The not so distant past was a gaping maw, a corona that swallowed up everything beyond its singular and obsessive focus. If the mare was asked to recount it later on, she would find she wasn't able to remember the days before, or the days after. The memory was a cancer, malignant, corrupting all adjacent recollection. Rarity lifted the window shade, a sentry, her trademark smile nowhere to be found, hair tied up in a hasty bun. She sported a black dress, one that would have complimented a funeral. Rage was pushed down into a container deep within herself, making it a spring loaded trap of damning proportions.

'I... It was me sis, I made them angry. It was my fault, so please don't get mad. I don't want everypony to fight.' Rarity visibly shuddered, trying to cast the memory aside. Now wasn’t the time. If she was going to do this, “big sister Rarity” had to disappear. The memory of Sweetie’s most recent injury set the rage glowing in her again, trying to escape. The foal’s foreleg had been broken, an untreated hairline fracture, and Sweetie had tried to hide it. Rarity had thought things had gotten better, only to discover too late now that the sole improvement was in the concealment of the damage.

She had tried to make things easier: So much of their expenses had been covered that they should have been living comfortably, but even those efforts had been in vain.

She had given them everything, yet nothing had changed. Unstoppable force meets immovable object. The resulting epiphany had shaken her to her core.

Her sister wasn’t suffering just because of their mother; every day, she suffered because Rarity insisted on taking the moral high ground against their parents,. It was her own self-righteousness allowing her sister to fall through the cracks. Now the board was set, and the pieces were moving. No longer would Sweetie suffer because of Rarity’s ego; her unwillingness to sully her hoofs. No longer would Sweetie experience heartache because her older sister –who had promised to protect her- refused to be heartless.
No more.

“The third bathroom is over this way…”
Ms. Belle didn’t care for this pony, this ‘Shady Pickins.’ Well, Ms. Belle didn’t care much for anypony, but that was beside the point. It could have been thanks to his garish coat and mane, a nauseating bright orange and blue. Maybe it was his name; it was, after all, a terrible name for a real-estate agent. It would have been much more fitting for a farmer, or some equally drab profession. It definitely could have been his gum that lead to her dislike; It was painfully obvious from the way he talked that he had partaken in an particularly loud piece of the said substance and didn’t much care for whether or not she was offended by the incessant smacking between words.

Glaring at the pony standing next to her, she shook her head. That bumbling husband of mine could really do something other than just standing around, staring at the wallpaper.
“Keep up, Roger!” she barked. He’s as slow and simple as always. Aloud, however, her barrage of insults at him was lacking the usual punch. It wasn’t that she particularly liked him at that moment, in fact it had nothing to do with him at all: For the first time in over ten years, Flemeth Belle was having a good week. It seemed that somepony (all of them idiots, regardless, for taking so long) had finally appreciated the genius of her art. She had distributed sample portfolios of her still life artwork to almost anypony who would take one. This, though, was the first serious offer she had ever received, a full-fledged job in the heart of Canterlot no less, although she didn’t like the name of the place. It was all the rage now days, this “Parlae” accessories; Popular or not, there was an unpleasant foreign sound to the name. She had shrugged it off. Foreign immigrants were always taking equestrian jobs, so she might as well quit hers to take one of theirs. When Parlae had told her she would start the following week, she had flipped everyone at her old job an obscene hoof gesture on the way out

“And as you can see, there’s a beautiful view of Jaspur Park right out of the living room.” Who cares about the view? Get to the price already you idiot. If Mr. Pickins hadn’t secured a buyer for their previous house so quickly, she wouldn’t be giving him the time of day. Bored, she turned to her side, ensuring that her second most useless daughter was still quivering next to her. Sweetie instinctively averted her gaze the moment she felt her mother’s eyes probing her. Flemeth sneered in disgust: What a sniveling little coward I’ve raised.

“The house is sufficient. What’s the starting down payment?” Mr. Pickins flashed a sleazy smile that made her skin crawl.

“The rent starts at 5000 bits a month” Balking at the quote, she could hardly cover her glee. It was more than she had, but it was also an absolute steal for a place like this.

“I won’t be able to pay it until the money for our old house comes in.”

“That’s totally fine, since I’m overseeing both transactions. If you’ll just sign now and write me a check, I’ll make sure it goes through the moment I get the bits from the pony buying your house.” She hesitated, eventually acquiescing. After all, it wasn’t like it was the first time she wrote a check for bits she didn’t have.

“Excellent. Now as soon as the third party signs both of these we’ll be in business.” Pickins trotted to the front door and opened it to mare that had apparently been waiting, dressed in an expensive black dress, her hat pulled low over her eyes. Wait. The first thing Flemeth noticed was how quickly Pickins attitude had changed. The stallion’s cheerful demeanor was gone, rather, he looked borderline uncomfortable.

“Okay, here’s my signature for the house, and for the condo.” Along with handing him two checks, the mare kissed him on the cheek and levitated him a heavy looking bag of bits from her satchel. “And here’s your finders fee.” Finder’s fee? Something about the voice was maddeningly familiar. The realtor took both of the signed documents and didn’t even look back at Flemeth as he trotted out, side by side with the other client, a lack of courtesy she found more disconcerting than offensive.

A flash of dark blue hair hidden under the mare’s hat only added to her uneasiness.

Parlae accessories was as elegant as it had been rumored to be. She had done more research since moving into the apartment. As much as she tried to stifle it, her excitement was growing to unprecedented proportions. The building -complex really- was part corporate office park, the kind seen in the high-end sector of Manhattan, yet splashed with color. Even in her infinite reservoir of cynicism, Flemeth could not come up with anything negative to say about it. If anything, it bordered on overly grandiose. The elite stigma of the place came in part from its enigmatic founder: Penelope Parlae. The CEO had never been seen in public. Occasionally, a gossip magazine would break a story with claims that the elusive pony had been caught on film, but the shots were always blurry, and the mare herself was typically quite covered up, almost always sporting a hat and some sort of scarf.
The inside of the establishment was sterile. She had come to the ER (Equine Resources) part of the building for her first interview, an unimpressive area sectioned off from the rest of the building. Perhaps that was the intended effect, as she found it difficult not to openly gawk at the interior. It was more oriented towards postmodern chic architecture than the exterior. There was almost too much white, although the walls and ceilings were almost reflective enough to be mirrors. Approaching the secretary on the third floor, she was almost instantly ushered in to what she thought was a meeting room. It took a few seconds for her mind to realize that was inaccurate. The massive room was a single office.

“Name?” The voice came from a ridiculously over-sized, wraparound desk in the center of the room. The enigma herself sat at the desk, her blonde mane and gray coat unexpectedly plain. The first thing that struck Flemeth was how much older the mare was, significantly farther along in years than she had expected.

“Flemeth. Flemeth Belle,” she hadn’t expected her voice to be so shaky. Preparing for this had been pointless. She was beyond intimidated

“Oh yes, you. Decent melons. Terrible grapes though.” Flemeth was completely lost. “The Still Life portfolio. Art. Why you’re here.” The pony sighed and shook her head before Flemeth could even respond.

“How do you feel about the Draconic isles?”

Flemeth felt lost again at the non-sequitur. “I’ve heard they’re… nice?” Unable to think of anything positive to say, she went with the overly vague. The mare continued to go about her business as if Flemeth hadn’t spoken.

“I don’t particularly care for anything out of Canterlot, myself. Tragically, it’s not all about me, and that’s where the stockholders have ‘suggested’ we build a new branch. Despite all the treasure hording, it’s absolutely horrific how hard it is for female dragons to get their claws on actual jewelry. Our team is solid here, but we desperately need artists there, for the local effort. You know, reading the flow of the place, coming up with concepts with ‘the local touch’ that will really drive home the sales.” Parlae said it like it was nothing.

“I just moved in to a new place to be closer to this branch!”

“And we just got the news that we’d be expanding. Anyway, it’s not all loss, since you wouldn’t want to move your family overseas with you. Not really any pony schools to speak of.”

“You expect me to just up and leave them?”

“I don’t expect you to. You agreed to. It’s in your contract, Flemeth. We can relocate you anytime we want. Or did you not read the fine print?” Parlae’s voice was almost monotone, devoid of sympathy. Balancing on the line between blubbering and breaking down completely, Flemeth felt a familiar bitterness creeping into her gut. This was supposed to be my second chance.

Parlae sighed, as if annoyed at the very idea of having to explain herself. “I didn’t intentionally mislead you. Consider the possibilities, for a moment: We will be the first to crack into this untapped market. As such, the company is prepared to offer you an almost obscene amount of bits to act as our lead artist at the new branch. Even more significant than that, think of the prestige! In a few years, you’d not only be sitting on a pile of bits, but also have the job of your choice as an artist with this job as a reference” The words were seductive, affecting the unicorn as they were intended. A fresh start.

“How much?” she mumbled, heart already sinking. Smiling victoriously, Parlae wrote something on a piece of blank stationary and placed it face down, sliding it over to her. Cautiously she turned it over. So many zeroes. It shouldn’t have been a hard choice: Make more money in a month than you’ve come close to having in your lifesavings, or stay with your useless, deadweight family and accumulate more debt for breaking the contract.” The choice was obvious. The choice was nonexistent. At that moment, she really hated herself.

“I…”

"Speak up dear."

“Please absolve me of the contract. It’s not possible for me at this time.”

“No.” It wasn’t Parlae who had spoken. Rebellious and unyielding, Flemeth would have recognized the tone anywhere. Her blood ran cold, as she looked up to confirm the identity of the mare that had just entered through the side door.

It should have been simple enough. A wealthy investor, with more than enough bits to spare had plenty of options when it came to buying into the bustling Equestrian fashion scene. But Penelope Parlae was not old bits. She had married well, receiving a near fortune from her late husband, (Celestia bless his soul) and had thought the opportunities in the city of Canterlot would be plentiful. Now that she was here, however, she just couldn’t bring herself to pick one. When the scent of money caught the nose of these Canterlot businessmares, they turned to timberwolves on the scent of blood. She simply loathed the incessant sucking up, and would rather jump off a cliff than deal with the amount of flattery that appeared to be the norm. After the third long day of scouting in a row, she had retreated to one of her only sources of refuge in Canterlot: the nearest bar.

The tavern was far more of a dive then she had expected from the outside. Like so many things in Canterlot, the beautiful exterior served to disguise the rot under the surface. Her opinion of the bar was driven even lower when she noticed the only other patron a seat away from her was definitely under the drinking age.

“How’s your wine selection?” She asked in vain, already suspecting the worst. The bartender started when he realized he was being spoken to. It must have been a slow night

“Oh, we have red and uh… white.”

She made no effort to hide her sigh “Just a pint of cider then, please.”

“Garbage.” The insult was spat with such vehemence she almost physically jumped. Somepony is an angry drunk. She looked over discretely, relieved to see that it was not her who was being addressed. The alabaster mare next to her was looking through a catalogue of sorts, seeming to be very unhappy with its contents. Curious, more out of sheer boredom than anything else, she leaned over to look. It appeared to be an amateur accessory catalogue… at first glance. It was hard to see past the low quality of the images, but when she finally did, it was obvious that the quality of the accessories themselves was more than above par. The disparity between the catalogue and product was massive.

“I rather like that bracelet myself.” She said, indicating a silver and ruby composite. Instead of a look of irritation from the mare, she received an expression filled with gratitude.

“You do? Really?”

“Well, frankly, yes. And other than that, the selection is extensive, composition is superb, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen better fakes.” For some reason, as she spoke, the alabaster mare –barely more than a foal, really- appeared to be inflating with barely contained pride

“I feel the same way. You are wrong on one count, though.”

“What’s that?”

“These aren’t imitations.” Brow furrowing, Parlae looked down at the prices of the catalogue. She had actually thought they were a bit high for fakes. If these were real...then the average price was insanely low

“Are… Are you serious?” The alabaster mare signaled with her hoof for another drink, slipping a small gemstone to the bartender when she thought Parlae wasn’t looking.

“It’s a travesty, isn’t it? The designer- er, so I’ve been told, has almost unlimited access to gems, some trade secret. The price is low because the gems aren’t registered…

“-Which she can’t afford, because she has to sell them priced as imitations.”

“Correct.”

“Well that is a crying shame.” The pony next to her was still trying not to grin, though the influence of alcohol worked much to the detriment of that effort. It couldn’t just be coincidence. Parlae tapped on the picture of the bracelet again, shrewdly trying to lure the mare in.

“I’m telling you, if I met her muzzle to muzzle, I’d drop five, maybe six times that many bits in her hooves for that bracelet, no questions asked.” It was a dirty trick for certain; she just couldn’t bring herself to ignore the possibility. However, there was no sudden influx of greed or desperation that she had seen at so many other investment meetings already. The alabaster mare simply glowed, smiling radiantly to herself.

Parlae excused herself briefly to go to the restroom, to freshen up and gather her thoughts. When she returned, she was dejected to find that the alabaster mare had already left.

“She left ya a note” the bartender indicated the catalogue left on the counter. Inside the catalogue was a piece of flowery stationary and a small parcel. Tearing the envelope open with her teeth, she dumped its contents on the counter, puzzled at first, before her confusion dissolved into a filly-like grin. It was the very ruby and silver bracelet she had pointed out before. The note read: Sometimes the right words can be worth more than all the bits in the world. Thank you.

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet.” This was it! Her investment opportunity, she could feel it. How do I find her though? The listed address is a P.O. Box. Slowly, she looked to the barkeep.

It was easy enough to ply the bartenders tongue loose after threatening to report him for serving underage patrons, and taking bribes to do it. Once he had stammered out a name, it was a matter of time and resources. Rarity was what her husband would have called a “high maintenance” investment. She refused to be named publically, insisting that Penelope be the name and image associated with the brand. It had something to do with her home life, though that was all the gray mare was able to ascertain. As Parlae accessories grew as a brand, Penelope began to feel guiltier at the lack of proper credit. Rarity was a genius, and one of the most giving ponies she had ever met. She was also stubborn as a mule. She kept her reasons for remaining anonymous quiet for nearly two years before she finally let them slip during a lunch break

“… You… Hate… Accessories…?” To say the gray mare’s voice was incredulous would have been and understatement. Penelope was completely taken aback.

“It’s terribly rude to stare at someone with your mouth open like that, you know.”

“You. Hate. Accessories?”

“If I keep deflecting the question, are you just going to keep repeating it in a different inflection?” Nonchalantly taking a bite of her daisy sandwich, Rarity looked at her like she was the one talking crazy. Penelope didn’t even know where to start. It made absolutely no sense.

“Do you-“ Her accidental increase in volume drew stares from around the restaurant, so she leaned forward and whispered. “Do you have any idea what our net worth is? This company has my name, sure, but underneath it is one hundred percent you. And you tell me now you don’t even like it?” Rarity shrugged like it was no big surprise.

“Guess I’m just in it for the bits.”

“Horsefeathers!” I know you better than that. She had always watched her language in front of the younger mare, so the expletive caught the unicorn’s attention. As much as she respected the brilliance of the unicorn in front of her, respect needed to be a two way road.

“I don’t, as you say, hate them.” Rarity’s voice was quiet, tinged with longing. “I find them to be very binary. I can’t make an bracelet or a necklace with somepony in mind. Well, I can- Just not most of the time. In my opinion, they’re much more of an impersonal process. It’s like we’re ‘climate scientists’ as opposed to being the pegasi weather patrol. We look at the big picture, the trends, and market to the largest unsaturated niches we can find. Sometimes it feels more like science than art.”

“So… assuming you don’t actually want to be a Pegasus, what are you aiming for?” Rarity looked away awkwardly.

“…dresses”

“Come again?” Rarity bristled at having to repeat it. Looking directly at Penelope, she forced herself to repeat it with more confidence.

“I want to design dresses for clients.”

“Well why didn’t you say so before? We can open up a line, I’ll make sure you get whatever you need-“ She stopped as Rarity held up a hoof to silence her with an expression that almost looked insulted.

“See, that’s it exactly. You’ve never even seen my dresses, yet you’re ready to whip out the checkbook.”

“I’m sorry that I consider you a friend, and thereby would support you without hesitation. Terrible habit of mine” Preparing to storm out, she was almost relieved when Rarity caught her hoof.

“I am your friend. If you’re my friend, understand that it would go against my principles to do what you’re suggesting.”

Penelope sat back down, defeated. “How so.”

“I don’t want to dictate fashion. If a pony with enough prestige designs something hideous, it’s often still considered to be ‘brilliant.’ I loathe that about the industry and would go to any length to avoid perpetuating it myself. I want to create something, with my own horn and hoofs, and have it be judged by its merit alone. My work would not be judged fairly if it started out attached to a high ranking label.” It’s ego then. Ridiculously inflated ego, Penelope thought, chuckling to herself.

“That foresight is rather astute, and your resolve is... well your resolve is something else entirely. I have to ask, though, why have you stayed this long? Don’t get me wrong, Celestia knows what we’re going to do without you, but I don’t want to hold you back. If you’re going to work your way up from the bottom, it’s going to take some time, and I know you have more than enough saved up to start yourself up”

An icy resolve settled in the alabaster mares eyes.
“I made a promise to somepony. My dreams will wait.” the matter of fact nature of her voice sent a chill down Penelope’s spine. Wisely, she changed the subject.

“Speaking of dreams, what will you call it? Your shop.”

Rarity looked at her slyly, “How do you like ‘Carousel Boutique?’”
It certainly wasn’t the worst name she’d ever heard. Penelope blinked at her quizzically, “It’s a good name, but- Oh, Luna’s flank, it’s kind of like you’re-”

“-coming full circle, back to the beginning again.”

“You’re really not going to let me help, are you?” Rarity shook her head, politely refusing. The other mare sighed. “I’m going to regret asking this… but… exactly how long have you had that name picked out?” For celestia’s sake, how far in the future do you plan?

“Hmm… a while, I suppose”
The cryptic answer told Penelope all she needed to know.

“I don’t understand.” Flemeth’s eyes were wide, terrified, bouncing back and forth from Rarity to Penelope. “Why is she here?” Penelope switched places with Rarity, standing off to the side.

“She, calls the shots around here, the sisters have mercy on your soul.” What Penelope meant as a joke only served to further mortify Flemeth, who was now visibly shaking.

“You rotten, rotten foal. We’re done here. We don’t need your char-“

“YOU THINK THIS IS CHARITY?” Rarity roared, an inferno raging behind her eyes. Despite herself, Flemeth fell backward hard, her flank hitting the floor with a thud, legs still shaking. “Let me explain something to you, dear mother.” Rarity seethed, closing distance as she spoke. “To be honest, I’m surprised you had it in you. I thought the amount of bits I offered would be more than adequate to send any heartless shrew bounding for the next ferry to the Draconic Isles. Perhaps your soul is not as entirely black as I thought- LOOK AT ME.” Using her hoof, Rarity roughly grabbed Flemeth’s jaw, forcing the quivering pony to look, picking up exactly where she left off.

“Because of that, and only because of that, I will not insist that you take the post at the Draconic isles. However, allow me to remove the illusion of choice: I. Own. You.” Flemeth wrenched her head away, practically screeching.

“NO. I’ll work off the debt if I have to!”

“No, you won’t. That condo you just moved into? It’s my building. The old house you put on the market without an ounce of foresight? Also mine." At first she was tempted to laugh off the ridiculous claims, then something clicked; the elder unicorn connected the dots, her despair more prevalent by the second. She shut her eyes, as if wishing it was all a dream.

“You own… you were at the condo”

“Yeah. That was me.”

Her mother smiled wickedly, convinced she had found the one flaw in the scheme “You wouldn’t kick Sweetie out, your own sister. This is just another empty threat”

Rarity inclined her head. “You’re right, I wouldn’t. But our government is a complicated thing. Did you know, for instance, if they find a filly’s living conditions unacceptable, legal custody is transferred to the closest willing and able relative? I think being homeless might be considered unacceptable.” There was a moment of silence as the invisible hammer dropped. Sensing the finality of the trap, Flemeth had no retort. Staring at her daughter as if truly seeing her for the first time, she shook her head. You really have changed, Rarity.

“…What would you have me do.” The words were empty, broken, defeated. Rarity didn’t smile, gloat, or revel in the victory; the flames in her eyes started to dim, gradually fading away into nothingness.

“I won't actively make you do anything. You’re your own mare. You’ll stay at the condo, work here five days a week, and father will watch Sweetie at the house in Ponyville. While he’s in the canterlot rehabilitation clinic for the next month or so, Sweetie will stay with me.” Her mother looked up at her, carefully controlling what otherwise would have been a much more violent reaction.

“You’re not going to let me see them, then?” Rarity cocked her head.

“Like I said, you’re free to do what you like with the weekends. It might be best to give Sweetie a little while to normalize without you around though.” Nodding, the pony wiped her eyes somewhat foalishly. It might be best. You don’t have to pretend like your giving me a choice

Watching her mother weep pathetically in the silence was a conflicted experience for Rarity. On one hoof, it marked the end of a battle she had been fighting for as long as she could remember. On the other hoof, no matter how she justified it, the ugly truth remained; this was her own mother she had just twisted to pieces, beaten into submission, reduced to a sobbing pathetic mess.

Mommy, it’s okay now, please don’t cry. Everything’s going to be alright, you’ll see. Rarity’s heart ached to say those words, to embrace her mother and take the pain away.

You don’t have to right to do that anymore. It’s the price you paid.
Whatever was left of Rarity’s childhood died with that realization. She trotted to the door, intending to allow the sobbing mess that was once her mother to retreat with whatever was left of her dignity.

“You won’t have to worry about me lording over you here, mother dearest, as I’ll be moving on to greener pastures at the end of this week. I actually have a new shop in ponyville under construction. Ms. Parlae is a wonderful pony to work with though, you’re in good hooves.” Penelope, if only out of sympathy for the pink unicorn, tried to affirm that assessment as they passed her.

“I really did like your melons.” Given the circumstances, Flemeth’s nod of appreciation was uncommonly courteous. The two walked towards the exit in silence, the clip-clop of their hooves echoing through their sterile surroundings. As they came closer to the stairway, a host of regretful sentiments rang out in Rarity’s mind, each one harder to smother than the last.

I never wanted this


No part of me enjoys this


I always wanted to believe in you


I hate that I hurt you


I hated manipulating you


You’ll always be family


I’m sorry

I love you

They reached the staircase without a word spoken. Rarity watched as her mother continued the descent without her.

“Mother”

Halfway down, Flemeth turned to look. There was no hope in her eyes, no expectations, only a carefully hidden glimmer of fear. The alabaster mare inhaled sharply: for a moment, she didn’t see her mother. She saw Sweetie, quivering below her, filled with dread, as she had seen so many times before. Pushing her sister from her mind, Rarity spoke. They were the only words she would allow herself to say to this pony beneath her. The only words this pony deserved.

“If you ever lay a hoof on Sweetie again…”
There was no anger in Rarity’s voice. No coercion. Only simple statement of fact:
“…I will destroy you.”

The alabaster stood at the top of the stairs for what felt like hours. Her reflection in the glass below looked oddly foreign, unfamiliar and empty. She tried to think of what she would say to her sister when she picked her up that night. Perhaps it would be better to say nothing at all. There was this indescribable disconnect from her emotions, like some vital magic circuit had come unplugged in her brain. Maybe she was just tired. That was probably it. Perhaps she could make something. Making something would help. She felt better when she was fixing things. It was all going to be fine. She could follow her dream now. It was time, wasn’t it? Yes, yes… it was time. Her thoughts drifted in circles, a comforting carousel of platitudes and prosaicisms accompanying her long into the sleepless night.

AN: As you can see… that flashback kinda became a flashback within a flashback. It started with me wanting to do a decent job lining things up with cannon. I know I took a few liberties, but hey, at least I tried. I felt that it was better to at least attempt to tie up the Rarity/Sweetie sideplot (not that kind of plot -_-) rather than leave it hanging permanently, before the real meat of the finale kicks in. It was a good opportunity as well to get in some extra development of Rarity, highlighting what she's capable of if she's truly dedicated to something and out of options. *ahem.* Hopefully, I at least managed to fill in a few blanks. Well, regardless, I’m scared Sh@#less of the next few chapters, mainly because almost everypony is in them. Especially the H&H chapter. Seriously. SO MANY PONIES to keep track of.

Sorry if this chapter seemed overly depressing. Next few chapters will be much more varied... for a while... *maniacal laugh*