“Er, perhaps we should have a think before rushing off to do this,” Whooves said. “I’m no lawyer, but—”

“There is no ‘we,’ Doctor,” Twilight said, returning to her seat and her dinner. “I’m not volunteering any of you to come along. I said I’ll do it myself.”

“But you’ve never done anything of its like!” He paused. “Have you?”

“No, I haven’t. But I have my research, and that’s going to have to suffice.” She looked around for a moment, basking in the dumbfounded looks that met her. In different circumstances, she reflected distantly, it might be empowering. “What about the Mansels? I’ve read the name, but I don’t remember anything about them.”

“Old bloodline,” Rarity said. “Vinyl says they have connections to organized crime.”

“They might,” Vinyl said.

“They’re a right scary bunch,” Whooves said. “I’ve heard the name pass in certain circles before. Much like our good musical friend here, I have nothing concrete, only hearsay.”

“Imagine the Astras, but more criminal,” Rarity said. “That’s how I’ve been thinking of them.”

“And they’re asking about me,” Twilight said, “meaning that I was being watched earlier today.”

“But why?” Pinkie asked. “What have we done? Um, aside from concealing Applejack’s body.”

“If they knew about that, they wouldn’t be asking what I was doing at the funeral home.”

“Then what is it?” Octavia asked.

“I don’t know, but I’d like to.” She thought for a moment, chewing. “If they’re going to get in my way like this, we’re going to have problems.”

“May I pursue a line of inquiry?” Whooves asked.

“What?”

“It is, perhaps, a hair orthogonal to the main thrust of this little conversation, but nonetheless—”

“C’mon,” Rainbow said.

Whooves cleared his throat. “Nonetheless something that’s jumping out at me. Twilight, you’re being rather… er, ‘dangerously’ is the wrong word, but maybe… worryingly. Yes, you’re being rather worryingly focused on this whole embalming business. Why not find someone else to do the job tomorrow?”

“I don’t want her staying another night as she is,” Twilight said. “And I have to imagine, if this mortician got scared off by these Mansels, who’s to say the next one won’t be too?”

“But is it not true that there’s likely a good reason they’re so afraid?”

“So what if they are?” Rarity asked. “I happen to agree with Twilight’s sentiment. We can’t let this get even more out of control than it is just because of some criminal family.”

“Exactly,” Twilight said. She shrugged and lifted another book over to her face. “Frankly, I’m done letting other ponies get in my way.”

“I like the sound of that!” Pinkie said.

“But breaking in to embalm her yourself?” Whooves asked. “Might you be swinging that pendulum a little too far the other way?”

“Doctor, do you have any better ideas?” Twilight asked.

“I?”

“You,” Rarity said.

“Well, certainly not off the top of my head. It’s a sticky situation, you see, with many factors. I would need to sit on it for a good while before—”

“We don’t really have that luxury,” Twilight said. “I wish we did, but we don’t.”

“We have not for a while,” Octavia said. “Twilight, I would like to come with you for this, actually.”

She didn’t look up. “Absolutely not.”

Octavia looked at her, silent.

“Okay, fine. What would you do if you came?”

“I would make sure that no one walks in on you.”

Twilight shook her head.

“Why? What is wrong?”

“First, I already have magic that can serve that purpose. Second, I don’t want you, with how little sleep you get, forcing yourself to tag along with me. You should stay behind.”

“I do not want to stand idly by while you put yourself through this.”

“I’ll do it,” Rarity said, sighing. “If you’ll have me, that is.”

Twilight thought. “Yes, that would be better.”

“Twilight, I am not incapable,” Octavia said. “I have helped you all in this condition before. What is stopping me from doing so again?”

Twilight put her book back on the bed, looking at Octavia.

“Have I not been doing my very best these last several days?”

“Back off, Octavia.”

“I am sorry?”

“I told you to back off,” Twilight said. “This isn’t your project.”

Octavia stood. “It is just as much mine as it is yours.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me about the research you’ve done.”

She blinked, but held her gaze.

“Go on, really. What research?”

Octavia sat. “I have none.”

“Ah, right.” Twilight levitated her napkin to a wastebasket.

Whooves whistled low, drawing Twilight’s stern look.

“What can I do to help, then?” Octavia asked.

“I don’t really know how you would go about it,” Twilight said, “but a meeting with these Mansels would be nice. I’d like to know why they’re so interested in my whereabouts.”

“Speaking of,” Rarity said, “how are we to know they won’t follow us back to the mortuary tonight?”

“We’ll be disguised. I know a spell.”

“Disguises or no, you’ll be the only two ponies going there,” Whooves said. “Breaking into a funeral home is significant, no matter who you are.”

“But we won’t be followed there. That’s all I want. What time is it?” She looked at the clock on the TV stand. “I forgot to get their hours.”

“Let’s give it a while,” Rarity said.

At eleven-thirty, Twilight and Rarity exited the hotel in the illusory guise of two colts, strong and big enough to not be accosted in the streets, young and innocent enough to appear harmless to any other night wanderers. They followed a resolute path down the sidewalk, past the Mansels’ bank and up a light incline that took them out of the warm city air and into a layer of cooler, damper darkness.

At a stoplight, waiting to cross, Twilight stared into the stars. In Applewood, she had seen them much more than she had expected or wanted; it was nice to see them drowned in artificial light again.

They crossed into a rectangular plaza of shops across from an L-shaped apartment complex, both still faint with last lights. Someone was swimming laps in the apartment pool, and paused to call a greeting. Rarity returned it with a deep voice that Twilight laughed at in spite of herself.

“How much farther?” Rarity asked.

“There’s a pub up here a ways, and then it’s across another apartment complex,” Twilight said. “We can cut through it, I think.”

“I don’t want to trespass.”

“It’ll be fine. I don’t think it’s gated.”

They walked past the pub ten minutes later, both mares pausing to look in on ponies chattering and consuming, glowing in orange and yellow lights. Their own unfamiliar faces stared back in a streaked window, broken by sticky lettering and soft at the edges where darkness shaped them from behind.

“I don’t often find myself wishing for a drink,” Rarity said. “Tonight, I want one. A nice, stiff drink.”

“I know what you mean,” Twilight said. “Come on. Once this is over, we’ll be in the clear. We can go out tomorrow night.”

“That sounds perfect.”

They walked on, down a dark street where they had to duck under overhanging branches from surrounding yards. Headlights glided past in the distance on slithering wheels, and torches bobbed along on carriages, showing only backs and manes on the silent ponies pulling them.

“I know we’ll be doing it shortly, but what can I expect?” Rarity asked. “I already know it’s going to be hard to look at.”

“I don’t remember the process perfectly—I brought the book, don’t worry—but I know we need to shave her first. We’re going to have to pierce the heart.”

Rarity stopped. “Seriously?”

“We embalm the arteries first, and, for that, we have to get to her heart.”

“Oh, Celestia.”

“That’s not the worst part.”

“Great. Just great.” She kicked a plum into the gutter. “Why did I volunteer for this?”

“I think I would have asked you to come along,” Twilight said. “You’re good with delicate magic.”

“What happened to ‘There is no we, Doctor’?”

“I thought better of it.”

They reached the street’s end and entered the apartment complex, passing through a wide, open space of dark grass. Music played from within a lit room on the ground floor, but they saw no one inside as they passed.

When they reached the funeral home, they first traversed the street outside, one way and then the other, looking for anyone who might be around to see. When they were clear, Twilight led them on a tighter circle around the building, stopping periodically to cast spells that fizzled in the cool air before vanishing like puffs of breath. When they had completed their circuit, Twilight pulled at the front door.

“Watch for me,” she said. “I’ll be quick.”

Rarity turned around to face the way from which they came, and Twilight cast a spell to see whether there was any security magic surrounding the door or vestibule. Satisfied that there was none, she used a simpler spell to reach into the lock and move its tumblers, allowing them inside.

“I noticed this when I was here earlier,” Twilight said to the darkness as they entered. “No security cameras. They had them in Applewood, but I guess Roan doesn’t have the same abundance of technology.”

“Thank Celestia for small favors,” Rarity said. “Can we drop these disguises now? I hate my voice.”

“Oh, right. Hold on.” Twilight’s horn glowed briefly, the only light in the funeral home, and their appearances dribbled away. “Follow me.”

They moved deeper into the building, passing a small chapel, a set of offices, and the meeting room where Twilight had intimidated the mortician. Only when they reached the preparation room did Twilight grope for a light switch.

“Dear Celestia,” Rarity said. They stood abreast of a wide expanse of sterile linoleum, reflecting overhead stripes of light to make whiter the white tablets that stood on anvil-shaped stems, ends connected to the counter arranged neatly with chemicals, soaps, disinfectants, and sprays. Each table, depressed in the middle like a shallow bathtub, was fit with a wide, plastic tube, clasped in a small, metal claw off its side, to siphon away any leaking fluid. Gray cords ran along the counter’s underside, trailing into the tables’ bases, powering them for an unknown purpose. The thick smell of formaldehyde coated their tongues as they clicked across the floor, not quite hiding the tang of stainless steel from the sinks as they approached the far side.

They found Applejack, and several others, in the adjacent room, locked into their sliding compartments and freed with the same spell Twilight used to get them inside the mortuary. They unzipped several body bags before finding the pony they wanted, and took turns looking until it was time to lift Applejack to a table. Rarity levitated her; Twilight did not know how much magic she would require, and wanted to take no risks.

“Leave her for a minute. We need to look around.”

“What for?” Rarity asked.

“Those spells I put up were to let me know if anyone comes close, like a night watchpony. If that does happen, we need an escape route.”

“Oh.” Twilight’s concern made sense, and Rarity was shamed that she had not thought of it herself. “What about Applejack?”

They walked back into the darkness, diminished from behind by the light in the preparation room, Twilight swiveling her head. “I’m looking for a casket. We can’t bring her back loose like that.”

“And how exactly do we plan on getting a casket into the hotel?”

“Back entrance. I’m trying to preserve some of my strength, so I can put a disguise spell to it as well.”

“Hm. Well, I’m not sure if I see any.”

There was a moment of hesitation in Twilight’s voice. “If not, we can take one out of the chapel. I saw one in there.”

“Twilight!”

She rounded on Rarity, her voice sharp. “Rarity, I’m sorry, but now is not the time to be squeamish about these kinds of things.” She took another few steps toward the front doors, then doubled back. “I think I saw an exit back where we came from. We’ll use that.”

“I don’t like this, Twilight.”

They entered the lit room, Rarity’s eyes going straight to the body, Twilight going into the adjacent room from which they had gotten her. She watched from afar as Twilight rifled through papers and folders she pulled from a drawer.

“What are you doing now?”

“This is going to be noticed,” Twilight said. “Which means the police will be involved. Best-case scenario, they come tomorrow, after the mortician sees he’s missing a body. I don’t want any records that Applejack was here.”

“So you’re…”

“There won’t be many records yet, since she just came in today, but I’m sure something was filed. It would have to have been. I should also find the records of my transaction.”

“You really thought this through.”

Twilight said nothing, swung her head back around and floated another stack of papers over.

“We can’t spend all night combing through this place’s records,” Rarity said. “You know that.”

“Yes, I suppose I do.” She pushed all the papers into a pile. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess. I’ll destroy the whole thing right before we leave.”

“The whole thing?”

“All the files, I mean.” Twilight deposited her book on the counter and opened it to a dog-eared page. “I was wrong. We need to massage her first, not shave her. That’s second.”

“Massage?”

“It loosens the muscles, so the arteries aren’t constricted. We want the embalming fluid to get spread as evenly as we can.”

“And…”

“If you can massage her, I can prepare everything.”

“Twilight, I’m—”

Her firm voice resurfaced. “You changed her ice, Rarity. You can do this.”

“I’m not good with magic that’s that forceful.”

Twilight stared at a line of bottles, glancing at her book and selecting chemicals. “Then use your hooves.”

Rarity gasped.

“I’m sorry.” She looked back. “I didn’t mean to sound callous. We need to do this as quickly as we can, though. The risk we’re taking is enormously illegal.”

“And yet, you don’t seem to be too worried,” Rarity said, looking at Applejack furtively.

“Like I said, I’m done letting myself get pushed around.” She opened a cluster of drawers and searched through them.

“Well, good for you,” Rarity thought, approaching Applejack. She was in the same position as before, her muscles tight and dry under the coarse fur, its luster gone. Her cutie mark was a dull stain on sere orange hair, her tail a flattened, blonde brush splayed on the table. Her face looked shrunken, the corners of the mouth pulled back and the eyes staring with a frozen, intent desire at the empty table beside them.

“Methanol,” Twilight muttered nearby.

The fog of chemical odor was not enough to hide the rich smell of putrefaction so close to Applejack, and Rarity had not thought to bring a face mask. She paced around the table once, stalling to find a more appropriate angle for her task, for which there was none. The table presented Applejack at the perfect height, and a thin lining of rubber cushioning hugged its edge to give Rarity a comfortable surface against which to rest.

“Here we go. Okay, how much? Oh, I need a bucket.”

Rarity pushed herself to her back legs, something to which she was not accustomed, and poised herself awkwardly against the table. Her forelegs hung vestigially over Applejack’s body, bewildered witnesses to the inexpertly arranged pieces of broken statuary that the body resembled, its colors incongruous and too distinct against the white tabletop, the blonde tail a shattered peg lodged between two oxidized plates of flank, cut off to overhang a slightly darker barrel and rearing up like tilted question marks to the dappled spinal contour. One white hoof inched to the closer leg, did not pause, and caressed it gently. Applejack’s texture was overgrown leather, her fur dry and sparse. The leg pushed back on Rarity’s hoof, and the entire body moved slightly as Rarity increased her force.

“How’s it going?” Twilight asked.

“It’s going,” Rarity said. She closed her eyes for a second, reminding herself that Luna was on the way with Applejack’s spirit, and that all would be well in time. She put her other hoof to Applejack’s body and worked the leg muscles. Dry resistance allowed her to massage the leg in only a certain way, and she soon had it pistoning back and forth in a weak, uneven circle, an imitation of natural movement.

“Just pretend she’s someone else,” she thought. “You’ve given massages before, pleasant ones. Just pretend this is someone else, like Big Mac, or Pinkie.” She pressed deeper and harder, running her hooves against firm ribs of muscle that had not moved in days. Before long, her eyes had glazed over, and the astringent light, the burning smell, and the monotonous motion had hypnotized her. She moved to the back, the chest, the forelegs and neck carefully, but never gently. Applejack creaked and croaked, her hooves and jutting bones thumping the table whenever Rarity repositioned her, her mane and tail swishing across the sterile plastic and sending judders through the liquid as it collected around her body.

“Twilight, what do we do when she starts… leaking?”

Twilight moved over and looked at the table, and the body atop. “I’m not sure. Maybe that tube can suck it away.”

Rarity frowned.

“Try it.”

Rarity plucked the tube from its place at the table’s side and located a switch, which, activated, rewarded her with the fibrillating sound of sucking air. She lowered its mouth into Applejack’s fluids and watched them drain away, a tea-brown mixture of nameless waste. Somewhere in the facility, those tiny pieces of her friend would never be identified in an anonymous slurry of medical waste. The thought of it made Rarity flick the switch off before all the liquid was gone.

“Hanging in there?” Twilight asked calmly.

“I’m doing my best.”

“Good. The embalming fluid is almost ready, I just want to let it set up a little longer.”

“Fine.” She stood back up to work more at Applejack’s neck, but Twilight gestured for her to back away.

“She looks great. Well, not great, but, you know. Take a break; I’m going to shave her.”

“For the incision.”

Twilight nodded, producing a straight razor from one of the drawers. She carefully positioned Applejack on her back, spread her forelegs apart, and looked her over, the razor standing against the fur like a sickle in a wheat field. Twilight brought it down and scraped hair away, wiping the blade with a white towel after each pass, repeating until a chalk-white coin of skin winked up at Rarity just along Applejack’s throat. She created a second one over her heart.

“What do you need me to do?”

Twilight levitated the bucket of chemicals over, then the embalming machine, a stout glass cylinder on a stand with a slender, black tube coming from its top. She managed to open it after a moment, and emptied the embalming fluid into it.

“This goes into the carotid artery, somewhere in here.” She pointed to Applejack’s neck. “I need you to guide it in.”

Rarity stared at the blank skin, then the machine, then Twilight.

“Only a quarter inch or so. I’ll tie it off.”

“You’re being too level-headed, my dear.” Rarity looked at the three of them a second time. “Okay.”

Twilight danced a small beam of light off the other patch of skin. “We’re doing the same basic thing for this one.”

Rarity could feel gorge rising in her chest as Twilight replaced the razor with a scalpel. Eyes slowly taking in the body below, she lowered it to Applejack’s neck and deftly unzipped the artery, partially collapsed but still visible. No blood leaked out, but Rarity could see a point of congealed, dark red paste, like a scab somehow assumed into the flesh it should protect.

The cannula snaked on Twilight’s magenta telekinesis, its tiny tip pushing gently into the wound. “Guide it in, Rarity.”

Rarity swallowed and took the tube, her paler magic throwing a splinter of light across the tube’s side and burying itself in Applejack’s throat. She felt the space it occupied, tight and fragile, and slid the tube a fraction of an inch deeper, eyes on the open artery and mind on the tube’s orientation. She could feel her magic against the spongy obstacle of Applejack’s ruined vasculature, microscopic ruptures and displaced motes of blood.

“Okay,” Rarity said. “That should be good.”

A pair of forceps floated to Applejack and, after some fumbling, pinched onto her artery, locking the cannula in place. Before Rarity could bring her eyes away from the sight, Twilight had the scalpel again, and had opened another slit over Applejack’s heart, a longer entrance around which thick blood pooled, dredged from a larger store.

“Here.” Twilight pulled an IV stand over. “I switched the needle for this drainage tube, so we can collect the blood easier. Put it in.”

Rarity looked at her, taking the tube’s end wordlessly. “Put it in. Like an apple going into someone’s saddlebags.”

“Ready?” Twilight was looking at the embalming machine.

“One second.” Rarity inserted the drainage tube, ignoring as best she could the minuscule squishing sound as it pushed into the open flesh. “Okay.”

The machine sighed to life, its gauges twitching in time with its tube. Twilight’s back was to them both, and Rarity searched the still room for a diversion. She found none.

“This is what it’s come to, Rarity, darling. From making dresses and spa visits every weekend to breaking in to a funeral home to embalm your best friend.” She glanced at Applejack, her artery bulging like an earthworm, and realized that it was not a scene she would be able to share later. “Who would believe it? And, of those that would, who would want to know me after learning what I did?”

Twilight mumbled something and turned a knob on the machine, sparing a look at Applejack.

“She’s not herself, either. I can’t imagine any of us are ourselves right now, but Twilight least of all. This idea would never even occur to old Twilight.” She thought again of Ponyville, and of her little sister. “And old Rarity would have refused.” There was a catch in the machine’s noise, but Twilight didn’t move. “I wonder if it’s okay that we’re like this. Like Twilight said, we’re doing something enormously illegal.”

She blinked and looked back at Applejack. “For good reason, though. They’re all good reasons. At least, I think they’re good. But where is that line?” She looked at Twilight’s back, as if it might have her answer.

“Rarity, can you open up the vein a little bit?”

“Oh. Sure, Twilight.” She gently opened the forceps, and the bulge in Applejack’s artery noticeably diminished. “How long does this take?”

“We’re going to wait until the solution is close to empty, then we reverse the tube, so it can go into the parts it was blocking.”

“And then we’re done?”

“Not quite.” She still didn’t look back, but Rarity could hear the dread in her voice. “After that, we need to embalm the abdominal cavity.”

“And… what does that involve?”

“More cutting.”

“Ah.” She nodded to herself. “I’m never going to look at you the same way, Applejack. You probably won’t look at us the same either.”

“Halfway there,” Twilight said.

Rarity sat down, eye level with Applejack’s side. She yawned and rubbed her eyes.

“Once tonight’s over, I’m going to sleep in. I’m going to sleep until ten or eleven, and have a big breakfast, with coffee and doughnuts.”

Rarity frowned at her back, but then said, “I think I’ll just have a mimosa or three.”

“I think you should.”

“And a long, hot shower. I didn’t see if there’s a spa in our hotel.”

“There is.”

“And a massage, then.” She looked back at Applejack. “A living massage,” she thought.

“I might go with you.”

They both sighed.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, dear. What’s on your mind?”

“When we were fighting that dam. Can you believe it was only a couple days ago?”

“It feels like part of another life.”

“Yeah. When we were fighting it, I was putting everything I had into my spells. Naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“No flashbacks.”

Rarity didn’t smile, but felt a drop of happiness in her heart. She had expected the conversation to turn in that direction. “None?” she asked simply.

“Nothing. I realized it later, that I didn’t have one. Don’t get me wrong, this fight’s going to haunt my dreams for a long time as well—it already is—but it didn’t bring up anything old. Hold on.” She adjusted the knobs on the embalming machine. “We’re going to reverse it in a second here. I’ll do it.”

Rarity stepped aside.

“Yeah, so, I just thought that was pretty great. It’s improvement.”

“It’s marvelous,” Rarity said. “And I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” She glanced at Rarity. “Please don’t make a big deal of this, though. I… don’t want to linger. Just move on. You understand, right?”

“Perfectly.”

Twilight pulled out the cannula and inserted it into the other side of the open artery. “What was it like for you? I don’t think I ever heard you talk about your part in the fight.”

“No one’s really talked about it much. Too focused on…”

“Right.”

“It was okay, though. It’s funny, I hadn’t had Vanilla’s new magic for very long before. Part of me wonders if he knows some things in advance. I suppose he must, hm?”

“I’ve always thought so.”

“Holding on to the river wasn’t the worst. You can kind of enter a state of relaxation when casting a spell for so long—you know how that is.”

“Of course.”

“That wasn’t so bad, except right at the end, where my horn was really hurting. No, the worst was my legs. I didn’t want to shift my weight, you know, and possibly break my concentration, so it was like standing on pins and needles for most of that time. That was absolutely dreadful.”

“I’d still trade my job for yours,” Twilight said.

“I can’t imagine.”

“It’s a sight I’ll never forget. One of many.” Her voice lowered. “That thing was so big, and so impossible. Seeing it lift up and take a step toward us, that sound of it coming down, I felt like an ant under someone’s hoof.” She took a moment to adjust the machine. “‘There’s no way we’re surviving this.’ That’s the thought that kept popping into my head. I just couldn’t believe that we would be able to stop something like that.”

“I suppose it’s fitting that we didn’t, then.” Rarity held her tongue.

“But, at the same time, I had to admire it. All of that was due to magic. I mean, yes, it had its technology in all the right places, but magic is what held it together. The spells that had to have been working inside to get it to move like that, and the magic it took to get the river to flow backwards into it. I couldn’t do that.”

“No?”

“Well, maybe in time. Give me a week with the right books, and I could do it, actually.”

“But who would want to?”

“But think about it, Rarity. That dam, that thing, that represents the kind of magic we’re up against.” She sighed and turned off the machine, and Rarity removed the tubes. A pouch of dark, prune-colored blood hung from its IV stand. “A while ago, I wondered what Discord would look like at his full capacity. I think we saw it.”

“What next?”

“We need to tie off those wounds somehow. I wish I’d thought to bring Fluttershy for this.”

“She’d have never come.”

“I don’t know.” Twilight looked around, and eventually settled on a pair of bandages and some gauze.

“Halfway there?” Rarity asked.

“Yes.” She looked at her book again. “Okay, this part’s going to… well, it’s going to really suck, Rarity.”

“More than before?”

“Much more.” She grabbed a long, thin instrument from the counter. “We have to get inside.”

“Like…”

“We’re opening the abdominal cavity. I already have the embalming fluid mixed—it’s a slightly different formulation from the first one—so I’m ready.”

“And what exactly are we doing?”

Twilight approached them, the trocar glinting dangerously. “I’m going to open up her hollow organs, and I need you to clean them out.”

Rarity looked at her.

Twilight looked back, shrugged. “Especially the intestines; those need a gentle touch that you’ll be more able to give than me.”

“Twilight, I really did not think I was going to be doing this when I agreed to go with you.”

Twilight looked back to her book before inserting the trocar with a soft pop of dry skin. Rarity slowly reeled back as blood and clearer fluid welled up by the entry point, smelling strongly of decay and iron. Twilight frowned, wrinkled her nose, and left the instrument in its place to grab a scalpel and a shallow dish.

“I hope this is okay, Rarity. The book isn’t as clear on how to clean the organs.”

“So you’re just going to let me figure it out?” Rarity gasped.

“You should be able to… ugh, I hate this word, but squeeze some of the, er, the juices out.”

Rarity looked down at Applejack again, trocar sticking out of her abdomen like a flagpole, a grim marker of their progress. Her throat was tightening, and she swallowed reflexively, mouth dry. “I don’t think I can.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, Twilight, I seriously don’t think I can. I’m…” She swallowed again. “I can’t even look at it. You expect me to go in there? To go deeper than that?”

“I know it’s not pretty, but—”

“I have to go,” Rarity puled, racing with her head down out of the preparation room and blindly through the darkness, horn alight. All at once, she knew, she had reached some invisible tipping point inside herself. She barged into a bathroom, into a stall, where she dry heaved over the toilet seat. Once she had caught her breath, she opened the lid and bent her face toward the cool water. A small part of her mind called out warnings that she should not be so close to a toilet, but, against the corpse she had escaped, at least momentarily, the ecru porcelain and its glassy water were salvation. She breathed in the cool air, tinged lightly with bathroom antiseptic, and spit a bitter, thick strand of saliva into the water. She coughed, tried to retch, and hung her head lower.

Twilight knocked on the stall door, and Rarity recognized trouble in her tone before the sentence was complete. “Someone’s crossed my first spell.”

Rarity coughed again and took a deep breath. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing yet, necessarily. I put up a bunch at different distances. If it gets closer, though, we’ll need to move.”

“Fine.” “Anything but going back in there,” she thought. “Wait, but she’s not complete.”

“I know.” Twilight sounded worried, and it took Rarity a second to identify a second quality in her voice.

“You’re not thinking of trying to take everything with us, are you?”

There was an interval of silence outside. “This has to get done, Rarity.”

“At the hotel, I suppose?”

“If it comes to that, then yes. Hang on.” Her horn effervesced. “Are you okay?”

“Not really, dear. I don’t think I can handle more of this.”

“Rarity, please.”

“Twilight.”

A pause. “Yes?”

“I’m asking you to empathize with me here.” She looked into her own miserable eyes, staring out at her from the toilet’s white throat. “I know you have your plan, and I know we’re up against a wall in pretty much every way imaginable right now, but I can’t. I can’t just scoop out her organs, or whatever you want me to do. I can’t handle it.”

Twilight’s voice was lower when she responded, after half a minute of silent consideration. “I can try to do it myself.”

“I’ll do whatever else I can to help, but not that.”

For a second, she thought that Twilight had walked away. Overcome with frustration, she had simply left Rarity to her transitory illness and gone to finish the job herself. Instead, her voice, sharp and flat in the bathroom, made Rarity’s already aching stomach clench harder.

“We have to get out of here.”

She gagged again. “What? Now?”

“They’re getting closer.”

“How close?”

“Close enough. Can you walk?”

Rarity shook her head, noticing for the first time her purple hair trailing in the water. She sat up, alarmed and disgusted.

“Rarity? I need an answer, please!”

“Get everything together. I’ll meet you in the room.”

Twilight’s hooves clopped away, and Rarity pushed open the stall, stood uncertainly, and examined herself in the mirror. Twilight’s urgency was lost on her, her reflexes reduced to blunt flashes of information in the last week’s pressure cooker of anxiety and uncertainty. She rinsed her mouth in the sink and shambled out of the bathroom.

In the preparation room, the book, surgical implements, and embalming machine were gone, while the files and papers Twilight had found earlier had been reduced to a salt-and-pepper haystack on the floor.

“Rarity,” Twilight said, a casket floating behind her like a gondola. “Get her in.”

Rarity enveloped Applejack’s body in her magic and tossed her in, seeing as she did so the catch of light on the trocar, still embedded. A wreath of white carnations hung on the casket's wire frame from one side, caught on a flourish of gold-trimmed ribbon. Twilight’s stern face looked around in the casket’s varnished reflection.

“What’s wrong?”

“Making sure I’m not missing anything,” Twilight said. Her horn flared again. “Yeah, closer still. We need to go.”

“Are we just leaving the papers?”

“I shredded everything I found.” She looked around the room once more and moved toward the exit she had seen and Rarity had not. As soon as the door was open, the fire alarm bellowed at their backs, and Twilight cursed as the night spilled in on them. Somewhere inside the funeral home, a foreign voice was calling out.

They raced down a set of stone steps and stopped at the inlet of road, one direction taking them to the main street, the other taking them back around the building. Rarity only looked at Twilight; she had no ideas to offer.

“Shoot, I forgot to disguise it!” Twilight yelped, looking back at the door. “Go to the front real quick, tell me if anyone’s out there.”

Rarity moaned, but crept down the dark road, ears ringing from the fire alarm and the adrenaline pushing at her brain. The air was cold against her eyes and nose, and she wore a preemptive grimace as she poked her head around the corner. A pair of ponies raced to and fro at the front door with flashlights dancing, and she backed away before she could be spotted.

Where the casket had floated earlier, Twilight held a splinter of magic to a string, a gaudy carnival balloon motionless above her head. She locked eyes with Rarity and said, “It’s the only thing I could think of, okay?”

“There’s two guards out front.”

“Crap. Okay, follow me.”

“Where are we going?”

Twilight responded with an abrupt trot deeper into the space behind the building. Where their hooves had clicked on the tile inside, they crunched and scraped on the gritty blacktop. A pale wash of lamplight blotched the smooth, vacant parking lot, hearses in both car and carriage forms lined against the building behind a chain link fence. Beyond, light traffic hissed, and the city of Roan rose up like a vast sandcastle shot with cut glass. The funeral home brayed on as they raced across the lot.

“Shit,” Twilight breathed, slowing at the lot’s end. Another chain link fence, invisible from a distance, hemmed them in from the street, and there was no gate. “I’m going to force it open.”

“Wait until there’s a break in traffic, for the love of Celestia,” Rarity said, resting her head against the cold metal wire. She could feel the seeds of a headache at the top of her spine.

“I am.” Twilight looked back furtively, and Rarity copied her. Every light was on, and, after a second, the fire alarm stopped. Rarity looked down at her white body and hoped that the ponies were still investigating the building’s interior.

A final carriage, pulled by a pair of arguing mares, groaned past, and Twilight set her magic to the fence. Wire twanged and untwined as she peeled an opening for them, and they stepped through and onto the main street with a graceless hurry.

“Okay, casual,” Twilight muttered. “We just need to get this back to the hotel now.”

Rarity shook her head. The fresh air had improved her constitution but a little at the very beginning; with the fear of pursuit arcing across her taxed brain, every breath was shallow, every glance a quick and severe gesture. She had been nervous inside the funeral home, facing both the logistical horrors of death—and her own mortality, crouching behind the main concern like a burglar—as well as the knowledge that there was no clean escape should they be caught. Twilight, with her confidence and certitude, was no help.

“What time is it?” she wondered. It had been eleven thirty when they left, and she did not imagine they were out more than an hour, longer though it felt. They took the same route they had used to reach the funeral home, carrying their balloon, which refused to bob and list in the air, through the darkened apartment complex. Laughter died down as they passed the gated pool, a pair of ponies in the hot tub staring at them.

“I apologize if I put too much on you earlier,” Twilight said. She looked at Rarity earnestly. “There’s a lot to this that I’m trying to figure out as I go along, I’m ashamed to say.”

Rarity sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t be upset. At least, not at you.”

“You can be, if you are. I’d accept it.”

“It’s not your fault.”

They stepped into the lawn to go around a puddle in the sloping section of walkway. “Nnno, I guess not. But there’s a certain grace that’s lacking in all this, and I can’t help but feel responsible.”

“You’re doing your best.”

Twilight smiled. “Yes, and look at where my best has gotten us.”

“Oh, pish posh. It’s better than I could have done. I wouldn’t have even gotten her there in the first place. I’d be desperately shoveling ice still, trying to figure out what I’m doing wrong.”

“I still apologize.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, but, if it makes you feel better, I forgive you.” They turned at the next street, down the same dark road from the pub they had passed earlier. The sounds of ponies enjoying their night still hung on the air, diminished.

“We won it at a carnival, if anyone asks,” Twilight said.

“I figured it would be something like that.”

They passed the pub, both mares looking in longingly a second time, imagining themselves on the bar stools or in the booths, strong drinks and good food before them, their only concern whether to get more. Both sighed as the pub slid behind them.

When they reached the hotel, Twilight led them back around to a slim entrance that would take them through the family fun area. A breakfast buffet was cordoned off, its dark chamber of tables and chairs and curving countertops a sharp, domestic taunt to their exhaustion.

Up echoing stairs, through the softly lit hallway, and to their room, where voices quietly rolled over one another, they walked with their balloon riding on a flat trajectory that betrayed no more than the tang of formaldehyde that had barely registered in the open air. Rarity knocked, and Fluttershy threw open the door, her face a map of concern and puzzlement when Twilight squeezed their prize into the room.

Everyone, except Octavia, who Rainbow said was out on one of her midnight strolls, was on the bed playing cards, and they hastened to move the furniture to make room for Twilight. As soon as there was sufficient space, she broke the disguise spell with a soft rain of magical sparkles, and the true object settled on the carpet. Twilight, standing beside the closed casket, askew and still garlanded with the remains of the bouquet they hadn’t time to remove, and looking back with a disinterested gaze, completed a scene as dark and solid as a phlegmatic family portrait of old. Her words mirrored Rarity’s thoughts closely: “I really cannot see how we must have changed to get to this point.” With another quiet pop of magic, the embalming machine, IV stand, and bucket of embalming fluid materialized with their implements.

“Twilight… my Celestia,” Whooves said.

“Is she in there?” Vinyl asked.

“Something came up,” Twilight said, “and we had to leave. I’m going to finish the procedure here.”

“She’s not done?”

Twilight opened the casket, and the smell of embalming fluid filled the room. “No, but she will be soon. Can someone get the TV off its stand? I need somewhere to lay her.”

Four a.m. An old movie played on mute in the corner where they had shoved the TV, and Applejack, prone in her casket, was complete. Fluttershy had healed, with some effort, the dead flesh where Twilight’s stolen trocar pierced, and Rarity was asleep with Whooves in the other room. Her only other contribution that night was placing the cannula in Applejack’s abdominal cavity once it was cleaned out.

Vinyl stood with Big Mac beside the corpse, one hoof on his back. He had offered to help, but, before Twilight could formulate a polite way to tell him that she needed only magical assistance, he had drifted off, his eyes losing focus and leading him into a private world of thought. He didn’t cry, though Twilight sometimes thought he was about to.

She moved a slow circle around the casket, book floating before her face, running through the procedure in her mind, making sure she had not missed anything. When she was satisfied, she sat on the foot of the bed and let out a sigh.

“What about the stink?” Rainbow asked. She sat in a corner of the room, wings fluffed in a bubble of warm air of her own creation.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t be too bad, but I think I’ll need to find a dampening spell,” Twilight said.

“Or we can open the window and turn on the fan,” Vinyl said.

Twilight nodded. “Yeah, or we could do that.”

Hesitating, Vinyl went to the switch to turn on the overhead fan. “Might not work, just so you know.”

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry to have to ask this right now,” Fluttershy said, “but you’re sure you won’t get in trouble for this? You’re sure no one will think it was you?”

“I was careful not to leave anything behind, and I destroyed all the evidence I could find that Applejack was there.”

“Except you, of course,” Rainbow said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, that funeral director, he’s gonna remember you were there, and who you brought in. You were gloating about how you scared him just tonight.”

Twilight let herself fall back on the bed, and for a moment, was tempted to close her eyes and let the rest of the morning sort itself out without her.

Vinyl mumbled something, and Twilight tilted her head up to look at her. Vinyl’s horn popped a bright white, and she spoke up, a louder whisper. “Said I don’t see why he would think Twilight’s responsible.”

“She’s the one who has the most interest in Applejack,” Pinkie said.

“Not necessarily. What about the Mansels?”

“What about ‘em?”

“They sent someone to check up on me,” Twilight said, realizing what Vinyl meant. “Scared the director into giving up the job.” She laughed, a sound close to a cry coming from her sapped body.

“Exactly,” Vinyl said. “All you did was drop the body off. The Mansels are way more suspicious. That funeral director has no reason to think you had anything to do with it.”

“Especially if I show up early tomorrow to pick her up, like I said I would.”

“There you go.”

“This is getting weirder and weirder,” Rainbow said. “Am I the only one who sees that?”

“You’re not,” Fluttershy said, eyes on Big Mac, still looking at the casket.

While Rarity slept in, had a luxurious shower, ate breakfast with the Elements, and then treated herself at the hotel spa, Twilight walked to the funeral home again and faked her way through puzzlement, shock, anger, and then acceptance as the police explained what had happened during the night. A pair of ponies—her heart leapt to her throat when the officer identified one as white with a dark blue or purple mane—had managed to escape with a corpse, whom the funeral director had somewhat reluctantly identified to the police.

Vinyl had been nearly correct; it was not the Mansels who were the object of suspicion, but an unnamed, assumed associate of theirs, though this suspicion was only held by the director himself. What they had not predicted was the barrage of questions that Twilight had to endure concerning Applejack’s death and its circumstances, given in return only the assurance that the information would not reach the news immediately.

While Twilight sat in a police station for the second time in a week, Octavia crept back to the hotel room, mane limp and eyes red. She stumbled at the door, spared a blank look at the casket, and collapsed face down on the bed. An hour later, she started awake with a cry of alarm and got up, ignoring her friends’ looks as she went into the bathroom and drew a freezing shower.

When she emerged, looking almost normal, she asked around and found Vinyl at the poolside, speaking closely with a pair of fillies. With one stern look, Octavia chased them away and addressed Vinyl. “I need your help. You know most about this Mansel family.”

“Just chased away a pair of fans. We were having a nice time.”

“My apologies, but this is important.”

“Is it?”

“I am going to try to set up a meeting between them and Twilight, and could use your help.”

“You’re really gonna try to find them? Thought that was just Twilight talking without thinking.”

“It could have been. However, it has aroused my curiosity as well. I would like to meet them.”

Vinyl shook her head and got out of her seat. “I doubt that.”

“They have criminal connections, but are not criminals themselves. I do not think I have anything to fear from them, at least not for a simple meeting.”

“I wouldn’t assume that, Octy.”

“It is Octavia. Use my full name.”

“All right, sorry.”

“Where can I find them?”

Vinyl sat back down, and Octavia glowered at her. “I give Rarity one little piece of trivia about this town, and everyone thinks I’m an expert on it. I don’t know where to find them, or how to get their attention. I’ve spent my life trying to avoid them.”

“Surely you have heard something, even if it is a rumor.”

“Know they’re in a big, fancy house underground. That’s no help; it’s not like we can just pop in.”

Octavia shielded her eyes as she looked up, gauging the sun’s position for the time.

“We’re not gonna try to find them at home. Maybe they’re not as bad as we think, but a stunt like that would be stupid with anyone. Look at what happened to our funeral director. Scared crapless for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Should that not mean that they will be easy to find? If their attention is fixed on Twilight so strongly—”

“Why, though? Say we do get their attention. You know what’s gonna happen then? Nothing good. Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if they come for us. If their pony found out about Applejack, they’re gonna find out about Applejack’s disappearance.”

“You suggest that we just wait around for them to come to us?”

Her lime green light was washed out in the sun. “Better than trying to barge in on them where they live.”

“It worked with the Astras.”

“Haven’t ever heard of the Astras having ponies offed before.”

“Has that really happened?”

Vinyl put a hoof to her forehead and groaned, a breezy sound that belied her tone. “I don’t know. When I said I didn’t know anything about them, that’s what I meant.” Octavia looked back at herself in Vinyl’s goggles, suddenly pointing at her. “Not ‘I know a couple things, but hold ‘em back for no reason.’ I don’t know.”

“Sorry.”

“Know it’s not my place to tell you your business, but you know what I think you should do?”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Pull up a chair, order a drink or two, and relax. The Mansels should know about what happened before the day’s end, and they’ll have someone sniffing around. If they’re so interested in Twilight, they’ll follow up. She can have her little meeting then.”

“On their terms.”

“Sure.”

“She will not like that.”

“She won’t have a choice. C’mon, Octavia, sit down for a while. Don’t think we’ve talked much yet. I like a little one-on-one time with everypony.”

Octavia withheld a sigh of defeat and dragged a chair over, keeping her magic hidden from the other ponies around the pool. She sat beside Vinyl, who lay back with a smile.

“So you’ve been with ‘em for a while?”

“Several months now. I was there for everything but the very beginning.”

“Tilt your chair towards me. You’re gonna get tired of holding that ear up eventually.”

Octavia did so, angling herself so her head and Vinyl’s were only a foot apart. “I had seen much of the country before, but never like this.”

“Mm, I can’t wait. Knew you were with them before we met; I read it in the newspapers. You and the big red fella—what a hunk. Don’t think I ever actually got your take on things, though, in the paper. Quiet mare, huh?”

“Twilight told me that the media is not allowed to approach us for interviews,” Octavia said. “They would get in our way and slow us down. Photography is the most that is allowed.”

“Neat.”

Octavia sighed, and Vinyl looked at her.

“Somethin’ on your mind?”

“I am just thinking.”

“Yep, I see that. Bit for your thoughts? C’mon.”

Octavia did not look at her, but surprised herself by speaking. “I do not like the way the last several days have gone.”

“Don’t think anyone could blame you for that.”

“No, not that. But I am worried for the future.”

Her voice, no softer than usual, came after a significant pause instead. “Worried how?”

“I do not doubt that we will get our friend back. That seems to have been handled very well, for which I am proud of Twilight. I was upset at the time, but she was right to stand up to me last night. I did not belong with her then.”

“Are you worried about Twilight at all?”

The question took Octavia aback. It had been on her mind, and everyone else’s as well, she assumed, but never given voice so bluntly. She thought of Twilight that morning, clearly frazzled and speeding out the door, off to pretend to be shocked at something she herself had done. Of Twilight the night before, scooping out drying bile and viscera with the detachment of a coroner while Applejack lay on the TV stand. Of Twilight before that, sweating and passing out on the deck of the ship, trying to stop the dam’s advance; and before that, months before, endlessly researching ways to overcome her private torment. “I am worried about her, yes.”

“Me too. I don’t know her like you, of course, but even I can see that she’s not right. You don’t just do… all that stuff, last night, and be all right.”

“She is doing what is necessary, but I have never known her to make it look so easy.”

“Soooo…” Her horn glowed a light sepia. “You’re her friend. What do you make of it?”

“I do not know. It bothers me, but I do not know what to do about it. In several ways, she reminds me of what I once wished this team could become. Now that I am seeing it, or part of it, I do not like it.”

“What did you wish they’d become?”

“The kinds of ponies who did not shrink from a challenge, no matter how daunting. Ponies who would stand up to any danger and go to any length to accomplish their goal.”

“I see.”

Octavia looked around, seeing whether they were within earshot of anyone else. In an instant, the thought flashed to get up and leave, to give Vinyl a sorry excuse and retreat to the hotel room, where the others, afraid to challenge her stern stoicism, would allow her to hide in bed. Her muscles tensed, and, in her mind’s eye, she saw herself doing it, then laid back, not at ease. “Forgive me. I do not like talking like this.”

“Take your time, Octavia. I’m just relaxing.”

She nodded thanks, unsure whether Vinyl had her eyes open under the goggles. Preferring to believe they were closed, she continued. “For the first time, I feel like there is enough power and determination between us to legitimately challenge Discord. I thought that it would feel good, but I am finding that it frightens me instead.”

“Why?”

“I do not know where it will take us.”

Octavia heard the smile in her voice. “Mm, gonna have to explain that to me, I’m afraid. I’m not really one for metaphorical talk.”

“I expected us to be victorious in the end. I know that that is conceited of me, and that there is no guarantee of victory just because we are on the side of good, but it was what I expected. I believe that I did not actually think about what that would look like, and at what cost it might come. I certainly did not think about how my friends would change. How I would change.” She took a second to order her thoughts. “It is stupid of me to say so, but I do not like this change. I do not like who Twilight is becoming.”

“Who would you say she’s becoming?”

“It is difficult to describe.”

“You just know it’s scary.”

“I feel like I am losing touch with her.”

“Hm, I might suggest it’s the other way around,” Vinyl said. “That she’s losing touch with all you.”

“That is possible, yes.”

“But if it’s for the sake of this grand quest, then isn’t it okay? Know you would think so.”

“Of course. It is more than okay. Nonetheless…”

“Keep in mind that we’re dealing with some nasty subject material. Could be as simple as that, and once it’s over, we’ll get back to how we were. Not that I’d know what that’s like, but you get the point.”

“I do not think that would be good. I do not like these changes that I see, but I do think they must take place. With them is coming the willingness to do what is necessary.” Someone splashed in the pool, and Octavia shaded her eyes again. “This just occurred to me: Twilight might not be the only one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Twilight could be the first, and lead us all into change like this.”

“Does that scare you too?”

“Yes.” Octavia looked around the pool again. A parent and his children were entering the enclosure, the young ones making a racket as they stormed into the water.

“So what will you do?”

“In Appleloosa, I remember a holy pony, a pastor, blessing us and telling us something. I wish I could remember what it was. It was a warning of some sort, concerning our path.”

“You’re losing me again, Octy—sorry. Octavia.”

Octavia closed her eyes, thinking, not of Twilight, but of herself. She had changed too, simultaneously opening herself to the possibilities of friendship and further tightening her resolve to her goal, something she did not know how to express in words, only live every day.

“Sorry. I’m used to nicknames.”

“Not that. I am wondering where we will end, that is all.”

“That’s a big thing to wonder.”

“It is difficult for me to imagine an end to this, because I have been working at it for so long, and given up so much.” She paused, and thought she could see another pane of color from Vinyl’s horn through her eyelids. “The others have heard this, though I do not know how many of them remember me telling it to them. When this does end, and if I survive, I do not have anything to return to.”

“Thought you were rich. Certainly popular; can’t you get back to performing? Well-known mare like you should be able to pick up a gig easy.”

“I left without telling anyone. While I travel the country, debt is piling up behind me. My work obligations, what few I had, were completely neglected. I have not practiced my instrument—which is now ruined, despite my efforts to protect it—in so long that I would be accepted in an orchestra as a novelty only, and let go before I could begin rebuilding my life.” She sighed. Hearing her thoughts summarized in her own monotone brought a modicum of peace to her mind, as though vocalizing her life also distanced it from her.

“Wow, geez. Not sure what to say.”

“I do not yet know whether it was a mistake. Despite what I have lost, these experiences have changed me. I like to believe that I am a better pony.”

Vinyl grinned. “Seem like a pretty good egg to me. Little on the serious side, but there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Still, I worry about the future, and whether I can come back from where I wind up.”

“If you’ve become a better pony, why would you want to go back?”

“Back to my normal life, I mean.”

“Ah. My opinion? No way. Even what little I’ve seen is gonna change you. All the stuff before adds up, and you’re not gonna get rid of it.”

“So what do you think will happen?”

“Depends on you. You can embrace it and grow, or you can hide from it. I hid from my experiences when I was younger, so I can tell you, the second option isn’t fun. Might start that way, but it won’t last. Doesn’t make embracing them any easier, of course, but, you know. Time heals all wounds.”

“You are remarkably more calm now than when we first met.”

“Don’t let it fool you. I’m just laying low right now, trying to figure all this shit out, like you.”

Octavia nodded. “I am sorry. I have said so much about myself, it did not even occur to me to ask about you.”

“I kept ya talking.”

“How are you taking everything so far?”

“I think okay,” Vinyl said slowly. “I’m not regretting coming along, so there’s that. Wish things had turned out differently, of course.”

“You are getting along well with everyone?”

“Mmm, not sure. Sometimes I feel like an uninvited guest.”

“In what way?”

“Before we moved, or were moved, Twilight and I had an argument. Never really resolved it; didn’t have time. Don’t know if she remembers it, what with everything else.”

“I did not know that.”

“I did something stupid, and she called me out on it.”

“I have done many stupid things in my time.”

“To tell the truth, I wasn’t even sure I was gonna join you after all. I thought it would be easy to tag along, just as long as I didn’t have anything holding me back here, but Twi set me straight.”

“If you do not mind me asking, what did she say?”

“You’re—you all—aren’t under any obligation to take me along, or to validate me severing ties with my old friends. That’s what I did to make the transition easier.”

“You left your friends to come with us, before you even knew we would take you?”

“Told you it was stupid.”

“Selfish too.”

“Yeah, Twilight told me.” She waited for Octavia to go on, but the gray mare had nothing to add. “Now I don’t know if Twilight’s still mad at me because I’m here, or if she’s over it because she can’t change it.”

“She has larger concerns right now.”

“Yeah, I know that. I mean for the future. What do you think? Think she’ll forgive me? It’s not my fault I came along for the ride.”

“You had every intention to do so. Circumstance may have been the deciding factor, but can you honestly say you would have changed your mind otherwise?”

“Gone back to my friends?”

“Yes.”

Vinyl thought, and Octavia glanced at her to make sure she wasn’t missing anything particularly quiet. “Probably not. I’d have tried to seal the deal.”

“So the decision was yours.”

“I guess so. Is it really that bad, though? My intentions were good.”

“The decision itself was made poorly, but that does not mean that it has to lead to bad. You can help us, I am sure.”

“That’s something I’ve been trying to figure out. Seems like everypony’s already got everything, though, at least everything I could do.”

“You gave us light during the battle.”

“Small beans,” Vinyl said.

“Why did you want to come along, then? What did you imagine doing?”

“Not getting caught up in stuff like this, that’s for sure.”

“That is a given.”

“No, I mean small stuff, like individual pony stuff. Thought there’d be a lot more large-scale heroism going on.” She traced a hoof through the air. “Not all this dickering around.”

“I see.”

“Back in Applewood, I’m sure you know, I was all about the relief effort right after The Crumbling. Thought this would be even larger than that—that’s what drew me.”

“You thought that you would better help Equestria with us.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“That is noble of you.”

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t mean that?”

“Because I, too, do not fully trust your motivation. I find it difficult to believe someone in your position would give up their life to come along with us.”

“You did it.”

“My life was worth giving up.”

Vinyl grinned where she lay. “And just as I have no way to know that about you, you have no way to know what made me do what I did.”

“If that is supposed to make me trust you more, it does not.”

“Forget it. I meant something else.”

“What did you mean?”

“Never mind, Octavia. Let’s just be quiet now.”

“If I have offended you, I am sorry, but I do not like to lie about these things.”

Vinyl turned on her side, putting her back to Octavia. “Sure, me neither. Tact is nice, though.”