Rarity shoved a rack of identical dresses through the front door of Carousel Boutique. A rack of identical lackluster dresses, she noted with a sigh. After one more glance over them, she donned a grim smile and flopped onto her divan. Opalescence leapt up next to her and settled into her usual spot by Rarity’s side. Automatically, her hoof traced its way down Opal’s back.

“I don’t know,” Rarity said. “A minor show, yes, but I shouldn’t have… ‘phoned it in,’ I guess the girls say.” Opal meowed and kneaded her front paws along the edge of the cushion. “I’ve been in a rut lately, and nothing sold, and now everypony will think—”

She reached over with both hooves and scratched Opal behind her ears. Soon, a soft, rhythmic purring resounded in the quiet room. “You’re such a good listener, aren’t you, my sweetie snookums?”

Opal merely closed her eyes and held her head up like the royalty she was, her tail curling languidly back and forth.

“Where did I go wrong?” Rarity asked. “Not spending enough time on the design, obviously, but… no inspiration. And if I force it—” she tapped a hoof on Opal’s nose, which made her open an eye “—it will surely come out bland.”

Sniffing at the hoof, Opal twitched the tip of her tail. “Oh, Opal. What did my mother always say? ‘Put a little of yourself in everything you make.’ I really have been holding back, haven’t I? Step one: find your vision. Without that, I can’t call anything a Rarity original, and I do myself a disservice by putting my name on it.”

She snapped a nod. “Well, no more. I vow to find that spark again! By the time I finalize another creation, I will regain that fire. Mark my words, Opal!”

Later, though. After that long, dull train ride home… For a moment, Rarity rested her eyes. But only for a moment. With a weekend like that, she needed the luxury of some quiet meditation. The purring resumed next to her, soothing, peaceful. She’d get back to work in just—in just a…

Rarity stared out the window and watched a flag lazily wrap itself around its pole in the gentle breeze. At the bottom, the loose corner flicked to and fro rather like a… like a cat’s tail, she noted as she stooped to scratch Opal’s head.

“It’s no use, Opal,” she said, her pencil clattering to the desktop. “I can’t stay on task. Not like when a new idea would grab me by the throat and not let go until it graced the pony for whom it was intended. But now…” Rarity tapped a rear hoof against her chair’s leg.

Opal hopped up from the floor and gave the paper a tentative sniff. “And look what I’ve done. A dress for Fluttershy, and I’ve put a great big ostrich plume on the hat.” Rarity reached for her eraser and propped her cheek on a foreleg. “I don’t think she’d approve.”

And of course Opal had to sit right in the middle of the desk. She reliably occupied any space where she would be most in the way. Rarity let the eraser slide out of her grip—it bounced sideways, and Opal immediately trapped it under her paw. The threat clearly neutralized, she stretched out a bit further across the page.

“Oh, I need to clear my head,” Rarity mumbled. She walked over to the divan and levitated a half-read novel off the end table. “Come at this fresh once I’ve had a chance to reset everything in my head. Once I’ve… found my center again. I owe my friends that much.”

Opal silently jumped down to the floor, then onto the windowsill behind Rarity, where she stared at a bird in a nearby bush. “Yes, like that,” Rarity said. “Focus.” She shrugged and tossed the book back on the table, opting instead to watch the clock’s hour hand creep the last tiny distance to the three.

A hint of a smile teased at her lips—the things that ran through her mind when she let it wander. But no. What kind of crazy…? She even laughed out loud a little, but it didn’t distract Opal from her trance.

No.

“No, no, no!” Rarity shouted, slashing her pencil across the page so hard that it tore the paper. “This won’t do! This simply won’t do!”

Beneath the window, Opalescence flexed her claws as she stretched out in the sunbeam.

“Oh, Opal, nothing’s coming to me.” Rarity slumped over her drawing table. She hadn’t spent her usual time in front of the bathroom mirror that morning, and more than a few flyaway bits of mane stuck out here and there. She ran a hoof through her forelock and didn’t bother prodding it back into shape.

“It’s so… so frustrating!” she said. She pounded a hoof on the desktop. “I can’t find it again, and I can’t figure out what I lost in the first place!”

Her tail swishing, Opal watched and waited, presumably for one of the words she’d normally recognize. She batted a paw at a speck of dust that floated by.

“These designs are so… pedestrian,” Rarity muttered, flinging her hoof toward the scraps of cloth scattered on the floor. She drew a sharp breath and snatched up one large piece, then hastily cut it to shape and stitched a band of color along one edge.

She groaned over the machine’s whirring. “It’s not that these dresses are bad, Opal.” One corner of her mouth curled up as she surveyed the rack full of the past week’s attempts. “They look fine enough, but they don’t have… you know, that full-body tingle I get when real inspiration strikes, when I know I’ve put everything I am into my work. If I don’t have that total commitment to what I make for my friends, then what kind of friend am I?”

Turning her sewing machine off, Rarity stared directly at Opalescence, who cocked her head. “It’s not enough. I don’t do enough for them.” She glanced out the window at the late-afternoon sunlight.

“I-I’m going out,” she said. “I need to think.” Flinging the improvised cape over her to hide her unkempt coat, she trotted for the door. “Mommy will be home soon. I just need to… see some different colors. And figure out what I used to put into my designs.” Rarity paused at the door with her hoof on the knob and forced a smile. But Opal wouldn’t know the difference. A smile was a smile.

Opal still lay out, all splayed in the sunlight, and blinked. She didn’t purr.

What was that inane thought Rarity’d had the other day? Chuckling at it again, she even went so far as to light up her horn and concentrate her magic on the piles of fabric.

No.

With a sigh, Rarity walked out and shut the door behind her.

Through the sound of her sewing machine, Rarity might have heard a knock at the door. No matter. She swatted away the distraction like a gnat. If it was that important, the pony would come in anyway. Focus. She needed focus.

Too dim. The light was too dim in here. Had a light bulb burned out? Or maybe evening had come around… She didn’t remember being hungry. Just the dress.

“Rarity?”

She jumped, and the machine stitched a short length of cloth to her foreleg. For a moment, she stared as if it were some alien thing. Keep looking, and maybe she’d understand it. Keep looking.

Slowly, she drew the leg up to her mouth and sucked at the drops of blood.

“Oh my gosh! I’m sorry, Rarity! Are you okay?” Twilight said, a hoof held up to her cheek. “Please, let me help.”

“No harm done, dear,” Rarity answered. She levitated a pair of scissors up, snipped the thread, and pulled it out. “It’s certainly not the first time that has happened, Twilight.”

“Still, I’m sorry,” Twilight said. She reached a hoof toward Rarity but held back before touching her shoulder. “It just seems like something’s bothering you lately, and I want you to know that you can talk to me if you need to.”

“Well, I was, Twilight, but I think I’ve discovered the answer.” Rarity never looked up. She needed to keep her concentration—a bit of conversation wouldn’t hurt, though, as long as she continued working. “I’ve been so terribly selfish. That’s all.”

She hummed a little as she worked, and thankfully, Twilight didn’t speak up again. But after a few minutes, that feeling of somepony looking over her shoulder started to wear thin. “Take this one, for instance,” Rarity said, nodding toward the half-assembled garment. “Fluttershy asked me to make her a dress for her banquet next week. She’s getting an award from the Equestrian Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. I didn’t settle on a design until late last night.”

“But it’s so far along! Did you get any sleep?” Twilight asked.

“No. No need.” Rarity popped open the machine’s cover and switched out bobbins. “I can’t make an original dress for her and call it from me if I don’t put my all into it now, can I? But I finally figured it out. No more selfishness. If I make something, I pledge to apply my full effort to it. That’s the first step and the only step.”

“Rarity, I…”

“Nothing less than one hundred percent.” That should put an end to it. She expected to hear the door shut any minute, but still Twilight stood there, breathing down her neck…

Twilight shifted her weight and poked the tip of a hoof against Rarity’s cape. “I haven’t seen you wear that before. Is it new?”

“Just something I made—” she flicked Twilight’s hoof away “—to cover up. I haven’t had time to brush my coat in a couple days, so… I threw this little thing together.” More silence. But why wouldn’t Twilight leave?

“Rarity, please. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Mmmhmm.”

Gather the cloth a little at the withers, then add the ruching around the waist. Yes, Rarity could see it forming up nicely. “Just that last touch,” she muttered softly. “Later tonight, maybe tomorrow. That’ll do it. Nopony will say this wasn’t a Rarity.” Twilight went to the front door and stood with it open. Rarity could feel the scrutiny.

“It will work. After all, if a designer doesn’t have her name, what does she have? I’ll take Mother’s words to heart.” Opalescence padded over and rubbed her cheek against Rarity’s hind leg. “Oh, hello, Opal. Come to watch?” At least Opal knew how to stay in the background.

The door quietly thumped shut, and after a few moments to let Twilight get a good distance away, Rarity smiled from ear to ear and brought a sharp glow of magic to her horn.

“Well, tell me about it, dear!” Rarity said. Another soon-to-be gown hung, all pinned up on the dress form behind her, but the draw of the only finished product so far had managed to tear her attention away.

“It was wonderful!” Fluttershy replied as she reclined on the divan and swept a hoof across her forehead. She still had the dress on, and the single lamp lit against the evening’s encroaching shadows sent a gleam across the jeweled accents. “I couldn’t have imagined what it’d be like. I was originally going to come back the same night, but I stayed the whole week! Me!”

Rarity chuckled and reached down to scratch Opal’s back. “I’m so glad for you. Did you enjoy the dress?”

“Enjoy it? Rarity, it made all the difference! I-I couldn’t take it off. All week long!” Fluttershy sighed and dug through a small purse she had tucked under her wing. “Everypony asking me where I got the dress, and why hadn’t they met me before. I strutted around like I owned the place. Me!”

Wearing a broad grin, Rarity leaned forward in her chair. “Belle of the ball, I take it?”

“I-I-I got this!” Fluttershy wheezed. She tossed a small notebook on the table between them and held her hooves to her cheeks, which had turned bright red. “To hold all the names!”

Rarity took it in her hooves and flipped it open. Page after page of them, with addresses. She raised an eyebrow.

“All the stallions who asked me on dates!” she squeaked. “And I didn’t run away! I-I-I—” Fluttershy’s chest heaved, and her eyes went out of focus as she slumped back into the pillows.

Her own eyes shooting wide open, Rarity leafed through the notebook again. It must have contained at least fifty names. “Um… Feeling faint?” Fluttershy nodded rapidly. “Deep breaths, dear. Slow, deep breaths.”

“How?” Fluttershy answered, her jaw trembling. “I felt like I belonged there.”

“You did belong there, Fluttershy.” Rarity fought off a shiver and pulled her cape around her a little more, then walked over to Fluttershy, bent down, and hugged her. “I’m so glad I could do that for you.”

“The feeling mostly went away by the end of the week,” Fluttershy replied in a breathy whisper. “But it’s still there. Still there. Even if only the memory, but that’s enough.” She rolled on her side to face Rarity.

“It was simply divine, darling,” Fluttershy said, then held a hoof to her mouth and giggled.

Rarity couldn’t hold back her own laughter. She hadn’t expected this. Well worth it, though. She’d nearly finished with the next dress, anyway. One night off wouldn’t hurt anything, and knowing that she’d made that much of a difference to a friend—she settled on the floor next to the divan and propped her chin on the edge of the cushion.

“You don’t know what it means to me to have you say that, Fluttershy,” she said.

Opal hopped up and snuggled against the dress. Soon, she’d fallen asleep, and as their conversation carried on into the night, Rarity heard the occasional light snore. But no purring.

Sunlight filtered through the trees and dappled the kitchen table as Rarity took her first sip of morning coffee. Fluttershy had left only a little over an hour ago, when the first birds started singing. Rarity set her mug down and walked over to the front door to retrieve the newspaper. On her return trip, she tossed it on the table, then poured some cream in her coffee and a little more in a bowl for Opal.

As soon as she’d flattened out the front page, Rarity froze. The Canterlot Times! Front and center, above the fold!

“Supermodel Resurfaces in Bold New Design,” she read from the headline, her jaw dropping. Opal poked a paw at the photograph and meowed. Fluttershy, a self-assured smile on her face, and with an entourage of fashion heavyweights hanging on her every word. Best of all, the logo she’d worked into the design was clearly visible: a large trio of blue diamonds on a white background, down by the hem.

She burst out in a squeal, and Opal jumped nearly three feet in the air. “The front page! Oh, Opal, we did it!” Rarity smothered her in a hug, but after a bit of wriggling, Opal worked herself free and retreated to the top of the kitchen cabinets, her tail twitching.

Rarity had clasped her hooves to her chest when she heard a knock at the door. With a raised eyebrow and a quick glance at Opal, she draped her cape over her back and rushed to answer.

The caller, a young stallion, wore a red jacket and a small black cap. “Telegram,” he said through the window.

“Oh, do come in,” Rarity replied, swinging the door open and taking the proffered envelope. She tore off the end and slid out the sheet of paper. Her eyes widening with each new line she scanned, she gasped and hopped up and down. “Fleur de Lis wants me to design a dress for her! Fleur de Lis! Why, the one I’ve nearly finished would be perfect for her. Of course I will!”

Rarity dashed to the writing desk and rummaged through the cubbyholes for some stationery. Coming up empty, she trotted back over to the delivery pony and pressed a gem into his hoof. “Do you have any blank paper for a return message?” she asked.

“Certainly, ma’am,” he answered, reaching into his saddlebag, “but there’s more!” Instead of producing a single page of paper, he pulled out a stack of at least a dozen more telegrams. Rarity’s face fell.

“Oh, dear…”

“So, who should get these, Opal?” Rarity motioned to the two almost-completed dresses behind her. “Last touch—they just need my logo on them.”

She rubbed a hoof down Opal’s back. “You remember what Fluttershy said, sweetums? Fleur de Lis reported the same feeling, and the fashion magazines are saying whoever wears them steals the show. I wouldn’t have expected it.” Leaning over her desk, she adjusted her glasses and peered at the thank-you note and photograph pinned to her corkboard, next to the newspaper article about Fluttershy. Fleur, surrounded by all the movers and shakers, and looking positively radiant. And again, it had worn off gradually, but she still cherished the dress for its grace and memories. At least that’s what her letter said.

But in addition to all the telegrams and mail, no fewer than six bigwigs had come in person from Canterlot to request a commission. “It took me two months to complete these, and the next ones are for Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie.”

Opal gave her a disinterested glance, then hopped up on one of the new dresses on its form and emitted a low, rumbling purr.

“Oh, don’t wrinkle those, Opal!” Striding over with her jaw set, Rarity shooed her off. “I suppose I could get started on Rainbow Dash’s dress, but I need more blue spinels to decorate the collar. But…”

Rarity pursed her lips and reached for her cape. No. She’d been feeling much better lately, and while she may still look a bit ragged, she didn’t need the cape today. When she finished those two dresses, she might—it always took so much out of her.

With a graceful pirouette, Rarity turned for the door. “I’ll be back later, Opal. A gem-hunting mission would give me the chance for some fresh air. And I know what I’ll do with those dresses now.”

Rarity turned up her nose and stepped out into the sunlight. “Whoever wants them most can have them.”

“We’ll start the bidding at five hundred bits!” Nurse Redheart said from the podium. Behind her, several tables full of donated merchandise lay with the winning bidders’ registration numbers marked on the tags. There was a catering gift certificate from Sugarcube Corner, the first jar of Zap Apple jam from this year’s batch, spa appointments, a week of daily lawn sprinkling from the Weather Service… all manner of wonderful items, all to benefit the Equestria Foals’ Hospital.

And now the marquee items: Rarity’s newest dresses.

“Five hundred!” said Filthy Rich.

“Six!” barked Jet Set from the front row.

“This was such a wonderful idea, Rarity,” Twilight said with a broad smile. “Whatever made you think of it?”

“I just… don’t do enough, Twilight. I don’t do enough,” Rarity answered, pulling her cape a little closer around her.

Twilight frowned and held a word on the edge of her lips. When she opened her mouth again, the word had changed. “Why didn’t you just make some more of those capes? They’re simple and elegant, and they look like they take far less effort. Everypony seems to like them,” she added, waving a hoof around the crowd.

Yes, a good quarter of the ponies in attendance had some sort of cape on. “I really wish they wouldn’t. I don’t wear this to make a fashion statement, Twilight—I…” Ponies shouldn’t copy her. Especially not with something she hadn’t put enough care into to add her personal touch. “I don’t do enough.”

Rarity shivered. Twilight said something more—her frown hadn’t left—but Rarity couldn’t hear her over the crowd’s gasps. What had—?

“The high bid is-is…” Redheart stammered, “fifteen thousand bits! I-is… is there another bid?” Her shaking hoof hovered above the podium for a moment before she slammed it down. “Sold to Mr. Jet Set for fifteen thousand!”

Rarity plopped to her haunches, and her shivering intensified.

“...Are you okay? Rarity!”

She heard Twilight’s voice as if from a distance. Blinking hard, she didn’t resist as Twilight corralled her to the refreshments table and pushed a cup of punch into her hooves.

“Please drink something, Rarity. You don’t look good,” Twilight said. Her purple face filled Rarity’s vision, but a softer voice from behind bled through the noise.

“That’s a record! And there’s still another dress to go! Bless that Rarity—this’ll do a world of good.”

Rarity didn’t recognize the voice, but that didn’t matter. She sipped at her punch and formed a fragile smile. She felt warm. Despite her shaking, she felt warm for the first time since the night Fluttershy had returned from Canterlot. But she still had a dull pain in her horn from trying to use such precision in casting—no matter. She had time to rest now.

“It’s alright, Twilight. Everything is fine.” She took a deep breath and held her body steady, then brought what magic she could to bear in her aching horn and neatened her mane.

“Yes, folks, another original from Rarity’s new line, just finished this morning!” called Redheart above the crowd. “I have twelve thousand bits from the gentlestallion to my right.”

“Twelve five!” yelled somepony in the back.

“Everything is fine,” Rarity repeated. Twilight sighed and leaned against her, nice and warm.

Hustling back and forth between her work table and a dress form, Rarity sewed on accents and made tiny adjustments to her current project. “Really, Twilight, nothing’s wrong.”

“But I’m worried about you. For months now, you suddenly go from fine to looking like death warmed over, and then as soon as it seems like we have the real you back, it happens all over again.” Twilight got up from her chair and followed Rarity into the kitchen. “About every two months for the last half year. Do you have some kind of recurring illness? Or… I don’t know. It’s like you’ve gone bipolar.”

“Oh, don’t be silly!” Rarity said, flicking a hoof. “I’ve finally found what I was looking for, dear.” She floated a pair of teacups out of the cupboard and headed for the stove.

“Your… favorite cup?”

Rarity snickered and shook her head. “Now you’re doing that on purpose. No, I mean I finally feel as if I’m putting in the proper effort. If I make a dress for a friend, but put no more of myself into it than I would for a stranger, then what kind of friend would that make me? But then why not treat a stranger as well as a friend, too? As Pinkie might say, ‘A stranger is only a friend I haven’t met yet.’”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Rarity, but… you like the things your friends do for you, don’t you?” Pushing Rarity back into one of the kitchen chairs, Twilight grabbed the teapot and took over making their drinks. “Take Pinkie. Don’t you feel good when she brings you a cupcake, just because? And she doesn’t make herself sick to do it, either… Well, except for when she eats too many ‘quality control’ samples. Okay, bad example.”

Rarity laughed out loud. Yes, Pinkie did sort of defy comparison. “I know what you mean, darling. But if I can do more, doesn’t that mean I should? If all it costs me is some fatigue and looking a tad—” she turned her nose up at the word “—disheveled, I have to count it well worth the price. And Pinkie’s up next, by the way, as soon as I finish Rainbow Dash’s dress for the Equestria Games Committee dinner.”

“And then another month of you moping around and acting decidedly un-Rarity-like?”

Wiggling down into her seat, Rarity flicked her eyes up at the pointed stare directed back at her. Well, when she said it that way…

“It’s not how big a cupcake she gives you, Rarity. It’s that she thought of you in the first place.” Twilight had her back turned as she lit the stove.

That mare sure knew how to get the maximum value from a minimum of words. Rarity found herself shaking again, before she’d completed a dress, for once. “I-I need to get back to my sewing, Twilight. Rainbow Dash’s dinner is tomorrow night.”

Twilight sighed. “If you do need to talk, do you promise you will?” she said.

“Mm. Yes.”

“And if you don’t need to?”

Rarity slipped out of the kitchen quietly and nudged Opal away from where she’d fallen asleep against the dress.

“Just… awesome!” Rainbow Dash shouted. Licking a paw, Opal lay beside her on the couch. “You know I don’t like to get all dressed up. But this felt cool!”

“Of course, dear.” Rarity opened her eyes and tucked the edge of her cape under herself a little tighter. As much as she’d tried to stay awake, she must have dozed off at least three times already. “No reason your fabulous colors wouldn’t blend in with high society. You just needed to… contextualize them is all.”

“No,” Rainbow said, shaking her head, “it’s more than that.” She gathered up the dress around her and scooted to the edge of the cushion. “You know how I sometimes get tongue-tied around the Wonderbolts? Not this time!”

Rainbow chuckled up at the ceiling as she fidgeted a hind leg. “They listened to everything I had to say, from flying techniques to training regimens. And those words! I mean, I come across enough of them in books, but I can never seem to pull ’em outta my head, y’know? But there they all were! I felt… loquacious! I wonder if this is what it’s like to be Twilight.” She giggled into her hooves, adding in a low voice, “But don’t tell anypony I talked like that.”

“Nonsense. You had it in you all along, Rainbow Dash. You just needed a little prodding,” Rarity said with a sharp nod.

“I-I told them the Running of the Leaves would make a great off-season event to keep themselves in shape. They’re… coming… here!” She pressed her hooves to her cheeks and squeaked. “In the fall! They’re going to run with us!”

Rarity stifled a laugh. Rainbow could be adorable when she gave up that macho front. The spark in her eyes and… just genuinely enjoying herself as herself. Good for her. Good…

“…Rarity?”

Rarity jerked awake and rubbed her eyes. “What, dear?”

“You look pale. Well… paler. You okay?”

“Y-yes, of course. Fine,” Rarity answered. “I was just going to start on Pinkie’s dress, but Twilight got an invitation today—she’ll need hers sooner. She’s attending the opening of an important museum exhibit.”

“Oh.” Rainbow scratched her head. “How’d you know that?”

“She came by today. She does almost every day now.” Rarity yawned into her forelegs. “Makes it hard to get much done during the day, but maybe tonight I’ll just… rest.” Her horn still hurt from finishing that dress yesterday. It took so much focus and concentration to prepare…

Rainbow touched her lightly on the shoulder. “I’ll go then. But I wanted you to know I love the dress. I don’t think I’m gonna take it off for at least a week.”

Rarity’s eyes drifted shut again, and she formed a thin smile. “Mmmhmm.”

For the third straight night, Rarity took a walk over to the library, not long after the last train from Canterlot arrived. Maybe Twilight would come home tonight. Not even halfway there, she stopped to find a place to sit until her panting abated.

“Rarity?”

She looked up to see Roseluck approaching. With… with one of those capes on. Rarity drew her own a little closer around her. In fact, quite a few of the mares still out in the dusk wore capes.

“I love this fashion! What made you think of it?” Roseluck asked, running a hoof down the edge.

“Oh, that,” Rarity said. “Please don’t attribute that to me, dear—I don’t want anypony thinking of me when they…”

“Why not? It’s simple, flowing, elegant… Just the kind of thing you’d invent.” Roseluck cocked her head and grinned.

“I-I’m sorry. I have to go,” Rarity said, striking out for the library again and leaving a confused Roseluck behind. She forced her breathing into the same rhythm as her hoofsteps, and when she neared the library, she saw the flash of gems through the front window. A warm smile replacing her frown, she knocked on the door.

“Rarity!” Twilight swept her into the library’s main room and twirled her over to the pile of cushions on the floor. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

Rarity stood, her mouth agape, watching Twilight sashay off to the kitchen, before sliding out one of the cushions and settling gingerly onto it.

When she returned, Twilight had two glasses and a bottle of wine in tow. “Oh, I have to tell you—where do I even begin?” She plopped onto a cushion of her own, yanked out the cork, and poured for both of them.

“I-I don’t even—is this what it was like for Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash? I couldn’t have imagined!” She guzzled down her glass and poured another.

Rarity enjoyed a silent chuckle and sipped at her wine. A hint of berry and a nice oak finish… She gasped and squinted at the bottle. Heavens, a—a rather expensive vintage! “Where did you get this, Twilight?”

“Oh, it was a gift from… I don’t even know who!” she replied, bursting into a fit of giggles. “I brought it back with me. But you deserve it. Where to start, where to start?”

Twilight took a deep breath and bowed her head. “I had such a wonderful time, Rarity. Just this… overwhelming feeling of poise, confidence.” Her gaze wandered up to the ceiling, and she broke into a wide smile. “I mingled and chatted effortlessly, I danced, I actually enjoyed having all eyes on me. I even flirted—” her eyes wide, she shook her head “—with the museum’s young new docent… with the bartender, with the cab driver, with the officer...”

“Officer?” Rarity erupted through her laughter. “Whatever did you…?”

“Just the one on patrol while I was waiting for the cab,” Twilight answered, but her cheeks had flushed a bright crimson. “Two days of cocktail parties, theater events, photographers… It’s all still whirling around in my head.”

Rarity closed her eyes and listened to the lilting voice. So happy, so… alive. That same warmth suffused her chest, along with a little in her throat, thanks to another sip of wine. She looked again in time to see Twilight take another generous gulp of hers.

“Everywhere I went, ponies kept asking me where I got the dress,” Twilight continued. “‘Of course, a princess can get whatever she wants,’ they said. I asked what they meant, and they’d say, ‘There are only six of those in existence, you know, with that special three-diamond logo.’ Besides being a rarity—heh heh!”

Twilight snorted another laugh and finished her glass, then refilled it with considerably more difficulty than before. “Besides… besides being a Rarity—” she jabbed an elbow toward her friend’s ribs “—it does something to you. I’ve never felt that way before! I’m not gonna take it off. Not gonna.”

The corners of Rarity’s mouth curled up. She’d always expected a tipsy Twilight would be cute, but not quite this cute. But despite the burgeoning warmth from her last swallow of wine, she found herself shivering again. “I was happy to do that for you, Twilight. But I think I should probably head home before it gets too late.”

As Rarity walked toward the door, Twilight set her glass down and almost knocked it over. “You feeling alright?” she said, her voice suddenly clear.

“Just a little out of sorts. But I’m glad you enjoyed the dress, Twilight. I’ll talk to you later.”

On her way down the lamplit street, Rarity glanced back. Twilight watched her from the front window. Several times, she looked again, and still Twilight stood there. Rarity pursed her lips. Within another couple months, she could finish dresses for Pinkie Pie and Applejack. And then what? Who knew? Maybe some more charity events. But how long before even that wasn’t enough?

She walked through Carousel Boutique’s front door and flicked the lights on. She might as well get started on sketching out Applejack’s design.

A knock at the door made Rarity jump. Had she forgotten to put up the “Closed” sign? Who in their right mind would be shopping at this hour anyway?

She leaned into the doorway from her workroom—Twilight? Her forehead creased, Rarity motioned for her to enter. “What brings you out this late, dear? I don’t even know what time it is…”

“Midnight,” Twilight replied. “You left the library a little over two hours ago.”

Rarity’s gaze ran over the dress—the dress that Twilight wasn’t wearing. She had it slung across her back. “Is there a problem with that?” she asked, pointing at it.

Twilight didn’t answer immediately. She walked over to the couch and put the dress down next to her. Opal leapt up beside her and lay against it, her purrs echoing in the silence. Twilight opened her mouth to speak, but a hoof flinched toward the fabric. Her eyes had the same look Rarity had seen on Winona’s face when Applejack would hold a dog biscuit in front of her.

“Rarity, it’s like… like an addiction,” Twilight said, her speech still a little slurred. “I want… I want to—”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Where did you learn a spell like that? I don’t even know how you managed to cast it.”

“I-I didn’t know it would work this way. I only—”

“Rarity.” Twilight opened her eyes but stared only at the dress. She picked it up with her magic and draped it over her shoulders, then sucked in a shuddering breath. “The dress does something to the wearer. It has to be magic. What spell did you use? It’s obviously coming at a steep cost. You only have to look in a mirror to see that.”

Rarity hunched up her shoulders and collapsed into a chair, her gaze locked on the floor. She beckoned toward her pet, but Opalescence merely resettled herself next to the dress. “No magic, Twilight.”

“Well, then what? This doesn’t make sense otherwise.” Twilight ran a hoof down the material, caressing each ruffle, tracing each seam. “It wears off eventually, just like a spell. According to Fluttershy, anyway.” Her hoof reached the logo. Three blue diamonds on a white background. She felt it, held it up against her face, nuzzled it tenderly, smelled it.

“It-it’s… oleander,” Twilight sputtered, her face blanching. “P-perfume…”

Rarity’s ears drooped, and she summoned her voice as best she could: “M-mother always said… to put a little of myself in everything I made. Th-that’s the first step.”

Twilight threw off the dress, rushed across to Rarity, and stood over her, trembling. That same hoof that had lovingly touched the three blue diamonds now reached for Rarity’s cape. Three blue diamonds on a white background—a white background of fine hair, which smelled of oleander. And not on a cloth backing—something closer to the leather that the griffons sometimes used…

And amid an utter calmness, Rarity didn’t move. She didn’t move as Twilight lifted up the cape’s edge. She didn’t move as Twilight gritted her teeth and grimaced. And she didn’t move as Twilight peeled up the bandage from her flank.

“They grow back, Twilight. They always grow back,” Rarity said, her voice lifeless. “In about two months.” It didn’t even hurt anymore—just numb all the time.

“And when it begins to heal, the old ones lose their power, you feel better… and you start all over again.”

Rarity nodded. Her cheeks tightened, and she fought back tears, but she didn’t have the strength anymore. “I’m sorry,” she blubbered, wiping away the moisture from her face. If she kept wiping, it would stop. It’d have to.

“Rarity,” Twilight said gently, “remember what I said about Pinkie. It’s not how big a cupcake she gives you. It’s that she thought of you in the first place. Do you understand?”

As Rarity nodded even harder, an unchecked cascade of tears dripped onto her chair. “I’m sorry.” What more could she say? What she’d done made so much sense, but then why couldn’t she look Twilight in the eye? She buried her face in the pillow.

Warm. A warm hug over her shoulders and a soft voice in her ear. “No, I’m sorry, Rarity. I’m so sorry.” She took a deep breath and patted Rarity’s head. “The real first step is admitting you need help.”

Nopony spoke. Hours. It felt like she must have lain there for hours in silence. Rarity swallowed hard and took Twilight’s hoof. “Please don’t leave, Twilight,” she said among her tears and sniffles.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Twilight Sparkle stopped by each morning before opening time and each evening after closing time. She never had anything to say except for small talk and a “How are you?” which Rarity answered truthfully, if sparing on the details. And sometimes Twilight brought a cupcake.

It wasn’t until the end of the third week that Twilight asked any more than that. The question always seemed ready to fall out after every sentence of meaningless chatter, but she’d held it. Sometimes, friends knew when not to say anything.

“Is it getting better?” she said while pouring herself a cup of coffee, then went about clearing the breakfast dishes as if not expecting an answer.

“Yes it is, Twilight. Thank you for asking.” Opal sat in Rarity’s lap, her purr thrumming throughout the kitchen. “I’ve had some good sessions with the therapist, but I—I feel so silly that I could have done something like that. Oh, what everypony must think of me!” Rarity said with a wry smile.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Twilight replied. She put the last of the dishes in the drying rack and carried her mug over to the table. “We know who owns all six of the dresses. It was a simple matter to get them back.”

Rarity gasped and stopped petting Opal, who opened an eye. “You… have them?”

“Yes, they’re back at the library.” Twilight blew on her coffee and took a sip. “I told everypony that there was a minor stitching issue, and you’d fix it free of charge. Just embroider new logos, and nopony will know.”

“But-but… how would they not know?” Rarity blurted out, flailing a hoof. “They wouldn’t feel—”

“That effect wore off long ago, Rarity. It wouldn’t work now, anyway.”

“Oh.” Of its own accord, the same hoof returned to petting Opal. “You’re right, of course.” Leave it to Twilight to have everything thought out. Rarity took a deep breath and let the minutes tick by. Just Opal’s contented purring and the occasional thunk of Twilight’s emptying mug against the tabletop.

“Fluttershy did say the dress would always make her feel special, from the memories,” Rarity finally said. “But now Pinkie Pie and Applejack will never get that experience. That’s not quite fair, is it?”

She rubbed her eyes and murmured, “I don’t do enough.”

“Rarity.” Twilight leaned over and poked Rarity’s shoulder. “Remember the cupcake.”

“Oh. Yes. Yes, I’m trying.”

Twilight sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever are you apologizing for, dear? You aren’t the one who went… unhinged,” Rarity said. “I can’t wait until I don’t have to wear this anymore,” she added, flipping up the corner of her cape. She nudged Opal off her lap and rose to get a refill for Twilight.

“I should have noticed earlier. I should have said something,” Twilight answered, her ears folding back. “I’m supposed to be the princess of this stuff, so… I can’t count myself as anything but negligent.”

“Twilight, let’s just call this a series of bad decisions all around.”

“Agreed,” Twilight said after a long pause, covering her cup with a hoof as Rarity returned with the carafe. “I should get going—I need to open the library soon.”

Rarity slumped her shoulders, but Twilight hooked a foreleg around her neck. “I’ll be back later. In fact, I still have a little of that wine left,” she added with a smirk.

It was rather good… “Oh, but it’s sat open for three weeks now. Wouldn’t it taste a bit off, dear?”

“Rarity, I brought back a case. I still have two bottles.”

“Oh…” Rarity burst out laughing. “Yes, well… Thank you, Twilight.”

Twilight gave Rarity a squeeze. “Promise me, though, that you’ll talk to somepony the next time you get so upset.”

“I promise.”

“Good.” They exchanged a grin, then Twilight set the coffee pot back on the counter and waved good-bye.

And silence returned. Complete silence. Not to her liking at the moment, actually. Maybe she should get started on Pinkie Pie’s dress. The right way this time, and deciding that was the first step. But before she did, she patted the table in front of her. “Hop on up, Opalescence.”

Opal leapt up and quickly found the warm spot where Twilight’s coffee mug had rested. “Oh, Opal, I don’t know. I realize what Twilight was saying, but speaking to others about my problems? I’ve never felt comfortable talking about personal matters. I’m not certain I could do it, prattling on about this and that. What do you think?”

If Rarity didn’t know better, she would have sworn Opal had rolled her eyes.

Author's Notes:

I normally wouldn't editorialize about things that are only a small part of a story, but I wanted to comment a bit on how Twilight treated Rarity at the end.

In high school, I had a friend who I only saw weekly. He endured a bad bout of depression, to the point that his mother put him in a facility for a week or two. Of course, his immediate reaction was to hate her for it, but he eventually realized it was for his own good. When he returned to school, friends, and everything else, everyone was on pins and needles around him. Except me. I treated him as if nothing at all had changed. It meant so much to him to have someone not deal with him as if he was some oddity.

Why did I treat him that way? I'd like to say it was because I had some great insight or knew exactly what he needed. Truth is, it was because I had no idea it had happened.

But I wrote Twilight as doing it intentionally. She just continued the routine she'd established beforehand of visiting Rarity daily and didn't pry about it. Weeks later, she took a very small first step by asking a pretty superficial question about it, but made it clear an answer wasn't needed or even expected. She just let Rarity take what time she needed. I just think Twilight would know to do that.