It was not Octavia’s car; she had never seen it before. They passed it to a wide, black gate, open, where Octavia stopped. Inside, they followed a straight path into a trench of precise hedges rising on both sides, terminating before a glossy, four-tier fountain crowned with a pair of waltzing ponies draped in sparkling water. Around it moved a mare in a perfect white uniform, and she trotted to them, unflinching at their sudden appearance.

After a brief dialogue, she led them up the walk to the house, a three-story fortress of wood and plaster that slowed them in their tracks. The walls were the same startling white as the servant’s uniform, and stood like icebergs on a perfect lawn at the head of the path. To one side, there waited a pointed gazebo beside a static brook, bridged with a wide cobblestone arch, and on the other rested a two-story brick guest house, decorated with flowering bushes and luscious drapes inside flawless windows. Twin chimneys forked the sky, themselves shadowed by the incredible, deep shroud that came off the central abode, its mahogany double doors embossed with images of ponies carousing to an unseen source. Black half moon windows stared down at them, set deep in the mansion’s face, the only curved lines to be seen on the sharp façade.

Through the tall threshold, between a pair of gilt columns, they entered a sweeping foyer and crossed twenty feet of ocean blue carpet to a single, wide staircase, where they went through another inlaid door down a wide corridor, its walls a mild cream with thin, crimson lines spiraling and intersecting throughout. The servant said nothing until they reached a vast lounge, where she bade them make themselves comfortable until someone could meet them, and then left them alone.

No one spoke as they all took in the room. Through the foyer, they had been too focused on the servant, and thrown off by the silence of their acceptance, to truly observe their surroundings. Over their heads twinkled a still, crystal chandelier, while strands of jeweled glass hung in rows like lambent soda straws, scattering light from the huge bay windows across the wide, ribbed ceiling. On one wall, there nestled a gaping hearth, its bricks black with use but otherwise clean, its grille a reflective steel grimace at the horseshoe of velvet couches across. Beside one end table was a large globe in an astrolabe cradle, while the central coffee table, glass, held a single flower arrangement in a low, square vase. The walls’ electric lights were covered with soft, loose veils, like free-hanging jellyfish, each one trailing glistening threads that ended in more jeweled glass.

“This is incredible,” Whooves said. “I’ve never seen such opulence. It makes the mind reel. To think, the owner of this, this house, left it to go on an adventure with us.”

“You never knew about this, Pinkie?” Rarity asked. Noticing Whooves’ curious expression, she clarified. “They’re sisters.”

“Ah, a filial journey! Now that I can—”

“I knew she lived here,” Pinkie said, still turning to see everything. “And I had a feeling it was a nice house, but she never told me more than that. If I knew she lived in this, I would never have worried as much.”

“Yeah, a lot of good it did her,” Rainbow said. She frowned at everyone’s looks. “Just saying.”

Rarity rolled her eyes, but perked her ears at the sound of someone approaching. The door opened silently, admitting an elderly mare in the same pristine white, embellished with embroidery and lace, her face and chest covered by sheer veils. The only color was a pink rosebud of muzzle that peeked through her elaborate garb, and ghostly dark eyes behind her silk. Her voice was soft and calm as she walked around a sofa, her practiced hoofsteps silent on the carpet. “You must be the good thing.”

“Pardon?” Applejack said.

“Our master told us to expect a good thing. Seeing you now, it can only be you… eight.”

“They’re friends of ours,” Fluttershy said.

“Wonderful.” She smiled and bowed. “Um…”

“Who are you?” Rarity asked. “Are you the master?”

“Only of the other servants. My name is Opal.” She looked at them expectantly.

“Do you know Octavia?” Rainbow asked.

“Yes, of course. You know her?”

“She’s travelin’ with us too,” Big Mac said. “Decided to stay outside.”

“She didn’t want to come back,” Pinkie said.

“I can understand that,” Opal said. She held up a hoof, and continued. “This house’s master is currently at work.”

“Your master owns this incredible place, and she has to work still?” Rarity asked.

“It’s complicated, in a way.” She sat before the fireplace. “If you are friends with Madam Octavia, perhaps you have heard her refer to a pony by the name of Lumb as well.”

“She mentioned him, yes,” Fluttershy said. “They were friends.”

“Of a sort. He is the present master.”

“Is that his limousine outside?” Rarity asked.

“That’s right.”

“Hang on,” Pinkie said, frowning. “She never sold this place, though. She couldn’t. That’s why she had such tremendous financial difficulties.”

“Tact, Pinkie,” Rarity said. “She is right, though.”

“It’s an unofficial affair. When it became clear to us that Madam Octavia would not return, at least for a long time, we decided to allow Lumb mastery of the house. He spent so much time here, it seemed better than letting everything fall into disrepair. However, his day job is curating the museum.”

“So he just hung around long enough for you to accept him?” Rainbow asked.

“I guess you could put it that way. He was a familiar sight before Madam Octavia left. He was always using her library, and the servants were comfortable around him.”

“Library?” Twilight said. Rainbow glanced at her. “Yes, I’m still here. Just being quiet, girls.”

“The library is down the hall through that door,” Opal said, indicating her point of entrance. “If you want.”

“Later.”

She smiled. “Master Lumb was always reading and researching, and that hasn’t changed. He’s a welcome relief.”

“Was it difficult to work under Octavia?” Applejack asked.

“Really, Applejack? What do you think?” Rainbow asked.

“Ah think that we should let the servant speak fer herself. The mare, sorry.”

Opal’s polite smile weakened. “My job, when she lived here, was to see to her music room, and the care of all instruments within. All sixty of them, and the equipment that came with them.”

Applejack whistled low and long. “Did she play ‘em all?”

“Yes, whether she was skilled or not.” She paused, selecting her words. “There is a restored pipe organ, the only instrument that was here before her, that she had the horrible habit of waking us up with.”

“Insomnia,” Rarity said.

“It was not uncommon for her to rouse every servant in the house at three or four in the morning with the most wrenching, unskilled melodies, only to send us searching through the rooms for someone in distress. She claimed to hear ponies screaming for help.”

“O-kay, that’s new,” Rainbow said.

“She was mad,” Opal said frankly. “I have walked in on her destroying things in a room—the plates and glasses in dining room were her favorite—only for her to blame an unseen intruder hours later. Other servants would say they could hear her weeping in empty rooms, or raving in the attic.”

“This doesn’t sound right,” Whooves said. “We are speaking of the same pony, right? Miss Octavia is as mellow as a meadowlark, and thoughtful as a—”

“Will you shut up?” Applejack snapped. “Keep goin’, Opal. What else?”

“She had a tendency to lock herself into rooms and beg to be let out, thinking someone had trapped her.”

“What in the world was wrong?” Rarity asked.

“For years, she would not say. Only by being allowed into the music room—I was the only one permitted within when she played—did I slowly come to understand what agonized her. The house, so I gradually learned, was haunted in her mind. She complained of restless spirits that delighted in tormenting her. She would stay awake for days at a time, keeping herself up and alert with her music, and terrifying the other servants in the process. Many left.”

“Can’t think why,” Whooves said, glancing at Applejack, who didn’t react.

“She said she could see them sometimes, stalking her in the halls, and waking her up by screaming in her face. She eventually stopped sleeping in the beds for… cleanliness.”

“Gross,” Pinkie said.

“Even worse, many of the lesser servants started to believe her, or believe that she was a spirit, come back to haunt the place where she was slain. Utter nonsense, but what was I to say?” She frowned. “Some started suspecting me near the end too, thinking I was poisoning her, or held a curse over her.”

“You weren’t, were you?” Applejack asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“We’ve encountered malignant spirits before,” Rarity said. “They do exist.”

“Yes, I know that,” Opal said dismissively. “But look around. Is this a house of evil? Is this a house of the macabre?”

“So what happened?” Big Mac asked.

“Nothing. She eventually stopped eating, lost thirty pounds, and started disappearing into the wilderness outside town for days on end. She would return and speak to us as though she was here the whole time, asking of the house’s condition as she would when she was well. We all knew it didn’t matter. We could have been boiling rocks and serving them in her soup for all she knew.”

“Okay, okay, stop it,” Fluttershy said. “Um, sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt—”

“Sounds like you do,” Whooves said, poking her playfully.

“I mean… oh, anyway, Opal, there has to be something missing here.” She cleared her throat. “We met in Canterlot close to four months ago, and she was none of those things, except for the insomnia.”

“Could have been the house,” Pinkie said. Her voice was even.

“What do you mean?” Opal asked.

“Where you live can do funny things to you. Maybe she didn’t feel right here.”

“Could be why she chose to be a travelin’ musician, an’ not a local one,” Big Mac said.

“Could leaving this house behind have been enough to set her straight?” Fluttershy asked. “Er, straighter, I mean?”

“Personally, I cannot imagine her any other way,” Opal said. “Her final words to me were a warning to not allow myself get trapped inside the piano. ‘The keys will break if you try to escape,’ I remember that part. She spoke it to me as one does when preparing to tell someone of a loved one’s passing.”

“Well, something must have changed,” Fluttershy said. “Or living here must have been worse than you say.”

“I honestly don’t know. You could be right.”

“Could it be something as simple as a gas leak in her bedroom?” Whooves asked. “That can make a pony pretty funny.”

“We checked for every mundane explanation we could think of. Whatever the problem, it’s inside her.”

“No surprises there,” Rainbow said.

“Miss Octavia would never let something like a spirit overtake her,” Whooves said. “She’s not that type of pony.”

“I don’t know,” Opal said. “She has a hard streak in her, I know, but…”

“She’s one giant hard streak,” Applejack said.

“She can be soft when she wants to,” Whooves said.

Opal only shook her head. “I can’t say. You know her in a different way than I ever did.” She looked pointedly at the door from which she entered. “Would you like to see more of the house?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Rarity said.

“Not at all.” Opal bowed and beckoned them to follow her into a long corridor, and, as soon as she was out the door, Rarity turned on Whooves, putting a hoof to his chest. “You do not know Octavia that well, you realize that.”

“We’re friends,” Whooves said.

“No, you’re friendly. There’s a difference.”

“Psh, Octavia, friendly,” Rainbow said.

“She has her moments,” Pinkie said.

“I’m with Pinks, though. We might as well get our fill here before getting buried under another set of issues.” She glanced at Twilight, who stood and went to the door.

Through the following hallway, they entered into a high vaulted, wood paneled library, walled with bookshelves and lit softly from above by articulated spreads of glowing spheres, on the bottom of each a black insignia of Celestia’s sun. Twilight froze in the threshold while the others moved around her, some gawking, some looking uninterested. The chamber reached up to the roof, with the second and third floors ringing the walls to leave an unbroken area of empty air for their voices and hoofsteps to reverberate.

“How many books are in here?” Twilight asked.

“Thirty-five thousand nine hundred and forty at present,” Opal said. “If I remember correctly. You’re a librarian in your hometown, I believe?”

“I haven’t seen this many books since Canterlot.” She swiveled her head slowly. “Oh, uh, that’s right.” She trotted to a table, piled with smaller books, open upon a heavy compendium.

“Anything you could want on magic, philosophy, art, music… anything, we have it. If you’d like to take a closer look—”

“Please,” Twilight said, turning on her suddenly. “That would be fantastic.” She looked at her friends. “Go ahead.”

“You don’t wanna see the rest of this haunted mansion?” Pinkie asked.

“I’ll catch up.” Without waiting for Opal, Twilight broke away and flagged down another servant.

“She’ll be fine in here,” Applejack said. “We just gotta remember to get her when we’re leavin’. She’ll stay all day if we let her.”

Opal giggled obligingly as she led them through the chamber, past carved wooden doors and seating areas in various states of use. At one, a white-clad servant was wiping a table, a cup of liquid perched on her outspread wing. She nodded courteously as they passed, coming finally to a door set apart from the others. The doorway to Octavia’s favorite part of the house, she said, and a costly piece of unnecessary renovation.

The knob, decorative, shone like a platinum snowflake. From the silver teardrop in which it was set, slender argentine veins branched outward, thinning as they went until the dark oak door resembled a plank of shadow overtaken by viral luminescence. Even beyond the door frame, the silver lines reached and terminated in hair-thin tapers along the shelves.

They entered into another corridor, flanked with stone columns on which sat rough busts, many of ponies, but some of other species, and of varying materials. A glass dragon glared with tourmaline eyes beside the stiff, haughty face of a plaster earth pony, while a clay unicorn sulked several busts down. The hall was the longest they had yet seen, and, at its end, on a pool of crimson carpet, they faced another door, identical to the one in the library, guarded by the top half of a rough, oxidized steel minotaur and a rude limestone dog, which Opal ignored.

“Look at this,” Whooves said, pausing to peer around to the dog’s nape. “I knew it. I just knew it.” He tapped the statue, indicating a small starburst design, similar to Celestia’s sun on the library lights but uncontained in a circle. It sat innocently on the back of the ear.

“What does it mean?” Big Mac asked, cutting short the beginning of Rainbow’s unimpressed “So?”

“What it means, my dear ponies, is that whomever put this fellow here did so not for decoration—rather, not purely for decoration—though I can’t be too certain of the decorative properties of such a ghastly—”

“Come on, come on, she’s waitin’ fer us,” Applejack said.

“Er, it means that she put this dog here as a protector. This sun symbol, unbound by a circle at the border, is an old symbol for strength through fealty. Such designs were placed upon inanimate objects as a way of empowering them, like a talisman.”

“Does it actually work?” Fluttershy asked.

“No. This little mark has no magical power. Likely it was invented before ponies really had a grasp on how to produce a proper sigil.” He looked at the minotaur. “Wouldn’t be surprised if that ugly brute has one too.”

Rainbow shoved the door open, trotting in and stopping short while white light spilled into the hall behind her, reflected out of a vast marble pit. Golden banisters like arrows of sunlight curved along smooth walls to converge in a pinwheel on the arched ceiling, its spokes separated by wide wedges of glass. Throughout the room, on pedestals or in cases, were musical instruments, unsorted but pristine. Beside an onyx double bass, its shape a large, sleeping bat, there leaned a decorated tuba, its mouth textured with zigzagging strings of blue. Three violas hung on the near wall, bows slanted next to them, while a heavy, brown grand piano waited on an aubergine crescent moon in the tile.

“What’s that?” Pinkie asked, pointing to a set of lazy parabolas strung across what resembled a pair of trapezes, suspended on the second floor.

“Looks like an art piece,” Rarity said.

“That’s a whale cello,” Opal said. “It produces one of the lowest sounds an instrument can make. You have to play it with a telescoping bow.”

“Could she do that?” Fluttershy asked.

“Yes, but not well.” They descended a shallow staircase and passed a small pit they had not seen from their entrance, contained within a large collection of drums and cymbals, and even a full-sized gong to one side, a brazen spiral etched on its face. Entering onto a slender, helical staircase to the second floor, Opal stopped to let them see the cables’ full span, close to thirty feet over the stadium music room, large enough to contain any of their houses with enough room for most of the instruments around the margins still. “It takes a pony of great strength to wield the bow, as large and long as it is. Madam Octavia could do so, for short periods of time.”

On the second floor, they could see on one end the spread of instruments, more impressive from aloft, like treasures adrift in a field of snow, and on the other, one half moon window to the grounds’ back end, where sat another gazebo, a statue of something unidentifiable and inequine, and a wall of flower-speckled hedges.

“This is her most prized possession,” Opal said, indicating the colossal, roof-reaching organ, its brass pipes shining dully like rotten teeth beside a dark bird’s nest of gears, embedded in the floor beside a bellows Big Mac’s size. “Fully restored from the southern mines, and long before she took residence here.”

“So she’d just sit and pound on this thing, huh?” Rainbow said.

“In the middle of the night, yes.”

Opal took them up through an undecorated door into an art gallery, full of pictures and portraits that bore no relation to Octavia, and had been there before she purchased the manse. Between burnished grandfather clocks with golden faces, they passed through a carved teak door into the second floor dining room, its twenty-foot long table empty of food but glittering with brilliant arrangements of china and cutlery, enough for a feast. The smell of woodsmoke filled the room and the corridor beyond, where Opal took them through the solarium, where Lumb had set up an extensive spice garden, and then the parlor.

They skipped the third floor, Opal stating that it contained the attic and little else, and circled back around to the library to collect Twilight, who insisted on remaining. They separated from Opal in the foyer and found Octavia waiting outside, exactly where they had left her.

“Let us go to the hotel first,” she said. “Whatever needs to be said can be said in the privacy of our own rooms.”

Octavia went to sit beside the window as soon as they entered their room, and did not face them. “Say what you will.”

Applejack sat between Rainbow and Fluttershy on the bed, and her voice showed no hesitation. “Ya lied ‘bout there bein’ legal trouble, an’ Ah’m guessin’ termites as well.”

Octavia did not respond, but Applejack could see her eyes close in the window’s reflection.

“Your head servant said that you were rather troubled when you lived there,” Rarity said. “In a way that we have never seen.”

“We’re confused, dear, an’ worried,” Applejack said.

Octavia breathed out quietly.

“I know you like your privacy,” Fluttershy said, “but… well…”

“We need answers,” Applejack said.

Octavia stood up and faced Whooves. “Leave us.”

He looked at her mildly. “I?”

“Leave us. This is not for you to hear.”

“Well, where would you have me go?”

“I do not care.”

“I suppose I could nip over to the other room, or perhaps go exploring a little on my own. Would you like me to—”

“I do not care!” she snapped. “Stop talking, and go away!”

“I’ll take him,” Rarity said, putting a hoof to Whooves’ shoulder and smoothing his mane with her magic. “Come, dear. Let’s go for a walk.”

Whooves slunk out with Rarity behind, who cast a plaintive look their way before shutting the door, and Octavia faced them all, mouth ajar for a minute before closing it again. She went to the other bed, sat, pulled up a blanket, and then tossed it away.

“So? What’s going on?” Pinkie asked.

“I cannot say,” Octavia murmured. “I…”

“We know somethin’s wrong,” Applejack said.

“Yes, that is clear.”

They were silent for a minute, before Rainbow spoke. “Opal said you were mad. That you thought the house was haunted, and the ghosts were tormenting you.”

Applejack looked at Rainbow for a second before continuing. “You’d lock yerself in rooms or smash plates, an’ think a spirit did it.”

“Stop,” Octavia said.

“It’s the truth.”

She went to the door, and no one stopped her. “I need to clear my head.”

“Octavia, don’t.”

“I am not trying to escape. I just need to order my thoughts. I will return.”

Applejack studied her, neither mare’s eyes wavering. “All right, Ah believe ya.”

Without response, Octavia departed.

Walking along the park’s south side, Octavia’s thoughts closed on one word, an accusation she had drilled into herself countless times before: pathetic. She had known what was coming the instant her friends vanished into the horrible, august mansion, and no one came to her while they were within, leaving her alone to echo dread to herself. She could see the occasional servant inside the grounds, but none acknowledged her, and her simmering self-loathing was punctuated only by the mild curiosity whether those that passed her scope of vision would recognize her if she should go inside.

When Applejack spoke to her in the hotel, she had known, moreover, that she would not explain. She would get as close to it as possible, and run away. It had happened before, and, though she quietly hated herself, she felt powerless to stop it.

“Pathetic.”

She had bought the house in a storm of fame and fortune, fresh out of college and lucky to be both talented and beautiful, a combination that was enough to put her in magazines and newspapers over duller musicians ten or more years her senior. She had not once considered the risks of putting more than three quarters of her money into a house; to her, elated with newfound popularity, such risks belonged to others.

The rest of the money was split between a bank and a vault in the cellar, hidden behind a stack of empty whiskey barrels, and her last sight of it was closing the sliding, brick panels with confidence that bordered on arrogance. She imagined it was still there.

“Pathetic and stupid.”

When Applejack had helped her empty her apartment in Canterlot, the house was on her mind. When they landed in Manehattan, and she was confined to the hospital for her own stubborn refusal to admit an injury, the house was in her thoughts. When they had been taken aboard Thunderhead’s ship, it was in her head, and she had hoped their passage from the coast to Hoofington would give her enough time to get comfortable with her memories.

She entered a small gate into the narrowest part of the park, hurrying through to the other side. The scenery had not changed from when she was last there: the fountains, birdbaths, trees, and Ramadas all stood as they had before, either unaffected by the disaster or given enough time to be rebuilt or resituated. A group of fillies gamboled across a sturdy wooden bridge without pausing for the endless drop just beneath, and she startled herself when, crossing the same bridge, she did not either.

“It has been a long time since the disaster, and longer than that since I have been here, yet that house scares me now as it did before. Pathetic, Octavia. It is a stupid house, not a monster.”

She exited onto a gravel wash that connected to a trio of hoofpaths and one sidewalk and headed north to circle around the park’s upper half. She wanted to keep walking, to let herself disappear into what she saw as her hometown.

“I could do it. I know this town, and there are those who know me, and countless more who would let me hide just to say they gave lodging to the famous Octavia. There would be no choice but to go on without me.”

She kicked a rock out of her way, then drew it back in her magic. She hadn’t used it in a while, and held the rock shakily before throwing it again, arcing it over a distant street into someone’s flower garden.

A different, more cynical part of herself spoke up. “Or I could go drown myself in the river, fulfill that old impulse I expressed in front of Thunderhead’s ship. Celestia, how has no one brought that up?”

She rounded a corner and saw their airship, parked beside a smaller ship, what looked like a personal cruiser.

“This is ridiculous. It is a little bit of honesty for my friends, and I am thinking about suicide again. We are not even in danger.”

She looked at a pair of young ponies walking the other way, tails entwined, but not speaking; they both wore serious expressions, and did not look in her direction.

“And I suppose I should return before Rarity comes back with Dr. Whooves.”

She faced west to skirt the government quarter, and to take the same route they had all taken to the hotel. With each step, her anxiety dimmed until she stood in the hotel’s lobby, twenty minutes later, full of loathing for her fear and herself, but also acceptance.

She didn’t have to knock; Pinkie yanked the door open for her before she had made it to the room, and she went in without looking at any of them, sat on the bed, and closed her eyes. A familiar image looked back at her hazily.

“Feel better?” Applejack asked.

“No. Proceed with your questions.”

There was a thick moment of hesitation before Pinkie spoke. “So is it haunted, or are you crazy?”

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Applejack breathed.

A soft weight depressed the mattress to her side, and Fluttershy spoke. “Um, I’m sorry. She means—”

“I know, and get away from me,” Octavia said. She waited until she was again alone on the bed. “I know how this must look to you, but I can promise you that that house is infested. I cannot say how many… malignant spirits lived there, or if they still do, but I remember them perfectly.”

“What did they do?” Applejack asked.

“Did my servants not tell you? You said you spoke with them.”

“We wanna hear it from you,” Rainbow said.

“If this is just to get me to admit something you already know, then there is no point in my being here,” Octavia said, snapping her eyes open and sliding off the bed.

“That’s not it,” Fluttershy said.

“We want you to be open with us,” Rainbow said. “That’s it, okay?”

Octavia curled her lip as she sat back down, tentative on the edge. “I remember…” The image in her head changed slightly, shifting to what she wanted to describe. “I would frequently wake up to a stretched, black face screaming into my own, or prying open my mouth to scream into it. I…” She shook her head violently. “Stupid, stupid.”

“What’s stupid?” Big Mac asked quietly.

“I am. This is ancient history. There is nothing to be gained here.”

“Yer not the one to decide that,” Applejack said. “If we can help you—”

“Do not bother.”

“I know it’s hard to relive these things,” Fluttershy said, “but it’s important for you to move on.”

“If I never see that house again, I will be just fine,” Octavia said.

“Fine like you always are?” Rainbow asked.

“You know what I mean.”

“Uh, no, I don’t think I do. You’ve never really been… you know, great. You’re like the picture of suffering.”

“Perhaps ‘fine’ is the wrong word, then. I will be a lot happier to never return there.”

“An’ no one’s sayin’ you gotta,” Big Mac said. “But you do gotta deal with these memories.”

“Memories can consume a pony,” Fluttershy said.

“Gobble ‘em up,” Pinkie whispered.

“There is not much else to say except for more examples, and that would be truly pointless,” Octavia said. “The house is haunted, and has been since I bought it. I suppose my sleeping problems originated there.”

“Opal said you stayed up for days,” Rainbow said.

“That is true. I practiced my music all night long with the doors locked. Sometimes, they surprised me, but not often. Not nearly as often as when I was sleeping.”

“Would it help if we said we didn’t see anything even remotely scary there?” Pinkie asked.

“No. For all I know, the ghosts departed when I did, or are in hiding, waiting for me. They singled me out, I know that much. No servant admitted to seeing anything.”

“Well… at least that hasn’t changed,” Fluttershy said.

“Ah’m sorry ya had to experience that, whether it’s real or not,” Applejack said from across the room. “Ah want you to know that Ah’m tempted to go over there an’ offer you a hug, but Ah know ya wouldn’t appreciate that.”

Octavia nodded. “Thank you.”

“I’ll do it!” Pinkie shrieked, and Octavia was bowled over and tangled in the sheets as Pinkie smothered her.

“Pinkie, get off her,” Rainbow said.

“I love you, sis!”

“Get away from me!” Octavia bellowed, kicking out and striking something flimsy through the sheet.

“You need it!”

“Off!” She lashed out again, glancing off Pinkie’s soft flesh, and the pink pony squirmed away, allowing Octavia to pull the blanket off her head and glare at the room. The end table lamp had been knocked over, and Pinkie stood beside the unoccupied desk, blushing. “Do you know anything about restraint?”

“I just wanted to make you feel better,” Pinkie mumbled. Her mane had lost its luster, and Fluttershy was beside her in an instant with a comforting wing.

“Yer not gonna do it by attack huggin’ her,” Applejack said, not unkindly.

“I am going out, again,” Octavia said. “You are trying to be good to me, and I appreciate that. However, this is not your concern right now. I need to think.”

The propeller cast a curious shadow from almost thirty feet up, aloft on a narrow steel neck and turning lazily in a high wind. Beside it rose a dark metal half dome, flat end turned toward them, and ridged unevenly near its base built onto a gentler curve of light brown wood, itself an extension of an amorphous wreck of rigid, uneven walls.

Rarity and Whooves had no inkling of what they would find within the cacophonous amalgam of smooth, vague surfaces and disembodied airship pieces. They had not expected either to be welcomed within when they got closer, and even less by someone Rarity recognized.

The Astra family had traveled from Trottingham to Hoofington aboard a group of ships that Princess Luna had sent them after their villa was destroyed, and, instead of separating and trying to find individual lodging in the city, they elected to create their own home off the city limits, cobbling their ships together with debris from the disaster, which they found pushed into a nearby wood.

It was still not enough for their large family. After the first fortnight of construction, they had run out of materials, and everyone was forced to settle down into a state of uncomfortable crowding. One of the older Astra daughters, Violet, had received them, and she and Rarity spoke in a small anteroom, sitting on half crates around a gear, its teeth filed smooth, while Whooves stood dumbfounded in the entryway a room away.

Since Thunderhead’s attack, the Astras had been living in a state of nervous half-preparedness for another, which never came. For the first week of life outside of Hoofington, they had their crow circle the area while they and their animated servants worked, but nothing was found.

“And you built this whole thing yourself?” Whooves asked, following another Astra into the anteroom. “It’s simply amazing! Engineering and architecture have always been beyond my scope, and to think just a group of unicorns put this whole thing together. You must be the most industrious—”

“Darling,” Rarity intoned, “come sit with us, hm?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” He looked around the room, hesitated, and sat on a crate. “So how do you know each other? Actually, never mind, it makes sense. Elements of Harmony, Astras—powerful ponies stick together, after all.”

“We met quite by coincidence,” Violet said. She looked at Rarity. “And we do consider it a good coincidence, my friend.”

“Ah, coincidences,” Whooves said. “The unseen machinations of fate. What a marvelous thing, to be able to say—”

“Dear, would you like to see the Astra crow?”

“But of course, if only I knew what you were talking about.”

“I’m afraid she’s not here right now,” Violet said.

“Pity,” Rarity said. She turned to Whooves. “The crow is their… pet.”

“Guardian. She’s our guardian.”

“Haven’t seen her in a while, though,” another Astra said, passing through.

“I thought I heard Papa Astra say he saw her earlier this morning.”

“No, she’s still out there.”

Violet furrowed her brow. “How long has she been gone now? This is the third or fourth day, isn’t it?”

“Was it supposed to come back earlier?” Rarity asked.

“We sent her out to look for more materials to work on our complex, and to return in three or four days regardless. Silver, when did we send her out?”

“She should be back today,” the other Astra said. “This morning, actually.”

“Hm. That’s not right.”

“I’m confused,” Whooves said.

“She’s bound to us,” Violet said thoughtfully. “There isn’t much somepony could do to stop her from carrying out an order.”

“Could it be a malfunction in the machinery?” Rarity asked.

“Machinery? I thought it was a bird,” Whooves said.

Violet looked at Silver, who went to Whooves and put a hoof on his back. “Let’s see more of the complex, shall we?” Without waiting for a response, he led Whooves away, and Violet waited until the doctor’s chatter died away before continuing.

“A new friend?”

Rarity sighed. “It’s a long story. Right now, let’s just say he’s a tagalong.”

“Ah. Well, he seems nice enough. It can’t be helped, you know?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The lower class. They latch on whenever they can, Rarity, you must know that. A classical mare like you, consorting with friends like yours. Surely you’ve run into some unsavory types.”

“Of course, but I don’t think he’s with us for our fame.” She frowned. “Though I guess I can’t be sure.”

“He doesn’t stand to gain much by staying with you all, I imagine,” Violet said airily. “Perhaps a swift death, if he’s not careful.”

Rarity swallowed. “Perhaps.”

Violet tossed her head back in laughter. “You act like you hardly know the affairs in your own country, my dear.”

“I know Discord was recently repelled from Canterlot for the second time. Is there more?”

“No, no, that’s all. So it’s not ignorance, then, but mere carelessness.”

“What could you possibly mean?”

“Rarity.” She lowered her head to look at her through purple bangs, a coquettish smile bright on her lips. “Rarity.”

“Just say it, please. I don’t want to guess.”

“Everyone knows that Canterlot is being run down, and all the space between cities is slowly being overtaken as well. Ponies have cause to be worried, more worried than you appear.”

Rarity huffed. “And what’s wrong with it? We live in isolation on our ship and with each other, and we have to. If we didn’t, we’d get stuck with everyone’s smaller problems. We’d lose sight of our task.”

“Yet you allow the likes of him to ride your coat tails.” She raised her hooves emphatically. “Rarity, listen to me. This is for your own good. You can’t have it both ways, living as a hero but also as a common pony.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The masses will weigh you down.”

Rarity frowned and looked Violet in the eyes. “He’s one pony, and we’re only here as long as it takes for us to get an airship. What do you think I’m playing at?”

“I assure you, I’m not trying to offend.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Silver Astra reentered, Whooves still right behind and still rambling, and a bodiless maid outfit floating behind like an apparition.

“Come along, Rarity!” Whooves said. “This family is wonderful! Such ingenuity, and power, and dignity, it makes me regret not tagging along with you from the beginning.” He laughed, pushing open the door, leaving Violet to look at Silver inquiringly.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Rarity called, chasing after him. He trotted out into the afternoon sun and let the maid outfit catch up before following it into the fields outside the Astra complex.

“Just a little adventure, shouldn’t take more than an hour or two.”

“Adventure? Wait, hold on, stop.”

The maid outfit did not falter, and Whooves gave a single gay laugh. “Don’t worry, we’re not going far.”

“But where, dear? I was having a perfectly, er, strange conversation with Violet.”

“We’re finding their missing crow, that’s all.”

“I don’t want to do that!” Rarity cried. “That crow of theirs is dangerous, and horrifying.” Panting for a moment, she added, under her breath, “Personally, I say good riddance to the thing.”

“Come, Rarity, where’s that famed sense of spontaneity?”

“You’re thinking of Pinkie Pie.”

“No, you. Oh! Look, slowing down already. See? I told you it wouldn’t be far.” He pulled up alongside the maid outfit, one cuff angled off and pointing into a thick ridge of trees. “This is where it was headed.”

She shook her head. “Doctor, this is preposterous. Why are we doing this?”

“Well, Silver and his friends were talking about their little crow, and how it got lost.”

“Yes, and?”

The maid outfit started floating back, and Whooves waved congenially.

“Doctor?”

“Ah, yes. Well, I said that we could find it.”

“We?”

“Well, I don’t want to take all the credit.”

She sat down, ignoring for the time the letter that slowly unfolded from her horn. “So you talked with them for five minutes and ended up volunteering both of us to go find their demonic machine pet.”

“Machine?”

“You didn’t even know what it was when you said we’d go after it?” she cried.

“They just made it sound like a big bird! How was I supposed to know?”

Rarity brought both hooves up to massage her temples, and she picked up the letter. “Dear Twilight… huh.”

“Misfired letter?”

“It could be automated. Dear Twilight, if you thought offing Spike was my revenge, you are a fool. That was sour grapes. The Astra Crow rests at the bottom of a lake near your position. Search for her if you want, but I don’t think you will. Hoofington has its own surprise for you, one you may or may not have yet uncovered. Clock’s ticking, Twily. Discord.”

“Um… I have a couple questions.”

“We’re going back to Hoofington.”

“Wait!”

“Doctor, he just said there’s something in Hoofington.”

“Spike?”

“Discord killed him as recompense for us destroying his ghost ship,” she said quickly, and blushed. “And this whole crow business is a trap. The letter proves it.”

“The little guy is dead?”

“Doctor!”

“Excuse me, Rarity, but I want to hear about Spike.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything, and I apologize. It’s not my place,” she said, turning back.

“He was your friend too, wasn’t he? How is that not your place?”

“It’s just not.”

“Rarity, listen to me.” He grabbed her by the withers and brought his face down to meet hers. “Listen to me.”

“We need to get back.”

“They are fine,” he cooed. “Just fine. They’re all waiting in the hotel, probably watching a little TV, laughing at Pinkie Pie, that charmer, or snuggling under Fluttershy’s wings. Did you know that—”

“Okay, okay, I’m calm,” Rarity said. “I’m calm. Let’s talk.”

He let her go and sat down, and she did the same. The disregarded letter blew into a patch of taller grass, where it stuck. “Why shouldn’t you talk about Spike?”

“Because it hit Twilight hardest of us all.”

“So? I don’t mean to sound callous, but—”

“I get it. It’s not my place because… it just doesn’t feel right.”

“I’ve gotten the impression that she’s under a lot of duress.”

“No, now that is definitely not my place. This is heading toward the realm of her personal secrets, and I can’t divulge that.”

He raised a hoof. “Say no more, fair enough. So you don’t want to talk about Spike because it seems to have hit her in the same place as the rest of her issues. Am I in the ballpark?”

“I don’t really know, because I don’t fully understand what’s wrong.”

“Well—”

“Please, Doctor, something else.”

He sighed. “Indeed. Now, that letter of yours said there’s something to be uncovered, suggesting that it’s by their action, not Discord’s, that this surprise comes up.”

“What are you saying?”

“I doubt Hoofington will miss us for a couple hours, Rarity. Our friends are safe and snug in the hotel, not going to stir anything up.”

Rarity looked back to the letter and levitated it to her, rereading it. “I suppose.”

“And if we get these Astras’ crow back, well, who knows what the gratitude of a family like that can bring?”

“We need a ship.” Her eyes widened. “And their house is made of ships.”

“What do you say, Rarity? Do you have it in you to adventure with me?”

“Okay, Doctor. This once, I’ll go.”

“Yes! There’s that impulsiveness that I—”

“But I’m telling you now, this is a trap. We’re going to approach this lake with caution, are we clear?”

“As a crystal, my friend.” He walked in the direction of the trees, humming loudly. Rarity did not join him, but he didn’t stop until they were at the trees’ edge, where Rarity held up a hoof and then, after a moment of thought, motioned for him to back away.

“Discord likes to lay traps that we can walk into without knowing it. He did it in the swamps, surrounding an Element.”

“Do tell, fellow adventurer!”

She sighed. “We ran directly into a cloud of hallucinatory gas, and it almost killed us.”

“My word, that must have been horrible.”

“Well, it was.” She peered around the nearest tree, seeing only chunks of grassy plain beyond the wood.

“Anything back there?”

“I don’t see anything.”

“We could always go around.”

“We will anyway, but I wanted to see if anything was hiding in here.”

“Like what? Discord himself?”

“A monster,” Rarity said shortly. “We’ve seen one or two.”

“How was that?”

She stepped away from the trees and made to head around them.

“Rarity?”

“We faced them, and we survived. What else do you want to know?”

“Some embellishment might be nice.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re not pleasant memories, darling.”

He sighed, but was, for a time, quiet. It wasn’t long before the reflective plate of a lake stood out in the distance, and Rarity angled them obliquely toward a small rise in the ground, from which they could see the faint unevenness in the lake’s surface: a distant split, cutting the body of water in half, leaving both hemi-lakes stranded from each other.

“So what do you make of it?” he asked.

“Let’s go down, slowly. I don’t like that split in the lake.”

“It’s fascinating, though, isn’t it? You know, if I was still in Applewood, I could be with a team of researchers on why the water doesn’t run out. Now that would be prestigious! Imagine it, your very own Dr. Whooves, foremost—”

She tuned him out as they moved downhill, servicing with a nod or “uh-huh” as they went, until reaching the lake’s edge, where she motioned for him to stop again.

“I don’t see a blessed thing.”

“Stay quiet,” she said, not taking her eyes off the lake’s serene surface. They were at a ring of tall grass that she parted with her magic, allowing a clearer sight of the half-inch of wet mud before the water’s edge. Not far off, a simple rowboat perched on the banks, a wedge of its bottom still dark with water. She extended a single hoof to the mud, as if testing its solidity, and retracted it just before it could get dirty.

“Trap?”

“I still think so, but I don’t see anything.” She looked at the boat. “The crow’s underwater here, I guess. That’s what it said. And we have a boat right here.”

“Convenient, no?”

She looked at him blankly. “Too convenient. Right?”

He grinned. “Maybe?”

“The answer is yes, Doctor. This has all the makings of a setup.”

“Well, then.” He trotted to the boat and put his head to the stern. Pushing it, he overbalanced, and Rarity giggled.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked lightly.

“If it’s a trap, let’s spring it safely,” he said gruffly, wiping at his face. “It’s probably going to go off when this boat gets out there, so let’s send it out without us.” He strained again, enough to lift it up and slide back in the mud.

“Let me,” Rarity said. She didn’t want to admit that he had thought of something she hadn’t, and did not wait for him to steady himself before magically shoving the boat out of its spot. It landed gracelessly lower in the mud, and he moved at it again, his head making a hollow thump off its hull. She withheld a snicker and pushed it more steadily, her magic and his earth pony strength combining until it was in the water. She gave it a final, hard shove, and they stepped back as it coasted inwards.

“I feel a touch silly.”

“Mm.”

“It’s like watching our hopes for retrieving their bird drift away.” He sat and sighed. “Ah, the vicissitudes of time. We’ve developed bridges and boats, yet we have no agency in the great river of time, swept along like so much flotsam.”

Rarity rolled her eyes as he continued. Part of her wondered how long he would talk if she didn’t stop him, but her thoughts were cut short as he interrupted himself: “bubbles.”

“Huh?”

“Bubbles, Rarity. Look.”

On the surface, close to the cutoff point, she saw what he meant. A quick rhythm of small bubbles rippled across the deep middle, turning it into a fizzing circlet on still glass. She craned her neck to see more, and thought, for one strange instant, that Whooves’ “whoa!” was in response to her motion.

The bubbles sped up to a boiling frenzy where a dark shape appeared below, and then broke the surface, tipping the boat over and casting it aside on a heavy wave. A column of steam hissed behind the streamlined black shape for a second before water and vapor both whipped away with the heavy, smooth sound of two wings billowing out. The crow rose in a soft arc, a rainbow dripping behind, and the first embers glowed on its steaming crest. The boat lay capsized and discarded as the crow rose higher and higher until finally pulverizing a cloud and turning northwest, in the direction of the Astras. They traced its progress until it had disappeared, dragging behind it a trail of weak flame, and the final water droplets sprinkled the lake.

“We would have been caught totally off guard,” Rarity said, her mouth suddenly dry.

“Rarity?” His voice was weak. “What was that?”

She smiled at him as sweetly as she could. “That, my dear Doctor, is why we don’t volunteer ponies for something without knowing what they’re doing. That was the Astra crow.”

“I thought it was a bird,” he mumbled.

“Come. I’m sure they’ll be happy that we released their… pet.” She looked back at the lake scathingly. “I don’t know if the trap was bad, or we just handled it well.”

Half an hour after Octavia left for the second time, Rainbow left as well, following her memory as best she could until she reached the mansion. Tucked under her wing was a letter she had written, the first in a long time, and it showed; the jiggly lettering was her first serious attempt in more than a week, full of ligatures and accidental serifs. She had told herself that she was out of practice, but that was only half the truth.

Her nerves had been alight all day with the thought of what she would write, and with worry at what Trixie was going through. What had started as easily dismissed concern when they were in the mountains had become genuine anxiety on Thunderhead’s ship, and had, since arriving in Hoofington just earlier that morning, fermented into sweet, reaction stifling fear. She could not clear her head for more than a few minutes at a time, and in those sober moments, wondered whether she would be overtaken, or somehow come to grips with herself as she had bitterly urged Twilight to do. It seemed to her the only thing she could focus on was the myriad scenarios in her mind, of Trixie parading through one untimely accident after another.

A servant led her to the library, where Twilight still sat, all alone in a corner and head between two open books, propped against stacks of others. Rainbow cleared her throat to get Twilight’s attention, and was rewarded with a small jump, then a dazed expression looking around.

“What time is it?” Twilight eventually asked. Her voice sounded dry.

“Like three in the afternoon.”

“Oh. Huh. It feels later.”

Rainbow produced the letter, and Twilight took it. She looked at it for a moment, still recovering from the self-imposed catatonia of studying. “Trixie?”

“Yeah. I’ve decided to apologize for what I did to her.”

Twilight nodded and sent the letter. She looked up at the ceiling, held aloft by strong patchworks of beams, two shades of gold in the artificial light from below and the sunlight streaming in from skylights above. A golden cradle.

“I don’t deserve you,” Rainbow said, wanting to look away, but forcing herself to keep herself facing straight ahead.

Twilight turned to her books, marked the pages, and closed them. She looked back to Rainbow. “Sometimes, I think you don’t.”

Rainbow pulled up a chair beside her. “I’m really sorry.”

“I know. You should be.” There was a brief pause. “I forgive you.”

Rainbow nodded, embarrassed. Never, in her imaginings, had the apology been so quick and painless. The sorry speech she had tried to compose suddenly felt like a tawdry indulgence. “So… still best friends?”

“Not yet.” Twilight waved away a servant, who smiled and bowed. “There’s something I need to say.”

Rainbow could only nod, disarmed. “Okay.”

Twilight appeared to collect herself, and Rainbow noticed for the first time the expression of frayed calm that she imagined mirrored her own. “You were right, in a way.”

“How?”

“It’s all me. At the end of the day, this is my problem, not yours, or anyone’s.”

“Twilight, no.”

“I’m not done. I’ve thought about this, you know.” She smiled self-consciously. “Today, mostly. Without realizing it, I’ve let you all martyr me, and I’ve given up on trying to help myself. I spend more time researching than thinking, more time waiting for the right conversation with the right pony to make me well again than letting the better aspects of my life shine through to me. I took your sympathy for granted for so long, I didn’t know how to get by without it.”

“Well… okay?”

“I stopped trying to help myself, Rainbow, because I started expecting someone else to solve my problem for me.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

She giggled, and the sound, alone in the cavernous library, made Rainbow look around, instinctively expecting someone to give them a dirty look. “Every other time someone asked me that, I said ‘I don’t know.’ This time, I know. I’m going to live one day at a time, enjoy the good parts, and survive the bad parts, and then, by the end of all this giant mess, I’ll have made it out.” She put a hoof up to Rainbow’s shoulder, and Rainbow scooted closer to allow it to reach her. “I’ll need you girls’ help.”

“Anything, Twilight. We’re here for you, you know that. And I am sorry, again. It was really insensitive of me.”

“I know, and I forgive you, again.” She reached for a scrap of paper atop a stack of books. “I got this earlier this afternoon.” She unrolled the letter. “It’s from Princess Luna. Dear Twilight, my sincerest condolences for Spike’s death. It is a loss that has affected us all deeply, and we all grieve for him. He received an honorable burial in Ponyville Cemetery, but I regret that I was not able to attend. Still, life goes on, and I am happy to report that everything is progressing as well as it is able. My sister will be returning from the dragon lands in a few days.”

“She’s still there?”

Twilight nodded. “I was most pleased that you managed to stop Discord’s ghost ship; the loss has set him back significantly. Still, you must continue as you are; there is still Discord’s advocate, and while he does not appear to be a threat at present, I implore you to be cautious. Be safe, and be swift. In love and friendship, Princess Luna.” She put the parchment back on its book.

“How do you suppose she knew we knew about Spike?” Rainbow asked.

“I can’t say.”

While Twilight reshuffled the books on her table, Rainbow looked up to a low groan emanating through the walls, offset by the quiet creak of stressed beams. It lasted for only a few seconds, and she looked to Twilight.

“It’s been doing that all day. You get used to it.”