> When it all Falls Apart > by Rysonn > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- > Anywhere but Here - Prologue > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- “I can tell you’re a very sweet young girl, but it think it must be around bedtime back home, isn’t it? You’d best be leaving soon, wouldn’t want your parents to get upse-” “Aww… can’t I sleep here tonight?” Scootaloo had been practising a little crack in her voice, the kind the older stallions would just die for. She had also picked out her favourite pair of white socks with purple stripes to match her mane, and she’d pulled them up as far as she could manage, just below her hips. Perfect. He was strong and muscular stallion, just over middle-aged, married--no children of his own yet--and his wife was away for the night. She liked the married ones the best. They tended to keep their mouths shut. And though she didn’t even know his name, she already knew he was hooked. Though it could never hurt to up the game a little bit. “Pleeeeaaaassse? Just one night? Your bed looks so comfy…” She begged him, pleading him with her eyes as she trotted over and set her forehooves atop his queen-sized bed and spread her hind legs wide, laying her stomach on the bed, arching her back, tensing her flanks, raising her tail, and showing him everything he wanted to see. His worst fear and deepest fantasy had just come true, and his face was torn between an expression of both sides, struggling and waging war for logic, reason, and self control. Although the ‘faithful spouse’ side of the mind had never won ever. There was no exception for this stallion. She could see out of the corner of her eye that his body and hormones weren’t so opposed to the idea. She could see that he tried to force himself to say no. She could see that it didn’t work. He stood there for a moment, his stallionhood twitching in excitement beneath him. Then, in just a flash, he was on her. They were all the same. Every night she would try to enjoy herself, but each night she died on the inside once more, and she felt St. Peter’s cold words on her ears. ‘Forgive me, but the scum of Equestria hold no reservation anywhere past those pearly gates. God’s luck to you with damnation.’ Every night, she cried herself silently to sleep. Every night was cold, dark, and dreamless. Dreamless except for tonight. /// Scootaloo lay in a small patch of clearing in the woods just outside the city. All around her, white flowers swayed in great waves along with her coat as a slight breeze swept through. Then, in a single moment, the petals of these flowers bled to the rich, sinister blackness of ink. The tree line drew closer somehow, and the leaves melted to tongues of flame. The branches skewed and brought the flames together into terrible faces that stared at her with a mouth without teeth and eyes of an ungodly abyssal blackness deeper than anything she could have ever imagined. She quivered violently and curled up into a little ball, sobbing openly, a feeling of utter hopelessness and terminality engulfing her mind. She could vaguely make out the form of a mare through her half closed and watery eyes. The mare stepped between the trees, coming from nothingness into the clearing and walking slowly towards her. Her eyes dried then, and she could see the mare bore a sweet and loving smile. The mare came to her side and pulled her to her hooves. She stared at her for a minute, and then hugged her. There was a bright flash, and when she looked, the trees were further from her now, still burning, but dimly at that. She flowers didn’t seem quite as black as before, and she noticed a hint of whiteness in the very cores of the flowers nearest her. A muzzle pressed against her ear, and she was intoxicated with the sound of a voice of liquid gold. In that moment, all her qualms were eased, and those surreal images around her seemed to make sense somehow. She didn’t know those fiery faces, but she knew they fit where they were, and somehow she knew that she didn’t have to worry about them. “It’s okay, kiddo. It’s all okay.” \\\ She awoke in cold sweat, her heart racing and her legs trembling, chilled to the bone. Though none of it really felt like a nightmare somehow. It felt like a promise. It was cold and dark and sweat matted her mane to her face, but somewhere inside herself, she felt warm. For the first time in countless years, a heartfelt smile lit Scootaloo’s face. That smile changed though, drifted from heartfelt to the bittersweet smile of something she couldn't quite describe, though irony was close. She began to cry then, one last time, she promised herself that much. Maybe it was for her mom, or her sister, or herself, she wasn't sure. All she was sure of was that it would be her last time. It needed to be her last time. 'I'm better than this. That's not who I am anymore.' She tossed her old socks into the nearby fire-pit and stumbled her way into the kitchen, moonlight guiding her hoofsteps along the way. The tears dried away from her cheeks slowly as she walked, little dwindling droplets falling to the linoleum floor that made her every step echo through the room. 'I'm done with this life.' She drew a knife from an old mahogany knife block on the nearby counter-top and stared at her half-black reflection in the window. 'I'm done.' With a care and deliberation she'd never felt before, not once in her entire life, Scootaloo swung the blade up once. A clump of straight, deep purple mane fell to the floor beneath her. 'I'm through being innocent.' She swung again, sending more and more dark purple flurries of her prized mane mane fell down beside her. 'I'm done being helpless.' She swung again. Again. Again. 'I quit you.' Scootaloo just glared at that reflection then. There was nothing else left to do. After she cut one last time, and the last of her old self fell to the cold floor with her patches of mane, she just stared. All that was left of her old life were scattered and shattered memories, and with a shake of her head, all that was left of her mane was a short, wild eruption of purple--no more cascading curtains of whorish curls or straight, enticing strands. With that, the knife fell to the ground among the leavings of her old self. So close but so far. That was the feeling behind that little smile. Scootaloo stepped out into the night and closed the door silently, barring herself against the past. 'It's done now. No going back.' She walked. > Anywhere but Here - Chapter 1 > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Scootaloo always found her eyes drifting up to the sky as she walked. It was a deep purple tonight. No stars, of course. There were never any stars in the city. She had only seen the stars once, once with a foal’s eyes, far too young to remember any of their beauty. That’s what they’d told her at least. Something felt different, something inside—something big. It was her opening night, and she stood just seconds away from singing her first word before a crowd of thousands. She was finally doing something. Tonight was her gift to herself. A payment of sorts. Tonight was going to make every year without a birthday kiss. Tonight would be the night that made up for every other night—for every night she had gone without food. Without water. Without love. Tonight would be better. Tonight was her debut, her big opener. Tonight was the night she left all this behind her. Cobbles crunched with her last hooffall as she slowed to a halt, staring up into the night sky. Simply because there weren’t any stars up in that vast expanse didn’t mean that it wasn’t beautiful. The most beautiful part was the little hint at a storm brewing in the distance. West. That settled it. She was headed west. First, however, she sighed softly. The night may not be young, but she had a few errands to run. Pebbles ground once more as she turned and made her way into a small alley behind a little saloon not long for this world. She couldn’t remember the name of it, but that wasn’t important. There were four dumpsters in a row against the saloon’s brick wall. Hers was the last. The dumpster was cold in the crisp night air, and in the pale moonlight she could see a thick black coat curled into a ball. Inside were a small pouch and a smooth-as-silk purple scarf that matched her eyes perfectly. On one end of the scarf, the letter “S” had been stitched in the same colour as her coat. She’d never dared to wrap it around herself before, and the time wasn’t quite right yet. She slid the scarf gently and delicately into the coat’s left pocket. The little pouch she dropped half-carelessly into the right. She felt like she wasn’t a foal anymore. A pair of hooves slid into the sleeves of the coat, and little wings fluttered through the slits on either side. Then she walked on. It was even colder now than ever, cold enough she could see her breath lingering in the air like fog. The moon was small tonight, hardly more than a sliver in the night sky. This was the street, that much she was sure of, but she’d long since forgotten the address. She would recognize it though. Oh yes, she’d never be able to get that place out of her head. There. She didn’t remember it looking as bad as it did. The concrete steps were rubble on one side, and the foundation had crumbled away. The panes were broken out of many of the windows, and windowsill flowerbeds sat dirty and broken, the flora long since dust. She knocked on the door, for cold, slow, deliberate taps, before twisting the knob and letting the door swing gradually open. Before her, only a few feet away, stood a nearly-bald stallion. He looked gentle enough, much like many old men she had seen, and in most cases, more than just seen. What little mane he had left was combed, but just barely. He smiled at her; sure to keep his mouth closed for his teeth had mostly rotted away. His eyes seemed to be failing him as well, for he squinted hard simply to see her from the short distance she was. Despite all he had done to her, she still felt sorry for him. He was hardly even middle-aged, and he looked like he wouldn’t make it through next week. He would though. Bastard always did. “Well.” His voice was deep and raspy, and his throat whistled as he spoke. It sounded almost as if he had been eating gravel. “Didn’t expect you back so soon. Or at all. Been almost a year now, iddun’t it?” “Six.” He simply stared through her, watching something from another world dance before his eyes. All he could give her was a mumbled “Eh” in dismissal. She looked into his eyes, really looked. They were the distant—cloudy and dismal—and they shook ever so slightly back and forth. He didn’t have the foggiest idea she was still here. She could feel that much. After a short little while, his eyes found their way back to her. “Sorry… Well, you can put your stuff over there if you like…” He gestured over to a small bed in the corner of a small room to her left. The door’s hinges had long since passed on, and the door itself leaned awkwardly against the wall nearby. She was surprised. That must have been the best room in the house. “and… y’know, if you want, I got a new shipment in. Hash that is. Milkman died a couple weeks back and I still haven’t found a replacement, so I don’t have anything el-“ “I won’t be staying.” “O-oh…” Pushing passed him, she dropped the little pouch onto the little cardboard box that must be serving as this week’s coffee table. Out from its mouth spilled thirty bits or so. Must be at least a few thousand left inside. Then, she stepped passed him once more, heading back into the cold night once more. All that remained was the West. So she walked on. Little hints of daylight were beginning to flicker against the sky. The sun would still be good while, but this was her cue. As she walked, the buildings thinned down to little lots and houses until all that was left was a long strip of relentless asphalt. “…Please...” She stopped. “…Please don’t leave me again….” … “Look… I may not be the best at showin’ it, but I miss you every day I go on living… She left. Then you left… I don’t want to go through this again… I can change, I promise I can… I just wish I could say you’re the one part of my life I haven’t fucked to hell yet…” She turned, and walked back over to him. He was the same ol’ stallion, his hazy eyes looking into memories of another time. “Live ‘till you see me again, and I’ll stay.” It took her every ounce of will she had left, but she needed to close this chapter on her life. There was only one way. She hugged him close to her. “And dad?” “…Yes, Sweetheart..?” “…I forgive you…” Scootaloo held her father close for just a short moment before she tread on, leaving the city, and the sunset, and a grown stallion crying in the streets far, far behind. > Life Like Theirs - Chapter 2 > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "...Dash..?" "Yeah Twi? "...How do you always know..?" "Always know what?" "...Everything... You always know what to say and how to say it, what to do, what to give me, where to take me... How do you do it..?" Twilight shifted her gaze up toward Rainbow Dash. The colours of her mane had been set on fire by the setting sun, and those bright rays glinted bright off of those deep, beautiful, rosey red rings she called eyes. Those eyes drifted shut. "...Well... It's easy really. All I had to do... " The eyes opened again, and before she knew it, Twilight felt her lips touch gently together with Rainbow Dash's. She felt her own eyes grow weak and finally drift closed. The sunset, and the little maple tree above her , and the grass beneath her, all vanished. Right then, everything was perfect. All that was there was the warmth of those lips, and that calm, steady, soft little breathing from Rainbow Dash's nose. "...is fall in love with you..." They kissed again, and again. For just a moment, Twilight could feel her heart stop beating. She though maybe it was just because it wanted that final kiss to last forever. "Told you you always know what to say..." Twilight let her head fall back down to her Dash's breast and hugged her close, giving one last glance back toward the sunset. Everything felt so simple, so easy. She didn't have to think. Not now. Not here. Here, she had no letters to send, no problems to solve, no worries or cares. Here she had everything she'd never knew she was missing. Here, she had a simple little love story. "...Dash..?" "..Mhmm?" "...I love you so much..." "Hmm... Maybe so, maybe so, but I still love you mo-" "-Nope!" "Yup." "Nope!" "Mhmm." "No! I love you more!" "I'm afraid that's not the case, my lady. I love you more." "...Fine..." she gave in not so reluctantly. She aways liked to let her Rainbow Dash win, just not without a little contest first. "Just this once." "So does that mean I'm gonna have to fight to love you more all the other times?" Twilight giggled. "Yes." "..Screw waiting. I wanna fight now." Rainbow Dash rolled Twilight onto her back and kissed her roughly over and over, smiling all the while. Rainbow backed off for air, and Twilight took advantage and dove on her, sending them tumbling down the hill together in a tumble of hugs and kisses. Then, a pair of strong wings unfolded and carried them off into the air. Those wings beat heavily over and over, pulling them high into the sky, and Rainbow Dash kissed her one more time, deep and slow, before whispering softly in her ear. "...Do I win..?" "...Yes..." "...Good..." > Anywhere but Here - Chapter 3 > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The clouds were closer now, and the rosy dimple on the horizon had blossomed into a dim-lit, cool morning. Everything around her had tinted a gray-blue with the little sunlight that broke through the buildings. Leaves of every colour had spilled throughout the streets, and sidewalks, and lawns. The city had thinned down into little suburbs, and even those were beginning to trickle down to small bus stops, and little shops, and inns, and cafés. And homes. Those were the ones that looked the grayest in the morning, but it wasn't the blooming sunlight that made them that way, only her own eyes. All of it seemed so impossible now. It didn't bother her much, even the rational side of her mind let out a chuckle or two over the whole thing. Not that the rational side of her mind held much control over her any longer. She was fighting a losing battle, and her mind decided to assemble a list for her--a little reality-check, she supposed. "Pros..?" ... She'd have to come back to that one. Maybe she'd think of something later. "Cons..? Cold, penniless, homel-" "Hello there, Miss. You lost?" Scootaloo didn't answer right away. It wasn't because she didn't want to. It wasn't because he was a complete stranger. It wasn't because he scared her, or because she was shy, or because she was stubborn. It wasn't any of that. She simply didn't have an answer for him. It was a good question. Was she lost? She didn't know for certain. 'No', she decided, and shook her head. She might not have a place to stay, or a destination, or a sack of food, or bits, or old faded pictures, but she had a direction, and that was enough. "You sure? You aren't local. You come from further inside. Your eyes give you away. You come from the industrial side, don't you?" She nodded and stepped closer to him. He had a presence to him. Almost like they had met before, but she just couldn't remember. It felt almost as though he knew her just as well as she did without even a name to go by. His coat was a dull, worn sepia, and he had eyes that were soft, but dark and tired, and in them she could see into a time long ago in a place that she knew he remembered well--a place that she knew he'd never forget. His frame was strong, but aged. Half of his horn stuck out through a hole in the top of a sheep's wool hunting hat, on the center of which a rank insignia had been sewn, and he wore a heavy jacket of rough leather with a Fatigue pattern swirling through the cloth. Both looked as though they had been put through a time-test without mercy and had held together through the worst of it. He stood on his wooden deck with his forehooves up on the hoofrail. "You came from that way, but you're not heading back that way, are you." It wasn't a question. He never quite looked at her. His gaze was still, looking past the buildings, and the shallow clouds, and the half-dead hedges, and the rotted, weathered, shrunken fence posts, past the streets and the city and the world itself, looking into the spaces that lie beyond all those things. Then, he closed his eyes. "You'll need a ticket then, won't you." Another question that wasn't a question. Scootaloo didn't say anything as he began to walk towards her. He smiled once at her, a small smile, a weak, frail, hazardous smile, but a true smile. He pulled a small slip from the pocket of his coat. It was faded manila paper with what used to be type on one side, but time had faded the letters into just a dirty black mosaic. All it brought her was confusion. She wanted to just dismiss him as a crazy old fool that spent too much of his life watching his friends shot down at his side, but something told her that wasn't the case. He tucked the ticket into the pocket of her small black coat. "Do not. Lose. That ticket." Though his eyes looked into hers, she could see that those eyes still didn't focus, always looking past her into some greater place. It was the same sort of look she saw in her father's eyes. She nodded. "Good..." He backed away from her, before turning and stepping up onto the old wooden porch and letting the narrow front door of his home fall open. "Wait! Sir! ...What's your name?" He looked back once and smiled at her, then closed the door behind him. At first, Scootaloo just stared. "...Who..." For the first time since she had spoken with him, she really looked at the house. The once-white wooden deck didn't look like it would support her own weight, let alone the strange man's. The paint on the deck and the home had chipped and fallen away, except in some rare places where faded paint clung to the walls and floorboards. The roof had fallen in at some points, and the shingles hadn't been changed in decades. The door was swollen and the hinges were rusted. The door to the garage had broken away from the top of the frame and hung on just by the bottom. One of the garage walls had caved in. No one had lived here in years. Carefully, Scootaloo made her way up the steps and tested the porch with her hoof. Surprisingly enough, it did hold. She made her way inch by inch over to the front door, and after knocking on it three times, it swung open on its own, the rust in the hinges cracking and breaking away with the motion. "...Hello..?" Dirty daylight fought in through the dust-caked windows. Drywall had broken away from the walls and ceiling and lay crumbled on the floor. She took a step inside. The house seemed so... lonely. There were countless of abandoned warehouses and shops and flats in the city but this house seemed so... wrong. No one left a house like this. All the furnishings were gone, but there were two photo albums open on the floor, and pictures hung on the walls, and an open closet in the corner was filled with dresses small enough only to fit a filly much younger than herself. These weren't the the things you left behind. The first photo album she saw was opened to a page somewhere toward the middle. A young Pegasus filly, very young, with a cerulean coat and a wild rainbow mane stood beside a mare that was probably her mother. The mother's mane was the same beautiful assortment of colour that the foal's was, but it was brushed and hung down long. There. There he was. Flipping through, she saw a picture here and there of the father, a stallion with dark eyes and a mane just as wild as the filly's was. He looked even younger than the mother, and in the pictures of him genuinely smiling, he looked like little more than a foal himself. His face was soft here, but she had seen it. His eyes had been filled with something else. Something that wasn't there in the photographs. Then, there was another one. Younger than he was, but it was another stallion, or colt, rather. He was taller than the mother, with a deeper blue coat and a richer, darker spread of colours, but not by much. He was only in the first and last photos, and he was never in the pictures with him. It seemed wrong. She walked down the short hallway. The glass in the large bathroom mirror had been broken out and lay in shards on the floor. Walking further, she found a small mattress on the floor in what must have been the bedroom, with blankets scattered nearby. There was a small, clean, nearly empty room at the end of the hall. All that was in it was a wooden desk, on top of which sat a small box filled with jewelry and a stack of two letters. The first letter was crisp and fine aside from the two fold creases which perfectly trisected the paper, and it's edges were a deep, pure black. Though she couldn't explain it even to herself, her mind wouldn't allow her read the letter, only the last two words: Semper Fidelis. The other was a crinkled piece of torn paper that had been faded to illegibility in most areas, and had been written in sloppy cursive that hardly qualified as writing at all. The only bits she could read throughout the whole paper were he was, wanted you to be, and so sorry. All that was left was a signature at the bottom, Cpl. Hoov, (the rest of the name had been lost in a blot of ink) other than one word at the very bottom. Semper. Though it didn't really mean a thing in her mind, a cold chill ran through her. Part of her was scared, but most of her knew better. She had seen his eyes. Suddenly, everything else was gone. The rest of the room faded away. The bedroom was gone, the bathroom was gone, the hallway was gone. It was all gone, but a swollen door with rusty metal hinges, and one word, plastered into the walls of her memory. Semper. Then, it was all gone. When the bright whiteness in her eyes had faded, she found herself laying in the dust just before the street. Around her she could see all the lots she had before; all the bus stops were there, all the shops, all the inns, all the cafés. All the homes. All but one. For, once she'd managed to drag her tired body off the ground and out of the dust, she found that the lot behind her was empty. The swollen wood door was gone, along with the rotting wood fences, and the chipped and faded paint. It was all gone. ----- '...She saw it too...' > Colour - Chapter 4 > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Rainbow Dash?" Rainbow's consciousness flickered into light and her eyes drifted open slowly as she gathered her thoughts together. "...Hmm..?" Her wings cut through the wind with an almost lazy ease. Her muscles were mostly-loose, and she hardly even seemed to notice the grown mare hanging from her shoulders. "How do you do it? Fly like this, I mean? I know I haven't had my wings for very long, but... You make it look so easy. It takes my full concentration just to fly straight, but you've been flying non-stop with your eyes closed for the last half-hour, not to mention with me on your back. Rainbow Dash couldn't help but laugh a little. "So you wanna know why I'm the best flyer in Equestria, is that it?" Rainbow could see Twilight stick her tongue out from the corner of her eye. "Well... It's not an easy thing to explain. It just sort of happens." "Yeah, but how? What happens--what does it feel like?" "Well... If i had to try to explain it... The trick is to let your whole world lose colour." Her mind struggled to form words for a time. Twilight was silent as she waited and tried to wrap her head around the words. "My head just gets so cluttered sometimes. It happens to me almost everyday. It's overwhelming. I can hardly breathe sometimes. And I see it in other ponies too. I'm sure it happens to you. It might be harder for you to do something like this, because, lets face it, your head is your strong-suit, but all you have to do is keep your head clear. Forget everything in there, you don't need it for flying. You don't need to think about your job, or your friends, or your past... You don't even have to think about flying. The trick is to think about nothing. Think in black-and-white. Before you know it, your wings have carried you far past what you could have ever imagined." They were both quiet for a long while. Rainbow Dash felt Twilight's head rest gently back onto her neck. Rainbow's eyes closed again. She felt the 'colour' bleed from her brain, and all that was left was silence. Sweet, calm, blissful silence. Twilight spoke up once again. "It's kind of like magic." "It is?" "Yeah." Twilight took a breath. "Magic does take a lot of concentration, don't get me wrong, but magic isn't something you can practise. Sure, you can learn new spells, and work on faster casting and better stability, but you can't really force it. Magic just comes. You have to just let it happen." "...You'll be a good flier, Twilight. I know you will." It was quiet then. All quiet. Serene. Sweet, silent, calm, complete ecstasy in the quiet. The breeze was cold and it chaffed at Twilight's hooves, but she wouldn't have had it any other way. It all felt so right. She had never felt such peace inside of her. It pervaded her. She could smell it, she could feel it, she could taste it, she could breathe it in. The dim blue-gray sky began to deepen as night fell, but neither of them had noticed. > You're Not Sorry - Chapter 5 > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- A stagehand gave her a thin glass of something that was a deep, pretty red, and at the first sip she could tell that the bartender wasn't shy when it came to dishing out the booze. Yet, that didn't matter did it? After all, she *cough* wasn't a minor anymore. She drank, and before she knew it, all that was left was ice. She tossed it to the stagehand and asked for another, giving him a smile she hoped would send across her thanks better than her voice could through all the screaming. He smiled back at her like a schoolcolt with one helluva crush and stumbled over his hooves as he ran to the barkeep. ... > Eyes Wide Open - Ch. 6 > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- A dark glow twisted and refracted around Twilight's horn. "...Twilight, you know I can fix them if you help me." "No." "...But... Why? How can you bear to keep them this way..?" "Because." "That isn't a reason." "It's the only reason I have." "...Twilight..?" "Yes?" "...Do they hurt?" "Doesn't matter." Princess Luna sighed. Her ribs tightened, and her heart ached. It was hard. Just seeing her like this. It was hard. Yet, there was nothing she could do. Twilight stood at the window. The sun would set soon, but the clouds draped across the sky shrouded Ponyville in a surreal, dim-lit blue light. It was a horrible kind of beautiful. The wind toyed with Twilight's mane, but the whole time, she never stirred. "...Twilight..?" "Yes?" "...What do you see?" "...I see misery." Luna pulled Twilight from the window and and spun her around, gazing deep into those black as death eyes. Vaguely, she thought she could see into Twilight herself, watching the images dance through that frail mind. Once upon a time, she could have almost tasted the colour in those beautiful eyes. Now all she could taste was pure, raw, all-encompassing darkness that glowed and leeched out from where those eyes used to be. It was terrifying. "...What made her do it to you? Why did she... what did you ever do... how could she do this to you..?" "You already know why." The deep aura swirled together and in a flash, there were two Twilight Sparkles before Luna's gaze. Another flash, and only one remained. The very feel of the magic in the air was cold and sent chills deep into her bones. "That magic is forbidden." "I know." Luna didn't argue, just stared into those eyes darker even than the night she created. "...I know what goes on in her head." "I know." "It's in my head too." "I know." The dark light swirled again. Flash. Four Twilight Sparkles. Flash. Eight. Flash. One. "But yours is different. Yours is a pain of loneliness. Hers is a pain of vengeance. Of rage. Of madness." "She's no madder than I!" "I know." "...She's no madder than you..." "...I know." "...Then what do you intend to do..?" "Good question." Twilight drew a smirk. It scared Luna. Those eyes. That smile. The very thought of what lurked in the darkness inside that lavender Alicorn's skull. It was a frightening thought. The sickly aura swirled again. Flash. No Twilight Sparkles. Noyhing but a Twilight Sparkle shadow crawling back toward the window. Flash. One Twilight Sparkle. "Fight fire with fire."