Background Pony

by shortskirtsandexplosions

First published 5th of April, 2012

"My name's Lyra Heartstrings, but you won't remember anything. Listen to my symphony, for it

"My name is Lyra Heartstrings, and you will not remember me. You won't even remember this conversation. Just like with everypony else I've ever met, everything I do or say will be forgotten. Every letter I've written will appear blank; every piece of evidence I've left behind will end up missing. I'm stuck here in Ponyville because of the same curse that has made me so forgettable. Still, that doesn't stop me from doing the one thing that I love: making music. If my melodies find their way into your heart, then there is still hope for me. If I can't prove that I exist, I can at least prove that my love for each and every one of you exists. Please, listen to my story, my symphony, for it is me."

Cover pic by Spotlight: askspotlight.tumblr.com

I - Melodious

Dear Journal,

When did music begin? Did it begin with a question? Or an exclamation? Was somepony laughing? Or sobbing? Was that pony alone? Or was there an audience?

When I first attended Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, I thought that I would find out all of the answers of how and where music began. What I discovered was that the best pieces of us—the artistic, soulful, and melodious pieces—have been lost forever. Equestrian Civilization is over ten thousand years old, and of those ten millennia only the last fifteen hundred years' worth of music has been recorded, preserved, or recited to this day.

What became of the music that is now lost to us forever? How many masterpieces disappeared into the great void of time? Just what kind of prodigies and geniuses exist in the past, and how many of their masterpieces will go unheard? Does the fact that their music no longer resonates in the halls of our kingdom mean that they've lost their worth?

Years ago, I became a student of music theory, thinking that I would find answers. What I found instead was that making music is merely a means of proposing questions with our hearts that our minds can't formulate. Every time we sing or play an instrument, we are searching. Every time we fill the air with notes of rhythm and tonality, we are endeavoring to get in touch with the parts of ourselves that our words cannot contain.

I would like to think that the ponies of ancient times were searching for something just as much as we are in this era. This means to me that even though the music of the past is gone, the drive to simultaneously express and discover ourselves is still there. Our entire civilization is the beautiful encore to a symphony that has fallen on deaf ears, but not on unfeeling heartstrings. So long as we are feeling with music—embodying the same curiosity and ambition of our ancestors—then all that is important isn't forgotten, for we have it locked away in our very pulse.

Today, I play music. I do it because I am also searching. For one, these magical notes that I am endeavoring to construct may be a way to release this curse that has been placed upon me. For another, I am adding to the same heartbeat that has kept a constant rhythm since the beginning of time. So long as I am a part of that, so long as I am making melodies that the Equestrian soul cannot help but dance to, then maybe I have a chance to actually reach somepony.

Maybe, I won't be forgotten.

Just the other day, I stood in the corner of Ponyville's Main Street, playing the latest experimental number on my lyre. I had decided to call it “Lunar Elegy #7.” It was the same tune that I’d been attempting to flesh out all week. You know the one; I wrote about it in my last letter. It's the tune that I awoke to during that stormy night—the one that almost knocked the tree over into my carrot garden. I had always felt that that was an omen, and that finding a way to write down this melody would somehow benefit my quest in the end. So far, though, I hadn't noticed any magical qualities to the tune, but that was probably because I hadn't seen Twilight and played it to her yet.

Miss Sparkle always has the solutions. She's gifted like that. Now if only she could put those talents to making music herself, I'm certain she'd make Princess Celestia even prouder.

Oh shoot! I always get side-tracked with these entries. Anyways, I was in the corner of Ponyville's Main Street. I was playing my lyre and—well—I'd been running short on money as of late. So, I brought the jar with me. It didn't take long for the citizens of Ponyville to show their gracious qualities. In less than two hours, I had earned nearly twenty-five bits. I had gotten more than that, of course. Several smiles and appreciative grins were thrown my way. I merely said nothing and kept playing my music. I must have looked so engrossed. Little did everypony know that I was observing them with as much attention as they were regarding me.

Carrot Top was the first to donate, of course. I’ve written about her before. She's usually up and about earlier than any other Ponyvillean soul, and she trots back and forth across the village the most, considering all of the random jobs that she juggles around town. That day, she tossed a bit into my jar and smiled at me. I remembered that same face, stained with dirt and flakes of grass at the end of a day when she taught me how to plant a garden. She waved at me like it was the first time ever—for it was, for her—and then she was gone.

The Mayor strolled by next. Her mane looked less gray that day. I wonder if she's recently switched dyes. The Mayor is a fantastic pony. If Ponyville was any other town, the elected leader would likely disapprove of musical riff-raff like myself. The Mayor is obviously made of far more cultured stuff. She gave me a smile, praised my talents, and tossed a golden bit into the jar before trotting off. I wonder if she ever got the nerve to speak to her daughter. She's very preoccupied with the emotional wedge that's been driven between the two of them as of late. She'd never tell any pony about how sad she's been, not like that one time I roped her into confessing it to me. It was a heartfelt conversation over tea that we both had. I shall always remember it, for her sake if not for mine.

Several more ponies trotted by as the day waxed past the bright noon. All the while, I was practicing “Elegy #7.” The fact that other ponies were enjoying my music or dropping coins my way was just a fringe benefit. I magically plucked each string of the lyre in practiced precision, repeating the tune over and over again. Nopony ever complained about the repetition, but I never expected them to. The only awkward glances I got were aimed at the sweaterjacket I was wearing—the one that I always wear during these excursions into town. I thought I had gotten used to that, just like I had gotten used to the chills that come with the melodies I wake up to. Still, I couldn't complain. I simply had to keep practicing the elegy. I knew that only Twilight Sparkle could help me figure out what the tune meant, just like most of the others before it, but that didn't stop me from trying to feel it on my own, for as long as I could afford to.

And then there was Rarity. The sight of her gorgeous mane and sparkling eyes nearly broke my concentration as she paused on her way to the general store to listen to me. “My, what a heavenly tune!” were her exact words. She dropped three whole bits into the jar, more than anypony else. I always feel bad when that happens, but a part of me thinks that Rarity needs to be generous more than other ponies need to experience her generosity. So, I played my part, especially when she leaned forward with sympathetic eyes to say, “But dear, you look positively freezing! Tell me, are you ill?”

It was true. My teeth were chattering, and—no—it wasn't an act. When the chills come, there's very little I can do to stop them. My hoodie has always been a first line of defense against the inexplicable side effects of this curse. I can't even pretend to explain that to any of the ponies I meet. If I bundle up like my shivering body silently screams at me to, then even more ponies than Rarity would stop to ask me the same question over and over again.

“Oh, I'm perfectly fine, ma'am,” I remember replying to her. I usually don't respond while I'm in the middle of performing, but I'm a unicorn who can afford to multi-task. “My blood temperature is just lower than the average pony's.” It was a lie. But, relatively speaking, everything I say to these villagers is a lie. After all, even when it's the truth, it has the same effect on them.

“Well, I cannot stand to see a gifted musician such as yourself freeze to death!” Rarity said. Then she did something that I should have predicted. She reached into her saddlebag and produced a yellow scarf. “Here, darling. Keep it as long as you like.” Her smile sparkled as much as the glowing telekinesis she used to float the golden article my way. Clearly I didn't have a choice in the matter. That didn't make accepting her gift any easier.

“Oh, thank you, ma'am.” I smiled and paused in playing the elegy to wrap the scarf about my neck. To attempt a polite refusal would have been too complicated at the time. “You're too kind.”

“Oh, I can make a hundred more like it back at my boutique. Besides, yellow is not my color—but it does match your eyes delightfully so.” Rarity smiled. Some beautiful faces last forever in the mind's eye. Rarity’s is no exception. “You should stop by sometime. I can make you a new sweaterjacket. Yours is nice, of course, but I daresay it's starting to look worn-in.”

I giggled and smiled. “Thanks. I'll think about it.”

“You do that!” Rarity trotted off, humming her own whimsical version of the tune I was playing. She disappeared into the front entrance of the general store across the way.

I continued playing my music, warmed more by the sincerity of Rarity's generosity than the actual thickness of the scarf that she had given me. The afternoon was drifting by. A crimson glow gave the many coats of ponies a bright shine as the Sun lowered towards the Western horizon. I must have played the Lunar Elegy ten times before I saw Rarity trotting back with a full saddlebag of newly bought things.

I can't lie. My heart sank a little when she immediately strolled my way and dropped three golden bits into my jar. “My, what a heavenly tune!” she said, then leaned towards me. “But dear, you look positively freezing! Tell me, are you ill?”

It was a little harder to smile this time. Nevertheless, I murmured gently above the melody I was still making, “Oh, I'm perfectly fine, ma'am.” I couldn't help but add with a wink, “As a matter of fact, a very kind mare gave me this scarf just an hour ago.”

“Well, she must be a pony of exceptional taste!” Rarity said with avid admiration. “It does match your eyes delightfully so. You should stop by my boutique sometime. I can make you a new sweaterjacket. Yours is nice, of course, but—”

“It looks worn-in?”

“Yes! I was just about to say that!” Rarity exclaimed, her breath escaping her in a gasp. “Do you also read minds besides playing such gorgeous music?”

“Something like that,” I said. “I'll be sure to drop by your lovely boutique someday, ma'am.”

“You do that.” And she was gone, once more humming, once more an elegant and care-free stranger.

I decided then that I was done for the afternoon. I gathered my lyre and jar full of bits and put them away into my saddlebag. My mouth was dry, so I made straightway for Sugarcube Corner. Ms. Cake was working. As soon as I sat down at a table, she strolled up with a smile as bright as her apron.

“Good afternoon to you, miss! Are you new to town?”

“Hmmm... Yes and no.” I smiled up at her. “How much for your finest herbal tea?”

“One bit.”

“How about three bits for a cup of tea and a daisy sandwich?”

“Will do, hun!” Ms. Cake cheerfully said. I wonder if she knows just how harmonious her words always sound. I could write a thesis on the tonality of her voice alone. She hurried away towards the kitchen at the back of Sugarcube Corner while I reached into my saddlebag for the jar of golden bits.

Just then, I heard a sobbing sound from two tables away. I glanced over to see Ms. Hooves and her daughter Dinky. The little unicorn foal was crying—a sad, distraught sort of a cry. I've never known Derpy's child to throw a tantrum in public, and that occasion was no different. Dinky hid her face in a pair of hooves while her mother leaned over and whispered reassuring words into her ears. I couldn't tell from where I sat just what Derpy had said, but I could see the genuine smile on her face... and somewhere in the midst of it, her consolations must have worked. Dinky dried her tears and managed a smile to match that of her mother's.

Around that point, Pinkie Pie had shown up—cartwheeling wildly as she always did into the center of Sugarcube Corner. She then proceeded to entertain several young foals inside the eatery with a series of outrageous jokes and charades. The children giggled and clapped their hooves at Pinkie's antics. Derpy pointed Pinkie Pie's way and patted Dinky's flank, ushering the foal to go and have fun with Pinkie and the others. The young unicorn eagerly bounded away, the sorrow on her face briefly replaced with childish euphoria. Derpy watched Dinky with one good eye, though she couldn't hide the sigh escaping her lips or the depressed look on her face as the young mother all-but-slumped against the table.

I was so engrossed in these observations that I barely noticed the image of Ms. Cake in my peripheral vision. I turned to look at her. The baker was standing in place, gazing blankly across the lengths of Sugarcube Corner. She held a tray with a steaming cup of tea and a daisy sandwich, but she hadn't a clue what to do with it.

“Funny...” Her eyes blinked as her lips lingered upon every word dripping out of her mouth. “I could have sworn I just...” She turned and looked behind her at the kitchen. “Where was I going with this? I swear, I'm getting senile...”

I cleared my throat.

She looked down at me and instantly gave a polite smile. “Good afternoon to you, miss! Are you new to town?”

“Hmm...” I smiled gently. “Yes and no. You seem puzzled. Is everything okay?”

“Oh, absolutely! I just wish I knew what I was doing with... with...” Ms. Cake frowned at the tray as though it was full of ants. “Bah! I should be baking that cake for the Mayor's banquet tomorrow anyways.”

I craned my neck to look at the tray. “Is that herbal tea and a daisy sandwich?”

“Why, yes. Yes it is.”

“Hmmm...” I dropped a few golden coins onto the table. “Would three bits pay for them?”

“Oh! Erhm... Do you want it?”

I smiled. “Seems like a nice order. I'll give it a try.”

“Very well then! At least they won't go to waste!” Ms. Cake gracefully placed the cup and plate down onto my table as I slid the bits her way. She took them and performed a curtsey. “Enjoy your time at Sugarcube Corner! Just holler if you need anything else, dearie.”

“Will do,” I said. After she left, I sipped slowly from the tea, reveling in the warmth as it drove the shivers away. I had time to relax, to reflect, to think about my music. I should have spent every minute contemplating the missing movement at the end of “Lunar Elegy #7,” but instead I kept looking over at Ms. Hooves table.

Derpy is a sad pony. Not many in town know this. Many commit the sin of treating Ponyville's mailmare at face value. I've been included in that guilty party myself, but that's because during the many times I've tried learning more about her I've been at a loss to figure out the source of her troubles. However, having just seen her consoling a distraught Dinky, I may have been given a clue.

So, after finishing my tea and not so gracefully scarfing down the daisy sandwich, I hoisted my saddlebag and trotted over towards her table. There is never an easy way to go about “introductions,” so I've long since learned to skip much of the pretense.

“Why do you look so glum, Ms. Hooves?”

Derpy gazed up from the table. Her eyes blinked in opposite directions. I knew just where to stand so that she could see me. “Uhm... I'm sorry. Have we met?”

I smiled. “Who in town doesn't know Ponyville's most faithful deliverer of the mail?”

“Oh, well I guess you have a point.” Derpy chuckled nervously, then ran a hoof through her mane. “I haven't... uhm... flown into your house window or anything like that, have I?”

“Hehehe... Nothing of the sort.”

“Whew. I'm glad. My memory isn't all that good.”

“That's a boat that everypony shares a seat in, Ms. Hooves. Believe me.” I sat down beside her and pointed towards where her child stood with the other giggling foals and Pinkie Pie. “Dinky is extremely gifted for her age. She's scored the highest in her entire class the last three tests in a row. Did you know that?”

“I-I do!” Derpy exclaimed, squinting at bizarre angles on either side of me. “How did you?”

This is what I mean when I write that it isn't easy. Thinking quickly, I replied, “I'm a music teacher from Canterlot. Not that long ago, I was sent to assist Miss Cheerilee with expanding her curriculum. She's thinking of putting together a band class for young foals. Did you hear about that?”

“Why yes! I have,” Derpy said.

I was wrong about one thing I wrote earlier: some things I say are the truth, but that's only because I'm an observer of them. Over the last month, Cheerilee had indeed been trying to establish a school band. It didn't particularly appear to be a subject of joy for Ms. Hooves.

“My little muffin's so excited about it,” she said. “It's all she talks about every morning before I drop her off at Cheerilee's.” She sighed and gazed lethargically across Sugarcube Corner as her child lost herself in Pinkie Pie's whimsical show. “She's got a natural talent for making music. As a matter of fact, I took her to the music store just last week. They had this flute that she was allowed to test out. I swear, I've never heard anything so amazing... and my Muffin had barely even practiced. She's so gifted... just like her father.” The last words in particular were the hardest to get out, and I saw the sadness once more pale over Derpy's face.

“I saw her crying earlier,” I said. Some songs don't have a bridge to them. At times, all you need is to hear the chorus, no matter how much it hurts. “I'm guessing she's not able to join Cheerilee's band.”

Derpy openly winced, but I knew she wasn't about to stop speaking. So many ponies in town have a lot to say, and the times they choose to say them happen to be the times I ask about them about it. Perhaps that is my purpose? I think of this a lot. For what it's worth, I'm the only pony who has to.

“I wish she could,” Miss Hooves eventually said. “But I'm afraid her mother can't help her.”

“Oh?”

“I don't tell many ponies this, and I certainly won't tell her, but things have been tough lately.” Derpy gazed down at the table and spun lazy circles with a hoof, as if in a desperate attempt to counterbalance her eyes. “I barely earn enough to squeeze by. Being a mailmare just doesn't earn enough bits for a single mom. If Dinky's father was still around and working, then maybe I could afford some disposable income to do more than just get food on our table. But a school band...?” Derpy sighed again and ran a hoof over her moist eyelids. “Dinky is such a sweet, beautiful foal. She’s so selfless and supportive of her mother. All she wants for herself is to play the flute. She has a gift, and I still can't believe how talented my little muffin is...”

“Musical proficiency is the best kind of talent, Ms. Hooves,” I said with a gentle smile. “You should be proud. Your foal's on the way to moving the souls of other ponies just like she moves yours by simply being alive.”

“She won't be moving anything if I can't give her what she deserves,” Derpy murmured, her voice wavering. “My little muffin is so polite to everypony—both young and old. And she does her best in school. She studies hard. She's so... so sweet...” She sniffled and rubbed a tear dry before it could grace her gray cheek. “Her passion is to make music, and I can't help her. Her mother isn't as talented as she is. I can't even earn us a better place to live, much less a flute to make her dreams come true. What kind of love is that?”

I leaned over and placed a hoof gently on hers. “Your love is the sincere kind of thing that your daughter will cherish and remember forever. There are parents who think that money can buy anything, but won't give their child attention or respect. You're not that kind of parent, Ms. Hooves. I believe that one way or another, you will find a way to give Dinky what she wants. But you're already giving her what she needs. If you forget any of the words I'm telling you right now, at least remember the same feeling that is bringing you on the edge of tears as I speak. For that is real, and a very eternal thing.”

Derpy sniffled again. For the briefest of moments, I could have sworn her eyes had centered upon me. She smiled with an expression that still warms me to this day. “How could I possibly forget the words of a pony as kind and understanding as you?”

I only smiled at that. “Be there for your child, Ms. Hooves, as you've always been. Someway, somehow, her dreams will come true. I promise you this.”

Before Derpy had a chance to respond, Dinky hopped back over and bounced all around her mother, giggling and repeating many of the silly things Pinkie Pie had said to the foals earlier. Derpy could barely hold her daughter still, so she finally resorted to a tackling hug, enfolding the tiny unicorn in her hooves. Dinky giggled and squirmed in Derpy's grip while her mother gently nuzzled her.

It was around this time that a sudden chill ran through me. I shuddered and tugged at the edge of my sweaterjacket's sleeves. For a moment I could see vaporous breaths escaping my lips, and that's how I knew—as I always know—what had been lost.

One of Derpy's eyes blinked my way, and her body jolted in surprise. “Oh, hello there! Can I help you, Miss?”

I cleared my throat, fighting off the last of my shivers. “My apologies.” I stood up. “I didn't realize that this table was occupied.”

“Nonsense!” Derpy's voice matched the gigglish tone of her daughter. If anything was certain, she was happy now. “This is Sugarcube Corner. A pony's free to sit anywhere. Isn't that right, my muffin?”

Dinky merely giggled. I've always envied Pinkie Pie for the effect she has on children. Nursery rhymes and lullabies are still on my list of things to master.

“Really, I must be going,” I said. It was true. The Sun was setting outside, and I still had to see Twilight. Soon, it would be night, and I wouldn't be able to afford talking with any pony. “I wish you both a good evening.”

“Heheh... I'm not sure why exactly,” Derpy said, “but it already is one.”

I left Sugarcube Corner and slowly made my way to Twilight Sparkle's library. In the advent of night, the evening hung over my horn in a deep, purple blanket. All around me, bodies of equines swiftly galloped their way home. I can never understand why so many ponies are in such a hurry when the Sun sets, especially in Ponyville. I sometimes wonder if I'm the only pony who does this: who takes her time and allows the cool and crisp murmur of the falling evening to lull her into submission. I gave into the moment with a soft hum, reciting a piano number that my mother had taught me when I was a little foal. My family had been better off than Derpy and Dinky. I don't think I ever once imagined that I could have lost all that I had—both emotionally and materialistically. I still wonder what my family is up to now, but I try not to. Thinking about the piano melody carries with it all of the warm memories of the past. I wish I could say the present was any less cold.

The lampposts in the streets of Ponyville were being lit by the time I reached the door to Twilight's library. It was open; Twilight's assistance must have been carrying something in. As soon as I stepped inside, I realized I was correct. Spike was trucking several parcels of antique books mailed from Canterlot back and forth. He looked my way and waved cheerfully.

“Hi there!” He walked by, carrying a package toward the opposite end of the room. “Dig the swell hoodie!”

“Thanks,” I said. “Is Miss Sparkle around?”

“Why, did you have an appointment?”

“Spiiiiike!” Just then, the lavender unicorn in question marched into the front foyer from an adjacent hallway. “Did you open the package yet that contains all eight volumes of Heroes in Equestrian Literature—?” She stopped and let out a slight gasp upon seeing me. “Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't know somepony was here!” She blinked wide then smiled, her small dimples showing. “Can I help you?”

Have I mentioned that Twilight Sparkle is ridiculously adorable?

“As a matter of fact, you can.”

“I see. Well... uhm... I'll do my best, but it's only fair to tell you that the library's closing soon and I have an important letter to write to—”

“Princess Celestia.” I nodded. “I know.”

“Hi there!” Spike walked by once again. “Dig the swell hoodie!”

“Yes, I bet you do.” I turned to face Twilight once more, smiling. “Trust me, Miss Sparkle. I think you'll be very... erm... intrigued by what I have to share with you, and then I'll ask your help with just one thing.”

“Oh?”

“I promise that you won't be tardy with sending your letter to the Princess.”

“Tardy?” Twilight Sparkle's teeth showed as she let loose a nervous laugh. “Wh-who's afraid of being tardy?”

“Heeheehee... Indeed.” I trotted over to a wooden seat and plopped down, reaching into my saddlebag. Glancing up at her, I murmured, “Miss Sparkle, have you ever had a beautiful melody stuck in your head, but you don't know where it came from or what it's supposed to mean, only that you have the natural urge to hum it, regardless?”

Twilight Sparkle squinted curiously at me. Her eyes were crooked, the undeniable look of confusion. I could write a book about that expression on the face of every pony I meet. Then again, that's what I'm doing right now, isn't it?

I chuckled as I pulled my lyre out of the bag and held it before me. Gazing softly at Twilight, I spoke, “My name is Lyra Heartstrings, and you will not remember me. You won't even remember this conversation. Just like with everypony else I've ever met, everything I do or say will be forgotten. Every letter I've written will appear blank; every piece of evidence I've left behind will end up missing. I'm stuck here in Ponyville because of the same curse that has made me so forgettable. Still, that doesn't stop me from doing the one thing that I love: making music. If my melodies find their way into your heart, then there is still hope for me. If I can't prove that I exist, I can at least prove that my love for each and every one of you exists. Please, listen to my story, my symphony, for it is me.”

“I...” Twilight Sparkle blinked rapidly. She ran a hoof across her forehead and shook it before processing her words past a wincing expression, “What do you mean? I don't get it. Is this some kind of—?”

“Shhhh.” I smiled and floated the lyre in front of me. “Just listen.”

I closed my eyes and concentrated, telekinetically strumming each string in succession. All of my instrumentals in the heart of downtown Ponyville that afternoon were just rehearsals. There, before Twilight, in the acoustical heart of her wooden home, I performed “Lunar Elegy #7” as sweetly and eloquently as I could. Though I didn't know the ending, I danced my way through the cords with no less confidence. When the performance was over, I reopened my eyes to see Twilight Sparkle sitting before me, her face aglow with the melody of the song still echoing in her gifted mind.

“That...” Twilight Sparkle began to murmur, “That was... was...”

“Tell me,” I uttered firmly, my gaze strongly piercing her for a moment. “Is it familiar?”

“It... It is!” she exclaimed. “I feel as though... as though I heard it from...”

I leaned forward. My heart was beating. I did all I could to keep my composure.

Finally, Twilight Sparkle stammered, “Th-the lunar archives! Yes! Yes, I believe that's a symphony from the early Neo-Classical Era!” She beamed as the information blossomed in her mind, as if unfolded from a hitherto unkempt part of her mental library. “Princess Celestia shared it with me once before the return of Nightmare Moon. She told me that it was one of the few things she had to... remember her sister by, before Princess Luna was tainted by the spirit that turned her malevolent.”

“Tell me, Miss Sparkle,” I spoke firmly. “Do you know how it ends?”

“The musical number you just performed?”

“Yes.”

“It... It wasn't finished?”

“No. But you've obviously heard it before. Do you know how it ends?”

“I... I don't understand what this is all about!” Twilight gazed sideways at me, her brow furrowed beneath her violet bangs. “Sure, I've heard the tune before. But that's because Princess Celestia personally pulled it out of the lunar archives and shared it with me! How could you know about it?”

“Because I hear it,” I murmured. “When I'm sleeping. When I'm awake. When I close my eyes. When I open them. I hear this tune—and many more like it—bouncing across the walls of my mind, resonating through the leylines connected to my consciousness... as if my own horn was picking something up beyond the frequency of the living in an attempt to tell me something and me alone.”

“But... B-But how? Why?”

“For the same reason that you don't hear it, I suspect.” I took a deep breath and said, “For the same reason that nopony will ever remember that they've ever spoken to me. For, to them, the tune is just as forgettable as I am.”

“Huh?” Twilight Sparkle slumped to her haunches, blinking hard. “Miss Heartstrings, I don't understand. What do you mean you're forgettable?”

I smiled. Spike was walking by again, and I whistled at him. “Hey. Mr. Green Spines.”

“Hi there!” he said, standing before the last parcel. “Dig the swell hoodie—”

“Yes, we know, Spike!” Twilight Sparkle frowned at him. “Haven't you said that enough to our guest?”

“Our guest?” Spike made a face, his crooked gaze bouncing back and forth between Twilight and myself. “I'm sorry, Twilight. I was away unpacking the shipment, remember? This is the first time I've seen her!”

Before Twilight's voice could say something to match her flabbergasted expression, I spoke up. “Spike, do me a favor, if you could. I'd like to check out Zoology of the Zebrahara by Jockey Goodall. Would you mind grabbing that for me while I have a chat with Twilight here?”

“Sure thing! Zoology of the Zebrahara coming right up!” The eager young assistant bounded down a distant hallway.

“Uhm...” Twilight scratched her head with an errant hoof. “Why the sudden interest in Goodall's writing?”

“I could care less about the nature of the book,” I said. “I just happen to know that you shelve it at the furthest part of the library from here.”

“And how could you know that? This is the first time you've visited the library—at least since I came here and became chief librarian.”

“Hmmm... As a matter of fact, I have come to visit this library. Lots of times.” I smiled steadily at her. “And they were all after you came to Ponyville, Twilight.”

“But I don't—”

“As a matter of fact, I arrived in Ponyville not long after you did, Miss Sparkle.” This next part was hard. I've always had a hard time keeping my composure here, but I think I've been getting better at it. “I used to live in Canterlot, just like you. My parents and I lived in the upper Alabaster District, on Starswirl Street.”

“Starswirl Street?!” Twilight's ears twitched as her eyes lit up. “Why, that's two streets down from where I used to live!”

“484 Nebula Avenue,” I said, my eyes reflecting hers. “Your apartment flat was just above Moondancer's.”

Twilight couldn't help it. She let loose the same awkward giggle I have heard hundreds of times. “That's uncanny! You mean to say you knew Moondancer too?”

“Yes. We were good foalhood friends.”

“The two of you? How come she never told me?”

“No, Twilight,” I said. “I meant the three of us. You, Moondancer, and I. We attended Magic Kindergarten together, and the rest is history... well, it was.”

She stared at me, her eyes narrowing and her mouth agape. “But that's...” She gulped and shook her head. “I-I would have remembered! Moondancer and I—”

“We went to Magic Summer Camp together for years. One summer, when you were only seven, you tried a teleportation spell and got yourself stuck atop a royal guard tower. It took the entire afternoon for us to flag down a pegasus to give you a lift back down to the street. You were so embarrassed, you cried. So Moondancer and I took you to the local doughnut cafe, and we made you feel better. That's when you finally told us about your acceptance into Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. You had kept it secret from us for so long because you were afraid we'd become jealous and not want to be your friend anymore. That couldn't have been any further from the truth. We loved and cherished every moment we had to hang out with you. Years later, when Moondancer and I were also accepted into the school, you showed us around the campus. Our first year in class went off without a hitch—unlike so many other new students—and we always had you to thank for that.”

Twilight listened to all of my words. When I was done, she gazed towards the far end of the room and muttered quietly, “I... remember all of those moments. But, it was only Moondancer and myself every time. I... I don't remember you at all, Miss Heartstrings.” She glanced up and briefly bore a frown. “How do I know that this isn't some sort of stupid prank? Did Rainbow Dash set you up for this?”

“You mean like the time that she and Pinkie Pie switched your writing jar with invisible ink?” I said with a smirk. “Or the time Rainbow Dash doused your mane with a hidden bucket full of ketchup, and so you trotted off to the bathroom... only to find the tub filled with packages of frozen curly fries?” I chuckled and took a deep breath. “Or what about the one time she convinced you that your horn was falling off, and like a true hypochondriac you spent the entire night reading up on unicorn ailments and fell asleep in the middle of the library? I do recall her treating you to a lunch at Sugarcube Corner to make up for that last one...”

“How... How could you know about all of that?”

“Because you told me about them.”

“You mean to tell me that we've talked before?”

“Dozens of times.” I said, though it came out as a drone. It's tough trying to inflect one's words when they've been repeated so many countless times. I did my best to stay pleasant and approachable. “You're a highly intelligent unicorn, Twilight. I knew that when we were foals. I'm glad to see you becoming a shining member of the community here in Ponyville. But, just like every conversation we've ever had, you won't remember it any more than all the other ones previous.”

“That... That sounds too crazy to believe—”

A young voice from the side spoke up. “Uhmm... Twilight?”

Twilight looked over.

Spike stood, blinking, his expression blank. He held a book in his hands, but he remained still in the middle of the hallway he had walked in from. “You asked me to do something, and I... I...” He squinted at the tome in his grasp. “Zoology of the Zebrahara? Ugh, this book is so outdated. They call zebras bad names in it. Why do we even keep this in stock?”

“Spike, that's the book Lyra Heartstrings just asked you for a moment ago.”

“Lyra who?”

“Hello!” I waved with a smile.

“Oh!” He blinked at me. “Hi there! Dig the swell hoodie!”

“You mean to tell me you don't remember her?” Twilight's voice rose in confusion and frustration. “She's been sitting here and talking with me for minutes! You must have passed by—like—three times!”

“Yeesh! I'm sorry, Twilight! I didn't know! Besides, aren't we supposed to be closing the library soon? It's a little late for strange visitors, don't you think?”

“Spike—”

“Twilight and I are just having a simple chat, kiddo,” I said, waving a reassuring hoof. “Don't let us bother you.”

“Ugh... Whatever.” He waddled off with a groan, practically dragging the thick tome after him. “I'm a magical assistant, not a gate-keeper.”

As he left, I glanced back at a dumbstruck Twilight and said, “You see? He walked away from me. Distance is the one thing that causes others to forget about me.”

“And... uhm... wh-what's the other thing?”

I glanced up out the nearest window. The sunset’s red kiss was all but gone. The blackness of night was falling, and with it would come the pale glow of the moon.

“Time,” I eventually said, my nostrils flaring. “It's a matter of minutes. Sometimes an hour. Very rarely longer, but you won't know that I ever existed. That's what makes explaining all of this so tough to do—every time—because I hardly get to the point asking for what I really need from you.”

“You must forgive me, but I need an explanation!” Twilight exclaimed, her voice as sharp and desperate as her twitching expression. “This kind of a thing is unprecedented! Even if it were true, how could anypony possibly survive in such a state of existence?”

“I manage. It hasn't been easy, but I'm doing quite well for myself.”

“I still find it very hard to believe, Miss Heartstrings. I'm afraid you're going to have to show me more to prove that what you're saying isn't—”

“Your first week in the Royal Palace as the magical apprentice to Princess Celestia...” I began. “Her Majesty showed you a gallery that featured the portraits of many esteemed unicorns from Equestrian history. You were so proud of yourself, because you instantly recognized the painting of Starswirl the Bearded. Then your mentor took you aside and explained something to you. She said that all of the portraits had one thing in common. They were all former students that she had once tutored through the ages, just like she was starting to tutor you.”

Twilight's eyes remained fixed on me, soft and vulnerable as I leaned towards her and softly continued speaking.

“That was the first time that you truly understood death. You were a young foal, full of energy and life. You found yourself the inexplicably lucky student to Princess Celestia, and you didn't have a prior concept of the end of all things. Staring at those portraits, you played out the history of Equestria in your head, and you realized that even the future would have its own history, and you would be only a piece of that—to be immortalized in a picture at best. You suddenly began crying, and you didn't understand why. Princess Celestia stayed by your side that whole night. She didn't leave until your tears were dry. She even delayed raising the Sun just to make sure that she had solaced you. To this day, very few ponies know why that one morning was so dark nearly fifteen years ago.”

I smiled and planted a hoof on one of hers, feeling the sudden trembles in her frame and doing my best to drive them away like a wise monarch once did.

“You told me before, Twilight, during a very deep conversation that we managed to have several weeks ago, that the reason you study so many books, the reason why you prefer reading over seeing daylight, the reason why you can't for one solitary second of your life stop processing information, is because you want to fill yourself with as much knowledge as possible, because history is here for a reason. Countless generations have lived and died before our time to ensure that we have the data we need to apply to our existence and make the world a better place. To do anything less than exercise our intelligence is to forget the legacy of the ponies who predate us. Princess Celestia—you told me—is more than a mentor to you. She's the very heart of Equestria. And as the central spark that holds together the Elements of Harmony, you want what's best for Equestria, and you want what's best for our Princess. In that vein, you've endeavored to become more than a mere portrait on her wall.”

I smiled, my face reflected in a pair of eyes that grew glossier as my words rolled on.

“So many times, your friends ask you why you've never bothered meeting a young stallion to spend some romantic time with. You keep brushing off their good-humored inquisitions, pretending that the whole notion is silly, but deep down inside you realize that you won’t afford yourself companionship so long as you have this incessant need to make a difference in this world. But it's more than just a quirk of your personality, isn't it? Someday, Twilight, you plan to write a book—a comprehensive almanac to all of the most important and timeless bits of magical knowledge that your entire life can ever hope to compile. And the title of this book, you’ve told me, is 'The Path to Harmony.' Every morning that you wake up, you think of this book, and you think of Princess Celestia reading it every day after she raises the Sun, long after you are gone, in constant praise of your contributions to this world. For if there is one thing that you are mortally afraid of, Twilight—as everypony is—it's of being forgotten.”

When I finished speaking, Twilight was no longer staring at me, but I knew that I had her ears. A shudder ran through her body, and a single tear ran down her cheeks. She wiped her face with a hoof, shuddered, and murmured in a voice that was a little too shaky for her own good.

“How... H-How did all of this happen to you?”

I knew that I once again had her as my audience. My heart skipped a beat, but it was approaching night. I glanced out the window. The moon wasn't out yet. Still, I sighed and said, “All I know is that happened while I was in town to visit the Summer Sun Celebration last year.”

“Last year?” Twilight sniffled, then blinked wide. “You mean the night that Nightmare Moon returned?”

“Yes.”

“Something happened to you then that caused this... this...”

“Curse,” I muttered. “At least, I'm pretty sure it's a curse. Heh... I don't know what else to call it.”

“But... How? How does it work? What are its connections to Princess Luna—I mean, Nightmare Moon?”

“I've already taken enough time as it is,” I said in a low voice. “To explain everything is impossible at this point. You will stop understanding what I'm even trying to say halfway through the whole thing.”

“Then write it down!” Twilight exclaimed, her wet eyes darting every which way to find a pen and paper. “Put it down in words so that we can read it and—”

“The pages will appear blank to you, as well as to any other pony.” I said with a soft, bittersweet smile. “Believe me, I've written several words... on several surfaces... in several spots all over Ponyville. Nopony can see anything, so long as my writing is somehow involved.”

“Because of the same factor of distance or time?!” Twilight Sparkle remarked. On the edge of a panting breath, she suddenly brightened. “I know! We'll send a letter to Princess Celestia! Right now! The power of green flame could get news of your existence to her in an instant! Surely she could take care of this 'curse!' Spiiiike—!”

I held my hooves up, silencing her. “We've already tried that.”

“We have?!”

“Mmmhmm. Three times, on separate occasions, months ago. All that the Princess will receive is a puff of green smoke, then black ashes. So long as you write something while possessing short-term memory of me, nothing you send gets through the teleportation process.”

“Then... Then...” Twilight was fumbling for ideas at this point. She was trembling all over. I will always admire her concern and sincerity when she comes to this point of “knowing,” but I also can't stand to see her so distraught. My only solace is that it never lasts long, and I knew it would only be a matter of time then. “Oh! A photograph!” She started trotting across the library to where a camera rested inside a cabinet. “We can take a snapshot of you and—”

“You already have a photo of me.” I said. Getting up, I walked over towards a windowsill and pointed at a wide-framed snapshot featuring two colorful ponies in the streets of Canterlot. “That is to say... it would have a photo of me, only... well. See for yourself.”

Twilight looked at the photo of her and Moondancer standing and smiling before the camerapony. She squinted, as if truly studying the image for the first time. “Funny... The photographer must have been really off. There's a lot of space on the left edge of this photo.”

“Room for a third pony, perhaps?”

Twilight bit her lip. She placed the photo back down, gulped, and looked at me. “You... You could leave town, go to Canterlot, and ask for an audience with... Princess Celestia...” Her words were already trailing off after seeing the expression on my face.

I shook my head slowly and said, “The same curse that keeps me out of the minds of ponies keeps me stuck within the town limits of Ponyville.” I walked back to where my lyre and saddlebag were. “I've hypothesized that it's because both Nightmare Moon and I were here when the curse began. Whenever I try to leave Ponyville, I'm overcome by a horrible temperature drop, like I’m entering the bitter cold vacuum of space.” My teeth chattered slightly at the thought of it as I yanked on my sweaterjacket's hood strings for emphasis. “It's why I have this and the scarf. Sometimes the cold of the spell creeps in and becomes unbearable.”

“I...” Twilight shuddered and slumped down in the middle of the library. Her voice resembled that of a helpless, whimpering foal. “I wish there was a way to help you, Lyra. While I still know enough to do something...”

“Then do this one thing for me,” I said, lifting the lyre up with magical telekinesis. I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “You've done it before, and it's helped me out immensely. I'm sure you can do it again.”

“Absolutely!” Twilight stood back up, her eyes bright. “Tell me what it is!”

“Help me finish this song.”

“The one you played earlier?” She gulped. “Miss Heartstrings, you're right about one thing: I am doing my best to become a living repository of knowledge, but I'm afraid that music just isn't my forte.”

“It's not your knowledge that the music should appeal to,” I said softly, grinning. “It's your heart, Twilight. You know this tune. You've heard it before. I don't need an expert thesis, I just need to know how you feel it should end.”

“I...” She bit her lip and stepped up closer, sitting down next to me. “I think I need to hear it again.”

I nodded. Gently, I played the tune for her. The tempo was a little faster on this playthrough, for night had fallen and I was starting to feel a little bit pressured for time. Soon enough, the number was finished, and what I had up til then called “Lunar Elegy #7” was suddenly—

“'The Threnody of Night,'” Twilight murmured.

“Oh, is that the name of it?”

“Yes. At least I think so,” she said with a nervous smile. “According to Princess Celestia, it was something Luna herself wrote just decades before her banishment. Luna went through a period of mournful, artistic expression... at least before her jealousy and envy fused with the bitter taint that transformed her into Nightmare Moon.”

“Do you know the last few bars of it?”

“I...” Twilight Sparkle fidgeted. “I'm telling you, Lyra. I'm not good at writing down musical notes. Besides, it'd just turn up blank if I wrote it while in conversation with you, right?”

“Then hum it,” I said. “That's what we always did before. I promise you.” I winked. “I'll remember it.”

“I... I should just hum it?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Okay. Uhm... Here goes.”

The sound of the library interior drowned out as an angelic voice navigated a series of invisible chords in the center of the hollowed-out tree. I listened closely, my heart providing a beat to the melody wafting from Twilight's soul. Sooner than I had expected, the song came to an end. It would have brought a tear to my eye if I wasn't so busy chuckling.

“But of course. Heehee... how bleak.”

“I swear. That's how it ends!” Twilight said. “I remember it now like it was just yesterday. The threnody stops abruptly. I recall questioning the Princess on it. It was the first time I heard Celestia laugh. 'Luna never knew how to make a graceful exit,' she said. Huh...” She shook her head with a goofy grin. “Funny how I forgot about that moment until now...”

“It's always funny at first,” I muttered, concentrating as I poured a wave of magic into my lyre and repeated the last few cords that Twilight had hummed for me. The melody echoed with haunting resonance throughout the wooden chamber. I now knew how the threnody ended. Another week, another elegy. It's so simple, it hurts. “And that's that.”

“Aren't you going to play the whole thing?”

“No,” I replied swiftly. “No, not in here.” I quietly slid the lyre back into my saddlebag. “It wouldn't... be safe.”

Twilight Sparkle squinted. “The threnody—it has a magical property, doesn't it?”

“Most of them do, but only after I've salvaged the melodies I hear in my head and compiled them together with my instruments. They're merely pieces to a grand puzzle I'm struggling everyday to figure out, though I'd be lying if I said that I worked on them completely on my lonesome. I have you to thank for another elegy's completion, Twilight.” I smiled at her. “Somehow, you never fail me.”

“If only I could do more than that.”

“Well...” I stepped back from my saddlebag and turned towards her. My face avoided her gaze, though. “I kind of lied earlier when I said that I needed one thing from you. As a matter of fact, there's something else...”

“Oh?”

“It's...” I couldn't look at her straight. Even now, I have a hard time believing that I said what I did—that I had made such a request. All these months that have gone by, I've told myself that I should be stronger. I had already gotten what I really needed from Twilight that night, that which could truly help me in my quest for understanding. There was no point in asking for anything else. But, I guess I was weaker than I thought, and that's the real reason why I'm writing this otherwise inconsequential entry “It's something really weird-sounding, and you can say 'no' if you like. It's perfectly fine, and I really could't blame you...”

“Lyra...” Twilight walked closer to me. “What is it? What else do you need?”

I like to think that I'm pretty good at smiling. It's the best expression to have in any circumstance. I wear it all the time because I want ponies around me to be happy. It's what the world deserves, after all. But standing there, upon the precipice of Twilight's gaze, my smile was as solid as ever. My eyes, however, weren't. The image of her fogged over as I finally looked up.

“Can I ask for a hug?”

I've talked to Twilight Sparkle no less than fifty times since the curse began. I've had this same conversation with her about two dozen times. This occasion, however, was the only time I made this request. I can't guess exactly why. Perhaps that afternoon was colder than normal for me. Perhaps I was thinking about Derpy's sweet child. Perhaps it was just the threnody—it had ended too terribly short, and I felt as empty as Luna's composition was meant to feel.

My thoughts ended short too, for I was at the receiving end of Twilight's embrace, and it stole the breath from me... to suddenly be someplace so warm once again. I let her hold me, my forelimbs dangling across her back as I closed my eyes over the shoulder of my foalhood friend. If forgetfulness was a sin, then I was hardly a saint, for being held in her arms suddenly made me realize that I had lost track of what it was that I was truly searching for. Music is a gorgeous thing, but it is still only an artifice of the real rhythm that pumps through our veins, heated by our hearts.

Oh, what fragile things we ponies are, such separate yet special creatures—that we need the felicitous sounds of laughter and harp-strings to bridge the frigid gaps between us that are otherwise filled by dust and tears. I wanted suddenly to tell Twilight so many things, but I knew that words would fail us both. Besides, words will only be forgotten. Our loving friendship is immortal, and the best thing to have conveyed such truth is the one thing that we did. If that hug had lasted forever, I would have been fine with my name losing all meaning.

“Thank you, Twilight,” I said, once more embracing the chill as we parted ways. I sniffled only once, and the smile returned to fill the brief void that had swallowed my expression. “That means more to me than you can imagine.”

“I only wish it was enough,” she murmured sadly. She stared for a moment into space, then suddenly brightened with a happy gasp. “I know! A memory spell!” She scampered towards a tall bookcase looming on the far end of the foyer. “If I can cast a powerful enough incantation, maybe we can counteract whatever this curse is and keep you from being forgotten until the Princess and I can come up with a real solution!”

I sighed. “Twilight, save your energy. It didn't work the last time you tried, nor any of the times before that.” I stood still as she dashed all around me, collecting more and more tomes from the walls of the place. “It's best that you don't work yourself up—”

“No, seriously! This is a spell that Starswirl the Bearded invented!”

“You mean the Concentration Buffer?” I murmured, gazing up at the window. I saw a sliver of moonlight, and my heart sank.

“Yes! How'd you know? Anyways, if I can find the formula and cast it with a sprinkle of mana-dust as a reagent, I just might be able to—” Her words stopped just as soon as her hoofsteps did.

A chill ran through my body. Vapor escaped my lips. I didn't want to turn around. I never want to turn around and look at the pony when this happens. But everytime, I do. And I did then.

Twilight Sparkle was standing dead-still in the middle of the room with a glowing horn. She had several books hovering all around her. She looked at them curiously, as if they were a swarm of annoying moths.

“What... What was I...?” She blinked, frowned, and floated the books back to their respective holes in the shelves. “This is no time for side projects! I've got Heroes in Equestrian Literature to unpack.” She finished putting the books away, turned around, and instantly yelped upon the sight of me. “Eeep! Wow... uhm... h-hi there! Where did you come from, Miss...?”

“I apologize,” I said. I was already sliding my saddlebag on. “I didn't mean to startle you. I was just finishing with... with a project of mine.”

“I see. Well, I don't mean to sound rude or anything,” Twilight said with a sheepish smile, “But the library will be closing in about—” She glanced up at the clock and did a double-take. “Oh! It’s past seven! Uhm, we're closed! We've been closed for... goodness, about fifteen minutes now?”

“I see. Well, I'll be on my way.” I curtsied and made for the door. “So long, ma'am. I wish you a pleasant evening.”

“Hehehe... Same to you, miss.” As I trotted away, I heard her calling towards the far end of the hollow tree, “Spiiiiike? Where the hay are you? These parcels won't unpack themselves! We can have supper after we're done!”

Today, a few hours before writing this, I stood once again on the corner of Main Street in sunny, downtown Ponyville. I knew better than to play the entirety of “Threnody of Night” in public, so I only performed tiny snippets of it, so that I would learn them by heart when it came time to perform a true recital in private.

Many ponies stopped by, and a good few of them dropped bits into the metal can I had lying beneath me. I saw Dr. Whooves, Granny Smith, Carrot Top, and several more pleasant faces. However, I didn't lose concentration until one pony in particular showed up. Before she got too close, I stealthily nudged the box of bits with my rear left hoof, hiding it beyond view of a green bush behind me.

“My, what a heavenly tune!” Rarity said, her sapphire eyes bright and sparkling in the noonday sun as she stood before me with her saddlebag. “But dear, you look positively freezing! Tell me, are you ill?”

“I'm... uhm... I'm perfectly fine,” I said with a smile, not once losing the rhythm of my telekinetic string-strumming. “I'm not sick. I just tend to feel colder than the average pony. But I've got this wonderful hoodie and this lovely scarf, see?”

“It is a good thing too!” Rarity said, pacing around me. “I cannot stand to see a gifted musician such as yourself freeze to death! Good choice on the scarf, darling. It matches your eyes delightfully so.”

“That's what the pony who gave it to me said,” I remarked.

“Well, if you ask me, I think you deserve it. Your music really makes a stroll across this town of ours all the more beautiful. I daresay I'm tempted to hoof you some bits just to show you how appreciative I am.”

“Heheh...” I cleared my throat and struggled to maintain the melody. “Believe me, that's not necessary. I... I-I wouldn't even think of it,” I said, though my lungs were already deflating shamefully.

“Nonsense!” Rarity waved her hoof and said, “Haven't you heard, dear? Generosity is the lens of the heart! How else are we going to see how truly lucky we each are for being alive?” She tilted her head up. “But, if you insist, I will leave you be to your smashing instrumentation. Perhaps we can meet again?”

I found it easier to breathe. I looked up at her and smiled. “Yes. I'm sure we will.”

“Splendid. Ta-Ta, madame maestro! Heeheehee...” And she was gone.

An hour later, I was seated inside Sugarcube Corner, cradling a cup of tea in my hooves. I didn't take a single sip. All I did was stare into the tiny wisps of steam rising from the drink, unenthused at how cold it felt against the memory of my first gracious hug in months.

A jar full of bits rested on my table. After four consecutive days of performing in the center of Ponyville, I had once again accumulated enough money to buy the materials I needed for my little experiment. I now had the “Threnody of Night” down pat, but it wasn't just enough to perform the musical composition in full. I needed to purchase the right magical ingredients for in case something went wrong. After all, I had gone down that road before—and not even the world's entire supply of scarves or sweaters could have saved me from the coldness that I found lying beyond the final notes played by my lyre.

If I didn't keep working on this project of mine, then I might lose any opportunity I had of climbing out this accursed pit I was in. Why, then did I feel as though I was about to commit a sin with those bits? I've taken advantage of my “situation” before, procuring many things that I've not been entirely proud of even though the ends justified the means. But suddenly now, after how far I've come—after the hug—I wondered if I could really live with myself after I... find myself.

“Oh, wow! A lyre. Tell me, are you a musician?”

“Hmm?” I looked up. I admit it—I did a double-take. “Oh, uhm. Yeah. Something like that.”

Twilight Sparkle smiled at me from where she stood in the middle of the cafe. “I've always admired musicians, cuz so many of my unicorn friends went on to study music while I stayed in other fields at Canterlot. I wish I had taken time to understand music theory. It's both fascinating and beautiful.”

I exhaled softly. “It's remarkable how so much in life can be those two things at once, isn't it?”

“Oh! Uhm... I'm sorry. Listen to me going on and on and on,” Twilight muttered, rolling her eyes above a goofy grin. “Ahem. I'm Twilight Sparkle. I'm in charge of the Ponyville Library in the east district.”

“You're also the apprentice to Princess Celestia and the living Element of Magic responsible for banishing the tainted essence of Nightmare Moon.”

“Oh...” Twilight smiled sheepishly, her lavender ears drooping. “So you've heard about all of that stuff too, huh?”

“Is it so hard to believe?” I took a sip of the tea finally. Perhaps it wasn't so cold after all. “Some of us do more to be remembered than others. I play music—you save all of Equestria.” I lifted the teacup in “cheers” and smiled. “Somewhere, you and I will meet. Hmmm?”

She blinked steadily at me, then giggled. “Eheheh... Yeah. To each their own, right?”

“Most practical rule in my book.”

“Well, you should come by the library sometime. I'd be more than happy to show you all the volumes we have on music theory. I've got at least twelve books written on ancient Equestrian lyres alone. I bet you'd eat them right up.”

“Heeheehee...” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I already had. Twice. “If the need ever comes up, Miss Sparkle, I just may take you up on that offer.”

“I hope you do,” Twilight said with a soft smile. “We each have our own talents. Sharing them is... is like a way to get to know each other better. And what better way to not feel alone in this world than to do what we do best and share it with other ponies? That's the essential key to harmony, at least I think so.”

I listened to her, and instinctively my eyes fell upon the jar of golden bits. It suddenly became clear to me. “I believe it was a wise pony who once said that 'Generosity is the lens of the heart. How else are we going to see how truly lucky we each are for being alive?'”

“Hmmm... Whoever said that sounds really eloquent.”

I nodded. “Fabulously so.”

“Well, enjoy your tea. I'm off to go meet my friends. So long.” Twilight Sparkle waved and left. I turned towards the front of the the eatery, when suddenly I heard something. Tilting my head around, my ears pricked to capture a hauntingly familiar threnody. Twilight was humming the last few bars of the most recent elegy, and she had a smile on her face as did she so. I almost wondered if she understood it, but then I realized it wasn't important.

I breathed happily and snatched my things up, starting with the jar of golden bits. I knew suddenly what to do with my afternoon. My experiment could wait. What's one more week dropped into the well of nothingness?

That evening, a long slender package magically floated up to the front entrance to a Ponyvillean residence west of downtown. It brushed up against the doorbell. I struggled from afar to push with my telekinesis, and soon the package was ringing the door. After the gong had rhythmically begun and ended, I lowered the package and squatted behind a tree in the front yard.

After several seconds, the door opened. Derpy Hooves stared out, teetering, her googly eyes tired and bleary from a full afternoon of delivering parcels and letters all around Ponyville. She glanced left and right, and for a moment I was afraid she was going to miss the recent purchase I had made at the store before coming there.

Finally, one of her amber eyes rotated down—and she caught sight of the item. Her brow furrowed. She knelt down and nudged it, as if afraid that the box might come alive and jump out at her. The experienced mailmare fiddled with the package, looking all over for a tag or some sort of identification that might indicate the sender. On a whim, she gripped the edges of the box and flung it open. Immediately, her jaw dropped.

I watched quietly, biting my lip.

Derpy fell on her haunches. A shuddering breath left her as she removed a slender, golden flute from the box and cradled it in her gray hooves. Her eyes focused on the instrument—both of them—and soon they filled with tears. Stifling a whimper, Derpy smiled and scrambled up on all fours.

“Dinky! My little muffin!” She bolted back into the house. “Look! Look what Mommy found for you!” The door slowly creaked shut behind her, but not without letting the squeaks of a gleeful foal escape through its frame.

For the second time in days, I felt the warmth of Twilight Sparkle's hug, but I didn't need another pony to be there for it. I was alone, like always, and though I may have been several bits short of starting the next leg of my musical experiments, it was something I was willing to wait out.

Perhaps... just perhaps, the sweetest things that happen in life are the ones that history isn't there to record.

With a smile, I pulled the hood of my sweatjacket over my head, turned around, and trotted under the crimson kiss of the sunset. Ponyville didn't stop being gorgeous, not for one second.

Have you ever had a beautiful melody stuck in your head, but you don't know where it came from?

That melody is me.

II - Lunatic's Dream

Dear Journal,

What happens to us between sleeping and waking? Every night, when the moon rises, we march like sheep into that deep darkness, not knowing what truth mechanizes the spaces between our heartbeats during such long and noble silence. Are we really the same ponies when we wake up? Or is what rises with the morning merely a carbon copy of the thinking creature that had laid itself down the evening before? What a strange homunculus that thing must be, a golem crafted after the flimsy blueprint of a slumbering soul's final thoughts, that it is no wonder that all of our ambitions, aspirations, and hopes are only residually pursued until the bitter end.

What, then, should we call our dreams? Are they the manifestations of regret? Are they the substance of all our attachments thrown into a searing crucible of mortal fear? Do we dream because we know of loss, of all its colorlessness, across which our wills and desires shatter like eggshells dashed against a brick wall?

I used to believe in these things. I saw the fall of night like the mistress of death. Dreaming was a threadbare, skittering whisper—like the a flutter of gray wings or the curling legs of an overturned moth after a short and fruitless life of chasing the invisible purpose behind flame. When a pony is alone—and lucid—whilst cast before the great looming darkness of a world that forgets her, dreams serve nothing more than a dissonant overture to a symphony of screams.

It was with a very mad notion, then, that I once stumbled upon a miraculous epiphany: a dream is much like a song. Very often do ponies forget the title of the instrumental. On other occasions, ponies are even likely to forget the name of the composer. What is not lost between that impermeable gap of sleeping and waking is the tune, the indefinable voice that plays with our ears like a mother licks her newborn foal. And when we open our eyes to the golden glow of a new dawn, it is something more than our bodies that animates us, something that gives us the tempo to which our hearts can dance, something that makes us crawl out of our beds like a resurrected soul is blessed to climb out of a tomb.

Life is a very impossible thing, bleak and dark and dastardly at every turn. But something in the cold void of night—something as black if not blacker than death itself—slips a tune into our meaty hearts as a gardener plants a seed in inert soil. What grows from our dreams is a symphony, at times an orchestra that has no artist. And like that orchestra, we blossom against the nothingness, until our search—our growth—becomes life itself, becomes something impossible, like remembering the name of a musician that you were never introduced to, only to learn that it was yourself the whole time.

I do very much love to dream. Does that make me mad? I daresay, it makes me alive.

It was the eve of the Summer Sun Celebration. All across Ponyville, ponies gathered in happy little clusters, forming circles around brilliant bonfires that shone like amber plumes under the crimson kiss of a sunset. The air was filled with laughter, murmur, and music as the villagers prepared for the annual tradition of an entire night spent awake in the joyful sway of camaraderie. Princess Celestia was visiting Baltimare that year, but that didn't stop the Ponyvilleans from eagerly greeting the morning sunrise and giving thanks to their patron alicorn for bringing light to Equestria each day.

One soul, however, was anything but jubilant. The earth pony sat alone beside a bonfire, displaced from the thick of the crowd. There was a sullen shadow over his orange coat and earthen brown mane that night, and it matched the stallion's melancholic expression as he stared tiredly into the flames, his ears barely pricking to the music that wafted over his slumped shoulders. As the day slowly died around him—forming a purple roof to the village full of summer merriment—his eyes closed and he exhaled a cold sigh.

Just then, there was a cheerful voice echoing over the crackling, burning pyre before him. “Caramel! Hey there, dude! What's happening?!”

Caramel looked up with a start, then breathed easier. He bore a practiced grin, as sweet as his name and yet just as flimsy. “Hey there, Thunderlane... Blossomforth. What are you two up to?”

The pegasus couple shuffled up to the bonfire where Caramel was seated. “We were about to ask you the same thing, dude!” Thunderlane exclaimed. “The gang's all hanging out beside the town hall building.”

“Rumor has it that the mayor's godchild—a Wonderbolt—is visiting from Cloudsdale!” Blossomforth added with a grin, her freckles illuminated by the nearby tongues of flame. “Supposedly he's gonna do some air tricks for all of us before the fireworks start at moonrise!”

“Hmmm... Sounds pretty sweet,” Caramel said with a grin, albeit a grin that was already crumbling. “But, face it, guys. Your little clique of pegasi is awesome, but I always feel like a dead weight when I'm around you.”

“Nonsense!” Blossomforth's face grew long. “How could you say that, Caramel? We love it when you hang around.”

“Yeah, besides...” Thunderlane wagged his eyebrows. “Wind Whistler's gonna be there—”

“Shhh!” Blossomforth lightly slapped Thunderlane's chest with one of her milk-white wings. “Thunder! What did we talk about earlier...?”

“Jeez! Sorry! I was only trying to—!”

Caramel cleared his throat. He stared at the two and said, “You're both Souls of Solstice tonight, aren't you?”

The two pegasi glanced back at him, then smiled bashfully. Their cheeks turned matching shades of red as they dug at the ground with errant hooves.

“Yes, well...”

“So what if it's our second time in a row being Souls of Solstice?”

“There's just no other choice, really...”

“I know all of the ponies have been talking about us since Hearts and Hooves Day, but...”

“Egads... heeheehee... Is it really such a big deal?”

Caramel smiled softly at them, a very genuine thing. “I'm glad for you two. I'm sure every other pony is as well. I hope your Summer Sun Celebration is fantastic and memorable. As for myself... I really just want to sit here and relax. A lot of stuff has happened over the past year, and this has been my first opportunity to... to just think... y'know?”

“But it doesn't mean that you have to think alone, does it?” Blossomforth asked with a look of sympathy bathing her features. “This is a special night, Caramel. You have friends. In fact, Windy was just talking the other day about how she—oh... erm...” She bit her lip guiltily and glanced up at Thunderlane.

Thunderlane smiled, nuzzled her, and glanced one last time Caramel's way. “You sure you won't change your mind, bro?”

“Go on, Souls of Solstice,” Caramel spoke in a detached voice. He closed his eyes and once more relaxed to the musical chords that were softly serenading his lonesome ears into the crest of night. “Embrace the sunrise together. Don't worry about me.”

The two pegasi slowly, sadly left his side. Their hooves were distant shuffles amidst the bonfire's crackling embers. Once his friends were nothing but a memory, Caramel sighed. He opened his eyes and dug twin circles in the dirt between him and the flames, as if mapping out a solemn eternity for himself.

It was precisely then that the music died. “It's a lot like dreaming, isn't it?”

Caramel blinked awkwardly. He raised his head, glancing all around, until his gaze finally fell upon me. “Uhm... What's like dreaming?” he asked.

“Living,” I said. I stood a few meters behind him, my body leaning up against a wooden post. My lyre levitated in front of me as I reached two hooves up and lowered the stone-gray hoodie from over my horn. “Sunrise and sunset: our days pass by between sleeping and waking. It's like a constantly changing stage-play with the darkest curtains imaginable.” I smiled softly and began magically plucking the strings of the lyre. The instrument was leading the conversation; my words were merely a background chorus. “You look like an actor who's lost his motivation. Dare I ask why?”

“Look, thanks for your concern, but I’m really just here to relax with my thoughts, if you don’t mind,” he said. “You can, uhm. You can play your music though. It’s nice to listen to.”

“Hmmm... Very well then.” I smiled gently and resumed plucking my strings with soft magic. “Music it is.”

But as the melody resumed, Caramel was hardly at ease. He fidgeted, his limbs jolting with an jittery nature that rivaled the snapping embers of the burning pyre. Finally, he spoke up. “My friends just wouldn’t understand.”

“Hmm?” I uttered from where I was strumming. “What was that?”

“My friends. The pegasi who were here just now.”

“The ones who trotted off happily without you? Who can blame them? This should be a night of celebration, yes?”

“Well, yeah...”

“And is there a reason why you’re not celebrating with them?”

“Oh, it's nothing important,” Caramel said.

"Very well then. I’ll just be here with my music,” I uttered, barely hiding a smile.

His jaw tensed. After a flaring of his nostrils, Caramel muttered aloud, “I used to love this annual event. But this year, it’s not so easy.” He spoke to me, and yet I was a perfect stranger. Something in the worn edges of his face announced a desperate need to speak, or else I would have never bothered ushering the truth from him to begin with. “If nothing else, the Summer Sun Celebration reminds me that so much time has gone by...” He weathered a shuddering sigh, his blue eyes returning to the blazes before him. “...and so little good has come of it.”

“I see.” I nodded, filling the air with a somber melody that matched the pitch in his voice. “So, somepony has a hard time sleeping—much less dreaming.”

He smirked slightly, then squinted at me. “You're not from around here, are you?”

“I'm not about to spread any horrible rumors that your acquaintances would ever remember, if that's what you mean to ask.”

“Oh, it's not that,” he spoke, though the wavering in his voice put his honesty in question. “It's just that... it's the Summer Sun Celebration, and everypony should be home where they're happy.” He gulped and added, “They should be with the ones they love.”

“I am... a long way from home,” I said in a cold breath. It was all too quickly replaced with a warm smile as I plucked the lyre boldly, happily. “But the ones I love? Heeheehee. I wouldn't abandon them for an instant. Now, what about you, good sir?”

“I...” Caramel's face winced as if a horrible dagger was burrowing through him. “It's complicated.”

“What can be so complicated that it wrecks something as simple as finding another Soul of Solstice?” I remarked with a grin. I hummed briefly to accompany the notes of my lyre before speaking once more, “It's a tradition as old as time. When Princess Celestia first raised the Sun over Equestria, she discovered three pairs of ponies—the ancestors of unicorns, earth ponies, and pegasi—and she blessed these Souls of Solstice with the light they needed to begin a civilization of glory, honor, and love. To this day, everypony has a treasured soul that they cherish above all else. I'm sure you're no exception.”

“Hmmm... Yeah...” Caramel mumbled. “I suppose it's just that I'm afraid.”

“Aren't we all?”

“But it's no excuse!” he exclaimed, frowning, though the anger was hardly aimed at me. “Things have been so tough, lately. I can handle it all on my own. But Windy...” Caramel's frown dissolved to allow a grimace to cross his face. He sighed, slumping once more to the ground before the bonfire.

I hummed and strummed a few chords before glancing his way. “I assume you speak of this 'Wind Whistler' that your companions mentioned a moment ago.”

“Hmmph... She's a very special mare in my life,” Caramel said, his gaze melting in the flames. “You said that living is like dreaming, right? When Windy's around, it's always a good dream, and I never want to wake up. She's so kind, so cheerful, so honest and smart. She takes me apart with her laughter, as if I was made of matchsticks, and only the sound of her voice can put me back together again.”

“Heeheehee...” I giggled and paused in strumming my lyre. “Methinks I picked William Flankspeare's bonfire this year.”

He smirked and glanced at me through the corner of his eyes. “Wind Whistler herself has said that I sound like a poet. Though, when I'm around her, I feel like there are marbles in my mouth. I just can never say the right thing.”

“Words seldom work when we want them to,” I said. Righteously, I resumed strumming the lyre, filling the spaces between my breath with harmony. “So why isn't Wind Whistler here with you? I'd pay a hundred bits to see marbles spill out of a grown stallion's mouth.”

“I'd ask her to be Souls of Solstice with me in a hearbeat. But...”

“But what?”

“It wouldn't be right,” he said defeatedly.

“Oh?”

Caramel gulped. After a collapsing breath, he finally let it all out. “Life on my family's farm has hit rock bottom. Our celery stalks are dying, and we can't produce the crops to meet this year's coming harvest. My mother and father have resorted to selling livestock, but even that isn't helping us where we need it to. I've taken on two separate jobs in town just to provide the support that I can, but I fear that it's already too late. My family's gotten in contact with some distant relatives in Whinniepeg. We're seriously thinking about moving out of town before Hearth's Warming, ditching the farm—selling it and everything. I suppose I could stay in Ponyville, but what kind of a life would that be? In a best case scenario, I'd be living out of an apartment, barely finding time to sleep between two—maybe even three jobs.”

“It most definitely sounds like a case of hard luck,” I said with a sagely nod. “Though, I must be forward and ask—just what does this have to do with the fact that you're not spending time with Wind Whistler at the moment?”

“We've been getting closer and closer for the better part of a year,” Caramel said. “She knows only so little about all of the horrible stuff that I've been going through. Things in my life are about to get crazier, and... and...” He clenched his eyes shut and shuddered briefly. “She's so happy and full of life. She doesn't need to be weighed down by a lousy earth pony like me. She doesn't need my troubles clouding her blue skies. I... I love her. I really do, and that's why I gotta let her go...”

I hit a heavy note. Its reverberations danced sharply between us as I cast a curious glance his way. “Oh really?”

“If I ask her to be my Soul of Solstice, it'd only be giving the wrong message,” he muttered. “It's the Summer Sun Celebration, the mark of a new year—for me, at least. It's time I committed myself to what I need to do for my future... and for her future as well.” He gazed woefully into the flames, as if the happier colors of his life were being tossed into the consuming fire. “It's time that I just... gave up... gave Windy up. It's all for the best.”

“Hmmm...” I nodded. “It's always for the best when we let a dream die before it finishes itself,” I said in a droning voice. “After all, when the dream gets us to where we want to be, then there's no point in dreaming any longer, is there?”

Caramel blinked. He glanced up at me with a scrunched face. “Huh?”

I giggled. “Heeheehee... Doesn't make much sense to you either, does it?” I resumed strumming, this time tossing a cheerful rhythm his way. “Tell me, have you ever heard the Tale of the Mad Pony?”

“Uhmm...” Caramel scratched his own head in confusion, then ultimately smirked at me. “What? You fancy yourself a bard?”

“I've been sillier things before. Would you like to hear it?”

“What, the tale?” He gulped and turned once more towards the flames. “I dunno. Is it long?”

I glanced up at the western horizon. There was still a sliver of crimson across the edge of the world. The moon was nowhere to be seen. “It's short enough, as are all good things in this precious world. If you would prefer, I'll say nothing and let my lyre do the talking. It makes very little difference either way—”

“Eh, I'm good. I'm not really going anywhere.” He sighed and stared off at the distant bonfires where other ponies were currently engaged in crowded conversations, and all of them laced with the cheerfulness he was sorely lacking. “Besides, I could use a good story. Life's been a dull novel as of late.”

I smiled. The best audience is an innocent audience. The challenge is in keeping that audience innocent through to the end of the story. Without a moment's hesitation, I raised the lyre high above my head and let the ensuing notes soar majestically above the reach of the bonfire's flame.

“The Tale of the Mad Pony starts in a town—much like this one—and during a Summer Sun Celebration—just as jubilant and fancy as the one we're about to enjoy now...

“The villagers of this town were full of ecstasy and joy. You see, the eve of the Summer Sunrise was a lot longer and immeasurably darker than most that year, so that when the Princess finally raised the dawn, it was all the more bright and invigorating. Everypony danced and sang in the streets with glee—all except for one pony, an equine from out-of-town who discovered that she had very little to be happy about. As a matter of fact, she would soon learn that she had every reason to be mad.

“It started very subtly at first. Ponies would look at her twice, each time with the same expression. Then ponies would wave at her more than once, as if greeting her over and over again. Then there were citizens that she absolutely knew she had come into contact with before, only they treated her as though she was as much a stranger as she was when she first arrived in town days before.

“'I don't get it. Haven't we talked before?' she would ask them. 'Weren't you there to treat me when I woke up in the hospital from a concussion? And you—weren't you two the ones who found me unconscious in the shadow of the town hall building just this morning?'

“The ponies merely gave her blank gazes, shook their heads, and carried on with their vibrant celebration. The entire town was in the throes of Summer Sun festivities, and there the one pony was, standing all by herself, coming to terms with the fact that she was not only alone in her predicament, but she was cursed.

“Of course she was cursed. What else would you call her sudden situation? She began shoving her face into the gaze of every pony she could find, her rapid breath reaching a fever pitch as she asked, begged, demanded that someone remember her. With each attempt, the villagers only grew more and more oblivious to her desperation. It was as though every single thing she said, shouted, or sobbed was immediately thrown into a deep well of forgetfulness. It's one thing to be ostracized, banished, even executed. It's a horrible thing to be ignored, to have one's worth and mettle treated like dust long before one's fate in a grave.

“'Why are you all doing this?!' she began to shriek, to scream. 'Is this some kind of cruel joke?! Somepony! Anypony! Please, pay attention to me!'

“But her pleas fell on deaf ears. No matter how startled or shocked a villager was, he or she would only forget about her moments later. She began to wonder if she was dreaming, for only a nightmare could be painted with such heartless colors. In desperation, the pony resorted to drama befitting an absurd stage-play, and began kicking her hooves all about, knocking down effigies of the Princess and shattering market vendors full of celestial trinkets.

“When even these feats of hysteria weren't enough to faze her fellow equines, she went against her better nature—against her last bulwark of decency—and tossed a Summer Sun torch into a nearby flower garden, setting ablaze the front of the town's court building. Immediately, the festival ceased as every villager within view of the smoldering chaos ran to grab buckets of water and stop the inferno. The pony merely stood there within the glow of her conflagration, boasting loudly about her horrible act of arson. And, sure enough, a pair of police stallions hoisted her towards the jail on the far end of town.

“The pony couldn't possibly have been happier. She greeted the officers with tears of joy, practically hugging them any chance she got, happily allowing them to cart her off to a barred cell—if only it meant that she did indeed exist somewhere, somehow. Imagine her dismay when by the time they dragged her to the station, they stopped dead in their tracks, blinking dizzily as if coming out of a sleeping spell. They apologized profusely to the pony for the trouble and set her free, so that she stumbled numbly through the streets, trying to imagine if what had just transpired was indeed real or a bitter hallucination.

“And then she returned to the town's court building and almost fainted. Not only were all of the flames put out and the damage repaired, but everypony was once again celebrating—oblivious to the return of the violent firestarter—as if not a single atrocity had been committed that day. The pony soon realized that she could be either a saint or a sinner, and yet neither side of the moral compass mattered at all. She was just as important as the shadows of her own breath, and even those were becoming threadbare things.

“That wasn't what made her mad. No, the final gossamer strand to her sanity had yet to be snapped. She trudged through town—her heart as heavy as her hooves—as she made for the village library. It was there that she'd find a pony whom she knew—beyond the shadow of a doubt—would remember her from their mutual childhood. It was the one soul who had brought her to the village for the Summer Sun Celebration to begin with, and surely she would break the dark cloud forming around her accursed life. As soon as she knocked on the door and her friend's bright face appeared, the pony immediately gasped for joy. But that rapturous exhalation would be her last, for the pony saw on her friend's face the same blank expression of confusion that had swarmed across the whole of town.

“Losing the love of a friend is like a death that has no funeral. Entire galaxies have dissolved over the eons and even they are worthless things. No living thing should face a reality like that, to be an island with no sea—only the perpetual blackness of apathy, encompassing. Ponies aren't born to be alone. It's just not in our blood. We attract to one another. We are cohesive: like water. The void of the universe exists only because we are here in the center to point in all directions away from ourselves and label that which is missing, that which is more cold and frightening than a winter's night, that which hungers for us because it can never understand—as we understand—what it means to be warm, to be happy, to be together.

“The mad pony's hope died that day, but she soon realized that it wouldn't be her only death. Her nightmare was a thick black prison layered with multiple fatalities. She died every time she so much as talked to a pony, looked at a pony, or shared the same atmosphere as them. It was horrible enough to be forgotten—but to be ignored over and over again by the same souls with no cessation in sight? She lurched through the streets like the corpse she suddenly realized she would forever be, woefully stretching the lengths of her mind in want of a solution to a horrible dream that she kept waking up from, and yet would never end.

“How do you wake from an endless dream? It was no longer a matter of living or not living. She had to assault the dream—that damnable masquerade of misery—and then the pain and loneliness would stop. What lay beyond the last breath of slumber may have been blacker than black, but the pony suddenly realized that oblivion was harmless to a soul no longer possessed with the ability to see.

“The day was coming to an end, and the Celebration had come and gone. All of the festive decorations had been removed from the center of town. It was late in the evening; citizens were getting ready to sleep. She was getting ready to sleep too.

“Then, all of the sudden, one of two earth ponies glanced up from where they were bundling equipment and saw the mad pony standing on the fourth story ledge of town hall. He immediately gasped, his sapphire eyes full of shock and horror, the same look that she had tried so hard all day to summon. Only, now it was too late. Regardless, he waved a hoof at her while shouting towards his comrade.

“'Oh dear Celestia! Quick, go fetch a pegasus—anypony that can fly!' As his buddy galloped off in a desperate breath, he trotted boldly to the edge of the building and peered up at her. 'Ma'am, I don't know what you're going through and I can't pretend to, but please—this can't possibly be the answer. There's got to be another way!'

“But the mad pony was past reasoning with. If her tears weren't evidence enough, then perhaps her disheveled mane and muddied coat spoke volumes to the shocked stallion below. 'Just stop! Just stop talking!' she shrieked. 'Your words are meaningless! They mean nothing! Soon you won't even remember me! I'm as good as dead—I should be dead already!'

“'No! Don't say that! Nopony deserves to die needlessly!' The stallion reached a hoof towards her from afar. 'I promise that we won't forget you! Just walk away from the ledge and let us talk to you!'

“'There's nothing you can promise me that won't get swallowed in time!' she said, hiccuping, struggling to maintain her breaths. Her soul teetered upon the brink and threatened to pull her body along with it. Ponies who fall in their dreams were never known to hit the ground. She was more than ready to test that theory. 'This village means nothing to me! It's a prison! Nothing more! Nothing!'

“'Look...' the earth pony below raised both of his front hooves and spoke calmly, soothingly, though his shivers briefly matched hers. 'Even if everything is as horrible and bad as you believe it to be, this isn't going to solve it! This isn't going to make anything better! You need to have faith and step away from the edge! Don't allow yourself to go before your time!'

“Finally, the mad pony had had enough. 'Why?!' she spat down at him, furious. 'Why shouldn't I just jump?! Why shouldn't I just end the nightmare once and for all?!'

“He looked up at her, but it was a different stallion somehow, or so she noticed him for the first time—as so many of the villagers had noticed her for the first time, only to forget. But this time, there would be no forgetting, and she realized it was because she was the means of that memory, a power that she always had, but was only then echoing across the cave of her punishing situation. Perhaps it was the drooping of his ears, or the soft shape of his lips, or the glossing over of his sapphire eyes that conveyed the meaning in his words to her. Whatever the case, a part of the mad pony that she thought had disappeared with her sanity suddenly bore the brunt of his message, like a little foal being woken up by a soft melody tickling the inside of her ears, and embracing the golden dawn with a chorus as old as time:

Because you are so special, so precious, and this world would be a lot less worth enjoying if you chose to leave it.

“The mad pony was silent. She stared down at the stallion. He was a perfect stranger. He didn't know her, and in a matter of minutes he never would again, and yet that didn't stop him from appealing to the deepest part of her, the part of her that was still warm, for he had reminded her that it was still there. In mere seconds, he could very well have made her... or remade her, for the very simple fact that he could, and wanted to. He was the one who was precious, for he didn't know that in a matter of time he would be gone, a mere shadow burned against the walls of the mad pony's beleaguered mind.

“And it was then that she realized how selfish she had been in her anguish and despair. She was not the one dying multiple times, over and over again. These ponies—these beautiful villagers were the ones dying repeatedly. They were nothing more than amnesiac shades of their past hosts, paper facades of souls that had once graced the earth with the right to bear every thought that crossed their mind into righteous permanence, but couldn't because the mad pony was there to bring their dreams to an end.

“The entire village was dying, with ponies falling left and right into oblivion, for she—a cursed pony—had the blatant audacity to gallop across their lives and impart her pestilence upon them. And there were so many of them, countless ponies who briefly laughed and smiled at her, far too many to dig graves for, only to sing songs of—like the vibrating tune coming to life in the back of her head, a chorus that repeated itself louder and louder with each hearbeat, for hers was beating for the stallion's, for his priceless words that would soon rocket their way into oblivion far faster than she could ever jump her pitiful self. All of these ponies' faces were snapshots, joyous and beautiful until the end of time, like she had every ability to be, if only she was courageous, if only she was mad—mad for the sake of making a life out of a nightmare and discovering the secret colors hidden within.

“Before this epiphany finished illuminating her more than any sunrise ever could, a cold chill ran across her body, and she knew that something that was briefly there was lost forever, because the stallion was already starting to blink dazedly like a waking infant in his crib. But as the stallion's dream ended, and his tears disappeared, they rediscovered themselves in her eyes. She smiled for the first time in days, and stepped away from the edge of the buildingside.”

My lyre lamented the end of the day. Though it had a sad sound to it, it was laced with happiness, as my gentle smile was. I stood across from Caramel, finishing the story under the purple blanket-spread of falling night.

“The mad pony's curse did not end that day. As a matter of fact, it was only the beginning. But with it was born something else, a deep and sincere warmth that would carry her through the frigid months to come. Her madness would be her drive. It'd give her the bravery and persistence she needed to live the life of a lunatic's dream, singing songs to those who would forget the face of the performer with the meager hope that they'd find meaning in the performance. For, you see, a memory is only a shadow once it's been lived, once it's been drained of all its flavor. However, it is music that can carry the sincere vibrations of one's heartrstrings, like a tune that wakes us from our darkest dreams, or a timeless carol that pierces all of history's legacies of death and loss. The stallion taught this to the mad pony. In one simple breath, he showed her that no matter how bleak her curse was, she still had the power—and the duty—to seize the moment and live. Life is the only dream that we can control, and it only ends once we've searched every dark corner of it for color and transformed it into song.”

My music ended, and the sudden void pulled the breath sharply out of Caramel's lungs. He gazed softly at me, blind to the bonfire flickering beside us, as though it was a far duller beacon than what I was shining upon him right then and there.

“That's a beautiful tale,” he murmured. “It's sad. And yet... yet...”

“You cannot have sadness without felicity,” I said softly, my grin as fragile as my next few words. “We are here now—happy and healthy and delightful. But, like a memory, even this too will fade away, and I’ll then share songs with a void.. Loss and love have their places in this world. We can accept them with despair or with delight. I choose the latter, because it at least makes loss something that is quiet and serene, for I'll have known that I enjoyed the warm currents of my existence with grace and dignity. Our days on this earth can too easily become an asylum, built by our fears and patrolled by our regrets. We have it within ourselves to stop worrying about the towers of security we can build for ourselves in the future and simply enjoy the sizzling bonfires erected before us now. And—heeheehee—I assure you, it's not something that is even remotely cherished on our lonesome.”

Caramel gulped, and his blue eyes glossed over. “Wind Whistler loves me, and I only want to love her back. But how can I love her if I have nothing to give her?”

“You can give yourself,” I said, strumming the lyre so that the melody of the tale could reach his ears once again. “You can give yourself and live—live with her—so that the two of you can be more than just memories, and you can embrace the sunrise together, no matter how bleak the next day may seem, because you can afford to be so much, and because this world would be so much less enjoyable if you gave up something so precious.”

He smiled painfully. Something bright lit up the edges of his eyes. I could recognize that bright, pale orb in my sleep, and I knew that I had been doing just that for a solid year. I struggled through a sudden shiver to stare at Caramel's face as he said, “Did this mad pony ever find an end to her curse?”

I gulped. “No. No, she never did,” I spoke. “But she couldn't deny the fact that it gave her opportunities that no other pony could enjoy, opportunities to sing songs of things that even she realized she that had forgotten herself. Still...” I took a deep breath, gazing briefly into the fire. “She would give up all of that intuition and knowledge—even for a single day—if she could just find the stallion who had changed her life...” I slowly tilted my face up and gazed deeply into his sapphire eyes, my voice blanketed by a curtain of vapors separating us like the corners of the earth. “And tell him how thankful she is. She'd tell the stallion that she'd never stop dreaming; she would always remember him.”

Sparks crackled and died in the bonfire, like a brief color that had twinkled in Caramel's eyes. He blinked, realizing that night had fallen, and he was alone. A horrible shiver ran through his body. Everywhere he looked, thicker and thicker shadows were encompassing his vision. So he stopped paying attention to his sight and trusted on his hearing instead. A beautiful tune tugged at his ears, like a morning sunrise lifting a waking foal out of bed. He turned and saw a bonfire several meters away, surrounded by laughing and celebrating pegasi. Caramel literally jumped up to his hooves and galloped there like a pony possessed.

A mare with sky-blue wings and a blonde mane was in the middle of chatting with a friend beside a burning pile of wood. Her giggling voice had the sound of bells. Caramel nearly fainted at the melodic tones as he struggled to stand upright behind her. Bravely, he cleared his throat and murmured, “Windy?”

Wind Whistler turned around. At the sight of him, her wings fluttered and her brown eyes lit up. “Caramel! I...” She lingered breathlessly, gulped, then managed, “I thought you told me that you weren't celebrating this year...”

“I know what I said. But I was just...” He began, but his words trailed off uselessly. He stood upon the precipice of confusion, his eyes gazing into the fire as if searching for the reason to why he had trotted over to her. Slowly, his ears twitched, for he once more heard a timeless melody, and it softly pulled at the corners of his lips. “I was listening to music. Very sweet, beautiful music,” he said, grinning, then pivoting his gaze to drink in the image of her once more. “But it wasn't enough, because you weren't there to listen to it with me.”

Wind Whistler's feathers twitched on end, and her golden tail curled in twice on itself as she smiled warmly up at him. “Oh sweety...” Her smile was as fragile as the sudden dam to her eyes. Her closest friends shuffled quietly away, giving her and Caramel enormous space—as if some ballroom dance was about to take place. “I missed you too.”

“Windy, I was... erm...” Caramel bit his lip, his shivers returning as he was suddenly unworthy of her heavenly gaze. “I was wondering if... That is, if you aren't doing anything special this Celebration—”

“Yes, Caramel.” She smiled wide, her teeth glinting like the moon above. “I would be happy to be Souls of Solstice with you.”

Caramel blinked. He glanced across the bonfire to see the grinning and winking expressions of Thunderlane and Blossomforth. With a wry smirk, he squatted down beside Wind Whistler. “And just how did you know I was about to ask you that?”

“Mmmm...” She leaned in, nuzzled him, and purred deliciously into his ear, “Prove me wrong.”

He exhaled sharply and nuzzled her back. His voice sounded like a little colt's. “Never.” He sniffled briefly.

Wind Whistler gazed into his eyes with worry. “Caramel? Is... Is everything alright?”

His moist eyes glistened from the nearby flame. The sadness was canceled out by a warm smile as he spoke to her, “I'm just so happy to be alive, alive with you. You're like a good dream that never ends, Windy. I'm sorry if I've not said that enough.”

She smiled back at him. “Well, you're saying it now, aren't you?”

The two of them giggled and leaned against each other, basking in the Celebration's warmth. I stood just beyond the dancing amber gleam of the bonfire, playing my lyre in the spot where I had trotted to after the moon sliced its way between Caramel and I.

Even now, I can't remember how much time had passed until the music stopped. As soon as I realized there was no more melody, I glanced down and realized I had been hugging my instrument to my chest. A sigh escaped my lips, sad and delightful at the same time. An instrument is only the start of a melody. It takes listeners to truly finish a composition to its end, even when there isn't an end.

The tranquility of the moment was interrupted by enormous thunder. Caramel, Wind Whistler, and the rest looked up and cheered as the first of the night's plentiful fireworks lit up the purple haze of the world. Ponyville had become a strobing sensation of amber flame and rainbow explosions. Ponies danced in the streets—fillies, colts, mares, and stallions alike—souls of solstice who mutually promised with their jubilant cheer to stay awake through to the next morning, when it was up to their patron Princess to bring forth a literal glow to the world that mirrored the prancing joy in their heart.

They were so busy with their festivities that hardly a villager noticed one pony marching through the heart of the event, a pony who was not lit up by the bonfires, a pony to whom the fireworks gave no shadow.

I paused halfway through trotting out of the center of town, looking over my shoulder. For a moment there I saw—or thought I saw—a trail of my own hoofprints disappearing behind me in the bright moonlight, at a hauntingly even pace. Upon such a dreamlike sight, I did what only a mad pony would do.

I smiled.

If all I care about in life is the imprints I make in this world, then the most I'll ever leave is a grave.

III - Foundations

Dear Journal,

What makes a pony? Is it her dreams? Her thoughts and her ambitions? What she hopes to accomplish before she dies? Is it her fears and her worries, the many things that she dreads in life?

When I lived in Canterlot—when I was around my family—I knew exactly what my future was going to be. I knew the type of a career I was going to pursue. I knew the kind of stallion I was going to marry. I even knew the type of foals I wished to have. If someone had asked me then “what makes a pony,” I would have answered with “the sum of all my talents.”

That was an easy thing to believe while I had a home. When I arrived in Ponyville—when I was thrown through the frigid veil of endless night—it was as though a trial by fire had robbed me, had burned me of all the things that I had long taken for granted.

I don't think anypony can be prepared for becoming homeless, for what it means to be worth the sum of all one's talents and not a single one of them granting her food, bed, or a hug to safely surrender to. No amount of years of musical composition or philosophy could have prepared me for the nights I spent searching for food in the streets or a place to sleep in the shells of abandoned buildings. There were times when I could have given into dread. A sane pony would have had no choice but to give in.

But, as I soon realized, nopony could be any more prepared for becoming so blessed—as I would be blessed. If it's the home that makes a pony, then I'm built out of the grit of those far stronger and more generous than I. There are many souls in Ponyville who will never get to hear the songs I make for them. But that's hardly the tragedy I once believed it to be, for the building blocks of my chorus already exists in their hearts and throats. I know this, for they've been so gracious as to share such foundations with me.

My shivers stopped as soon as I heard her. It had to have been her; I knew no other pony who took that dirt path between my house and her farm. Under the roar of a summer's rainy downpour, I heard her scuffling hooves against the wooden stoop of my cabin's patio.

I looked up from where I sat with a pen and paper, finishing the final touches to a written composition of “Threnody of Night.” Before me, the flames of the brick-laid fireplace had dwindled to a dim glow. I was so engrossed in work that the invisible winds of cold were barely bothering me. The rain continued to pound against the wooden rooftop shingles, and still I heard her lingering just outside. I was more curious than concerned. Adjusting the sleeves of my hoodie, I stood up, trotted across the cabin, and swiftly opened the front door.

Applejack jumped and spun to face the entrance, gasping. I wasn't used to seeing her startled... much less soaking wet. The poor mare stood on my porch, drenched from head to tail. Blond bangs framed a freckled face beset with shivers as she blushed a shade of red embarrassment.

“Greetings,” I said with a placid smile, keeping the door ajar with glittering magic. “Kind of a lousy day for a walk, isn't it?”

“Oh. Pardon me,” Applejack muttered and fidgeted. The world was a thick curtain of veritable waterfalls beyond her. The dirt path snaking past the cabin had long morphed into a dark brown river of mud, and the bright light of the afternoon refracted a ghostly gray sheen across the forest stretching beyond. “Uhm... Shucks, this looks really, really bad, I reckon.” She chuckled sheepishly. I spotted a basket bundled with soaked towels beneath her, as if she was using the last vestiges of her own dry flesh to keep the package from being soiled any further. “I only meant to take a breather from this dag blame'd flood. I swear, pegasi don't give us as much solid warnings like they used to.”

I shrugged. “It came as a surprise to me as well. Normally, I'm always out and about. Today, though, I just happened to be indoors, working on something.” I smiled pleasantly. “Speaking of indoors, you look as though you need a change of scenery.”

“Oh, ma'am, think nothin' of it!” Applejack shook her head and pointed out at the offending monsoon. “I'm sure it'll clear up... erm... eventually. Don't you fret none. I'll be out of your mane soon. It was never my intention to impose—”

“Now what kind of a pony would I be to leave a soul like you drowning out here in the rain?” I trotted backwards a few steps and motioned towards the inside of my cabin. “March inside. I've got a fireplace in here. Let's get you warmed up.”

“Uhm...” Applejack bit her lip. She gazed at me, at the rain, at her basket, and at me again. “You absolutely sure I ain't bein' a bother?”

I grinned slyly. “Get your sopping wet tail in here before I change my mind!”

“Well, alright...” She shuddered before humbly shuffling into the cabin with the basket in tow. “Whew. Y'know, I don't rightly remember this place, which is odd—considerin' I walk this path so often. Didn't there used to be an abandoned barn around these here parts?”

“There could have been,” I said with a smile, closing the door behind her so that we were both sealed off from the chilling moisture outside. “I'm rather new to town, relatively speaking.”

“Well, howdy-do and welcome to the neighborhood,” Applejack said. I slid a bucket towards her. Taking a hint, she placed her hat down on the floor and began wringing her long blond threads over the metal container. “I swear, though, this cabin must have sprouted up overnight.”

“Mmmm... Not exactly,” I said. I marched over towards the fireplace and levitated three fresh logs out of a metal stand to the side. “But I don't blame you for not noticing it.” I dropped the new planks of wood at the base of the chimney and stoked the flame. Soon a brilliant glow was once again spreading through the cabin, this time heating up more than just myself. “I'm not... exactly the kind of pony who attracts attention easily. It's only fitting my house carries the same habit.”

“I noticed the apple trees you've got planted between here and that shed you've got outback,” she said. She paused, rolled her eyes, and smirked to herself. “Heh. Of course I noticed the apple trees.”

“No crime in that.”

“I noticed that they're grafted. Did ya plant them yerself?”

“Mmmm...” I trotted across the cabin, past my bed, and opened a wooden cabinet full of fresh towels. “Yes. But I had some help.”

“I've got an orchard full of hundreds more like them just up the road.”

“So we're neighbors!” I grinned at her.

“Heh. Reckon we are. Now I feel bad for not sayin' 'howdy' sooner. How's that for rotten hospitality?” Her voice trailed off as she gazed up towards the walls of the place. “Huh... Now will ya take a look at that?”

“Hmmm?” I trotted back towards her. I trailed her eyesight, observing the numerous musical instruments lining the wall. The two of us were surrounded by a rather familiar assortment of flutes, guitars, harps, chimes, violins, cellos, and clarinets—all hanging from metal fasteners across the interior of the small, fire-lit cabin. “Oh. Heh... I'm a musician,” I hummed, as if that could succinctly explain the undeniable forest of orchestral tools surrounding us. “There's one good reason why I'm not living in the center of town. With all the racket I'm bound to make, the most 'hospitality' I'd get would be a swift kick to the flank.”

“What? You compose tunes or somethin'?”

“I search for them.”

“I...” Applejack stopped wringing her mane dry and bit her lip. “I-I reckon I don't get it.”

“Neither do I.” I smiled and handed the towel to her. “Until I find what I'm looking for, that is. And then it's another mystery.” She took the towel and I marched once again toward the fireplace, stoking the flame some more. “The name's Lyra, by the way. Lyra Heartstrings.”

“Applejack,” she introduced herself like it was the first time.

It's always the “first time,” and I can't help but feel charmed on each and every occasion. There's a melodic tone to a pony's voice when she thinks she's never spoken to you before, and Applejack's twang is something that violins can only dream of. I look forward to the day when I get to hear it again. My life's a symphony that way.

“And I swear I wasn't fixin' to burden anypony,” she continued. “I would have made it home safe and sound had the rainstorm started just a sneeze later.”

“Why the cross-town trek, if I may ask?”

“Cuz of this.” Applejack draped the towel over her neck and began stripping the basket of its soaked wrapping. “Oh dear Celestia, please don't be ruined—Whew!” She exhaled with relief as she pulled a tiny alicorn doll out into the amber light of the fireplace. The toy was dry—about the driest thing in the cabin, and she nuzzled it like it was her own infant. “I would have plum tossed myself off a cliff if somethin' bad came to this.”

“Well, your secret's safe with me, Miss Applejack,” I said with a goofy wink.

“Huh?” She blinked up at me, then frowned. “Oh hush! T'ain't nothin' like that!” She cleared her throat and placed the doll back into the basket. “It belongs to my 'lil sister, Apple Bloom. Her Ma gave it to her, just before she and Pa tragically passed away. May they rest in peace.” She squatted down and exhaled, reveling in the warmth from the fireplace as she continued speaking, “Apple Bloom's having a bout of the pony pox right now. It always happens to us Apple family ponies at her age. My experience was anythang but a bed of roses, so I wanted to make it easier for her. I went into town and had her doll patched up and freshly cleaned, but on the way back... well...” She motioned towards the walls of the cabin, still echoing with the deluge of rain pounding from the outside world. “I almost had a heart attack. I couldn't allow Apple Bloom's doll to get ruined. Maybe now you can understand why I stole your patio like I did.”

“You didn't steal anything, Applejack,” I said calmly. “I completely understand. But, if you ask me, the doll is the least you should be worried about. Here...” I reached towards my cot and pulled free a woolen blanket. “No need to have two members of the Apple family coming down with something nasty.”

“Oh please, Miss Heartstrings. I can't—”

“Shhh.” I draped the blanket over Applejack and shoved her closer to the fireplace. “You can. Just relax. You've been through a rain-soaked nightmare; it's the least I can do.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and soon she was nestled comfortably before the flames as her body dried in the toasty aura. “Hmmmm... I reckon this feels mighty nice.”

I smiled. “I would think as much.”

“Kind of reminds me of the fireplace we've got back at the farm,” she said, tightening the folds of the blanket around herself. Her green eyes danced with the crackling embers. “My Pa built it. He once told me that he went by the same unwritten blueprints that his father and his father's father before him used when the Apple family first settled in this part of Equestria. Can you imagine it? So many homes, and all of them usin' the same thang.”

“It just goes to show...” I squatted down across from Applejack and gazed softly at her. “...you can get away with amazing things, so long as you have a good foundation.”

Twelve months ago, I was a sobbing mess. I laid on my side in the shadowy corner of a barn on the edge of town, curling in towards myself and covering my face with a quivering pair of hooves. The only thing more potent than the pangs of grief blistering through me was an immense cold, something that chilled me to the bone. For days, the frigidity had been my nemesis, a cryptic sensation that haunted and horrified me through the streets of Ponyville. At that time, however—hidden in the dust and hay of the abandoned barn—I welcomed the freezing sensation, for the shivers it gave me nearly shook my tears loose, making me think that none of what I was going through was actually happening.

Through hiccuping breaths, I smelled the rustic surroundings around me. I felt one with the detritus, a lost and forgotten piece of history. My saddlebag full of meager belongings had been tossed in the corner upon my stumbling arrival, and in the sparse beams of sunlight needling through the barn's porous ceiling beams I could barely tell the difference between my lyre and the random bits of farm junk surrounding it.

Another sob, another shiver: I heard my voice squeaking free from my chapped lips, and it sounded like a perfect stranger. Oh, if only I could forget myself as well, I thought. My life would have been a great deal more manageable if I could no longer remember the sensations still hounding me, of a raving pony wreaking havoc across town, of Twilight Sparkle's face looking through me as though I were invisible, and of the great height that had stretched beneath me as I stood on the town hall building's rooftop and teetered on the brink...

I whimpered and buried my face in my hooves. I felt like a little foal. I had tried fleeing from this place, running eastward. If I could have galloped all the way home to Canterlot, I would. But no less than half a mile from the edge of Ponyville, a horrible wall of cold assaulted me, to the point that I started losing the feeling in my limbs. I rushed back to the center of town, collected my nerves, and tried trotting west instead. After the same distance traveled, an invisible blizzard struck my body, and I had to return to the heart of my sudden prison.

There was no sense in asking anypony for help. As a matter of fact, I didn't want to even look at them. The residents of Ponyville were cheerful. They had every reason and right to be, and I didn't hate them for it. I hated myself. Stumbling across their paths—being subjected to their rosy expressions—served only to remind me of how cold, hungry, and scared I was. So I did what all three of those factors persuaded me to: I hid.

I ran to the west edge of town—where the cold was bearable enough to endure but grating enough to keep me awake—and I threw myself into the hollow of that abandoned barn on the side of a dirt road. I had wanted to collect my thoughts, but soon I had an even more impossible task to accomplish. I had to collect my spirit, but that had all too swiftly shattered into a hundred unrecoverable pieces, like the tears leaking over my hooves and onto the dirt floor and hay.

Even if I could put myself back together again, I wasn't sure I wanted to. I didn't like the idea of what that soul would be tethered to, of what fate it had to anticipate. It's one thing to be homeless. But to be nameless? You can live in a mansion paid for with the world's largest fortune. You can own a million houses, a million acres of land, and a million servants dwelling on it to do your bidding. You can even have your very own plot in the ground reserved for you in the world's most sacred cemetery. So long as you're nameless, you don't have a place to call “home,” not in this lifetime or beyond.

I was contemplating this, crying over this, despairing and shivering and collapsing over this, when she first arrived.

“Land's sakes!” her drawling voice echoed against the dilapidated walls of the barn. My ears picked up a quartet of hooves scraping through the wooden doorframe as the figure entered from the bright world outside. “I knew I heard somethin'! Uh... Hello? Somepony? Who's there?”

I didn't realize that I still had energy left in my body until I found myself bolting upright with a gasp. I turned towards her, and the first thing I saw were her freckles. A bright slit of light captured a pair of green eyes, followed by the warmest smile I had seen in three starving days.

“Whoah! Howdy there!” She waved two of her hooves high above her head to show she was harmless. I saw a brown hat, a ridiculously long blond mane, and two baskets of apples that hung from her sides. “Take it easy, sugarcube. I didn't mean to scare you or nothin'” She looked strong, fearless, the very definition of a working earth pony. Then all of those iron features immediately melted into a soft and sisterly gaze of concern. “Oh darlin', you look an absolute mess! I could hear ya cryin' like a poor widow from the road over yonder. Is everythang okay?”

What could I say to her? What could I say to anypony that would carry the smallest degree of weight? Life had given me a hammer and chisel, but my world had been turned to mud and sand. I almost wished I had played dead instead of responding to her. Maybe I would have gone unnoticed like the ghost I had become.

Instead, she stared steadily at me and said, “You do realize that this here barn's been abandoned for decades, right? Are you a long way from home?”

Her words were delicious, like soothing musical notes that I hadn't the fortune of discovering until then, and they were gracious enough to squeeze even more moisture from my eyes. I barely sniffled, though, for I was too busy staring—not at her, but at the twin baskets of red fruit adorning her figure. I was suddenly aware of how dry my mouth was. There was a deep rumble, like the wooden structure of the barn was settling all around us.

She heard it too, but was in a far saner condition to recognize it. “Heheh... Hungry, ain'tcha?” She smirked, following the angle of my eyes. “Let's start on the right hoof, shall we? My name's Applejack. Here.” She twisted her head around, balanced a red fruit on her nose, and tossed it my way. “Have an orange. Heheheheh—Ahem. That's an old family joke.”

I suddenly couldn't hear her. My taste buds were screaming over my ears, for I had scarfed down the contents of the apple in less than a minute. Choking would have been bearable so long as I wrangled a few tender morsels down my throat. Once I had bitten my way to the core, I wasn't entirely sure if it had helped my hunger any, but it had certainly dried my tears.

Applejack was whistling. “Whoa nelly! Easy there, girl! Heheh... Good thing I wash those things before takin' them to market, huh?” She sat down on her haunches in front of me. “Well, I toldja my name. Reckon I might get a chance to learn yours?”

I shuddered, avoiding her stare as well as her question. Even nowadays, I think I say my name out loud only to appease myself. I certainly wasn't the one to invent it, and if I was to give myself a fitting replacement, would anything announce it better than my lyre? All that mattered was that—at the time—something was gnawing at me far more than either cold or hunger. Applejack was so real, so warm, and so there. I was willing to do anything, or say anything, just to shatter the looming horizon of loneliness that threatened to drown it all.

“Lyra,” I ultimately whimpered. “Lyra Heartstrings.”

“Lyra,” she murmured aloud with a nod. Reaching her hoof up, she tilted the brim of her hat and smiled placidly my way. “That's a mighty pretty name you have there, Lyra.”

My vision instantly blurred again. I could feel my heart beating. I wanted to hold her. I wanted her to hold me. I wanted to be warm, to be safe, to be happy—and I knew that none of it would last. None of this would last. I should have ended the conversation right then and there. I should have grabbed my saddlebag, galloped out of the barn, and hid myself away in the forest where there'd be less intelligent creatures to smile at me, to feed me, to remind me that I was something worthy and capable of being cherished, just as Applejack's soothing voice was caressing all of the shivering ends of me, like I was not just some dirt-covered, tear-stained piece of refuse.

“I know this town like the back of my hoof,” Applejack continued. “And I must say I've never seen you around these parts before, Lyra. Are you visitin' family or somethin'? Is there somepony I can take you to? There's no need to be wastin' away in some dirty 'ol barn, now is there?” She blinked and squinted at me. “Uhm... Miss Heartstrings?”

At first, I wondered why she was asking me so many questions. As soon as the image of her teetered and was swallowed by perpetual shadow, it suddenly made sense. I was blacking out. I fainted like some pathetic damsel, my whole body going limp. Starvation, it seemed, isn't so exhausting until you remind yourself that you're capable of eating something. I collapsed from such a sensation, and when I came to—the world was a thousand times brighter than the inside of that barn. I saw the ground passing beneath me, and when I glanced up the horizon was bobbing.

“H-hey there!” I felt the vibration of Applejack's voice. With a shuddering breath, I realized that she was carrying me across her back. A dirt road led towards a red barnhouse nestled in a sea of delicious apple orchards, and we were gliding towards the bright epicenter. The world beyond the crest of Ponyville grew colder and colder, but Applejack's warm body and breath melted all of my shivers away. “Just relax, sugarcube. I'm takin' you somewhere safe. Yer gonna be just fine.”

“This...” I fought for an even breath, draped across her spine. Days of running, panicked, across the lengths of Ponyville brought an ache to my limbs that I was just then discovering. “This is where you live?”

“You betcha! Sweet Apple Acres, home of the finest bounty of red fruit in all of Equestria!” We passed wooden fences and apple carts. I could hear distant livestock and smell bales of hay. “But my family and I can give you the grand tour later. You look as though you've got a mighty nasty fever, Lyra. Let's get you warmed up.”

I immediately gasped. “You... Y-you remember my name?”

“Why, of course, darlin'! Heh... Just cuz the Apple family is simple farmin' folk doesn't make us simple-minded!”

There are times when I feel as though the only infinite resource in the world is tears. Closing my eyes, I smiled—a fractured, porcelain thing—and clung securely to her. The world was bright all around me, as if a righteous fire was burning away the frayed edges of a nightmarish veil that had been hanging over my head for days.

I was almost sad to be let go. I opened my eyes, realizing that I was suddenly inside this blessed mare's house, having been plopped down on a sofa in the middle of an antique living room full of family pictures, heirlooms, and home-crafted decorations. There was a fireplace in front of me, and it was as empty as I felt. The sight of it made me shiver, and Applejack must have seen it, for soon she was grabbing planks of dried wood from a metal stand.

“Here, let me light this up. You make yerself comfortable and I'll get Granny Smith to fix you some soup.”

“Granny... Smith...?” I murmured. Just then, my ears pricked to hear the sounds of voices in the far end of the house. Applejack and I were not alone. The place was alive, and I felt very alien there sitting on the family's immaculate sofa with my tousled mane and stained coat.

“Her name is Lyra Heartstrings, Granny!” I heard Applejack shout across the interior, continuing a conversation that I in my numb state was only partially privy to. “I found her just outside of town! The poor thing looks like she's long due for some real hospitality.”

“I...” I bit my lip, squirming under a fresh curtain of shivers. “I thank you so very much, M-miss Applejack. But you really don't need to go to all this length just to... to...” My voice trailed off, for I was suddenly bathing in a sea of toasty warmth. The fireplace had been lit, and as my ears embraced the delicious crackling noises of the burning wood, my body veritably melted into the folds of the couch. “Ohhhhhhhhhh Celestia, that's nice,” I murmured with a drunken smile.

Applejack's return grin was a lot more charming. “Nothing treats a sick spell better than bathin' in the Apple family's fireplace.” She winked. “Shucks, I remember when I first had the pony pox. Cuddlin' up before this here mantle got me through all sorts of feverish nights.”

“I'm not sick,” I said as politely as I could. “I'm...” I felt a sore lump building in my throat. I didn't want to sponge up too much of this kind mare's generosity, but at the same time it felt like the first occasion I had in days to... relax and let go. I wanted to pour all of my troubles onto somepony, but I didn't want to burden them with something I barely even understood. “I'm lost, Applejack,” I blurted. I ran a hoof through my frazzled mane and stifled my whimpers before they could form. “I'm so lost, and I don't know where to start.”

“Well, I dunno about you, but I reckon that home is always the best place to start.”

“Home?”

“It's what makes a pony, or so I've always believed.” She placed the metal fireguard down before the brick-laid hearth and trotted towards me. “A while ago, when I was just a 'lil filly, I left this farm and headed out to the city, thinkin' that I could live a different kind of life than the rest of the family. Boy, was that one of the plum stupidest decisions of my life. Heh. I nearly cried my eyes out for days, until I ran back home, and everythang was just right.” She stood above me and gently dragged a hoof over my mane, plucking free a random leaf and stalk of hay that I had collected in the barn where she had found me. “Sometimes we leave home—even if it means running away from the place that means the most to us—cuz we're so desperate to find ourselves. And what happens? We only get more lost.”

“I didn't run away from my home, Applejack,” I said with a soft sigh. An invisible gust of wind came from nowhere. The fireplace suddenly seemed miles away as images of Canterlot flicked through my mind. “I would give anything to go back there, but I can't.”

“And just why is that, sugarcube?”

I bit my lip. Goosebumps were forming under my coat. I clutched my forelimbs to my chest and fought the icy shadows for as long as I could. Applejack had been so kind to me. The last thing she needed was an emaciated guest collapsing in the center of her living room. Never in my life had I anticipated becoming what I was then: a vagabond, a bum, a unicorn with no purpose or title. All my life, I had seen riff-raff gathered in the far shadier streets of Canterlot, and I had always regarded them with both pity and curiosity. Now I was sitting in their place, carrying the same disgusting scent, and even those impoverished souls had more hope than I did. Even if I could make my way back home, would I be able to stake claim to what which was once attached to me? Would my parents be able to help me any?

Mom. Dad.

“Nothing,” I murmured, my lips quivering. “There is nothing for me to go back to.” I huddled into the deeper contours of the sofa. For a moment, I wished that it was a coffin instead.

“Hmmm... Well, right now, we have a place for you here, sugarcube,” Applejack said. Her selflessness was only outshone by the bright smile on her face as she swiftly trotted towards a closet, opened it up, and rummaged through rows of hanging jackets inside. “And I've got something else for ya. It's just the thing for them feverish shivers of yers.” After a modicum of effort, she emerged with a stone gray article hanging from her mouth. She dropped it by my side. “Here ya go. A little something I used to wear when I was a bit younger, for workin' around the orchards in autumn and all. Of course, I rarely use it these days, on account that I've grown myself a second skin. Heh.”

I looked at her, then at her gift. After a squinting study, I realized it was a long-sleeved sweaterjacket. Without a second thought, I encased the item in glowing telekinesis and all-but-flung it over my forward half. Finally, with only a little fuss, I slid my hooves all the way through and sat comfortably with the hoodie encasing my shivering limbs. Soon, the goosebumps shrank away, as if the jacket was somehow absorbing the heat wafting towards me from the fireplace. Looking back, I think it was the gesture itself that did the trick. Applejack was willing to give a little piece of herself, and it was like being engulfed nonstop in her hug. I couldn't help but smile, for I remembered what it felt like to be in the company of a pony who was more than a stranger. I was more than ready to call this polite and thoughtful mare a “friend.”

“Th-thank you. Really, Applejack,” I said, curling against the sofa's shoulderest and basking in the glow of the hearth. “For everything. I wish I could repay you.”

“My home is your home.” She merely shrugged. “Relax, rest up, and get better. Later on, we can see about helping you find yer place, ya reckon?”

I let loose the tiniest of giggles. “Sure, I 'reckon.'” I smiled, letting the gray sleeves of the hoodie dangle toastily over the ends of my front hooves. When I was young, I used to envy Twilight Sparkle, wishing that I too had an older sibling to look after me while my parents were away. I wondered if this was what it felt like. “Though I dunno if any place in the world has a fireplace as good as this one.”

“It's a good fireplace,” Applejack said with a nod. “My Pa built it. 'Always make sure that you lay down a good foundation,' he'd say. 'The rest takes time, but it works without a hitch so long as the foundation is solid.'” She gazed briefly into the fire. She looked a lot older suddenly, though she carried it with far greater strength than the frail melancholy that I see in most ponies' faces. “I reckon I've held much weight in them words of his. My Pa was the foundation of my life.”

I was floating dizzily on a cloud of warmth, but still I was able to understand the gravity of my new friend's words. “I'm sure you've done him proud,” I said.

“Hmm. I can only make him prouder.” Her green eyes twinkled briefly as she smiled, then trotted past me. “I'll see how Granny's doin' with the soup. I'll be back in a jiffy.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said, adjusting where I sat on the sofa. Sparks danced against the fireguard before me. I stared into the flame, allowing the thoughts of my recent circumstances to melt away. I pulled the hood of the sweatjacket over my horn and exhaled deeply, as if giving up a somber part of myself that had controlled my frightened limbs for so many nocturnal hours of despair.

It was the first chance I had to sit and think deeply in days. As a result, something dark and mysterious rose to the surface of my mind, something that had danced around the miserable waves I had so fitfully navigated up until that point. The more I meditated on it, the more my ears twitched, for I realized that I was unearthing a melody from the deepest part of my psyche, an undying tune that had been born in the recesses of my mind and remained unsung since the very moment I woke fitfully in a dark alley, a scared and freezing victim of endless night.

So engrossed was I in these ponderings, I barely noticed a yellow shape trotting up to my peripheral vision... then gasping.

I glanced over. There was a little foal looking up at me with wide amber eyes. A red bow swayed in her crimson mane, for she was shivering. Was I not the only one who was cold? No, that wasn't it. She was afraid of me.

“Why, hello there,” I said in as gentle and harmless a voice I could muster. I smiled at her and leaned over slightly. “You must be Applejack's sister.”

The girl back-trotted from me, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Uhhh...” Her jaw dropped as a pale sheen danced across her irises, like moonlight rippling over pond water. “Uhhh... AJ?!”

“Shhh—It's okay!” I smirked. “I'm guessing your sis neglected to mention that you had company—”

“What is it, Apple Bloom?” A familiar orange shape strolled back into the chamber, then immediately froze. My heart jolted, for Applejack was suddenly shouting, “Apple Bloom! Get over here! Now!”

Panting, the little foal scampered over to her sister. I watched, blinking and confused, as Apple Bloom hid behind the mare. Applejack stood protectively in front of her while glaring down at me on the sofa. All of the sweetness and hospitality was gone, shattered to bits beneath an accusing frown as hard as diamonds. “Just who in the hay are you?! What are you doing in our house?!”

“Wh-What?!” I gasped. My heart was beating hard, as if it would tear a hole in the hoodie at any moment. “But... But... I was just.... I thought that—”

“Is that my jacket you're wearing?” Applejack exclaimed, her emerald eyes squinting harshly. I could hear Apple Bloom's whimpering voice as she cowered and hid her face. Behind both sisters, an old green-coated mare strolled up from the other room, curious about the violent commotion. “Have you been rummaging through our stuff?!” Applejack continued, almost sneering. “Spit it out!”

“Applejack, I'm—”

“You... You know my name?” Applejack cocked her head to the side. Her anger was briefly drowned in confusion, but soon that cloud faded and the scorn returned. “Did somepony put you up to this? If so, t'ain't funny! We already had a bunch of rambunctious colts vandalizin' our barn months ago! This here farm doesn't need no more mayhem on its plate! Now are you gonna answer me or not?!”

“I don't understand! I'm Lyra, remember? We were just—” I stopped in mid-speech. My heart briefly stopped, and I felt the warmth of the living room once again dissolving. The next breath from my mouth was a whimper, for I had been reacquainted with my own foolishness. “Oh dear Celestia, it's happening again.”

“What's happenin' again?! Dang it, missy! I demand to know why you've trespassed into our very own home!”

“Look... Uhm...” I stood up from the couch, weak, my legs wobbling. “This is... I'm...” I gulped and backed away from them, waving a hoof. “I don't even know how to explain th-this...”

“Try me!” Applejack's iron frown carried her icily towards me. The fire bathed every hard line of her features and none of the freckles. “Before I call the police.”

“We were just talking a moment ago, Applejack! You carried me here from the edge of town—”

“Carried you here?! I've never seen you before in my life!”

“I know you think that—But I swear to you!” I gulped before stammering like a fibbing foal who was desperate to avoid the paddle. “We talked! You lit the fireplace for me! You gave me this jacket—”

“Likely story. You reckon I'm stupid?”

“N-no! For the love of Luna, it's not what you...” I stopped in place. The shivers had quadrupled. I felt my bones turning to ice. My gaze swam dizzily over the many family portraits lining the living room. I saw nothing but the faces of strangers, like these three souls gathered before me always were and always would be. I grimaced as though I was giving birth to a familiar horror.. “I'm so sorry... I... I-I gotta go—!”

“Oh no you don't—”

I spun and galloped desperately towards the far end of the house. “I'm sorry!”

“Applejack—!” the old mare's voice started. “She's gettin' away!”

“Oh no she ain't! Macky?!”

Their shouting voices dwindled as I shot around a corner and bolted for the front door. Instead, I bumped into something large and red. “Ooomf!” I fell down on my haunches, reeling sickly. Looking up, I gasped. “Uhh!”

A tall stallion towered above me, his crimson coat rippling with a sea of iron muscles. On any other occasion, he would have been a delectable sight for a mare like me to behold. At the moment, however, he was as menacing as a leering minotaur.

“Big Macintosh!” I heard the elder mare's voice calling over the bounding hoofsteps of Applejack from the chamber behind me. “Grab her before she gets away—!”

I gritted my teeth, flashing a look left and right. I saw a bathroom within a leap's distance. Just as the red brute lunged at me, I bounded out of his reach and bolted towards the doorframe. The doorknob was already glowing from my telekinesis by the time I flung myself inside and magically slammed the thing shut. The house was rumbling from all of the bodies thundering after my hooves. I slipped on a rug, nearly fell, and scampered back on all fours in time to lock the door and press my weight up against it.

The door pounded once, twice. I shrieked and pressed myself desperately against it, trembling, my starved body and glittering magic acting as a frail bulwark against the entire family's righteous anger. “Oh Celestia. Oh Celestia please.” I started to weep, my tears gathering at the collar of the gray hoodie that had been donated to me by a ghost. The door pounded a third time and I nearly fell back, struggling to keep my hooves firm against the slippery tile.

“Open this door!” I heard Applejack say. “I swear we ain't gonna hurt you, girl. But—carn sarn it—you've got some explainin' to do!” I heard the muttering of the other family members just outside. “Don't you know that the Ponyville Police can put you in jail for invadin' somepony's home?”

“Please! Just leave me alone!” I sobbed, on the edge of hyperventilating. I murmured into the wooden surface of the door, “The police will do nothing! Believe me! Nopony can do anything for me. Oh blessed Luna...” I hiccuped and slid down against the door, grasping my head and shaking. The tune was louder this time, as if it was wanting to burst out my skull and bathe the walls of the bathroom with what was left of my soul. “I just want somepony to help me, like you almost did. It's that so hard to ask for?”

There was no response from the other side. I sat there, sniffling, hugging my lower limbs and trembling for what had to have been one minute... two minutes... three. I blinked, dried my eyes with a stone-gray sleeve, and glanced up.

“H-hello?” I remarked, nervously. Again, there was no reply. “M-miss Applejack? Apple Bloom?” I gulped. “M-macky?”

Silence.

Pensively, I stood up. I stared at the doorknob for ages before finally summoning the strength to unlock it with my telekinesis. Pushing the glowing door open, I peered my head out into the hallway. There was nopony to be seen. I calmed my panting breaths long enough to sneak down the hallway. The floorboards creaked beneath me. With a wince, I inched my way, until I reached the edge of the living room where the entire debacle had started. I gazed quietly around the corner.

Applejack stood before the hearth, her flanks to me. “Hmm... seems like an awful waste of wood in the middle of summer.” She lowered her hat and scratched her blond mane while gazing into the crackling fireplace. “Just who's idea was this? Apple Bloom?”

“Wasn't me, sis!” the little yellow foal trotted past her. “Besides, I'm not allowed to put logs in without yours or Big Mac's permission! Ain't that what yer always tellin' me?”

“As much as I fancy you bein' all obedient-like, there are times when I wonder...”

“Hey! What's that supposed to mean?!”

“Eh... Don't get in such a hissy fit over it, girls!” The elder mare sat her green wrinkly self down in a rocking chair and smiled, basking in the warmth from the fireplace. “After all, this is just what the 'ol doctor ordered for my bones. Eh heh heh. Ohhhh... Apple Bloom, be a dear and go grab Granny's quilt. There's a good 'lil filly.”

“Sure thing, Granny Smith.”

“I reckon I better go help Big Mac with the chores,” Applejack muttered as she shuffled towards the back door to the house. “Heavens to Betsy!” She smiled and shook her head as she walked into the reddening sunset. “Just where does all the time go? I must be getting' old.”

“Ohhhhh shut yer trap, ya stinkin' baby!” Granny Smith spat.

“Teeheehee...” Apple Bloom managed as she dragged a quilt over to her grandmother. In the background, Applejack rolled her green eyes and was gone.

Biting my lip, I stepped back away from this scene. I stood breathless in the hallway, alone with my shivers. I glanced briefly at my reflection in a circular mirror hanging across the wall. An unkempt, dirt-stained, sad unicorn gazed back. Raising a hoof up, I played with the hood dangling behind my neck. It was then that I realized the extent to which I could afford friendship in this life.

My stomach gurgled again. I glanced longingly at the house's exit, but it stretched away magically before my vision, as did the guilt over what I was about to do next. In a blur, I galloped into the family's kitchen. I flung open the first cupboard I could find. I discovered two loaves of bread, and immediately flung them into the front pouch of my hoodie. There were many other things inside that kitchen—expensive and luscious trinkets that could have sold for many bits around downtown Ponyville—but I didn't bother touching a single one of them. It was my first robbery; it might as well have been a tiny one. I prayed to Celestia that it would be my last, and ran out of the farmhouse in a desperate flight to reunite with my lyre, as if it was the only thing that could tell me what “home” was anymore.

When Applejack trotted around the bend in the road the next morning, I could instantly see her. It had only been a day since my little “experience” at her farm, and I hadn't slept a wink. My body was kept up by shivers; my stomach was full of stolen bread. Through a combination of guilt and loneliness, I didn't hide in the corner of the barn like I should have. I stood at the edge of it, in open view of the orange mare as she strolled down the dirt path.

Sure enough, she saw me. To my mixed dismay and relief, she stood dead-still in the middle of the road and smiled my way.

“Why, howdy!” Her smile was electric. She could have been the sunrise itself for all I could tell. “Fancy meetin' a pony out here this early in the day!” She shifted the weight of two apple baskets on her sides. “Hankerin'' for some breakfast? Normally its one-bit-per-apple, but seein' as I'm feelin' mighty chipper this mornin', how'd you like a two-for?”

Her freckles were a welcome sight, distant shadows of a loving sister I knew I would never have again. The longer I stared, the more the sight of her face gave way to the memory of wooden kitchen cabinets being flung open and pilfered. I wrenched my gaze away from her, refusing to so much as look at the delicious apples that she was willing to sell me.

“Uhm... Thanks but no thanks, ma'am. I... uhm... I'm just waiting for somepony.”

“Oh yeah? Anyone I know? I've got quite the little circle of friends around town.”

I bit my lip, leaning awkwardly against the wooden doorframe of the barn. “You... You wouldn't know her.” I sighed and ran a hoof through my mane, trying desperately to not look like the pathetic, homeless vagabond I so obviously was in front of her. “But maybe... just maybe you'll get to know her someday.” I tried to smile; it would have been easier to sprout pegasus wings and fly.

“You okay, sugarcube? T'ain't none of my business, but yer lookin' rather glum.” Applejack adjusted her hat and flashed me a sympathetic glance, warm like a fireplace. “It's a beautiful mornin'. No sense aimin' yer horn at the ground. You should try lookin' up at the sky for a change.”

I felt the edges of my lips finally curving upwards, something I couldn't manage on my own. I breathed a little more easily, my shivers dissipating somewhat. “I was... uhm...” I spoke before I knew what words were coming out of my mouth. I wondered how much I'd have to be rambling before I produced a truth that was applicable enough to a given situation. “I was just wondering about this barn...”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“Who does it belong to?” I glanced up at the shoddy, wooden structure where I had spent the last two fitful nights. Somewhere inside, my lyre and saddlebag were lying like the accursed treasures of a splintery sarcophagus. “Does anypony own it?”

Applejack snickered and trotted over to stand beside me. “A better question is 'would anypony want to?'” She heartlessly kicked at part of the doorframe, causing a vertical plank to fall ineffectually into the dirt between us. “From as far I recollect, this here barn's been around far longer than I have. My Ma and Pa never talked about it. Odds are it belonged to Filthy Rich's family before they went into the retail business, but that would have been ages ago. Nah, from what I gather, this here land's plum for the takin'. Though I doubt any pony's gonna want it.” She glanced at the solid line of trees that bordered the dirt patch on the other side of the old structure. “Even if these trees were chopped down, it'd take either hundreds of ponies or a heap'o'magic to make the ground soft enough to plant anythang. Long story short, darlin', the barn's just a fadin' memory... like so much of what's left of Ponyville's past these days.”

I gazed up at the structure, running an affectionate hoof across the doorframe. “I know a thing or two about fading memories,” I murmured in a distant voice.

“Hmmph. That's funny.”

Curiously, I glanced at her. “It is?”

“No, not that.” She rubbed her chin, squinting towards something below my neck. “I used to have a jacket just like the one yer wearin'.”

I gulped and fidgeted with the long sleeves. “You don't say...?”

“Hmmph... Heheh... But it's been ages since I wore the thing.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I'm guessing, from working in the cold weather for so long, you've grown a second skin?”

Applejack's eyes twitched in thought. “Well, that's a nifty way of puttin' it.”

I took a deep breath, then cleared my throat as I gazed at the fragile lengths of the barn. “Tell me... What's a good way to... uhm... to earn some money around town?”

“Money?”

“Bits, yeah.” I nodded and looked at her. “You know of any Ponyvillean hiring for...” I bit my lip and navigated the impossibility of the thought just as I was producing it. “... for freelance stuff?”

“If you want to learn a thang or two about job openings, just go take a gander at the bulletin board at main street,” Applejack said. “Though I doubt yer gonna find anythang aside from full time offerings.”

I gulped and stared down at the dirt. “Right. Figures...”

“Though I'm sure there're plenty of freelancin' stuff for a musician to do,” she said pleasantly.

I looked up at her, blinking. “Musician?”

“Well, shucks, girl!” She pointed at my cutie mark with a chuckle. “You didn't get that cuz you like to lick stamps, now didja?”

“M-my special talent,” I uttered in a numb voice, as if a sheet of ice was clearing from over my head. “Right...” I looked towards the distant pocket of hay inside the barn where my lyre was hidden. “Hmmm....” I glanced back at Applejack and pointed at her cutie mark. “I see your special talent is selling oranges.”

She blinked at me, then snorted. Her hat nearly fell off as she let out a loud guffaw. I joined with my giggles, for suddenly the day was feeling warmer.

When Applejack trotted around the bend in the road, she paused to stare at the wooden barn. It was obviously the same wooden barn she had trotted past every morning on her way to town, only now there was a green tent pitched next to it.

“What in tarnation...?” She squinted curiously. Her ears tickled with a gentle melody wafting through the branches bordering either side of the dirt path. “Is the circus movin' into town?”

“Try 'a traveling minstrel.'”

Applejack looked my way. “Huh?” She jolted as four bits flew towards her and landed on the brim of her hat.

I was standing in the doorframe of the barn, leaning against the dilapidated entrance while strumming my lyre. “Is that enough for two of those delicious apples, ma’am?”

Applejack glanced at the baskets in question hanging from her side. She lowered her hat and retrieved the bits. “Well, to be honest, missy, that's enough for four of 'em.”

I gave her a practiced smirk, something that I was getting better at after so many weeks spent performing in town. “Alright, then. Four. They look absolutely scrumptious, and it so happens I have the bits to spare.”

“Is that so?” Applejack spoke while picking four of her best fruit from the baskets and bagging them. “I'm guessing you're a mare on vacation.”

“More or less, though I must say that this town's looking brighter and brighter with each passing day. I'm thinking of staying for a while longer.” I strummed the lyre and motioned towards her. “You look rather fit, if I may say so, ma'am. Tell me, do you work on a farm?”

“Heh, as a matter of fact, I do.” She smirked at me and held the bag of apples out in one hoof. “And if yer truly fixin' on hangin' around here, then you're bound to get to know me and my family. We've been harvestin' apples here for a long time.”

“A long time, huh?” I gently took the bag from her in glowing telekinesis and laid it beside the tent next to the barn. “Then perhaps you could answer something for me.”

“Shoot.”

“This barn: it looks abandoned. Is that true?”

“Well, uhm... Pretty much, yeah.”

“Does that go for the land as well?”

“As far as I know.”

I smiled knowingly. “So I'm guessing this structure's standing here for no reason?”

“What are ya gettin' at?” Applejack glanced at me sideways. “Thinkin' of doing some demolition?”

“Well, it depends.” I strummed on the lyre and kicked my rear hoof playfully against the wooden side of the building. “Would you happen to have some experience in the matter?”

“Hah! Sorry, missy, but you're askin' the wrong pony.”

“Oh?”

“I'd love to give ya some advice, but truth is I'm not all about barn-tearin' as I am about barn-raisin'.” She fanned herself in the morning sunlight before planting the hat back atop her blond mane. “As a matter of fact, I've watched my Pa build many a thing in his days. May he rest in peace.” Her nostrils flared as she murmured, “He could build log cabins in his sleep if he wanted to.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Log cabins?”

“Lickety split! They used to call him 'the House Planter' around these parts. Heh. But—yeah.” She trotted back into the dirt road. “I'd better be off to market. Still, though, if you wanna see about tearin' barns down, you'd best be askin' ponies around town.”

“Ponies like who?”

When Applejack trotted around the bend in the road, she froze upon hearing a roaring voice. Splinters of wood flew through the air, followed by a blur of bright colors darting in and out of view.

“Rainbow Dash?” She squinted awkwardly in the morning air. Slowly, she lurched towards the side of the road, shocked to see an old barn being torn to shreds—plank by plank—by a familiar blue pegasus who was sailing her agile body violently through the wooden structure. “Whoa, there, girl!” she ducked as a wave of wooden bits splattered over her head. “Watch where yer divin'! Seriously! Is there a war I don't know about?”

“Here.” A helmet floated magically towards her. “You might need this,” I said with a smile from where I stood beside my tent and supplies. “She gets a little crazy from time to time, but it makes for a fun show.”

“Uhm... I reckon it does.” Applejack removed her hat and slapped the helmet on awkwardly in its place. “Any chance somepony might help this make a lick of sense?”

“What's so hard to understand? There's a barn here now, but soon it won't be. Isn't that right, Miss—Rainbow Dash, was it?”

“Nnnnngh!” The goggled pegasus was busy smashing a wide gaping hole in the middle of the barn. She yanked a support beam loose with her bare teeth and prepared to kick a chunk out of the ceiling loose with her rear hooves. “Haaaaugh—!”

“Yoohoo?!” I shouted, cupping my muzzle with a pair of front hooves. “Earth to Rainbow Dash!”

“What?!” Rainbow Dash looked down at me. Slowly, the berserker sneer across her face melted. She greeted each wave of confusion with a series of blinks. “Wait. What? Who are you again?”

“Lyra.”

“Lyra who?”

“Lyra Heartstrings.” I leaned forward, glowing my horn through the hole in my helmet like it was a symbol of trust. “Remember? I'm the pony paying you fifty bits to tear this barn to the ground.”

“Hold up.” Rainbow Dash levitated above the two of us, her ruby eyes bright. “You mean to tell me that I get to break stuff and get paid for it?”

“Absolutely!” I grinned.

“Wicked sweet!” She coiled up in mid-air and sprung like a missile towards the remaining structure. “Eat it, barn! Rrrrrrgh!”

There was a resounding explosion. Applejack and I flinched under a shower of splinters.

“Well, I see you're new in town!” Applejack grunted, then brushed flecks of sawdust off her baskets of fruit. “But you must have some sort of fancy gift of gabbin' to get RD here to do such hard work so early in the mornin'!”

“She's a friend of yours?”

“A loyal one at that, though she can be a loyal pain at times.” Applejack managed a smirk, and the volume in her voice playfully picked up some. “Like when she accidentally delivers a rain cloud to the wrong end of the apple orchards!”

“Hey!” A spectral bolt of lightning shouted overhead before exploding once more into the barn. “I heard that!”

“You own a farm?” I struggled to ask amidst another spray of debris.

“Ahem. Yup. Sweet Apple Acres.”

“Now there's a marketable name.”

“Eh. When it matters. Why? You fixin' to get into the fruit sellin' business? Cuz that job's kind of filled enough as it is around town.”

“It's not that,” I said, glancing at Rainbow Dash's chaotic job. More and more sunlight covered the patches of dirt alongside the road as the barn was slowly disassembled before our eyes. “I was hoping to find a pony who's had some experience with the land around here. I've been needing to ask for some advice, you see.”

“Really? Like what kind of advice?”

“You see I'm... uhm...” I shifted a bit where I stood and smiled gently. “My stay here in town... it's like a vacation, more or less. But I think I'm going to be here a lot longer than I originally anticipated. I mean—why not? Heh... It's a beautiful village.”

“I've always stood by that,” Applejack said with a smile.

“You wouldn't happen to know any pony who's an expert on building?”

“Building what?”

“Oh...” I took a deep breath, glanced at the line of oak trees surrounding the collapsing barn, and murmured, “Log cabins.”

Applejack instantly brightened. “Well, shucks! Heheh... funny you should mention that!”

I gulped and murmured, “You don't say...”

“I happen to know a thing or two about that!” She smiled. “My Pa could build log cabins in his sleep. He taught me everything he knew. May he rest in peace.”

“My condolences.”

“Much oblidged.”

“Well...” I adjusted the sleeves of my hoodie and turned to face her. “If you don't mind my asking, how's a good way to start?”

“You start with a good, sturdy axe.”

I blinked. For some absurd reason, I hadn't expected that. “Oh?”

“Heheheh...” Applejack squinted slyly at me. “Unless you're rich enough to buy the lumber....” She pointed straight at the woods. “Seems to me like you've got plenty to work with here. That's how every family in these parts got started.”

“Yes.” I gulped and managed a brave smile. “I guess that makes sense. Uhm...” I scratched my neck and looked humbly her way. “Could I trouble you for some advice on where to get the right axe... not to mention other tools?”

“Hey! No trouble at all!” Applejack leaned against a nearby tree and smirked. “Though you might wanna write some of this stuff down, assuming you can concentrate while Rainbow Dash reenacts the Lunar Civil War over our heads. Ain't that right, Rainbow?!”

“Hnnngh—Huh? What?” Rainbow Dash stopped and hovered above us, panting and sweating. “Applejack? Why are you wearing a helmet?” She went cross-eyed and tapped the goggles on her own face. “The hay is all this?”

“Did ya bang yer head too hard that last time or somethin'?” Applejack stifled a guffaw. “Better not hurt yerself until after yer done with Miss Heartstrings' job!”

“What job?!” Rainbow Dash frowned. “Who's Miss Heartstrings?!”

“Hi there!” I waved up at her, smiling. “I'm the one paying you one hundred bits to tear this barn down!”

“Hold up. You mean to tell me that I get to break stuff and get paid for it? Wicked sweet! Raaaaaugh!”

When Applejack trotted around the bend, she immediately made a face. Slowly, under the fall of amber-colored leaves, she trotted straight towards a rhythmic thwacking noise. “Uhm... Ma'am? Do you need a little help there?”

“Nnngh... No!” I exclaimed. It came out as a snarl, but I was too exhausted to apologize. I sweated as I levitated the axe three feet in front of me. I was hacking away at the side of a thick oak tree. My horn pulsed atop my skull, the invisible leylines of magic tingling in agony as I stretched my telekinetic muscles to the breaking point. “I've got this covered! I just need to convince the dang tree to work with me! Nnngh!”

I swung the floating axe once more. Wooden chips and sawdust splashed across the broad patch of dirt beside the path. No matter how much I cut and chopped and bit at the tree with my blade, the natural structure wasn't showing any signs of falling anytime soon.

“Ahem. As much as I hate to get in another pony's business...” Applejack smiled gently and paced at a safe distance around my clumsy task at hoof. “...but I really do wish y'all'd let me give a little demonstration.”

“Mmmff... Don't you...” I chopped. “...have an...” I hacked. “...Ironpony Competition...” I flailed. “...to get to?!—Whoah!” I fell down on my dainty haunches, breathless, as the axe plopped down to the soil beside me.

“Just how many ponies know about that thang between Rainbow and I? I swear—she must be braggin' around town for perfect strangers to have caught wind.” Applejack trotted over and touched a hoof to the axe's handle. “Seriously, though. May I?”

I took several deep breaths, wiped the sweat from my brown, and motioned towards her. “Knock yourself out...”

“Well alright.” She smiled and hoisted the axe up in her teeth. Trotting over to the tree, she leaned the tool against it and paused to glance back at me. “Ya see, darlin', you're goin' about it all wrong. If a pony wants to chop down a tree like this beaut here, ya gotsta judge where the weight of it is leanin', on account that yer fixin' to make it fall where y'all want it to.” She circled the tree and slapped a part of the trunk perpendicular to where I was pathetically chiseling into the thing. “Right here's the best part. Then, once you've chosen the proper place to start cuttin', you do it like so.”

Applejack once more gripped the axe in her mouth. Her muscles tensed and her hooves dug into the earth as she flung the whole weight of the blade repeatedly into the trunk. Her incision was noticeably angled, biting at a forty-five degree towards the tree's roots. Once the diagonal slice had been made halfway through the tree, she pivoted her swing and chopped horizontally, so that a visible notch formed neatly in the thick of the structure.

“Yeesh...” I couldn't help but scratch my head and gawk in wonder. “You must have some really, really strong teeth.”

Applejack finished her task and spat the axe onto the dirt. “Hmmph... Yup, I reckon I'd have to.” She hadn't even broken a sweat. I watched as she paced around to the side of the tree opposite of the notch and squinted at it closely. “I've dealt with trees all my life. I live on the apple farm over yonder. No doubt you've heard of 'Sweet Apple Acres'.”

“I just might have,” I said with a smile. “Still, thanks for the help—”

“Oh, we ain't done yet, sugarcube.” Applejack pointed at the bark. “Now's time to slice straight into the trunk from the other side of the cut we just made. Once you've chopped through what's left of the width, the tree should collapse in the direction of the angled notch. You feel me?”

“I feel you.” I marched up to the tree and levitated the axe into position. “Though, I gotta ask, do you always spend your mornings helping random unicorns fell trees?”

“Just what's so random about it?” Applejack stood safely back from my task and smirked. “You're here in Ponyville, tryin' to make an honest livin', from what I gather. It wouldn't be right neighborly of me to just walk by and let you burn out your magic horn all crazy-like!”

“Heh...” I concentrated as I hacked away at the tree, parallel to the horizontal slit she had formed at the base of the notch. “You make it sound as though just any pony you run into could be your neighbor.”

“Yes, well...” Applejack dusted her hat off and watched me at work. “That's a mighty fine strategy in my book. The golden rule ain't so golden if ya don't bother polishin' it with every soul you meet, ya reckon?”

I paused briefly in cutting to meditate on that. I inhaled the crisp autumn air and smiled, as if reenergized. “That's a very solid thing to live by, ma'am.” I resumed chopping. The entire height of the tree wobbled precariously, slowly leaning in the direction that Applejack had expertly designated. “No wonder you're prime Ironpony material.”

“Heh. I hate to say it, but I'll hardly get that title by bein' nice.”

“I beg to differ.”

“It’s funny...”

“Hmmm?”

“Oh, nothin'...” Applejack scratched her chin. “I could have sworn there used to be a barn around these here parts.”

“I'm sure it did what all useless things do,” I murmured while giving a few last, final thwacks. “It disappeared.” The tree snap, and started to lean away from us. “Heeeeey... There we go!” I backed up, grinning wide.

“Ahem. Now's where ya shout 'timber,' missy.”

“Oh, uhm.” I took a deep breath and opened my mouth wide. Just then, the ground rolled with thunder. Loose leaves fluttered all around us from the tree's heavy collapse with the earth. I blinked and blushed slightly. “...timber?”

“Snkkkkt—Heheheheheh.”

I looked back at the giggling mare and smiled. “I don't suppose I can carve the thing hollow and just live in it, huh?”

“Ya gotta make the notches deeper, Miss... Miss...”

“Heartstrings,” I said, grunting a little as I carved at the sides of the oak logs with my hatchet. The trees that were left standing beside the clearing around us were barren, devoid of leaves. A sharp chill hung in the air as I prepared to add to the rectangular pile of wooden beams being slowly built along the side of the road. “And this is coming along nicely. I hate to bother you on such a beautiful day.”

“Don't mention it!” Applejack waved a hoof, smiling. She wore a plain brown scarf around her neck to protect her from the bitter November chill. “I always take my sweet time headin’ home, just in case there're ponies like you roundabouts who need a helpin' hoof.”

“Well, I’m thankful. I really, really gotta get this finished,” I exclaimed, sweating, concentrating hard to make the notch perfect so that it'd fit with the rest of the beams I had stacked up. “It's taken me too long as it is. My magic just can't replace sheer experience, if you catch my drift.”

“Absolutely. I always feel bad for unicorns—” Applejack began, but then blinked and blushed. “Erm. No offense.”

I smiled at my work. “None taken.”

“It's just that y'all are always fancyin’ yourselves as capable of doin' all sorts of amazin' grunt work with them horns yer sportin'. Two of my best friends are unicorns, and I know for a fact that liftin' too much weight with magic can give a pony an awful bad headache. I think it's good that yer pacin' yerself. I only wish I'd had the opportunity to see ya and help ya out sooner.”

“Oh, Miss Applejack...” I smiled as I put the finishing touches to the wood with my hatchet. “Trust me. You have nothing to fret about.”

“If you insist. Ready to put the thang in place?”

“Care to spot me?”

“Can do!”

I took a deep breath, tensed my muscles, and channeled a surge of magic through my horn. Slowly, I raised the entire beam of wood and levitated it across the dirt clearing towards the rectangular base I had started. With Applejack guiding me, I gently lowered the log in place so that its notches matched those of the beams already in place.

“There... That'll do it! Yeeeha! See? It fits a lot better than your previous ones, I'm willin' to bet!”

“I can see it already.” I exhaled sharply, adjusting my collar and drying the sweat from my neck. I gave her a sincere smile. “Thanks, Applejack. I couldn't have done it without you.”

“Pfft.” She shrugged and adjusted her scarf. “I only gave ya one tip and now yer thankin' me like I'm yer contractor or somethin'. I'm only happy to lend some help, Miss Heartstrings. Just don't forget to apply the mortar between the beams. I could show you how, if ya like. My father was an expert at buildin' log cabins, you see.”

“Really, now?” I took a deep breath of the cold, autumn air and glanced softly her way. “Dare I ask, did he have a lot to do with the making of this town?”

“Funny you should ask that, missy.” Applejack's breaths came out in misty vapors as she stood on the plain wooden scaffold beside me. Together, we finished plastering mortar inside the upper beams of one the cabin's completed walls. “A lot of ponies don't know this, but Ponyville's size tripled while my Pa was alive. He was responsible for many decisions that the City Council made, includin' the expansion of housin' projects in the north side of town.”

“Really?” I smirked as I applied more mortar. Flakes of snow drifted down and dotted the blue tarp that acted as the cabin's temporary ceiling. “So he wasn't all about apples, apples, apples?”

“Hey! T'ain't nothin' wrong about apples, apples, apples!” She briefly frowned while I let forth a foalish giggle. With a tranquil smile, she gazed off into the wintry lengths of the forest and said, “My Pa believed in lookin' after oneself, but his conscience extended well beyond that. Every soul he met was a pony in need, and he never stopped workin' for one second in his life to make sure they got as much a chance to shine in life as he did. Why, I'd reckon he'd make a mighty fine mayor...” She sighed heavily and her green eyes fell. “If fate had decided to smile on him and Ma.”

“I'm sorry,” I murmured.

“Heh. Don't be.” She smiled up at me. “I regret nothin', on account that Pa taught me everythang I needed to know to keep supportin' my family and loved ones proper.”

“You strike me as a very lucky pony, Applejack,” I couldn't help but mutter. My work paused ever so briefly as I endured a wave of chills. “To know where you belong, and those whom belong to you...”

“My Pa used to say 'Always make sure that you lay down a good foundation. The rest takes time, but it works without a hitch so long as the foundation is solid.'” She looked me in the eyes after saying those familiar words. “The way I see it, Miss Heartstrings, we're all in this heave-ho of life together. What better a way to enjoy it than to make sure we do it proper? Right now, there's no place I belong more than right here, helpin' you.”

I exhaled softly, adjusting the sleeves of my hoodie, feeling the toasty fingers of a fireplace in the back of my mind. “The world could use more ponies like you, Applejack.”

“Heh...” Her cheeks flushed slightly. “Shucks, I'm only doin' what I was taught was right. There are heaps of ponies way more neighborly than myself.”

“Yeah?” I leaned forward on the scaffold and applied more mortar. “Like who?”

“Take for instance this one pony,” Applejack handed me another brick. “Granny Smith insists that she's a she. Big Mac thinks it's one of the local mules. Whatever the case, we never see an inch of the soul, but that hasn't stopped whoever it is from dropping by every Saturday morning for the last three months straight and leaving a gift basket by our back door.”

“Oh?” I reveled in the feel of a campfire just beyond the partially finished wall of the cabin. Reaching into a heated trough of plaster, I gathered some of the aggregate and plastered it to the brick before stacking it atop a slowly rising chimney along the north side of the house. “Just what kind of a gift basket?”

“Funniest thing—Two loaves of bread, and each time they're still piping hot... as if freshly delivered from a local bakery!”

“Heh...” I smiled placidly to myself as I stacked the bricks higher and higher under Applejack's guidance. “Somepony must think you haven't a lick of baking skills.”

“Ha! Fat chance. Still, we never did figure out which of the townsfolk is makin' the dropoffs, nor why they're choosin' to do it all secret-like. But I ain't about to complain! The bread's delicious, and it saves me the trouble of havin' to bake my own on a regular basis. More time for workin' the farm, ya reckon?”

“That doesn't sound like much of a gift.”

“The best gifts involve givin' us things we need, not so much things we want.” She exhaled a vaporous breath into the wintry air and motioned towards the slowly rising chimney. “For instance, who else in their right mind would be spendin' Hearth's Warming Eve puttin' the finishin' touches on a log cabin?”

“It's my own fault,” I murmured. “I should have had this finished long ago.”

“At least yer dead-seat on workin' on it.” She smiled and winked at me. “A good work ethic means bein' willing to learn while you go against the grindstone.”

“I have you to thank, Miss Applejack,” I said pleasantly, wiping a smudge of plaster off my brow and grinning. “This fireplace is all you. I'm just glad I tackled it before winter was completely done with.”

“Well, I reckon you can still use it for when a cold spell hits,” Applejack said as she handed me another pair of nails. A white world of snow and frost lingered behind her as she stood on the scaffold in her green vest and brown hat. “Still, it's a mighty fine chimney. Right now, what's best is that we get this here rooftop finished.”

“Much appreciated, Applejack,” I grunted as I concentrated hard, hammering the last of several wooden shingles into place atop the log cabin. “But I've taken enough of your time as it is. Don't you have some seeds to plant?”

“As if any other ponies are awake at this hour. Heh.” She rolled her green eyes. “One thing at a time, I reckon,” she said, casting a glance towards the center of Ponyville over the threadbare treetops. “Winter may get wrapped up by tomorrow morning, but it'll still be a cold spring for a few weeks. It'd be a shame for you to not have yer house all fixed up by then.”

“You're a very important pony in town, aren't you?” I smiled and hammered more of the shingles into place. “I imagine all of the farm owners owe you bigtime each spring for clearing the fields of snow.”

“Eh... I'm pretty good at barkin' orders, if that's what yer implyin'.” Applejack smirked with a glint of pride. “But I'd gladly ditch the megaphone and take to the plow if it meant gettin' things done on time for once.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Applejack sighed. “Only that every year Ponyville is late in gettin' Winter wrapped up, and a lot of that is on account of so few ponies bein' early birds like you and me.”

“Hmmm...” I hammered a final nail in and looked at her. “Seems to me like you could use some organization.”

“As much as I wanna share y'all's faith, I can only do what's best and make sure the fields get cleared and planted. I may not exactly be timely, but I sure as hay can be precise.”

“You're more than just resourceful, Applejack,” I said with a smile. With a brief chill, I adjusted the hoodie around my neck and exclaimed, “You're the kind of mare to lend a hoof to each and everypony you see. So long as that's your main concern, who cares about timing? You really think it's just the land that needs Wrapping Up? Ponies gotta live on that land, y'know.”

“Hmmm... I suppose that's a good way of lookin' at it,” Applejack scratched her chin. “Still,” she exhaled. “I'd give my bottom bit just to be on time for once.”

“Well, maybe I can help this year!” I placed the hammer down and swiveled about to face her. “That is—if you don't mind a stranger taking part in the labor.”

“Heh...” Applejack smirked. “You're never a stranger so long as y'all got a helping spirit and four strong hooves to guide it with.”

“A saying of your father's?”

“My own, actually, though I'd be lyin' if I said he didn't inspire that none.” She winked. “So, I reckon we should get you a vest or something.”

“That depends...” I ran a hoof through my mane and smiled into the frigid air. “Do they come in tan?”

“What are the wooden stakes for?” I glanced up from the row of blossoming shoots sticking up from the soil. “The pony at the gardening shop didn't exactly explain it well to me.”

Applejack walked down the rows of infant apple trees. “They're to make sure that the trees grow straight and proper. The thing about graftin' is that the scions aren't exactly prepared to stretch just right from the root-stocks. So long as you use the stakes in the dwarf-trees' infancy, you can make sure they don't keel over or somethin' worse.”

I chuckled. A flock of birds sang musically overhead, flying low over spreading leaves of green that surrounded the sunlit clearing in which my new cabin resided. “You must know apple trees like the back of your hoof.”

“I only wished they knew themselves half as much. Life would be a lot easier if the trees would just plant themselves.”

“Then where would all the fun be?”

“That's what I try to tell my brother, Big Mac, all the time.” She walked with me around the green yard of freshly planted grass. “One spring, he talked us into tryin' our hooves at growing pears. I still have nightmares about the next summer after,” she muttered with a slight shiver. “We've since agreed that I'm the entrepreneur of the family, not him. Heheh.”

“I'm guessing he'd make a better mascot,” I said with a wink.

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “Y'all can ask half the mares in town and I reckon they'd whole-heartedly agree. There aren't enough sticks in the world to fend them off at times, I swear to Celestia.”

“Say, in speaking of summer.” I glanced up at the front of my cabin. “Could you give me some advice on adding a wooden outcropping to the front?”

“What, like a porch or somethin'?”

“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “This town is a lot prettier than where I moved from, and I wouldn't mind spending some afternoons sitting out here.” I shrugged. “And—well—you never know when it might decide to rain.”

Applejack looked up from the fireplace. Her body huddled securely under the woolen blanket as she gave me a squinting glance. “I'm mighty curious, though.” Her voice was a gentle murmur, barely heard under the roar of the rainstorm pounding in on the cabin walls surrounding us. “What's a musician like you doin' out here on the edge of town? Most artists hang out in the center of Ponyville. Seems like an awful shame for somepony as kind as you to be dwellin' someplace all lonesome-like.”

“Believe me...” I breathed easily, sharing the heat from the crackling flame with her. “I'm not half as lonely as you think I am.”

“You get plenty of visitors?”

“Oh... on occasion.” I smiled. “One friend in particular makes a habit of dropping by on a regular basis.”

“Oh yeah? What's her name? I bet I'd know her.”

I took a deep breath, my face melting into something cold and melancholic. “No. Unfortunately, you wouldn't.”

“Well, it's good to know you're not entirely alone. After all, you've got yerself a cozy little cabin here.” She smiled as she gazed once more into the soft red hue of the fire. “Must be awful peaceful.”

“Yes. Very.”

“Mind if I ask just what you do for a living?”

“What do I do for a living?” I repeated, gazing up at the rows of musical instruments haloing us along the walls. “I... live. I live to live happily, to compose musical accompaniments to the beauty that I see, to record that which is sad and that which is lost, for the somber things in life are mere shadows to the warmth and joy that we're often too busy to recognize.” I adjusted the stone-gray sleeves of my hoodie and smiled. “But I'm never too busy. I'm a pony who listens, Applejack, and more often than not I like what I hear, because what's the point in hating the few cherishable treasures that we are given? It's taken a while for me to discover what I've been blessed with. But I'm grateful for that time. It's like building a house: you learn more about the process as you erect the walls and rooftop for the very first time. Once it's finished, it's hardly a project of your labor and your labor alone. Rather, it's the sum of all the love and support that dear friends have contributed to it. In the end, a home is just an extension of yourself, something that couldn't exist without the foundations set forth by those you care about.” I closed my eyes and exhaled peacefully. “When I'm living here, all of my newfound friends are living with me, so that this place is something permanent... like a memory that never fades. How could anypony call that lonely?”

I wasn't exactly expecting a response to my heartfelt words, but I wasn't expecting utter silence either. As the seconds ticked away, the glow of the fire grew dim beyond my eyelids. I felt a cold wind billow through the cabin, though not a single window was open. When I opened my eyes, I saw a misty vapor wafting from my lips. With an inescapable chatter of my teeth, I glanced aside.

“Applejack...?”

She was rubbing a hoof over forehead, reeling in a brief dizziness. As soon as she came to, her green eyes flew wide open. “What in the hay...?” Confusion swiftly blossomed into panic as she gazed fitfully at her bizarre surroundings, feeling the folds of the woolen blanket enshrouding her like a straight-jacket. “Where... in Celestia's name...?”

“Applejack...”

“Dah!” She gasped and jumped up, nearly tripping over the basket with Apple Bloom's doll. “Wh-what happened? What am I doing here? Why's my mane so soaked...?!” She started to shiver, like a frail soul that she had once carried out of a barn in some ancient place long forgotten. “Aww shoot... I collapsed in the rain, didn't I?”

“Please...” I stood up and raised two hooves. “Just calm down—”

“I'm so sorry to be a burden, ma'am. This is just so...” She bit her lip and ran a hoof through her wet bangs, quivering all over. I had never seen Applejack look this weak or frightened before. I immediately wanted to hug her. Nopony should ever have to feel the weight of the world crumbling atop her shoulders—nopony but me. If the cabin had fallen into dust all around us, I bet she would have been less scared. “How could I let myself faint in a rainstorm?” Her voice was breaking, as if she was on the verge of doing something I was hardly worthy of witnessing. “What's wrong with me? I'm never this... this...”

“Applejack... Listen to me...” I marched up to her and planted my hooves on her shoulder, forcing her gaze to be swallowed in mine. “You are a strong mare. But it takes strength to trust other ponies. So trust me right now. Everything is all right. You got caught up in the rain, and I took you in.” I smiled earnestly, replacing the warmth that she had lost when she stepped away from fireplace. “My home... is your home.”

Slowly, Applejack's shivers melted away, like mine always do... and so many of those occasions being owed to her. She gulped and nodded, her lips curving slightly. “Reckon that has a nice sound to it.”

“It'd better,” I said with a smile, ushering her back down to the fireplace where she could bask in the glow. “I'm a musician, after all.” I draped the blanket over the confused mare's shoulders, calming her further as the rainstorm persisted outside. “What about you? Do you sell oranges?”

Applejack blinked at me. It came out first like a stutter, but soon she was guffawing like the proper pony that taught me how to swing an axe. Soon, her breaths slowed to an even pace. “Ahem... So, uhm, I reckon you have a name? It's a shame to not know the pony who's given me such good hospitality.”

“Lyra,” I said with a gentle nod of the head. “Lyra Heartstrings.”

“Lyra,” she repeated it, her eyes dancing across the musical instruments above us with foalish wonder. “Now that's a mighty pretty name...”

“Hmmm... So I've been told.”

We talked for two and a half hours, during which Applejack never forgot me, and I couldn't have been more thankful. Most of the things she told me were stories that I had heard before, from months of gently coaxing such information from the many freckle-faced, amnesiac prototypes that I had been blessed with meeting before. Not once did I even consider interrupting her anecdotes, no matter how familiar they sounded. The sweetest melodies in life are the ones you're willing to listen to over and over again. No record player could do Applejack justice. She's a symphony I've been lucky to attend on several occasions, and every single time it demands an encore.

The rainstorm ended. Reluctantly, I helped her gather her things. While she fiddled with her hat, I personally bundled the basket with Apple Bloom's toy. I gave it to her and we parted ways. A quiet part of me felt as if I had finally discovered my older sister, only for her to be going away on a long trip.

I watched from the patio at the front of my cabin while Applejack trudged away in the mud. As I predicted, there came a point where she stopped in her tracks just before marching around the bend. I kept watching, for something was evidently weighing on Applejack's mind beyond plain forgetfulness. I saw her dangling the basket up and down in her grip, as if alarmed by how much heavier it felt. Swiftly, she unbundled the blankets keeping the contents dry. What followed next was a shocked expression that no painter could do justice. She reached into the basket, for nestled beside Apple Bloom's doll were two loaves of bread, a day's freshness still wafting from their crust.

Applejack's lips pursed. Murmuring mute words of wonderment, she scanned the horizon. She saw trees, mud, a misty rainbow, and even a peculiar log cabin. But she didn't see me.

I was back inside, nestled under blankets in front of the fireplace as I finished composing the last written bits of “Threnody of Night.” Soon, I would have the instrumental finished, and the last step before the magical performance would be acquiring more ingredients to act as a protective buffer. I remembered what happened during my last experiment. A frightening chill ran up my spine, so that I scooted closer to the flames.

But then I felt the folds of the hoodie around my body, like a sisterly hug that never ended, warming me far more than any burning logs ever could. For another night, I fell asleep with a smile, instead of tears. I didn't worry about the ashes of the fireplace spreading beyond the hearth. After all, it had a good foundation.

I don't know how long it will take for me to find my way home, but so long as I am living, I will never run out of neighbors.

IV - Symphony of Solitude

Dear Journal,

What does it mean to be alone? I mean truly alone? Have I come to a point of understanding the feeling? Is it enough when I fall asleep to my shivers and wake up to my tears?

I've gone beyond feeling sorry for myself. I like to think that the pony I am today is somepony older, braver, stronger, and smarter. But no matter how many qualities that pony may possess, she is still alone.

I... am still so very alone. I cannot deny that. Yet, I can't allow myself to be obsessed with that. After all, what purpose is there in such a fixation? What purpose is there in anything?

There has to be a purpose in all of this. Believing in some sort of purpose is what keeps me going, what keeps me banging my head against the thick wall of my predicament. It's not that I don't have enough things ushering me forward. I want to be remembered. I want to make a true impact on these wonderful ponies' lives. I want to walk up to those whom I once knew and have them recognize me on sight. I want to be able to make new friends and have them look forward to seeing me in the future.

But as I write all of these things—and remember that I am, in fact, the only one writing them—I wonder if I'll only ever be the single, solitary pony dreaming of them... instead of living them.

“And so...” Pinkie Pie plopped a box full of chocolate cupcakes atop the table in the center of Sugarcube Corner. She gazed at her two friends with excited blue eyes. “Then he says, 'The pegasi are promising beautiful weather for Ponyville this weekend. What are you up to Saturday afternoon, Miss Pie?'”

Twilight Sparkle and Rarity gawked at her, their faces blank. “Yes, and?” Rarity chirped emphatically.

“I say to him 'I'll be up to what I'm always up to on Saturday afternoons: ten bottles of sarsaparilla and a prayer!' Snkkkt—heeheehee!” Pinkie Pie's forelegs curled up against her chest as she giggled, gasped, and finally exclaimed, “Then he laughs and says, 'The shores of Lake Marestrom look really pretty this time of year.' Pfft!” She rolled her eyes. “Like that has anything to do with sarsaparilla!”

“Pinkie...” Twilight breathily remarked.

Rarity was leaning forward, her blue eyes sparkling. “You do realize, of course, that the stallion was trying to ask you out?!”

“Oh.” Pinkie Pie blinked. She narrowed her eyes with a quizzical expression. “Really? What for?”

“I think someone's smitten with you, Pinkie.” Twilight smiled and levitated a mug of tea to her lips. “Please tell me you at least acknowledged his gesture.”

“Uhmmmm...” Pinkie Pie scratched her chin as her blue eyes swam across the ceiling. “I can't remember if I did or not. He kind of galloped out of here really quickly.”

“Oh?” Rarity's face sunk. “Whatever for?”

“Beats me, though it was after I tossed the lemon custard pie into his face.”

Twilight Sparkle spit out a mouthful of tea. She teetered over her edge of the table and gasped for breath.

Rarity was almost fainting. “You... It... He...What?!”

“P-Pinkie?!” Twilight rediscovered her voice in time to sputter forth, “What could possibly have possessed you to toss a pie into a poor stallion's face?!”

“He was only trying to bridge communication between the two of you!” Rarity was still reeling. “What in Equestria were you thinking?”

“I was trying to do him a favor!” Pinkie Pie barked in her defense.

“And just how was that a favor?!” Twilight Sparkle exclaimed. “He wanted to go out on a date with you!”

“Hmmmmm...” Pinkie bit her lip, then shrugged. “I guess I just remembered something Dashie told me: 'All stallions ever want from a mare is some pie.' The poor guy was so shy; I figured I'd cut to the chase!”

Twilight and Rarity stared at Pinkie Pie for ten numb seconds, until finally they cracked. A snorting sound shattered into a series of unrelenting giggles. Their half of Sugarcube Corner vibrated with pure joy’s melodic cadence.

Pinkie joined in the laughter, though an undeniable redness was blossoming beneath her cheeks. “Heeheehee... Uhm... I-I don't get it! Should I have tossed a cake at him instead?”

“Heeheehee—Oh Pinkie Pie...” Twilight Sparkle could hardly breathe.

Rarity leaned over and nuzzled Pinkie with a warm smile. “Don't you ever change, darling. One of these days, we're going to find you a gentlecolt who'll gladly take p-pie in th-the face fr-from youuuuu—Snkkkttt—hahahaha!”

“Heeheehee...” Twilight Sparkle stood up and levitated the box of cupcakes with purple telekinesis. “Come on, girls. Let's get to the park before the other three think we ditched today's picnic.”

“What about strudel?” Pinkie Pie bounced happily after them as the three made for the exit of Sugarcube Corner. “That's a little less messy than pie! Though it's kind of crusty. Oh! I know! I could avoid the glaze! It'd make it much more aerodynamic when I toss it at him!”

The other two laughed merrily, their high-pitched chorus ringing in my ears as they brushed past my table. I gazed over my shoulder from where I sat. Suddenly, the scent of dust wafted up to my nostrils, and I realized I was squeezing a pair of ancient history books to my chest. Sighing, I relinquished hugging the library checkouts and opened them up atop the table before me. The inside of Sugarcube Corner somehow felt less colorful. It was less warm too. I felt a chill dance through my body as I heard the last traces of Twilight's harmonious voice trailing from my ears.

With a shudder, I pulled the stone-gray sleeves of my hoodie over my hooves and absorbed myself in a sea of text as forgotten and timeless as I.

It's been almot thirteen months since the curse began. In that time, my life has gotten calmer. My days now are filled with tranquility, purpose, and resolve. I'd be lying, however, if I said that things have gotten any easier.

There are some nights when I don't have a magical tune echoing loudly against the walls of my mind. These would be blissful evenings, except that they afford me a chance to dream. There is nothing that makes a prison more painful than being able to dream. After all, what is the power of damnation without a slice of hope to merit its potency?

When I dream, I see myself trotting across an empty Ponyville. There are no other ponies besides me. I am the only equine soul to be seen or heard. Every hoofstep is mine. Every written word belongs to me. Every breath and song and sob holds anchorage in my throat and mine alone.

While this may seem like a nightmare, there are times when I prefer the world of these dreams to that which I'm forced to endure everyday. At least in my dreams I am encompassed by desolation, a far more sensible prison than one that is barred with the faces of so many happy and warm ponies.

Seeing Twilight Sparkle's smiles, hearing her voice: I am reminded of what we used to be. I'm reminded of the days when we and Moondancer were foals, when we played in the parks of upper Canterlot, reenacting major events in Equestrian History. Moondancer liked to pretend she was Princess Luna and Twilight—of course—was always Princess Celestia. More often than not, I was stuck with playing the role of Starswirl the Bearded. The other two would giggle and poke fun at me for having to portray the surly stallion sorcerer in our little get-togethers. It was worth it, though, because nothing made Twilight more happy than to be Princess Celestia. The world seemed a lot more colorful when she was smiling, and that was something I never wanted to disturb.

When the years went by, and Twilight left Moondancer and I to live under the wing of Princess Celestia, I didn't realize it at first—but something had been drained from my life that could never be refilled. We three were young unicorns then, and like all magical ponies our age we were far too eagerly swept up in learning history and spells and various Canterlot arts. Moondancer relocated to a Fillydelphian university to pursue her dream of becoming a teacher. I studied music and composition at Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. Our days were spent in becoming living repositories of knowledge; we pursued the future in our separate ways. As a result, our companionship dissolved, allowing our education and careers to take the forefront of our lives.

Not once, however, did this bother us in any way. Our friendship was something immortal, something immaculate. Occasionally Twilight Sparkle, Moondancer and I would get back together and talk about the directions our lives had taken us. We'd muse about the things we did in our foalhood. So long as we had the memories of what we once were, we could accept what we had become. Our friendship would last as long as we could remember that which united us.

Today, I am the only pony who can afford those memories. Moondancer and Twilight have lost something, and they don't even know it. But do they have to know it? As long as I remember them, as long as I let them laugh, smile, and play Luna and Celestia in my mind, then nothing is lost. I believe this with all my heart.

Then why is it that I see Twilight day in and day out, and I feel as though a phantom limb is speaking to me, that something lopped off my soul is screaming to be reattached, only to remain a numb spectre of something warm and irrecoverable?

I am so happy—so exceedingly enraptured—to see Twilight Sparkle having made so many friends in Ponyville. There was a time when I was worried about her. Moondancer and I pursued our careers with great vigor, but Twilight Sparkle had treated her career like a veritable obsession. On so many instances, I attempted to have the three of us reunite, and only Moondancer would show up. Together, we'd worry over Twilight's path in life. We missed her and shared a mutual concern over the future she was paving for herself. In her foalhood, Twilight always held a major attachment to Princess Celestia, but Moondancer and I both doubted she was aptly prepared for the consequences of being so closely connected to an immortal alicorn.

That's why it fills me with such joy to see Twilight Sparkle having relocated to Ponyville. There are ponies here with whom she's had the opportunity to commune. I truly think they've saved her from a life of perpetual isolation, a fate that would have stripped her heart of the opportunity to feel with the same vitality that she's exercised her mind.

And yet, every time I see her and her friends, I can't help but wonder if things could have been different. I came to Ponyville to visit her during the Summer Sun Celebration. What if the same opportunity that blossomed for Twilight would have opened a door for me? Perhaps I could have been making the same friends as her, attending the same gatherings as her, going to the same picnics and laughing over the same anecdotes and smiling at the same thoughts with her.

I've lived long enough to know that life is the sum of its days, and yet the flavor of its dreams. Sometimes the most beautiful choir is the one you can't join, the one you can only listen to. It's been many years, and I feel like I'm still playing the role of Starswirl the Bearded, giving the spotlight to Twilight Sparkle, allowing her to illuminate the stage with her smile. It's a wonderful play, and it deserves an encore. I just don't know how long I can sit here alone with my applause.

A few days ago, I stumbled through the door to my log cabin, and it felt like just any other afternoon I've ever lived. The same walls embraced me, dangling with the many musical instruments I made to be shared with nopony but myself. A fireplace yawned in waiting, something that would be lit at night—a night just like any other, spent alone with my thoughts and shadows.

This routine I live by is mind-numbing. As soon as I step over the hearth that I've built for myself, I know what the next few hours are going to consist of. I know that I'll be reading one of the many ancient tomes checked out from Twilight's library. I know that I'll be scouring the texts for any tiny bit of info that can clue me into the magical secrets behind Nightmare Moon. I know that I'll come up with either nothing or very little to go by, and the rest of the daylight will be spent sitting out on the patio, attempting to eke beauty from the fringe of the wilderness around me. Then, when evening falls—and the shivers make my bones twitch on the verge of a moonlit waltz—I surrender to the blankets of my cot, staring into the fireplace, trying to imagine another world where there is a smile for every tear, a laugh for every sob, and a pair of ears besides mine for every fear I have to stammer into the gaping abyss of the night.

Why do I even write this? Every ten journal entries or so, I ask the same question, and it is just as pointless and rhetorical as all the others. Right now, as I ramble poetically, I am sitting on a bench about twenty yards from the Carousel Boutique. It's a sunny day. There are very few clouds in the sky. The same squirrel has crawled up to me for the fifth consecutive occasion. I don't know if it realizes I've given it the same morsel of food four times in a row. Candy Mane has flown by three times, each time waving and saying the same greeting. Miss Hooves has trotted past the bench with Dinky, giving me the same smile and nod that she did yesterday and the day before and the day before that. Twenty minutes ago, for the sake of whimsy, I stood up from the bench and scuffed my name in the dirt path with my rear hooves. Sitting back down, I decided to count the number of ponies who stopped to give the four-letter word a cognitive glance. Twenty minutes have gone by, and my count is still at zero. An hour will past, four hours, five days, or a thousand years—and I don't expect that number to go up any.

Who do I write this for other than myself? What other pony do I have to look after, to provide for, to feed or to blanket or to comfort? Who else will read this? Who else will have the ability to read this? Am I just circling words down a gaping funnel? There are times when I feel as if I'm only indulging myself with a great bowl of nothing. It would make far greater sense to write nameless songs in the dirt, or to fatten a squirrel to the bursting point.

There was a time when I used to compose music for a hobby. After all, why study music if you're not going to make more of it? It used to bug my parents. There were nights that I spent in my upstairs bedroom, repetitively strumming away at the same stubborn tune with a lyre or harp, attempting to unlock a musical symphony that I knew for sure would be Canterlot's next masterpiece.

These days, my symphonies are not my own. I go to bed and wake up with tunes haunting my mind, resonating in my horn like some accursed tuning fork. I do everything in my power to drag them out of me, just short of screaming. The nights are cold, freezing, and frightening. When I finally break the music down into a palpable composition, it hardly brings warmth, for another melody is there to take its place, filling my ears like ghost whispers. There are no strings left to pluck and call my own, for I am still threading loose the shadows of Nightmare Moon's endless night.

Perhaps, then, what's left of me to claim as my own is my words. This journal is a solitary piece, performed in a capella, an ode to joy... so long as I have joy to perceive, like a glimpse of the past or a hope for the future. I know very well that I may be the only pony to read what I am writing right now, but perhaps such is for the best. So long as I fill these entries with that which is beautiful, that which is inspiring, then it's a symphony that I can call my own. There are many tunes I've yet to unlock before I can even hope to tackle this curse. However, I must never lose grasp of the most important composition, to which I am the one true conductor.

I only wish the elegies were so clearly defined.

“Are you sure these are the books that you wanna check out?” Spike looked down at me from where he stood, perched, atop a rolling ladder that was leaning against a bookcase full of dusty tomes. “They're not written in Equestrian Basic. From what Twilight Sparkle says, many are written in Moonwhinny. I don't suppose you've got a laypony's knowledge of the lunar tongue, Miss...?”

“Heartstrings,” I murmur. I trot across the library and stand at the base of the ladder. “And you shouldn't concern yourself too much. I know this is dense reading material. Let's just say that I've had... time to invest in learning some of the old languages.”

“Hey, that's fine with me,” Spike said with a shrug as he pulled two large books out from their shelving. He winced at the sight of a scurrying spider and brushed loose a few flimsy cobwebs. “Honestly, I think it's kind of cool. Most ponies who visit this library—and Twilight Sparkle will be the first to tell you this—they come looking for a cook book or an adventure novel or some other really simple thing. It's a shame that she isn't here to help you find this sort of stuff. Then again... Heh...” He smiled as he crawled his small, portly frame down the ladder, balancing the books in a tiny hand. “Maybe it's all for the best. She'd get all excited that a fellow unicorn was checking out stuff this old and would talk your ear off about ancient Equestrian history.”

I couldn't help but brandish the thinnest of smiles. “You say that as if it's a bad thing.”

“Eh. To each their own. I kind of feel bad for some of the ponies who come here to study, especially when it's a gorgeous day outside. It seems like some of them just never get to leave.”

I took a deep breath and took the book from him with gentle telekinesis. “Believe me. I understand completely.” I adjusted the collar of my hoodie with a slight shiver before adding, “Still, it's worth it when we have forgotten treasures to uncover.”

“Hmm. That almost sounds exciting.” He smiled, his rows of tiny razor sharp teeth showing. “You must be doing some sort of wicked cool research project, Miss Heartstrings.”

“I'll settle for 'cool,' alright,” I said with a nod. “The jury's still out on 'wicked.'”

“Jee, I dunno.” He scratched his green spikes and gave the books in my levitating grasp a slightly detestable glance. “I always get the chills when I touch books from our 'Lunar Collection.'”

“You're not the only one.”

“Cuz—Really!—Twilight's told me enough about them. The legacy of Nightmare Moon used to be a big deal long before Princess Luna returned from her whole thousand year imprisonment and all. Twilight says that many of the books written in Moonwhinny were banned from libraries all across Equestria. Can you believe that? It had something to do with... uhh... Princess Celestia being concerned that mortal ponies would read what Luna had written and somehow be afflicted by the taint of Nightmare Moon.”

“It was called the 'Great Canterlot Eclipse,'” I explained to him, mentally quoting Twilight as I shuffled over to a desk and prepared for a long afternoon of studying. “Scholars write about it to this day. It was a dark time in the aftermath of Nightmare Moon's tyranny when literature underwent a great deal of censorship. Eventually, as a few centuries rolled by, Princess Celestia realized the error of her ways, and she lifted the ban. This gave birth to the Modern Equestrian Renaissance, and Canterlot was founded as a center of art and learning, ultimately leading to it becoming the capital city of Equestria. Still, the effects of the Great Eclipse are evident in pony culture, and many things written down in the lunar archives remain undiscovered to this day.”

Spike whistled. “Wow. That's different than how Twilight explains it.”

That struck me rather curiously. “And just how does she explain it?”

“Simply that most ponies are too scared to read things that were once held in the library of Princess Luna.”

“Well, that's perfectly understandable,” I said sagely. “There's a great deal of darkness and loss attached to the name 'Nightmare Moon.'”

“Yeah, well.” He winked and pointed my way. “If it gets too freaky to research on your own, just give me a whistle. Even Twilight will say that I'm a pretty good research assistant. Don't be afraid to ask if you need help with anything, Miss Heartstrings.”

“Really?” I opened one of the old tomes, waved the cloud of dust away, and squinted over the many alien words. My question was a very droll, tone-deaf plea. “Could you, by chance, tell me anything about the Cosmic Matriarch?”

“Uhhhh...” Spike's emerald eyeslits blinked dazedly. “The Cosmic What-now?”

“It's an old mare's tale, as far as most ponies are concerned,” Twilight Sparkle had once said. “But I happen to know it's a lot more than that.”

I gulped. I shivered. It was barely two months into my curse. I was living out of a green tent pitched alongside an abandoned barn just outside of town. That day, I sat in the waiting room of Aloe and Lotus' Day Spa, pretending to be another anxious customer—just so I could interrupt Twilight for this one desperate conversation. To this day, I thank my lucky stars that she was gracious enough to ignore the sight of the shivering bum in a stone-gray sweatjacket, looking like she needed far more than a frivolous massage or pedicure.

“How's that?” I murmured, trying to keep my composure. The world was a frigid tomb. My mind reeled from the same miserable tune spinning like a broken record in the thick of my skull. “How do you know it's more than an old mare's tale?”

“Because Princess Celestia has spoken about it... or her...” She giggled. “Or perhaps them. Whatever the case, I have no doubt that the Cosmic Matriarch is real. I've been our magical ruler's apprentice long enough to hear her infer as much.”

“Infer?” I gulped, struggling to remain still in the chair. The shivers were unbearable; I fought them courageously. I had to appear as interested in this conversation as my heart genuinely felt. “You mean to say that she's never outright come out and told you what the Cosmic Matriarch is?”

Twilight shifted with momentary discomfort. For a moment, I was afraid that I had struck a nerve, that I had lost her desire to educate me. To my elation, she continued, though pensively so. “It's very personal to her, I think. And I don't say that lightly. Princess Celestia has lived for a very, very long time. It's very difficult to stumble upon things that she takes personal stock in.”

“But she does with this?”

“Mmmmhmmm. And Princess Luna as well. You see...” Twilight smiled and brushed a hoof through her mane as we waited “our turns” with Aloe and Lotus. “The Princesses who look after the Sun and Moon are immortal. However, while that fact is irrefutable, it makes ponies overlook something very important. Ironically, it's the one thing that every magician in Equestria has to learn before starting their career.”

I swallowed hard and uttered, “Everything has a beginning.”

Twilight glanced at me with pleasant surprise. “Why... yes! Heehee—How would you know that? Are you also a magician, Miss Heartstrings?”

I bit my lip and avoided her gaze. This was my fifth identical conversation with Twilight Sparkle, and I was only just then getting used to the whole ritual. “I've... done my fair share of reading,” I confessed and lied at the same time. All I knew were words, terms, names, and very few of them in Equestrian Modern. “But it's my understanding that nopony has ever been taught the true origin to the Princesses of Equestria.”

“And for a good reason,” Twilight said with a nod. Her lavender features were bathed in the gentle light of an aroma candle, giving my foalhood friend an ethereal quality as she spoke of holy things. “Mortal ponies live—what? Sixty to seventy years? Ninety years at most? Starswirl the Bearded was a major exception, of course, but most ponies are lucky if they see so much as a century go by before their time on earth is over. Can any of us really imagine what it's like to be an alicorn? To have lived for eons? To have seen the foundation of this world, and the birth of the Sun and Moon themselves?”

I fought another wave of chills, staring off into the distant candles as if they were alien stars twinkling beyond us. “I can imagine many things. It's a whole different situation to feel.” I glanced back at her. I could only hope my eyes were as sincere as my words. “What does Princess Celestia feel? Do you know?”

“I wish I could tell you, Miss Heartstrings. I wish I could know—so I could tell it to all of my friends, or to anypony for that matter. But, even though I am Celestia's apprentice, there are many things that are still a mystery to me, and I think when it comes to the topic of the Cosmic Matriarch, it's far too sensitive a thing to press the Princess for information about.”

“You think she isn't willing to share what she knows?”

Twilight squirmed with a sudden awkwardness. “Erm... No. It's something far different than that, I think... or at least I theorize.”

“Oh?”

She looked at me. Her eyes were surprisingly vulnerable. “Would you, Miss Heartstrings, attempt talking about your mother... if you had lived for so long that you could hardly remember her?”

A sharp breath left me. The shadows in the room doubled, like the thick curtain of night. “I... I never once thought of that...”

Twilight gently nodded. “I imagine Celestia thinks of that everyday, which is why I'm so reticent to bring it up in conversation.”

I let my gaze fall. “I'm sorry...”

“Hey...” She smiled and leaned forward. “Don't be. It's healthy to be curious, but we mustn't forget that there are still sacred boundaries in this world. Besides, though Celestia may not have much to talk on the subject, she did once say something that has stuck with me for as long as I've known her.”

I glanced at her again. “What's that?”

Twilight was grinning, a very soft and childish expression. “When I first became her apprentice, I asked her about the creation of the world. She was very vague in her answer, except for one curious detail.” She stifled a giggle, cleared her throat, and quoted her mentor. “'The world began like all things began, my apprentice, not with a mere breath... but with a song.'”

What is this song? Is it the same thing that gets stuck in my head every morning and every night of my life? Have I been made capable of sensing something that no other Equestrian soul has been blessed—or cursed—to witness? Why me? Why me alone? And what does Nightmare Moon have to do with it?

This is what I struggle over. This is what I wrack my brain with. Day after day—in Twilight's library, on park benches, before the fireplace of my cabin, under candle-light, in the frigid glow of the moon and the gentle kiss of the morning sun—I rummage through books, tomes, scrolls in search of an answer, until my eyes gloss over with the dust and exhaustion of all the ages this mortal soul is constantly struggling to catch up with.

It's taken me several months, and I am only barely scratching the surface of history's forgotten answers—assuming that they are indeed answers, and just not red herrings disguised by the obscure layers of time. The richest details are lost in several languages, and most of them dead. I've relied on codecs, translations, almanacs, and various other legends that dig and chip away at mountains of lunar speech, and the most I know is that there is even more that I don't know, and may never know.

Was Nightmare Moon a musician first and a despot second? This should come as no surprise. My constant research over the last year has granted me remarkable insight. It turns out that every sentient culture in Equestria has a common retelling of a great deceiver whose gift was in the musical arts before turning into a bane of righteousness. Minotaurs write of a royal lyricist who—once scorned by a lover—trapped his entire kingdom in a labyrinthine spell. Diamond Dogs, often considered to be illiterate, actually possess several scrolls depicting a tribe of murderers who led their brothers astray with a 'Howl of Cyclones'. Even dragons have a spoken legend that tells of an ancient queen who petrified her brothers and sisters using a magically resonating diamond.

Perhaps my discoveries are a result of me—a cursed unicorn—looking specifically for information that relates to her plight. Still, I can't shake the uncanny coincidence of so many similar legends being told across multiple, different civilizations.

It's no secret that Princess Luna has an appreciation for musical arts. Then again, so does Princess Celestia. The sisters are both alicorn rulers of ponydom, and it'd be a heinous crime to not invest in the same culture that defines those whom they rule over. However, it's always been an accepted notion that ponies of ancient times relished more in the daytime than in the nighttime, and as a result Celestia's patronage was expressed in song and dance whereas worship of Luna was far more subdued. It doesn't take an immortal soul to imagine Luna seeking music of her own to fill in the gap.

But what connection could that have—if any—to the Cosmic Matriarch? I am certain—no—I am convinced that there must be a common thread. Twilight Sparkle is an apprentice after Celestia's own heart. If she quotes the Princess, saying that “all things began with a song,” I simply have no choice but to believe her. Our alicorn rulers began when the rest of the world did; they're the only ones possessed with the ability to remember. What better a way is there to preserve memories than through music?

Yes, this song is real. I am a lone soul, imprisoned in a cold bottle echoing with these ghostly melodies, like hidden phantoms on the dark side of the moon. Once I find them, I can find myself, and maybe—just maybe—I can rebroadcast them to the world, so that more ponies than just the alicorns can remember what has been lost since the foundation of everything, and then I can be as real as the song too.

Just yesterday morning, I knew it was time. I had put off the performance of the Threnody of Night for far too long. I had run out of excuses just as I had run out of fear. There comes a time when the desperation to find answers overcomes the trepidation of the cold journey ahead. Yesterday was just such a time. I had all the bits I needed to buy the ingredients. I had all the time to make my trip. I just didn't look forward to the energy it was going to sap from me.

I needed to go to the Everfree Forest, and that meant bundling up. Where I was headed, the hoodie simply wouldn't be enough. It started with woolen socks. I slid these over my hooves, then slipped them into thick goulashes that went halfway up my fetlocks. I grabbed a thick brown cloak that I hadn't worn in over a month and draped it over my entire body. Next came a familiar yellow scarf that still carried with it the felicity of an elegant unicorn's generous smile. Finally, I grabbed a black snowcap that I had sewn for myself, with a hole made to allow my horn to pierce through. Grabbing a bag of bits, I telekinetically flung the dual hoods of the sweatjacket and cloak over my head and stumbled out the door to my cabin.

It was a thirty minute trot until I would get to the edge of the Everfree Forest, to where the thick bundle of clothing would prove useful. Until then, I sweated uncomfortably, assaulted by a warmth that was actually unbearable for once. Despite the temptation to strip of at least the cloak or goulashes, I pressed on, knowing that soon I would be wishing for all of the world's blankets to be engulfing me. I wondered what I looked forward to the least: making this trip, or performing the instrumental once I had acquired what I needed. I had to keep my mind distracted, if only to give me strength, if only to make me think of other situations where sweating profusely was as comical as it was awkward, like trying to explain my cutie mark for the millionth time to Applejack's and Rarity's sisters, or receiving a flower from Morning Dew.

Morning Dew.

A sigh escaped my lips, and I smiled for the first time in days. It's funny: all of my writings on the beauty of friendship and my hopes for relinquishing the binds of this curse, and it's still those two words that can bring me joy without fail. My burdensome journey became slightly more bearable, and I marched into the thick forest refreshed, so that I meditated calmly for once and did what every musician does when she's relaxed.

I composed.

There are seven lunar elegies connected to my curse. I know this only because they are all that I have discovered so far. They come to me without warning or announcement, infecting my mind, born in sleep or in waking fright. If it was a song that began the world, then it was one that ended me, and I must carefully bridge the gap between creation and annihilation.

Lunar Elegy #1, as Twilight helped me discover, is the “Prelude to Shadows.” Referred to only once in The Royal Equestrian Compendium Volume Twelve, it's the first piece of evidence in the Lunar Archives that suggests that Princess Luna ever took a hobby in musical composition. To that end, it was the first tune that was stuck in my head the very moment I awoke to a world that perpetually forgot me.

Like all of the elegies that come to my mind, I endeavored to understand the nature of “Prelude to Shadows.” That meant performing the melody myself once I had completed the composition. I knew that there was something mystical and enchanting about the piece. What I didn't bet on was an actual magical effect for playing it out with my lyre. No sooner was I done with “Prelude to Shadows” when I found myself experiencing a severe mood shift. I became nervous, paranoid, and easily frightened. Every loose shape and beam of light spoke to me, as if something beyond the walls were closing in. I was almost mortified when another tune immediately took the Prelude's place in my mind.

Lunar Elegy #2, also thanks to Twilight, would turn out to be called “Sunset Bolero.” When performing the Prelude and the Bolero back to back, I realized that the music called for a smooth transition. It was then that I realized that the elegies coming to my mind weren't just random tunes. They were a suite, and I was on the verge of unfolding a grandiose symphony of mysterious proportions.

When I first played the “Sunset Bolero,” I was pleased to not experience a wave of uneasiness the likes of which the Prelude afflicted me with. Instead, I was overcome with an excitement I didn't expect. My heart's pulse rate went up and stayed that way for over thirty-six hours. I felt like I could run a marathon. Whether this was magically the result of the Bolero's heavy percussion or some sort of unexplained impetus that only Nightmare Moon could understand, I was at a loss to know. I was merely a mortal playing the tunes of an unearthly alicorn spirit. I was willing to bet that with only two performances, I was retaining more knowledge than even poor Princess Luna herself was capable of knowing at that point in time.

Lunar Elegy #3 took me a while to figure out, for I at first thought that I was simply hearing “Sunset Bolero” over again. It took several hours of meditating into the long cold night, but finally I realized that the third elegy was a modified version of the Bolero, slowed down, with a melancholic dissonance. Desperate for an explanation, I rummaged through the lunar texts available to me in Twilight's library. It took over two months, but upon mastering enough words of the lunar tongue, I was finally able to look up an ancient passage depicting Princess Luna and a second composition of one of her previous songs. This was how the “March of Tides” was born.

Performing the “March of Tides” had an instant effect on me. It made me light-headed, and time seemed to slow down. I realized then what the “Sunset Bolero” was preparing me for, because if my heart wasn't ready for the creepy effect of the March, I may not have been able to finish the composition. It was at this point of discovery that I realized that not only were these elegies meant to be performed in time, but they were being fed to me in just the perfect order, as if there was some invisible purpose behind the whole thing. I now had an even greater reason to practice these enchanted tunes, for I suddenly felt that some other spirit besides myself was involved.

Lunar Elegy #4 had no title, because for the longest time I didn't desire to name it. After the first performance, I had a panic attack, because I was blinded halfway through the instrumental. There's really no better a way to describe it. Halfway through the performance, all of the lights and colors were sucked out of the world. I remember collapsing in the middle of my new cabin that night, shivering, clutching at the shadows. I think I may have even screamed for help—not that anypony could have heard me. It's difficult to remember. The important detail is that when the morning sun came, I could see it, and I was enraptured.

After that, I gave up on pursuing the elegies for over six weeks. Could you blame me? I was dealing with a symphony that was beyond my control. My curse certainly wasn't being lifted with any of my subsequent performances. Besides, understanding it didn't make me any less vulnerable a mortal soul to the work of an equine goddess. However, as the days wore on, and the fourth elegy resonated in the recesses of my mind, I was drawn back to the lyre like a mother to her sickly foal.

I picked an evening when the moon was full. It was a pale glow of comfort to my frightened senses as I plucked forth at the strings once again. I performed the first elegy, then the second, then the third. Sure enough, halfway through Elegy # 4, my vision left me. Bravely—blindly—I strummed on, and when I was finished with the composition, my vision returned. Not only that, but I was experiencing a strange peace, a tranquility that kept me awake and resolute in the middle of the night's freezing stare. The next day, I did some research at Twilight's library, and almost immediately stumbled upon an ancient tale about Princess Luna curing a village of a pestilence that had afflicted the ponies' eyes. What was more, she did it with a song, and the name of it was “Darkness Sonata.”

After the harrowing circumstances involving the Sonata, I felt as though I could take on anything. So I engaged Elegy #5 with great courage and vigor. It turned out that my guile was almost for nothing. The fifth elegy resulted in a very comforting—almost whimsical experience. I wouldn't necessarily call it “happy.” A more appropriate word for it would be “secure.” According to Twilight Sparkle, the name of the instrumental is “Waltz of Stars,” and it's an appropriate name too. Its cadence mimics the uplifting beat of the “Sunset Bolero,” while incorporating a dissonance akin to “March of Tides,” whereas “Waltz of Stars” achieves a far more transcendental effect.

Playing the “Waltz of Stars” was ultimately a neutral experience. While the tune's whimsy and ethereal quality enchanted me at first, I felt for days after the song's performance a sense of longing. I couldn't sleep, on account of how pathetically lonesome I felt. I couldn't stop thinking about the song, about the void through which my strings echoed, as if I was calling out to long lost sisters I could never see again. Why siblings? I still don't quite understand it. But when I think about the song, I look up at the starry expanse and suddenly I feel as if I have all the answers, even if they're not all discovered yet.

Then there's Elegy #6. Twilight Sparkle immediately recognized the tune, and then she shocked me when she said that it was none other than the Anthem to the Lunar Empire. She explained to me that the song had in fact been used as a military call to assembly in the years preceding the rise of Nightmare Moon. Before Princess Luna was banished with the Elements of Harmony, her tainted spirit tricked many unicorns into following her will. The result was an army that had gathered under Nightmare Moon's lead. Using these ill-fated ponies, the dark alicorn attempted to usurp the power of her sister and all souls who defended her.

It pains me to think that I was being taught by invisible tongues to learn a tune that had once meant the bane of my very own ancestors. Unicorns almost went extinct as a result of the war between the holy siblings of Equestria. The elegies I was uncovering were frightful and mysterious, but they were not without their own sense of beauty. I think it goes without saying that even the most insidious of tools we invent in this world all start as a noble work of art.

So, with great zeal, I poured through the pages of every ancient tome I could find. I soon discovered that almost anything related to the sixth elegy had been eliminated from modern history. In a way, it makes sense. Nopony in their right mind would want to see something like the Lunar Empire become reborn in our day and age. Still, it's such a tragedy that fantastic works of art—beautiful by their merit alone—must absolutely be destroyed along with the nefarious shadows of the past. As my mind swam with the melancholic tunes being sung to my mind, it soon became clear that I didn't need to know the actual name of the elegy to ascertain its composition. Ever since my plight began, I've possessed an inexplicable sense that is not blemished by the fears and prejudice of time. Furthermore, I of all ponies should know that words are meaningless in my search. I can only imagine how much of Princess Luna's heart went into her symphony before her poisoned mind transformed it into something wicked.

I decided to call the sixth instrumental “Moon's Elegy,” and it's impact upon me was immediately noticeable upon performance. As soon as I had finished strumming the composition, I felt the chills of my curse doubling... tripling. It was as though every warm piece of the world had been pulled away from me. I felt numb, cold, hungry, and very impressionable. It suddenly made sense why this was such an easy song for corrupt warmongers to wield. If enough zealots were exposed to the “Moon's Elegy,” I could see a despot like Nightmare Moon making them do anything with the simple promise of lifting the very effects of the tune. As a matter of fact, the only way I was able to free myself from the paralyzing cold was to play my way back through elegies # 1 through 5.

Perhaps, then, it's excusable as to why I've been so hesitant to tackle Elegy #7, a tune that Twilight Sparkle has herself called “Threnody of Night.” A threnody is a song of tribute to the dead. I've hoped to be many things at the end of unraveling this curse, but dead isn't one of them.

And yet, what else am I to do? I certainly can't quit on these instrumentals. I learn them as I discover them. There is no skipping a tune, no jumping ahead to see how the entire symphony ends. I can't track down Princess Luna and ask her for help. I can't send a letter to Princess Celestia and call upon her wisdom. With the exception of Twilight's insight and Spike's research skills—both of which are fleeting assets at best—I am alone on this journey. It's a cold and treacherous trek, like a tiny pony flung into endless night, or a lone body trotting through a gloomy jungle.

Yesterday, at noon, I marched slowly through the Everfree Forest. I had no choice but to take it easy. It didn't matter how desperate I felt. Breaking into a full gallop would waste my energy, and I was utilizing every bit of stamina in keeping myself from passing out in the middle of that dense foliage.

It was cold. So very, very cold. My teeth chattered and the hairs of my coat stood on end. Even beneath all of my bundled clothes—the cloak and the scarf and the snow cap and the sweatjacket—I was about ready to shatter into a million frozen pieces.

When the curse struck me, I was located in the center of Ponyville—at ground zero—where Nightmare Moon first touched down upon the earth after a thousand long years of banishment. For that reason, apparently, I am the warmest in the heart of Ponyville. Moving out, I am shivering along the town's fringes, freezing at my cabin, and downright numb at places very distant from the center, places such as Sweet Apple Acres.

In the Everfree Forest, I might as well be dead. The temperature is unbearable. To any other pony, I must look like a feverish mess, shivering beneath layers of wool and cloth. It's a feat in and of itself to pass my condition off as a temporary illness. I rarely ever trot out this far, and when I do it's only when it's absolutely necessary. I needed the materials for performing the “Threnody of Night.” As a result, I had to keep going. I had to keep piercing the forest. Soon enough, I would have found my destination.

Everytime I looked at the uneven path ahead of me, the trail appeared to stretch on even further. To avoid fainting, I tilted my gaze upwards and allowed the frail specks of sunlight to bleed through the foliage and play with my eyes, keeping me awake. I've been told that the Everfree Forest is supposed to be frightening, that the unchecked growth of nature is a scary change from the orderly world that stewards like the pegasi maintain for us. As far as I'm concerned, all of the nightmarish things of Everfree are invisible and harmless, at least in comparison to the very real cold that assaults my body each time I venture out there. Making a sort of trek like I did yesterday is the mystical equivalent of diving into a subterranean lake hidden beneath a polar ice cap. I'd be warmer if I gathered a syringe full of permafrost and shoved it into an open vein. Toying with the mystical effects of a lunar curse is hardly a game, and yet I have no way of dissecting my situation unless I play with it just a little bit.

I had to keep myself distracted. I thought of the Threnody. I thought of the musical notes burned into the back of my brain. My ears twitched as I imagined each tune long before I performed them. In the streets of Ponyville, before the gracious bits of other ponies being flung before me, I had practiced the tunes—but each occasion was a purposeful alteration of the true composition. I couldn't practice the actual instrumentals by striking each note true; a perfect playthrough meant activating the magical spell attached to the elegy I was performing. I very deeply feared afflicting other ponies with the same mystical burden that I and I alone was enduring. After all, the purpose of freeing myself from the curse was finding a way to commune with such souls in the first place. It was a noble goal, and it was worth all of the trials, tribulations, and shivers... most of the time.

I felt a great shadow looming over me. With a gasp of joy, I realized that I had finally stumbled upon the treehouse. Various masks of exotic design greeted me as I all-but-stumbled into the door, rapping upon it with a shuddering hoof. I clung to myself, shivering upon the threshhold. I felt weaker this visit. I wasn't sure how long I was going to last.

Thankfully, I didn't have to wait for long. I heard her voice almost immediately: “Come. Come and enter, stranger or friend. For I have brews for all ills contained within.”

I took a deep, deep breath and opened the door. I had to work every quivering muscle into producing a neighborly grin. “Good afternoon, Miss Zecora.” I nearly stumbled dead across her floor. I locked the joints in my legs and stood as tall as I could, my teeth showing in the green torchlight. “I'm so sorry to bother you.”

“It is hardly a bother, kindly mare,” said the meditative zebra. She stood over a bubbling cauldron, squinting at a series of herbs that she was sprinkling over a new and experimental concoction. “So long as you are in my house, you are in my care.”

“Well, th-that's good...” I winced past a wave of chills. I was afraid to look up, as if expecting the dangling decorations from her desert homeland to be replaced with deadly icicles. “Uhm... I've been told th-that you're a local hermit, and that you rarely wander into town...” The fact that this was the fifth (or sixth?) time reciting these words didn't make the task any less awkward. “...but I'm desperate t-to finish this scientific experiment that I'm working on for the Manehattan University, and I'm sh-short four reagents. I'm t-told that you have several sound stones that you c-commonly sell, is that true?” I clenched my teeth. I knew Zecora's answer before she said it. I only needed her to come out with it quickly. If only zebras were as punctual in their predictability as ponies.

“Hmmm, magical sound stones, a ram-crafted delight.” Zecora murmured to the hazy atmosphere of her home as she stirred the broth before her. “I say five pony bits per rock sounds about right. I wish I could charge less, but unfortunately sound stones are acquired through much trial and difficulty.” She trotted over towards a shelf where a black box resided. In so doing, she cast me the first glance since I entered, and her blue eyes widened. “By the shadows, pony, your attire! Is Equestria due for a blizzard most dire?”

Here we go...

I swallowed hard and did a very brave thing. I lowered the hoods of both my cloak and hoodie. Whether or not Zecora spots the chattering teeth beneath my smiling lips, I can never tell. I can only hope the gesture is enough to distract her, and so far it's worked every time. “There's no c-cause for alarm, Miss Zecora. Ponyville's not expecting inclement weather. It's just me and my c-condition.”

“And what condition, pray tell, is that?” Zecora grabbed four dark crystals from the black box and cradled them in a prehensile tail. She trotted towards me with an expression that was half concerned, half amused. “Before you, the most I've seen a pony wear is a hat!”

“It's genetic, so n-none of your m-medicines will help me.” After so many trips, it was the best excuse I had for making these visits short. I have nothing against Zecora. I'm sure I would love her company, and if I could predict her trips to downtown Ponyville I would visit her there in a heartbeat. It was just that the longer I stayed in her home the more certain I was that my hooves would go permanently numb. “Seriously, all I c-came for was the sound stones.” I was already reaching telekinetically into my floating bag of coins. Several weeks of street performances went into this shivering moment, and I wasn't about to tarry. “Five bits per stone? It so happens I have about twenty bits here...”

“Surely, there is more for you that I can do!” Zecora's face was long, sad. Then suddenly it brightened. “Ah! Perhaps a sample of dragon's brew!”

Oh shoot.

She had never said that on any of the visits before.

“Uhhh...” I stood, frozen in mid-payment, like a tourist who had suddenly gotten lost in the middle of a horrible jungle. “Dragon's b-brew? Miss Zecora, I swear, all I need is—”

But she was already reaching for a jar from a nearby counter and pouring red liquid into a wooden bowl. “If there is any noble truth taught me by ponykind, it's that one must keep hospitality first in mind. You can consider these sound stones as good as sold, but it would be cruel to let you leave so infirmed and cold!”

“Miss Zecora, seriously...” I ran a hoof over my face. Why? Why do I have to be cursed in the middle of a sea of blessings? I could have just grabbed the stones and ran. I could have even stolen them and used the twenty bits for my own benefit later. What would it have mattered? Zecora wouldn't have remembered me, whether I was a robber or a saint. Why? Why do I have to play by this code? Haven't I gone through enough as it is? I'm alone in this nightmare. Don't I deserve to play a little dirty for once, especially if it means me getting what I need faster? “You don't need to give me anything...”

“Your words say 'no' but your voice says 'yes'.” She pierced me as much with her smile as she did with that statement, all the while motioning me towards the fresh potion she had prepared. “Your trembles should decrease as soon as you ingest.”

I sometimes wonder if I'd be any less transparent if those I live with actually remembered me. With a defeated breath, I marched over and gracefully accepted her medicinal gift. The taste wasn't half as bitter as the knowledge of its uselessness. I've no doubt Zecora's brews could cure pony pox, leprosy, or even pegasus arthritis. The only thing capable of appeasing my situation is a smile—blissful and ignorant—and it was my job at the moment to aim it at her.

“Thank you very much, Miss Zecora. That was very generous of you.”

“It should provide enough heat to carry you back from which you came,” she said. “And now that you've sampled the dragon's brew, might I trouble you for your name?”

“Lyra,” I recited. “Lyra Heartstrings.” I set off the invisible metronome inside my head in anticipation for what would come next.

“Ah, such a delightful name is 'Heartstrings.' If only every soul was designed after beautiful things.”

I can't help it. I giggle everytime I hear that. That alone—far more than the brew—made the cold momentarily manageable. “Jee, thanks. Too bad you don't have an instrument to read such lyrics off to.”

“My spoken rhyme is merely shamanistic tradition,” Zecora explained as she marched over to the nearby counter and picked the stones back up again. “I dare not encroach upon the ways of a musician.”

“Why not?” I asked. As I spoke, my gaze fell upon a wooden engraving lying on a nearby shelf. I saw the illustration of several zebra figures gathered around what looked to be a pair of festive drums. I felt my heart beating at the very notion. “Music is the best expression of the soul,” I murmured, my eyes dripping forlornly over the desert illustration. “Be it zebra or pony.”

After a pause, I hoofed her the twenty bits and slid the four sound stones she offered into my pouch. Zecora had said something new to me this visit, so I felt like saying something “new” to her.

“I'm sure there're plenty of songwriters in town who'd love to work on something with you that doesn't involve herbs or potion-making. Twilight Sparkle and her friends speak highly of you, otherwise I would never have thought to come here for these rocks.”

She replied, “I am sure they have better ways of spending their time than attempting to shape melody around a zebra's rhyme.”

“But... you're so...” I gazed around at the walls surrounding us. All too soon, I felt the shivers returning, but this time they were for her and not for me. I realized that the only alien thing in that place was me. Zecora had made a home away from home for herself, and the foundations of her little nest were as beautiful as they were strange. “You're so alone h-here,” I eventually murmured, failing to hide the trembles in my frame once more. “And I get the feeling it's because you choose to be, M-Miss Zecora. If I were you...” I bit my lip. What was I doing? I should have just left and been done with it all. I had gotten the stones. Foalishly, I continued, “If I knew that I had so many friends in town, I wouldn't spend half as much time alone as I already do.”

Zecora seemed unaffected by my impassioned plea. She trotted back to her cauldron like a soldier returning to her post. “What I do in solitude, I do for the best. A shaman's work isn't done until she's finished her quest.”

I gazed forlornly her way. “And all of those years that we spend working on something so important to us...” I struggled through a wave of frost. I felt like my eyeballs would freeze in their sockets, and yet I struggled to keep staring at her. “That's a long time to live without a soundtrack, don't you think?”

At that, she glanced curiously up at me. She gave a gentle smile. “I am curious that you would speak of 'we'. Is there a shaman in this room other than me? Heheheh...” I'm sure that the chuckle coming out of her lips was meant to be whimsical. However, to me it felt like a bitter pill, more nauseating than all of the world's exotic brews sloshed together.

“Shaman... Musician... Goddess...?” I gulped hard. The walls were closing in, and all of them laced with ice. I stumbled backwards out of the treehouse as if I was tripping over a snowbank. “What's in a title if we don't have anypony but ourselves to share our gifts with?”

Something reflected in the surface of Zecora's bubbling cauldron other than her face. To her squinting blue eyes, it looked like a fine mist of vapors. She glanced up at the walls of her home. Aside from the curious sensation of having just used her voice to speak, this revelation had no effect on her. After all, she was always alone.

I returned to my cabin well before the sunset. Even then, I didn't immediately start performing the “Threnody of Night.” I had to recover from my trip into the veritable tundra that the Everfree Forest was to me. I laid in the center of my cot, huddled beneath a mountain of blankets. I stayed there, weathering the fading waves of cold, practicing the Threnody in my head. But I did more than that. I had to steel myself for what I was about to do, for what no amount of meditation could truly prepare me for.

You would think my life is predictable, given the circumstances. That couldn't be further from the truth. My entire situation is one immense dive into the unknown. Even the very alicorn who invented these tunes is oblivious to the masterpieces I'm endeavoring to unlock. The only soul who possibly knows an ounce of truth is Nightmare Moon, and all ponies—those cursed and those blessed—are equally happy to see her gone for good.

It is the task of mortals to make sense out of senselessness. Goddesses have galloped among us for millennia, and this has never stopped being true. When my task becomes too formidable to bear, I simply remind myself that while I may be alone with my memories, I am hardly alone in my struggles. I take little comfort in this understanding, but I do take a decent amount of strength.

After an hour and a half of rest, I decided that I was ready. I grabbed my lyre. I grabbed a torch. I grabbed my music sheets, my notes, and an oil lantern. Finally, I brought along the four dark-crystal sound stones, devices that had been used for ages by rams and unicorns alike for absorbing acoustical frequencies. After hours of reading in Twilight's library, I learned that these same materials were used by proto-Equestrians in harnessing the frequencies of mystical enchantment. It's hypothesized that the substance had originally been made out of a vibrating stone whose age predates the first Rise of Discord. As a matter of fact, the rocks were believed to be immune to waves of chaos energies. After utilizing them myself, I realized that I could properly channel the effects of the lunar elegies and contain them to a small area of focus, so that the instrumentals I performed became much more manageable. If there was anything I needed from that evening, it was a way to properly manage whatever would come next.

With beautiful irony, evening had fallen. I trotted the dark length from my cabin to a tiny wooden shack positioned along the edge of the woods. My dim lantern illuminated my path. Reaching the shack, I unlatched the wooden door and opened it, revealing a hidden flight of wooden steps that led down a steep trench dug out of the earth. I had shoveled the hollow myself, spending several months of flexing my telekinetic muscle. Closing the door to the “shack” behind me, I marched down the depth of fifteen feet until I was finally standing in the center of a twenty-by-thirty foot rectangular cellar. When I first started these experiments, I wasn't sure exactly what danger the magical instrumentals might pose upon the residents of Ponyville all around me. I decided to play it safe and fashion for myself a “bunker” of sorts within which I could perform my lonely symphonies, in full confidence that no other soul could hear the compositions of Princess Luna besides my accursed self.

I hung the lantern from a metal hook implanted in the roof of the underground niche. A dim amber light danced across the wooden boards barricading the walls of soil all around me. The floor was a sea of even gravel that crunched under my hooves, except for a plank of wood in the center, atop which a metal stand resided. Upon this pedestal, I planted my lyre. With magic, I floated a wooden stool over and propped it in front of the instrument. I then laid the sound stones in key positions in the four corners of the wooden plank, so that they surrounded me and my instrument. I meditated, focused upon the leylines of magic attuned to my horn, and enchanted the four crystals. They glowed with a dark emerald haze that played with the amber kiss of the lantern above, making it feel like Hearth's Warming morning. Sitting down in the center of the ethereal halo, I collected my breaths, then propped the notebook full of musical notations in a notch positioned halfway up the pedestal.

For several numb minutes, I sat in dead silence, half buried in the earth like the ghost I was made to be, teetering upon the edge of unknowing. The hardest part of experimenting is always starting the experiment to begin with. What am I to discover? What horror or elation waits for me at the end of my last strummed note? Will I find a cure to my curse, or a deeper degree of damnation?

I thought of Zecora, for some reason. I thought of her sitting in the middle of her house, just as alone, just as far away from home, working on the latest of her shamanistic experiments. I wondered what drove her to do what she did—and in such solitude as well. Was it all pure, medicinal altruism? Did she have a goal in mind? Did she benefit from everything she ever did... and did alone?

I envied her zeal, her courage, to embark on a daily basis to work on things nonstop, for the simple sake of being busy. The day that my curse is cured, what will I do? Will I have as much of a drive as Zecora? Will I live up to all the things I've ever wanted the ponies of this town to see in me?

Nothing ever seems to get done when I think too much. That's why it helps to just do things, and the only thing I had to do yesterday was the experiment. I forced myself into the first throes of it, breathing evenly, sitting in a calm pose atop the stool as I forced the first of several strings to vibrate along the channels of my telekinesis.

“Prelude to Shadows” began, and with it came the shivering waves of paranoia. I felt the amber shadows of the lantern dancing above me as the dissonant cords came to life. I kept playing, choosing to focus on the protective green aura of the sound stones surrounding me. Soon enough, the Prelude's eerie melody ended. It is a short instrumental after all. My heart was ready for the “Sunset Bolero.” The cellar resonated with its pulsating tempo as invisible percussion instruments sounded off in my head. I felt the glow of green light increase, and I realized it was from my horn and not the crystals engulfing me. The emerald brilliance began to shift and flicker, and that's how I knew that the “March of Tides” had begun. I allowed the numbness of the music piece to creep over my body, sending me weightless and fearless into the instrumental that was to come.

The “Darkness Sonata” started, and already I felt my blood beginning to freeze over. The lanternlight was growing dimmer, or so I told myself. I stifled a whimper deep in my throat and kept my eyes wide open to the subterranean blackness that was burying me. I felt as though the weight of twenty thousand generations of moon phases was bearing down on my body. In desperation, I swam towards the pale orb in some imaginative sky, and I discovered several invisible arms carrying me there upon streams of mesmerizing cadence. I no longer felt afraid, for the “Waltz of Stars” was accompanying me. My vision returned, and I embraced the lanternlight once again with steely determination, for the hardest veil was just about to come. It hit me like a solid block of ice. I nearly fell out of my chair as the frigid kiss of the “Moon's Elegy” ripped through me, threatening to shatter my soul like glass. I skated across the alabaster surface of its melody with tenacity, utilizing every nimble talent in this lone musician's arsenal, for it was the last layer of mystery I knew how to pierce.

The “Threnody of Night” was next, the death of all my music and the anthem thereof. I tackled the dirge like a monk, pure in form and devoid of flare. One does not show off before the reaper; I was not about to turn a masterpiece into a farce. The solemnity of the tune was excruciating to my ears. I felt my breaths like delicate punctuations between each string pluck. If I hadn't seen the walls around me with my naked eyes, I could have sworn the cellar had morphed into a bottomless ravine. Where had all the echoes gone? Was it the sound stones creating this deathly silence that gobbled up the vibrating edge of each cord? Did the acoustics simply die?

I couldn't panic. There was no way to afford an error at this point. Who knows what would happen if I stopped in the middle of this instrumental, especially after I had played so much of it so perfectly. Was it perfect? It had to have been. What could have been more melodious than this? I had played variations of this tune so many times in the streets of Ponyville, and never once did it appeal to me with such beauty, a haunting beauty, a beauty that could tell a diseased foal that it was okay to embrace the darkness, for there was something beyond the black veil that was even more comforting than a mother's kiss.

Dear Celestia. What was I thinking? What was this Threnody speaking to me? I tried to call back to it, but something was deafening my ears. I heard the rattling of infinite chains, swirling into the dark navel of the world like cyclonic, black intestines. Art teachers lied to me when I was young, for there have always existed colors that were never meant to be seen, and suddenly every single one of them was reaching out from the Threnody's throat for me, blacker than black, like the blood of something that had crawled and wheezed across this world long before the goddesses gave birth to air, light, and sorrow.

I was too cold to be scared. The “Moon's Elegy” had made sure of that. I was a flightless insect being shoved down the maw of something far too enormous to be put into words, for the only way to recognize all that's existed was to forget it. My mind was not large enough. I tried stopping my music, but the lyre was going on without me. If I had a hammer, I would have smashed my horn to dust, but I found that the same thing was happening to my hooves. I looked down at my forelimbs and all I saw were tears.

The air grew sour. I looked without looking; I couldn't feel my body anymore. The light of the lantern had gone out. The crystals had all but shattered. A gray haze had filled the cellar. It tasted like a baby's first nightmare. I entreated the walls and the walls buckled. They leaked in a thousand places. They must have been as sad as I was to be crying so much. When their tears broke through—with the gloss of ages overcoming me in a frozen deluge—I gave up trying to count the many places in the world through which they shattered. There were so many dying, black stars, like the sand of a beach catching fire and burning out forever.

I fell back and the cellar fell with me. Into the blacker than black we swam, past the chains, past the strings of the lyre stretching like wingbones from horizon to horizon, submerged, glittering with the pale sheen of endless moonlight. There, hidden beyond all shadows, I finally found my voice, and it was sobbing.

Alone in the penumbra of all my hopes and horrors I cuddled that voice and I heard...

I heard...

“Lyra?”

The gazelle of the northern Zebrahara have long employed the hollows of milkwood reeds to craft the flutes traditionally utilized in their wedding ceremonies. However, upon the introduction of polygamist rituals brought in by the migratory wildebeests, they've replaced the flutes for ocarinas crafted out of dried river mud, and this has been the standard form of social instrumentation for the last five decades.

“Lyra?!”

Ever since contact has been made with the zebra tribes of the southern plains, the gazelle have learned to incorporate percussion instruments into their native songs. This has led to the first known case of Zebraharan songwriting since the rams performed their exodus to the Northern Mountains following the Age of Discord.

“Lyra Heartstrings!”

Mom's voice...

I look up from a sprawling assortment of textbooks and notes across my bed covers.

The rooftops of Canterlot outside my windows are every color of the rainbow.

Mom's mane is somehow brighter than everything else.

I wish I could say the same of her frown.

“Uhhhh...” I sit up straight, blinking. The air is cool, but that's not why I'm suddenly shivering. “Am I forgetting something...?”

“Your train leaves in less than two hours!”

“Oh shoot!” I scramble to scoop up all of my study materials and shove them into a turquoise saddlebag. “The Summer Sun Celebration! Twilight's going to kill me!”

“Kill you? She hasn't seen you in months!” Mom chuckles. I can never recreate the tonality in her voice. I wouldn't want to. “But seriously, Lyra. Must you take all of those things? You're going to meet with Twilight to celebrate. You'll have plenty of time to study when you get back.”

“I'm just zero point two grade points away from being top in class!” I exclaim as I gather the last of my things and tie my saddlebag shut. “I can't let myself slack off for even a second!”

“Well, at least try not to be rude when you're around Twilight by studying instead of catching up with her.”

“I think I know better than that, Mom.” I wink at her. I gallop to her side for a quick nuzzle before scampering down the stairs. “I'll send a postcard once I'm in Ponyton.”

“Ponyville.” She calls after me. “And Lyra...”

Her tone stops me dead in my tracks. I linger in the middle of the stairs, groaning. “Don't tell me... What have I forgotten now?”

“What else?” Her horn glows with aged grace as she floats an embarrassingly familiar instrument into my peripheral vision. “Even if you don't use it for your studies, perhaps you can play a song or two at the celebration.”

I smile. I feel my cheeks flush. “Thanks, Mom.” I grab the lyre with my magic and stuff it down my saddlebag. “I swear, I'd lose my horn if it weren't attached to my head.”

“So long as you look after your horn, then our baby genius has her future set out for her,” she says. The last I see of her is a wink.

I descend the stairs.

The windows are wide open.

The air of Canterlot is crisp, rich, full of delicious sounds.

Dad stands in the middle of it, fiddling with his latest painting.

“Darn it,” he mutters. “I can never get the colors to blend just right.”

“It looks just fine, dad.” I say in a sing-song fashion. I dash over to give him a swift peck on the cheek. “Photo Finish is going to love the portrait you're making of her.”

“Actually, it's still-life of a bowl of cantaloupes.”

“Erm... Yes. Well... She seems to be into fruity things.” I giggle nervously and bolt towards the door. Bright sunlight engulfs me. “Gotta go! See ya soon!”

“Don't grow too attached to Ponyville, Lyra,” Dad mutters. “It's farm country. I’ve been told the smell takes forever to get out.”

“Daaaaaad... I'll only be there for a few days! Heehee! You won't even know I left!”

He disappears along with the painting.

Everything's a blur.

The train car keeps jostling.

It's hard to concentrate.

There's a foal crying two seats ahead of me.

I'm reminded of a Ponyrecki composition.

I scribble a few things in my notepad.

There are thirty-five lines left on the sheet, and I wonder if I could fit Octavia's latest “Adagio for a Bearded Sorcerer” on it by memory.

“Ponyville! Next stop! Next stop! Ponyville!”

Dear Celestia, there's so much noise.

The train's making a massive turn around the bend.

I feel myself tilting towards the window.

In my annoyance, a flash a glance outside.

I see apple trees, a windmill, thatched roofs, a bell tower, and more apple trees.

“Yeesh...” I chuckle to myself. “What a flippin' hole in the ground.”

I look at the blank sheet again; it's a lot more interesting.

I hum to myself.

Goddess, I'm so jealous of Octavia...

“Twilight?! Yoohoo!”

I jump—grinning like mad—my muzzle bouncing over several heads of ponies.

“Hey! Twilight! Over here!”

She's sitting at a picnic table, surrounded by farm ponies.

A half-devoured pie rests on a plate before her.

It glistens like all the apples surrounding us, like her violet eyes briefly do when they look up to see me.

“Oh, Lyra. Hey.” She struggles to smile. There is something weighing on her, and I think it's more than just the farm family's sweets forming a bulge in her belly. “Moondancer told me in her letter that you'd be coming. I'm really glad that you did.”

“Well at least one of us is.” I wince at the backsweat wafting off the multiple workhooves prancing through the apple orchards around us. “Whew! You smell that? Why is Princess Celestia choosing the boondocks of Equestria to raise the Sun at this year?”

“It's not so bad a town, really. The ponies here are insanely friendly, though. But I guess it can't be helped.”

“Heeheehee... You look like you could use a long night's sleep.” I wink and point at her belly. “Or a stomach pump.”

“I can't, Lyra,” Twilight groans. “As Celestia's personal protege, I've been charged with overseeing the ceremony. This was to be my first stop. But at this rate, I dunno if I can so much as stand up—much less interview the rest of the ponies running the show.”

I glance all around us.

Everypony is looking the other way.

I've never once let a magical opportunity go astray.

“Pssst...” I lean towards Twilight. “Perhaps simple ponies could do with a simple distraction?”

“Oh please—!” Twilight's lavender hooves are held together across the table from me. “Anything, Lyra!” she pleads. “You've gotta help me out!”

“Don't worry.” I pull my lyre out. “I've got this.”

I strum every string in succession, then shout before the air.

“Oh my stars and garters! Is that Whinny Nelson over there?!”

To my dismay, the huge family of farmers merely blinks in confusion.

After a beat, I clear my throat and utter, “Oh, also, the apples are on fire!”

Everypony is immediately shrieking and running straight towards the fields.

Soon, Twilight and I are alone with our gasping breaths.

“Now's our chance!” Twilight shrieks and leads the charge.

I gallop after her, giggling.

“Twilight! There you are!” Spike gasps from where he waits in the middle of the road. He gives his mentor a strange look. “Holy guacamole! Did you have enough of their apple treats?”

“Unnnngh...” Twilight gulps something down before it has the chance to rise out of her throat. She smiles sickly my way as we trot towards her assistant. “Thankfully Lyra arrived just in time to save my tail.”

“You should thank Spike too.” I say with a smile. “He told me I might find you here. I had no idea you'd be forced down a gauntlet of pies.”

“Please...” Twilight sighed, her face long. “Don't say that word. It's not like I don't have enough on my plate.”

I trot around to get a better look at my foalhood friend's expression. “Something eating at you, Twilight? Last time we hung out, you couldn't stop rambling excitedly about the latest spell Celestia was teaching you. She's gonna be showing up here tomorrow to raise the Sun, right? Why aren't you chomping at the bit to see her—erm—if you pardon the old mare's expression. Hehehe...”

“Lyra, you're always studying about the history of music, right?”

“There'd be something terribly wrong with me if I wasn't.”

“Have you, in your studies, ever chanced upon song relating to the 'Elements of Harmony'?” She clears her throat and further utters, “Specifically dating back to more than a thousand years ago?”

“Ugh... Not this again.” Spike rolls his eyeslits and trots off towards the center of town beyond the bend in the road. “I'll go scout ahead for this 'Dashing Rainbow' pegasus or whoever we're supposed to meet next.”

I scratch my mane and squint curiously after him. “Just what's gotten his spines in a bunch?”

“He thinks I'm overreacting.”

“Overreacting about what?”

Twilight sighs. She's a wealth of knowledge, and yet so much of that is forever a mystery to me. I can never understand her: only admire her. If only Moondancer was here. Together, we might make her giggle.

Her smile is half-hearted as she trots toward me. “Never mind, Lyra. This... This is a year just like any other. We should be happy and celebrate the warmth that's given to us on a daily basis.”

“Hey, works for me,” I say with a smile. “I heard you're going to be at the library in the center of town tonight.”

“Yes. It's where I'm staying during the Celebration.”

“Think you'd mind an annoying, mint-green unicorn knocking on the door and chatting it up about music?”

“Hmmm... I'd love to sit and talk with you again, Lyra. But I've got a lot of work to do.” There is something distant in her face. It draws the smile away just as it draws her near to me for a friendly nuzzle. “Still, it's nice to hear your voice. It's like a song that I'm happy to remember every time you stop by. Things have been so strange lately. Princess Celestia's been really distant, and I can't get her to give me a straight answer.”

“About what, Twilight?”

“Things. Important things. Mysterious things.” She steps back and runs a hoof over her head and sighs, as if the entire universe is weighing in on her horn. “There's no time to explain.”

I gulp and gaze at her in concern. “Not even time for friends?”

At first, she says nothing.

She trots down the road, and only once she's become a shadow does she glance over her shoulder and say with an awkward smile, “Let me just get my work done. Then we'll see what comes next.”

“I'll still drop by the library later!” I call after her. “Do you want me to bring some food and games?”

“Please! No food!” She exclaims back, then practically growls, “And no games! I'm not in the mood for surprises tonight!”

“Alright, Twilight! You can count on me!”

“So, like, you should totally surprise her!” I say with a grin. “Spring this party you’re planning on her like it’s a lightning storm!”

A pink pony gasps from across the dessert counter of Sugarcube Corner. “Ohhhh I knew it I knew it I knew it!” Her blue eyes sparkle with electricity. “The first moment I saw her I knew it was a pony who needed to have a surprise welcoming party thrown for her! Is it true? Is she going to be in the library this very evening?!”

“Heehee! Yeah! And she'll likely be there all night until the raising of the Sun at your mayor's town hall.”

“Perfect! Not all ponies are into bonfires, y'know. Too many mosquitoes. Bleachk! Eeeheehee! This is so super-duper-perfect! I'll throw an indoor banquet and have all of Mrs. and Mr. Cake's finest treats lined up and ready for the scarfin'! Oooh! Hot sauce! Mustn't forget the hot sauce! It goes great with sarsaparilla, don't you think?”

“Yeah, yeah. We all love sauce.” I'm already reaching into my saddlebag. “So how much is this little shindig gonna cost me?”

“Heehee! Nothing!” She grins wildly. “Consider this on the house—and when I say 'on the house'—I really mean 'on the treehouse', cuz that's where the library's built. The pony who decided to build that must have had a thing for termites cuz I swear—”

“You're pulling my tail, right?” I raise an eyebrow. “I'm from Canterlot, you know. If I wanted to, I could afford to hold three banquets and a dance party and still have room left in my saddlebag to rattle at bellhops.”

“Hehehehe—silly unicorn! Bells don't hop! They ring!”

“You know what?” I smirk and zip my saddlebag shut. “Who am I to refuse a kind offer, Miss Pine?”

“Pie.”

“Whatever. Just make sure you're there on time.”

“Wooooohooo!” She jumps and pumps her hoof in the air. “We're gonna party and we're gonna party loud!”

“Mmmmm-heeheeheehee—” I giggle devilishly. “Somehow, I have no doubt of that.”

Spike marches out of a tiny room with a lampshade covering his head.

Less than a minute later, Twilight rejoins the loud and raving party in the center of the library.

She has a burning frown, and it's aimed directly at me.

“All. My. Hate.”

“Heeheehee...” I fall back on my haunches and hug myself. I wink at her. “Love ya too, lavender lumps.”

“Why doesn't anypony get it?!” she grumbles. “Why can't anyone see what this coming day means?!”

“It's the Summer Sun Celebration, Twi!” I scoot over and engulf her in a deep hug. “Come onnnnn! Smile! Want me to play the Smarty Pants Song?”

The hairs on the back of Twilight's coat bunch up. “No. No!” She hisses and stares worriedly at all of the ponies around us. “You promised never ever to mention the Smarty Pants Song!”

“Heeheehee... But it always made you smile when we were little fillies!”

“Things have changed, Lyra. I don't have time for horsing around—figuratively and literally! There's so much at stake!”

“Yeah? Heehee...” I wipe a tear free and grab a bottle of soda from a nearby table. “Like what?”

She hangs her head and groans. “In less than an hour—when dawn arrives—it will officially be the longest day of the thousandth year, and things that have been set in motion long before history can remember will come into fruition.”

“Heh.” I stifle a burp, wipe my lips, and place the beverage down. “Sounds freaky. Uhm... thousandth year since what?”

“Lyra, have you ever wondered where the Mare in the Moon came from?”

“We've all been taught stories about the exiled princess, Twilight—”

“Her name was Luna.”

“Whatever. The fact of the matter is, that's way in the past. What we don't remember has been forgotten for a reason, don't you think?” I smile at her. I can see my teeth glinting in her eyes. “You're getting all washed up over nothing, Twilight. If Moondancer was here, she'd say the same! Don't let a bunch of old pony's tales keep you from enjoying your chance to live in the moment.”

Twilight bites her lip. Before she can respond, there's a loud shuffle of hooves.

Everypony is exiting the library, joining a thick herd that surges towards the town hall on the other side of town.

“Princess Celestia...” Twilight murmurs.

I smile and nudge her with my horn. “What are we waiting for? Let's go and meet your mentor, shall we?”

“Yes... I've missed her so...”

Twilight breathes a little easier. She isn't smiling, but I can see the color returning to her face.

She trots out briskly, and I'm immediately behind her.

Then I stop.

I remember...

“Shoot... Never fails!” I gallop straight towards a far corner of the library. “I'll be with you in a sec!”

I have to shovel my way through a mountain of confetti and a tossed pin-the-tail-on-the-pony poster.

I finally find it, glistening and golden as ever.

“I should just sew you to my tail and be done with it.” I slide the lyre into my saddlebag and trot happily out of the library.

“Okay... Where the heck is the stupid town hall?”

I groan.

The streets are suddenly empty.

All the ponies had cleared out of the library in a flash, and I am completely alone.

I should have gotten a lay of the land instead of setting up the silly party; it's not like Twilight really enjoyed it anyways.

“Ugh! Idiot!” I roll my eyes and chuckle into the starry night. “Just follow the noise!”

I do just that.

In the center of town, there's a symphonic murmur of noise, giggles, voices, and cheers.

I take my sweet time heading towards the place.

There's something magical about being somewhere strange and unknown.

I could almost write a song about it.

I hum a melody to myself, already planning out the chorus, when something flickers above me.

I glance up and I see the moon—only it's not the moon.

There's something different about it.

“That's weird...” I stop in my tracks. I squint up at the familiar object. “The blemish is gone. Where is the Mare in the Moon...?”

No sooner do I utter this, but four specks of light twinkle around the lunar sphere, as if framing it.

I am filled with so much wonder, I hardly even notice my teeth chattering.

“What... Wh-What?” I shiver and rub a forelimb over a sudden coat of goosebumps. “Where did that come from? It's in the middle of Summer. How...?”

My voice stops.

No.

My voice is being taken from me.

I am speaking, but I cannot hear myself.

I cannot hear anything.

Dead music.

It tilts my head up, like a mother introducing an infant foal to the hush of night.

I gaze into the stars.

The stars part ways.

The blackness in the center has wings.

She is coming towards me.

I have fallen to the earth long before her arrival shakes everything around me.

The sound returns, and it is laced with thunder, for she is standing above it all.

Ink black coat.

Onyx wings.

A helm and metal shoes.

Polished silver, like the exposed bones of a diseased goddess.

Eyes of pale blue, carved with the lifeless knife-point of a crescent moon.

Her breath is frigid, colder than death, and it sucks the life out of me.

I can't scream, even when I try to.

I'm just a discarded scrap of refuse, cluttering the ruptured ground beside my fallen lyre and tattered saddlebag.

I gaze towards her, and it's like being swallowed up by a deep abyss.

A sea of ethereal blue taint engulfs me.

I am her first.

She is my last.

There are no words, only a song, something resonating from deep behind her deathly dark nostrils.

It sings of nothing, for she is nothing, and nothing is her gift to me.

I receive it.

I receiveth it, thine reaper of warmth, steward of annihilation until the fading whimper of time.

We receiveth it and become it.

We, vanquisher of the morning light, stern guardian against the pollutants of the indignant spectrum.

We art one with the timelessness, faithful sage of the eternal yesterday.

Blissful oblivion, we maintain, until the Cosmic Mother wouldst return thy glory to the firmaments.

We shall sing of the songless, as thou wouldst have of thy precious daughter, and keepeth thy glory submerged in the world beneath worlds.

Thy will is ours.

Thou shalt remember bliss.

And we shalt remember nothing.

“Nnnngh—Gaah! Aaaaahh!”

I flail.

Bright light.

Burning.

A pair of forelimbs kicking at the Sun, trying to push it away.

Two faces.

They gaze down at me, alarmed and frightened.

I feel hooves holding me to the alleyway's cobblestone.

“Just relax! We're going to get you to Nurse Red Heart! You're gonna be alright!”

“Where...” A weak voice. So small, so frail. “Nnngh... Where art we?”

“Huh?”

“Dear Celestia, she's delirious.”

I wince, struggle, and whimper. “We... I... Wh-Where am I...?”

“It's okay. Just calm down.”

“So... Much noise...” I'm shivering all over. Something is piercing my head, drilling my horn straight down through my skull with the force of a million burning stars. “So... much.” I sob and choke. “Please... make it stop...”

“What's she talking about?”

“I dunno. She's rambling. Help me carry her...”

“So loud... Make it stop... I can't hear...” I'm sobbing. We're moving. There are tear drops on the ground where chains and ice should be. Everything is bright, too bright. And the noise. “Somepony stop playing... Stop playing the song. It's not supposed to be heard. We must wait for when she returneth—Nnngh...”

My vision is blurry.

All is bells and voices.

“Quick. I think she's going into a seizure or something!”

“What happened to her?! She's all wet, like she's almost drowned or something!”

“You ever seen her before? I thought everypony was hiding indoors while Nightare Moon was about.”

“Nnngh... M-Mother...” My eyes roll back in my head. I cannot find her. I'm so alone. “M-Mother! Do not listen! We... I beg of you!”

I shout.

I scream.

The music's so loud; she's going to hear it.

She cannot hear it.

We mustn't allow it.

“Mother!”

“Oh dear heavens—She's a mess!” A snow-white mare is leaning over me inside someplace. “What happened to her?”

“She... Uhm...”

“Well, we... That is...”

“Well?! Where did you find this poor filly?”

“It... Uhm...”

“I don't remember. Do you, Cloudkicker?”

“It was in town, I guess.”

“You guess, Miss Raindrops?!”

“Uhm... Or just outside the hospital? Don't be angry with us, Nurse Red Heart. We're just as confused as you are.”

“This Celebration! I swear to Celestia—they should stop hoofing cider around like party ribbons.” She's peering at me with several instruments, poking me, prodding me. “Tell me, do you feel any pain?”

“I... I...” The world is spinning. “My head. The music...”

“Your head hurts? How about your horn, Miss...”

“Heartstrings. Lyra Heartstrings. Will you please turn off the music?”

“I think she has a concussion. Nurse Weaver?! Go fetch some water and—”

“Please, just stop the music. That's all I ask...”

“We're going to make your head feel better. Just try to relax and... and...”

There's a chill in the air.

I shiver and clutch myself.

My eyes focus, and all I see is vapor.

Vapor and lights.

“What is... What just...?”

“Uhm... I'm... I'm sorry...”

I gaze across the hospital bed.

A nurse is reeling beside me. She leans against a wall and shakes her head before looking at me crookedly. “You were suffering from... from...” She winces. “Blessed Haypocrates, what was I doing just now...?”

“I think...” I gulp. “You think I might have a concussion. You said—”

“I'm sorry, can I help you?”

“Uhm...”

“Are you ill? We have a process for checking patients in, you realize—”

“These two pegasi just dragged me in here...” I pointed to one of the two young ponies standing across the room. “I was... in a street somewhere, and they... they...” I stop to gaze at them.

They are gazing back at me, twice as blank. “I'm sorry, Nurse Redheart. But we've never seen this unicorn before in our lives.”

I exhale sharply, my face wretching. “I... but... Wh-What?!”

“If this is some sort of practical joke,” Redheart grumbles, frowning at all three of us. “I'm not even close to laughing.”

“I... I told you...” I rub my forehead and nearly whimper. “My name is Lyra. Lyra Heartstrings. I was going to fetch my lyre.” I gulp and shudder. It's so terribly cold. I hear the music again. It comes and goes like crashing waves, and I'm falling apart piece by piece. “I grabbed it, and I was walking under the moon and...” I hold a hoof over my face. “Oh Celestia, she was right there. She was right there and I couldn't do anything. I looked into her eyes. I looked into her eyes and I fell. I fell so far and for so long...” I gulp as I shake all over. The walls melt together to form a blur of noise and tears. “Where was I? Somepony tell me, please...”

I am returned with silence, like a song with no cadence.

Fearfully, I glance across the room.

Everything comes into focus.

Three faces are staring at me.

All blank.

“I'm sorry. Uhm... You are...?”

I stumble into the brightness.

I am dizzy.

I am teetering.

I can't stop looking.

I can't stop blinking.

Ponies are dancing.

Ponies are celebrating.

Fireworks explode like gunshots all around me.

Banners of the sun are being hoisted all across the village.

I am nothing but a shadow of the spectrum, engulfed in noise, born unto confusion.

“Please... Somepony help,” I mutter. I point back towards the hospital from which I have trotted. “There's something wrong with the ponies in that place.” I wince, but continue speaking. “Something's wrong with all of them. Their heads are messed up or something. I think... I think there might be some sort of an epidemic or... or...”

I linger in place.

Something's wrong.

Something's horribly, horribly wrong.

“Hello?” I murmur. The pain in my head is replaced by an all-numbing confusion as I gaze at the many celebratory faces bouncing around me. “Uhm... Excuse me?”

Ponies look at me. They blink in alarm. Then they're shoved back into the crowd. The village full of churning bodies circulates, and the faces rotate back to once again embrace me, and they have the same smile as before... innocent and unblemished.

“My name's Lyra Heartstrings. Please, listen. Something's wrong in the hospital. I think that—Hello?!”

The faces are there and gone again. Everytime I see them, they look at me just as stupidly as the first time. It's like I'm being introduced to the same party over and over again. Just like Twilight, I don't like surprises.

“Look, this is serious! Somepony pay attention to what I'm saying! There's something terribly wrong with—Why aren't you paying attention to me?!”

“I'm sorry?” A laughing pony bounces past me. To my horror, it's one of the pegasi who picked me up just a moment ago. “And you are...?”

I almost snarl. “Lyra!” I point a hoof angrily at her chest. “And what are you doing out of the hospital?”

Just then, a pale body prances past me. “Enjoy yourselves, everypony!” Nurse Red Heart cheerfully shouts above the noise of the Summer Sun Celebration. “But remember! Safety first! My station's open all day!”

I gawk at her. I can feel my heart beating. It's so terribly cold. The adrenaline does nothing.

“Hey! HEY!”

I bark.

I wave my hooves wildly.

I surf through the crowd and all but collapse against a table full of cupcakes outside of Sugarcube Corner.

Panting, I grab the shoulders of the pink mare tossing samples out to passing celebrators.

“I'm so glad I found you, Miss Pine.”

“Heehee! Actually, it's Pinkie Pie! But I wouldn't mind be called 'Pinkie Pine' once in a while!”

“Heh. My bad.” I smile nervously and squeeze her forelimbs. “Look. You gotta help me. Twilight must be paying me back for the surprise party from yesterday—”

“—because pine smells sooooo goooood, don't you think? It reminds me of Hearth's Warming Eve and opening presents! Why, this one time, I was unwrapping a box covered in silver glitter and a baby alligator popped out! Swoosh! Bit me over the head! Heeeheeeheee—Good thing the little fella had no teeth! That's why I named him 'Gummi'—”

“Please—Listen to me!” I all but snarl at her. I bat away a few ponies before they can grab some cupcakes and interrupt this little “meeting” of ours. “Where's Twilight? I gotta apologize to her so she can stop this practical joke. I knew she could organize a Summer Sun Celebration but—ho ho ho hoooo...” I chuckled madly, my lips crooked. “This sort of stuff takes the cake!”

“Mmmmmmm... Cake.”

“So where is she?”

“Huh? Where is who?”

“Twilight Sparkle!”

“Why? Did she do something wrong?”

“Yes. I mean no. I mean not really. Look, I just need to find her and apologize for the surprise party yesterday—”

“You were at the surprise party yesterday?!” Pinkie grins wide. “Cuz that was sooooo fun! I'm glad that I thought it up!”

I do a double take. “The heck are you talking about?! I thought up the surprise!”

“Hmmm... And you are?”

“Lyra!” I shout. “Lyra Heartstrings! The rich unicorn whose friend you agreed to spring a party for 'on the house?'”

“Heeheehee... That's a pretty name, miss.” She smiles innocently at me. “But I'm sorry. I've never seen you before.”

I stare at her blankly. My veins are filling with an iciness as cold as her blue eyes suddenly appear.

“Cuz if I had, I would have totally sprung a super-duper welcoming party for you too. I wish there were more ponies around town with green coats, cuz green coats are so hard to come by and... and... Hey, where're you going?”

I'm leaving.

Leaving her.

Leaving this town.

Leaving the noise and the brightness and the madness and...

“Unnngh!” I fall back in the dirt road and curl my legs to my chest. “Nnnngh... Celestia, Please...”

It is cold.

It is colder than cold.

I can't trot any further.

I'm on the edge of town. The sun is burning high in the sky. I feel as if my legs are made of glaciers.

“Nnnngh... Augh!”

I shriek.

Frozen needles are bursting out through every square inch of my flesh.

I can barely move.

I'm too scared to proceed any further in the direction I've been heading.

So I crawl.

Like a lame little foal, I crawl.

I inch my way back towards the heart of downtown.

Slowly, the frost in my veins melt away.

It is still bearable, but the agony permeates everything.

And the noise and the music and the tears...

“Somepony... Anypony...”

I whimper. I sob. I climb up and break into a desperate gallop.

“H-Help me!”

“What's wrong with her?”

“Did she have too much cider?”

“Heheh... party animals will do as party animals do—”

“Please!” I pounce on the first pony I see in downtown. In her eyes is the reflection of a hyperventilating unicorn with a disheveled mane. I want to jump in those pools and drag her out, but she keeps shrinking away from me. “You've got to help me! My name is Lyra Heartstrings! I have a family in Canterlot! I gotta get to them! I gotta get to somepony who remembers me!”

“Hey! Relax! You need help, we can find you a pony who can... who can...” The pony suddenly teeters, her eyes turning thin. There's a vapor of cold mist between us, and she's already murmuring, “Nnngh... Whew. Too much sun.” She smiles weakly at me. “I'm sorry. Can I help you?”

“What's wrong with everypony?!” I shove her back and angrily growl at the many equines circling me in the street. “Is something stuffed in your ears?! You're all sick! I swear!”

“Did somepony say that they're sick?”

I spin around with a hopeful breath. My heart immediately shrinks. “Nurse Red Heart...”

She squints at me from where she stands in front of the hospital. “I'm sorry, have we met? Did somepony send you to meet with me?”

I backtrot away from her, but nearly trip over something. I tumble into a tiny bundle of purple scales. “Ooof!” I snap out of it, and gasp for joy. “Spike!” I lift the purple whelp with two forelimbs and grin madly in his face. “Thank Celestia I found you! Spike, you gotta help me find Twilight! Something's horribly wrong and maybe she can help! She's good at magic spells and stuff! Where can I find her?”

“Uhhh... Uhh...” He stammers, struggling to hold a sun-colored candy-on-a-stick in his grasp. “Twilight Sparkle's at the library with her new friends. But why would you want to speak with her?”

“Why else?! If anypony can understand what I'm going through, it's her! I haven't seen her in... in... well, dozens of hours!” I gulp and exclaim, “Hasn't she asked where I went off to? Where I've been all this time?”

Spike's green eyeslits bounce all around the scene. He bites his lip and nervously squeezes forth, “Uhm... ma'am? Until today, Twilight's only had one real friend, and she's off doing studies in Canterlot.”

I let forth a shuddering breath. “Moondancer,” I whimper, like a kitten. “But... But what about me? What about Lyra?”

“I've been with Twilight literally all my life,” Spike says with a nervous smile. He avoids my gaze. I can feel a twitch of fear surging through his scaled body. “She's... uhm... She's never mentioned no 'Lyra.'”

I gaze blankly at him. He drops to the floor with a grunt. I'm looking around. Nurse Red Heart is off talking to another pony, as if this scene hasn't even happened. The mare I grabbed earlier is gone. No single pony is looking at me.

I feel my heart racing a mile-per-minute. The blood rushing to my head is almost drowning out the music. Almost.

“Well, maybe you're just—” I turn to look. Spike has waddled off, completely ignoring me. He's already several yards away, gawking and clapping at a magic act along with several colts and fillies. “...delirious.”

I start to hyperventilate. Every time I close my eyes, I see something beyond the darkness, a place where songs go to die. I feel as if I'm headed there too. The gravity tugs at me, so I defy it by breaking my hooves into a frenzied gallop.

I practically fling myself against the wooden door of the library.

I pound on it.

I scrape against it.

I can't stop panting. I feel like I must outrace something, but I don't know what.

Finally, the top half of the door opens. An obstinate looking mare with an orange coat and white freckles is glaring at me.

“Uhm... Can we help you? Reckon you do know this here's a library, right?”

“Where's Twilight?!” I lunge towards her. The mare jumps back with a start, her hat nearly falling off. “Where is she?! I have to speak with her! It's urgent!”

“Uhhhh... Missy, have you looked at yerself in the mirror lately? Yer ten bushels of 'messy' in a ten pound sack. I think somepony should lay off the cider. Heh—I can't believe I'm hearing myself say this.”

“Applejack?” A voice murmurs from the deep recesses of the treehouse. My heart instantly leaps. “Who is it?”

“Eh, some mindblown unicorn, Twilight. I think she's done a tad bit too much celebratin'.”

A blue pegasus floats by the foyer. “Hah! There's no such thing as too much celebrating!”

“Oh will you two cut it out?” Twilight Sparkle giggles as she trots into view. “This is going to be my new house. Let me take care of this.”

“Ya sure, sugarcube? I don't think she's right in the head.”

“Element of Magic, remember? Hehehe. I think I'll be more than okay.” She brushes the farm filly aside and smiles at me. “Now, what seems to be the problem—?”

“Twilight!” I grasp her hooves, almost yanking her over the bottom half of the door. Something is twinkling in her eyes, until I realize it's the reflection of my own joyful tears. “Thank Celestia! I've been looking all over town for you! You were right! Something crazy is going on! Thousandth year or not, you were onto something! I can't explain what's happened to me, but it's suddenly like I'm not here! But I am here! Everypony's ignoring me! Not just them—but Spike too! At first I thought it was a joke, but now I think it's something else! Please, you've got to help me! If you can't, then maybe the Princess can! I think it's... uh... it's some sort of degenerative brain disorder or some crud. I remember reading up on it once in a copy of Canterlot Health Monthly. If... If we get all the ponies checked, th-th-then maybe we can—I dunno—figure out what's wrong and get them all cured! They owe it to you after all the preparation you did for the Celebration after all! And I'd be more than willing to... to help... help...” The warmth left my voice, like a song interrupted. I gulped a painful lump down my throat and searched for answers in the blank canvas staring back at me. “Twilight...?”

“You... You sound like you've been through a lot,” she says. Her voice is placid, like pond water that not a single pebble has been able to disturb. I stand upon the brink, looking in, but I can no longer see myself. “But you have to start over from the top. Calm down and speak slowly. I'll do anything I can, Miss...”

It's too cold for me to melt. The only thing that cracks is my voice. “L-Lyra...” Something has died, and I suddenly realize I can't bury it. “I'm... Lyra. Your Lyra. Your friend. Twilight, why don't...?” I stumble backwards from the library. I'm a limb cut off from the tree, forever a lost element. I try to speak, but all that comes out are breathy palpitations. I see her in the doorway, and yet she's squatting on a sidewalk of Canterlot, two blocks from my house, having tripped after trying to read a book in mid-trot. I shuffle up towards her, the first unicorn my age that I've seen since we moved from another district, and I pretend to ignore her tears as I pick up the book for her. We talk about things. She likes magic. I like music. Someday soon, we both meet another unicorn who likes playing “pretend,” and thus begins an unwritten chronicle of adventures just outside our homes.

Our homes...

Mom.

Dad.

Something else has died, and I wish it was me.

“Please, let's just talk—Wait!” She reaches out for me, but I am gone.

“Listen to me! Look at me! Please! Somepony! Anypony!”

There's a mad unicorn running through the streets of some backwater town.

I hate her.

I don't want to be around her.

She follows me like a tune that will never leave my head.

I want to rip it out.

I want to rip her out.

I want to rip her asunder.

“Please! I beg you! Pay attention to me!”

I am surrounded by laughter.

I am surrounded by dancing.

Everywhere I turn, the chorus gets louder and louder.

I can't even shut it off with violence or flame.

“My name is Lyra! For the love of Celestia, please! Listen to me! I am real!”

There are eyes, and then there are no eyes.

The only thing constant is light, and soon that is swallowed by an all encompassing darkness.

“I am real!”

I woke up, accompanied by my own yells. A wall of trees resonated with my voice, echoing my agony beneath the stars of the night. I flailed—soaking wet—rolling over leaves and grass in pitch-blackness, until the moon found me. Even then, I couldn't stop making noise. One million invisible forgotten creatures screaming in the night: and I was one with them.

When I paused for breath, I realized that I wasn't where I last was. This wasn't my cellar. The lanternlight was gone. The sound stones had disappeared. I was in the middle of the forest, surrounded by the bright, looming bodies of trees. And the “Threnody of Night”...

It had been replaced.

“Nnnngh—Celestia!” I gripped my skull and gnashed my teeth, plowing my muzzle through the damp earth. I was crawling over with moisture, but it wasn't my sweat. What was this mess? What hidden ocean had I emerged from? And this tune... this new and infernal tune. “Dear Celestia, no,” I whimpered. “Not another elegy. Not an eighth!”

I stumbled up to my hooves, only to slip immediately into a huge puddle. My body screamed. I was freezing again. This was ten times worse than Everfree, and what's more: I was naked.

My limbs were the tendrils of a numb ghost; I floundered for a hoof-hold. By the time I entered a swift trot, I couldn't tell which way I was going. All I saw was an endless sea of trees, all shining in the pale moonlight like bright femurs planted in the ground: just as sterile and lifeless. It was with miraculous luck that I stumbled onto a dirt path, and from there I knew where to go. As I stumbled along, a trail of moisture dribbled off my coat and stained the ground behind me. What was all this? Where had I been?

I found the cabin and immediately flung myself through the door. It took three petrifying minutes to summon enough nerves in my limbs to start a fire. When I did, I didn't bother with subtlety. I flung ten whole stakes of lumber onto the blaze and planted myself before it, drowning myself in a sea of blankets.

There, upon the hearth, I quivered through the agonizing night. There was no way I could sleep, no way I could rest. The trembles shook my body so hard, I feared that my spine would rattle out through my skin. I prayed for the daylight to come. I was tired of this darkness. I was tired of this waiting and waiting, of fighting my way through nameless songs in a futile attempt to find a purpose to my solitary pestilence.

When the gray haze of morning wafted in through the window, I took a look at myself. There was still a sheen of moisture. It had no color, no odor, and—to my daring taste—no flavor. I could only guess that I had been soaked in none other than pure water. But why?

What had happened in the middle of the instrumental? Why had I been relocated to the middle of the woods? Was this the purpose of the Threnody? Was this what all of my work had promised me? Was this what unraveling the symphony of Princess Luna had in store?

It wasn't until noon that I dared to go outside. I trotted forlornly into the cellar beneath my shack, as if afraid of the evidence I was going to find. I discovered nothing: no footprints, no scrape marks, no signature at all to suggest what may have dragged me out into the darkest folds of the night. I found my lyre where I had left it, my sound stones—no longer enchanted. And, of all things, I found my hoodie... lying perfectly dry and deflated on the floor... where my body had collapsed halfway through performing the latest instrumental.

At least, it was the latest instrumental. Now my head was full of something else, something terribly, damnably new. It filled me with more fear than the “Prelude to Shadows.” It chilled me to the bone far more mercilessly than the “Moon's Elegy.” I already absorbed enough into my memory to compose the first ten cords if I wanted, but I couldn't allow myself to do that.

“But if you're all about trying to discover these mysterious tunes, what's stopping you from composing this new one?”

“Maybe because I'm sick of going on a wild goose chase, only to be awarded with fainting spells, freezing blood, and migraines!” I snarled, slapping the dusty books down onto the library table and fumbling to yank my notepad out of my saddlebag. “Maybe because after thirteen Goddess-forsaken months, I can't help but ask if it's worth it! It's not like I'm making any progress! It's not like I'm—Nnnngh!” With an angry shriek, I tossed the notepad against the wall and slammed my hooves into the nearby bookcase with loud punctuation. “It just feels so pointless! Why do I even bother trying?! Why do I even bother...” I stopped in mid-sentence, for I realized I was not the only one trembling. I glanced to my side.

Spike stared back at me, nervously toying with the end of his tail. Upon receiving my glare, the library assistant gazed away, as if guilty for not relating to this infernal unicorn's frustration.

My heart sank. I remembered the day Twilight Sparkle first showed him to me, a young hatchling fresh out of the egg, a gift to the Princess' new apprentice as much as he was a gift to the very notion of life. I again saw a tiny little whelp who once dangled—confused and frightened—from my forelimbs in the middle of the Summer Sun Celebration. Existence is too precious a thing to have attacked something so sovereign not once, but on two separate occasions. I immediately deflated, calming myself with a deep breath and smiling as genuinely as I could the youngster's way.

“I'm sorry. You... You don't deserve to hear me go on like that. You're only trying to help me. It's just that I'm so frustrated and my head hurts and... and...”

I shuddered. My eyes closed on their own. Once again, the darkness was so familiar, the bitter black birthplace of black songs. They had shaped me for the better, now that I think about it. They had chipped away the sour edges of the unicorn I used to be. If I had the ability to reverse time, I don't know if I would want to anymore. I'm not nearly as proud of the filly I once was. I'm constantly endeavoring to discover the mare I someday wish to be, so that what emerges from this amnesiac prison is something worth being proud of, something worth being remembered. But on the fringes of that darkness, I see the same unicorn shivering—by herself—before the ashes of a dying flame. And I wonder, in over a year of trial and error, have the things I've gained outweighed the things I've lost, or would forever lose? Just like the words slipping, unguarded, from my trembling lips...

“I'm just so alone,” I murmured. I couldn't help it. I didn't want to help it. “I'm just so alone, and it's so hard... it gets so very hard, trying to do this research. Even with all the help in the world, I'm on my own. This is my symphony alone to discover, and I have nopony else to turn to. Though it's as if opportunity is knocking everywhere I look. I... I’m not sure if you know what it's like to be so cold and yet surrounded by so much warmth. It's... It's trying sometimes, and I apologize. I apologize for snapping. You're young and you're loved and you're blessed to have a home. You don't need to hear any of this.”

I sighed, bowing towards the books, the holy relics of forbidden languages that I was forced once again to peruse.

Then Spike's words melted through the veil, startling me. “Actually... uhm, ma'am, f-forgive me for saying so, but I kinda-sorta do understand.”

I glanced curiously towards him. I was silent.

He looked like he wanted to be as well, but could afford it even less than I. “I know that I'm loved. I know that I have a home. But that doesn't change what I am.” He smiled bashfully. It was a forced thing, and he wrung his fingers over the edge of his tail, as if struggling to produce the words. “I'm a dragon, a purple magic whelp. Even Celestia herself has told me that I'm the only known one of my kind. I'm... I-I'm really thankful that Twilight Sparkle and so many other ponies look after me. And I know that they care for me a lot. But... But I can never make them understand what it means to be what I am. I'm not sure if I can ever learn everything that there is for me to know about myself—or about dragonkind, for that matter. But, that's not gonna stop me from trying to find out. Maybe not now, but perhaps when I'm older. I'm gonna give it all that I've got. And though I know that Twilight would gladly try to help me, I really don't think she can, y'know?” He sniffled slightly, but his ensuing grin was braver than anything I could ever muster. “Sometimes, though, I think it's okay to be alone. If we needed other ponies to discover ourselves, then—well—we just wouldn't be ourselves, now would we?”

I smiled painfully his way. I stretched my forelimb out and rested it on his purple shoulder. “Spike, I have no doubt that you will find yourself. And if what you discover is anything nearly as genuine and sweet as what's standing before me right now—well—I wouldn't be surprised.”

Something was bridged between us. I was thankful for it, because whatever tears had almost begun welling up in his eyes very swiftly dried. “Twilight always tells me that 'I should be true to myself.' I used to think it was a bunch of sappy hoopla, but I think it was her way of telling me that there comes a time when we can only help ourselves. It may be kind of scary to face challenges in life alone, but... well... things would be boring otherwise, don'tcha think?”

He giggled at his own attempt at a moral. I was confused at first, until a part of me—the portion that was thirteen months older than the other half—very easily understood this child's statement.

“Yes,” I murmured delicately, smoothing back his spines and giving him an affectionate smile. “Yes, it would be very boring indeed.”

“So... Uhm...” He cleared his throat and attempted to reattach the conversation to the dusty tomes resting in front of this moody unicorn. “Ancient Moonwhinny. Heh. Think you need any help with the translation? I've got an antique lexicon somewhere on the other side of the library.”

I knew what would happen as soon as he walked away. “No. I mean... if you'd like, just hang out here for a little bit longer,” I said quietly. I took a deep breath. I fidgeted with my hoodie's sleeves while my eyes searched a distant, cold place, dense and sacred. “Some of us are alone by choice. Others...”

There was a knock on the treehouse door.

“Come. Come and enter, stranger or friend. For I have brews for all ills contained within.”

With a deep, wooden creak, I entered the zebra's household. I immediately lowered both hoods from over my horn and spoke bravely into the freezing air. “Are you Miss Zecora?”

“Yes, yes,” she murmured while perusing several scrolls mailed in from her homeland. “In the households of Ponyville, my name goes about. My medicinal remedies you've heard of, no doubt.”

“Well, I wouldn't know a thing or two about that, but some pony sent me to give you something.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. These things were found lying in the middle of downtown, and nopony around these parts has ever been known to own them. We figured they belonged to—well—the only resident mare who wears her mane in a mohawk, if you catch my drift.”

“I'm afraid you have to be more clear,” Zecora rolled her scrolls up and gave me a suspicious glance from across the wooden atrium. “Just what curious things do you bring here?”

“Eh...” I nonchalantly unwrapped a canvas bundle and held a pair of drums up for her inspection. “Do these mean anything to you?” I bore a poker face. I waited.

For a moment, I could have sworn the stripes in Zecora's coat had paled over. Her mouth fell agape, and she shuffled slowly towards the items in my possession. A murmur escaped her, undoubtedly a flimsy thread of her native tongue. Finally she swallowed and exclaimed, “Sundried snares, vestiges of a Zebraharan soul. By the shadows, I've not seen the likes of these since I was a little foal.”

I squinted knowingly at her. “So I was right. They do have 'zebra' written all over them?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” she stammered, holding a hoof up to her chest. “Of their value to my kind, I do not jest.” Something melted across her face, a sweet smile forged by a dozen memories all flashing across her blue eyes as she stared at the drums and past them all at once. “My siblings would play the drums for me when I was but a child. Just thinking about it now makes my spirit feel young and wild.”

“Yeah. Nostalgia will do that.”

“But their presence here truly baffles me,” she stated with a confused expression. “To think that a pony could stumble upon them so casually?”

I glanced towards the far ends of her workstation. A wooden engraving lingered before my eyes, like a warm sunset too far away for either of us to taste in that cold domain. In truth, I had made the drums—just like I had built all of the tools, both conventional and unorthodox, which were presently hanging along the walls of my cabin. Sometimes, half of being alone means struggling to find the purpose in being alone. Standing there, nearly freezing to death in the presence of such a secluded zebra, I had discovered something far more sacred than a forgotten song.

“Well, stranger things have happened,” I flippantly mused. “Whatever the case, nopony in town wants them. Seems only fitting for them to be yours.”

Zecora bit her lip in a sudden pensiveness.

“What's wrong?” I pretended to ask. “Oh, right. The ponies in town say that you're a shaman. Lemme guess, your order forbids you to play music or something?”

She fidgeted slightly, though she couldn't tear her blue eyes from the wondrous instruments of her use. “I must solemnly admit my dismay, for I have been committed to work and not to play. Why else would I be working in a faraway land if not to seek the mysteries of the world so that I may understand?”

“Miss Zecora, I shudder to think that a seeker of knowledge forgets to also be a seeker of the self.”

She said nothing to that. She sadly hung her head.

However, I was smiling. “Well, if you're not allowed to play something so dear to you...” I shuffled over to a wooden stool and plopped myself down. Miraculously, the shivers had stopped, so that I embraced that precious moment with a pair of hooves hovering deliciously over the twin snares. “Is there any harm in letting someone else give it a shot, so that you can at least enjoy listening to it again?”

She gawked at me as if I was on fire. “You mean to tell me that it's true? That the art of Zebraharan percussion is housed within you?”

“Hmmm... It must be if it can make you force your own rhyme that blatantly to believe it.” I winked at her and motioned towards another stool. “Have a seat. No good song is ever meant to be listened to alone. Even a shaman can afford company once in a while, right?”

She smiled, and the moisture in her eyes was like that of an enchanted young filly's. Zecora squatted across from me, her face eager and bright, just as I began my rendition of a ritualistic chant that I had researched long ago—accompanied by a drumbeat that I had mastered with enough time, patience, and solitude. The two of us converged, lonely souls in the middle of an alien cold, to indulge in the beauty of something that was lost to both of us. And though we may not have made any progress, we reminded ourselves—ever so briefly—of just what progress is meant to serve.

Someday, I will cure this curse of mine. Maybe it will take picking up the pieces of the “Threnody of Night.” Maybe it will take piecing together the bits of this new song in my head. Maybe it will involve tackling the elegy after that, or ten more elegies, or a thousand. Suddenly, it no longer matters how long the road ahead of me is. I have friends in waiting on either side of me, and though they don't know my name, I see and hear my spirit reflected off them—off their warmth and sincerity. The thought of their eyes looking at me, and one day not losing sight of the thing that holds my soul: that is a goal I shall pursue with joy, for what other impetus is there to pierce the freezing depths of this universe?

In this life, I am guaranteed to have at least one friend.

So long as I am true to myself, then I can be true to everyone.

V - Industry

Dear Journal,

What does it mean to be cursed? What does it truly mean? Does it mean that I've been robbed? Does it mean that I still possess things that have yet to be stolen from me? Have I experienced the worst that fate has to offer, or am I simply lying in wait for the darkest, cruelest punchline in life to come?

It's so very easy for me to feel sorry about myself. It's something that I cannot help but dwell upon each and every day. For a while, I’ve feared that I would let things like this get to my head, that I would resort to doing acts both desperate and pathetic that would only hurt the ghostly shades of friends I pretend to be surrounded by on a regular basis.

Then I met souls—amazing and inspiring souls—who each were born with a chance to shine, like I once was. Only, though they were never magically robbed of their ability to achieve greatness, I soon realized that they too were at a loss to encounter an opportunity to surpass the limits of themselves. After all, what is life if not a complex game with both winners and losers and not enough points to happily placate both?

The fact that I'm a pony with no perceivable future cannot be denied. Until I can somehow unlock the magical power of the elegies—the thick black borders of my invisible prison—I cannot hope to anticipate anything but a future of oblivion, obscurity, and emptiness.

What, though, can be said of those around me? As a matter of fact, ponies have always been cursed since the beginning of time—not by a frigid dome of amnesia, but by a transitive sphere of ignorance that constantly threatens our very dreams and aspirations from their genius conception to their desperate expression.

I, at least, have a hope that nopony else seems to have. As soon as I end this curse, I expect to immediately start existing again. However, it's been my experience that there are mares and stallions—gentle hearts, all of them—who may never exist, at least not as brilliantly as they would desire to, no matter how hard they struggle. What solution do they have to pick out of a hat? What silver bullet will slay the beast that consumes their artistry with as much ease as I can slay mine?

No. No, I am not cursed. I am simply less blessed, less polished, less shiny than those around me. With time, I have faith that I will enchant that which has been struck dead in my life. I will bring shine back to a dull existence. And yet, no matter what progress I may or may not make, I cannot stop hoping—I cannot stop dreaming—that those around me can become just as lucky too.

A dangling bell above the door shook as I entered. The lavish interior of the fashion shop rang with a gentle melody. Soon, though, an eloquent voice surpassed even that heavenly jingle with a chirping tone of its own.

“Welcome to Carousel Boutique, where every garment is chic, unique, and magnifique.”

I couldn't help but smile. Now that's a fabulous greeting if I ever heard one.

“Excuse me...” I spoke as gently and politely as I could. Almost a week had passed since I performed the Threnody in full. Most of my nerves had recollected, and I was happy to be in public once more. The eye-pleasing curtains and smell of clean fabric lulled my spirit as I marched into the luxurious establishment with my rough saddlebag and unassuming hoodie. “I was told that a mare by the name of Rarity works here. Is there a chance I might speak with her?”

Long ago, I had established for myself a simple rule when “greeting” ponies with whom I had become quite familiar. For the sake of simplicity, it seemed a good habit to feign ignorance. I didn't want to alarm any soul by immediately addressing them by name. For the longest time, I never second-guessed this “code” that I lived by.

“Oh, but darling, you are speaking to Rarity. The one and onlyyyy.” She was chiding me, like a princess correcting an uncouth servant. At the same time, her voice had a melodic edge to it, as if she was satirizing the very notion of such haughtiness. “Oh dear, do listen to me go on,” she exclaimed, stifling a giggle. “My apologies, ma'am. I swear, there's something to be said about working on a gorgeous dress when one feels good inside. It's like grocery shopping on an empty stomach. It's only asking for trouble, hmm? Hmm-hmm-hmm...”

It was a beautiful day outside, and I could already tell that much of the brilliance had seeped in through the ornate windows and walls of the place. The white unicorn in question was busy fiddling with a ballroom gown that was halfway through becoming a satin masterpiece. The tone in Rarity's voice matched the artistic whimsy of her present project. I almost felt like a criminal for interrupting it.

“Nothing to apologize for,” I said with a smile as I stood behind her. I craned my neck to squint over her figure, as if instantly drawn to the curious sight of her work. There are things in this world that are unexpectedly absorbing. The Carousel Boutique had an air of enchantment; I felt like I was in the birthplace of magical things. “I heard about your talents and craftponyship around town,” I exclaimed, fighting the shivers long enough to maintain normal composure. “I was wondering if you'd be willing to earn some extra bits.”

“Doing what, pray tell?” Rarity murmured without looking. She added another stream of blue ribbon along the edge of the blue gown's flaring skirt. She was one with her work; I was merely a curious satellite in orbit of her sacred project. “As much as I hate to sound dismissive of new and fantastic opportunities, I do happen to be overloaded with a most demanding list of requests at the moment. If you have indeed heard of me around town, no doubt you've become aware of my rather strict schedule of appointments as of late. Pay the front desk a visit, dear, and you'll find a very thorough list of guidelines by which I perform commissions.”

“Oh, it's not a dress that I want to have made,” I said with a nervous smile.

She yanked too hard on a length of ribbon, nearly ripping it loose from its fresh seams. I could sense her hard blinks without looking. “Oh?” her voice cracked slightly. The room dulled for the briefest of moments. “If not a dress, then what, if I may ask?”

I decided that it was best to be as direct as possible. “I heard that your special talent is in jewelcrafting.” My eyes danced briefly over her sapphiric cutie mark as I fiddled with my saddlebag. “Ponies have told me that you're good at locating and enchanting gems of absolute scarcity.”

“H-have they now?” Her tone was flat, resembling the unfinished lengths of her dress. She stood in place, as if gazing at a blank space beyond her work. “Well, those ponies were certainly being honest. What was it that you needed, Miss...?”

“Lyra Heartstrings. And I need to have some enchanting done,” I said. Feeling a chill in the air unrelated to my curse, I added with a smile. “And I didn't want to ask any other craftspony around town unless I had to. I heard you were the best, so why settle for less?”

“Hmmm...” She turned slowly to look at me and the smile on her face formed just as easily. “They said I was the best? Well, I do suppose that speaks for something.”

“But, I didn't realize just how busy you were,” I said, squirming slightly. I learned long ago that I will perpetually be a splinter in this town. No matter what I do or say, the situation is never as placid after I've arrived as it was before. “You're working on something really beautiful. Don't let me interrupt your concentration with such a trite request.”

“Oh, darling, perish the thought!” She immediately rushed towards me as if I was an infant foal teetering at the top of a staircase. I was suddenly the most important thing in her world. I wasn't quite expecting that, and it made my heart trip over itself. “Not to toot my horn, as it were, but I can enchant stones in my sleep. If anything, it only helps me focus my mind all the more, so you'd actually be doing my dress-making a favor! Now—ahem...” She smiled regally at me. There was a sparkle in her gaze that never went away. I suddenly knew where she got her eye for beauty. “Just how many gems are we talking about, Miss Heartstrings?”

I looked into my saddlebag. The four soundstones that Zecora had sold me days ago were completely drained of enchantment. If I had any hope of performing this new song stuck in my head—assuming I could build the courage to do so—I wouldn't make any progress whatsoever until I had all four rocks completely recharged with magical potency. The sooner I had them brought back to their original glory, the sooner I’d be in the cellar, performing the elegies, throwing my soul deep into a dark abyss of mystery, cold, and shadows...

“Just one gem,” I told her. I took a single dark crystal out of the saddlebag and floated it in front of the mare. “I'm working on some new music, and it helps to have a mana battery nearby to... to... well...”

“To get that special spark of inspiration?” Rarity immediately snatched the rock like it was hers since the beginning of time. She telekinetically spun it at multiple angles in front of her eyes, examining it with an expert gaze. “Tell me no more. I know the feeling quite well. A unicorn is all too often the sum of their surroundings. I almost feel bad for those not blessed to be connected with the generous leylines of our supernatural world. You ever heard of Hoity Toity? Such a diamond in the rough of earth pony couture, he is. Popular legend says that he made his first line of successful outfits while working in a wooden shack outside of Las Pegasus. Hah! Can you believe that?”

“Uhhhh...”

“Hmmm... Oh my my my—I see why you had to come to the absolute best gem enchantress in town,” she said with a playful wink tossed my way. “This poor thing has been through a lot! It's practically a doorstop! What-ever did you do with this, darling? Did you use it to summon a Windigo from the nether?”

I bit my lip. I struggled through a fresh wave of memories, and all of them laced with frost and shadows. “Let's just say that I'm not your average composer of music,” I eventually murmured. My ears twitched as I tried to shake the tune in my head long enough to cast my voice evenly. “Sometimes I have to reach deep down—further than what history provides—in order to restore the most sacred ballads lost to us. I believe that there are songs that mean so much to ponydom that we no longer have the capacity to remember them, and the act of finding them saps more from me than just my talents. It takes a lot of... uhm... magic energy as well. Does... does that make any sense to you?” I winced openly. I was already planning to just ditch the Carousel and attempt to repeat this entire meeting the next day.

But something that would have been lost was immediately saved by Rarity's grace and her grace alone. “What's obvious to me, darling, is an artist in search of beauty, and that is something I can instantly respect.” She smiled over the dull jewel at me. “I too have a deep admiration for classicism. If I could invent a time machine and go back to the period of Starswirl the Bearded...” She drew a hoof over her forehead and painted the rooftop of the Boutique with rolling eyes. “Ohhhh stars, so many fabulous designs, lost to the hungry moths and bitter decay of ages! If I could just bring back a single illustration to present day, I'd reintroduce modern Equestria to real taste and elegance. But, alas...” She focused once more on the dark gem and murmured lovingly, as if caressing a reflection hidden beneath the onyx surfaces. “What are we here for if not to invent, inspire, and illuminate?”

I gulped and smiled awkwardly. “I can't say I'm nearly as creative as you, Miss Rarity. I'm just a historian.”

“Nonsense! Don't sell yourself short!” She smiled my way. “Nopony is ever really just an appendix of the past. We all have the future to build—together—in our unique and special ways, don't you think?”

I turned my gaze from her. The walls were be-speckled in random places with shiny jewels and mirrors. I saw Rarity's white coat and purple mane reflected in a glittering kaleidoscope. My colors were nowhere to be seen.

“I don't hold too much stock in the future,” I eventually muttered and glanced back at her. “Is it such a crime to live in the now?”

“It's my experience that saints and criminals often have the same things in common, so why stress it, hmm?” she remarked flippantly, then cleared her throat. “Now, darling, about... re-fabulousing your once-fabulous jewel...”

“Oh, uhm...” I shifted where I stood. “I know it doesn't look like much now, but it's a—”

“Ram-crafted sound stone. Trust me, dear, I know my rocks. I must say, this is a remarkable find. Where rams lack in aesthetics, they certainly make up for in substance. If this was produced by any other culture in Equestria, it'd be a loss cause to attempt re-enchanting it.”

“How much would be appropriate for such a service?”

“Hmmm...” Rarity murmured aloud as she trotted towards a nearby window, parting the curtains with telekinesis so that a brilliant beam of noonday sunlight poured directly into the heart of the boutique. “It has been a terribly long time since I provided enchanting services, come to think of it. But if I recall the rates I used to charge...” She paused for several seconds, to the point that I could only guess she was pretending to think for the sake of pretending. She soon tossed a tranquil glance my way. “Three bits, dear. Seems fitting, don't you think?”

I couldn't help it. My gaze was crooked as I blinked at her, and I fumbled a bit before answering, “Erm... Yes. That is... rather generous of you.”

“Hmmm... I do get that a lot, it would seem.” Her voice shook at the end of her utterance, like she had woken up that morning giggling and still couldn't stop. The air was alive with more than her sparkling telekinesis as she floated a metal stand over from a closet. She blew the dust off, coughed briefly, and positioned the tripod directly in front of the window. “Oh, how glad I am that this thing hasn't rusted. It would be doing my family a great disservice if I ever let this heirloom go to ruin.”

“If you don't mind my asking... uhm...” I trotted over towards her and the contraption. “What exactly is it?”

She gave an airy laugh. “You really have had your horn stuck in the history books, haven't you? I weep quietly inside whenever I meet a unicorn who hasn't experimented with more than one style of magic.” She cleared her throat and spoke while methodically floating over a glass lens and fixing it to the upper stalk of the metal device. “This, my dear, is a celestial magnifier. All things that stand to be enchanted in this world have one element that can almost always bring luster back to their magic without fail.”

I blinked and uttered, “Sunlight?”

“Mmmmhmmm,” Rarity hummed as she tilted the lens and positioned it at just the right angle to focus a thin beam of magnified light through a ring of metal clamps at the top of the stand. “Her Majesty, Princess Celestia, gives us more than just the warmth and beauty of the day. She grants us the very essence of her being, something sacred that was hoofed down by the Cosmic Matriarch herself. If we focus the energy of the sun just right, it's like grabbing magic from the air.” She tensed her facial features as she carefully, carefully floated the dull stone over and positioned it tightly within the polished ring of the metal clamps. “Aaaaaaand... there! Ah... Tell me, have ponies been given anything more generous than the Princess' very own shine?”

I trotted over and stared closely at the gem with subtle, foalish fascination. Indeed, before our eyes, the dullness of the sound stone gave way, and I saw a glow emanating from the center of the dark crystal in direct response to the focused beam of light. It was dim at first, but soon the familiar emerald haze was coming to life underneath the glossy surface of the jewel.

“That... is indeed beautiful,” I remarked. “It's like capturing an alicorn's glory in a bottle!”

“Not yet it's not,” Rarity boldly said. She brushed me aside and approached the gem like it was an altar. “Ahem. This is where I come in, darling.” She winked, and it was then that I realized she was about to earn my bits. With great concentration, Rarity focused magical energy into her horn. A second glow filled that part of the Carousel, and soon she was encompassing the gem with a cascade of sparkles.

I realized that she was using her talents to plant a containment spell on the sound stone. It was something I could never imagine doing myself. After a year of studying every book on lunar magic in Twilight's Library, I've learned to perform many fantastic feats, and yet still I was in awe of Rarity's gifts.

“That's... That's amazing.” I looked from the gem to her and smiled. “And you make it look so easy.”

“Only because it is, dear. Mmm... for me, that is.” She murmured aside, all the while concentrating. “I don't mean to sound like a braggart. We all have our places in this world. I've met unicorns who could do something like this in half the time, and yet they charge three times as much. I've endeavored to not be like them. True talent is about earning more than just money, after all.”

“Well, you've earned my thanks, Miss Rarity.” I chuckled briefly and floated three golden coins out of my saddlebag. “A well as my bits.” After she graciously took the payment with her own telekinesis, I said, “Though, nothing I could pay you would come close to how golden this day appears to be.”

“Oh?”

“If I may be so bold, you seem to be in a fantastic mood. I wish all ponies had as sunny a disposition.”

“Is there any reason why they shouldn't?” She continued enchanting the stone while casting me a sideways glance. Her lips were curved, as if she was born with that smile. “Well, perhaps I'm one to talk. It so happens that I've been struck with a great deal of good fortune as of late. Do forgive me if it comes across as a little uncouth”

“Nothing uncouth about being happy, Miss Rarity. Dare I ask what's the occasion?”

“Tell me...” Rarity's melodic tone didn't falter for one instant. “Have you heard of Silver Seams?”

My eyes swam over the rich decorations of the boutique, and I was at a loss to form an answer. “I can't say that I have. But then again... heh... what's in a name?”

Her reaction was rather explosive. “Why, everything, Miss Heartstrings!” For a second there, I thought she might accidentally knock over the stand atop which the gem was being enchanted. She glanced back at me, and her eyes were as hard as diamonds. “It's what defines a pony! A title is one's vessel for notoriety and purpose.”

I said nothing.

Thankfully, Rarity wasn't finished. “And Silver Seams' fame proceeds her! She is only the most prestigious dress designer in the Manehattan scene! She's made top-of-the-line gowns for every annual fashion exhibit in Fillydelphia and Trottingham over the last decade! She produces the luxurious costumes for the regular Hearth's Warming's Eve pageant at Canterlot, and she's even designed the latest uniforms worn by the Wonderbolts!”

“Wow, sounds like quite the career.”

“It is more than that. Silver Seams' impact on Equestrian culture is positively legendary! And I can't wait to speak with her face to face.”

“I bet you can't,” I said with a nod, then jolted as the realization hit me. I glanced at the sparkling-clean lengths of the boutique, the fancy dresses that were on exhibit, even Rarity's latest project. “Wait, so Silver Seams is coming here?”

“Squeee-heeheehee-Yes!” Rarity squirmed in place. It wouldn't have surprised me if she suddenly sprouted pegasus wings and performed laps around the ceiling. “It turns out she's making a trip to Trottingham and will be stopping by Ponyville along the way. Hoity Toity—with whom I have a good business acquaintance, ahem—had an opportunity to speak with her, and he personally suggested that she stop by my Boutique! Silver Seams! The divine queen of fashion! Stopping by here!” She seemed on the verge of fainting. A magical beam of light pulsed from deep within the soundstone, shaking her out of her felicitous spell. “Oh, but that is merely my own little life. I just feel so... so... bubbly, as Pinkie Pie would put it. Do forgive me for not being able to contain my excitement.”

“Sounds like you have every reason to be excited!” I said with a smile. She levitated the re-enchanted stone towards me and I gladly took it. “You have an obvious eye for beauty. No doubt Miss Seams would love having a look at your work.”

“What?!” Rarity gasped at me, her voice hoarse and mortified. She gave the lengths of her boutique a flippant wave of the hoof. “You mean these paltry attempts at day-to-day garb?”

I glanced at the rows of flowing, shiny dresses on display. “They seem very lovely and impressive to me—”

“That's just it!” She trotted limply past me, her voice orating towards the dull mannequins suddenly surrounding her. “If I wish to impress the likes of Silver Seams, then I need to be more than lovely and impressive! I need to be absolutely stellar! I need to eke supernatural feats of whimsy from the creative nodes in my mind!” I felt like I was suddenly privy to a dramatic one-mare-show, and it was worth every golden bit. “She will be here in less than a week! I only have a few days to make this Boutique worth its weight in polish! I need to make a dress that will shock her, flabbergast her, and make her leave this town with my name engraved in her head as succinctly and righteously as her name is emblazoned into the heart of every self-respecting fashionista from here to Blue Valley!”

“Sounds like you've got your work cut out for you,” I said. I dropped the sound stone into my bag, zipped it shut, and smirked at her. “I have no doubt that you'll find the time to make something absolutely dazzling.”

“It's not so much a matter of time, dear. Inspiration is as spontaneous as it is divine. I've been toiling through my lists of paid projects in hopes that an idea would bloom from mundanity. Alas, it doesn't help that most if not all of my clients make... eh... rather plebeian requests at best. Celestia forbid that a pony would commission something with flare so that I could truly put my mind at work...”

“I guess I couldn't understand,” I murmured defeatedly. “I almost wish there was some way I could help.”

“Hmmm. You've helped me quite enough, darling. You let me ramble on right when I needed to.” She gave an aristocratic laugh, then turned to look me over. “Though...” She rubbed her chin in thought. “It would be only fair if I had the chance to help you.”

I blinked. “I don't understand.” Perhaps I was still dazed from tackling the Threnody a few days previous. Otherwise, I have very little reason to explain my obliviousness. “You've already helped me with the enchantment.”

“Never mind a glowing rock, darling. I suddenly can't help but notice your rather... warm looking choice of wear.”

Ah. But of course.

“What about it?” I gave her a sly glance. “Let me guess, it looks 'worn-in?'”

“Yes, to put it lightly.” She smiled and leaned in to me, raising a hoof just an inch from my forelimbs. “Uhm... If I may...”

“Sure...”

She fidgeted with the sleeves and hood and length of the stone-gray material as she trotted tightly around me. “Mmm... Yes, yes, yes. It's getting positively threadbare at the cuffs. And—oh dear—these patches! Aside from their unsightliness, the seams are starting to pop loose! Darling, I know you're only trying to keep warm in this thing, but with the way it's falling apart, I can't imagine that it's doing a very good job of living up to such a task!”

I merely shrugged. “It's worked well enough for me. Besides, when I get cold—er—when I get really cold, I have other ways of taking care of myself.”

“It's one thing to take care of your senses, but what of your presentation?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your coat's a rare color, a very fantastic one at that, Miss Heartstrings. And you keep your mane so well. You're obviously a unicorn with a soul of refined grace. What a shame it would be to constantly wrap such a pretty package in veritable rags.” She took a step back and tilted her horn upwards with authority. “I insist! You absolutely must let me make you something new that will do the same job and even better!”

“Oh, Miss Rarity.” I shook my head. “Seriously, it's fine...”

“All things dull and commonplace are fine, until we have the wherewithal to make them better. Please, I promise it will make you feel better.” Her teeth glinted with the enchanting sunlight wafting in through the window beside us. “I won't even charge you! If nothing else, this will be a way for me to flex my mental seamstress muscles and give you something worth wearing proudly all at once! What better a way to celebrate the arrival of Silver Seams than to celebrate fashion in mutual company of a graceful mare such as yourself?”

“Please...” I took a deep breath, clutching at the ends of my stone gray sleeves, feeling as if I was clinging to the edges of so many sacred, cold, yet altogether holy memories of solitude. “As much as I admire your generosity and willingness to do me a favor...” I shuddered briefly. I had gotten what I needed for the time being. There's only so much I can do to interfere with the lives of these beautiful and blissfully ignorant residents of Ponyville. Rarity had so much on her plate, and I didn't feel right in devouring the excessive byproduct of her current joy. So, I decided to tell her the truth, “But I couldn't part with this sweatjacket even if you, Hoity Toity, and Silver Seams all worked together on making me something new. I... I have something of an attachment to it. It was a gift that a very nice pony gave to me when I most needed it.”

“Hmmm... Very well then.” I was surprised with how easily that won my case. I felt a tiny bit disappointed, actually. “I can't force you to let me make you something, darling. Besides...” She winked as she strolled back towards the dress that she was working on when I had first arrived. “I know better than to undermine the power of a true gift. Sentimental value is like an extra pony sense. Without it, I doubt very much we'd remember what made us who we are today.”

I gulped and nodded towards the shadows of the place. “That's something I tell myself every sunrise.”

“But I'll be here, Miss Heartstrings, in case you ever decide to return and accept my offer.” She added more ribbons to the skirt of the dress she was making, her voice stretching as her mind went into a mode of deep focus. “I may look forward to impressing the likes of Silver Streams, but I'd hate myself forever if I forgot my own clientele, if even for a single moment.”

It took a mountain of effort to keep my smile alive, though I knew she couldn't see it at that moment. “Of that I have no doubt, Miss Rarity. I... I wish you a good afternoon.” I turned around, my hooves sounding loud and invasive as they scraped against the tile floor of the boutique. Without looking back, I made straight for the door.

The bell rang melodically throughout the lengths of the dress shop.

“Excuse me.” I trotted into the main foyer with my saddlebag in tow. “Is Miss Rarity around—?”

“Oh my stars!” She gasped. All four of Rarity's limbs flailed as she struggled to yank a dull black tarp over the body of a mannequin positioned atop the center stage of the Boutique. She panted heavily, as if having run a ten-mile marathon at the first sound of my voice. As she clung to the shrouded dress, I saw her surrounded by a veritable warzone of scattered pincushions, measuring tape, sewing needles, and all sorts of multi-colored fabrics. It had been nearly a week since I had seen Rarity last, and every single day hung like a weight from her features, pulling at the skin beneath her eyes, yanking at the frayed edges of her mane. A pair of working glasses reflected my blinking face as she gawked at me. “I... I-I thought I had locked that door!”

“I'm... I'm sorry!” I felt genuinely shocked. I always fear that something like this might happen with the nature of my curse. There are times when I wonder if I'm just as incorporeal as I am invisible. “You're supposed to be closed? I... I didn't see a sign or anything...”

“Ohhhhh where has my mind gone?!” Rarity rolled her eyes back as her voice took on a breathy growl. “I must have forgotten to lock the front entrance after returning from lunch! Nnnngh... I've just been so, so terribly busy. Ahem.” She stood tall and proud, brushed aside a few strands of purple hair, and brandished a polite smile. “I am exceedingly sorry, Miss...”

“Heartstrings.”

“Do forgive me, Miss Heartstrings, but the Boutique is—as a matter of fact—closed for business at the moment. I finished the last of my clients' current projects two days ago, and I won't be accepting any more requests until after the weekend. There's been... pressing business, as of late.”

“Pressing business?” I blinked, then brightened with a smile. “Oh, you mean that dress for Silver Seams that you were planning—?”

Rarity's face became paler, if that was even possible. “You... It... She...” Her lower left eyelid began twitching. For a moment there, I thought she was going to teeter backwards and collapse completely. “How did you know about Silver Seams' visit?!”

I winced immediately.

Whoops.

“Did... Did one of my friends talk?” She blinked, then her expression became a hard-edged sword. “Pinkie Pie. Somehow, she's always putting her tongue to improper use...”

“Uhm. No. It's n-nothing like that! I... uhm...” I fiddled desperately for an explanation. I still don't know why I do this at times. I very seriously doubt that whatever I say—fabrication or not—will be explicitly carried over past my visitation with a pony soul. What is there to cover for? I suppose I want each encounter I have with these Ponyvilleans to remain as sacred as I consider them to be. “I-I-I'm visiting from Las Pegasus, and I had attended a fashion show—”

“Las Pegasus?” The menace in Rarity's face immediately dissipated as soon as the word “fashion” bled from my lips. She even smiled for the briefest of moments. “Then you are familiar with the work of Hoity Toity!”

“Yes! Hoity Toity! And... uhm... supposedly he ran into Silver Seams and suggested that she stop by here...”

“And if you made the trip from Las Pegasus to Ponyville in such short time...” Rarity's gasped breathily as a thought of great enormity rocked her mind. “There's no telling when Silver Streams herself may have arrived! She could be checking into the downtown hotel right now as we speak!” She grimaced visibly and began pacing a panicked orbit around the tarp-covered dress. “Oh blessed Celestia, I'm not nearly finished! I've wasted enough time as it is! Oh, whatever shall I do?”

“Hey! It's okay! Just... uhm... Just relax!” I gestured at her with two hooves and gave a gentle smile. “Silver Seams is an affluent, well-to-do pony, yes?”

“Oh, absolutely!”

“Then, like all rich and famous mares, she's probably taking her sweet time.” I grinned and touched the tarp with a hoof for emphasis. “I'm sure you'll have every opportunity to finish this masterpiece—”

“No!” She blurred over and quite forcibly removed my hoof from the material that was obscuring the dress. “You mustn't look!” she hissed. “You mustn't!”

“Uhm... I wasn't about to, Miss Rarity. Not unless you wanted to share—”

“Out of the question!” she exclaimed, nearly snarling as she hugged the bulky item like a dying pet. “No way in Equestria could I let anypony see this now!”

“Oh, very well then.” I gulped and ran a hoof through my mane. I cast her a nervous glance. “Er... may I ask why?”

“Why?!” Her eyes turned into bright blue saucers. “Why?! Because, darling, a work of art is always pathetic and unseemly in its most primordial stages! I would be outright cursing the dress to defeating scrutiny if I allowed another pony to see the ugly building blocks of the final product before it even has a chance to shine! A self-respecting seamstress never exhibits a work until it is close to completion!”

“Oh. Well, I guess that makes sense.” I should have just let the conversation end there, but something about seeing Rarity so nervous and disheveled put a bad taste in my mouth. Why do I always make friends with ponies I can never afford to commune with? “But... I'm not Silver Seams, am I?”

“Erm... Your point being?”

I glanced around the shadowy lengths of the Carousel Boutique. Half of the lights that were on last week were dimmed that afternoon, so that a single utilitarian spotlight was cast upon the dress Rarity was working on when I had shown up.

“I get the feeling that you've been holed up here for quite a while, working on this thing...”

“Why, but of course! Silver Seams is visiting and I must do all that's in my power to give her something worth writing home about! After all, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

“And in all that time, have you had any critical eyes other than your own to judge the work in progress?”

Rarity said nothing. She merely blinked.

I gazed past her expression. “Not even your friends?”

She bit her lip to the bleeding point.

I smiled gently. “What I'm trying to say, Miss Rarity, is that maybe it wouldn't hurt to get an opinion about it this early on.” I smiled and turned my flank aside so she could see my cutie mark. “Experience with writing music has taught me that the final composition is always a heck of a lot more spectacular if I've had some other pony other than myself be a critic through the creation process.”

“Mmmm... Yes.” She breathed slightly easier. It appeared as though the wrinkles in her mane were smoothing away magically as she ingested my words. “Yes, I do believe that is a very... intelligent observation.”

“So then...” I turned to face her straight-on. “What's the harm in heading outside, seeing some sunlight, and fetching one of your closest acquaintances to provide you a critical eye?”

“Mmm. No. N-No, we can't be having that.”

I blinked. “We can't?”

“The girls—erm—my friends, they are a darling bunch, but so many of them are prone to exaggeration for the sake of placating me.” She paced slightly about the Boutique. “There are times when I enjoy such bias, even moments when I need it.” Her jaw clenched tightly as a fire burned in her blue eyes. “But this is not one of those times.” After a pause, she tilted her face back up with a bright expression. She glanced at me. “Miss—Heartstrings, was it?”

“Err... Yeah?”

“Would you be willing to tell me what you think?” Her eyes were sparkling as she asked me this.

I wish I could have said the same about mine. “Uhm... Eheheh...” I shifted nervously where I stood and waved my left forelimb so that she could get a good look at a patch on my “worn-in” hoodie sleeve. “Honestly, Miss Rarity, do I look like I'm qualified to say what is or isn't acceptable in fashion?”

“You're a perfect stranger; that's qualification enough!” She smiled with the rising layers of hope emanating from her being, making it increasingly difficult to deny her with each passing breath. “What's more, you're obviously a refined unicorn who's both blunt and eloquent. Please, would you do me this favor? I'm sorry to bother you with it, but I am at my wit's end at the moment!”

“But I thought it was practically criminal to look at a dress before it's completed!”

“Thankfully, dear, you've just convinced me otherwise!”

“Ehh... yeah...”

“Just what were you coming here for in the first place, if I may ask?”

“Uhm...” I opened my saddlebag and produced the second dark crystal. “There's this stone I need enchanting and—”

“Ah! I can do enchanting in my sleep! Let's consider it an even exchange, hmm?” She practically grabbed the rock from my grasp with a pair of hooves and shoved me towards the dress. “Please. Be a dear and look at what I've crafted so far. I'll be ever so grateful!” That said, she aimed her horn and effortlessly slid the tarp off of the forbidden work of dressmaking.

For a moment there, I thought all the lamps that were previously dormant in the Boutique had suddenly been switched on. It took me a few seconds to realize that it was actually the shiny, alabaster material of the silken dress reflecting the meager light from all the windows around us, positively magnifying it. The gown's upper collar was a shimmering array of ivory beads. The sash about the middle of the dress was also studded with glittering spheres. The hem of the skirt—obviously unfinished—was nonetheless remarkable at this stage, with several layers of laced edges accentuating the weight of the fabric.

I suppose, as fillies go, I've never held much stock in fashion. Like Twilight, I often had my young nose stuck in history books more than dress catalogues. It was Moondancer who was the little princess of the foalish trio, and no doubt she would have been beside herself to see such an amazing gown propped before her. And yet, I couldn't help but feel my breath taken away. This work of Rarity's was something befitting royalty. I was afraid that I'd go to sleep depressed that night after staring for so long, because nothing I'd see for the rest of that afternoon could possibly match the beauty of what stood before me. A real critic would have written an essay about this. All I had to say was...

“It's beautiful.”

“Just that?” Rarity, as it turns out, was directly beside me. I nearly jumped in fright. “Simply 'beautiful'?”

“I... Uhm...”

“You barely looked at it for ten seconds! Please, I implore you!” Her body hung low to the ground, as if the aristocratic fashionista was willing to beg. “Take your time! Get a good look at it! A real close look and then tell me what you think!”

Okay then...

Taking a deep breath, I approached the dress like a polite dancing partner. I squinted at the thing. I poured my eyes over the length of the skirt. I marched in circles around it. I stalked it like a lion hunts its prey. I made sure that my eyes covered every silken inch until I had enough sufficient details to sputter forth.

“It's still beautiful.”

I briefly feared that Rarity was going to explode.

Swiftly, I followed that up with, “I-I just realized...” I pointed at the glittering spheres along the middle of the dress. “These... These are all pearls?”

“Mmmmhmmm. Yes. Natural as oxygen. Straight from the river basins of Blue Valley!” She smiled wide. I could see the pools of her eyes quivering with each anxious heartbeat. “Spared no expense! I stored them for a rainy day—eheheh—as it were. Aren't they splendid?”

“And they're making up the collar,” I pointed out.

“And... And-And-And—” She scampered around and stood next to me as she pointed out the many layers of the skirt. “And there're more to be applied! Each of the final three seams shall be accentuated with them! That makes a total of five layers of pearls!”

“That's... That's bold...” I nodded, rubbing a hoof along my chin. “Extravagant, yes. But... It just shouts confidence and beauty... a natural beauty.”

“Yes! Yes! Heehee—Ahem.” She calmed herself and spoke in a duller voice. “Remind you of anypony?”

I blinked. I looked at her, then at the dress. “Uhm... Wouldn't you have put more blue gems into the design if you meant it to represent—?”

“Hmmm?” She squinted awkwardly, then rolled her eyes. “Oh, bah!” She chuckled airily. “I would never think to be so narcissistic! Erm, at least not in this scenario. Ahem. Think harder...”

“Uhm...” I scratched my skull through my mane. “Is it for Silver Seams herself to wear? I'm... Not entirely familiar with the color of her coat. Does it match?”

Rarity gawked at me as if I was committing some blatant crime. “You... You mean you don't see it? You don't see what I've done?”

I gazed at the dress, frantically searching for a clue. Everything was white, brilliant, pearlescent, and magnificent. What else was there to say?

“Is it not the tenth of August in two days' time?” Rarity finally clued me in.

I glanced at her. I wracked my brain for a connection. “August Tenth... August Tenth...”

Rarity paced around me, orating with authority, “Not only is it when I'm expecting Miss Seams to visit, but it's none other than the birthday of the legendary Princess Platinum of Unicornia!”

“Oh...” I blinked. “Oh!” I blinked harder, the dress suddenly coming into greater focus. “One of the three founders of Equestria!”

“Aaaaaand...” She leaned towards me with a proud grin. “...the first royal family member to have united the five tribes of unicorns into solidarity!”

I stared back at her. Seconds ticked into breaths. Her resounding sigh felt like a cannonball to my chest.

“Oh, darling, do remember your roots!” She said as she sashayed back towards the dress and pointed at the many rows of pearls. “What was Princess Platinum's gift to the founding matriarchs of the five tribes?”

“Uhm...” I thought out loud, and grinned as the realization came to me. “But of course! She gave them pearls excavated from the long lost Sapphire Lake of Dream Valley!”

Rarity grinned at me, like a teacher congratulating a learning foal. “And as she gave them these pearls—the symbol of her grace and generosity—she declared a new era for unicorns, when they would invest all of their magical energies in guiding the path of the Sun and Moon for generations to come.” She pointed at the obvious layers on the dress where the pearls would go. “Five tribes, five layers, a whole ensemble of beauty, grace, and promise.” She stood up straight and tall. “Silver Seams is one of the most prominent members of Manehattan elite, and as all ponies know, Manehattan was formerly Neigh Amsterdam, the central capital of Old Unicornia!”

“And she's arriving close to the birthday of Princess Platinum herself. How old would that make the monarch anyways?” I glanced at her with a curious grin. “Two Thousand Years? Her reign began almost a millennium before the fall of Luna.”

“Don't you get it?”

“Absolutely, Miss Rarity. I just...” I gulped. “I guess my head wasn't in the right place. But Silver Seams?” I winked at her. “It seems like you know your audience. This is all... well... this is all positively dazzling!”

“Do you really think so?!” Rarity almost giggled like a foal, but once more covered it with an air of restraint. “Ahem—But I did not ask for your observation to simply gush over my own labors. Tell me, do you think the message is too obvious, now that you know the appropriate angle and all?”

“Rarity, it seems to me that you put a lot of thought and effort into this work. Not only do I think that the message will hit Silver Seams close to home, but I think it will impress her greatly that you were capable of thinking of something so fantastic on such short notice.”

“Yes, funny that you should say that. I only had a week to work on it.” She gulped and gazed at the dress with a rediscovered pensiveness. “Still, it's not been enough. I have so little time left, and so many pearls to apply. I fear as though I've embellished too much on the front half of the dress as it is. I don't know what I'd do with myself if I ran out halfway through the last layer.”

“Surely you've taken the right measurements...”

“Hmmm. Yes. But I won't know how much to apply until the dress has been worn, so that the fabric has been truly flexed to allow for a proper estimate...” Her words trailed off as she attempted to think up a solution halfway through uttering them.

“Have you tried it on yourself?” I asked. “The dress that is.”

“Hmmmph! Don't be so absurd! A proper dressmaker could never do her work while wearing it—” She stopped. She looked at me.

I looked back. “Uhm... What are you...?” I felt my cheeks burning suddenly. “Oh no. Seriously, Miss Rarity. There's no way I could do that.”

Thirty minutes later, I was doing that.

The sound stone was resting atop the metal stand before the window, glowing slowly with enchantment while Rarity focused on another “magical” situation altogether. I stood atop the stage as she trotted and hovered all around me, forcing my limbs apart so as to get proper access to all the layers of the dress she had left to apply the pearls.

“You have no idea what this means to me, Miss... Heartstrings, was it?”

“Yes.”

“Erm—Yes. My apologies. It's simply horrible to get a mare's name wrong.”

“I wouldn’t be offended.” I tried to breathe evenly. “Trust me.”

“I'm just so beside myself right now!” She giggled nervously before proceeding with the task, her eyes squinting earnestly from behind her spectacles. “If you hadn't come out of the blue—unlocked door and all—I'd be at a loss for time! Oh, thank Celestia! I swear, you're like a guardian angel!”

“An... angel?” I gazed off towards the windows. I thought of Morning Dew. A warm toastiness spread through me that made the awkward situation instantly bearable. I imagined wearing this fabulous dress for another occasion altogether, and I couldn't help but smile and sigh. “Generous ponies are as generous ponies do.”

“Hmmm...” Rarity smiled as she floated needle and thread between us, fastening the pearls one at a time to the seams of the skirt. “Some of the things that you say, Miss Heartstrings: they're quite poignant. I'm tempted to ask if you've heard more about me than my gifts in sewing and enchanting.”

“Oh. Uhm. Not much more than... er... they say around town.”

“Yes?” Rarity paced around me and squinted hard at her work. “And just what do they say about me around town?”

I bit my lip. There are times when it's not so bad being backed up into a wall. I'd have expected not to be wearing a fragile, expensive dress at such moments. “Well, ponies say that you're a good seamstress and very dedicated to your work.”

“Oh.” Her voice had a dead tone to it. She threaded the needle with far less enthusiasm, suddenly. “Is that all? Why am I not surprised...”

“B-but I'm not exactly from around here!” I tried to make up for it.

“Visiting from Las Pegasus, right?”

Was that what I said? Dear Celestia, I should have been better at this. “I'm sure that if I had stayed around here longer, I would have heard more about you. But, honestly, I try not to stake too much claim in gossip.” That, at least, was true. I relaxed with a gentle breath and allowed her more room to work around me. “Besides, being popular has never exactly been my schtick.” I gulped. “Especially as of late.”

“And why would you say such a thing, darling?” Rarity's voice became melodic once more. My attention was instantly grabbed. “You're a pretty, elegant, intelligent young mare—if I may be so bold. I'm sure you're the object of stallions' desire and the target of fillies' envy wherever you go!”

I chuckled at that. “I think your friends' tendency to placate has rubbed off on you, Miss Rarity.”

“Oh please! A good compliment is just like any other gift! Why shoot it down so?”

“I'm...” I fidgeted. “I'm sorry.”

“And none of that! There's a thing to be said about excessive humility. But, just like with my good friend Fluttershy, it can be a tad bit grating at times.”

“Do you lavish this 'Fluttershy' with compliments as well?”

Rarity's lips curved. “As I do with all kindly ponies who deserve it.”

“All I've done is help you with your dress.”

“Oh, but it's more than that.”

“Like what?”

“Why, the little things, darling. Such as you asking for me by name when you first marched in here.”

I stared down at her. “You... You really appreciate that, huh?”

“Oh, don't let me get started!” She briefly paused in sewing to roll her gorgeous blue eyes. “If I had a shiny red apple for each time a pony marched in under that doorbell and failed to recognize me or my lifelong work, I swear, I would put Sweet Apple Acres out of business with my bounty! Hmph!” She smiled. “That's why I'm so proud to have had a perfect stranger like you come in asking to see me, even if I was... erm... h-hardly welcoming when you first entered. Eh heh heh...”

I was gazing off towards the corner of the place. I've never liked thinking about it, but for a solid year I've always been the first pony to say my own name in a given situation. I'm not sure a year' worth of journal entries is enough to explain just what that feels like. There are times when—I swear—I forget I was ever once called “Lyra.” Those are dismal gray mornings, waking up to my own fears and regrets, the casual detritus of an indefinable curse.

“It's a wonderful thing to be recognized,” I found myself saying out loud. “But that's as far as I could ever hope to dream. I like my name. I just wouldn't care for it being waved around like a flag.”

“Are you afraid of the spotlight, dear?”

“The what?”

“The spotlight.” She smiled at me while a few glittering pins floated before her. “It is my belief that we're destined to experience it at some point or another, whether we ask for it or not. I've endeavored all my life to be prepared for it.”

“You say that as if being popular was what a pony was made for.”

“Isn't it?”

“I...” I chewed on my lip briefly. “Maybe once I believed that. Nowadays, though...” I felt a wave of cold, but did my best not to shiver while wearing Rarity's unfinished masterpiece. “It's my hope that when my time on this world is done, I'll leave everything behind while remaining perfectly content with myself.”

“Good heavens,” she almost grunted. “That's remarkably grim, don't you think?”

“I-I like to think it's an affirmative perspective.” I gave her a reassuring smile. “I at least believe that it's possible to end things happily. Just how does popularity fill that niche?”

“Well, I can't presume to lecture a pony on philosophy,” Rarity sewed another pearl in and paused altogether, her eyes swimming in the alabaster fabric of the half-finished dress before her. “But I firmly believe that a pony's essence is not only defined by her notoriety—it is, in fact, improved by it. It's not half as shallow as many are prone to think, though I don't blame them. It all deals with what we are, and what we were made to be.”

I admit: that definitely got my attention. I gazed earnestly at her. “Oh really?”

“Mmmhmm...” She stood before me and rested on her hind legs with a tranquil grin. “Being popular means more than having fame or fortune or good standing with the citizenry of ponydom.” She fluffed her mane elegantly with her hoof, all the while casting a glance towards the sound stone being enchanted across from us. “Ponies, after all, are social things, finely crafted jewels of Creation that are all meant to shine together. When a strange pony walks into my store and has the good grace to know my name, a part of me feels reborn. It means that something that I've done, something that I've contributed to the canvas of this world has captured their attention, and our hearts have been connected.” She gazed back at me, and her face was as bright as the painting she was attempting to illustrate in my mind's eye. “We are all artists deep down, Miss Heartstrings, every single one of us, and we make our mark on this world with the brushstrokes of our indomitable spirits. I have only ever sought to paint a masterpiece that can inspire others, for why else do we exist than to do so remarkably?”

As she spoke, the haunting chords of the eighth elegy were returning to my mind. But instead of drowning her out, they were highlighting every word that came out of her mouth, as if she had been designated the lunar instrumental's choir since the dawn of time. I remembered ever so briefly what it meant to compose music before the curse drowned me. Making music was something to be shared, along with every glorious facet of existence.

No, I could never judge Rarity for wanting to be bigger than life itself. A generous soul deserves to rest on the highest pedestal. How else was she to shower the rest of the world with gifts? Like the gift she was giving me right then, a most precious gift that would be done with far sooner than I had the desire to believe, only the good wisdom to expect.

“I wish I could be as remarkable as you, Miss Rarity,” I solemnly said, though my smile was joyful. “But, I think some of us were born to shine, and others simply to twinkle.”

I don't know if she understood what I said, but her coy wink told me that there was something else I hadn't gathered until then. “That's the biggest misconception about popularity, darling. It is not a competition. Much rather, I like to see it as a marathon.” She trotted back over to my side and resumed work on the gown's skirt. “One of these days, Miss Heartstrings, you are going to break into a full gallop, and I sincerely envy the ponies who will be there to witness your shining moment in the spotlight.”

Rarity's words filled my mind, generating an awe that was as numbing as it was felicitous to my spirit. It was distracting to the point that I couldn't focus on the eighth elegy. As a matter of fact, I lost track of time, so that I hadn't counted the days between helping her with the dress and returning to the Boutique with the third stone.

All I could think about was making her day, hopefully in some fraction of the manner in which she had once made mine. So when I stepped through the door and heard the ringing bell announcing my entrance, I immediately chirped forth into the domain of fabric and sparkles, “Hello, Miss Rarity? My name's Lyra Heartstrings, and I heard lots about you. So long as you're not busy with something at the moment, I was wondering if I could borrow your infamous talents in enchanting this gemstone that I've—”

I froze in my tracks.

A tall, brown-coated mare with a gray mane stared haughtily down at me over the crest of her thick-framed, dark spectacles. She was dressed in a black blouse and matching slacks with room for her flaring tail to poke through. Nothing about her straight-laced outfit succeeded in hiding the thin and rigid frame that encompassed her being.

“Huh...” I blinked.

“Hmmm...” Was all she uttered at first. Her eyes narrowed on me. When she next spoke, I wasn't entirely sure whom she was addressing until I heard scampering hooves in the distance. “A regular of yours, I gather?”

“Oh! Uhm... Eheheh!” Rarity—a frazzled and sweating mess—dashed over between me and this angular stranger. “It's the middle of the day! I'm bound to have clientele visiting as they see fit!”

“I could have sworn that you were going to close regular business for my visit...”

“Ah! Yes! Hah! Funny, I did say that, didn't I?!” Rarity spun to face her, all but bowing to kiss the deadpan mare's hooves. “Heheheh—Absent mind of a genius! Our words go places but our hooves seldom follow them!” She turned to face me. “Uhm... Can I help you? Erm—that is to say—” She shook her head, blurredly, then exclaimed, “I would ever so like to help you, but at the moment I'm afraid that I am predisposed. Still, if you leave a brief description of what it is that you require, I am certain to leave for myself a detailed note so that I can properly serve you first thing tomorrow morning, as I am prompt and diligent to pay heed to all of my loyal, well-paying customers! Eheheheh...”

“Uhm...” I glanced forlornly at the mare standing behind her, above us, like a grand looming shadow. “It... It's not important,” I eventually murmured, backing out of the store with my saddlebag and shivers. “Really. I can come another time.”

“Oh, but please! Let me know what it is that you want so that I can help you tomorrow!” Rarity's pleading eyes briefly broke the walls of sheer panic. “Yes, I'm closed for business, but I would hate myself for sending away a pony in need without finding a way to get back to her...”

“Undoubtedly she's in need of new winter wear,” the mare said, and my attention was drawn to her bored gaze being aimed at my hoodie. “Or else a severe alteration.” She glanced lethargically at Rarity. “From what Mr. Toity said, I had assumed all of your fellow residents wore the Canterlot line you sewed for him a year ago.”

Rarity gulped, then glanced aside at me. “Well, yes. I do seem to... erm... have quite the following in Canterlot. Hereabouts, however... erm...” She gnawed briefly on her hoof and tried to cover it with a smile. “Well, this is farm country, Miss Seams. And you know how earth ponies are. They rely a great deal on hoof-me-downs...”

“And your establishment...” Silver Seams paced across the boutique. “It's been here for the better part of five years?”

“Erm. Yes. I graduated with a minor in business, and my mother's an entrepreneur, so—”

“That's a long enough time to make an impact on the local fashion, wouldn't you think?”

“Erm. Yes. I suppose that—”

“Well, I came here to be thrilled.” The first thing that resembled a smile graced Silver's lips, but even that was something of a stretch, like trying to carve a thin line out of black granite. “So, here's your chance, Rarity dear. Thrill me.”

Rarity was in an entirely different world, and I was obviously not part of it. “Oh! Absolutely! I have just the thing that I've been dying to show you!” A chill ran through the room, but I already knew the real reason why I was invisible. The young unicorn trotted eagerly over to Silver Seams' side. After a great deal of dramatic narration over the details of Princess Platinum's legacy, Rarity yanked at a cord, and a pair of curtains unfurled, revealing the completed dress on the center stage of the Boutique in all its majesty. Rarity went over every detail, highlighting each of the five rows of pearls with magical blue luminescence, all the while lavishing Silver's ears with the timeless tale of Unicornia's unification before joining the Equestrian herd. “And as she gave a gift to her fellow unicorns, I present you this gift for your eyes! Doesn't it positively shimmer with Platinum's eternal spirit?”

“Mmmm. Yes. It is quite beautiful. I can see you put a great deal of time and effort into it.”

“Oh, absolutely! Though, I must have been incredibly inspired, for the entire fabrication went by in a delightful blur. I swear, it's as if the last five days flew by on wings of inspiration—!”

“But, if you would, I'd like to be shown the floor models of your Canterlot lineup.”

“My... C-Canterlot lineup?”

“Yes, the ones you supplied to Hoity Toity's marvelous boutique. He's the top supplier in the upper district, or so I've been told.”

“Oh... Oh! Uhm... Y-Yes!” Rarity gulped and side-stepped away from her detailed work as I gazed from afar. “I... I do believe I still have some of those... erm... year-old models lying around. Give me just a moment and I'll get them properly displayed—”

“You mean that you don't have a showcase on hoof already? I'd imagined that your customers would like to see your finest work on a day-to-day basis.”

“Oh, they are hardly my finest work. Heheheh—I've sold so many of them that they are practically commonplace in the streets of Canterlot by now—”

“Yes, yes. And from Hoity Toity's profitable sales, I imagine that means something. So where are they, darling? My time here in Ponyville is short, after all.”

“Uhm—R-Right this way, Miss Seams! I promise you. Eheheh—You won't be disappointedddd!”

As the two trotted out of view, I stood forgotten as always in the shadows. The pearlescent dress in honor of Princess Platinum shimmered brilliantly in the spotlight, but for the first time in nearly a year, I couldn't conceive of a lonelier image than what I saw right then. I longed for the words of Rarity, but whatever could have floated across the lengths of the Boutique were instantly drowned out by Silver's absorbing presence. I trotted slowly out of the shop. The bell was a dull and heartless noise. I did somepony a favor of switching the sign in the front window to “closed” on the way out.

The next morning, I entered slowly, saying nothing. The Boutique was open early for business and all of the lanterns hanging from the ceiling were lit. Two things shone in the center of the shop. One was the dress of pearls, untouched and unmoved from where I had last seen it. The other thing was Rarity's snow-white coat, reflecting sunlight like a precious diamond.

Her brilliance, however, was drowned out by a dull expression as she unemotionally fiddled with a scarf that she was sewing telekinetically in front of her. The skin was weighted under her eyes, so that I was afraid to find out what—besides sleep—had tugged at her spirit.

Bravely, I cleared my throat, and asked, “Miss Rarity?”

In a flash, the artist's eyes lit up at the sound of her name, as if a torch was ignited deep inside her. Rarity turned to gaze at me, her expression bright—but blank—like an untouched canvas. “Oh! Why, hello.” It was her turn to clear her throat. She straightened her legs so as to no longer appear so stooped. “Welcome to Carousel Boutique, where every garment is chic, unique, and magnifique.”

I smiled genuinely, hoping that it would be infectious. It wasn't. I nevertheless spoke, “I'm visiting from out of town—” I paused. I started over. “My name's Lyra Heartstrings, and while I was visiting, I was wondering if I could pay you for some services, Miss Rarity.”

“Hmm. Yes. I would be more than happy to help you,” she said, though her voice hardly matched the enthusiasm her words had meant to convey. It's always a tragic thing when a song is sucked from a pony's throat. “Though I must apologize in advance. I have this scarf to finish for another client of mine, and I promised them that I would do it first thing when business hours began.”

I glanced back at the door, then at her once again. “You're open earlier than the sign outside says. I couldn't help but notice that while I was strolling by for a morning walk.”

“Well, I did not get all that much sleep last night, so I didn't see the purpose in waiting another two hours.”

“I'm so sorry to hear that, Miss Rarity.” I gulped and backtrotted slightly. “If it helps, I can just come another day—”

“No! Absolutely not! I forbid it!” she said with a slight growl. Then, after blinking at herself, she sighed and ran a hoof over her forehead. “Oh, I do apologize. I know that sounded awfully forward of me.”

“I've heard ponies say worse,” I said with a gentle smile.

“I've never turned a pony away for services. I don't want you to be the first, Miss Heartstrings.” She took a deep breath, her gaze locked onto nothing in particular beyond the nearby window frame. “'Heartstrings.'” She smiled. “Now that's a delightful name that deserves to be famous.”

My heart skipped a beat. At first, I thought it was because a part of me actually, foolishly thought she had remembered it. I then realized that I was simply being overwhelmed by a sinking feeling, and every time I tried to rationalize it, all that my mind's eye could come up with was Silver Seams' dark, emotionless stare. It's times like this when I do something impulsive and desperate to shake the stupor that's overcome me. Perhaps it wasn't an accident that I did such a thing in Rarity's presence.

“I heard that you got a visit yesterday,” I blurted. “From Silver Seams, no less.” I then attempted to rationalize what had to have been no less than a kick to the gut. “That's one reason why I came here.” I tried to give a playful grin. “If Silver Seams shops at Carousel Boutique, then that must make this a place of high class!”

My rather awkward compliment had no effect on Rarity. I should have known better, but I was just so desperate to get her to cheer up. I only wished she was nearly as desperate herself. “Hmmm, the jury is still out on that, I'm afraid,” she ultimately said.

I gulped. “Why... uhm... Why do you say that? I imagine a seamstress would be excited to have somepony like Silver Seams pay her a personal visit.”

“If you can call it a visit,” she murmured aloud, struggling to fix the scarf with a sudden frustration. “Nnngh... Oh bother, who am I kidding?” Her lips curved slightly. “It was a delightful encounter. Truly, it was. Silver Seams is an amazing mare, and she is an utterly bedazzling conversationalist. Why, I spent two hours, mesmerized, as I heard her tell about her designing exploits in the grim streets of Stalliongrad. A pony of her age and grandeur is remarkable. Truly remarkable.” Rarity's nostrils flared briefly as her eyes lost themselves in the sea of fabric she was shaping into being. “A pony like that has truly earned her fame.”

I fidgeted, standing behind her, like the shadow to something that once shone inside that place. With a cheerful voice, I boldly asked, “And did you tell her anything at all about yourself? It sounds like Silver Seams travels around a lot. I'm sure she'd like to know more about the Ponyville scene.”

“I'm afraid our conversation never took such a turn,” Rarity swiftly replied. “She had to take leave for a meeting with one of her agents. Right now, she's likely having breakfast in bed, waiting for the afternoon train to take her off to Trottingham, and onwards to another season of lavish fashion shows. Hmmm. I will always admire the swift pace and courageous restlessness of the working elite. Though, I suspect, it will forever be from afar.”

I didn't know how else to get her to say more than to utter, “I... I don't understand.”

“What's there to understand?” she retorted coldly, so that I wondered if she was even talking to me anymore. There was a cold tap-tap-tap of her floating needles coming into hard contact with one another, almost snapping loose the thread that she was knitting into place. “That I set myself for yet another fall? I only have myself to blame, of course, putting so much weight into a single moment, a single glance, a single blasted opportunity, as if the entirety of one's life is determined in a blink. I don't know what's more foolish, the fact that I had stooped to relying on something so desperate or the fact that this wasn't my first time doing so!”

I gulped and said, “The way I see it, it's not so much that we learn from the mistakes in life, but that we learn to encounter future mistakes with greater tenacity.”

“Well maybe mistakes are the problem in and of themselves!” Rarity finally grunted, all but slapping the knitting materials to the floor as she flashed a very familiar dress the angriest of glances. “Maybe genius shouldn't have room for stupid errors, or else it isn't actually genius in the first place!”

The room was silent, save for the pistoning sounds of her enraged lungs. Slowly, the elegant unicorn composed herself. The voice that came out of her next was still embroiled, but collected.

“Miss Heartstrings, whoever you are, I can only guess that you are a musician, and a talented one at that. Am I correct?”

I swallowed and gently nodded. “Yes. At least, I'm inclined to agree with you on that. Talent, however, is relative—”

“But it is real,” she said, her eyes briefly hot as she glared back at me. “Or else, why would you even subscribe to that name?”

“Er... It was the name I was born with.”

“Was it?” she asked sharply.

I blinked at her. “Well, yes, for your information.”

“And does it define you? Does it convey to other ponies who and what you are when they say it out loud? Does your name fill their mind with delight and joy just to think of it, because they have utmost confidence in what you mean to them, and what you provide to this beautiful world of ours?”

I took a deep breath, and my gaze fell defeatedly toward my hooves. “I... I couldn't say...”

“Well, allow me to be so bold, but I hear your name, and I see your cutie mark, and I am instantly proud of you, even if I don't know who you are,” she said. Her face was too tight to express a smile, too proud to grimace. She continued, “Because if there's one thing I believe in, it's that we're all here for a purpose. We're placed on this earth to shine. Some of us do so better than others, but that's not the argument I'm trying to make. In order to be successful, Miss Heartstrings, to be popular, to make our mark in society, two things have to happen. We have to be sure of ourselves, and the gifts that we have. Secondarily, we have to meet others who share that vision, so that they may properly channel the contributions we have to make in the world of expression.” She sighed and looked towards the brilliant dress once more. “With each passing day, I feel as though there are fewer and fewer ponies in existence who know how to properly keep those channels open. Complacency has taken the place of creativity. At least, I hope that's the case, as horrible as that may sound. Because if I'm wrong, and it's all just me...” Rarity's breath came out ragged. She ran a hoof over her face, muffling her next utterance. “Then, dear Celestia, how far have I fallen...?”

I pretended to follow her gaze, just so that I could have an excuse to make mention of the beautiful masterpiece in the room. “I have to say, though. I can't stop staring at that gown since I walked in here. Did you get a chance to show it to Silver Seams while she was around?”

For a moment, Rarity was without words.

So I continued. “I think it's absolutely gorgeous. But, it's more than that.” I opened my mouth to continue, but a very tender part of me hesitated. The moment was too thin. After a quiet struggle I dared to say it anyways. “Funny that you would choose a pearl motif, considering it's a day after the anniversary of the legendary Princess Platinum's birth.”

Rarity immediately flashed me a glance, one that was frozen for a few pale seconds. Her face broke into something that was halfway between a chuckle and a sob. I was briefly mortified to hear her sniffle. Soon, however, she composed herself in time to smile and murmur, “You really do live up to your name, Miss Heartstrings. I only wonder where your sentiment was yesterday, when the legacy of Unicornia utterly failed me.”

I bit my lip. “I'm starting to wonder too.”

“To think, she carries the name 'Silver' like it's a copyright, and yet she dares to dress all in black.”

“I'm sorry?”

Rarity looked at me. “I'm guessing one of my friends directed you here, or one of the more high-standing members of Ponyville? Hmmm?”

“I-I came here only to do business! I promise.” It was the truth. Most of it, at least. “I think you're more famous around town than you give yourself credit for, Miss Rarity.”

“Correction, darling. I'm a utility.”

“You're what-now?”

“A household name,” she said with a smile that obscured the layers of disappointment pouring out of her gaze. “A common noun. I'm the local seamstress that a pony sends a friend to when they need a seam realigned or a hem fixed or a cuff mended. Undoubtedly they say my name a lot, just like anypony in Equestria would say 'Silver Seams.' But do they think twice about it? Do they have the vision—the innate desire—to look even further, in expectation that there are ponies that bury treasure deeply enough to reward souls who look for it? I'll have you know that I wasn't born with the name that you've heard villagers call me by. I wasn't always Rarity.”

I blinked. I hadn't expected that at all. “You weren't?”

“No, darling,” she shook her head slowly. “As a matter of fact, I was born under the name 'Sapphire Sight.' I come from a long family of jewelcrafters and enchanters. It's only fitting that they expected me to fall in line with what is undeniably a biological tradition. Sure enough, the day I discovered my cutie mark, it was in the act of finding a miraculous repository of natural gemstones. But while my talent may have been determined by fate, I had no intention whatsoever of letting it determine my lot in life. My horn owed its talent to precious rocks, but my heart belonged to my dreams and what future they could provide me. That's why—at a very young age, even before finishing elementary school—I changed my name to 'Rarity'.”

“Why?” I asked her. “Why 'Rarity?'”

She stared deeply at me as she said, “Because I wanted a name that I could live up to.” She looked sadly at the dress. “And, furthermore—with time and effort—to surpass. I wanted to be special. I wanted to be famous. I wanted to be the pony that everypony would know, not just for the sound that her name entailed, but for the hidden and deeper meanings held within, like a multi-layered diamond would offer. Precious rocks aren't meant to be just mined. They exist to be put on display, to fill the world with glittering wonder because—after all—there are things born in this world that are granted the gift to see and admire that which stands out among us. Long ago, I stopped being 'Sapphire Sight,' and chose to be 'Rarity.' How else was I to aspire to greatness? What other choice did I have? Would I follow the hoofsteps of my family and remain a mere blemish in their shadow? The most I would ever accomplish was being a grain of salt in the steep well of tradition, or else a mere cog in some unimaginative industry.”

“Industry?” I remarked, an eyebrow raised.

“That is what everything becomes, sadly,” Rarity murmured. “Given enough time. Given enough ritual. You go through the motions until the motions become you, and then what is life beyond the utter necessity of the mechanization? Yesterday, I had an entire afternoon to look into the eyes of Silver Seams, to hear her voice, to bask in her aura. And when the whole encounter was said and done, and after I had finished digesting all of her words for whatever palatable merit there was left to savor, I realized that I could have gotten as much of a catharsis from a machine. And do you know why? Because Silver Seams has become part of the industry, a process born from art yet blind to it. She was once an aspiring daredevil of Manehattan couture. Today, she's an old and jaded mare who designs with her hooves, but they're no longer attached to her heart and soul. All that matters is the profit behind the process, something that is measured in money and not in magic. I would almost feel sorry for her... if it wasn't for one thing...”

“Yes?” I leaned forward, curious. “What's that?”

Rarity gulped hard. She seemed to be dealing with her own brand of shivers by the time she eventually said, “That she's the one mare in Equestria who has it right. That everything today is nothing but industry, for what is commonplace is not only accepted, but worshipped on high, because everypony is afraid to think, to challenge, to find things that are new... that are special... that are rare.” She exhaled long and hard. “And all awhile, I'm wasting my time looking for ways to stand out, saving all of my pearls to make one beautiful dress when I should be making dozens that will earn me a proper spot, even if it is just another part of some grand, bland machine.”

I was listening to her, but somepony's words were rising to the surface, and that pony was me. I thought of my journal entries—so many identical to this one that I'm writing right now. If I wasn't writing for myself, what kind of exposure could I actually hope to achieve, assuming that a pony had the blessed sight to see what I had enscribed? Would it be a deep and thoughtful critique, or an errant flip through the pages before those same hooves tossed the text back into a dusty pile of all of yesterday's tragedies? Even a song can move a soul only so far ahead until a different tune shoves that spirit in the other direction like a gale force wind. How, then, does a pony build a proper sail to navigate the storms of this saturated world?

“Maybe...” I spoke. “Maybe... you're still just waiting for proper exposure.” I glanced up at her. “It's a long wait, sure, but that doesn't mean it won't come to you, Miss Rarity. Perhaps the day will come when you will rise up—like Silver Seams has—only you won't settle for being commonplace. You won't make the same mistakes she did.”

“Hmmm... Mistakes?” Rarity smiled. “Miss Seams has achieved everything I've ever wished I could, and did she get there by making mistakes? If that's true, then I obviously need to make such transgressions myself.” She took a deep breath. “But I have never, ever worked that way. Nor would I wish to.”

I said, “I'm guessing life is cruel to perfectionists.”

“I've never blamed life for the world's cruelty,” Rarity muttered. “Only ignorance.” She smiled painfully my way. “And I would hate to be such a transgressor, especially before a mercifully patient and gracious mare such as yourself. Please, do forgive my self-absorbed ramblings, Miss Heartstrings, and tell me how I may be of service to you today.”

My heart immediately fell down to the bottommost part of my gut. “Oh. Oh... Uhm...” My saddlebag weighed as though it was full of cemetery gravestones. “You know what? We had a delightful conversation. I think I got exactly what I needed from this visit—”

“Come now, do not let my passionate goings-ons frighten you away, dear,” she said softly. “My best friends have occasionally labeled me a 'drama queen,' and they would more than occasionally be correct. Please, tell me what you came here for. You have my full and undivided attention. You've earned it.”

I gulped, shifting guiltily like a young colt who had just killed a bird with a slingshot. I fiddled telekinetically with my saddlebag and avoided her gaze as I stammered forth, “I came here... I-I came here because... uhm... I heard that you were good with enchanting gemstones.” I should have given her the last two stones. Instead, something sincere inside me only produced one. “And I very desperately need to have this imbued with magic once again. I.... uhm... I've been told that you're the best in town. I didn't want to settle for less.”

Rarity's response was a sincere breath and a nod of her head. “Nopony should ever settle for less, darling.”

I immediately winced. “But. But you're busy with the scarf and I'm sure you've got other dresses to make and—”

“Miss Heartstrings.”

“I'll understand if you're just not up to it—”

“Miss Heartstrings.” She grabbed the rock with a forced charge of telekinesis. Standing up straight, she gave me a placid grin as she trotted towards the necessary equipment beside the window. “Enchanting gemstones is just one of many ways I make a living. Ever since I came to Ponyville, I've done just that—living. But that doesn't mean I can't do it gracefully, and proudly. Please, let me be of service to you.”

I reached a hoof towards her from afar, but it was as if she was slipping away from me. What broke my heart was that I realized she had no other place to slip away to. This was her home as much as it was mine. She was as much a prisoner, and yet she wasn't cursed. Or was she?

Just what pony isn't cursed, come to think of it? I hadn't put that much philosophical thought into the idea until then, until I saw Rarity going through the motions, being reborn as “Sapphire Sight,” setting the lens up before the window and capturing the sunlight like a piston would be powered by steam. In the end, I would give her three golden bits and she would give me a smile, but I suddenly no longer knew which was more jaded.

Once I had left Rarity's presence, she would forget that I ever existed. But she would not forget her troubles. Her concerns were as real as oxygen, and she depended on them just as desperately. What place was it of mine to try and convince her otherwise, even if I had the power to do so? Fame means nothing to me, but that is simply my curse. How much worse is it to have an opportunity that is never realized, though the potential is always there?

Was she making a mountain out of a molehill? Did society think of her as just any other contributing part of the machine, assuming it thought of her at all? I wondered if there was any pony qualified to do proper, unbiased research on a soul's notoriety, and then I realized that such a proper pony was me.

“Rarity? Yeah, I know her. She's the pony who operates the carousel besides the Ponyville fairgrounds, right? Wait—Huh? You mean to tell me it's not an actual carousel? Yeesh. What's with all the flippin' tents around that side of town, then?”

“Hmmm... Miss Rarity... Miss Rarity... Oh! I remember her! White coat? Bluish mane? I listened to her perform once at a dance party in Town Hall last Summer Sun Celebration. What's her call sign again? ‘DJ-P0N3?’”

“She's a tailor, right? She puts together dresses and stuff? Or is that the unicorn with the streak in her hair? Whatever. One of them lives in a tree. Can I go now? I'm late for a lunch in downtown.”

“I vaguely remember something about a unicorn who nearly died at the Best Young Fliers Competition in Cloudsdale. Hey, did you hear what our neighborhood weather flier Rainbow Dash did on that day? She produced a brilliant sonic rainboom—right in front of Princess Celestia! Swooosh! Kablaam! Yeah! She saved—like—three entire members of the Wonderbolts at the same time too! Talk about your fifteen minutes of awesome! Heh!”

“Isn't that the mare who sounds like a vampire and visits Aloe and Lotus' Day Spa twice a week?”

“Why, I go to Carousel Boutique all the time! You're telling me that she owns the place? My goodness, I always thought she was just an intern. I mean, what unicorn at that young age doesn't inherit a business like that? Do you get what I'm saying?”

“I know that there's a white unicorn who's one of the rumored Elements of Harmony. Y'know—cuz supposedly the Elements are no longer sacred objects like in olden times, but they've instead been fused with the spirits of living ponies. All I know is that one of them is Loyalty and she's a white unicorn. Or maybe it was the Element of Beauty. Hmmm... Why're you asking me this again?”

“Scram, lady. I'm trying to eat my sandwich here.”

“Come to think of it, we had a fashion show here in Ponyville once. It was almost a year ago. Some fancy schmancy art critic from Canterlot came for the whole event. Wouldn't you know it? It was all just some practical joke on the poor schmuck. It had to have been! The dresses that were on display were gaudy as all get-out! I swear, I've never seen a posh know-it-all get so engraged. Heh—Wait, what? Why does this come to mind? Cuz the whole dang prank was this 'Rarity's' idea, wasn't it? I mean, that's why you're asking around about her, right? It's about time karma caught up with the mare.”

“Ew—like—why would I go shopping at some overpriced hole-in-the-wall place on the far east side of town? I totally—like—do all my shopping at Rich's Threads. After all, that's where all the popular fillies go. Leave Carousel Boutique to the upstart snobs who run the place!”

“How dare you!”

I glanced over from where I stood inside Sugarcube Corner, interviewing a pair of young mares with pastel, permed manes. The two gazed in the same direction, looking bored beyond all measure.

The author of the last exclamation immediately wilted upon our combined glance. “Uhm... Not that I have anything against you as ponies... but...” Fluttershy took a deep breath and summoned the same frown that had empowered her voice just seconds go. “But Rarity is not an upstart snob! She's a talented pony with a gift for making beautiful dresses and she most definitely does not overcharge her customers! What's more, she's my friend, and she deserves more respect than that!”

“Heh... Schyeaaah...” One of the fillies rolled her painted eyes. “So—like—if that was true, then how come I never knew her name until now?”

“Yeah...” The other joined in, glaring Fluttershy's way. “If she's so great, shouldn't she be hanging out in Trottingham and not hickville-central?”

“Only figures you're defending her cuz you're her friend.” The first one scoffed once more. “Heh—Lemme guess. She totally gives you discounts just to say nice things about her.”

“I... I...” Fluttershy's blue eyes quivered. “That's not true! Rarity—” She gulped. “She just—”

“Heh. Just what I thought.” The two fillies marched off, their bright tails swishing in unison. “Come on, let's ditch these lame-o's. The smoothies totally stink here anyways.”

“Like—omigoddess—I was about to say the same exact thing!”

“No way! We should sooooo take notes about it!”

The two left, along with their perfume. I glanced crookedly at their absence, cleared my throat, and pivoted slowly to face Fluttershy. “So... You say that Rarity is a talented pony and deserves respect?”

“Mmmm...” Fluttershy was obviously still reeling from the duo's heartless words. She hid behind a satiny lock of pink hair and turned to walk towards the far end of the semi-crowded eatery. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. It was rude of me to have interrupted.”

“But what if I wanted to hear more of what you had to say?”

She merely walked away, slowly, like a rain drop sliding downhill.

I shrugged, adjusting the sleeves of my hoodie. “Oh well, then. I guess I've learned all I needed to know about that upstart snob at the Carousel Boutique.”

“Nnnnngh—” I saw the tiniest hint of gnashing teeth, and soon she was aiming an angelic frown at me once more. “You take that back right now!” A blink, a fluttering of her lashes, then a deep blush: “Erm... if you don't mind, that is...”

I smiled her way. “So now you want to defend her again?”

“I...” She shuddered and brushed away a few bright bangs from before her blue eyes. “I never thought that I would have to. Rarity has always had a good reputation. At least I've always thought so.” She glanced up at me, and the smile that came from her was as soft and gentle as her voice, and twice as sincere. “Just like anypony, you have to get to know her to understand her. She's the most generous, elegant, thoughtful, and giving mare that I know.”

“The question that's on my mind...” I leaned against a counter of glass-cased desserts as I gazed at Fluttershy. “Is whether or not Rarity is satisfied with that?”

“Uhm... Satisfied with what?”

“With somepony having to get to know her before she can understand her. Rarity's an artist, yes?”

“Oh. Most definitely...”

“You say that just because you're her friend—?”

“N-no!” Fluttershy exclaimed, her wings flexing in time with her exhalation. “Her works speak for themselves! She's designed hundreds of dresses for all kinds of ponies, from local celebrities to visiting diplomats to close acquaintances!”

“So then...” I glanced towards the exit through which our two “companions” had just exited. “How is it that most ponies I ask know very little about her?”

Fluttershy chewed on her bottom lip and looked away shamefully.

I gave her a curious glance. “Have I struck a bad chord? I'm a musician. So be honest with me, cuz I really hate doing that.”

“Why... do you want to know so much about her?” Fluttershy gulped. “About my dear friend Rarity?”

I scratched my neck and weathered a wave of chills. “What's your name?” I asked just to hear her say it herself.

“Um... Fl-Fluttershy.”

“Do you know your mother's name?”

“Erm. Yes. Why is that important?”

“Humor me, if you will.”

“My mom's name is Windflicker. She was born in Stratopolis.”

“And your grandmother's name. What about hers?”

“Fluttersky. I was... m-more or less named after her.”

“Her mother had a name too, yes? Your great grandmother?”

“Uhm...” Fluttershy had to think about that for a second. “Silvercloud... I think. Oh dear, I feel terrible for not remembering immediately...”

“And...” I leaned forward slightly. “What of your great-great grandmother? Do you know her name?”

Fluttershy drew a blank. Her cheeks were rosy as she fidgeted before the unexpected inquisition.

“If you must know, I don't remember my great-great grandmother's name either,” I murmured. Then gulped. “Nor do I recall my great grandmother's. So you're one point above me, Miss Fluttershy, if it's of any consolation.”

“What... uhm... What are you attempting to prove with this?”

“Rarity is here. Unlike your ancestors and mine, she's alive. She lives among us, barely a few walls away from where other ponies dwell. Why is it that so few of them know her name, even when she does so much to establish a reputation for herself?” I adjusted the collar of my hoodie and murmured towards the walls. “And just how many generations will it take to forget she ever had a name to begin with?”

“To be honest, I've never thought of it in that detail.”

I nodded slowly. “Neither have I. Not until lately. I have long... taken such things for granted. Now I can't afford to do anything but obsess over it. Only, I believe, Miss Rarity has made it the focus of her whole entire life, and just what has it earned her?”

“You obviously care about her to have analyzed the matter this much,” Fluttershy said woefully. “I only wish I was as considerate.”

I gave her a curious glance. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you her friend? What could make you think that way about yourself?”

“Because...” Fluttershy struggled to push the words out. “Because when I should have been there for her in the past, I failed. And I wasn't the only one. All the ponies she depended on failed her as well.”

“I don't see how that could be.”

“It's true,” Fluttershy murmured. “For this year’s Grand Galloping Gala, Rarity and myself and five others were all invited to attend the royal ceremony. In honor of the occasion, Rarity took it upon herself to make us all dresses, free of charge. I've never seen a pony do something so generous before or since. But after she had put so much time and effort into the gowns, we... uhm... we didn't show any gratitude.”

“No?”

“Mmmm... no.” She guiltily shook her head. “Not at first, at least. We had our own ideas of what our gowns should have looked like. Any self-respecting seamstress would have quit on us all right there and then. But not Rarity. Her desire to make us happy was bigger than her desire to express herself, which she had every right to do. She sewed the dresses we wanted to have made, but they were simply horrible. We were just too blind and selfish to realize it. And then... mmnngh...” She winced as if a wave of nausea was passing through her frail body. “There was this fashion show, and those terrible dresses were put on display for the likes of Canterlot's own Hoity Toity. It was Rarity's one chance for the spotlight, a moment she had always dreamed of, and we had ruined it for her.”

“That...” I bit my lip and helplessly nodded. “That sounds horrible.”

“It was. She was devastated. But we all tried to make it up for her. We finished the dress that she was making for herself to wear at the Gala. Then, after grabbing Hoity Toity's attention, we were able to perform a second fashion show—a private one—and he got to see all of Rarity's marvelous designs for the first time. He was impressed, and he ended up paying her a great deal to have her line of fashion sold in his boutique at Canterlot.”

“Huh...” I smiled warmly. “Well, there ya go. Friends to the end. Sounds like you paid her back proper.”

“Paid her back?” Fluttershy gave me a sad, wilted expression. “Oh, if only that were true. Don't you see? The damage was done. Even if Hoity Toity was impressed, did that really mean anything for Rarity's fashion career?” She gulped hard and shut her eyes shamefully. “Yes, she earned a lot of bits from the private show. But what had happened in town ruined any chance she had of coming public in this part of Equestria. She's sold hundreds of dresses in her line of work throughout Canterlot, but right here—in her home—where her reputation matters the most, she's had her chance to be in the spotlight... and it's gone. Gone forever.”

I stared around the lengths of Sugarcube Corner, entrenched in thought. Finally, I couldn't help but ask, “Then why does she stay here, if her opportunity had come and gone for her elsewhere?”

“I wish I knew. I'm only glad that she's around because she's my friend and it fills me with joy to be in her presence.” Fluttershy smiled painfully. “Especially since it wouldn't be the last time we... erm, that is I put a dent in her dreams.”

“How... H-how so?”

“Something like that happened again,” Fluttershy once more avoided my gaze. “A famous photographer named Photo Finish came to town. Rarity had an opportunity to show off her fashion, and she needed a model. She chose me. I was so honored, but then something unexpected happened. Photo Finish focused entirely on me. She paid no attention to Rarity's beautiful outfits whatsoever. It was because of Rarity that any attention was paid to me in the first place. I wasn't a huge fan of it, and it didn't last for long, but I was somewhat famous in modeling for a while.”

“And in all that time, Rarity didn't receive an ounce of fame...”

Fluttershy's voice was shaking somewhat as she spoke, “All that sweet mare wants to do in life is make her name known. She wants to make beautiful things and have other ponies share in it. And at least twice already, fame has passed her over. You can even say three times, if you count her connections with Princess Celestia's star pupil.”

“Twilight Sparkle...”

“That's a name that is bound to go down in history,” Fluttershy remarked. “And I know Twilight. Just like myself, fame is not important to her, and to Rarity—our mutual friend—it means everything. And she has given everything, over and over again, with a generous heart that amazes me each and every day.”

I took a deep breath and laid a gentle hoof on Fluttershy's shoulder. “I envy you, in a lot of ways.”

“Me?” Fluttershy blinked awkwardly. “Why?”

I smiled. “Because you're close friends with a living fountain of blessings such as Rarity.”

“I know that. But then there's one thing that I can't understand.” She entreated me with soft eyes, as if begging for an answer to an impossible question. “Why is it, in this world, that a fountain of blessings seems to be so terribly cursed?”

I didn't know either.

But I was almost willing to ask Rarity herself.

“Hello,” I spoke under the resonating tone of the Carousel Boutique's entrance bell the next day. “My name's Lyra Heartstrings, and I was wondering...” I froze in place, blinking, as several flailing bits of fabric flew past me like silken comets. “Uhm... Is something wrong?”

“Oh, what ever could be wrong?!” Rarity grumbled. She was a purple-capped volcano waiting to burst, or else she had burst several hours ago. Her voice was as hot as her bloodshot eyes as she fiercely rummaged through the messy sea of sewing materials that the center of the Boutique had become. “Could it be wrong that I don't have the lace I need to finish a dress order that I should have tackled a week ago?! Could it be wrong that I've put my trivial problems ahead of everything else in life, such as my duty to my clients? Could it be that I swore I bought some yellow lace just three days ago, and now it seems to have grown hooves and galloped away?!”

“Er...” I gulped nervously and stood still as an iceberg as she darted all around me. “Would you... Would you like some help with—?”

“With what?! I put myself into this situation! I should be the one to pull myself out of it! As if I haven't allowed myself enough distractions already.” She paused briefly, knee-deep in a hill of fabric, to sigh and groan my way. “Ma'am, I am exceedingly sorry for this immature show I seem to be putting on, but I'm afraid you've caught me at a bad time. I'm behind with several projects, and though I'm willing to take orders, I doubt very much that I can make my services available to you anytime soon.”

“And I c-completely understand!” I said, shoving a smile past my chills in an attempt to solace her. “I just heard about your work around town, Rarity, and I wanted to see—”

“Oh! I'm surprised the local gossip had a breath to spare about me!” She smiled bitterly as she dug through another messy mountain of unkempt materials. “They do seem to be all too eagerly enthralled in covering every inch that the genius hooves of Silver Seams have covered!”

“Silver Seams?” I leaned precariously on the edge of multiple responses, before deciding to play blissful ignorance. “You mean to say that she was here? In Ponyville?”

I had forgotten how much Rarity hated ignorance. “Hah! But of course, she no longer is! But that's not enough to silence the sound of her name in the air! At least not enough to hide the fact that she didn't leave for her trip to Trottingham empty-hoofed!”

“She...” I blinked awkwardly. It was obvious that Rarity's ire was steering this whole conversation. I was merely the rudder. “She didn't?”

“Why? Haven't you heard?” Rarity spun to face me, slapping her hooves onto the tile floor as deadly parentheses to her next exclamation. “She bought an entire wardrobe of fall clothing from Rich's Threads before boarding the train heading east! She even paid the store owner a generous commission!” Her eyes lit up like twin meteors of murderous blue. “Here's something nopony has likely heard! She paid the Carousel Boutique a visit too! What did she have to donate me? Only a purse full of yawns and two hours of autobiographical anecdotes that I couldn't possibly write a book about! She barely even glanced at my work, even the dresses that she pretended to be interested in! And now she's leaving Trottingham with half of the inventory from Rich's Threads! Bah! I swear, all that was holy and decent in this world went into the grave with Starswirl the Bearded!”

“I... uhm...” I shifted nervously. “That sounds rather... odd.” I cleared my throat and braved a glance at her. “I've never been to Rich's Threads. Is the fashion establishment anything to shake a stick at?”

“Fashion Establishment? Snkkt—” Rarity all but spat her tongue out. “Fashion Establishment?!” She marched halfway towards me and pointed a vicious hoof. “Darling, let me tell you something about the stallion who owns that place. Filthy Rich and his entire family became rich by selling apples—apples that they didn't even grow! He's an accountant attached to a gallon of hair gel—albeit a good one, but nothing more! He knows about as much concerning fashion as a minotaur would recognize a can of potpourri! He'd sooner dedicate a department of his store to dresses as he would to apples or to bear traps or... or... Celestia-knows-what-else!”

Rarity seethed and strangled an invisible neck in front of her grinding teeth.

“And... Silver... Seams... Nnnngh...” She clenched her eyes tightly shut and exhaled hard. “No doubt she dredged him of all his feminine attire just so she can haul the gargantuan bounty all the way to Trottingham, disassemble the gowns to their base materials, and have the means to lazily slap together some uninspired, gaudy, but altogether successful line of autumnal pish-posh! Because, after all, that's what the art of the dress is anymore! A heterogenous assortment of scraps that we have the divine authority to pilfer and reintroduce into the world as new, though it's painted with all the vomitous colors of yesterday's garbage!”

At the end of such a tirade, she indeed looked close to retching, so she sat herself on the edge of the stage beneath a familiar white dress in order to collect her breaths.

“Nnnngh... It just maddens me so.” She fanned herself with a dainty hoof as she mumbled. “All it is anymore is a process, a factory proceeding of mundane proportions. We have it within ourselves to do better... to be better. What is the point in expression when what is popular is expressionless?” She gulped and gazed down at the floor, her mane bordering either side of her face in frazzled, purple tributaries. “I always wanted to make a difference. With this shop, with my trade, I wanted to share my inspiration with all of Equestria. Then somepony like Silver Seams comes along, and yet again I encounter a soul who has risen as far as I want to rise, and just what does that make her? What does that make what I desire to be?” She closed her eyes and ran two hooves over her face. “Mmmmmmfff... I swear, I wonder if there's any point in trying. All of this... this taste. I am sick to death of this taste...”

I stood in the silence that followed, afraid to break it, as if the shattering was something neither of us would have been able to withstand. I realized that it was my place to say something, where it was nopony else's. My voice was something that would only be forgotten. I've come to expect my echoes, however, to be something immaculate.

“Perhaps what matters, Miss Rarity, is that you have a taste of your own?” I said as I marched over and gently brushed a length of the pearlescent dress' skirt. I smiled softly and spoke, “In a bland world, somepony is bound to be attracted to your sweetness.”

“Hmmm... a noble dream,” she murmured, then lowered her hooves. She gave a frown to the same dress that I was smiling at. “But how long must I dream it, too afraid to wake up?” She gazed up at me. “Would I find myself turning into an old mare by the time my ambitions finally paid me back? I shudder to imagine my genius then, a soul with all of its inspiration sapped from me, and so that I would walk in the shadow of those like Silver Seams and Hoity Toity because I too will have become too sensitive to brilliance.”

“I... I wouldn't know about that...”

“Neither can I pretend to.” She stood up and gazed dismissively down at the dress like a gray-maned creature I had once seen. “I tell myself that I think of the future, but dreaming of it is not the same thing. I only have so many years of my youth left. It's time that I decided to make the best of them. For too long have I chased the flighty streams of an enchanted filly. The likes of Hoity Toity and Filthy Rich have found their successful places in this industry.” She gulped in resolution. “It is high time that I found mine.”

“But Rarity...” I gazed at her. “This dress! It's... It's beautiful

“And, indeed, it will find it's place in somepony's memories forever.” Rarity's nostrils flared. “For the right price. After all, it's the way of things.” She turned towards me, a deadpan ghost of somepony that had once giggled like a songbird. “Might I, perchance, assist you in such a purchase, today? I assure you, my dear, that though I may be a tempestuous personality, I am nothing but a perfectionist in my services.”

“I... I...” I gazed at her, at the dress, then at my saddlebag. I choked on something briefly, then murmured towards the walls. “Actually, I wasn't wanting to buy or order anything...”

“Oh?”

“Uhm... As a matter of fact...” I gazed at the dress. Something within me bubbled, something that had—on occasion—deeply desired to mimic the crackling blazes of the fireplace back at my cabin. I needed to know that there were things in this world capable of rising from the ashes. The only thing real about “defeat” is the letters comprised in making up that word. “I was... I was sent to deliver a message?”

“A message?”

“Yes.” I gulped, trembling with the realization of what I was suddenly planning to do. “From some pegasus I met in Sugarcube Corner, a very sweet mare with butterflies for a cutie mark.”

“Fluttershy?” Part of Rarity's face inescapably brightened. Her eyes blinked. “What could be so important that she was incapable of informing me face-to-face?”

“She says that she... That she needs a sweater made for her pet hedgehog back at her house... uhm... because the poor thing is sick.”

“Pet hedgehog...?” Rarity scrunched her face. She scratched her chin in deep thought. “Odd. I wasn't aware that she was in possession of a hedgehog.”

“Uhm. She said that she found it just this morning. The thing must have fallen into the river overnight, and she thinks it's suffering pneumonia. If she doesn't have a sweater or blanket made for it soon—”

“Say no more.” Rarity waved a hoof, sighed, then gave a tired smile. “The poor darling must be sick with worry. I'm more worried about her than the little animal, truth be told. Everything else can wait for as much as I'm concerned. Thank you for delivering the message, Miss...”

“Heartstrings. And... uhm... my pleasure.” I gulped and smiled nervously at her. “I don't suppose you have the makings for knitting a sweater in all this mess?”

“Ugh!” Rarity tossed her head and marched towards the far end of the room. “Don't remind me! I'm struggling with a dress order involving a great deal of satin and lace. If I just calmed down and opened my eyes, I'm sure I'd find what I'm missing. No doubt your selflessness in listening to me helped with that some.” She next marched completely out of view, her voice trailing from a deep closet adjacent to the main foyer. “Now... please, Celestia, tell me I'm not missing my knitting materials either! Bah! This whole Silver Seams business has me all flank over elbows, I swear!”

As she rambled on, I bit my lip and inched towards the dress of pearls. Only when I was satisfied that she wasn't immediately trotting back, I opened the lid to my saddlebag...

That afternoon, I expected Rarity's expression to be full of anger the first moment I saw it. Instead, it was full of shock—immense, numbing shock. That's how I knew that I had achieved what I wanted.

It was hard to see her face at first, not so much that she was so far away, but because of all the other sensory details I was too busy juggling at that very moment. As she trotted across the center of downtown Ponyville towards where I stood, I drew my attention away from her pale gaze, away from the bright crimson sunset casting a spotlight on me, away from the chorus of crickets accompanying my strings into the edge of night, and finally away from the dozens upon dozens of awestruck pony faces forming a solid ring around me. I telekinetically plucked each of my lyre strings in precision, grabbing the delightful melodies of the past and repainting the living present with them, in an attempt to form something that was twice as inspiring as it was graceful.

Beneath the chords, I heard my audience, and I reveled in their sound—for they were Rarity's audience too.

“Have you ever heard anything so beautiful?”

“She's playing 'Platinum's Ode to Union,' I do believe, but I've never heard it performed so delicately before!”

“When was the last time you heard something like this in Ponyville?”

“Shhh—Please! I want to listen!”

“I can hardly listen! I'm too amazed by that dress she's wearing! Where did she find such a regal garment?”

“Are those real pearls? Those are remarkable!”

“Oh, how fitting! It was Princess Platinum's royal birthday only a few days ago...”

“And here I thought you could only witness the likes of this in Canterlot!”

“Brilliant. Simply brilliant, I tell you.”

“And that dress! Did she have that tailored?”

“Don't be absurd! That gown must belong to royalty!”

“Who is that mare?”

“I've no idea! She just trotted out into the open here and started playing!”

“I must ask her where she got that marvelous dress! I swear, it's made my whole evening...”

From the corner of my vision, I could see Rarity's purple mane bouncing as she tossed her gaze left and right, her jaw dropping further and further towards the ground with each subsequent murmur of awe from the crowd. As she tried to scrounge an explanation from her stupor, a soft yellow shape trotted up and stood beside her.

“Oh! My goodness, Rarity! Isn't that—?”

“Yes, Fluttershy. It's... It's the dress that went missing a few hours ago! I was on my way to the police station to report a theft, but now...” She gulped. “My stars...”

“Do you think that unicorn must have stolen—?”

“Shh! Fluttershy, dear! Will you listen to that?”

“Huh? Oh. It is very nice music. 'Platinum's Ode to Union,' I think...”

“No no no—To the ponies!” Rarity hissed. “Do you hear them?”

Both friends leaned into the crowd, their ears pricking to the symphony of murmurs that continued to form a backdrop to my relentless symphony.

“I swear, it's as though that dress was crafted out of the sea foam of Blue Valley's shores!”

“Could it be a seapony import?”

“Are you daft? They're a myth!”

“That gown is too gorgeous to be real, if you ask me.”

“It fits the performance so well. It's like Hearth's Warming's come early.”

“Heeheehee...”

“Tell me, does this unicorn take bits?”

“Or her dressmaker for that matter...?”

I inhaled every word I could hear. I stood with my eyes shut, smiling meditatively, as I finished the last few notes of the song. Only when I was finished did I open my eyes, and when I did, my gaze was locked on Rarity's. I gave her my full attention, all the while the crowd's applause broke the crisp advent of night. I let my teeth show through my curved lips before giving a graceful curtsy, then resting the lyre down beside my saddlebag.

“Bravo! Bravo!”

“Magnificent performance, young lady!”

“It's been a long, long time since I heard the 'Ode to Union' in its entirety, and that was by far the best solo I've heard!”

“Tell us, please, are you from Canterlot? Are you representing one of the noble houses?”

“Before you answer that, tell us—where did you get that marvelous dress?”

The crowd laughed from the sheer joy electrifying the air. I let my giggles join the chorus, then bowed my head.

“I may be dressed royally, but that's only because royal attention was given to the making of this outfit.” I stared across the crowd and pointed with a hoof. “Why... there the seamstress is! None other than Carousel Boutique's own Rarity! It was she who made this gown. After all, was there any doubt?”

The entire crowd spun in two halves to gawk at her, as if they had melted down the center from the sheer path of my gesture. Rarity nearly stumbled back, stunned by the forest of bright eyes suddenly assaulting her. Fluttershy blushed beet red and immediately marched away as a fresh throng of ecstatic ponies surrounded her fashionista friend.

“Rarity! I should have known!”

“A pony with your taste wouldn't have settled for less!”

“Good to know that you're putting your heart and soul into your crafting still.”

“Yes, Ponyville could sure use more of that—All of Equestria, for that matter!”

“Oh, please! Please tell me that you have more pearls left in your shop!”

“We absolutely need to have matching dresses like that for the Trottingham Garden Party!”

“Oh! And Nightmare Night! I've always wanted to dress as Princess Platinum! Surely you have it within you to make something just as beautiful as this marvelous ensemble before us!”

“How appropriate to showcase your work with a performance of 'Ode to Union'. It makes me feel as though we've gone back in time.”

“Yes. Such beautiful music to go along with a beautiful dress!”

“Please—tell us—are you accepting commissions?”

“Do you and this musician work together, Miss Rarity?”

She bit her lip and slowly spun to meet all of the entranced faces. Her body was trembling noticeably, but there was an undeniable sparkle in her eyes. “I... erm... Eheh... That is to say... uhm...” She glanced over the many heads and manes until her vision locked with mine. “I'm... just as surprised at this as you all are.” She gulped. “It's... funny how spontaneous inspiration can be, yes?”

The group chuckled. Fluttershy smiled with pride. And I...

I was alive.

“Seriously! I had no idea that he had stolen the gown!” I exclaimed. It was an hour later and we were both trotting into her Boutique, alone. The world outside the windows had grown dim and purple. I knew I had very little time left to “wrap things up,” but I was convinced that I had done all that I needed to do. “Do forgive my naivete, Miss Rarity,” I disrobed from the dress slowly, careful not to add so much as a wrinkle to its unblemished lengths. “I get carried away sometimes while I'm on vacation like I am now. When a pony offers me a dress this gorgeous for such a generous price, I'm usually wise enough to think twice on the matter. Unfortunately, I'm a long ways from Canterlot, and I think I left my good sense back there. Heeheehee!”

“Oh, I understand the feeling quite well, Miss... Heartstrings, was it?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“On my first trip to Appleloosa, I nearly engorged myself on the general store's supply of cactus nectar toffee. It's something that my friends and I seldom wish to recollect.”

“Heeheehee—Yeah!” I gracefully finished disentangling myself from the garment and hoofed it to her. “I can only imagine.”

She gently took the dress, levitating upwards in translucent telekinesis. Her face was calm and unemotional as she hummed and asked, “Could you describe this stallion again? The ruffian you claim to have peddled this to you in the streets behind town hall?”

“Mmmmm...” I pretended to think hard, my eyes scanning the ceiling of the shop. “He was short, stubby. A pegasus, I think. One of his wings was molting. Yellow coat, I believe. A sickly color.”

“It can be, on occasion,” Rarity flippantly droned. She hung the dress neatly over the body of a mannequin. She spoke without facing me, “And just how many bits did he take from you?”

“Oh, you won't believe this, but—three hundred bits! Isn't that insane?” I rolled my eyes and gestured dramatically. “Dear Luna, if my parents knew, they'd kill me! Ahem. I'm just sorry that it all turned out to be the result of a pathetic robbery. The stallion said that he bought this gown from 'Lady Rarity's Boutique, in the east side of town.' Nowhere did he even bother telling the truth: that he outright stole the thing.”

“He must be a rather fastidious robber,” Rarity said. “We both owe him for keeping the dress in good shape, at least.” She finally glanced my way. “No doubt you'll wish to pursue a means of retrieving your bits back.”

“Eh...” I waved my hoof and made a face. “My parents have blown their noses on twice as much as three hundred bits before. Teehee—How else did you think I got through Canterlot music school?”

“And quite a remarkable talent you have there, Miss Heartstrings.”

“Eh, it's a hobby.” I then grinned widely at her. “But, hey! It worked out for us both in the end, didn't it?”

“I'm afraid you're going to have to be more obvious, dear.”

“Why, that crowd I gathered!” I gestured out the door with a drunken grin. “To be honest, I was just wanting to show off the dress I just got...”

“Did you now...?”

“But I had no idea that I'd get nearly three dozen ponies willing to listen to my performance! I'm telling you what, Miss Rarity, your dress is something else! I've never gotten that much attention before!”

“Truly?”

“Yeah. It felt like cheating in a way. Seriously! I owe it all to you and your dress.”

“Hmm-hmm-hmm...” She chuckled breathily, trotted around to face me, and planted a pair of hooves on my shoulders. “Miss Heartstrings, sit with me, if you would, darling.”

I blinked at her, my mouth frozen in the middle of trying to reply. I felt my heart beating oddly, as if I was missing a chord for the first time that evening. Nervously, I did as she was told. I felt like I was having time-out with my mother.

As Rarity spoke, I soon found out I wasn't that off. “My dear, no robber with any form of self-respect would steal a work of art like mine and sell it for anything less than two thousand bits.”

I gulped, and resumed smiling as plastically as before. “Well, uhm, maybe he was... uh... d-desperate! Yeah! That's why we have criminals in the first place, right? Some ponies are in such need for money right away, that they'll sell just about anything!”

“It would have been far easier for such a thug to have broken through the window of a grocery store overnight and grabbed himself a bite to eat.” She glanced out the window. “As a matter of fact, Ponyville is farm country. My friend Applejack tells me that she has her fruit nabbed off her very own orchards all the time.”

“But... Maybe...” I gnawed on my lip. I was losing grip of this situation at a frightening plummet; my brain just wasn't ready to accept it. “Maybe he wasn't all that bright—”

“It would have to be quite the mental affliction for somepony to ignore the value of so many natural pearls lying in his possession. If such a pony was expert enough to grab that dress from my store, he... or she would have made a year's worth of profit by placing the outfit on the Manehattan black market.”

I tried to say something else, but my mouth was dry. It was hours after I had done the unthinkable, and only then was I starting to feel the initial waves of horrid guilt.

Thankfully, Rarity's gentle voice lulled my throbbing pulse into a tranquil stream. “You strike me as quite a resourceful, intelligent unicorn, Miss Heartstrings. This afternoon, I came into this very room after searching for something. What it was that I was looking for, I can no longer recall. All I know is that my latest dress was suddenly missing, and I had no proper explanation for where it could have gone or who could have taken it... until now.”

I gazed down at the floor between us. I kneaded my hooves against the tile as I felt the first waves of chills hit me that night. “Miss Rarity, I won't judge you for any of the action you're about to take. But stop for a moment. Stop for a moment and think about what happened out in the center of town.”

Even without looking, I could tell she was making a strange face. “What about the center of town?”

I looked back into her gaze. I couldn't tell if her eyes were glossy, or just my reflection. “The ponies you live with, Rarity! They love your dress! They love the quality of it! The meaning behind it! The expert craft and work that went into it!”

“Correction, darling.” She smiled painfully. “They adored your performance. It just happened to have been painted in the colors that I had once made.”

“But... But it's one in the same!”

“No.” She shook her head, gently exhaling. “No it isn't.”

“You... You just needed a way to get attention!” I exclaimed, my breath becoming ragged as I too was becoming witness to my own desperation. “Your dress is fantastic, Rarity! All it needed was its time in the spotlight and... and...”

“Shhh...” She gently caressed my shoulder with her hooves, staring positively into my soul as her words came out. “I don't know who you are, Miss Heartstrings. I don't know how you've heard of me, or what you presume to know about my artistry. All I know is that you're a perfect stranger. However, in spite of this, I do believe that there is one thing that we both have in common, and that's the knowledge of the fact that there is nothing left in that dress that I believe in anymore, save for a lesson on how to drive my talents down brighter, wider roads.”

“But...” I tried my best not to whimper. I felt like a little foal as I sat before her. I avoided her gaze, absorbing myself in the sight of the dress, as if trying to scoop the pearls up with my tears. “But you deserve to be remembered, Miss Rarity. You're such a talented, hard-working unicorn. You deserve attention—”

“It's never a matter of what we deserve, darling.” She leaned towards me, stealing my gaze. “It's a matter of what we earn. Has anypony ever told you that I'm a living piece of the Elements of Harmony?” She leaned back and spoke sagely. “Destiny, for whatever reason, has designated me as the Element of Generosity. I was instrumental in the exorcism of Nightmare Moon's taint from Princess Luna. Ever since then, I've been privileged and blessed to be tied to the hip of Twilight Sparkle, the only unicorn in five long centuries who's been made the personal protege to Princess Celestia herself. Don't you think that if I wanted to take advantage of my connections—and sealed myself a high seat in the Canterlot fashion scene—I would have easily done so by now?”

I reflected quietly on that, a sore lump forming in my throat.

“Hmmm...” She smiled at a warm thought. “I would be lying if I said that I wasn't tempted in the past to do something so pathetic and shallow, but I like to think that I've become a better mare since then.” She gazed sideways at me, her gaze gentle but piercing. “There are many things in this world that I want. Fame is one of them—even my closest friends will tell you that. What they don't know, but should be obvious to everypony, is that a soul such as my own greatly desires to better herself as a lady and an artist, more than any other dream of mine that I pretend to call supreme. You see, Miss Heartstrings, if I don't earn my place in this world, then the most I'll ever become is the queen of hollow victories. No such matriarch of mundanity would ever deserve a tiara—heeheehee—no matter how sparkling.”

I took a shuddering breath and gazed out the windows, at the darkening approach of night. “I have that desire too, Rarity. But... But I learned long ago that I can't pursue them so easily anymore.” I sniffled and put on a brave face, albeit a deadpan one. “I just wish I could help those around me shine where I can't.”

“We're all born with the ability to shine, Miss Heartstrings. But we can't force the spotlight on each other. Otherwise, we'd just be dancing to an old, boring tune, conceived only once, but never allowed to blossom on its own. And if there's anything I can't stand, it's a performance that doesn't earn itself an encore.”

I gave the dress one last, forlorn glance. It was a chuckle that escaped my lips, instead of a sob, as I painfully let forth, “I suppose some things in life can't stand to be re-enchanted.”

“That's why I live to invent newer and prettier things.” Rarity smiled. “And so should you.” I watched as she stood above me and paced across the way. “I hate refusing gifts, especially ones so sincerely and passionately donated.” She telekinetically picked up a black tarp and carried it back over to where the gown of pearls was residing. “What you did today... what you tried to do today was daring, brash, yet altogether generous. Which is why I'm not about to press charges for a theft that lasted the entirety of what would otherwise have been a boring afternoon.” She hung the canvas material over the dress. The room grew dimmer, so that her bright features suddenly stood out like polished ivory. “I very much envy your talents, dear. A dress is dazzling for an evening or two. But music... gorgeous music... It lasts forever. Oh, how I wish I could start over sometimes, and engage myself in an art that was... far more immortal.”

I swallowed hard and tilted my head away so she couldn't see the tear rolling down my left cheek. In my mind, I saw the smiling faces of listening ponies all around me, and they once again mimicked the dying ashes of a cabin fireplace. “Don't envy too much, Miss Rarity, or else you'll find yourself doing nothing but st-starting over...”

“Hmmm...” She smiled softly my way. “I shall remember that.”

I dried my face and nodded. “Somehow, I think you will...”

We spoke of a few things as night fell. We talked about gossip. We talked about popular celebrities. She told me the names of a few famous musicians she had met, and I once again cursed the stars for never having a chance to meet the legendary Octavia up close. As the stars began to form, I decided to take my leave, or else risk the moon curtailing what had become a most gracious visit.

“It's just as well. I really do need to get to work,” Rarity said. She had finished cleaning up the mess that an angry doppelganger of herself had left in the center of the Boutique hours earlier. “This one dress I'm working on won't finish itself, after all.”

I watched her trotting up to the half-made dress in question. Lingering in the doorframe to the Boutique's exit, I exhaled the first wisps of vapor from my lips. “Will you ever be done working, Miss Rarity? Will you ever finish?”

“That's up to the industry to decide,” she said. The tone in her voice was threadbare, like so many materials gathering dust in the far corners of the place. Perhaps she was talking to nopony all along. “Hmmm... What does this one need?” Her voice rang in the direction of the gown. “It's got lace. It's got emerald.” There rose a sigh across the room, colored with the pale kiss of moonlight. “More ribbon...”

The ringing bell above the door was deafening.

It had been three weeks. I felt like an archaeologist stumbling upon a sacred temple left abandoned for ages. My heart actually sunk—instead of danced—when her singing voice spun across the morning light to welcome me.

“Welcome to Carousel Boutique, where every garment is chic, unique, and magnifique.”

“Hello, I'm...” I bit my lip, hesitated, and exhaled. “I'm just visiting in town. I'm not looking for anything special. But...” I marched stiffly into the center of the place, already digging into my saddlebag. I produced the last stone, raising the dull thing up like it was an errant piece of lint. My head wouldn't stop hurting with the eighth elegy, but that morning I was too tired to cry. “I was wondering if you were skilled in the arts of gem enchantment. As you can see... uhm... this needs a lot of work.”

“Here, let me take a look at it, dear.” Rarity sashayed over from a jacket she was working on and took the gem from my grasp. She adjusted the spectacles on her eyes and hummed to herself. “Hmmm... Yes, it does seem as though this has been through quite a lot. It's rather unusual that I get requests to re-enchant old rocks, but the day I can no longer bring luster back to a jewel is the day I retire. Eh-heheheh...”

“I... uhm... I'm sure you have plenty of more important things to be working on.”

“Oh, nonsense! It's a slow week.” She rolled her eyes. “Nothing to do but fiddle with a few drab sheets of wool and see if I can outdo the latest craze mailed in from Canterlot. Ahem. Honestly.” She gave me the sweetest of smiles, and no less elegant. “You are the absolute highlight of my morning. Care to have a seat while I work?”

“It depends. How much do you think I have to give up?”

“Why, when you put it like that, dear, I'm tempted to ask for a lock of your first-born's mane! Eh-heh-heh-heh-Ehhhhh I don't know how Pinkie does it.” She cleared her throat and marched over towards the metal brace positioned by the window. “In all seriousness, about three bits will do. This will only take but a moment.”

“Much appreciated...”

“Though I must say, I wish you would let me give you more time.” She gazed up from where she was fixing the gem into place and focusing the sunlight through her containment field. Her eyelashes battled like those of a fairy tale filly as she chirped forth, “You have a very utilitarian outfit there, darling. But I must say it looks positively worn-in! I have the good mind to fix you a new sweater, one that could warm the eyes of others while it warms you... if you catch my meaning.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. You're very generous, but I...” I stopped immediately. The dryness in my throat left me as I saw the jacket that Rarity had been working on. I saw the fine seams woven intricately in floral designs across the pockets. I saw the layers upon layers of fabric forming a mesh of beatific color blend. It occurred to me—like a spontaneous burst of inspiration—that a pony with nothing to lose has everything to give. It may not have been my destined time in the spotlight, but I wasn't about to back down from an idea so beautiful that I immediately knew it deserved an encore. “Yes, please.”

“Hmm?” Rarity glanced up—somewhat surprised—from the menial task she was doing for me. “I beg your pardon?”

I looked towards her, smiling gently. “Yes. I would like it if you made me something new to wear. Something warm... and fabulous.”

Rarity blinked. When her eyes reopened, they not only shined, they positively sparkled. “Oh. Oh, yes! But of course!” Her breaths were like cosmic bursts that carried her—skipping foalishly my way. “Oh, it's been ages since I've made something for a mare with a green coat, especially one as bright and shiny as yours! Hmmm—What about a new sweaterjacket, this time with a shiny gold seam running down the sides? Or perhaps a fancy yellow scarf—Ooh! But of course! A gorgeous red sweater with amber bands to match your eyes! It positively screams 'Hearth's Warming'! Heeheehee—” She suddenly clamped a pair of hooves over her lips. “Oh! My heavens, listen to me go on! You... uhm... must have your own idea in mind, of course.”

“No...” I breathed, slowly shaking my head. “I couldn't possibly think up something as marvelous as you could. Design whatever you want.”

She gasped sharply, her features illuminating like the sun itself. “Really? Do you truly, truly mean it?”

I grinned wide at her. “Thrill me.”

“—so I carried on and on quite melodramatically, insisting that the brazen canines had attempted comparing me to a mule. I put up quite the show, if I do say so myself. If it wasn't the act of deep horror that I was portraying, then perhaps it was the sheer volume of my whining voice that finally broke their brutish resolve. They ceased their attempts to enslave me into jewel-finding, and by the time my dear friends had arrived to save the day, I had just about freed myself from those terrestrial ruffians' clutches. Ahem—How do the sleeves feel? Are they too tight?”

“No, Miss Rarity,” I replied, sitting on a pedestal as she circled around me. A sea of sewing utensils levitated all around her latest work of art, a bright and colorful sweater adorning my turquoise limbs. “They're just perfect. You got the measurements down right.”

“Are you certain of that, darling?” She tilted my forelimbs up and down, closely eyeing when and where the material of the sleeves grew taut. “You haven't stopped shivering since I began. Is the sweater not giving you enough insulation? If so, I should fix that from the start before I let myself go with the aesthetics—”

“Trust me.” I smiled up at her as soon as her face moved into my peripheral vision. “I'm going to be absolutely fine. I'm loving this sweater already.”

“Hmm... Well, that makes the both of us!” She stifled a tiny squeal and began tightening the cuffs at the end of one sleeve. “I haven't had a chance to work my talents this freely in ages! I do apologize that it's taking so long. Perfection and genius seldom tango when they can instead waltz.”

“Take as much time as you need, Miss Rarity,” I said. “You were going on about Diamond Dogs?”

“Oh! Yes. Would you like to know a secret?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Heeheehee—I told all my friends that I simply relied on the refined talents of a lady in dissuading those brutes' demands. As a matter of fact, that's only partially true. It so happens that my family has dealt with Diamond Dogs before, and I knew well in advance how to take advantage of—oh, how should I put this—ah yes, their pathetic simple-mindedness.”

I giggled. “You don't say.”

“Oh, but I do!” She fiddled and worked and painted a linen canvas all around me. “As a matter of fact, it was the poor fortune of my great-great grandmother, an aristocratic mare named Ruby Joy, to have stumbled on an entire colony of those digging mutts! However, she was a very calm and intelligent lady, and soon she not only had all of the dogs eating out of her hoof, but she got them to fetch a gigantic node of diamonds and carry them home to my ancestors' dwelling in Chicacolt. Hmm-hmm-hmmm... just where do you think my family's affinity for rare rocks got its start? Heeheehee...”

I smiled. I listened to her. I modeled for her. And for a blissful afternoon, I didn't think one bit about my future. After all, it takes a curse to make generosity truly, truly delicious. The things that I've grown most thankful for in life are the things that come at me by surprise, like a spotlight from out of nowhere.

Who's to know how much opportunity we'll have to truly shine in this life?

But so long as we can help it, we must never let ourselves become dull.

VI - Heroes and Bards

Dear Journal,

Do heroes exist only because history chooses to write about them? Are the greatest ponies who ever lived so legendary because they earned that status, or on account of their being in the right place when fate struck? If the ponies of our epic poems surpass the slings and arrows of time simply by the whim of popular knowledge, then could we accidentally be worshipping villains in this day and age?

I never sought to be a famous pony. Not really. Sure, I wouldn't have mind a tiny bit of popularity. Certainly, when endeavoring to make waves in the music scene, I would have been happy if my name had been passed around. However, I never expected to do anything dramatic enough that it would have had my name exalted on high.

Now, I can't help but think otherwise. I toss and turn at night—fighting shivers—fantasizing that one of these days I will walk into town and somepony—anypony—will actually be heard saying my name, if even in a passing joke or upon the flippant waves of gossip. I don't want to make the history books. I don't even want to see my name in lights. I just want to witness somepony speaking of me, and I want it to be something positive and joyful.

It's been a long year of dealing with this curse, and I know the difference between thinking rationally and fancifully. I've encountered many fears, and I've endured my fair share of distress. Is it too selfish of me to think that I could at least earn myself a tiny bit of recognition?

No. No, it's not selfish of me. However, it is foolish. After all, who will sing of this composure's tragedies or triumphs? Who will chronicle her actions and discoveries into an epic chorus?

Now, I'm starting to realize, that chronicler is me. I do not sing of a fearless vixen, one who faces the darkest shades of freezing night undaunted. No, I speak of a lonesome learner, one who traverses the blackness with only her own hoofsteps to keep her company. Whatever she salvages, she does so by herself, which is a very frightening task to say the least. If saving the knowledge of myself makes me a hero, then I treasure that with every fibre of my being. After all, I wouldn't be much of a hero if I didn't save an audience, even if it's an audience of one.

Ten little chords.

Ten little chords beginning Lunar Elegy #8 were playing through my mind; it was far from enough. I needed to discover more if I wanted to come anywhere near close to composing the entire musical number, much less running the tune's authenticity by Twilight Sparkle.

Of course, the beginning process of mapping out an elegy is always the hardest. I wake up to a melody stuck my head. I let the tune play itself out repeatedly. The music takes shape, forms chords, and grows into an ancient composition that I must then struggle to translate back into the world of the living. There are times when a phantom tune simply takes forever to come into fruition. It pays its toll on my mind, which is the least I can say about my sanity. So, to assist in the evolutionary process, I usually busy myself with menial yet functional activities in an attempt to get the juices flowing out of my mind instead of stirring for an eternity within.

Which is why I was squatting by my garden the other day, dutifully tending to the carrots and planting new vegetables for a solid two hours, around the time I first heard her.

There was a resounding thunder across the face of the woods, followed by a cracking voice behind me. “Ow!”

I looked up and wiped my sweaty brow with a forelimb. She was earlier than normal. These collisions, after all, usually take place way later in the afternoon. I got up and trotted slowly towards the side of the cabin where I saw her lying on the ground, rubbing a bruised muzzle.

“Ahem. Can I help you?”

“Nnngh... Maybe if you had a thicker skull among your gardening tools to spare.” Rainbow Dash winced and glared up at the offending structure. “Where'd this stupid cabin come from?”

“It's the rain season,” I said with a smirk. “Some things just spring up out of nowhere.”

“Hey! I'm a pegasus!” Rainbow Dash hopped up to her hooves and dusted herself off. “If anypony should know a thing or two about the rain season, it's me! Still, I have no buckin' clue where this building got off thinking it could block my usual flight path!” She fumed briefly, then cast me a sideways glance. “Good morning, by the way,” she muttered.

“Back at you,” I said with a nod. “Is your head okay?”

“For what it's worth.” Rainbow Dash gripped her skull in two hooves and pivoted it to the side. A number of ritualistic cracks sounded off from the top of her spine. “Whew! At this rate, I'm not gonna have enough brain cells left to pass the Wonderbolts Entry Exam, assuming they finally start flippin' inducting for another wingpony soon. Heh. Been waiting for six long years for a new position to open up, ever since Fleetfoot from Trottingham joined the team. Ugh... That lucky, feather-brained—”

“Well, it sounds like you have your future cut out for yourself!” I said with a gentle smile. It was a beautiful morning, and this living spectrum of colors was a pleasant addition to the breezy moment. I briefly forgot how cold I was. “What's the big hurry? Speeding around in the air with no care: you'll get a nasty concussion at this rate!”

“Hmmph...” Rainbow Dash smirked and stretched her wingfeathers. “I wouldn't be living up to my name any other way.”

Ah, there it is. Should I? Yes. Yes, I should.

“And just what name would that be?” I tossed her way with a wry grin, knowing exactly what would happen in response.

I could have witnessed the same reaction even if I had my eyes closed and my ears plugged. Rainbow Dash looked at me, gasped, and floated in midair as if the very grass below was as toxic as my ignorant response. “No way! You mean you don't know about me?! Rainbow Dash?! Ponyville's chief weather pegasus?! Master of the Sonic Rainboom and winner of last year's Best Young Flier's Crown?!”

I giggled. Some of the best entertainment in life is free. “Well, my apologies! You certainly sound like a very important pony!”

“I'm more than important! I'm... I'm radical! That's like four 'importants' stacked together in an awesome sandwich with slices of tubular bread!”

“Am I supposed to praise you or eat you?”

“Neither! Er—I mean... nnngh...” She hovered around me, squinting suspiciously. “Is this some kind of a joke? Surely no pony around here could live under that big of a rock!”

“Believe me: sometimes I wish I had that excuse.” I gazed over at the carrot garden while producing a melancholic exhale. As lovely as this encounter was, I was getting even further away from bringing the Eighth Elegy to reality. Every now and then I'm reminded of how my life has become nothing more than a hall of mirrors, and even the most colorful hues are merely the reflections of yesterday and tomorrow cascading onward into a dull infinity. “I apologize, Ms. Dash. I guess you could say that I'm new to town. It's comforting to know, at least, that a mare like you is fully aware of how famous and important you are.”

“Heck yeah!” Rainbow Dash smiled proudly. With fluttering wings she “backstroked” playfully in the air around me and the cabin. “From warning the local ponies about stampedes to driving out smoke-snoring dragons, I never leave Ponyville hangin'! Why, I'm even buddy-buddy with Princess Celestia's magical apprentice!”

“Hmmmm...” I squatted back beside the garden and resumed inspecting the carrot tops. “You don't say...?”

“Mmmmhmm!” Rainbow Dash's wings settled as she perched herself down atop the wooden patio at the front of my cabin. “It's why I was out here to begin with. I'm practicing!”

“Practicing?” I glanced over my shoulder. “Practicing for what?”

“Ponyville's egghead extraordinaire, Twilight Sparkle, is helping some big-wig science professor from Trottingham with a teleportation experiment. And they need help from a fast-flying pegasus to keep track of... uhm... the test subject, or something. I dunno. All I know is that Twilight promised me there'd be lasers involved, and lasers are cool!”

I raised an eyebrow and glanced back at her. “Did you say... a teleportation experiment?”

“Y-Yeah!” Rainbow grinned wide. “Haven't you heard? Oh wait, you said you were new in town. Hmmm... Well, I can't even begin to explain all of the boring numbers and figures involved, but basically this stallion—'Dr. Hay'... 'Dr. House'... 'Dr. Horse', whatever—is trying to capture the magic of unicorns in a bottle. Not that all of you are capable of blinking around great distances or whatnot, but he's trying to find a way for non-magical ponies to have access to teleportation. Supposedly it can have a major effect on transportation, economy, and other stuff that makes me yawn.”

“Really?” I stared off into the wooden bodies of the trees surrounding me. I hadn't expected this leg of our conversation. I felt a chill for the first time in hours. “That's... That's quite remarkable.”

“Meh... If you say so. The way I see it: it's been thousands upon thousands of years since Equestria began, and still other ponies are trying to be as cool as pegasi.” She winked with a smile. “Heh, like teleporting is really gonna help them get around as much as us! But I don't care. The experiment gives me a reason to hang out with Twilight, and Twilight's cool so long as she's blowing stuff up in a lab instead of digging her nose in a book.” Rainbow Dash smirked and took off for the bright sky above the woods. “Anyways, I've got some cloud kicking to get to, and then I'll be heading over to Twilight's to help 'make history', as they put it. I'm like 'whatever.' If we get a small scrap of manadust to explode or something, that'll sure as heck make my day.”

I mumbled absent-mindedly. “There's something to be said of short scraps and explosions.”

“H-hey! I like your style!” Rainbow Dash chuckled and soared past me. “Next time I run into you, remind me to share how it all went down! I'm sure I'll have done something awesome to brag about when the time comes.”

I saluted her as she flew off. In the windy vacuum that followed, I murmured to the air. “Awesomeness needs only to remember itself.” I didn't feel sad about Rainbow Dash's absence. I'd gone through the motions of introducing myself to her on so many occasions that the bittersweet departures had long lost their cathartic edge. In many ways, I've forced myself to become acquainted with a necessary apathy upon the culmination of these painfully short meetings. To do otherwise would mean drowning in tears.

However, I couldn't stop thinking about what Rainbow Dash had just spoken about. It had to have been an immeasurably fascinating endeavor in science if it could get her to ramble on about it.

Twilight Sparkle and a professor from Trottingham were experimenting with non-unicorn teleportation? Could that have involved some sort of localized spell? Leyline manipulation? A machine of sorts?

I tugged the strings of my hoodie and fought through the shivers as I allowed several memories to resurface. I remembered several of my early interactions with Twilight after the curse began. I remembered our desperate attempts to convey my existence to Princess Celestia. Written letters hadn't worked. Either my words vanished or the scrolls themselves turned to ash on the other end of Spike's green-flaming breath.

It was then that she had resorted to teleportation. After a great deal of meditation and focus, Twilight Sparkle teleported the two of us as far as her expert leylines could reach. We landed two and a half miles outside of Ponyville's town limits. Twilight's plan was to rest, concentrate, and then perform several more concentrated teleportation bursts until we got to the city gates of Canterlot to the far east. This, however, failed after the first immediate blink because two things happened. For one, Twilight had forgotten about me after the first teleport, as if the sheer magical strain of the act was enough to jump-start the curse into infecting her. For another, two miles' distance from the center of Ponyville was akin to dropping a guillotine blade of ice across my spine. Never before in my life did I feel that cold and never would I feel that cold again. I galloped straight to the abandoned barn where I was living at the time and built the biggest campfire any pony in history ever likely conceived. Even still, it took me two solid weeks before I could feel my extremities once again.

But now I had just learned about an experiment to make transportation possible beyond the limits of unicorn manipulation. Seeing as I was an inconceivable distance away from ever mastering Twilight's gift of spatial blinking for myself, what were the odds that I could somehow take advantage of such a remarkable scientific development? I couldn't help but feel my blood pumping in opposition to the deadly shivers. I had to learn more. I had—

My thoughts were immediately interrupted by a loud thudding noise against the side of my cabin. At first, I thought it was poor Rainbow Dash again, cursed by her amnesiac state. But then the voice squeaked forth, “Owie! Who put this cabin here?” It was too high to belong to anything other than a young foal.

“Uhm...?” I turned around and trotted back towards the side of the barn. “Can I help you?”

A tiny orange filly sat in the dirt where she had been thrown back on her haunches. A collapsed scooter—its wheels still spinning—was lying on the ground beside her as she pulled a purple helmet off, flung a pink mane loose, and rubbed a throbbing bump on the front of her skull. “Ugh. Yeah. Can you tell me which way the earth is?”

“Right where you left it. It's the thing covered with grass and aphids.”

“Jee, thanks.” She blinked up at me with violet eyes. “Hey, you're a unicorn.”

I couldn't help but chuckle. The utterance was as cute as it was random, two things I could already use to describe this kid. “Last time I checked. Why, is that a problem?”

“Erm, no. Not really.” She stood up and pulled the scooter back up into her grip. “It's just... Well. This is the middle of the woods. I've never known unicorns to be outdoorsy types.”

I shrugged. The urge to let my teeth chatter was bearing down on me, but I wasn't about to give into it in front of this young foal. “A unicorn's capacity for magic is equal to her capacity for change. I've long been acquainted with urban living, but I find myself developing a delightful affinity for far more rustic surroundings.”

She stared up at me, blinking. “Okay. I'm sorry. You lost me at 'capacity'.”

I sighed. “Yes, well, if you run into nearly as many dictionaries as you do houses, then we might have a pleasant conversation.”

“Dictionaries? Hah!” She stood and balanced herself playfully on the wobbling scooter. “I've got a best friend for that.”

“And the reason you aren't hanging out with her on a beautiful day like this is...?”

“Hmmmm...” Her face scrunched up into a stubborn scowl.

I blinked. I glanced up at the tree tops, many of them still glistening with dew. “Wait. Isn't this a schoolday—?”

“You've got a really swell place here...” She pushed herself on the wheeled contraption so that she was leisurely drifting past the front of my cabin. A whistle escaped her lips. “Did you build it yourself?”

“Uhm...” I blinked awkwardly at her. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Cool...”

“How did you know?”

She blushed slightly. “Lucky guess?” She ran a hoof along a pair of wooden beams forming the front exterior of my dwelling. “You can tell when a place was built by hoof. One day, I plan to live on my own, and when I do I want to have every say in where and how I live. There's no better way to do that than to build your own house.”

“It's not as easy at it seems,” I said to the kid as I trotted slowly after her. “It takes a great deal of time, strain, and sweat. Still, it is worth it in the end.” My smile lasted as long as my good manners did. “Ahem. So, uhm, haven't your parents ever preached to you about talking to strangers—?”

She swiftly interrupted me. “It must be awfully scary to live on your own, in a place that you have to build by yourself,” the filly murmured. Suddenly her bright features looked jaded, as if several years had piled up on the filly's face all at once, casting its shadows over every corner of her orange coat. “But I kind of see that as a good scariness, like the type of scariness that's worth living through.”

I ran a hoof through my mane as I gazed thoughtfully at her. I wondered why I hadn't run into this little soul before. It was my proud habit to be familiar with every living soul in town, both young and old. In so many months of concerning myself with the lunar elegies, I wondered if I had finally become oblivious to the same background I had been relegated to.

“What's your name, kid?” I blurted out.

She looked up at me. “Hmmm?” She blinked, as if snapping out of a stupor she was experiencing parallel to my own. “Oh. Ponies call me 'Scootaloo.'”

“'Scootaloo,'” I repeated with a nod. I glanced at her flank, observed the lack of a cutie mark, and then smiled at her face. “Named after your love for elegant ballet, no doubt.”

That jab worked. She frowned and stuck her tongue out at me. “Hardy har. Very funny. I'd rather be caught dead than have that be my special talent!”

“Why does that not surprise me?” I remarked.

“I mean it!” She hopped in place, her hooves pounding on the base of the scooter. “Someday I'm gonna earn a cutie mark for something really awesome! Like flying through hoops of flame! Or base jumping! Or becoming a rock'n roll singer! Or doing stunt pony tricks just like Rainbow Dash!”

“You don't say? You know, she was here just now—”

“She was?!” Scootaloo beamed, and I was surprised to see a pair of stubby wings sprouting up from her sides. I honestly hadn't noticed she was a pegasus until the very notion of that name sparkled across the violet shores of her eyes. “I knew it! She was doing some super cool cloud-slicing moves, wasn't she?!”

I blinked at her. How old was this filly? And she was still flightless? My eyes wandered from her tiny wings to the scooter's wheels to the fresh ditch that she had made in the earth after colliding with my cabin. I realized that the same excitement and impulsiveness that had flung Rainbow Dash like a missile into my house had brought another pony along for the ride. Very calmly, I nodded and said, “Well, she said she was practicing for a science experiment she was going to help her friend Twilight Sparkle with—”

“Oh! Oh!” Scootaloo hopped in place, beaming, her bright face like a second sunrise to that crisp morning. “She told me all about it! There's gonna be explosions and lasers and stuff! Rainbow Dash said herself that she'd be lucky to get through the experiment without her mane and tail-hairs being burnt off!”

I squinted at that, then smiled at her. “Did she, now?”

“Uh huh!”

“Sounds like you've got a very courageous friend.”

“Yeah! Isn't she—?” Scootaloo stopped in mid-speech. Pensively, she let her gaze fall to her hoof digging in the earth. “Erm. Well. Heh. I can't really say that I count as her friend...”

“Why not?”

She spoke on. “But someday, I'm gonna be as brave as her.” She gazed up again, but this time her smile was softer, gentler, more serene. “And then I'll get to do cool stuff! And maybe I'll know what it's like to be just as awesome.”

I smiled back at her. “Scootaloo...” I squatted down so that my face was level with hers. “Tell me, what's so awesome about a life when it's lived in the exact same way as a pony that has lived it before you?”

“I...” She blinked confusedly at me, but something twitching in her eyes told me she was curiously intrigued. “I don't understand. Why would a pony not want to be like Rainbow Dash?”

“I don't mean to say that there's anything wrong with that. After all, she's made a major name for herself in Ponyville, hasn't she?”

“And how!”

I chuckled and gazed deeply to gather her attention. “But even still, there is only one way for a pony to be like Rainbow Dash. While that's all good and fine, there are at least a million ways to be a different pony, and all of them just as exciting and awesome, wouldn't you think?”

Scootaloo stared at me, and for the briefest of moments she could just as easily been staring into an abyss. If her cutie mark appeared right then and there, I was almost afraid to discover what it would look like. Even if I went back in time and built my cabin blindfolded, it wouldn't be nearly as scary as when a young foal discovers the glorious yet all too bitter taste of opportunity.

Before she could formulate a response, a voice was calling out from around the bend in the road.

“Scootaloo?!” A white-coated mare with a yellow mane was wandering around the dirt path, frowning and stomping a hoof. “Scootaloo—for the love of Celestia—is that you?! Get over here this instant!”

“Ugh...” Scootaloo rolled her eyes. “Milky White. Will you ever let it rest?” With a sigh, she slapped her helmet back onto her head, tucking the pink mane underneath. “I'm coming!” she shouted over her shoulder.

I glanced at the mare from a distance. “An older sister of yours?”

“Pffft. Please.” Scootaloo smirked devilishly. “As if I could be that lucky. So long, lady!” Her petite wings blurred, and I watched with muted marvel as she propelled herself up the path atop her scooter, joining the mare's side. “Milky! I've been looking all over for you—”

“Save it for somepony who's gullible!” Milky White snapped. She wasn't half as angry as she was concerned. In addition to that, I noticed that she was an earth pony, which made me stare a little bit longer as she ushered the sulking filly towards the heart of Ponyville beyond the treeline. “Why aren't you at school already? Cheerilee's class begins in less than half an hour!”

“Awwww, come on, Milky! I was just taking a side route! Rainbow Dash was flying around here and—”

“No more excuses! And unless Rainbow Dash is acting as one of Cheerilee's chaperones, I don't want you following her or any other adult pony around town unsupervised! Do you understand me?!”

“Ughhh... Yes, Milky...”

“And don't give me that attitude! I'm only trying to look after you, Scootaloo. Remember that talk we had...?”

The two were soon gone beyond earshot. I sat beside the carrot garden, alone in thought. I suddenly wondered if the lives of so many ponies—cursed or not—remain blank because we're afraid to test the limits of ourselves, especially when those limits are painted with the shades of those who had failed or succeeded before us.

I looked once more towards the woods, and I thought of a dark night when I awoke—naked and screaming—soaked with the chilling mystery of the Threnody. It was something horrific and unexplained, but I had survived it. I knew that it was more than luck that made me survive such an ordeal. What more was there in life that I had to experiment with, and how much of it was barricaded by fears instead of fate?

“I thank you so very kindly, Miss Sparkle, for assisting me in this endeavor.”

“It's my pleasure, Dr. Whooves,” she said with a smile, telekinetically lowering the last of eight crystals into place. Soon, a ring of identical gemstones was surrounding a metal box located atop a metal pedestal in the center of the town's library. It wasn't just any ordinary box, but a complex, hollow cube with several perforated grooves forming intricate runes along the silver surface. The very top of the cube bore a cylindrical platform that glowed dimly with residual enchantment. “I hope this doesn't come across as too silly,” Twilight murmured as she straightened the last crystal into its copper brace in the middle of the makeshift laboratory, “But I've always been a great fan of your scientific documents. I find the idea of this experiment beyond fascinating. I, for one, believe that all ponies should experience the benefits of magic, regardless of what they were born as.”

“You have no idea how delighted I am to hear a gifted unicorn such as yourself say that,” Dr. Whooves replied. His ocean-blue eyes shone as he leaned into the complex equipment and adjusted a metal panel on the side of the cube with a pair of pliers gripped in his teeth. He dropped the tool onto a tray and resumed speaking, “If earth ponies had half the resources available to unicorns, it would allow their tasks to yield far greater bounties than that of their last five generations of ancestors combined. I only hope you understand that it is not my attempt to abuse magic, but to find a way to facilitate it through safe and applicable means.”

“If you asked me, I'd say it was high time that the Equestrian Science Committee reconsidered the prohibition of the public use of machina in channeling magical leylines,” Twilight said as she trotted around the array of equipment in the center of the room, assisting the Doctor in a last-second, careful examination. “After all, it's been nearly a thousand years since the Civil War and its legacy of infernal weaponry. With Princess Luna returned and exorcised of Nightmare Moon's taint, I doubt very much that the world could ever consider using magical machines for evil again.”

“I shudder to think of such a thing!” Dr. Whooves took a deep breath and glanced at his young partner in science. “I spent months on my hooves and knees before the Committee at Canterlot, trying to convince them that a teleporter device could only be used for good... to assist agriculture and industry. If this week's procedure goes as planned, I'm bound to win their financial backup for sure!”

“There's only one way to find out if this was worth all the time and sweat, right, Doctor?” Twilight Sparkle gave the arrangement a final glance and smiled with pride. “Are you ready to get started?”

“After you, ma'am.” The Doctor bowed from where he stood with a wry grin. “It takes your spark, after all.”

“First thing's first.” Twilight remarked. She turned towards the corner. “Hey, Rainbow Dash!”

Rainbow Dash sat, slumped on the stairs leading up to the library's second floor. She was snoring loudly.

Twilight frowned. “Rainbow!”

“Snkkkt—Nnghh...Nyup...Naaugh—Huh? What?” Rainbow Dash looked up, blinking dizzily. “Are we ready? Is it time for explosions yet?”

“For the last time, there aren't going to be any explosions!”

“Awww...”

“Not if everything goes right,” Dr. Whooves nervously added.

“Oh!” Rainbow Dash smiled, her wings flexing. “So there's still hope?” She exhaled sharply as a pair of goggles were thrown into her chest.

“Put them on and get ready to fly!” Twilight Sparkle said firmly. She turned and gave the Doctor a far more pleasant expression. “Just what should we test the machine on?”

“Erm... Oh dear, I should have given that more thought, shouldn't have I?” Doctor Whooves gulped and glanced all around the room. “It obviously has to be something inert. Perhaps a metal weight or a container or... or... even a blank book!”

“Heh, yeah, forget that!” Rainbow Dash droned as she slipped the goggles onto her head. “I didn't volunteer to help you guys just to go chasing after falling books! I could do that for Twilight any day of the week!”

“Well...” Twilight rolled her eyes, but suppressed a smile. “She's got a point there. Perhaps...” She scanned the familiar contours of her library, then brightened. “Ah! I know just the thing!” She levitated a wooden unicorn carving off a pedestal and levitated it before the Doctor's eyes. “Would organic material be a problem?”

“So long as it's no longer alive, it's perfect!” Doctor Whooves grinned wide. Grabbing the carving's “horn” in his teeth, he carried it over and planted it on the cylindrical platform at the top of the cube. He then backed away to a safe distance and stood beside Twilight. “Alright, Miss Sparkle. Everything has been accounted for. Whoops!” He scrambled a bit before finally picking up a switch that was attached to a wire strung into the body of the cube from afar. “Ah, there we go. Couldn't very well get started unless we had access to the ignition, yes?”

Twilight giggled. Rainbow yawned.

“Alas, no need for pomp or gravitas. Let's get on with it, shall we?”

“Here goes...” Twilight Sparkle took a deep breath. Her violet eyes narrowed and her mouth tensed as she aimed her horn at the nearest of the crystals. After a minute of concentration, she fired a purple beam of bright light into the array. The luminescent laser flew through the stone and refracted so that it bounced solidly through the rest of the seven crystals. Once the beam of light had made three full orbits, all eight stones directed a piece of the glow into the body of the cube in the middle. Soon, the hollow container started glowing from the inside as the light spell from Twilight's own horn energized the leylines etched into the machine's silver body. A high-pitched hum filled the room, causing the windows around the library to vibrate within their frames.

“Hey, my teeth are shaking like guitar strings!” Rainbow Dash exclaimed above the rising noise. “That's cool and all, but does that mean we're the ones that are gonna explode?!”

“Rainbow Dash...” Twilight hissed aside.

“It's almost reached maximum intake!” Dr. Whooves shouted as a mysterious wind began building up. “By Celestia, it's going just as I planned!”

“How do we know it's time to hit the switch?!” Twilight replied.

Just then, the wooden carving atop the cube started shaking uncontrollably.

“Uhm... Guys...?” Rainbow Dash pointed at the bizarre spectacle.

“Doctor—?!”

“Right! It's a go!” He twisted the node in his hooves. A spark shot through the wire and into the machine. There was a brief flash of light as all of the lasers shot one last time from the crystals into the cube. The center of the room turned black, then the darkness dissipated like a fine mist.

The wooden carving was gone.

“That did it!” Doctor Whooves exclaimed. His grin was positively electric.

Twilight was already spinning to face her companion. “Rainbow Dash! Go long!”

“On it!” She saluted, opened a window, and rocketed skyward.

The room filled with an eerie silence as the two scientists waited for the blue pegasus to return.

“How far should it have gone?” Twilight nervously asked.

Dr. Whooves gulped, his body visibly shaking in anticipation. “At least four hundred feet. I was afraid to aim for anything longer. I just wasn't sure how much energy output this device could manage.”

“Sometimes the smallest steps are the safest steps, Doctor. I applaud you for planning with caution.”

“Ohhhh...” He squirmed nervously where he stood, his eyes locked on the open window. “All the world's planning will mean nothing if it doesn't work. And I would hate to think of what horrible fate I may have dealt your charming art piece if worse came to worst.”

“Charming art piece?” Twilight blinked at him, then giggled. “My dear Doctor. If it would somehow aid science to feed that gaudy thing to a radioactive hydra, I'd do it in a heartbeat.”

“Heh. Of that I have no doubt. It's almost as if—” He stopped as his eyes suddenly lit up. “Good gracious! Back already?”

Twilight spun to look. “Rainbow Dash?” She gulped. “Well?”

She entered through the window, her forelimbs crossed. She paused for dramatic effect, then smirked deliciously as she unfolded her upper limbs to display the wooden unicorn carving in her grasp, completely intact. “Ta-daaaa!”

“Yes! It worked!” Twilight reared her hooves before nudging the Doctor with a bright grin. “Doctor Whooves! I am so, so very happy for you!”

He merely stood there, his face plastered with euphoric shock and disbelief. “Four hundred feet...” He gulped and grinned slowly, his eyes glossy. “Nearly half a town's length of spatial displacement straight up into the air, and yet there's not a chip missing from the test subject!”

“Yeah, and get this!” Rainbow Dash grinned and held the carving up high like a trophy from where she hovered. “It was still on its way skyward when I caught up with it! I think you just built yourself some crazy awesome magical teleporter cannon thingy!”

“Errrm...” The Doctor made a face.

Twilight rolled her eyes and smiled at him. “Don't mind her. I'm sure we'll be putting your words of discovery into the history books, Doctor.”

“Hey!” Rainbow Dash frowned. “Don't I get my name carved into some science statue somewhere too?! Why should just the three of you get all the credit—?” She paused in mid-sentence, doing a double-take. Swiftly, she pulled her goggles up to her brow and squinted down at me. “Uhm... Just who in the heck are you?”

“Me?” I smiled wide from where I sat on a reading bench, applauding. “I'm incredibly impressed!”

“Gah!” Twilight Sparkle gasped and spun around. Doctor Whooves was no less startled as the two of them jumped in place. “Who... What...?!” Twilight stammered, gazing at me in shock. “How did you get in here?”

I allowed my face to become awash with “shock” and “confusion.” “Uhm... I just trotted in? I apologize. Was the library off limits today?”

“Can't you see that we're conducting a science experiment?” Twilight exclaimed, beside herself. “The library's closed to act as a temporary laboratory! I had my assistant Spike put up signs and notes all over town!”

“Uhm...” I felt my ears drooping as I smiled innocently. “Does that include the side door?” I pointed at my saddlebag. “It was wide open when I came here to return my checkouts.”

Twilight blinked. She then turned to frown at Rainbow Dash. “Rainbow... Did you leave the side door open again?”

“What?” She blinked and juggled the carving in her grasp. “No! Of course not! Erm...” She bit her lip and gazed around the ceiling, her voice cracking. “At least, I don't think so.” A gulp. “Eheh... Though I guess it's possible I could have...”

“Unnngh...” Twilight ran a hoof over her face. “I'm sorry, ma'am,” she looked my way with an exhausted expression. “But you weren't supposed to be here. Who knows what danger a random pony like you could have gotten—?”

“Did you see how successful we were?!” Doctor Whooves' grinning expression was suddenly blocking my view of Twilight. The scientist's ecstasy was overwhelming. “We teleported an inert object safely and successfully at a distance of over four hundred feet! Can you imagine what ponies could do if we somehow found a way to harness this sort of technology into common practicality?!”

“Uhm... Doctor?” Twilight leaned over him, nervously smiling. “I know you're excited, but I don't think this is a time to—”

“I think it's absolutely fantastic!” I spoke up. “If I'm to understand correctly...” I pointed at the crystals surrounding the cube. “The gemstones magnify a light spell cast by a practiced unicorn, which is then channeled into the machine. The cube then uses a complex layering of artificially drawn runes that mimic the natural compositions of leylines, so that the mana streams expound upon themselves and produce a core of ubridled magic that can be focused into a single, modulated spell?”

All three ponies gazed at me blankly, that is until Rainbow Dash shook her head and rubbed it achingly. “Okay. Who invited the encyclopedia in a hoodie?”

“That is... quite a remarkable observation,” Doctor Whooves said with a smile plastered across his face.

“Are you a fan of the Doctor's?” Twilight leaned in and asked. “I've met every unicorn in Ponyville, and—if I may be so bold—very few of them tout a career in advanced science.”

I smiled gently at my foalhood friend. “Let's say I've... been tutored over time by the best.”

“Well, despite the circumstances,” Dr. Whooves extended a hoof. “It's a pleasure to share this moment of discovery with a unicorn so avidly schooled, Miss...”

“Lyra,” I replied with a smile and shook his hoof. “Lyra Heartstrings.” I stared at the group. “And I hardly intend to subtract from this marvelous occasion.”

“Not at all, Miss Heartstrings.” Dr. Whooves grinned at his two associates. “If our subsequent experiments over the next few days prove to be just as successful, then in a matter of years we may have teleporting equipment like this available in every household! Why, the sheer possibilities for non magical equines to make full use of this gifted technology is mind boggling!”

“Yeah, well...” Rainbow Dash unceremoniously planted the carving down onto Twilight's backside. “This pegasus has to teleport her bladder really quick, if you catch my drift.” She yawned and flitted away. “Try not to blow anything up while I'm not here to witness it.”

“Erm... by all means, Miss Dash,” the Doctor remarked with a nervous expression.

Twilight rolled her eyes and trotted off. “I need to run some tests on the structural integrity of this... um... piece of art, to make sure it's in as much one piece as it looks. If you'll excuse me, Doctor... erm... and Miss Heartstrings.”

As Twilight strolled away, I turned to look at the Doctor. “It sounds like your goal with this device is to make teleportation accessible to non-magical ponies, and yet I notice that you require the enchantment spell of a unicorn such as Twilight Sparkle to power the machine...”

Doctor Whooves blushed slightly. “Yes, well, this is merely a prototype. No matter what design I concoct, a teleporter such as this will inevitably rely on unicorns to provide power. However, once I have a self-sustaining mana battery implemented, I imagine a device such as this could perform hundreds of long-distance spatial displacement charges on one single magical charge alone.”

“So, it's more of a means of magical conveyance than it is a self-sustaining generator.”

“But of course. We've yet to discover magic that comes from nowhere.” Doctor Whooves chuckled pleasantly. “Some things that exist in science fiction must stay in science fiction.”

I giggled as well and admired the machine from afar. “I can't help but notice that the cylindrical platform atop the cube is made of arcanium.”

“Absolutely.”

“Arcanium is often used as a magical suppressant. Does the platform have a dual function?”

“As a matter of fact it does, Miss Heartstrings. To focus the teleportation spell, the machine needs a singular point of discharge, a place where all of the artificial leylines converge. Such an exit point for the machine's mana streams is located just beneath the platform.”

“So, if you hadn't put a layer of arcanium there...”

“The spell would emit from the device in a solid stream of unbridled energy.” Dr. Whooves chewed on his lip as he gave the machine a nervous glance. “That platform serves more than a tiny teleporter pad, you see.”

“Oh, so there could have been lasers involved.” I smirked. “Even explosions.”

“Not if we can help it!” Dr. Whooves said with a grin. “Thankfully, Miss Sparkle has not only been helpful in disaster-proofing the device, but in providing a safe interior within which to conduct this experiment.”

“She's very selfless,” I murmured, gazing towards the far end of the treehouse library. “In a lot of ways.” I took a deep breath. Twilight and Rainbow Dash would both be back soon, and undoubtedly the distance would have rekindled their forgetfulness, along with their ire. If I wanted to avoid an awkward situation, I had to take leave of Dr. Whooves, but not without asking a question that had been hammering the walls of my mind. “I can't help but notice that the arcanium plate affords very little space for test subjects.”

“Yes. We hope to perform more tests by sunset. With Miss Sparkle's permission, I would like to work on larger and more dense objects. You're welcome to witness if you like, Miss Heartstrings.”

I smiled pleasantly at him. “As much as I would enjoy that, I can't help but ask.” I took a deep breath. There was no turning back now. “What if your next prototype could afford a larger teleporter pad?”

“I don't understand. Why would we need a larger platform?”

I stared directly at him. “For teleporting living subjects.”

Dr. Whooves blinked at me. I could detect the wince in his expression before he bore it. Nevertheless, I listened as he paced and said, “That... is quite difficult, Miss Heartstrings. I dare not experiment with that sort of a situation, not now and perhaps not ever.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Dare I ask why?”

“Far be it from me to establish limitations so early, but it does not seem remotely safe.”

“How so?”

“Unicorns—such as yourself, Miss Heartstrings—are more than capable of surviving teleportation performed by yourself or other unicorns. However...” He gestured towards the cube in the center of the eight crystals. “Though a device of this nature is empowered by a unicorn’s light enchantment, the magical burst that comes out the other end of the layered runes is anything but natural. When a unicorn teleports herself from place to place, what emerges through the process is the same creature. This is because she has merely traveled the streams of the same magical leylines that her essence is empowered by. This goes for any other pony—unicorn or not—that she teleports with her. Her essence—her soul self, as it were—preserves the nature of her being and those who share the transient leylines through which she propels her corporeal self.”

“But...” I thought aloud, my eyes locked onto the suddenly sinister device in our midst. “...when the machine teleports a living thing, what comes out the other end has been... disconnected from the leylines, hasn't it?”

“Or so theory would say,” Doctor Whooves said with a nod. “The experience of teleportation would not kill the living subject.” He then gulped and added with a nervous smile. “Not at first.”

“How do you mean...?”

“Well, the subject would emerge from the teleportation in relative control of her or his faculties. However, the disconnection with the leylines would cause a unavoidable sever between the pony's physical body and incorporeal essence.”

“It's like ripping the ghost from the flesh.”

“In a manner of speaking.” He nodded gravely. “You see, Miss Heartstrings, it was never my goal to transport ponies with this device, but simply to allow non-magical ponies a means to deliver material objects to each other from a distance. It would be a long time—perhaps beyond my years—before a device like this could teleport living creatures by purely artificial means.”

I felt my tail flick at the sound of that. I gazed up at him. “So... you mean that it is possible?”

He chuckled, running a hoof through his mane as he gazed aside. “If only there was a way to compensate for a test subject's incorporeal disconnect. The only solid solution I can think of is for another unicorn, one gifted with at least an intermediary knowledge of expert sorcery, to approach the test subject immediately following the teleportation and manually reacquaint her with her natural leylines. But I wouldn't even begin to imagine the type of concentration and mana that would take. The very prospect—at least as we currently perceive it—is far too dangerous to be practical.”

Far too dangerous, but still incredibly enticing...

Doctor Whooves’ words were all I could think about. I sat on the front patio of my cabin the next afternoon, engulfed in thought. My lyre was resting beside me; it remained unplayed. I should have been practicing the Eighth Elegy, but I couldn't stop pondering about the magical box and the wooden carving it had propelled invisibly skyward beyond the rooftop branches of Twilight's library.

All this time, I've been obsessing over the lunar elegies. Why shouldn't I have been? They seemed obviously made for me to focus on. It was as though they had been inserted in my brain for a reason. Since the first day I woke up in this world of chills and ghosts, the symphony of Princess Luna had been my task to uncover.

But what if I didn't have to finish that task? What if there was another way out, even if it was cheating?

I'm stuck in Ponyville. I know that. I live that. But what if I could forcibly remove myself from this place? And to what end? My heart soars with the implications. I could see my parents again. I could reach the ancient magical libraries of Canterlot. In a miraculous blink, I could even show up on the doorstep to the royal sisters' palace and rob their attention just long enough to listen to my pleas and save me from this blasted curse.

But, even if I could do all of that, what would I have to look forward to? Doctor Whooves had made it perfectly clear: something alive like me could not survive the teleportation process, at least not for long. I would emerge on the other end of the procedure as some pathetic golem that thought it was me. My only hope, then, would be for a unicorn like Twilight or an alicorn like Princess Luna to somehow... “reattach” my soul to my body before I could even pretend to ask for help from the outside in curing my curse. And even if I traversed all of those wicked boundaries, how much time would I have to accomplish all that I needed to do before I would be consumed by utter cold and forgetfulness, so far away from my new warm “home?”

I sighed and tucked my hooves under my hoodie's sleeves before hugging myself.

Just when I think that this whole situation couldn't be any more exhausting, I witness something as tantalizing as this scientific experiment taking place under my very nose, and it simply eats at me. There is something so dreadfully frightening about performing the elegies, and no matter how deeply I explore those unearthly compositions, I find myself growing even further and further from my goal. The idea of teleporting myself to someplace where answers may lie is extremely tantalizing, but is it any less of a frightening venture? Just because it's different doesn't mean it's safer, and no matter how I spin it, it still demands the same bottomless well of courage from me as the alternative.

As a matter of fact, I've never been much of a courageous pony. I don't know how the likes of Rainbow Dash or Applejack or Twilight Sparkle manage to summon such bravery from the depths of their souls. To attempt being strong in a cursed world is like starting a fire with sticks of ice. There are times when I don't even know how I can walk out of this cabin in the morning. On countless occasions, I've felt lonely in this place, but it doesn't compare to how often I feel utterly and bitterly afraid.

There was no point in entertaining the notion of the teleporter machine. With the life I live, it's easy to grab onto bizarre things after confusing them with symbols of hope. All I am, and all I'll ever be, is a musician. It's best to leave heroism to the heroes—

I gasped suddenly upon hearing a shrieking cry, coupled with the cacophonous sound of tumbling limbs. I glanced over from the front of my cabin to see a tiny pony having collapsed in the center of the dirt road. Several wheels spun from an overturned scooter, and I felt my heart skipping a beat.

In an instant, I was up on my hooves and galloping over to the scene. The dust had just begun settling as I stumbled upon her. My ears pricked to hear her squealing breath desperately stifling a pained moan.

“Uhm... Hey there, kiddo?” I leaned down towards her with a concerned expression. “Are you okay?”

“Nnnngh...” Scootaloo's eyes were clenched shut. She hissed through gnashing teeth. “I'm fine!”

“That's quite the tumble you just took.” I glanced behind her, spotting a sharp rock jutting in the center of the path. Deep wheel marks spelled where the scooter had crashed after hitting the obstruction. “Better watch out when you come around the bend. This path was built long ago, and I suspect not many ponies have looked after it since.” My eyes caught her forelimbs clutching a spot on her rear left leg. I reached towards it. “Here, lemme see—”

“I said I'm fine!” she hissed and practically batted my limb away. “I'm a tough pony! I've taken worse tumbles befo—Ow! Owwwww...” I could see the smallest hint of moisture clinging to her eyelashes as she hissed through chapped lips.

With a gentle smile, I reached forward again. This time, she was too weak to protest, and I parted her forelimbs in time to see a nasty red gash having been burned through the orange coat of her rear leg. It was hardly anything to go to the emergency room for, but Celestia it looked like it stung.

“Whew! That's one heck of a case of road rash!” I said. I attempted a chuckle, as if it would alleviate her pain. It didn't. So I distracted her nerves with a pair of hooves gently caressing her chin. “Here. Follow me. I think I have just the thing for that.”

“I... don't need... any help...” She grunted, still fighting the pain like a pony would bang her head against a brick wall.

“I'm not sure your leg agrees with you.” I stood up straight and a bright green glow filled the air from my horn. “Don't worry. I promise it won't take but a second.”

Scootaloo mumbled something. With her face hung in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration, she hoisted herself up to a standing position. Gently, a haze of glittering telekinesis wafted over her injured leg. She allowed me to support her weight with magic as I escorted the filly—limping—to the front of my cabin.

I swiftly ducked in through the door to my home. In less than a minute, I had emerged with a first-aid kit full of materials that I had assembled after a year of wandering through Ponyville. I learned long ago that if I was ever to be seriously injured, the only pony I could safely rely on to fix me up was myself. It was a pleasure, then, to help another soul for once in a blue moon.

“Just sit still, and I'll get you patched up.”

I cleaned the edges of her wound. Next, I applied a medicinal ointment to a bandage before softly wrapping it around her scraped leg. All the while, Scootaloo remained remarkably dormant. She barely winced as I worked through my ministrations. Every now and then, the faintest hiss would spill from her lips. I soon realized that she was being brave—a little too brave. Her entire upper body began shivering, like a leather balloon that was waiting to burst.

Calmly, I prepared a second bandage while uttering, “I apologize in advance for the smell.”

Scootaloo stirred. Her voice came out as a tense grunt. “Sm-smell? I don't smell anything...”

“Well, that's just the thing...” I smiled softly as I stood behind her. “It's a very rare ointment. I promise that it'll keep your scratch from getting infected, but at the same time it has a different effect on everypony. Some ponies smell something horrible. Others—well—they don't smell anything, but it still affects them.”

She gulped. Her head and neck were quivering at the breaking point. “Affect them how...?”

“They have a mild reaction,” I murmured. “Their nose gets a little runny and their eyes start to water.”

“You... Y-you mean it's normal?” She asked, and I detected the slightest sniffle.

I smiled and gently nodded. “Yes, sweetie. It's normal.”

Her sniffles doubled, then quadrupled, and finally Scootaloo's body became still as she relaxed. I didn't bother looking at her tear-stained face as I squatted down. “Now lift the leg one more time. I'm almost done here.”

She did so obediently. I applied the last bandage and pulled it tight. As I stood up, I got a close look at the filly's wings. I couldn't help but squint. I noticed something for the first time: Scootaloo's longest feather stems appeared abnormally short, as if they ended abruptly at half the normal length for a pony her age. I cleared my throat and marched around so that I sat on the patio's edge beside her.

“So... are you going to tell me why?”

Scootaloo sniffled one last time and dried her face with a forelimb. “Why, what?”

“Why you felt like speeding around the dirt road on that scooter like a bat out of Tartarus?”

She frowned and faced off towards the afternoon horizon with her forelimbs folded. “Hmmph... I'm practicing.”

“For what?” I chuckled. “The Demolition Olympics?”

“Pffft! No!” She glared briefly at me. “Look, lady, thanks for making my leg feel better, but don't poke fun at me!”

“Hey... I meant no offense!” I exclaimed with a soft smile. “I just think fillies your age have better things to be doing than attempting suicide.”

“It's not suicide,” she said with a sigh, then ran a hoof through her pink mane. “It's a pegasus thing. I can't expect you to understand...”

I shrugged. “When I was your age, I accidentally 'rearranged' my bedroom quite a few times trying to discover my magical gift. Heh. You see, even young unicorns have been known to make a mess out of themselves on occasion.”

“But I shouldn't be making messes! I shouldn't even be on the stinkin' ground anymore!” Scootaloo sighed long and hard. She hugged herself and stared forlornly into the sky. “I practice on my scooter all the time, if only to feel what it's like.”

“What what's like?”

“Speed. Wind. Soaring.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Flight?”

Her nostrils flared. She looked defeatedly into the soil beyond the patio and muttered, “I'll never know how she makes it look so easy...”

Ah. But of course.

“And just who is 'she', if I may be so bold to ask?”

“Ugh. Look...” Scootaloo stood up and began limping away. “Whoever you are, thank you. I mean it. But... I really didn't mean to bug your or nothin'. I... I have places to be. I should be doing homework or some other boring junk right about now anyway.”

As she trotted off, I fiddled with my hoodie's sleeves and murmured to the wind, “You know, we haven't had a terrible thunderstorm in nearly eight months.”

“I know,” Scootaloo's voice sounded practically defensive as she trotted towards the distance. “Ponyville's Weather Flier is the only pegasus in Equestria with a perfect record.”

“Do you really think she got so perfect without getting scorched by lightning a few times?”

Scootaloo stopped in her tracks. She glanced back at me.

I looked into those violet eyes from afar as I said, “It's much more than courage that makes a pony, kid.” I pointed towards her fresh bandage. “Sometimes, what looks perfect is really just something sculpted out of a life of countless bumps and bruises.”

Her face was remarkably deadpan when she gave her swift response. “I've been given enough bumps and bruises in life already, lady.” Her face briefly grimaced, as if that was something too sacred to admit until then. There was a distant look in the child's gaze as she picked the scooter up, all the while her stubby wings twitched. “I... I just want to be cool already. She's earned it. Why can't I?” She gave one last sniffle; there was no more need to hide it. Nevertheless, everything disappeared into a brazen frown as she jumped on the scooter and blurred down the road and out of my life once more.

I sat alone with my lyre and my beating heart. Slowly, I closed the first-aid kit and sighed. I knew that I could only depend on myself in this life; perhaps it was high time I stopped pretending I could look after others as well. Some of us could only dream of being heroes. Others have earned the title with no hope of receiving it. I will forever be stuck as a bard to such ponies' legacy.

“Alright...” Doctor Whooves stepped back from the cube after having placed down a black cylinder atop the machine's arcanium platform. “Fifty kilograms of ram-crafted iron alloy. This will be our heaviest test subject yet.”

“What's the distance we're going for this time, Doc?” Rainbow Dash asked.

Doctor Whooves glanced at Twilight Sparkle, gulped bravely, and said with a grin. “Nine hundred feet. I fear, Miss Dash, that by the time you catch up with it, it'll have achieved a great deal of velocity.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Rainbow Dash said. Her ruby eyes lit up. “Ready when you are!”

“Have... uhm... Have you been able to catch something of this mass before?”

Rainbow snickered and glanced aside. “Hey Twi! Remember that one time Big Mac's outhouse was placed a little too close to the edge of a hill and I happened to be doing a cloud run overhead just as he was—?!”

“Ahem.” Twilight Sparkle smiled nervously at the stallion. “She can handle it, Doctor. Are we ready to begin?”

“We're using twelve crystals this time. It should be more than enough to channel the required energy into the runic matrix.”

“Okay then.” Twilight carefully approached the nearest stone on a pedestal and tilted her horn forward. “I'll need a few moments to concentrate, then I'll give you the signal.”

Doctor Whooves sat on his haunches while gripping the wired switch. “I await with anticipation.”

Rainbow Dash watched from where she hovered above. The center of the library shimmered with a deep purple light as Twilight focused a light spell through the structure of her horn. Her mane billowed in a magical wind as bulbs of sweat ran down her face. “Almost... Almost...” She briefly gnashed her teeth, took a deep breath, and finally exclaimed, “Casting now!”

A bright flash illuminated the room. In the next blink, all twelve crystals were being joined by a thick web of criss-crossing violet lasers. Twilight Sparkle briefly stumbled, only to be supported by the weight of Doctor Whooves leaning into her.

“Are you alright, dear?”

“Never mind me!” Twilight found herself having to shout. The room was echoing with a loud hum as the crystals flickered all around the metal cube. “Do we have the energy contained?”

“Just about!” The Doctor yelled back, grazing the switch in his grasp with a tense pair of hooves. “I adjusted the intake of the machine so that the artificial leylines will absorb the mana stream with thirty-five percent resistance!”

“You think it's enough to compensate for the increased charge?”

“If not, the device should harmlessly expel the mana stream into the lateral absorption banks!”

“Well, that sounds anticlimactic!”

“Not on my watch!” Doctor Whooves smiled wide as the room swirled with an ethereal haze. “Are you ready, Miss Dash?”

“Hit it, Doc!”

“Consider it hit! Nine hundred feet or bust!” He pulled the switch.

The lasers from the twelve crystals shot immediately into the cube. What wasn't so immediate, however, was the rate of glowing light from the heart of the box. Instead of instantly dematerializing the black object on top of the machine's platform, a low whining noise began emanating from the center of the cube.

“Uhh...” Rainbow Dash made a face, her fluttering wings drooping slightly in midair. “That doesn't sound good.” She gulped. “Am I the only pony who thinks that doesn’t sound good?”

Twilight Sparkle flashed a worried glance. “Doctor?”

“I...” Doctor Whooves' mouth was agape as he glanced at the delayed teleportation. “I don't understand! We should have witnessed the discharge by now!”

“Maybe it's taking longer cuz the metal weight is heavier?” Rainbow Dash blindly speculated.

“No, it should have nothing to do with the test subject's variable weight,” Twilight exclaimed. “It's as if all of the mana has disappeared. But that can't be possible! The box—”

“Good heavens,” the Doctor gasped.

The two mares looked fearfully his way.

He flashed them no less a worried look. “Of course the mana charge hasn't disappeared. The reason we're not seeing it is probably because the enchantment immediately pierced the outer layers of artificial leylines.”

“You mean the beam was strong enough to pierce to the center of the apparatus?” Twilight Sparkle breathily exclaimed.

“Uhm...” Rainbow Dash fluttered lower. “Is that bad?”

“The core of the cube's runic chambers isn't built to handle that much magical stress!” Twilight Sparkle shrieked as the room started resonating with an alien cacophony. “It could very well be overloading as we speak—”

“I'm aborting!” Doctor Whooves shouted. It was becoming difficult to hear his own voice. “I'm shutting it all down!” He fiddled with the device. He pounded on it, seething.

“Nnnngh!” Rainbow Dash was gripping her aching ears at this point. Lanterns and light fixtures wobbled overhead. The windows along the edges of the library began to crack. “Ughhh—D-Doc?!”

“The failsafe!” He bellowed. It came across as a whisper against a gigantic earthquake. “The lateral banks have burnt out!”

“Then that means—!” Twilight began.

Rainbow Dash was already swooping down. As the cube flashed a bright purple, its metal shell buckling, she swiftly yanked Twilight and the Doctor away with two hooked forelimbs. “Get down—!”

The cube ruptured. The black cylinder was spat out, landing two feet deep into a wooden wall as the twelve crystals shattered. Tremors bred tremors, and soon the shuddering stopped, giving way to a low bass hum as dust settled across the room. Shadows danced across the interiors of the hollow treehouse. Books and tattered pages spun magical cyclones, beneath which a groaning Doctor Whooves stirred to life.

“Nnnngh... Great Starswirl... My head...” He winced visibly, his ears and nostrils streaming thin trickles of blood. He glanced up and gasped at what he saw.

A huge gash had been torn in the body of the cube, exposing its glowing purple core to the room. Despite the disastrous explosion, the teleportation machine was remarkably intact, except for one key detail. The arcanium platform had been blown clean off. What was more, the cube had fallen and was currently lying on its side. The onion layers of artificial leylines were exposed to the air so that the one opening of the device was currently being aimed at—

“Miss Dash!” Doctor Whooves sputtered.

“Ughhh...” Rainbow Dash barely stirred, lying paralyzed on her side. She was overcome by waves of pure magical energy billowing over her figure. The torn mouth of the cube was facing directly towards her, and the pegasus had very little strength to wake up, much less crawl away from the threatening contraption.

Doctor Whooves tried crawling towards her. He instantly winced, then glanced down at his rear limbs. A cloud of glass shrapnel from one of the mana crystals had embedded viciously into his knee, spilling a small pool of blood across the floor. Panicking, he flashed Rainbow Dash another glance, then looked to where Twilight Sparkle was lying just a few feet away from the pegasus.

“Miss Sparkle! Hckk...” He winced past a wave of pain and again struggled in vain to crawl towards the two mares. “Can you move?”

“Can... hardly... breathe...” Twilight whimpered. She was glued to the floor, but for a completely different reason than the other two. As waves of mana billowed out from the lopsided teleporter, her horn resonated with a weak, pulsating light. “Too... much energy. Feel my nerves... going numb...”

“Miss Dash is going to be in a worse situation if we don't—” Doctor Whooves began, but was suddenly overcome by a loud groaning sound. He glanced up with wide eyes as he saw a heavy bookcase stuffed with thick tomes teetering from the recent burst of energy. “Oh dear...” He curled inward and covered his head with two hooves. The hulking wooden structure fell over him.

A loud crash filled the room, but Doctor Whooves was untouched. He found himself being dragged away from the collapsing bookcase at the last second. Twitching, he glanced up at me.

“Who in Celestia's name are you?!”

“You're welcome,” I grunted, sweating. I finished pulling the Doctor to a safe distance from the disaster and looked over at Twilight's and Rainbow's situation. I too was deeply affected by the overloading cube. Even from over a dozen feet away, I found it hard to stand upright. If it wasn't for the fact that I was watching the experiment from an adjacent hallway when everything hit the fan, I would have been in as bad a shape as the others. “Never mind introductions, Doctor!” I struggled to speak past the waves of raw magic pouring from the ruptured device. “Is there any way to turn this thing off?”

“I... I...” Doctor Whooves shook off the confusion of my presence and forlornly glanced at the situation at hoof. “Nopony but one of the royal alicorns themselves could shut it off at this point! There's nothing we can do but wait for the pent-up energy to exit the machine on its own!”

“Just how long are we talking about?!” I exclaimed above the deep bass roar. I shaded my squinting eyes with a hoof as I looked at Twilight and Rainbow alternatively. It was hard to hear anything above my beating heart, much less the mana-spilling cube. “A couple of hours?”

“More like minutes, ma'am!” the Doctor exclaimed. “There's too much mana inside the thing to stay contained for much longer! I fear the first burst was but a precursor!”

“What do you mean by that?!”

“Even shattered in pieces, the teleporter is going to do what it's designed to do!” The Doctor pointed as I helped him into a sitting position. “And that's emit a solid beam of energy in the form of a spatial displacement spell! And right now, the unguarded mouth of the machine is aimed at—”

“Rainbow Dash...” I murmured. “I'll move her—”

He held me in place with a strong hoof. “No! If you get any closer to the core, you'll be as worse off as them!”

“But we have to move them! Both of them!” I felt my teeth chattering. It wasn't the cold this time. I looked all over the rumbling, billowing scene. “Any ideas?”

He looked up at me as if for the first time. “You're a unicorn! Praise Luna!” He pointed at a splintered plank of wood severed from a collapsed bookcase. “Perhaps you can give one of them a boost—!”

“I read you!” I exclaimed. Trying to steady my breaths, I planted all four hooves tightly against the floor and concentrated hard through my horn. With the most intensely focused burst of mana I've ever summoned in my life, I levitated the wooden plank upwards and pierced it through the sphere of swirling energy. “Nnnngh...” I strained and sweated as I attempted shoving the thing towards the dormant, moaning figure of Rainbow Dash. It felt like carving a plastic butter knife through wet cement. “I... I-I don't think I can reach her!”

“Then don't!” Doctor Whooves shouted. The bass hum of the machine was intensifying once more. We both felt the advent of another mana-burst coming from the sundered teleporter. “Miss Sparkle's closer! Try and pull her out first!” He pointed. “Then the two of you might be able to work together and get Rainbow Dash out!”

“Twilight!” I shouted as I pivoted the plank her way. “Did you hear the Doctor? Grab ahold!”

“I... I...” Twilight blindly lifted a hoof and miraculously found her end of the wooden object. “Who... Who is that...?”

“Let's play guessing games later!” I shouted. The windows started rattling again. Glass that had fractured before was outright shattering as I tugged telekinetically at my end of the plank. “Just hold on tight! I need your help in saving—”

“Rainbow Dash!” Twilight cried. She stared in horror at Rainbow's limp body while she was being tugged towards me. “Just hang in there!” She cast one look at the ruptured cube that was aimed at the pegasus and almost sobbed. “Oh please Celestia, no...”

“Nnngh... Tw-Twilight...” Rainbow Dash barely stirred. Her feathers were practically molting from the machine's proximity.

“Do you hear me?!” Twilight stammered as I finally pulled her over to me and the Doctor. She collapsed into my forelegs and tried to regain her bearings. “Just... Just breathe easily, and we'll have you out of there—”

The machine began pulsing. A wave of pure magic knocked all three of us onto our backsides. I stumbled accidentally over Doctor Whooves' bleeding leg, causing him to shriek in pain. By the time I got up to my hooves once more, I was assaulted by a sudden beam of pure sunlight. It took several seconds of wincing to realize that the front door to the library had been flung open.

“What in hay's name is going on in here?! Is everypony alright—?” A high-pitched voice began, then gasped, then practically shrieked. “Rainbow Dash!”

I next heard Twilight breathily murmuring, “Oh no... Stop! Go back outside! Don't come anywhere near her!”

I looked up at the library's front entrance. The first things I saw were the four spinning wheels of an overturned scooter. My heart sank, and my wavering sight danced over to see her little orange body practically swimming against the waves of nauseous mana.

“Listen to me, Scootaloo!” Twilight shrieked. I numbly helped her to her hooves as she shouted above the noise and bedlam. “Go back! Don't try to touch her! That machine's about to blow—”

“She's... She's h-hurt!” Scootaloo squeaked into the billowing streams of energy. Her gnashing teeth reflected streams of murderous violet light as she inched herself painfully towards Rainbow Dash. Whether or not she heard Twilight's words of warning no longer mattered. We watched helplessly from our end of the library in utter horror. “We... I... I-I gotta get Rainbow out of here!”

“Mmmf... Wh-what...?” As if sparked to life by the sound of her own name, Rainbow Dash's eyes fluttered open. She saw Scootaloo. She saw the pain in her face. Then, she saw the cosmic glow of the teleporter on the verge of erupting. With one gasp, she snarled Scootaloo's way and poured all her strength in raising a numb forelimb. “Kid! Back off! I mean it—”

For a brief moment, Scootaloo collapsed on four knees. She winced from the contact her bandaged leg made with the library floor. That must have sparked a fire from deep within. Her eyes blazed as she summoned an animalistic growl, fluttered her tiny wings, and propelled herself like a comet into Rainbow Dash's side.

“No! Don't—” Doctor Whooves was shrieking.

But it was too late. The machine exploded for a second and last time. A stream of purple energy popped out the box's torn mouth and billowed across the wooden floor. Rainbow Dash gasped, until her tumbling body was replaced by Scootaloo, who was then replaced with nothing. In a bright burst, the filly was gone, and only a dim purple haze remained.

Once the noise and mayhem of the disaster had dissipated, Rainbow Dash's yelling voice was immediately filling the void.

“Dang it! Dang it dang it dang it dang it!” Her dizziness replaced with shock and anger, she tried bounding up to her limbs. She only managed to bump into several bookcases and shattered bits of laboratory equipment. “Nnnnngh—Raaaugh!” She bucked her hooves repeatedly into a wooden table, viciously knocking it over and spitting into the air. “Idiot! What in the hay did she think she was doing?! That... nnngh... stupid... stupid...”

The cube lay dead and quiet. No longer encumbered by waves of mana, I numbly stumbled over towards her and helped her up onto all fours. “She... She...” I mumbled in a dry voice, gulped, and gazed at the charred ring of soot that marked where Scootaloo was standing last. “She... was teleported away. She had to have been! Miss Dash, if we could just—”

“Hmmmph!” She seethed and shoved me to the floor before marching across the library. “Twi! Tell me! Where is she?! Where'd that dumb machine send her?!”

Twilight Sparkle was gazing at the empty space of the library with her jaw agape. Her eyes were moist, on the verge of tears.

“Twilight!” Rainbow Dash grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Look at me!”

Twilight gulped and looked at Rainbow Dash. Her lips quivered. “I... I don't know, Rainbow. If I had any idea that this could have happened...”

“But it has happened!” Rainbow Dash growled. “That stupid thing teleports crud to places, right? So where's the kid? Did it send her nine hundred feet across town or what?”

“There's no way to tell,” Doctor Whooves suddenly muttered.

Rainbow Dash spun to face him. “Bad answer!” She frowned. “I'm having a look!” She stretched her wings to fly out—

“No! Stop!” The Doctor winced past his bleeding pain and gestured for her to remain in place. “I mean it! The machine's energy output magnified Miss Sparkle's enchantment by ten-fold! Furthermore, the damage dealt to the machine can't guarantee that the child was sent anywhere predictable!”

“Just tell me where to go searching for her, Doc!” Rainbow Dash exclaimed. She steeled herself with a frown to avoid imminent hyperventilation. “I don't think that teleportation thingy is very foal-friendly!”

“What I think the Doctor is trying to say is that the machine did in fact send Scootaloo somewhere, but there's no telling where exactly!” Twilight Sparkle teetered, still attempting to regain her balance. “It... It could have been in any direction.”

“That isn't helping, Twi!”

“Just give me a second...” Twililight limped across the room. We watched anxiously as she picked up a collapsed blackboard, levitated a piece of chalk, and began flurrying through an array of high-level math equations at dazzling speed. Her forehead was furrowed in deep thought. Her lips murmured unintelligibly.

“With that rate of discharge,” Doctor Whooves spoke between painful breaths, “A body that small would have been sent at least five times the distance we had estimated teleporting the last test subject.”

“Yeah? So what?” Rainbow Dash fluttered desperately between the two scientists. “What does that mean? What do I have to work with?”

“Just let me concentrate!” Twilight snapped, gritting her teeth as she struggled through a few lasting equations. She clenched her eyes shut, murmured breathily, then struck a final figure. Spinning around, she gazed up at a wide-eyed Rainbow Dash and practically whimpered, “She could be anywhere in a thirteen mile circular area.”

“With this place—the location of the teleporter—as the center,” the Doctor added in a forlorn breath.

Rainbow Dash gazed left and right between the two. She flung her forelimbs above her tattered mane. “What does that tell me?”

“She could could be two miles north of us, two miles south of us, southwest, southeast—There's no real way to tell!” Twilight Sparkle said and gulped nervously.

Rainbow Dash took a deep breath, her ruby eyes hardening. “Well, what are we waiting for?” She made for the nearest shattered window. “Twilight, you tell the mayor that I'm fetching every able-bodied pegasus in Ponyville. We're combing the area! We'll search all day and night and all week if we have to!”

“It's not a matter of if you find her, Miss Dash!” The Doctor exclaimed. “It's a matter of how soon.”

“Why?” Rainbow Dash flashed him a frown. “What now?”

He bit his lip, exchanged a worried glance with Twilight, then looked once more Rainbow's way. “No living thing has ever been teleported by a machine like this before.” He winced and sat up straight while clutching his wounded leg. “All hypotheses suggest that a living pony may survive spatial displacement, but not for long.”

“What do you mean 'not for long'?” Rainbow Dash's voice cracked in horror.

“What he means, Rainbow, is that Scootaloo—wherever she is—will soon lose her faculties, followed by swift paralysis, on account of her body being separated from her incorporeal self.” Twilight tried to calmly explain the horror of the situation. “The machine has essentially disconnected her from the leylines that keep her consciousness and physical self in perfect sync. In a matter of time, her body will cease to function, like a sort of magically-induced suffocation.”

“Then... Then...” Rainbow Dash fidgeted in mid-air, bit her lip, then barked, “Then we must fetch her and bring her to a smart, magicky unicorn like you so you can... c-can put back together her leylines and crud, right?”

“I...” Twilight Sparkle squirmed where she stood. “I've never tried something like that before—”

“But is it possible?”

“Well, sure! But—”

“Then it's enough to go on!” Rainbow Dash pointed. “Get the Doc to a hospital! I've got a rescue team to round up!”

“Miss Sparkle... Miss Dash...” Doctor Whooves winced as Twilight propped him up against her. “I must apologize for this series of disastorous events—”

“Apologies can wait, Doc! Scoots needs us!”

“But... Everypony just wait!” My voice sounded across the room as I jumped into the center of the library, waving my hooves. “We can't go about this blindly! There's gotta be—I dunno—a way to know for sure just where the kid is!”

All three jumped in place, glancing at me.

“Uhm... Who...?”

“Where'd you come from?” Twilight Sparkle blinked.

My eyes twitched. I was amazed at how quickly even I had forgotten a case of misfortune within misfortune. “Erm... I was... just...”

“Were you here the whole time?”

I snarled and stomped my hooves. “Look, who cares?! Seriously?” I frowned in Doctor Whooves' face. “It takes a light-based enchantment spell to activate the machine, right?”

“How...” He squinted nervously at me. “How did you know—?”

“Yes or no? Answer me?”

“Yes.” Twilight answered for him, staring at me warily. “I channeled a light-intensive spell into the crystals that were then absorbed into the machine. The runes built into the device do all the rest, transforming the spark into an artificial teleportation spell.”

“Then, if it's light-based...” I rubbed my chin in thought, then gasped wide. “Perhaps an illumination spell can trace where the machine sent her!”

“I...” Twilight glanced at the twitching Rainbow Dash and wounded Doctor. I could tell she was beyond her wit's end. “I haven't performed a light spell in ages. Even if I could...”

As Twilight was speaking aloud, my mind was flying circles to make even Rainbow Dash proud. I thought of the glow of a lantern above my head in a dark cellar while I performed the elegies. I imagined the subterranean world undulating around me as I threw myself down a gauntlet of forbidden songs. Shades of light had danced before me, just as a spark of inspiration was twinkling before me then. “Don't worry!” I grinned suddenly and galloped towards the hallway at a pace to match my heartbeat. I found my saddlebag right where I had left it upon arriving at the library earlier to watch the experiment. “I think I have it covered!” I reached deep into one of the pouches and produced my lyre. “I know a song that has a side effect of disseminating faint light from shadow and—”

The hairs of my coat stood on end as a deep chill entranced me. Shuddering, I stumbled in place.

“Uhm... Guys?”

I turned around. My heart sank.

Twilight Sparkle and Doctor Whooves had hobbled away. Outside the shattered windows, I could hear the yelling voice of Rainbow Dash as she rounded up every pegasus within earshot.

I took a deep breath. One way or another, I always end up alone. But Scootaloo? I suddenly wanted to find her more than anything. It’s not everyday I find out that I’m not the only pony who’s incapable of flying out of this place.

I looked at my lyre. The golden body and taut cords felt cold to the touch, just like what I was about to do. I felt naked and awkward in the middle of a rubble-strewn library. It amazed me how acquainted I had become with the dark, pristine interior of my subterranean cellar. Nevertheless, I trotted over towards the wrecked cube, stood above it with my instrument, and took a deep breath.

Perhaps...

Just perhaps... these elegies were given to me for a reason. What’s a pain to me could be blissful deliverance to others. I’ve long discovered my music to have an edge that my words fail to deliver. Luna’s compositions have transcended the obscuring layers of time, delving into a realm of pure forgetfulness only to emerge with new and enchanting tonality in my hooves. I’ve taken it upon myself to become the steward of these forgotten songs. Did I have another thankless job to attend? Was I to be the nameless steward of souls as well?

I may not be a courageous pony, but I like to think of myself as an intelligent one. Princess Luna's songs had once served her some mysterious purpose in ages gone by. Though the function of the tunes are forgotten, it doesn't mean I can't invent new applications for them. If I'm not here to be creative and resourceful, then why else would a phantom like me exist? I was never born to be a hero, but I'd hate myself forever if I failed to be a good bard.

Once I had collected my nerves in the center of that wrecked room, I put my telekinesis to use, and began strumming the first of the lunar elegies. The dissonant strings of the “Prelude to Shadows” slowly filled the lengths of the library. Ironically, the first portion of the symphony was all that I required. I had no intention to play any of the tunes that followed.

Less than a minute into the performance, and the side effects of the elegy began assaulting me without mercy. I started trembling all over as a deep paranoia overwhelmed my body and mind. I wasn't used to playing this song in the daylight, and I felt like everything that was lying still around me was suddenly squirming to life. Despite my desperate need to clench my eyes shut, I kept them wide open, taking in every horrid hallucination that dared to flicker and jump before me until a ray of truth made itself known.

Through the dancing shadows and squirming shades of the song's eerie tones, I finally found what I was looking for. Beams of light separated before me, so that I saw with a mystic sight-within-sight, discovering a spectrum unknown to most mortals. The bands of brightness separated, and soon one ray in particular was arching away from the heart of the dead teleporter. It was a fresh beam of luminescence, as infant as it was artificial. I stopped playing my lyre and drifted forward, breathing it in. It tasted like vanilla and bone. The dreadful succulence led me—limping—straight out of the library, until I nearly collapsed from the waves of cold that resulted from my having aborted the magical elegy in mid-performance.

My heart pumped, wracked with darting fears. I fought the flowers and grass squirming around me like a sea of snakes. Tilting my head up, I was enraptured to see the beam leading straight northwest, past the edge of town, past Sweet Apple Acres, and towards the base of a misty mountain range that—sure enough—was no more than three miles' distance.

I now knew where Scootaloo was.

My breath came out of me in a happy whimper. I was so hammered with cold and frayed nerves, I would gladly have collapsed right there. But I couldn't. The afternoon air above Ponyville was buzzing with more and more swarming pegasi. The streets thundered with scampering hooves and murmuring voices. The entire city had come alive in panic. One of the town's precious foals had gone missing by the most bizarre of circumstances, and she had to be found.

Wincing, I pulled myself up on all fours. “Nnngh... Twi... Tw-Twilight...” I murmured. I shuffled forward, teetering sickly. The Prelude's toll on me was almost worse than the exploding teleporter's. Like a zombie, I limped through town. I put two and two together in my head and guessed where Twilight had taken the Doctor. I was elated beyond measure when I stumbled upon the front entrance to the Ponyville Hospital and—indeed—I had found her.

She wasn't alone. While Nurse Redheart and several other ponies were tending to Doctor Whooves, Twilight was speaking a mile-a-minute with a distressed mayor. Among the other ponies surrounding the frantic scene, I spotted a familiar soul...

“Please! You must find her!” Milky White sobbed. Carrot Top and Colgate were standing on either side of the sobbing mare, holding her up and nuzzling her. “That poor filly's been through so much! I brought her here to Ponyville to start a new life and forget about where she had been! This is the last thing I could have ever imagined would happen!”

“I promise you, Miss White,” Twilight Sparkle planted her hooves on the mare's shoulder. Her fragile desperation was hidden from everypony me, her foalhood friend. “We will find Scootaloo! Rainbow Dash is already on it! I need you to stay calm and let us all conduct a search—”

“She's northwest!” I grunted, coughed, and all but collapsed into the group. I heard Caramel's murmuring breath as I was helped back into a standing position. “Scootaloo's northwest of here! Don't waste your time searching anywhere else...”

Twilight and the others squinted hard at me. “How... How could you possibly know that?”

“The teleporter was enchanted by a light spell, right?”

“Uhm... Yes.” Twilight gave me a strange look. “What's your point? Just who are you? We kind of have a situation here—”

“Yes—Right—And I'm trying to tell you where Scootaloo is!” I snarled as the confused looks around me doubled, tripled. “I cast a spell that revealed to me a light trail leading to where the teleporter sent Scootaloo! You need to send everpony about two and a half miles northwest—!”

“Twilight!” Rainbow Dash floated down, flanked by the hovering figures of Cloudkicker and Raindrops. “I've got a team of fifty already! I sent Candy Mane and Blossomforth to fetch more! How should we go about doing this?”

Twilight immediately spun and replied. “We shouldn't waste precious pegasi on nearby areas. You should fly over the furthest parts of the teleporter's range while earth ponies and unicorns cover the town.”

“Yes!” the mayor spoke up. “Everypony, listen! Gather in groups of three and cover a separate district of the village! Carrot Top! Go fetch Applejack and Big Macintosh and work out a plan with the other farm families to cover the nearby woods—”

“Hey!” I barked as a wave of chills racked me in the middle of the scrambling villagers. “Didn't you hear me?! I just said I know where she is—”

“Nnngh...” Twilight rubbed her forehead. She gazed at me with mixed disgust and nausea. “Huh? What are—Who's yelling? We need to—”

“Pay attention!!” I leaned forward, panting. “Scootaloo's northwest of here!” I glanced frantically at everypony, feeling the situation swiftly slipping away from my hooves. “Just calm down, stay next to me, and listen! I promise, I can help you find her—”

“What are we standing around for?!” Rainbow Dash shouted. She was twenty feet above us. She might as well have been four galaxies away from me. “We need to find her and bring her back here so that Twilight can—I dunno—mind delve her or something!”

“Better hurry, Miss Dash!” Doctor Whooves exclaimed, wincing as Nurse Redheart treated him. “Every moment wasted risks losing Scootaloo forever!”

“What... What does he mean?” Milky White sobbed.

“Just calm down! Please!” I shouted. “I know where she is—”

“Now's not the time for practical jokes,” Carrot Top said, frowning at me. “Unless you're able to help—”

“I just told you seconds ago that I conducted a spell that can help us—”

“I better get prepared for her return,” Twilight Sparkle said, rubbing her head again as she stumbled towards Doctor Whooves. “If I'm not meditating by the time she gets here, I may not be able to reattach her to the leylines.”

“Everypony fan out!” Rainbow Dash said, darting off as her fellow pegasi spread in opposite directions. “Counter-clockwise formations!”

“I'll get the Apple Family!” Carrot Top galloped away.

“No—No wait! Please!” I reached out, but stumbled to my haunches, panting. Everypony was running everywhere but towards me. The desperation and panic in their bodies was pulling them away from my body like unraveled yarn. If this was any other day, any other occasion, then perhaps I could very easily have plucked a receptive soul out from Ponyville's bitter-cold sea of amnesia. But this...

I shivered, hugging myself, watching as the fruitless search began under a slowly setting sun... what could very well have been a foal's last day on earth.

Numbly, I stumbled into my cabin. I plopped my saddlebag atop my cot. I let my body slump down on the floor before the fireplace.

I did not light it.

I stared into the dry, unlit lumber lying before me. There were so many ashes, so many dead and lifeless flakes of brittle wood, and still I was no warmer that day than I was the first morning I was introduced to my curse.

My ears pricked. The veteran musician inside me couldn't help but hear the faintest of shouting voices beyond the windows to my house. The search was going on across Ponyville. Dozens upon dozens of ponies were desperately combing miles of acreage, and they were all blind.

I knew where Scootaloo was. I knew she was suffering, dying even. I also knew that wherever she was—she'd be better off than me.

Two miles—maybe three—from the center of Ponyville: I had never even remotely gotten that far from the birthplace of my curse, not even that one time Twilight had personally teleported me. The furthest I ever dared to tread was to Zecora's place in the middle of the Everfree Forest, and even that was a paltry mile-and-a-half distance at best. Every time I came back home from buying those precious soundstones, it took the better part of a day to warm my body back to being able to feel once again.

I heard more shouts of pegasus voices outside. Wincing, I clenched my eyes shut and ran a pair of hooves through my mane.

I was born to a rich family in the streets of Canterlot. The first and only time I hurt myself was one day, when I was a foal and I had spranged my ankle chasing the family cat down the stairs. I only wore a cast for half a month, and still I thought it was the most excruciating pain a pony could ever go through. Afterwards, I grew up, and I lived my life day by day, book after book, music sheet after music sheet, in the luxury of college life, in the glow of an alicorn princess who guarded and watched over us all. What did I know of agony? What did I know of struggle? Even this curse—for all its frigid horrors—is painted with the rosy colors of friendly faces who would gladly help a stranger, would talk to her, would even hug her.

I am not hero material. If anything, my soul is empowered with patience, not courage. I don't have a single versatile inch of muscle or intestinal fortitude to boast of.

That day, shivering before a fireplace that I was too guilty to light for myself, I knew that all I had was knowledge, a memory. I knew where Scootaloo was. I could remember it, where everypony else couldn't. If one soul was to die that day, I knew another that would not be able to live with herself.

If this is what Nightmare Moon had meant for me, then I respect her as much as I hate her.

I threw myself to my hooves before my brain had a chance to protest. The first thing I threw over my hoodie was Rarity's gorgeous sweater. Next came a second coat—one that I had barely used and still smelled like the dumpster I grabbed it from nine months ago. I added the scarf, socks, and stockings next. The woolen cap and cloak covered the entire ensemble. As if all of this didn't weigh enough, I brought along my saddlebag and stuffed it full of blankets. I hadn't realized it at first, but I was sobbing by the time I marched out the cabin's front door. No single pony faces the reaper with dry eyes. Bundled like a woolen tank, I enjoyed the last few drops of sweat I was allowed, and galloped northwest under the shadows of misguided pegasi in the decaying afternoon.

This wasn't the Everfree Forest, but I wished it was. No less than ten minutes into marching through the woods, I realized how terribly hilly it was. Every other step sent me stumbling over a sharp rock or exposed bit of stone. Pulling myself back up was a difficult feat. My bundled clothing stiffened my limbs, so that I felt like I was wading through a sea of bed blankets. No matter how much I wanted to free my legs, I couldn't afford to shed a single scrap. I may have been shivering then, but I knew that in less than an hour I'd be traversing a veritable arctic circle.

Twenty minutes in. I couldn't feel my lower legs. At first, I thought it was because the cold had already hit me. I soon realized that it was because I was getting worn out by clopping my hooves over so much stone and pebbles. I was foolish to think that the mountainside would start abruptly far north of my destination. As a matter of fact, the mountain was gradually giving birth to itself beneath me with each step I took. I've gone on several jogs in my life, but each occasion had been on even ground, and never scaling uphill.

It didn't help that the sun was setting. The light was already being obscured by the thick sea of trees surrounding me. To my utter dismay, the forest only grew denser and denser the further north I marched. I was so desperate to get to Scootaloo's location, it hadn't dawned on me just how easily I could get lost from my goal. If I had to readjust my bearings, it was now or never... before I lost any of my senses to the frigid wall I was just about to pierce.

Pausing, I sat on my haunches and pulled my lyre out from my saddlebag. It took a long time to focus my telekinetic talents. It took even longer to gear myself for playing the “Prelude to Shadows” out in the middle of such a foreboding location. My entire body tensed as I heard the enchanting elegy drip forth from my trembling instrumentation. Soon enough, I relocated the beam of light tracing Scootaloo's teleported path. It swam over me like a frozen lightning bolt, leading me further towards the neck of the mountainside. It was with small relief that I found the Prelude's normal waves of paranoia failing to engulf me. Then, I realized, I had become so tense and frightened with my present task that the elegy's side effects had simply become unnoticeable.

Without wasting any time, I pocketed the lyre away and marched after the streak of light. It shone above me like a burning plume of platinum fire. I saw my breaths forming against the dense woods before me. The magical beam grew brighter and brighter, and that was how I knew night was coming. If there were pegasi swarming overhead, I could no longer see them. I could only focus on each hoofstep I made as I scaled hill after hill, because soon I couldn't concentrate on anything else.

The first wave of cold hit. I imagined that I was a mile out. Every time I opened my mouth, I felt as if my very own saliva would freeze, and yet it was all I could do to stop from suffocating. Bundled as I was, I felt like I was carrying a small house up the side of a mountain. I knew that if even so much as my scarf fell off, I might freeze to death right there, and yet to stop and think twice meant robbing another second of life from Scootaloo. It's hard to convince oneself of another pony's plight when all one feels is the stabs of icy pins and needles with each trot. I pulled my body forward, attempting to convince myself that I had been in worse spots, then trying to make myself believe that the previous attempt wasn't such a blatant lie.

The second wave of cold hit, and it felt more like a wall of invisible snow than an actual wave. I no longer felt like I was walking; I was burrowing. My hooves were carving their way through powdery mounds of frost. I felt as though my eyes were being stabbed, and I realized it was because my tears were freezing. There was a pathetic whimpering sound in my ears. I gasped, thinking I had stumbled upon Scootaloo, but then realized that those tiny whimpers belonged to me. I almost wondered if I was the one who had been zapped with the teleporter instead, for my soul felt as if it had been disconnected with the puppet legs flagrantly tossing it forward.

And that is how I discovered pain. I mean true pain, the sort of pain that a body is not meant to endure, only to dream of, toying with nightmares that fuel us into avoiding stupid, self-destructive actions during the waking day. It's the sort of pain that exists as a last ditch spark to startle a ghost and fling it back—screaming—straight into the body where it belongs, as a final means of avoiding death. And there I was marching straight into the gaping maw of that very same oblivion, and for what? Even if I was lucky enough to get to Scootaloo in time, what chance did I have to bring her to Twilight swiftly enough for my old friend to maybe or maybe not save the foal's life?

The fact of the matter was—dead or not—I would never earn myself a gravestone. But Scootaloo...

There were tears in this world that belonged to her, and all of them incalculably warmer than mine. I snarled at the mountain. I screamed at it, clawed at it, and pulled myself up it. It felt pretty intense at the time, but I'm sure all of my utterances came out as kitten mews against a great pale planetoid. Trees surrounded me like gray mane hairs, and I was a starving flea hopping away from the throbbing arteries. I glided through a land of stale blue ice, painted with horrors that I had only ever read about, poetically fantasized about, until it all slammed down around me with the sudden shriek of twinkling stars, and that's how I realized something had woken me from my frozen stupor, three shivering hours into the suicidal climb.

“Nnngh—Gah!” My eyes flew open and I shot up, bundled like a funeral shroud. Instead of a coffin, I found myself surrounded by granite and wood. It was the very crest of the mountainside. The sun was bleeding over the blurry edges of Ponyville lying to the southeast. I thought I heard a vulture shrieking above me, until those shrieks turned into fitful sobs. I looked up, and I saw her.

Scootaloo was dangling, upside-down and paralyzed, with her tail-hairs caught in the angry spokes of a dead tree. I was sobbing. I knew I was. The world blurred and unblurred as I stood up and reached towards her.

And then I fell down.

I gasped. I couldn't feel my body. I was a shell, deader than the rock around me. I was afraid to look at my hooves in the scant twilight afforded me, for fear that I might see blue lifeless skin peering through my mint green coat. I tried to stand up, the best I could do was roll over. I felt sudden, sharp bites of pain from where my body stumbled over rough pebbles. The fact that any of my nerves still answered to torment was a very queer thrill at the time. I embraced the jolt running through me and sat up, reaching two alien hooves overhead in a desperate bid to reach her.

There was no denying it. Scootaloo was less than two feet away. Still, I couldn't so much as touch her. If I was rescuing an adult, I would have cursed up a storm. Instead, I focused, imagined a tune from my childhood—anything to center myself—and propelled that energy through my horn. There was a brief green spark as I surged a burst of telekinesis towards the stars. Thankfully, the branch holding Scootaloo happened to be in the way, and it snapped. Scootaloo plunged towards me like an orange comet. I caught the foal with whatever part of my body was least painful to her.

“Ooof!” I shrieked, rediscovering the mists of my breath as I tumbled under her weight. The severed branch that had once held her bounced ineffectually away into the shadows of the night. I briefly wondered if I too might have snapped.

“Nnngh... Where...?” Scootaloo flailed, twitched. She was like a newborn, adrift in a wave of confusing shadows and nausea. Her eyes never once stopped rolling back in her head. “Who... Wh-Who...?”

“Y-Your t-t-ticket out of h-h-here,” some voice replied, horrifying me with its frigid stutters.

“I... I can't...” Scootaloo sobbed. Scootaloo retched. Scootaloo stammered, “I-I can't... can't feel...”

“You and m-m-me b-both, k-kiddo.” Something was putting her on my back as the world spun one hundred and eighty degrees. I was beside myself with horror. My eyes were playing a simulation of me stumbling down the mountainside, and suddenly that simulation became real. “J-J-Just hang on t-t-tight. Whatever y-you d-d-do, don't let g-go. I'm g-g-going to get you h-home.”

“My wings...” She trembled all over. Something colder than a glacier was stabbing my back in several places. Scootaloo's teardrops were like a sea of knives. “I... I can't feel my wings...”

If I was a stronger pony, I wouldn't have replied to that. “I kn-know you c-c-can't, Scootaloo.”

“But... But I—”

“I'm g-gonna get you home. That's all I can do—” No sooner were those words uttered, I saw the dark earth plunging towards my face. “Unngh!” I had slipped on a boulder and was sliding blindly down a hill of pebbles. The night sky blurred, and I no longer felt the icy pain in my back. “Sc-Scootaloo!”

I gasped, tumbled, and reached my hooves out as soon as I saw a shade of orange. I wrapped her in my forelimbs before she could get nearly as banged up as I. That was all that mattered, and next came the breath of air being flung out of my body as I fell the last five feet to the bed of leaves and branches looming below.

“Nnnngh!” I weathered the wave of pain surging through my frame. After several freezing moments, I unfolded my arms and found her shivering identically in my grasp. “S-Say something.”

She gulped and clutched tighter to me. “Owie...”

“Good enough.” I picked her up again. I picked myself up again. I considered donating her one of the many blankets in my saddlebag, until I realised just how sweaty she was. The night was so chaotic and excruciating, I easily forgot I was the only blisteringly cold soul in Equestria. I navigated the hillside like a drop of molasses, serenaded by Scootaloo's frightened sobs. “Gotta... find... Gotta get somewhere...” I gulped and teetered left and right. I could have sworn I was going in the right direction, but the Sun had disappeared and I no longer knew east from west. If I still had the energy left to play the Prelude, I would much rather have started a forest fire to grab some pegasus' attention. “Gotta get one of the ponies to see us... so they can fetch Twilight and... and...”

“So... So tired...” I heard Scootaloo say. Each word was a gunshot to my startled ears. “Just... want it all to be quiet—”

“No! No!” I shouted. I snarled. Through the nightmarish cold, I felt her broken wings fluttering against my shivering flesh. We were both prisoners of a shadowy world, and only one of was deserved to go free. “Stay awake, Scootaloo! Stay with me!”

“Can't... Just... Just want to—”

“Talk about something! Tell me about your fami—” My tongue limped half as badly as my legs did. I gulped dryly and spoke to the invisible blizzard slicing across my face. “Tell me who you want to be like, more than anypony in the world!” I inched my way forward. With each successive trot, my limbs grew weaker and weaker. I could have sworn I discovered absolute zero. My heartbeats were miles apart. “Better yet, tell me why!”

“She... She isn't afraid of anything...” Scootaloo's voice came as a gentle drip between hiccups. It was the last piece of warmth I had to go by. All of the bundled clothing felt like a thin paper napkin between me and her burning presence. “She does everything by herself, and yet she's loyal to everypony...”

I was stumbling at this point, lurching, crumbling. I pulled myself on scuffed knees, my quivering eyes locked onto a patch of gray haze ahead of us: a clearing. If I could get there, and maybe start a fire...

“Y-yeah?” My voice danced on ectoplasmic strings, entreating her as I wormed myself pathetically in the dirt, slowly entombing myself in the saturated earth. “What else?”

“Sh-She's brave.” Scootaloo clung to the last feeling bits of me. Her voice was soaring away at the speed of light. I drunkenly envisioned it as the foal's maiden flight. “She's... She's like me.” A sob, a gasp, then a whimper: “And I hate being alone...”

“You're not...” I panted, yanking my head forward, but my legs weren't obeying me. The ice had crept up to my spine. The clearing was a continent away, and the only thing not failing me was my voice, the last semblance of my soul. “You're not alone...” I scraped the surface of oblivion in fitful desperation, trying to leave an etch that could be remembered. “You're n-never alone...” My mouth stopped talking as soon as my chin collapsed into the wet soil.

When the light left my eyes, I did not think about my parents. I did not think about Twilight Sparkle or Moondancer. I did not think about the fireplace, Applejack's neighborly drawl, or Rarity's fabulous sweater. I did not think about Luna’s undiscovered elegies or unwritten compositions. I did not even think about Morning Dew's voice and what it did to my heartbeat.

All I thought about was Scootaloo, about her wings, and how there'd be nopony to remember those words of hers, because she passed away in my forelimbs and not theirs.

No, I was not dying a hero, but I knew who was. It was a noble thought, warm enough on its own. I held it gently to myself as I embraced the endless night.

It was the emptiness in my forelegs, and not the flames, that woke me.

My eyes flew open. A campfire was being lit right beside me. It was so close, I could stick my tongue out and taste the flickering sparks. I did just that, and it burnt my tongue, making me realize that I was indeed alive.

I jerked—violently at first. When I next tried sitting up, I realized that I was still freezing cold, and shivered madly like a reanimated corpse. Squinting, I looked up to see a pale pegasus squatting over the tiny blaze, applying the finishing touches with a cluster of flint and steel in her hooves.

“Come on... Come on... There we go. That should just about do it—”

“Cloudkicker!” a familiar, raspy voice barked from several feet away. “The heck are you doing over there?! This is no time to roast marshmallows!”

“But... Rainbow Dash!” the pegasus pointed right at me. “This unicorn here is freezing—”

“The heck are you talking about?! What unicorn?! We got what we came out here for!”

“I... But... Don't you see her?”

“The only unicorn we should care about right now is Twilight! And she's waiting for us! Now stop horsing around and let's move!”

Cloudkicker blinked. A pale sheen glinted across her eyes. The moon had risen, and she reeled briefly in a dazed manner. “Huh... Y-You're right. What... What was I thinking?” I watched as her shadowed figure marched blindly over me, then took to the sky with a flurry of feathers.

As she left, I saw two figures huddled a few yards from me. Rainbow Dash was squatting, cuddling the shivering figure of Scootaloo in her grasp.

“Shhhh... It's okay, kiddo. Can you hear me?”

“R-Rainbow Dash?!” Scootaloo gasped. “Oh Rainbow Dash! You found me! I knew you'd come and save me!”

“Just relax, pipsqueak. We're not out of the woods yet. I'm going to get you to Twilight. She has a trick that'll get you as good as new.”

“Rainbow Dash...” the foal's voice sobbed. “I-I was so scared...”

“Yeah, well, lucky for everypony, that stupid machine landed you in the middle of this clearing. Now hold on tight!” Rainbow Dash scooped Scootaloo up in her forelimbs, flapped her sapphire wings, and bolted into the moonlight. She soared straight towards Ponyville, leaving me with my shivers and the campfire.

I took several panting breaths. I turned over and—using my teeth—yanked my saddlebag open. I finally made use of the many blankets there, praising Celestia for the fire that Cloudkicker had made before the curse sapped her and Rainbow Dash of reason. As I huddled there besides the blessing warmth, I finally discovered the strength to sit up. As I did so, I found my breath leaving me.

Indeed, I was in the middle of the clearing. The ground around me was solid, exposed granite. With the moonlight shining down overhead, Scootaloo and I must have appeared like two inky dots against an alabaster sheet. Any pegasus with an elementary skill in aerial sight would have spotted us in a blink.

But... how in Celestia's name...?

I had collapsed in the middle of the woods.

Then... just how did we end up out here...?

Fatefully, I turned around. I scanned the edge of the hilly forest. It was then that I saw it: a trail of leaves and scattered soil leading a solid swath from the treeline to where I sat, huddled with the campfire.

I raised a hoof to my face. The barest hint of feeling was returning to my nerves, just as I was becoming awash in joyful disbelief.

She...

She had dragged me.

Scootaloo...

I murmured something. My lips were chapped, but I delighted in the pain it took to smile. I bundled the blankets around me. This was not my cabin. This was not my fireplace. This was a mile away from town at best, with every inch of me still shivering from the cold.

I had never felt more comfortable in my entire life.

“It was the arcanium plate,” Doctor Whooves explained, hobbling as he strolled alongside Twilight Sparkle across the center of Ponyville several afternoons later. “I installed it to act as a buffer between the heart of the teleporter and the object being teleported. What I hadn't taken into account was that the material simultaneously acted as a mirror, and was reflecting waves of mana back into the center of the cube.”

“That must have been what wore away the outermost layers of artificial leylines,” Twilight thought aloud, nodding. She kept her pace slow so as to not exhaust the mending stallion's pained gait. “With each subsequent test we ran, the machine passed our visual examinations on the outside, but we didn't realize to what extent the machine was being deteriorated from the inside out because of the constant waves of reflected magic.”

“This village almost lost something precious because of my mistakes.” He sighed, his head hanging. “Maybe now's not the right time to leap upon artificial teleportation. Assuming the Science Committee doesn't revoke my official laboratory privileges, I'm halfway tempted to put this whole experiment on the shelf for another decade.”

“Hey, it's a mistake we both made, Doctor.” She smiled and gently nudged him. “You did everything in your power to help us track down Scootaloo. I seriously doubt that the Committee will strip you of anything, and it would be a crime to see you quit such a promising endeavor after you've come so far.”

He smiled bashfully. “I see why Princess Celestia chose you to be her star pupil. You are a boundless well of hope, Miss Sparkle.”

“Heehee... Null hypotheses aside, even scientists can afford hope, Doctor.”

Their voices grew distant, and in their place came Rainbow Dash's and Pinkie Pie's.

“And so Cloudkicker and I were skimming the mountainside, and that's when I said, 'Let's give it one more pass!'” Rainbow Dash, already hovering, performed a dramatic dive in mid-air. “So I was like—SWOOSH—and then, out of the corner of my hawk-like vision, I totally saw her! The little scamp was shivering cold, and she could barely open her eyes. I knew I had to be extra careful while holding her. There was no telling if any little jolt or dip in flight might—like—knock her spirit loose from her body or whatever it was that Twilight said the machine did to her.”

“Wowie, Dashie!” Pinkie Pie bounced gaily, her eyes bright as she took in the dramatic lengths of Rainbow's tale. “I knew you could be super-gonzo-heroic! But it's nice to know you can be super-gonzo-gentle too!”

“Yup! I cradled her like a baby! And I've—like—cradled babies only twice in my life. Well, maybe three times, if you count that one day I took Apple Bloom for a ride over Sweet Apple Acres.”

“Apple Bloom's a baby?”

“Well, she sure barfed like one!”

“Heeheehee! Well I'm just glad you and Twilight were able to stop Scootaloo from barfing!” Pinkie Pie bounced. “Oh, and dying!”

“Heh... Yeah. That was certainly a close one.” Rainbow Dash flapped her wings while taking a deep breath. “Y'know, Pinkie, I'm saving ponies everyday. But Twilight? It's not everyday she's on the 'superhero pony list.'”

“Yeah! We should totally get her a trophy or something!”

“Heh! Good idea. Let's talk to Rarity about makin' one for her. Cuz if there's anything I hate, it's when something truly awesome goes unpraised.”

As they drifted by, I finished strumming the ten chords of the Eighth Elegy, repeated in variance so as to make a semblance of a melody. I took a deep breath and shook my left hoof in front of my face. Half a week had gone by; I was still barely getting the feeling back in my limbs. Praise Celestia for telekinesis. If I couldn't make music anytime I wanted to, I'd go as insane as this curse wants me to.

Because that’s all a curse is made to do, right? It afflicts a pony’s sanity, makes her wish for the sweet release of death. Surely it doesn’t give her magical opportunities to save the day. Or does it?

I have long dreaded unraveling the eighth elegy, but suddenly it wasn’t half as foreboding a prospect as I first imagined it to be. Along with the instrumental there would come a whole wave of frightening circumstance. But what helpful side effects could Luna’s forgotten tune also bring? I could only expect the magic of the song to be beneficial to anypony but me. That’s what kept it a curse, and what maintained my task of re-discovering it so daring... or perhaps even brave.

I sighed again, and then caught something orange in my peripheral vision. My heart skipped a beat, for it was the first time I had seen her in hours. I glanced over, and soon wasn't wasting anytime. Zipping my lyre away in my saddlebag, I trotted over. She wasn't looking at me. Her gaze was halfway skyward. I didn't need a compass to know it was pointed towards Rainbow Dash.

“Ahem.”

Scootaloo blinked. She looked up at me. “Oh... Uhm... Hello there.” She pointed at my saddlebag. “Nice music, by the way.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You were listening to me just now?”

“Yeah,” she said, her body deflating with a tranquil exhale. “This city's full of sounds. I don't notice it half the time, cuz I'm rarely sitting in one place, I guess.”

Upon hearing that, I squinted curiously at her. “Where's your scooter, anyways?”

The foal rolled her eyes and angrily blew a lock of pink hair from over her brow. “Milky White's taken it away from me this week.”

“Wuh oh. Did somepony get in trouble?”

“Nah. Not this time.” She squirmed her rear hooves against the earth. “Heh. She said something about 'Me needing to get my bearings back.' Pfft! I feel just fine! Ever since Twilight zapped me with her magic horn, I haven't felt the slightest bit dizzy!” As soon as Scootaloo said that, she teetered ever so slightly with googly eyes, then blushed. “Well, almost.”

I smiled. “If you ask me, I'd say Milky White was just trying to look out for you.”

“Heh. She's fussed over me a lot more than all the mares before her.” Scootaloo took a deep breath and squatted low to the floor, folding her limbs underneath her as she gazed lonesomely across the village. “I guess that means I'm stuck with her.”

“That's a good thing, right?”

Scootaloo bit her lip. “Hmmm... It could be worse.” Her stubby wings twitched uselessly. “A lot worse.”

I said nothing to that.

When she noticed I wasn't leaving her side, she rolled her eyes and groaned: “Alright. Just get it over with..”

“I beg your pardon? What is it you want me to get over?”

The little foal cast me a wry smirk befitting a filly twice her age. “You're about to gush over how amazing it is that I survived such a horrible accident and shower me with gifts. Please—as much as I like attention, I've been dragged to Sugarcube Corner three times already. My stomach hurts enough as it is.”

“I would never think of such a thing.” I said with a chuckle. “After all, you strike me as... as a lot 'older' than most foals your age.”

She briefly went cross-eyed before snickering at me. “That's about the silliest thing I've ever heard.”

“Is it really?”

“Yeah, really.” She sighed and stared once again across the village with sad eyes. “Cuz I certainly don't feel cool enough to be older. When I grow up, I wanna be just like Rainbow Dash! I wanna do awesome things, and I wanna do them alone so that nopony else gets to steal my thunder!”

I glanced at the ground and stirred where I sat. “Yeah, well, some ponies hate being alone.”

Scootaloo glanced up at me. Her tiny feathers fluttered as she gulped and said, “I was alone once. But then Rainbow Dash swooped down and saved me. She took me away from the mountainside when I was freezing to death from that crazy machine that zapped me.” What came next was a triumphant smile, but something jaded hung on the edges of it. “If it wasn't for her... I'd just be a stupid corpse in the middle of nowhere.”

I sighed, but then smiled. “Scootaloo...”

She blinked awkwardly. “You... Uhm... You know my name?”

I squatted down in front of her. I looked her square in the eyes, making contact where our gazes previously couldn't in a frantic night full of horror and shadows. “For all I know—or anypony for that matter—Rainbow Dash is the greatest hero Equestria has ever known.”

“Heck yeah, she is!” Scootaloo beamed. “She's terrific—”

“But I don't need to convince you that the sort of feats that Rainbow Dash accomplishes, she could do in her sleep.” I pointed at her chest. “The bravest pony on that night was you.”

She frowned. “Me?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “Because you went through scary things that you weren't prepared for. You endured stuff that nopony your age—or any age—should ever have to endure. It's facing the unknowable and making the impossible happen that determines true courage. You, Scootaloo—You are a courageous pony. I... I can only hope and pray that—as you grow older, someday exceeding even Rainbow Dash's age—that you remember that it was you that got you through that night, that it was your strength that got you to where you are now.” I took a deep breath and smiled lovingly at her. “Because once you recognize that strength inside of you, there's no telling how much you can... bless other ponies around you too, becoming an absolute hero yourself, something worthy of song and smiles.”

Scootaloo blinked at me. There was no telling when or where the accursed glint of moonlight would finally fall upon those bright, violet eyes. But as she stared at me, and her grin brightened, and her tiny wings fluttered as if catching wind for the first time, I no longer cared about the grim curtains of life, but rather took the time to cherish something precious as it bloomed right there before me.

“Hey! Scoots!”

“Scoot-Scoot-Scootalooooo!”

We both looked aside. A pair of young foals were waving at her from afar.

“Heh... Right... I almost forgot...” Scootaloo giggled, struck with the honey-sweet burst of a returning memory. “I have some ‘crusading’ to do tonight. Uhm...” She leaned in and whispered mischievously. “Promise not to tell Milky White if you run into her?”

I giggled and stood up. “Go and be with your friends.” I ushered her with a wave of the hoof. “You have many years left to be courageous...”

She scampered away on cue, leaving me under a cadence of giggles too holy for song. I watched her and her two friends run towards the edge of town under the melting afternoon. From where I stood, I couldn't tell where their pastel coats ended and the sunset began.

It's a brave thing to be alone. As long as I make song of it, I'm saving something.

After all, it's never too late to be a hero.

VII - Bridge

Dear Journal,

When do we know that we've lost something? Is it after we've spent all of our days trying to earn our keep, only to have all that's special to us taken away before our eyes? Or is it after we've claimed something, only to have somepony else steal it from us? Does a life of pride and hard work equate to pure agony when all of that effort is laid to ruin?

Or, perhaps, we stand to lose something that is essential to us, something that makes us who and what we are. Then, someday, that part of us crumbles away, and what choice do we have but to stand back and reevaluate ourselves, wondering if we were ever made up of the substance we used to value so heavily?

I thought I had lost everything when this curse happened. And, perhaps, I indeed had. But there's something worse than loss, and I've come to believe that it's the actual knowledge of loss.

Everything dies. Of this, I am convinced. Of this, I have no doubt. But, until now, nothing had ever made that palpable to me. Nothing had ever marched in on my life—cursed or uncursed—and showed me with the pale emotionless light of truth what it means to be part of something, and then to witness that something crumbling away.

After all, the best things in life could very well be those that have been collapsing for as long as we've been alive. Can a simple song restore the gaps of us that will forever remain empty? Or can some of us—some of us who are blessed—be capable of filling those gaps with new and promising things that even death itself will tarry to drown?

“Well, I'm certainly glad you came to me for practice, Miss Heartstrings,” Twilight Sparkle said. I heard her voice slowly orbiting me. It was difficult paying attention to both her and the field of energy I was summoning above myself, but I did the best that I could to multitask. “Though this mostly takes careful concentration to master, it's not something that a unicorn can so easily learn on her lonesome.”

“I'm beginning... to understand... just how difficult... this is...” I struggled to utter.

Her voice giggled. It should have been distracting, but it only made my heart jump. “You're straining too hard,” she said. “This isn't a telekinetic spell. Protection buffs are all about summoning magic fields to do the hard stuff for you. You don't need to put all of your strength into it. The key is to relax.”

“Relax?” I stammered, feeling all four knees wobbling beneath me. “Relax how?”

“Well, for one, you don't have to keep your eyes shut like that.”

I took a deep breath. Carefully, I opened my lids. A foggy library came into focus, in the center of which was Twilight's smiling face.

“There. Isn't that better?” My foalhood friend said with a pleasant tone as she stood before me. “There's no need for you to be inflicting so much stress on yourself. You've already opened the necessary channels to your leylines. Take slow breaths and allow your horn to do all the rest.”

I gulped and nodded shakily. “Okay, Miss Sparkle.”

“Heehee... Call me Twilight.”

“Okay, Twilight...” I managed a weak smile. My eyes twitched under the mint-green glow emanating directly out of my forehead. I couldn't help but feel nervous. My special talent was in music. Sheer magical strength just wasn't my forte, and yet here I was in the middle of Twilight's domain, attempting to cast a low grade protection spell.

As a matter of fact, much of my life since the curse began has consisted of me forcing myself to exercise magical feats that I would never have considered attempting before. Until I came to Ponyville, the most I ever used my horn for was floating small objects around the house or strumming my lyre. With each progressive month spent in that town, I've found myself lifting logs to build a cabin, casting light beams to illuminate the world at night, sparking flame to light a fireplace, and—of course—performing enchanted symphonies that flung my entire world upside down.

To say that I needed a magical tutor was an understatement. It's funny how I never once thought of asking for Twilight's help for more than just identifying the lunar elegies. I suppose I've always felt like I'd be troubling her unnecessarily, regardless of whether or not I was a stranger to the young mare. I soon realized, however, that I was treating my foalhood friend with kid's horseshoes. She was no longer the little filly that I used to hang out with in the streets of Canterlot. She was an adult—and much more than that, she was the most gifted magical unicorn in the entire town of Ponyville. Of course she'd be more than capable of helping a stranger such as myself learn new things, regardless of the impromptu nature of such imposing requests. I felt bad for underestimating her—not just for her gifts—but for her capacity for kindness and generosity.

“I can't tell if I'm doing it or not,” I murmured, still sweating a bit. “Can you tell if it's working?”

She smiled and merely pointed a hoof over my horn. “See for yourself.”

Gulping, I glanced upward. My eyes blinked upon registering a thin sheet of emerald energy stretched above me like a glowing tarp. It was as if a dome of pure light had been erected just above my figure. Every time my heart beat, I could see rivulets of magic surging through the luminescent structure.

“Huh...” I managed. “Well, if that isn't cute.”

“It's remarkably well maintained!” Twilight exclaimed, gazing at the translucent dome as she paced around me. “Especially now that you've decided to relax just like I told you.” She paused and gave me a sly glance. “Are you sure you haven't practiced this before, Miss Heartstrings?”

I smiled back at her, still trembling slightly with the concentrated effort. “Trust me, Twilight. If I knew I could learn so much from you in one go, I would have visited this library sooner.”

Truth is, I had visited her three times already, all in the same week. I had learned fifteen more chords to the Eighth Elegy, and it dawned upon me that I'd never be able to play it if the “Threnody of Night” would just knock me unconscious and teleport me somewhere at random. If I had any hope—any hope whatsoever—of performing all of Princess Luna's forgotten instrumentals, then I would have to master the art of magical buffs in order to protect myself from the many mysterious side effects that the symphony might afflict me with.

“I almost wish you would visit me more often.”

Twilight's comment there startled me. I almost broke concentration as I flashed her a surprised glance. “What...?”

“Well, what I mean is...” She rolled her eyes at herself and clarified, “I wish that unicorns in general would visit me more often so I could help them with their magical abilities. I used to be a tutor back in Canterlot, assisting younger students in Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. The look on so many ponies' faces when they gain control of their talents is absolutely priceless. Working here in Ponyville, I've been busy doing historical research and science experiments. I've not really had the chance to assist others with magic like I used to.”

“Well, I am... glad to have... given you an opportunity,” I managed to say, my knees shaking as I felt a sharp pain pulsing against the tip of my horn. “Nnnngh!”

“Shhh—Stay calm...” She rushed over and stood a breath’s distance from me. “Breathe in and breathe out. You're encountering mana feedback along your leylines. It'll pass. Just focus on the protection spell, and soon it'll maintain itself.”

I gulped, fought a few more waves of pain, and came through the brief storm with a relaxed breath. “Whew... It really is like stretching muscles, huh?” I gulped and produced a weak smile. “Invisible muscles...?”

“The more you practice it, the better you'll get, I promise.” She said. “You're already doing a lot better than most novice practitioners of magic. If I didn't know better, I'd say you have an untapped gift in navigating your horn's leylines.”

My eyes darted towards the sea of books lining the cases around us. I imagined the earthen walls of my cellar instead. My ears twitched with the twenty-five chords of the Eighth Elegy. I felt a wave of chills, but bravely fought them away as I spoke, “Well, the way I see it, it's never too late to learn things that just come to you naturally...” I gulped. “Or supernaturally.”

“Long ago, Princess Celestia taught me that there's an essential balance between the visible world and the invisible,” Twilight said. “The realm of magic is like a mirror to the realm of physicality. They both reflect the same image. The light of the universe shines on each realm evenly. After all, sorcery is all about equivalent exchange. The fact that we're here—in the flesh—means that we are just as capable of expressing ourselves through mana and energy. It's not a matter of whether or not unicorns can find their ethereal talents, but a matter of when.”

“When did you find that connection, Twilight?” I asked, though I felt I already knew the answer. “Was that how you got your cutie mark?”

She smiled gently, her eyes caught in a distant thought. “Long ago, my horn produced a spark, and I discovered my talents. But—no—I do not believe that is when I made the connection. Years later, when I came to Ponyville, I discovered a spark of a different kind, and that has mattered more to me than all my years of exercise and research combined. You see, Miss Heartstrings, being connected to the realm of magic means nothing when you're blind to the connections you can make in the plane that you're currently residing in. Such attachments are far more challenging to make or maintain, but they're a great deal more rewarding, I've come to believe.”

I took several deep breaths. I was just then starting to relax, or at least in the manner she had so desperately coached me to. “No wonder everything comes naturally to you, Twilight. You seem to really have it together.”

“Heehehee... Well, I try. But I'd much rather see you and other unicorns achieve that same harmony, which is why I'm starting this new project for Cheerilee's school.”

“Oh? Like what kind of a project?”

Before she could answer, a familiar purple figure waddled into the room. “Nnngh... Okay, I got the bucket of water, Twilight,” Spike grumbled, using all his might to maintain the weight of the wooden container in his scaled arms. “Would you care to remind me just why I fetched this from the well out back to begin with?”

“Spike? Didn't I explain it to you ten minutes ago?!” Twilight frowned and pointed towards a ladder leaning against the far wall of the library. “We need that water for Miss Heartstrings' protection spell lesson!”

“Miss who?” Spike made a face, glancing at the bucket in his grasp as if it was a sea mine.

“Hey there, handsome,” I said, struggling to add a wink.

“Oh! Uhm, hello. Dig the swell hoodie!”

“Ugh...” Twilight rolled her violet eyes. With a flick of telekinesis, she dragged the ladder over so that it stood beside me. “I swear, Spike, it must be something I feed you. Your ears are getting clogged up.”

“I've been staying away from the fatty diamonds! I swear!”

“Don't worry about it, Spike. Just climb up the ladder and wait for my signal.”

He awkwardly ascended the wooden rungs, balancing the bucket on one aching wrist. “I don't get it. What are we doing? Don't we need Rainbow Dash around to pull a prank on somepony?”

“Spike, we used to do this in Canterlot, remember? It's how I learned to master the protection spell myself.”

“Yeah, but at least the Princess was around to levitate the stupid bucket.”

“We can afford to live without Her Majesty's magical luxuries, don't you think?”

“Easy for you to say, Miss Horn-head.”

“What was that?”

“Erm... N-nothing!” He stood above me with the bucket of water. “Ready to pour!”

“Uhm...” I bit my lip and glanced—sweating—at Twilight. “Is this part of the plan? I swore I came here to do a magic lesson, not participate in a wet mane contest.”

“Just relax and focus on your spell, Miss Heartstrings.” As Twilight spoke, she smiled and effortlessly erected a lavender wall of energy in a circle around me, like the bottom to a telekinetic, cylindrical bathtub. The ease with which she shot her beams of magic filled me with instant awe... and envy. “Though this is just a low level buff, it should be more than enough to... well... keep you dry.”

“But what if I-I fail to maintain the energy field?”

She chuckled briefly. “Ohhhhh I seriously doubt you'll want to do that.” She cleared her voice and glanced up at her assistant. “Spike?”

“Yeah, okay. Here goes.” He tilted the bucket directly over my head.

I resisted the urge to wince. My eyes squinted instinctively, but to my delight the water did not splash into my face. Instead—as soon as the liquid made contact with the emerald dome—it went in all directions except down. A ceiling of levitating liquid collected in a magical pool above me. The protection spell was working. The energy from my horn resisted the trickling currents of well water. I couldn't help but exhale in wonder. This was a great deal easier than trying to push water away with telekinesis. All I had to do was maintain the shape of the dome, and the energy field did the rest of the work. I never once dreamed before coming to Twilight that I'd be anywhere near capable of performing a feat such as this. I immediately started wondering just what other elements this spell could ward off, and just how severe...

“You're doing it, Miss Heartstrings!” Twilight exclaimed in delight. She paced about as she watched the water trickling around me like rainwater cascading down the edges of a transparent umbrella. Her lavender telekinesis collected the water at my hooves and kept it from spreading to the valuable contents of the surrounding library. “I must say, your speed of mastery is amazing! Keep this up, and you can learn a mid-level protection spell in no time! You could go trotting along the bottom of a lake and not even get wet!”

I managed a breathy chuckle of my own, gazing in happy shock at the water sloshing just inches from my nose. “You don't say?” I gulped and uttered impulsively, “And what about a blizzard? Could I survive a plunge into a frozen lake?”

It was Spike, of course, who retorted at such absurdity. “Uhm... Lady? It's the middle of August. Why are you so concerned about a blizzard?”

I winced. Before I could manage a witty reply, there was a sharp knock on the door.

Twilight shouted over her shoulder, “Library's open! Come in!”

Bright light flooded the room as the front entrance flew open. A pale figure glided in, carried by the sheer melody of her joyous voice, “Well, batten down the hatches! Cuz things are about to get loud and crazy in here, girl!”

That voice...

Every artery in my body pulsed with one single leap of my heart. My eyes twitched. The world blurred. And my protection field...

I could no longer feel it. As a matter of fact, I could no longer feel my horn. I could feel nothing but water. I was doused from mane to tail, soaked all the way through to the bone as my concentration shattered like an ice sculpture. The shock of the severance from my leylines and the force of my breath being shot out my freezing lungs were nothing compared to the waves of amazement surging through my mind. I collapsed in the middle of Twilight's telekinetic field, blinded by a mat of gray mane hair falling like a bathroom curtain over my eyes.

“Oh dear! Miss Heartstrings!” Twilight's voice exclaimed, though the breath had a trace of shameless amusement to it. “I'm so... so sorry...”

“Holy guacamole!” Spike exclaimed from somewhere above me.

“Oh shoot! I had no idea you were tutoring magicians, Twilight!” The familiar voice came closer. I smelled the scent of vanilla perfume. I saw the bright streets of Canterlot against my shivering eyelids. “I thought those days were long behind you!”

“Well, just because I'm not a teacher like you doesn't mean I can't lend my talents from time to time.”

“Seriously, Twilight, if you lent any unicorn your raw, unfiltered abilities, her head would explode. We're lucky this mare got doused with water and not her own brain fluids.”

“Oh please...” Twilight giggled awkwardly.

“Heehee... Hey there, uhm... I'm really sorry for that.” She was right in front of me. I reached a blind hoof out, and she caught it in a warm forelimb. Before I knew it, she was parting my mane hair with pale telekinesis. Through a wet world, the first thing I saw was her violet eyes, framing an alabaster smile. Every detail made my heart beat faster: her white coat, her violet-streaked red mane, her crescent moon cutie mark be-speckled with tiny stars. “I should know better than to walk in on Twilight Sparkle here without warning. This one time, she nearly set her parents' drapes on fire. Hey, Twi, you remember that? That was the week before you were taken to Celestia's palace, wasn't it?”

“H-hey! Stop it! I try my best to forget that!”

But I couldn't have forgotten that. I couldn't forget anything. And her face...

“Moondancer...?” I stammered.

She gave me a double glance, and then a smile. Her smile.

“I... I...” I wanted to hug her. I wanted to collapse. I wanted to faint and wake up all at once. Then came a shiver, and I remembered something that was far more real than this precious moment. “I... uhm...” I gulped. “I sat behind you in Canterlot Preparatory School, Fifth Grade.” It was the truth, for one of us, at least. “You went on to... to major in education and sociology.”

“Huh... Small Equestria, huh?” Moondancer smirked. There was an immortal glint of mischief and curiosity in her eyes. I felt like a foal once again and I wanted to melt in her smile. “I can't say your face rings a bell, Miss...”

“Lyra,” I breathed. I realized that it must have sounded like a whimper. So I gulped and forced my soaked lips into a smile. “Call me Lyra, Moondancer.”

“Well, Lyra, I apologize for not recognizing you.” She rolled her violet eyes. “But even Twilight here can tell you that I was never really all that much there in my school years. If it weren't for my extra-curricular points, I swear, I don't know how I would have made it to tenth grade without trotting off a sheer cliff!”

“I recall things pretty well, Moondancer.” Twilight smiled as she gathered the spilled water and levitated the liquid globe back into Spike's bucket. “Funny that you decided to become a teacher, huh?”

“Grrrr!” Moondancer spun and galloped straight towards her. “C'mere, you!”

“Eeep! Heeheehee!” Twilight flinched, only to be engulfed in a hug instead of a tackle. She and Moondancer happily nuzzled each other before sharing a friendly gaze. “It's so nice to see you again, Moondancer. I'm frankly surprised you responded to my letter as quickly as you did.”

“And just why is that? Huh?” Moondancer stuck her tongue out. “For Luna’s sake, Twi! I’m a teacher now! I know the value of getting to papers on time! I treat letters all the same!”

“Yeah, well,” Twilight said with a chuckle. “You still surprised me” She briefly hardened her gaze. “And don't use Princess Luna's name in vain like that. Nightmare Moon has been driven out of her spirit now. She deserves more respect.”

“Heh. Less than two minutes in, and I’m already getting grilled.” Moondancer winked playfully. “Oh Twilight... You're still the same adorable little historian I loved hanging out with.”

“Yeah, well, I'm trying to loosen up these days.”

“Try harder! Heck, I'll help ya, girl! Where does a couple of old filly-friends go to party around here?”

“Hahaha—Moondancer!” Twilight protested, all the while giving me an embarrassed side-glance. “That wasn't why I asked you to come to Ponyville!”

“Yeah, yeah. We can get to the project later. I just arrived, Twi!” Moondancer groaned and slumped her saddlebags off her back, tossing them like a sack of bones in the middle of the floor. “My hooves are positively aching!”

“I thought you took the train here.”

“And then I had to trot clear across Ponyvania!”

“Ponyville!” Twilight smirked. “And if you so much as plan to spend one week here, much less three, then the first thing you're gonna have to lose is the Canterlot affinity for little exercise. Trust me. I've been here a year and a half and still I'm struggling to flex my muscles.”

“Hey, if there’s anything I do best on my vacations off, it’s stretch muscles that haven’t been stretched in a while.” Moondancer trotted over to a bench and slumped down. Her eyebrows wagged as she said, “If Ponyville is anything like Las Pegasus, I should have no problem whatsoever, catch my drift?”

“Heeheehee... I don’t know if I want to,” Twilight replied with a wink. She turned around. “Spike? Would you mind grabbing Moondancer's bags?”

“Yeah yeah, this is sure bringing back memories,” the dragon muttered as he placed the water bucket down and marched over towards the discarded saddlebag. “I thought my bellhop days were over.”

“And what a cute little waddle you have when you play butler, green-spines.”

“Ugh! Moondancer, don't call me that!”

“Heehee... C'mere, Spike. Give Auntie Moonie a hug. That's what you used to call me when you were an infant. Remember?”

“Ew! I did not!”

Twilight giggled. “Yes you did, Spike. I was there...”

“Whatever. Enough of this mush. Let's just get this hug over with so that I can get back to my chores.”

“Awwww, Spike...” Moondancer nuzzled him as they joined briefly in a close embrace. “Is Twi still working your scales off?”

“No more than usual. At least there are more gems to chew on around here than in Canterlot. I swear, Ponyville was built on top of a diamond mine.”

“Then I guess you won't be wanting any of the mountain sapphires I brought with me.”

“C-Canterlot Mountain S-Sapphires?!” Spike exclaimed, wide-eyed. He regarded the bags in his grasp with sudden excitement. “The ones with quartz sprinkles?! Did you really bring some?!”

Lavender energy encased the saddlebag and lifted it from his suddenly greedy grasp. Twilight cleared her throat and produced something halfway between a smile and a frown. “Dessert can wait, Spike. Aren't you forgetting something?”

“Uhm... What?”

Twilight opened a nearby cabinet and floated a white towel out. She hoofed it to him and motioned towards me with a smirk.

Spike bit his lip. “Oh, right.” He marched towards me, making a face. “How come I'm suddenly the one who's 'forgetting' about our guest?”

“Moondancer's here. At least I have an excuse.”

“Whoahhhh-Girl!” Moondancer giggled and nuzzled Twilight again. “Maybe you have changed after all.”

“Heh... I'm just really glad to see you, Moondancer.” Twilight nuzzled her back, smiling warmly. “It feels like an eternity.”

“And how! Yeesh... Twilight Sparkle: vanquisher of Endless Night and Dragon Slayer! Just how do you manage?”

“I haven't slayed any dragons! That one that I wrote you about, the dragon who was perched up above Ponyville: he was talked into leaving, and that was all my friend Fluttershy's work.”

“You friend, huh? I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but you should tell me all about these friends of yours, Twi. I swear, this is like visiting a distant cousin only to discover she's got the pony pox.”

“Moondancer!”

“Haha—What? I think it's really spectacular, girl! Next thing I know, you'll have sprouted wings and begun moving mountains! I always suspected you were secretly an alicorn beneath that gorgeous lavender coat. It would certainly explain a lot, wouldn't it?”

“Yeesh, Moondancer. Do you ever switch off your insanity?”

“Only when I'm failing my students' papers.”

“Heheheh—Ohhhh I forgot what it felt like to have you around.”

“If you ask me, you could do with a few more doses. But let's talk about something else. I think we're scaring your guest mute. Heeheehee—Ahem. Sorry to just drop in like this Miss... Lyra, was it?”

I was beside myself. I felt like a numb shell of a pony. This whole time, I didn't care how soaked I was. I could have stood and listened to this scene forever. When Spike came to me with the towel, it was like a ghost was handing me a shroud from beyond a bizarre dream. I took the article and eagerly dried my face. It was more than bucket water that I had to contend with. Several seconds passed since I last heard Moondancer's voice. I sniffled once, twice, and made sure my face was good and dry before gazing at her with the bravest of smiles.

“Please. Don't... uhm... Don't mind me.” I bit my lip and fought to keep my voice from cracking. “By all means, you two should catch up.”

“And I know just the place to do it too!” Moondancer beamed, glancing at Twilight. “The mare next to me on the train spoke of this delightful little place called Sugarcut Quarter.”

“Sugarcube Corner,” Twilight corrected. “And I'd be more than happy to take you there.”

“Oh, please!” Spike chuckled. “I have to wait on eating delicious sapphires, and you two get to go gorge yourselves at the local cupcake repository?!”

“Give us a break, Spike!” Moondancer chuckled. “Us girls have a lot of work cut out for us over the next three weeks!”

Twilight added, “You can enjoy Moondancer's gift whenever. She and I, though, will be racking our brains on this project until it's finished. So, it's Sugarcube Corner or bust!”

Moondancer once again interjected, “Plus, sexy fillies can never run out of sugar and spice!”

Twilight face-hoofed and groaned. “I swear, I don't know how I'm gonna survive you for more than five days.”

“Heehee! It only hurts cuz you miss me, girl!” Moondancer jumped back up to her hooves. “So, are we going or—?”

“We have to stop by the Ponyville bank first.”

“Ew. Boring. What for?”

“Because!” Twilight gestured wildly. “I thought you wouldn't get here until tomorrow morning! I just bought a gift for my friend Applejack yesterday.” She gnawed on her lip in embarrassment. “I'm currently empty-saddlebag'd!”

“Hah! Why do I get the feeling that I'm going to have to hoof out bits for you... again?”

“What do you mean 'again?'”

“You remember all of those trips to Doughnut Joe's as a kid...”

“Hey! You volunteered them!”

“Only because you looked so adorably famished in those days! All the books you were reading—I'm surprised you got time to stuff anything edible down your throat!”

“You make it sound worse than it ever was...”

“Do I? When was the last time you ate today?”

“Uhm...”

“Yesterday?”

“Uhhhhhh...”

“Egads, Twilight! I'll be forcing you to munch on stuff all week, aren't I? Haha—If I had known ahead of time, I would have brought a queen's fortune!”

“Moondancer, for goodness' sake—”

“My treat.”

Both mares looked at me, blinking. “Huh?”

My lips quivered. I swallowed a dry lump down my throat and smiled. My muscles shook inside my suddenly frail frame. “I'll treat you. Both of you,” I said in a warm little voice. “Let's... Let's go to Sugarcube Corner together. We can talk about... about...” I gritted my teeth, struggled, then produced, “About this project that you two are working on. I'm... uhm... I-I'm really, really intrigued. I wanna hear all about it.”

“Miss Heartstrings, I feel so terribly rude as it is,” Twilight said, blushing slightly as she glanced between her friend and a phantom stranger. “I was just so excited that you came to me asking for a magic lesson, I didn't even think to consider that my friend might be arriving a day early. I can't possibly ask you to do something like that, especially after... eheh... our little experiment got all wet...”

“Pssst...” Moondancer pretended to whisper aside at me. “Do it, filly! She needs more cinnamon sticks in her belly!”

“Will you cut it out?!”

“Heeheehee!”

“No... Really...” I trotted towards them, afraid I would collapse on the razor edge of their bright gazes. “I mean it. I'd like to treat you. Who cares if I got a little wet behind the ears or not?” I smiled brightly. The image of the two fogged briefly, then returned to clarity in a blink. “Trust me. This... This has been the highlight of my day.” I gulped. I wanted to say “week,” “month,” “year,” even “life.” But I couldn't do anything drastic. This bubble of a moment was a million times more fragile than a protection sphere, and I was terribly afraid of bursting it. “Let's go eat and chat somewhere... like fr-friends do.” I winced slightly at the last utterance, for it sounded to me like a mewling kitten's. I was horrified that they wouldn't look past it.

They did..

Twenty minutes later, we walked into Sugarcube Corner together. I felt like I was gliding on a cloud. Moondancer didn't stop talking. Twilight didn't stop nodding. I had both a headache and a heartache all at once.

I didn't want it to end. Ever.

“Whew, look at this décor!” Moondancer rolled her eyes over every bright, pastel shape of the eatery's interior. “It looks like Sapphire Shores turned diabetic and vomited all over an architect's drawing table.”

“Shhh!” Twilight hissed, blushing furiously. “Mrs. and Mr. Cake are just over there! They might hear you!”

“Mrs. and Mr. ‘Cake?’ Seriously? Is the post office managed by a pony named ‘Stamp Licker?’”

Twilight started growling. I found myself interjecting almost naturally. “You haven't been around many earth ponies, have you, Ms. Moondancer?” I smiled.

She sighed as we found a table in the front to sit at. “I've met my fair share in Fillydelphia. But don't get me started on the rural names there. They'd make a sailor blush... heheh...”

“You'll find that most earth ponies around here have simple titles, but their hearts and minds are as complex as any Canterlot soul's,” I said proudly.

“Why, Miss Heartstrings, that intrigues me,” Twilight remarked. “Today's the first time I saw you. Do you mean to say you're a resident of Ponyville?”

“Uhm...”

“I gotta say, I love the name 'Heartstrings,'” Moondancer said with a grin. “Tell me, girl, do you play music or do you teach?”

“Heh. I could never learn enough to feel comfortable as an instructor,” I replied to her. I gulped and then gazed at Twilight. “Nor have I mastered my talents enough to be anything famous, which is probably why you've never heard of me.” I sat directly in the middle of the two. It felt as natural as natural could be. This miraculous moment was threatening to slip away, gathering speed with each concrete-shattering heartbeat. All the scents of foalhood wafted up to me at once. I wanted to savor it as best as I could. “But let's not talk about me. You two obviously haven't seen each other in a while. Feel free to chat as much as you like.”

“Oh, girl, don't tempt me!” Moondancer grinned wide while Twilight giggled. “If I get started about Fillydelphia and my students and all the crazy city morons I have to deal with, you'll yawn that golden cutie mark of yours clean off!”

“Heehee...” Twilight Sparkle caught her breath and said, “Is it true that you foiled the fourth attempt in a row by your class to pull a practical joke on you?”

“Students pulling pranks on a teacher?!” I made a face. “That sounds horrible.”

“For them, maybe!” Moondancer winked. “Just a few days ago, before I boarded the train, they plastered transparent paste over my chalkboard. Well, I always come into class early, and I saw their attempt to trap me the first moment I wrote on the board. So I got some adhesive of my own and I applied it to their seats before roll call.”

Twilight snorted, covering her face with a hoof as her eyes went wide. “Good grief!” her voice came out muffled. “What became of that?”

“Hmmm... Let's just say that it took more than a slip of paper to keep them sitting in class for detention.”

Twilight giggled. “I don't know how you can stand such delinquents! I'd lose my temper in a day!”

“I don't see it as a matter of disrespect,” Moondancer said with a devilish grin. “If anything, I'm helping them be creative. They're always inventing new and crazier tactics. It’s quite amazing, really. I always out-smart them, of course. I think they just do it to see how I'll best them next.”

“But does it ever go too far?”

“You gotta ask them. Last I checked, three of the colts had to wear trunks.”

“In the middle of urban Fillydelphia? What for?”

“Cuz they got stripped of all coat hairs on their rumps! Why else?! The wrath of Moondancer knows no boundaries!”

Our laughter was a delightful chorus, an encore to years that I thought would forever be lost to me. When Mrs. Cake shuffled over, I was so light-hearted I felt I would faint before making my order.

“Well, if this isn't a merry bunch!” Mrs. Cake beamed. “Good afternoon, Miss Sparkle! Are we having ourselves a little reunion here?”

“You can say that again!” I heard myself speaking up. But before I could add anything else—

“This is my good friend from my foalhood, Moondancer,” Twilight remarked. “She's come to visit and help me with the curriculum I have planned for Mrs. Cheerilee's after-school program.”

“Oh?”

“Yessirree!” Moondancer wrapped her forward limb around Twilight and Twilight alone. “It's the two mistresses of mana, galloping together again! Hey Twi-girl, you remember those days we used to pretend to be Celestia and Luna going on adventures?”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “How could I forget. You kept pretending that the moon could swallow the sun.”

“Hah! And wasn't that fun?”

“It was also scientifically inaccurate! I spent an entire week trying to convince you that eclipses become visible as a matter of light projection and depth perception—”

“Needless to say, she needs me here to get her to loosen up a bit,” Moondancer said. “But so far all we've managed to do is tease Spike and get Lyra's mane wet here.”

“Seriously, it’s all... in the past,” I said in a soft breath, feeling like the lone satellite that I was. Clearing my throat, I summoned a smile once again and looked Mrs. Cake's way. “I'd like to order me and these delightful mares some of your finest sundaes.”

“Oh, that is more than doable, hun!” Mrs. Cake sat on her haunches and used her front hooves and teeth to sketch on a notepad. “Mmmff—Ahem. And what flavors would they be?”

“Chocolate,” Twilight said.

“Vanilla!” Moondancer chirped like the foal she once was.

I glanced at them, took a warm breath, and gazed at Mrs. Cake again. “A little bit of both.”

“Done, done and... done! You three just sit and relax and I'll be back with your orders. Nice as always to see you, Miss Twilight!”

“Same with you, Mrs. Cake. How's Mr. Cake doing by the way?”

“He finally got out of bed this morning. He's no longer dizzy. So, that's a good sign, at least. I'm sure his head will stop aching soon. Anywho, I'll be back shortly!” She trotted off.

Moondancer blinked at Twilight. “What's wrong with her husband?”

“Oh, uhm. He slipped and fell a few weeks back. Turns out Pinkie Pie accidentally left a mess of spilled cake frosting on the kitchen floor while trying to make Applejack a birthday treat.”

“Pinkie who?”

“Oh jeez, I can't even imagine the two of you meeting!” Twilight practically gasped. “I'm not sure the world could contain that much energy in one place at once!”

“Hey, I'll accept that as a challenge!” Moondancer's eyes grew thin and mischievous. “'Pinkie Pie', huh? I bet she's never almost burned her family’s apartment down by baking fireworks, thinking they were candy canes.”

“Oh my heavens, I forgot all about that!” Twilight snickered. “I could hear the explosion from my house two blocks away!”

“My father almost rung my neck!” Moondancer exclaimed.

“Yeah!” I giggled helplessly. “He made you repair the damage at age ten. Heeheehee! But you made a game out of it by pretending the holes in the wall were secretly a tunnel being dug to Foal Knox!”

Moondancer and Twilight both blinked at me. Their smiles faded under a suspicious squint.

“How in the heck would you know about that?”

I gnawed on my lip. I fidgeted with my hoodie's sleeves, gulped, and pointed over my shoulder with a shivering hoof. “Twilight's... uhm... Twilight's dragon assistant! On the way out, he... uh... he mentioned it. You girls must not have heard him...”

“I thought you said you were gonna do something about his penchant for gossip,” Moondancer smiled at Twilight.

“He's still a baby dragon, Moondancer. You can't expect him to learn everything overnight.”

“But you can expect to teach him everything, huh? Which is why you hauled his purple scaly butt all the way to Ponyville.”

“Who else does he have to hang out with in Canterlot?”

“The same could be said about you, girl. Just how did you go about your metamorphosis?”

“Huh?”

“Five new friends in a year! You're suddenly Miss Socialite! You kind of have me jealous!”

“I wrote you all about it over the last few months!. Why's it such a big surprise?”

“On top of all the letters you write to Celestia, I'm surprised your hoof doesn't fall off.”

“Moondancer...”

“What? I'm happy for you, girl!” She grinned. “Doesn't my face just drip with joy?”

“It's dripping with something, alright.”

“Oh hush.” She stuck her tongue out. “It's enough that I have to force myself to forget that we'll be muzzle-deep in boring planning and outlining this time tomorrow.”

“Your help will be priceless, Moondancer. I can't thank you enough...”

“Then don't. You'll make my ears bleed.”

“Just what is this project you're both working on?” I asked, happy to be out of firing range from their inquisitive stares. “I keep hearing about it...”

“Well, Miss Heartstrings, we have a one-room school on the edge of town, managed by a very kind and giving teacher named Cheerilee,” Twilight explained. “There aren't that many children in Ponyville. Still, that doesn't make her job here any easier. She's having to juggle several different ages and intelligence levels all at once, while still giving the same curriculum.”

“No easy feat, lemme tell you.” Moondancer rolled her eyes. “I had to teach a one-room school for two years outside the city limits of Oatslando. That was not fun. If the students there played practical jokes—heck—it'd involve alligators and a crapload of pine cones.”

“Ahem,” Twilight regained control of the conversation. “Well, ever since Nightmare Moon was defeated, there's been a renaissance of sorts in the quest for magical knowledge across Equestria. Many unicorns such as myself have moved from the major cities to the outlying villages to perform studies and experiments. As a result, there're twice as many unicorn children in Ponyville this year than there were last year. Magical ponies aren't as scarce a minority around here anymore, and it seems a shame to me that there isn't a special class of magical instruction catering to their gifts.”

“I hear this 'Cheerilee' is an earth pony,” Moondancer said. “As horrible as it sounds, when it comes to teaching magic, she could use a little bit of a helping hoof from those with horns that do more than honking.”

“I imagine she's tried her hardest to teach unicorns on her own,” I remarked. I had, in fact, met Cheerilee on several occasions. I couldn't fault Moondancer for not knowing how intelligent and resourceful the local teacher was up close. Still, Cheerilee was only one pony, and she had no horn to perform magical experiments with. “Where exactly do you two come in?”

Moondancer smiled. “It was Twi's bright idea here to set up a study course of our own, but one that could be as equally informative to earth ponies and pegasi as it is involving with unicorns. There's no reason ponies of all trots of life can't learn about magic. Most of all, we can make it fun for the little scamps!”

“Well, yes,” Twilight murmured, “But most of all we have to find a way to be as informative in as few lessons as possible, while at the same time not confusing the young minds—”

“So we make it fun.” Moondancer leaned over the table and spoke above her friend. “That way it'll stick in the foals' minds and they can take the knowledge with them to schools of magical arts, if they so choose. Every institution should promise opportunity, no matter how small or surrounded by ponies named after dessert trays.”

“Ungh...” Twilight rolled her eyes and chuckled.

I cleared my throat, drawing their gazes to me. “Well, I think it's a great idea, and I'm proud of the two of you tackling it together. I'm guessing you'll be using the library nonstop over the next few days.”

“Erm... As a matter of fact, yes.” Twilight Sparkle fidgeted somewhat guiltily, avoiding my gaze. “I fear that it's only safe to say that our lessons in casting protection spells will have to wait for a while, Miss Heartstrings—”

“Nonsense, Twi!” Moondancer leaned back and rested a hoof atop the table. “If Lyra here wants to continue her magical lessons of avoiding bucket water with you, then who am I to trample all over that? The more the merrier! That’s my philosophy!”

“Moondancer, we can’t afford to allow too many distractions,” Twilight began, but was suddenly distracted by something glittering beneath the three of us. She glanced down at Moondancer's limb and gasped. “Oh, Moondancer! That's beautiful!”

“Hmm? What is? My philosophy? You must be getting me mixed up with Aristrotle.”

“No, that hooflet! Are those real ingots of silver?”

Moondancer blinked, glanced down at the shiny band around her hoof, then rolled her eyes above a pair of rosy cheeks. “Mmmmmm-yeah. Spared no expense. Pretty stuff, huh?”

“Wherever did you get that?”

“A more pertinent question would be whoever gave it to me.”

Twilight did a double take, then grinned slyly. “Moondancerrrr...”

“Heeheehee—What?”

“What's his name? Is it Starflare? The astronomy professor from your same building?”

“Hmmmmm... Maaaaaaaaybe...”

“How long have you two been going out?”

“Long enough to start going in.”

Twilight Sparkle almost choked on her own tongue.

“Heeheehee...” Moondancer hugged herself, losing oxygen from laughter. She leaned over and patted a blushing Twilight on the shoulder. “How I always forget that you're attached to the hip of a princess...”

“I... I had no idea, Moondancer...”

“Now you've got a pretty good idea. Perhaps it makes sense where I get the wherewithal to deal with so many delinquents in my class. I'm in a pretty happy place these days, Twi. Silver hooflets aren't enough to convey what a daily romantic stroll by the campus lake feels like.”

“I'm very happy for you, Moondancer. If Starflare is as handsome as he is intelligent in the letters you've written back to me...”

“You know what they say about stallions with big brains.”

“No?” Twilight blinked.

Moondancer blinked for a few spaces in time, then groaned. She decided to smile and lean across the table. “Soooooo, what about you? Has the radiant and aloof apprentice to the Princess met her very special somepony yet?”

Twilight's cheeks went red as she ran a hoof through her bangs. “Moondancer, how many times have I told you to knock that off?”

“Whaaaat?” Her eyes fluttered. “You've made a bunch of friends to write home about.”

“Yes, but—”

“I hoped you’d have met a stallion to write a novel about!” She winked. “A steamy one at that!”

“Moondancer! We're...” Twilight clenched her teeth, ducked her head low to the table, and hissed. “This isn't the time nor the place!”

“You still don't get out enough, Twi! Otherwise you'd know it is always the time and the place!” She smirked my way. “Let this be a lesson to you, Miss Heartstrings. Never let magic be your mate, or else you'll always be having dinner alone.”

I chuckled. “To each their own, Ms. Moondancer.”

“Pfft. Did I drop in on Sugarcube Convent?! It's still summer, in my book! Love's in the air! Take a good whiff, girls!”

“I'm just not ready for that kind of a life, Moondancer,” Twilight said. “I've got research to do, books to translate, spells to harness...”

“And why do them all alone, Twi-girl?”

Twilight sighed. She smiled happily into the shadows of the place. “Still, the thought is certainly... appealing.” She gulped. “I doubt I'll ever meet a 'Mister Perfect'. But a 'Mister Polite' sounds manageable.”

“Who would do the managing, I wonder?” Moondancer remarked, and merely giggled when Twilight blushed again. She looked my way. “How about you? Got a knight in shining armor with a thing for mares getting doused with buckets of water?”

I couldn't contain my laughter, though it was a dry, breathless thing. Here I was, sitting with two shades from my childhood. They were right in front of me, and yet so far away. My heart leaped to tell them of so many impossible things, things that I had let go to waste in the years that I could afford to bridge the distances between us. And then there were new things, some glorious, some horrifying, and how I wished so terribly that they would be there to hold me, to listen to me, to become one with my sobbing, laughing, screaming, giggling spirit. I thought of the elegies, I thought of the cabin, I thought of my music, I thought of Morning Dew...

“I've not been here in Ponyville long enough to... to make anything of it,” I finally said in a wavering tone. I cleared my throat and uttered more strongly, “But if I could live here, I'd make as many friends and family as I could.” I gazed lovingly at them. “And I'd never let them go.”

“Awwww...” Twilight Sparkle hugged herself as she stared back at me. “Why don't you consider doing that, Miss Heartstrings? You'd be a lovely addition to this town.”

My first impulse was to shoot that comment down—as I had trained myself over a year of cursed conversations to dismiss such personal remarks. What came out of my lips, however, was empowered by the foal who used to play the role of Starswirl the Bearded with these two fillies.

“You really think so...?”

“If anything, you could give the farm air around here something nice to dance to,” Moondancer said. “Tell me, do you actually play any instruments or do you just write compositions?

“Oh! I play!” I said with a bright expression. “I'm not exactly a prodigy, but I like to think I carry a tune pretty well.”

“Well, if there’s anything I respect, it’s a mare who holds her own.” Moondancer smiled, her dazzling teeth showing. “You got a sample for us?”

“Heehee...” I felt bubbly inside, to say the least. “I never thought you'd ask, Moondancer! As a matter of fact...” My horn glowed as I pivoted my head to gaze down at my saddlebag. I opened the pouch and lifted the golden lyre out. “I have this tune that I've been working on lately. I was actually hoping to share it with Miss Sparkle, but since the two of you are both here for this little 'reunion,' I don't see why I can't...” My voice came to a stop. My eyes twitched, as if navigating a fog. But it was only a series of cold vapors billowing out from my lips. “I... I... uhh...”

“Oh, hey! Look at this, Twi-girl!” Moondancer giggled and pointed across the table. “Dessert and a performance! I take everything I said back! Supercute Court is a lot cooler than I thought!”

“Sugarcube Corner,” Twilight corrected, rubbing her head as if coming out of a stormy migraine. “Nnngh...” She gave me one glance, and tiredly smiled. “Well, hello there. Is Mrs. Cake hiring minstrels now?”

“Uhm...” I gazed at her, at the dullness in her eyes, and the trace amounts of joy that was spilling out, only to be absorbed by the pale pony next to her. I looked at Moondancer, who was as bright and enthusiastic as when she first arrived. Her face was still a snapshot from my childhood, a photograph I could no longer afford to share space in. “I was just about to... to...”

Twilight and Moondancer smiled. They could just as well have been looking straight down a deep, dark well. With each blink, I felt like they were shrinking away a mile per second. I was afraid the next twitch of the eye would cast them into blackness forever.

So I turned away. “I was just leaving. I... I-I didn't mean to take this seat. I thought it was unoccupied.”

“It's alright,” Twilight said softly. “It's not like it's reserved or anything—”

“Well, actually, we kind of have some catching up to do and stuff,” Moondancer interjected. “Still, that's a wicked-awesome instrument you got there, girl. You should let us hear it sometime!”

“Maybe... Maybe someday you can—erm... will hear it...” I shuddered, bagged the lyre away, and sniffled. “Uhm... If you'll b-both excuse me.” I made sure that my exit wasn't a gallop, but that's the least I could say about my grace. I nearly bumped into Mrs. Cake along the way. She carried three sundaes atop a tray positioned on her spine.

“Here we go, girls!” She placed the tray down, then paused with a nervous double-take. “Oh dear. There are only two of you. How'd I mess that up...?”

“Hey, who’s complaining?! I can live on one and a half sundaes! What about you, Twi?”

“Heh, sure, Moondancer. But...”

“But what?”

“Funny. I... uh, I don't know how to say this but—I don't have any bits on me.”

“Ughhh—Should have known, girl! Heehee... If your head wasn't attached to your neck—”

“Hey! What's that supposed to mean?”

“Hehehehe—No matter. Mrs Cake, was it?”

“Mmmhmm.” The old mare nodded.

“Right.” Moondancer smiled and slapped the golden coins atop the table. “Here you go, all my bits. I hope it makes up for Twilight's stinginess as well.”

“Grrrr...” Twilight steamed.

“Egads, you're so cute when you're steaming.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Twilight's expression was halfway between a glare and a smile.

“Tell me all about your plans for the Grand Galloping Gala.”

“Oh yes! But... Uhm... Didn’t I write you about that? No? Ahem. Well, as you know the Gala is in four weeks. But it so happens that over a year ago, right after arriving in Ponyville, I received an advanced ticket. But I wasn’t the only one. It’s actually kind of an interesting story. You see, I was originally given two tickets, and I happened to be harvesting fruit with Applejack on the afternoon when I physically got Celestia’s invitation...”

When I stumbled into the cabin an hour later, I remembered what my home was. I remembered the lonesome shadows of countless musical instruments dangling off the walls above me. I remembered the layers of dust collecting on my journal and music sheets. I remembered the ashes of the fireplace and how they would sing to me.

I dropped my saddlebag unceremoniously to the floor, took two hoofsteps, and utterly collapsed into my cot. There, I buried my face into the sheets. My eyes were clenched shut. I didn't want to be awake. I didn't want to see any light, for fear that my mind would form the shapes of Moondancer's grinning teeth or Twilight's blushing face. I could still hear their voices—their giggles and their teasing tones—haunting me between the shuddering breaths that echoed against the claustrophobic wooden walls.

I think that every ghost that haunts a place is too busy frightening her own self, for what is more horrifying than the vacant spaces of her past? What she's lost only reminds her that there are so many more things to lose grip of, until she loses grip of herself.

Seeing Moondancer and Twilight Sparkle in one room, hearing their combined giggles and voices...

I didn't think there were any parts of me left to be destroyed. The very moment my curse kicked in at Sugarcube Corner, it was an act of deliverance. If I had stayed in that library any longer, serenaded by their melodic cheers, there would have soon been no single thread left of me.

Then why was it that—as hard as I tried—I couldn't cry?

I took a deep breath and turned over in my bed, my dry eyes following the wooden crossbeams of the cabin ceiling. I was smiling. I had to have been insane. What pony in my position, who's gone through what she's gone through, comes out of a meeting like that with only a grin?

I've been through a great deal of trials and tribulation, yes. But to think that not one but two of my best friends from foalhood would be in the same room as me, if even for a single day...

Blessed Celestia....

I just couldn't imagine how lucky I was. In the midst of so much loneliness and bleak desperation, an estranged soul from the past had bridged an impossible gap and blessed my life. I had forgotten how much I adored Moondancer, how much I cherished her lively demeanor, how much I enjoyed being challenged by her brazen speech and unorthodox sensibilities. Where Twilight Sparkle was a rock of emotional and intellectual support, Moondancer was a living spark, a burst of energy that reminded me of the joys of existence in such a cold, cold world. And to have both of them once again in the same place...

Finally, the tears came, and they were some of the warmest I've had the pleasure of being scalded with in months. I reached over and hugged my pillow to my chest and hummed into a delicious cloud that had engulfed me.

I had been blessed.

Yes, in the middle of such misery, I had been blessed to re-experience a piece of my past, a piece of myself. It felt as if parts of me were coming together again. I didn't care if they wouldn't remember me; I remembered them.

I loved them. They were both alive and well. So long as I had a chance to witness their happiness—even as a complete stranger—I knew that all was right in the world, a world that belonged to them though it was mine no longer.

Perhaps I had been looking at Nightmare Moon's curse and Princess Luna's elegies in the wrong light. What if there was indeed a purpose to my being there? What if I was the one soul in all of history meant to perform some sort of sacred journey? It was as if the cosmos had appointed me a lonesome monk, destined to uncover some holy orchestra. I had been so faithful for so long—was I finally being rewarded? I had paid my respects to Caramel. I had even used one of the elegies to save Scootaloo from certain death. Was Moondancer's visit payment for being a good servant to forces unseen?

It hardly made sense, but I hardly cared. And what was more, Moondancer was going to be there for three weeks. Three weeks. I had every opportunity to repeat the events of that day, no matter how bleak. There was bliss to be had.

A giggle escaped my lips, like an immortal club of three foals I had once been proud to partake in. I hugged the pillow to my chest as I clutched those memories, buffered by the delightful events of the day.

I was happy.

“'And so I, Princess Celestia, hereby decree,'” Twilight says, her high-pitched voice echoing across the lengths of a colorful blanket tent lit up with rose-colored flashlights, “'That the building of thinking machines shall be expressively forbidden in Equestria, or else they might grow smart enough to mimic pony ambition and try to take over the world!'”

“'How wise of you, fair princess!'” I exclaim while performing a heroic bow with my stubby legs. “'As Sorceror Supreme of the Bearded Guild, I shall uphold your wise and holy law!'”

“Can't we at least have one robot around?” Moondancer suddenly speaks out of place, poking her head in from outside the tent. Bright violet eyes reflect the flashlight as she smiles and chirps, “That way we'd have somepony around to polish our tiaras! Somepony made of metal!”

“Moondancerrrr—” Twilight protests in a whining voice.

“Shhhhhh! I'm Luna, remember?”

“Ahem. 'Princess Luna! It is daytime! Shouldn't you, dearest sister, be in hibernation until it's time to raise the moon?'”

“Hey, it's my royal palace too!” Moondancer frowns and folds her forelimbs in a pout. As she does so, the star-lit lengths of my bedroom stretch behind her, illuminated in remote places by nightlights shaped like musical notes. “How come Starswirl gets to be in all the meetings with you!”

“Becaussssse...” Twilight makes a face as she explains the obvious, “He's a mortal unicorn, and unicorns do everything in the daytime just like earth ponies and pegasi!”

“Well no wonder I rebelled against you!”

“Shhhhhh! We haven't gotten to that part yet!”

“Why don't I get ponies to serve me in the nighttime?”

“You get your royal guard! That's fun, right?”

“Ew! But they got icky bat-wings!” Moondancer's eyes light up. “Why can't I have some robots!”

“You can't have robots! Didn't you just hear us?”

“Uhhh... I'm 'asleep,' remember?”

“Nnngh—I'm outlawing thinking machines!”

“Why?”

“Because they're dangerous!”

“Why?”

“Because ponies should be wise enough to rely on their own magic and strength—”

“Boooooorinnnnng!” Moondancer rolls her eyes, then hops in place, shaking the whole tent. “I know! I'll make an army of robots and we'll build a bridge to the moon so ponies can go there and serve me whenever I like cuz there's no day or night on the moon!”

“You can't do that!” Twilight gasps as if a mortal sin has just been committed. “That isn't historically accurate!”

“So what?”

“So what?!” Twilight rummages through a pile of stuffed animals to display a book checked out from the Canterlot Library this very evening. “It's written right here in the Chronicles of the Neo-Classical Era that robots were lawfully forbidden immediately following the tragic events of the Coltlerian Jihad—”

“I want my robots to come with mana-lasers!” Moondancer trots gaily around us in a military march. “'Onward, our mechanical friends! Princess Luna doth commandeth thee to pew-pew in the moon's name! For we hath given thee license to maketh things explode for our glory!'”

“There will be no explosions! Come on, Moondanc—”

“Lunaaaaaa.”

“You're supposed to be a princess!”

“And it's my duty as princess to protect this land with our robot army! 'Come with us, sister! Our minions shalt help us fight back the evil Smooze!'”

“There's no such thing as Smooze!”

“Yuh huh!”

“Nuh uh! You just made that up!”

“Heehee! And so what? We're playing pretend, remember?”

“But we're supposed to be the princesses! The royal sisters would never blow stuff up at random!”

“They would if they were fighting off horrible, soul-eating Smooze!”

“Nuh uh!” Twilight glares at Moondancer.

“Uh huh!” Moondancer smirks back at Twilight.

“Nuh uh!” Twilight snarls.

“Uh huh!” Moondancer growls.

“Nuh—”

“'Your royal highnesses!'” I jump between them, fighting to keep my fake, furry beard hanging around my neck as I plant a hoof into each of their chests. “'This is most unbecoming of you! You're royal sisters! You're all that remains of the Cosmic Matriarch's glorious legacy! Tell me, is this how she would have her daughters govern Equestria in her absence?'”

“Hmmmph...” Moondancer folds her limbs and blows air out of the corner of her muzzle. “No...”

“She'd want us to get along,” Twilight mutters.

“'Then let me declare today a holiday!'” I say with a smile. “'As leader of the Bearded Guild, I've been granted authority to rename days of the year. I shall call this day 'Happy Sisters Day'. And from this day forth, it will be the day that sisters remember how much they love each other and decide to get along!'”

Moondancer and Twilight shift awkwardly.

“That sounds stupid,” Moondancer says.

“Besides, September is the month for family appreciation, not July,” Twilight explains. “Everypony knows that.”

“'Then we'll change it when next year comes around!'” I say with a smirk. I look towards Twilight. “'Your Highness, if I may be so bold as to suggest, could a robot be made of steam? Surely a machine of such simple build would be capable of menial tasks without becoming smart enough to turn on its owners.'”

“Hmmm...” Twilight leans back with a scholarly smirk and eventually nods. “'Yes, I do believe that would be acceptable,'” she says in an authoritarian voice.

I glance Moondancer's way. “'And Princess Luna, could fighting the Smooze wait until after your robots help Princess Celestia finish building Canterlot Castle?'”

She gasps with a bright grin. “Could they use their lasers to carve the moat?!”

“Heeheehee...” Twilight leans forward excitedly. “I'll even show them where to aim the mana-crystals!”

“Yaaaay! Let's blow up some dirt!”

“Ahem.” Twilight points a sparkling baton in my direction. “'Starswirl the Bearded, for your infinite wisdom and calmness of mind, I appoint thee head of the robot committee.'”

“Yeah, Starswirl,” Moondancer winks. “Way to use your whiskers. 'Our moon shineth on thou'... erm... and stuff.”

I smile proudly while bowing low. “'It is my honor, your highnesses, to serve you until the end of my days.'”

“Yeah, whatever.” Moondancer rubs her hooves toether “Let's build us a robot castle!”

“I'll show you where the moat goes!” Twilight hops about.

“Hey, what about torches? It'd look really cool if we lit the place up at night.”

“We'd need to fetch some coal first.”

“Coal? How?”

“'Use your horn, little sister, it's what the Cosmic Matriarch gave you to sculpt the moon with.'”

“Ah yes, but of course. 'We thanketh thee, wise and beloved Celestia.'”

I sit in my corner of the tent as they scramble around my bedroom, “grabbing supplies.” Outside, the stars are a galaxy away, but I swear the cosmos are glittering right in front of me. I smile, for I do not want this sleepover to end.

Two days had passed. I could barely keep myself in my cabin. I had to know more about Moondancer's and Twilight's project. I had to see them again. I had to hear them again.

I woke up each morning with my mind clear. I couldn't even hear the elegies in my head if I tried. The world was no longer cold; I almost considered stripping clean of my hoodie. Instead, I decided to express my cheer in a different way. I donned Rarity's fantastic red sweater and made my way into town. Ponies smiled and waved at this exuberant, brightly dressed stranger as she trotted energetically through the streets. I smiled back at them. I hummed a tune. I smiled as I heard Morning Dew's voice.

Finally, I made it to the front door of Twilight's library. I had already formulated a plan in my head. I would pretend that I had been sent there on the promise of a scheduled appointment with Twilight for practicing magic. Then, in her usual pensiveness and self-doubt, Twilight would opt to help me regardless of having never met me before. In a way, it felt like a dirty trick on my part, but I couldn't help it. I wanted to see her. I needed to see her. And, if Celestia was my witness, I would make sure she only became happier from the meeting.

I knocked on the door. There was a muffled sound from within. For better or for worse, I assumed it was an invitation, and I opened the door. “Excuse me?” I leaned in with a smile. “Sorry to bother you, but is Miss Twilight Sparkle around? It's approaching one o'clock, and I do believe the Canterlot Magic Commission has sent a note about my—”

“How many times do I have to say it, Moondancer?!” Twilight Sparkle was barking, her mane tussled and frayed at the edges. She sat across a table strewn with a disheveled sea of papers and notes and reference sheets. “You can't assign four field trips! Two is pushing it enough!”

“Pfft!” Moondancer rolled her eyes from where she was lying, reclined lackadaisically, on a bench across from Twilight. “I was about to say that four is too few.”

“You've got to be pulling my tail...”

“I'm only saying that we should promote first-hoof experience with magic!” Moondancer smiled tiredly at her quivering companion. “That's why we send the little scamps on exciting trips! A tour of Whinniepeg's Museum of Lunar Incantation is the best way I can think of opening their eyes to the field of sorcery!”

“Moondancer! Honestly!” Twilight tossed her hooves. “We're setting up a study course here! Not a vacation! Never mind the fact that we couldn't even fund so many field trips! Just how is one pony like Cheerilee even remotely capable of managing that many trips with all the lesson plans she already has on her plate?”

“You're not thinking outside of the box, Twilight. Pfft... as usual!” Moondancer sat up and smiled foalishly at her friend. “Cheerilee's biggest problem is that she's stuck in one place: Ponyville. Have you taken a single look outside this library of yours, girl? Things ain't exactly magical.”

“I don't see your point—”

“The point is, the little foals of this place aren't gonna learn crap about magic so long as they're imprisoned in a one-room school here!” Moondancer stood up and paced about the library. “They need to stretch their legs, explore, get to see the exciting sights of the world, feel what it means to be alive! Trust me! There's no better way to learn!”

“Am I the only one who sees the problem here, Moondancer?” Twilight’s face paled with worry, her eyes soft and pleading. “I can't see how any of these young unicorns' parents could—for one single second—consider signing their kids up for so many trips—”

“Heeheehee... Use your rich noggin', Twi!” Moondancer grinned aside at her. “I'm not suggesting we send the kids off to war or some crud! I'm just thinking that they should get plenty of opportunities to leave the confining walls of a school building and see up close and personal what magical things there are in Equestria!”

“It's too ambitious and too expensive, Moondancer,” Twilight said with a frown. “The sheer days spent in the backs of wagons, trudging from town to town, would be much better spent in the newest printed textbooks on magical enchantment and conjuration.”

“Unnnngh... Give me a break, Twilight!” Moondancer ran a hoof over her face and spun to gawk at her friend. “You think that's gonna change anything?! They're already stuffing their eyeballs with mountains of text! We're trying to get them to learn, not fall asleep!”

“We mustn't lose focus of the goal of this program! Don’t you think?” Twilight exclaimed. “We're trying to provide much-needed information to young fillies—unicorns or otherwise—who've been deprived of magical education for years!”

“And a billion books aren't gonna solve all of that, Twi!” Moondancer paced towards her. “Well, sure, mountains of books worked for you. But you've got a deep mind that's always been a major receptacle for that sort of sheer data-clunkage! I mean—heck—that's why Princess Celestia appointed you as her apprentice and stuff! But these kids? Heh, no offense or anything, Twi, but many of them would rather lay an egg than wear one in place of their head!”

“Well, forgive me for trying to be considerate of their futures!” Twilight said with a frown. “Out there in the competitive world, the demand for magical knowledge is increasing by tenfold every year! These kids are going to grow up as strangers in a world that's far too advanced for them—”

“Okay, now you're just being dramatic—”

“AND—” Twilight continued, pointing firmly with her hoof. “They're not going to be anywhere near competent after spending all of their study time prancing around old historical landmarks! Moondancer, I appreciate your value in history and exposing these foals to it. But let’s be reasonable, okay? Look, I’ll concede: one field trip is fine. One! We can assign them to Whinniepeg! But I really think we should stick to the outline I made yesterday of three reading assignments per week framed around twenty-question homework exercises and graded by a regular series of pop quizzes—”

“Ugh!” Moondancer tossed her mane with a groan. “Twilight, stop thinking like a machine and try to get down to the kids' level!” She smiled and leaned in with an emphatic grin. “The biggest thing I learned after my first five years of being a teacher is that trying to shove a textbook's worth of information into a kid's head is like shoving a round peg into a square hole. And I mean that in the least sexy way possible.”

“Moondancer...” Twilight sighed.

Moondancer's voice rose, “You gotta amaze the kids! You gotta show them how magic is alive and real in this world, and you can't do all of that from a chalkboard! That's why I think—no—that's why I know that we should turn this program into an opportunity to give the kids a time in their lives that they'll never forget! Learning can't be forced, but it sure as heck can be encouraged! What are we doing with each day of our lives if not living and learning at the same time, Twi?”

“I still think you’re going off the deep-end with this, Moondancer. Just be rational! That's all I ask!” Twilight slapped her hoof over a pile of notes. “We've been entrusted with creating a program that is well-structured and easily repeatable for several generations of students to follow! This is no excuse for you to be exercising some radical educational theory! We need something practical—”

“Radical educational theory?!” Moondancer giggled helplessly. “Boy, you have been tutored by a princess! It's cute what words you come up with to describe things you just simply don't agree with.”

“Moondancer...”

“Twilight, I've been teaching for over five years.” Moondancer's violet eyes briefly hardened. Her usual smile was nowhere to be seen in her features. “'Radical' or not, what I'm giving you is the crux of my wisdom and experience. Colorful as it may seem, it's what I know has helped kids in Fillydelphia, and it would certainly help kids here in Ponyville.”

“Does this look like Fillydelphia?” Twilight retorted. “The same rules don't apply here, Moondancer. And if you asked me, I'd say that you weren't taking this program very seriously.”

“Heheheheheh...” Moondancer shook her head and smirked towards the floor.

Twilight frowned. “What is it now?”

“You've really been in this town too long.” Moondancer straightened her mane and gave Twilight a flippant stare. “I think the boring walls of this place have jaded you.”

For a brief moment, Twilight's teeth shone. She slowly rose from her seat. “Now just a minute—”

I cleared my throat.

Both mares turned to look my way. The heat instantly left their faces as they blinked in confusion.

“Er... yes?”

“Can we help you, ma'am?”

I shifted nervously in the doorway. I wished I hadn't brought Rarity's sweater, for suddenly I was feeling like I was being cooked alive. “Uhm...” I smiled under a tiny trickle of sweat. “I'm sorry. I was looking for somepony named Twilight Sparkle to help me with a research project. Did I come at a bad time?”

“Uhm... Yes,” Twilight stammered. “I'm afraid so.”

“Nah, come on in!” Moondancer waved.

Twilight flashed her a look of shock. “Moondancer!” she loudly whispered.

“What?!” Moondancer shrugged.

“Uhhh—We're kind of busy with this project, are we not?”

“And lemme guess, you stopped believing in breaks since you kicked Nightmare Moon's flank? It's already past noon, Twi-girl, we could use a distraction.” She once again motioned towards me. “Seriously. Come on in and introduce yourself—”

“Excuse me? Hello? Is this your library now?”

“No, as a matter of fact...” Moondancer glared at Twilight. “It's the town's library. If I'm not mistaken, you're assigned here to—jee, I dunno—be its librarian? Surely you can afford to help a random pony who needs to check something out.”

Twilight tossed her hooves. A book slapped ineffectually before her pouting figure. “Fine. You're right.” Her voice was curt, unmelodious. “This is a library. Let's treat it as such.”

“Don't take that tone with me, Twilight.” Moondancer's brow furrowed. “Just because I'm the one pony here trying to be nice.”

“You just can't focus on a single thing for any longer than an hour.” Twilight chuckled airily while shaking her head. “There's a reason why I have Spike around. He can take care of the library duties while we work on this program. You're only here for so long—”

“Is that always your solution? Make Spike do all the hard work? I swear—ever since you became an apprentice to Her Majesty, he's been doing overtime!”

“I don't ask him to do anything that he doesn't want to do—”

“And just how can he say 'no' to you? Heck, Twilight, I remember the day you first got him. I never thought he'd become a servant. As a matter of fact, I always thought he was kind of your adopted s—”

“Okay, enough of bringing Spike into this!” Twilight suddenly snapped, her face red.

“And just what is 'this', huh?” Moondancer growled back. “And for your information, I didn't bring Spike into the conversation. You did.”

“I only said that he'd be in charge of library duties so that you and I could maybe—just maybe—focus on this assignment that I invited you over here to begin with—”

“I uhm...” I bit my lip. My whole body was shaking at this point.

Moondancer cleared her voice and expertly tossed a practiced grin at me. “Seriously. I apologize. This library's always opened to the public, even if its librarian has a closed mind. Come on in, ma'am. I'm sure I can look up something for you in this place's catalogue. I mean, that doesn't take too much brainpower, does it?”

Twilight's stool rattled to the floor as she jumped to her hooves and stormed off towards the far end of the treehouse.

Moondancer blinked after her. “And just where are you going?”

“You're right,” Twilight grunted. “We need a break.”

“For crying out loud, I was only—”

“Just be quiet for a little while. Please, Moondancer. I mean it.”

“Twi-girl! Come onnnn...” Moondancer glanced at her, at me, at her... then ultimately decided to scamper after her friend. “What's going on here?! Just loosen up—”

“Oh, you've loosened me up enough as it is. Moondancer—seriously—I just need to... I dunno... do some reading or something.”

“Reading? About what?”

“I don't know! Just reading! It's what I'm good at, remember?”

“Twilight, please, you're making a mountain out of a mole-hill...”

“Am I? This is important to Cheerilee! This is important to the mayor! It may even be important to the Princess—”

“What would Celestia care?! How the heck do you even start connecting those dots?!”

“There's a reason I take things so seriously, Moondancer.”

“Oh really? Tell me! Cuz I'd love to know!”

“Because, if we don't educate these young unicorns, then they stand to risk—”

My friends' words were lost to me, because by then I had stealthily shut the door to the library. I rested against the outside frame, my heart beating. I felt like a worthless scrap of flesh, wrapped in a ridiculously ornate sweater, bathed in sweat and sunlight. Each little vibration that shook through the doorframe only made my heart drop deeper and deeper. If I stayed there any longer, I knew I would just die.

So, trembling, I trotted off, my head hanging by the sheer weight of a lump in the back of my throat.

What was happening to my friends? Was some horrible spell cast on them? Did they start experimenting in some mind-altering enchantment only to have it backfire?

No.

No, I was the only one cursed in Ponyville. At least, that was the one truth I had full assurance of.

But, seriously, what was that just then? I felt as though it all started at some horrible moment, but tragically I hadn't been around to witness the beginning of such a collapse. I felt so utterly clueless. How could I even begin to salvage it?

My only hope—or so I told myself—was to collect my nerves, trot straight around, and find ways to eavesdrop on them. After all, my two friends had reunited for a reason. Why would all three of us be together once again if it weren't for my being able to fatefully save them?

Only, as I would discover, such salvation would not come easily. Day after day, I shadowed them. At the library, pretending to be studying books, I witnessed their haphazard attempt to draft a study plan. In the center of Ponyville, strumming half-heartedly on my lyre, I overheard their voices viciously breaking the tranquil air. On the edges of town hall, when my figure was obscured by a crimson sunset, I saw their faces burning even hotter.

It was a vicious loop; there was no better way to describe it. Moondancer would say something brash. Twilight would attack her for it. Moondancer would go on the defensive while slapping Twilight's good nature with a snide comment. Then Twilight would cross yet another boundary, growing more and more frustrated until she saturated Moondancer with her ire.

To say that this sort of bickering was unbecoming these two would be a lie. But somehow, this was different. This was a place far away from our bedrooms, from our foalhood's side streets, from the courtyards and patios of Canterlot. This was Ponyville, and these two mares were adults. When they got angry, they didn't whine or squeal, they filled the air with a frightening tempest.

“An eighteen page research project?!” Moondancer barked as she stared incredulously at the notes she was flipping through her hooves. Her violet eyes twitched. “You... You...” She almost retched before giving Twilight a terrified look. “Twilight, you can't be serious!”

“I am,” Twilight said without looking back. She flipped through a book of outlines as she sat beside Moondancer on a park bench just twenty feet away from where I was plucking my lyre. “Just as serious as I was when I drafted the plan last night.”

“You wrote all of these notes overnight?!” Moondancer rummaged incredulously through the mountain of sheets. “You mean—like—after our dinner with Rarity in downtown?”

“Yes.”

“Twilight, that was ten o'clock at night! Did you get any sleep?!”

“Enough.” Twilight hummed, squinting at her notes as if Moondancer was only half there. “It doesn't matter. I got done what needed to be done.”

“Twilight, I thought we were going to work on this stuff together!”

“Were we?” Twilight's jaw tightened slightly, but still she didn't look Moondancer's way. “It's already three o'clock in the afternoon and we're just now meeting.”

“What's your point?” Moondancer asked, then shook her head and growled, “Twilight, I thought the idea was for us to work on these assignments together. Y'know? You and me? As a team? How else am I to stop you from going off the deep end!”

“I think I made a very competent research plan.”

“Twilight...” Moondancer waved the infernal sheets of paper for emphasis. “You're asking eight-year-olds to write an eighteen page draft! You... nngh... you gotta think simpler than that.”

“I think I compressed the assignment pretty well, considering...” Twilight's voice trailed off as coldly as her tone.

Moondancer glared. “Considering what? That you were alone all night? Twilight, don't even pretend to guilt trip me over stuff you set upon doing on your own.”

“What choice did I have?”

“If you wanted to work so badly after dinner with Rarity, then you should have just told me—”

“Moondancer, I did tell you!” Twilight finally gave her a look, and it wasn't a happy one. “I told you five times in one day! 'Moondancer, we need to sit down and come up with an adequate research assignment.'”

“Five times, huh? So are we keeping score now?”

“I wish I didn't have to!” Twilight growled. “I wish that when I asked my friend over to work on preparing an important educational program, she wouldn't have disrupted the flow of our concentration by making us have dinner with every pony she sees!”

“Twilight, correct me if I'm wrong, but Rarity is your friend! She made you dresses for this Gala you’re hopping off to in a few weeks! She sounded to me like a very fabulous pony! And if there was one thing I wanted to do when I came here, it was getting acquainted with Rarity and the rest of your new companions!”

“And that's why I set a schedule for that!” Twilight exclaimed. “I told you over a dozen times that I was more than willing to have dinner with Rarity and Fluttershy this Friday! But look at our progress now! It's not even Thursday and already we're insanely behind because you just can't be patient enough! Now we only have two and a half weeks before you have to go back to Fillydelphia!”

“Two and a half weeks—Snkkt—Twi, girl, aren't you jumping the gun just a tad bit?”

“Do you forget who you're talking to?!” Twilight made a face. “I was Princess Celestia's personal scheduler of events two years in a row for a reason!”

“Heheheheh...” Moondancer giggled bitterly.

Twilight frowned. “Now what's so funny?”

“I find it interesting that you want me to rely so much on your experience as a royal scheduler...” She frowned. “When you hardly give a flying feather about my experience as a teacher.”

“Unnngh...” Twilight face-hoofed. “Moondancer...”

“No, really!” Moondancer slapped her hoof across the bundle of notes. “This is gonna be like sending the little foals to the gallows! Maybe if they were in secondary school, sure! But last time I checked, the thickest assignment Cheerilee's ever given them was was a two-page essay for Family Appreciation Day!”

“We're attempting to broaden their minds, Moondancer! If they wish to learn about proper magic, they'll need to learn to work harder!”

“Are we trying to educate them or bludgeon their brains to death?!” Moondancer exclaimed. “I say we make the final project a five-page essay.”

“Five pages?!”

“Do I hear an echo?”

“That's hardly what I call research!”

“And this is what just kills me!” Moondancer barked as she flaunted the papers in disgust. “You think research is going to teach them proper magic! Magic is about creativity and exploring the ethereal nature of our world—”

“It is not!”

“Lemme guess...” Moondancer groaned as her eyes rolled back in their sockets. “Because you're the expert on magic.”

“I am!” Twilight frowned. “Magic is all about careful study, planning, and—most of all—research! If we make children think—if even for a second—that magic is about unchecked exercise of ethereal leylines, then we don't promote proper mana-practice, we're instead planting the dangerous seeds of ambitious sorcery!”

“Oh come off it...”

“I'm serious, Moondancer!” Twilight’s eyes were bright and earnest. “We can't afford to be so flippant about magical arts! Especially with such young and impressionable minds!”

“Heh, when you were their ages, nothing stopped you from experimenting.”

“I learned to properly control my magic after reading extensively on the subject! You think a fifteen page essay is asking a lot? I was writing fifty-page reports at age eight! I didn't discover my talents for magic by cutting corners and being careless!”

“Oh please, Twi-girl, come off your high... your high... you know what! Heh! You've zapped your parents into potted plants at least once or twice—”

“How is that even remotely making a point?” Twilight barked back. “And just what were you doing at that exact same time, Moondancer? If you had researched magic even half as often as I did at that time, you'd be—”

“I'd be what?” Moondancer flashed her a pathetic smirk. “A close-minded, book-hungry, uptight, workaholic insomniac like you? I don't know what kind of future Ponyville has, but I'm not here to turn these kids into marching doppelgangers of you. I've been a teacher long enough to know it's really, really stupid to extend one's ego into the curriculum.”

“How... H-how...” Twilight's jaw dropped in shock. “How could you even possibly think that that's what I'm...?” She blinked and turned her head to follow Moondancer’s moving body. “And just where are you going?”

“Anywhere. I do my best thinking while walking,” Moondancer grumbled. “Maybe I'll come up with my own final project idea. Why not? You did so wonderfully by your lonesome.”

Twilight sighed long and hard. “Moondancer, please. I’m sorry. Really. Let’s... Let’s just talk about this...”

But she was already gone. Twilight groaned and hung her face in her hooves. Several yards behind her, I did my futile best to keep a steady melody going.

The next day, in Sugarcube Corner, Moondancer was sitting at a table by herself. With a gentle glow of telekinesis, she was scribbling careful calligraphy onto a sheet of paper. Her eyes were thin, bored, and devoid of excitement. She yawned once or twice, then rubbed the back of her head while her ears tried flicking loose the noise of so many patrons seated all around her.

The place was quiet, save for a gentle murmur of calm, happy conversations. All of this shattered in an instant, though, as soon as the front doors to the place flew open and a noticeably angry Twilight Sparkle stomped directly to the table, slapping down a notepad in front of her foalhood friend.

“Moondancer, what in the hay is this?!” Twilight demanded, pointing offensively at the notepad.

Moondancer sighed. Then, with monumental strength, she tossed a grin up at Twilight. It cut the air with razor-sharp sarcasm, as did her voice, “This is a table for one, but I'm guessing that just rocks your boat all the same.”

“Don't be coy. I meant this!” Twilight shoved her hoof towards the notepad. “A plan to hire three assistant teachers from Trottingham—are you joking?”

“If I was joking,” Moondancer muttered, “I would have thrown in more references to flanks and hoof-tacks.” She blinked. She then lethargically chuckled for what it was worth.

That only enraged Twilight all the more. “Moondancer, there's no way Cheerilee could afford to hire that much outside help!”

“It's a heck of a lot more affordable than the field trips, and everypony knows how much you hated those.”

“Moondancer, are you even trying anymore?!” Twilight Sparkle breathlessly exclaimed. “How many times do I have to tell you that we've got to get the lesson plan finalized before we can even talk about additions to the faculty—” She stopped in mid-speech, her eyes fixated suddenly on the letter half-written in front of her friend. “What's this?”

“Uhm, it's nothing. I was just—”

“I mean it! Who're you writing to?” Twilight forcibly yanked the letter across the table with telekinesis.

“Hey!” Moondancer gawked, frowning. “Miss Grabby Hooves! What gives?”

“This...” Twilight's eyes squinted over the paper. “This is addressed to the Whinniepeg Community Organizer...” The more she read, the more her jaw dropped in shock. “'...I humbly request an audience with the director of the Whinniepeg Education Commission in regards to scheduling a function at the Museum for Lunar Incantation...'” Her eyes slowly tilted back up and her brow furrowed. “You... You're trying to set up the field trip...”

“Nnngh...” Moondancer rolled her eyes. “Look, Twilight...”

Twilight frowned. “You were about to go over my head!”

“I was simply trying to open communication...” Moondancer blushed and glanced around the room. “You know... mmmm... in the event that you might end up considering my proposal—”

“We're supposed to be working on this—deciding on this—as a team!” Twilight's voice cracked as it grew louder, gathering the nervous attention of many seated patrons around the eatery. “How could you possibly think that we'd both be in agreement over this!”

“I'd had hoped you would keep an open mind!”

“About you going over my head?!” Twilight tossed the letter onto the table in front of her. “Moondancer, how could you?”

Something twitched in Moondancer's eyes. She slowly crumpled the paper up. Tossing it aside, she rose her voice like a growling cat’s. “No, I wasn't going over your head, Twilight.” Fuming, she icily stood up and glared at her friend from across the table. There might as well have been an ocean between them. “You know why? Because there's no friggin' way anypony in the history of Equestria could possibly fathom scaling a head as big and full as yours!”

“Please!” Twilight rolled her eyes. “Spare me—”

“Spare yourself!” Moondancer snarled. “You need to hear this!” Her eyes narrowed as she pointed an accusatory hoof. “Ever since I came here, you've been nothing but an overbearing pain in the butt! Which shouldn't come as a surprise, since you've always had something of a pathetic chip on your shoulder.”

“Oh great,” Twilight laughed bitterly. “I'm being preached to by the class jester.”

“At least when I went to school, I was living it up!” Moondancer grinned just as plastically. “Sure, I wasn't earning perfect grades all the time like you! But I wasn't chaining my brain to some goddess-forsaken books twenty-four-seven either! You know why?”

“Educate me.”

“Oh, I will!” Moondancer gnashed her teeth and pointed at herself, “Because I knew that there was more in life than reading and studying! Growing older doesn't mean you gotta stop having fun! I earned my cutie mark because I realized that teaching means dazzling your kids just as much as it means informing them!”

“Is that why you're stuck teaching general history and intermediary economics at a low tier campus in central Fillydelphia?”

“Hey! At least I'm earning my teacher's desk! With each passing year, I'm climbing higher!”

“You could have had it so much better, Moondancer! If only you were more serious and studious from the get go!”

“Oh, that's some rich advice right there!” Moondancer cackled. “Coming from the one mare in all of Equestria who's had everything hoofed to her from royalty!”

Twilight's eyes flared. “And what's that supposed to mean?”

By this time, Mrs. Cake had quietly strolled across the tense room of blinking faces. “Ahem... uhm...” She paused, gnawing on her lip to nervously entreat Twilight in a whispering voice. “Miss Sparkle? If... uhm... if you and your friend wouldn't mind taking this conversation outside of m-my establishment...”

That seemed to calm Twilight somewhat. With a sigh, she nodded towards her. “I'm so sorry, Mrs. Cake,” she said in a low voice. “You're right. We shouldn't be—”

“No! Please!” Moondancer grinned devilishly. The tips of her pale ears were burning red as she pointed a shaking hoof at her friend before folding her forelimbs. “She likes berating my teaching career in public! Let's let her finish it, shall we? Go on and tell all your lovely neighbors of Ponyville just what you think of me, Twi!”

Twilight fumed, struggling to keep everything behind an icy glare. “I apologize, Moodancer. I shouldn't have made a scene. Let's just go back to the library and—”

“And what? Guilt trip me over and over again with your pathetic attempts at moral pretense?”

“Ladies, please,” Mrs. Cake nervously interjected. “If you could just—”

Moondancer spoke louder, glaring steadily at Twilight. “So what if I was going over your head?! I would have gotten a heck of a lot more done on this project on my lonesome without having to be roadblocked by all of your redundant little needs to double-check and overanalyze everything!”

“You just never grew up, did you, Moondancer?” Twilight gave her a look of pity. “Even when we were little foals, you could never wait for a single second without doing something impulsively and deciding later to call it a 'wise choice.' Just how high do your students score in their aptitude tests these days, Moondancer? Don't bother answering. I've checked.”

“Oh did you now—?”

“And if you think that is the kind of result you're proud of achieving, then I feel almost as sorry for them as I do for you—”

I wasn't entirely sure what Moondancer's response to that was. The growling tone in her voice made the words difficult to discern, as did the rattling of the wooden table she bumped into while literally jumping towards her accuser. Soon, the two mares were practically hissing in each other’s muzzles. Mrs. Cake found herself awkwardly sandwiched in the middle of them. The entire room was awash in blank faces, wide eyes, and even a few trembling foals. And I...

I had stopped playing my lyre five minutes ago. My hooves were pressed so tight to the surface of the table, I was certain cracks would form. My shoulders quivered. My knees shook. I tried my hardest to stay there, to remain a pointless piece of the background's detritus, but I couldn't. I knew my role. I knew my place, and it certainly wasn't sitting there, facing away from my friends.

The world spun around my numb body. I realized I was getting up and trotting towards them. With more courage than a Canterlot guard, I planted myself firmly between the two enraged ponies.

“Look—Look!” I raised my voice, surprised at how silent the room became as soon as my echoes danced off the walls. I gulped, glanced at the two mares, and uttered, “You two obviously have a lot of rough edges that are bumping into each other. But, if I may be so bold, I imagine you two have a lot of history. Is your mutual past so frivolous that you can ignore it by turning into utter brutes in front of everypony?”

“Ma'am, you don't need to get yourself involved with this—” Twilight quietly began.

“Mind your own beeswax, lady!” Moondancer was Moondancer.

Twilight frowned over my shoulder at her. “Hey! Just because you're angry with me doesn't mean you have to be rude to her—”

“This is Ponyville, huh?!” Moondancer laughed coldly over my other side. “Odds are that she's on your side—”

“I'm not on anypony's side, Moondancer!” I snapped at her.

She blinked and gave me a double-take. “How do you know my—?”

I spun and frowned at Twilight. “And you, Miss Sparkle: haven't you learned enough lessons in your fourteen-plus months of living here to know the value of patience and compromise?”

“I... it...” Twilight's face was more scrunched in confusion than in anger. “How could you possibly know what I've learned or haven't learned? Just who are you?”

“A know-it-all who makes assumptions of what's right or wrong?” Moondancer chuckled. “Hahaha—If I didn't know better, Twilight, I'd say she takes after you!”

“All I know is this!” I flashed Moondancer a furious look. “Somepony should grow up!” I gave Twilight an equally sharp glance. “And another pony should loosen up!” I raised my forelimbs harmlessly between us. “It's that easy! Isn't it?”

“Dear Luna, I've marched right into a stage-play...” Moondancer groaned.

“Isn't it?!” I growled.

“What have I said about saying Princess Luna's name in vain!” Twilight snapped past me.

“Will you ever stop being my mother for just once?!” Moondancer returned just as venomously.

“I remember your mother very well! She practically spoiled you!”

“And yours smothered you!”

“I was taught what it means to become a disciplined scholar!”

“I was shown what it means to embrace life!”

“Girls... please...” I gulped. I shivered, and yet this heated debacle was slipping faster and faster from my trembling hooves... from my breaking heart. “Just... Just calm down. We are.... You are such good friends...”

“Ma'am...” Mrs. Cake leaned in and hushedly whispered to me. “I really don't think you're helping this any...”

I sweated. I convulsed. I glanced out the corner of my eyes. Everypony in the room was looking past me, through me, their eyes locked on the only two souls that mattered, the souls that were just about ready to tear each other to bits.

And it was then that I realized, like a cold blanket of ice being draped over my insides, far more chilling than any curse could have afflicted me...

I realized that Twilight, Moondancer, and I were the best of friends in our foalhood. We had our ups and our downs, but somehow our bond kept going strong. Twilight's seriousness was an opposite balance to Moondancer's carefree spirit. But that balance had a fulcrum. Whenever fillies dressed as Celestia or Luna would come to odds, Starswirl the Bearded was always magically there with his well-placed wisdom to talk some sense back into the royal sisters.

But this was different. This was Ponyville. These friends of mine were mere shadows of a brilliant childhood, cast by a glowing innocence that was now as mysterious and incorporeal as the forgotten night-lights that had once lined my bedroom in another lifetime, in another world, in another universe.

This was Ponyville. And I was not there.

I was not there....

Oh dear Celestia...

“Pl-please...” I stammered, my lips fighting to remain as steady as my lungs. “Twilight... Moondancer... listen to me...”

They didn't. How could they? Who was I?

“You never grew up!” Twilight shouted. “You're just the same silly foal who always wanted her way! I don't know how I ever tolerated your craziness when I was little, but I sure as hay don't need it now!”

“And you're still the stuck-up smarty-pants who always got her way!” Moondancer howled back. Sugarcube Corner shook as with a million earthquakes, and I was the only one who felt like collapsing. “Quite frankly, I pity you! All those years you could have enjoyed yourself, and instead you enslaved yourself to books and ancient magic tricks and all the dusty tomes of ponies long dead!”

“At least I was making something of myself! What were you doing in your time?”

“I was doing what you should have done long ago!” Moondancer exclaimed. “I was going outside! I was making friends!”

“Hey! I have friends too! It may have taken me longer, but I learned how to open up!”

“At least I found my friends the hard way!” Moondancer said, her face briefly quivering as if from a labor pain. “I went out into the world! I took risks! I made mistakes, sure, but I'm a better pony because of it! Can you say the same?”

“I... well...”

“Can you?!” Moondancer glared. “You're so big on learning! So tell me how come you can get wonderful things so easily and then pretend to tell yourself you're smarter from it!”

“What are you even going on about?” Twilight exclaimed breathlessly.

“Oh please, not all of us make friends cuz of some magical connection to the Elements of Heaven!”

“Harmony.”

“Whatever! If I were you, Twilight, I wouldn't even begin to judge others on friendship after receiving my companions as a consolation prize from the fates!”

There was a thunderous sound. Twilight's nostrils flared as she slapped both hooves atop the table, rattling Moondancer's letters to the floor. “That's it! Leave!”

“Excuse me?” Moondancer chuckled incredulously.

“You heard me! G-get out of here!” Twilight was shaking all over. Her voice was cracking as moisture collected in the corners of her eyes. “I don't want you anywhere near my friends!”

“Oh ho hoooo!” Moondancer paced coldly around the table, dramatically tossing her mane. “How dare I trounce upon Twilight's holy stomping grounds, the sacred soil of Ponyville! Did you earn this place as easily as you earned your friends! If so, then no wonder this town needs a study course in sorcery so badly! Who would have thought that the Element of Magic had such a hollow spark to it?!”

“Just... just...” Twilight was hyperventilating, her face pale as she stared blankly through the table. “Pl-please leave...”

“Come on, Twilight!” Moondancer growled. Her eyes were aflame. “You're smarter than this! Look at the big picture!” She gestured wildly towards the surroundings. “Over a year spent practicing the same old magic and the same old incantations in the center of some stuffy library in Ponyville?!” Her face briefly retched before she hissed, “You haven't learned didley squat about friendship! The only reason Princess Celestia accepts all of the inane letters you send to her is because she coddles you! She always has! Equestria's most gifted magician, my flank! You silly... misguided... child!”

Bright lavender light flared in the center of the eatery. Ponies gasped and flinched. Twilight was glaring at Moondancer, and her eyes were glowing hotly as she jerked towards her.

Moondancer likewise dashed forward—

“Stop!” I bellowed, suddenly in between them, planting a hoof against the napes of both mares' necks. “I mean it!” I glared daggers before deflating with a sad sigh. “Just... stop it, both of you.” I gulped, entreating whatever was left of my friends. “Stop.”

Twilight slowly panted. Her eyes stopped glowing, revealing twin rivers of tears rolling down her cheeks.

I turned to look at Moondancer. All the anger was gone in her eyes. She looked suddenly as if she had taken a bullet to the chest, but couldn't determine if the projectile had entered or exited.

Maybe it had done both. Twilight slumped to a stool, staring at the floor. Moondancer shuffled about, before running a hoof through her mane, turning around, and trotting defeatedly out the exit of Sugarcube Corner. Everypony was quiet. You could hear the heartbeats like crickets in the distance, becoming one with every wall that was gradually shrinking away from me and where I stood.

I wondered if this is how the end of every battle feels, when the violence is over and every side realizes that nothing could ever have been won, because their can never be victory in collapse: only heartache. I tried to ignore the ghostly sounds of Moondancer's shuffling hooves as she left. I even did my best to ignore the choking gasps of Twilight's quiet sobs as she hung her face in a pair of hooves.

The only thing that shook me out of my stupor was the sound of Mrs. Cake's hooftrots, as the noble mare walked silently away from the eye of the dissipated storm, reminding me just how lonely and ineffectual I was...

And how I would forever be.

Then, the shivers returned.

The cold chills dragged me out of Ponyville, down dirt paths through the woods, and into the rattling shell of my wooden cabin. As soon as the door shut behind me, I couldn't stop moving. I couldn't stop pacing. I couldn't stop panting.

I spun circles in the room. I felt like my beating heart was going to leap out of my eyes. I gnashed my teeth and paused before the hearth, leaning my horn against the brick-laid fireplace. The whole world shook, wobbled, and then bowled.

Somepony was screaming. I watched in a lurched gasp as my saddlebag was tossed against the wall. Musical instruments fell in a rain of noise and chaotic crescendo. A flute shattered in half and a violin splashed in a spray of wooden splinters. I trounced through it, I kicked the pieces everywhere, the pieces of me, the parts that could still make noise—and all of it yelling.

The air tasted of blood, sweat, and phlegm. There is no scent sweet enough to mask the decay of childhood. I hurled myself into the bloodless wound of some forsaken corpse, and I found my cot waiting for me beneath it all. I curled up on it, hugging my limbs to my chest so that I would stop destroying everything left in the cabin that was still beautiful. A shower of dust and music sheets was raining down on me, sprinkled with the flavorless notes of ice-cold elegies, the only things that bothered to be my companions anymore.

I didn't realize the truth until the tenth heavy blink of my eyes. Yet again, the tears would not come when I wanted them to. There was nothing left to warm me. That's how I knew that I was as cursed as I always imagined myself to be. It wasn't until then that Luna's dagger truly started digging into my back.

It was enough to see a strange town like Ponyville live and die around me. What I didn't need, what I had never asked for, was for Moondancer to arrive and show me just how much of my legacy had died, just how so much of it would stay dead, and just how much everything I had once treasured would never be so pristine again, and all because of one pathetic, missing factor.

And that missing factor was me.

I ran my hooves over my head. The cold was once more unbearable. As always, I wished it would take every waking nerve from me. And yet again, my wish remained unfulfilled.

No single pony is insignificant. Every life is a cornerstone to some unimaginably epic monument. When a pony dies, the entire foundation collapses with her. There are beautiful tragedies happening everyday, gigantic masterpieces of love and beauty that collapse between every waking blink. Very few ponies are cursed to bear witness to such holocausts.

I was one of the few, in fact, the only one. I had been hopeless for so long. But now—and only now—I had become friendless.

I shuddered and buried my face into my sheets as I tried to remember what their laughter sounded like.

No. This was not a blessing.

“It's a good thing you came to me for practice, Miss Heartstrings,” Twilight Sparkle said, her voice droning. She paced slowly around me in a silent shuffle. “A protection spell takes careful concentration to master. It's not something that a unicorn can so easily learn... on her lonesome.”

I had no problem concentrating. I stood in the center of the library, easily erecting the green dome of translucent energy above me. As I performed the buffer, I preoccupied myself with another problem entirely, the true reason for my coming there.

"You look like a pony who's learned many things on her own, Miss Sparkle," I very carefully murmured from where I meditated.

"Hmmm..." Her nostrils flared slightly. Her face was cold, deadpan, and heavy. Her eyes swam across the floor as she trotted towards a convergence of soft shadows. "I suppose I've always had... a singular gift for sorcery." She gulped and continued, "But I've always believed that one's connection to the realm of magic means nothing if one doesn't maintain attachments in this plane..." She came to a stop, her hooves scratching against the wood as she blinked into space. "Such attachments are a worthy challenge." She gnawed on her lip.

I almost ignored my protection field entirely as I stared across the dim library at her. She appeared as one with the streams of dust dancing in the afternoon light from the nearby windows.

"If I may be so bold, Miss Sparkle." I tried to smile. I swore I looked sadder than her. "I know I'm just a student here and now, but you appear as though you've had enough challenges as of late."

Twilight blinked. Slowly, she glanced aside at me. "One doesn't master magic without struggle, Miss Heartstrings."

"Yes," I said with a nod. "But is magic everything?"

She opened her mouth to respond. She lingered, fidgeting. Finally, she blurted, "It's easier. Magic, that is. I used to think it was everything." She stifled a weak sound coming from her throat. "There was... something blissful, and simple about those days that I spent alone, studying, pouring my way through tome after tome of enchantment theory. I don't know if you can understand, but, lonesomeness isn't all that bad if lonesomeness is all you know."

I couldn't help it. My protection field dissolved right then and there. I no longer feared the eighth elegy. "Oh Twilight..." I began with a pained murmur. But before this "stranger" could so much as trot towards her...

There was a knock on the door.

Without thinking about it, Twilight spoke to the air, "Come in."

When she came into the library, I was just as shocked as Twilight was. It had been two days since the incident at Sugarcube Corner, and yet there Moondancer was in the flesh. She didn't give Twilight the opportunity to utter any protest.

"I couldn't leave. Not yet. I... I just needed to..." She stopped, blinked, then gazed my way. There wasn't a single hint of a smirk on Moondancer's lips. I was finally looking into the face of a perfect stranger. "Oh. Uhm... Excuse me."

“No... I... uhm...” I jolted. I had learned by now the true value of being more invisible than a shadow. This whole visit felt like a mistake waiting to happen. I think I needed to be around Twilight more than she needed to be around me. But now? With Moondancer here? “I'm the one who needs to be excused.”

Twilight turned to squint at me. “Miss Heartstrings...?”

“I should have mentioned it earlier!” I said with a hollow chuckle while sliding my body through my saddlebag. “But I have a music lesson scheduled in two hours. Miss Hooves' kid. Uhm...whatshername, 'Disney?'”

“Dinky?”

“Yes, her. Child prodigy, that foal. But I gotta teach her the fine art of... uhm... solo flute blowing. Thank you for your time, Miss Sparkle.” I was already sliding myself away, but I was well out of range of Twilight's or Moondancer's view. Their gazes were locked on each other. I was as confused as I was relieved to see their eyes devoid of malice, instead full of something grand, mysterious, and vacant. I knew that something amazing or horrible or both was about to unfold all at once. So—as stealthily as I could—I cracked the side window to the library open with my telekinesis before slipping out through the front entrance.

Once outside, I flattened myself against the exterior of the treehouse building. Making sure no Ponyvilleans were watching from the street, I slid along the building until I squatted—perfectly hidden—behind a patch of bushes beneath the window that I had just left open.

From there, I could very easily hear every word being murmured between the two. I listened with quiet, lonely shivers.

“Moondancer, I thought... uhm...”

“That I'd be gone by now?”

“Erm... yeah...”

“So did I. I got a train taking me to Fillydelphia in the next hour. But, like I was trying to say, I needed to stop by before I left. After all, it's only the polite thing to do...”

“You wanted to tell me, face to face, that you're no longer on board for designing the study program.”

“Wowsers, you really do know everything, don't you, Twilight?”

“Moondancer...”

“I know! And I'm sorry! I... I just...”

There was a deathly pause.

Finally, Moondancer started over, “No. I'm not sorry. That's just the thing, Twilight. I'm not sorry. I can't even pretend to be. I look at you, I listen to you, and all I hear is a know-it-all. And you know what's the sad thing? I've always felt that way. I know I've always felt that way. Because as far back as I can remember, even as far back as my foalhood, there's always been your higher-than-thou attitude, your incessant need to correct my mistakes, your moralistic obligation to point out how wrong I am about everything I choose to say or do, and—”

“And you can't imagine why, for the life of you, you tolerate such a filly? You don't know why you put up with her, why you hung out with her, why you would play games or go to school with her?”

“I... I guess you just saved me from spilling a lot of hot air.”

“Would you like to do me the same favor, Moondancer?”

“Heh... Like how? By repeating everything you've ever said to my face? Berating me publicly when we're supposed to be having a good time? About how you can't stand how childish I am. About how you think I'm a big baby? About how you think I'm too lazy and goofy and carefree and—”

“Do you even know the way you come across at times, Moondancer? Do you realize how much the things you say can hurt a pony?”

“Do you realize how much you set yourself up to be hurt, Twilight?”

Again, there was silence. After a while, I heard the minute scratching of their hooves. Judging from the echoes, I could tell they were a universe's length from each other.

“Coming to Ponyville was a mistake, Twi. I only have myself to blame. It's yet another lesson I have to learn from doing stupid things, over and over again, and I know you would only agree with me.”

“Moondancer, stop saying—”

“And don't you flippin' try to placate me! Just what are you going to do? Are you going to try to talk some sense into me? Try and save something that's too much of a pain for us to even bother dealing with? Twilight, when we're in the same room together, it's like I'm walking on eggshells, and every little cracking noise bleeds my ears out. I feel like throwing up just thinking about how what I say may or may not flip you off your rocker.”

“Do I really come across as that controlling? Moondancer, if half the ponies I knew around town could somehow get away with being as wild and unpredictable as you—”

“But at least you can hang out with half the ponies around town, Twilight!” Moondancer's voice cracked. “So how come you can't stand to be in the s-same place as m-me?”

The next air of silence was bitter, like salt in the wound.

Moondancer sniffled, and finally bled forth in a wavering voice, “I can't lie, Twilight. You've made me want to snap my horn off in frustration more times than I can count, but at least I have the guts to... to admit when something needs to be b-buried! Something that was so unbelievably cr-crazy to begin with...”

Her voice sniffled a bit more, cast alone in the great void of white noise, until Twilight's breath limped forth for her:

“It's... It's always been this way, hasn't it?” I could almost imagine the gulping motion of her sore throat. “Even as foals, we couldn't stand each other. How did we manage, Moondancer? How did we make it alive into grade school?”

I heard Moondancer chuckle. It was a wet thing, like an arrow wound. “Well, Twilight... I guess children just bounce back to their hooves a lot more easily, huh?” She sniffed one last time and said in a firm voice, “But I can't bounce up from this. Not anymore. It's just... it's just stupid. I know it's stupid. You know it's stupid.”

“But—”

“We can't stand each other. We never could. I don't know... I don't even want to know what made us think that we could.”

Twilight took a long breath. Her hooves shuffled, and I realized she was sliding away from the other mare. “So, this is it, then?”

“Yeah, Twi. Pretty much.”

“I... We could... That is...” Twilight's voice fumbled like her face must have been. “I'll send letters, Moondancer. I'll send letters and... and we can keep track. We can at least know where our lives take us—”

“And what makes you think that I'll want to read them any more than you'll want to write them, Twilight?”

Moondancer's next breath took as long to come out as she took to open the exit to the library. She stopped in the middle of the frame, and I heard her voice from both outside and inside. It had a ghostly quality, so that I almost understood what was slipping from Twilight's life forever.

“I'm glad, Twilight, that you're not alone here. I'm glad that you have friends in Ponyville who can tolerate you, at least with a lot more strength and conviction than I ever bothered to. You deserve that much. I mean it. I just hope you make the best of it.”

“And I just hope you don't make the worst of it.”

Moondancer jolted. For a moment there, she sounded ready to say something else, until she realized—as I did—that words would forever be useless to a chorus that had long lost its song. She left Twilight in a blink, positively scampering across town. When the door to the library closed behind her, I imagined Twilight's voice shuddering. But I wouldn't know for sure, for I had broken across Ponyville in a brisk trot after Moondancer.

Twenty minutes, I found her, sitting on a bench at the central train station. A saddlebag was resting beside Moondancer's folded legs. She gazed forlornly towards the east, where the inbound train was soon to arrive and take her to a home away from home.

I wasn't sure how I was going to go about doing this, only that I had to. Life is full of last chances, and none of them deserve to be ruined. As always, I worked my mind on the go, so that by the time I arrived at her side, I was uttering, “So you're headed to Fillydelphia?”

She blinked. She gazed up, and the smile that graced her face was familiar, but hollow. “Yup. City of Brotherly Lope, as in 'Oh brother am I tired of loping around this town.'” She sighed heavily and ran her hooves over her face. “Eh, do forgive me, I usually have much better material than this.”

“Not like anypony's throwing bits at you.” I shrugged, then squatted down on the bench at a liberal distance from her. “I'm headed to... uhm... Manehattan, myself. I always wanted to find out if the Big Apple was edible.”

“I’ve been there myself. That city's full of something, alright,” Moondancer muttered, staring off towards the eastern horizon. “But I assure you it's not applesauce.”

I ran a hoof through my mane as I stared in the same direction as her. My heart pulsed painfully, fearful that her train would show up at any moment. “I envy you. I've got several hours to wait. Good thing the Fillydelphia-bound train is almost here.”

“Oh yeah? Why?”

“You look as though you could collapse any second. I had no idea Ponyville was that exhausting.”

“Heh... I should have predicted that myself...” She looked as if she was going to say more, but her lips lingered on a painful thought.

I gazed softly at her, at her white coat, at her lavender eyes and scarlet mane. I remembered braiding her gorgeous hair to the music of Marezart while Twilight read us old mare's tales from a family tome that had been passed down the Sparkle family line for generations.

“I came to Ponyville to meet a friend,” I said. Moondancer was always herself. I decided, for my last time with her, to be myself as well. “I got something more than I had bargained for.”

“Heh...” She cast me a chilling smile. “You too, huh? Well, it's a small world, Miss...”

“Please...” I murmured. My grin was as painful as the breath I was forcing to say, “Call me Lyra.”

“I came here to see a friend too, Lyra. A foalhood friend,” Moondancer said to me. Her eyes were as distant as the east, to which she faced, to which she murmured, “Her name is Twilight Sparkle. She's a very famous filly around town. You've probably heard of her.”

“What one hears is what one hears from the pony speaking to her.”

“Heh... You almost sound like her...” Moondancer took a deep breath. “Only you don't sound quite so haughty.”

“Haughty?”

“Nnngh... It's not even that...” She ran a hoof over her face and groaned. “I came here to help her with something, after it had been so many, many years since we last met. What I discovered was that those years meant something. They erased the memories I had...”

“What memories, pray tell?”

She gulped hard. “Memories of annoyance. Memories of frustration. Memories of constant head-butting and agony between fillies who'd do much better fighting a war than trying to have a sleepover.”

I squirmed where I sat, murmuring, “Don't all children... have problems clicking, from time to time?”

“Yes, but that fades with the years that go by. At least, normally it should. But with Twilight and I...” She paused, bit her lip, then looked at me. “I think it's that she grew up too fast. There's nothing wrong with that, really. She just became uber smart and uber studious at a really young age. And I...” She gazed past me, towards the horizon once more, as her violet eyes locked onto a terrible truth, and it moistened them. “She's right.”

“Hmm?”

“Twilight's right...” Moondancer's voice shuddered. She remained her composure with remarkable maturity right there before me. “I am like a child nowadays. But...” Her voice grew as firm as her eyes as she sniffled a painful breath away and frowned into the dying afternoon. “What she doesn't know is that—at one time—I had no choice but to grow up. She never went out into the world like I did, or as early as I did. Where she stayed under a royal tutor's wing and learned about the secrets of magic from books, I explored Equestria and caught glimpses of real life up close and personal. I had to do things the hard way, and it made me grow up way faster than I ever wanted to at the time. So now...” She chuckled breathily and looked down at her hooves fiddling with one another. “So now, I can't help it. I like to be a big kid. I like to have fun and be goofy and live life from under a loose saddle. It's because I understand... I know how quickly life can blur by if we don't stop to treasure it.”

She gulped and fought away a wince. She looked at me.

“That's why I became a teacher, I think,” Moondancer said. “I wanted to surround myself with youth. I wanted to witness life blossoming around me each and everyday. Do you think that's a shallow reason for making such a career choice?”

I slowly shook my head and said, “No. Not at all.”

“And now Twilight...” Moondancer stared towards the distant haze of Ponyville beyond the wooden structure of the train station. Slowly, her lips quivered and her eyes watered. “N-now Twilight's in such a good place, surrounded by so many amazing things, and does she even know it? I mean does she really, really know it?” She gulped as her voice cracked, “I don't think she does. I don't think she realizes that she's grown so old in so little time that she has no chance of stepping back and recapturing that joy... that bliss of what it means to relax, to be alive. She won't take her nose out of a book—she won't pull her mind out of her high seat long enough to realize that this... all of this... is not worth sweating so much over. And it's just so painful to watch...”

“Perhaps...” I bravely said “...somepony could help her find that joy?”

Moondancer clenched her eyes shut. “I can't.”

I didn't bother asking why.

She answered me anyways. “Because...” She sniffled and glanced painfully at me. “I've been there before. And though it was only a short time, I don't ever want to be there again. I've grown old and I know it. So much as staying in the same room as Twilight: I'm brought back there, and I feel all that much closer to death, and she's hung around an immortal royal alicorn for so long that... that I don't think she'll ever know it when it hits her, and by then it will be too late for her and those that she's close to.” She shuddered and ran a hoof over her eyes, drying them. “Sometimes, I think, it's best to lose things when they're less painful to be ripped away, especially when we have the strength to do away with it.”

I heard a whistle. I looked towards the distance, and it was my time to fight the urge to cry. I saw her train looming over the horizon. She was already standing. I wanted to memorialize this thing with a dirge, but my mouth was too numb.

“Well, I know what I stand to lose, and what I can't.” Moondancer hoisted her saddlebag over her spine and smiled with steely courage. “I have a bunch of students waiting for me. I have a career.” She briefly chuckled. “Heck, I even have one adorable hunk of a stallion to go on long walks with.” Her head hung briefly. “Those are things I can afford. More importantly, they're things that I wish to afford.”

By now, I was struggling not to sob. I cleared my throat, trying my best to avoid the sight of the hissing train rolling to a stop. I never imagined a moment like this would be so loud and obnoxious. Steam billowed between us like cold vapors as I shouted above the settling engines.

“I'm sure you'll have a great life ahead of you. And so will this Twilight.”

“The past is the past, Lyra. I choose to live in the future. I always have. Only now, I've got no reason to second-guess that.”

“I hope it's everything you've worked for, Miss...” I entreated, my eyesight blurring. I knew her name. I cherished her name. I only wanted with every fibre of my being to hear it one last time. To hear her say it.

And she did. With her wink and her smile and her everything. “Moondancer. And if someday you read in the papers about the whole of Fillydelpia crumbling to ashes, that will just have been the result of me giving a darn about something.”

Evening had fallen, pulling a dark shroud over Ponyville. Twilight Sparkle was sitting at a table in Sugarcube Corner. It was later than when she usually sat there, but she didn't seem to mind. Nor did any of the other ponies pay her any notice, in spite of a rather dramatic event that had transpired there two days before.

One pony, however, eventually trotted up to her table. I lingered before her for a few minutes, bothering myself over pretense, until I remembered the tone in the voice of a friend I had just lost and decided that pretense was absurd.

“Ahem. Uhm... Miss Sparkle?”

She slowly gazed up from a sheet of notes that she had been carefully reading. “Hmm?” She blinked, as if coming out of a stale dream. “Oh, I'm sorry. Can I help you, Miss...?”

“Heartstrings. I was wondering... erm...” I pretended to wince. “Oh, yeesh. You're off duty, aren't you? I really shouldn't be asking you any library-related questions...”

“No, please...” She smiled as softly as she could manage. “The way I see it, I'm always ready and willing to help Ponyville and its citizens with research. What do you need?”

“It's not so much an issue. I was just wondering if you... if you gave personal lessons in practicing magic.”

“Oh. Oh that... Eheh...” Twilight sighed long and hard. Her eyes fluttered limply to the tabletop before her. “I... I'm not all that qualified as a tutor.”

My heart sank. That was new. “What... uhm... What makes you say that, Miss Sparkle? Everypony in town says that you're the Element of Magic and—”

“I'm just... What I mean to say is, if you really want to learn about magic, I guess I could do my best to... g-give you a lesson...” She shuddered painfully through uttering that.

I swallowed slowly. I saw a train slowly rolling away in the back of my blinking eyelids. I murmured without looking at my friend. “Is this a bad time? You... you seem down.”

“I've had better days, I guess,” Twilight murmured. “But, you needn't worry about any of it...”

That was it. I smiled at her. I gave her a soft expression, entreating. “Who said I was worrying, Miss Sparkle?”

She gazed up at me. Her eyes twinkled with a foalish need, and then returned once more to an adult glaze. Nevertheless, something soft and genuine slipped through. “I just finished saying goodbye to the one best friend I had as a foal. I had asked her to come visit me and assist in putting together a local study program, and... and for the past few days, we spent every waking moment blowing up at one another. I was never so...” She shook her head as her pained eyes danced over the floor. “I don't remember ever rubbing her the wrong way so much... or anypony for that matter. It's as if all of those times we got along together as foals never happened.”

I slowly sat down across from her and folded my forelimbs atop the table. “Perhaps... Perhaps time changes us for the worst?”

Twilight gulped and shook her head. “I don't believe that for one second. I think that we are always essentially who we are, from start to finish, even if we have varying degrees of expressing it. This friend—or this mare that I thought was my friend—she must have always been my foil. I simply didn't realize it until now.” She gulped and hung her head with a sigh. “I just feel so foolish...”

I gave her a sympathetic look. “Bad breakups happen. I wish you wouldn't feel bad about it—”

“That's just it. I don't.”

“Don't what?”

She looked up at me. “I don't feel bad about it.” She gulped and her eyes darted aside. “That is, I don't feel bad about... about her being gone from my life, as much as I feel bad for having lost something so easily. It's as if...” She gnawed on her lip.

I stared at her. “What, Miss Sparkle?”

She murmured limply. “It's as if something is missing from my life. There's... there's a great hole, Miss Heartstrings. There's always been a great hole. And Moondancer—this mare—she and I somehow danced around it, somehow ignored how utterly and completely incompatible we were as best friends forever. And all these memories I have... all these happy memories: suddenly they mean absolutely nothing to me.” She choked briefly and her eyes twitched. “And I don't understand. In spite of all of my years of learning, in spite of all my practice in logic, I just... don't understand what went wrong...”

I fumbled with my hooves, tracing lazy circles beneath the cold lamplight in Sugarcube Corner's evening hours. The stars outside started to twinkle, just like they once did outside a bedroom when princesses and sorcerers once roamed the earth.

“I... I had these two friends once,” I said.

Twilight quietly looked at me.

“They were the best companions a little filly could ever ask for.” I smiled, my eyes becoming entranced in the memories afforded me by the swirling wood varnish of the table. “Neither of them were alike. One was creative, but bossy. The other was bubbly, but impulsive. If you put the two of them in a giant jar and rattled it, I'd have no doubt they'd come out with both of their heads bitten off. Heheh...” I gulped and ran a hoof over the back of my neck as I went on. “But I loved them all the same. I loved the way their voices sang in the air as we trotted through town. I loved how bizarre and dramatic our games of pretend would be because neither one of them would ever think of the same thing. Every day I spent with them was a moment to remember, to cherish, to carry with me into the minefields of adulthood.”

I took a deep breath and sat back in my seat, clutching my hoodie sleeves as I eyed the dusty ceiling beams of the eatery.

“And then...” I swallowed. “And then we grew up. And we spread apart. We each studied our own schools of unicorn arts, ultimately choosing separate careers. And one day—a long time after we were young enough to get away with putting on toy tiaras or braiding our manes while singing nursery rhymes—we attempted a reunion. Hmmmm... It was the worse thing we could have ever thought of doing. Too many years had gone by, and we had grown so old and so serious that whatever glued us together in the past was gone. My companions were as bright and remarkable and intelligent and witty and beautiful as ever. They were the same essential creatures of happiness that they were birthed into this world to be. But, sadly, our friendship just couldn't last. And do you know why, Miss Sparkle?”

“Why?” She leaned forward, her mouth agape. “Why couldn't it last?”

“Because friendship is like a song,” I said quietly. “Its disparate melodies and chorus can be the most enchanting things to ever light the air.” I slowly tilted my head down. I gazed into her eyes solemnly. “But even the most spectacular song means nothing without its bridge. It falls apart. It loses cohesion. It's anything but harmonic. Beautiful things will always be beautiful things, but they're not always destined to remain so together.”

Twilight's jaw tensed. She avoided my gaze. For a moment there, I felt she was drawing away faster than the train that had carried Moondancer.

I knew what needed to be said next. I leaned forward and rested my hoof on one of hers. “Look at me, Miss Sparkle.”

She did. Weakly so.

“Everything dies,” I said. “Everything. We have it within ourselves to delay it, at least, and to do so gracefully, if only we can take the things that are most precious to us and bridge the gaps between us before they grow any deeper. You're more than a smart pony, Miss Sparkle.” I smiled gently. “You are a blessed one. Don't let the end of something that has been collapsing all your life deter you from the joys and opportunities you have around you. Don't give into despair, or else something blessed will become something cursed.”

She looked at me, her face frail and vulnerable “All the time I've been in Ponyville, I've made it my task to write letters to Princess Celestia, teaching her what I've learned about friendship.” She paused as her lip quivered and a tear rolled down her face. “I never thought I'd be writing her about the end of one...” She wanted to say more, but couldn't. Her face cracked, scrunched up, and fell towards the table-top as the tears began flowing.

I enclosed her hoof with both of mine and squeezed it. “Listen to me, Miss Sparkle. Learn from this, feel from it, but don't dwell on it. You have friends now... here and now... in Ponyville. And you haven't lost them.”

“I... I don't w-want to lose them t-too...” She sniffled.

“Then seize the moment. Think of the future.” My eyes were dry, unlike hers, but I no longer felt angry over it. I smiled with the devilish charm of a teacher who would find wisdom in pranking students and fattening infant dragons. “Be alive while you can, with the friends you have to share it with, and maybe you won't have to worry over writing about the end of anything anymore—” My speech was interrupted by a breath of vapors. I gasped, leaning back and covering my mouth. With wide eyes, I looked out the window.

The moon was shining high in the fallen shroud of night.

My teeth chattered as I hugged myself. “No. Please, no. Not now...”

I heard a ringing sound behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. Rarity was marching into Sugarcube Corner. Her mane was frayed from a long day's worth of sewing unknowable lengths of fabric. She yawned, at least in as ladylike a manner as she could afford to, before telekinetically stringing a blue scarf around a coat wrack.

“Oh, good heavens! What a strenuous day! Ohhhhhh Mrs. Caaaaake! Please do tell me it's not too terribly late to order a mint souffle...”

I winced through layers of cold. I gnashed my teeth, shook my head, and desperately whimpered in Twilight's direction. “Miss Sparkle. Please, hear me out. Don't forget about—” I looked up. She was gone. “Tw-Twlight?” I stammered. I looked every which way. I sensed a shadow blindly gliding past me. I spun around once again. My heart skipped a beat.

Twilight was walking across Sugarcube Corner... and she was trotting directly towards a friend. “Uhm... G-good evening, Rarity.”

“Twilight! Oh, just the mare I wanted to see!” Rarity stifled a giggle as she leaned against the cake counter, fluttering her eyelashes. “You'll never believe this dress I was ordered to make for Sapphire Shores today! I mean, she's usually a pony of remarkable fashion, but lately she's developed something of a terribly garish taste and...” She stopped in mid speech. Her face paled twice over as she glanced with wide blue eyes at her companion. “Why... Twilight! You look positively awful! What ever is the matter?”

Twilight glanced up, trying to smile. Her cheeks were moist with fresh tears. “I was just... wondering... if... if you...”

“Twilight, darling...” Rarity rested a hoof on Twilight's shoulder. “Speak to me! Is everything alright?”

At that, Twilight caved. Twilight melted. Her legs buckled as she nearly sunk to the floor. “No. Everything’s not alright.” She hiccuped on a sob and covered her face with a shaking hoof. “I-I really need a friend to t-talk to right now...”

Before Twilight could fall, Rarity was there to catch her, to hold her. The two huddled together in the front of Sugarcube Corner. Rarity nuzzled her friend, absorbing every shake and whimper with a gentle hug and sweet smile. “Shhh... There there, darling. Let it out. Then you can tell me all about it...”

From across the room, I swiveled in my seat and clutched my forelimbs to my shivering chest. I felt happy and nauseous all at once. There's no simple way to describe what it means to give up something you've cherished all your life, but some things are best to tear away sooner than later. My smile was merely a practical thing. It carried me past Twilight's blissful release, out of Sugarcube Corner, and into the loyal embrace of night.

“My, my, Starswirl!” Twilight utters from where she sits on the edge of a patio chair. The sun-glinting rooftops of boundless Canterlot apartments loom in the distance. “What an amazing instrumental you have performed in our honor! I almost think of calling it Equestria's National Anthem!”

“Eh, it could have used more drums,” Moondancer manages to say before making a juvenile raspberry with her tongue.

“Luna!” Twilight gasps. “How unbecoming of a princess!”

“I thought we were gonna go hunting after dragons!”

“We will once we rid Equestria of the changeling plot!”

“Changelings are stupid! Let's go smack some dragons around!”

“Not until after Starswirl's done with our song—”

“Actually, girls,” I stop playing the xylephone briefly.

“Don't you mean 'your highnesses'?” Moondancer does a mock curtsey and rolls her eyes at Twilight.

“Lyraaaaa! You're supposed to stay in character!”

I clear my throat and twirl the xylephone sticks in between my hooves. “No, really. I kind of sort of made this song for the both of you.”

Moondancer blinks. “Really? You mean this isn't pretend?”

Twilight jumps down from her high seat. “A song? For us? Really?”

I giggle. “Why not? I feel like singing every time you're both around.”

“Heehee! You hear that, Twi? I make her want to sing!”

“Nuh uh! She says we make her want to sing!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Hey!” I squeal briefly, sitting up between them. “This isn't singing! Do you wanna hear the song or not?”

Moondancer fiddles with her hooves. “Did you... really make something this pretty just for us?”

I smile at her. “Yes.” I look at Twilight. “And yes. Cuz you're both fun and cool and stuff.”

Twilight's face scrunches in perplexion. “But you're always Starswirl the Bearded.”

“And you're always having to bark at us like a dog,” Moondancer says. At that, Twilight giggles, and she does too.

“Maybe I don't hate it?” I shrug. “Maybe I like being Starswirl the Bearded all the time.”

Both girls stare at me. Then at each other. Joined as one, they chirp, “You're weird!” They poke their hooves into me and lean against each other, laughing.

I giggle. I revel in the attention. I revel in them. “So, how about it? Wanna learn the words I wrote?”

“Sure, Lyra!”

“How does it start!”

“Well, like this...” I start plunking the xylophone keys, one after another, in charming awkwardness. “Best. Friends. Sing. Together. Forever—”

“BestFriendsSingTogetherForeverrrrr--” They both let loose in an purposeful, uncoordinated caterwaul.

“Guysss!” I pout. “You're not supposed to shout it!”

“Heeheehee!”

“Hehehehe!”

“Heheh...” I blush and smile. “But were are supposed to do it together.”

“Okay.”

“Sure thing, Lyra.”

“Ahem. Ready?”

“Best. Friends. Sing. Together. Foreverrrrrr...”

We practice. We sing. We hit some notes. We miss some others. The day wears on from gold to red to purple, and no matter how many mistakes we make, we are harmonious.

We are together.

Under the stars, with the hushed breath of the forest as my cadence, I sat on the patio of my cabin. I had my lyre in my hooves. Without looking, I telekinetically toyed with the strings. The aged skin on my brow furrowed under a dim green glow as I sought the notes to a song a little filly had once composed so many years ago, when warmth was something that could be tasted.

As I performed the ancient tune, my melody reached into the future in a desperate bid to bridge the darkness around me, something that was engulfing my life thicker and thicker with each passing day.

I was performing the song alone. It occurred to me that, perhaps, I had always been from the beginning.

Twilight...

Moondancer...

As long as I am alive, I shall do the remembering for all of us. Our friendship will never die.

VIII - Everypony Is Made To Be Loved

Dear Journal,

What does every pony want in life? I mean really want? Do our existences end happily, peacefully, only if we've accomplished all of the things we've ever dreamt of doing? Do all of our achievements and medals and trophies really mean so much to us when the final curtain falls? Are the lengths of our contributions to this world enough to serenade us gently into the cold embrace of death?

For no matter what we do, no matter what we set our minds to, no matter how many factors we struggle with in life—when that life comes to an end, we make our final bows alone. We are solitary in our death, which is a fascinating piece of irony, for we are hardly that solitary in our conception. History has a funny way of starting things with multiplicitous factors, only for them to end in singular, trailing tributaries.

I have a lonely journey ahead of me. I always have. There hasn't been a day when I wasn't meditating on the elegies, on the tempestuous act of unraveling them, on the unknowable future that such an endeavor promises me. In a way, I've been supremely courageous in my musical tasks, dealing with them with as much gusto as any heroine that I've long admired in literature.

But now, as I prepare to scale the most frightening mountain of my trek, as I gear myself for tackling Elegy #8, I do so with great hesitance, because I can't get over just how lonely a task it is. This didn't used to bother me so much. It didn't always make me feel so intensely alone.

Not until just recently. Not until him...

A crown of golden tulips framed a rosy candle burning dimly in the middle of a wooden eating table. I stared at the glistening yellow flower petals. I should have been pouring my eyes over the half-completed music sheet before me instead, but I wasn't. It had been several long weeks in the making, but the eighth elegy was finally finished in my head. The piece could just as easily have been finished on paper, but the only thing in the way of that was me, my hesitance, my fear, and—worst of all—my heart, along with the sickening depths to which it had recently sunk.

When Rarity walked into Sugarcube Corner, I was only residually aware of it. Her hoofsteps were ghostly percussions to a wandering mind. After several minutes, those beats drew closer, as did her sighing voice.

“My stars, what a day! Looks like I'm not the only one exhausted. Ahem. Do excuse me. Is this seat taken?”

There were twenty tulips in all. Twenty budding flowers. Twenty mornings spent trotting into town, only to be greeted by a smile, a voice, and an earthen scent that sent my heart a'flutter, until now. I had preserved them so well. Now I wondered how long it would be until they too withered away. Why are the sweetest things in life so fragile? I can still feel his gentle warm breaths against my muzzle...

“I'm so terribly sorry. Am I breaking your concentration? If so, I'll move along to another seat...”

“Hmm?” I glanced up at Rarity. She stood before me with a steaming cup of coffee floating beside her. Her glittering eyes entreated me and the empty stool on the other side of my table. I glanced down at my music sheets, then at the other tables around us. Every other spot in Sugarcube Corner was densely occupied by clusters of chatting, dining, murmuring ponies. “Oh... Uhm...” I gently smiled up at her, though I doubted my eyes were half as lively. “By all means. Have a seat, Rarity.”

She instantly brightened at the sound of her name. “Oh, well if this isn't a treat!” Rarity smiled and sat daintily across from me. After one sip of the coffee mug, she adjusted the scarf around her neck and remarked, “I spend an entire weekend in Canterlot, attending the Gala, surrounded by elite ponies, not a single one of them giving me so much as a second glance. I return to Ponyville, and the first stranger I speak to knows me by name!” She suppressed a giggle and smiled. “We all do well to be reminded where are home truly is. It's a pleasure to be of acquaintance, Miss...?”

“Heartstrings,” I murmured. “Lyra Heartstrings.”

“My my... I dare say,” she stifled an unladylike chuckle. “Your coat has seen better days. Dare I ask what happened, dear?”

I was briefly confused. My limbs flexed, and I again felt the stretch of tiny bandages covering random spots on my body: my leg, a hoof, and a stretch of skin below my left ear.

“Oh. Nothing to be concerned about,” I said gently. “Ponyville's been... no more dramatic than usual while you were gone.” I didn't bother sugarcoating the edges of that lie.

“Very well,” she remarked, swirling the coffee in her magic grasp. I often take for granted how truly intuitive Rarity is capable of being. “If you insist, I won't inquire further.”

“Much appreciated,” I replied in a low tone. I levitated a pen across the sheet and sketched two more notes of the elegy. The scratching of the quill across the parchment sent my nerves on fire. I could just as easily been chiseling words onto a gravestone. I feared that this scene might become even colder. “You... uh... You were just in Canterlot, hmmm?” It didn't take a genius to detect the lack of enthusiasm in my voice. It took even less of one to notice how little I cared. “Some pretty exciting things were happening there, if I'm not mistaken.”

“Exciting? More like 'magical!' 'Marvelous!' 'Supremely fabulous!'” With each utterance, Rarity swooned more and more. She teetered back dramatically in her seat, catching herself with a bright gasp. “Oh, the celebrities! The glamour! The magnificence! It was everything I ever dreamed of!” She sighed long and hard, her drunken smile melting into a mere smirk of contentment as she leaned forward and took another sip of her coffee. “Oh, how I am so terribly glad it is over with.”

I blinked. I finally looked her in the face. “You are?”

“Mmmmph!” She nodded, gulped her sip down, and remarked, “Exceedingly so! As delightful an evening as it was, I've never before in my life been witness to so much pompous extravagance, boorish half-attempts at chivalry, and self-inflated pretentiousness on behalf of affluent, civilized ponies! All of those ridiculous details seem amusing from the opposite side of the Equestrian tabloids, but up close and personal—heh—it felt like sewing silk to corduroy with one's teeth!”

“Hmmm...” I grinned slightly. “That's a colorful way to put it.”

“Miss Heartstrings, darling, the world gives us colors to dye the truth with, and too much of them are tragically garish.” Rarity casually leaned back and swirled the coffee in her telekinetic grasp. “Do forgive me for prattling on like a school-filly, but my calamitous weekend spent in Canterlot has my nerves scattered all helter-skelter. The only silver lining to the whole event has been my friends' company, but since I came home to Ponyville early, I haven't had any close mares to gab with. You know how it is.”

“You came home early?”

“Mmmmhmm... I realized that I had a terribly long list of dresses to manufacture, and far too many of them had been put off as I prepared for what I had foolishly expected to be the single greatest occasion of my life.” Rarity laughed lightly, rolled her eyes, and clasped the mug gently between two hooves. “Well, now I know the truth. I am most relaxed when I am working. I don't know if you can relate...”

I blinked at her. I tilted my head down and glanced at the music sheets. My ears twitched, as if being stabbed deep in the cartilage with frozen needles. The eighth elegy was a tidal wave of ice rising above the next aching breath. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rising.

“I relax when being talked to,” I blurted.

“Well...” Rarity chuckled with relief. “That's good to know.”

“Tell me, did you ever meet him?” I asked without thinking, my gaze lingering on the golden crown of tulips between us. “The stallion of your dreams?”

Rarity paused before the next sip. She looked at me, squinted at me, and then leaned towards me. “Have... Have we had this conversation before?”

I felt my heart beating. My teeth chewed pensively on my bottom lip. I reminded myself that sometimes the only cure to an awkward moment is a blind dose of truth.

“We... uhm... we spoke last week, just before you left for Canterlot with your friends, Rarity,” I said. I looked calmly at her. “You made a gorgeous yet simple dress for me. The cream-colored one with the gold floral pattern?”

“Did I, now?” Rarity's face was scrunched with thick confusion. She leaned back and ran a hoof through her mane as her eyes traveled the ceiling. “Indeed. Sounds like an ensemble I'm capable of making. Why can't I just...?” Her lips moved through a minefield of unintelligible words. She ultimately gulped and produced a sheepish smile. “Good heavens, my mind really has been in another place entirely these past few weeks, hasn't it? My supreme apologies, Miss Heartstrings. I can only ask, did such a dress serve its marvelous purpose?”

My eyes briefly fell to the floor. “It's a spectacular gown, and I couldn't have asked for anything lovelier. So, thank you.”

“Well, you're more than welcome! From the bottom of my heart, though I wish I could say the same about my mind!” She produced a flippant laugh. “Oh, if only all dresses met a gorgeous fate equal to the genius I put into them. I had the most fantastic gown made for the Gala, and I'm afraid it has become horribly acquainted with applesauce and cake frosting.”

I glanced at her in horror. “That... That sounds terrible...”

“Mmm... He was,” she said, briefly glaring daggers into the walls.

“Huh?”

“Oh... Uhm... Yes, that...” Rarity rolled her eyes. “Alas, I should have spent the entirety of that night with my friends and not in the company of a regal oaf whose manners extended as far as the silver spoon stuck in his mouth.” She tossed me a tranquil smile. “Miss Heartstrings, I hope you learn this lesson with far less drama than I did, but true love is hardly anything you ever stumble upon. What fate delivers, it does so without announcement, and we are fools to think that we can predict it like a pegasus molds the weather clouds.”

“Why do you say that, Rarity?” I asked her calmly. “You strike me as a romantic.”

“Oh, and I have most exceedingly been such the majority of my life! But life is short, and it's never too late to reassess things.”

“Like what kind of things?”

“Silly things. Embarrassing things. Enchanted notions of a whimsical filly. They're all charming to conceive, but a lot more difficult to live out. I had only wished the spotlight of Canterlot wasn't on me when I came to terms with how utterly disastrous a single stallion's rudeness would be to my childish dreams.”

“Whatever may have happened to you at the Gala, Rarity, I'm sure it was only a setback.” I scratched three more musical notes into existence. I stared into the abyss of Luna's compositions, murmuring. “Your dreams can still come true.”

“Hmmm... methinks I am not the only romantic at this table,” Rarity said. She leaned forward with a warm smile. “At least, I may not be the most zealous one. Tell me, Miss Heartstrings, if I may be so bold as to inquire: have you ever survived an impossible infatuation?”

I stopped once more in the midst of signing my life away to endless night. My eyes swam over the golden tulips. Slowly, I looked up at her.

I smiled.

“Good morning to you, angel,” he said. He smiled. He hoofed me something golden... like the silken texture of his coat.

I mirrored his expression, albeit with an ounce of bashfulness. Nevertheless, I telekinetically plucked the offering from his grasp. It was a tulip: fragrant, delicate, and glistening in the breath of dawn. I stood at the north entrance to Ponyville three weeks before my Sugarcube Corner conversation with Rarity. As always, I had my saddlebag and lyre with me. As always, the town was coming to life with hustling and bustling ponies. And, as always, he was there in the middle of it all, gazing and smiling at nopony, nopony but me.

“Why thank you,” I returned. My cheeks would have been burning red by that point if only the darling moment hadn't become something of a ritualistic dance for me. And yet my heart frolicked with each beat that accompanied his amnesiac offering of smiles, breaths, and petals. “Well, if you aren't a charmer,” I said. I already knew his reaction. I didn't care; I wanted to hear it again. I wanted to hear it forever and ever.

“I am only charmed,” he said. He bowed his head low, a sapphiric fountain of mane hair falling loosely about his lithe neck. “Welcome to Ponyville,” he produced, and then was gone like a dream, shuffling towards a cluster of rose bushes that he was presently trimming as soon as I had arrived.

Halfway through trotting past him, I paused. I stared at the tulip that I was levitating before me. The object was simply a bright part of a plant. I could very easily have plucked a thousand of those things from the earth and made a wreathe with them.

After all, the world is full of flowers. It's sentiment that's a sparse thing, something that fills us and makes us grow in a desert world made dry with fear and isolation. I had several elegies to unravel, several deathly tunes to trek fearfully through, and yet a single tulip was enough to remind me that in a strange world of cold, there was something warm worth striving for.

Another dawn had arrived, and I had my oasis. I happily lifted the tulip and stuck its stem behind my ear. I gazed back, produced a deep breath, and reluctantly trotted on to my destination. With that, the ritual was complete. I counted the hours until the next sunrise.

His name is Morning Dew. He's an earth pony, a gardener, an artist. He paints his canvas all over town, digging up soil and planting beautiful bouquets. He spreads color like a song expands a melody. Every bright shade of yellow, deep hue of red, and tranquil splash of blue owes its expert arrangement to him.

To the best of my knowledge, he is the one and only flower-planter in Ponyville. Sure, there are famous vendors in downtown such as Daisy and Roseluck. But they only sell flowers. They don't live them, not like Morning Dew does.

He's awake at the crack of dawn everyday. The rising sun shines on him and the earth in equal lustre. He spots every weed and casts it away before the golden glow rising over the horizon can highlight such a blemish.

Ponyville is a beautiful town, but it didn't get that way on its own. The village is perfect because his work is perfect, as he is perfect: perfectly concentrated, perfectly poised, and perfectly balanced. He trudges his hooves joint-deep in dirt and mud, and yet he comes out of it looking like a ballet dancer. No amount of grime or sediment can dirty his complexion, for he is always glowing, as if happy to be alive, for somewhere and somehow he has discovered a secret in a simple existence that we all envy for the very fact that we can't remotely be as graceful as him.

And every day—every single day—I cross the path of such a genius earth pony, such a saint of diligence and humility, and every single time—without fail—he stops what he's doing. He quits in the dead-middle of his masterpiece. He stops perfecting the all-too-important world to look at me, to smile at me, to give me a flower... and then to give me something more.

“Good morning to you, angel.”

I took the flower from him yet again and tried not to collapse. The world never spins. Morning Dew just looks at me and I become dizzy. “Well, if you aren't the charmer,” I said. I almost wished I had sung it that time.

“I am only charmed,” he sang back. Yet again, he bowed, then disappeared back into his muddied stage, struggling to eke color and beauty from a stubborn pit of compacted moss in front of the post office. The air about him was stained with labor and sweat, but I was not disgusted. Somewhere from deep within the moment a fragrance was entrancing my senses, so that I struggled to keep the tulip levitating in front of me. I pretended that only the simple things in this world were capable of making my heart beat so, and then I pretended that they could just as easily be ignored.

I failed. Tucking the new flower behind my ear, I trotted forcibly away while I still had strength in my legs to do so.

I'm not the only pony that Morning Dew talks to, that Morning Dew greets. He talks to friends and strangers all the same. He smiles at passing ponies and chats it up with them for as long as he can afford to be distracted from his expert gardening.

However, with all of these ponies whom he converses with, whom he meets and greets, he calls none of them “angel,” none of them but me. I know this. I've seen him, watched him. Gorgeous fillies—mares that could make the cover of Equestrian Fashion magazines—he merely calls “ma'am” or “miss” at best. Even when ponies as beautiful as Rarity or Fluttershy walk by, he goes only so far as to call them “madame” with utmost gentility.

It is only with me that he steeps to poetics, that a certain spark twinkles in his blue eyes, that the flecks of dirt on his coat melt away as his expression brightens at my immediate appearance. Whatever that spark is, it motivates him to pluck the exact same flower—a golden tulip—from his gardening wagon and hoof it my away, along with those five priceless words:

“Good morning to you, angel.”

This time, I had to stifle a giggle. It was a dismal morning. Both of us were drenched. The pegasi were giving the landscape an early shower so as to clear the skies for a picnic later that afternoon. The streets of Ponyville were practically flooded. Half the restaurants and shops weren't even open yet. The morning sun was nothing more than a gray splash of refracted light beams. I didn't even know what I was doing there, plodding through the mud, letting my hoodie get soaked to the sleeves, until he said those words, and I realized that even all of the misery in the world couldn't stop him from repeating what would be—at best—a tragically forgotten piece of history.

“I don't suppose this thing folds out to become a yellow umbrella?” I said with a dripping smile.

“If it did, it'd make my job a lot easier,” he dripped back, stifling a laugh of his own. We were two souls swimming in an absurd puddle called “life,” and it was nothing worth sighing at. He returned to his muddy toil. I returned to my rainy walk. Neither of us returned to sanity.

That afternoon, I couldn't stop sneezing, even as the clouds dissipated. It was all right, though. I felt the flower behind my earlobe in between the violent attacks, and my smile never went away.

What does it mean? What triggers this response in him? What is it that motivates Morning Dew—upon first sight of me—to say those same words, to perform the same gesture, to reach into the same flower pot and deplete its golden treasures one stem at a time, one day at a time, one smile at a time, as the two of us spin our isolated circles into the future?

Sure, I can accept it as simple flattery. Only... I don't want to accept it as “simple flattery.” The idea has no meaning to it, no heart, no motivation beyond a generic response to a persistent stimulus. It'd be the same as Spike complimenting me on my hoodie, Rarity insisting she make me a new jacket, or Rainbow Dash questioning why she just rammed into my cabin out of nowhere.

I've come to accept the citizens of Ponyville over the past year as friends, acquaintances, and even family. At the same time, I have to step back and reexamine these “neighbors” of mine, realizing that they'll only ever be hollow imitations of friends, at least as far as I'm concerned. Every conversation I have with them is a first conversation. Every meeting I have is a first impression. Whenever I want to broach a subject that I've discussed with them before, I have to spill forth a series of sentences that guide our dialogue down a pre-programmed stratum, so that touching base with another soul has as much delicacy as punching buttons in some unfeeling machine.

But with Morning Dew, I don't have to punch any buttons. I don't have to make any effort to dredge a response. I only have to exist, to be visible, to walk past his blue-eyed gaze—when he's all too terribly busy with his priceless tasks of floral art—and suddenly I'm the target of something so sweet, so sincere, so... deliciously sappy that it pains me to think of any single piece of it being hollow.

So why is it that I summon such a response from him? Why do I light up his day, when he's as handsome and majestic as the sunrise himself? Why does he donate me his smile, a smile that would make any self-respecting filly crumble to her knees, and then top that off with a flower and a greeting and a regal bow?

Why am I Morning Dew's angel?

I think about this constantly. I ponder about it. I obsess over it. And sooner than I realize, discovering the eighth elegy is no longer the forefront of my mind. Something else is. Somepony else is, and in spite of all my years of scholarly research, musical compositions, and adult studies, I cannot help but feel like I am once again a whimsical schoolfilly.

“Well, if you ask me, Miss Heartstrings, there's nothing at all wrong with it,” Twilight Sparkle said with a smile.

I stood in the center of the library, summoning a protection field over my glowing horn. I meditated carefully, but all of the strain was gone. It was no longer a difficult task. The only thing that took an awful lot of effort was convincing Twilight that this mint-green stranger needed a lesson at all to begin with.

“What do you mean there's nothing wrong with it?” I groaned, eyeing the green dome forming above my crown. “Somepony my age should know better than to humor a schoolyard crush.”

“A schoolyard what, now?”

I glanced at her with a sour expression. “You heard me. What else am I going to call it?”

Twilight giggled and paced around me. “It's only natural to feel attracted to another pony, regardless of the severity of that fixation.” As she spoke, she carefully judged the progress of my protection field. “Why, I've read in several psychological studies that a distinct lack of infatuations in early adulthood is suggestive of acute depression...”

“I came to you because I've heard a great deal about your innate wisdom, Miss Sparkle,” I muttered. I briefly clenched my jaw as I extended the emerald dome into a translucent parasol above me. “Do you have any advice to give that you haven't gotten from reading books?”

“You're talking to the wrong pony,” she said, almost chuckling. “My experience with courtship is about as detailed as my experience with—oh, I dunno—street hockey. Hehehe.” She blushed slightly, her violet eyes adorably searching the floor for an exit from this topic. “Besides, my head isn't exactly in the right place at the moment. Just before you came, I was preparing a speech to give to Princess Celestia when I meet with her at the Gala two weeks from now.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.” The dome above me began to dissipate and wobble. “I obviously came at a bad time—”

“N-no! It's fine!” She gestured in front of me, smiling to placate my worries. “I'm happy to tutor somepony in magic once in a while. Besides...” She rolled her eyes at herself. “Princess Celestia's always telling me in letters that I need to take breaks every once in a while. And if there's anything I want to prove to her when we meet again, it's that I've learned a lot of things over the past year.”

“I have no doubt that you'll have a lot to show for yourself,” I said to her with a smile. “Along with all your friends.”

“Heehee... Perhaps so.” She cleared her throat and paced around me again as I reformed the dome. “Does he only give flowers to you?”

“Huh?”

“This stallion you were talking about,” Twilight remarked with a wink. “You said he gives you a tulip every morning. I may not exactly be an expert on romance, but that's showing some persistence, don't you think? Heehee... When most guys commit to a single act, it's a sign.”

“A sign of what?”

“You obviously mean a great deal to him for the stallion to be performing the same gesture on a regular basis, unless of course he's just as forgetful as a gold fish—Oh, wait...” Twilight's face scrunched up cutely. “That myth's been debunked... or has it?”

“I... Uhm...” I smiled nervously. “I wouldn't put too much stock in it.”

“What, goldfish?”

“No, I mean... erm...” I sighed. “Never mind.”

“Anyways, I think it's perfectly fine to still be infatuated at our ages,” Twilight said, smiling gently at me. “It's especially fine when you have the target of such a fixation mutually interested in you.”

“You... Y-you really think that's the case?” I stammered.

She rambled on, “In fact, many mares would consider you lucky in our day and age. After all, following the Great Changeling Incursion of the Early Classical Era, the gene pool's never exactly recovered. There's still one male born to every five females in Equestria. If you're actively looking for a very special somepony, and someone compatible is right there in front of you, then it's almost a crime to not pursue a relationship! Erm... metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“But...” I bit my lip. I was already dreading the number of minutes until this conversation, like so many thousands of others before it, would evaporate into oblivion, and I would once again be alone with my thoughts and shadows. “What if I'm not in... not in a place to be looking for a special somepony?” I gulped, and the emerald shield above me wavered slightly. “What if I just can't afford it?”

“Shhh... Concentrate...” Twilight stood before me and gently touched my shoulders.

I sighed. I took a deep breath. I gazed into the face of my foalhood friend.

She gazed back, my anchor, and smiled. “It's a sad day when we convince ourselves that we can't afford the things that will only make us happy.”

Her innocence was heartwarming, though I expected a surge of regret to trail the end of it. I spoke before I could think that far. “What if it's just a paper moon? How would I know it's something worth affording?”

“Well, if I were in your place, and I wanted to pursue something... well... anything...” Twilight sat back and tapped her chin while thinking aloud. “I'd go about it scientifically.”

I made a face. “Scientifically?”

“I'd make tons of observations.”

I want to tell Twilight that I have. I want to tell her that my life as of late has been nothing but observations. But how could I do that without coming across as a total sap, a pathetic dreamer, or a silly filly with sparkles in her eyes?

Besides, how would the learned mare relate? There's no way I can instill in her the same burst of excitement, the same flutter of the heart each time I hear his voice. Every morning, I expect him to ignore me. And every morning, to my immeasurable joy, I'm disappointed. I may be invisible to the history books, but I am as real to him as oxygen. He breathes me in, and then he breathes the immortal words out.

“'Good morning to you, angel.'”

“Seriously?” Applejack exclaimed, raising an eyebrow beneath the shade of her hat. “He calls you 'angel?'”

“Uhm... Y-yes,” I nervously confirmed, all the while planting seeds in front of my cabin. “And then he gives me a flower.”

“What, like a rose?”

“A tulip, actually.”

“A tulip?”

“Erm... Y-yes?” I fidgeted with my task. She reached in and guided my hooves so that I planted the seeds expertly apart in the plowed soil. I thanked her with a nod and continued on. “Is... is that a bad thing?”

“Well, it's a might bit peculiar.” She brushed a few golden bangs beneath the rim of her hat and leaned against a parked wagon full of apple baskets. “Most times, stallions fancy offerin' roses with them pick-up lines.”

“Is that what you think it is?” I briefly frowned. “A pick-up line?”

“You wantin' to hear my advice, ain'tcha?” She smirked. “He's baitin' ya, missy. Oldest trick in the book.”

“A book you've read through and through, I imagine.”

“If ya mean to question my experience, then them's some fields you don't wanna be harvestin'.”

“Why not, Miss Applejack?”

She groaned and adjusted her hat. “Because...” Her nostrils flared at the recollection. “The frist time I ever caught the fancy of a stallion, I.... mmfmmffmmgh...”

I paused and squinted up at her. “I'm sorry, what was that?”

“Nnngh... I...” Her words once again melted into indistinguishable mumbles.

“Applejack, I know you just met me, but I'm a musician. I can't be expected to make a tune for something without lyrics.”

“I said, I knocked him onto his keister!”

I did a double-take. “You bucked him to the ground?”

“It was a knee-jerk reaction!” Applejack exclaimed, waving her front limbs with emphasis. “He marched right onto my family farm while we were plantin' our fresh seeds and he had the gall to put his leg around me and whisper in my ear! He's plum lucky it was me who gave him a face full of dirt! If Big Mac got to him, he would have ended up with no behind, much less one he couldn't sit on for a week!”

“Hehehehehe...”

She briefly frowned at me. “T'ain't funny! The stallion was a heavy breathin' varmint with no respect for mares or personal space for that matter!”

“And this has to do with my situation how?” I smiled up at her from where I continued planting the seeds one at a time. “The pony I described is a perfect gentlecolt. His worst sin is flattering me and returning back to his work like nothing happened.”

“Hmmph...” Applejack sighed, dusting her hat off absent-mindedly while speaking, “Yer right, I suppose. Reckon not every stallion in the world deserves to have his fifth leg cut off...”

“Now there’s the spirit.”

“But they do stand to sit on it once in a while,” she grumbled.

“Awww... Miss Applejack...”

She sighed, then softly trotted towards me with a smile. “Look, Miss Heartstrings, darlin'.” She sat beside me and took the seeds, planting them so I could watch up close. “I don't mean to be sendin' you the wrong impression. Each and every pony swings to a different tune. I reckon you know all about that. Me?” She paused briefly. “I'm sure there will come a day when I exchange the pullin' of the plow for the rockin' of a cradle, but that time just hasn't come yet. In all honesty, I'm so plum busy workin' on my farm, that I hardly even give it a second thought. Why, heck, I've been up to my ears this week in gettin' enough apples ready to make a samplin' table for the Gala twelve days from now.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “And here I am interrupting you—”

“Don't you sweat it none!” She said in a sharp voice, though she smiled. “I wouldn't be the pony this village depends on if I didn't lend a hoof—or an ear—to strangers.” She cleared her voice and said, “But when it comes to meetin' that special somepony, I'm just not qualified to lend advice, considerin' I don't plan on settlin' down until I've got all of my apples in a row... heh... to put it lightly.”

“But if you knew that a pony had a crush on you...” I winced. “If you thought that a pony might be infatuated with you, wouldn't you feel flattered?”

“Well...”

“Wouldn't you want to learn more about him, if even to entertain the very notion?”

“Perhaps.” Applejack shrugged. “Really, it depends on what a stallion is lookin' for. Tis a cryin' shame that so many of them only want one thing... heh... and t'ain't apple buckin'.”

I fidgeted, my eyes falling to the dirt road in front of my cabin. “Just... Just how do I figure it out?”

“Miss Heartstrings, if you've asked any pony in town about me, they'll tell you a thing or two about my brutal honesty.” She smiled, as if with glowing pride. “If y'all are really so torn about a handsome colt lookin' ya over, you just gotta be straightforward.”

“How do you mean?”

“You gotta trot up and ask him straight to his face just what he means by it!”

I trotted straight into town early one day to do just that, and Morning Dew didn't greet me. I couldn't decide whether to feel devastated or relieved. However, I didn't have to ponder about the topic long. Soon, I heard his voice, and those of many others on the northern fringes of town.

Curious, I trotted past the corner of a general store and gazed into a clearing. In the background, several construction ponies in orange garb were hammering and chiseling away at an abandoned hotel building in disarray. Before this noisy scene, in the spotlight of the morning sun, was a group of young ponies. In the center of which were two familiar souls with familiar voices, nuzzling each other under the gaze of their mutual companions.

“Well, let's see it!” Exclaimed Thunderlane. Blossomforth and two other pegasi were craning their necks beside him to get a better view. “Give us a look at what sealed the deal!”

Caramel looked at Wind Whistler. Wind Whistler blushed. She hid her smile into Caramel's mane while blindly raising her left hoof. A kaleidoscopic shine of glittering reflections anointed the small crowd of friends. A diamond-studded band was adorning Wind Whistler's limb.

“Awwwwww!” Blossomforth cooed. “It's fantastic!”

“Yeah!” Flitter nodded, her eyes bright. “It's the most dazzling hooflet I've ever seen!”

“A very good find, Caramel,” Morning Dew said with a smile.

Thunderlane squinted. “How could you afford it, dude?”

“Thunder!” Blossomforth hissed and thwapped him with her wing.

“I'm serious!”

“Eheh...” Caramel's ears drooped as he rubbed one of his hooves with another. “I... uhm... I dug them up myself.”

“Did you now?” Morning Dew inquired.

“Only had to fight five diamond dogs in the process.”

“Really, dude?” Thunderlane smirked.

Caramel bit his lip. “Okay, maybe three dogs.”

Wind Whistler cleared her voice and leaned her smiling face in. “Well, if you ask me, it's the most romantic thing anypony's ever done in this village.”

Cloudchaser giggled. “So is that what made you say 'yes?'”

Wind Whistler and Caramel looked at each other. After a deep gaze, they nuzzled and it was Wind Whistler who spoke again, “Actually, we had planned for this over the last few months.”

“Ever since we became Souls of Solstice last Summer Sun Celebration.”

“And we decided to start a business of our own,” Wind Whistler explained. “A delivery business.”

“Really?” Morning Dew's eyes lit up. “That sounds like a fantastic idea!”

“What's this I hear about the business of marryin'?” Uttered a mare's voice. The group looked over to see one of the construction workers trotting over from the noisy site before the hotel building. With a shrug, the pony removed her hard hat and shook loose a lengthy fountain of snow-white mane hair. There now stood a remarkably pretty mare in the midst of them, clad in orange garb and brown tool belts. Her green eyes reflected the sparkling hooflet on Wind Whistler's limb as she smirked wryly. “Well, whaddya know. Caramel and Windy's gettin' hitched? About dang time!”

“It isn't really much of a surprise, is it, Ambrosia?” Wind Whistler exclaimed, blushing.

“Girl,” Ambrosia said, chuckling. “I see everythang from where I work all over town. I haven't seen ya usin' them wings of yours in half a year, on account of ya bein' tied to Caramel's hide and all!”

“They've been the most adorable couple in Ponyville!” Flitter said, her wing-tips living up to her name.

“You would think that!” Cloudchaser teased her.

“Hey, just because you haven't had a coltfriend in a year—”

“Ohhh, you're gonna get it now!”

“Girls, it's such a beautiful day.” Morning Dew chided the sisters. “Save killing each other for when you're home alone. After all, this is...” Suddenly, Morning Dew teetered. I watched curiously from afar as his blue eyes shut halfway, and he leaned limply to his side.

“Wuh oh.” Ambrosia craned her neck. Her face momentarily paled with concern, then all too quickly melted into a wry smirk. “It's happenin' again.”

“Hey, Morning.” Thunderlane nudged Morning Dew with one wing. “Stay with us, buddy.”

Morning Dew snapped out of it. His eyes blinked until they were fully open again. “Ahem. Eheheheh... do forgive me. I'm just happy to hear the good news.”

“We can tell,” Ambrosia said, winking. She looked over to the nuzzling couple. “I think it's fantastic. Any chance us ponies can witness yer nuptials?”

“The wedding's going to be in a month and a half from now,” Caramel said. “It's not really anything too fancy. We'll be renting town hall's meeting room for a day.”

“The whole town's invited!”

“Hehehe... Yes...” Caramel took a deep breath. “I can hardly believe that this is all happening. Months ago, I was almost completely convinced I would have to leave Ponyville to start a new life.”

“Funny how fate is more often than not swayed by love,” Morning Dew remarked.

“Ugh... Lay it on thick, why don't ya?” Ambrosia’s stammering voice cracked slightly.

“I mean it, Amber!” Morning Dew gestured with his hoof. “Witness for yourself! Have you seen a happier couple?”

“As a matter of fact, I have!” She grinned rosily at him. “My folks weren't just doin' their taxes when they made me and my two young brothers, Morning.”

“Ugh, dear Celestia.” Thunderlane rolled his eyes while Blossomforth giggled. I noticed for the first time that a tiny little colt was standing beside Thunderlane's side. He blinked with quizzical innocence while all of the adults conversed and laughed around the scene.

“Well, we're headed to Sugarcube Corner to celebrate,” Wind Whistler said. “Everypony's invited to come, of course.”

“We'll talk more about the wedding and this delivery business we've got planned!” Caramel exclaimed, his sapphire eyes alive with excitement.

“I may join you fine ponies later,” Morning Dew said. “I can't rightly abandon the work I have to do.”

“Same here, y'all,” Ambrosia added. “Besides, I've been around sawdust and sweating workponies all day. I'd just stink up a pretty place like the Corner.”

“Heh, somehow I doubt it, Amber,” Blossomforth said. She looked at the others. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

Wind Whistler giggled. “Come on, everypony!” She and Caramel were the first to trot away, side by side. Cloudchaser and Flitter followed. Thunderlane and Blossomforth soon marched up the rear. Only one equine figure lingered.

It was the colt, a tiny pegasus at that. I suddenly recognized him as Thunderlane's little brother. What was his name again? Tremor? Quake? Boomer? His face was blank, until it grew longer. I noticed that his lonesome gaze was being cast in a direction that no other pony was looking towards the entire time. With the careful precision of a well-practiced observer, I trailed his eyesight across the lengths of Ponyville.

Where it landed was on a patch of grass where three young ponies were having a picnic. They were all the colt's age and just as bright and innocent. The trio was hardly a rare sight for the likes of downtown Ponyville. Scootaloo, of course, I recognized immediately. The other two fillies I had seen before. It took me a few seconds to process the information, but I soon determined that they were the sisters to Applejack and Rarity respectfully.

The three crusaders were scribbling various things onto a sheet of paper, undoubtedly a brazen to-do list of experimental talent-hunting. Scootaloo said something, and Applejack's sister giggled. Rarity's young sibling reacted differently, breaking into a brief song to tease Scootaloo before the orange pegasus suddenly swept her in a giggling tackle.

Thunderlane's brother blinked from afar. A sigh escaped his lips, something that was remarkably somber and lonesome for a colt his age, or so I thought. I saw his tiny wings drooping on either side of him, so that when I glanced once more between him and the fillies in the distance, I made a sudden connection, and I didn't know whether to feel humored or sympathetic. Perhaps both.

“Rumble? Didn't you hear?!” Thunderlane's voice boomed from the distance. “We're headed to Sugarcube Corner!”

“But... But I was just—” Rumble's tiny voice squeaked.

“Come on, pipsqueak! Don't let me catch you dragging your hooves! Dad says I'm to look out for you!”

Rumble's head hung towards the ground. His wings twitched one last time, and he trotted firmly—but slowly—away from what he had been gazing at, eventually joining his brother and his brother's friends in their trek across town.

Morning Dew's voice, as always, broke me from my silent watch. “Well, that is certainly good news. For the longest time, I was frankly worried about Caramel.” He turned and smiled at Ambrosia. “It's remarkable how his and Wind Whistler's life turned for the best.”

“Stranger things have happened in this town.” Ambrosia nodded. She slapped the hard hat back onto her head. “But you don't see me complainin'.” She turned and smiled at the stallion. “Why, Morning, yer not jealous, are ya?”

“Hmm? What are you going on about now, Amber?” He smirked.

She giggled, betraying the rough exterior produced by her working gear. “You always have struck me as a bit of a romantic, what with all yer flower pluckin' and all.” She winked. “The way you gush over Caramel and Windy.” Her jaw tensed slightly. “I figured you wanna be hitched yerself someday.”

“Heh...” Morning dug his hoof briefly into the ground. “I doubt that's gonna be happening anytime soon.”

“Why are the nicest ponies always married to their work?”

“It's not that, Amber.” Morning Dew sighed. He turned around, his face sweeping the village in a brief but immaculate deadpan. “I guess I've yet to meet that very special somepony...”

His gaze met me, only it didn't. As soon as I my ears heard those words, I vanished, hiding like an escaped criminal against the obstructing wall of a buildingside beyond his vision. I felt my breath coming out in pathetic little pants. My throat had knotted up, and my chest heaved like a zeppelin on the breaking point. I fiddled with my hoodie's sleeves. If I could have somehow hidden my entire body into that sweaterjacket, I would have.

What is wrong with me? Why is it that every little thing he says mean so much? Why am I excited, entranced, horrified, and mesmerized by every tiny movement of his eyes? I'm a better pony than this. I'm a self-respecting adult, a musician, an artist and a scholar.

And yet, I was giggling. Shivers were attacking my limbs. The deathly tendrils of Nightmare Moon's curse were surging through my system, and yet I was smiling. I was electrified, floating like a crazed pony in the center of Ponyville, set afire by a name, a voice, and idea after idea... all of them half as rosy as my burning cheeks must have looked.

In life, we are all looking for something. I was looking for an answer to the elegies, or so I had long thought. It occurred to me that I was secretly searching for something more, something that I had been pursuing since I was born, long before any curse stranded me there in Ponyville. To think that maybe—just maybe—a stallion like Morning Dew was looking for the same thing to... or the same one...

No. I can't afford to think of anything so silly or fanciful. I have a situation to deal with. I have a magical imprisonment to break myself free of. That is all that matters. That should be all that matters. I should stop entertaining this... this... this deliriously happy stupidity. What life can I expect to win for myself if I don't simply move forward?

I felt exhausted, breathless, dizzy. I realized just how tired I was of running in place, encouraged by the hopeful yet fallacious notion of “moving forward.” Everything stopped making sense when my heart raced like it did, fueled by the trace fumes of Morning Dew's voice. I had to regain my senses. I had to distract myself. I had to throw myself into the presence of somepony who was a million times more prone to delirium than myself, just so I could wake up to my senses.

“And everypony will see my dresses—will be amazed by my craftponyship and finesse—and we will be the talk of all of Canterlot!” Rarity was already swooning halfway through her dramatic utterance. She sat on a stool across from me, a half-altered cloak draped across her lap, as her voice rang across the fabulous lengths of the Carousel Boutique. “We will be the belles of the ball, all six of us! And even Princess Celestia herself, an immortal who knows no boundaries to time, will forever remember the night that we came to bring shine and beauty to her annual Gala!”

I smiled as I listened to her, my chin propped up on a pair of hooves. My ears twitched happily as I absorbed her enchanted musings. In truth, bringing the cloak for her to alter was just an excuse for... for this. I very much needed this, a distraction, a dream within a dream, even if it was her dream. It was a welcome respite from mine.

“Pinkie Pie's bright gown will infect ponies around her with her unique bounciness and foalish enthusiasm! Applejack's ensemble evokes class, so surely it will help her sell countless apples from her bounty! Rainbow Dash's gown will dazzle the Wonderbolts! Twilight's dress will instill her mentor with pride! And—dear heaven—don't get me started on my masterpiece, Fluttershy's dress!”

A warm breath escaped my lips as I listened to her gush about every dress she had made for the upcoming Gala.. I was staring at Rarity, and yet—suddenly—I wasn't. I saw Wind Whistler standing in the center of Town Hall, an hour after a young couple's vows had been exchanged. She was clad in a snow-white gown of pure satin, and Caramel was awash in her beauty. Together, the newly-weds danced and nuzzled each other as all the surrounding guests watched, applauded, and ultimately joined in the gentle swing of hooves themselves. I was among them, standing alone in the shadows. The minutes were measured in my sighs, until I heard a gentle series of hoofsteps coming to a stop beside me. I looked up, and a breath instantly escaped my lungs. Morning Dew was there. The light of the wedding reception bathed him in a soft amber, highlighting the silken gloss of his immaculate gold coat. He smiled and lifted a hoof my way. Did he actually want to dance with me? I was a perfect stranger; I would forever be. I should have refused, but some cosmic force pulled my hoof towards his, accepting his gesture, set afire by the possibility that we could be dancing together, side by side, ear to ear, and I would finally get a chance to hear him call me “angel” again, only this time so close to me... and so close to my beating heart...

“And then, when the night is alive with stars and music, I will finally get a chance to meet... him!” Rarity's voice broke through my dreamy cloud.

I snapped out of it, my eyes wide. Some stallion's warm smile flashed in a panicked blink. “What about him?! I... erm...” I gulped and smiled nervously. “Who?”

Rarity squinted awkwardly at me. It felt as though the two of us had been mutually woken up from some fitful enchantment. “Is... is something the matter, dear?”

“Erm... No.” I cleared my throat and shifted nervously on the stool. “What makes you think that somepony's the morning, dew? Uhmm... I m-mean...” I seethed, shook my blushing cranium, and took a deep breath. “You... erm... you were going on about the night being 'alive with stars and music?'”

“Mmmmmm... Yes.” Rarity's eyes sparkled with more than the noonday light filtering in through the windows. Her pale features melted under a deep rosiness blossoming to her cheeks. “I can see it all now. I'll be trotting into the polished chambers of the royal palace, a stranger to everypony's eyes, and yet a glorious sight to behold in my stunning dress. Everypony will wonder just how a simple mare from Ponyville could be dressed in such a way as to be the envy of the most elite and regal of equines. And then he will see me, and his heart will be set aflame with curiosity and awe. He will have to know just who this special pony is. He will abandon his entire royal entourage, just so he could march across the palace on his lonesome and raise my hoof to his lips for a kiss, then ask me to dance just so that I could bless him with my presence—”

“You...” I narrowed my gaze on her. “You have your hopes set on capturing the attention of an Equestrian prince?”

“Well, I most certainly don't intend to make the palace groundskeeper swoon, darling.” She let loose a flippant lap.

There are times in life when it's perfectly righteous to giggle like a pony having just visited the dentist.

In response, Rarity merely rolled her eyes. “Hmmph! Is it really such a shameful fantasy for a mare my age to cling to?”

“Ahem.” I finally recovered from my tittering outburst. “Well, it certainly is... fantastical...”

“If you ask me, Miss... Miss...”

“Heartstrings.”

“I pity ponies who completely grow up,” she said. “Really, I do.” She telekinetically threaded a needle through my cloak, patching up the tiny holes left in the fabric. “We are the sum of our dreams. Some of us—those who are artists—are even defined by them. What is life if not a canvas worth coloring as much as we would dare to?”

I smiled. “You have the most magical night in your life just around the corner, Miss Rarity,” I said. “It's hardly shameful to indulge in a dream that suddenly has the chance of being realized.”

“Darling, it should never be shameful to indulge,” she said with a wink. “So long as we can afford to tease fantasy with the bits of reality we merit. Only fate knows who I will or won't meet at the Gala, but I surely won't—for even a second—lose sight of that which I've anticipated since I was a tiny little foal.”

“And that tiny little foal wanted to become a princess through courtship?” I asked.

Rarity gave an airy laugh. “Miss Heartstrings, surely you too had fanciful dreams when you were just a filly!”

I shrugged. “Being first chair in the Canterlot Symphony Orchestra comes to mind.”

“Do not attempt to fool me any more than you fool yourself, darling.” Rarity leaned forward and implored the gentler parts of my soul with her eyes. “Certainly somewhere in that learned mind of yours is a romantic dream still unrealized.”

“A... romantic dream?”

“Mmmmhmmm. Yes. A notion, a fantasy, an aspiration that is larger and sweeter than life as you currently pretend to know it.”

He smiles at me. He gives me the flower. I'm his precious angel, and he reminds me of it. I have the urge to tell him that if I'm an angel, then I had lost my wings ages ago. No sweet seraphim should ever be stuck on this earth, countless leagues from home. It isn't until he looks at me with a sad expression that I realize that I've been rambling. I apologize and try to leave. He anchors me in place. He insists that I explain what I mean. He's curious. He cares about me and what's plaguing my spirit.

So I tell him. We go for a walk through the woods as the conversation blooms. I pretend to be interested in the weather, in the sunlight, in the life glimmering all around us, in anything but what I'm actually staring at. His blue eyes entreat me with as much magnificence as his smile, and soon I am telling him everything. I tell him about it all, about the curse, about the cold shivers that assault me on a regular basis, about the days that I spend alone in a sea of happy souls that drown me as much as they inspire me.

And he understands. I am utterly shocked. How could he understand? Is he pretending just to make me feel better? But no, he understands. And he explains it. Gently grasping my hooves in his, he looks into my eyes and shares it. An angel clipped of her wings looks for other ways to fly. It's no wonder that I'm always trying to make song; I'm trying to catch a wind that is forever lost to me. If he could, he would be that wind, and he would carry me to brighter, warmer, happier places. Looking into his eyes, windows to a soul that wishes it could absorb my sorrows, I suddenly have no energy left to doubt him. If the curse's cold finally ends me there in the middle of the forest, I would feel no qualms about dying in his embrace. For I know that he would bury me with as much respect and care that only a dutiful gardener could commit, the same respect and acknowledgement I've struggled for so many months in this freezing prison to summon from the disparate ghosts around me.

And so I tell him what to put on such a grave. I tell him my name, like I've never told any pony before. I offer it to him. I pour it into his ears, with my breath as the vessel and my pent-up tears as the solvent, and he catches every single drop, adding it to the same reservoir from which he draws the water to christen the most beautiful and colorful things this village has ever known.

Before I know it, evening has fallen. I don't know how long we have left before the moon shatters the beauty of this moment. I don't know how many steps we'd have to take for me to escort him back to Ponyville and bid him a bitter goodbye. All I know is that my cabin is around the bend, and I don't want to face the cold, dark gaze of night alone. Not again. I would rather die.

So I make an excuse: something about showing him a musical composition I've been working on in the confines of my cabin. To my shock, he's actually interested. It's frightening, really. I should be frightened. My hoofsteps quicken, but instead of fleeing from him, I'm leading him home, to my home. Once inside, he instantly marvels at the plethora of musical instruments hanging from the walls. His smile of admiration lights up in an amber glow, like an artificial sunrise. It's almost magical how swiftly I've already lit the fireplace. It's not like I'm actually cold. I'm sweating through to my hoodie. I should take the stupid thing off. I realize that if I asked him to, the gentlecolt would likely oblige me. And I sweat even more.

He notices. Of course he notices. He sees everything. How else could he plant and grow beauty in all of the world's most hidden niches? He walks across the cabin towards me. Our hooves don't touch. We are both on the crest of something so beautifully dangerous, and yet he knows that some things must remain sacred until I choose to build that bridge first. I stand there, shivering, mere inches from his concerned expression. I realize that the best bridges in history have been built by the architects simply collapsing, so as to show where the ravines are in the first place.

It's a bitter ensemble that brews these tears suddenly cascading between us. So many sullen symphonies have been performed in this cabin, alone, when the lights go out and the only fire that remains is the pain in my crumbling heart. There is no number to measure the nights I have spent curled up in this very place, serenaded to slumber by the sound of my own sobs. I wake up in the morning purposefully forgetting them. I hardly even write about them in my journal. What is the point? Everypony is sad. Everypony is alone. I just never thought—not even in a million years—that I would be all of these pathetic things, and the only creature capable of dealing with them would be myself. Brave soldiers and warriors of ages have died in utmost agony. At least they had the songs of their comrades to herald their courage for centuries to follow. When I die, the resulting dirge will fizzle out along with me, and all that will be left of my melody will be an empty space cast heartlessly between the breaths of strangers.

It isn't until I've brushed the tears from my eyes with my sleeve that I see his face moving closer to mine. It's now that I realize that every single thought that's run through my head has been spoken aloud. I want to scream in frustration, but he silences me with a whisper. He's nuzzling me. For the first time ever, I can finally feel the soft, silken texture of his golden coat. He treats me as if I'm a hundred times more priceless than he will ever be. He gives no words, no grandiose speeches, no hollow attempts at placating me. All he says is my name, over and over again, like a gentle hoof planting seeds of life into inert soil, and that's when I finally crumble.

He catches me. He holds me. I try to tell him that this is all I want: to be held, to be caressed, to have my existence and preciousness acknowledged through an endless embrace. However, I'm crying too much for my words to come out legibly. But, as it turns out, words are as pointless to him as they are to me. After all, he already knows. He understands. As the minutes bleed into hours, we lie before the fireplace together, and he is simply holding me, chasing the accursed cold of the night away with his warmth and whispers. And I release—so many months of anguish and ennui—I release, knowing that he will catch them all. His heart's a basin built for the two of us since the dawn of time. I know that he realizes this, for no matter how much I cry or sob, his smile never fades away. I want to write songs about him forever. I want his ears to be filled with as much beauty as what he's gifting me with right here and now.

And then, I gaze up, and I gasp. I see the sunrise through the window. The night has gone by, its cold moon having shattered like a bad dream. I feel my heart racing, about to burst from my chest. He asks me what's wrong, but that's not all. When he asks, he says my name.

He says my name. Bless Celestia, he says my name. He hasn't forgotten me. I still mean something to him. I still exist. I am more than just a shivering body in his embrace. He knows my name, and I know that I am no longer cursed, for I am his, and he is mine.

That's when the tears end, and I cuddle up against him. I maybe even laugh. He does too, stroking my mane like a porcelain doll in his forelimbs. The morning sun pours in through the window. It's a new future, a new life. I wonder what the first thing is that I love about it. I decide that it's his fragrance, and I laugh again, if only to smell him more, to know that this is real.

And it is.

I took a deep breath. I looked across the boutique at Rarity.

“Romantic dreams are just that,” I ultimately murmured. “Dreams.” My smile was placid, the necessary dam to inane floodbanks that nopony ever needed to be burdened with. “There are many things in life that stand to be achieved. Quite a few of them, I'm convinced, can be accomplished alone.”

“Hmmmph...” Rarity gave me a knowing glance. “What a tragedy.”

I blinked, then looked at her cockeyed. “How do you mean?”

She ignored that, instead gazing down at her gentle needlework. “Flights of fancy aside, there's a truth I've long believed in, Miss Heartstrings.”

“Oh yes? And what's that?”

“It's a large world that we live in. A world that is all too often beset with trepidation, pestilence, and all sorts of horrid monstrosities. If you think about it really hard, we Equestrians are truly blessed to have such a radiant alicorn watching over our lives on a daily basis.” She looked up at me with a serious gaze. “If this was another life, another circumstance, where we weren't so avidly protected, just how swiftly would we lose all the fragile things in existence that we cherish so much?”

“That's... rather deep,” I said, chuckling helplessly.

“Is it, now?” Rarity smirked wryly. “Have ponies around town given you the impression that I'm incapable of such intense thought?”

“Erm...”

She went on. “We live such short, bleak lives. And yet...” She grinned delicately. “We have the power to exhibit such boundless beauty and grace. True, there are many other creatures who shine with dazzling qualities of their own. Griffons possess an unmatched stature. And dragons—for all of their brutish exteriors—display great, noble antiquity. But think about it, Miss Heartstrings, are there creatures in this world who are truly more precious, more delicate, or more exquisite than ponies?”

“Well...” I ran a hoof over my neck as I shrugged. “I suppose there are times when I've believed in that, though I've felt a little shallow for doing so—”

“Don't,” she said bluntly. “For there is no shame in it. Ponies are diamonds in the rough of this world, Miss Heartstrings. For all of our historical mistakes and occasional sins, we've only ever been stewards of nature, and I'm convinced that we've left a blessing on this landscape instead of a blemish. There's a reason for all of this, and it's something that I've believed in all my life.” She smiled as she let a warm breath escape her lips. “And it's that everypony is made for one thing, and that's to be loved. How can a gentle soul built for such a singular, darling purpose be anything but benevolent?”

I couldn't help but smile. My heart danced at such a notion. “It's a charming thought, to say the least.”

“And I intend to be completely and utterly charmed at the Gala the weekend after next,” Rarity said with a dreamy exhale. “Whether I win myself a prince or a pauper—heeheehee—I guess it doesn't truly matter, so long as I win him, and he treats me lovingly, like a lady, and I get to understand first-hoof just how true my most cherished belief is.” Her face suddenly drooped in a cold frown. “Only...”

I blinked curiously. “Only what?”

“Nnnngh...” She groaned and ran a hoof dramatically over her teetering forehead. “I do not know the Cosmic Waltz!”

“The Cosmic... Waltz?”

“Only the most traditional dance performed orchestrally at every Galloping Gala from the Early Classical Period to modern day!” Rarity put on a pouting face as she continued sewing my cloak to perfection. “If I can't engage in a single ballroom dance, I would just die!”

“That's what you're afraid of?” I couldn't help but gawk at her. “You have every intention to win the heart of a royal prince—to the point that he'll utterly ignore your common stature—and the only thing you're afraid of is screwing up a classic dance?”

“Hmmph!” She tilted her nose up in the air. “I said that I desired to live out my most cherished belief! I didn't say I wanted to do so in a bumbling manner!”

I blinked. I snorted. I giggled. It wasn't until she laughed as well that I stopped feeling guilty for it.

Everypony is made to be loved.

It certainly is a thought that's hard to get out of one's head, even if it came from a mind as fanciful as Rarity's. I went to her with hopes of distracting myself from... my distractions. It only had the opposite effect, to the extent that I wondered if a certain, conniving part of my soul had orchestrated the whimsical meeting from the get-go.

I wanted to believe in what she believed. I wanted to be the sort of friendly pony who supported her ideals no matter how ridiculous. But I've always been—for the lack of a better description—a practical filly. A part of me will forever giggle at Rarity, and yet that part of me will simultaneously nod in agreement with the likes of Applejack.

There's another thing that I couldn't stop thinking about. Applejack is more than just a smart, resourceful, hard-working pony. She is a gorgeous mare, far more resplendent than I think she's ever had the grace of perceiving herself. In all the years that she's spent living as the backbone to Ponyville's integrity and development, it astonishes me that she hasn't won herself dozens of suitors knocking at her farmhouse door on a daily basis.

Anecdotes of whalloping rude stallions aside, the only thing I can imagine keeping Applejack from having settled down with a special somepony by now is that she—like myself—has long grasped a truth just as immortal as Rarity's, though far more palpable.

It's not so much that a pony is made to be love; she or he is made to be respected.

“Good morning to you, angel.”

I took the tulip from him. I rotated it around in my levitating aura, smiling. My nostrils flared, and once again I detected the fragrance that I only sensed when I was around him. Something stumbled deep inside of me, like a filly trying to break out of the strange mint-green cage that had grown up around her. For the moment, I lulled her to sleep, if only to build the courage for what I was about to do next. The bright glow of dawn glittered over the treetops on the north edge of Ponyville as I spoke above the noise of distant construction workers.

“Why?”

His handsome smile was briefly overcome by a blank expression. I wondered if any other stallion in the history of Equestria had ever been so intensely struck with a more random inquisition.

“I'm sorry?” Morning Dew stammered. It was cute to the point of distraction.

I cleared my throat and gazed at him steadily, steering my words with sheer intellectual power. “Why am I an angel? Hmm?” I took deep breaths. It was all I could do to keep myself from collapsing or—more appropriately—galloping towards the nearest building and slamming my stupid head against it. What was I doing? Why was I shattering something so terribly precious? My name's always been “Lyra,” not “Applejack.” Nevertheless, I continued. “Why would you call a random mare—a total stranger—something so flattering?”

“It... well...” Morning Dew chuckled, running a nervous hoof through his blue mane. A few flakes of garden dirt got caught in his hair from the bashful gesture. I wondered if he noticed all the small things that made him so amazing, that even the tiniest of blemishes couldn't ruin it. “Because... uhm...” He ultimately gulped and limply let forth, “You reminded me...” His breath lingered as he bit his lip.

“Of who?” I asked, squinting at him. “Of another pony?”

“No, not a pony,” he said firmly, which convinced me that it was honest. My heart jolted with each fresh new word from his lips, words that I had never heard from this stallion before, and yet were flavored with the same gentleness as the ones he had always repeated to me previously. “It's more like a feeling, a memory... heh...” His chuckle was the most delicious thing to come from his lungs. “I'm sorry, ma'am. I... I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that—”

“No! No, don't—!” I almost bit my tongue. Swallowing, I lowered the desperate tone in my voice, accompanying my next few words with a gentle smile. “Don't be sorry. I'm... I'm just curious, is all. This is a very gorgeous flower, after all.”

“It matches your eyes.” The directness of that statement stabbed me. I hadn't expected that, nor the sudden firmness in his next gaze. “A very proud color: gold. Few things in nature can imitate it.”

I blinked instinctively at that. I gazed at the tulip in my magical grasp. It was at the last second that I chose to giggle instead of sob. “Heeheehee... That's... Wow. Uhm, yeah, okay.” I smiled goofily at him. “I'll buy that.”

“As for what I said, ma'am...” His politeness was painful, like a gap had been formed between us. But, of course, the gap had always been there. He shifted on his hooves as he spoke, “Well, it's a long story.”

“I have long ears.”

“Heheh. Ahem. Well, you must be a stranger around these parts and all, but I'm the city gardener for Ponyville...”

“You don't say?”

“But I didn't always want to be planting flowers for a living.”

I glanced at his cutie mark without having to. I had memorized the three brown seedlings long ago. “Why not? Certainly it's your special talent.”

“Oh, there's no denying that,” he said calmly. “But my parents were both active members of the royal military.”

“Truly?”

“Yes. And as long as I could remember, I wanted to follow in their hoofsteps. I wanted to join the Canterlot Royal Guard,” Morning Dew explained.

“That's... rather interesting,” I said with a nod. “Because it's what your parents did, huh?”

“Well...” To that he fidgeted with a bashful smile. “Not entirely.”

I leaned forward. “I'm listening.”

“I was sick a lot as a foal,” he said. “Even to this day, I have to deal with these constant, terrible dizzy spells. But, in my childhood, there was always one thing that got me through such episodes.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. He suddenly had a hard time looking at me straight. “I had... well... I had a vision. On one of my sickest nights, I could have sworn that a pony came to me, and she chased the illness away. I got up out of bed, all of my dizziness gone, and I felt like a new being. I looked to her, to try and thank her. I saw a pair of golden eyes—bright as the moment of Creation—and it was around that time that I came out of my spell. I realized that I was looking out the window of my room at the time, and the sun was rising. Later, when my parents came home from their overnight shift, they gasped in surprise. It turns out that I had earned my cutie mark overnight.”

“Awwwww...” I couldn't help but grin at that. “That's such a sweet cutie mark story...”

“Isn't everypony's?” Morning Dew exclaimed. “My parents and everypony I speak to still think that I earned my cutie mark because gardening is in my blood. And they may be right. Still, I think it's something else entirely. That morning when the vision came to me, and I saw those golden eyes—so full of warmth and sincerity—I realized that there was nothing more I wanted to do but ensure that same security for ponies everywhere. After all, I had just been delivered to well-being by a guardian angel.”

“Why didn't you become a guard?”

“Heh... One does not simply 'become a guard,' ma'am,” he said.

I winced. “Sorry. I guess I should have realized that.”

“Don't be sorry,” he said with a shrug. “I still hope that someday I will make the grade.”

“In the meantime...” I gazed at his gardening wagon full of tools.

He looked at it as well. “In the meantime, I've simply done what's come naturally to me. I figure that if I can't protect ponies from a guardpost, I can give them security in another way. What's more wholesome and secure than an environment that pleases the eye and the heart at the same time?”

“Heeheehee...” I ran a hoof through my mane as I gazed aside. “'Flower Security.' I think Princess Celestia should open a new military division.”

“Heheheh. Yes. I imagine my ramblings must sound terribly silly.”

“Oh! No! N-not at all,” I exclaimed, then gulped. “Still, I wish I could say that it explains why you—”

“Your eyes make me think of that waking moment of clarity I once had, long ago,” he finally said. “And... heh...” He gazed at the earth as he thought aloud. “It reminded me of that glorious feeling of self-discovery, when I no longer felt afraid or lonesome anymore. I wish all ponies could feel so secure, to have met their guardian angel and come out of the experience with a conscious memory of it.”

I stared at him. A lump had formed in my throat. I glanced down at the soft earth between us. Even in a moment as sanctified as this, I couldn't stop the freezing globe from spinning out of my grasp. I felt a brief wave of shivers. “I also wish all ponies could remember something so wonderful...” I smiled painfully. “I often wonder if we would be better creatures, if only such beautiful things weren't always lost to us.” I heard a soft thud. I glanced over.

Morning Dew was lying on the ground.

It took a mountain of effort not to shriek. I didn't realize I was hyperventilating until I found myself having slid on my knees, crouching over him. I gazed with twitching, wide eyes at his limp figure.

He had collapsed... fallen over like a heavy log into the earth. Blades of grass and loose flower petals were still fluttering back to the world around him as I reached two shivering hooves up to his neck and felt for a pulse.

I ignored the silken texture of his coat in my examination. His heart was beating, but nothing responded to my touch. Not a single muscle spasmed. Not a single stretch of skin showed a sign of life. In my panic, I could barely see if his nostrils were flaring or not from breath. I heard a loud noise, and suddenly realized I was yelling.

“Somepony, help!” I didn't know enough first-aid to figure out how to assist him, to save him—to save him from what? He just collapsed! “Anypony! Call a doctor! Fetch Nurse Redheart! For Celestia's sake, this stallion's just collapsed!”

“Hey!” A voice barked. “Quit yer fussin'!”

Gasping, I glanced over.

Ambrosia was calmly trotting up from the half-dismantled hotel a few yards away. She smiled at me in spite of my horror. “New to these parts, ma'am?”

“Pl-please!” I whimpered. “You've got to go get help! Something's wrong with him! He was just talking to me a few seconds ago, and now he's—”

“Puttin' on a show, is what,” she briefly grumbled, taking her hard hat off. “I swear, the dumb sap should grow a brain and wear a sign around his neck or something.” She squatted down beside me, placing a hoof on Morning Dew's brow. “Yup. Just as I thought. I'm surprised he's lasted this long today.”

“What... What...?” I breathlessly stammered. I didn't care how desperately fearful I looked.

“He's just havin' himself another one of his cataplexic episodes.”

“Cat... Cata... pl-plexic...?”

“Heh. Glad I’m not the only pony who struggles with that mouthful. Ahem. It's very rare, Miss,” Ambrosia lethargically explained. “The poor pony's a narcoleptic, you see. Only, he's got it real bad. He's dealt with it all his life. It's courageous, in some really sissy way.”

“But...” I gulped. “It almost looks as if he's dead.”

“He only wishes that he was. Nah, he's just dozed off. Morning Dew's lucky he doesn't swallow half the flowers he plants around town with how much he falls flat on his muzzle.” She smiled. “All it takes is a little pick-me-up, s'long as it's timed right. Here, I'll show you.” Ambrosia cleared her throat, leaned over, and practically shrieked into the stallion's ear. “Hey! Earth to Morning! Pick yer flanks up, lazy bones!”

“Snkkkt—Gahh!” Morning Dew's blue eyes flew wide open, twitched, then clenched shut as he weathered what appeared to be a terribly dizzy headache. “Nnnnngh... Mmmf...” His eyes opened again, this time squinting. “Awwwww hayseeds. I did it again?”

“Yup.” Ambrosia smiled as she helped him back up to four hooves. “Don't fret it much, Morning. It was only—like—two minutes this time. Maybe three.”

“Ugh...” He groaned and sat on his haunches while rubbing his forehead. “What is this—Four times this week?”

“Five,” she said with a chuckle. “Looks like the boys owe me lunch again.”

He rolled his eyes and smiled tiredly at her. “Seriously? Are you still making bets over me? Don't you have better things to do, like razing a hotel building to the ground?”

“Like you're one to complain!” She stuck her tongue out. “It certainly makes up for all the bits you owe me for waking your sleepy butt day after day!”

“Heh... Yeah...” He sighed and gave her a thankful glance. “What would I do without you, Amber?”

“Mmmm...” Her green eyes danced warmly through the clouds. “I shudder to think.” She victoriously plopped her hard hat atop her alabaster mane. “If only I was as good a counselor as I am an alarm clock. You just about scared the tail off of Miss Doey-Eyes here.”

“Who?”

“Don't be rude, Morning!” Ambrosia gestured towards me. “Didn't you know you had company?”

“Hmm?” He turned my way. He smiled sleepily. “Well, good morning to you, angel.”

“I...” I gulped. I gazed down at the ground. I saw the tulip lying in the grass where I had dropped it in fright. “Yes. It's... It's a good morning.” I tossed him an awkward smile. “But I should be on my way. I've... got a great deal of business to attend to,” I lied.

“Very well,” Morning Dew performed his ritualistic bow, reeling with brief dizziness. “Enjoy your stay in Ponyville.”

“Yeah, 'angel,'” Ambrosia threw in. She gave Morning Dew a sharp glance, rolled her eyes, and was gone.

I too had made my hasty departure, but not without snatching a certain golden flower from the earth as I scampered away.

When I made it to my cabin, I slammed the wooden door behind me as if holding back a tidal wave of chaos at my tail. I slumped down to my haunches, still exhausted from the incessant beating of my heart.

With telekinesis, I plucked the tulip from the pocket in my saddlebag where I had hastily stowed it away. I twirled the golden petals before my gaze. I thought of how quickly a beautiful moment can turn into something horrifying... and then precious once again.

I didn't want to feel so much pity for Morning Dew, but it was hard not to. I wasn't all too familiar with narcolepsy, especially its chronic cases. Still, it didn't take too terrible a stretch of the imagination to see how crazy an ordeal the stallion had to endure on a regular basis. It was no wonder that his dreams of being a guardpony were hardly realized. What self-respecting division of the royal guard would enlist ponies who were bound to collapse on the job?

And yet, he still clung to the dream, something that was spawned from a singular moment of epiphany and beauty. He had the fulcrum of his life encapsulated in a foalish vision, something that was illustrated with golden bands of dreamy wonder.

To think... he had the poetic grace to affix such a sensational detail to me, from only a single gaze on a random morning, a morning that he didn't have the gift to realize was repeated endlessly for me, so that an infinitesimal moment became a boundless fountain of blessings for a filly who only knew curses.

A sigh escaped my lips as I nuzzled the flower. It felt silky to the touch, and I suddenly remembered that I had briefly grazed Morning Dew's immaculate coat in the desperate act of checking his pulse. When he collapsed, I was lucid, I was sane. It didn't matter how frightened I was; it pleased me to think that I could still act perfectly rational around the stallion when push came to shove.

But who was I kidding? No matter how much I would actually come to know this stallion, no matter what degree to which I entertained the notion of us being something special, I knew the reality of the situation. It enclosed around me far colder than the wooden walls of my home just then.

Sighing, I stood up. I marched over to a table in the corner of the place. There was a crystal vase full of water, but that wasn't all. I dropped the tulip into the container, where it joined several more—about twenty buds, to be exact. I had started collecting them about two weeks prior, when my good sensibilities gave into more fantastical whims.

Lethargically, I swiveled and gazed at my cot. Several music sheets were left exactly where I had abandoned them in the middle of the night. The writing of the eighth elegy lingered perpetually, growing more and more sluggish with each passing day. There was no excuse for my delay. The tune had at last become solid in my head. I had the four sound stones enchanted. I had been taught how to properly cast a protection spell around me, even competently so. All that was left to do was scribble the entire tune onto parchment, so that I might have a way to share it with Twilight, get a title for it, do some final research, and finally take the plunge into the next leg of the accursed symphony.

And yet, there was no denying—in the gentle glow of the blissful noonday sun—that the number of flowers in my home dwarfed the few, flimsy sheets of musical discovery. And for the moment, I couldn't help but wonder if it was such a crime to fill my cabin with so much color, where before there was nothing but dread.

After all, what joy truly is there to paint the courageous lengths of my quest? How am I to know just how many elegies there are left for me discover? There could be fifteen, or there could be fifteen thousand. Princess Luna had an immortal reign during which she composed her secret symphony. What hope does one mortal equine have against the emotionless lengths of time to even remotely emulate that legacy? I could very well be spending the entirety of my life unravelling these damnable tunes. Assuming I ever do achieve my goal, and this curse is lifted, how old and jaded will I have become? What will there be left of me to cherish, as I would so desire to be cherished, as Rarity had so poetically reminded me?

I'm a pony, and there are things I need in life that are far too blissful and transient to be defined by a single curse being lifted. I know that it's a simple concept, too fantastical to believe, but too powerful to ignore. How long have I been working to finish something noble for nobility's sake? Am I really doing all this research for myself? Or am I doing it all for the idea of “myself?” What defines me when all I desire exists forever on some unobtainable horizon?

There is one thing I do whenever my thoughts become too terribly jumbled, when I start to second-guess the task I am working on everyday, stuck in this beautiful but accursed home of mine.

The air danced with musical notes as I sat on a bench beside Ponyville's central park, plucking the lyre with every energetic burst my telekinetic soul launched into the strings. I didn't care what the tune was, so long as it was something musical, something rhythmic, something that made my heart sway at a beat that wasn't determined by him, his eyes, his gentle voice and even gentler backstory.

My face tensed. I clenched my eyes shut and attempted drowning myself in my melody. I failed.

Why would he tell me so much about himself at the drop of a hat? Was there something about me that made him trust me? Was it really all about my eyes? I've never held too much stock in my looks—well—no more than the average mare, I suppose. Living in Canterlot demands a certain elegance that is hard to shake loose. Even Twilight Sparkle—who is basically a shy intellectual—carries with her an ethereal beauty that is hard to come by elsewhere. If all librarians in Equestria looked as striking as her without even trying, then there'd be a lot more stallions involved in reading and less in... in... well, whatever it is that guys like to do in their spare time. Wrestling?

But no. My narcissism goes as far as my performance of music. I've never tried to appear “gorgeous.” Heck, I've never cared to. Not until now...

He sees my eyes—golden eyes that match fresh tulips—and he thinks of a guardian angel. He thinks of an angel? Has anypony ever said anything so nice and sincere about me before?

No. It's flattery. That's all it is. After all, Morning Dew doesn't know me. He sees my eyes, and in every amnesiac circumstance, all that happens is a series of neurons firing off in his brain, daring him to speak out loud the knee-jerk comparison he's made in his head. I am simply an idea to him, as he is an idea to me. Two shallow infatuations hardly come together to form something wholesome. This entire thing is simply a foolish flight of fancy, both for him as well as for me. I should just forget about it. I should just forget about it...

And yet in trying to forget about it, I did the exact opposite, to the point that it frustrated me, flustered me, and I was hardly cognitive of the music that I was performing... or of the sudden, melodic voice singing along with my strings.

My eyes flashed open. I didn’t stop strumming, if only to hear the voice continuing to hum along with my tune. I tried to recognize the voice, and suddenly I was seeing three tiny shapes in my eyes, bounding across the center of Ponyville, and one of the blank figures was colored a great deal like Rarity.

I gazed over at the filly. Apparently, seeing my horned cranium move was enough to startle her out of her dreamy vocals. “Eeep!” she hopped back, standing guiltily across the park's path from me. “I'm... I'm sorry. I broke your concentration, didn't I? My big sister's always getting on my flank about that.”

I smiled gently, still strumming the lyre. “It's perfectly fine. If anything, you only added to the harmony.”

“I did?” Her voice cracked adorably, matching the excited gleam shining across her face. Beneath her lavender and pink mane, a bergundy cloak was tied, glistening underneath with a golden trim. I caught the unmistakable image of a prancing foal patched to the hem. “I just heard you playing something so beautiful, I couldn't help but hum along to it.”

“Well, you've got a natural talent for singing,” I said.

“R-really?” she almost burst at the compliment. “You think?”

I blinked at such an exclamation. I glanced towards her blank haunches, realizing just how sincerely the filly must have taken a statement like that. Still, I didn't mean it any less. “Absolutely!” I smiled. “I'm tempted to play the song again, just to hear you sing some more!”

“Oh... uhm...” She blushed with a foalish bashfulness, digging a pale hoof into the grass beside the beaten path. “I couldn't ask you to do that, ma'am.”

I shrugged. “Have either of us anything better to do?” I just needed a distraction like this.

“Well, I was waiting for my two friends to show up,” she said. “Normally, I'd be having lunch with my sister, Rarity.” She suddenly pouted. “Only she's too busy running around the Boutique, trying to get ready for some stupid dance.”

“Funny thing about the Grand Galloping Gala,” I uttered. “It brings out the little filly in most adults. I'm sure your older sister's no exception.” I smiled and winked. “If you chose to talk to her about it, I bet you'd find that the two of you have a lot in common.”

“Heh. No thank you. I don't like it when Rarity rambles.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it's like Scootaloo says. 'She starts sounding like a vampire!'”

I chuckled. “Well, she's certainly pale enough.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

I cleared my throat. “Never mind.” I strummed all of my lyre's strings in succession. “So, you got a tune in mind?”

Her green eyes blinked at me in surprise. “You mean you can really play any tune?”

“It helps to keep a wide library in my repertoire.”

“Do you know 'The Laughing Zebra and His Dog?'”

“Depends. Do you know the lyrics to it?”

“And how!” her voice cracked again. Not all things I instinctively feel like cuddling are because of their handsomeness. When she sang, her voice was solid, pristine, immaculate. The filly hit every note with perfect tonality. I struggled to strike my chords with equal mastery, all the while marveling at this prodigy's vocal range. The song was short, silly, and childish. She made it sound like an opera number. When the melody was done, and the leaves of the trees above us finished their rustling applause, I followed up with a gentle clap of my own.

“Bravo! Bravo!” I grinned down at her. “You have a gift. I mean it! Why, if you shared that voice of yours in a place like Sugarcube Corner, you'd have ponies tossing bits at you in no time!”

“Ow...” She winced. “That sounds painful.”

I chuckled. Okay. Adorable, but nopony upstairs. I suppose we've all been there. “Great gifts are meant to be shared. If we keep what's best about ourselves secret, how will we ever grow?”

“I always thought that gifts were meant to be found by searching for them.”

“There's truth to that,” I said with a nod. “A good life is one spent searching. But you gotta make sure you don't forget to search within yourself.”

“This one time, I stuck my hoof inside my mouth, and I threw up all over the floor!”

“Errrr... yeah...”

“Apple Bloom says it was because I was nervous. I swallowed a bug the day before and I was trying to search for it—”

Just then, two familiar voices chirped over the grassy hilltops surrounding the park. The filly spun and waved towards her two petite friends grinning at her from afar.

“Speak of the devil! I gotta go!” She flashed me a glance that was both happy and apologetic at once. “It's been really nice chatting and singing with you, Miss...”

“Heartstrings,” I said. “And your name, sweetie?”

“Heehee. Belle.”

“Belle?”

“Sweetie Belle,” she admitted with a slight blush.

“Heh.” I leaned back and strummed my lyre with finality. “Somehow, that doesn't surprise me one bit.”

She galloped away, her petite body in a fast-forward waddle. “So long, Miss Heartstrings! I'll remember what you said about my talent!”

I waved at her. I smiled. But as her last few words echoed in my ear, I felt that smile fading. I lowered my hoof and sat limply in the bench.

There was a sigh alighting the air. I was only mildly surprised to realize it wasn't mine.

“She sounds so pretty...” A colt's voice murmured from the shade of the tree beside my bench.

I turned around from where I was squatting. Through my peripheral vision, I instantly recognized the tiny pegasus' pale coat and slick black mane. I smiled gently as I spoke to the afternoon breeze, “Does your brother Thunderlane know you're spying on fillies, Rumble?”

The tiny pony jumped in place, gasping. I could even see his chest thumping from a beating heart. “I... I w-wasn't spying! Honest! Oh please, don't tell anypony!”

“Relax. It's a beautiful day,” I murmured, playing a few more notes on my lyre as he shuffled into the light. “Why ruin it by punishing ponies for enjoying beautiful things?”

“I mean it. I was just...” Rumble stood in place, fidgeting. His lonely eyes fluttered over the hill, where three young crusaders—and one filly in particular—were galloping onwards to glorious adventure. He exhaled once more, slumping down so that he squatted on the joints of his limbs. “I'm such a weirdo.”

I raised an eyebrow. I glanced down at him. “Now who on earth gave you that idea?”

Surprisingly, I was right on the money. “My friends at school,” he muttered. “Snips and Snails: they say that I'm a weirdo because I don't hang out with them like I used to.”

“That's rather mean of them,” I remarked. “Just because you have your own things you're doing—”

“They say that I've been boring ever since I started thinking about her,” he added, playing lethargically with a few specks of dirt in the path beneath him. “That I'm no fun anymore.”

Oh. So that's what it is. Why's it always a pegasus that grows up first?

I smiled and glanced his way. “Kid, I think the only reason they treat you that way is that they're jealous.”

He blinked curiously at me. “Of me?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“What for?”

“Cuz these 'Snips and Snails' can tell that you're growing up,” I said, strumming my lyre. “I'm willing to bet that you're a lot more mature than they are, and they just aren't equipped to deal with it.”

“But why am I so much better than them?” He asked, making a face.

“Notice—I didn't say 'better.' I said 'more mature.'”

“Whatever. Why is that?” Rumble frowned and punched at the dirt with frustration. “Just because there's this filly that I can't stop thinking about? Why can't they understand?”

“Do you understand?”

He bit his lip.

I left him alone with his thoughts, feeding the air with a tranquil melody, as if lulling a frightened infant out of hiding.

Eventually, his voice murmured, “She's so pretty, and she has this singing voice that makes me happy. I dont' know why, but I want to know more about her. I wonder what... what she would think of me. I don't want to be a boring weirdo to her either.”

“Sounds like this has been on your mind a lot.”

“Well...” He almost chuckled, instead tilting his head up to give me a confused expression. “My brother's hanging out with fillies his age all the time. He seems so happy with the likes of Flitter, Cloudchaser, and Blossomforth. Especially Blossomforth.”

“Heh. You're pretty observant, kid.”

“I... I kind of think it would be cool to be happy like that too...”

“Hmmm...” I smirked at him. “And does happiness equate to having a lot of fillies wanting to hang around with you?”

“Well... I dunno...”

“Now there's an honest statement if I've ever heard one.”

“I... guess happiness isn't happiness if they're not happy too,” Rumble said, shrugging. “The fillies, that is.”

I couldn't help but giggle. I paused in my melody. “You don't give yourself enough credit, kiddo. Something tells me there's a Casanova inside of you that will see the light of day several years from now.”

“A casa-what?”

“Eh, never mind. Ask your brother—preferably when only Blossomforth's around.” I cleared my throat. “By the way, it's 'Sweetie Belle.'”

“Huh?” He blinked at me.

“The filly you like.” I winked. “That's her name.”

“R-really?” His face brightened. I saw his tiny wings fluttering, giving his petite body modest lift. “That's... that's such a pretty name.”

“It's rather fitting, if I may say so.”

“Do you know anything else about her?”

I giggled. “Who am I now, the village match-mare?”

“Uhhh...”

“If you're so curious, kid,” I gestured towards where the crusaders had run off, “You could go up to her and ask her the questions yourself.”

He immediately winced, as if receiving several flu shots all at once. “Oh no. I... I-I couldn't do that...”

“Does this have something to do with what Snips and Snails said?”

“No, it's just that...” His body slumped in yet another sigh. “Who am I? A silly blank flank with a popular big brother... that's who. I'd only be boring to her.” His tired eyes remained locked on the ground below. “Besides, she's never even noticed me once. It's like I don't even exist.”

I felt a cold breeze blowing through my mane. With a deep breath, I murmured, “Trust me, kid. I know the feeling.”

“Just...” He rested his sad face atop a pair of crossed forelimbs. “What is it that gets a girl's attention anyways? What is it that fillies want?”

“A question as old as time, undoubtedly.”

“Mmmph. This is hopeless...”

I cleared my throat. “Still... uhm... it's really simple, if you think about it,” I said to him. “Fillies want sincerity, attention, commitment. They want to know your feelings, especially if you're willing to share them.” My eyes traced the sky, mesmerized by the bright blueness. Pleasantly, I pierced the sapphiric texture, until I saw a certain stallion's gaze in my mind, setting my heart afire. “A filly is most happy when you are honest with her, and when you show that—no matter what ambitions your life may pressure you with—you are willing to sacrifice a piece of it, the most warm and vulnerable piece, if only it means that the two of you get to share something wholesome and unique that's made to replace it. And if you show that she'll forever be a part of your heart, something that you spend the time and energy to cherish as much as you poetically promise to, then... heeheehee...” My cheeks turn rosy as I run a hoof through my mane. “She'll swoon for you instantly, for she knows she's found a pony with whom she can feel happy, safe, secure, and—” I gazed down at him. My words trailed off.

Rumble was looking up at me. His expression was blank. His eyes were full of confusion.

I fidgeted atop the bench. “Uhm... Y'know what?” I smiled crookedly. “Flowers. Fillies love flowers. You should go get her some.”

“Flowers?” Rumble's mouth dropped at the thought. “You mean it's that simple?”

“Oh, believe me.” I winked. “It goes a long way.”

“Flowers...” Finally, a smile returned to his precious little face. He waddled off, his wings flexing as if pushing him through an invisible, warm cloud. “Flowers... Flowers... Flowers...” He gave me a blind wave. “Thanks, lady!”

“Don't mention it, kid!” I chuckled and waved back at him. “Remember, the happiest things in life...” I knew he was within earshot. It didn't matter; I was no longer speaking to him. “... are the things you seize with no questions asked.” My murmurs ended, and I bit my lip at the end of the exclamation.

I glanced down at my lyre, a lone vessel for exploring the cold depths of my curse. It no longer invited any awe or promise for me, for it was something I had always carried alone, and forever would.

The determination I felt then was positively scathing. I hopped out of the bench. I stood tall and resolute in the sunlight. With a bold breath, I marched straight for the north edge of town.

“Good morning to you, angel.”

There was a tulip being offered. In a blink, I plucked the golden thing from his grasp and leaned forward.

“What's your favorite color?”

Morning Dew did a double-take. His golden body wobbled on the precipice of curiosity. “Uhm...”

I blushed slightly. “Besides gold.” Not once did I sever my gaze from his. “What's your second favorite color?”

“Oh... uhm...” He smiled bashfully. “Silver, I do suppose—”

“Silver! Wonderful!” I trotted off, waving. “Have a good day!”

He waved limply back, confused.

“Good morning to you, angel.”

“What's your favorite smell?”

“Uhhh... Huh?” Morning Dew blinked.

“Your favorite fragrance.” Tilted towards him, staring in earnest. “Name it.”

“Oh... uhm... eheheh...” He blushed slightly, running a hoof through his blue mane. “I work around so many plants. That's a difficult one...”

“Surely one scent has to be your most preferred.”

“I... uh... I guess I've always had a deep appreciation for jasmine,” he said. “Such an exquisite flower.”

“Perfect!” I grinned wide, took the tulip, and galloped away. “Thankies!”

“Huh...”

“Good morning to you, angel.”

“Favorite musical composition?”

“I beg your pardon?”

I smiled, stifling a deep giggle. “If you could, right now, listen to any single musical number that you had the ability to choose, which one would it be?”

“Are... Are you a musician, ma'am?” He asked, glancing towards my cutie mark.

I blocked his gaze with a gentle smile. “Humor me.”

“Oh... uhm...” He scratched his chin, his eyes slicing figure-eights in the bright morning sky above us. He eventually smiled and said, “When I was a colt, I had a deep appreciation for Mareece Ravel's Royal Symphony. They used to play that number at military parades a lot.”

“Perfect! I can play Mareece Ravel in my sleep!”

“Oh really? Well that's... uhm... certainly interesting...” He then blinked. “Ma'am?”

I was gone, galloping to my cabin to scribble the musical notes already blossoming in my head.

“Good morning to you—”

“What's your favorite place in Ponyville?”

“Huh?”

Ambrosia and several other working ponies glanced curiously from the half-demolished hotel across the way. They watched as Morning Dew was caught in the gaze of a hysterically cheerful mare.

“If you had a vacation from planting flowers,” I said. “If you could spend an entire afternoon doing nothing but lying back and enjoying the beautiful weather, where would you go in Ponyville to do it?”

“I... I...” Morning Dew stammered. He teetered with brief dizziness, recovered, and awkwardly dripped forth, “Aside from the greenhouse, I'd go to the lake on the east side of town, I guess.”

“The lake?”

“Yes. Staring into the waters makes me feel calm, meditative. Sometimes I go there to sit, relax, and simply reflect on life.”

“Sounds wonderful. Ta-ta!” I bounded away.

Morning Dew's lips hung open with an unpronounceable word. He gestured dumbly with a hoof, glanced over his shoulder, and shrugged at Ambrosia and the other ponies... who simply shrugged back.

In my cabin, I finished scribbling a rough composition from memory. I held the sheet before me and went over it with studious eyes, quietly humming the notes with a pair of numb lips. Blindly, I got up and trotted across the cabin. I stepped over the discarded sheets of the lunar elegy. I passed by my lyre until I stood in front of a wooden cabinet.

Pausing, I turned and gazed thoughtfully across the tiny abode. Golden flowers rested where I had placed them on an end table in the corner of my home. At the sight of the near-dozen tulips gathered in a vase, I smiled. Then my face tensed in thought.

“Hmmmm...”

I turned to the cabinet. With telekinesis, I opened the panels and rummaged through several drawers. I finally found what I was looking for: a silken length of silver thread. Raising it before my eyes, I turned and glanced once more at the tulips. In a strong breath, I marched over and started plucking each glistening bud one after another from the jar.

The bell above the door to the Carousel Boutique rang loudly. Rarity was too busy galloping left and right across the interior to take notice.

“Oh dear, where did I put all the ribbon? I absolutely must bring some with me! Heaven forbid Fluttershy's dress might fall apart and I wouldn't have a single thing to mend it with! Ungh! I almost forgot! Twilight's gown! One of those sparkling star patterns is bound to become unstitched!”

“Uhm...” I winced slightly as I marched on nervous legs into her domain. “Miss Rarity? Have... Have I caught you at a bad time?”

“A bad time? Oh, no no no! Nonsense!” Rarity gave a flippant laugh as she stuffed a myriad of awkward things into a ruby-studded chest. “It's only two days until the Grand Galloping Gala and I'm at my wit's end! How could this possibly be a bad time?!” She paused and ran a hoof through a noticeably disheveled mane. “Oh blessed Celestia! Rainbow Dash had better taken my warnings seriously and kept her golden crown away from rain clouds!” The fashionista's eyes briefly burned like red hot coals. “If that thing turns out rusted during the dance, I swear, I will wrap her wind pipe three times around her ears!”

“Ahem.” I boldly stood in front of her. “I... uh... I know this is very last second and all, but I was hoping that you might—”

“Negatory!” Rarity waved a hoof in my face. “Cease while you are ahead, darling. I apologize sincerely, but I cannot fashion a dress or perform any alterations for any customers at this current moment! If you desire to have something mended, add your name to the list and I promise you that I shall attend to it as soon as I come back!”

“But...” I bit my lip and stirred anxiously where I stood. “This is... is really important to me—”

“I do hate to be more emphatic than I've already been, ma'am,” she said, pacing back and forth between her various tools. “But this is not up for debate! And before you ask, no amount of bits, gems, or even land deeds could possibly sway me to the contrary—”

With a metallic clank, I had slapped my lyre down onto the table in front of her. “The Cosmic Waltz,” I uttered.

She froze in her tracks. She stared at me. “I-I beg your pardon?”

“The Cosmic Waltz,” I repeated, my eyes firm. “I can teach it to you in under an hour.” I gulped and added, “So that way you can dance to it on the spot, in any given situation.”

She immediately dropped every piece of fabric or tape that she had been levitating around her. “Sold!” She bounded towards me and snatched a sheet of measurements from my grasp. “Tell me what you need!”

“I swear...” Caramel fidgeted with the bow-tie around his neck. He stood awkwardly in the morning sun beside another stallion on the north edge of Ponyville. Both of them were tied to a silver carriage as they faced the long east road towards Canterlot. “This thing is gonna strangle me. Why did I agree to this again?”

Wind Whistler was suddenly hovering down in front of him. “Because Miss Rarity convinced you to. And Rarity is a close friend to Twilight Sparkle.” She smiled lovingly and adjusted the tie so that it fitted him properly. “And Twilight Sparkle is only the most influential Ponyvillean with ties to Canterlot. And if we want our new business to get off the ground, we need to spread the news of how friendly and serviceable we are.”

Caramel sighed, rolled his eyes, and smiled tiredly at her. “I thought we were getting in the business of delivering parcels to households, not dressed-up mares to a royal dance.”

“One step at a time, Caramel,” Thunderlane's voice suddenly spoke up. He trotted up alongside Blossomforth, Cloudchaser, Flitter, and lastly Rumble. “Not all of us have the wings to skip ahead in life.”

Caramel groaned. “Well if it isn't the feather gang. Come to snicker at me?”

“Awwwwww, Caramel!” Blossomforth smiled. “Why so glum? We're your friends. We just wanted to give you a proper send-off!”

“Besides, you'll only be gone for the weekend,” Cloudchaser added. “Hey... isn't Windy going with you?”

“She says she'll be catching up,” Caramel said, motioning towards his fiance.

“Yeah. I've got a few things to do around town.” Wind Whistler nodded. “But then I'll be headed to Canterlot to meet up with him.”

“That reminds me.” Caramel turned towards her. “Where'd you want to rendezvous? I heard about this great doughnut cafe in downtown. First thing tomorrow morning?”

“Mmmm... Make that tomorrow noon,” Wind Whistler said. “I need to go buy a dress from the shopping district.”

“A dress?” Caramel did a double-take. “But Windy, neither of us have tickets to the Gala! Besides, the dance will be over by then!”

“Who said anything about a dance?” Wind Whistler remarked, smirking.

“Huh?”

She sighed. She hovered lower and whispered in his ears.

Caramel listened. After a few blinks, he blushed furiously.

“Uh oh!” Thunderlane snickered from afar. “Something tells me there'll still be some Grand Galloping to be had!”

“Oh hush!” Wind Whistler stuck her tongue out at their friends and giggled. “You must fly through a lot of smoggy clouds to get a dirty mind like that, Thunderlane!”

“I... uhm... I could do with a clean shower myself,” Caramel dazedly said. The reined stallion next to him snickered. “And don't you start!”

There was a shuffling noise. Everypony glanced over to see Ambrosia galloping up. “Whew! Made it just in time!” She lowered her hard hat and gestured Caramel's way. “Best of luck on the journey, kiddo!”

“You ran all the way here just to say that?” Caramel exclaimed.

“Heheh. Yup! Figured you deserved to be paid some respects.” Ambrosia's gaze narrowed. “This 'Miss Rarity' ain't even hoofing you one bit for this, is she?”

“Uhhh—”

Wind Whistler planted a hoof over Caramel's mouth and leaned in. “We're gonna meet in Canterlot and make a date out of it.”

“Ya don't say...”

“Yeah,” Blossomforth added with a nod. “They're gonna work on planning their delivery business... or something.”

Thunderlane coughed. “Though somepony may be delivering something else in a year's time.”

“Blossom?”

“Yes, Windy?”

“Smack Thunderlane for me.”

“Okay, girl.” There was a loud thwapping noise.

“Ow!” Thunderlane rubbed his side and frowned at his significant other. “You're just looking for excuses by this point.”

The two pegasi sisters beside them cooed in unison.

“Oh stuff it!”

Cloudchaser and Flitter giggled. Ambrosia chuckled. Rumble, as usual, was in another world.

At that point, a tiny purple dragon was running up, huffing and puffing.

“Change of plans, guys!” Spike climbed up the stagecoach in one single motion. Sweating, he adjusted the collar of the suit that was around his petite torso and uttered breathlessly, “We're swinging by Carousel Boutique to pick the girls up there!”

“What?” The stallion beside Caramel balked. “They can't trouble themselves after so much sprucing-up to trot a few blocks and meet us here?”

“Hey!” Spike's breath was briefly flaming. “Lady Rarity tells us to move, so we're moving!”

“Right, I see where this is going.” Caramel rolled his eyes, then smiled up at Wind Whistler. “See you tomorrow?”

“I'll see you in my dreams.”

“Heheheh... You beat me to it.”

She hovered down and the two nuzzled each other closely. After a peck on the muzzle, Wind Whistler took to the air. Caramel signaled to Spike, who then shook the reins.

“Onward to the Gala!”

“Don't you mean the Boutique?”

“Er. Yeah. Eheh. Right.”

As the two stallions pulled the silver coach away, Caramel's friends stood behind, waving and shouting good wishes.

Ambrosia lowered her hoof in time to chuckle. “I'll never understand all this fancy schmancy hullabaloo over a silly dance.”

“Well, Amber, some ponies could do with a little extravagance from time to time.”

Ambrosia did a double-take to her side. “Morning! How long have you been there?”

“Not long enough to get a word in,” the stallion said softly. “But, no matter. Caramel knows he has my best wishes. Windy as well.” Morning Dew turned and smiled at the others. “I heard there's going to be a little party of sorts in downtown. Is anypony attending?”

“Ugh...” Blossomforth rolled her eyes. “You mean the mayor's genius little 'consolation party for those ponies unlucky enough to have been snubbed an invitation to the one true Gala for the umpteenth time in a row?' Pfft. Yeah, no thanks.”

“Besides, we all know how to party, and we do it all the time,” Thunderlane said proudly. He glanced down at Rumble. “Ain't that right, little bro?”

Rumble was muttering quietly to himself. “Hmmm... Daisies? Dandelions? Roses?”

“Yo! Earth to Rumble!”

“H-huh?” Rumble jumped nervously in place, glancing up at everypony. “What?”

“What the heck are you rambling about?”

“I dunno...”

“You dunno?”

The little colt gulped. In his squeaky voice, he innocently inquired, “What's the prettiest kind of flower in Ponyville?”

“Why heck...” Ambrosia gestured. “Morning Dew here could tell ya that. Though what for?” Her eyebrows wagged. “Is a certain little scamp fixin' to give a filly some special gift?”

“Huh?” Rumble made a face. “Ew! No! She probably doesn't even like flowers—”

Blossomforth gasped. “Awwww! So there is a filly!”

“There is not!” Rumble's voice cracked, and he blushed at what it sounded like. “I don't even know why I was thinking about flowers—”

“Oh dear, whatever are we going to do?” Cloudchaser playfully ruffled Rumble's slick black mane. “Rumble's turning into a romantic stallion right before our very eyes!”

“At least somepony in his family is,” Blossomforth added in a dull tone.

“Heh heh, yeah—Hey!” Thunderlane glared at her.

She giggled.

“Nnngh! You guys are stupid-heads!” Rumble frowned and waddled off in a huff.

“Awww! Don't be like that, ‘lil Rumble!” Flitter called after him. “Dang it, sis! Look what you did!”

“I'll go fetch the little booger,” Thunderlane groaned. “You girls go elsewhere. I swear, you've been nothing but trouble all week.”

Blossomforth and the other two merely giggled and floated off in the opposite direction. Morning Dew watched the group dissipate. With a gentle smile, he turned and gazed at Ambrosia.

“So much excitement in the air. I swear, it's the same thing every year without fail.” His eyes narrowed. “What is it about the Gala that electrifies a place as far away as Ponyville?”

“Speak for yourself, flower-plucker,” Ambrosia muttered. “I'm too busy with my work to give a darn.” She turned and pointed past Morning's garden wagon, gesturing to where her co-workers were stringing up orange wire around the inner framework of the hotel. “That there building is gonna be bitin' the bullet tomorrow. It's just too dag-blamed stubborn to fall on its own.”

“I read all the warning memos at the downtown bulletin board,” Morning Dew remarked with a nod. “Does it seriously have to come to this?”

“Heh. What, you frettin' there bein' a little bit of thunder in the middle of yer gardenin' tomorrow?” Ambrosia shifted the hard hat on her crown. “It's only gonna last a second. Besides, it's not like anypony's at risk, so long as they keep a safe distance when the charges go off. If anything, I reckon it'll be just the entertainment this village needs. It'll make the sad saps of this place forget all about the Gallstone.”

“Gala.”

“Whatever.”

“Well,” Morning Dew said. “I've said it before, and I'll say it again, Amber. Your job always has a certain grace to it.”

“Ehhh, ya lug.” She waved a bored hoof before running it sheepishly through her white mane. “One of these days, I swear, your eye for beautiful things is... gonna be... the end of you...” Her words trailed off as her eyes squinted at a bizarre sight just beyond him. Her sweaty brow furrowed.

“Hmm?” Morning Dew blinked at her. Slowly, he turned around. The first thing that donned his face was a smile. “Well, now.” He reached his hoof into the wagon and instinctively held forth a tulip. “Good morning to you...” Right then, his smile left him. His face drew a blank, but the gold texture of his coat remained as bright as ever. The next breath was wavering. “...angel.”

I took a deep breath, poised gracefully before him. I was staring deep into his eyes—suddenly wide eyes—and in those blue pools there was no mistaking the reflection of what he saw: a mint-green mare clad in a silken silver gown. It was a modestly simple ensemble, with the faintest golden trim embroidered about the cream-colored seams in tiny floral patterns. My lyre hung unassumingly from a golden sash draped across my left side. There was something atop my forehead that glistened in the sunlight, bringing out the highlights in my eyes. It was a crown of tulips, framed broadly around my horn, made up of none other than all the flowers that he had given to me over the past several days, in his past lives, when an amnesiac ghost went out of his way to charm me as I was incidentally charming him right then.

“Well,” I said in as brave a voice as I could. I didn't mean for it to come across as so pathetically demure. I only wanted this soft moment to be carried on soft breaths. “If you aren't a charmer...” I added with a nervous smile.

Please say it. Please...

He gulped. He was frozen in place. He was dead-still, but he was still Morning Dew. “I am only charmed,” he murmured.

Oh thank goodness...

I gulped. My heart sang. I was afraid Rarity's marvelous gown would melt off of me with each subsequent heartbeat. I cleared my throat and tilted my head aside. “You're too kind to make me such an offering,” I pointed at the tulip in his grasp. With a relaxed breath, I finally allowed my blush to peak through my face's skin. “But... heehee... Where exactly would I place it?”

He gazed at the tulip, then at the crown on my forehead. He gulped dryly and stammered, “A very good question. I... erm... Eheh...” He rubbed his neck and smiled awkwardly. Dear Celestia, will he ever stop being so precious? “Ever painted a picture, and then you feel like something should be added to it, but you can't for fear of ruining it?”

“Hmmm...” I coyly gazed at the ground. “Is every citizen of Ponyville so poetic?”

“Uhm... Only the foolish ones.” Her cleared his throat. “I... uhm. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—”

“No! Don't be sorry.” I took a step towards him. “As a matter of fact, you're just the stallion I've been meaning to speak to.”

“I... I am?” He blinked awkwardly at me.

“Yes. You're Morning Dew, the town gardener, correct?”

“Uhm, yes, ma'am. As a matter of fact, I am. Why?” He squinted. “Have other ponies talked about me?”

“I heard you're the local expert on flora.” I smiled. “I was hoping to speak with you.”

“R-really?” he said, gulping dryly.

I was barely aware of Ambrosia at this point. Her figure shifted in my peripheral vision. She glanced at Morning Dew, at me, and then at him again. Very, very quietly, she backtrotted from the scene until her alabaster figure melted into the background.

I stood boldly in the foreground, gazing at the stunned earth pony in front of me. “You see, my name is Lyra Heartstrings. I doubt you may have heard of me, but I'm a musician from Canterlot.” I fidgeted slightly. Even with the buffers of the curse to cushion my words, I can never quite feel good about myself unless my lies have an ounce of truth to them. “And... and I have plans for performing a few shows around town. But I'm not satisfied with coming across like just any other minstrel. There's a reputation I have to live up to, so I need to produce a show that will truly dazzle the locals around here beyond the mere melody my lyre makes. To do that, I have to... uhm... I have to set up a fabulous stage. Yes. And... and I was thinking about having a beautiful floral arrangement erected around me while I do my solo act.”

“That's...” He gazed at me, slowly nodding. “So pretty.”

I smirked, my eyes darting his way. “You don't say?”

“I mean... erm...” He let loose a nervous laugh. “That sounds like a pretty good idea.” He placed the flower back into the gardening wagon. “Well... uhm... y-you came to the right pony! That is—the other villagers have a good reason to suggest you come to me. It's not like I'm the expert on... on... uhm... sofas and quills, cuz I don't know who you talked to, but that's a different pony altogether. Ehm... oh jeez...” He ran a frustrated hoof over his face.

There were many things that I desired from this encounter. Admittedly, the very last thing was making him so flustered. I broke the conversation into another direction by pacing around his wagon and uttering, “You really are the town's one and only gardener?”

“Well, not exactly,” he said in a calmer voice. I felt him relaxing with each word coming from his lips. “This is an earth pony town. Unlike Canterlot, there are less ponies talented in the arts and more equines talented in tending to crops and vegetation.”

“But florists?” I leaned over and sniffed a pot full of daisies, smiling. My eyes darted his way as I felt the petals of my crown fluttering in the morning breeze. “Just how many Ponyville residents are responsible for planting such beautiful flowers all over this quaint little town?”

“Hmmm...” He ran a hoof through his mane and blushed. “Heh. Okay. Guilty as charged.”

“So, perhaps you can understand why I came to you.” I sashayed gently back towards him. I took my time, glancing down briefly. Rarity had even fashioned me some shiny, silver-polished slippers for my hooves. I tried not to dirty them as I stood in front of the stallion, smiling gently. “To be the only expert on flowers in town must be something truly special. It means you're a pony who can be depended on, a pony with an eye for beauty. Who else would I possibly go to for help with setting up my performance?”

“Well, I don't know if one could call me special—” Morning Dew began, but paused in mid-speech. His blue eyes twitched, and I saw him tilting his nose up slightly.

I couldn't help it. I gnawed pensively on my lip. Oh please. Oh please don't flip out...

“That... Heh...” His face broke into a chuckling grin. “Remarkable. Is... Is that jasmine?”

I gulped and smiled as gracefully as I could. “Yes. A true musician endeavors to be pleasing... erm.. in every sense.” Oh jeez. I'm already laying it on too thick, am I? “It's a perfumed habit I... uhm... picked up from Canterlot. I suppose it's unbecoming of Ponyvillean standards.” I winced. Stop talking! This is no time to be a sociologist!

Thankfully, Morning Dew was a less rational pony... or a more rational one. I could hardly tell anymore. I simply heard him talk and my heart jumped. “Oh no, I think... I think it's lovely,” he practically cooed. “You're...” He bit his lips on that. An instinct inside of me screamed to kiss them better. Clearing his throat, he said, “You're... looking for any particular type of flower?”

“I imagined I could depend on your good tastes,” I said. “Assuming it's wouldn't take too terribly much of your time.”

“Oh! No! I...” He shrugged. “I was done with most of my morning rounds.”

“Morning rounds?”

“I go from building to building each sunrise, making sure the flowers are still in bloom, keeping weeds from growing in the shopfronts. Those sorts of things. The mayor has always had a very specific vision for this town. There are many places to cover to ensure that dream.”

“I can only imagine...”

“I was considering going to the building across the street to pluck it free of wildflowers—”

“You mean the one where those construction workers are clamoring all about?” I asked, pointing to where Ambrosia and her cohorts were still hustling. “Isn't that place about to be razed?”

“Heh. Yes. It's only taken all month.”

“And...” I squinted at him. “Wildflowers? Seriously?” I tried my best not to giggle. “Are they really so salvageable?”

Morning Dew chuckled. “Perhaps it appears silly, but I hate to see anything colorful go to waste, even if they're as common as oxygen.” He glanced over at the half-demolished hotel. “I know it sounds weird, but even a part of me regrets that in a few days, that old building will no longer be around. Once it's gone, a certain antiquity will be lost forever.”

“What one pony sees as antiquity, another may perceive as an eyesore, yes?”

“True. But I hate to think that life is so black and white.”

“Really?”

“Mmmmmm...” He exhaled slowly, nodding. “I've found it to be a useful belief to try and see beauty in everything, especially the stuff in life that comes and goes.” He gazed over at me, his handsome face calm and contemplative. “After all, why do we have memories if they are not ways for us to cherish things of beauty that we can no longer touch?”

I wanted to respond to that. I wanted even more to just toss myself in his forelimbs and preserve those words with my tears. But I stood in place. I had worked so hard for this moment to be real; I wasn't about to shatter it. Nor did I want to shatter him.

“You strike me as a very thoughtful pony, Morning Dew,” I eventually murmured.

“The world is full of thoughts. Only flowers are worth growing,” he said. “Speaking of which, I shouldn't be wasting your gracious time. A Canterlot musician surely has a busy schedule to keep. Isn't there a Gala for you to be attending?”

I giggled finally. I waved a hoof. “Oh, that. There are far more charming places for me to be. I wouldn't want to be anywhere but in Ponyville at the moment.”

“Well, if you insist.” He performed a very timely bow. “I am more than happy to be of help. If you would like to see a sample of the flowers I have to provide, I know of just the place to show you. Would you be so kind as to follow me, Lyra?”

“Certainly! I—” I froze in place. My ears rang. I looked sharply at him, squinting. “Did... Did you just...?”

“I'm sorry. That is your name, right? Lyra? Did I hear you correctly earlier?”

“Yes, but... Snkkkt—Heeheeheehee!” I broke out into hysterical laughter.

He was blushing furiously, and yet he stood dead in place like a soldier caught out of line. “I... I apologize. Is something amiss?”

“No. It's just... Ahem. The way you pronounce my name—”

“Am I saying it wrong?”

“Well, not exactly. I...” My heart was pounding. I hadn't the strength to explain to him that I was a thousand times more amused than I was offended. “I'm not used to ponies saying it like that.”

“Truly?”

“It's Lyra. Not 'Lee-ruh.'” I almost snorted, fighting to contain my giggles. “It's so... so silly how you say it.”

He smiled bashfully and shrugged. “The other way sounds rude, like I'm almost saying the word 'liar'.”

“Well, think about it! It's just like the musical instrument: 'lyre.'”

“Something you're a prodigy at, no doubt.”

“Yeah and... Heeheehee...” I waved a hoof in his general direction as I nearly collapsed. “I'm so sorry. It's just that... heehee... All this time, if I knew you'd say it like that...” I wanted to faint. I wanted to fly. Could he possibly be any more adorable? The unpredictability of the moment made me want to hug him all the more. “Goodness. Life is so goofy, isn't it?”

“I... I don't understand,” he remarked with a curious chuckle. “When have I had the opportunity to say your name before, Miss Heartstrings?”

I felt a cold sheen of sweat forming at my temples. Whoops. Keep it together, girl. He can only tolerate a basketcase so far. “Well, you're right. Do forgive me. I'm... uhm...” White lie. White lie. White lie. “I'm not used to being up this early in the morning. I guess I'm a tad bit delirious.” Good enough.

“It happens to the best of us,” he said.

Or only to the luckiest of us. The most handsome of us. The bluest-eyed of us—

“If you would follow me, Lyra,” he said correctly. For once, it was just as I had ever dreamed of him uttering it. I floated after him as if on clouds.

We ended up in the center of a fantastic greenhouse on the northeast edge of town. I had strolled past the translucent building on several occasion. Never before had I bothered taking a closer look, probably because the path I took eventually led me past him, and I had far more charming things to look forward to on a daily basis.

Now he stood before me, talking to me, acknowledging me with a glint of joy sparkling in his eyes. Every awkward shiver, every bashful fumble was absent from his limbs. At the time being, he was confident, emboldened by the familiar flora hanging all around us. We were in his element, his world. I felt like a blissful wanderer on the threshold of this gentle stallion's kingdom, and every careful set of words that came from his mouth tickled my ears as I trotted after his pacing, narrating figure.

“Since you're from Canterlot, I can only assume you're used to affording a spotlight at your venues, so it would be a good idea to go with bright flowers that not only complement your appearance but also highlight your position on the stage. You have a lovely, flaxen streak to your mane, Lyra.”

“Why thank you.”

“Heheh... Ahem. So, I was thinking carnations for if it's an inside show. An arched wreathe with several blossoms could do the trick. If you're performing outside, however, I'm tempted to suggest these lilies here.” He brushed his hoof past the plants in question. “But, as you well know, the flower has its own common connotation, and I very seriously doubt you're performing at a funeral. So, to offset that impression...” He trolled a few paces down and gestured towards another row of flowers. “These daisies could be added to the stage, and it would create a balance.”

“You really do have a flower for any occasion or circumstance,” I remarked, strolling along with him. It was very warm in there. I pretended that it was because of the glass panels surrounding the greenhouse. “That's quite remarkable.”

“Ponyville is a tranquil, peaceful little town,” Morning Dew said. As we strolled along the sampled flora, he made a great deal of effort in brushing aside jutting leaves and branches so they wouldn't brush against me or my dress. I silently smiled at his subconscious gestures. “We have a lot of time on our hooves, compared to the likes of Fillydelphia or Manehattan or—I dare say—your home town.”

“Canterlot isn't as busy and stressful as many ponies here in the country may think,” I said. “After all, it is the center for Equestrian arts and sciences. You don't achieve that pinnacle by fighting through morning traffic everyday.”

“Heheh. I imagine they must have entire legions of gardeners employed in beautifying the city,” he said. “Especially with Princess Celestia and Princess Luna dwelling there. The ponies who landscape the palace have to be none other than Equestria's absolute best.”

“Oh, they are good,” I said with a nod. “They are royally tested and approved, no doubt. But are they the best?” I came to a stop and pivoted to face him. “The palace groundskeepers do their job because they are bound by it. There's something to be said about such noble duty, but it's the same thing that has been said in countless generations before. Passion, however, is something that is all too often sorely missing, even in the deepest bastion of our country's most sacred alicorns.”

“Perhaps, then, that is why so many souls from Canterlot come to visit this town,” Morning Dew said aloud. “They've spent all their days surrounded by tradition. But then they come to Ponyville, because they're searching.”

I smiled deeply. “Searching for what?” For passion? Please say “passion.”

“For completeness. That is what any pony wants in life, or so I've long felt.”

A breath escaped my lips as I smiled towards the flowers. Okay. That was even better, in a way. “Funny how so many ponies from all over Equestria are headed to this silly Gala tonight, as if it's the one thing that will ever define their lives. I don't know about you, but I've lived in Canterlot all my life. The Gala is hardly what it's hyped up to be. A pony would do well to pursue whatever he or she wants, and not let something that's popular become the apple of their eye.”

“Like becoming an accomplished musician?” he remarked with a smile.

“Heeheehee... Well, that's just me.” I gulped and gazed intently at him. “What about you?”

“Oh...” He sighed and marched over towards a pot of daisies that he proceeded to inspect with gentle hooves. “I'm very happy with what I do here in Ponyville. This village needs me, and I'm happy to keep them secure in the knowledge that their streets will never turn ugly.”

“But is that all you'll ever do?” I stepped towards him, swallowing a lump down my throat for courage. “I know what I desire to do with my life, and I'm satisfied with it. I think that should be the same for everypony.”

“But... heh... if we knew what our lot in life was, that would ruin the suspense, don't you think?”

I merely giggled at that. He looked at me strangely. In response, I cleared my throat and said, “Don't mind me. I think it's a charming excuse.”

His face was briefly deadpan as he gazed at the daisies once again. “What you call an excuse, I call the hooves of fate.”

I bit my lip at hearing that. I remembered the bashful stallion telling me his life's story the other day beside his gardening wagon. After all this pretense and preparation, could it be possible that I still hadn't pierced the layers that deeply? Maybe I was trying too hard. Maybe I was—

“I personally think the carnations would be a fantastic choice,” he spoke up, his charming voice reverberating across the glass panels around us. “I've always found them to be an easy accessory to a public presentation, be it poetic or musical.” His lips curved softly as he glanced my way. “It would most especially be complementary if you wore an ensemble like that while performing.”

I knew my teeth was showing by the glinting reflection of my smile in his eyes. “So, you like silver?”

“Eheh...” He instantly blushed and gazed towards the hanging greenery beyond. “It's... a very flattering color for a dress.”

“Let me ask you something...” I bravely shuffled closer towards him. I breathed lightly, my lungs on fire. The place was smoldering enough as it was. “Carnations, lilies, daisies: they're obviously good choices for a public instrumental. But...” I nibbled on my bottom lip for the space of two seconds and finally rolled forth, “What of a private performance?”

“You... You mean like a serenade?” He asked innocently.

I slowly nodded, gazing up at him.

His grin cracked awkwardly. “Eheh... I fail to see how you would need any assistance there, Lyra.”

My heart sank briefly. “No?”

Then I saw his eyes resting specifically on the crown of tulips atop my head. My heart lulled to a calm, then spiked again as soon as his voice rang. “Some things can't be helped, for they're perfect enough as it is.”

I exhaled weakly. Would he freak out if I placed a hoof on his shoulder? I felt a pulse that wasn't my own. Glancing down, I realized that I had already made such a contact. The next second that passed by was like shattering concrete. Instead of panicking, I slowly spoke, “If there's anything I've learned in recent months, it's that there'll always be something in life that stands to be perfected. All it takes is the right moment.” My smile was equally blissful and painful. “And the right soul to spend it with.”

I saw the tiniest of fluctuations in his eyes. I couldn't tell if he was frightened or thrilled. Either way, he didn't bother to shove my hoof off of him as he said, “You're a most remarkable pony, Miss Heartstrings.” Then the smile came. “I wonder. When you play music, is it even half as harmonious as your words?”

My breath came out in a gust of relief. He called me “remarkable!” That's... That's good, right? That's at least worth two “magnificents” or half a “resplendent!” “Well, words only convey so much. I tend to ramble when I fixate on them.” I turned my head, looking at where my lyre was hanging tactfully from the golden sash on my left side. “But, if you would like, I could give you a demonstration of just how harmonious I can be—”

Something loud echoed across the greenhouse interior. It sounded conspicuously like two pairs of legs tumbling to the stone floor. I stood there, frozen, too afraid to look and confirm my haunting suspicion. Nevertheless, I had to. And when I did, it explained why Morning Dew hadn't said anything for the past few seconds.

Oh dear Celestia, the poor thing! It's happened again. Okay. Don't panic. Don't be a frightened, hysterical filly like the other day. His cat... cata... cataple... his ordeal comes and goes swiftly. Just... wait it out. Wait it out...

I steadied my nerves, stopped squirming, and simply squatted down by his side. He was breathing; I could tell this time. The greenhouse was deathly quiet, so that I could detect the gentle wheeze pouring in and out of his nostrils as he remained lying there on the floor. His forward limbs twitched ever so slightly, and the contours of his face occasionally creased and uncreased. I tried to imagine what a life like that would be like, to be incapable of expecting when or if the lights might go out and plunge oneself into paralysis. I tried not to pity him. I tried to ignore the horrible pit forming in my stomach, but I couldn't.

Gently, I reached a hoof out—brushing it ever so slightly against his blue mane as if it was made of thin ice. I couldn't stop myself; it was all I could do to prevent a whimper from escaping my throat. In my cursed existence, I had been vexxed by ponies collapsing into fugue states all around me on a constant basis. There wasn't a part of me that envied Morning Dew for his condition, for not being able to be in control of oneself. For all the evils of my curse, I at least had a grasp over my faculties, my sole anchor in life.

And it was then that another horrid realization struck me. Morning Dew had collapsed. In the absence of his voice, I felt foolish, silly, and naked. A thin, silver dress was a poor shield against a wave of chills assaulting my being. Not even the sunlight refracting through the greenhouse windows could any longer melt the reality of my situation away.

So by the time he began stirring again, I was hardly relieved. I sighed, and I had to force out a smile as I murmured to his waking figure, “Are you alright there, sir?”

“Nnnngh...” He winced, hissed, and rubbed his aching head. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“You took a nasty tumble,” I said in a deep monotone. My eyes were wandering the cobblestone design of the floor, mapping out a swift path home in my mind. “You're lucky that somepony was around to check on you... uhm... I-I guess...”

“Why? Did I bump into something?”

“Heh... Nothing that can't heal,” I said wryly, almost sounding like a certain construction worker. Swallowing, I glanced towards the exit of the place. “Well, now that I know that you're okay, I suppose I should be on my way.”

“Really?” Morning Dew blinked several times, then squinted up at me. “Does this mean that you've changed your mind about picking flowers, Lyra?”

“Thank you, but I just—” I froze. Every part of me froze, every part but my heart. With each heavy pulse, my head rotated limply towards him, bearing a gaping expression. “You...” My voice wavered; I didn't have the strength to hide it. “You r-remember me?”

“Well...” He shrugged. “It would be awfully rude of me if I didn't, don't you think, Miss Heartstrings?”

I was breathless. The image of him was tilting up. I soon realized it was because I was helping him up to his hooves—almost yanking him. My forelimbs brushed against his, and I didn't want to let go. “S-say it one last time...”

“Say what?”

I clenched my eyes shut and looked away from him. “My name. Please. Just... Just say it.”

I felt his voice in greater proximity. He must have been looking at me up close to see if I had banged my head. "Lyra. Lyra Heartstrings...?”

I choked on something. When I opened my eyes, his handsome face had fogged over. I stared at him—unblinking—until the image cleared, and it was just as crystal clean as from my dreams. “Where would you like to take me?” I murmured.

Morning Dew raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

I winced. My voice squeaked. “Erm, what I mean is...” I smiled, tilting my head at an angle. I wasn't sure what I wanted him to see less: my burning cheeks or my moistening eyes. “Would... you like to take a walk... together?”

Morning Dew glanced at the flowers. With the business at hoof, he opened his mouth to protest. But after a lingering pause, he gazed down at me and grinned with ease. “Certainly. I... would like that, Lyra.”

“Good,” I exhaled, nearly bouncing in place as I grasped one of his hooves with both of mine. “I know just the place!”

“Heheh...” Morning Dew shook his head in awe as we strolled along. “I always loved hanging out by the lake.”

“Really?” I hummed, smiling to myself as I sauntered alongside him. “How fortunate, cuz I really like it too.”

“Very few ponies frequent this area,” he remarked, gazing out across the rippling pond water to our right. The afternoon sun bounced off it in rich crimson bands, covering us with a painterly sepia tone as we reveled in warm breeze after warm breeze. All around us, September was alive. I felt as though I would never be cold again. “I think it's a shame. There's so much to see and think about. Still, at the same time, I'm rather thankful for the quiet.”

“Do you consider yourself a loner, Morning?”

“On occasion, I suppose.” He glanced at me. “Why, do you, Lyra?”

“Welllll...” I murmured in a sing-songy fashion. “Not by habit, I assure you.”

“Are you on the road a lot, on account of all your musical venues?”

“Oh, hardly.” I cleared my throat. “It's not that. I just haven't had the chance to socialize much as of late.”

“Why?” he asked. “You seem a natural conversationalist.”

“Y-you really think so?”

“Indeed.” He chuckled. “Although...”

“Although what?”

“A tad bit on the philosophical side,” he remarked.

“So?” I smirked wryly, side-stepping an overturned log so as not to ruin Rarity's dress. “You mean to suggest that mares shouldn't be allowed to philosophize?”

“Not at all!” he said with a grin. “It's just that philosophy is measured only in its pretense. Stallions are all too easily overwhelmed in the art of cyclical dialogue. Mares—I've long perceived—serve a much better existence by actually living.”

“And by 'living,' I'm guessing you mean cooking, cleaning, and giving birth, riiiight?” I winked.

“Hardly.” He stopped by a throng of cattails and looked at me. “I only meant that there are many beautiful things in this world, and the majority of them so happen to be exemplified by mares.”

“Heh. Easy for you to say.”

“Indeed. It is.”

I giggled, shaking my head as I paced around him. “You're a little bit backwards, Morning Dew, sir, if I may be so bold to say.”

“Trotting backwards is a good way to practice for doing what counts forwards,” he replied. “Besides, I can't pretend that all codes of chivalry apply to modern life. It was you who swept me off my sleepy hooves back there in the greenhouse, not the other way around.” His gaze fell bashfully from mine. “I thank you most kindly, Lyra.”

“It's never too late to be a maid in shining armor.”

“Well put,” he said, then glanced at my shifting hooves. “Are you tired of walking?” he asked.

I smiled coyly at him. “If I said 'yes', does that mean we can continue this conversation sitting here where it's so nice and peaceful?”

“A gentlecolt is never too forward to assume anything.”

“Well, that's too bad. Let's sit our flanks down already.”

At the last second, he reached a hoof out. Both curious and amused, I took it, and I found him ushering me to a flatter stretch of grass that only an expert gardener such as him could spot. I took my sweet time smoothing out my dress before sitting down, and he took even more of his own time politely waiting until I was done before squatting himself.

“I didn't always enjoy this kind of peace,” he said.

“Oh?” I gazed curiously at him. “Was it by choice?”

“As a matter of fact, no,” he remarked, gazing across the rippling waters. “I grew up in a military household. And if there's one thing you should know about 'military households,' it's that they never remain in one single spot for too long. Most colts my age would easily adapt to being constantly on the move. But me... with my rather embarrassing conditions...”

“Like that which made you take an impromptu nap just moments ago?”

He somberly nodded. “Ahem. I didn't exactly fare too well.”

“It must be terribly unnerving,” I said. “To have grown up without a firm base, and to not even have an anchor to cling to when you felt ill.”

“My parents were my anchor,” he said. “As were the other ponies they worked with. I have and always will have the deepest respect for equines who selflessly serve the royal alicorns and their land. It's just...” He lingered slightly, his blue eyes blending with the reflections of the shallow pond water. “I wish I could contribute more than just my respect. So many stallions my age have given their part. I hope that someday—before I'm too terribly old—I'll have a chance to give mine.”

I gazed at his side, measuring the seconds that dripped by, until I bravely asked, “Is it that you have something to prove?”

“Hmmm...” He smirked calmly my way. “More like something to gain.”

“Like what?”

“Clarity,” he blurted.

“Clarity?”

Morning Dew nodded slowly. “There was a moment... a very special moment in my young life—as all ponies have their own moment of magical epiphany.” He gulped and gestured as he spoke, “But for me, it wasn't just about discovering who I was and what I was meant to be. It was a metamorphosis, where I came out of my sickly youth like a dawn sunrise breaking apart a fog. Ever since then, I understood what I wanted to do with my time on this earth. And yet... while the logic of the matter remains, I've found myself losing touch of... of...”

“Substance?”

He glanced at me.

I smiled gently. “You're not the only pony who loses control of his faculties from time to time, Morning. Be it dizzy spells or afflictions of the spirit, we all serve to be reminded of what it was that made us, and how we stand to be rejoined with that glorious insight once again.”

“That's a charming hope to cling to, Lyra. But sometimes I fear...”

“Fear what?”

“That it's too late.” He shuddered, his eyes locked onto something pale and gleaming from his past. “I fear that the only way to grasp ahold of what's truly meant for me is to somehow reverse time, to become that young colt once again, to have the world of confusion melt away like it only could that one occasion and that one occasion alone...”

I nodded slowly. “Yes. You and I can analyze the woes of the past to death with enough words to make a novel out of.” I smiled brilliantly. “Or...”

“Or...?” He looked at me. He had to squint from a glint of reflected sunlight.

I had pulled my lyre up into my forelimbs. Sitting in front of him, I charged a pulse of telekinetic energy into my instrument's strings. “Or... we can recreate that which is lost with the gifts given to us.”

“I... I'm afraid I don't understand.”

“Shhh...” I looked deeply into his face. “Just relax, Morning. And listen.” I closed my eyes. My mind scanned several scribbled musical notes until I saw the entire orchestration before me. Then, with careful precision, I performed a sweeping number, as bombastic as my strings could hope to suggest, rich and powerful and steady in its cadence. As I navigated each sweeping melody of the tune, I briefly glanced at Morning Dew's expression, and I saw his jaw dropping further and further. The song was barely done by the time I heard his voice breathily kissing the air.

“That...” He stammered. “That was the most... most delightful rendition of Mareece Ravel's Royal Symphony I've ever had the pleasure to hear,” he said.

“Please, Morning.” I giggled. “You flatter too much. So what if I happened to... have practiced...?” I paused in my words. I had expected him to be pleased by the tune.

However, I hadn't expected the tears forming in the corners of the grown stallion's eyes. “My parents. They used to march to that very tune. I would watch them from the compound fence after school, before we all trotted home together,” he murmured. “I tried to imitate their march, their proud stance, their fearless poise. When the years went by, and I suffered through worse and worse episodes, I still did my best to march with their rhythm. They always encouraged me. They always believed in my enthusiasm. When I grew up, and I tried year after year to apply at the Canterlot Military Academy, I remained steadfast in spite of my constant failure. Even today, I try to give myself hope, for I won't be completely satisfied until I am able to accomplish what they had accomplished so well.” He gulped hard. “I owe as much to them... to their legacy.”

“Their... legacy?” I squinted his way. Suddenly, it dawned on me. The soft demeanor. The incessant need to prove himself. The continuous, almost foalish fixation on a seraphim savior. A part of me broke inside, and it ruptured a soft voice from my lungs, “Oh Morning, what happened?”

His nostrils briefly flared. His eyes had dried up before possibly committing the sin of leaking. “The S.S. Hurricane,” he uttered coldly. “They were overseeing a supply drop-off along the Eastern Banks of Dream Valley. An entire military detachment was sent to guard the royal supplies. One night, there was a rupture in the ship's steam tanks.”

His tale trailed off, but it didn't need to complete itself. I already had a sore throat by that point. After all, every adult citizen of Equestria knew about the “S.S. Hurricane.” “I... I had no idea, Morning. I'm so very sorry to hear that.”

“Don't be sorry, Lyra,” he said. He smiled, a very genuine thing, as was his next breath as he spoke, “You've blessed me. You really have. Whenever I hear the Royal Symphony, it's always the classical presentation—usually a recording of a full-piece orchestra, complete with the number's usual, dramatic fanfare.” He sighed briefly. “It's the exact style of performance that they play at every memorial held for the ponies of the Hurricane since the tragedy. There's no pride or joy in it anymore. Only a deep, immeasurable, and noble sorrow.” He swallowed and glanced my way once more. “But the way you play it... the way you revel in it, with your solo strings and your passionate gusto... Well...” He grinned painfully. “It's invigorating, Miss Heartstrings. It reminds me that the dead were once very much alive. I wish there were more performers who felt with their souls as much as with their talents.”

I was barely convinced. I stared forlornly at the lyre in my hooves as if it was a terrible weapon. I muttered, “Sometimes... I swear, I feel too much.”

He narrowed his eyes curiously. “Why's that?”

I shook my head, stumbling over the thoughts. I should have waited before spilling them out from my lips, but I felt as if so many barriers had fallen already. He had been brutally honest with me so far. What had I done to even come close to paying him equal respect?

“Do you ever feel like you stumble upon a moment—a moment that is so golden and so perfect—that you feel as if you were meant to be there at that place and at that time for a purpose?”

He ran a hoof through his mane and said, “I... I suppose I have, maybe once or twice. Why?”

I gulped and said weakly, “I feel that everyday.” I looked up at him. “And on every occasion, the moments become more and more intense, Morning. And yet...” I grimaced slightly. “I feel as if they never come with any reward, no matter how frequently they occur.”

“Maybe you just haven't seized the moment,” he stated. “I mean truly seized it. Perhaps that's why you feel for the moment more and more each time it keeps happening. You're never rewarded, because each time you come upon the precipice, you never make that leap of faith. I mean, never truly.”

“Morning...” I murmured. “Not all of us can be as blessed and... and...” I gulped. “And as magnificent as you. For me, I shall always have infinite moments like this, so gorgeously framed but so bitterly unrealized. But you?” I looked at him lovingly, sadly. “This is it. This is your moment. Your one and only.”

He gazed at me as though I was suddenly drifting away from him. “Lyra, I don't understand. Do you mean that—?”

“Shhh...” I reached out to him. I grazed his silken complexion with a hoof. I felt my lips quivering. The whole universe was shaking, and he was sliding downhill into the abysmal world I had refused myself all day to wake to. I should have seen it from a galaxy's distance. “This is your moment. Can't you feel it? Like a sunrise that sings to you, or a golden pair of eyes that is only a precursor to the most secure feeling you'll ever have the good fortune to know. You called me something when we first met, Morning.” I swallowed hard, then entreated him. “Do you remember, Morning Dew? Do you remember what I was... or what you thought I was?”

His mouth hung open. The lines in his face stretched apart, pulled by talons of pain that had been raking him all his life, until now. “Angel...?” he murmured, like a colt who had just been reunited with a foalhood friend.

But I was not that protector. I could see that now. There was a phantom reflected in his eyes, a paper-thin mare with a wreathe of silly flowers trying to gussy herself up for a first and last date. I wanted immediate things, transient things, superficial things. I wanted to be held, to be cuddled, to be warmed as I stumbled inevitably into the dead thick of night.

Morning Dew needed more—so much so that he was too humble and powerless to even want it. He was on the verge of self-discovery. He always was. And every Ponyvillane dawn that he saw me, my eyes and my face were only teasing him upon the brink of such enlightenment. Nopony should ever be toyed with on the advent of transcending his demons, and Morning Dew had more ghosts than any amount of flowers could exorcise.

I may or may not have the power to free myself of this curse. But until then, I will never have the ability to free him. All my words would be for nothing. Even a tune carries itself only so far.

I wished I had the courage then and there to accept that. But where my mind worked, my heart didn't, and a last part of me tried to do the impossible anyways.

“Morning Dew,” I murmured. “You are your own guardian angel. You always were.” I sniffled briefly, then produced a brave smile. I didn't trust too much in what reflected in his eyes, but I continued regardless, “When you suffered through illnesses as a child, when you endured the loss of your parents, when you fought over and over again to achieve your dream of becoming a guardpony, and finally when you settled for your humble life here, it's been you and you alone whom you've had to thank for such tenacity, for such strength.” I bit my lip briefly, then finished with, “I only wish you would accept that which has made you strong, that which is here for you in Ponyville. You don't... You don't need to keep searching...”

He gazed at me. His eyes were soft. I knew I was going to break before he even said it. “I didn't know I was searching until I met you, Lyra,” he exclaimed breathily. “How could I always have been my own guardian angel, and yet it is only now when somepony like you is here, filling me with such song and wisdom and joy, that I'm starting to feel secure?” He smiled blissfully. “Please. Believe me. I'm not searching. I... I daresay I've found it. I've found you...” His eyes narrowed on the breaking point. “Who are you? Please, tell me. I... I must know more...”

I wanted to tell him. I wanted to weep. I wanted him to know that I was the right pony, the only pony. I was the one soul that needed to be guarded, to be held, to be made happy and safe in his embrace. All his days of wandering, all his days of lonesome trepidation, of fighting against the grindstone of his afflictions: they were all preparing him to meet me, and it would all end in tragedy. For as soon as we found each other, I would live, but he would die. By the throes of Nightmare Moon's taint, this version of him that had become enlightened, that had become blissful, that had become secure in this place in life, would no longer be. And there I would be left alone, once again forced to grow flowers out of the ashes.

“I'll tell you more,” I said suddenly in a monotone voice. He couldn't see where I was going. He didn't know the cold darkness hanging over us both like an onyx ceiling. I was the only one who knew, and it was my fault and my fault alone that things had limped this far. “But first, my little florist,” I barely managed to speak. My voice was cracking too much. I cleared my throat and forced a smile. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” he murmured, entranced. “Name it.”

My eyes traveled the landscape behind him. There were several sets of trees at the lakeside. Some were ten feet away. Others were twenty. Finally, there was a row of trees about thirty-five feet's distance. Beneath them, several brightly-colored shapes fluttered in the wind.

“Could you march over there really quick...” I weakly pointed. “...and grab one or two of those marigolds?”

He glanced behind his shoulder at the trees, then back at me. “Marigolds?”

I giggled lightly. My voice was raspy at this point. I avoided his gaze before he could see my long face. “I... I want to explain something, and I need them to make an analogy.” I gulped. “Philosopher, remember?”

He blinked. Slowly, he nodded. “Very well then. I'll be right back.”

He got up. He left, and so did his shadow with him. As I heard the crunching of grass beneath his hooves, I clenched my eyes shut and ran a hoof over my face. I sucked a huge breath into my lungs, containing the sobs before I could feel a hint of them bursting forth. Several seconds passed, and those seconds became minutes. Finally, I heard his voice from what sounded like miles away.

“Huh... Marigolds. I have plenty of these in my greenhouse,” Morning Dew murmured unemotionally. His body pivoted and his face blankly scanned the horizon. “Why... Why am I spending a perfectly good afternoon gathering more of them...?”

The stranger may have looked my way, or he may not have. I had already gotten up and swiftly trotted away from the lake. After all, a murderer never stays at the crime scene.

The cabin greeted me like a tomb. I stood there, the dress hanging limply off of me with the grace of dead skin. With every breath I took, the fragrance of Morning Dew became fainter and fainter, panting that entire afternoon with the transparent shades of a decaying dream.

I lurched forward, my hooves shuffling lifelessly. I saw the abandoned elegies lying in a discarded phalanx. The very sight of them burned into me, searing and convicting the cowardly barriers I had pulled over myself.

When will I ever learn? When will I finally, finally come to terms with the things that I deserve and the things that I can only afford to desire?

With a sigh, I levitated the crown of golden tulips off my head. I held the strung flower buds in two hooves. They were so fragile, so delicate, yet so devoid of life. I could have left them where they belonged, on their stems, being fed the moisture and care they needed to survive as long as possible. But that wasn't what I chose to do. I plucked them from their foundations and threaded them into a silken circle of superficiality, just like everything I had done that day had been cheap and paltry and inexcusably desperate.

I wasn't sure what angered me more, that I thought such an aesthetic presentation could possibly win Morning Dew's affections, or the fact that that the gesture had actually come so close to succeeding.

I winced. I gnashed my teeth. My hooves rubbed together, threatening to grind the golden petals to a pulp. But I didn't let them. After all, enough beautiful things had been destroyed that day. I placed the flowers onto the end-table, pulled my slippers off, and hobbled over to the bed. I collapsed across the cot; I didn't bother peeling the dress off. I was too weak, too encumbered by shivers and shadows. I once again had the dream, the fantasy, the deep warm place where a phantom doppelganger of Morning Dew was there to hold me, to caress me, to remember my name and whisper it to me beyond the iron curtains of the cursed night.

All it ever was—all it ever would be—was a vision, a fancy idea, a happy thought for an unhappy prisoner. I should have known better than to have entertained the notion that I could have transformed any of it into something concrete and real. I should have had more respect for Morning Dew than to have dragged him into my ordeal. He had a soul—just like every other pony in this place. It was high time I came to grips with the fact that the things I do to the spirits around me, though impermanent, are still very much real and potentially devastating. My task in Ponyville was to trail a musical goddess, not to become one. It's one thing to seize a golden opportunity in life. It's another thing altogether to conquer it at the behest of souls too weak to retain meaning from the matter.

I clenched my eyes shut and curled my limbs to my chest. All I had to do was to accept it, to finally embrace it. I was alone. I am alone, and forever will be. It is my duty to unlock the elegies and nothing else. I’ve only needed to be reacquainted with my resolve. After all, what better task is there for a ghost to accomplish?

“That's the last of them!” A pony in orange work gear shouted. He marched out of the barren brown shell that was left of the abandoned hotel on the north edge of Ponyville the following morning. “I got it wired up and everything! We finally doing this?”

“You can bet Princess Luna's spitshiney tiara, we are!” Ambrosia grumbled, rotating a timer on a silver device. Several sets of wires had been threaded out of the multiple doors and windows of the building. They all converged onto the contraption in Ambrosia's grasp. “This had dang well better work! I wanna go back to buildin' houses and raisin' barns. I'm serious, the mayor doesn't pay us enough for this demolition crud.”

“I dunno, Amber,” the stallion chuckled, adjusting his hard hat. “I always figured you were a natural for tearing walls down.”

“No, that's what your momma does when she pays a visit to the outhouse.”

“Hardy har har.”

“Enough hijinks. Did the others set up a perimeter?”

“Yup. They just finished combing over the area four times. There's nopony around for a hundred feet.”

“Good. Let's get this over with.” Ambrosia paused fiddling with the timer to shout over her shoulder. “Okay, everypony! Three minutes! Keep back like you've been told to!” As it turned out, a thin line of random pedestrians were watching from a safe distance. They waved and cheered with meager enthusiasm for the dramatic implosion that was to happen. Ambrosia gave her co-worker one last glance. “Ready?”

“Ready.” He nodded.

“And... Set!” She twisted a lever. The silver device began ticking away as the timer counted down the seconds until detonation. The two workponies wasted no time. They galloped briskly away from the site until they were barely within shouting distance of the ill-fated hotel. Catching her breath, Ambrosia came to a stop beside her fellow workers and a small group of excited onlookers. Several orange signs had been planted in a wide circle around the site, repeating the words of warning that the memos in downtown Ponyville had been broadcasting all weekend. “Few. How's this for a Gala?” Ambrosia remarked. Many ponies around her snickered and chuckled.

It was around this point that I had trotted up. It was later in the morning than I was used to arriving. This was no accident; I had hoped to not run into a certain stallion. To my solemn relief, Morning Dew was nowhere to be seen. I hung in the shadows of the line of gazing ponies, feeling my saddlebag weighing me down like a bag of bricks. My sighs were just as heavy as I gazed one last time at the doomed hotel building. This week seemed to be the perfect graveyard for memories. I only wished I wasn't the town's one and only undertaker.

“I feel like something's missin',” Ambrosia said.

“Don't say that, Amber,” one of her co-workers grumbled. “That ain't even remotely funny right now.”

She chuckled, breaking the tense silence as the ponies awaited the impending implosion. “No, not that. Oh! I know: Morning Dew's a no-show. What's up with that?”

“Why? You were hoping he'd be around to marvel at your hoofwork?” one co-worker said to her.

“Two minutes!” another called out.

Ambrosia responded to the first pony. “Eh, perhaps it's for the best. He's always a sucker for sentiment. Somehow, I just know it: seein' this here building go down will... break... his heart...” Ambrosia's face grew pale. Her mouth hung agape. It was an expression most unnatural for her.

“Huh?” Her co-worker squinted at her. “Amber, what's up?”

“What...” She pointed a hoof, murmuring breathlessly. “Who in Tartarus' name is that...?”

Everypony looked. I too craned my neck to see better. When I did so, my heart sank.

A tiny, pale pegasus had approached the site from a high altitude. Fluttering past the signs and warnings, he landed directly in front of the building. The colt immediately began rummaging through a series of bright stems and buds left in the windowsills of the doomed structure. One by one, he began plucking the most colorful flowers, wildflowers that were only there still because Morning Dew hadn't harvested them... which was entirely because a certain unicorn had chosen to distract the handsome gardener all of yesterday.

Oh dear Celestia, no...

“Kid!” A pony shouted. He and several others dashed forward. “Get away from there—”

“Now just hold on!” Ambrosia shouted, holding them all back with an outstretched pair of hooves. “Don't everypony go gallopin' in at once! That place is about to blow!” She alone took three steps forward and cupped her hooves around her mouth. “Hey! Shrimp! Get your pale little butt outta there! Explosive charges are about to go off!”

There was no way in Equestria that Rumble didn't hear that. As a matter of fact, he gasped—his eyes wide and panicky. His wings fluttered ahead of his hooves, desperately trying to lift him up. Almost immediately, though, he plummeted hard into the ground, wincing. He tried lifting off again... and then again. He couldn't budge. We all watched in heart-throbbing horror, confused as to his predicament, until it suddenly dawned on us...

“Weeds...” A pony murmured. “The little kid's rear leg is caught in some weeds!”

“Help!” Rumble's voice squeaked from a distance. “Please! I-I'm stuck!”

“One minute!” a panicking co-worker stammered.

“Hold on!” Ambrosia motioned for the others to stay while she galloped forward. “I'm comin' for ya, kiddo! Just stay put—”

“I've got him!” a voice shouted, a voice that was far closer to Rumble already.

I wasn't sure if my heart should have leapt at that tone or not. Then I swiveled and saw his abandoned wagon rolling over to its side directly behind a line of kicked-up grass. I covered my mouth with a pair of hooves and turned towards the hotel.

Morning Dew was already there before my eyes could reach him. Skidding to a stop, the brave gardener planted a calming hoof on Rumble's neck, leaned over, and snapped the entangling weeds with one fierce bite of his jaws. Rumble limped free, wincing slightly as he stumbled forward over the many detonation wires worming into the building above them.

“Thirty seconds!” somepony's voice shrieked. I could barely hear them, for as much as I wanted to rejoice, the part of me that understood the cold breath of fate was still sitting on edge.

“Go! Go!” Morning Dew was shouting, panting, dizzy. Oh please. Please no. As Rumble trotted briskly ahead, Morning Dew took up the rear... for a meager two seconds. His breath came out in two lasting wheezes, and suddenly his body deflated.

The noise of his collapse startled Rumble. The little colt spun around. “Oh jeez!” he squeaked. Instead of running the rest of the way to safety, he turned around and desperately tugged at the stallion's mane with his hooves. “Mister, come on! You heard what they said!”

“Celestia help us—Morning!” Ambrosia shouted. Her eyes took in the ticking time bomb that was the hotel one last time before she bravely dashed forward... only to have something else dashing past her. The sheer velocity of the strange movement threw her off balance so that she collapsed to her chest and gazed helplessly up at the scene.

I was galloping fiercely towards the two ponies. I shrugged the saddlebag off my flanks in mid-sprint, kicking up soil and grass as I rocketed on the sheer fuel of my hyperventilating breaths. Cold sweat stained the corners of my hoodie as I slid past Rumble and Morning and dug my hooves solidly into the earth.

“Please, Miss!” A tearful Rumble was whimpering, begging. “You gotta help me move him—”

There's no time.

“Get behind me,” I said.

“But—!”

“And stay close!” I was already gritting my teeth, seething, facing angrily at the hotel as it threatened to spill thunder into my skull at any second. A green light pulsed, lighting up the flimsy ten feet between us and the impeding disaster. “Nnnngh...” I hissed as a tiny dome of emerald energy finally solidified above me.

Just as I erected Twilight's protection field, chaos broke loose. The charge went off in the center of the building. The hotel collapsed in a billowing cloud of mortar and sawdust. Then several explosions went off from deep within as the hulking weight forced the foundation to buckle in two dozen places at once. We were greeted with a sea of splinters and shrapnel splashing towards us.

Rumble shrieked and clung to Morning Dew.

Gnashing my teeth, I squatted before us and tilted my head forward. I took the brunt of the debris with my shield. The sheer force of the blasts were shoving me backwards, plowing four tiny ravines in the soil below. My head ached like a million vices were clamping down onto it all at once. Nevertheless, I held the bulk of the destruction away, so that only a few random specks of detritus flew past the translucent umbrella of energy.

There was a cry of horror from the ponies watching from a distance. I struggled to squint my aching eyes open. As the hotel's implosion consumed it, the front face of the building was performing a last act of stubbornness. It teetered forward—thick and heavy. I soon found two full stories of wooden paneling looming over me.

When it came down, a literal crater formed beneath the three of us. A cyclone of green energy fluctuated and danced about me as I poured all of my soul through my leylines in a last ditch attempt to preserve the protection spell. My legs buckled. My muscles quivered. I could hear Rumble's whimpers and Morning Dew's tiny breaths.

Somewhere, in the hazy clouds of time, a sickly young colt was marching out of bed. He graced the sunrise, and a golden pair of eyes beyond the window gazed back, lovingly, longingly, forbidden from embracing him.

“Nnnnngh...” I seethed. My world flashed a bright emerald as I leaned against the edge of my shield. My horn vibrated to the breaking point, but I reached beyond the pain, shoving a pulse of telekinetic energy straight into the protection buff. “Aaaaaaagh!” The green dome flew diagonally like a missile, plowing through the building face so that it split like a parting sea, both halves falling harmlessly to either side of us with a monumentous thud.

The next thing to fall was me—panting—to the sundered earth below. I wouldn't know it until later, but my heroics had lasted the space of five seconds. All I cared for at the time was...

“Mmmm... M... M-Morning...” I dragged myself back onto my hooves and crawled over towards him.

Rumble was shaking him furiously, all the while struggling to contain his sobs. “He's not moving! He's... he's...”

“He's alright, kid,” I said, gulping. I slid down and lifted his upper body until I cradled his soft head in my lap. “We're okay,” I murmured. My voice came out crookedly, and I realized that I was smiling. “We're all okay,” I squeaked.

“But... But...” Rumble glanced up at me. His eyes widened.

I was confused, until I felt a warm trickle of liquid rolling down my neck. I reached a hoof up and dipped it—wincing—into a thin gash below my left ear. I realized that my shield had saved the day, but it wasn't perfect. I was nicked and scratched in several tiny places. Rumble and Morning Dew were similarly grazed in a dozen spots, but I hardly feared the worst.

However, when Ambrosia and several other breathless ponies galloped up, the blood was the first thing they saw. “Good grief! Are y'all okay?”

“That was amazing!”

“Did you see what she just did?”

“Praise Celestia, that was close!”

“He... He's...” I gulped, suddenly aware of how much I was panting. “We're fine. We just... we just need...”

“You stay put!” Ambrosia gestured. I'd never seen her look so frightened. Her green eyes were locked on Morning Dew's unconscious figure alone. “We'll go fetch Nurse Redheart! Let's not take any chances, now!”

“I'm so sorry!” Rumble whimpered, his eyes misty as he sniffled and cried, “I didn't know about the building! I was flying all day and... and... I didn't know! Oh please tell me he'll be all right!”

“Let's worry about what could or couldn't have happened later, kid,” Ambrosia said. “You can fly, can't you?”

“Yes!” I flashed a look towards the colt. “You're the fastest one here! Help them fetch a doctor pronto!”

“Okay!” Rumble composed himself, fluttered his wings, and took off.

“Are... Are you...?” Ambrosia looked nervously at me.

“I'm fine. Go get Redheart!” I nodded towards her. “I'll... I'll watch over him.”

She nodded fervently. In a blur, she and her co-workers galloped towards the center of town.

I was left alone with Morning Dew in my forelimbs. The hotel site settled quietly around us like the aftermath of a terrible battle. I felt my breaths slowing to tranquil waves as I cradled his warm body and looked him over, carefully spotting the tiny cuts and bruises that blemished his otherwise perfect coat. I saw a tiny cut along his left cheek. Gently, I raised a hoof to his face.

As soon as my hoof touched his silken complexion, everything within me froze. The reality of the moment caught up with me on thundering wheels. I felt my heart pounding in my chest, and it was in perfect cadence with his. I had come to understand what I could or couldn't afford in life, but what of the both of us? The elegies may not have a divine purpose for me. But angelic moments such as this?

I brushed his mane hair aside. His golden face hung like a sleeping colt's in the noonday glow. Something so beautiful hardly deserved to be so alone. It was selfish of me to believe. But I didn't care. I no longer thought.

I was leaning over. I held him gently towards me until our foreheads made contact. I never felt like melting so much before. I nuzzled him, I cherished him. My limbs were shaking, buckling, but his presence was my anchor, pulling me closer towards him until I felt his tender breaths against my muzzle.

That was what broke the dam. With gentle sobs, I worshipped him, my tears christening his forehead like a holy river between us. He was so warm, so fragile, so alive. I wished that I could be alive too. Angels visit this earth sparingly for a reason. They need terribly blissful moments like this to remind them what's worth protecting, for it is all too often something incapable of possessing, unlike this moment—a memory that shall stay alive forever in the center of my wilting spirit, that I shall never allow to implode for as long as I'm alive to preserve it.

When Ambrosia, Rumble, and the others returned—and Nurse Redheart in tow—I was gone. Morning Dew awoke to their concerned voices, their careful ministrations and their gentle assertions. As he was bandaged back to health, he reached a hoof out and gently patted Rumble's and Ambrosia's shoulders in turn. He did so in a dazed fashion, his eyes and ears twitching in want of a warmth that was suddenly lacking. He brushed his hoof over his forehead and was only mildly surprised to feel it moist from a secret baptism. He gazed at the evaporating tears on his forelimb and glanced skyward, like a young colt waking to the golden dawn.

I sat on the park bench the following day, my lyre lying by my side. I didn't play it. I hardly breathed. I stared into the warm shades of late summer, my lungs slowly rising and falling. A few random bandages clung to my figure as my body mended from the previous day's debacle. I didn't feel proud. I didn't feel victorious. A guardian angel with no home to fly back to hardly has anything worth heralding.

When his hoofsteps came around the bend, it was like gentle thunder breaking the stillness of the afternoon. I saw Rumble trotting lonesomely along the path in my peripheral vision. He navigated a series of continual sighs, each one deeper and more somber than the one previous. Soon, his solemn gait brought him to the shadow of a tree on the crest of a hill. He slumped down beneath it, gazing at the thick soil beyond his hooves.

Eventually, I looked his way. I cleared the dryness from my throat and uttered, “Is there anything worse than a pegasus who doesn't have his head in the clouds?”

“Huh?” He glanced my way, then winced. “Oh. Hello there.”

“Hi.”

“You... You're gonna yell at me too?” he grumbled. “Everypony else has.”

“What for?”

He toyed limply with the blades of grass around him. “I almost got a pony killed yesterday.”

“Really?” I smiled gently. “You don't strike me as a murdering type.”

“No. It's not that...” He groaned. “I did something stupid, and a pony nearly died trying to save me. An entire building practically fell on top of us. I still don't know how we both survived.”

“Perhaps we're lucky in this life for a reason,” I droned. “Perhaps it's fate's way of showing us that we have more to learn in our existence than just from our mistakes.”

“Whatever,” he blurted. “My older brother's forbidden me from flying around on my own for a while. I guess I don't blame him. It's just that...”

“What?”

“I wanted to find some flowers. It's a lot easier to do from the air—to find the best places where they grow, at least.”

“Why flowers?” I obligatorily asked him.

“I...” He bit his lip. “I dunno, really. It just seemed like the right thing to do.”

“You like flowers?”

“No,” Rumble grunted. “I don't.”

“Then why—?”

“It doesn't matter, okay?!” His voice cracked as he shook in frustration, covering his face with a pair of limp hooves. “I don't know. I just don't know.” He sighed lengthily. “All I know is that I'm a weirdo, just like my friends call me...”

I stared silently at him, but then my ears pricked. There was a melodic sound coming from the far hillside. A series of giggles lit the air, and one of them far more enchanting than the rest. I glanced to my left in time to spot the three foalish figures galloping through the tall grass. I looked briefly back at Rumble, took a deep breath, then narrowed my eyes in concentration. A dim green aura illuminated the bench upon which I was squatting.

“Heeheehee!” Apple Bloom's voice cackled. “Shucks, Scoots! Yer pullin' mah leg! Did you really?”

“Uh huh,” Scootaloo nodded with a devilish grin. She and the other two were garbed in their trademark burgundy cloaks. “Then, as he got back up, I told him 'You better stop insulting blank flanks, or else the next time I hit you, you'll cry every time you go to the outhouse!'”

“Well no wonder he had nothing mean to say this morning!” Sweetie Belle remarked, taking up the rear of the group as the three bounded over the grassy knoll. “You're the last pony anyone would want to mess with, Scootaloo—” Before she could finish this utterance, a burst of green light snapped her cloak off her shoulders. She gasped and spun around, only to see her crusader cape flying away in a magical wind. “Oh jeez! Hold up, guys!”

“Ugh! What, again, Sweetie Belle?” Scootaloo's voice groaned.

“You should fancy tyin' that thang to yer mane!” Apple Bloom added in a snicker.

“Very... funny...!” Sweetie Belle huffed and puffed as she galloped after the runaway scrap of cloth. “I mean it! Wait for me!” It came to a stop beneath a tree beside the park path. Catching up to the thing, she hoisted it up in her hoof and hissed like an angry fashionista. “Nnnnnn! This fabric! I wish there was something I could call it to make it feel bad—!” She stopped in mid-speech, realizing she wasn't alone.

Rumble realized he wasn't alone either. He jumped up with a gasp and backed into the tree as if he was being held at spear-point.

Sweetie Belle merely blinked at him. He stared just as blankly back. As the seconds melted away, she chewed on her bottom lip and took a few steps back.

Rumble fidgeted. Rumble shook. He lurched a two inches forward, anchored to a desperate grin. “H-Hi there.”

“Mmmm...” Sweetie Belle hid half her face behind the loose cape. “Hello...”

“You...” He briefly gnashed his teeth. “You're pretty—Uhhh... Uhhh—Your voice, I mean. You have a pretty singing voice.” He gulped. “That is, I've... I've heard it. You sing really well, and I think it's cool.”

Sweetie Belle's eyes fell to the grass. Her hooves toyed with the soil.

“Are you doing stuff with your friends?” Rumble scratched a hoof behind his slick mane. “Cuz I think it's pretty nifty how you three are always... uhm... going on adventures and—like—doing stuff for the village and all. Some ponies may think that you're annoying, but I think you're really helpful and stuff. I'm totally not one of those ponies who would think that you're annoying. I... nnngh... I don't even know why I said that...”

Sweetie Belle suddenly shook, quivered even.

Rumble squinted at her. “Are... Are you okay—?”

Sweetie Belle wretched, vomiting up a copious amount of fluid onto the grass between them.

“Whoah! Jeez!” Rumble hopped back.

“Mmmf... Urp...” Sweetie Belle fell on her haunches and rubbed a forelimb across her cheek. She grimaced, her face turning a furious shade of red. “Omigosh! I'm... urp... I'm so sorry! That... I-I don't even know why that happened!” She coughed a few times, sputtered, and hugged the fabric to herself. “Please, don't think I'm gross!”

“That...” Rumble's wide eyes blinked. “That...”

Sweetie Belle winced.

“That...” Rumble grinned brightly. “...was totally awesome!” His wings fluttered as he leaned forward. “I've never seen a pony upchuck like that!”

She smiled. “Really? You—urp—mean it?”

“Yeah! I bet even my big brother would be impressed!”

“Apple Bloom says it's because I'm always swallowing flies.”

“Really?” Rumble bounced towards her. “Wanna find some bigger bugs?”

“Uhm...” She bit her lip and hid behind the fabric once again. “N-Not really.”

“Oh.” Rumble instantly wilted. “Eheh... of course you wouldn't...”

“B-But... But the crusaders and I were about to go squirrel caging!” Sweetie Belle said. She appeared to light up as soon as she spotted his blank hind-quarters. “Wanna come with us?!” Her eyes sparkled as she beamed. “Maybe we can find you your super special talent!”

“Hey, yeah!” Rumble exclaimed. “It so happens I'm missing one of those!”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sweetie Belle giggled and motioned him along. “Come on—Whoah!” She forgot about the cape in her grasp until she tripped on it.

“Heehee... Ahem. Here. Allow me.” Rumble walked over, and with very gentle movements he tied the cape to Sweetie Belle's back.

She stood still, her cheeks flushed. When he finished, she gave him a sweet smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“We should get my big sister to make one for you.”

“Eh...” He smiled bashfully. “It wouldn't nearly look as good on me as it does on you.”

“Whatever. Squirrels are waiting. Let's go!”

“Heehee! Alright!”

The two scampered up the hill to join Apple Bloom and Scootaloo in waiting. I was watching the whole time, quiet as a mouse. I didn't want to disturb the moment, nor did I want to shatter the first warm pulse I felt in my heart since that day began.

“Now, if that ain't sweet as all get out.”

I turned to glance at my side.

Ambrosia was trotting down the path. She was out of uniform. Her exposed coat and snow-white mane were a sight to behold. I almost wondered if she hid such beauty and grace on purpose. As soon as she spoke again, I recognized the gruff construction worker instantly.

“The village was a bit too hard on the little scamp for what happened yesterday.”

“You'll have to enlighten me,” I spoke montonously. “Just what happened yesterday?”

She shuddered at the thought. “Something that was mostly my fault, which is why I talked the kid's older brother from layin' the guilt on too fiercely. Thunderlane's a popular stallion around these parts, but his brain is hardly the first organ he thinks with half the time.”

I chuckled. “You strike me as an observant mare.”

“Not observant enough, I reckon,” Ambrosia groaned. She sat momentarily on her haunches and ran a tired hoof through her mane. “I should have taken more precautions to keep ponies away from that hotel when we demolished it. I should have put up more signs. I should have spread the news to more pegasi. I shouldn't have used timed charges.”

“It's easy to pick apart an impossible situation after it's happened than before,” I said. “I don't see why you should be so hard on yourself. Everypony came out of it safely, right?”

“Just barely, and t'ain't none of my doin',” she grumbled. “I swear, it's as if I've been too terribly distracted these last few weeks. It's not the kind of professionalism I've been hankerin' to show.”

“Lemme guess?” I shrugged. “The Gala got your mind in the clouds?”

“Hah! As if!” She briefly guffawed, then rode the sloping crest of a sad sigh. “I wished life was that dag-blamed simple.”

“If it's not the Gala that's been distracting you, then what?” I asked her with a chuckle. Then it dawned on me. My smile left as sharply as the breath coming out of my mouth. “Who?”

She bit her lip as her face grew long. I've seen that look before, reflected in a charming stallion's blue eyes. “T'ain't no matter. I've prattled and rambled like a little foal, and it's just too late to make anything of it. Besides... heh... I was born to be a real brute. What he needs is somethang gentler, some filly with more grace.”

I gazed softly at her. I gulped and said, “What a pony needs, a pony often already has. I've learned that the ones who search the hardest are usually the souls who end up alone.”

“Hmmm. There are worse fates,” Ambrosia mused.

“Yes.” I slowly, coldly nodded. “There are.”

She fidgeted a final time, sighed the last layers of guilt off her shoulders, then produced a brave smile. “Well, no sense in fussin' the mistakes of yesteryear. I've got me an apartment to start buildin' tomorrow. I'd better go meet with my crew to begin plannin'. Have a good afternoon, ma'am. Here's hopin' you don't run into anymore pathetic mares bent on thinkin' their troubles aloud. Heheh...”

I waved as she trotted off. “It's... hardly a crime...” She was too far away to hear me, and I was too frozen in my place to try and make her.

“Tell me, Miss Heartstrings,” Rarity was saying. She sat across from me at the table in Sugarcube Corner as a rosy candle lit up our conversation. “If I may be so bold as to inquire: have you ever survived an impossible infatuation?”

I gazed up at her from my musical notes. I smiled.

“Nopony ever survives an impossible infatuation, Miss Rarity,” I said. “Whatever you were before the Gala, that mare's gone now. But, ask yourself, would you want that goofy, enchanted filly to come back and live in your body again?”

She blinked back at me, her face lighting up in the falling shade of evening. “No,” she gently breathed, shaking her head with a calm smile. “I imagine that I shan't be that mare ever again, and I am perfectly fine with that.”

“Still...” I pointed with the quill pen levitating in my grasp. “Memories.”

“Memories, Miss Heartstrings?”

“They're too delicious to give up entirely, so long as we know that they'll only remain what they flimsily are.” I gazed at the crown of golden tulip buds haloing the candle between us. “What better a place for a fantasy to exist than in the recesses of our minds? As for our hearts—however—it's up to us to prepare them for when the time comes that they'll be made or broken. No matter how extreme our fantasies are, we can never really anticipate the moment when true love comes, when we're transformed into something less starving... less lonely than the previous shades of us.”

Rarity took a deep breath. Her smile was a weathered thing, but it felt truer than any other expression she had graced me with previous. “I feel as though I have been starving for a terribly, terribly long time.”

I nodded quietly. “And some of us have even longer years left to remain hungry.” After a pause, I brushed a hoof gently over the golden petals and added, “Some of us. But not all.”

Quietly, Rarity finished her mug of coffee. She stood up, but before leaving she trotted over to my seat and rested a hoof on my shoulder.

“Just be sure starvation doesn't claim you, Miss Heartstrings. You are far too beautiful to expect nothing from this glorious world.”

“I know it, Miss Rarity.” I smiled peacefully up at her. “After all, everypony is made to be loved.”

Her lips pursed upon hearing that. She gave me a sweet smile, something that was strung halfway between proud and melancholic. On a moist breath, she carried herself out the door of Sugarcube Corner, and into the last waning light of day.

Alone, I sat with my elegies. I glanced at Morning Dew's gift of flowers. I thought about beautiful things, and how all too often they were hidden for fear of the unknown. I was the only cursed soul in Ponyville who had something legitimate to fear. More than that, it was my angelic duty to keep it that way.

Standing up, I blew out the rosy candle, and briskly hoisted the crown of flowers in my hoof.

The next morning, the noise of power saws and jackhammers filled the wooden framework of the skeletal apartment building with chaotic cacophony. On just any other day, Ambrosia would have been in complete control of the situation. Currently, however, she stumbled over equipment and bumped into wooden boards, all the while seething and rubbing her head as if afflicted with a terrible headache.

“No... no... no!” She barked over her shoulder. “I'm tellin' y'all, ya ain't lookin' at the blueprints correctly! The whole dang foundation is off by over twenty degrees! At this rate, I'm gonna get an earful once they try installin’ the windows!”

“Well excuse me, Amber!” Another worker shouted back over the bedlam. “I was only following your directions!”

“And how many times have I told you—When I'm comin' across as hare-brained, chew me a new one!”

“If you cared so much about your aching head this morning, then maybe you should be wearing your hard hat like a smart pony!”

“Don't preach to me!” Ambrosia rubbed her scalp again, sighed, and eventually grumbled, “Though reckon he's right. What am I doing, tryin' to kill myself?” Lethargically, she trudged across a stretch of concrete, squinting towards a wooden table. “Now where in tarnation did I put that stupid thang?” She grumbled, looking everywhere for her article in question. “I swear, I put it right there! Did somepony move it—?” She froze in place, her mouth agape.

The hard hat was lying atop a stack of toolboxes. What was more, it was upside down. What was even more, its hollow center was filled to the brim with golden, silken tulips—an entire crown of them.

She plopped her flanks down as she gazed limply at the thing. Her head shook with each pulsing heartbeat. Reaching a hoof over, she gently grazed the soft petals. “Why... Why that sissy little sap...” Her voice had lost its gruff edge, and she was cracking a gentle smile. “He didn't...?” Biting her lip, she gazed beyond the lengths of the construction site.

“Nnngh... Hey! Amber!” A co-worker barked from across the thundering scene. “Could you pass me the measuring tape while you're over there?” Several seconds limped by. He looked up and grumbled again, “Amber?”

Ambrosia was gone. So were the tulips.

Morning Dew finished planting a row of dandelions in the soft bed of a storefront. Standing up, he wiped the sweat from his brow and admired his hoofwork. Slowly, he turned around to grab a tool from his gardening wagon. It so happened that a familiar pony in orange stood in the way.

He jumped back briefly, then let loose an airy chuckle with a hoof planted over his bandaged chest. “For goodness' sake, Amber! Do you want me to collapse on a daily basis?” He shuffled past her and rummaged through the wooden cart full of plants and things. “What brings you here? I thought you were working on the other side of town this month.”

She stared after him. After a courageous breath, she muttered, “Are you fixin' to see me wear them? Is that it?”

“Uhhhh...” Morning Dew tilted his head up, blinking towards the horizon. He turned and squinted at her. “Huh? I don't read you...”

She slowly lifted the hard hat in her grasp. She chewed on her lip for the length of time it took for him to gaze down and see the tulips gathered in a circle within.

“Wow. Those are...” He narrowed his expert eyes. “Those are several days' old, but still remarkably fresh!”

“Only a pony like you can grow them flowers to last that long, Morning,” she said.

“Well, I guess, but—” He stopped in mid-sentence. Fidgeting, he cast her a look that was too confused to appear guilty.

She read the truth in his expression anyways. “You... You didn't send them, did you?”

He slowly, slowly shook his head. “No, Amber. I... I'm sorry, but I didn't. What...? I mean, how did you think—?”

“Heh...” Her breath squeaked out of her as she smiled painfully down at the hard hat and the treasures therein. “I know. It's silly.”

“No! I mean... it... it's not as silly as you think—”

“Of course it is, Morning. It always is.”

“Amber?” He gulped and gazed at her worriedly. “I... I don't understand...”

“You do. You just pretend that you don't, like I pretend that I don't.” She ran a hoof through her mane and cast a vulnerable gaze towards the remains of the crumbled hotel across the street. A deep breath escaped her lips. “I catch you lookin’, Morning.”

“L-looking, Amber?”

“At the likes of Caramel and Windy. At Thunderlane and Blossomforth as well. And I think... no... I know...” She choked on a soft breath and gazed back at him. “It's the same way you look at me.”

Morning Dew said nothing. He merely hung his head and dug his hoof into a loose piece of soil.

“Yes. Yes!” She chuckled bitterly, sitting down on her haunches finally and all-but-hugging the hard hat to her chest. “I'm always goin' off on you and teasin' and the like. It's stupid. We both know it, and we both know it's just to cover something stupider.”

“It's not stupid, Amber—”

“Don't you try to placate me none!” She briefly frowned, but her expression melted into a vulnerable glance as she leaned forward. “How come it feels like you're always searchin', and I'm always waitin', and the days just go by faster and faster and all we end up bein' is alone?”

“We... We're not exactly alone, Amber—”

“We are, Morning. We are and... and...” She winced as her eyes moistened. A sniffle came out of her, then, “I almost lost ya yesterday. I almost lost ya—and I feel mighty horrible. I feel horrible because I feel that way and yet I've never had you to begin with! And I'm so sorry...”

“Please.” Morning gazed warmly at her. “Don't be sorry. What happened with the demolition was hardly anypony's fault—”

“Morning, ya knucklehead!” She laughed and sobbed at once, a pitifully delicious sound. “That's not what I'm apologizin' for and you know it!” She reached a hoof over and boldly stroked his cheek. “I'm beginnin' to realize what I should have done a lot sooner, what a sweet stallion such as you was afraid to do himself.”

Morning Dew raised his hoof—hesitated—but ultimately grasped her forelimb. He didn't shove it away. He merely held it to his face, sighed, and eventually spoke in a somber voice, “I've been afraid for a reason, Amber. You know what I've always wanted to do in my life.” His tone wavered, a coltish quality he could never shake loose. “And you know that at this rate, with what I have to contend with, I'll never be able to do it.”

“Morning—”

“You're so much stronger and more confident than me, Amber.” He looked at her painfully. “I... I would never be able to make you feel secure. I would never be able to protect you as I'd like to...”

She smiled as a tear rolled down her face. She caressed his cheek just the same. “You can protect me more than you think, ya sap. Trust me.” Her lungs heaved and her smile cracked even wider. “You really can...”

That broke something within him. He let loose a heavy breath, as if liberated by something even more golden than his memories. He looked down at the hard hat. Reaching with both hooves, he raised the yellow crown of tulips and looked them over. Without wasting too many seconds, he gently lifted them towards Ambrosia's head.

She tilted forward. Once the crown was in place, she let loose a childish giggle. “Uhm...” She sniffed and squirmed nervously under his gaze. “I... I reckon they don't m-match my eyes none.”

“No.” He slowly shook his head. He smiled. “But they do match your smile.”

She squeaked forth another chuckle, wiping her eyes with a forelimb. “Well... That's a start, hmm?”

Morning Dew shook his head again. “This is,” he said. He then leaned in and nuzzled her.

She nuzzled him back, then clung to him desperately, burying her face into his shoulder. He returned the gesture, and together the two blended warmly in the center of Ponyville, becoming one with the colorful canvas around them.

I stood beyond the nearby storefronts, appreciating the art of life. It was something best done at a distance, after all. Shuffling the weight of the lyre in my saddlebag, I turned around and marched towards the colder parts of town. The eighth elegy sprang back to life in my head, along with a burning speculation.

I couldn't stop thinking... that a true guardian angel's merit is not measured in what she holds onto, but in what she gives up.

That thought has occupied me all afternoon, to the point that I had to write about it, which is how I come to here, to this cabin, to this journal. The elegy calls to me. I know when it's best not to refuse a tender embrace, no matter how cold or pale. I must figure out its name, its purpose, it position in the symphony. Beyond that, I know what comes next. After all, what's left to stop me?

I won't be writing in this journal again, not until I've performed the eighth elegy, not until I've thrown myself full-force into the only purpose I have left, a moment that's hanging eternally before me like a great black beacon. If there are no more entries to follow, then that means I will have either frozen to death or been dragged to accursed depths hitherto inconceivable.

My one assurance—my one affirmative thought at this point—is that there is only one soul who will be burdened with mourning me once I am gone, and that same pony is no longer afraid to declare such.

Yours, as true as she is real,

-Lyra Heartstrings

I may or may not find an escape from this horrible curse of mine. Sometimes, more than anything, I just wish that somepony would love me.

IX - The Firmaments

Dear Journal,

What are we afraid of? What fills us with dread each night? What forces our eyes to open wide, against the percussion of our panting breaths, so that we may determine whether we are actually dead or just sleeping?

What gives shadows their sharp edge? What makes a black doorway so foreboding, a dusty corner so full of shapes and whispers? What tugs at the hairs on the back of our necks so harshly?

We've grown accustomed to a world that is safe, warm, and tranquil. When the slightest chaotic event undermines the sanctity of our domain, we become uneasy. We discover the taste of trepidation, a very bitter bile that sits in the back of our throats. We cling to our loved ones and we dream of them being eternal, just as we wish our anxieties to be impermanent. We shudder in our homes, beds, and tears, thinking that we are afraid.

I have seen the land between the firmaments. We are not afraid enough.

My name is Lyra Heartstrings. Two days ago, I became the first mortal pony in a millennium to have performed a damnable symphony, and yet I have come back from the freezing shadows. I am alone with the memories of what I have witnessed. As of this moment I am alive, and I have much to write about.

It started with a song, as all things do. The melody poured into every corner of the room, filling the air with a haunting, mournful frequency. When it ended, its echoes lamenting the final chords of my lyre, I opened my eyes to see Twilight Sparkle standing in the library before me, on the verge of tears. Her mouth hung open, and very numbly my foalhood friend stammered:

“'Twilight's Requiem.'”

And with that, Elegy #8 had a name.

“'Twilight's Requiem?'” I repeated. I lowered the lyre back into my saddlebag and sat on my haunches across from her in the afternoon's glow. “That's a rather interesting choice for a name,” I said, though my voice came out in a drone. I had just finished the usual routine with Twilight, telling her all that she needed to know in order to help me come up with this title. “You sure you haven't gotten it mixed up with something else?”

“I... I'm sure,” she murmured. Her ears were folded against her head. She sat in a slump, looking like a wilted bouquet of violets. Her eyes searched the shadows of the room as her mind reached solemnly into the past. “There's no way I could forget the name of that instrumental. When Princess Celestia first taught it to me during a history lesson, I remember being instantly intrigued. I was a young filly at the time, and I guess I read a little too much into the word 'Twilight' being an important piece of Canterlot music history.”

“And just how important a piece is it really?” I asked her in a pointed manner. “Please, Twilight, anything you have to tell me could be immensely helpful right now.”

“Helpful?” Her lips quivered. She looked up at me with sad eyes. “How could anything help you, Lyra? If what you've said is true, then—”

“Please. There isn't much time.” I stood up and trotted firmly towards her. “This Requiem... what connections could it have had with Princess Luna?”

“I... I-I studied up on it one summer while Princess Celestia was away on a meeting of diplomacy with the Queen of the dragons,” she said. “I listened to the recording and I thought it was one of the saddest instrumentals I had ever heard. Shortly thereafter, I asked some of the royal archivists in the Palace Library about it. I wasn't told much, only that the song had its origin during Shadow's Advent.”

“Shadow's Advent?” I remarked, squinting in thought. Every unicorn scholar knows about the poetically labeled era immediately predating the Civil War. Princess Luna, secretly on the verge of becoming Nightmare Moon, had withdrawn into seclusion. Her total and unexpected isolation had a negative effect on all of Equestria. Rumors filled the land that the alicorn goddess had developed some sort of unearthly affliction. Even Princess Celestia herself was consumed with worry. When Luna came out of her self-imposed exile, she wasn't the same. Nightmare Moon had consumed her, and the civil war that followed ravaged much of the countryside. My first thought was a curious one: just how could Luna have found the time to compose a requiem during such a dark chapter in her life? “Did the archivists have any knowledge of who wrote the piece during that era?” I ultimately asked Twilight.

She slowly shook her head. “There's no way to be sure. Luna was known to have composed a lot of music in the century that preceded her banishment. However, the Requiem has no established author.”

“But was the knowledge of the Requiem stored in the Celestial Library or the Lunar Archives?”

Twilight fidgeted. She trembled slightly.

“Twilight,” I said with a sigh. “This is important—”

“I d-don't know, okay?!” Twilight exclaimed, her voice cracking. “I want to help you, Lyra. I want to help you so much. But... But I don't know. There isn't much in the Lunar Archives that has survived the Great Canterlot Eclipse to tell of what happened during Shadow's Advent. The only records that point to that time period are sporadic pieces of literary antiquity, books that have been preserved in the hooves of common citizens over the last thousand years. Those are difficult to find at best. But...” Her eyes briefly brightened in thought.

“What?” I leaned forward, curious.

She gulped, then said, “I have a unique collection here in the Ponyville Library. It's an extremely old sample of Equestrian literature. Not even I'm capable of reading half of it, seeing that most of the material is written in Moonwhinny and Old Equine. From what I can tell, most of the books are simple almanacs written by pre-Civil War unicorn astronomers. The tomes likely reached Ponyville through refugees who fled from the war-torn fields of Whinniepeg to the north a thousand years ago.”

“Where are these books?”

“Spike and I keep them in the basement, along with several books that are even older. With the use of enchanted mana crystals, I cast a protection spell over the archives on a regular basis. There's no telling when a visiting Canterlot scholar might want to peruse the material.”

“Well, I think I'd better have a look at them.”

“Lyra, I'm telling you...” Twilight stood and looked me in the eyes. “The books have nothing to do with Princess Luna's legacy or music composition or... or...” She shuddered, running a hoof over her face. “What would it mean to you anyways? Don't you have all you need to know about this... this latest elegy of yours?”

“Performing the elegies is never easy,” I muttered. I was already eying the wooden door that led down to the library's dark basement. “If I can find any information about them whatsoever, no matter how obscure, then I'll take it.”

“Do you have to perform them, Lyra?” Twilight remarked. “You make them sound so dangerous and... foreboding!” She gulped, then smiled hopefully. “I know! Let me perform them with you! I can summon a protection field three times as powerful as any other unicorn in town. I can prepare us for whatever magical consequences your symphony might bring.”

“Out of the question, Twilight. The elegies are mine to perform and mine alone. Besides, your memory wouldn't last long enough to let you assist me.”

“It's... It's just...” Twilight was shuddering. I've seen this reaction far too many times. It's like an old record being played over and over again to the breaking point. The tonality grows duller and duller, to the point that my ears barely twitch upon each wavering octave of my old friend's frail voice. “It's so unfair.”

“I must not let the nature of my curse inhibit me, Twilight,” I said. “I've been given one clue, one set of directions, since Nightmare Moon afflicted me, and it's all framed by these songs that haunt my mind. One way or another, I'm performing them. If they destroy me, so be it, for sometimes destruction is the very essence of transformation. Wouldn't you agree?”

“No!” she shouted.

I wondered what was more awkward, how sharply she exclaimed it or how little I had expected such sharpness.

“I don't agree!” She then did something else that was surprising: she gripped my hoof in hers and held it firmly. “You don't need to be alone! You don't need to be a stranger!”

“But...” I gazed at her, my heart beating quickly. I wasn't used to our encounters turning this dramatic. What was so different this time? “But I am alone, Twilight. Until I unravel the mystery of these songs, I have to deal with that.”

“But right now, I know, Lyra!” Her eyes were rippling pools of violet. I felt like I was trying to tread water and only failing. “You've told me so much, and I know. To think that you've been here all this time, with nopony aware of your selfless deeds.! To think that we were foalhood friends!”

“Twilight...” I touched her hooves back. It was a blunt gesture, like leaning my forelimb against a plank of wood. “I told you about our forgotten pasts because I needed you to trust me. Could you imagine a strange unicorn walking in here and asking for help in identifying these elegies without any explanation?”

She obviously wasn’t in the position to imagine anything. A very concrete moment had blossomed before her, and it threatened to crumble in the next frigid blink. “How can you think that this is the only reason you came to me, Lyra? You poor thing! This situation you’re in: how could you afford any friends besides what only memories give you?”

“Please...” I sighed and shook my head. I tugged slightly, my forelimb beginning to slip from her grip. “I can deal with it. I’ve found the strength to—”

“Friendship is the most powerful thing in the world, Lyra!” She exclaimed, her eyes moistening. “Right now, you and I are friends again! We have to preserve that at all costs! We have to fetch the Princess! With Celestia’s help, we’ll gather all of the strongest magicians in Equestria and—”

“It won’t work, Twilight!” I blurted. It was a lot louder than I had intended. I blanched at the sight of a frowning unicorn reflected in her foalish eyes. “Twilight. I’m sorry. But... I-I’ve been through all of this. I know you only want the best.”

Her lips quivered as a tear ran down her cheek. “I don’t want the best. I want to stop losing friends.” She blinked once, and her face paled over. Without letting go of my hoof, she turned to look at a familiar picture frame sitting on a table on the far side of the library. Two young mares stood in the photograph, smiling. There was room for a third pony.

That's when I realized it.

Oh dear Celestia. That's what it is. That’s what’s different.

“You...” She whimpered. She squeezed my hoof tighter. “It was you. It was always you.” She turned towards me, and the tears were flowing freely now. “There's so much in my life that has been missing. My foalhood was devoid of music. I came to Ponyville feeling lonely and unloved. And now... M-Moondancer is gone for good.” she sniffed. She choked. “But it all m-makes sense now, Lyra. You... you were robbed from me.” She bit her lip and almost squeaked forth, “You were robbed, Lyra, and now that I finally have a chance to get to know that part of me that's always been missing, you're only going to go away again? But why?! Why does it have to be this way?! This... this curse! I just don't understand it...”

“Twilight.” I fumbled to speak evenly. I saw her tears, but for some reason I couldn't feel them. I tried to smile. It must have appeared like a broken grimace. I realized I hadn't tried smiling that entire afternoon until then. What was worse, I hadn't the capacity to feel guilty over it. “Please, calm down. Seriously. It's... it's okay—”

“No! It's not okay!” Twilight cried. She clutched my hoof tighter. She knew more than any pony in existence that I was about to fly away, like a pile of leaves scattered to the wind and all of them scented with her tears. “I've discovered something pr-precious and sweet... and you're telling me th-that in a matter of minutes, it'll all be gone! How could that possibly be okay?!”

“I... I...” There was everything to say; there was nothing to say. I was no longer thinking about the Requiem. Something else was worth composing an elegy for, but suddenly I realized I hadn't the strength to write it.

So I did the next best thing, something that had once taken me nearly twelve months of these repeated conversations with Twilight before I had the courage to ask for it. Only this time I gave it, gave it to her, folding my forelimbs around her and marveling at how horrifyingly small she felt within the tender embrace.

Day in and day out, I can't stop myself from spreading this curse like a pestilence. Being a pariah should never work this way, but who am I to complain? There is only one thing I can do, one thing I'll ever be capable of doing, one thing that holds any significance to the ghosts that I construct around me by simply touching them.

I apologized. “I'm sorry, Twilight.” I apologized... and nothing else. Last words are the most worthless words of all. That's another reason why I love songs over soliloquies. “I'm... I'm so sorry...”

“I... I-I don't want you to g-go...” She sobbed in my grasp. She shook in my grasp. Her voice was that of a hiccuping little foal's. “I d-don't want you to go away, Lyra,” she nuzzled my shoulder, her tears staining my hoodie. “First Moondancer, and now you? I d-don't know what's worse: losing friends or losing the memory of why they'll never return...”

I clenched my teeth. There was a reason for it. The wall of cold was bearing down on us like a tidal wave. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I was almost grateful for it. I closed my eyes upon the crest of the frozen deluge, wading through it with my foalhood friend's cries. There in the library, I hugged Twilight Sparkle gently as she died in my forelimbs.

I felt it the moment that her body went limp in my grasp. All of her shivers stopped. All of her sobs stopped, and I knew that something immeasurably precious was gone forever.

“Unnngh...” her voice grunted. She swayed in my forelimbs, running a hoof over her forehead as her eyes danced dizzily. “Whew... What... Wh-what happened?”

“You...” My voice was hoarse, breathy. I cleared my throat and held her at a comfortable length, looking plainly into her eyes. “You fell. I... uh... I had to catch you.”

“Really?” Twilight blinked. She made an awkward face, then reached a hoof up to her conspicuously moist cheeks. “What...?”

“You don't remember?” I forced a hollow smile. “The encyclopedia from the top shelf fell on your skull. You took a very brave bump there, ma'am.”

“Oh jeez.” She chuckled and rolled her eyes, wiping her cheek dry. “You think I'd be a grown mare at this point. Heh... Rainbow would never let me hear the end of it if she saw me shedding tears over a little tumble.” She bit her lip and looked my way. “This secret is safe between us, Miss...?”

I opened my mouth. I paused, swallowed, then said, “I... I-I was just checking out a book. I'm not here for long.”

“Well, my dragon assistant Spike can certainly help you with that!” She said, then trotted away gaily. “I've got a letter to the Princess to finish! Ever since the Grand Galloping Gala three days ago, I've been procrastinating. I don't know what I'd do if I was tardy.”

“I'm sure you'll impress her just fine.”

“Heehee. Well, I'll try not to let you or the Princess down, miss!” She was almost out of earshot. “Thanks again for catching my clumsy self!”

“Please...” I murmured, gazing into the shadows. “Don't mention it...”

“I gotta admit,” Spike said, holding a glowing lantern as he led me down a series of winding steps into the dark, dusty basement of Ponyville's Library. “You're the first pony in ages who's bothered to visit this creepy place.” The massive roots of the treehouse stretched down all around us. There, on the bottom floor of the cylindrical cellar, a series of dusty bookcases rested within the glow of enchanted mana crystals. “Hardly anyone asks to see these old, old heaps of junk. Heh... don't tell Twilight Sparkle I called them that. For some reason she thinks these decaying scraps are crazy valuable.”

“The easier something is to forget, the easier it is to call it meaningless,” I murmured. There was no point in telling him that I had been down here before—at least five times. In every occasion I had no reason to believe that this place was worth paying anything more than a blind search, until now. “Thanks for showing me the way, Spike. But you can go back to what you were doing.”

“You sure?” He made a face, hanging the lantern on a rusted hook along the earthen wall of the basement. “I wouldn't be a very good research assistant if I just abandoned you.”

“Very well then,” I muttered, then pointed towards the bookcases. “Are these arranged by literary periods?”

“Yup. From pre-Classical to mid-Millennial.”

“Is there a section for books made during Shadow's Advent?”

“Oh yeah, definitely!” Spike grabbed a rickety wooden hoofstool. Sliding it to the middle of the third bookcase, he hopped atop the platform and brushed a few cobwebs loose from the fourth shelf. “Here we are. According to Twilight's labels—and you can never doubt that unicorn's labels—these six books are all from that time period. Looks like a bunch of boring astronomy almanacs written in dead languages. You sure this is what you're looking for, miss?”

“Yes, Spike,” I said plainly. I trotted over and took the stool from him. “Thank you very much. I'll take it from here.”

“Well, if you insist.” He shrugged and marched towards the stairs. “If you need me, though, just yank the cord along the wall next to the lantern. It's attached to a bell on the first floor of the library. Give it one tug, and I'll come running down to help you out!”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“Sure thing.” He paused and pointed at me with a smile. “And by the way—”

“Yes, yes,” I droned, tugging on my stone-gray sleeves. “I know it's pretty 'swell.'”

“Heh. Okay. Good luck with your research, ma'am.”

His waddling footsteps clawed their way up the stairs. The door creaked open, lingered, then shut with a tiny thud.

As soon as he was gone, I collapsed. I fell with my back to the bookcase and rested my head atop the stool. Burying my face into my forelimbs, I took several deep breaths, shuddering through waves of cold, gray thoughts.

I couldn't shake loose the memory of Twilight's body going limp in my embrace. One moment she was crying up a storm, and the next moment she was as tranquil as pond water. It was alarming to me just how dramatic I had allowed our encounter to get. Surely it wasn't all because of Moondancer's absence. I should have tried harder to solace Twilight, to comfort her, to ease the shock and distress of the knowledge I had bitterly bequeathed her with.

My heavy exhales echoed across the deep basement of the library. As lonesome and somber as the chamber felt, it was a strange relief to be there, to be alone, to be surrounded in shadows.

What's wrong with me? What am I becoming? A month or two ago, I could smile and still mean it. What had changed? Why couldn't I feel Twilight's panic and horror until it was too late to do anything?

I couldn't deny it: I was happy that she forgot who I was. I was actually glad that the curse flew in and silenced her, sticking the needle in and deflating her so that only an amnesiac shell emerged from the ashes.

But I didn't always think that way. After all, I like to believe that in fifteen months I have become a tenacious pony, a caring pony, a unicorn who can face adversity with courage and weather sorrow with grace. If one thing is for certain, I have definitely become strong, only I fear that I've become too strong. Is strength something to be proud of, even if it makes me blind to another pony's feelings while I strive to unlock the secrets of my curse?

I want to blame so many things, things that I have endured, things that I have given up. I want to blame the elegies, the horror of uncertainty that comes with performing them, the ever-troubling possibility that I’m traversing a freezing road that has no end.

But no matter how hard I try to analyze it, I have no excuse. Who do I have to convince that I am becoming a stronger pony, for better or for worse? Who other than myself can judge the crimes or blessings I’ve committed on this village full of tranquil souls?

Sitting in the library basement, I was more alone than ever. Another day had come and gone. I had once again lost everything, and all I had gained was a title to a song that only meant something to me. I shuddered, hugging my forelimbs to my chest. I once again saw my dear friend's eyes, and they were full of deeper tears than all I ever had to christen this world with, because hers at least deserved the warmth that they carried into oblivion. “Twilight's Requiem” indeed...

I couldn't find the power to cry. Yes, I had changed. What I had changed into, I didn't bother trying to find out. I had a far more ancient mystery to solve, and if there's one thing what was left for me to feel proud of, it was the lengths to which I had learned to do proper research.

So, I stood up, cast a dim light spell with my horn, illuminated the six tomes from Shadow's Advent, and suddenly realized that my skills in proper research meant absolute rubbish. Spike, for all of his juvenile hyperbole, wasn't exaggerating. The cobweb-strewn books held no intrinsic value upon first glance. In the second glance, all I gathered were ancient letters that all of my learned years of linguistic studies hadn't prepared me for. On a third glance, I saw trace phrases of Moonwhinny in syntactical arrangements so bizarre that they sent my brain for a loop. A fourth glance nearly made me vomit in an attempt to speak the backwards samples of Old Equine dancing before my eyes.

An hour into the “research,” and I was about ready to call it quits. The migraine I had developed was excruciating. I almost felt that sitting down to perform the elegies would have been a welcome respite from what I was doing there in the library basement. I sighed in the pathetic knowledge of why I was actually there. I was only delaying the inevitable. Twilight, in her innocence and helpfulness, had given me the last puzzle piece I wanted—though I certainly didn't need it. I had established the eighth elegy well enough in my mind. There was no real necessity in naming the piece. I had to come to grips with the fact that the visit to the library was merely an act of cowardice. The next step was actually the previous step. I had to go home, face the night, and then serenade it—as well as myself—into the dark horizon looming perpetually before me.

Just as I steeled myself to leave and do this, I stopped in my tracks. I squinted at the six tomes, for one of them was suddenly standing out to me. The mana-light had caught the binding with a curious glint. All that time, I had been looking for words that might clue me into the books' possible relation to Princess Luna's legacy. It hadn't occurred to me to look for symbols until it showed up before my eyes.

One of the books—the thinnest, to be exact—had the same emblem repeated several times across its spine. It was none other than the Mare in the Moon, etched in dark lines throughout the brown texture. With gentle telekinesis, I raised this book towards my eyes. Turning it over, I found the cover to be just as meaningless to me as when I first glanced at it. The words were in some proto-Moonwhinny gibberish that would have made sense to a pony one thousand years ago. I cursed myself for not having ancestral ties to the unicorns of old Whinniepeg. Then again, most families with a history of prior service to Princess Luna did their best to eradicate all records of such ties. Nightmare Moon and the Equestrian Civil War were subjects that served only to blemish one's familial legacy. If history has proven anything, it's that the deepest of scars stand to be hidden from future eyes.

But just what was this tome hovering before me in my telekinetic grasp? Was it an ancient splinter of an era that held meaning to the Requiem that I was about to perform? I flipped the pages open, and all I could do was sigh. The old brown sheets were covered in the same indecipherable text. On top of that, many of the pages were blank altogether. I began to understand why these tomes rested in the largely unvisited depths of the basement. Only an immortal alicorn who's lived long enough to find the meaning in meaningless could make use of these things.

And yet, I knew my place. I was forever chasing the musical trail left by such a goddess, and I couldn't accomplish any of that by standing still. It was perhaps too late to punish myself for being so apathetic to Twilight's plight. There was still time to exorcise the coward within me. Gently, I balanced the book on my spine, lifted the lantern from the wall, and trotted up the steps leading to the first floor of the library.

Minutes later, I wandered north through the streets of Ponyville. I was taking my time. The sunset was a glorious thing, a crimson bath of bright colors that lit up every tree in a prismatic preview of fall. As the shadows of buildings bent across the ground, I saw a solid stream of red light stretching north beneath me, like a path that painted my way home, and toward a dark destiny.

So, I lingered. Every hoofstep was like dipping a wooden paddle into molasses. I breathed the crisp air of the coming autumn. I looked at the scenery surrounding me, and the living souls communing within.

Ponyville is a tiny village. Its population barely surpasses fifteen hundred equines. In the seventeen months that I've had the pleasure of associating with these souls, I've memorized the names of nearly half of them. It's not so monumental a task when it's the only hobby one has to keep from going insane.

Walking through the town as the sun was setting—quite possibly the last sunset I would ever see—a part of me wondered why I ever bothered with such diligent observation over the past year and a half. Would my situation have been any different if I had been cursed in the center of Manehattan instead? Or Fillydelphia? Or Baltimare? Whether I was surrounded by hundreds of ponies or by thousands, it made little difference.

I am a mare of one. My world begins and ends with me: my breaths, my voice, my song. The only permanent discussions I have to look forward to are the bitter opportunities I take to speak with myself. The one soul destined to read these journals is the same pony whose eyes guide a lonesome pen across these papers.

The sunset was bright and fiery, but as I walked home I could only spot its dying hues. Each pony was casting a somber shadow. Each soul was a vessel for blissful secrets I would never be capable of partaking in, for the frigid veil between us grew more and more solid with each blistering day that went by. If I craned my neck, I could hear their ghostly murmurs. Scootaloo was having some horrible argument with Milky White. Derpy Hooves was apologizing desperately to an angry stallion whom she had bumped into. Rarity was moaning and whining to Fluttershy about some terrible change of style in the fashion industry. Then, in the distance, I heard the playful banter between Ambrosia and...

I took a deep breath. My ears filled with the sound of my own shivering body. Piercing another wave of cold, I marched away from the ponies, from the strangers, and from the colors of Ponyville. I threaded my way into the woods, towards my cabin, towards darkness. I can't exactly put my hoof on the singular moment in time when every shade, shape, and texture of life had become a poison to me. What's intriguing is that I wasn't feeling nauseated about it. Something about the depths to which I fell was natural and calming, like fitting into a perfectly tailored dress saddle.

Whatever guilt I felt about mishandling Twilight's grief had dissipated, for I was glad that she couldn't accompany me. The sensation of her sobbing body melting in my embrace had become a blissful memory. I was relieved that Twilight couldn't follow me this deep, that she couldn't share in what I had come to discover about the dark ironies of life.

I didn't want her to know, as I was starting to know, that many months ago there was a young mare standing on the edge of a tall building in the center of a village. And when that mare heard the words of a brave stallion, and stepped back from the edge, she may very well have made a mistake.

There is, after all, a truth that is hidden beyond the curtains of madness, and it has become my thankless task to write songs about it. I couldn't smile anymore; I couldn't laugh anymore. I trotted directly home and shut the dying day away behind a thick wooden door.

I sat in my cot with the ancient tome opened beneath me. Swarms of meaningless words swam before my eyes like so many faded and outdated constellations lying within. I should have been spending those last few hours meditating. In a way, I was. To stare into senselessness was the essence of the journey I was about to take. A part of me hoped against hope that something from the hidden pages of the Shadow's Advent literature would gear me for that which was to come. As always, I knew better. Nevertheless, I ingested the paragraphs upon paragraphs of Moonwhinny in silence, dreading the moment when I would close the book for good and proceed with the night's solemn orchestration.

I measured the hours in dying bands of sunlight. The windows above me grew dimmer and dimmer. There was something about that afternoon that was already starting to haunt me. It felt quieter than normal. It was as if the woods all around me were sleeping, lying in weight for a crescendo to wake them so that they might unleash insurmountable horrors upon this stupidly brave unicorn. There were three crimson bands of sunlight drifting through the window, then two, then one. Once the darkness had fallen, my skin froze over with invisible steel. Fate rarely announces itself with more than a gentle murmur. I slapped the fragile book shut, got up from my cot, and gathered my things. My lyre, my notes, the sound stones, my lantern: all joined me in a graceful dance as I made my way around the cabin in silence.

All the while, I couldn't stop thinking of Twilight—no matter how hard I tried. I wondered what would happen if this was the last song I had to play, if all of my labors came into fruition, if the curse was finally obliterated. With the onrush of so many memories, would she forgive me for all the times I had dangled her like a marionette over the gaping jaws of oblivion, just so I could get the information from her that I needed? Would she forgive me for letting her die—so many horrible times over—as I lived on, guiltless of my crimes? Would she still wish to be my friend, now that I was blessed to be remembered, and yet finally cursed to be judged?

No matter how complicated my life may get, excuses are excuses. I know that now, and I knew that then. I marched straight out of my cabin like a bullet. The door to my shack flew open in a blink. Closing the chamber behind me, I marched down. The cellar opened up in an amber swirl of dancing shadows before me. I hung the lantern overhead before sliding my stool next to the metal stand. I propped my lyre up just above the written notes of “Twilight's Requiem” in front of me. With great care, I placed all four re-enchanted sound stones in every corner of the platform around my seat.

I then proceeded with a final step that I hadn't taken before. Reaching into the corner of the cellar, I uncoiled a length of rope I had placed there a few days previous. At the end of this cord was a long iron spike. I stabbed it hard into the cellar floor, tugging at the cord to make sure that the anchor was snugly in place. Then, with dexterous telekinesis, I tied the loose end of the cord around my rear left leg, just above my fetlock. I vividly remembered the last performance, when I had woken up sometime after orchestrating the “Threnody of Night.” Somehow I had ended up in the middle of the woods, soaked, naked and freezing. It seemed like a flimsy precaution, but I hoped that my improvised leash would help prevent whatever... or whoever it was from transporting me again this time.

Finally, I sat down and stared at the lengths of my written symphony. That was the coldest moment of all, when I realized how long it had taken for me to get to that point and yet how blazingly fast I had marched out of the cabin and thrown myself upon the precipice. It's a very empty world: to think that one pony and one pony alone is tasked with doing what I do on a regular basis, to stab the depths of existence with a song purposefully forgotten by time. I was again about to toy with a tune so malevolent and unpredictable that it had turned a goddess into a demon and flung an entire continent of equines into the bloodiest war Equestria had ever witnessed. If I had known the price for my freedom from the get-go, I wondered if I would ever have plucked my first string of the lyre.

And yet, I did... and did again. The cellar echoed with enchantment as I strummed my way into the “Prelude of Shadows.” But that wasn't all that I did. I had become a stronger unicorn, a cleverer pony. I swam my way through the streams of paranoia that were being produced by the song, summoning mana from the timeless melody and using it to buffer my concentration. By the time I had begun “Sunset Bolero,” I was already halfway through casting the protection spell above me. Fueled by the energy and excitement bequeathed me by the Bolero, I filtered pure magic through my leylines, until my horn funneled a green dome of shields directly above. By the time the “March of Tides” began, my mind and body were calm. I relaxed with the numbness of the tune, witnessing as the dark emerald glow of the sound stones met with the translucent shield of my protection buffer.

Then all the lights went out. I breathed evenly, weathering my passage through the blinding bars of the “Darkness Sonata.” The cellar was cold, but bearable. My protection field felt like a gentle cocoon, a bundle of blankets carrying me over a dead sea. When my vision returned, and the “Waltz of Stars” came into full play, I felt more alive than ever. My heart was pounding, but it heated me up. I was a living torch in an arctic river, melting the frost all around me. My body was feeling incalculably stronger than it did during my last feeble playthrough. For one thing, this filled me with pride. For another, I realized that at this rate I was going to pierce through the final elegies with full power and lucidity. There was no avoiding whatever lay beyond the last barriers of my performance.

It was in this train of thought that I plowed through the “Moon's Elegy.” My horn vibrated and my shield fluctuated. I felt like I was charging into battle. I suddenly remembered what Nightmare Moon's eyes looked like. I was standing in the middle of Ponyville, shivering in her shadow. Our gazes met, mortal and immortal. We weren't alone. We weren't alone? Dear Celestia, was I starting to remember things already? What was this cloud lifting around me?

I gazed up, my eyes twitching. I didn't see a cloud. I didn't see the cellar walls anymore, and yet they were there... only in another skin. The soil was gone, and breaking through the grittiness was a layer of melting ice. I heard a great ringing all around me, like a forest of rusted chains forever rattling into the pits of eternity. Just as soon as my ears ached from it, a far stronger, far darker sound roared to life and tore everything asunder. I didn't realize it until the lantern blew out above me: I was playing the “Threnody of Night.” What's more, I was alive... so terribly, damnably alive. I looked into the gushing wounds of yesterday. My shield was an emerald tarp dancing between me and the horror. Nightmare Moon's face dissolved in a bass scream, her memory being ripped from my soul like a decaying scrap of flesh. In place of the demoness' helm there was born a pair of lifeless eyes. Her eyes.

I then knew, in a breath of epiphany that emptied my lungs, what it was that had knocked me out last time, or more appropriately who. One by one, the four sound stones around me exploded. My emerald shield ruptured. The walls of the cellar burst with ice water and ash. My body swayed with the lonesome rhythm of clattering chains. As the Threnody collapsed under its final bleak cord, and I felt my eyes rolling back in my head, I summoned whatever strength had been preserved by my shield and committed a final, cognitive act. I reached my hooves up, grabbed my lyre, and clutched the glowing instrument to my chest. I had become an unprotected infant—mindless and fearless—as I fell backwards off the stool.

My body splashed into the waters, and I knew how cold the dead felt. I gasped, and fluid instantly entered my mouth. I gagged. I choked. My jaws flew shut as I spun in a womb of frost. It was too cold to open my eyes, too frigid to keep them closed. The liquid in my mouth was turning into vomitous ice. I yanked my head forward into the currents, and when my vision returned I saw a glowing green haze. In a painful blink, I witnessed in terrifying clarity the sight of my lyre floating way from me. Still encased in my telekinetic energy, the instrument was bobbing towards the dancing surface of a tempestuous river. A whimper broke into my mouth. My teeth throbbed with each pulse of my heart as I swam after the lyre, my lungs at the breaking point. With two numb hooves outstretched, I grabbed the lyre just as it broke the surface.

Then something unexpected happened. I fell upward. I shrieked, spitting out frosted, powdery bile as my body flailed through infinite black space. Everything was thunderous noise. Flecks of snow and sleet pounded me as I plummeted from a great height, flying towards nowhere. I clung to my lyre, my eyes darting every which way. I saw something twirling in the black nether. In the emerald glow of my instrument, I realized it was the iron spike still tied to my rear leg along its ropey length. Before I had a chance to register this, my fall ended... in another lake.

My body shattered through a thin layer of ice, so that I plunged through bone-chilling depths. I was being shoved somewhere, carried along arctic currents so swift that stray hairs of my mane were being ripped from their roots. I clenched my teeth shut, for fear of inhaling more of this ghastly liquid. As I spun and kicked wildly at the currents, I became aware of things surging past me... or things that I was surging past. They were dark shapes, linked together, corpse-black and gargantuan. I saw chains—gigantic, immeasurable lengths of ancient metal—and they were stretching, floating, bouncing all around me. I counted over ten of them spiraling into forever by the time my vision started to fade, and that's when I broke through yet another surface.

I gasped as I flew sideways. Painful specks of snow dotted my gaping mouth and tongue. It tasted like dead ash. The thunder was once again deafening. My quivering eyesight caught bright flashes of lightning blanketing the endless expansion. Between me and forever, a complex silhouette of thousands upon thousands of criss-crossing black chains flickered like the cracked surface of an egg. I was so engrossed in the nightmarish blinks that I wasn't prepared for the coming impact.

The next body of water I landed in was a far more tranquil one. After the initial splash, I kicked my rear legs and bobbed to the surface. There, I gasped, treading water and clutching to my lyre in an impossible feat of survival. My hoodie was soaked to the sleeves; its damp fabric weighed a million pounds. My mane was slicked over my face. I tossed my neck and flung the hairs out from my eyes. The thunder returned. I winced. I felt like my ears were about to explode. There were more bursts of lightning, and I tilted my head up.

It was then that I saw it, or at least a tiny sliver of the deathly enormity that was engulfing me. The world no longer had a sky or a floor. There were no poles, no stars, no hint of shine or purpose beyond the chaotic flashes of unpredictable lightning. Reality had become a series of obsidian shapes, rusted structures of the deepest, blackest metal—and all of them webbed together by unfathomable lengths of rattling chains. I bore paralyzed witness as solid curtains of water billowed magically across these unearthly platforms. Gigantic, dancing, shallow seas swept over the perforated expanse, like sheets of rain turned cohesive by ghastly intent. The floating rivers had no end or beginning, and they fluctuated like silver strands between relentless flurries of bone-white snow.

There was a black shape beyond the watery body to my right. I spun towards it. It was a platform, half the size of Ponyville's town square. There were two billowing rivers between me and the solid structure. In desperation, I grasped the golden body of the lyre in my jaws and kicked at my prison with steady strokes. I lunged earnestly towards the surface. The unearthly currents were flinging me past Razor-sharp chains in front and behind me. Any second, any blink, and I would find my body being shred to ribbons. I caught a rusted strand rattling towards my peripheral vision just as I broke through.

I flew forward, spun, and fell into the next river. I dropped straight through it like a solid stone. There was a flash of lightning as I broke the snowy air again. The last river was surging in the opposite direction. I grunted from the whiplash, my body spinning like a top. Thunder and noise rippled through the currents. When I came out, I honestly didn't know where I would be flung, until I felt the thud of pain ricocheting through my skeleton.

“Aaaaugh!”

I cried forth as I tumbled to a wet, freezing stop atop the platform. I was sobbing, but I couldn't hear myself. The thunder was everywhere, filling my ears, clawing at the throbbing center of my brain. I tried sitting up, but my hooves slipped pathetically on the rusted, vibrating metal. My eyes opened like a bleeding bird might hatch from an egg. Ropes of lightning danced as far as my vision could illuminate me. I was afraid to stand, or else I might fly upwards—or downwards—into ice-frosted oblivion.

I winced and rolled over. My tears were freezing to my cheeks. I reached both hooves up to my face to feel if my head was still attached. The numbness was overwhelming. Everywhere I looked there was snow and ice and dancing beams of water.

“Dear Celestia Almighty...” Some foalish voice whimpered. “Where am I?”

Only thunder answered. The black infinity could just as well have been a hollow sphere the size of a stagecoach. The acoustics bounced the bass of the thunder back and forth across my skull until I was certain I would implode.

“Is... Is...” The voice started to sound vaguely cognitive, like something I could recognize. I swallowed and murmured, “Is this where the cold comes from?”

I no longer had any doubt, only screams. Before I could emit another one, I realized the darkness around me was doubling, tripling. All this time, I had just one light source other than the lightning. My hooves were empty, and I realized what a bad thing that was. Spinning around, I saw my glowing lyre. The emerald instrument was sliding away on a carpet of ice... until it spilled directly over the edge of the black platform.

“Nnngh—No!”

I galloped towards it. I lurched and fell. The iron spike dangling from my left leg was dragging. Gnashing my teeth, I leaped again, bounded, and slid directly after the lyre.

The instrument went over the edge. I plunged after it. Flailing, my forelimbs barely caught the thing. The situation hardly helped me any; I was dangling now on the lid of the rusted structure. My mouth fell wide as I found myself gazing into a bottomless corridor of criss-crossing, chained lattices. What was more, the rusted strands weren't empty. There were... shapes bound to them, spread apart at indiscriminate lengths. They were the source of the endless rattling, but that wasn't all. When the thunder spread overhead and underhoof, some deep noise in the midst of the shapes responded.

It occurred to me then that the thunder was more than a ghastly phenomenon. For as deep and chaotic as the booming noises sounded, there was a deep and barely discernible pitch to the explosive echoes. I imagined that I could very well have been listening to some timeless track, a song older than death itself, slowed down to such a pitch that the whole grating sensation resembled a sea of tombs scraping up against one another. And with each booming resonance—accompanied with flashes of bright lightning—there was a sickly chorus replying from the forest of dangling bodies below.

“Oh my...” I stammered breathlessly. My quivering eyes squinted. “Are those... are those ponies?”

There was a spray of sleet against my back. I turned around. I gasped. A vertical sheet of river water was sweeping like a band of translucent gray smoke across the platform. In less than ten seconds, it would overtake me.

Panting, I clambered back onto my hooves. I stood on the edge of the platform. The wall of water crept towards me, laced with chunks of ice. There was nowhere for me to run. Panicking, I shivered in place. I thought of Mom and Dad. I thought of Ponyville. I thought of...

Twilight.

“Twilight's Requiem...”

I was there for a reason. Just as I was cursed for a reason. I had no answers, no hope, no light in the center of that nightmare. But I did have a song to play.

With the water rushing straight at me, I considered my options, then promptly dashed every one of them for the impulsive absurdity I was about to perform next. I tilted my head forward, concentrated, and cast a protection spell just as the currents hit.

“Nnnngh!”

I gnashed my teeth and struggled, my limbs buckling as I forced the green dome to stay in one piece. Ice water and snow danced all around me. Random droplets and frigid flakes spilled through and pelted my coat. I counted the agonizing seconds in my head, breathing the last few gasps of oxygen allowable in the fragile pocket I had formed around myself. My aching eyes sought an end to the floating river of water. At the rate it was passing, I had only three meters left. My lungs shook and my heart raced. Just as I could smell the cold air on the other side...

Bands of bright lightning surged past the platform. The thunder rocked my world with a vaporous, bass scream. My shield shattered in an instant. The water caved in around me. Slabs of ice raked my flesh. I screamed bubbles as I twirled back with my lyre, broke through the advancing side of water, and flew into the rattling depths of madness.

“Aaaah!” I howled. I spun. I saw a razor sharp webs of chains encompassing my vision. There was rust. There were shapes. There were hooves.

I splashed into a blurry world once more. Yet another floating stream had saved me at the last second. The current was strong in this liquid body, and I was being hurled towards something rigid and dark. I hoped against hope that it was another platform, so I swam towards it. The current nearly flung me past the structure by the time I broke free.

I shrieked, for I was flying towards a solid black cylinder. A belated flash of lightning illuminated a series of holes carved into the rusted surface, and I aimed my weightless body towards one of them.

“Ooof!”

I landed awkwardly, and so did my lyre. As I clung to the sharp edge of the entrance, my instrument clattered to a stop somewhere inside the thick stalk. I lost my telekinetic grasp on the strings, and they stopped glowing with an emerald shine. I dangled in the darkness, one slip away from oblivion. Struggling, kicking and scraping with my rear hooves, I finally got a solid grasp. I pulled my aching self up into the hollow of the stalk. I took a few more seconds to drag the dangling spike with me as well. Once inside, I was overcome with pitch black. The thunder's bass felt louder in here. I was in a race against going deaf as I fumbled for my lyre. I needed my instrument. I needed to feel. I needed to see...

As soon as I grasped it, the metal touch was hardly a relief to me, for I was being overwhelmed by a new sensation. Beyond the numbness, I realized that there was more than thunder echoing in the cylindrical belly of the stalk. My aching ears twitched, registering a rattling noise that was all around me.

For a few seconds I sat there, hyperventilating, clutching the lyre to my soaked hoodie. The rattling intensified, responding to the thunder in perfect cadence. Finally, after my heartbeat had become indistinguishably rapid, I concentrated mana through the leylines of my horn and enchanted my lyre. The claustrophobic interior of the stalk lit up with a sickly pale green, and where there were supposed to be walls there were only faces.

“Augh!”

I shrieked and huddled in the middle of innumerable bodies. They were ponies... or at least they once were. Their coats had turned to slick, gangrene pale. Where their eyes and mouths should have been, there instead were pairs of metal braces, opaque shackles of the same black rust as the chains that bound their limbs to the walls of the cylinder.

I wretched and covered half my face with the lyre, my pulsating eyes failing to ignore every tiny detail of the corpses around me. Then the thunder resonated again, and I learned that they were hardly corpses. They were hardly anything. They were twitching, lurching, rattling the chains with discordant attempts at harmony. Then as the next round of thunder boomed, and the one after that, they were no longer responding to it. I was there, I was warm, and I had a glowing lyre. They were responding to me.

At first, I thought I was hearing metal scraping against metal. But there's no way that rust can produce a sob or a scream. Their moans rose in a cyclone of cacophony, and I was the center of the necrotic maelstrom. Frozen hooves came to life and reached, groped, fished towards me. Something was knocking their limbs back, shrieking in return, and it sounded an awful lot like my voice.

“Nnnngh! Ahh—Ahauugh!” I thrashed and kicked and bucked the bodies away. Their moans only intensified. They lunged and bounced on the stout lengths of their chains in their attempts to embrace me and my lyre. The howling voices of the blind ponies came out as muffled sobs against the rusted braces clamped over their mouths. I tried dashing towards the hole that I had squirmed in through, but the bodies had doubled in number and were blocking my way.

At that point, the horror was drowned out by a rushing sound. The entire cylinder shook. I realized that another dancing wave of water had overcome the stalk. Already, the frigid currents were pouring in through the holes. As the water level rose up to the ponies' hooves, fetlocks, and knee-joints—I found myself also drowning in more than just their groping limbs. Panicking, I climbed half of the clustered crowd and stared above me. I saw that the hollow cylinder ran the height of one hundred feet straight up. What was more, it had an end, for I discovered a bright circle of flickering lightning directly above.

At this point, I was gasping for breath, for the freezing water had climbed to my neck. I thrashed, fought, and kicked against the water and the shackled ponies all at once. I thrust myself upwards, sputtering, panting. Their moans drowned out as one by one, cranium by cranium, the unfortunate souls were engulfed by the currents below.

And then I jolted. I shrieked and lunged, but I was no longer budging. I looked straight down. Through the refracting surface of the rising tide, dozens of equine bodies swayed like a bucket of drowning snakes, and somewhere in the bustling heart of that squirming mess the iron spike attached to me had gotten caught.

“Nnngh—No! Unngh!” I shouted and pulled and yanked as hard as I could. The cord that was wrapped around my rear leg was biting into my flesh with each motion I made. As the water caught up to my shoulders, I bravely reached down to loosen the noose with one hoof—only to have the limbs of the many bodies scratch and tug on me. “Hnnngh—Let go! Get—Nnngh—Get off of me! Get off! Get—Snkkkt!” I could no longer speak. I could no longer breathe. All was screams and ice and bubbles. Shackled faces bobbed up and down, swarming in on me. My rear legs twitched and thrashed. Chains spun like serpents and my voice was warbling in my ears as the water splashed against the back of my throat. Somewhere in the drowning casket of limbs and moans, a green light billowed, brighter than my lyre, brighter than the Sun. Twilight had stopped sobbing in my grasp, and I wasn't ready to join her. That's when the discharge of telekinesis fired. I had aimed my horn down past me, and the vaporous burst knocked several bodies away in the middle of accomplishing its real task: snapping the cord in two.

I was free. I floated up. I soared up. I bulleted up. I caught up with the current and gasped for breath just so I could scream, sail, and fly.

Lightning welcomed me as I was propelled up out of the hole. I landed on the flat surface of yet another platform at the top of the stalk. The ice water of my would-be-tomb shot up like a geyser behind my twitching body as I crawled like a sobbing infant over the rusted lengths I was suddenly afforded.

I curled inward, hugging my lyre, twitching from head to toe. The thunder rolled once more, and in perfect answer to it there was a chorus of moans. What's more, the chorus was all around me.

My tears dried just in time for me to look up and see a forest of shackled equine bodies lying all across the same platform, curled up in a manner identical to my own. In the middle of this graveyard of rust and rigor mortis, I whimpered into the frosty air.

“Oh Celestia... Oh Celestia... Oh Celestia...”

I closed my eyes and reopened them, hoping against hope that I would wake up in my cabin, in the forest, inside a coffin—anywhere but here, anywhere but this place, anywhere but surrounded by ice and thunder and limbo.

And yet somewhere in the pit of my most sickly desperation, a rational part of me was still alive, the same spirit that had helped me endure over a year of communicating with forgetful spirits, of trying to make impressions in a world where my hoofsteps were as permanent as raindrops on a sun-roasted sidewalk.

The elegies...

Nightmare Moon's tunes...

It wasn't a symphony...

It was a barrier...

It was a seal...

It was meant to barricade... to barricade this...

But what is this?

Where in Celestia's name am I?

What are all these ponies doing...?

My heart stopped, for the thunder had stopped, and yet it hadn't. The bodies all around me were still moaning, still twitching, still pulling at the rusted and rattling lengths of chains. I glanced up and I saw the lightning coalescing into a single beam of finite purpose. Where it solidified, I suddenly didn't want to look. A fear older than life—older than time—was clawing its way up my soul, manifesting itself through a panting sob in the base of my throat.

I was scampering up to my hooves before I knew it. I spun and galloped across the platform away from the sight, gripping the lyre in my mouth, hopping over writhing souls in shackles. I felt as if I had been running from this feeling for as long as I had been alive, even in past lives, even in past dimensions before all things that existed had something to define them.

I approached the end of the platform. Why I didn't just jump off, I still can't say. I'm alive now to write this, for what it's worth. Perhaps it was fate that made me turn around. After all, for whatever wicked grace, I was trotting on all four hooves while every pony around me was imprisoned to the bitter blackness upon which I stood.

But I wasn't brave. No, it wasn't courage that kept me there. Nopony in my place—not even souls as powerful and legendary as Starswirl the Bearded—could have done anything more than gawk at what was rising, what was crowning, what was coming to life with a horrid grace that made me want to scrape my eyes to a bloody pulp with the sharp edges of my lyre. It was a new horror, a new color, a second death. I had stared Nightmare Moon in the face and lived, only to come to this point, to greet somepony darker than even her, possessed by this abyss beyond the elegies that must have once swallowed Luna, and was now digesting me.

When she appeared, I realized that all I had left to protect me was a song. It was what the world began with, and it was what empowered her. The thunder dissolved, and the lightning that heralded it took shape, forming a muzzle, then a long slender neck, then a thin body with a dagger-sharp frame that trudged towards me on impossibly tall legs.

If I had anything left inside of me, it would have joined the frozen refuse atop the platform. Instead, I had one thought ricocheting through my mind.

“Twilight's Requiem.”

The lightning too disappeared, and over it there swarmed bands of black that came together to form putrid flesh, her flesh. She was glorious. She was terrifying. She was the end and beginning of all screams, the final breath of waking that drags us to slumber and someday drags us to death.

“Twilight's Requiem.”

A song had brought me there. I could only hope another song would take me back as well. I raised the lyre ahead of me. My eyes were locked on her figure as I played the first ten notes of the instrumental. The Requiem was barely distinguishable against the sudden bedlam of moans all around me.

The shackled ponies had shuffled aside, parting like a sea beneath her hooves as they paid the figure their eternal reverence and fear. When the alicorn was but four leaps away, her wings expanded in a gust of cold wind. The limbs were bone-pale stalks, between the spokes of which I spotted infinite pits of black truth stabbing at me with each blink.

I was halfway through the Requiem. I felt rivulets of moisture pouring down my forehead and dripping off my horn. I couldn't tell anymore if it was sweat or blood. The closer she got, her every hoofstep sent my organs aflame. I felt like the world was about to explode through my skin and give birth to a new universe of pain and clarity, and all of it given to her in holy sacrifice.

And that's when she spoke, with all of the thunder channeled through her pale, lifeless teeth. Bright eyes of immaculate magenta glowed as she leaned her muzzle down and spoke to me with the sound of a million funeral bells ringing.

“Sing it.”

I was plucking my way diligently through the Requiem. There were twenty chords left. I could barely breathe.

“Sing my song.”

Ten chords left. She was so close that I could read the runes burned into her pale flesh. There were thousands of unrecognizable names, and her sinewy limbs swam like velvet mountains underneath them. Off her flaring nostrils, I could smell the end of everything.”

“Sing my song and become nothing—”

Before the volume of her holy utterance could echo in my earlobes, I was falling back, plunging off the platform, sailing through the snow like a burning comet...

...until I landed on a bed of grass in the middle of Ponyville. It was the dead of night, and the world was violently warm. Stars and crickets swarmed around me as I shivered and gasped like a drowning fish beside a brown building. My hooves thrashed against the ground and my teeth chattered. I became aware of a pitiful, low siren wailing against the walls and rooftops on either side of me. With each progressive second that I floundered in the wet puddle of otherworldly frost, I realized that this moaning sound belonged to me.

My throat wrestled with countless agonized, indiscernible shrieks. I rolled over, dropped my lyre, and clasped my aching horn. Beyond the numb extremities of my limbs, I could still feel the waves of knifing cold slicing across my nerves. Each throb of pain resonated with the alien thunder tingling in my eardrums. No matter how hard I hyperventilated, the sea of nightmares would not drain away from my mane and hoodie. I shrieked for shrieking's sake. I choked on sobs in a deliberate attempt to test my lungs. There was a pattern rising, slowly, like a river of insects dancing up my spine on feet of broken glass.

I didn't notice the light at first, not until the door to the side of the building next to me had been opened. A series of shuffling hooves blocked the glow, casting a slender shadow on my figure. I was a thrashing, quivering, noisy mess. But instead of griping, instead of shouting in consternation, the pony gasped and dashed to my side, all the while exclaiming, “Blessed Celestia! What happened to you? Are you alright?!”

I shivered, curling away from her as I hissed through clenched teeth. The pattern was setting my insides on fire. I wanted to explode. I wanted to vomit. Nopony in all of creation could come close to being ready for the righteous exclamation to follow. I tried to save this helpless stranger. I tried spitting, hiccuping, retching into the darkness instead.

But the pony did not relent. Tenderly, she reached over and shook my shoulders. “Darling, what's wrong? Why are you like this? Did somepony hurt you—?!”

There was no damming it anymore. The pattern was searing the meat that once made up my throat. The world was built to collapse over and over again, and the two of us were unfortunate mortals flung in between. I clasped onto her hoof and practically dragged myself up her forelimb. Once I was within a whispering distance, I ruthlessly yelled at her.

“There's a ninth! Isn't the world cruel enough?! Hasn't the damnable cold had its fill?!”

“I... I...” A pair of blue eyes widened over a stammering face. “I-I don't understand! A ninth what—?!”

“Nnnngh!” I flung myself back to the ground, growling, seething, clutching my aching cranium in a pair of hooves while the pattern crackled in the depths of my skull. “Dear Celestia, why?! Why is there a ninth?! When will it end?! When will it ever end?!”

My anguished voice was muffled in the blades of grass. In spite of my shivers, I felt a gentle warmth melting through the back of my hoodie. I realized that she hadn't left my side, despite this unicorn's banshee screams. She was stroking my back and shoulders, murmuring breathy whispers into my twitching ears. It was almost enough to break the pattern. Though my head continued throbbing, I started to calm down—in that my sobs lowered to tranquil whimpers against a backdrop of tingling numbness.

“Shhhh... Just be calm. Everything will be alright. You look so terribly cold, miss. I don't know where you've been, but you're safe now. Shhh... relax...”

I said nothing. I merely lay there, limp and weightless beneath her administrations. When I felt her hooves tugging on my shoulders, I had become too exhausted to protest. She hoisted me up, and I limped with her, leaning my weight against her flank as she gently led the two of us through the side door of her home.

“Easy there. One step at a time. Everything is going to be fine. We're gonna get you dried and warmed up. Nopony in Ponyville should have to suffer so.”

I barely kept my eyes open. I was vaguely aware of wooden floorboards, white linoleum, and velvety rugs passing below. Every soft sensation was a fuzzy static being dragged across the jagged memories still blistering inside of me. Bright lightning strobes were going off in my head, illuminating the pale faces of shackled ponies all around. Dancing waves of water faded in and out of comprehension, drowning the rattling chains and roaring thunder.

All of this slowly melted away—like a burning photograph, or a horrible dream—as soon as a great, toasty warmth embraced my shivering figure. I was being led into a large kitchen. Several ovens were lined up in a row. I was positioned in the center of this heated place. Before I could collapse, my hostess had rushed over to grab a cushion that she slid over and positioned beneath me.

“Now... sit right here,” she murmured. I saw a pleasant smile in my peripheral vision as the mare steadied me. “I run the village's local confectionery. Not a single night goes by when I'm not baking various candies for the next day's work. Lucky for you, these ovens have been turned on since several hours ago. They should be at just the right warmth to make you feel better. Funny how life works, huh? Heeheehee.” She cleared her throat and backtrotted from me. “Just stay put, hun. I'll be right back.”

I heard her voice, her giggles, her clopping hooves. I didn't so much as look at her. I gazed in a pitiful deadpan towards the flames. My limbs refused to move, or to even twitch. I wondered how glorious a thing it would have been to melt away in those ovens, to have my body exhumed in a holy crucible. At least I could avoid any future chances of seeing the alicorn, of her finding me. Why else would there be a ninth elegy in my head, unless it was her way of branding my spirit? How deep did this pit of suffering go? Had Luna herself gone to the same place? I had been to a frozen purgatory and back. What more was there to discover? How many horrors could one pony's soul contain?

I wanted to burn. I wanted to dissolve into nothingness. I wanted anything and everything but to be there, to be stuck in Ponyville, to be forced to live with all of these horrible memories and to know that my only way to end it all would be to make even more, deadlier ones. There were so many bodies—so many tortured souls shackled to the gaping throat of that eternity. I did not belong there. And yet, after just one incidental visit, I couldn't think of anywhere else I would eventually go. The Threnody wouldn't take me anywhere else. The Requiem was meaningless, for all I was concerned. Even if I mapped out a ninth elegy and pursued it to the bitter end, what truth could that reveal to me other than the horrors I'd already been forced to digest?

Nopony deserved to know what I knew, to have seen what I've seen. I needed to stop showing my face in town. I needed to stop existing. Every time I brushed path with these innocent citizens, I was dragging them upon the thresh-hold of something colder than death. The elegies were the grand seal to a chaotic wasteland, and I was the doorframe upon which such a barricade resided. I was something terrible, a pitiful array of frozen membranes, a hapless junction between sunlight and screaming. The ninth elegy was only just then starting to blossom in my mind. I hadn't the strength to finish it. I hadn't the strength to do anything anymore but die.

It was then that my hostess came back with a bundle of blankets draped over her back. The earth pony paused briefly as soon as she reentered the kitchen. She squinted steadily at me, her gaze studying the soaked lengths of my mane. After a few seconds, she marched the rest of the way.

“Well... you certainly look like you've seen better places,” she cooed. She stepped behind me and draped the first of several blankets over my shoulder. It was barely enough to warm me, but I soon discovered she wasn't finished. After another series of hoofsteps, she came back with a large brush fastened to a cylindrical hoof-brace. “I don't suppose you have a name?”

I said nothing. I stared into the ovens as my future melted away one blink at a time. I could barely register the delicate sound of her voice or the sweet scent of vanilla wafting off her mane.

“Mmmmm... That's fine, dear,” she murmured. Her warmth occupied the back of my neck. I realized she was sitting behind me, grasping my shoulder with one hoof while her other brushed the soaked lengths of my mane straight. “You don't have to speak. Just sit here and relax. I know better than to ask a stranger too many questions.”

My nostrils flared. I shut my eyes and tilted my head limply as she ran the brush through my hair. The grace with which she pulled my tangled knots free was positively angelic. I couldn't help it: a part of me was wilting under her touch. I had been to hell and back, and to my surprise she was actually soothing me.

A slight giggle escaped her lips. Her voice was as warm and soft as the heat wafting from the ovens. “You have a gorgeous mane, if I must say so. I've always wanted straight hair. All my life, I've dealt with these stubborn curls. But yours is like absolute silk. I imagine you must drive the stallions crazy where you live.”

She must have meant for me to laugh; I only wanted to curl up somewhere and sob. My limbs had stopped shivering a long time ago, but a part of me could never sit still ever again. I fidgeted under my hoodie as she proceeded with her caressing task, smoothing my mane into an immaculate shine. It wasn't until several minutes had passed into her motions, but I realized I had almost completely forgotten the ninth elegy before it had a chance to form.

“There. Feeling better already?” She paused and rested both hooves on my shoulders. She gave me a gentle squeeze against my drying coat. At first, I was confused as to why, until I heard the tone of her voice in tandem with her reassuring touch. “Now, don't be shy. I'm not mad at you in the least for trespassing, darling. The way I see it, life isn't so terrible that we must keep our painful experiences secret. So, would you like to tell me just what brought you here?”

I blinked. For the first time since I came there, I pivoted my neck. I stared back at her, my mouth agape. A whimper came out of me. “I...” I gulped, then whimpered again. “I fell... just outside, remember? And... and you brought me in. You insisted...”

She smiled innocently at me, her eyes bright and full of life. “Did I, now?”

I exhaled sharply. A lump had formed in my throat. The next voice squeaked forth, “You... You forgot about me...” I shuddered, gazing with pained eyes into her angelic expression. “You forgot how I came here... and yet... and y-yet you still took care of me?”

The mare's teeth showed as she smiled. “And why wouldn't I?” Her hoof stroked my bangs over my horn. “You're a pony in need. Isn't that what matters?”

My mouth was quivering. The image of her disappeared behind a foggy veil. I clenched my eyes shut and hung my head. It was all I could do to keep from collapsing to the floor. I thought I had screamed and howled all my lungs' worth in the horrors I had experienced, but I was wrong. The sweetest and most tender of breaths was reserved for this one, golden moment.

“I don't know who you are...” I stammered. “And I don't know what your name is.” I sniffled and whimpered forth, “But I love you.” I was leaning towards her without trying. She was there to catch me. I wept into the blind embrace. “I love you so much, and I w-wish I could be your friend. I wish I c-could be everypony's friend.” I gnashed my teeth as the sobs came as liberally as the tears. I was no longer cold; I was burning up. This wasn't the melting I had anticipated, but I was so gloriously enraptured regardless. “But I can't be everypony's friend. I c-can't afford it. I can't h-have it. I know you c-can't understand. I don't need you to understand—”

“Shhhh...” She was suddenly cradling me, stroking my tears dry with a gentle hoof as her voice hummed against my drooping ears. “Perhaps what matters, darling, is that you understand.” Her coat was silken pure to the touch. I could feel her smiling muscles without looking. “And that it's okay to show how you feel.”

And that was when I caved in. I showed her how I felt. In a collapsing mess of tears and sobs, I displayed it all to her. She listened with an endless hug, absorbing every quivering wail I had to give, stroking my mane and rocking me to silence as I emptied myself of every horrid emotion my fifteen months of hell had wrung from me. She was everything I could have dreamed for, a warm soul that carried me, that listened to every indecipherable cry I had to give, that held and cherished me as I collapsed unashamedly in the shadows of all my stronger, crumbling shells. I knew that I was only a blight to her innocent little existence. I knew that in a matter of hours, I would yet again be a strange vagabond staining the air of her kitchen with my melancholic breath. Suddenly, none of the horrible things of fate mattered, for I was taught again what it meant to be a mad pony, to collapse felicitously under the weight of all things malevolent and still call it a victory.

I was reacquainted with love. Like Twilight Sparkle once did, I died in a pony's arms, and what came out the other side was a soul cleansed of pain, anguish, and suffering, so that I at last realized what a gift I had always given Twilight on so many occasions. With that, the guilt was cleansed as well, and I drifted into the exhaustion of my baptism with a smile.

The next morning, I awoke in the center of her kitchen. I was lying on a pair of cushions. Two sets of blankets had been draped over my figure. The heat of the combined ovens had become unbearable. That's how I knew I was sane enough to start living again.

Squinting across the dim light of dawn, I spotted my hostess on the far side of the kitchen. She had apparently positioned herself in a chair across from me, acting as my loyal sentry. Sometime in the middle of her task, she must have fallen asleep. Her mouth hung open in an adorably limp expression of slumbering bliss. Her cream-colored face shone in the golden kiss of the newborn day.

Flexing my stiff limbs, I stood up and shrugged the blankets off of me. My hoodie had long dried. My mane felt silky smooth, courtesy of a kindly mare's touch. Shuffling quietly across the kitchen, I stood before her. I almost said something, but stopped myself. With a sullen breath, I realized there was no point in waking this kindly pony. Hours had to have passed since she took me in. She was hardly Morning Dew; her sleep had dragged her out of the realm of the living. She would only be startled to see me leering above her in a waking blink.

As ever, a part of me wanted to thank her, to somehow bless her in even a fraction of the way she had solaced me. I knew better than to attempt the impossible. And yet, for the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn't regret the state of things. I merely looked at her, reached a hoof forward, and gently stroked it lovingly across her blue and pink mane.

She stirred in her sleep, her face turning over to the side as she murmured something unintelligible into her forelimbs. I left her there on the chair, trotting softly away from the ovens, out of the kitchen, out of the house, and into the glowing world.

I found my lyre. It was left right where I had collapsed the previous night from the frozen world beyond. Mud and blades of grass had caked to its side. I lifted it with telekinesis and slowly plucked the specks free, one at a time, until ultimately sighing at the laborious task and balancing the musical instrument on my backside. Just as I did that, I heard the strangest of sensations. Curious, I turned and trotted towards the end of the alleyway, leaving the candy-maker's house as I approached the heart of Ponyville.

As I came out into the open, I squinted. The morning sun was shining in full radiance. As the burning world came into focus, I saw the source of the rhythm. Zecora was in the center of downtown, seated under a tree. She had a very familiar pair of drums positioned directly in front of her, and as she laid forth a playful beat, she wasn't alone.

Derpy Hooves and her child Dinky were positioned at Zecora's side. The young unicorn foal in question had a flute levitating in front of her. With Zecora's signal, she accompanied the beat with a well-practiced melody. Zecora smiled and Derpy clapped happily as the two equines made music in the heart of town. A few feet away from them, dozens of young ponies stood in audience, smiling at the early morning show. Among the listeners were Caramel and Wind Whistler. Taking a break from a busy week of setting up their delivery business, they sat in peace together. They leaned against each other's necks, occasionally nuzzling each other with warm smiles as the melody's ebb and flow persisted before them.

Glancing over, I saw Scootaloo—very much alive—chatting with Milky White. Instead of frowns, the two were exchanging grins, even laughs. The lengths of arguments, after all, are greatly dwarfed by the bridges of love. Just a few spaces away, I saw Applejack marching proudly across town, a basket of fresh bread hanging from her grasp. Apple Bloom hopped and hopped to keep up with her big sister, smiling and relating some whimsical story against the backdrop of flutes and drums. They ran into Rarity and Fluttershy, the latter of whom blushed as she sported a new gown that the fashionista was proudly showing off. Somewhere in the distance, I spotted Twilight Sparkle sitting at a table, chatting pleasantly with Dr. Whooves.

No sooner had I observed this when two giggling figures dashed by my vision. I turned and watched as Sweetie Belle and Rumble played a prolonged game of tag in the center of town. It ended as soon as Rumble tackled her, and the two collapsed in a fit of giggles and overturned leaves. A few spaces away, seated on a bench, two adult ponies watched serenely, sharing a conversation. Morning Dew and Ambrosia were absorbed in each other's gaze. As I briefly drifted in and out of their world, they actually looked at me... and they gave a gentle nod.

I became aware of the fact that I was nodding back. But that wasn't all. I barely knew the mare who had fallen into a freezing abyss less than twelve hours ago. Instead, in her place, was a mad pony who had the audacity to smile back at them... and mean it.

How long had I been seeing nothing but the shadows of this place? How long have I been inhaling all that's been warm and good, exhaling only the dust and detritus of all my woes? I'm better than this. I know it. I've lived it. In many ways, I've shared it—and to what end?

There is purpose to my being here. There was a purpose before the curse, and it still exists here, even in the coldest depths of my plight. I am not completely invisible. I am not entirely a ghost. The hoofprints I leave behind aren't mere impressions in dust that is blown away by a moonlit gale. I have touched ponies' lives. I have made impacts that only I can see, whereas all other souls are blind and I shouldn't take such an amazing opportunity for granted.

How many centuries have gone by—centuries of selfless ponies doing selfless things with no retribution whatsoever? And here I am in the middle of an unassuming town in the navel of Equestria, and I know the origin of so many good things, for that origin is me. I know why a flightless little filly lives and breathes. I know why a farm stallion got a second lease on life and love. I know why ponies that would otherwise be alone and detached are instead enjoying a brand new warmth in each other's company. What other soul in the grand history of life can stand upon the penumbra of such a dazzling light show and claim authorship, with no doubt, with no shame, with nothing but joy and triumph?

Yes, I am cursed, but what pony isn't? We all throw ourselves against the gauntlet of life without knowing how we'll come out on the other side. I don't know if I'll ever be free of the rusted shackles that bind me, but I can solace myself in the knowledge that I've freed many a soul that never knew such imprisonment to begin with, and would never have to. I am blessed—yes—blessed to be forgotten, so long as I know where it serves me, to serve myself, to serve others.

I was right to think of myself of a doorway to something. And though I may be a barricade to suffering, why would that be such a surprise? Tides of ecstasy crash against the breakers with as much ferocity as agony. What makes victory out of desolation is knowing how to maintain that dam, and in which direction to redirect the flow of all things good and ghastly.

I have been to hell, but I've been to heaven as well. I've released my horrors and my tears in equal shares. Coming back from such collapse, I carry a noble truth. The warmth of life may indeed be encompassed by something grand, frigid, and nightmarish. But if there was something supremely powerful in that miasma, then I'm certain life would have been snuffed out eons ago.

My name is Lyra Heartstrings. I am alive. One day, I will put an end to this curse. And even if I don't succeed, I will know that I have lived, and lived warmly, where eternal waves of pressure sought for so long to drown me out, only to fail time and time again.

“Really?” Twilight Sparkle blinked curiously, her cute face scrunched in surprise. “You mean it?”

“Absolutely.” I nodded, standing before her in the library. “Your lecture on Modern Canterlot Record-Keeping sounds fascinating! I'd love to let you practice the speech on me!”

“That... That's great! I mean... uhm...” She blushed a rosier shade of lavender, running a hoof through her mane. “Even my best friends are hesitant to let me practice my Canterlot lectures in front of them. You're being awfully generous, Miss...”

“Heartstrings.”

“But I'm not sure you know what you're in for,” Twilight said. “I've been told that I can be a total snooze-fest on occasion.” She gave a brief giggle, then sighed. “I'm sure you've got better things to do with your time.”

“Miss Sparkle...” I looked directly at her. “You strike me as a remarkably intelligent, well-gifted pony. My time in Ponyville is your time.” I smiled gently as I said, “Accept a unicorn's gift when she offers it.”

“Well, alright!” She tried to contain a bouncy wave of energy flowing through her. She failed. “Heehee—Oops! Uhm... oh dear. I just went off on a horrible tangent, didn't I? Heh... How'd we get off track anyways? Weren't you bringing a book back?”

“Hmmm? Oh... Yes, I suppose I was.” I lifted the ancient Shadow's Advent tome out of my book. With a loose breath, I floated it between us. “I'm only passing through Ponyville, so there's no reason to hold onto this any longer.” I gulped. The ninth elegy was still a newborn phenomenon in my head, but I put it in the background as I focused on the gentler melody of our voices. “Please tell your dragon assistant that I'm thankful for his help in acquiring this for my studies.”

“While I'm at it, I'm gonna scold him for not keeping proper records.” Twilight briefly frowned. “There's no mention of this being borrowed in the library checklist. As if I haven't talked his ear off enough...”

“Please, be easy on the little squirt.” I said with a grin. I glanced once more at the tome in my telekinetic grasp. “Besides, I doubt he'd remember a book this insignificant any more... than... me...” My voice trailed off. My vision narrowed.

“Miss Heartstrings?” Twilight's voice rang. There was confusion and concern in her murmuring breath, “Is everything okay?”

I wish that I could have told her. My eyes were locked on the book. Where before there had been nothing but senseless, faded scribbles of ancient Moonwhinny, there was something else new, something striking. I saw words—perfectly legible and bold words—and all of them practically glowing with an unearthly blue font.

Before my eyes, the brown cover of the tome read as clear as day: “Nocturne of the Firmaments – The Records of Dr. Alabaster Comethoof.” My mouth hung agape. Numbly, I opened the book and flipped through the pages. Every single sheet was emblazoned over with cold blue paragraphs, diagrams, music sheets, and rows upon rows of dense paragraphs. I stopped at a random spot and read the first chunk of letters I could find: “...and upon the forsaken, her breath liberates between the firmaments. An ancient song gives birth to the birthless, her loyal subjects for eternity and for never...”

“Huh...” I muttered aloud. “Well that's different.”

“What is it?” Twilight Sparkle was leaning over my shoulder, gazing at the tome. “The book isn't damaged, is it?”

I gazed at her, blinking. “You... you mean to tell me you don't see the words?”

“Of course I do,” she nodded with a smile. “It's ancient Moonwhinny. Only few ponies know it. I'm not entirely versed myself, but I'm getting there. Heehee...”

I stared at her. I looked back at the book. I wondered what was different. Why could I suddenly spot such legible words while all Twilight saw was the same old tome filled with a dead language?

And then it occurred to me, a warming revelation, like a gentle embrace in the middle of a stranger's kitchen.

“The Requiem...”

“What was that, Miss Heartstrings?”

“Nothing.” I slapped the book shut, its mysterious blue words and all. I smiled placidly at my foalhood friend. “Only... I wonder if I might trouble you to let me borrow this book a little longer...”

Nothing is meaningless.

Do not give up on life's searches. All roads lead to somewhere, so long as they remain roads.

X - Green Is the New Pink

Dear Journal,

Does everything in the world stand to be fixed? Come to think of it, is everypony so imperfect that they necessitate “guardian angels” such as myself to fly to their rescue? I know that I am here in this town for a reason—curse or no curse. But is every facet of this reason up to me to decide? Am I a pawn or a master of this bizarre fate I've been forced to live through?

Assuming that my destiny is designed by reason or fate suggests a perfect world. What, then, needs to be fixed in a world that is perfect? Would blemished things go out of their way and ask to be attended to?

In attempting to find structure and order in my life, I've struggled to map out the rationality of everything that I observe. There is something noble to such a quest. But... is such a quest also divine?

There is nothing good about trying to force a pony or a thing to fly a certain way. I didn't always realize this. Such lessons have come close to burning me in the end. Luckily, I've come out of such endeavors with my limbs and mane intact. I could only wish the same about my sanity.

Sometimes the most beautiful, most serene, most perfect things in life perform their dance in a drunken fashion. It may look funny from the outside, but then you realize the entire world is like a ship rocking in some tempestuous seas. You can only get an even hoofing by floundering all over the place. Chaos and unpredictability are the most difficult dance moves of all. But once I've tasted of those charmingly unique steps, it's difficult to waltz in any other fashion.

And why would I try to? It's like the sound of one hoof clopping, or what your face looked like before your parents were foaled, or like... like...

You know what? Let’s just get to the part where stuff happens.

Five days after my curse began, I was a smelly, sweaty mess. At least, that’s what I imagined. I didn’t want to hang around ponies long enough to see their disgusted expressions, or else I would have run the risk of finding out just how far I had fallen. Besides, every time I witnessed those citizens drawing blanks—and felt the cold of the curse kicking in—a little part of me died inside. It was the same little part of me that I was attempting salvage ever since the day a kindly stallion talked me down from the edge of Ponyville’s town hall building.

With great courage, I explored my new life of imprisonment. All I had to my name was my golden lyre and a threadbare saddlebag full of pointless things. I carried several bits with me, of course, but almost all of them had disappeared in my first floundering attempts to buy food at restaurants or rent rooms at hotels, only to have amnesiac waiters and bellhops kick me out of such establishments in confused anger.

So it was that I resorted to walking the streets of Ponyville alone, wandering aimlessly, lacking sleep and food and sanity. I tried to meditate on the stallion’s words. I tried to construct a beacon of hope for me to follow in my mind. I was marching after the trailing fumes of a mad pony’s lunatic dream, and yet it was hardly enough to fill my stomach. That’s how I found myself rummaging through a trash can in the middle of the park just northeast of Ponyville. I bit my lip as I fumbled through the shameful task, wondering how I had come to such a point of ugly desperation. Regardless, I had to press on, I had to find something to nourish me. I had to live for another day in that cold and forgetful world.

And after that... then what? What was I aiming for? What was my goal in this nightmarish void of a town where I couldn't afford food, a home, a friend, or a future? I couldn't think. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't smile. I couldn't—

“Nope!” she said, her pink hooves digging through her side of the trash can. “I'm not seeing it either!”

“Mmmf...” I muttered at the thought. Then I realized that the voice didn't belong to my thoughts; it was way too... chirpy. Blinking, I glanced up, only to have a pair of blue eyes brightly engulfing my emaciated reflection.

“Why would you toss it into the trash to begin with, silly?”

My eyes twitched. I felt part of my face convulsing as I ran a hoof through my frazzled mane. “I... uh... uhm...” I gulped. I looked at the trash can, at my hooves, then back at the pink stranger who was leaning up against the container out of nowhere. “Uhhh...”

“Heeheehee!” She giggled with a snort. “You look like a pony who needs help finding your voice.”

“My... voice...?”

“How could you lose your voice in the trash can anyways?” She took a deep breath and shoved her fuzzy head neck-deep into the recepticle. Her voice echoed, “I usually keep mine in my throat, unless I'm singing, in which case I like it way better in other ponies' ears. Hey, you didn't lose an ear, did you? I hear some ponies like to carry ears around. Ears of corn, that is. Say!” She stuck her head back up. A banana peel and a soiled diaper formed a tiara atop her cranium. “Is that why you don't talk? You're always yellin' at the crows so you can shoo them away from the cornrows on your farm?”

“Who... said I couldn't talk?”

“Well now I'm confused.” Her face scrunched up as she tilted her head up in thought. The garbage collected on her cranium fell sloppily to the park's path as she scratched her chin. “What pony in her good mind would want crows to eat up all her corn? Oh!” She smiled wide. “You're looking for your scarecrow! Of course! But...” She squinted down at the garbage can. “How could you fit a scarecrow in there?”

“I...”

“Maybe you cut him up into tiny pieces? Turned him into scareflies?”

“I think I need to be going...” I winced and started to backtrot away.

“Hey!” She reached a hoof out and held me in place. “Heehee! Don't be ashamed! You're not the only pony who likes to hide stuff all around the place in case of an emergency!” She dashed towards the nearby tree and reached into a crook of branches. “Take me, for example!” She dashed back my way. “Here, have a ball.”

I gasped as I found myself grasping a rubber sphere in my starving hooves. “What... What's this—?”

“Ponies used to think I was weird for leaving balls all around town. When I first met Rainbow Dash, I told her that before I got smart about it, I'd just carry them around in my mouth. Then she started laughing for some reason.”

“Uhm...”

“Considering how many that athletic pony's bounced off her face, you think Dashie could relate...”

“Hey... I know you.”

“You do?”

I shuddered. Memories of arranging a surprise party for Twilight flashed through my head. Even colder memories of being the only pony to remember that arrangement practically killed me. I had seen these blue eyes before. The look of joy on this pony's face was like a cold iceberg, dragging me down into the horrific depths of yesterday. “Never mind. I really need to get going. You can have this trash can—”

“Me and a trash can? Bleachk!” Pinkie Pie made a face. “What kind of fun party is that?”

I gave her a double-take. I had been cold, hungry, and delirious. Suddenly, I was curious. “Party? Do you... Do you remember?”

“Of course I remember how to party! The day I got my cutie mark, I told myself 'Pinkie, from here on out, you're going to do two things every morning. You're gonna use the outhouse and then throw parties.' Well, needless to say, my family and I had to shampoo the carpet for a few years. So guess what my career choice was!”