“Look at her,” Colgate said evenly. She and Foxglove stood behind a slender tree while the others tried to look busy by the empty eye of the gateway, except Allie, who stared unabashed.

Foxglove sighed and looked. “And what am I supposed to be seeing?”

“Look at her. Don’t tell me that’s not anger you see on her face.”

“What are you getting at?”

Colgate gave her a patient smile. “Come on. If I’ve been noticing the way she’s been looking at me this whole time, you certainly have.”

“No one’s looking at you, Colgate.”

“She’s been watching me since we left the spa, just waiting for the right moment to take her revenge. She nearly did it now, inside that sigil.”

Foxglove thought. “You’re telling me that Allie has been plotting to hurt you, and tried to do it just now. How?”

“A smaller sigil, painted inside the larger one, would be my first guess,” Colgate said. “Look, logistics aren’t important. It’s plain as day on her face. She hates me. She’s been trying to demoralize me this whole trip.”

“And how is that?” Foxglove asked calmly.

“Sneers, smirks, arrogant gestures. She wants me to know she has me at a disadvantage.”

“So you mishandled the chains as a way to get her to fall off?”

Colgate jerked her head, indignation firing wildly through her thoughts. “I knew it. I knew you would take her side.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just trying to defend myself.” Her voice rose. “But you want to get in the way of that.”

“You’re crazy!” Allie cried. “No one’s trying to get in your way. You’re getting in our way.”

“Liar!”

“Colgate, stop,” Foxglove said.

Colgate looked at her for a moment, but sat.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m dismissing your concerns. Rest assured, I will look into this when we return to Ponyville, but, for now, I want you to know that your behavior is absolutely unacceptable. With all due respect, consider yourself no longer a part of my team.”

“I’m getting kicked out for defending myself.”

“There is no proof that Allie had any intentions to harm you.”

“I can see it in her face!”

“Are you sure you’re not simply misinterpreting things? Did she say anything?”

“Of course not. She’s not dumb. She knows she’d get caught for something like that.”

Foxglove chewed her lip. “I see. Well, with nothing concrete, I’m afraid your claims have no ground to stand on.”

“Hm.”

“Unfortunately, Minuette Colgate, you are hereby dismissed from the Ponyville Datura.”

Colgate looked at Foxglove, then past her at Allie, who looked back coldly. “Fine. If it’s gonna be with traitors and conspirators anyway, then I’ll be more than happy to go.” She got up and made to head back.

“You can’t get back to Ponyville on your own. There’s a gap.”

“Then I’ll wait there.”

They replaced the potions Colgate had poured out, reset the platform, and Allie was able to cast her spell without issue. The rain stopped, and Foxglove, with the Bird Datura’s help, went into the dimensionless gateway. They waited for half an hour before they reemerged, fur sandy and windblown. They got Allie back down, the sigil dissipated, and the gateway was no more. The black eye blinked and did not reopen, and a fine sprinkle of rain followed, finally pulled back down from its magical reversal.

It was early evening when they reached the edge and found Colgate, as she had said, waiting for them. She walked morosely at the back of the group and accepted her teleportation potion without comment. On the other side, she broke from them and walked along the rock farm’s dark edge. While they set up camp in a thicket a quarter of a mile outside the farmland, she was making her own meager campfire in a dry gully.

Zecora’s team was still with them, but would go into the Everfree Forest the following day. While they slept, and Allie stared into the fire, Foxglove retreated into the trees with a flat rock on her back. Cloudchaser was in her sleeping bag, and Flitter sat nearby, still wide awake.

The day’s events moved in Flitter’s memory. Colgate’s sudden fearful reaction had drawn their attention, and then, a minute later, Allie’s platform snapped up, nearly flinging her off. Only one chain had come out of its potion, but the uproar around her had been lurid and frenzied. From above, Flitter was reminded of chess pieces suddenly losing their nerve to careen around the board, frightened by something she could not see. They got Allie down as quickly as they could, by which time it had become clear to all what had happened.

Personally, Flitter had been shocked, but didn’t show it against everyone else’s angry self-assurance. Of course it was Colgate, they all agreed; she had been a toxin since the beginning, since even before that. Even Cloudchaser, who had forgiven her just as genuinely when she had apologized for her earlier actions, said that she should have known.

There was no way for them to know, as far as Flitter was concerned.

She got up from the camp and passed Allie, pausing a second to look at her—her face and stance both pensive—and walked to a nearby hoofpath. Stars turned the dust to silver and the leaves to shingles, and she could see the glow of Colgate’s fire in the distance, becoming a slow strobe as Flitter moved past uneven ground.

Where the hoofpath bent around a small pond, there was the change in ground color that marked where wilderness gave way to the Pie rock farm. She flapped to the farm’s edge and looked at the tiny house, its lights off. It took her eyes a minute to adjust, and she was able to see the square imposition of a well on the other side of the land. Her heart skipped a beat when the shadow moved, but she quickly saw that it was a pony, almost invisible in the darkness.

She remained still, watching, waiting for a voice to break the tension she felt pulling at her insides. As the silhouette drew closer, she realized with a start that her light coat color made her obvious in the night. The pony walked straight for her, slowly, but with purpose.

Flitter did her best to not recoil when the strange pony stepped into view, still a good distance away. The mare’s eyes were a dull gold and stared out at Flitter with docile confidence. Her slate gray mane was cropped short, like her tail, and her coat looked soft and damp, as though she had just walked through rain, or gotten out of a shower.

“Hello?” Flitter said.

The pony made no move.

“Do you need something?”

The mare lowered her head, but remained where she was. Flitter took a step in her direction, but stopped as the mare backed away.

“I won’t hurt you. What’s wrong?”

The mare turned and walked back toward the house, but Flitter could not see whether she entered it.

The next morning, Colgate woke up hungry and miserable, and it was a few minutes before she remembered why she was alone. She remained where she was for fifteen minutes after the other Daturas passed her, and then crept out of her gully and started after them. She didn’t bother to eat of the food she had packed, and had only her morning pill with a sip of water.

Focus came and went, as it frequently did in the first hour of waking. Thoughts decoupled and became loose ideas, and emotions softened into indistinct suggestions. It was a nice day, she recognized, but did not appreciate the sun on her cold body. The air smelled wonderful, but it brought her no pleasure. She knew that Allie had gotten the best of her, and Foxglove had betrayed her in her moment of supplication, but she felt only vague unease.

Before, she had been able to focus on another pony, and so turn such unformed emotions into concrete plans, fueled by defensive anger. Alone, with only the ideas of Allie and the other Daturas to keep her company, no feelings crystallized around her unease. She simply walked, unthinking, across featureless grassland. She knew that it, too, was not right for her, but could do nothing to allay the sense of wrongness that made every step seem like a mistake.

When she finally gave in to her aching stomach and sat down for lunch, she saw the first sign of a distant form, moving in her direction. The pony stopped beside a tree Colgate had passed twenty minutes ago and waited, and Colgate did nothing. They both waited, watching each other, for ten minutes before the strange mare got up again and began walking. Colgate let her come.

She was the color of dusty amethyst with serious, murky eyes and a severe face that Colgate recognized would make many others uncomfortable. She stopped short and looked around, and Colgate did the same, as if to confirm that they were alone.

“Where is town?” Her voice was almost a whisper.

“North a ways. I’m headed there right now.” It was the first Colgate had spoken since leaving the Daturas in the forest.

“May I follow you?”

Colgate nodded and got up. “Sure. Where’d you come from?”

“Nowhere. Let me follow you, please.”

“I said okay.” She put her back to the pony, who walked behind her at a distance. Neither said a word.

As they moved, Colgate felt no urge to look back at her follower. Her mind was elsewhere, trying to form coherent thoughts on the fragments of things she remembered feeling so painfully the day before. She knew she had been betrayed, that her trust had been unfounded to a greater level than she had expected, but what to do about it eluded her. Trapped in her own solitude, she could only plod ahead as Cloudsdale Farms grew before her.

“What is the town?” the pony asked.

“Huh?”

“What is the town?”

“The one we’re going to? It’s called Ponyville. Population of about two hundred, I’d guess.”

“Oh.”

Colgate frowned. She didn’t like the mare’s terseness.

“Do you live there?”

“Yeah, I do.”

The second sound of hoofsteps died away, and Colgate turned to look, but couldn’t tell what the mare was looking at. She faced south, where they had come from, but her face showed no hints of emotion.

“I don’t think I like this,” Colgate suddenly said. She got up and turned away, surprised at her own words. They had come out without warning, with no planning or forethought.

“What do you not like?”

“There’s something in the air, and I don’t know what it is,” Colgate continued, more for herself than the mare behind her, who was already just a fantasy in her mind. “I can’t think. I should be able to think about stuff, but those faculties seem dampened.” She stepped over a patch of flowers and watched a butterfly corkscrew away from her. “There’s no one out here.” “She is.”

Colgate shook her head and looked back at the mare, following but not making eye contact.

“Allie’s gone, I think, with the others. You’re here, but you’re nothing. I can’t…” She sighed. The thought was gone. For one electric moment, she thought she had found it, the catalyst to bring her back to her old self. It faltered and faded just the same as everything else. “I remember thinking about myself a lot, but I can’t do that anymore.”

The mare nodded, never taking her eyes off the ground.

“She’s judging me. She’s sizing me up.” Colgate frowned again, looked back at the mare, but nothing grew in her head. She nudged a blade of grass with a hoof and tried to focus.

“Tired?” the mare asked.

“Go on. I need to stop.”

“I do not know the way on my own.”

Colgate flashed her a dark look. “Likely story.”

The mare said nothing, but bowed her head.

“Good, we understand each other.” She sat in the grass and looked to the north, where Cloudsdale Farms cut a segmented horizon of pale blue and cotton white. The mare sat as well, still looking south.

A gentle breeze blew, and she could hear the small drone of cicadas over the sound of work in the distance. Grass and flowers grew all around, and there were no hoofpaths nearby. In her mind, she knew she should be at peace, that most ponies would feel that, but she could not. There was too much confusion buried in her head, lost under drugs and the uncertainty she faced at being truly alone for the first time since she could remember. The Colgate who had ceaselessly lied and abused herself for the audience of her friends seemed a strange memory, one of many; the Colgate who had sabotaged Allie Way the day before seemed an oddly concise fantasy, one she was already not completely certain she had lived.

There was one thing only that she knew for sure: there were two of them in the field, alone. She could not imagine what it meant.

A cloud passed over the sun, and Colgate didn’t move. The mare got up to walk around a little, and Colgate didn’t look. Her eyes were fixed on a darkening silo near the middle of the farmland, her mind fixed on the past.

When at last she got up, she did so without warning the mare, and nearly left her behind. They walked along Cloudsdale Farms’ border, not stopping even after dark, and made it to Ponyville by two in the morning. The mare said she had nowhere to go, and so Colgate let her sleep on her easy chair.

When Colgate woke the next day, the first thing she was aware of was a sapping, deadening hunger that felt like a solid weight inside her. She went to the kitchen to see her strange visitor gone, and a note on the floor. It was not from her, but Foxglove, telling her to come to the spa when she had a chance.

She met Foxglove and an unfamiliar, pale green unicorn in the inactive sauna, and sat down. She still felt lost from the day before.

“So, Colgate, it’s good news-bad news time,” Foxglove said. “Good news first. You’re not kicked out of the Datura entirely.”

She kept silent.

“Really? I was expecting an argument for that. Guess my morning just opened up. Well, anyway, if it was my decision, I’d have you out like yesterday’s news, but one of my superiors wants you in Canterlot. This is Chilly Clouds; she’ll be taking you to where you need to go.”

“Pleasure,” Chilly Clouds said, shaking Colgate’s hoof weakly.

“Likewise,” Colgate said, inclining her head.

“You’ll be living with someone else—another Datura, don’t worry—but Chilly here volunteered to be your tour guide, so to speak,” Foxglove said. “Now for the bad news.” She sighed and produced a small, metal collar, which Colgate recognized immediately. She had put them on patients before surgery countless times. “This is a magical suppression collar. I’m sure you’ve seen them.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Colgate, there’s a very real reason I want you wearing this.”

“Are drugs not enough for you now?” The spark was returning, and she clung to it. “Are you not content with—”

“You’re going to run out of pills.”

Colgate paused. “I sent in a refill request last week.”

Foxglove reached behind her and pulled out a newspaper, dated a couple weeks ago. “Manehattan Pharmacy Supplier Goes Under,” she read. “Silver Scales Pharmaceuticals, which, along with many other large businesses in the upper west side, has been hemorrhaging money since the Radio Disaster, reported its profit margins to be the lowest since the company’s formation thirty-five years ago. Let’s see here.” She scanned down the page. “Yeah, here we go. Including the production of certain specialty psychological medications. Ponies are urged to try to find replacements as soon as possible, though alternatives in Manehattan are proving harder and harder to find, according to the—well, anyway.”

Colgate only sat, looking intently into the newspaper’s other side.

“I’m working on finding another supplier as well, but it’s not easy,” Foxglove said. “Your drug isn’t exactly mass-produced.”

Her earlier aggression was gone when she replied. “You don’t have any special sources?”

“We can look into putting you into some kind of long-standing hypnosis, if you want.”

“Why not a supply of calming potions? Surely those exist,” Colgate said.

“It would be too expensive. Besides, you couldn’t take potions with you like you can a bottle of pills.”

“I need something, Foxglove.”

“I am aware of your situation. Now, let me ask this: how long can you hold out without your pills? Can you conceivably stretch them to just one a day?”

Colgate thought, with some difficulty. “I don’t think so. It would be dangerous, at best.”

Foxglove shrugged. “There’s not much I can tell you, Colgate. I’ll do what I can to get you more medication, but, in the meantime, I want you wearing that suppression collar. You might consider going back to your therapist as well.”

Colgate glanced at Chilly Clouds, who looked back with a doleful expression. “Yeah, probably.”

While Lumb had prepared the museum for his masquerade, only a day away, Pinkie and Big Mac had covered the town in fliers, signs, and spools of ribbon to celebrate. What had been a stodgy source of gossip and town folklore had transformed into a site of intrigue, “a box of sun and surprises, waiting to be torn open,” as Lumb was quoted in the town newspaper.

The sudden festive air, however dampened in a dim afternoon, was still a floral affront as the nine friends stood in a tight circle, close to alone in a corner of the hotel grounds. Octavia had brought her cello out, and Applejack had fashioned a crude memorial out of a tree branch, Trixie’s name carved in with an imperfect magical wand, which more resembled a flower. They had laid it on the grass near a multi-hued flowerbed, predominantly blue, and, with heads bowed, tried to tune out the rest of the world.

Rainbow had no more tears to cry, and so stared bitterly at the flowers. It was Rarity who spoke first.

“She was a good friend, though we only knew her a short time. As we live our lives, we come to recognize ponies with integrity, and with passion, and to connect with them. It is these qualities that I could tell, even so early, that Trixie had in the fullest degree.”

“Here, here,” Pinkie said quietly.

“I’ll never forget her,” Fluttershy said. “Um, I mean, I also didn’t know her that well, but, well, she made a lot of us happy, and helped us whenever she could, which wasn’t very often. Um, anyway, though, she was a kind mare… that is, when you got to know her. Um, which we did. Oh, never mind.”

“I’ll miss you, Trixie,” Rainbow said, putting a wing around Fluttershy. “That’s the truth. I messed up real bad. I hope, wherever you are, if you’re in some kind of afterlife or something, you can look down and see how sorry I am for screwing around like I did. If not…” She paused, her voice catching. “Well, if not, then you’re at peace, I guess.” She sighed, and whispered to herself, “I’ll miss you.”

No one else spoke for a time, and they kept their heads bowed for a full minute before Twilight looked up and ignited her horn. A small drop of light formed on its tip and shot up over the flowerbed, exploding in a web of blue and silver threads.

“May Celestia guide you through life, and Luna through death,” Whooves said softly. “We all must travel from this world into the next, come what will. Even the goddesses must someday make the unifying passage. Though I never had the pleasure to know her, I can say from what I’ve heard that this Trixie was a rare breed, a mare of both inestimable kindness and obdurate vim. A young flame, too bright to fill our night skies for long. A heart so big, it couldn’t be allowed to live. A righteous spirit of love and fancy, a star for us all to orbit. A delicate flower to—er, sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Terribly sorry.”

“Be this just a simple gesture,” Twilight said, “let it nonetheless fill us with the comfort we need to endure. Trixie Lulamoon, may you be at rest.” They bowed their heads again, and, after a moment, Applejack kicked a little dirt onto her wooden carving while Octavia began a dirge.

When it ended, they hugged, except Octavia, and went back to the room in subdued silence. Rainbow did not cry, but made a pot of complimentary coffee, which some of them shared.

The spells were done, and there was nothing to do but wait. Their new ship was on the way, courtesy of a connection with Papa Astra, and would be arriving some time shortly after Lumb’s masquerade.

Rainbow and Fluttershy watched TV on the bed while Big Mac and Twilight looked out the window. In the daytime, the city was bright and happy, a decorated Tinseltown in anticipation of the museum’s metamorphosis. At night, the streets were glowing veins of activity, with crowds moving constantly, contracting at stoplights and expanding across sidewalks and into brilliant shops.

“I really haven’t gotten to appreciate this town,” Twilight said to no one in particular. “I’ve been cooped up in Octavia’s mansion so much, I didn’t even get to do any sightseeing.”

“Pinkie and I were at the chocolate shop last night,” Fluttershy said.

“Right there on the corner?”

“Yes, that one. Oh, Twilight, their hot chocolate is heavenly. It’s been so long since I’ve had anything like it.”

“Is that where Pinkie is now?” Big Mac asked.

“I think she’s with Rarity, looking for something to wear tomorrow,” Rainbow said. No one spoke, and she grunted. “I’m fine, by the way. Got all my mourning done. Okay?”

“Sorry, Rainbow,” Twilight said, turning away from the window. “I’m never really sure how to approach someone at a time like this.”

“I know, I know, you’re fine. I’m just saying, you know, we can get back to normal. I’m not… devastated anymore.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Life goes on, Twilight. I’ll live.” She got up. “Although all this talk of chocolate does have me suddenly not so tired. Twilight, wanna come? You gotta see this place.”

They went outside, and, circling around the hotel, saw the museum in the distance. It had been an impressive blotch of darkness from above their first day, but, from the sidewalk, it stopped both of them. In only six days, Lumb had turned it from a sedate, somber crypt into a celebrating, flashing, glittering mound of color and lights the likes of which the building’s conservative form seemed to contradict. It appeared as a heart, with bold checks of color curving along its walls and electric stents of ribbon sticking off and away to form a loose half-dome. No light shone from within, but, without, torches and electric lights mingled to produce a wash of paleness, at once sharp and fluid, turning the distant aspect into something almost organic, a dark dewdrop around a great spindle.

“C’mon, Twi, you’re gonna love their s’mores shake!” Rainbow called, galloping down the sidewalk and taking to the air briefly to avoid colliding with a slower moving couple. Twilight took after her, unconsciously smiling to herself.

Whooves was Octavia’s only companion in the other room, and she tried not to take offense at the way he stared at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. She was tuning her cello, which required her to stand; she knew how it put her body on display. It was one of the things she had received compliments on the most when her career was at its peak.

“My apologies for rambling at our little ceremony,” Whooves said. “It wasn’t my intention. I simply wanted to honor her, the mare I never met.”

“I did not mind it,” Octavia said truthfully.

“Oh. That’s good. I know certain others tend to dislike my loquacity.”

“My sister can be the same way. She does not have your vocabulary, but she also has a hard time stopping once she gets started.”

“Yes, she’s a card, she is. Er, Pinkie Pie, right? Sorry, you’re all still kind of new to me, you especially. You don’t—”

“Talk much, yes, I know. I am a quiet pony.”

“Perfectly respectable, Miss Melody. Perfectly respectable.”

She did not respond, except to glance at him as she loosened a string.

“So, this friend of yours, this Lumb. Is he some kind of precog?”

“I would not know.”

“He seems to know where and when to show up for things a lot. Like waiting for me outside the hotel a few days ago, or when Twilight said he knew to wait until evening until consulting her about your house.”

“Perhaps he is, then.”

“Are you trying to concentrate? Or have I done something wrong?”

She rolled her eyes. “When I have something to say, I will say it. Please do not take my silence as a comment on your company.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far! Though I appreciate the assurance.”

She nodded and played a scale for herself, then, impulsively, took up the bow in her magic and played it again. It was nearly as smooth as with her hooves.

“Neat trick. I presume Twilight let you do that?”

“It would be better for you to ask her about it.”

He laughed. “If you want to get rid of me, you need only say so.”

She put her instrument down. “Doctor, if you are trying to win my favor with self-deprecation, you are wasting your time. I find it neither funny nor endearing.”

He nodded and saluted. “Duly noted, my dear! No more self-pitying Whooves around you, you can count on it!”

She got on the bed and turned on the TV, switching it off a news station to a black and white comedy, several decades older than she.

“No news? You’re not the type.”

“I read the newspaper whenever I can get one. It is much better than the television. Details are not omitted as frequently.”

“Well, you’ve got me there,” he said, climbing in next to her. “So, let me ask you this. It’s a touch personal.”

“By all means.”

“I know I joked a little about the others not liking me that much, but do you suppose it could be true? I don’t simply speak of impatience; I’m talking about outright dislike.”

“What gives you this impression?”

“Oh, you know, stray comments here and there.”

“I really do not know how the others feel about you.” She scooted to the side, away from him. “You should ask them.”

“Ah, but that would defeat the whole purpose of this exchange, my friend. I want the impressions of an impartial party, such as yourself. And, I confess, I am not as nervous with you as I am with some of the others.”

“Like whom?”

“Applejack and Rarity, mostly. They seem to have the least patience for ponies like me.”

“If Rarity disliked you, you would know it. She would not tell you so, but you would be well aware. Applejack would simply tell you. She is, after all, the Element of Honesty.”

“Ah yes, yes, that is true. So you believe them to accept me?”

“I do.”

He sighed and moved closer. “I know it’s silly to worry about such things with friends I just met, but a bit of an anemic sense of self is one of my more sorrowful conceits. Ah, what joy to be with someone so firm and well grounded.”

“You are starting to sound like Lumb.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“No. He showed himself to me as well, and turned out to be a weak stallion.” She scooted closer to the edge of the bed, noticing as she did so a slight pull on her tail as some of her hairs came free.

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know, then, that I’m made of sterner stuff than that odd duck.” He slid closer. “Much sterner stuff.”

“Do not think that I am unaware of your coming closer,” Octavia said.

“Terribly sorry, Miss Melody. It’s just instinct for me—getting close to the one providing comfort. Something about one’s instinctual closeness to one’s mother, I’m sure. A psychologist would likely have a field day with me.” He laughed. “Oop! There’s that self-deprecation again. My apologies; I’ll zip it up tighter.”

“Just know that I do not enjoy cuddling. Keep your distance.”

“What if I were to break into tears? You’d have to hold me tight to keep me from bawling myself silly, Miss Octavia.”

She got up, closing her eyes and mastering her tone. “You are free to indulge that fantasy when you are in bed with one of the others. Not me.”

He laughed, and she rolled her eyes. “Octavia, you have some bite to you! Yet I cannot help but laugh. Ah, queen laugh, she comes when she wants. That’s the way to tell when a laugh is fake or the real article, you know. A false laugh will ask permission before making her entrance, but a real laugh, she will simply come and say ‘I am here.’ You have no choice but to bow to queen laugh.”

“What is all this?”

“Nothing, nothing, just a slice of personal philosophy. Pretty, no?”

“I am sure Twilight would love to hear it. Come, let us find her. I need to go walking anyway.”

“A walk down the corridor, to our dear friend, Twilight Sparkle? And with the eminent Octavia Melody as companion, how could I resist?”

She opened the door and went first, so he could not turn around and see her face.

With Pinkie’s help and Celestia’s treasury note, Rarity had bought them all costumes for the masquerade. Applejack had not known that full regalia would be required, and the others had simply not given it any thought.

They stayed around the hotel all day, taking breakfast at a crowded pancake house and strolling the neighborhood. After so long in the musty mansion, Twilight explored with vigor that had passed through the others, save Pinkie, who ran ahead with her each time she spotted something new.

As the day deepened, they returned to their hotel with a large variety of fresh fruits and vegetables, along with a week’s worth of dried and canned rations. After taking off, Twilight said, they would want to head south, to the unexamined side of Equestria. They would pass over the Everfree Forest and stop at the swamps, to try a second time to get the Element that was there.

“We’ll also be passing within shouting distance of Discord’s castle, I think,” Twilight said. “So… you know.”

“He has a castle?” Whooves asked.

While Twilight reviewed a map of Equestria with them, Pinkie and Big Mac slipped away to help Lumb with his final preparations. Ponies were already beginning to aggregate near the museum, some with makeshift shops to capitalize on the crowds, others with relaxed pre-parties in parking lots or on lawns.

At six o’ clock, they changed into their costumes and walked to the museum. The sidewalks were crowded with other similarly outfitted ponies, all heading the same way, a tide of color and decoration that had them all talking loudly and excitedly—except Octavia. Of everyone, she was the most somberly dressed, in a black cloak with turquoise trim, and metallic purple spirals shimmering along its folds as she moved. Her mask was a simple white half sphere, with slits for eyes and nostrils, and no markings. Rarity had objected to its purchase, but Pinkie had insisted that it was perfect.

While Big Mac led, wearing a garish orange and brown coat with a black and orange mask, its edges decorated to resemble a wreath of thorns, Pinkie bounced up and down right behind him, backwards, talking about her influence on the decorations and the refreshments, how Lumb was a nice pony when one got to know him, and a couple surprises that he had in store.

The main mass of partygoers was audible before it was visible, a swelling ocean-sound of laughter, buried music, and thousands of conversations. Around the museum, a mob had converged on the front lawn, a sea of elaborate and colorful costumes and masks. A pair of statues, stately in their simplicity, which guarded the walkway had been bedecked with flowing silver fabric that caught the sunset and made them into towering, melting pillars of weak flame. Rainbow circled them both with several other pegasi, laughing.

“We must be certain to pay attention to where we all are,” Octavia said, catching up. “And recognize each other’s masks.”

“Do ya think we’re really gonna need to?” Applejack asked. Hers was a simple green and golden butterfly, one of a hundred in the crowd.

“I shouldn’t think I’ll be too hard to find,” Whooves said. “I don’t see a whole lot of ponies with as long a nose as mine.”

“I see a couple with Rarity’s,” Twilight said.

“Perhaps, but theirs aren’t as glorious as mine,” Rarity said; her mask was a pale face with a wreath of crimson ribbons and golden trim, with plum lipstick and a small crest of blue jewels.

“Come on, girls! How can you stand here and plan at a time like this? There’s fun to be had! Race you to the punch bowl!” Pinkie cried, before running off, her short train flapping gaily behind with her tail.

“You’re on!” Rainbow cried, and she was gone.

“C’mon, Twilight! Let’s check it out!” Big Mac said, prancing in place before cutting through the crowd toward a large tent.

“He’s sure excited,” Rarity said.

“Ah’ve never seen him like this,” Applejack said. “Ah kinda like it.”

“Twilight Sparkle? Is that you?”

Twilight turned to see a small pony in a sharp tuxedo, her face obscured by a stern, gray mask.

“It is I, Violet Astra. I trust you are well?”

“Violet! Good to see you here. I thought your family was feuding with Lumb.”

“Lumb is feuding with my family. We have no knowledge of what brought on his bitterness.” She gave a single, haughty laugh as she looked around. “It hasn’t stopped me, or many of my siblings, from enjoying his ‘change in the weather.’ This is wonderful.”

“Violet, my darling, I don’t suppose you brought that wonderful crow with you to this little event, did you?” Whooves asked. Rarity rolled her eyes behind her mask.

Violet chuckled. “No, she’s resting at home. We had to completely replace one of her furnaces after you got her out of the lake. It’s a… taxing process.”

“I can only imagine!” He raised a hoof. “Forgive my abruptness, but might I have the first dance?”

She bowed her head demurely. “Of course you may, Doctor. Let me first speak with Twilight, though.”

“Of course, of course. We must tarry until our esteemed ingress anyway, must we not? What’s one moment of waiting when—”

“Twilight, the airship is nearly here,” Violet continued, while Whooves completed his thought and fell awkwardly silent. “You can expect it to land in the airship lot on the north side of town sometime in the middle of the night. Its courier will stay here; she has her own arrangements to return to where she needs to be.”

“I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it, Violet,” Twilight said. “We were really worried about transportation there. I’m sure Princess Luna could have gotten us something, but this was so much faster.”

“I’m sure. It’s a small price to pay to help the saviors of Equestria, and the rescuers of our crow.”

“You’ll stay here, then?”

“Yes, we will be staying here. Our roots are once again set down, and our house is approaching completion.” She laughed politely. “You will forgive me for saying that we would rather you not bring Discord or his friends our way again.”

“If we can help it, this’ll be the last day we spend in Hoofington,” Rarity said. “We need to get going.”

“Yes, of course. Where to?”

“Applewood, I think,” Twilight said. “It’ll be the closest once we pass the forest.”

“Ah, the forest. I trust you will be careful.”

“Of course, every day.”

Violet nodded and turned to Whooves.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“Lead the way, Doctor.”

The two disappeared into the crowd, and the others followed at a distance, staying close together. Closer in to the center of activity, they could hear classical music, not anything Twilight could immediately recognize.

There was a sweeping tent set up near the lawn’s corner, large enough to encompass a hundred ponies. The fabric was light, covered in patterned pastels that shaded the candlelight within softly lambent circles and ovals, and was divided into four massive compartments, their common corner held up by an elegant, central metal structure, so that each area seemed covered by a wing.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Fluttershy said. “He’s so clever.”

“Ah don’t see nothin’,” Applejack said.

“I see it,” Rarity said with a smile. “It’s a butterfly.”

Inside, ponies were slow dancing to a somber classical tune, and Octavia nodded appreciatively.

“Do you know what this is, Octavia?” Fluttershy asked.

Octavia nodded. In the low light, her mask was a bold moon. “‘The Tapestry of Celestial Wonderment,’ by the composer Gilded Baton. It is from the middle second millennium. I am surprised Lumb is familiar with it; Gilded Baton never got much recognition.”

“It doesn’t sound like any of the music I’d know from you,” Rarity said.

“Gilded Baton was known for his use of multiple time signatures in the same song, often with one instrument moving very fast and another very slow. He liked sharp contrasts, some say too much. If you listen closely, you can hear the viola moving significantly slower than the rest of the strings. I never did care for most of his music, but, from a technical standpoint, he has my undying respect.”

There was a commotion by one of the tables at the side, and they turned to see Pinkie standing precariously on the punchbowl rim, trying to ladle it into ponies’ glasses, while Rainbow circled overhead, laughing. It was precisely the impetus they needed to let go of their worries and let the party take hold, and by the time they were done laughing, they had broken apart.

Almost hidden by a crowd of cheering ponies, Whooves was dancing a tight jig while Violet, nearby, laughed along. Applejack found her brother, and the two of them hopped and stomped about, ignoring the slower dancers that hastened to get out of their way. Rarity bobbed and swayed with two other mares, talking jovially, and Twilight accepted a hoof without thinking and joined a dark purple stallion in a slow dance that she had to muddle through. As she twirled, she saw Octavia and Fluttershy slinking toward the tent’s edge.

As the last shred of sun disappeared under the horizon, the crowd slowly came to a stunned halt, as if responding from some invisible, central catalyst. All around them, the tent’s fabric glowed along its pale insignias, first lightly enough to be natural, but soon producing a light that was only bright enough to be magical. Everyone was paralyzed in delight, and only Twilight felt dread as the magic brightened and the fabric blackened and split in web-like lines all around, the tent deflating momentarily before disappearing in a shimmering haze of smoke and movement.

It took Twilight a couple seconds to process what had happened: the tent fabric had dissolved into magical, butterfly-shaped zephyrs, flitting and flapping around in a muted frenzy, sometimes alighting onto a pony or a table before winking out of existence. They were gone in a matter of minutes, and everyone cheered and clopped the ground in appreciation. Pinkie was jumping around in the crowd, leading the cheers.

“That was certainly impressive,” Octavia said next to Twilight, who jumped. “I did not expect he would produce something like that.”

“He’s quite creative,” Twilight said, not sure what else to say.

“The door’s open!” someone shouted, and everyone turned to look.

“I’m going in there,” Twilight said, and Octavia followed her without a word.

Twilight had not given much thought to what she expected inside the museum. Her own research in the mansion had left her no energy to consider what Lumb, to her mind the most eccentric unicorn she had met, might produce. The walls, once nothing special, bore striking, overbearing abstracts of brilliant, aggressive colors in angular, asymmetric forms, before which hung long strips of transparent fabric that, Twilight soon realized, were enchanted to amplify the aspects behind them. The already disquieting and confusing display worsened with each motion, forcing proportions to bend and squeeze like colors inside kaleidoscopes. Similar fabric was hung from the ceiling in long, draping parabolas, but instead of seeing through, Twilight found herself staring back at her mask, also magnified.

“Twilight, this is probably the closest you will ever be to seeing what I saw when Vanilla turned me loose inside the ghost ship,” Octavia said. “Though this hardly compares.”

A soft chuckle came from behind, and Twilight jumped again. “I think it is rather a charming arrangement,” Lumb said.

Twilight had learned to stop paying attention to his abnormal size, but the crowd of ponies seemed strangely diminished around him. Coupled with his mask—a flowing, flowering, exploding fiasco of ribbon and pattern—she felt compelled to back away, as though she were looking, not at a pony, but something Discord had conjured for his own perverse amusement.

“My angels, it is a pleasure upon a pleasure to see you here. I knew you would not disappoint me. Octavia, may I just…” His pause felt huge in the noisy labyrinth. “Say that your mask is beautiful?”

Octavia nodded. “Thank you.”

Lumb bowed and walked into the crowd, parting it effortlessly, head and withers over most of the ponies. They had long lost the rest of the group, and so they allowed themselves to be drawn deeper into the museum. Farther inside, the soft classical music from before became energetic and staccato, and more like a sampling of different songs than one, all timed so no one overlapped with another, but with no silence between either. Brilliantly reflecting swirls of confetti rained, and a glittering pincushion of blue and yellow light hung from above, each point of color its own star on articulated, hair-like branches.

She couldn’t help herself. The music, strange as it was for her, the color, and the closeness were too much. Twilight gave Octavia a guilty look, which she knew didn’t translate through the mask, and whirled away. A large circle had formed around a pair of slow dancers, and Twilight filled it in without thinking, following the stranger before her and dancing without intent. When the movement stopped, she laughed and put her foreleg around someone she didn’t know, and they moved into a less crowded area and began a dance of their own, largely unnoticed, but appreciated by those who did watch. Whether mare or stallion, she did not care.

“You’re dancing with an Element of Harmony, and you don’t know it!” she thought, and laughed to herself, considering, for a second, lifting her mask and allowing her partner to see the pony he or she had caught. The movement ended in a quick exchange of compliments, and she trotted into a thicker concentration, where she thought she could see Rarity carousing.

Nearly an hour later, Twilight found Octavia at a table by a spotless window, away from the music and jostling hordes of ponies. The dancing and the crowd’s closeness had coated Twilight with thin sweat, and her head was swimming. The confetti that had blanketed the ground reflected the ponies from underneath while more came inexhaustibly from above, sending flashes of mirrored chaos into her eyes. She was surrounded, top to bottom, with movement and color, and the overloaded unicorn could only take a deep breath and try to relax.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Octavia asked.

“Yes, yes I did, but I need a break. It’s a lot to take.”

“I can see that plainly. So, Applewood.”

Twilight levitated a glass of water from a nearby table. “Frankly, we probably should have gotten to it sooner. It’s so big, I can’t imagine the southern half of Equestria is too happy having it in pieces.”

“I do not doubt that Applewood has recovered in its own way by now. Most towns have.”

“I suppose so.”

“You seem distracted. Should we wait to speak of our travels?”

“I’m just thinking about the Everfree,” Twilight said, sobering a little. “We’ll have to go over it, and that worries me. What worries me even more is that we might need to stop there.”

“Why?”

“Sooner or later, the whole country needs to be put back together, not just places where we have cities. A couple spells in the forest might not be a bad idea, since we’ll be there anyway.”

“Why can that not be left for the princesses to handle last?”

Twilight didn’t respond at first, and raised her mask briefly to wipe sweat out of her eyes.

“There is no reason for us to be the only ones with this burden.”

“No, I suppose not. Sure feels that way.”

Rainbow flitted past, laughing and cheering, and Big Mac followed, happily bellowing something between booming laughs. Through an open door in the museum’s central chamber, dancing a close, slow waltz with Violet Astra, Twilight could see Lumb.

“The princesses chose you for a reason,” Octavia continued, drawing Twilight’s attention back. “I cannot say what it is, but I must trust that it was sound. To do otherwise would be to concede hopelessness.”

“I don’t feel hopeless,” Twilight said. She watched ponies move in a mass, dancing and laughing, a careless riot. “I miss Ponyville, though,” she said at last.

Octavia said nothing, but looked at her.

“Pinkie used to throw the best parties any of us ever knew. The whole town would show up sometimes, and everyone loved it. There was music, and snacks, and sometimes live performances. Pinkie had a lot of party tricks she liked to play.” She shook her hoof, declining an offer for a dance from a stranger. Octavia did the same. “I never knew that things like this were happening elsewhere. I knew the big city life was something else, of course, but I never imagined what it might look like.”

“The world is big,” Octavia said. “Too big for any one pony. I learned this the first week I left home.”

“I thought this was your home.”

“I have lived here the longest, but this is no more my home than where I was born.”

“Well… what is home for you?”

“For me, there is none.” She sat quietly for a time, and Twilight turned away. Her breathing was heavy, but, with Octavia, she missed the dance again. “I left my place of birth at a young age, and have since never settled. I thought that I had grown comfortable in this town, but I was shown otherwise.”

“The mansion.”

“Of all the houses in the world, I purchase the one that is haunted.”

“…Yes.”

“You have not seen them, I know. They are for me only, it appears.”

“So what happened?” Twilight asked.

“Nothing of importance.” She sighed, and Twilight frowned under her mask.

“What does that mean? You’re important to us.”

“I am one small instrument in a world that is too large for me.”

“I don’t see how you can say that. You’ve seen and done so much.”

“And yet, in my travels with you, I have time and again been amazed and terrified by things I never imagined.”

“We all have, but we persisted. Just like you said. Remember? In Trottingham, yelling at us to shape up?”

“I remember.” She lifted her mask to show Twilight a weak, but genuine, smile. “And it seems to me that we have, for the most part.”

“We’ll be okay, Octavia,” Twilight said, patting her on the back. “Come on. A party like this shouldn’t bring on this kind of talk. There’s fun to be had.”

Octavia replaced her mask and stood. “You are right. I am depressed right now—this town has touched me in many ways. Some fun will be good for my spirits.”

It was past one in the morning when the group managed to reconvene at a table near one of the exits; the ball was still going, with no signs of an end, but they had all had enough, except Pinkie. On their way out, Lumb appeared at the door and bade them all a good evening, which they returned courteously.

They took a taxi to the hotel, where they stayed in one room, talking and joking, tired but not ready to sleep. The sounds of the masquerade still wafted through the town, pleasant background noise to their eventual slumber.

Octavia woke to a gentle knocking. She started from her spot on the floor, instantly alert, and took a moment to realize she was still in the hotel, safe. It was dark, and the knock persisted. She got up and opened the door, resisting the urge to back up in surprise. A tall shadow stood before her, and she could only stare uncertainly.

“How do you know where we live?” a voice asked behind her: Whooves.

“An artist knows. I hope I’m not intruding upon…” Pause. “Anything here.”

“We were sleeping,” Octavia said.

“I would speak with you, if you will come with me.”

She looked back at Whooves, who gave an apologetic shrug, and, running back to grab a room key, went with Lumb. They went outside, where he led her to a damp, grassy lawn. She could still hear the masquerade.

“I formally apologize for what I said to you earlier. I was thoughtless, and did not consider your feelings.”

She looked at him blankly. Having only slept a couple hours in the last few days, she was not able to immediately process his words.

“I grew nervous, and lashed out with my words.”

“I understand,” she said at last. “It is something that has happened with me before. You are forgiven.”

He sighed and knelt, bringing himself to her height. “A great weight has been lifted this eve, but it was not my only design.”

“What more do you need to say?” she asked, trying to make her voice kind.

“I have happy news, and then a portent. You may have seen me dancing with young Violet Astra. Was it not so?”

“I do not recall. This evening has been rather disorienting.”

“Ah, very good. That was my intention. I…” Pause. “…wanted to ensnare the senses as well as I was able. This will be a night to remember for Hoofington, and myself.” He sighed. “She has touched my heart in a way indescribable. I think I was perhaps not right to prejudge the Astra family. Violet is not fettered with wealth and status, as I had so suspected. She is as wonderful and down-to-earth a mare as even you and your friends.”

“I am happy to hear that.”

“I will be seeing her again tomorrow, after you have gone.”

She started. “How do you know we will be leaving?”

“An artist knows,” he said again, smiling. “And an artist forgives. You had not the time to alert me of your hasty decision.”

“Yes, that is true,” Octavia said, unsure.

“Perhaps we will seek higher pleasures than mere friendship,” Lumb continued. “That is not for me to know.”

“I wish you luck.”

“You have my gratitude, and also my regret.”

“Regret?”

“The portent.”

“Ah. What is it?”

“I know not whence it comes. This message seems the kin of intuition, something I trust, but understand not. I woke this morn knowing that I was to meet you here, after your part in my festivities, to deliver unto you a message that seemed then as now as senseless as a dream.”

“And what is that message?”

He closed his eyes and softly intoned, “The castle will show you your destination faster. Time is precious.” He opened them. “I pray that that makes sense to you, my dear.”

“I am afraid that it does not, but I will relay it to Twilight. She might understand better than I.”

“It is just that you do so. Such phrases do not explain themselves, only appear in my mind as if I invented them.” He rose and shook her hoof. “I feel it in my heart that we will meet again, though I cannot say when. May fortune smile upon you in your task, Octavia Melody.”

“Thank you, Lumb, and likewise.” She looked to the west. “And make free use of my house. I do not suspect I will be returning any time soon.”

He bowed, and she went back to the hotel, where she found Whooves waiting for her. She lay down on the floor, expecting to remain awake until the morning, when they would go to the lot and claim their airship.

“May I ask you something?” she asked.

Whooves sat beside her. “What?”

“The day we met, on the edge of the world. You said that you were there for a similar reason to myself.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why?”

“Hmmmm, how to approach this? It’s kind of a long story.”

“I have time.”

He fidgeted. “Yes, I suppose you do. You must understand, Octavia, that I’ve never been much for relationships. I’ve had them, but I’m not good at them. I suppose I must have a talent for finding the ficklest ponies, or the dullest.” He laughed softly. “In a sour relationship, things take a negative cast, and it’s easy to lose hope for the country on the edge of everything. The long drop is a beautiful view, and seductive in its way.”

“Most ponies that commit suicide show signs of depression. I have seen nothing of the sort from you.”

“I’m not depressed. Never have been.”

“You must be something. Nopony decides to almost kill themselves that easily.”

“Hm.” He took his time in responding, but she was patient. “The most painful thing I ever experienced—it does still weigh on me from time to time. I don’t like to speak of it.”

“Do not let me pressure you.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” He got up. “Come outside? We can speak freely out there.”

She followed him out, and they rested on the lawn where she and Lumb had conversed.

“I have your confidence, I presume?”

“I will say nothing of this meeting, if you want me to,” Octavia said.

“Two mares, both wonderful in their ways. I met them both in Ponyville. Have you been?”

“I was there very briefly. I remember little.”

“I wish I could be like you in that regard.”

She shook her head. “You do not mean that.”

His mouth twitched. “Perhaps. They were walking miracles, these mares. The first, my marefriend, and the longest relationship I ever had, was a surgeon at the hospital. She was the steadiest, most even-keeled pony anyone had ever met, a perfect match for my more flamboyant attitudes. The second worked at the spa, a natural for comfort and gentility. She and her sister were good friends of mine.”

Octavia nodded obligingly. She imagined she knew his story.

“The relationship ended with the simple phrase, ‘it’s not working out.’ Simple as that, and devastating to a heart. I remember its utterance like it was yesterday.”

“If it was not working out, then breaking up was the correct decision.”

“Yes, of course I know that. The way she reacted, though. Hardly seemed to affect her at all. I was a mess, a fun project for the spa ponies, and I can’t even say if she cared. She, my surgeon, that is. I… don’t want to say her name. It’s a pain for me.”

“Perhaps she was hiding her feelings.”

“I hope so, but I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I still think about her, Octavia. I hate how it makes me feel, but I do it. I think of her, and I get all twisted up inside, like a rotten apple. It feels like I’m gonna start crying out if I can’t find a way to express myself. That old cliché about all that stuff love does to your heart; I never believed it, but it’s true. That tired, old cliché, almost as trite as the cliché of pointing it out.” He chuckled nervously. “I’m sorry. I guess I never properly addressed your question.”

“Were you thinking of her that day?”

“I find myself comparing all partners to her. I wonder still whether it was a mistake.”

“Then I have my answer.”

“You understand, don’t you? Being in love with someone, when they don’t care about you? You’ve been there before.”

“I have never been in love, as you describe it, but I know ponies who have, and I have seen what it is capable of doing to them.”

“I guess that’s something.”

“Do you have suicidal thoughts often?”

He frowned. “No, I don’t. Look, I really don’t want to turn this into a ‘talk me out of suicide’ conversation, okay? The thought came once, because I was on the edge already and had had a bad day. Nothing more to it, all right? I promise.”

She looked back up at the hotel, trying to tell which window was hers. Her eyes felt like sand, and her mind was sluggish, and bright with the night’s memories. “As you wish.”

“This is nice how it is. I don’t get to talk about this with anypony else.”

“Then why are you telling me? Of all of us, I am the least approachable and the least compassionate.”

“Am I wasting my time doing so?”

“No. I mean only to say that I would expect you to be less forthcoming with someone as unfriendly as myself.”

“Well, you’re the only one who woke up when Lumb knocked, and I didn’t want to wait.”

“So it was pure coincidence.”

“Er… maybe not entirely. I get the feeling you’re just… better for this. You understand things easier than the others. Things like this. It could be that you are yourself more isolated from the group. You’re an easier refuge.”

“That is the prevailing opinion.”

“Is that to mean that I’m not the first?”

“I have held council with most everyone, I believe. They all think similarly to you.”

“It’s part of your nature, Octavia. You exude confidence. You always know what you’re doing.”

“So it appears.”

“Yes. But now, let me ask you something.”

“Please.”

“Why were you on the edge? You never gave me a good answer back on the coast.”

She hesitated. “My inaction resulted in the death of a friend. Not a friend of mine, but a friend of the group’s. I could have helped, but I did not come to my senses in time.”

“You felt guilty, so you thought you’d just end it all.”

“Since I left home—” she paused, smiling to herself. “I have been burdened with something great. Sometimes, yes, I do think that death would be a relief.”

“But you’re not actually going to…”

“No. That would be a disservice to you all, and to Equestria.”

“That’s rather an arrogant way of putting it.”

“I am merely aware of the pivotal nature of my position.”

“Fair enough.” He moved closer to her. “You must have had some heck of a past to be what you are now.”

“You will not get me to speak of it to you.”

“Why not?”

“I will not allow you, or anyone else, to help me carry it. This is my past, and no one else’s.”

“You sound penitent.”

“I have nothing to say to that.”

He sighed. “Fine, fine. I won’t push you. It’s gonna have to come out sometime, though.”

“No.”

He laughed, and they went back to the room, where he lay down beside her.

“Why are you so close?”

“Oh, uh… I guess I’m the only one that’s cold in here.” He chuckled a little.

“I understand that you are feeling tender right now, but please do not expect physical comfort from me.”

“What if I’m trying to give it to you?”

“I will not accept.”

He huffed and turned over.

“If you want to snuggle with someone, find my sister.”

Whooves moved away, but remained next to her, and they didn’t talk again. He fell asleep eventually, but she did not, much as she wanted to.