Equestria's first murder in 500 years. What could drive a pony to kill? And why Twilight Sparkle?
Equestria faces its first murder trial in over five hundred years. But why? What could drive a pony to kill? Only the killer himself can tell us. And nopony is going to like his answer.
The wide, open air theater is packed from edge to edge with ponies. Usually reserved for school performances and official ceremonies, it hasn't seen this much activity in many years. There's a tension in the air that contrasts sharply with the temperate weather of the late summer day. The crowd murmurs and rustles, but conversation is muted. There is a sense of anticipation, and underneath that, another emotion pervades the area: anger.
It is noon.
Celestia, the Princess of the Sun, presides over the event from a raised stage. Beside her are the parents of her prized student, Twilight Sparkle. Next to them is their son, Shining Armor. Shining Armor's wife, the Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, is at the front of the crowd, but her sympathetic eyes never leave her husband.
The clink of chains cuts through the air, and the crowd's attention snaps to the source of the sound. Their anger has found its target.
A tan, brown-maned unicorn stallion walks down the cobblestone path toward the theater, two armored guards flanking him. He moves with the resigned gait of a condemned pony; his eyes are on the ground, unfocused and gazing into a scene that only he can see. Many of the assembled ponies recognize him as Joe, the owner of the doughnut shop near Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. All of the assembled ponies recognize him as the stallion who stole a little bit of light from their world.
A cool breeze blows through his mane, bringing him back to the present. He looks up. His green eyes have become firm; they hold a quiet determination, belying the resignation in the rest of his demeanor. Those watching shiver as he casts his gaze over them, though each would later claim that it was from the breeze.
As the accused passes him, Shining Armor breaks his stoic silence.
"Justice will be served today."
Princess Celestia stamps her hoof against the stage, calling the attention of the audience. Joe stops before her, and the guards step away. Much of his resolve seems restored in the presence of his princess, and he straightens as she speaks.
"Pony Joe, you stand accused of a crime that has no precedent in the past five hundred years of Equestrian law. No judge or jury could possibly be prepared to pass judgment upon such an act; therefore, it will be I and I alone who will decide your fate. Do you--"
"I would speak to the assembled." The crowd draws in its breath in shock at his audacity. Even Princess Celestia looks taken aback for a moment before her expression returns to the impassive mask she has worn since she took her place.
"Then speak," she says simply.
Joe turns away from her, and from the hateful glares of those beside her, and casts his gaze over the crowd again. He speaks.
Mares and stallions, I stand before you accused of a terrible crime. But I want you to hear me now not as a criminal, but as a simple stallion, no different from any of you. I could tell you that I'm guilty, or I could tell you that I'm innocent, and that could be that. Either might be true. But neither is the whole truth.
Mares and stallions, this is not a plea for mercy. I only ask that, before you judge me, you understand me. No pony is born a criminal. And I didn't just wake up one morning and think to myself, "Today, I will kill Twilight Sparkle."
There is an angry rumble from the crowd, and they start to press forward, despite the efforts of the guards who keep them from the stage. Princess Celestia raps her hoof for silence once again, and Joe continues.
I'll start from the beginning.
I can still remember clearly the first time she came into my shop. She was a tiny little thing, only just gotten her cutie mark that very day, and she was practically bouncing off the walls as her parents tried to herd her through the door and toward the counter. But then she spotted me, and she must've figured she had herself a new audience. She made a beeline straight for me, fixed me with those wide, violet eyes of hers, and gave me the biggest smile you've ever seen a filly wear.
"I got my cutie mark!"
"Is that so, little lady?" I said with a laugh. "Well, let's see it then."
She twisted awkwardly in place, so as not to have to take her eyes off me as she displayed the mark on her flank: a six-pointed star, surrounded by five others. "It's a magic cutie mark," she informed me proudly. Then her expression became serious. "I'm the princess's personal prodigy."
"Well, it's not every day a personal student of the princess comes into my shop with a new cutie mark to show off. I'd say this calls for a free doughnut. What do you think, Miss Sparkle?"
She nodded excitedly, the proper decorum of her new position forgotten at the prospect of the treat. Her attention immediately fixated on a lemon glazed one, so I picked it up and pushed it over to her. She took it in her magic with a deftness I'd never seen in a filly her age--there was no doubt in my mind at that point that she was something special--and began to devour it in dainty bites, striking a delicate balance between childlike glee and the etiquette she knew would be expected of her now.
As she ate, she raised her eyes to me again. Remembering the look of gratitude on her face warms my heart to this day.
The stallion's gaze has left his audience, straying beyond sight into memory as he recalls the moment, a small smile on his face. The crowd is nervous, uncertain. They came expecting a confession; instead, what they find themselves listening to sounds more like a eulogy. After a moment, Joe's story resumes.
She came back soon after, just past the beginning of the first semester at the School, and I think those of you who knew her well will know I'm being literal when I say she'd brought a wagonload of books with her. The little blue wagon behind her was overflowing with school books and references, but her horn was glowing, and her magic dragged it along behind her effortlessly as she trotted inside.
Only a few weeks had passed, but she was already the picture of an independent young lady. She walked up to the counter and set a few bits down on it, and I retrieved another lemon glazed doughnut. She gave me a shy smile, her eyes partly hidden behind her bangs, then retreated to one of the more private corner tables and pulled her books up beside it.
If you never saw that filly study, let me tell you, it was a sight to behold. I'd been watching the other customers for maybe three minutes when I noticed that all their attention had begun to focus on one corner of the room. I followed their gazes and saw little Twilight, no less than five books floating in front of her, scribbling furiously in a notepad, only pausing occasionally to nibble at her doughnut.
Then her ears twitched, like she could feel the eyes on her. She looked up and saw the others staring. Her ears flattened back against her head nervously, and she hunched down over her notepad, shrinking into herself and trying to ignore them.
Now like I said, it was quite a sight. But that was no excuse for making the poor thing uncomfortable, so I filled a mug with coffee and went over to her. As soon as I came between her and the others, I shot them a stern look. They got the point, and went back to their own business. I set the coffee down on the table, giving her a smile when she looked up.
"You looked thirsty," I offered.
It didn't fool her for a moment, of course; she knew exactly what I'd done. She got that shy smile again and mumbled a thank you, then grabbed her bit purse. I waved it off.
"This one's on the house." She mumbled another thank you, and took the mug between her hooves. I went back to the counter to let her enjoy her coffee in peace, but I kept my eye on her.
I think it was her first time trying coffee, because she just stared at it for a while, then sniffed it a few times before she took a sip. I had to keep myself from laughing at the face she made, but she soldiered on, and pretty soon she'd finished off a fair bit of it. Then she set it down, and pretty soon she was back to her studying, alternating between her doughnut and her coffee as she went.
The last of the other customers had filtered out before she finally put her quill down again, floating the final book back into her wagon. She stood up, but instead of leaving immediately, she took a napkin and meticulously wiped up every last crumb. Then she lifted up her mug and carried it back over to the counter. She was just such a proper young lady, I couldn't help but laugh. She started to look embarrassed, so I hurried to reassure her as I took the mug from her.
"Thank you, little lady. Most ponies don't bother to clean up after themselves."
She studied her hooves for a moment, scuffing one against the floor, before she looked up at me with a serious expression. "No," she said, "thank you." Then she turned and took off for the door at a canter, disappearing into the evening.
It quickly became a ritual for us. She'd come in with a wagonload of books, get her doughnut and her coffee, then take the table in the corner. I'm sure she had a private room at the castle where she could have done her studying, but it wasn't the privacy that kept her coming back. I didn't realize it at first, but without her brother there with her, I was the closest thing she had to a friend in those days.
If you listen to the stories about her, you might think Twilight was antisocial growing up. But that's not exactly it. She loved other ponies, even cared deeply for them. If she'd just wanted to stay away from them all, she could have spent the evenings in her room. She didn't. Every day, she came to my shop and sat in the corner, near other ponies, yet distant.
She wanted so badly to make friends. She just didn't know how to start.
The stallion sighs heavily, and looks up into the blue sky. He remains silent for a moment before he speaks again.
Then, on the eve of one fateful Summer Sun Celebration, Twilight didn't show up at my shop. I just chalked it up to her getting busy with the Princess preparing for the celebration, but when the sun didn't rise the next morning...
But only a few hours later, the sun returned to us. Soon the news started coming in. Nightmare Moon had returned, but she was laid low by six friends: five Ponyville fillies, and a certain young unicorn from Canterlot. The little purple filly with the star cutie mark who had entered my shop all those years ago had grown into a hero. And she had finally made friends!
I was so proud of her.
I didn't realize until she left, though, how much she had become part of my life. Even on the busiest evenings, there was a unicorn-shaped hole in the room, and I found myself constantly looking over at her table, expecting to see her there with her books and her coffee and her lemon frosted doughnut.
I only saw her a few times in the intervening years, but every time, she was with her friends. I honestly wonder if they ever left each other's sides. And she was so happy. You could see it in her eyes; she'd found her place in life, there among them. And each one of them was a wonderful young mare in her own right. You all know them: Applejack, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy. And of course, always faithfully at her side was Spike.
He looks out over the crowd, seeking the eyes of each in turn as he names them. Applejack remains stoic, but her gaze is accusing. Rarity's eyes are filled with tears, and she looks at Joe almost pleadingly, as if he could change the end of the story in its telling. Pinkie Pie won't meet his eyes at all, staring fixedly at the ground. Rainbow Dash glares at him challengingly, standing protectively in front of Fluttershy, who hides from his gaze.
It isn't until he reaches Spike that he must look away, unable to endure the burning hatred he sees in the young dragon's eyes. He swallows before continuing.
It was just under a year ago when she appeared in my shop again, late one Friday evening, and I could see clearly that something was wrong. Her head was hung low. Her hair was matted and unkempt. Her eyes were unfocused, and she hardly blinked. Her motions were stiff, like she was moving automatically. I think it was instinct and muscle memory alone that brought her to my shop.
But the biggest difference about her was that, on that night, she was alone.
The shop was empty except for her and me. She went straight for her usual booth and sat, head hung low and eyes on the table. It was a ritual I was more than familiar with, one that we had gone through many times before; she needed badly to talk, but she didn't know how to start. I poured a cup of coffee and reached into my display for the lemon glazed doughnut--I had always made sure to keep at least one in stock, just in case--and came out from behind the counter to bring them over to her.
But when I set them down in front of her, she just stared through them, like she couldn't see them at all. Then, instead of staring at the table and starting to spill out her troubles like she had always done in the past, she looked up at me.
In the moment our eyes met, I saw pain, sorrow, and confusion. Then it all vanished in an instant as she focused on me, replaced by a terrifying, single-minded intensity.
"Joe. I want you to take me. Now."
I stood, open-mouthed and unable to respond. It hadn't been a request. It hadn't even been a demand. This was an instruction, a step to be completed in the list of things that had to be done to bring order back to her life.
"Now, Joe," she repeated, without breaking that terrible gaze. "Take me to your room and make me yours. Animals do it, Joe. I know you know how."
It wasn't right. I knew it wasn't, even as I nodded numbly and she stood. But she was so commanding, so insistent, that she left no room for argument. And little Twilight had grown into such a fine mare...
It wasn't right, but I did it anyway.
I took her into my room, and she took me into her flesh. Our eyes didn't meet again that night. She fought against me every time I became too gentle for her. There was no tenderness, no affection. It was rough. Animal. Just the way she wanted it.
The burning heat of the sun weighs heavily on the stallion's back. The crowd has begun to edge toward areas of shade, and more than a few of the fancy Canterlot suits and dresses are beginning to look uncomfortably warm. Joe keeps his gaze forward; he doesn't need to look back to know the reason for the heat--in fact, Celestia's expression betrays nothing, remaining as impassive as ever. But the sun above them blazes bright and hot.
In the morning, she was gone. There was no goodbye, not even a note, and nothing but the scent of her on the sheets to prove that she had ever been there.
Everything went as it always did over the next week. Ponies came, and ponies went, and the shop remained a little bit empty even at the busiest of times. I began to wonder as the days of the week dragged by if I had just imagined the whole thing.
But late that Friday night she appeared again, and sat again at that table. Again, she waited for me to approach, but didn't touch what I brought. She never spoke. Our eyes met and I knew what she wanted.
In the morning, she was gone.
It went on like that for weeks. If there were other ponies in the shop, she would wait patiently there until they left and I approached her. Every week our eyes would meet, then she would follow me to my room, and never once did a single word pass her lips.
Even then, I knew that it wasn't me she wanted; it was what I could do for her. What I could do to her. What I didn't know was why. But when I got my first hint, I knew it could only get worse from there.
That night, when she finally spoke again, was different. She didn't look at me, her eyes remained downcast even as I came to her table and took her to my room. But after each of us had taken our satisfaction from the other's body, she twisted in my grasp until she faced me. She looked into my eyes, and she spoke.
"Joe. How do you tell somepony that... say there's somepony who loves you. And you love them. More than anything else in the world. How do you tell them that the way you love them... isn't the same way they love you?"
The air goes cold with those words, as if the heat of the sun suddenly no longer reaches the earth below. Indeed, although Princess Celestia's steely mask remains firmly in place, those present would later swear that in this moment, the sun itself had dimmed.
Joe pauses, breathes in deeply, then presses onward.
I had no answer for her. She looked sad, but nodded, and she made no effort to turn away from me again. We slept in each other's embrace for the first time that night, and I think I drew as much comfort from it as she did.
Still, in the morning, she was gone. She returned the next Friday, but although she was silent again, she picked at the doughnut I brought her for a bit before she raised her eyes to mine in her wordless plea.
That night, our eyes met as we made love. But when we were done, as we stared quietly into each other's eyes, as the faintest hint of a smile started to form on her lips for the first time, something went terribly wrong.
"No..." She broke her gaze from mine, head jerking away and body tensing, then her magic shoved me roughly off of her and she scrambled out of my bed. "No no no no no!"
"Twilight, wait!" I got to my hooves quickly, but instead of going to the door, she bolted into the corner of my room and just curled up there, shivering.
"I love her." She repeated the phrase over and over, like a mantra. "I love her. I love her. I love her." I reached out to touch her shoulder. Her head snapped up, and the look in her eyes was fear; the wild, mindless terror of a trapped animal. She whimpered, a pitiful mewling sound that nearly broke my heart, then she hid her face from me and went back to her tremulous chant. "I love her. I love her. I love her. I love her."
No matter what I did, I couldn't coax her out of the corner that night. I finally settled for just putting a blanket across her where she lay. But I didn't sleep that night. I sat on the bed and watched her, long into the morning hours, until her frantic muttering quieted and her shaking slowly transitioned to the gentle rise and fall of sleep.
I must have drifted off at some point after that, because I awoke to a bright flash of light and the sound of the blanket falling to the floor. She was gone.
The next week, she looked even more worn and tired than she had been. I don't think she'd been eating; I could start to see her ribs under her coat. She sat at her table. I approached with her coffee and doughnut.
"Eat," I prompted gently.
She just stared through the offerings as if they weren't there. I lifted the doughnut to her lips, but she turned her head away, her ears pinning back in annoyance.
I pressed the doughnut to her lips again, unrelenting. "I know what you're here for," I told her. "This is my price. Eat."
That seemed to cow her. She bit down obediently, then one bite turned into many as she devoured the treat, her ears lifting a bit. She swallowed the coffee in a few gulps, then looked around the table for more. I quickly gathered a plate of doughnuts and a pot of coffee and put them in front of her. She dug into them like a starving mare. Which she probably was, the poor thing.
Once the plate was empty, she stared down at it silently for a moment, then breathed in deeply, breathed out, and spoke.
That was when I knew that there was no answer for her. That there would never be an answer.
"Joe... say there's somepony who loves you. And you love her. But not the way she loves you. Say... say that... it's Princess Celestia."
A disbelieving murmur runs through the crowd. Ponies look to their princess, but her face is unreadable, giving them neither confirmation nor denial. Whispered conversations begin to break out, but cease immediately as Joe speaks again.
My biggest mistake that night, as it had been from the beginning, was in thinking that I could give her comfort. Give her shelter from her pain. I tried to lay a hoof on her shoulder, to console her.
She froze as I touched her. Then, without warning, her horn flashed to life and I found myself on the floor.
It's a terrifying experience to be wholly in the grip of another unicorn's power. Most unicorns don't have the strength to overcome another pony's natural resistance at all, let alone hold them fully paralyzed against the ground. But Twilight Sparkle wasn't most unicorns. That became frighteningly apparent as she stood over me and raged at me, fury burning in her eyes.
"Don't try to comfort me, Joe. Don't try to tell me it'll be alright. It won't be alright. It'll never be alright." Her breathing became heavier as her voice rose and her magic tightened around me. "I didn't come here for your pity! I didn't come here to be treated like a foal! I came here for you to hurt me, Joe... and if you will not hurt me, I will make you hurt me!"
I won't sugar-coat it. She forced herself on me that night, there in my shop. Whether or not I would have tried to stop her... it didn't matter. She held me to the ground with her magic and took from me what she craved. She was beautiful and terrible above me; the glow of her horn created a halo around her head and cast her face into shadow, turning her into a supernatural creature of rage and pain and desire. She kept her eyes down the whole time, hidden behind the bangs of her mane, but the tight-lipped snarl on her muzzle, the roughness of every motion, they told me that the fury there never faded.
I was hers that night. Forced though I may have been, I made no move to resist her. I gave myself to her wholly, to do with as she pleased, and she took everything I had. And when she'd had her fill, she sat straddling me, panting for breath, staring down at my chest from behind her mane.
Then the tears began to fall. And as they wet my coat, she told me her story. I remember every word.
"She invited me to Canterlot. Just to talk, she said. Of course I was overjoyed. We kept in touch through letters, but we hardly ever got to see each other face-to-face anymore. And when we did, it was usually because of some disaster threatening the kingdom. I went straight there as soon as I got the invitation.
"And we did talk. We spent the whole afternoon in the gardens, over tea, just talking. I don't even remember what about. It doesn't matter. It was... it was wonderful, Joe. Just her and me, together, talking. Then when it started to get dark, we went inside, to keep talking. We headed to her private chambers, because there was a book in her study that we'd been discussing earlier."
She paused for a moment, quiet, breathing raggedly. I resisted the urge to reach out to her, unsure of what she might do if I did, though I wanted badly to. Soon, she spoke again.
"We didn't go to her study. She led me to her bedroom instead, and she told me to lay on her bed. I was a little confused, but I didn't think much of it. Maybe she was going to go get the book and bring it back. But I got even more confused when she came right over and lay next to me, and put a wing over my back.
"Then she leaned in close, until our muzzles were almost touching, and... she kissed me."
She let out a little shudder, losing the trail of her story again for a moment. I waited for her to continue.
"It wasn't a quick, friendly kiss. It was long, and deep, and passionate. There was no mistaking what she meant by it. I was too shocked to respond, but that didn't keep her from holding me in it until I pulled away.
"The look she gave me when I did... it was that look. The one she has that tells you that everything will be okay. Gentle, loving. Understanding. She told me she knew how I felt about her. She told me that it wasn't wrong to have those kinds of feelings, and that she had the same feelings for me. She told me that she... that she loved me too.
"Then, still as gentle as could be, she pressed me onto my back on her big, soft bed and..."
She went quiet again, and I, unable to help myself any longer, risked reaching out a hoof to touch her cheek. She didn't turn away.
"And I didn't resist her. I didn't deny what she said. How could I? She was Princess Celestia, my teacher, my mentor, the pony who inspired me to be everything I've ever wanted to be. And I did love her. I do love her. There's nothing in the world that I love more than her. Just because I didn't love her that way...
"But then I thought... maybe I did love her that way. After all, she was Princess Celestia. She wouldn't be wrong about something like that. She couldn't be wrong about something like that. Maybe I just needed to give it a chance, and I would see it too."
She brushed her cheek against my hoof, taking strength from the touch, then lifted her eyes to meet mine.
"But I don't, Joe. I don't love her like that. I can't. Not like that. I never will."
All is silent. The audience sits in shocked disbelief. Then a voice erupts from the crowd.
"LIAR!" Rainbow Dash's voice cracks as she shouts the word. She leaps from her place, and is kept from the stage only by the quick action of her friends. She struggles against them, tears streaming down her face.
And like a pebble beginning an avalanche, that word is the catalyst for a torrent of shouts and exclamations. Some, like Rainbow Dash, accuse Joe of lying. Some level their accusations at the Princess, calling for answers from the leader of Equestria. Many ponies begin to push forward against the guards again, and in the chaos, Rainbow Dash breaks free from her friends and shoots toward the stage, faster than they or the guards can react.
She is halted by magic, held tightly in a glowing yellow aura. Another word cuts through the air like a shockwave:
Silence.
It is not a request. No pony is certain whether the word was spoken, or whether the will of its originator was imposed directly onto the world around them. What they do know is that they are silent. Their shouts die in their throats as the air around them seems to thin, and the shoving subsides. All eyes go to the princess.
"The accused will be allowed to speak." The simple words are precise and controlled, mirroring the cold steel in Celestia's expression. Rainbow Dash is placed firmly back among the others, and makes no effort to fly up again. No pony dares defy the command.
Joe continues his story.
Her eyes left mine, and she lowered her head, her ears hanging limp in her shame. I tried to stroke her cheek, to reassure her, but she lifted a hoof and brushed mine away.
"We spent the rest of the week together, there in the castle. I won't say I didn't enjoy it, having her all to myself like that. She's a goddess, Joe, and she was all mine. All the secrets of magic she knew, they were open to me. All the forgotten stories of the world, they were only the right question away. The knowledge and the riches of an entire kingdom were at my hooftips. I had only to ask, anything I could imagine, and she would give it willingly. And you can't imagine the pleasures she showed me...
"I deserved none of it. Even as she draped me in silks, as she gifted me with the brightest jewelry, as she opened up the deepest secrets of magic to me, even as her great white wings enfolded me and we made the most beautiful love imaginable, I knew in my heart that I didn't deserve it. Because, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't return that love.
"And she was so kind, so understanding through it all. That was the worst of all, I think. If I wanted attention, she was there beside me. If I needed space, she would leave me be, just waiting patiently for me to be ready again. She listened so intently to everything I said. Just like she always has. I could tell her anything.
"Anything except the one thing I most needed to tell her.
"By the end of the week, I couldn't stand it anymore. Every word of love I spoke rang false in my ears. Every touch of her body was poison against my skin. I had to get out. So I gave her an excuse about having to get back to my duties at the library. She was completely understanding, of course.
"I made some empty promise about being back soon, and I ran. I think I was originally planning to go to the train station, but... instead, I found myself walking into the one place in Canterlot where I'd always felt safe. Where I could tell any secret and not fear being judged.
"Even this one.
"When I saw you, Joe... I knew what I needed. I needed somepony to take away all the things I didn't deserve. To scour away the gentle touches. To burn off the kindness and understanding. To punish me for all the things I had stolen with the lie of 'I love you.'
"I knew you would do it for me. You were always there when I needed you."
She pressed herself into my embrace then, and buried her face against my neck. I felt her tears start to flow again, and I held her. She was right. I would always be there for her.
"She invited me back again the next week. I went. Of course I went. How could I refuse her, of all ponies? We spent the week together. Even when she was attending to her duties, she always made sure I was attended to just as dutifully. If she couldn't be there, there was always a new book from her private library for me to read, or a servant waiting to pamper me with some treatment or another.
"It should have been bliss. Instead, it was torture. Because it was all built on a lie: 'I love you.'
"At the end of the week, I ran again. I came to you again. And you washed it all away. But it wasn't enough. Each week, she invited me back. I started making excuses, arriving later and later and spending less time there, but I always went. And it always ended the same way: I ran to you. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough."
She burrowed deeper into my embrace, and I held her. What else could I do? I held her, and stroked her back. Slowly, with her energy and her anger spent, her breathing slowed. Soon, her body relaxed against mine, and she drifted into an uneasy sleep.
I carried her to my room and laid her in my bed, then lay next to her, watching over her and thinking over what I had heard. It was nearly morning by the time I slept.
As always, she was gone when I awoke.
For three more weeks, she came to me, and I took her to my bed. For three more weeks, I absolved her of the sins she assigned herself and then released her to commit them all over again. For three more weeks, I used her body as she demanded I do, and she took her comfort at my hooves.
On the fourth week, she came to me broken.
I don't know what happened. I didn't ask her, and she didn't tell me. But she moved listlessly, with her head hung low, as if she simply didn't have the will to lift it. When she met my eyes that evening, there was an emotion that I had never seen there before, even when things were at their worst: hopelessness. They were the eyes of a mare who lost the will to change the world.
I took her to my bed, but she demanded nothing from me, and I forced nothing upon her. I simply took her into my embrace and held her. We lay like that for a long time before she spoke to me, her voice quiet.
"I can't go on like this, Joe. There's nothing left of my life but lies. I smile for Princess Celestia and tell her I love her. I smile for my friends and tell them that everything is wonderful. I come to you and tell myself that you can make it better.
"I can't tell her the truth. I couldn't bear the hurt that would be in her eyes. I couldn't bear how she would lock it all away in a moment and put on the mask of the untouchable princess again. I couldn't bear the way she would apologize for what she did, like it was all her fault. But it wouldn't be her fault. It would be mine, and I would know it. And she would never smile for me again, not the smile she used to give me, not the one behind the mask. She'd never be just Celestia to me again.
"And I can't tell my friends the truth. The pity on their faces, all the ways they would try to help me... they could never understand. They never did. They never took me seriously when I was worried about things. They always laughed and said, 'Oh, that's just Twilight fussing over nothing again. Don't mind her.' They would say, 'Just tell her what's wrong. She'll understand.' Of course she would understand. But they never will. And I couldn't bear all the things they would say because of it.
"But it's time to tell myself the truth, Joe. And the truth is that it will never be better."
She looked up then, and in her eyes I saw that little purple filly of years ago. A spark of hope, an unquestioning trust. I had always had an answer for her before. Whether the problem had been big or small, I had always known what to say, what to do, to make my favorite customer smile again. Now the unspoken plea was there again: do something. Anything. Let me smile again.
She no longer knew what she wanted, what could be done. She had reached the end of her last checklist, and despite every device of her brilliant mind, she was without a solution. But she knew that whatever it was, whatever answer had eluded her, I would have it. I always had.
"Please, Joe..."
You may call what I did wrong. Maybe it was. But you aren't me, and you weren't there. To me, there, as I gazed into her tearful, hopeless eyes, as the little filly in the mare's body stared up at me, seeking any escape from the torture that her life had become, it was the right thing to do. The only thing I could do, if I wanted not to let down the filly who had put all her trust in me.
It's a simple bit of unicorn magic to stop a heart, or to cut the flow of blood to the brain, or any number of other tiny but fatal changes. Most of them are entirely painless. All of them are easily shrugged off by pony's natural defenses. She could have resisted. She could have countered the spell, could have told me that I was wrong, that there had to be another way.
She didn't. Her face registered surprise, then recognition--I don't think there's a spell in Equestria that brilliant mare wouldn't have recognized--and then it became a sad sort of gratitude. Her smile started to return at last, a little half-smile that told me she understood. Then, as her eyes closed and her breathing slowed, she lifted her muzzle to mine.
We shared our first and last kiss that night. And then she lay still.
Joe's voice, steady throughout his story, catches on the final words. He falls silent, and that silence is reflected throughout the theater and the gardens surrounding it. Even the birds have stopped their songs to listen, and the breeze itself dares not blow in that moment.
Joe turns, finally, to face his accusers once more. Twilight Sparkle's mother and father stare at him, unable to reconcile all he's told them, but unable to simply dismiss it as a lie. Shining Armor has shifted his attention to Celestia, his face uncertain.
And Celestia's mask has broken. She meets Joe's eyes with sadness written plain across her features, and his own face mirrors it. There is no anger or malice in their gaze, no animosity. Between them, there is only grief, and a shared regret for a tragedy that need never have happened.
