> Professor Rarity's Totally Platonic Romance Curriculum
>  by gloamish
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Syllabus
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blue aura cradles the steaming kettle as I levitate it to the tray, completing the arrangement of two cups, six petit tarts (two caramel, two lemon meringue, two raspberry), and creamer — a porcelain likeness of the heifer, Bessie. When I saw them for sale at her market stall, I thought it a delightfully entrepreneurial idea: if anypony asked who I bought my dairy from, I would have visual aid close at hoof. The fact that nopony has asked yet has done little to dampen my enthusiasm for the piece.

"So, darling," I call from the kitchen, trotting to the parlor with the tea service bobbing in my wake, "whatever is the matter?"

"It's... hard to say." My guest comes into view as I round the corner. Her eyes still wander the room, not quite taking in any of my work, and her mane is still a frizzled mess. I hold my concern from showing too plainly on my face. She's a tad wild, in these moods: too little interest, and she fades away; too much, and she gallops instead, assuring you that it wasn't that important, honestly. Still, my concern is there, brought on by a break in routine.

Tea is practically a soporific for Twilight Sparkle, as much for the ritual as the substance itself. Typically, when she's stressed about something, the sound of the kettle whistling puts her mane back in order better than any conditioner. I learned quickly to ask her what was wrong before I set the service on the table — any later, and she'd forget most troubles entirely, laughing off my concerned inquiry like she hadn't been champing her teeth down to nubs not five minutes ago.

I set the service on the table. Twilight takes her cup and a small smile makes an appearance, but it's far from the dopey, unguarded grin good tea can draw from her. And this is good tea, of course. I keep it in the cupboard just for her, Fluttershy, and my very favorite clients, and they all deserve the best.

"Hard to say, or hard to phrase?" I ask. Applejack has compared Twilight to a loaded wagon — I admonished her immediately for the unflattering comparison, of course! But it's popped up in my head several times since; she's stuck fast now, but just a little push and we'll be rolling. I shoo Applejack's twang from my mental voice.

Twilight puts down her teacup. "To say. It's about..." Feathery suggestions of purple wander across the tarts, then coalesce on caramel. I hold my tongue, instead taking a dainty bite of my raspberry tart. A sweet start, then cleanse the palate with the lemon, and end with the rich caramel. My attention veers back to my guest as she tries again. "It's about romance."

My teacup clatters against its saucer, a last-second burst of aura saving it from shattering. "Really?!" I ask, not squealing, despite what Twilight's little jump might indicate. Honestly, for a mare who helped rout a changeling assault on Equestria to flinch at a perfectly polite inquiry from her friend... I lean forward with an inviting smile that is not giddy in the slightest.

She looks down, her bangs hiding her eyes. "... Yes." My, my, my! She doesn't continue, instead focused on her tart. I let the admission hang for a moment, savoring it. Usually, when Twilight comes to me, it's over something trivial, like a book recatalog that didn't work out, or feeling unfit for her role as Bearer. Not that any of those things are not worth my time — of course, any opportunity to provide my friend with comfort, to dispel her delusions of disparity with her peers is a privilege — they are simply not challenging. This, however...

I realize I've been lost in thought too long, but apparently Twilight enjoyed the tart too much to care. So much so that she snatches the second caramel tart — yes, snatches! For goodness's sake, Twilight, there are two of every flavor! Put it together! Deep breath. She is a dear friend, and a guest, and clearly distraught, and if she desires to tread all over the husk of etiquette then she is free to. There's much to teach, after all, and proper form is certainly on the list. "Well, of course you would come to me!" I say instead, lifting the lemon meringue. Perhaps just two tarts for myself, then.

"... I would?" She asks, looking up and meeting my eyes with glimmers of hope in her own. "You know?.."

"Darling, I don't mean to sound conceited, but I've known you crest to croup practically since you first set down in Ponyville." I allow myself to be drawn into memory, seeing the terse mare that hopped off the chariot and landed roughly on my dreams of befriending a Canterlot socialite. In the moons since, of course, I'd found something much better in her than a gossip buddy: a passionate, intelligent pony, still with many of the hallmarks of Canterlot that Ponyville mares lack. "Where many of the ponies here, glory cradle them, are as quick to gallop headlong into a situation as they are to stampede away, you are a mare of observation."

I take another sip of tea and finish the tart, expecting Twilight to agree. Instead, she only looks confused, so I continue. "What I mean, dear, is that of course you would never do something as brash as trot up to the object of your affections and confess! Especially with this field being one so unexplored for you. Unless you had some dalliance at Celestia's school you've kept from me?" I lean closer, suddenly intent on the idea that there could be a piece of gossip I hadn't yet dredged from my sheltered friend's depths.

"What? Ah, no... Nothing like that." Twilight fidgets, levitating a raspberry tart to her and taking a bite. "You know I never..." She pauses, then swallows, politely electing to not spray further crumbs on my tablecloth. "Had friends." The idea still plucks my heartstrings, a familiar melody in minor key. And, as familiar, I muffle the sound with the knowledge that she counts all of us as friends now, and we've grown almost close enough to make up for lost time.

"Yes, and to venture into romance without a solid grounding in the platonic would be foolhardy..." I murmur. "But now! You're more than prepared! Oh, how exciting!" I clap my forehooves together, bursting with glee at the prospect.

She perks up as well, that Twilight Sparkle sparkle shining in her eyes, a sure sign of her surety. "Yes! I think I am, anyway..." She takes a deep breath, placing her cup down, and finally looks me in the eyes, untold determination there. "Rarity... Would you..."

"Of course!" I squeal, jumping out of my seat and bouncing in place. I take a moment to compose myself, then trot around the table to stand at Twilight's side. "Oh, Twilight, of course I'll teach you about romance!" I tap my hooves in an indulgent little jig. "I may not be a Princess, but there's no pony in Ponvyille so versed in the subject as I am!"

Twilight continues to stare forward at where I'd been. She looks... Ah, I recognize that look. She's held a stack of cue cards in her mind's eye for hours, and now, realizing she doesn't need them, she's tossing it. Well, as I said, I'm no Princess, so while I'm sure she had some elaborate speech ready to convince me to aid her, there's no need! Let it never be said that Rarity would not help a friend.

"Yes, of course," she says, clearing her throat. She turns to look at me, then, and there's a sad look in her eyes. "I'd never be so stupid as to just... trot up to the mare I like and confess." I suppress the urge to squeak at this new hint, instead tending to my pity. Poor thing, of course she's ashamed. As she's seen her past peers make friends, she must have also seen them confess to each other, baring their feelings... And felt herself inadequate for being unable to do the same.

"Oh, Twilight, you know I can't stand to see you looking so downtrodden." I float the half-eaten raspberry tart to her muzzle and gently prod at her lips with it. She jerks back, then hesitantly opens her mouth to take a bite, chews, relaxes a little. Her aura replaces mine, and I flash a smile. "Actually, speaking of Princesses... Why didn't you ask Princess Cadence for help? I may be an expert, but she's love's very embodiment, and your sister-in-law."

Twilight pokes at the cushion she's sitting on, no doubt embarrassed at how many Princesses she knows personally. "I did send her a letter, in fact. She told me to..." She closes her eyes, as if reading the words of the letter that are doubtlessly burned into the back of her eyelids. "Trust my heart, and all else will follow." The last bite of tart wavers in her aura.

I roll my eyes. "Goodness, she has had such a storybook romance, hasn't she? Right down to blasting away the villain with the power of love."

"Rarity," Twilight says, flatly. "You and I blast villains away with the power of friendship practically once a moon."

I tut at her. "You and I, Twilight, use the power of friendship as a catalyst to wield ancient artifacts of power which do the blasting for us. Completely different." Little Miss Magic blows her bangs out of her eyes with an irritated huff, and I take it as my cue to continue. "Regardless, Princess Cadence's advice is a little... idyllic. It's no wonder you had trouble following through! We can't all be as blessed as her, after all."

Twilight's ears droop and she turns away from me just as I realize my mistake, my gut lurching as if a trapdoor had opened below me. "Oh, Twilight!" I take her chin in my hoof and draw her back to look at me, heart cracking at the sight of glistening moisture barely constrained in her eyes. "Twilight, I was not talking about beauty. You are a stunning, gorgeous pony, and any mare would be lucky to have you. I simply mean that romance is rarely as straight a path as Princess Cadence and your brother may make it seem."

She pauses, then gives me a wobbly smile. I return it, brushing a tear out of her eye. "Most ponies also don't have their wedding crashed by a changeling Queen," she says. Ever the debater, this one.

But I've already reached my limit on eye rolls this conversation. "Yes, well, I believe that simply comes with the territory of royalty. Luckily, you and I have no such problems, but please, subject me to your ladybug dance should you ever doubt it." I think on it for a moment. "I won't return the gesture, of course, but you'll know from the mortified look that I haven't been replaced."

Twilight giggles at me, and smiles, and my heart... does something. But right now, I am dwelling on matters of my student's heart, not my own, so I ignore it. Instead, I return her smile with interest. The Bank of Rarity has very competitive rates, so she winces a little at the intensity of it. "Thanks, Rarity. I never thought I'd hear you criticizing the royal life, though."

"Well! Anything to dull the shine, I say. We ordinary little ponies have our safety, at least. Oh hush," I admonish, Twilight's raised eyebrow practically audible. "Speaking of our ordinary lives... Where shall we start with your tutelage?" I wonder aloud, pacing the room. Perhaps it's gauche to prepare a syllabus in front of one's student, but Twilight's not a filly trailing after a Princess anymore... most of the time.

"Um..." She shuffles a little in her chair, eyes sliding away from mine. "... I don't suppose there are textbooks?"

I grin.





The whirr of the sewing machine fills the room as I work, but it does nothing to deter Twilight's diatribe. She's lying on the couch, and in her hooves is my fifth-favorite romance novel, pages riffled by her aura. It is not my fourth-, third-, or second-favorite romance novel, and it is certainly not Sing Me Awake, by Rosy Serif. This is because I know Twilight Sparkle, and I know myself, and I know that she will not hesitate to dismantle any text I give her. As she is attempting now.

"—and then, after all that, Dusky takes the job in Manehattan! Why would she do that, when she's so clearly pining after Salt Spray?!" I hear her shift, apparently unable to get comfortable on the chaise lounge.

I finish the stitch and lift my hindhoof off the pedal. "Twilight, dear, have you actually finished the textbook you are so ruthlessly criticizing?" I ask, not looking up from my work.

A grumble, then the soft thud of the book closing. "Well, no, but, how could they possibly—"

"Daaaaarliiiing," I say, drawing it out as long as it takes for her protests to die, "finish your assignment, would you? We shall talk about it as long as you like then."

"That's not how textbooks," she says, speaking my term of choice for the novel with a loathing drawl, "are supposed to work. They should establish a thesis and build on it, explaining the evidence at each turn clearly! This," she exclaims, hooves thumping against the cushions, "strives only to obscure the point! It's needlessly labyrinthine!"

I turn and give her a stern look. "Well, Twilight, you are free to trot off and ask one of your professors about the proper course load for romance. Perhaps the Princess will have recommendations! But until then, you are in my lecture hall."

She slumps back on the couch, carelessly letting the book drop to the floor. "It can't possibly be this complicated, Rarity. Why can't I just go up to the mare I like and kiss her?"

I give her the particularly generous smile she'll learn to see as a threat, heaping it with an extra helping of Princessly patience. "Yes, darling, why exactly can't you?" Sometimes, I'm finding, a student is her own best teacher.

She blushes immediately and looks away, squirming. "It's not that simple, alright?" she whines, unable to meet my eyes for her own embarrassment. Ah, how the emotions of Twilight Sparkle rear against the ill-fitting harness of logic.

"Mm," I agree, turning back to my work. "One may even say it's quite complex. Enough to drive a fair half of Equestria's artists to pen verse and the like of its nuances. Tell me, have you read any poems lately on the ins and outs of thaumic leverage?" I ask, randomly stringing two magicky sounding words together.

To the discredit of academia and my own pleasure, Twilight is silent. Apparently my union of jargon hit the mark, as did my broader point. I turn back to her and float the novel back to her acquiescent hooves. She gives a pathetic grumble before returning to it with far too much speed for reluctance. Fortunately, I know her well enough to see that the pace with which her eyes gallop across the pages shows not an impatience with the subject matter but rather a burning curiosity.

I allow myself a sly little smirk and return to my work. As I suspected, her frustration with the novel is emotional, not academic. She is, as ever, completely entangled in the opportunity to learn. Perhaps I am not a model teacher, but Twilight is a model student, and she more than makes up for the gap in skill.

Outside, beyond the window pane, the town is winding down for the evening with ponies returning from work or dinner dates. Living at your workplace is not too uncommon a thing in Ponyville, where practically every shop has a bedroom stacked atop it, but even some of those ponies seize the opportunity to go for a stroll before returning home. Anything to separate their day of work from their evening of relaxation.

Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be better for me to live somewhere other than the Carousel Boutique. Mostly I wonder this when an overenthusiastic client knocks on a weekend, and I have to pretend I'm not there, rather than put my face on just to explain to them that the shop is closed. I typically manage to resist the urge to gesture at the bold-text CLOSED sign on the door, so it can't be too bad.

And where would I be in my career, had my materials and my tools not been close at hoof every one of the far more numerous times I'd leapt out of bed in the dead of night, struck by an idea that would vanish if I did not capture it in moments? Indeed, the only improvement that making my work-life separation physical would bring would be a little more exercise, and what would that do for my reputation? Designers are allowed to be a little eccentric, but perhaps not 'cantering across town at midnight with a crazed expression' eccentric.

As the sunset stretches like a cat across the horizon, I take inspiration from nature and stand from my workbench, flicking the previously unfelt tension out of my tail. I reach with my forehooves, sliding my chest down to the carpet and arching my back with a satisfying pop. Then, I match the motion with its inverse, forelegs propping me up as my hinds stretch out, tail twitching with satisfaction as I work the last kinks out of my back. Satisfied, I turn to trot to the kitchen and all that tension returns at once.

"Twilight!" I yelp, perched perfectly on my workstool. She's staring at me owlishly, book forgotten in her hooves, not blinking. A blush colors her muzzle, mortification at my uncouth display plain on her face.

"Twilight," I say, stepping down from the stool. "I, ah, apologize. That was... unladylike of me." I cast my gaze down, demure, before realizing the greater transgression. "Oh, but not nearly so much as completely forgetting you were here! I'm sorry, dear, you know how one can get lost in her work," I say, gesturing back at my machine.

Her head whips around the room as if she too has only just remembered she is here. "I mean, I thought—" She casts her gaze downward, then riffles through the pages she's read. "Sorry, yes, I got lost." She grins, sheepish. "You know me and books."

"All too well! Goodness, I should have let you go an hour ago. Do forgive me."

"Anything," she responds reflexively, then snaps her mouth shut.

"Darling," I say, laughing, "just because I'm your teacher for now doesn't mean you must treat me like Princess Celestia."

Immediately, a scarlet blush covers her face, which she makes a poor attempt to hide behind her book. What an interesting reaction to a mention of the Princess! It wouldn't do to point that reaction out this soon, so I push on instead. "Speaking of, however, why don't you take your homework home? I'm sure you'll finish it by tomorrow evening, and we can discuss it over your first proper lesson."

Her ears twitch at that, swiveling to focus on me. "First lesson?"

"Surely you didn't hope to learn all there was to know about romance from books!" She did, I'm sure. "That's hardly the point of me being your teacher, as bountiful a resource as I may be for those particular texts," I say, shaking my head. "No, what you need is practice! A dry run, if you will. A chance to perform the actual substance of romance, with none of the awkwardness or consequences... Hence why you came to me, a dear friend!" I strike a little pose as punctuation. Twilight Sparkle is not the only mare who can deduce, after all.

She looks utterly stricken, and I'm seized by sympathy. Trotting over, I float the book away from her and lay it on the bedside table. I reach out with a hoof, but she shrinks back, wide eyes fixed on the wall behind me. "Twilight..." Her chest is rising and falling in a panicked cadence. "Twilight." Her eyes focus on me, finally, and her pupils dilate a little, no longer quite the animal pinpricks they'd been reduced to. "You trust me, don't you?"

She attempts to swallow, throat dry, then nods. Closing her eyes, she takes deep breaths, and when she opens them again she is once again in the room with me.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to, but know I'd be delighted to help. I truly mean it when I say that it will not be awkward. But if it gets to be too much for you, we can stop at any time. However, I genuinely believe a little practice will do wonders for your confidence."

"You wouldn't..." she mumbles, "... be embarrassed to be seen with me?"

I snort, so caught off guard am I. "Glory, Twilight, even when I scarcely knew the mare you were, I still couldn't resist dragging you hinds-first to a personal fitting. Would I be embarrassed to be seen with the savior of Equestria, the Princess's personal student, and an accomplished, intelligent, attractive mare in her own right? I'd slap you for questioning the fact if we weren't friends."

She's looking at me with a frozen sort of awe, like she can't even believe I'd feel any one of those things, let alone the whole assemblage together. What exactly will it take to convince this mare that she's dear to me, I wonder? And how could, again, the personal student of the Princess of Equestria have such biting self-worth issues? A question for another day.

I clear my throat, and when that doesn't stir her from her reverie I prod her with a hoof, which raises her from the couch with such alacrity I'm nearly bowled over. "Well! Rarity!" she chirps, voice high and breaking. "Well Rarity," she tries again, swinging the other way into a near-husky tone. She coughs. "Well. Rarity," she manages in an even voice. "Thank you very much for hosting me and lending me this textbook and for your offer of romance lessons which I accept and your patience and generosity and being my friend," she finishes, a staccato vomit of syllables utterly devoid of diction.

Apparently done, she trots to the door. Secretly, I'm relieved she isn't staying for dinner, not for lack of appreciation of her company, but because my plans aren't exactly lavish. Peanut butter toast is not proper fare for a lady. "Well," I say, following her into the foyer, "I'll look forward to discussing the finer points of Dusk and Salt's relationship over dinner tomorrow!"

She freezes in the doorway, apparently having not thought of what exactly 'practical application' might mean. Instead of saying 'sure Rarity that sounds good', she bolts. In her haste, she forgets to unlatch the bottom gate and pitches over it, the top half of the door swinging free, the mistake punctuated with a crash from outside. I gasp and rush over, sticking my muzzle out the door, but before I can call out she's pushed herself up. We stand there a moment, muzzles near-touching, her mortification as plain on her face as my amusement likely is on mine. Goodness, she is a silly pony, isn't she?

"I'mokay," she reassures me with a squeak, then promptly whirls around, pauses, whirls back, and looks over my shoulder to levitate her homework from the table.

She catches my gaze again. I know these lessons are on a sensitive matter, but is she really so embarrassed? To check, I flutter my eyelashes at her, and say, "you'll be ready for our date at six, won't you?"

Hm. Judging by that look on her face, she's very embarrassed indeed. Well, we'll fix that right up.

She nods like her head's on a spring, then turns to leave, apparently unable to muster a response. Similarly unable to resist taking advantage of her adorable naivete while she still has it, I tack an addendum on without thinking, just barely fast enough to catch her at a discreet volume. "You'll be graded, of course! I only give kissing lessons to gentlemares, after all."

She locks up, like a windup toy unwound, knees straight, legs wobbling. Then, as if someone had wound the key, she's off again, marching mechanically, and I follow her path fondly until she's out of sight. These must be the joys of teaching I was told of!
> Lesson
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Alright, Twilight. Don't spiral. Do it like the Princess taught you: separate out the good and bad of the situation, alternating. Find balance, and seat yourself in the objective viewpoint between the two extremes. Then, make a decision — any decision, as long as it lets you move forward. Nothing's final.

Very good: I have a date with a beautiful mare who I have a crush on.

Pretty bad: it's at a fancy restaurant, and she's a fancy mare. I have no practice with either situation.

Really good: I have been specifically told, in advance, that if I'm good, she'll give me a kiss at the end of the night.

Discordantly terrible: all of the above points are moot, because this is a pretend date. Except the fancy restaurant. That's real.

Distantly, I note that this exercise has not centered me at all. In fact, it's acted more like a seesaw, which has now launched me into the deep end of panic. Somewhere at the root of my brain, Twilight the filly notes this down to discuss with the Princess. Twilight the full-grown and love-struck mare nearly chokes on her mint.

Decision: get Spike to tell Rarity I died.

No, she's too smart for that! She'd see through the ruse in an instant... And then she'd laugh it off, and tell me to stop being such a silly pony, and say it'd all be alright... Then we'd kiss, and it would be alright, and... Ugh. Why didn't I just tell her? I was so ready. It took weeks to build up the courage, days to try and find the perfect time, and a few panic-stricken hours to decide there was no such thing and show up unannounced. And then, the confession which I had been so close to getting out.

Cadence was right. Obviously. The good thing, the honest thing, would be to just say it outright, and get the rejection out of the way so I could move on. But then Rarity had to offer lessons, and with them, the temptation of getting to do... all the stuff I wanted to do with her. Even if it wasn't real, with the alternative being rejection and ruining my friendship with her, it was too tempting to just pretend. Just for a little while. Once she decides I'm ready, I'll... pretend to get rejected by the mystery mare. Ooh, but then she'll be so sympathetic, and comfort me, and maybe—

I'm bad. I'm a bad pony.

Decision: go to the fancy restaurant, be a perfect gentlemare, and kiss Rarity. On the mouth! Or did she just mean a cheek kiss? Why didn't she tell me what kind of kiss it was going to be?! I thought she was supposed to be teaching me!

Knock knock knock.

Alright. This part is easy. Open the door, say hi. Friend stuff. I can do this!

I open the door. "Hrk," I say. Brilliant.

Rarity looks gorgeous. What a fatuous statement! What a necessary statement. Rarity should have somepony following her around at all hours, announcing to the world the truth of the matter. That somepony could be me! I'm not busy, and she's most of what I think about lately, anyway.

Her makeup... It's one of a growing number of things I'm realizing I need tutoring on, but it's clear she's put in effort. Her mascara exaggerates her already thick eyelashes, which lead my gaze to her gorgeous eyes. I don't think they make makeup for the eye itself, but hers definitely seem accentuated somehow, drawing me deeper. I snap my stare away, my eyes wandering further down, past the lipstick that matches her irises.

She's wearing that slim and dark dress I've been lucky enough to see a couple times, the one that picks out her form with a constellation of sequins. With the way it hugs her flanks, it should be in the restricted section of the Canterlot Archives. Are there dresses in the restricted section? You can use magic in dressmaking, so surely there are dark magic dresses...

"Twilight. While this is certainly flattering, may I offer my first advice of the evening?"

"Uh-huh." I don't look up.

"Subtlety is an essential tool," she says, lifting my chin with her hoof to tear my gaze away.

I yelp, the thesaurus I was floating over to find 'gorgeous' synonyms thumping to the floor. "Rarity! I, uh, hi! Welcome. To my house! The library."

Electing to ignore my eloquence, she instead sniffs the air and smiles approvingly. "Mint, hm? Well done, Twilight. Now, another lesson: if you invite me in, it'll be an excellent opportunity to practice your subtlety," she says, arching an eyebrow.

I do, and she sashays in, and I do. I am nothing if not an eager student.

"So!" she exclaims, turning to me. My eyes snap to hers from wherever they were (not important.) "Our reservation is in half an hour. We have plenty of time to discuss... preparation!" With that, she floats the chain of her purse over her head and pops it open. Out comes makeup, makeup, and more makeup. I think I recognize the slender tube as lipstick, and the round thing probably contains... blush, I think? "Now, Twilight, I know you're not much of a makeup mare, and that's just fine. You have more than enough natural beauty, and there's no need to accentuate it.

"However, much of romance and dating is about signals. You've experienced how Pinkie sometimes just shows up on your doorstep with a cupcake?" I have. One time, I was working in the basement and Spike let her in. I nearly spilled a beaker of aqua fortis on her. "It's her way of reaffirming your friendship, and romantic relationships require more affirmation than platonic ones. It is not enough to simply establish mutual love; you must demonstrate it, and makeup is an excellent way to put a little effort in to accentuate something your partner appreciates."

I remember how I felt at the door, seeing her with makeup comparable to what she'd done for the Gala, just for a night with me, and nod. "Why don't stallions wear it, then?" I ask instead of thinking of the giddy warmth suffusing my body. Big Mac has pretty eyelashes, and a little mascara would do wonders for him.

Rarity pouts. "Darling, if I had my way, they would. Fortunately, with your affections being with the fillies rather than the colts, that's not a concern for you or I." She pops open the circular container, revealing a powder that matches my coat. Foundation, then. "Speaking of which, do tell: is the object of your affections very presentation-focused?"

I gulp. "Yes," I say instinctually. Lying would only come back to bite me, and the answer doesn't narrow things down too much. Besides, who else would awkward, nerdy Twilight Sparkle fall for but a mare fathoms out of her league?

"That's good! She'll appreciate that you know how to put a little care into your appearance. And she will certainly appreciate that lovely dress you're wearing. 'Dear, who designed that,' she'll say." Rarity levitates a brush over and begins applying foundation. After a moment of silence, she pauses in her work. "And you'll say?"

I roll my eyes fondly. "The incredible Rarity, owner of the Carousel Boutique in Ponyville." The gorgeous, generous, peerless Rarity, I don't say. There's praise, there's flattery, and then there's embarrassing gushing that will tip her off.

"Very good," she praises, resuming her work. "Then again, I needn't have asked after her preferences, since a less fastidious mare would instead think you'd worked some sort of spell to be so beautiful. A win-win, really!"

"I can see why you put so much time into it..." I murmur, keeping my gaze ahead as she works. "For your prince, and all." I manage to keep all traces of bitterness from my voice, somehow. Tonight's for the two of us.

"Mm," Rarity hums noncommittally. "For everypony, really. With fashion being my business, and my business being my name as a designer, presentation is key. Although," she says, winking at me, "that doesn't mean I can't spare an extra dash of effort for special occasions."

The rest of her work flies by with us chatting, and I absorb absolutely no tips on makeup. I only regret this when she guides me to the mirror and I see the mare staring back. Not an awkward filly, but somepony mature, who could trot up to the... the pony who stands at the front of a fancy restaurant, and say 'reservation for Twilight Sparkle'. Only Rarity's hissed disapproval stops me from touching my own face with a hoof, so wrapped up am I in awe.

"Now, Twilight," she says, leaning against me to better view her own work in the mirror, "I know we didn't cover much of the how this time, but I figured seeing the end result would motivate you to learn more." She's right, of course. Even my raison d'etre, learning magic, was the result of seeing Celestia use it to raise the sun.

I bet the word for the reservations pony is Prench, too, all the stuff at fancy restaurants is.

"You're incredible, Rarity," I murmur. My gaze catches hers in the mirror and I realize that I did not, in fact, say "it's incredible". Her mouth forms a little 'o' for a moment, before she treats me to another Rarity-brand smile. I figure she must have a patent on the thing, since I've never seen another pony smile like she does. Maybe I could become a lawpony and defend her trademarks in court... Attorney probably isn't the worst runner-up to marefriend. Is kissing a power of attorney?

She laughs, a light pink from the praise dusting her cheeks. "Yes, well, as I said, it is my business, hm? And I am nothing if not career-focused. Now, our reservation is in ten minutes. Shall we away? Punctuality is another vital part of appearance, after all."

I nod vigorously, that particular lesson already marrow-deep in me.





"Twilight," Rarity insists between giggles, "you must finish your dessert!"

I look down at it, doing a good job of looking forlorn, which takes effort because I really want that last bite. It's an amazing chocolate mousse, so rich and silky the first bite nearly knocked me out of my chair. But... "Must I?"

She snorts a little, hiding it behind a hoof. "That waitress has been staring at the back of your head for five minutes! They've started busing tables!" The disapproval in her tone is totally offset by the sparkling glee in her eyes.

I swirl the dessert spoon around in my aura, clinking it around the glass, then raise it, the last morsel of mousse staring back at me. I fix her with an extremely well-practiced expression I learned as a filly and abused whenever I was caught reading under the covers. Like most of my foalhood education, it was from Celestia, although the royal pantry was an atypical classroom. That particular pastry chef never denied her gateau again. "But if I finish this, our date will be over!!"

To my joy, this brings a renewed bout of giggles from Rarity. As I stare down the last bite of our date, I'm caught off guard by blue aura intermingling with mine, and then I'm too distracted by how well the colors match to resist the force pivoting the spoon around to face her. Before I can figure out what she's doing, she leans forward, hooves on the table, and mouths my dessert off it.

The spoon falls to the tablecloth as our auras leave, mine from shock and hers no doubt from satisfaction. "Mmm!" she hums, eyes sparkling. "Oh my, I really should have ordered a dessert..." I almost feel bad for the smug looks I'd been giving her over her long black. Then I remember her utter betrayal seconds ago and wish I had been smugger. More smug? Let's see, smug, smugger, smuggest... Smugger, I guess.

"Would ma'm like to see the bill." I yelp, then turn to see the waitress, a dusty pink mare with an updo that likely has more frizz than it was meant to. She opens her mouth and drops the bill with a thud, making it very clear that it was not a question.

My eyes lock onto it, and I can tell Rarity's do the same. Our gazes meet and my nostrils flare. A challenge crackles between us like lightning, and our expressions fall as one into masks of politeness.

She makes the first move. "As your teacher, Twilight, and the one who initiated this date, I can tell you that it is my responsibility — my pleasure, even — to pay for dinner." A bold opening, so bold I'm surprised she doesn't just put her hoof on the bill then and there. It's like she doesn't even expect me to disagree. Utter folly.

"Oh?" Smirk, feign disinterest by levitating the spoon back to its flute. "As a student, is it not my responsibility to pay tuition? I purchase all the personal textbooks in my library, after all."

"Puh-lease," she scoffs, "I mean no offense, Twilight, but a mare on a librarian's salary should hardly be treating others to fancy dinners." I didn't expect her to blunder into that trap so easily. Crest to croup, indeed!

"My my, Rarity, what an unflattering assumption," I say, long-abandoned lessons on diction flittering in the back of my brain. "I'll have you know my royal stipend is more than capable of covering the expense. Princess Celestia is very invested in my education, after all." I pause, then add under my breath, "and mousse consumption."

She's on the defensive now, her verve draining as she realizes I'm outmaneuvering her — or that I even planned to maneuver in the first place. Overconfidence is a slow-acting poison. "Well, of course, I never meant to imply it was outside your means..." she murmurs, gaze sliding away as does her chance at victory.

Take it before she can even think of mounting a new offense. "Of course not!" I say, graciously, placing a hoof on the bill and sliding it across the table toward me. She's still not meeting my eyes, instead chewing at her bottom lip, a nervous habit I've never seen on her. Her face is flushed, like she's embarrassed. Was I too aggressive? I figured that Rarity would be used to the little social maneuvers of high society, and while I'm no expert, I at least know the form.

I count out a few ten-stacks and place them on the bill, including a tip for the poor waitress. As we walk out the door together, Rarity manages to find her voice again. "Twilight, I didn't realize you could be so..." She trails off, still sounding dazed.

If I valued etiquette at all, I'd be insulted by how caught off guard she is. "Persuasive?" A little surprise at a hidden skill is understandable, but she's still having trouble finding her hooves. Is her opinion of me just that low? I swallow the fear and attempt to bluster through. "Well, maybe I'm more of a Canterlot mare than you thought! Do you think Princess Celestia would abide me not sitting through etiquette lessons? 'While armor protects a mare on the battlefield, decorum protects her in the chamber,' after all."

"I suppose that makes sense, it's simply... You see, you're usually quite..." She goes quiet again, fumbling for words.

"Rude?" I provide flatly.

"Darling," she chides, "you really should wait until at least the third date to start finishing another pony's sentences. I was going to say 'straightforward'."

I chuckle. "If you're trying to spare my feelings, try 'efficient'." Then, I remember myself, and look down, contrite. "I'm sorry if I caught you off guard, Rarity. I was just playing around."

She brightens immediately. "Oh, au contraire! I'm delighted that we may make a socialite out of you yet."

I roll my eyes in response. "I'd sooner chew off my left forehoof than attend another Gala, Rarity. Well, unless Princess Celestia asked me to, of course," I add hastily.

"Of course," she agrees with a mischievous look, no doubt already scheming.

We're interrupted by the waitress from earlier brushing past us and the slam of the door. I realize we're still standing on the restaurant's threshold, and Rarity's little look of surprise likely mirrors mine. Her recovery is faster than mine, of course. "Alas! As much as I would like to spend my life with you here as a doorstop" — just an offhand joke, Twilight, why in Equestria are you thinking of how pretty gold would look on her horn — "I do have a career and such to attend to in the morning. Won't you be a gentlemare and walk me home?"

Something about that term tugs at my memory, but it's been a very full night. "I'd love to."

The restaurant sits on one of the main boulevards of Ponyville, so we pass by some ponies despite the late hour. I nod at a few, and wonder if any of them notice that Rarity and I are walking a little closer together than usual — not quite brushing flanks, but enough that a sudden turn would send one of us knocking into the other.

"So, Twilight, what did you think of the restaurant?" she asks, pulling me away from thoughts of pony dominoes.

"Oh, it was great! I loved the radish ragout. The portions were a little small, though..." I admit.

"That little edge of hunger is essential for mares on the rise such as ourselves! It keeps you sharp. Would you rather feel bloated?"

"Yes," I grumble. "You're sure the Hay Burger isn't first date material?"

She scoffs. "The Hay Burger doesn't even qualify as tenth date material, dear. It's just behind 'leaving the bathroom door open', a level of intimacy I personally hope to never reach. Besides, do you really think your presentation-focused mystery mare would want to get all greasy? You have no idea what a poorly-placed hayfry can do to a white coat."

"I suppose so... She does have a pretty light coat," I murmur, thinking of the fur that Rarity always manages to keep pristine.

I realize she's stopped, and turn back to see her eyes glinting at me with the shine of pursuit. "Does she?" she asks in a high, singsong note. Then, she lifts her head and continues trotting toward the Boutique. "How very interesting!"

Ponyfeathers. How could I let that slip? I only said light, though, so that leaves a lot of options open, like... Vinyl? Yeck. At least she's not gauche enough to actually guess. I follow after, and before we know it we're standing outside her home. She turns on her doorstep to look back at me. "Thank you for the lovely outing, darling." she says, batting her eyelashes. "You've been a perfect gentlemare."

"Thank you, Rarity. It was..." My mind wanders back over the night, the makeup, the evening walk, the candlelit table where the wait for food felt like nothing at all. "Lovely," I agree, lamely. "Good night!" I turn to go, just proud for having survived anything romantic, and manage to only feel a little sad when Rarity doesn't return my farewell. Did she not have a good time?

I freeze, finally remembering her promise, and turn around. She continues batting her eyelashes like semaphore, and the message finally breaches my mind. With stumbling steps, I make my way back to her. She isn't going to ask, is she? If I want something... "Rarity," I say, a little more breathily than I intended to, "may I... kiss you?" It comes out as practically a squeak.

"Well," she replies, eyes wandering up and to the left as if thinking, "it would be remiss of me to not show my appreciation for such a nice evening... Of course."

This is it! She's closing her eyes, tilting her muzzle up a little... On the mouth? I'm going to kiss Rarity, the prettiest mare in Ponyville, on the mouth! How do I kiss? Still staring at her waiting face, I chew my lip. I just... go for it, right? What if it's bad? For her, I mean. What if...

She pauses, and her eyes open again. I took too long! Instead of disappointment, though, the look on her face is thoughtful. "I hadn't considered it before, but... This would be your first kiss, wouldn't it, Twilight?"

"Yep!" I pop the p in a threadbare attempt to seem disinterested, all of the rest of my faculties devoted to keeping myself from falling off my hooves from nerves. My first kiss! With Rarity!

"What a dilemma..." she sighs. "A first kiss is sacred. I'm not sure I can bring myself to steal yours, no matter how educational it may be... I'm only your teacher, after all."

No. Don't say that. I can feel the fantasy dissolving like a sandcastle at high tide, clumps of wet grain slipping out of my hooves. We're not on a real date. She doesn't love me. This is fake, and it doesn't mean a thing to her. But it means everything to me. "Do you not want it?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds, how I can't stop it from coming out, how I can't stuff it back into my heart, how I can't turn and leave.

"Oh darling, it would be an honor, of course," pity, pity pity pity, "it's just— it's meant to be something special, don't you think?" She fidgets, forehooves crossing, uncrossing, crossing again. I shouldn't push her on this; clearly she's uncomfortable. But... She's wrong.

"This is special," I insist. "I don't know anypony else who would do this for me." I can't raise my gaze from my hooves. The silence is unbearable and, desperate to fill it, I ask, "... What was your first kiss, Rarity?"

She gives a nervous laugh. "Oh, it was an utterly trivial thing, with some other filly I don't even recall the name of at a slumber party. It never bothered me, really, I've had more than enough serious kisses to make up... for... it..." she trails off into a murmur, and hope buoys my heart as I look up to see the uncertain expression on her face. "Hm." She worries her bottom lip with her teeth. "I suppose that is a good point..." she says. "It's only practice, isn't it?"

No. "Yeah, only practice."

She considers a moment more, then smiles. "Well, Twilight, you've been a perfect gentlemare tonight," she says, slipping easily back into her role. The fantasy falls back around me like silk, caressing my mind with its promises, and I let it. "Thank you for a brilliant evening."

Wait, what? Did she change her mind? She's just looking at me, standing on her doorstep, waiting— oh. Right. I lean forward, slowly, and she closes her eyes, dark eyelashes fluttering. That silent permission reminds me to close my own, like I'm supposed to, and there's only darkness then. No sensation but our quiet breaths and my pulse rushing. Just a little further, just a little more, and...

My lips brush something covered in a fine layer of ticklish hairs. Not lips. I open my eyes. She's staring back at me. Crossing my eyes, I realize that I'm kissing her on the tip of her nose, rather inexpertly. I choke on my breath and stagger back, ears burning, cheeks hot, looking anywhere but at Rarity's smirk.

That's why I don't notice her step forward until she places a hoof around my withers and pulls me close, head turned a little to the side, and captures my lips with her own. They're so soft, so inviting, that I forget to close my eyes or do anything but think, just staring at her, stupid and unmoving.

Unbelievably, heart-stoppingly good: Rarity's lips.

Bad: nothing, not one thing in the entirety of Equestria.

Decision: kiss her!

I relax, eyes fluttering closed as my lips yield against hers, allowing her to push closer to me and find where our contours rest against each other, a goal that eludes us as each sensation draws little puffs of hot breath, mouths opening just a little, position of rest lost and found again. The thrill is in the chase.

Did you know the separation between lips and skin is called the vermillion border? Nearly any demarcation in the world has a name like that, even if it's not well-known. These boundaries, these this-that margins, let us identify and classify objects and concepts by their distinction from their surroundings. For a moment, there is no word for that which separates Twilight Sparkle and Rarity, for there is no separation there to name.

And then, it pops back into existence as we draw away from each other, remembering that we're two separate ponies who both need air. I just know my face is plastered with a giddy smile, but I can't bring myself to fix my expression into something more sensible. The blush on my cheeks, the way my ears twitch, all dead giveaways to the fact that no, this isn't just practice, this is real, I really do have a crush.

Rarity, however, takes no time at all to compose herself, the only evidence being a few stray hairs in her mane. Instead of being disappointed at how unaffected she looks, I'm proud that anything is out of place — that's an achievement with Rarity. Then, I notice something I wouldn't have seen if I wasn't admiring my hoofiwork: her nostrils (which I find myself thinking of as 'dainty', as if that wasn't a bizarre thing to consider nostrils) are flaring ever so slightly. Like she's clamping down what would otherwise be big gulping breaths of air.

"Well!" she says, drawing my attention back. "False start aside, that was certainly..." Her gaze darts down just below my eyes, pauses, then zips away off to some vague point to the left of me, then back. I realize she's looking at my lips, and I raise a hoof to them before remembering the lipstick.

"Did I... do poorly?" I ask, confused by her reaction. It probably only felt amazing to me because it was my first time, and it was with her... Maybe it was terrible! She'll give me a C- in kissing and flunk me! Ooh, and then she'll offer remedial lessons, and—

"Well, while I hesitate to use the term 'natural talent', it was... very enjoyable. You tempered your enthusiasm well — many beginners simply thrust their tongue in and go for broke, so to speak." I smile at the praise. Not quite a letter grade, but I'll take it. Her voice drops to a low murmur for the next part. "You also have, ah, good lips. Soft and... full."

I gasp a little, blush, step back. Just a compliment from a friend, Twilight. About how nice your lips feel. Not exactly actionable feedback. "Well, that's good. Can't teach that!" I say with a nervous laugh.

Rarity snorts, then joins me in laughter. Moths cast flickering shadows from the lamp above her doorway, and a chill night breeze reminds me how late it's becoming. The laughter quiets, and we spend a moment just looking at each other, and I barely remember to tamp down the obvious more-than-friends fondness in my gaze.

"... Would you like to come inside?" she asks, cracking the door ajar with her magic, and I'm not sure I know what she's offering. She apparently doesn't, either, as she amends her statement. "For tea?"

I blink. 'Yes', an electric impulse, threatens to eject from my mouth, but I clamp down on it and force myself to think. "... On the first date?" I ask, instead.

She flushes. "Well. We can't very well step through courtship at the regular pace, can we? Some things must be... accelerated." Her gaze wanders behind her, sorting through the half-finished projects littering her workspace. "Not to... that degree, of course, but we can't keep your special somepony waiting, can we? Unless—"

"No, I— that sounds good. Please."

"Manners will get you everywhere, darling," she says, turning and waltzing into the boutique. It's a grand opportunity to practice my subtlety once again, so I do.

We do just have tea, in the end (and a couple slices of lemon poundcake). I'd heard bawdy suggestions that any offers of hot beverages at the doorstep after a date carried a certain implication, but while there's tension in the air, obviously Rarity didn't mean that we should accelerate directly to the bedroom.

... Maybe not any hot beverage. Tea or coffee, sure, but I doubt anypony's ever made an advance under the pretense of a cup of cocoa. Yet another disadvantage of the uncaffeinated, I muse, taking another sip of tea. It's nice here, in Rarity's boutique. It's always been a space that held some comfort to me, the organized chaos reminiscent of my own workspaces, from the upper landing of the library to my foalhood room.

We're... I don't think this is a lesson, really. She's seated on the couch next to me, just close enough for our flanks to brush against each other. Our conversation meanders in the same way it typically does during a late night spent in each other's company, weaving from her work to mine, then wandering loosely onto our own little pleasures.

Still, something's different, just from having shared that kiss. Knowing we're each here for the other, even if the interest is... only pretense. It lends each interaction a little zest, some new flavor I'm unfamiliar with but crave more of. The boundaries have shifted, and I'm still finding my hoofing. Not in a bad way, more like the floatiness of a little rum on Hearth's Warming. To punctuate one little anecdote of a fight with a client, she scooches over and bumps me with her hip, and I nearly spill my tea.

Things wind down, as they must, when our cups run empty. It's then, in the moment where I'm meant to say goodnight, that I realize this is the first real lull in conversation not filled by thought or wonder. It's a comfortable little divot, though, nothing like the claustrophobic crevice of awkwardness I find myself in when one-on-one talk is drawn out until threadbare, even with friends. Still, every night ends. "Rarity, thank you for—" I start, looking up at her.

"The lessons!" she finishes, perking up as if she just remembered. Apparently we're accelerating to third date territory, if she's finishing my sentences. "Of course, Twilight! I..." She uncrosses then recrosses her forelegs. "I can't say how much it means that you'd trust me with this. For you to share something so vulnerable, so..." she swallows, "intimate, with me... I only hope the mare you've fallen for deserves a student as wonderful as you. But then, you've always had excellent taste."

I squint a moment. Her words seem defensive, like she's trying to cover every vulnerability of an argument in advance. But her voice... there's regret there. My chest squeezes my heart in its grip as I recognize this for what it is. "Of course, Rarity," I say, eyes flickering to her door. "And..." I choke back what I want to say, that it's the other way around, because how could I deserve her? Make it easy, Twilight. "I can't speak for her, but... I've never been more confident that I'm worth her love."

She hugs me tightly, delicate neck resting against mine, and I squeeze my eyes shut as the pressure threatens to collapse the hollow space left by the outright lie I just spoke. She's tidying up. Planning for the final lesson, my graduation, to send me off with teary eyes and good wishes. To end this awkward little thing she's stuck herself in because of her giving heart. I realize I'm trembling, torn between selfishly wringing every drop of possibility from what we have and being just, ending it here and now, saying she's done plenty for me.

That question follows me to her threshold. The moon hangs in the glassy night and the wind has died, leaving only cold air clinging close and sharp as shards. I turn, expecting her closed door, but she hasn't turned away to go inside. So, we find ourselves standing as we did before, the possibilities of the night closing around us like shutters on lit windows.

Stuck there by the reflected moonlight in her eyes, fear kicks at my gut. I was wrong — I'm not ready for this. How could I be, if it means facing down a look like that and not telling her? She's told me how much of courtship is display and demonstration, but equally, how much is restraint?

I close my eyes, attempting to find my center, and instead taste melancholy on my lips. I realize then, as Rarity kisses me, how finite these moments are. Anything is, of course, but her kiss has a new, indelible edge: the undeniable knowledge that there exists a deadline. Soon, she'll consider my education complete, and all of this will end. How can you enjoy something when you know how soon it will be gone?

I pull away, and she gives a little sigh, her eyes taking a moment to open. Just like that, another slips away from me. Two in my past, soon to be joined by all others. Our muzzles are almost close enough to touch. "It's only practice, isn't it?" she asks in a whisper, her hot breath washing over me, so quiet it's more a thought escaping than a question.

"Of course. Only practice," I reassure her, and deny myself.

She lifts a hoof, running it through the fur on my chest, pressing it close to my heart. "In a relationship... You'll have plenty of kisses, of all sorts. Each one expresses something, some simple desire or acknowledgement... Good night. Good morning. Good evening. I'm glad you're here. I'm glad I met you. I missed you. I want you. I need..." She stops herself, panting a little from the rushed list. Her eyes wander to my lips, again. "There are... many forms to learn. A whole language."

How many will you be willing to teach me, Rarity? She closes her eyes, again extending a tacit invitation. Which form is this? Good-night? Not quite. We'd said that already. Her lips only look more tempting from knowing firsthoof how soft they are. I lean in. I'm-glad-I-met-you? True, but... The questions fizzle away as I close my eyes and make contact with her lips once again, leaving only one thought as to what this kiss could be.

And I think, as I push closer to her, that I never want to have an I-wish-you-loved-me kiss again, no matter how good it feels.
> Practical
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thump! Another four bushels of apples fall.

"Well. Applejack certainly can..." I mumble, barely conscious of stringing the words together. I don't look at Twilight next to me, but I see her nod in my peripheral vision.

"She sure can... buck those apples, yeah," Twilight agrees, similarly unable to take her eyes off the lathered hindlegs of the earth pony and the workings of her taut muscles underneath. I don't think for a moment that Applejack could be the object of my student's affections; ogling Applejack in apple-bucking season is as natural as the flight of the birds southward. That and, the mare, for all her charms, is certainly not presentation-focused. If she were, she'd be aware of the little presentation she's treating us to.

Twilight and I are seated under an apple tree, enjoying some of the bounty we've been helping Applejack harvest today. We're taking a break, a break Applejack said she'd join us on, 'just after I show these trees what's good for 'em, Rares'. I roll my eyes as the fourth tree shudders and releases its bounty. The farmer, oblivious to my scorn, wipes sweat off her forehead with a foreleg. She props her hat up and moves to the next tree, maneuvering her baskets into position with her head.

Ah, well. I certainly can't criticize a pony for workaholicism, and neither can Twilight Sparkle, so I resolve to enjoy our little break with or without our host. That enjoyment diminishes as, with what I assume is careful ley analysis, she decides her best angle is around the other side of the tree and vanishes from view.

At least that lets me steal Twilight's attention. I lower my voice a little, leaning close to her. "So, Twilight," I breathe, enjoying the little shiver that jolts through her at my unexpected closeness, "I've been thinking about your mystery mare."

The effect of my words is immediate, but I'm prepared. A simple tug from my hoof entangled in her tail reminds Twilight that bolting won't be an effective strategy here. She looks down with a deep blush. Oh, she does so hate being predicted, doesn't she? I wonder for a moment if I'm enjoying playing the villain slightly too much, but I dismiss it. Villainous cackles are practically a litmus test, and I haven't let one loose.

"A mare... Well. That much was hardly surprising," I say, inclining my head toward where Applejack disappeared. "But, presentation-focused! I think it was only your Canterlot upbringing that let you answer that with confidence — this is Ponyville, darling. It's not the most common trait." She's an excellent fit for her part as the cornered hero, eyes wide, pupils shrunk, half-eaten apple rolling down the hill, forgotten.

I catch it in my magic, reversing its course, and bite into it, not willing to let it go to waste. Even one such as I cannot object to the messiness of apple juice staining her muzzle, and I take a moment to savor the sweet nectar dripping into my mouth. Twilight continues staring, and she'll stare some more, as long as I keep enjoying leaving her on the hook. Goodness, being a teacher is certainly fun.

"Now," I continue, "I'm sure I could've deduced the answer with only that and a little time. Your last clue came unbidden, however. A light coat! My, my. Perhaps not the rarest feature, but, well... Intersecting with that other trait, how many ponies do we know that fit that description, hm?" I ask, drinking in the terror plain on Twilight's face.

Then, all of a sudden, it hits me that my dear friend is scared, not playing a role, and I untangle my hoof from her tail. "Twilight, I don't mean to tease you. Well, perhaps a little. But really, I couldn't be happier."

Her ears perk up at that, and a small smile makes an appearance on her face. I return it, happy to have chased her fear away, even if I was its cause. "Really?" she asks, voice delicate and trembling.

"Really. And..." I murmur, moving the hoof that was tangled in her tail to her mane, "I have every confidence your feelings are reciprocated. You are quite a catch, after all." It's novel, looking at her lips and knowing exactly how soft they are, and I feel an odd thrill at the way her teeth catch at her bottom lip, indenting it just slightly.

Her eyes practically have stars in them, the way she's staring at me. I find myself leaning forward, nearly falling in, before I shake the vertigo from my mind. She's leaning in, too, mouth open, but I cut off her thanks with a hoof. "Shh," I shush, eyes flicking toward Applejack, who's finally demonstrated to the trees what, exactly, is good for them. "Come to the boutique, tonight. I have a little practical in mind."

Twilight gets sent home early for dropping apples everywhere.





I hear the bell chime downstairs and hope dearly that it isn't a client come calling late. Just to make sure, I wait for them to call out.

"Rarity?" Twilight's voice floats up from downstairs, and I smile.

"Up here, Twilight!" I call, and there's a momentary casting around before the sound of hooves on the stairs.

A purple shape peeks past the threshold, but it's not the mare I expected. Instead, a bouquet of violets suspended in aura wanders in, trailed by Twilight herself. I glance in surprise at the flowers, before focusing on Twilight again. She looks, unsurprisingly, quite confused.

"Rarity..." She tilts her head, bangs shifting with it, the higher ear perked and the lower swiveled. "What are you doing up there?"

I daintily lift a forehoof, wobbling a little. The milk crates spread below my hooves make for an unsuitable perch, but it's the best I could find on short notice. "Why, this is the crux of tonight's little practical!"

Her eyes sparkle with glee. "Oh? Then what are we learning tonight, professor?"

"You are demonstrating," I admonish, "how to seduce a mare twice your height."

Twilight's expression flattens into confusion again. "Uh... And why would I need to know that?"

I resist the urge to strike another pose, not trusting my hoofing. "For the pony that has captured your heart, of course! That ivory-coated mare who knows the power of presentation better than any pony in Equestria!" I grin, a magician revealing her greatest trick. "So you may finally, with utmost confidence, confess your amorous intentions to fair Princess Celestia!"

The violets fall to the floor with a soft susurration of petals, the aura once surrounding them cutting out. Twilight's jaw, similarly, drops, and she wobbles as if her place on the carpet is as unstable as my perch. I give myself a moment to enjoy her awe, then a moment more, and then, bored of basking, shoot her an impatient glance. When she doesn't respond to even that, I roll my eyes, then raise my snout haughtily. "Sincerely, Twilight, you cannot think yourself the only pony capable of deduction."

Irritation fades to curiosity as the silence continues. Twilight does not laugh with glee, or rejoice in the comfort of somepony trusted knowing her secret. I look down at her, and experience a moment of vertigo — not for the height but for the distance, a glimpse into what Celestia must feel. Then, it's gone, and I am only one unicorn looking at another, one who can't meet my eyes.

"... Twilight?" I ask, and some part of me wants desperately to step down, to lift her chin with a hoof, to meet her eyes. But she looks so fragile, so small, that I cannot bridge the gap. Finally, my foalish excitement recedes, and I realize what it is she must be feeling: fear, shame, embarrassment, a melange of dark emotions swirling inside, while her friend all but mocks her. The catastrophizing mare before me has just had her crush on the Princess of Equestria revealed, and must be awash in invented horrors of treason and exile.

Just before my role crumbles entirely and I bridge the gap between us, she looks up at me. Though her expression isn't what I expected, it's one I'm just as used to seeing from her. Not fear, or anxiety, but bravery. Only the barest tremble of her upper lip hints at the turmoil she's fighting against. I smile. She already knows that she's worthy, but I should really cease my teasing.

"Twilight, I apologize for springing something like this on you without notice, it's just that... in every other aspect, I am more than confident of your success. Our... date the other night assured me of that," I say, unsure what else to call it, even though it wasn't a real date.

She takes another moment to gather herself. "No, I... It's fine, Rarity! Good, I mean. It's good. You really saw right through me!" She laughs, lingering remnants of anxiety lending it a manic edge.

I breathe a pleased little hum at her admission. "Well, darling, I did promise expertise in this subject, did I not? One cannot pedal the loom of gossip without strong deductive reasoning." She pales at my mention of gossip, and I practically leap to disavow that particular fear. "Oh, Twilight, of course I wouldn't gossip about this. It's very sensitive, and I vow to not let a murmur of it pass my lips in other company, lest I incur a frosting-related eye infection."

The joke and relief combine to wash away the last signs of tension in her expression, leaving only a ready smile. As if just remembering it, she glances down at her bouquet like it's a bratty foal. "I, uh... got you these to show my appreciation! For your lessons, of course." She smiles, wrapping them in her magic again and floating them to me. She closes the distance between us. "You're an excellent teacher."

I take them and inhale deeply, savoring the scent and the gesture alike. "Thank you, Twilight," I say, peeking at her with smiling eyes over the bouquet's edge. I float them to the dresser by the bathroom door, to be placed in a vase later. "This has been... I began just hoping to help a friend with my expertise. I never expected it to be so enriching," I say, and wonder if I should feel that way. I've heard Cheerilee gush about how rewarding it is, teaching foals. But the pleasure I derive from teasing Twilight doesn't feel quite so pure.

She smiles absently, evidently too caught up in plans to really respond, instead moving on. "Now... I guess I'm seducing you?"

I raise an eyebrow. "You guess?"

Her gaze shifts away, then returns with steely confidence. "I am going to seduce you."

I don't respond, but relax my brow and attempt to compose my face into the beatific mien of the Princess, slipping into my role. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder what she would think if she wandered into this tableau.

Twilight looks down, her bangs hiding her face. She's summoning all her wit, all her acuity, her entire mental arsenal arrayed against this daunting task. I tremble a little at the thought of being a problem Twilight's intent on solving, imagining that this is how an unbalanced equation must feel. Then, she looks up at me with forlorn eyes and kissy lips, and I remember this isn't a matter of magic or math but romance, and Twilight has plenty to learn.

I snort derisively and look away, pointedly ignoring her. She'll have to do much better than that for a Princess.

When staring has no effect, she resorts to action. Said action consists of stretching herself up as far as possible in an attempt to reach my lips. Her horn only makes it as high as my withers. I snort from amusement this time, and she takes a moment to huff at me in annoyance. Then, she resorts to hopping in place in the least romantic display I've ever seen.

"Twi— Twilight! Quit being ridiculous!" I giggle, wobbling a little. "Take this seriously!"

"I am," hop, "taking," hop, "this," hop, "seriously!" she insists, still not quite able to reach my lips, but valiantly landing kisses on my neck. My snort-hitched giggles tear into a full-blown laugh as she manages to plant one on my jawline and certainly, it's cute, but it's not seduction.

Finally, the abject comedy of it all is too much for the world to not participate in and the milk crates below tilt askew, toppling me onto the plush carpet, the room ringing with my laughter at Twilight's utter failure to seduce me. I stare up at the ceiling for a moment, glee fading to a contented smile. I am the teacher, after all. If she needs a few pointers, then—

She steps over me, blocking my vision of the ceiling, a smirk on her face that does not at all match her failure in my little test. Glancing to the side, I realize too late that her forehooves have hemmed me in. "Gotcha," she says, leaning close, breath tickling my neck. My eyes widen in realization as hers wander to my lips, and then she's kissing me. I may melt into the floor.

I must stop underestimating Twilight Sparkle.

Time drips like honey in a languorous eternity. A quarter-instant later, she grants me a breath I don't truly care for. "How was that?" she asks, clearly reading the answer on my face.

I school my expression to mild amusement and reach up, brushing a hoof through her mane, down her neck. Her eyes widen a little at the contact, and I smile. "Hmm... I'm tempted to call it cheating, darling, but all is fair in love, as they say." I twirl a hoof idly through a lock of indigo hair. "It was certainly a good start..." I say, "but I'm still not quite seduced." I apply a little pressure on her neck, pushing her back to me. Our lips meet again, and I let a little hum of satisfaction roll from my mouth into hers.

She's still not quite bold enough to get her tongue involved in the proceedings, likely because of my feedback from last time. I'm happy to let her remain chaste and just enjoy the feeling of her lips against mine. Easing the pressure on her neck, I allow her to pull away, taking a moment to relish the way that even this still seems to leave her mind in disarray, hairs out of place and eyes half-lidded despite being the aggressor.

Then, she remembers her position, and she kisses my jawline, then the underside of my muzzle, trailing down to my neck. It's much more exciting than her journey upwards. These kisses are different from the ones exchanged at my doorstep last night. They are no longer exploratory, what-does-this-feel-like things, these are... hungry. She seems to have a goal in mind, now: to learn not form, but preference. Twilight wants to know what makes me feel good. I freeze up as I realize the full brunt of Twilight's curiosity is turned directly on me, suddenly feeling very small, picked out like a silhouette against a spotlight.

Her inquiry continues unabated, ignorant of my trepidation. To the faithful student, each hitching breath from me is a gold star, and each space of silence a red underline. She responds to the feedback adroitly, seeking out my sensitivities, an ever-evolving taxonomy of Rarity. I find just a moment to relax into her kisses, gathering my thoughts, and then I feel teeth. Oh goodness no— she nips me, and my back arches as I let out a completely involuntary moan.

I feel her tartarean smile against my coat for a sliver of a moment before she continues, doubtlessly leaving little marks around the base of my neck that will require a scarf. Uncaring for the way my body quivers under her, she forges on, driven by curiosity, not desire. Something in my heart twinges at that thought, and I grasp the feeling like a lifeline. "Twilight," I gasp, then manage to take a few deep breaths and try again. "Twilight, this is only pra—"

"Yes," she whispers, her hot breath against my chest sending shivers to my core. "Yes," she repeats, and I'm not sure if she's affirming what I said, and I'm not sure of what I said, because her lips and teeth are stitching a line of all-consuming sensation up my neck. Finally, she returns to where I need her, my cheek, then my lips, and I don't give it a moment of thought before I push my tongue into her mouth, every iota the overeager filly I warned her against being.

Before I can catch her tongue, she jerks back with a gasp. I can't pull myself free from the sucking swamp of sensation, can't stop myself from leaning up toward her, chasing her lips as they retreat beyond my reach, my own mouth half-open, every ounce a mare in a stupor. The shock on her face is plain, but it barely registers to me beneath the roaring in my ears.

And there's an absence left by her touch, a void, and before I can shore them up, walls I didn't even realize I'd built are crumbling inward. And I can no longer ignore the sloshy-vinegar feeling in which my heart is pickling. And it only magnifies, only amplifies every torturous fraction of expression flickering on her face. And there's some conflict there I don't understand, curiosity tempered by something. And her eyes are half-lidded again, as her mind is half-submerged in dreams of another. And her breath washes hot over my face, smelling of jasmine tea. And her soft lips are just-so open.

And eventide is spread like plum jam from Canterlot to Appleloosa, and the first stars peek through the veil of evening, and I am in love with Twilight Sparkle.

And she is in love with somepony else.

And the moon is cut adrift, lost in the branches of the Everfree.

After an interminable moment, she speaks again, all chirpy student, the seductress fled from her voice: "How was that, Princess?"

Every aspect of her — her scent, her touch, her presence, everything I found so intoxicating now suffocates. I shove her away, harder than I should, harder than can be explained, gasping for a breath of air that doesn't taste like jasmine and heat and the vinegar-love in my chest. Her flank thumps against carpet but I don't turn to look, too focused on clamping down the urge to bolt, to scream, to kiss her again, and again, and steal her away for myself from the one she deserves.

How could I be such a fool?

Before I can manage any kind of recovery, I hear the quick clatter of hooves, and I can't even get her name out of my throat before she's gone. I turn and catch a glimpse of magenta-striped indigo vanishing down the hall. Downstairs, there's a slam, and then abyssal silence. She remembered the latch this time.





I cannot sleep.

I do not have the usual stack of commissions with which I can excuse myself from slumber. Today was my day off, and I've gotten quite good at restraining myself from work. No, all I have to excuse my lack of sleep are the two-hundred and thirty-six sections of trim on the crown molding, the thirty-seven helices on each poster of my bed, and what I've done to Twilight Sparkle.

I swear, I had only good intentions. Don't I always? Twilight is my friend, so of course I should want to assist her through whatever insecurities plague her. But it wasn't so simple, was it? The endeavor was tainted by my enthusiasm the moment it began. I practically forced her into this little arrangement of ours. It is my way, as a professional ever-entrenched in client work, to find wants and meet them before even being asked. Perhaps I should have considered that the matter of a mare's heart is slightly more delicate than the design of a dress.

I should have thought of what it could do to her, perverting romance into a syllabus. How could one so obsessed as I with the wonders of love insist on reducing it so? I had my suspicions, too late, of course. At the close of our little make-believe date, I worried of the ways this would twist her heart, sought some way to adjourn our lessons. Even then, these feelings had taken root, and I took her reasoning on first kisses far too easily. At the time, I told myself I was only looking out for her. I never suspected I would be the one suffering from heartbreak.

I slip out of bed and walk to the balcony, feeling like my Bessie-shaped creamer. Beneath thin porcelain, ungainly feelings slosh like curdled milk. The night outside is cool, and its breath washes lavender over me, and from here I can see her library, upper window alluring with warm light. A ghost of a fantasy flickers through me, of going there, confessing what I've done, being forgiven, being held. I blow it out like a candle, and guilt blooms in the night air like smoke, its plume inextricably tangled in my chest.

What I've done should not be forgiven. This perversion of one of life's great arts, turning romance into a cadaver for her to dissect with the scalpel of her mind instead of something she could explore and feel like a filly again. What a cruel trick I've played, to convince her that this is the shape of love, a lesson plan and a letter grade. And with her up against Princess Celestia, no less.

What will a mare with a thousand years of experience think of the wreckage I've left? How many lifelong neuroses have I collapsed inwards onto the dais of her love, leaving rubble which she'll have to sort through in the spring of what should be a joyful first love? And what damage will be irreparable come autumn? Even if what they have survives, what of myself, and my friendship with her?

My eyes wander among the Golden Oak's boughs, the stars on the horizon blinking in time with the wind-quiver of leaves. Hidden, then shining. I wonder how the tree still lives, with so much of it hollowed out. Is it magic or precision? Does a spell trick it into feeling it is alive, or did a craftspony carve it in such a way that it doesn't even know it isn't? I wonder if a pony can live without her heart.

The evening was spent peeling back layer on layer of memory, following the thread of our deepening friendship, tracing it to the moment I fell in love. I did not find it. Of course, that's not to say I fell in love with her because of her skill at kissing, though it doesn't hurt. The moment simply left me so stricken that old subconscious defenses collapsed, all at once, and the truth came rushing in.

Sorting through the flood-stricken basement of my heart as the moon rose, I couldn't find a single memory that wasn't, in retrospect, touched by that feeling. So many moments when her kindness or laughter struck me a little deeper than those of my other friends, that I dismissed as coincidence, or shared background, or, in my less generous moments, a result of internalized tribalism. Stepping back, it was impossible to see anything else but love writ large across the entire trajectory of our friendship. It wasn't love at first sight, because surely I would have felt it then, but the seeds were planted immediately, and have been growing ever since, out of sight.

What a fraud I've been, to insist I know anything of love. I am not any more suited to be a professor of romance than Twilight is to be a professor in say, smithing. Which is to say that, despite any number of books read on the subject, my practical experience is practically nonexistent. I have not lied, quite, only implied. Well. I did lie, once. I still remember the name of the filly who gifted my first kiss to me. I'm sure she doesn't remember mine.

In truth, despite all of the literature I've read, and all my time working gossip's loom, I am as much of a novice in the material matters of romance as Twilight herself. I was at least right that most of romance is in expectation, and I know all there is to know of that. I've spent a good deal of my life expecting, expecting to be swept off my hooves. Not to say that none have tried, simply that none have succeeded in inspiring much more than a wobble.

Now, Twilight has cleanly toppled me over, quite literally, and I do not know what to do.

Well, not quite. Another lie. I know exactly what to do, and that I must do it, and that I will hate every moment of it. This charade must be cut short, and Twilight must be set free to pursue the object of her affection. As much as I've postured as a mentor, I haven't given her pending pursuit much thought — I tell myself it is because it is her business, but here with only me and the moon, I can admit the thought of purple against a white that isn't mine makes my stomach clench with bitterness.

But this is a path on which I've set myself, and a lady must finish what she starts. I turn from the balcony, and my eyes rest for a moment on the forgotten violets laying forlorn on the dresser. After a short trip downstairs for water, I set the vaseful on the bedside table, and do not think of them. Then, after a periwinkle glow smooths my bedsheets, I slide back into bed, and I only know that I've slept at all because it is light when I open my eyes again.





A cold shower and a hot breakfast bookend my morning routine, and I head to market, wrapping my scarf a little tighter around my neck. It is not a detour in my route to the library, but an essential stop, because Cinnamon Swirl has her stall set up with her titular baked goods. The scent of one will rouse Twilight from her slumber, and the taste will distract her from bolting while I begin fixing the mess I've made.

The sky is a crisp, uninterrupted blue from horizon to horizon, the kind of perfect dome that holds no heat and no illusions, heralding the arrival of autumn clearer than the leaves. As I walk, my eyes wander to Roseluck's stall. What's Twilight's favorite flower? Maybe Rose knows. Perhaps she keeps that kind of knowledge confidential as a matter of professionalism. Or she sells it to the highest bidder, some scandalous black market of flower knowledge flocked to by suitors across Ponyville. I could outbid anyone for Twilight's favorite flower.

I realize I've arrived at Cinnamon's stall and drag myself down from the heights of fantasy. Five bits poorer and three confections richer, I turn and make my way to Twilight's home.

"Welcome to the Golden Oak Library!" Spike's voice floats in from the kitchen. "Feel free to browse— oh, Rarity!" He stiffens as he rounds the corner, adopting the rigid posture of a guard before remembering himself and relaxing, if only a little. "Morning!"

I smile, genuine despite the turmoil within. With my recent revelations on exactly how amazing a mare Twilight is, I find myself with a new appreciation for Spike as well. The loyal assistant who's stood by her all these years, soothing her nerves and indulging her tirades. For how much of who she is now do I have him to thank?

Fortunately, judging by the drool dripping from his mouth, I have suitable thanks in my saddlebags. "Good morning, Spike!" I chirp, levitating out one of the pastries along with a pink fluorite crystal. "Would you like a cinnamon swirl?"

"Would I!" He very nearly leaps to snatch it from midair, then, seeing the look in my eyes, plants himself and even folds his claws behind his back. "I would, yes. Please."

I crush the flourite in my magic and sprinkle it overtop the swirl, then hover it towards him with a smile. Midway, I pause. "Is Twilight awake?" I ask, Spike's prize coincidentally hovering just out of reach.

"Well, no, because it's before noon," he mutters, unable to draw his eyes away from his treat, "but the scent of these should definitely—"

"Spiiiiike?" Her voice floats like motes in sunshine down from the upper level. "Did you get breakfast for me?" The sleepy, hopeful sound is joined by its likewise owner in the doorway, and glory, since when could I find an unkempt mane beautiful for more than its potential? "You're the best assistant ev—" She freezes as she sights me, and I think it's only the scent of cinnamon that stops egress via balcony.

"Twilight!" I call, all cheer. "I brought breakfast!" I try to inject some Pinkie enthusiasm into my voice. This little visit is just an affirmation of friendship, nothing more; don't balk, don't hide. Don't hate me. "Your favorite, no?"

Remembering the other breakfast I promised, I glance over to Spike and float his the rest of the way with a sheepish smile. Its entrance into hoarding radius sweeps the suspicion off his face, replacing it with rapture. I give a fond smile as he rushes back into the kitchen, then return my attention to Twilight, who's still standing frozen on the stairs.

"... May I come up?" I ask, desperate to bridge the gap of silence.

As always, desperation does not serve me well, and the silence persists. After a few seconds, Twilight musters herself and nods, turning and leaving the doorway empty. My heart plummets, but I summon all my command of myself and march up the stairs to join her. Skip the third step, it creaks. Blue magic shuts the door behind me, closing our conversation away from the dragon downstairs.

She's seated on a cushion at a table, facing away, looking through the window at Ponyville. I spy a hairbrush on her bedside table and wrap it in my magic for a moment, before remembering exactly what I am here to apologize for and releasing it. Instead, I place our swirls on the table and move to sit across from her. In a bid to break the silence, I float her swirl up, not quite bold enough to push it against her lips as I playfully did with a tart so long ago, only a few days ago.

She looks away, and I feel my heart sink deeper, the pressure of fear's depths squeezing it. Just as my aura falters, hers takes its place, and my heart buoys up again at the reassurance. Twilight's sweet tooth, at least, is eternal. Even if her friendship with me may not be. She takes a bite, chews, swallows.

"I'm sorry, Rarity." she says, still not turning to me.

I blink, confused. "What could you possibly have to apologize for, Twilight?"

"I... I got so carried away last night. I violated your trust, and per— perverted a wonderful, generous thing you were doing for me, and I took advantage of you, and—"

"Hold on," I say, raising a hoof to cut her short. "I came here to apologize to you." I manage a weak smile. "Since I bought breakfast, I think it only right that I go first." Underhooved, certainly, but I still owe her for the restaurant. Besides, she's apologizing for something that's my own fault, and will realize it soon.

Her ears droop, far from the relief I hoped for, but I press on. What I should say, what I want to say, is that we never should have begun this endeavor. But I know she'll only be hurt by that, so I change tack. I can at least be honest about some parts, if not all.

"I am... far from the professor I sold myself as, Twilight." I sigh, the truth plain like a sluice pulled, and the rest rushes out. "The truth is, I have no more romantic experience than you do. Since I was young, I've plunged myself into my craft to the exclusion of all else — we have that in common, really. Of course, my work requires some navigation of the social waters, but I never had anypony I could really call a close friend before you and the fillies.

"To be perfectly plain, my romantic experience is almost entirely literary. If you read through my entire library, you would be on equal hoofing with me. So... as genuine as my will to help was, my offer of practical experience was a lie." I can't pull my gaze up from the table, a woodgrain entirely distinct from the carved floor. "I'm sorry."

"Rarity," she responds without hesitation, "I didn't take your offer because of your experience." I look up in surprise, and am even more so when I see her smiling at me. "I did it because I trust you, and I agreed that practical experience in a safe setting would be helpful. And it has been — more than helpful. It's given me the kind of confidence I don't think I could even have imagined before." She looks back out the window, a blush coloring her muzzle. "Probably too much confidence, based on last night..." she mutters.

My face tinges pink to match. I pull my scarf a little tighter around my neck. "But... It's wrong," I say, and her smile fades. "Romance should be something explored with giddy glee, not... examined as a science!"

She offers a lopsided smile. "You haven't actually been grading me, Rarity." Then, I lose her gaze as it wanders back behind my head, sweeping the spines of her personal collection. "Besides, what if... What if I did feel giddy, anyway?" she asks.

"That is exactly the problem!" I rebuke her, smacking the table with a hoof. She flinches, screwing her eyes shut, but I can't soften my tone. She needs to understand. "I've... twisted something beautiful into... into a mockery! And you're not even aware of it!" Tears squeeze past Twilight's eyelids, and I hide behind my hooves, unable to face the magnitude of my misdeed, or the moisture similarly tinging my own eyes. "Any joy in romance should come from love, not discovery! Not approval! This was all... a mistake," I say, voice dropping to a murmur as I finally admit my folly, unable to contain it.

A moment of silence, and then, of all things, I hear laughter. Or, at least, the pieces of Twilight's bright laughter, now in disarray and missing their luster. "I... I guess it was, huh?" she says, and the agreement squeezes my heart. I swallow the feeling, knowing I cannot change it. All I can do is ensure our friendship survives intact.

When I don't respond, too caught up in my recriminations, she reaches across the table and pries a hoof away from my face. Our gazes meet, interleaved with two layers of unbidden tears. "But... That doesn't mean..." She makes a frustrated noise, tries again. "That doesn't make it all bad! Just give me one last chance. I just want to prove that... that you've made me a better mare to be around. For anyone, not just a romantic partner. And not just in these 'lessons', but by knowing you!" She breathes in slowly, preparing her final rally to break my resolve. "One last... date. No tests, no lessons, not even anything," she swallows, "physical. To prove that this wasn't just a mistake."

Her hoof is still there, resting atop mine on the table. I pull away and stand. "I..." Say it, Rarity. Reject her. End this little charade of pity before she dredges up the treacherous feelings in your heart. I look away, desperate to see anything but her, but this is her home, and she's littered everywhere. "I.."

Spines of the books all around us stand out — there's the treatise on intertribal glyph standardization she ranted at me about while I was working on Fleur de Lis's commission. And there, the book on dressmaking she bought in Canterlot to read on the ride home on that day our appointments in the capital lined up. On her bedside table, a reproduction of an ancient anthology of poetry revolving around Princess Luna, resurrected and returned to the press by Princess Celestia herself.

I flinch at the thought of the object of her affections, and turn back to Twilight as if that will be easier. It isn't. She's looking at me in patience and fear, and I can't bring myself to deny her — even if she will hate me for it later. I bow my head. Generosity, indeed. "Very well. Does tomorrow work?" I fall back to reliable patterns, hiding behind the way I talk to testy clients as a last resort. It keeps the tremor from my voice, barely.

Twilight only nods in response, and I turn from her.

"I'll see you then." With that, I'm through the doorway, leaving my cinnamon swirl untouched. I keep my breathing even as the tears start rolling down my cheeks, and thank the stars Spike is out of sight in the kitchen as I leave the library. I don't even realize I'm galloping through Ponyville until I slam into the boutique's door. I fumble the latch as sobs start bubbling up out of my chest, and barely make it through the door before breaking into a wail, which dies away in the dark interior.
> Thesis Defense
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I don't usually remember my dreams. But sometimes, on drizzly mornings like these when my bed is the only place I have to be, their sensations cling. I burrow deeper in the sheets and try, desperately, to reclaim them: a whispered breath against my ear, the touch of her lips, a tail entwined with my own. But they aren't mine and never were, so in moments or minutes they're gone entirely, leaving me with just a sense of something missing.

I quickly figure out that what's missing is coffee, and drag myself towards fixing that.

In the kitchen, as the scent wakes me and I comb my bedmane into order, two images come to mind. Both, of course, are Rarity. One is from the night before last, frozen in a sort of disarray I've never seen on her: mane strewn all around on the carpet, lipstick smeared, gaze hazy and hot and wavering like a desert mirage. The other image is from yesterday: her refusal to meet my eyes, her scarf wrapped tight around her neck like the shame constricting my own, her revulsion at the way I'd taken advantage.

And I had. No matter what she had offered, that... had surely not been what she'd intended. Only my sloppy recovery attempt, hastily donning the mask of fantasy, broke her away from what I'd pulled her into. It must have washed over her all at once. I shudder. What I did wasn't right, but... she doesn't hate me for it. Otherwise she wouldn't have visited yesterday, right?

Spike wanders into the kitchen, rubbing at sleep-rimmed eyes, oblivious to the turmoil swirling in my head. "Mornin', Twi," he mumbles. His claws wander over the countertop, tapping along in a search for the skillet. I nudge it in reach with my magic, and he carries it to the stove, lighting it with a quick burst of flame. "Pancakes?"

"Good morning, Spike," I manage, pouring the coffee. I lift the mug with my hooves and slurp from it noisily. It fails to put my thoughts in order. "I'm not really hungry, thanks."

"Pancakes," Spike decides. I give a dreary sigh, but don't protest. Spike values food like I value books — too many errands run to the castle kitchens weren't without consequence, apparently. As he mixes the batter, I slump further onto the counter, gazing listlessly out the window.

Rarity definitely wouldn't have agreed to a final date if she hated me for... getting carried away. But why did I ask? Am I really so selfish? Not for the first time, I wonder whether Princess Celestia wanted this for me when she assigned me my studies in friendship. With that thought echoing in my head, I push myself up and wander from the counter to the table, seating myself. Cutlery floats from the drawers and is arranged on the table while two plates make their way over to where Spike's working.

What really festers, above all else in that conversation, is Rarity's insistence that my passions were dispassionate. That's why I have to do it. I have to prove to her, in the only way available to me, that I'm not just some... detached scientist like I was in Canterlot, treading on the sacred ground of love. Or, worse, some spring-addled filly, uncaring of her affection's target. That's why this date has to be perfect. Not just mature, like the night at the restaurant, but... meaningful. For the both of us.

"Pancakes." With a clatter, Spike drops a plate in front of me, holding a stack of fluffy cakes bedecked with syrup and strawberries.

"Be nice to the dishware, Spike," I chide him on reflex. Glory, I sound like my mother. I shelf that thought for later — maybe I'll come back to it in a couple years, after I have this whole romance thing pinned down.

He rolls his eyes. "I don't think you'd even get any use out of them without me, Twilight. I've seen you eat brownies straight out of the pan enough times."

I don't dignify that with a reply, instead cutting into my pancakes with knife and fork, begrudgingly marveling at their pillowy softness. I bring the first bite to my mouth and close my eyes, involuntarily letting out a pleased hum. It's hard to hold onto a bad mood with food reminding me that not everything in the world is dark and bleak and scary. Some things are sweet and fluffy and soft, like pancakes. And Rarity.

Ahh, there's that good old cortisol, flooding right back into my system, invigorating me like coffee. Well, almost like coffee. I take another sip. Stress is good. Stress helps me plan. Last night, hock-deep in freakout number three, I remembered that there's a ley wash forecast for tonight, the first peak-firmamental one since the Restoration. I immediately latched onto it, abandoning my other half-formed plans. The hot air balloon ride was a forerunner, for a while, until I thought too hard about the close quarters and the privacy it would grant.

Stargazing is perfect. The rain's scheduled to clear around lunch. Astrology's something I'm interested in, related to my mark, but not so arcane as to be inaccessible. Something beautiful in the way Rarity appreciates. And most importantly, somewhere that's not too private, so we can talk but she doesn't feel pushed to explore the more... intimate side of romance.

... And so I don't feel tempted.

"Spike, can you take a list?" I ask, still gazing out the window absently. Silence. "Spike?"

I turn to him, and he already has quill in claw and arched eyebrow on face. I gape. "You've had your list face on for the past five minutes or so," he explains with a nonchalant shrug.

Slumping back in my chair, I sigh. Is my neuroticism really so predictable? I guess if anyone could lay claim to that credit, it's Spike. "Alright. I need to stop by the grocer for some wine, to start..."





Dusk finds me waiting outside the Golden Oak, the tide-blue of night lapping against its bark and the product of my errands packed into a picnic basket atop my back. It's a little chilly, but still not enough to make saddle or overcoat a necessity, just a scarf. I like the little nip on the border of autumn, before my winter coat grows in. Spike's inside, probably already snout-deep into a comic, hanging off the stairs or in some equally weird reading position I'd normally scold him for. I consider going back inside and doing just that — proper reading posture is vital — but decide against it.

Rarity's not late in the slightest, but still part of my brain is telling me that she won't show up, and I distract it by humming a little tune, savoring the way the notes carry in the crisp air. Despite being the Princess's personal student, despite having entire libraries of knowledge knocking around up there, despite knowing the name and domain of every star above me, sometimes it's helpful to think of my brain as an animal. It needs little snacks, enrichment, and the occasional kind word.

That's probably a Fluttershy thing, really. Most of the Friendship Lessons I've learned are easy to trace back to their source, but I always have to take a mental walk around the Kindness ones to realize it's something she's taught me. All my friends have their unique teaching styles — Rainbow's blunt like a hammer, Pinkie sneaks up on you, but Fluttershy's slow like osmosis. There's no big "that's it!" moment, one day you just see it, and it's like it's always been there.

I'd never eaten grass before I came to Ponyville. It's simply not the done thing in Canterlot — what pasture grows on the Mountain is sternly cultivated, and its cultivators don't appreciate ponies helping themselves, even if the snooty nobles there could stand to eat anything not presented on porcelain. But down here, on the ground, it's common enough to practically be a diet staple. The first time Applejack stopped applebucking for a snack I gawped at her, and she just laughed. Fluttershy was the one to actually get me to try it, though, and nothing's been able to compare to that raw vitality.

Glancing around out of habit, I lean down. The grass in town isn't the best compared to the rolling meadows further out, but it'll do. I bite down to crop the tender green off the top—

"Twilight?"

I bolt upright, blood rushing to my face and tufts of grass still clenched in my teeth, to find Rarity looking at me with an expression of barely-restrained amusement.

"Oh my," she says, swooning in hopefully-mock horror, "I've kept you languishing so long you've resorted to eating turf like a common pony!"

Defiantly, I swallow the grass, but it does nothing to abate my blush. "H- Hi, Rarity."

"'Hi, Rarity'?" She rolls her eyes. "Twilight, we have been friends for over a year, have we not? Surely we shouldn't suffer such awkwardness," she says, and my eyes are pulled inexorably to the scarf still tied around her neck.

"Well, I mean..." I scuff at the little divot I pulled the grass from. "We never kissed before," I say, voice dropping low in hopes of her not hearing. Her silence tells me it wasn't quite low enough, and I claw at myself from within my mind. Why did I say that? She was perfectly willing to pretend, and now... "Can I get a do-over?" I ask in a pathetic whimper. Wince. "With the, starting the date. Not the kissing."

Rarity raises an eyebrow. "Twilight, did you often get do-overs on exams?"

My gaze wanders somewhere up and to the left of her. "Well, once, I forgot I had one because Shiny was in the hospital, and I cried so hard that Princess Celestia—"

"Good grief. Twilight Sparkle, you may not have a do-over."

I look down at the grass, ears folded flat. "Oh. Of course, I understand." This is best, really. We call it off here, make a clean break, put all this to rest.

A white hoof finds my chin and draws my gaze back up to Rarity. "Because you have not made a mistake. This is not an examination, but a demonstration. Aren't you convincing me of exactly that with this night? That you don't see love as a test to be taken and graded, but an experience to be explored?"

My ears perk back up and I nod, eager to get back on track. I don't want to cancel this, of course. Not out of a selfish desire to squeeze all I can out of the opportunity, but out of pride, a willingness to not leave such a sour taste as the night before last must've provided. "Right! Yes. Thanks, Rarity. You know I get..." I trail off, unable to find a nice way to say 'neurotic to the point of derangement'.

She smiles at me with the sort of warmth I'm most used to seeing from the Princess. "I know."

I blush. Of course she does, what friend of Twilight hasn't sat through one of her freakouts? Then again, Rarity pitches her share of fits, so maybe it's just solidarity.

"So," Rarity asks, "where are you taking me tonight?" She looks up at the lit windows of the Golden Oak. "Or have you planned a night in?"

Set back on track, I start off at a trot. "There's a star shower tonight, actually! Well," I append with an eyeroll, "that's what the forecast calls it. I guess 'Peak-Firmamental Variegated Astral Ley Wash Event' is too much of a mouthful."

She follows me. "Stargazing? You must be keeping up with your 'studies', to choose something so classical," she guesses, referring to the pile of romance books I've chewed through over the last few late nights.

"Well, partially... I did really like the scene in Autumn Leaves, Winter Sleet where Tulip Rows finds Moonshadow in the gardens."

"Oh, yes!" Rarity exclaims, giving a jaunty little hindstomp of applause as she walks. "Moonshadow has just been disowned by her mother, and Tulip finds her crying, and... Moonshadow asks her to make up constellations! I've certainly reread that scene a fair few times."

"Yeah! I thought that was a really clever metaphor of Moonshadow making her own choice to reject her noble birthright and finally be with Tulip, sealed with that kiss that wraps the scene..."

We both sigh, lost in our attendant fantasies, whatever anchors hers likely much farther away than mine. After basking in the fantasy a moment, I continue.

"But the main reason I chose this... I thought about what you said... before. About being graded." The silence that follows is tar-sticky-dark, and I rush to fill it. "It made me think!.. For love, I shouldn't just be focused on what she likes. I mean, if all I do is love, without offering any of myself... How would she love me in return? And I like the stars, so... I'd want someone who would enjoy watching the stars with me."

"You're completely right, Twilight, a little selfishness is needed to balance our generosity. But there's no need to speak in hypotheticals," Rarity says, bumping her shoulder against mine playfully. "I already know, remember?"

"Oh. Um. Right." I was hoping not to be reminded of the embarrassing misconception that I've chosen to hide behind.

She laughs, more a haughty air than her genuine giggle. "Not to worry, I'm quite effective at secret-keeping."

"Well, good!" I huff, trying to seal up the cracks spidering through me, the pain of my own secret-keeping. "There's going to be a turnout for the star shower, so..." My voice drops as something unbidden snakes out. "Can we just not mention that tonight? This is our date, after all."

"Star shower? I thought we were going to a Peak-Firmamental Variegated Astral Ley Wash Event, darling."

I hadn't realized how much I missed that little term of address until the warmth in it hits me. It's so much like stepping into a warm bath that I stumble a little, like my body expected buoyancy. Not to mention the heady rush from her remembering magical terminology... "Well, whatever it is, we're here!" I announce, voice gone squeaky. Rarity raises an eyebrow but doesn't mention it, thankfully.

The hill is, as planned, not empty. Ponies are scattered in loose constellations which reflect the sky above, some with blankets, others sat in propped-up wagons, forehooves propped up on the tailgate. I breathe a sigh of relief as I see nobody I'd put above the level of friendly acquaintance — plenty of ponies I give little nods and smiles as I trot along, but none with which I feel obligated to stop and chat and explain why I'm here with just one of my five friends.

Actually... Oh, doy. I finally realize that most of the crowd is comprised of unicorns, and I have a very good reason for being seen with Rarity alone. For anypony who's not a unicorn, tonight would just be an average night of stargazing. Even ley as intense as an event like this presents can only be seen by a unicorn. My last few star showers, my only companion was the Princess or my family, so I'd never really thought about it — even though Spike slept through it every time. He slept through a lot of things, in my defense.

Our tribe's shared realm of ley sprawls above Rarity and I, bright lines flowing between all the stars hanging there, from bright to dim. Sometimes I feel jealous of the utility of the ley an earth pony or pegasus can see for their immediacy, but I don't think any of the paintings I've seen of their realms compares to the beauty of the vivid constellations above us, even in the riot of Winter Wrap-Up.

But, as I said, immediacy has its appeals, and the beauty of it pales in comparison to the mare next to me. "Y'know, Rarity, before your... assigned readings, I didn't realize you had a type." It's a bold topic of conversation, sure, but it's something I've been wondering after, and I'm really no good at restraining my curiosity.

"Hm?" she hums, turning to me. "The characters are all fairly varied, aren't they? Glory, have I become predictable already?"

"Well, let's see..." I mumble around the handle of the picnic basket as I pull it from my back. With a bit of help from al-Kawkab, I unfold the blanket I brought, spreading it out on the grass, then letting the glow fade. The evening's spread marches out from the basket in orderly fashion.

"There's Tulip, of course," I begin as a wheel of brie wrapped in cloth floats by. "She's certainly well-grounded, but utterly unacquainted with etiquette. She possesses 'a murmured sort of beauty,' and her best qualities are brought out with patience from Moonshine, who introduces her to 'society proper'.

"Then, there's Slim Chance," I continue, placing a sleeve of crackers onto the blanket, "the colt from As Below, So Above. When Cirrus Drift meets him, he's doing well on the ground, but has never set hoof on Cloudsdale. Cirrus brings him up and introduces him to the festivals and industry, and generally teaches him to live."

"And I don't think I need to say anything about Onyx." A carton of dried figs. "A creature from beyond the firmament... Fantastical, and the very definition of a fish out of water."

"Lastly, Dusky." Red wine, 1760 vintage. "An accomplished businessmare with many associates and few acquaintances. Until Salt Spray." Four data points is plenty, but I can give her more if she denies it.

She doesn't, instead just tilting her head at me curiously. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Twilight. They come from all kinds of classes and tribes, don't they?" I float the wine past her face, and her eyes track it instinctually, darting about and analyzing the label in a second. The little 'o' of surprise her mouth makes tells me I chose well.

"Well, they do have some things in common. All a little withdrawn, with quiet beauty... But the common thread between them isn't their origins," I say, unrolling two wine glasses from a towel with a flourish. "Rather, they all grow beyond their origins, climbing above their station with fiery ambition — always aided by a patient, generous pony. Isn't that interesting?"

And so the snare closes. The delightful flush spreading across Rarity's face shows she hadn't even realized there was one until she stepped in it. And yet..."Well, th— that's... completely common, of course! It's a classic way to create tension!"

I smirk and draw a little closer, reveling in the satisfaction of a good chase and her embarrassment at being the one predicted for once. "Sure, Rarity, but I of all ponies should know it's far from the only literary device used to create tension. So I just find it curious how it keeps coming up in all your favorite novels!" I lift the bottle and pour a glass each. "Like a good student, I read outside your recommendations, of course. There's plenty of other types of plot: distance created by outside expectations, misunderstandings from miscommunications, even two unlike ponies being dragged into a situation they're equally unfamiliar with." I pass a glass to her.

After a moment's hesitation, her aura mixes with mine and I release it. She takes a sip, clearly grateful to be given a moment to hedge. "Oh! This..." She lifts the glass appraisingly. "This is quite good, Twilight."

We wander onto the blanket together and sit down. "Is it?" I demur, swirling my own glass and giving it a sniff, then an exploratory sip. Nope, still don't like wine. Ponyfeathers. "The Princess taught me all the good vintages a few years ago, 'in case I ever needed it'."

"And you remembered?" Rarity asks, an eyebrow raised as she takes another sip.

"Well... The Princess taught me."

"Ah, of course," she says, a sly smile half-hidden by her glass's rim.

"That, and..." I cast my gaze away, unsure of how much to reveal. "She was sampling as we went, and kept insisting I try the best ones, so we... got a bit silly." It was my first time seeing her drunk, so it definitely sticks in my mind, even if we didn't really do anything out of the ordinary. It was also one of the first times I got drunk, too."

"My, my!" Rarity leans in like I'm a particularly sparkly gem. "'A bit silly', hm? Hmmmm?"

"That wasn't a euphemism!" I hiss, indignant. "... It just feels wrong to describe the Princess as silly."

"Well! I wouldn't hesitate to, myself. I think she can be quite fun — I've seen glances of a filly like us under the weight of all that regality." She pauses for another sip. "And besides, I'm sure you didn't fall in love with her title."

Some pillar in me shudders and I look down into the depths of my glass, feeling my face grow hot with shame. "I thought we agreed not to..." I try to keep my tone from admonishment, but I do feel a little betrayed.

Rarity jolts, then looks away. "Oh, I'm sorry Twilight. You know how I get... You must be nervous about tomorrow." Her expression is obscured behind that curtain of purple curls.

I hadn't even thought about my 'graduation', and the reminder just shrinks me further in on myself, tail encircling my hooves. I take a gulp of wine, and it just tastes bitter on my palate, not a hint of 'floral notes' or whatever ponies get out of the stuff, but it makes me feel a little warmer against the chill.

She turns back to me. "I just figured it was an all's-fair situation, seeing as you were so ruthlessly chasing down my own tastes," she teases, and I see right through her attempt to draw me back onto the trail. My heart isn't in it anymore. What good does knowing her taste do, when I don't fit into it? Me, a filly who fell from one book-littered hideyhole to another? Out of place, yes, but ambitious? Maybe somepony in our group fits — Fluttershy's demure, beautiful, and she left her home to chase her dream, but... I don't want to think about that, for obvious reasons.

In the silence, Rarity retrieves a knife and prepares a few crackers, spreading brie evenly on each and adorning them with bits of dried fig. "So," she asks, placing the plate of crackers between us, "when does—"

She's answered by a chorus of oooohs which jerk my attention upward. Far, far overhead and a little north, at the peak of the sky, glimmers of light like newborn stars twinkle. Slowly, those glimmers spread out and slide downward, streaking the bruised darkness of the night sky with light like raindrops streaked down a window. More and more starlight paints the sky, until the meadow is lit with silver as bright as day.

A reverent hush falls over the herd as, for a moment, each forgets their own body, taken by a taste of heaven, that eternal dance among the stars. I've seen star showers before, of course, but comparing them to this... It's as stark a difference as the one between a star shower and a clear night. The Princess of the Night has returned, after all.

Princess Celestia puts most of her artistic effort into sunrise and sunset. That's when she splashes the most color across the firmament, and blues suffice for the rest of the day. And while I love her blues, from the crisp horizon to the deep-blue peak, she treated the night similarly when she was borrowing it. All my life, the night sky was black, simple as that. Darkness and darkness, punctuated by bright spots of starry color.

With eyes adjusted to the sun, it's easy to think of a shadow as an ink splotch on the world's canvas. But from inside, darkness is so much more, revealing details washed away by the sunlight and little pools of subtle occlusion. Nopony understands that better than Luna herself, and it's reflected in her sky, a swirling sea of cool hues, like each star forms an eddy in the firmament, all of it flowing around the path of the moon. Every night she finds a new way to weave her work into the constellations of ley beyond in a slow process that comes together in the first hour of evening as the light from sunset fades. I've lost many of those hours just staring, watching her work.

As usual when I think of the returned Princess, I find a melancholy smile on my face. A millennium of dull, lifeless nights, and I'm fortunate enough to be born in the Restoration. Even on that first terrifying, wonderful evening, even when she was wracked by hatred, some part Luna shared with Nightmare Moon saw fit to make the night brilliant. I felt so guilty, afterwards, with how awed I was by the swirled palette of purples, indigos, and blues above, and so elated when I realized the next night that it was Luna's work I fell in love with, not Nightmare Moon's.

Above, her painting on the firmament filters the silver light of the ley wash just beyond, turning that monochrome brilliance into a shimmering, undulating display like an aurora swept over the whole sky. Moving a hoof to my eyes, I find them wet with tears. I hope desperately Luna can feel the love from all her little ponies across Equestria, up there in Canterlot. I'll be sure to write her a letter later.

For now, I put my thoughts aside, and see the sky above with my heart, not my mind.





The silver-purple light has faded, but it's still dancing behind my eyes when Rarity nudges me. I look at her with a smile, not making any effort to hide any of the love there, and find my expression reflected. It doesn't surprise me — how could one feel anything but love, for everything around her, in a world like this? The thought makes me laugh, and she's surprised enough to join in. Belatedly, I remember the wine, and pour us both another glass so we have an excuse to be as silly as we are.

Words don't belong here, yet. We eat and drink in silence, sips of wine and bits of brie and fig and cracker wandering across our palates as our eyes wander across the sky. Finally, when the memory's had time to settle, Rarity speaks. "It's a little embarrassing, but... Despite being half-Prench, I don't actually know many constellations."

I shrug, then shuffle forwards a little so I can lie down, hooves skyward. "I mean, the Prench constellations aren't all that important, compared to Starswirl's."

"Yet any foal could point La Louche out, and none could find... What was that one you were raving about a moon ago? Twelve, forty-three, sixty..."

"12-48-56-213, Starswirl's first invisibility spell. And I could find it just fine as a foal, thanks," I huff. "Even if Starswirl's categorizations have fallen out of fashion in favor of the original Saddle Arabian names, and even if the shapes they form aren't animals or whatever, his constellations are the first recorded compound wishes! He set unicorn magic on a path it still follows today!"

Rarity joins me on her back and aims a pout at me. "Sure, but I know that you must know the Prench ones as well, Twilight, and they're much more romantic."

"Fine." Even though I sound begrudging, I do know and like the Prench constellations and the meaning behind them, so I can indulge her. I point to a cluster of stars stitched together by ley in vague suggestion of a bird in flight. "That's La Chouette, the owl. The Prench saw owls as both a symbol of wisdom and of death, a reminder of mortality."

Rarity follows the gesture and tilts her head. "That's certainly grim. I suppose I can see it, though — Owlowiscious does have a rather serious air about him."

"Aw, he's a softie, really..." I grimace at the memory of stepping in an owl pellet last week. "Diet aside." My hoof drifts to point at a conical arrangement of stars and ley that brings to mind a fir tree. "There's Sapin. And right there, at the tip of it: an-Nizm." The star glows a chilly blue, similar to Rarity's own aura.

"I know this one, actually, mother showed it to me right after I got my mark... It's the Star of Jewels, isn't it?"

"Yep! Its official classification is the Star of Crystals, patron of lapidarists. Cookie Crumbles told you about it?.." Skepticism creeps into my voice — Cookie's kind, certainly, but she never struck me as one with an interest in magic.

Rarity glances at me, surprise written on her face, and considers a moment before speaking. "Of course, you wouldn't know... Not Cookie, but my birth mother, Belle." She turns back to Sapin as I desperately try to rearrange what I know about her around this new information. "She and I shared an attunement to it... Her special talent was gemstone appraisal. When I finally came home, late into the night with a geode full of gems, she was so proud... Well, after she scolded me for staying out so late with no word. And for my unladylike tracking of mud into the living room."

I push down the pang of still being the odd one out in our friend group. "She sounds like a great mom."

Rarity's bitter laugh lets me know I misstepped, but it's followed by a sigh rather than an acerbic admonishment. "She was many things."

The past tense churns in my gut, but I bite off my invasive questions. Rarity's eyes have a dreamy cast, like she's looking at the stars but also somewhere between, at a soul dancing among them.

"Why is it so bright?.."

"Hm?" I ask, still staring at her.

She rolls to face me, and I jump back a little as our noses touch. She tries to catch my gaze with her own, but I dart my eyes upward, to the blueish star that's as bright as any other. "An-Nizm. Is it bright because it's the Star of Crystals?"

"Oh! It's because your soul's attuned to it. It's how you're able to find it by instinct when you cast gem-related spells," I provide easily.

"I see... Then, that other one, there..." she trails off, gesturing to another sector of the sky. I can't see the shine, but I know the star she must be indicating.

"Akhiru-n-Nahr. The Star of Searching, patron of fortune seekers. Together, these two stars empower the gem-finding spell that took you as a filly. an-Nizm probably glows a bit brighter because you use jewels in your craft as much as you search for them, so you're a little more attuned to it."

"It does! That's interesting... I'd heard of attunement before, of course, I suppose I never linked it to the brightness. So, neither of these shine as bright for you?" Rarity asks. I nod in response, and she gives a little huff. "A shame. They're quite stunning." A moment passes in silence as she gazes at her stars, then she turns to me again. "So, which are yours?" Her mouth opens in a little 'o' of curiosity. "Has your cutie mark been a specific star all this time?"

I laugh. "No, no. It's more the concept of just, stars in general? Or, astral ley in general, symbolized by stars. It's really interesting, actually, the way culture influences cutie marks — they're symbols, after all, cultural depictions of real things. Six-pointed stars are common in Equestria, but they were originally adapted from Arabian iconography. If I was raised in, say, the Crystal Kingdom in antiquity, my cutie mark would have four poi—" I catch myself. Rambling again! Flushed with embarrassment, I turn away from Rarity, hoping she simply tuned me out.

"Oh!" she exclaims instead. "I remember seeing four-pointed stars when I was window shopping there!"

I just nod silently as my brain traitorously replays the conversation in my head, the way I've commandeered its course, falling to the selfish side of the balancing act too easily.

"Twilight?" she says, and her chiding tone makes me realize I'm spiraling again. I don't want to look at her, but I know she'd like me to, so I do. The concern is written plain on her face, and it only makes me more guilty realizing how focused she is on me. "Twilight, you know I love hearing you talk about something you're passionate about, don't you?.."

"I..." I look away again, unable to believe her. "I know you tolerate it..."

"Twilight!" Chiding accelerates into chastising, but she doesn't let me shy away, pushing forward so I can't look anywhere but at her. That doesn't mean I have to make eye contact, though, so my gaze veers down, to the soft fluff on her chest — no, up, just below her eyes, to her snout, to her lips — no, eye contact is fine, maybe. They're twinkling like diamonds, hard with determination. "Twilight, listen to me. I adore your enthusiasm. I cherish your varied interests, and how deeply you plumb them. I treasure the way your voice rises in pitch as you go on, the way your verve builds like a fire. I lov—"

Our noses are touching and her breath, hot with fervor, is ghosting across my lips. Simultaneously, we jerk back, retreating to opposite corners of the picnic blanket. I glance around, hoping nopony noticed, and thankfully none of the other couples that remain have... Wait, other couples?! I crane my neck around, confirming that yes, the more platonic groups have all wandered away after the viewing proper, leaving only those less interested in astral observation than amorous inclinations. My eyes rest on a couple engaged in some extremely terrestrial snogging.

"Twilight?" My eyes snap back to Rarity, who's looking at me with what seems to be embarrassment. No doubt she's noticed that our outing can no longer be passed off as platonic to other ponies, and will ask to— "Will you show me more constellations?" Then, she bats her eyelashes at me, and all is lost. I walk sedately back to the center of the blanket and lie down again, and she joins me, a gap between us.

I'd normally have trouble recovering from that blunder, but fortunately we're right in my comfort zone. "See if you can spot La Baleine. It's near the horizon, toward Canterlot. Seven stars, ley in the shape of a whale."

I watch her eyes cast about. This is the Rarity I first fell in love with — searching, analyzing. I've gone in circles, trying to deny the reality that it really was love at first sight, because it sounds so cliche. A sheltered mare leaves Canterlot and falls for the... Well, not the first pony to show kindness to her, but the second. Granted, I'd run out of her shop at the time, but... I was enthralled by that searching gaze and the keen wit behind it.

She huffs. "I can't find it."

"Yeah, it's a lot easier with a telescope and the entirety of the Canterlot Observatory's reference material, trust me." I raise my hoof closest to her to let her sight along it as I point north. "See?"

She hums, then scoots closer, trying to see. "I can't quite..."

"Look, it's right—" I feel something tickle my barrel, and glance down to see that it's Rarity's mane. She's resting her head on my chest, face hidden as she lines herself up with my foreleg.

"Ah, I see it!" she exclaims. "What does this one mean, then?"

"I, uh." Am I breathing right? In, out, right? "It's a whale, and..." Was there a third step I'm missing? Maybe hold? How long? "Whales are big," I explain.

She giggles. "Are they, darling?" The way she practically sings it — I think I understand the meaning of 'pet name' for the first time. It makes me feel like I'm a beloved animal who's just done a particularly impressive trick. Oh, Celestia, I've stopped breathing. I'm going to black out.

"Sorry," I squeak.

"Well, there are so many of them, I can scarcely blame the Prench for not having a story for each, and I can blame you even less."

We nestle into a divot of silence, twin gazes lost in the ley above. Her head doesn't lift from my chest. Our eyes wander across the grand web of light that cradles the stars, and I find myself thinking about something Celestia told me, one of many things that seemed cryptic at the time but began to make sense as I learned about other ponies.

"What are you thinking about?" Rarity asks.

"Celestia," I respond, too star-stupefied to draw my gaze down to her or think about my response.

Rarity's silent for a few breaths, and I hope she's decided not to pursue my slip. I can't see her expression, just her mane and her horn jutting starward. "What about her?" Her voice is cautious, small, like she's treading on ice.

"... Back when I was living in the castle. I wasn't... wholly friendless. She was my friend, even when I... Well. We were stargazing, charting ley as a theory exercise."

"And here I thought you were being romantic, bringing me out here," Rarity whines, rolling her head to study me with one eye. "I hardly expect to be quizzed on a date."

"Hey, studying theory together is romantic! This is a Twilight date, not a Rarity one."

"I suppose... And I suppose I have been enjoying myself, regardless." Her eye wanders back to the stars. "And the Princess will as well, I imagine," she adds.

"Well, I'd definitely need a bigger blanket..." I muse. Maybe she could try to fit, but there'd be scarcely any room left for the picnic, and... I realize exactly what I'm thinking of too late as a blush blooms on my face.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rarity's face matching mine for shade even as a sly smile creeps onto it. I know she's thinking the same thing, and she knows that I'm thinking the same thing she is. "It would certainly be cozy, wouldn't it? One might have trouble focusing on the stars, however," she purrs, clearly relishing my embarrassment.

Even if my supposed crush on Princess Celestia is a convenient excuse, it wouldn't exactly be accurate to call it a falsehood. Having a crush on Princess Celestia as a pony in Equestria is about as common as having four hooves — not quite everypony, but close. It's not the kind of thing where they have a class in school for it, but just about any friendship, given enough time and cider, eventually gallops headlong into the 'so Princess Celestia, huh?' conversation.

But this isn't just a casual conversation about a shared attraction — my crush is meant to be more material. How do I convince Rarity of that? Should I balk at the lascivious suggestions, insisting the Princess is purer than that? Do I go the other way, dip so far into fantasy that I scandalize her and scare her off the topic?

I realize the weight has left my chest just as Rarity clops her hooves together in front of my snout, snapping me out of it. She's back to sitting on her hinds, facing me. "Focus on the mare you're on a date with, won't you, Twilight?" she says, the sly smile making it clear she's not really mad. I sigh in relief — neurotic spirals save the day again! "You were telling me about charting unicorn ley."

"Yes!!" I roll over, away from her, and tuck my legs beneath me against the cold. "We were up in my tower, charts sprawled out everywhere, long after her sunset... I kept asking for one more star, one more star, and... The Princess gets a bit looser when she's sleepy. I was just old enough to know to take advantage of it and just young enough for her to indulge me. Always hungry to know more about alicorns, even back when that just meant Celestia herself and nopony else... So I asked how she saw the ley." I smile at the memory. "She laughed in that unguarded way she has when I surprise her with a question. Then, she asked if I'd like to know a secret."

Rarity laughs, then joins me in lying on her barrel. "I can imagine she wasn't fully acquainted with your proclivities at that time."

"Yeah. I nodded so hard she had to check my neck to make sure my head wouldn't fall off," I laugh. "Then, she told me that she sees even more of the ley than the ponies of the tribes do."

Rarity looks enthralled, and I understand why Celestia had drawn back after telling me that. Surely the wide-eyed wonder on filly Twilight's face was thrice as enamored. "There's a fourth realm, you mean? One for alicorns?" she asks, voice low.

I shake my head. "I thought the same. But no, what she's able to see is the whole. What we can only be told, she knows for a fact: the ley of the three tribes is interwoven, not truly separate realms at all." I think back, trying to remember exactly how she phrased it. "She said... that everything flows into everything else. The ley of the earth, through the leaves of the trees, flows into the ley of the air in the lines of the wind." I look up, to the bands of light forming constellations above. "The ley of the air reaches up to the distant stars, and the stars answer in the moonlight shining on the meadows."

I feel myself being drawn back into memory and recall her words exactly. "And, like the waterfall that crashes into the river and dissolves into mist and rainbows, that boundary is what Celestia sees the most beauty in, because it's the same mingling that connects all her little ponies."

"Oh..." Rarity whispers, looking up at the same ley, squinting as if she could see the way it flows into the nearer realms. All we can see is the slow fading of the ley through the moon-gate down to nothing.

"Yeah. I was devastated, of course," I laugh, and Rarity joins me. "Ever since I was a filly I longed for a look into the other realms, and here my mentor was with all three and more besides. But... I think now I understand. Even then, she understood what I was missing. That beautiful mix is something we mortal ponies can only see when we open up to others."

"It's a beautiful metaphor..." murmurs Rarity, eyes locked on the horizon. "I can see why she's so fond of it."

"Well, I'm not sure that it is just a metaphor. I've heard things — an earth pony with an incredibly strong bond to a pegasus pony seeing traces of air ley, that sort of thing. They're just rumors with no scientific backing, but... I swear, when we used the elements, beyond the light, I could almost see..."

"Perhaps you'll see things the way the Princess does after all, then." Her voice is so soft I barely hear it.

Smiling, I follow her gaze out to the horizon. "Maybe." The ponies I mentioned weren't lovers, after all.

Rarity turns to me with an arched eyebrow. "Maybe? Here I thought I'd filled you with confidence."

The idea's been worn down a little, its edges less cutting, even if the core is still patently absurd. It's at least enough for me to hold it and turn it over in my hooves. "It's an exceedingly rare, totally unstudied phenomenon! Besides, even if she said yes, there's all sorts of complicating factors..."

Rarity swoons exaggeratedly. "Oh, but therein lies the romance, Twilight! A love forbidden by the court! The nobles, their houses, the drama!"

I don't have to hide my eyeroll, hidden as I am by Rarity's foreleg over her eyes. "Can we go back to stargazing, please?"

She pouts. "Fine! Show me... an evil star!"

I stare flatly at her. "Evil."

"Yes! I know al-Kawkab, Star of Floating Things Around," — Sway, I mentally correct — "of course, and all the other helpful bright ones we learn in school, but surely there are some which are turned to darker purposes than gem-finding."

"Well..." My gaze slips away from hers. "I do know the classifications of a few dark stars, from when the Princess was teaching me the dangers of that sort of magic..."

Rarity leans close, eyes sparkling with curiosity, but I rebuff her with a gentle hoof pressed against her snout. "And every one of them is a piece of highly restricted information, not gossip. Besides, none of them have names or stories, just classifications."

Rarity pouts, but continues in her search for romanticism. "What about the stars that freed Nightmare Moon, the ones from the prophecy you mentioned?"

"Those aren't really evil — they freed Luna too, didn't they? That quartet did have powers related to seal-breaking, like Fum al-Hut, the Star of Severance."

"Then did the stars know that Princess Luna would be saved by the Elements?"

"I don't... think so. Ponies have always ascribed some kind of intelligence to them, but I don't think the stars are alive," I say, mind swirling around a familiar internal debate.

"Then why did they break Harmony's seal?"

"Coincidence? Outside intervention? Or maybe..." I look past the mountains, to the rim of the horizon where a few obscure stars sit.

"Maybe?"

"I think... No, I believe. I believe the stars want us to be free. Free to do what we will, whether good or evil, not chained to anything, premise or prison or price. I... can't even say why I think that. But I've felt it, since when I was a filly."

"Well, Twilight, I think if anyone would know what it is the stars want, it would be you." She's silent for a span, and then whispers, "Celestia's very fortunate."

"... What?" I ask, turning to look at her.

She looks back at me blankly for a moment, and then her eyes go wide. "Oh! I— I only mean... It's just..." She sighs, then looks away from me, back out toward the light-speckled mountain in the distance. "I only mean that you are a stunning match for her. Intelligent, incisive, wise far beyond your years... You really do deserve Canterlot, much more than all the needless nobles who cling to it."

I look into the depths of my third glass of wine. "It's just a city, Rarity," I say, for what must be the hundredth time. "There's no deserving or not deserving it. But if there was, you absolutely would."

She sighs. "You're right, darling, I really should be over it by now. It's just so... romantic. You know how hopeless I get with that sort of thing."

I scooch a little closer so our flanks press together, enjoying the warmth coming off her. She really is suited to Canterlot, with how much hotter than me she runs. It's like all her passion forms a furnace inside her. "Actually, professor, I find you're far from hopeless with romance," I snicker.

Her tail flicks and ghosts along mine momentarily. A shiver crawls up from my dock at the feel of her hairs carding through mine for an instant. "I'm sure you know better than most that theory and practice are quite different," she says, somber.

I frown at the solemnity in her voice, then realize what must be wrong. I've taken her to a field of lovers, and here she is in the silence, alone despite the pony next to her. And even if I can't be the one who fills that void, I can at least...

Only then, lips inches from her cheek, does it occur to me to wonder why it is so quiet. I glance around us to confirm, and find everypony but us has left. All at once, I remember how close we are to the Everfree. Most of the land in other directions around Ponyville is cultivated, so the meadows close to the forest are the best location for stargazing, but they're also dangerous — any manner of thing can wander out of those woods. Cockatrices, manticores, timberwolves... I whip my head back around to scan the treeline, wondering what's approaching, whether it's best to run or stand our ground...

The answer comes in the form of a fat drop of rain, right on the tip of my nose. A rogue storm is certainly one of the monsters that could wander from the Everfree. Everypony who was actually stargazing instead of staring out at Canterlot had plenty of time to head for the cover of town, where pegasi on night shift could hem it back. Us, however... My eyes turn skyward to the menacing clouds just in time to get a faceful of downpour and an earful of Rarity's shrieking.

Instincts as engrained as walking fail me as my half-formed shield flickers and fades. "Twiliiiiight!" Rarity is whining, oblivious to the fact that I'd be perfectly capable of shielding us if not for her warmth still sticking to my mind. For a moment I wonder if the whole 'romance' thing is worth it if the heights of it fluster me so thoroughly it impacts my magic, but then the wish catches and shimmering pink surrounds us, perfectly tuned to allow air but not rain.

I turn proudly to Rarity, only to be met with a sodden glare. "Think you'll finally take me up on shield lessons?" I ask with a sheepish smile. It's become more a running joke than a real suggestion at this point, but I do genuinely want her to wish on some of the more protection-oriented stars.

As I pack the picnic away and wring out the blanket, she responds with flared nostrils, then a flick of her mane. "Well, it's useless anyhow, seeing as we're both soaked through," she huffs, downing the last of her wine and passing the glass to me.

A discordant idea crosses my mind, its travel eased by the alcohol, and I glance up at the rain pattering at the shield's apex and flowing down its sides. "Oh?" I ask, tone as dripping with innocence as we are with water. "Useless? Well, if you say so..." And just like that, the shield vanishes, and the sound and worse of the storm pours in.

Rarity wails with tones of betrayal and breaks into a gallop, and I chase after her, a bright laugh matching her trailing whine. Sure it's mean, but she insulted Starswirl's constellations, so she had it coming. We're racing, even if she doesn't know it, and I pull ahead as the first cottages come over the hill.

But then, with an instinctual call to bright al-Kawkab, she trips me right into a puddle. A fading blue spot of sway on my forehoof is my only evidence, but the manic grin she flashes over her shoulder is confirmation enough. It freezes, along with her hooves, when she realizes I've fallen and not risen. The scourge of deluge forgotten, she canters back to me, calling out. "Twilight? I only meant to slow you down a little, are you alright?.."

A little closer... "I'm fine, Rarity, I just..." Her eyes widen in concern when I wobble to my hooves only to slip and fall again, splashing more mud on my coat. "I just..." I say, voice labored and hard to hear even without the downpour.

"Yes, Twilight?" she asks, leaning deliciously close, sympathy and guilt clear on her features. That's alright, though. It'll come out with a little water.

Before she can react, I use both forehooves to splash her with the very puddle she pitched me into. "I just had to get you back!" I yell over her squeal, jumping up and racing past her. She growls, and I can practically feel her hoof-falls pounding after mine, but it's too late! The library door's in view, a silently agreed-upon finishing line, and I yell with giddy glee as I race towards it, and—

And it's too late! I brake hard, leaving two great skids in the grass I just know Spike is going to be upset about, but it's not enough. All I can do is squeeze my eyes shut and hope to the heavens he left the door unlatched...

He did. It doesn't save me from momentum, only spreads its indignities across a broader span — specifically, the space from doorway to doorway, leaving me by the kitchen with a clear trail of mud and torn grass marking my passage. "Owwwwww," I groan, more out of self-indulgence than pain.

I perk up at the noise of hooves in the doorway and look up. Rarity's there, trying and failing to look miffed. I probably shouldn't enjoy making her squeal so much.

"Well!" she says, lifting her snout as she walks in, careful to only track her mud where I've tracked mine. "What an indignant end to such a lovely night."

"You're just mad I won," I say, dripping with smugness and also water.

"Through treachery, perhaps!" she responds, soaked in self-pity, hypocrisy, and, yes, water. It occurs to me to procure some towels, and I will, once I'm done enjoying the smoldering ache of victory and exertion and tumbling across the wooden floor.

My view of the warmly lit wooden ceiling is interrupted by a familiar dragon with a familiar expression: a mix of concern and irritation that I've come to call concerritation. Internally, anyway.

"Twilight." Spike's tone is flat. "You okay?" And his words are sympathetic. It's a nostalgic blend, as familiar as one of Celestia's teas, honed over years of looking after the mare who's supposed to be looking after him.

I smile, and think of the breakfast he served so thanklessly that kept hunger from shredding me into more of a mess. "Thanks for the pancakes, Spike."

"Aaaaaand you're concussed."

"I never thanked you!" I explain with a giggle. "You're owed."

"And you're weird," he says, unimpressed. "What's gotten into you? More importantly, what's gotten into our foyer?" This is a phase he's gotten into: picking up whatever Prench words have haplessly wandered into Equestrian and giving them a tour of the place like they're an old friend, complete with accent (the wrong accent. It's /eɪ/, not /ɚ/.) This room is absolutely not a foyer, but I haven't had the heart to tell him.

Instead, I roll to my hooves and glance behind me at the muddy mess, snickering Rarity included. "Your dear friend Rarity?" I say in a desperate and transparent ploy to distract him.

It doesn't work, of course. "Yep, and I know for a fact this mud wouldn't be her fault." Incorrect, mostly. "So who's going to clean it up?" he asks, tapping his hindclaws against the wooden floor. It's not the first time I've wondered about getting carpets just to thwart him.

"... You?" I ask, looking back at him hopefully.

He holds for a moment, then sighs. "I'll get the mop and a bucket, but you're using them," he relents. "... And some towels. You're both soaked."

A shivering, sheepish smile does little to appease him, and he vanishes down into the basement. "Thank you, Spikey!" Rarity singsongs after him from the other end of the room, still unwilling to bring more mud in.

I shoot a dirty look at her. "A little chivalry would've helped."

She bats her eyelashes innocently. "And get on dear Spike's bad side? I could never!"

"I'm not sure the little guy has a bad side, when it comes to you. Me, on the other hand..." I trail off and stand, trying ineffectually to wipe the mud off my fetlocks.

We both stand there, unwilling to track more mud around, the room's width making it odd to talk but odd to simply stare as well. The memories of the night lay in the space between us, and we both seem to take time sorting them all into place.

For me, each stolen glance and treasured touch is secreted away into a drawer of mental keepsakes. For her... At the start of the night I would've said I don't know what she thinks of these. Now... I'm still unsure. But the gaze that traces the rings of the tree beneath her belies some deep churning of memory beyond a friendly outing.

Where I expect shame to twist up my gut, there's only a comfortable lightness. She looks beautiful, flushed from exertion, mane soaked and slicked to her neck, eyes distant and not fixed in her usual sifting gaze. It's as if each piece of presentation has fallen away, and this... It isn't the 'real' or 'true' Rarity, because every piece of her presentation is part of her. But it's a private Rarity, and I'm honored to see it.

"I'd invite you in for tea, but..." I wouldn't be able to keep my hooves off of you. I shake my head a little to wave off the thought.

"Yes, right now I simply want to get home and have a bath. Besides, we've both got to be up early tomorrow. Much to do, hm?"

Yes... Perhaps not the train to Canterlot she's thinking, but there is much to be done. "Right. Can I... walk you home, then?"

"Oh, that's not necessary." My heart flops. "Have you scheduled a chariot?"

"I was... thinking of taking the train, actually." Not technically a lie. I have the ticket I bought this morning. Now... Even going through with any form of charade makes me feel queasy. I've told more than enough lies.

"Hardly the mode of transport for a Princess," she says with feigned disdain. Then, she asks a question I'm not prepared for. "Is it... one-way?"

"Rarity." The steel in my tone makes her jump a little, and I take a moment to soften it. "I'd never abandon my friends. Even for romance. You know that, right?"

"R-right," she says, looking guilty. "I apologize, my... My fears got the better of me, for a moment."

Just as I find myself thinking to ignore the mud and trot over there, Spike emerges from the basement with a mop in one hand, a bucket in the other, and a stack of fluffy white towels balanced on his head. "Cleaning crew, coming through!"

I lend a hoof, levitating one towel over to Rarity and the other to myself. Rarity wastes no time, toweling off as much of the mud as she can. "I thought I was the cleaning crew tonight?" I ask as Spike trots past me into the kitchen for hot water.

"Oh, yeah." He stops midway and blushes, self-conscious. "I guess I got so caught up in the prep that I forgot."

I laugh. Little guy gets excited for the weirdest things, but I guess I'm in no position to criticize. "I'll just see Rarity off and we'll split it so we can get to bed on time, alright?"

He nods and disappears into the kitchen while I cross the room to Rarity's side.

"... Sorry about the mud," I finally apologize, cringing. At least none got in her mane.

She lifts the towel away from herself and grimaces at the mess. "Well, it's as I said, no? All's fair."

"Oh, are we at war now? After one puddle?"

She laughs at that, and then hiccups, and then flushes. My stomach does a little flip, and I wonder if maybe I should offer tea after all, and I wonder if maybe she would accept. Instead, she says, "I believe that's my cue to bundle myself off homeward, Twilight."

I nod, shredding my fantasies like lesser wards. "Thank you for watching the ley wash with me, Rarity. I'm really glad I got to share it with you."

"It was truly beautiful, wasn't it?" She turns and shoulders the door open, and I furtively glance over my shoulder to confirm Spike's still in the kitchen and can't see the furrow I dug in the earth. Turning back, I see Rarity's faced away from me, looking up at the stars.

"Twilight... There's something I haven't had the chance to teach you in these lessons. Not that it can be taught."

Her sober tone and hushed voice immediately arrest me, and I just stare at her violet mane. "What's that, Rarity?" I ask, voice similarly low.

"... Far past the flirting and flushes, I know that there lies something truly special, something your assigned reading never gets to. These lessons would never be able to cover that, no matter the approach. It must be experienced."

I scuff my hoof against the wood. "I always thought of that stage of things as a bit... unromantic. I mean, I don't exactly look at my parents and think 'romance'."

"I thought the same of mine. And it's not exactly the sort of thing they write novels of, is it? Regardless, as much as courtship makes my heart race..." — and there's something there, in her words, material, recent — "... I'm equally excited to have... a friend closer than any other."

I think of myself, an alone-not-lonely mare in a hot air balloon drifting down to a nowhere-town. I think of five stars arrayed. "I think I know what you mean, Rarity. But even if... No matter what happens, you should know... You're a dear friend to me."

"And you as well, to me, Twilight Sparkle." She turns half back toward me, mane still hiding her face. "I must bid you good night, now. It's been wonderful, all the way through."

I step forward and raise the cleaner of my two forelegs, then use it to brush her mane aside, revealing moist eyes that dart to me, unsure. Before I can second-guess, I lean forward and press my lips to her cheek. For even if she's to help me get ready in the morning, this is where the charade ends, in the same place that it began, here on my doorstep.

And I know for sure, as she breaks eye contact again and leaves without a word, that there can be no more pretending.
> Graduation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

As morning comes on gilded hooves

And sweeps away the night-time hues

And even as the sun-gate moves

My moods are feathers in the mues

Few feelings make it past their youths

Except for how I feel for you

I slam the book of pithy, stupid love poems closed. Really, I shouldn't have graced her with lessons at all! Half the love poems in Equestria already mention the one she courts. It couldn't be easier. And what of the one who pines for she who loves the Princess? Things could not be harder for her.

Unfortunately, I cannot eat self-pity for breakfast, as strong as my appetite for it seems to be. Returning the book to its shelf, I turn to look through my cabinets, but can't muster the interest for anything more complex than a bowl of oats with alfalfa. Twilight's the one headed to Canterlot, yet somehow I'm the one full of nervous butterflies.

I wonder if this is how Princess Celestia felt when she sent her off to Ponyville. The Princess who gives everything for her kingdom finally giving away this last wonderful, bright spark she'd kept for herself. The ghost of a sardonic smirk flits across my face as I realize that I've reversed her grand gesture, myself sending Twilight back to Canterlot to give the Princess what she has no doubt wanted since then.

Surely she is wanted. If Celestia hadn't loved Twilight before she'd sent her to Ponyville, she must by now. How could anypony not? Her wit, her verve, her absolute passion... Typical that I would be so focused on my own fire and will that I would gloss over the only flame to match mine. And there's no doubt that in her former student, the Princess sees her own wisdom, perhaps still green and new, but sure to blossom.

I shouldn't have gone on that last date. There was nothing new about the Twilight I saw last night, but every aspect seemed sharper: her knowledge a private garden into which she invited me, her impish edge stirring me up just enough to make the chase satisfying, and that quiet hope that thrums through everything she does, singing like Harmony. The love whose intensity inspired fear in me has now settled from hurricane to ocean, but its enormity is unchanged. If anything, it is only more terrifying for its constancy.

If only I realized how I felt sooner. Is this impulse selfish, too? Even if I had asked Twilight before she realized her feelings for the Princess, I would still be stealing her away from her destiny. How could I, a lady so enamored with royal romance, rob another of it? No, this is what's best. That's what I think, it's for the best, a phrase worn like a groove in the floor through its overuse.

The bowl of oats is as finished as it's going to get, so I rise and follow the similarly-worn path to my workroom upstairs. There are commissions to be done, thankfully, and still an hour until Twilight arrives for our promised preparation. There's not much I can do for her, anymore, besides offer empty encouragements, but I will offer them for her if it will help.

I can feel my cutie mark on either flank, that assuring glow that used to mean gems and dresses and a link to an-Nizm, the mark my mother privately frowned at for its threefold form. Now, it means I am part of a whole that I still do not understand, a sixth which has been molded into the shape of a diamond and overwhelmed the meaning of my own mark with its weight. The mark that once meant gems now means Generosity. So, I will be generous.

I've only barely set up the pattern and begun sewing when my thoughts wander back to her.

The thing about Twilight that chafes is that you expect her to be a nerd. And she is, of course, a bookworm through and through, and there is nothing whatsoever wrong about that, but what you also expect from a nerd is a certain amount of social inexpertise. And, true, she isn't experienced in some of the more intimate aspects of socializing, the ones important to friendship: kindness, honesty, laughter and the like.

But the mechanics of social interaction, etiquette and all its attendants, she handles with ease. Once, when I was hosting a dinner party for some of my friends around Ponyville, she asked why I'd not supplied a relish fork for the second course, out of pure innocent curiosity. She was right, I had missed it. However, she asked not to point it out, but purely for her own elucidation.

That isn't so bad, in itself. It's an asset, really, especially for one like me, entrenched in high society, professionally and aspirationally. What really irritates is that Twilight doesn't actually use any of it. At that very same dinner party where she pointed out the missing utensil, she did so after using her salad fork for every single course! Even the dessert! She has all these tools at her disposal, terrifically honed, not rusted a piece for all their years stowed, and she has no interest whatsoever in putting them to use. I know she can run conversational circles around any socialite I've met, including myself.

She knows every step of the dance — she learned from the very best, after all. She's simply not interested in dancing! Or in performance at all, really. She is blunt, and direct, and hates going in circles, which is all dancing is, really. Being beaten hurts, but at least you can learn from it. What truly frustrates is missing the opportunity to compete at all. Better to lose than for your opponent to think you not worth dueling.

It is this particular grievance which I've been rolling around my mind all morning, in hopes that it will pick up other little annoyances and grow from a snowball into an avalanche which I can bury my love for Twilight under.

Unfortunately, my little panoply of jagged annoyances have rounded into fondnesses instead.

The way the slightest unfamiliar concept will completely derail a conversation into her attempts to draw an impromptu lecture out of me, and her accompanying ability to put the conversation back on its tracks just where we'd left off when she's satisfied.

The way her bangs inevitably grow just slightly too long and she'll spend a moon or so blowing them out of her eyes (pfooh, pfooh, pfooh) before finally taking herself to get a manecut, after which she'll chirp about how good it feels and wonder aloud how she let it go for so long, and then she'll let it go for just the same amount of time next round.

The way she eats like a starved griffon (when company allows), attacking a hayburger without regard for the sauce she splatters across her muzzle, the same reckless abandon and wild passion with which she tackles utterly everything, her entire life a banquet and herself completely insatiable.

I am worse than a filly with a crush, worshiping an idealized version of a pony who doesn't exist. No, I am most certainly a grown mare in love with a flawed, real pony. It's much worse than I feared.

Ashamedly, I almost find myself looking forward to it. True, crushing heartsickness, the type chaise longues were designed for in the first place. How long have I craved for a good reason to stare forlornly out a rain-slicked window? To fill my bedroom with music from mother's phonograph, and understand for the first time the pain that drove those musicians?

Yes, it is not all for naught. I cling to that in place of finding ways to be annoyed with Twilight.

I'll see her everywhere, even when she's in Canterlot — especially when. And it will hurt, but it will fade as all pains do, and then perhaps... Perhaps I'll find another pony who's aflame as I am, as Twilight is. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. The word swirls in my head. I am sick of perhaps and tired of maybe and have had just about enough of someday.

A growl of frustration rips through my throat as I stamp my hoof down. The machine whines piteously as I push the pedal past its limits, and then coughs as it jams, the stitch dissolving into a snarl just like the one inside my head. Darting forward, I bite the fabric and tear to pieces  my work from the last hour. I spit it out, and it flutters unsatisfyingly to the ground.

I huff. Lovesick protagonists don't have little temper tantrums, do they, Rarity? Then again, they don't do much of anything. They have their whole life presented to them on the silver platter of narrative. They don't have to work, or struggle, or toil through the night because they can't afford to miss another order! I just want... I just...

Stepping out of the pedals, I step downstairs and stride to the door, leaving the mess as it is. I need air, a walk, something to see, anything to keep my mind off— Twilight Sparkle. There she is, of course, right behind the front door I've opened, just as scheduled. Of course. La-dee-frolicking-dah, Twilight Sparkle. "Twilight, hello!" I say with a bright smile, stepping aside. "Come in, come in!"

I take a moment for mindfulness, as mother taught me. Take each worry, and stack them up, and shove them deep, deep down, because we wouldn't want to inconvenience anyone, would we Rarity? Just hold out for a little while longer, and then you can fall to pieces in peace.

Centered again, I turn to the interior of the Boutique and find Twilight blinking at me. For a moment, her stare is so intense that I worry all my evil little thoughts have bubbled to the surface of my coat, staining it dark. "What is it, Twilight?" I ask.

"I just asked how you were doing. Are you alright? You seem a little distracted," she says, innocent and concerned as always.

"Oh, I'm quite alright," I say, fluttering my eyelashes. "Simply thinking of what sort of wedding dresses I should design for a Princess and her consort."

Twilight rolls her eyes, which makes me realize...

 "Are you... wearing makeup, Twilight?" I ask. It's subtle, but her lashes are definitely more voluminous, and there's a small accent of liner. It's very flattering, needless to say, and I wonder when she found time to practice.

"Oh, yes, I... It's not too much, is it?" she asks bashfully. "I know I'm nowhere near as good as you, but I started practicing a little on my own time... Should I take it off? I should take it off," she says, the telltale signs of panic rearing their head. "Can I borrow your remover? Actually, that's too much of an imposition, I'll go get my own—"

I place a hoof on her chest before she can gallop off again. "Twilight, it looks wonderful. The subtlety draws out your natural beauty very well. I'm impressed." All true, though I won't volunteer how much I was looking forward to prettying herself up myself. Ever since we met and I had her under my hooves for the first time... My passion has always been in bringing out a pony's natural beauty, but there's always been something intoxicating about hers in particular.

I really should've realized earlier. Professor Rarity indeed. Swallowing the bitter irony like medicine, I refocus on Twilight. "However, with that taken care of, I'm not sure there's much to do before you begin your journey."

"Nothing to do but to do it, huh?.." Twilight asks, shuffling on my plush carpet.

"Not getting cold hooves now, are we?" I ask, not hoping that's the case. Not hoping that she perhaps needs an introductory relationship, start off small with an unassuming country mare before working her way up to the literal Princess of the nation. Glory, why does she make me so pathetic?

"No," she says, full of determination. "No, I've avoided it enough." She stares at me as if I'm the train to Canterlot, then looks away. "Well. What about flowers? What do you think of flowers? Would flowers help?"

Come to think of it, I don't even know Princess Celestia's favorite flower. I feel that sort of thing should be common knowledge, so she must hide it — one of those 'no playing favorites' things, not wanting to tip the scales of the flower economy with her hoof, surely. For a moment, I instead think about Twilight bringing me my own favorite, lilacs. "Yes, of course, flowers! An essential gesture in courtship. I'm sure she'll appreciate them." The duplicity is beginning to make me nauseous.

Thankfully, that may not be an issue much longer. Twilight perks up and trots to the door. "Great, thanks Rarity!" she chirps. "I'll pick some up from the market, then I'll be all ready!"

"Oh, er..." I lift a hoof uselessly, as if to call her back. But what was I expecting, really? More than 'thanks Rarity', certainly, but... Is this not my place? To give, and to be happy for others? To be generous? Twilight's looking curiously at me, and I lower my hoof. "I suppose this is your graduation, then. I apologize, I didn't think to put a diploma together. Not that I imagine you'd want to display such a thing on your wall, of course!"

"Yeah," she laughs, "that'd be pretty hard to explain. 'Yup, I learned how to kiss from my best friend.' Honestly, I'm surprised none of our friends have caught on yet." Yet? She looks behind her, out the door to where her destiny awaits. "Sorry. I shouldn't be so flippant about something so valuable... You've taught me a lot, Rarity, about what I want. You've made me a lot surer of it, too."

I wince, expression unseen, as my mind traitorously wonders if I could've used this whole lesson plan as a way to make her stray from her path and onto mine. The little impulses and wonderings I have to crush underhoof are making me properly queasy, now. "You know I'm always happy to help. Now, you have flowers to fetch! Off you go!"

She turns back to me with her face set into an expression of determination and nods. Then, she turns and trots out of the Boutique without a word, closing the door behind her.

The utter bathos is relieving, really. No grand climax, no embarrassing, sobbing confession on my part. It reminds me of the tiny, elegant print on the letter I received at nine years old that contained the worse news of my young life, how it was so understated when the emotions were big enough to be engraved in Canterlot's cliffside. It's a morbid thing to be thinking about, but now is the time for morbid thoughts, as I said. Now is the time to wallow.

I tread up to my bedroom to get started, but find myself just casting about like I'm looking for something. To crawl into bed would be to admit to the finality of it all, and there will be plenty of time for that. Instead, I wander back downstairs. After a trip in and out of a kitchen full of uninteresting food, I find myself standing before my workstation, the damning evidence of my little temper tantrum staring me in the face.

With a sigh, I call on my magic to begin unjamming the sewing machine. "The stars want you to be free, darling," I say to the little thread, the edge of my words dripping sardonically. The joke just makes me sad. Unlike how being in love is more dizzying than any of the books could ever depict, being heartsick isn't anywhere near as fun.

The work is dull and lets my mind wander, which makes it a poor choice. I dip back into the stores of foalhood fantasy — Princess Rarity, high atop Canterlot, pulled from her work by the entrance of a gallant suitor. Except where previously stood a stallionish blob of vague gallantness instead stands Twilight Sparkle, vivid and sharply outlined, her violet coat standing out against the marble hallway.

Princess Rarity steps down from her throne with grace as catlike as the Royal Pet and stands before the brave unicorn. Her amethyst mane floats above and behind her, as untethered from reality's demands as she herself. The little unicorn is stammering through a confession, pure and unsullied by lechery or brash attempts at royal favor.

She is awkward and unconfident, but there is something bright burning in her eyes. Princess Rarity can see it like none other, and readily pries back her exterior with another step forward, fishing around in her very soul for that spark she's looking for. Twilight is like a star fallen to earth, and she wants to know its name — not what the Saddle Arabians called it, but what it calls itself. Rarity leans down, through a whole length of height, and interrupts her admirer's stuttered confession with her own lips, silent but for the sound of love as a gift, as they press close—

A knock on the door interrupts me. Can't a young businessmare brood in peace? I stand, dropping the spool I was fiddling with, and trot to the door. With each step I regret not having flipped my 'Open for Fabulousness!' sign to 'Closed for a Burst of Inspiration!'. Inspiration indeed.

Opening the door, I sing out that catchphrase which feels utterly wretched at the moment: "Welcome to Carousel Boutique, where every garment is—"

Twilight Sparkle is, for some reason, standing on my doorstep once again.

"Chiq, unique, and magnifique," she finishes for me, apparently unable to leave the slogan unslogged. "... Hi, Rarity."

"... Hello," I respond, staring at her. My eyes wander to the bouquet peeking out of her saddlebags and note the Princess's good taste — we must share lilac as our favorite flower. A small, ugly part of me says the color doesn't match her ethereal mane as well as it does my earthly one. How selfish, to think myself as more deserving of an entire species of plant. "Have you... forgotten something, Twilight?"

"Yeah," she says, and then just stares at me.

I look over my shoulder, back into the dark of the Boutique. Has something gone wrong? Did she miss her train? "Twilight, really, you mustn't keep the Princess waiting..." I say.  You mustn't keep yourself waiting here with me any longer.

"But... It's just... Rarity, I..." She swallows, and sparkles of her magic play with the flowers at her side before fading. "There's... one thing I never got the chance to practice with you."

I plant my hooves, summon my strength, and smile. I promised to see this through. "And what's that, darling?"

"Saying it."

No. No, no, no, promise or not, I cannot bear to hear those words from her. They would break me, they would hook my heart from its depths and drag it out of my throat to die on the floor like a gasping fish. "Oh, you shouldn't need any practice for that..." I say, nearly wincing in anticipation of the flat platitude I'm about to spout. "Just listen to your heart!" And please, ignore mine.

She scuffs my welcome mat with her hoof, and I wonder for a moment if they sell reversible ones with the opposite sentiment printed on the obverse side. Go! Leave! Your Princess is waiting for you, and a pint of ice cream is waiting for me. Let the curtain fall on our little play so I may retreat backstage while you perform your curtain call. Or rather, let the show begin, and leave the costumier behind.

"I've tried before, but... I failed," she says, her voice weak. "I'm just so scared." And she looks it. Her legs are unsteady, and her eyes are hidden behind her downturned bangs.

Oh, I cannot help it. It is as I said: no matter what, she's still my best friend. I step forward and nuzzle her cheek; it's comfort and nothing more. "Twilight, I know it sounds pithy, but there comes a time when all contingencies and schemes will fail you, and this is one of them. Your heart must be bared to hers. There can be no pretense or plan. You simply have to say it. I'm afraid I can't ease that an iota."

She looks up at me as I draw back, then laughs. "Of course. Cadence was right all along, wasn't she? It's always been that simple." I don't think I've ever seen this smile on her, except maybe when she first worked up the courage to ask me to help her with romance. It must be relief. "I think I'm ready this time, though. I should just... say it." She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and I realize with terror that she plans to practice, after all. Then, her eyes open again and, before I can look away, I'm caught, caged by her fluttered-open eyelashes. "I love you."

My legs wobble beneath me. I am a strong mare. I have faced down an alicorn and uncountable creatures of the sort with which parents warn their foals. This is nothing to me, nothing, nothing. "That's perfect! Now, of course, it will be a bit more difficult to say to the mare you're actually in love with," I say, wringing my own heart before she has the chance to, "but I know you can do it!" Turn away! Leave! Before I— Before I...!

She curses me with another shaky, shy smile, surely adrift in thoughts of the Princess. She's imagining the other side of this confession: the small shock that will grace her face, then the smile that will bloom in its place and the way her eyes will crinkle at the corners. Perhaps I could just step back inside, curl up on the couch, and she won't even notice...

Instead, with gentle hooves, she takes my heart from my own grip, eyes focused. She steps forward, into the Boutique, and I step back instinctually. "I love you," she repeats, each word squeezing tighter. She must expect me to respond, to continue this farce to its endpoint. Wouldn't it be wonderful, to hear such a thing addressed to me? To be able to respond in kind, as I so dearly want to?

I know my composure is cracking. I can feel the hairline fractures all along and through, and if it shatters, everything will come rushing out, and Twilight will be soaked in my inconvenient, insignificant, incurable feelings. The last thing she needs right now is for me to muddy her true love with them.

A firm touch reaches me. I realize she's placed a hoof against my chest and is giving me that patient smile she wears when I've fallen into one of my admittedly-not-infrequent temper tantrums. I wonder why.

"Rarity," she says, magic grasping the bouquet and presenting it, "I love you."

I'm dimly aware of my jaw going slack.

"This whole time, it's been you. Never Celestia. I'm so sorry, Rarity. I'm not... a great pony, or a confident one. I should've said sooner, I wanted to, and I definitely shouldn't have lied, but I was so scared of the inevitable... And even more terrified of losing you as a friend. Then, you... You offered me a glimpse of what I knew I couldn't have. I thought it wouldn't do any harm, but..." She sighs. "I guess I deserve the harm it did. I'm just sorry you were caught in it," she says, unbelievably calm, unacceptably sad.

I kiss her. Somewhere leagues away, a bouquet of lilacs drops to the floor. Cadence was right, of course. It really is just that simple. My hoof is pressed against her chest, my weight bearing down on her, and as her lips open to meet mine, she yields beneath me. We fall to the carpet, not heavy but delicate, like a flower unfolding. I find it very easy to lose myself in her, to let the Boutique and all surrounds fall away until it feels like it's just us, our souls contacting in a void, diamonds and starlight.

It's perfect. We've had plenty of practice, haven't we?

But we aren't quite alone in a void. With my magic, I close the door behind her and latch it, remembering to flip the sign this time. There isn't a drop of falsehood in that 'Closed for a Burst of Inspiration!' signage. My muse is here, and I have plenty of ideas on what to do...

Starting with wringing an apology out of her.

I break the kiss first, and, as consolation, I get to see Twilight come back to herself, mouth spreading into a goofy grin with her eyes still closed. Then, she opens them and sees me, and guilt takes its place. So, she knows what I'm looking for. "Did you have fun, then, stringing a poor maiden along?" I ask, half playful and half hurt.

She winces. "I'm really sorry, Rarity... You remember how well my first attempt to confess went."

"Perhaps my own enthusiasm for the subject can be blamed for that particular instance. But... Well, when did you decide to try again?"

"Last night had a few hints that you might feel the same, but I... didn't really know for sure I was going to do it until I was standing at the flower stall." She glances away, then back to me, eyes pleading, ears laid flat. "Are you mad at me?"

"Alas, I cannot find it in myself to be," I confess, and nuzzle a smile out of her. "You are a difficult mare to be mad at. And I do not blame you, truthfully... Though I had better reasons to stifle my own confession, I understand how intimidating it is."

"I figured you wouldn't mind a bit of lovesickness... Practically every 'textbook' you gave me featured a bit of that."

"You're not wrong, but I quickly found it to not be my style. I find I much prefer loving, and being loved."

"... Do you?" she asks, quietly.

"Do I?.."

"Love me."

I roll my eyes. "Twilight, what else could that kiss have possibly meant?"

"... Remedial lessons?" she asks, in her sheepish 'maybe I can get partial credit' way.

"I love you, Twilight Sparkle. Very much, despite all your silliness. Or perhaps because of it, given how well it matches my own. I think I have since we met. It just took a little work to realize it."

"I love you too, Rarity," Twilight says with a ready smile. "What made you realize?"

"When you kissed me — not when I kissed you, but when you kissed me," I say with careful emphasis, hoof idly rubbing at my neck, "it all sort of just... came together. Which was unfortunate, because by then I had guessed..." I pause. "... Do you... actually love the Princess?" Are you settling for less, is the question I don't ask.

"No," she says, and the utter sureness in her voice drains the tension away. "I mean, platonically, yeah, and I had a crush on her as a filly, but that's more like the phase AJ's sister went through with Cheerilee. Puppy love, I think is the term." She rolls away from my embrace and stands, walking deeper into the Boutique. "You... didn't actually think I had a chance with her, did you?"

"I... Perhaps I was projecting, just a little. I truly don't know Celestia well enough to say for sure what she wants." I swallow. "I just knew you were incredible and any mare would be lucky to have you."

She turns and smiles back at me, then looks thoughtful. "I'm not sure I know what Princess Celestia wants either. I'm not sure she does. Maybe now that Luna is back, she'll have the time to figure that sort of thing out. I hope she will."

"I do as well, but... I think perhaps there's a more immediate concern. That of what we want."

Twilight turns around fully, sitting on her haunches, then tilts her head. "What do you mean?"

I sigh at having to trot out this particular cliche — at least she'll have context for it from her readings. "What... are we?" Because love is, though powerful, only a word, a feeling. It's not a plan or any sort of guarantee.

"Oh! That's easy," Twilight says, like she's been presented with a trivial bit of addition. She raises a hoof and points at me. "You're my marefriend." A pleased shiver runs up my spine at the cool confidence with which she says it. Once Twilight's sure of something, it gets slotted into her brain as a simple fact, and it takes a lot to shake it loose. She points at herself. "And I'm yours." Her tail flicks, and my eyes follow it. "And I'm going to tell all our friends. And the Princesses."

"Maybe we should tell Pinkie Pie first, so she has the chance to get a party ready?.." I ask, feeling a bit trepidatious.

"Maybe, but then she'd have to keep it secret... Besides, since when has Pinkie needed time to prepare? But, if you want to hold it off for a while..." she says, walking — no, I realize with fear, she is sauntering towards me. She stops with her own muzzle inches from mine. "I can think of a few ways to pass the time."

I smile, enjoying the confidence that seems to fill her now her feelings can be properly expressed. "Bold, aren't we? Just who taught you all this?" I ask, smirking.

"You, professor," she says sweetly, and then nuzzles her way along my cheek, to whisper straight into my ear. "But now I think it's my turn to teach you a few things," she says, and I yelp as she nips my ear, the sensation coursing hot and electric through my body.

She darts back, a worried look on her face. "Was that too much?"

Unwilling to cede the gap in space between us, I pounce, knocking her to the carpet, a floor below where she had me in a reversed position three nights ago. "Quite the opposite. Twilight Sparkle, you've been very cruel to this poor mare, and I think it's past time you start making it up to me." She squirms a bit under me, but a researcher's physique doesn't amount to much, and she can't overwhelm my pin.

"Now," I say, leaning down and relishing the way she shivers as our muzzles touch. "I daresay it was a mite rude, the way you galloped out on me the other night. I'd like to pick up where we left off."

She nods vigorously, and I'm reminded of the eager young student she's told stories of. I've half a mind to write my own letter to the Princess about my new marefriend. Gloating doesn't befit a lady, but a pony like Twilight deserves to be shown off. As I chew on her ear in a way that produces adorable squeaks, I decide the letter doesn't necessarily have to be too detailed.

Whatever we tell everypony else, all that matters for now is all the lessons yet to be learned — not as teacher and student, but together as one.