Rarity hadn’t actually taken her up on her offer. The thought struck her in the middle of the queue for the food court—it was past lunchtime and she hadn’t eaten breakfast, and a burger sounded incredible to her empty stomach—and of course she remembered during the only point of the day she and Rarity were separated.

You’re done shopping for today, right? she texted. The line for the Thai place was just a few counters down, and her position in line gave her a direct view across the crowds to where Rarity stood waiting for her food. A second after the text sent Twilight saw her reach into her purse and pull out her phone to respond.

yeaj whuy?

Twilight wrinkled her nose at the message. She glanced up and down between Rarity and her phone in silent indignation, then responded, Never mind. I’ll wait until we get our food.

teiliiijiiiight, she whined. i cant hekp itm y nailsd artoo fab!!

Is autocorrect too much to ask of you, though?

imn ot a cowafrd twilifht

The person at the cashier stepped aside, so Twilight shoved her phone back into her pocket and went to place her order. After she paid and found an out-of-the-way spot to wait she checked her texts again: two new messages. but whya re yuo askinf? read the first, followed by, akso what djd youget?

A burger combo, she replied, then hesitated. She typed and backspaced a few replies before settling on, And I was just making sure I’m safe from our ‘deal’ now.

The sound of her order number snapped Twilight out of her thoughts before she could see Rarity’s response. She grabbed her tray and spun around to see if Rarity had gotten her food yet—

—only to nearly bump right into her, their trays just a hair apart from colliding into an amalgamation of stir fry and soda.

“Rarity!” Twilight yelped. Her heart jumped to her throat, then crashed back down when her tray steadied. “I didn’t see you—”

“I didn’t forget,” Rarity interrupted. She leaned in closer until her tray knocked against Twilight’s, her eyes alight with a familiar and mischievous gleam. The fingers of her free hand clasped her phone beneath her chin like a microphone—a focal point. Instinctively Twilight broke eye contact and dropped her gaze to Rarity’s intricately-painted nail polish instead.

“What?” she managed.

“About our deal, of course.” Her voice turned sing-song; teasing, almost. “I’m just saving it for later.”

You can’t do that, Twilight wanted to say, but her protests never made it to her voice. Somehow the anxiety of a ridiculous outfit seemed silly compared to the idea that Rarity would want to spend time with her again in the future; that she wanted to pick something out for Twilight to love or laugh at; that she’d already been thinking about something for her either before they’d gone shopping or during it.

It was a strange feeling, Twilight decided, to know you occupied someone else’s thoughts. But not a bad one. And in the end, who was she to try and argue with Rarity? Trying to stop one of her ideas would be just like trying to stop her from texting alphabet soup—impossible and unchangeable, no matter how hard Twilight tried.

So she swallowed down her misgivings and rolled her eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh of defeat. “Fine,” she grumbled with a smile. “One thing. Got it?”

Rarity mirrored her smile with a grin. “Got it,” she agreed.

Because even if it would cause problems for her future self to deal with, in that moment Twilight couldn’t bring herself to care. She was autocorrect and Rarity was underlined in red, and there was nothing she could do to change that.

And, in Rarity’s defense, her nails really did look fabulous.

December 3

Sunday morning began with a barrage of unread messages in the group chat—well over two hundred, and at least half of them from Pinkie. Somehow it had become routine for Twilight to start her day scrolling back up through whatever the others had been up to the night before. She’d gotten into the habit of putting her phone on silent before she slept out of necessity more than anything else.

After a few minutes of catch-up and a single message of her own, she then dragged herself out of bed and across the hall to the washroom.

Brush teeth. Wash face. Take meds. She checked off each task on her phone as she went. Brush hair. Clean glasses? She picked them up off the bathroom counter and held them to the light. Eh. I can still see through them.

Bathroom, bedroom, staircase, kitchen. Twilight could smell brunch burning before she even reached the last step. The stovetop fan droned over her father coaching Shining through frying bacon while her mother extracted a very brown waffle from the iron and added it to the tower on her plate.

“Good morning,” she said through the chaos, despite it being half an hour until noon, and soon after they finished eating, Sunday afternoon began with Twilight helping clean up the remnants of their meal.

Staircase, bedroom, closet, desk. Sunset had finally woken up, if the little green circle beneath her icon in the group chat was anything to go off of. Twilight sent a quick message to check and received a reply almost instantly. About time, she thought to herself, and reached across her desk for her earbuds.

“Morning,” Sunset greeted when she joined the call.

“Afternoon,” Twilight corrected. She dragged a window over from her other monitor and hit the button to share her screen. “Your week to pick, by the way.”

“Oh, hell yeah.” Something rustled against Sunset’s microphone—knowing her, it was probably a blanket and she was probably still in bed. “Get ready for the worst movie you’ve seen in your entire life. Plus or minus some pretty good sequels.”

Desk. Desk. Desk. Desk. It wasn’t the worst movie she’d ever seen, Twilight admitted afterward, but it came pretty close. Thankfully the sequels were more palatable than the original, and the hours of the afternoon soon ticked by to evening. Shining called her down for dinner as the credits rolled on the fourth, so she and Sunset exchanged their goodbyes and a promise to finish watching the rest of the series next weekend.

Sunday evening began with leftover Chinese takeout eaten at the kitchen counter. Her mother took hers to her office and her father ate in front of the television, which left her and Shining the bar stools at the edge of the island. It felt weird to use the table if it was just the two of them, so instead Twilight put up with Shining’s elbow knocking into her chopsticks the entire meal and got her revenge by swiping as many mushrooms off his plate as she could.

Then they cleaned up, and Twilight reluctantly went down the basement stairs to her mother’s office. They double-checked and triple-checked and argued and quadra-checked, and nearly an hour later she exited the basement with her university applications finalized and most of her mental unscathed.

(Anxiety was expected but pointless, and the precautions to keep her sanity intact started by immediately logging out of her email on every device to stop herself from checking it.)

Staircase. Bedroom. Bathroom. Shower. The weather was getting colder by the day. In protest Twilight cranked the shower handle as far to scalding as it would go and pretended it would prevent her from waking up with freezing hands and feet.

But her fingers eventually pruned, and the shower had to end. Steam still filled the room despite the fan—it was a tiny bathroom and she’d practically boiled herself alive—and though the air she breathed seemed to be half water it was a far nicer experience than getting out into the cold.

Twilight wrapped herself in her towel and turned to the mirror. Blue-green light danced hazily across its foggy surface. She made a face. Stuck out her tongue.

“Go away,” she said, more out of habit than anything else.

It was an annoyance and it was terrible and she still hated that it was hers, but Twilight also knew that her attitude toward magic had shifted slightly over time. Her fears of sprouting wings in public had long since ebbed—even when she felt her grasp on it falter, whatever sentience the magic had retained seemed to know when it was appropriate to escape. To complain, really.

Because that was what its outbursts were, in the end. Complaints from a captive restless and bored. The light in the mirror flickered faster as if agreeing with her thoughts.

“Go away,” Twilight repeated, her bangs plastered against her forehead like the soggy feathers plastered to her back. “You’re a pain to clean up after, you know,” she said, before she remembered she was talking to a mirror and the magic and stopped herself from saying more.

By the time she finished pulling her hair out of the hair trap and picking feathers out of the drain, it was gone.

Hallway. Bedroom. Closet. Bed. Sunday night began propped up on pillows watching videos on her phone. The weekend had trickled by, and another week of school loomed tedious on the horizon. The days weren’t just colder, but shorter too. Twilight dreaded having to get back out of bed to brush her teeth.

Her eyelids started drooping many videos later when sleep finally crept up on her. Ten o’clock may have been early for someone like Sunset or Rainbow, but Twilight had recently found that even twelve or thirteen hours of sleep never seemed to be enough.

(Sunset had once suggested it was her body’s way of making up for all those sleepless years with Nightmare, and though it had seemed silly at the time Twilight was reluctant to admit she might have been right.)

Hallway. Bathroom. Hallway. Bed. Sunday night ended in a pitch-black bedroom illuminated only by the glow from Twilight’s phone—this time not from videos, but from her texts.

Goodnight, she sent to the group chat after she snuggled back beneath the covers. She reached over to plug in her phone, then waited for the responses that were as familiar as the messages that greeted her in the morning.

goodnight grandma said Rainbow.

goodnight twi said Sunset.

goodnight ^^ said Fluttershy.

Applejack was likely asleep already, Twilight knew, so she’d send a ‘good morning’ text the next day to them instead. Rarity sent a voice message that said only a cheery, “Goodnight!”, and Pinkie sent three different animated stickers of cartoon animals tucked into bed.

Twilight clicked off her phone screen and placed it on her bedside table. Her room faded to comforting black.

Is this my normal, now? she wondered idly.

Because even if it was just one piece at a time, life still changed. Three months had gone by in the blink of an eye, and Twilight found she hardly recognized herself in the life that she was living. She had friends. She could say that with confidence, now. She hung out with them regularly on weekends, whether in person or online, and her school days were far more varied since their lives had intertwined.

Friends and friendships and feathers and flames. Twilight turned those thoughts over in her head until she fell to a dreamless sleep—free of nightmares and Nightmare-free, both the least and most normal she’d ever been.

December 15

December. The day that was once the last Monday before winter break. Slightly snowy; definitely cold.

Twilight stared down at her phone and willed herself to raise her fingers to the keyboard. She sat cross-legged atop her bed, still in her school clothes despite it being nearly midnight and that she should have already been asleep.

Because the year’s ending, she reminded herself. It’s ending and I don’t want to leave things unresolved.

Even if she didn’t want to confront it. Even if she wasn’t sure what would happen if she did. No matter the outcome she knew she’d eventually have to bite the bullet—if not for the sake of her tangled emotions, but also for the chance that she might regain the last piece of normality she’d been missing since the Incident.

She opened the keyboard. Took a deep breath. Typed the message, closed her eyes, and thumbed the ‘send’ button before she changed her mind.

I’m ready to talk now.

And, despite it being nearly midnight, Celestia responded almost instantly.

Does Monday work?

Twilight’s stomach turned. Her reply was unnaturally fast. Another message followed seconds later, as if trying to disguise the uncomfortable tension strung taut between their words:

We could do dinner.

She didn’t want to confront it. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she did. But Twilight bit the bullet and forced herself to move forward with all the courage she had left—if not for the sake of her tangled emotions, but for the chance to regain both of the aunts she’d lost.

All it took was a single word: Yes.

December 18

“No matter what happens, I’ll still see you tomorrow,” Sunset had said at the end of the day, and Twilight had tried her very best to believe her.

Because if she waited in the library after school until Celestia came to get her, and they exchanged basic pleasantries like she hadn’t avoided her for three months, she would make it to tomorrow.

Because if she sat in the back row behind Celestia rather than the passenger seat, and made no further conversation, and waited the rest of the ride out in a tension even the radio couldn’t break, she’d still see tomorrow.

Because if her empty stomach twisted itself to knots; if her voice refused to squeeze itself through her stress-constricted throat; if she still couldn’t bring herself to look up from her shoes to Celestia’s face in fear of what she might see—there was tomorrow. There was always tomorrow.

The car turned into the driveway of Celestia’s townhouse and purred to a halt. Not her home, Twilight now knew. Not the house she’d forgotten, but the successor Twilight had believed she’d always had.

Celestia pulled the key out of the ignition in the silence. The car’s lights lit up briefly to contrast the nearly-dark skies outside.

“I suppose we should head inside,” she said lightly.

Twilight dipped her chin in wordless agreement. I suppose we should.

She exited the car and retrieved her bag, still keeping her gaze locked on the snow-covered driveway beneath her feet. Celestia mimicked her path from the driver’s door to fetch her briefcase, and Twilight couldn’t help but notice the way the hem of her pants dragged at the back and picked up mud from the heels of her boots.

The car beeped twice to lock, and Twilight followed those muddy imperfections up the front step and through the door into the entryway. Their boots tracked in snow atop the mat. Twilight accidentally stepped in some when she removed hers, and she cringed at the feeling of freezing water soaking through her sock.

“So,” Celestia said after hanging up her coat, “dinner, correct?”

Twilight just stared harder at the floor.

“It’s been so cold out recently, so I thought we could put the oven on and make something a little homey,” she continued through the silence. Her voice faded slightly as she moved from the entrance and around the corner to the kitchen. The pantry door opened and closed. Twilight made no move to follow her. “Call me sentimental, but I went through my recipe books last night and found the one for the shepherd’s pie I used to always make for Thanksgiving—do you remember that?”

Silence. Celestia kept going: “It’s got all the hallmarks of a comfort food. Ground beef and spices and potatoes with heaps of cheese and butter, and of course some vegetables mixed in to keep it somewhat healthy.” A drawer opened. Different types of cooking utensils clattered across the countertop. “Plus I feel it’s just so simple to have everything together in one dish. Less of a cleanup too.” The oven beeped, then hummed to life. “I think it’s best if we start by peeling the potatoes, so perhaps you could grab a—”

“Can you just stop?” Twilight snapped.

The words left her mouth before she could soften them into something with less of a bite—since how the hell was she supposed to stand there and pretend nothing had changed between them at all?

The noises from the kitchen stilled, save for the oven’s gentle hum. The wall separating Twilight and Celestia felt almost like a blessing, then. Because I would never have dared to say that to her face.

“I can’t— I just need to get this over with,” she continued. “Even though I told you I’m ready to talk, I don’t know if it’s scarier to actually bring it up, or to think we could ever pretend it didn’t happen. I can’t do what you’re doing—I can’t pretend like that at all!” Her voice cracked, but she kept going. “I have to get this over with, but the worst part is I don’t even know if I want an explanation or an apology or an argument or—”

“Do you hate me?” Celestia blurted out.

And suddenly the rest of Twilight’s sentence evaporated to gut-churning guilt.

“I don’t blame you if you do,” she added quietly, with a tremor in her voice, and Twilight was struck by just how strange it was to hear vulnerability between her words.

“I don’t,” she tried, but her voice sounded far too hollow to be completely true.

“I have always—” Celestia cleared her throat. “I have always regretted what I did to you. Please know that I so badly wish I had never made that choice. But that monster fed my doubt, and when it turned out that what I had brushed off as the occult might have been the only way to protect you, I... I thought I had to do something.”

Twilight swallowed hard. “You took my memories,” she said bluntly.

A pause. “I did,” she admitted.

“How?”

Celestia let out a low, self-deprecating laugh. “Oh, how easy it would be to blame my sister for her dedication to her hobby,” she said. “But I am the only one at fault. Despite her extensive research, I don’t believe Luna ever successfully cast any of the spells she penned. Not for a lack of trying, of course, but because of her humanity—she never lost it, even at the end.”

Right, Twilight remembered. Humans couldn’t use magic on their own. And if Celestia was working alone then even harmonic magic would have been out of the question.

But... that didn’t make sense, did it? If she couldn’t use magic, how could she have taken—

Her stomach dropped.

Because wasn’t that a contradiction? Hadn’t she seen Celestia use magic not once, but twice within her memories? First to sever Luna’s soul, and then to imprison her for a hundred moons inside the very monster she’d wanted to stop. No, more than twice, Twilight realized. During the Incident too. She’d fought so desperately to keep both Nightmare and Luna from ever being freed.

Celestia was a human, and she’d used magic—magic that bore no traces of harmony or even humanity at its core.

So did that mean—

“I could have done nothing more inhumane,” Celestia whispered, “than force all those who loved my sister to forget that she exists.”

And then Twilight felt her body move forward on its own; felt her eyes break free from the floor they’d been glued to and lift along with her head. She didn’t process her legs stepping into the kitchen until she was already there, and then she didn’t process that she’d moved for an entirely different reason—because she saw Celestia’s face for the first time since the Incident, and the face she saw was streaked with guilty, silent tears.

“I don’t hate you,” Twilight choked out. “I promise I don’t hate you.”

“Then you are a better person than I am,” Celestia replied weakly. She exhaled a strangled sob that Twilight pretended she didn’t hear.

“You did what you thought was right,” she tried, but Celestia just shook her head.

“I acted out of fear. Nothing more than that.” She moved to wipe her nose on her sleeve, then stopped herself. “Even after magic granted what I thought was my only hope, my fear remained. It grew with every full moon, with every month I saw you live in that terrible ignorance I had created—as if the universe itself was counting down to the day you’d die.”

Celestia sniffled, a watery and sickly sound that didn’t suit her at all. Wordlessly, Twilight pulled a sheet of paper towel from the roll on the counter beside her and held it out.

“I searched every inch of Luna’s office in those years of waiting,” Celestia continued. “I read every page in every book, but for all of my efforts I never found the answer that I wanted—if I had any chance of saving her, or if I’d doomed her the moment I’d used the spell.” She took the paper towel and blew her nose into it. Its roughness scratched her skin red when she pulled it away. “But I told myself Luna didn’t care about the outcome; that if it were you or her she’d choose you over herself in a heartbeat every time. I owed it to her to save your life—no matter what I had to do, if it meant the hundredth moon would pass without your belief setting that monster free, the price was worth it.”

Celestia paused for a second to draw a shuddering breath. “And then you met Sunset Shimmer,” she whispered. “And then I realized everything I did was pointless, and I could never take it back.”

In that moment Twilight finally caught a glimpse of the Celestia she thought she’d known slip back through her teary eyes—the desperate and ice-cold woman so fixated on the one thing that kept her willing to face tomorrow. The woman that Twilight had seen shattered on the day of the Incident after the doors to the auditorium slammed shut. The woman who hadn’t known she’d gambled with her niece’s life until all the cards were down.

To have thrown away her humanity, only to learn at the last second that it hadn’t even mattered? How much despair must she have felt the moment Twilight mentioned magic in the same breath as Sunset’s name? How much fear? How much guilt?

The beep of the oven snapped Twilight out of her thoughts. It reached temperature. In the silence Celestia wiped her nose again, but didn’t say anything more.

“I... think I understand,” Twilight eventually said. “I still don’t know how I feel about everything, but at least I can understand why you did what you did. I guess it’s just...” Her eyes prickled, and she quickly blinked to clear them. “I guess I wanted to hear something else. Because you hated magic so, so much, and I thought that maybe that was just an act you had to keep up to protect me, but with everything you’ve just told me I don’t see any reason why your hatred wasn’t justified. Isn’t justified,” she corrected quickly.

Celestia’s shoulders slumped. “Perhaps that was the easiest part of all of this,” she said. “Though I can’t say the hate I carry feels just in any way.”

Twilight felt her throat close up. “Do you still hate magic?” she asked.

“I... Well, maybe not as strongly as before, but—”

“Because you taught that hate to me too,” she continued, “and I hated magic, and now I am magic, a-and I’m trying to unlearn that, but I—” Her insides squeezed, and suddenly it threatened to break free through the frayed nerves beneath her skin.

“Twilight, I—”

“I just don’t know how I’m supposed to un-hate myself.”

The words slipped out against her will. It wasn’t that she’d wanted to stop them, but that she truly hadn’t realized she’d wanted to say them until they were already said. Feelings were complicated and foreign and terrifying things. Especially the ones tangled around the Incident like a noose around her neck.

Twilight didn’t realize she’d started crying until her tear-warped vision glistened a harsh blue-green.

She couldn’t see Celestia anymore. She couldn’t see the floor beneath her feet. The world plunged underwater, and Twilight felt as if the weight of the ocean suddenly rested upon her shaking shoulders. Blood—seawater—rushed deafening behind her ears.

And then—

“I hated magic for taking my sister away.”

Celestia’s voice cut through the storm like a rudder, even and strong. The waves calmed. Twilight gasped a shuddering breath and tried to keep herself afloat.

“I hated magic for nearly killing you. I hated magic because I couldn’t risk having you believe in it.”

Something tugged at her arm. Twilight felt herself drift downward, then land back on solid ground with both her feet.

“I hated magic for making the world forget about Luna.”

And, despite the magic she hated being plainly visible in Twilight as feathers and flames, Celestia pulled her by the shoulders into a hug.

“But I am so grateful to you for saving her,” she whispered into the top of Twilight’s head. Her arms squeezed tighter. Twilight buried her face against Celestia’s shoulder to stifle a sob. “And I love you so very much. So if you’re magic now, Twilight,” she said gently, one hand rubbing circles on Twilight’s back between where her wings clipped through her shirt, “then I’ll love magic too. With all my heart.”

A weight lifted with her words. The knot in Twilight’s emotions hadn’t entirely come undone, but it had loosened. And for now, that was enough—because they still and always had tomorrow to figure the rest of her feelings out. In that moment all Twilight wanted was to cling harder to Celestia and drown herself in relief.

Tomorrow she’d keep moving forward. Today it was better to cry.

December 25

On Christmas Day two presents meant more to Twilight than all the rest.

The first, a journal she made sure to put away safely on the shelf of her desk. It came wrapped with an ink pot and a fountain pen, and a separate kit to make feathers into quills. In case you get tired of flushing them down the toilet, the card said. Merry Christmas, Twi.

And the second, a pendant shaped like a star on a silvery chain, with a card written and signed by two people—one with slanted cursive that stretched loopy, thin, and tall, and one with ink-black writing so neat it could have passed as typeface.

January 1

“Twi?”

“...Mm.”

“You awake?”

Twilight wrinkled her nose and resisted the urge to open her eyes. She’d been so close to finally falling asleep... but of course she wasn’t allowed any sort of respite that night. Of course not.

“Unfortunately,” she grumbled into the zipper of her sleeping bag.

“Oh. Sorry,” Sunset whispered sheepishly. Her voice came from a point slightly higher and to the side—she’d called dibs on the couch earlier, Twilight remembered. And everyone else had been left to fend for themselves.

“It’s fine,” she sighed, and cracked her eyes open in defeat. There was no point in pretending to be asleep anymore. “What’s going on?”

Sunset rolled over onto her stomach so she was looking down at Twilight. “Nothing much. The movie finished a while ago and everyone else went to sleep, but I thought... well, I guess you were trying to sleep too. Sorry again.”

Twilight lifted her head slightly to peer around the basement. Sure enough, Pinkie lay sprawled snoring sideways across the loveseat; Rainbow was curled on her air mattress with music from her earbuds just faintly audible; Fluttershy was buried in a nest of cushions and blankets beside her; Rarity was fast asleep on top of Applejack’s surely circulation-deprived arm; and Sunset was on the couch.

“I didn’t actually think I’d wake you up, though,” she added.

“Wasn’t asleep,” Twilight whispered. “Just... thinking.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Whatcha thinking about, then?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Sunset snorted into her pillow. “Damn, alright then. Keep your secrets.” She dangled one of her arms off the edge of the couch, then clumsily reached around for Twilight’s face. “Maybe I should just find out for myself.”

Twilight shoved her hand away and rolled her eyes. “You do know you can’t do that anymore, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

They lay in relative silence for a bit after that, the stillness broken only by the slow breathing of their friends. As Twilight stared up at the stucco ceiling and idly formed pictures on its surface in the near-darkness, a question eventually bubbled to the surface of her mind:

“Do you... remember anything?” she asked quietly.

The couch dipped slightly in the corner of her eye. “You mean, from Nightmare?” Sunset whispered back.

“Yeah.”

“Not much, no.” She exhaled a sigh. “That thing was around for hundreds of years. Maybe thousands. My brain’s way too small to remember all that, y’know.”

Twilight laughed softly. “Was our exam schedule also around for hundreds of years?”

“That was one time, Twi.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

The silence returned. After it stretched on for what felt like a few minutes, Twilight shifted deeper into her sleeping bag and closed her eyes again—

“I still remember some of yours, though,” Sunset whispered, her voice so soft that Twilight nearly didn’t hear it. “Your, um. Memories. Maybe it’s because I saw them for myself, instead of second-hand.” She hesitated, then added, “Is that bad? Would... would you prefer it if I didn’t?”

Twilight blinked back out of her thoughts. She turned her head to the side so she could look Sunset in the eyes, and even in the darkness she could see something nervous lurking just behind them. Something scared. “I don’t mind,” she said slowly, and watched the nervousness retreat a bit. “I remember yours too. That’s only fair, right?”

The corners of Sunset’s eyes crinkled with a sleepy smile. “Oh. Yeah, guess that’s fair.”

Their gazes held for what felt like a second too long. Twilight looked away first, then stifled a yawn. “We should really get some sleep,” she mumbled.

“Mhm.” Instead of turning over, Sunset once again fumbled at the carpet with her dangling arm. “Gimme your hand first.”

Her fingers knocked into Twilight’s cheek. Twilight batted them away, then pushed her palm against Sunset’s instead. “Why?”

“New memory,” Sunset explained with a yawn, and gave Twilight’s hand a squeeze. “Gonna... make one. Right now. First one this year.”

“You’re embarrassing,” Twilight snorted, but returned the squeeze regardless. “Goodnight, Sunset.”

“Goodnight, Twi.”

Like always, her hand was strong and warm.

January 16

“I hate acting,” Twilight grumbled. She squeezed the highlighted script she held with both her hands until the pages began to crinkle. “This is the worst.”

“Understandable,” Pinkie said with a nod.

“They told me I could do tech. I like tech.”

“Mhm. Somebody’s gotta run the lights, after all.”

“So then why,” she complained, and thrust her script at Pinkie with her eyes narrowed, “does tech include acting in front of the entire class?!”

Pinkie tilted her head to the side. “Because I needed a partner for my presentation, and you’re a super-duper friend?”

Twilight sighed. “Because you needed a partner for your presentation and I’m a super-duper friend,” she droned. Her script dropped back to her side like a white flag. “And this is super-duper the worst.”

“Aw, even with bonus marks?”

“A bonus mark you mean.”

They stood across from each other in the centre of the vacant drama classroom, the chairs stacked up against both walls and their backpacks tossed in a pile in front of the stage. A new term meant new courses, and Twilight unfortunately found herself stuck in drama class for the rest of the year—if she didn’t want to switch her spare period from third to first, the only arts course left available to her was drama.

(And even if switching opened up more options, it also meant giving up her spare period with Sunset, and that was worth suffering as many drama classes as necessary to keep.)

“It won’t be too bad,” Pinkie tried to console her. “We don’t have to wear costumes or anything. Plus, you liked Shakespeare when we did it in English class, right?”

Because Mr Magnet graded any sort of analysis deeper than surface-level as profound, yeah. Twilight sighed again and raised her script. “Let’s just get started.”

Since it was Pinkie’s presentation, she would be presenting most of it on her own. At Twilight’s cue she launched into a rehearsed spiel about the play (Twelfth Night), the scene she’d chosen (act three, scene one), the characters (many), and her analysis (exhaustive). After ten minutes of that, all Twilight had to do was act as the second character in the scene to close out the presentation—Pinkie had begged to do a duologue instead of a monologue, and she’d only been allowed if she found someone willing to be her partner.

Unfortunately, that partner was Twilight.

“Give me your hand, sir,” Pinkie said to start the scene. She didn’t read from a script, and she slipped so easily into character that Twilight felt awkward catching up.

“Um,” she stuttered. She glanced down to her script. “...My duty, madam, a-and most humble service.”

Acting felt like an unbalanced game of ping-pong. Pinkie caught each clumsy line Twilight spoke and returned all of them with perfect form. It didn’t feel like they were Olivia and Viola over the duration of the scene—instead they were Olivia and Twilight Sparkle, one half of their duo so obviously out of place.

Somehow she managed to make it to the end. Pinkie clapped enthusiastically when they did, but Twilight couldn’t bring herself to do the same. “I’m awful at this,” she mumbled. “I won’t... You should probably find someone else if you don’t want to lose any marks.”

But Pinkie just shook her head. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I already asked Mr Conequus, and he said he’d just grade me for my parts, not yours.”

“Still. I can’t be any good to practice with.”

“But you did just fine, silly.”

“I—” Twilight took a deep breath. She knew her protests were futile; there was no chance Pinkie would ever agree with something so self-deprecating. Her shoulders slumped. Exhale. “I’m just anxious about this,” she tried to explain. “I hate public speaking and I’m not good at acting, so that combination’s just making this even worse.”

Pinkie hummed thoughtfully. “So if you were better at acting, then this would be easier for you to handle?”

“I guess so.”

“Okay. Then let’s do that.”

Twilight blinked. “What?”

“Get you better at acting, of course,” Pinkie said matter-of-factly, and clapped her hands together with a smack. “Enough that you won’t be so anxious, at least.” She pursed her lips. “Let’s start from line one-fourty-five and give it another go.”

“How is this going to help me?” Twilight asked, bewildered. Despite her confusion she still flipped back a page as instructed and marked the specified line with her thumb.

“Because this time,” Pinkie explained, “instead of just reading to me, you’re going to talk to me.” She waved one hand back and forth between them and continued, “Think about each line before you say it. And instead of speaking to Olivia, just speak like you’d would to Pinkie. Okay?”

“No,” Twilight protested. “I don’t get it.”

“Tell me what thou think’st of me,” Pinkie retorted.

“Pinkie—”

“Tell me what you think of me right now. Am I pushy? Stubborn?” She raised her eyebrows. “Annoying?”

“A little bit, yeah,” Twilight snapped.

But despite the harshness of her words, Pinkie’s face lit up with a wide smile. “Okay, like that!” she cheered. “Say your line just like that.”

Irritation pooled on top of Twilight’s tongue. She squinted at her script and forced herself to speak, this time drenching her words in her feelings before she fired them back: “That you do think you are not what you are.”

The sound of her own voice surprised her—because it didn’t sound like Twilight Sparkle anymore. She’d been Twilight, and she’d spoken to Pinkie, and yet somehow by doing that she’d become closer to her character than herself.

Huh.

“If I think so,” Pinkie said slowly, “I think the same of you.”

She’d forgotten, again. That for all her pep and smiles Pinkie still understood, even if Twilight didn’t. She was a people person through and through, and no matter how odd her methods seemed there was no denying they always seemed to work. At least, from what Twilight had seen for herself. Experienced for herself.

And wasn’t she the same? Not that she was good with people—the opposite was far more likely—but that even with all her classmates’ expectations on her shoulders she’d still forced herself out of her comfort zone and volunteered. They hadn’t wanted to help Pinkie. Twilight had. Because I could see it was important to her.

Not a people person, but a Pinkie person, perhaps.

The lines from the play reflected their reality so clearly that she couldn’t believe it’d been anything but an intentional choice.

One last glance. Then Twilight folded her script in half and replied, “Then think you right. I am not what I am.”

It was far easier to act when the words she spoke were true.

“I would you were as I would have you be,” Pinkie said. Her eyes twinkled with an underlying message Twilight received across the tension loud and clear.

Normality was dead and buried, after all.

So Twilight let go of her misgivings and allowed herself to try—try acting, try confidence, try seeing in herself what Pinkie so strongly believed she had. “Would it be better, madam, than I am?” she asked.

Pinkie’s smile widened. That time, Twilight hadn’t used her script. She didn’t need it for the rest of the line either; an apology and an appreciation all wrapped into one:

“I wish it might, for now I am your fool.”

January 31

Twilight wasn’t sure why it happened on Wednesday morning, really. There wasn’t anything remarkable about it. Shining had dropped her off in front of the school before he headed to work, and she had no reason to not head straight to the library and wait out the half-hour before the first bell rang. But for some reason that Wednesday she let herself linger in the front foyer long after she heard his car pull away from the doors.

The school was always so still before the buses arrived. Only staff members and the students who’d driven in for morning practices ever occupied its halls. In the silence Twilight idly examined her reflection in the trophy cabinets against the wall and removed her hat. A crackle of static. Hat hair, she groaned internally, and watched her reflection attempt to flatten her bangs back against her forehead.

Why was she waiting, though? She had a test second period, so if she hurried to the library she’d have enough time to go over all her notes again. There was nothing to do in the foyer, so why—

“Oh! Good morning, Twilight,” a voice said from somewhere behind her.

Twilight blinked. She shook her bangs out of her eyes and turned around. “Good morning?” The person in her vision processed, and she added, “How have you been, Mrs Mayor?”

“Well it’s certainly business as usual around here,” Mrs Mayor said with a wry smile. She stood just outside the door to the main office in the staff wing hallway, where her view of the foyer included the trophy cabinets and academic plaques. And me. “But what about you, dear? It feels like it’s been ages since you’ve stopped by.”

“Yeah,” Twilight agreed, if slightly awkwardly. “I’ve, um, been busy.”

“Goodness, I’d imagine so. University applications and the like?”

“Something like that.”

Mrs Mayor nodded, then pointed toward the office door with her keys. “Well, I’ve got to prepare for morning announcements, but if you were hoping to see your aunt she’s probably in her office already.”

And there was the dilemma.

Sure, they’d talked about the Incident. Things were creeping back to normal at a snail’s pace—a few rides home from school here, a few mundane texts there. But going back to Celestia’s office was a huge step compared to the rest of the progress she’d made. A huge step toward normality.

...Would the armour still be there?

“I don’t want to bother her,” Twilight managed.

“Oh, I’m certain you wouldn’t. Come now, I’ll make you a hot drink regardless. Coffee? Tea? No, wait—you’re a hot chocolate person, right?”

Hot chocolate did sound nice, Twilight admitted. So, before she could talk herself out of it, she accepted the offer with a nod and followed Mrs Mayor into the office she hadn’t visited since September. “Thanks,” she added once the door shut behind them.

“It’s no trouble at all.” Mrs Mayor dropped her purse behind her desk, then leaned over the little table on the side wall to prepare the drink. It was one of those expensive instant machines that Twilight never remembered how to use. A few minutes later it finished brewing and she received a steaming mug of hot chocolate to warm her hands. She took a careful sip. Her glasses fogged as she did. Perfect.

“And I’d send you off with one for Celestia too if I didn’t know that she’s already made herself coffee this morning,” Mrs Mayor said, giving the trash can a nudge with her foot to reveal a handful of used coffee pods. “I swear that woman could drink us all under the table. At least in terms of caffeine.” She finished tidying up the coffee table and sat herself down at her desk, then gestured to the door beside it with one hand. “Now go on! Classes start in twenty, and I wouldn’t want you to be late.”

It was too soon, too fast, and an unremarkable Wednesday morning—but none of that mattered in the grand scheme of things. Twilight knew she couldn’t avoid it forever, and what better way to finally face it than by refusing to make a big deal out of it at all?

She pushed the door open to the waiting room with her shoulder and let it close on its own behind her. Her mug was warm. The room was silent.

Principal Celestia, MEd, MBA.

Twilight took a deep breath, then raised her hand against the door and knocked.

(Afterward it felt silly she'd ever been scared to go back, because it was the same room it had always been before. A real room in the real school, not some Nightmare-warped illusion at the end of a bottomless pit. It couldn’t hurt her. Not ever; not again.

...Though, even if it was just a room, she still couldn’t shake the imagery of shadows clawing from its walls.)

The door to the office opened. Celestia’s eyes flickered slightly at the sight of her visitor. “Twilight?”

And it was only then that Twilight remembered that they still had to talk about something—something that the magic she carried had surely sensed that Wednesday morning, even if she herself wasn’t actively prepared for it. A reason to hesitate and drag her feet and get caught by Mrs Mayor and be forced to face the office she wanted to avoid.

The blazer Celestia wore that day was navy blue.

Perhaps it was just a coincidence. But that coincidence framed Celestia that morning in a light that Twilight could only see as someone else. And once she saw her in Celestia’s face—

“I don’t need to come in,” Twilight said quickly. She wondered if her heartbeat was strong enough to ripple through the liquid in her mug. “I just— I just need to ask you something. I mean, I wasn’t sure until now that I’d ask you today, but I figure if I’m already here—”

Celestia’s mouth curved into an uncertain smile. “What is it?” she asked.

“Will you— I mean, if you want— Or, if she’ll have it—”

“I’m sorry?”

“Can you give Luna my phone number?” Twilight blurted out.

She forced herself to inhale a deep breath as soon as the words had left her mouth. Hold. Exhale. “If that’s okay,” she added when Celestia didn’t respond right away. “And only if she even wants to talk. But, um, only over text, because I have limited minutes, and I’m still working up to seeing her in person anyways, so—”

“Of course it’s okay,” Celestia said quietly. An unidentifiable emotion shaped her tone, though Twilight didn’t feel it was anything bad. “I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”

“I-I know the rest of my family’s already been to visit,” she stammered on, “so please let her know I’m not avoiding her—well, I guess I am, but it’s not because it’s her; it’s mostly been everything related to the Incident in general I guess?” Inhale. “Rambling. I’m rambling. I should stop talking now.”

Exhale.

She did.

After she was sure Twilight wouldn’t start up again, Celestia finally replied, “I’ll send it to her once I’m back at my desk. Though, I doubt she’ll respond until the evening at the earliest.”

“That’s alright.”

“And I promise it’s okay to take your time,” she added. The tone of her voice shifted from unreadable to something kinder: “You’ll know when you’re ready. Even if it takes longer than you thought.”

Oh.

Of course she’d understand, Twilight realized. Despite the still-steaming mug between her hands, her fingertips felt as if they were pressed to ice. Because of course Celestia would have felt the exact same way she was feeling, if not a hundred times as strongly or even more. And yet somehow she’d still been able to bear that burden without breaking—a weight made even heavier by a regret that Twilight couldn’t share.

How much more difficult was it to reconcile with a sister?

How could that ever compare to just a niece?

February 15

“You finished the calc assignment already, right?”

Twilight jerked upright at the question, startled out of her thoughts and back to reality: halfway into her locker trying to gather her things to go home. The top shelf of her locker barely grazed the top of her head as she flinched. Never thought I’d appreciate being short.

“Yeah,” she answered, raising her voice just enough to be heard over the chatter of the crowded hallway. She zipped up her bag and shot Sunset a glance around the door between them. “Why?”

Sunset responded by knocking her knuckles against the locker pressed to her back. “Means you’re not doing anything after school today.”

“What a deduction.” Twilight grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder, then slammed her locker door shut. Rehooked the lock. Click. “You got me, detective. I’m totally free.” She raised her eyebrows. “So, again: why?”

“Well...” Slowly, Sunset rolled her shoulders until she faced Twilight, the perfect picture of nonchalance—boots crossed at the ankle, hands in her pockets, propped up by her shoulder against the locker adjacent to Twilight’s. Her bookbag dangled against her thigh. The locker wasn’t even hers. “I was gonna head over to the grocery store. Wanna come with?”

Twilight squinted at her. “The grocery store?”

“Yep.” She popped the ‘p’.

“...Because?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Sunset said, and smiled with all her teeth. “It’s the day after Valentine’s. Candy’s gonna be cheap as fuck.”

Of course that was why. Twilight rolled her eyes and shook her head, albeit with a smile of her own. “You’re embarrassing,” she groaned.

“Says the future recipient of thirty Hot Wheels candygrams.”

“Sunset.”

“Oops, sorry—fourty.”

Twilight narrowed her eyes further and crossed her arms.

“...Thirty-five?”

“Fine. I’ll go,” Twilight sighed, long-suffering and reluctant. “If only to stop you from making good on your threats.” She shot a glance around the rapidly-emptying hallway and asked, “Who else is coming?”

“Oh.” Sunset pulled one of her hands out of her pockets to scratch her cheek, an almost sheepish expression sliding across her face as she did. “I’m not asking anyone else.”

Twilight blinked. “Oh,” she echoed.

If she read too far into anything in that moment, Twilight was pretty sure her thoughts would spiral to somewhere between anxiety and a train wreck—and that sounded far worse than all the car-themed candygrams in the world. So, out of habit and like always, she stuck a ‘handle later’ bookmark between two mental pages and slammed that chapter of her thoughts tightly shut.

“...Okay,” she managed, and poked Sunset in the shoulder to prompt her to her feet. “Are we taking the bus?”

They were, and—after only five minutes of waiting—they did. The closest grocery store was located in a plaza just a short drive away from the school, though still a bit too far away to comfortably travel on foot. Definitely bikeable, though, if not for the snow still plastered through the streets. Perhaps once it melted they’d be able to make the trip without relying on public transit.

Tangents, Twilight realized as they exited the bus. I’m thinking in tangents again.

She somehow managed to wrangle her scattered thoughts back together by the time she and Sunset entered the store. Thankfully, it was far easier to focus when it meant keeping Sunset out of trouble, and out of the shopping carts.

“No,” Twilight deadpanned the second Sunset lifted her leg.

“But—”

“Even if you get in, I’m not pushing you around,” she said flatly. “I’m going to get a basket like a normal person, and you’re very welcome to join me.”

Sunset put her leg down and stuck out her tongue. “Fine. Mom.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

A pause. Then a devilish smirk slid across Sunset’s lips, and she opened her mouth—

“Don’t call me that either.” Twilight grabbed her by the wrist before she could say anything else and dragged her through the turnstile and into the store. She picked up a basket from the stack and shoved it at Sunset, then took one for herself and unfolded the handles with a snap. “Let’s just get your candy,” she grumbled, doing her very best to stop her ears from burning red.

The store wasn’t too busy, what with it being a sleepy Thursday afternoon. Twilight soon found that her frustration faded as she got more comfortable walking around the store—no one was going to care or point and stare, she reminded herself and her anxiety. They were allowed to be there, teenage rowdiness and all.

So on their second lap she picked things off shelves and pointed out strange foods to Sunset and let herself get sidetracked at the bakery counter looking at the half-price pastries because we could definitely split one of those, right?

(Sunset had agreed, and the third lap had Twilight’s basket heavier by an icing-laden strawberry-topped cake.)

Half an hour slipped by in an instant. Eventually, after she and Sunset discovered that grocery store flowers were out of both their budgets—even when on sale!—they headed over to the self-checkout to pay. Sunset went first: three boxes of children’s candygrams, a tub of conversation hearts, a bag of heart-shaped lollipops with icing tattoos, two tubs of cinnamon hearts, and a regular package of Oreos.

In comparison Twilight felt far more reasonable with just the cake and a package of Hershey’s.

“You told Shining you’re with me, right?” Sunset asked afterward. Two overfull plastic bags of sugary loot swung from her elbow as they walked, her hands preoccupied with tearing the plastic off a lollipop.

Twilight nodded. “Yeah. He said to text him when we’re done.” She shifted the cake in her arms to keep it from sliding to the side of its box. “Do you need a ride home too? I can ask.”

“Nah, I was gonna bus back. But thanks for checking.” Sunset scrunched the wrapper into a ball and shoved it into her jacket pocket, then declared, “Now, don’t talk to me for like thirty seconds. I wanna see if this thing works.”

They stepped off the parking lot’s asphalt and onto slightly-snowy sidewalk. Twilight raised her eyebrows and said slowly, “Is it that I can’t talk to you, or that you just won’t be able to answer?”

Sunset hummed indignantly around the lollipop in response.

“Because if the latter's the case, there’s nothing stopping me from carrying this conversation on my own. I actually think thirty seconds isn’t enough time for me to say everything about anything. And I have some strong opinions about your taste in Valentine’s candy, so I wouldn’t mind if you gave me a bit more time to—”

“Oh my god,” Sunset interrupted, and pulled the lollipop out of her mouth with a sharp smack. “That was the longest thirty seconds of my life.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So did it work? Was my suffering worth it?” She turned her head to Twilight and stuck out her tongue, and their faces were so close that Twilight could easily make out the white shape printed on its surface: a heart with an arrow slanted diagonally across.

It definitely worked, she wanted to answer, but her voice caught in her throat on the way out and turned into a strangled squeak instead, because her stupid, stupid brain chose that moment to remember the thoughts she’d been ignoring the entire trip, and she couldn’t stop herself from reading into Sunset’s actions far too much.

Friends were nerve-wracking. Friendships were hard enough. Twilight knew her second-guessing was yet another byproduct of her once-isolated existence—how was she supposed to categorize feelings she’d never experienced as one sort of way or the other? How was she to know what emotions were fine for friends and which ones weren’t?

And what would happen to her friendships if she guessed wrong?

“Twi?”

Sunset pulled her tongue back behind a worried frown. They’d stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk, Twilight realized. And she still hadn’t answered Sunset’s question. Stupid, stupid tangents.

“S-sorry,” she stuttered, and drew a shaky breath. “I... I got lost for a second. But yeah, it worked.”

“Hm.” Sunset stared at her for a moment. A small furrow worked its way between her eyebrows. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“And you know that if things weren’t, you can always talk to me about ‘em, right?”

Her words were so earnest that Twilight almost felt bad being on the receiving end of them. Not just bad. Guilty. That was the most accurate descriptor for the sour feeling in the pit of her stomach. Even if Sunset wanted to listen, Twilight knew there would be consequences if she ever dared to speak.

“I know,” she said quietly. Acknowledgement wasn’t a lie, at least. “Thanks.”

Sunset maintained her concerned stare in the resulting silence, but didn’t say anything more. Instead, she carefully lifted her candy-carrying arm and pointed her thumb over her shoulder back the way they’d come. “...Is there a deadline for when you gotta get home?”

Twilight blinked. She squeezed the box in her arms tighter, until she was sure her fingers had paled inside her gloves. “Not really,” she answered. “But I should probably try to make it in time for dinner.”

“So we’ve got, what. Half an hour?”

“I guess so.”

“Mkay. That works.” Her thumb jerked backward again. “‘Cause if we’re still splitting that cake, a Tim’s sounds a lot more comfortable than a frozen park bench, y’know?”

“Except we can’t just bring our own food to a restaurant,” Twilight tried to argue.

“Then we’ll just buy something there too,” Sunset said with a shrug. “Hot chocolate sounds nice, right? My treat.”

“I...” The rest of her sentence trickled off to silence. Going somewhere with a parking lot would make it easier for Shining to pick her up, she supposed. And it was getting colder. Not to mention darker. “At least let me pay for myself,” she mumbled.

But Sunset just laughed and shook her head. “No chance,” she said, smiling. “You bought a whole damn cake, Twi—it’s literally the least I could do.”

It was still cheaper than all of your candy, Twilight thought to herself, but she didn’t dare say that thought out loud. They started walking again, this time back in the direction of the plaza, and even though something still felt off between them the guilt in her stomach didn’t sting as badly.

And Sunset knew, of course. Twilight knew she knew—at least, that something was bothering her. It was Sunset. The very same girl who’d read her like a book across the classroom before they’d even met. Sunset always knew. She didn’t need a golden word on her wrist to remind Twilight of that.

She knew that something was wrong, but she also knew that Twilight wasn’t yet ready to talk. And instead of badgering her about it—like Rainbow would have, like Pinkie would have—or politely ignoring it—like Applejack, like Fluttershy—or finding subtle ways to drag what was bothering her out into the limelight—like Rarity—Sunset just acknowledged the wrongness and handed it back over to Twilight with a cup of hot chocolate and a smile.

I’ll be here when you’re ready, was the implicit acknowledgement. Nothing more than that, and nothing less.

(Cake was much nicer in a heated room, Twilight had admitted afterward, her stomach full and her glasses still half-fogged. And Sunset had laughed again, and said her ‘told-you-so’s, and then she’d spent the rest of their time together that evening digging through her tub of conversation hearts to find the corniest ones she could.)

The hug she gave Twilight before she left seemed to last longer than it usually did. And after waving goodbye through the car window, Twilight looked down to the bag on her lap and discovered why:

Inside the half-unzipped pocket of her backpack were exactly thirty-five candygrams—somehow snuck in by the handful when Sunset’s arms were behind her back.

March 1

Unlike the other chapters of the thoughts Twilight had filed away for later, a certain page kept reopening no matter how many times she slammed it shut. Sure, it sometimes remained closed for a few days at a time. But other times it turned into a once-a-minute back-and-forth between herself and those guilt-laden pages she couldn’t bear to tear from their spine.

Some situations seemed to make it worse. Take her spare period, for example.

Every day after lunch ended she and Sunset remained at ‘their’ table in the lunchroom. Most days they worked through their homework—perhaps with a few breaks in between for Sunset to browse her phone—and usually the last twenty minutes of the period had them finished and free to chat about anything they wanted.

Sunset sent wake-up texts. Sunset waved ‘good morning’s in the hall before first period. Sunset was in calculus and lunch and spare and law, all in a row from second period to fourth.

I really do see her the most out of any of my friends, don’t I?

Twilight risked a glance up from her calculus worksheet across the table to Sunset. She mirrored Twilight’s position perfectly—hunched over on her elbows, pencil in one hand, and calculator flat under the fingertips of the other. Her pencil scratched down another line. Her fingers tapped her calculator like a piano. She’s almost done.

In comparison, Twilight had only managed to get through half of the first page so far. That chapter of her mind had opened up again, and it was nearly impossible to run two trains of thought along a single track.

She looked back down to her paper and pursed her lips. I’m not going out of my way to see her; it’s not on purpose, she reasoned with herself. Our schedules just lined up. That’s all.

But... that didn’t explain weekends. And Twilight knew she couldn’t fool herself on that front—she’d never spent hours in a voice call alone with any of her other friends. That was pretty damning evidence on its own.

Twilight drew a careful breath, her gaze still locked on the blank problem in the middle of her paper. If I prefer spending time with Sunset over my other friends, what does it mean?

And, for the first time, she flipped to the second page of her mental chapter:

Do I not want to be friends with the other girls?

No, that clearly wasn’t right. She did enjoy their company, whether it was as a larger group or something one-on-one. Wanting to spend more time with Sunset didn’t invalidate the time she spent with anyone else—she liked all her friends. That was an unchangeable fact, and one she was finally comfortable to admit.

Even if high school was ending and university and the future crept closer every day, Twilight was determined to make the effort to keep her friendships rather than write them off as something doomed to end. And she was fairly sure the others felt the exact same way.

So she turned the page to the next thought: Then is this the concept of a ‘best friend’?

It was an idea she’d seen often on television and read about in books, though generally ones aimed at children instead of teens. Girls were supposed to have lots of friends, and they were supposed to choose from all of them a single one to be the ‘best’. The concept felt very surface-level and systematic, though—even for Twilight.

Besides, none of her friends seemed to care about that concept. Rarity slung the word ‘bestie’ around like it was nothing, and Rainbow had even picked it up ironically until it had slipped into her normal vocabulary and she’d forced herself to stop. Twilight didn’t think she could divide their group into pairs of ‘better’ friends regardless, so that idea was also out.

There was one page left in the chapter.

Twilight hesitated.

She’d never put a label to it, or had the time to think about it much. She was sure her family had their suspicions, though—about the kindergartener who’d moved the worms from the pavement after it rained because the other girls were frightened; about the third-grader who’d read a whole book series in a single night to impress another girl; about the seventh-grader who’d never come home talking about crushes or boys or dating, but instead gushed over schoolwork and science fairs and did you know I got invited to Moondancer’s birthday party? Do you think she wants to be my friend?

But then high school had started, and suddenly self-reflection took second place to the emotional drain of survival. Puberty begat cruelty from most of her peers, and while every teenager dealt with acne and changing bodies and rapid emotional swings, Twilight had been graced with a bonus on top of it all—an anxiety exacerbated to crippling by the torment from her peers.

If grade nine had divided life in two—before, and after—then the Incident had gone and done the exact same thing. And the post-Incident period was the first time in her life that Twilight had ever felt normal enough to think about normal feelings. Like friends. Like romance.

...Like liking boys, and how she probably didn’t.

Twilight felt her ears burn red, and she quickly sent every plea she could to the universe for Sunset to not look up and notice.

Because she knew what was on the last page of the chapter, but there was no way she’d ever dare read it. She wasn’t blind—even from the sidelines of school life she’d seen the fallout of friends confessing crushes and destroying everything they’d built up. So-and-so had told what’s-her-name he liked her, but then she hadn’t returned his feelings and stopped going to his games. There was what’s-his-name, who’d said they could still be friends, but then everyone in school noticed when he hadn’t sat with her at lunch. And then there was the prom king and prom queen power couple who’d broken up and forced their friends to pick a side in the aftermath.

Romance just wasn’t worth the risk, and that was that.

Even if—

That was that, Twilight scolded herself, as firmly as she could. Besides, she had far too much going on to give those thoughts any more of her time—her half-blank calculus homework, for one thing. Not to mention choosing a university when the results came back, and working up the courage to finally see her second aunt. And my stupid, annoying magic.

Sunset gave her shoes a kick under the table. “Finished,” she declared. “Beat you.”

“Because you don’t double check,” Twilight replied automatically, somehow able to keep a straight face despite her decidedly un-straight train of thought.

She turned back to her calculus as Sunset chattered on, and stuck a bookmark back into that chapter for later—she just didn’t have the time to think about it, at least for now.

Maybe she’d circle back to it once she figured out everything else.

March 17

“Rainbow didn’t pick up again,” Fluttershy said, and lowered her phone from her ear. “I think her battery might be dead.”

Twilight crossed her arms tighter against her waist. “And no one else is answering?”

“Well...” Fluttershy held up one gloved hand and counted off on her fingers: “Applejack left her phone at home on purpose, since someone stole it here last year. Sunset doesn’t have minutes, and she’s not answering our texts. Pinkie did pick up, but wherever she was was too loud for us to understand each other, and it didn’t sound like she was with anyone else. Rainbow missed three calls, so her battery’s probably dead. And Rarity’s phone is definitely on silent at the bottom of her purse.”

They stared at her hand for a second, all five fingers and all their friends marked off one by one. “Well, that’s unfortunate,” Twilight decided eventually.

“...Mhm.”

Someone with a stroller pushed through the crowd, and Twilight quickly pressed herself further back against the side of the building to stop her boots from being run over. Beside her, Fluttershy pocketed her phone in her coat and mirrored Twilight’s response to keep herself out of the way.

The festival was far busier than Twilight had expected it to be, though she supposed she shouldn’t have made assumptions if she’d never been before. The entire street was blocked off and divided down the middle by vendor’s tents, with what seemed like thousands of people squeezed together in a slow-moving crowd up and down each side. Even the businesses in the brick-and-mortar buildings that lined the street were open and packed, both restaurants and retailers alike.

And while their group of seven had arrived early enough to snag a booth at a diner for breakfast, somehow they’d all gotten separated between paying the bill and meeting outside.

“So much for a ‘group outing’,” Twilight joked. Her breath fogged in the air as she spoke—it was below freezing, but thankfully only just.

“This is usually what ends up happening,” Fluttershy admitted. She nodded her chin toward the crowd and said, “It’s pretty difficult to stick together as a group of more than two or three. Even if we did meet back up with the others, we’d probably end up splitting off anyways.”

Twilight nodded slowly. “Makes sense.” Then she elbowed Fluttershy gently in the side and said, “Guess it’s good I’m with someone who can actually see where she’s going, right?”

Fluttershy snorted. Somehow she even managed to make snorts seem delicate. “If we find Applejack, maybe we can ask her to give you a piggyback.”

“Hey, you could give me one.”

They both giggled at that. Fluttershy checked her phone one more time, then suggested, “Should we just get started? I’d hate for your first time here to be spent waiting around in the cold.”

“Sure,” Twilight agreed, and clapped her gloved hands together with a muffled smack. “Lead the way.”

When Twilight had mentioned the festival to her parents, they’d insisted on driving her out to the bank to withdraw her spending money as cash. She’d protested at the time—most places accepted debit, didn’t they?—but now that she was actually there she realized she’d underestimated how small a single vendor could be. Some tents had older women selling homemade quilts or paintings, and most of the farmers had large ‘cash only’ signs propped up beside their registers. And the line for the ATM we passed looked nearly a mile long.

She and Fluttershy made their way down the street one tent at a time, checking out whichever ones they thought looked interesting. Their first stop was for maple candies shaped like leaves that melted in the mouth, followed by a detour to grab a pamphlet from the information tent, and then a short wait in line at one of the food trucks for styrofoam cups of cider. Fluttershy pointed out the stalls she recognized and explained the things they sold, and soon Twilight had a better picture of what a ‘maple syrup festival’ actually entailed.

(And the highlight certainly had to have been the food. She’d done a double take when someone walked by with what looked like a potato spiraled down a skewer, and then when another person shoved past her with a deep-fried onion somehow cut into the shape of a flower, Fluttershy had noticed her dumbfounded expression and dragged her over to the line for something called a ‘blooming onion’.

They’d had breakfast just over an hour ago, but all the walking and the cold and the smells from the food trucks had made Twilight hungry all over again. So they’d split the onion, and then a tray of apple fritters half an hour later, and then they’d each bought some maple taffy to chew on while they walked.

Thank goodness she’d listened to her parents’ second piece of advice and taken out a little extra cash.)

Eventually they made it down to the end of the street and wrapped around to walk back up the other side. Not long after they did, Fluttershy spotted a tent selling what looked like jewelry and motioned at Twilight to check it out.

“I think this is the same seller as last year,” she explained, a sort of excited energy in her voice. “It’s where we got our rings—me and Rainbow, I mean. After we made up.”

A memory from the Incident struck Twilight briefly: Rarity’s trial, and the reactions of everyone who’d had something they couldn’t part with. She stole a glance down at Fluttershy’s hand before remembering that any rings she wore were covered by her gloves. “Oh,” she finally replied. “That’s... that’s nice.”

It was probably rude to point out that the stall was selling what looked like cheap imports from the other side of the world, right?

Thankfully, Fluttershy seemed to understand her hesitation. “The price isn’t what’s important, Twilight.” She leaned over one of the trays of rings and explained, “Sometimes things are special because they mean something. Not because of what they’re worth.”

“Well, of course,” Twilight agreed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything.” She pulled a ring from its slot in the display and took off one of her gloves so she could try it on. “I guess I just don’t have something meaningful I want to symbolize right now, is all.”

“Oh, me neither.” Fluttershy held out a ring to Twilight and smiled wide. “Sometimes things are also special because they’re cute.”

It was a silvery band made to look like it had cat ears. Okay, it’s pretty cute, Twilight admitted to herself. “Are you going to get it?” she asked out loud.

“Maybe.” She tilted the ring so it caught the sunlight. “Though, I think we could walk around a bit more and see if—”

“Terribly sorry to interrupt, ladies!” one of the salesmen on the other side of the table said loudly. He flashed a wide smile and motioned to the ring. “I can’t help overhearing that you’re on the fence, and thought I’d inform you of the spectacular deal we’ve got going on. Isn’t that right?”

The other salesman nodded enthusiastically. “Why, that’s right. It’s a ‘buy-one-get-one’, don’t you know—buy yourself something pretty, and get another trinket at half the price.”

“And there you have it,” said the first man. “Unbelievably great value, wouldn’t you say?

“It’s a bargain,” added the second man.

“Not to mention the ring you’ve chosen is one of the finest ones we have to offer. Isn’t it a gorgeous little thing?” The first man somehow smiled wider. “Just let me know when you make up your mind.”

Twilight stared at the two of them for a moment, then turned to Fluttershy. “They’re just trying to get you to buy another ring,” she deadpanned, not caring if the salesmen heard her or not.

Fluttershy shook her head. “Oh, I know. Don’t worry. And I don’t think I’ll be needing more than one.” She turned the ring over in her palm. “But if you also wanted one, then...”

Her gaze wandered over to the first salesman, who quickly nodded in approval. “Applicable toward any two purchases,” he declared.

“I...” Twilight frowned, and placed the ring she’d tried on back into its slot. She really wasn’t interested in jewelry, especially not the cheap kind peddled by a pair of sweet-talking salesmen. But then again, it was cheap. It wasn’t going to cost much, especially at half the price. And Fluttershy seemed keen on her getting something to remember the festival by, so...

They got us, she sighed internally, and turned to look at the rest of the rings. “Fine,” she agreed. “Guess it won’t hurt to commemorate my first festival with something.”

After a few minutes to go over her options and a few suggestions from Fluttershy, Twilight eventually settled on a ring even she could admit was cool—a cheap golden band that unfolded into what it claimed was an astronomical sphere. It would probably break or get water-damaged within a month, but who really cared? The memories were what mattered. And sometimes things are special because they’re cool, too.

They paid for their rings and exited the tent. Just as Twilight pulled her glove back on, Fluttershy let out a gasp and grabbed her by the upper arm. “I think I see Applejack and Rarity!” she exclaimed. “Quick—let’s try to catch up before we lose them again.”

Twilight couldn’t see over the crowd, even on her tiptoes, so she let Fluttershy drag her along in the right direction and offered ‘excuse me’s to the people they hurried by—her new ring cold around her finger inside her glove, and an appreciative smile curving at the corners of her lips.

March 30

“Happy Good Friday!” Rainbow hollered, and chucked something covered in wrapping paper in Twilight’s direction the second she stepped through the front door. “Oh, and I guess it’s also your birthday or something too.”

Somehow Twilight caught the object before it collided with her chest. “Yeah, guess it is,” she snarked with a smile. “But a ‘Good Friday party’ just doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”

Unusually, Rainbow was the last one to arrive. It had seemed odd at first, until Applejack had reminded them that her shift ended at the same time the party started and she still needed time to bike home and change. Twilight had felt a bit bad that she had to work on one of the days they had off from school, but Rainbow had just shrugged off her concern with a grin and an explanation: “Holidays pay time and a half.”

And, apart from Pinkie spilling soda on the carpet and a few rounds of Mario Kart, she hadn’t really missed much anyway.

Once Rainbow kicked off her shoes and hung up her jacket, Twilight led her past the living room and down the basement stairs. “Rainbow’s here,” she called out, and dropped off the gift in the pile by the wall as she passed.

“Finally,” Sunset groaned from her spot sprawled across the couch. “Took your damn time, Dash.”

“I’ll still kick your Waluigi-stealing ass any day of the week, Shimmer.” She held up her hand, and Pinkie immediately tossed her a Wii remote from across the room. “Let’s fucking go.”

Right, Twilight remembered. She nudged Sunset’s legs over so she could return to her spot beside her. “I forgot about your grudge match,” she said as she picked up her own remote.

“I think everyone except for them did too,” Rarity sighed from behind. She and Fluttershy were tag-teaming against Applejack on the air hockey machine, though it didn’t seem to have made much of a difference. “Honestly. Video games just bring out far too much competition in some pe— Applejack!” A puck clattered into a goal. “I was talking to Twilight!”

“Fluttershy wasn’t,” Applejack drawled.

“I wasn’t,” Fluttershy agreed sheepishly. “I just missed that one.”

“That doesn’t matter! It doesn’t count!”

“Race is starting,” Sunset called out, and the television blared the jingle played at the beginning of the race a second later. She, Rainbow, Twilight, and Pinkie raised their remotes. “Better pay attention so you know I beat you fair and square.”

(At the end of it all, Twilight was just happy to place in the single digits in every race. Rainbow barely managed to snag first place overall, though Sunset did end up with more firsts in individual races. With Rainbow gloating and Sunset pointing out technicalities and Twilight running interference between the two to calm them down, Pinkie, of course, had no qualms with placing third.)

The evening carried on, and after they’d had their fill of racing games Twilight chose a movie—because she was the birthday girl, after all—and set up a card table in front of the couch. It was for the chips and drinks at first, and then for the pizza and wings and cheesy bread when it arrived.

They finished eating while the credits rolled, and then Twilight went back upstairs to grab a knife from the kitchen to cut the cake. Though, since it was an ice cream cake she didn’t even bother with it herself—the knife passed neatly from her hand to Applejack’s as soon as she returned to the basement. “I wouldn’t bother with candles either,” she warned.

“Well, I would,” Pinkie retorted, and while she didn’t manage to wedge eighteen candles through the cake’s frozen surface, she did succeed with the largest two: the digits ‘one’ and ‘eight’ stabbed roughly at its centre.

Fluttershy passed out the party poppers once the candles were set in place. Applejack intercepted Rainbow’s before she could set hers off. Rarity struggled with the barbeque lighter, and Sunset tried to help her by using her own lighter instead, but immediately backed down when faced with a pointed give-me-a-minute glare.

She did manage to light it. Eventually.

And finally Twilight found herself seated in front of her birthday cake with friends around the table on every side. Twin flames flickered above the candles and sent sharp reflections across the lenses of her glasses that tugged a strange emotion from her chest—and then Pinkie sounded off, and they sang.

Twilight had been to birthday parties before—hell, she’d even gone to a few of theirs—and she’d experienced seventeen of her own alongside her family. Birthdays had always been an exciting yet subdued affair, a careful balance between enjoying family dinners out at various restaurants and playing the part of a perfect party guest. But celebrating with friends?

That was something completely and overwhelmingly new.

Happy birthday to me, Twilight managed to think over the cheers and the clapping and the pop-pop-pop of the poppers pulled at the end of the song. She didn’t have to think hard to find a wish when she blew the candles out: how could she not want her next birthday to play out just the same?

Cake, then gifts. She hadn’t asked for them, but her friends had brought them anyway: a stuffed animal here, a sweatshirt there. Nothing too expensive, but each one something Twilight was grateful to accept. “We could actually play this right now,” she suggested after she thanked Pinkie for her gift—a board game she’d never heard of. “I mean, I don’t have anything else planned.” Surprisingly.

“I’m down,” Rainbow agreed. “How many players?”

Twilight flipped the box over and frowned. “Six maximum, I think.”

“So someone’s gotta sit out?”

“Or pair up,” Applejack added.

Everyone turned to Rarity.

“Ugh, fine,” she sighed, as if it wasn’t an open secret that she’d have asked for a partner regardless. “Sunset, darling—you’re with me.”

“What?” Sunset made a face, then quickly amended, “I mean, not that I don’t want to be a team or anything, but I gotta get back at Dash for earlier. Pairing up with you kind of makes things unfair, don’t you think?”

Rainbow snickered into her palm. “Hey, I’m not gonna say anything if you wanna give yourself a handicap.”

“I was trying to be polite about it—”

“I-I could just sit this one out,” Fluttershy tried to interject, only for Rarity to shush her with a flick of her wrist and a smile.

“Pinkie, dearest,” she said calmly, her gaze flicking back and forth between Sunset and Rainbow’s sheepish faces. “What kind of game did you say it was, again?”

“I didn’t!” Pinkie chirped. “But there’s a description on the back of the box—”

“Players are challenged to perform different kinds of tasks while other players bet whether or not they can succeed in them,” Twilight read out. She looked up, and suddenly the expression on Rarity’s face made much more sense. “It’s, um, basically gambling.”

Rainbow’s smile vanished. “Aw, shit.”

Because if there was one type of game Rarity knew how to win, it was gambling. And it was clear as early as two rounds into the game that everyone else was just playing for second—a partial advantage of player order, perhaps, but one that Rarity just so happened to benefit from the most. Twilight barely managed to keep herself from going bankrupt with cautious bets and a few trivia-question victories, though her restraint also meant she never won anything close to a jackpot.

Then, during the fifth round, it happened.

“Is the player able to do twenty push-ups in a minute?” Rarity lowered the card she’d drawn and raised her eyebrows. “You’ll take this one, Sunset, won’t you?”

She’s done every active task you’ve landed on so far, Twilight wanted to point out, but she kept it to herself and instead pushed her ‘yes’ card to the centre of the table. “Thirty on yes.”

“A hundred on no,” Rainbow countered. “No way she can do ‘em in a minute.”

“Depends if it’s knees or full. Knees, maybe. But full?” Applejack slid her ‘no’ card forward. “That’s gonna be fifty on no for me.”

Twilight winced. Perhaps she’d underestimated how difficult a push-up really was. Not that I have a great frame of reference for them.

“Fifty on no.” Fluttershy.

“A hundred and five on yes!” Pinkie.

Rarity gave their cards a brief once-over and sighed dramatically. “What adorable little wagers you’ve all put up.” She tapped the task card twice with her fingernail. “Even if you succeed, Sunset, I’d say it’s hardly worth the effort.”

“Hey!” Rainbow bumped the table with her knee. “A hundred’s a lot for most of us, Miss may-I-exchange-ten-hundreds-for-a-thousand, okay?”

“Eh,” Sunset said, and got to her feet. “I still wanna see if I can do it.” She knelt down to place her palms against the carpet, then stopped herself. “Wait, hold on. This is getting in my way.”

Oh, Twilight realized. Right. Her jacket wasn’t flexible enough in the shoulders for a push-up.

And then her brain immediately stalled after processing that fact, because suddenly all she could see was a tank top, bare shoulders, and the terrifyingly ecstatic grin that broke out across Rarity’s face when she caught Sunset’s jacket in her lap.

Her chair flew backward. The table wobbled violently as she stood up.

“One thing,” Rarity whisper-shrieked.

Twilight nearly choked on her own saliva. “What?” she managed. “No, that’s not—”

“I told you I was saving it for later!”

No one else knew what was going on, and no one else dared to intervene. So it happened the same time it happened, and somehow Twilight found herself draped in a too-big jacket with fire burning around her glasses and under the skin of her ears and cheeks. She shot Rarity the most scathing glare she could across the table, but looks unfortunately still lacked the power to kill. Even with magic.

“Lookit you, Twilight,” Rainbow said through a smirk. “That’s adorable.”

“Like a kid tryin’ on their parent’s duds,” Applejack added. She raised her hand for a high-five. Rainbow immediately slapped it, and the two of them dissolved into stifled giggles that only served to make the fire around Twilight’s eyes burn brighter.

“Okay,” she hissed, and moved to shrug the jacket off her shoulders, “you got your ‘one thing’, Rarity, so can we stop playing dress-up and please just get back to the game—”

“Aw,” Sunset said innocently, still kneeling on the carpet with her arms naked. Her eyes flicked up and down over Twilight for a second—and somehow that made her feel like the naked one instead. “It looks good on you, though.”

Twilight froze.

Then, as if she’d just remarked on the weather, Sunset placed her palms flat on the floor and pushed herself into a plank. “Start the timer, Fluttershy!”

“Oh! Right.” The hourglass flipped over. “Okay, that’s one, that’s two...”

In the end, Sunset only managed twelve pushups before the last grain of sand fell through. She collapsed on her stomach the moment Pinkie called time, her face red and her chest heaving and sweat beading at the edges of her forehead. But when she rolled over onto her back to catch her breath, the only thing Twilight could think about was what she’d said before, over and over: it looks good on you.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

The flames disappeared by the time Sunset crawled back into her chair. Carefully, calmly, Twilight picked up the dice from the table and shook them around in her hand. “Did you pay out the wagers, Rarity?” she asked, as normally as she could.

“All handled,” Rarity answered, equally as normally and wearing a self-satisfied smirk. “Your turn.”

Twilight nodded, and rolled the dice.

Sunset’s jacket tugged at the shoulders when she leaned forward to move her piece.

March 31

Most families didn’t celebrate Easter on the Saturday, Twilight knew, but that was how it had always been in her family, and that year was no different. She wasn’t quite sure how it had started—perhaps it was to give each side of her family a day for the holiday—but she did know that Easter Saturday meant a family dinner, and a family dinner meant that Shining had invited Cadance.

Somehow, though, she’d forgotten about that fact, up until the point someone came up behind the couch and poked her in the side of the head.

“Earth to Twilight,” a voice—Cadance—said, then giggled. “Did you get a little lost, there?”

Twilight immediately yanked her earbuds out and slammed the book she’d been reading shut. “Cadance!” She leaned backward a bit to peer over the back of the couch. I didn’t even hear her come in. “Sorry, yeah. It’s a really good story. At least, from what I’ve read so far.”

“Oh?” Cadance stepped around the side of the couch to the front, and Twilight scooted over to make room for her to sit down. “What’s it about?” she asked. She reached for it, then stopped herself. “Whoops—gotta ask first. Can I look at the cover?”

“Sure.” She passed the book over. “It’s, um, sort of like a fairy tale, I guess. With princesses and curses and evil spirits and all that. But I think it’s got a romantic subplot? Maybe? I’m not that far in.”

Something that almost looked like surprise flashed across Cadance’s face. “Romance? Decided to branch out now that you’re eighteen, have you?”

“I—” Twilight sank lower into the couch. “I mean, I didn’t pick it out myself,” she mumbled. “It was a birthday gift. From one of my friends.”

And that got Cadance’s attention.

“Hold on, hold on. Friends? Twilight!” She shoved the book back toward Twilight and leaned in with her hand on her knees. Sheer enthusiasm sparkled plainly behind her eyes. “That’s wonderful news! Quick—tell me all about them. Every detail.”

Twilight let out a nervous laugh. “Oh, uh, I’m sure you don’t really want to...”

Cadance’s expression didn’t change. She leaned closer.

“...I have pictures from yesterday’s party,” Twilight relented, and pulled out her phone to share.

It was always easy to talk with Cadance, even when they hadn’t seen each other for a while. Slowly but surely Twilight got comfortable with their conversation and with catching Cadance up on everything that had changed in her life since the last time they’d talked. Well. Almost everything.

“...That’s Fluttershy,” she explained, and zoomed in with two fingers on the slightly-blurry selfie they’d taken near the end of the night. “She took a lot of the pictures, so she’s not in many of them. And the one beside her’s Rarity. She’s the one who got me the book.” A pause. “Yeah. That’s everyone.”

“And it looks like you all had a good time! Although...” Cadance tilted her head to the side. “What are you wearing in this picture? You didn’t have it on in the others.”

Twilight blinked. “Oh. Um, it’s a jacket.” And Cadance has eyes too, genius.

“Another birthday gift?”

“No, I didn’t keep it.” She slid the photo over to pull Sunset’s face back into view. “It was her jacket. I just... borrowed it.”

Cadance hummed quietly. It was a familiar sound—something Twilight often heard before she was asked a question she didn’t want to answer. With Cadance, though, the question was never voiced immediately. Instead she straightened up and leaned back, her hands still on her knees and something curious still sparkling in her eyes.

“I’m just glad to see you’ve finally come out of your shell,” she said eventually. “We—well, mostly Shining—worry about you sometimes. Especially with you getting ready to go off to uni, you know?”

Twilight averted her eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

“But this is good! You started with one friend, then worked your way to six, and then who knows?”

And then—

“Maybe a girlfriend’ll be next.”

Time stood still.

Twilight felt the ice of fear rush through her veins and lungs at Cadance’s words; a paralyzing sensation that left a terror-filled numbness crystalized in its wake. Of course she’d ask that—Shining was her high school sweetheart, so of course she’d expect a teenager to want romance before graduation.

Normal teenagers knew how to talk about that sort of thing. But normal teenage girls liked boys.

Just lie, she tried to tell herself, but her voice refused to work. Something squeezed around her heart: half anxiety, half rapidly constricting ice around a cage. She’d never felt such a fear before, not even when she’d barely avoided the same topic multiple times in the past—so why now? Why now?

The ice tightened. Magic howled panicked beneath her skin.

Because she noticed the jacket, her thoughts whispered in her ear, and she knows.

And then a worse thought surfaced:

If she knows, then everyone knows.

Fear never followed from logic, Twilight knew. Without it she could have recognized that it was Cadance asking—not a stranger holding an unknown landmine as their reaction to her secret. She could have brushed it off with a joke about no dating until I’m married, or she could have just answered with a maybe, and left everything at that. Logically, she knew Cadance was fine with it. Logically, she shouldn’t have panicked at all.

But fear never followed from logic, and instead of any could have or would have or should have, Twilight ran.

She heard herself stammer a faint, “Excuse me,” to Cadance, and suddenly she was standing; she was walking away; she was climbing the staircase with trembling legs; she was stumbling down a hallway she saw ringed with blue-green flames, with feathers scattering across the floorboards in her wake—

The bathroom door slammed shut.

Twilight threw her back against it and sank down until her forehead touched her knees.

Cadance knew. Everyone would find out. Either specifically—that she liked someone—or generally—that she would never be the normal they wished she was.

She drew a shallow breath and tried to hold it. Hot tears pricked behind her eyelids.

Sunset would find out.

A pair of footsteps padded down the hall. Too light to be her father’s. Too careful to be her mother’s. Too quiet to be Shining’s.

Cadance knocked gently on the bathroom door. “...Twilight?”

Twilight squeezed her arms tighter around her legs.

“Are you... Do you want to talk about it?”

No. A shuddering sniffle. Yes. I don’t know.

Something pushed back on the other side of the door, then lowered to the ground. Twilight could hear Cadance’s quiet breathing faintly through the wood. She sat down.

“...I’m honestly not quite sure what just happened,” Cadance admitted eventually. Her voice wavered slightly as she spoke. “But I’m sorry for teasing you. I... I can get carried away with that sort of thing.” She shifted slightly. “It’s an awkward topic for anyone to talk about, especially at your age, and I shouldn’t have brought it up when you’ve only just started making friends. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Twilight somehow managed to respond.

“Not if it’s upset you this much.”

“That’s just b-because...” A shaky exhale. “It’s stupid. I’m being stupid.”

“Feelings aren’t stupid, Twilight,” Cadance gently scolded. “They’re messy, sure, and sometimes they don’t make a lot of sense. But no one’s ever stupid because they feel a certain way.”

Silence. Twilight’s tears hadn’t spilled over yet, but she could still feel them welling at the corners of her eyes. Another inhale. She lifted her head slightly to wipe beneath her glasses with her palm.

Her fingertips passed harmlessly through magic as she did.

“...What did you see?” she finally asked.

Cadance didn’t answer for a few seconds. Then, carefully, she replied: “When you left? Or in the pictures you showed me?”

Another exhale. “Both, I guess.”

“Mm. Well, again, I’m not quite sure what happened, but...” She paused. “Maybe it’s crazy,” she admitted, “but for a second it looked like you’d gone and sprouted wings.”

Twilight choked on a terrified laugh. “Maybe I did,” she breathed.

“Maybe you did,” Cadance echoed.

The air fell silent again. And while it was horrible to think that someone else had seen her magic and that she hadn’t been able to hide it, somehow it was also a relief. Like a weight she hadn’t known she’d been carrying had suddenly lifted from her shoulders.

(She still couldn’t say anything outright, though. How was she supposed to? Just open with a, hey, magic is real, and hope that Cadance didn’t freak out? Or open the bathroom door and let her see everything for herself?

Both were terrifying. Both were impossible.)

“And,” Cadance continued softly, “in those pictures, all I saw was you.”

Twilight suddenly couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“I saw you, and the friends you’ve made, and how that photo of you in the jacket reminded me of how I felt the first time Shining gave me his.” Her voice cracked. “I saw the little girl I used to babysit all grown up—and she was happy.”

Time stood still again, if only for a moment.

Cadance knew.

Cadance knew, and it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter.

And with that Twilight finally wept.

Crying was ugly and unsanitary and embarrassing, but she cried anyway, because it was Cadance and Cadance knew and she didn’t even care at all. She said something else through the door, but Twilight couldn’t hear her anymore—the world had drowned once more in a saltwater sea.

There was still panic in relief, the same way that a ship in a hurricane could so quickly pass from eye to storm. Twilight knew she had to breathe; knew that somehow she had to force her gasping lungs to pump slower than her heartbeat, but without an anchor to ground herself she couldn’t tell which way to swim to surface.

Her chest tightened. Magic, she managed to think. It still refused to leave. No, worse—its freedom dulled her senses to the hum of power in her ears and inky darkness across her vision.

Cadance knew. Twilight was drowning. Two distinct experiences isolated by the door between their backs.

The world went black. The ocean roared.

And then there was a song.

https://youtu.be/7k6sDEhdepQ

“Sunshine, sunshine, ladybugs awake...”

The sound of it was the only sensation able to pierce through the storm. Twilight recognized it immediately—a lullaby. Cadance’s lullaby; a song she’d made up all those years ago just for the two of them to share.

“...dew upon the maple leaves, mist above the lake.”

It was as if she were a kid again, crying over a scraped knee or a nasty tumble from a bicycle or something else just as small. And every time an accident happened when Cadance was there, the song came out with the bandaids and the rubbing alcohol to distract her from its sting.

The darkness—the magic—retreated slightly. When it did, Twilight clung to the melody and listened.

“It’s morning in the world somewhere, no matter where you go...”

The bathroom faded back into view. Her breathing was still shallow and her pulse still beat rapidly at the back of her throat, but that was it. The weight beneath her shoulder blades was gone. The flames had vanished.

“...so even when we are apart you know I love you so.”

Cadance switched to humming after she finished, repeating the same song wordlessly and soft. It filled the silence and stopped it from turning stifling around them, and it was only after her fourth repetition that Twilight finally felt calm enough to speak:

“I can’t tell,” she breathed. “I’ve never... I don’t know if this is just what friends are supposed to feel like. I don’t know how to tell if it’s...” She swallowed hard. “More than that.”

The humming faded away. On the other side of the door Cadance exhaled a heavy sigh. “Feelings are tricky,” she agreed quietly.

“And I... I don’t know how to bring it up. If I should bring it up. Because so many things could... break, I guess. Go wrong.”

“Like what?”

Twilight drew her knees closer to her chest. “Like... if I tell her, but she’s weirded out. Or I tell her, but then when the rest of our friends find out, they don’t like it.” She picked at the seam of her leggings. “Or I tell her, and it turns out I didn’t actually... like-like her, and then I’ve just led her on.”

Cadance sighed again. “But... anything that can go wrong can also go right, right?”

“Yeah, but even...” The words tangled around her tongue. Slowly, Twilight took a deep breath and tried again: “Even if things go right, it’s still just high school. It’s... it’s unlikely anything would come of it.” She paused. “Don’t say anything. You and Shining are the exception, not the rule.”

“Wasn’t going to mention it,” Cadance lied. Twilight could hear the smile in her voice.

“So,” she finished quietly, “I just don’t know if it’s even worth the risk.”

That was the problem, wasn’t it? Feelings weren’t built on proof or logic. They didn’t follow patterns, they didn’t make sense, and they weren’t predictable in their causes or their effects. And worst of all—they came with consequences Twilight couldn’t do anything to avoid. So how was she supposed to just blindly trust her feelings when there was nothing to back them up?

Belief without proof was just irresponsible, wasn’t it?

Cadance hummed under her breath again—not as a song, but as an acknowledgment. “True, it might not be worth it,” she said. “I can’t promise you that everything will work out if you follow your heart.”

Twilight laughed faintly. It sounded almost like a sob. “Of course you can’t.”

“However,” she continued, her voice raising. “I also can’t promise that everything won’t work out. All I can say is this:”

Something slid into view at the corner of Twilight’s vision. She glanced down.

Two black feathers poked out from the gap beneath the door, bent mirrored into the halves of a heart with Cadance’s fingertip holding them together at their quills.

“The best things in life are never certain,” she said simply, “but they are always worth the risk.”

April 15

“Welp.” The truck rumbled to a halt. “We’re, uh. Here.”

Applejack shifted into park and pulled the handbrake. The local radio station crackled faintly through the speakers, and Twilight was grateful that she hadn’t shut off the engine yet—once she did, the only thing that would be left between them was silence.

“Yep,” she replied eventually. Her mouth was dry. “We’re here.”

They both stared forward through the windshield. Neither of them moved to take off their seatbelts. It was awkward. It was uncomfortable. A mattress advertisement warbled over the end of a country song. I think I’m going to throw up.

Because Twilight had thought she’d found some courage, and Applejack had volunteered to give her a ride in Shining’s stead, and it was a Sunday afternoon with beautiful weather and clear skies and barely any traffic on the road. But all that courage had long since evaporated to nothing in the shadow of the building looming before them:

Canterlot General Hospital.

The place where someone was.

“I need a few minutes,” Twilight managed. She dug her fingers into the well-worn cloth of the passenger seat to stop her hands from shaking.

Applejack nodded. “Sure. Take your time.”

And for a few minutes they sat there in the Sunday sunshine, in a hospital parking lot, and in a silence only broken by the car engine and the radio. If Twilight let her vision unfocus until the building in front of her blurred, she almost could pretend they were anywhere else on the planet but there—the mall; the school; the movie theatre. Somewhere familiar. Somewhere else.

But the minutes soon slipped by, and eventually Applejack shifted in her seat. “Don’t wanna idle too long,” she said, and reached for the steering wheel. “But like I said, there’s no rush.”

She turned the key. The radio cut off mid-jingle. The engine spun down. The interior lights of the truck lit up.

All that was left between them was silence.

Twilight exhaled quiet breath and forced herself to break it:

“How am I supposed to do this?”

It was a vague question. Despite that, Applejack still gave it a moment’s thought before replying, “You mean, to go and see your aunt?” She shrugged her shoulders. “The first step is gettin’ yourself outa the truck and through those doors, I s’ppose.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Though, you’re probably asking ‘bout after that, aren’t ya?”

Twilight swallowed hard. Blinked a few times. “...Yeah.”

“Mm. Figured as much.”

More silence. It wasn’t very warm out, but with the engine off and air no longer circulating, the truck’s cabin grew stuffier by the minute. Then—

“Maybe you’re just supposed to talk to her,” Applejack said.

Her remark was so offhanded that Twilight almost took it as an insult. She knew it wasn’t, of course, but still. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” Twilight drew another shaky breath, then turned to face Applejack directly when she spoke. “Because everything’s so complicated now, and even though I’ve suddenly got all these memories telling me we were close, she still feels like a stranger. Magic or not, we haven’t seen each other in almost a decade—and sure, I’ve texted her a few times, and she’s been nothing but understanding, but...”

It felt awful to say the next bit, but Twilight knew she couldn’t fully explain her hesitation if she wasn’t completely honest. Even with the ugly parts of truth.

“...I didn’t even save her on purpose.”

Applejack didn’t say anything to that. Instead she held eye contact with a calm, even gaze and dipped her chin slightly in a nod—a wordless indication for Twilight to keep talking.

“I— We were just there for Sunset at first. Me and you and everyone else. But even after I learned what had happened and remembered who she was I... I didn’t do what I did for her.” Twilight squeezed the seat again. Her heart squeezed back in response. “I didn’t try to save her. I didn’t even know I could.”

(She hadn’t really understood what had happened until Celestia’s teary and frantic phone call to her parents the day after the Incident—a call originally intended for Twilight that she’d refused to pick up. And while her whole family had been overjoyed for the miraculous awakening of the comatose aunt they’d completely forgotten and only just remembered the night before, Twilight had been numb to all of it.

Because on one hand, it made logical sense. The hundred-moon long spell on the armour had ended the day of the Incident, yet despite its pair of prisoners only a monster had broken free. Or so we’d all thought. Because with how it had talked, Twilight suspected even Nightmare hadn’t realized what had happened—that someone hadn’t died, that Luna wasn’t gone, and that the armour had never been what held her captive in the first place.

Myth and man alike.

The spell hadn’t created just one prison, but two.

Following that train of logic, it made sense that destroying Nightmare would finally set her free. Human souls didn’t exist consciously outside their bodies—at least, if Nightmare’s words were to be believed—so Luna could never have escaped it without someone else’s help.

And Twilight had broken the prophecy. She’d stolen Nightmare’s magic and destroyed its physical form in the process. She’d helped. She’d saved Sunset, and freed Luna, and somehow lost no one in the process despite the terrible precedent, and it all made perfect and logical sense.

But emotions didn’t play by the rules of logic, and the outcome of the Incident wasn’t one that Twilight could accept.)

“And I can’t just tell her,” she choked out over her racing thoughts. Applejack’s expression remained neutral despite the turmoil in her words. “I can’t talk to her about anything I’m feeling—I’d hurt her.” The seatbelt locked around her dug deeper into her side with every word. “She didn’t mean to k-kill me, but she did. I didn’t mean to save her, but I did.” Her heart squeezed again, and suddenly magic thrummed to life within her pulse, a perfect mirror of the illogical emotions Twilight wished she didn’t feel. “So how the hell is talking supposed to help us figure this out?”

It was all venting, really. She didn’t actually expect Applejack to have all the answers, or even advice. Talking out loud just seemed to help her collect her thoughts. Plus, Applejack was a good listener. And she’s used to me overthinking every little thing.

Surprisingly, though, instead of agreeing or offering some sort of condolences, Applejack leaned back in her seat and sighed. There was a brief pause, and then—

“Don’t knock it ‘til ya try it,” she mumbled.

Twilight squinted at her. “...What?”

“Talkin’, I mean.” She tipped her hat slightly with her knuckles, one hand moving up to rest at the back of her neck. “I... I think that’s the right thing to do. Even if it’s hard.”

“But what if it doesn’t work?”

Applejack averted her eyes. Her gaze flicked forward through the front windshield, the profile of her face cutting a complicated expression through Twilight’s vision from her forehead to her chin. The hand at her neck squeezed. Her elbow wavered in midair.

“...It worked for you and me.”

Oh. Twilight leaned further into her seatbelt. Right.

‘Difficult’ didn’t begin to describe how terrible the first trial of the Incident had been. Even disregarding the fact she’d almost died, Twilight hated thinking back to how she’d acted at that time—suspicious and stubborn and scared. And... the way they’d wound up talking still left a bitter taste at the back of her mouth. It hadn’t come up naturally. It had been forced, and had gone against both their wishes to let bitterness and guilt fester in silence.

If the trial hadn’t happened, would they have ever worked things out? Not just between her and Applejack, but with Rainbow and everyone else as well?

Maybe. But Twilight wasn’t one-hundred percent sure.

“‘Course, I can’t understand your situation completely,” Applejack said quietly. “Family means a lot to me, sure, but I know it’s different for everyone.” She glanced back over to Twilight and lowered her hand. “It’s just, even though it hurt, I still needed to hear you say what you did durin’ the trial. ‘Cause there’s no chance I’d have figured things out on my own if you kept carryin’ on like all was fine. And if your aunt in there’s as good as your memories make her out to be, I’d bet she feels the exact same way.”

Twilight held her gaze. “She’s pretty great,” she admitted. “From what I remember, I mean. And from how she texts, I think she’s still the same person?” Her fingertips felt cold. The nail of her index finger caught as she scratched it scratched back and forth over the front seam of her seat. “And I... I guess I can’t expect people to understand my feelings if I keep them to myself. No one’s a mind-reader.” She paused. “At least, not anymore.”

Applejack snorted. Somehow the sound seemed to drive the tension back. “Not anymore,” she agreed.

The truck was still stuffy and silent and parked in front of the building Twilight wished was anything else, but she supposed it wasn’t really the worst place in the world she could have been. At least, it didn’t seem as awful as it had when they’d first pulled in. And if she wanted Luna to be a part of her life again—and I do want that—then eventually, no matter how she spun it, they’d have to talk.

And it was complicated, and it was messy, and Twilight knew she’d cry her weight in tears all over again, just like she had with Celestia, but it was going to be worth it. It had to be. All she had to do was talk.

Just... not today. Not now.

“I’ll do it by the last day of school,” Twilight whispered before she lost her nerve. “I’ll talk to her by then. Promise.” She relaxed her hands against the seat, and focused on the feeling of blood rushing back to the tips of her fingers. The magic in her pulse still flowed, but a bit calmer—and this time she hadn’t let it take control. Nothing had slipped out; not even a single flash of blue.

Applejack blinked. “You sure?” she asked.

“Yeah. I... I’m not ready today. But I think I still needed to come here,” Twilight said. Then she scrunched up her nose and muttered, “Even if it was just to chicken out in the parking lot.”

A smile twitched at the corner of Applejack’s lips. “Well. Baby steps,” she chuckled, and reached for her keys.

“But next time I’m here, it’ll be for real.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

The keys jangled in the ignition, and the truck’s engine started with a click-click-click and a roar. The radio crackled back on. The vents in the console began to breathe the springtime air. Twilight turned back to face the front, and when Applejack released the handbrake and shifted into reverse, the sound of the pavement under the truck tires cemented silence’s demise.

“Things’ll work out,” Applejack added as they pulled into line for the parking gates. “Don’t you worry too much about it if you can help it.”

Twilight exhaled sharply through her nose. “Yeah.”

“‘Sides, it’s good to get it outa the way before exam week. Probably’ll make studying a whole heck of a lot easier on ya.”

Right. Exams. And not just that, but... the end of the school year was getting closer by the day. There were only about two months left of twelfth grade—and while that had seemed like enough time when she’d said it out loud, Twilight had forgotten just how quickly time seemed to move when she wasn’t watching.

“Yeah,” she repeated lamely, despite the sudden flash of nausea in her gut, and fished their entry ticket out of the cup holder to occupy her hands. “I hope it will.”

April 29

“Wait, shit, Dash, he’s here he’s here—”

“You said he was bot!”

“Yeah, five fucking minutes ago— Oh, perfect, mid’s here too.” Slam. “And now I’m dead.”

Twilight curled deeper into her blankets and winced. No one in the call had their cameras on, but the gameplay shared from Sunset’s computer and the frustration in her and Rainbow’s voices painted a vivid enough picture to make up for it. “...Maybe there’s a chance for a comeback?” she tried.

“It’s doomed,” Sunset deadpanned.

“Fuckin’ randos,” Rainbow added. “Holy shit, I can’t deal with this. Get me out.”

The weather that weekend had been abysmal. Thankfully, at Pinkie’s suggestion, everyone had agreed to pivot to an online hangout barely an hour before the storm rolled in. But that had been mid-afternoon, and by the time midnight came around it was just the three of them left in the call—Twilight, Sunset, and Rainbow.

A flash of lightning lit up Twilight’s bedroom like it was daytime. Thunder boomed not even a second later. Twilight shivered at the sound, and pushed her earbuds further in to try and block out the rumble of the rain on her windows. “It sounds like it’s getting worse.”

“Yeah, my lights’ve been flickering for a while,” Sunset said. Twilight could hear her keyboard clicking frantically near her mic. “Dunno if you heard that last boom, but I swear it shook the entire house.”

“Mhm. It was pretty close.”

They waited a second for Rainbow to agree, but nothing came.

“...You there, Dash?” Sunset asked.

“I think she is. It looks like she’s still in the call.”

“She’s stopped moving in-game, though.” A pause. “Ah, shit. She just disconnected.” Another flash. Another boom. “Bet her power’s gone out.”

“Mm.”

A few minutes passed in relative silence. Rainbow’s account dropped the call not too long after she’d vanished, and when she didn’t return by the time Sunset’s surrender vote went through, Twilight sent her a quick text message: You okay?

The reply was near-instant: power went

Is it not back on yet?

nah im on data now

Yikes. Hope it doesn’t last too long.

yeah i mean wish granted at least im not stuck in that clown fiesta anymore lmao

Twilight snorted down at her phone. Silver lining, she typed. Do you want us to wait for you?

nah its cool i think im just gonna go to bed

Oh, okay. I’ll let Sunset know.

thx lol gngn

“So?” Sunset’s mic peaked to a crackle. “What’s the verdict?”

“Power,” Twilight explained, and turned over onto her back with a sigh. “It’s not back on yet, so she’s calling it for the night.”

“Aw. That’s fair.” Her cursor waved idly back and forth across the stream, which now showed her computer’s wallpaper instead of the game she’d been playing. “You tapping out soon too, then?” The cursor slowed. “Don’t let me keep you up or anything.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. Sunset couldn’t see the gesture, of course, but it was the thought that counted. “You’re not keeping me up. It’s fine.”

“I feel bad that you’re just sitting there watching, though. You sure you don’t wanna play?”

“Sunset, I’m in bed.”

“Yeah, and I’d bet my teammates in that last game were playing on trackpads. We could make it work.”

“I’m still not downloading that malware you call a game,” Twilight snorted, though she couldn’t keep the smile from her voice.

“Also fair.”

“And...” A pause. “I guess I’m just used to this. Watching, I mean.” She turned back onto her side. “It’s like what Shining and I would do when I was younger. He’d play the game, and I’d tell him what to do, or keep track of stuff for him. Like I was a strategist or something.”

“A backseat driver, more like.”

“Listen.”

Sunset laughed over Twilight’s indignation—a raspy, tired laugh that came with talking too much for too long. “Sorry, sorry. You aren’t that bad,” she said. The search bar of her computer popped open as she spoke. “And I mean, if you’re in the mood to micromanage, I’m down to play something single-player instead.” Her cursor clicked something, and a different window opened up. “But only if you promise not to complain that my tunnels aren’t straight, or that the torches aren’t spaced out properly, or whatever the hell you were even ranting about last time.”

“...You dug straight down. And died.”

“See?” Her voice dripped with faux disappointment. “Trying to stop me from finding lava—that’s textbook backseating, Twi, I swear.”

It was a comfortable sort of banter; one that only came with the familiarity of knowing another person as well as they knew you. Because it’s Sunset, Twilight thought to herself, still buried in her blankets with her phone propped up against her arm. And because it’s me.

They were perhaps the only two people in the world who had lived someone else’s memories. Barring any other magical incidents that may have occurred, of course. And... it was kind of nice, Twilight could admit. To have someone who knew you almost as well as you knew yourself. Maybe even better, in Sunset’s case.

Outside the storm raged on. Sunset rambled quietly about anything and everything while she played, swearing when she died and celebrating with whisper-yells when she found something cool. Twilight was content to just lay there and watch and listen—they were together, just the two of them, and for now that was more than enough.

(She didn’t remember her eyes closing, or her breathing slowing, or Sunset whispering to check if she was awake. All Twilight knew when she awoke on Monday morning was that her phone was nearly dead, and that Sunset’s account was still connected to their mutually-muted call.)

May 15

“So,” Twilight said slowly, and ran her finger over the edge of her empty sandwich baggie to zip it up. “Do you want to see something cool?”

It was getting close to the end of the lunch period. Most other students had already headed to their lockers to get ready for their next class, and the volume of chatter in the cafeteria was now just a few voices louder than a library. She and Sunset weren’t the only students on spare, of course, but comparatively they had enough room for their table to stay out of sight and earshot of anyone else around.

At Twilight’s question Sunset looked up from her phone and raised her eyebrows. “Do you honestly think my answer to that would ever be ‘no’?”

“There’s always a first time for everything.”

“Sure, Twi. Same as hell’s gonna freeze.” She put her phone down anyway, despite the sass. “Hit me.”

Okay, Twilight thought to herself. “Okay,” she said out loud. Okay. Okay. Okay.

She closed her eyes and straightened up in her seat, drawing a slow and shallow breath through her lips as she did. Inhale. Her pulse beat louder in the darkness. Pressure danced around her heart.

There was just one month left before she had to keep her promise. And in the meantime, perhaps partially motivated by the deadline looming over her head, Twilight had finally decided to face the mess Nightmare—and someone—had left behind.

Exhale.

Then, Twilight removed her glasses and opened her eyes.

“Okay,” she repeated carefully. She folded the arms of her glasses and set them down on the table. “It worked.” She pursed her lips and added under her breath, “Which makes twelve out of thirteen total attempts, and eight of them now in a row.”

Sunset squinted. “What?”

“My eyesight.” Twilight waved her hand in front of her face to emphasize her point. “I can still see.”

“Seriously?”

“I can read the lunch menu to you if you want.”

“No, no way. You could have just memorized it beforehand.” A pause. Then Sunset snapped her fingers. “Got it!” She leaned away from the table and stretched out one arm as far from Twilight as she could without falling off the bench. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“...Sunset.”

“C’mon, Twi. How many?”

“Sunset, if I say ‘one’, you’re just going to tell me that a thumb isn’t a finger and it doesn’t count.”

“Holy shit,” Sunset breathed, and lowered her arm. The skepticism instantly evaporated from her expression as she leaned back in. “You really can see.”

“Even if I couldn’t, I don’t think you were far enough away—”

“It’s magic, right? But...” She mimicked the hand-wave Twilight had performed earlier with both hands. “I thought you needed all that spooky fire stuff to fix your eyes.”

(Twilight had thought so too—at least at first. But just over a week ago, as she’d moved through the motions of getting ready for school, she’d gone to clean her glasses only to realize that her reflection in the mirror was still clear without them on. And yet, at no point that morning had Twilight seen a single trace of feathers or blue-green light.

As soon as she’d realized that, though, the world had faded back to blurry, and she’d still had to clean her glasses before she went downstairs.)

“I’ve... been experimenting a little bit,” she explained to Sunset. “Ever since the first time it happened, I’ve been trying to figure out if I could consciously replicate the results. Since I’m assuming the initial event was something I’d activated subconsciously in my sleep, of course.” An assumption made because the alternative explanation—that it had somehow refined its power—was too worrying for Twilight to want to consider.

Sunset nodded in response, and leaned forward on her elbows. Her eyes remained fixed to Twilight’s the entire time. “So you can just, like, control it now?”

“No, definitely not.” Even though the magic was doing what she’d wanted, Twilight could still feel it rushing electric through her bloodstream while she spoke. It was wild and unpredictable, like an untamed animal she’d just barely managed to leash. “It’s, um, like a filter, I guess. Ideally, I’ll eventually be able to control which aspects of magic I let affect me, and which ones I don’t.”

There was a metaphor in there somewhere, Twilight knew. A lesson she’d already had to learn when dealing with another type of monster—not a magical one, but a psychological one synonymous to panic.

Life was sometimes a bit too on the nose for her liking, but she couldn’t deny she found some sort of satisfaction in the ways it worked.

Sunset seemed to accept her answer, at least, never mind that it came with disappointment that Twilight couldn’t just do anything and everything the same way that Nightmare had. And, just as expected, she still had a hundred and one questions to ask after that, and over the course of the next hour or so Twilight managed to answer a little under half.

She finally faltered when the bell rang—the sound startled her for just a moment, but a moment was all it took for the magic to finally wrench itself free from her distracted grasp and retreat back into its cage with a near-audible crack.

The world blurred. Twilight blinked. “Oh,” she said, and reached for her glasses. “It’s gone.”

“Just like that?” Sunset asked, the end of her pen pressed lightly to her bottom lip.

“Yeah.” She tried not to stare too hard when her vision returned alongside the familiar weight across the bridge of her nose. “Just like that.”

May 29

It was Tuesday. A perfectly normal and monotonous day.

And yet Twilight felt decidedly not normal, but stressed and nauseous and so anxious she thought she’d die.

It didn’t make sense (but it did make sense, she knew), because nothing had happened and nothing was wrong. But despite all that she couldn’t stop her mind from spiralling down tangents every which way—what-ifs over there, should-haves over here, there’s just two weeks to go before you see her buried down as far as it would go. The future was nearly the present, and it was soon.

(Out of long-forgotten habit she’d found herself in the waiting room outside of Celestia’s office at the end of the day. It was a route she’d walked nearly on autopilot, yet still consciously allowed herself to follow the entire time. But it had ended there, because two knocks seemed just as scary as two weeks, so she’d turned around and left as quickly as she’d arrived.)

Everything compounded even more when she arrived home, though, with a large envelope sticking out of the mailbox and a matching package by the door.

Congratulations, it read, and she had to sit down on one of the stools at the kitchen counter to stop herself from falling over on the spot. You’re in!

It was the last one. The last response of seven university applications, and the response to the most prestigious program she hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up for. And she’d really tried not to think about it; she hadn’t even looked at her email since the day she’d applied, and while the other acceptances had slowly trickled in at the start of the year and inbetween, she hadn’t really been able to think about making a decision until she knew that—

You’re in.

Seven applications, and seven acceptances.

You’re in.

Twilight didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Relief was like that, she recognized, a familiar feeling from the Incident and everything she’d gone through after, and as Shining showered her with congratulations and swept her up onto her feet in a hug, she figured it was probably alright to do both.

June 13

And then all too soon it was time.

The awards assembly blinked by in a flash of half-rehearsed speeches and half-hearted claps. Twilight felt numb to it; colder than numb. Frozen. Terrified. Her hands trembled harder with every round of applause.

Everyone knew about her promise at that point. And to their credit, all of her friends had shown her their support in different ways—a clap on the shoulder before the assembly from Rainbow, a knowing nod from Applejack as they’d filed into their row. Fluttershy had pulled her hands apart the first time they’d gone to fidget; Rarity had leaned over Sunset’s lap to grab Twilight by the shoulders and reminded her to breathe; Pinkie had brought hard candies. “To distract you,” she’d explained, and pressed one against Twilight’s lips before she’d been able to protest.

And it all had helped, but it all still wasn’t enough. Suddenly, the assembly was over.

Suddenly, it was time.

The crowded auditorium gradually thinned out, and despite the chatter echoing back from the halls through its propped-open entrances, the room fell quiet. Not quiet enough. Twilight didn’t dare try to stand up from her seat.

The other girls waited with her afterward for a bit—exchanging nervous glances behind her hunched shoulders all the while—but they couldn’t stay forever. They had rides to catch. They had places to be, just like she did. And one by one, ‘goodbye’ by ‘good luck’, they left.

And that left Sunset.

Just like that.

(“I can take the bus whenever,” she’d explained, and Twilight hadn’t been able to say anything in response.)

She hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary that day, like their friends had. In fact, it almost seemed like she’d forgotten what day it was—and if it were anyone else Twilight might have believed that, except that it was Sunset, and Sunset hated boredom, and Sunset stayed.

(“You don’t have to wait with me,” she’d protested, a tremor in her hands and in her voice. “I’ll... I’ll be okay.”

“Do you want me to wait?” Sunset had asked.

Yes, Twilight had wanted to say, of course I do. “I don’t know,” she’d said instead.

“Well, do you want me to leave?”

“No,” she’d answered immediately; effortlessly. “I don’t.”)

And so they sat there, just the two of them, side-by-side in the back row of the almost-quiet auditorium on the last day of the last year of school. The same auditorium where everything had started—excluding the newly-finished repairs—and the same auditorium where everything had ended, and then continued on again.

“I wonder if there are still burn marks underneath the carpet,” Sunset said eventually, her foot tapping idly against the floor. They hadn’t spoken out loud in what felt like an eternity, yet somehow it seemed she’d been thinking about it too. “Probably just extra work to clean them off.”

Twilight forced herself to nod. “I think it was mainly the seating,” she said quietly. “That was damaged, I mean. And other non-structural things, like the windows, and the stage.”

“The curtains.”

“Yeah.”

“I got Nightmare pretty good back then, don’t you think?”

She mimed swinging a baseball bat—a curtain rod—and Twilight couldn’t help but smile. “You did,” she agreed, “multiple times.” Her smile faded. “I...” A pause. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

Sunset blinked. “Hm?”

“For the first time you saved me. For... for sitting with me right now.” She tangled her fingers together in her lap. “For always being there, I guess. I... I don’t think I say it enough. Or at all.”

“Aw, geez, Twi.” An elbow lightly nudged her side. “You’re gonna make me blush.”

“I-I’m serious.” Twilight turned to face Sunset directly and said carefully, “I... You’re... You’ve done so much for me. I just—” She curled her hands into fists and took a deep breath. “I just wish I knew how to tell you how much I appreciate it.”

Oddly, instead of the pride or embarrassment Twilight had expected, something nervous flashed briefly across Sunset’s face. “Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?” she asked. Her voice seemed strained. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you telling me this, but the way you sound it almost feels like...”

Twilight averted her eyes. Glanced back down at her lap. Squeezed her fists.

“...It almost feels like you’re saying goodbye.”

Silence. When no answer came, any remaining cheer drained out of Sunset’s posture in an instant. Her shoulders tensed. Her foot stopped tapping. “Twilight?” she tried.

“It’s the last day of school, right?” Twilight finally replied. She blinked a few times to clear her vision. “Of course it’s a goodbye. High school’s over.”

“Well, yeah, but that just means we’ve got a whole summer ahead of us—”

“And then I’m going to university after that,” Twilight interrupted, “but you’re not.”

Sunset inhaled sharply. She leaned back against her seat with a dull thud. “Doesn’t matter much,” she muttered, just barely loud enough to hear. “Won’t stop me from visiting you every weekend in whatever shitty dorm they stick you in.”

“You know the city buses don’t go out that far.”

“Taxi it is, then.”

“Sunset.”

“Twilight,” Sunset countered, irritation—desperation?—burning within her voice. “If you think something like distance can stop people from being friends, then I don’t know whether to be offended you’d think that little of me, or pissed at whoever put that idea into your head.”

Twilight flinched at her tone, but tried to hold her ground. “Shining lost touch with most of his high school friends in uni,” she argued. “Same with Cadance, and with my mom and dad. And sure, my parents didn’t have the internet or anything, but my brother and Cadance did. If they all couldn’t make it work, then don’t you think the likelihood I’d be able to stay friends with you and everyone else—”

“Did their friends help them take down a literal monster?” Sunset challenged.

“...Well, no, but—”

“Did their friends go through hell and back with them on the second day of school?” She grabbed Twilight by the shoulder and forced her to look her in the eyes. “Did they hold racing game grudge matches, or willingly watch the shittiest movies known to man, or make over-the-top care packages for whoever caught a cold, or drag each other out every weekend because they actually wanted to see each other outside of hallways and math class?”

“I don’t—”

The hand on her shoulder squeezed tighter. “Did they have a friend so stubborn,” Sunset breathed, “that she had to destroy a fucking demon before she could accept that magic was real?”

“No,” Twilight whispered back, almost guiltily. “They didn’t.” But that still doesn’t mean we won’t end up just like them.

“Then you can’t compare us,” Sunset finished, and released Twilight’s shoulder from her grip. “Look. I know you want to be a hundred percent certain about the future—and trust me, if I could prove it to you, I would—but this is the sort of thing you just gotta hope will work out, even if you’re worried.” To prove her point, she tugged one of Twilight’s hands from her lap and pushed up her sleeve to expose the skin of her wrist. “Belief, right? Just do what you do best.”

“That was a one-time thing,” Twilight protested weakly. “I do not go around believing whatever nonsense people decide to pull out of their ass.”

Sunset snorted. “Okay, then I’ll rephrase.” She ran her thumb over the now-blank spot on Twilight’s wrist, then twisted her hand to lace their fingers together. “You’re a skeptic. You’re stubborn, and logical, and you wouldn’t believe in Santa unless he ran you over with his sleigh.”

“Sunset.”

“But,” she continued, “you believe in people. Sure, maybe not right away. But once you do, and once someone has your trust?” She gave their hands a squeeze. “Then you’ll always see the good in them—even in liars, or bullies, or a dumbass like me.”

And Twilight didn’t know what she was supposed to say to that.

“That’s what you’re great at, Twi. That’s why we all love you, and that’s why you shouldn’t worry about what’ll happen with your friendships.” Another squeeze. “You’re not going anywhere we can’t. Things are just gonna be a little different from now on. That’s all.”

Sunset’s hand was familiar and comforting and warm, just like always. Just like her. And as they sat there with their fingers intertwined, Twilight could almost ignore the promise looming over her head and the feelings fluttering frantic inside her gut—almost, but not quite.

Say something, she urged herself. Her palm felt horribly clammy. Say something; anything.

“I-I probably have to leave soon,” she stammered, then immediately regretted ever opening her mouth. Not that! “Wait, n-no, that’s not what I meant to say—”

To her credit, Sunset didn’t pull her hand away. “Breathe?” she suggested.

Twilight did.

Then, after she collected her thoughts, she tried again: “Thank you. Again. For putting up with me, and for explaining all that.” Heat crept into the tips of her ears. “And for being a terrible, shameless sap.”

Sunset grinned wide. “You love me for it,” she teased, and Twilight nearly choked on air.

“I—” She cleared her throat. Ignored the fire spreading hot into her face. And then, before she could stop herself—

“...Yeah,” she heard her voice say. “Maybe.”

Twilight thought she could have died of embarrassment right then and there.

But before she could pull away Sunset just smiled wider and squeezed her hand and laughed. “Wow,” she snickered—somehow immune to the blush blooming pink across her cheeks. “You’re just as bad of a sap yourself.” Her foot returned to tapping, but this time instead of restlessness it seemed to stem from giddy nerves. She didn’t mind, Twilight realized. I think she knew what I meant and... she didn’t mind.

She opened her mouth to say something in response—

Her phone buzzed.

Sunset’s smile faded at the sound. She glanced down to where it came from—Twilight’s backpack—and then over her shoulder toward the auditorium’s main doors. “Is that...?”

Twilight felt her stomach sink. It’s time, she realized. Her hands turned cold. “Yeah,” she managed. “Guess she’s ready to go.”

“And... are you ready?”

No. “It doesn’t matter if I am.” She pulled her hand from Sunset’s grip and forced herself to stand. “I made a promise, right? Even if it wasn’t a ‘Pinkie’ one, I still... I still have to try and keep it.” She picked up her backpack. “So. Yeah.”

Sunset remained in her seat for a second, silent and unmoving. Then, she mirrored Twilight’s actions and pushed herself to her feet. “Alright. Good luck, then.” She stepped out of their row and into the main aisle so Twilight had room to leave. “And, call me after?”

Twilight nodded slowly. “Sure.”

“And...” Sunset pursed her lips. It was rare for her to think long before she spoke, but for some reason in that moment it seemed she couldn’t find her words. “Hm. Never mind.”

Huh?

“You don’t wanna keep Celestia waiting too long, Twi,” she said instead, brushing smoothly past her hesitation with a shrug and a wave of her hand. “Go on. We’ll talk later.” Her smile returned, albeit slightly smaller than before. “See you on Saturday?”

(It was easy to forget that Sunset was older than the rest of them—teens didn’t show their age as starkly as single digits, and the only real differences from eighteen to nineteen were alcohol, and the number of candles on a cake. But even if she’d forgotten about Sunset’s less-than-a-year lead, Twilight had made sure to mark her birthday on her calendar all those months ago when she’d first learned it:

Saturday. Just three days away.)

“Yeah,” Twilight replied with a careful nod. “See you then.”

They made small talk during the car ride. Twilight just listened for most of it, given that her day had been one long assembly she hadn’t paid much attention to. Celestia seemed content with talking—about her morning, about the technical difficulties during the assembly, about the upcoming exam week and all the scheduling issues she still needed to sit down and work out.

About Luna.

“She’s been looking forward to seeing you,” Celestia said. “It’s a bit exciting, isn’t it?”

Exciting was certainly one way to describe it, Twilight supposed. She didn’t reply to the question verbally, but if she had she would have chosen a word far more bitter-sounding instead.

The drive felt too short. The walk from the parking lot to the main entrance took less than a minute. Twilight trailed behind to let Celestia handle the check-in with the hospital staff, but even that seemed to take half the time she’d expected—why did administration only seem to go smoothly when she least wanted it to?

An elevator ride, a short walk down the hall, and then suddenly that was it. The staff member who’d directed them slipped a sheet of paper into the plastic holder on the door, then gave Celestia a knowing nod as she left. Celestia waited until she rounded the corner before she turned to Twilight and asked, “Do you want me to go in with you?”

It was an out, Twilight knew. A way to soften the impact; a way to ease the tension she felt like ozone against her skin. But if Celestia were with her when she went in, then she wouldn’t be able to talk. Not freely, at least. Not about the painful truths she owed it to Luna and herself to address.

“No,” Twilight said quietly, her voice as dry as her throat. She tried to swallow. It didn’t help. “I... I’ll see her on my own.”

And so she did.

The time it took for her to open the door and step inside and close it behind her may as well have not existed, because just like that—just like that—she stood facing the window of the little room and the hospital bed placed parallel to it with someone sitting propped up against its elevated back—

“Well, shi— shoot,” Luna breathed, her eyes wide and her hair backlit by the afternoon sunshine. “You really have grown up.”

So have you, Twilight wanted to reply, but her words were gone.

Luna looked different from how she had in her memories, but also exactly the same. Her ears were bare of piercings and the hand resting above her bedsheets wore no rings upon its fingers—thin, pale fingers that looked as if they’d wasted nearly to nothing. Even her familiar t-shirt with the faded band logo across its front just drew Twilight’s eye to more differences: her frail frame beneath its fabric, and her too-long hair spilling around its neckline.

And yet despite everything that had changed, she still had the same dimple at the corner of her mouth; the same high cheekbones; the same playful twinkle just behind her eyes.

(If anything, Twilight thought she resembled Celestia more than she did herself.)

“Your brother’s showed me pictures, you know, but I don’t think I really processed that you were you,” Luna continued. “I didn’t recognize him at all when he first came—he’s so tall now! Just like your dad.” She tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips. “Guess you take more after your mom, huh? In the height department, at least.”

Without her voice all Twilight could do to agree was nod.

“Ah, I’m just teasing. Here, stop standing around and come sit,” she said, and motioned with her free hand to the chair beside her bed.

Somehow, Twilight managed to force her legs to walk over and take a seat. She smoothed her skirt across her lap out of habit before clawing her fingertips into its pleats and wrinkling it all over again. “S-sorry,” she stuttered.

Luna shrugged. “You were being polite. It’s fine.” Her eyes wandered down to Twilight’s hands and then back up to her face, but she didn’t say anything more.

Tension loomed between them in the silence. And it wasn’t that Twilight didn’t know what to say—she knew what she was supposed to talk about, and she’d rehearsed in front of the mirror more times than she could count—but more that she didn't know how to even start. Should she wait? Should she rip the bandaid off? For all her practice, somehow she’d forgotten that conversations didn’t just have middles, but ends and beginnings too.

Then a hand brushed her bangs back from her forehead, and Twilight’s train of thought ground to a halt.

“Your mom still cut these?” Luna asked casually.

Twilight blinked, then nodded. “...Yeah.”

“She’s gotten better, then.” Her hand pulled away. “I almost couldn’t tell.” She waited for Twilight’s hair to fall back into place before she spoke again: “So, does whatever’s bothering you have something to do with me?”

How did she—

“Even if the rest of me is fu— messed up, I’ve still got my eyes, kiddo.” She leaned over and flicked Twilight lightly in the centre of her forehead, then chided, “Spill.”

Blunt. Direct, and to the point. That felt like Luna; no matter how much of Celestia Twilight saw in her, the resemblance could only ever go as far as looks. “I’m an adult now,” she pointed out. Whether she did it consciously to change the topic or not, she didn’t know. “You don’t need to police your language around me anymore.”

“Mm, right. I forgot.” She flicked again. “Fucking spill. That better?”

Twilight tried—and failed—to suppress an eyeroll. “Sure.” Let’s go with that.

Rehearsal may have helped her plan an order to bring things up, but it was still up to her in the moment to find a way to turn topics into words. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Frowned. Chewed her lip.

Luna pulled her finger back again as a warning.

“It was just over eight years, right?” Twilight finally settled on. “When you... went away.”

A shrug. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

“And... did Celestia tell you what she did afterward?”

Surprisingly, the annoyance Twilight had expected—had remembered—at the mention of Celestia’s name never came. Instead Luna just nodded in agreement. “She did,” she said simply. “And I was very, very cross with her, believe me.” Her expression softened slightly. “But I do understand why she did it. I can’t say if our roles were reversed that I wouldn’t have done the exact same thing, or worse.”

Twilight exhaled slowly, carefully. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Besides. I’m not the one whose memories got messed with; it doesn’t matter how I feel. Rather”—she flicked again, this time on Twilight’s shoulder—“all that matters is you.” She lowered her arm back down to her bed, then asked, “How do you feel about what she did?”

I don’t know, Twilight automatically wanted to respond—but, no, that wasn’t quite true anymore, was it?

“I was upset at first,” she said instead. “I felt, I don’t know, betrayed? She built up all these lies, and kept so many secrets from me, and then when everything came out it was like I had to press the reset button on my entire life.” A pause. “But...”

Luna’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “But?”

“...I think now that I’ve had so much time to think about it, I’ve realized there wasn’t ever a ‘right’ choice in the first place.” She let go of her skirt and started counting off on her fingers: “Could she have asked anyone for help without them thinking she’d lost her mind? Could she have made me forget about magic without also forgetting you, given that you and it are so closely linked? Could she have just done nothing, and let me live my life haunted by the monster that took you away?” A fourth finger raised before she could stop herself:

“Could she have ever let a child grow up knowing how they’d died?”

The room was silent when she paused to take a breath. The words were spilling out now—unrelenting and impossible for Twilight to keep unsaid. “She made the best choice she could, and I got to be normal in exchange.” Her mouth twisted into a grimace. “And, at least I can be sure chemical imbalances and hormones caused all my later problems, and not childhood trauma or something.”

She took another breath, then opened her mouth to continue—

“I’m sorry,” Luna blurted out.

Twilight froze.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” she repeated, and behind her eyes Twilight saw that terrible beast she knew as guilt. “Everything that happened that night—it was all my fault. You were just a kid, and you were scared, and you were trying to help me, but I was so angry.” She slammed her fist against her mattress with a dull thump. “I took that anger out on you, and I hurt you. No,” she corrected, and punched her bed again. “Let’s not sugarcoat it: I killed you.”

Another punch. Another thump.

“But... for some reason, you’re still here.”

One last thump punctuated her words, and Luna’s fist finally fell still. Twilight watched her tension visibly drain away through uncurled fingers and sagging shoulders and defeated, tired eyes. She didn’t look at all like Celestia anymore, nor like the someone Twilight had known.

She just looked... sad.

“Because you made a deal,” Twilight tried, but Luna shook her head.

“I meant here, with me,” she said, her voice hollow and her words cold. “In a hospital room with the woman who murdered you.”

Oh.

Twilight hadn’t practiced what to say to that.

“You know, for a while I thought I would never see you again,” Luna said quietly. She turned her head away so Twilight could no longer look her in the eyes. “And I’d have accepted that. I was just happy to know you were alright. It didn’t matter if you wanted nothing to do with me—you were alive, and that was all that mattered.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see you,” Twilight protested. “I— I wanted so badly to visit, but there was so much going on in the aftermath—”

“But why would you want that?” There was raw confusion in Luna’s voice, twisted up with the bitterness wrapped around her words. It was genuine disbelief, Twilight recognized. She still doesn’t know. “Why are you really here?”

“Because I saved you,” Twilight said with words as heavy as her heartbeat.

“And I killed you.”

“It wasn’t on purpose.”

The rest of Luna’s arguments died before they could reach Twilight’s ears. Her words echoed a truth only made possible through its ambiguity; a statement that carried both forgiveness and remorse in equal weight.

You killed me. I saved you.

And neither of us meant to do what we did.

Twilight waited a moment to give Luna a chance to reply, then continued speaking when she didn’t: “I didn’t realize what had happened to you. Nobody did—not even Nightmare. Even after I’d remembered, all I wanted to do,” she said, her voice cracking, “was save the first friend I’d ever made, and that’s it.” Her eyes prickled with a familiar salty sting. “And... I don’t want to lie to you about this. I can’t do that. After what you did for me, it would be wrong to let you believe I did something I didn’t.”

“After what I did for you?” Finally Luna spoke up, and once again confusion rang hollow throughout the room. “Twilight, I’m the one who—”

“You didn’t mean to,” Twilight interrupted. She dug her fingers into the hem of her skirt again and squeezed. “And then you went and sacrificed your own life to make up for your mistake, on purpose. Intentionally. You’re the one who saved me—it’s never been the other way around.”

Luna bit her lip. Her hand twitched against her sheets, as if she’d gone to move it but changed her mind before she could. “You should blame me,” she said, her voice small.

“I don’t.”

“Because you didn’t remember what I did soon enough to have it count?”

“Because I had that time to forget, and then remember again,” Twilight corrected, and suddenly she felt magic start to spark within her pulse. “You did everything you could to give me the rest of my life—but then you lost nearly a decade of your life instead, and I can’t ever give that back.”

A wave of emotions slammed into her as soon as the words had left her mouth—gratitude and forgiveness and guilt and frustration bursting forward all at once. That was the root of it all; that was the imbalance in their situations that made Twilight feel so unbearably awful and so, so selfish. She’d gotten a second chance. She’d had the time to grow and change and learn and live, even if that time had been in tandem with desperate lies and forgotten truths.

Luna hadn’t.

And as Twilight’s guilt began to burn behind her eyes—

“I lost nothing,” Luna cut in, clear and stern. “Don’t you dare think that’s ever been the case.”

“But—”

“What, do you think that I just blinked and went from my office to a hospital bed”—she snapped her fingers—“like that?”

Twilight frowned and blinked to clear her vision. “Nightmare,” she tried. “It... it said human souls don’t exist outside their bodies.”

“And that’s supposed to mean I didn’t exist at all?”

“I don’t—” A pause. “I don’t know,” she admitted. Shame coiled bitter in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t know; only Luna could, after all.

Luna waited a moment for Twilight to collect herself a bit, then spoke again in softer, kinder tones. “It was more like being asleep,” she said quietly. “Like dreaming, really. Bits and pieces of reality all blended together into something I can hardly remember now that I’ve woken up.”

“...Oh.” Twilight dropped her gaze down to her lap. But that doesn’t sound any better than non-existence.

“Although, I do remember a few things,” she continued in those same careful tones. “Some emotions; some sensations; some thoughts—and, not all of them my own.”

It took a moment for the meaning of her words to settle in. When they did, and when Twilight finally realized what she meant, an odd sort of pressure suddenly squeezed at the back of her throat.

“Nightmare’s?” she asked, just barely above a whisper, and Luna simply nodded in response.

Sunset had been the same, Twilight remembered. She’d said something similar during the Incident, hadn’t she? That she wasn’t just Nightmare, or just Sunset, but a twisted combination of both; a monstrous intent blended seamlessly into the personality of its host. But that had been almost the inverse of Luna’s situation—a demon within a human, not the other way around.

...Could the same sort of exchange have also happened if they were switched?

“Identity is a strange thing,” Luna said to break the silence. “As much as I was the one trapped inside a monster, for all that time there was also a monster unknowingly stuck with me.” Her voice turned distant. “The boundary between us blurred further over time, and... I know Nightmare gained some semblance of humanity over those hundred moons, even if it never realized that it did.”

As she said that, she reached over off the side of her bed to Twilight’s lap and gently eased one of her hands away from the pleats of her skirt. Cold, was all Twilight managed to think at the sensation of two slender hands wrapping around her own. Her hands are freezing cold.

“And,” Luna finished, “I am so very thankful that my humanity gave it a heart, Twilight.” She clutched her ice-cold hands tight, as if afraid that Twilight might slip away if she let go. “Because at least it bothered to watch over you when I could not.”

...What?

That didn’t make any sense. Twilight resisted the urge to laugh at the notion that Nightmare of all beings would have ever cared about her. “Is that a joke?” she asked weakly. “You’re joking, right?”

But Luna just shook her head. “I’m not.”

“Because Nightmare tried to kill me,” Twilight reminded her. “Multiple times!” Suddenly she didn’t feel like laughing anymore.

“And I’m not disputing that,” Luna agreed. She still didn’t let go of her hand. “It still remained a monster, even with my heart. All I am trying to tell you is this:”

Her hands pulled, and Twilight found herself tugged far enough over the side of the mattress that her elbow rested just beside Luna’s hip. She was so close now—close enough to count stray hairs and see wrinkles and recognize worry shining tearful in Luna’s eyes. Cold hands squeezed Twilight’s. Her pulse sparked again. Magic raced wild through her veins.

“I would trade any amount of years all over again,” Luna whispered, “if that is what it takes to convince you your life is worth being lived.”

Her words seemed to echo in the stillness of their little room. Twilight could only stare blankly in response, her mind frantically turning back and back and back to make any sense of what Luna was trying to say—

And then the pieces clicked.

(Because in that moment the last of Nightmare’s mysteries made sense: the timing of Sunset’s unexpected abandonment; its suddenly-constant presence in her heart and all the nightmares that had come with it; the familiarity of its power during the Incident to the pressure from the worst day of her life, and the gaps in her memories that day between the cafeteria and the front office and the bathroom and the paramedics—

Luna had always been the final piece.)

June 16

“No,” Twilight said not even a second after she’d opened her front door. “Absolutely not.”

“Well, sucks to suck,” Sunset called from the end of the driveway, and stuck out her tongue. “I’m the birthday girl, and today my word is fucking law.”

It was bright and early in the afternoon—not morning, as there was no way half their friend group would have appreciated a party starting earlier than noon on a Saturday—and Twilight could already feel a headache coming on.

Birthdays? Fine. Sunset’s birthday? Great. The not-so-secret birthday present she’d ridden straight from her house to Twilight’s the moment she’d woken up?

Yeah, that was a bit of a problem.

“You do know I have my own bike, right?” Twilight said slowly. “I don’t use it much, but it exists. Literally right in the garage.” She jabbed her thumb to her side to point at the closed garage door to the left of the house, and raised her eyebrows. “I think that’s a lot safer than balancing on the back of your fancy new ride all the way to the park.”

Because of course Sunset’s brand-new bike came with all the bells and whistles, and that included the blatantly-obvious black pegs sticking out from both sides of the rear wheel—footholds for a potential passenger willing to risk a high-speed date with pavement.

“I promise to go slow,” Sunset said, then smirked. “Well, slow-er.”

“Still a no.”

“C’mon, Twi. I played the birthday card and everything!”

“And I’d like to keep my bones unbroken,” Twilight retorted. She finally stepped out onto the front porch and closed the door behind her; she could already sense the time ticking down until Shining yelled at her to stop letting the hot air inside. Plus, it’s almost time to leave regardless. Though whether that would be on her own bike or the back of Sunset’s was still up in the air.

Reluctantly, Sunset dismounted, flipping the kickstand down with her heel as she got off in order to prop her bike up in the middle of the sidewalk. “Okay,” she said, and crossed her arms, “then you ride it, and I’ll hold on instead. How’s that?”

“Still a no,” Twilight deadpanned. And if I somehow damaged her new bike, I’d never hear the end of it. She hopped down the steps and started walking over to the end of the driveway, then stopped halfway across her lawn as a thought suddenly occurred to her: “Wait. Where’s your helmet?”

“...Do I need one?”

“Do you— Sunset!” Now that gave her a reason to move; Twilight found her legs had started marching over before the words had left her mouth. “Do you want a concussion? Of course you need one!”

To her credit, Sunset had the decency to look a little guilty for her crimes. “I mean, it’s not illegal,” she tried.

“Right.” Twilight rolled her eyes as she reached the sidewalk and crossed her arms to mirror Sunset’s pose. She now stood opposite Sunset on the other side of her bike, all of her earlier banter forgotten in favour of cranial protection. “Like brain damage cares whether you’re a law-abiding citizen or not.”

“Okay, well...” She scratched her cheek awkwardly. “I’ll wear one next time, then?”

Twilight narrowed her eyes.

“Please don’t make me bike all the way back for it.”

“I was considering it,” Twilight grumbled. Then, sighing as loudly as she could, she uncrossed her arms and said flatly, “But it’s your birthday, and the park isn’t that far. So... you’re off the hook.” For now.

“Yes!”

And when Sunset lit up in response to that, Twilight felt the last of her resolve crumble away in an instant. Because if something as small as going helmetless could draw out such a brilliant smile, then surely if she agreed to something bigger; something more important and exciting—

“Fine,” she blurted out. “I’ll... I’ll ride with you, too.”

A pause. Then, Sunset visibly did a double-take. “What?” she said, her voice and eyebrows raising with surprise. “Seriously?”

“Don’t make me take it back.”

“You’re changing your mind just like that?” she asked, and leaned over her bike so she and Twilight were nearly nose to nose. Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you, and what have you done with Twilight?”

Twilight rolled her eyes—again—and gently shoved Sunset’s face away from her. “Consider it your birthday present,” she grumbled. “Besides, we need to get going, and I don’t want to spend ten minutes playing Jenga to get my bike out without scratching Shining’s car.” That was a bit of a lie—she knew her bike was up against the garage door, and a good three feet away from anything expensive. But Sunset didn’t have to know that.

“Is this your way of saying you didn’t get me anything else?” Sunset teased as she got back on her bike.

“Maybe,” Twilight said, then hesitated. Suddenly the prospect of getting on top of the back wheel seemed more difficult than she’d thought. “So how does this work, exactly?”

Sunset wiggled the handlebars and straightened up. “Right,” she said, and kicked her heel back to raise the kickstand so it wouldn’t get in the way. “You wanna stand right behind the wheel—yeah, like that—and then you gotta balance yourself on my shoulders when you put your first foot on it. Both hands,” she added as Twilight moved to try it with only her left hand. “Otherwise you’ll throw me off balance, and then we’re gonna fall.”

“Oh.” Twilight leaned further forward to add her right hand to Sunset’s other shoulder. It was a terribly awkward position—half-straddling the back wheel of the bike, the fender just inches away from catching on the hem of her skirt, and the sun-warmed leather of Sunset’s jacket the only thing keeping her upright. “Like this?”

“Yep. Now put one foot on that peg sticking out of the wheel—”

Twilight did.

“—and on the count of three, you push off and add your other foot. Okay?”

“Okay,” Twilight echoed. She took a deep breath and squeezed with both her hands. “Promise you’ll go slow?” she asked.

But instead of answering, Sunset spun the pedals into position and balanced her foot on top. “One,” she counted, and even without being able to see her face Twilight could hear the smirk she surely wore.

“Sunset.”

“Two.”

“Sunset I swear to god—”

“Three!”

And despite the fact every bone in her body was screaming at her to let go, get off, you’re going to get hurt; and even though she only realized in that moment that wait, I don’t have a helmet either, Twilight screwed her eyes shut and leaned against Sunset and pushed—because for all her teasing it was still Sunset and it was still her and I trust you, I trust you, I trust you—

And then they were moving, and then they were off.

Twilight blinked her eyes back open as the wind caught in her hair and blew it back behind her—gently, though, as their speed was no faster than what Twilight would have gone herself. And now that they had momentum, she found that balancing on a bike wasn’t that much harder than actually riding one—though, when they went over a rough bit of pavement she couldn’t stop a panicked squeak from escaping her lips when both her feet went airborne a bit too long.

“You good?” Sunset called back over her shoulder.

Twilight nodded, then remembered that Sunset couldn’t see her and quickly added, “I think so—” Another bump. Another involuntary yelp. “Okay, wait—”

“Here.” Sunset slowed down a little bit, and lifted her elbows from her sides as far as she could without letting go of the handlebars. “Try holding on this way instead.”

Twilight blinked. “What?”

“‘Cause you’re shorter than me; I bet my shoulders are at the wrong angle—”

“What are you talking about?”

“Like in the movies!” She waved her elbows up and down a bit. “Y’know, where the girl’s on the back of a motorbike, and she’s gotta hold on for her life ‘cause the guy’s a bit of a speed demon, so she basically spoons him the whole ride—”

Another bump. This time the back wheel pitched upward, and Twilight just managed to untangle her hands from Sunset’s shoulders and lock them around her waist a second before momentum slammed her whole body against Sunset’s back. “That better not have been on purpose,” she hissed against leather as warm as her face felt. Though, once she steadied herself, she did feel a bit more stable. Not that I’m going to admit that to her.

“Swear it wasn’t,” Sunset said, and her voice was serious enough that Twilight could believe it. “It’s the city’s fault for doing a shit job paving. Not mine.”

The ride went far more smoothly after that. Carrying a conversation into the wind was tricky, though, and Twilight was content to just hold tight to Sunset and watch the scenery pass them by. Houses turned to parking lots turned to trees, and when the concrete beneath their tires eventually switched to grass she realized they’d finally made it to the park—and in one piece at that.

(And for a moment Twilight let her thoughts spread out on scattered tangents; a convoluted web of ideas and feelings all twisted back to Sunset: her nineteenth birthday; her thousand-watt smile; the movement of her body against Twilight’s arms as her legs pushed the pedals up and down; the fact she’d kept a reasonable speed the entire ride. Her hair tangling in the wind and in Twilight’s face. The leather jacket she still wore despite the weather being way too warm.

It just... struck her, then. Twilight didn’t know how else to describe it—struck. Suddenly, like lightning, but not as harshly as its consonants implied. Like a realization. Like waking up.

Because even if the future was uncertain and unpredictable and terrifying, it didn’t have to matter yet. At least not when the present was as perfect as Twilight could have wanted. And that was what had suddenly struck her—not that the present was worth enjoying, but that it was only worth it because of the people she spent it with.)

The bike rumbled forward across the grass. Twilight pulled herself out of her thoughts just in time to notice the group of people barely visible at the other end of the field: five figures gathered in the shade of a massive maple tree; three of them sitting on a picnic blanket, one struggling to park her bike on the uneven lawn, and one jumping up and down waving in their direction with both her hands above her head.

Then, as they approached, a second thought struck Twilight: “What happens when you stop?”

“Ah.” Sunset tensed up against her, and in response Twilight felt a familiar pressure squeeze inside her chest—though, given the circumstances, she was almost relieved to feel it. “That’s the tricky part.”

“...We’re going to fall, aren’t we.” She didn’t phrase it as a question.

“Technically, I’m going to brake, and then we’re going to fall. In the worst case, at least.” They were halfway across now. Just a hundred or so metres to go. “Best case, I keep my balance, and you land on your feet.” Sunset paused to think for a second. “Middle case, I keep my balance, and you fall on your ass.”

Part of Twilight wanted to be upset with her—couldn’t you have warned me before we left?—but another, larger part of her couldn’t be bothered to care. It was Saturday. It was summer. It was Sunset's birthday. She didn’t have a helmet, and it didn’t matter—what was the worst a fall from standing still could do? Bruise my ego?

“Actual case,” she decided as Pinkie’s shouts rang into earshot and Sunset began to brake. “I get to take you down with me.”

“What are you—”

It was too late. The bike rolled to a halt before they passed the maple tree, a good distance from the other girls yet still close enough to hold a conversation if they yelled. Sunset caught herself by her tiptoes on either side of the bike, then slid forward off the seat to stand on both her feet. “Okay!” she declared. “That wasn’t so—”

The back wheel of the bike immediately swiveled to the side. Without momentum to keep her balance, all Twilight could do as she toppled over was lock her arms around Sunset’s waist and brace herself for impact.

“Twilight, what the hell—”

Her shoes slipped off the back wheel and sent it skidding away. The body of the bike pitched sideways to compensate, and Sunset—still with her legs planted on either side of it, still with Twilight’s arms wrapped around her—barely managed to throw one leg up and over before the bike collided with her other leg and sent them both tumbling down to the ground.

“Ow.”

“Oh, fuck, I think you bruised my lungs—”

“Says the one with the softer landing,” Twilight wheezed. She flexed her shoulder against the grass to ease the pain, then remembered she’d worn a white shirt. Whoops.

“Ah, shut up.” Sunset twisted around on top of her so they could speak face-to-face—swinging her arms around to plant one elbow on either side of Twilight and prop herself up—then added in a more serious tone, “You okay?”

Twilight took a moment to think about it. She’d landed hard on her shoulder, and she was pretty sure whatever ants or other bugs lived in the grass beneath them were going to end up in her hair. The other girls had seen her fall, which once upon a time she might have found humiliating, but now was little more than a minor embarrassment. And, at least she hadn’t hit the dirt alone.

“Yeah,” she eventually replied. “I’m okay.”

She let her arms fall to her sides and relaxed against the grass. Sprawled on her back in the middle of the park like she was, she had a pretty clear view of the blue, blue sky. It’s a really nice day, she thought to herself. Really, really nice.

A distant voice broke through the silence somewhere off to her left: “You guys good?!” Pinkie hollered.

Sunset made a face, then raised her head up a bit to answer. “Yeah,” she called back. “We survived.”

“You want us to give you a minute?!”

“Or some privacy?” Rainbow added, then dissolved into a fit of laughter Twilight could hear even across the field.

“Just a minute’s fine,” Sunset yelled, and it finally dawned on Twilight that they probably looked a little suspect the way they were—flat on her back beneath Sunset with their legs tangled together from the fall. She could feel their bodies shift together with every inhale; every exhale, and when Sunset glanced back down, the sky didn’t seem nearly as vibrant in comparison to her eyes. Her face is really close.

“You think they’ll figure it out on their own?” Sunset asked quietly.

“Probably,” Twilight replied, her voice equally as soft.

A piece of Sunset’s hair tickled against Twilight’s nose. She tried to blow it to the side, then stifled a giggle when Sunset’s face scrunched up in response to the air puffed against her skin. “Whoops,” she whispered, and instead reached up with one hand to brush her hair behind her ear. “There.”

Her hand lingered against Sunset’s cheek, and as it did, the memory of their phone call from three days ago bubbled to the surface of her thoughts.

(“I think it went well,” she’d told Sunset after she’d gotten back from the hospital. “I— I’m glad I finally got to see her. And... maybe it’s weird, but it was sort of a relief to get everything out of the way. Tie up all the loose ends from the Incident, you know?”

“Yeah?” Sunset had replied, her voice tinny and distant through the phone speakers. “What sort of loose ends?”

“Like working things out with Celestia, and making friends with the other girls—for real this time, and not just as, I don’t know, acquaintances.”

“Learning about your magic?”

“That one’s still ongoing.” Unfortunately.

“And...” Sunset had paused after the first word, leaving a silence so long Twilight had almost assumed their call had dropped. “...anything with me?”)

Twilight lifted her hand away from Sunset’s cheek, her memories still spinning on repeat at the back of her mind. “Can I try something?” she asked carefully, and reached into the grass for Sunset’s hand. When she found it, she nudged their fingers together and waited for her response.

“Sure,” Sunset agreed. “Knock yourself out.”

Okay. Twilight took a deep breath in. Okay, okay, okay.

(“Maybe,” she’d whispered back, with her heartbeat in her throat and her stomach twisted into knots.

“Because,” Sunset had said, “I’ve got a loose end of my own too. It’s just, mine’s pretty conditional on you figuring out all of yours first—’cause I don’t wanna toss you something else to deal with unless you’ve room on your plate.”

“I’ve got room now,” Twilight had replied immediately; instinctively, and remembered what she’d told herself all those months ago about that chapter she’d kept bookmarked in her thoughts. “I... I’ve just got one last thing to figure out, too.”)

She pulled Sunset’s hand up from the grass and gave her a few seconds to rebalance on her other arm. Then, at the same time she exhaled her nerves, Twilight pushed her glasses up to her forehead with the back of her wrist and pulled Sunset’s palm up to rest flat against her eyes.

The world went dark.

“Tell me what I’m thinking?” she said softly.

Sunset hummed under her breath. “You know I can’t do that anymore, right?”

“I know. Just...” Twilight hesitated. “Just guess.”

“Mm. Okay...” She took a moment to think, then said, “Is it that I’m such a badass for biking here without a helmet?”

Twilight hoped Sunset could feel her eyes roll beneath her palm. “Bad at personal safety, maybe,” she retorted. “Try again.”

“...That my birthday party’s gonna put the rest of yours in the dirt?”

“I’d expect nothing less than Pinkie at this point.”

“That you’ve got a present for me that’s maybe half as good as my bike?”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

She waited for Sunset’s next guess, but it didn’t come right away. When the seconds ticked by to a minute Twilight felt her nerves begin to fray, and just before the courage preventing her from removing her hand ran out—

“Is it that,” Sunset whispered, and suddenly her voice came from somewhere much, much closer than it had been before, “you just wanted an excuse to hold my hand?”

(“I’ve got the feeling our loose ends might be the same one,” Sunset had said.

“Are they?” Twilight had somehow managed to ask, despite her pounding heart and the electricity in her veins and the burning, scalding heat blooming behind her skin.

And then—

“I mean, mine’s that I like you a lot,” she’d said.

Just like that; just like that.

A little nervous, and a little shyly—but just like that. Sunset had said it, just like that.

And—

“Oh,” Twilight had heard herself reply, “mine’s that I like you a lot, too.”)

And Twilight smiled into the darkness, Sunset’s hand warm against her skin and more familiar than any other hand she’d ever held. “Maybe,” she teased, and tipped her head forward. Her face felt like it was on fire, but she couldn’t bring herself to care—Sunset was there, and way, way too close, and even though they were in public and in the middle of the park in plain view of all their friends, Twilight was more than willing to let their three-day secret spill—because they would have figured it out on their own regardless and eventually, and in that moment she just so badly wanted ‘too close’ to turn into something a little bit closer than that—

Sunset met her halfway.

Not in their first kiss, or in anything close to their last one, but something that slotted nicely in between—and it was perfect.

Of that, Twilight was one-hundred-and-one percent sure.

Author's Notes:

and now we've reached the end ^^

thank you so much for your patience as ive finished the epilogue that could have honestly been a fic in and of itself. once an idea possesses me i just have to roll with it, even if it means a single-scene epilogue turns into an entire fourth act xd

~~i hope to post a writeup for this one, so once i do ill be sure to link it here.~~ post-mortem is up! again, thank you so so so so much for your continued support, whether through views or shares or favourites or anything else, and special thanks to everyone who's left a comment along the way or afterward; hearing all your thoughts on the story has been so wonderful and given me the motivation i needed to see this to the finish

(and, if you havent already seen, please check out the animated "trailer" for this i made too!)

thanks for reading!

The Twilight Effect

by evelili

Friendship is Some Unexplainable Science and Certainly Not Any Form of Magic, Part One

Friendship is Some Unexplainable Science and Certainly Not Any Form of Magic, Part Two

Mentors and Mysteries and the Malice of Dreaming

Fueled By the Sun's Ambition Infernal / A Thousand-Year Prophecy's Destined Repeat

The Arcane-Faith Star Shall Aid Its Escape / And Bring About Nighttime Eternal

The Trial of Integrity and the Weight of Regret

The Trial of Compassion and the Contrast of Pity

The Trial of Optimism and the Terrors of the Past

The Trial of Altruism and the Selfishness of Being a Hero

The Trial of Devotion and the Unspeakable Truth

The Trial of Empathy and the Catalyst of Belief

The Final Trial

Epilogue