"Oof! Watch where you're going!"

Twilight barely flinched, instead opting to take an extra step to the side. She said nothing.

The unicorn who she'd bumped into, most likely a noble from the way his nose stuck up into the air, sniffed and ambled past her and down the cobblestone street. "Goodness," she heard him say his his voice faded into the general din of the Canterlot marketplace. "Such riff-raff they're letting in the city nowadays."

Twilight sighed and kept walking.

She plodded on through the streets, ignoring the familiar smells, sights, and sounds. Several merchant ponies hawked their wares as she passed—Royal Wedding miniature toys! Buy them now!—and streetside artists tried to get her attention through performance or song. Yet Twilight passed by them all, her hooves trudging over the road like ants in molasses.

A group of colorfully-outfitted pegasi—tourists, undoubtedly, here for the paparazzi and celebration—walked right into her, and she jostled through with nary a word. The accumulated shrieks and shrill hollering as she bumped into a wing and trod on a hoof made no difference to her. They'd all be gone in the morning.

That evening, Twilight sat alone on the city walls, looking over the skyline and past the shimmering bubble, and out to the distant horizon. The setting sun set the green countryside ablaze with a fiery crimson, and she was dimly reminded of the original siege of Canterlot. Gazing into the burning depths of the sun—any optical damage didn't matter at this point, she told herself; anything that happened to her would be fixed in seven days' time anyway—she thought she could almost see the shadows of ponies, moving in a dance of death across the deep red surface. After all, wasn't that what Equestria was doing now? One step forward, two steps back. Left, right, death—and then do it all over again. No beginning, and nothing to end. Eternity.

Goodness, Twilight thought, her mouth quirking to one side as she slid herself off the wall, letting out a soft grunt as her hooves collided with the dusty road. I get pretty philosophical when I'm depressed.

With a small roll of her eyes, Twilight set off on the long walk back to the Palace gates.

It was only a few more minutes later that Twilight encountered her third collision of the day.

"Ouch!"

"Oof!"

Twilight sat up slowly, rubbing her horn. "Ow..." She grumbled quietly and looked around for who she'd bumped into. Lying a few yards ahead of her was a large pile of cream-colored flannel sacks, their sides emblazoned with sloppy pictures of grain. A large white bag sat on top of the pile, and beneath it, two small limbs poked out, wiggling helplessly under the pile's weight.

Her eyes widened. With a quick spell and a nod of her chin, Twilight lifted the pile of sacks off of the pony below, and yanked him out from underneath with a tug on his back legs. "Are you okay?"

The pony nodded back, panting quietly. "Yeah; I reckon." He turned around and looked at the bags; with a dull groan, he leaned down and poked one in particular. "Darn it; this one's went and got a hole in it." A fine white powder had leaked from the side of the sack in question and onto the ground, making a messy pile on the road.

Twilight's cheeks reddened and she reached up a hoof to touch her horn. It came away white. She sniffed it: Yep; that's flour.

The blush spread across the whole of Twilight's face and she leapt forward, chuckling nervously. "Here, let me fix it." The sack lit up with a light-purple glow, and Twilight almost laughed when she saw the other pony's eyes widen as the tear began to mend itself back together. After no more than ten seconds had passed, the sack of flour stood clean and unblemished, just like it had been before.

"Well, I'll be." The pony scratched his head with a hoof, eyeing the sack with a curious eye. "That's some well-done magic there, missy." He turned back around and extended a hoof to Twilight with a wink and a smile. "Thanks for helpin' me out. Name's Sugarwheat. I'm sorry for bumpin' into you."

"Twilight," Twilight said in return, shaking his hoof. "And I'm the one who should be apologizing: if I hadn't been in your way, you would've never dropped that pile in the first place."

Sugarwheat snorted and put a hoof to his side, cracking his back. "Pfft. Details."

As he looked around, inspecting the mess on the street, Twilight took in his appearance for the first time. He was an earth pony: one with a chocolate-brown mane and an apron tied over his chest. The image of a loaf of bread covered part of his cream-colored flank, and his dull blue eyes flickered over the pile below.

He picked up a sack of flour from the ground, balancing it on his back as he grabbed a few more. "Now, I've just gotta get these inside, or the missus'll be all over me again." He blinked in evident surprise as the sacks levitated out of his reach, hovering quietly over the road below.

"Don't worry about it, sir." Sugarwheat raised an eyebrow. "I'll help you out. It's the least I can do for crashing into you."

"Do what you want," Sugarwheat said with a dismissive wave of his hoof, but judging by the pleased tone of his voice, he was happy to avoid carrying the weight of several dozen pounds of flour any further than he had to.

"Where should I put them?"

"M'shop's over there." Sugarwheat nodded to one side of the street and Twilight turned to see a small bakery, with colorful cakes displayed in the windows, and a small sign holding the carving of a baguette over the door. "You can just drop 'em around the back."

Twilight nodded back. "Sure."

As Twilight stacked the bags of flour by the back door of the shop, Sugarwheat eyed her work appraisingly, nodding to himself every so often. "That's some good work you got there," he said with a slight tilt of his head. "Pity m'old apprentice isn't here to help out, too."

"Your apprentice?" Twilight bit her tongue, carefully placing the last of the sacks on top of the pile. As she finished, she released her breath and turned back to face the baker, one eyebrow raised.

"Yup." Sugarwheat put a hoof to his chin, right beneath a bushy grey mustache. "Usually a pretty good helper, I'd say. He's out of town for the next two weeks on some kind of family business, though, so I'm just gettin' by on my own."

"Huh." Getting by on your own. There was a feeling that Twilight could definitely emphasize with. Looking around, though, she couldn't really say that she was "getting by" in any meaningful sense of the words. "Well, I'm glad I could help you out, even if it was just a little bit."

Sugarwheat snorted, blowing his mustache away from his face. "Well, would've taken me 'least thirty more minutes to get it all stacked 'n put together like you did, so I guess I've gotta express my gratefullness some way." He raised a hoof and glanced toward the back door of the bakery. "Wait here one minute."

Twilight blinked as the baker disappeared into the building. After a minute or so of loud clattering and muffled grumbling, Sugarwheat poked his head back out of the door with a small parcel in his mouth. He dropped it on the ground at Twilight's hooves and nudged it toward her.

"Here you go, Miss Twilight." He stood back up and stretched, his joints cracking as he did so. "Just a little token of thanks from me."

Twilight made to open the box, but Sugarwheat's hoof on hers stopped her from actually undoing the knot that held it together. She looked at him quizzically and he winked back. "Now, don't go opening it before you've gone home, y'hear? That there's fresh and warm, and we wouldn't want it to get all cold and crusty, hm?"

As a delicious smell wafted from the top of the box and into her nose, Twilight nodded back gratefully. For some reason, the scent made her feel…warm. Like she had something to look forward to. "Thank you, sir."

"Pfft. Ain't nothin'." Sugarwheat shook his head and pointed down the street, his dirty apron fluttering in the evening breeze. "Now you go 'n get home, y'hear? Nopony ought be out on the streets at night, 'specially not with something nice and warm for when they get back."

 Twilight chuckled. "Right. And thanks again."

"A good night to you, Missy."

"And to you too!" Twilight called back over her shoulder, her hooves echoing off of the dirty cobblestone of the city roads.

It was a bit of a trip back to the castle, but when Twilight arrived, she opened the package to find two of the most delicious and savory chocolate pastries waiting for her, as warm and as wonderful as if they'd just come out of the oven.

The next morning, Twilight found her hooves leading her right back to the area of town where she'd found the bakery. She couldn't quite say why, but she felt an itch to be somewhere; to do something.

At the very least, more delicious pastries would take her mind off her previous failures.

When she arrived, Twilight was surprised at the long line outside the shop. It certainly hadn't been anywhere near this crowded when she crossed by it the previous afternoon, or at least as far as she remembered, anyway. Yet over two dozen ponies waited patiently in a queue that stretched through the doors and passed a nearby jewelry store. Mares and stallions chatted happily over cups of coffee, and foals darted through the line while shooting hungry looks at the cakes in the windowsill. Above the double doors marking the entrance sat a sign that Twilight hadn't noticed last night: The Cream Puff, it proclaimed.

Finally, she found herself near the front of the line, a high-pitched bell ringing as the door shut behind her. Twilight felt her mouth water as she looked over the display case; she couldn't think of a single kind of baked good that wasn't already here on full, beautiful, tasty display. Apple strudels sat beside luxurious-looking eclairs, and she could smell the rich grain of the baguettes from ten feet away. And those cakes—

"Welcome to the Cream Puff, the place with the best baked goods in town. How might I help you?"

Twilight's ears twitched at the sound of the familiar voice, and she looked up to see Sugarwheat beaming at a profession-looking pegasus on her side of the counter. The pegasus sipped at from a cardboard cup of coffee, his eyes roaming over the display case.

"Hm...I think I'll have the usual, Sugar."

"Toasted bagel with hayseed? Comin' right up!"

As Sugarwheat busied himself cutting up and preparing the bagel, Twilight heard a low grumbling around her.

One mare behind Twilight checked the watch on her hoof, snorting. "Where's my cherry pie?"

"Can this line move any slower?" A lanky unicorn groaned, plopping himself on the ground and pulling a hoofball cap over his eyes.

"Now, where'd I put that hayseed?" Twilight glanced in Sugarwheat's direction and noticed him mumbling quietly to himself, occasionally glancing over his shoulder as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. With a sudden thought, Twilight realized that there was nopony else to handle this ridiculously large line—glancing back, she saw it'd almost doubled in the time she'd been there. The poor baker was on his own.

"Is that it?" she called out, passing through the small door that divided the shop from the area behind the counter. With a small flash of purple light, a forlorn, raggedy sack levitated off of the floor. Sugarwheat turned, and his eyes widened as the sack came to rest before him. "Hayseed," he muttered, reading the words on its front.

A slow smile grew over his face. "One toasted bagel with hayseed! Order up!"

"I'll have a coffee. Decaf."

"I'll get it!" Twilight practically leapt over the counter, the baker's eyes widening as she levitated a coffee cup off its counter and over to the machine marked "Decaf."

Sugarwheat looked slightly taken aback, but a warm smile soon spread across his own face. "Well then, missy," he said with a wink. "Feel free to jump right over."

He didn't miss a beat, slicing the bagel in two, wrapping it, and tossing it over the counter. As a pile of bits clattered onto the counter, he turned and gave Twilight a wink. "Can I get a new tray of croissants? Last door on the right, top shelf, in the middle."

"I—"

"Good to hear!" With a satisfied nod, Sugarwheat turned back to the counter, plopping his hooves up on its surface and giving the mare waiting there his biggest, prize-winning smile. "G'morning, ma'am! Welcome to the Cream Puff, where you'll find the best baked goods in all Canterlot! How may I help you today?"

Twilight froze for a second in confusion, but then just shook her head and trotted off toward the back of the shop, near where she'd left the bags of flour the last night. When she began the quick walk back to the front, a metal tray of freshly baked croissants hovering beside her, there was a small, warm smile on her face.

As she slid the tray into its place in the display case, Sugarwheat caught her eye and winked. "Mighty fine, Miss. Sparkle. Now, Ms. Cottonmane here was telling me that she was wantin'—what was it again?"

A small filly, her pink mane bouncing up and down over her neck, peered up over the counter and looked at Twilight with big eyes. "A chocolate muffin!" she piped up.

"Now, that's not how you say it." Sugarwheat gave the filly a long, hard look. "I think there's got to be something else to it, don't you?"

Cottonmane considered that for a moment before leaping up again, grinning from ear to ear. "Please!"

" 'Atta girl." Sugarwheat chuckled and gave her a pat on the head. The filly sniffled, shaking her head rapidly until he removed his hoof with a snort of laughter. Twilight just smiled down at them, feeling something warm in her chest that she hadn't felt for weeks.

"Middle shelf!" Sugarwheat called after her as Twilight's hooves echoed on the scuffled wood floors. "Might wanna take two, just to be sure!"

Twilight wasn't sure how long she worked after that, or how many orders she took, but she knew that by the end of it, the sun was high in the sky, the bakery was empty, and  the display case held nothing but crumbs and a pile of half-eaten crusts. Twilight raised a hoof to her forehead, wiping it clean of sweat. She hadn't realized how tired she'd gotten until after she'd given out the tenth blueberry pie.

"Nice work, Miss Sparkle." Sugarwheat ambled over to her from the back of the shop, carrying a straw broom in his mouth.

"Care to lend a hoof in the clean-up?"

Twilight accepted the broom with a smile, and began to collect the fallen crumbs and napkins that dotted the stained wood floor. She hummed as she worked, Sugarwheat watching her from the counter as he rolled out dough.

"Forgive me my curiosity, but why're you helpin' me out?"

Twilight blinked and looked up, catching Sugarwheat's eye. "Huh?"

The baker shook his head, setting the dough down on the counter and shaking the extra flour of his hooves. "I'm sayin', what's your reason for suddenly coming up to this here bakery and offerin' to help? I'm mighty grateful, what with my apprentice being gone and all, but if my senses are right—and I'd like to think they are," he added with a waggle of his eyebrows, "Then you're more than just some common street pony lookin' for a living wage."

Twilight felt a tinge of red flush her cheeks, and she turned to look out of the window rather than reply at first. "I don't know, really," she admitted after a moment, staring down the emptying street. "I just saw that you needed help, and here I am."

She heard Sugarwheat chuckle behind her. "Then you're a whole lot more selfless than a lot of other ponies, let me tell you that." He paused and put a hoof to his chin. "Or at least, you think you are."

Twilight felt the heat return to her face. Why had she decided to help him, anyway? Last night was surely a one-time thing; she'd made a mistake, and had decided to fix it. There was no reason she had to step behind the counter and lend a hoof this morning, and she was certainly under no obligation to keep sweeping the floor, as dirty as it may be. As far as she knew, the bakery would have gotten along just fine had she been with her friends, preparing for the wedding.

With a flicker of her eyes, Twilight realized something: for the past few hours, as long as she'd been working in the shop, her thoughts hadn't touched upon the wedding or the time loops even once. She'd been too caught up in the moment to care; there was no time to worry about the laws of physics or a changeling invasion when there were pies and cookies to be passed out.

Twilight chuckled under her breath. "I guess it's just something to do. It's better to have something that you know you can do than to waste time worrying about the things you can't."

"That might be right," Sugarwheat said with a small nod as he stroked his bushy moustache. "I don't by any means speak for anypony else, but working with your hooves—that there's real work. There ain't anything else better if you're trying to take your mind of things." He was quiet for a minute and gave Twilight a long, considering look, and then spoke again. "Would I be right in sayin' that you got a problem of your own?"

Twilight gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"Well then, I won't pry." Sugarwheat turned his back to the counter and began to trot over to an assembly of ovens that waited in the back. "Can't say it's any of my business. But if you feel the need to be doing something with your hooves, then you're more than welcome here." He chuckled and brushed his mane out of his eyes. "You won't see me complaining."

A warm smile spread over Twilight's face, and she nodded gratefully. "Thank you," she murmured.

The jingle of metal caught her ear, and Twilight looked up just as Sugarwheat dropped a small bag onto the table beside her. "Hm? What's this?"

"Your pay for the day."

Twilight frowned, shaking her head from side to side. "But you don't have to do that. I don't need any—"

"Shush." Twilight blinked as Sugarwheat slowly lowered his hoof from her lips. "That's your money, and you earned it. Nopony’s gonna say that Sugarwheat don't pay what he owes, and if you try to give it back to me, I won't take it." He looked up at Twilight with a fierce look in his eyes, and with a small sigh, Twilight lit her horn and took the money. The small pile of bits felt unusually light in her grasp.

"Now," Sugarwheat began. "I want to start on Ms. Cherrywing's order of a dozen Boysenberry pies early tomorrow morning. Think you can be here by six?”

There was a small tone of authority and expectance to his voice, and Twilight found herself smiling. "You got it," she said.

Sugarwheat turned and winked.

Twilight hummed to herself as she worked. The candle on the counter beside her was the only source of light besides the glimpses of sunlight that were beginning to pierce through the window glass. The broom in her grasp felt like it had a rhythm to its movements; a steady beat that she could lose herself in. It was so nice to work in the morning like this, just as the sun was rising and before any busy activity. She'd forgotten how wonderful it could be to just think in peace, without any interruptions or distractions.

She found that rhythm interrupted, though, when there came a knock at the door.

"Who is it?"

Twilight glanced out of the glass panes of the door, and past the chain links that covered the entrance. Outside, a grey-coated stallion in a suit and tie was biting his lip, with a briefcase floating alongside him and his hoof still raised to knock. "Looks like some businesspony."

"Well, we're closed." Sugarwheat came striding out of the storeroom in the back, wiping a red-checkered handkerchief across his forehead. "Can't he read signs?"

The stallion's eyes darted about nervously, and he gestured to a watch on his leg. Twilight rolled her eyes. "He probably has an early-bird meeting or something. Too bad we don't open until sev—"

"Well, come right in, sir!"

Twilight blinked as Sugarwheat offered the stallion a quick bow, lowering his neck to the floor after lifting the metal gate and opening the door. He dusted off his hooves on his apron and offered a toothy grin. "A good morning to you!"

"And to you," the businesspony said in a quite baritone. He licked his lips and his eyes darted back down to the watch by his hoof. "How quickly might you be able to come up with a cup of coffee and a buttered croissant?"

"Won't be two minutes, sir." Sugarwheat winked at Twilight, the soft wrinkles on his face extending his smile far past his mouth. "My apprentice here'll ring you up. I'll take care of the coffee right away."

"Many thanks." The stallion nodded, evidently satisfied, and turned to face Twilight.

A few minutes later, as the businesspony was leaving with a coffee by his head and a small paper bag in hoof, Twilight gave Sugarwheat an odd look. "What was that all about? You opened the store a whole half-hour early. I thought you hated dealing with customers before seven AM."

Sugarwheat shrugged, polishing up the counters with a tattered pink rag. "I did say that, didn't I?" The dimples on his face rose up as he gave her a cheeky grin. "Then again, it's never a good idea for a shopkeeper to leave his customers out in the cold, especially if they've got somewhere to be." He shook his head and stared out the window. "I usually don't like it, I'll tell you that, but it didn't cost me nothing to help the poor sap out. Might've even gotten me a few bits, to tell you the truth."

Twilight let out a snort of laughter. "I guess that's true."

"Now, how 'bout you restock that box of cream cheese packs over there?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Whoa! So much frosting!"

Twilight beamed down at the trio of foals clustered around the display case, their beady eyes and plump snouts pressed eagerly against the glass walls separating them from their treats. Behind them, a matronly-looking mare—either their mother or nanny; Twilight couldn't decide which—sniffed in disapproval and readjusted her fruit-topped hat.

"Now, children, you may each pick one treat," the mother said, rummaging about in her purse. "One."

One of the foals—a colt, with bright blue wings and a yellow mane to match—groaned, his ears drooping. "Aw. Only one?"

"Oh, shut up." A unicorn filly with a green-patterned backpack slung over her shoulders poked him on the chest. "I'm gonna get the biggest dessert here!"

The third, a plump little colt with a pair of forks crossed over his flank, stared hungrily at the line of cakes, a thin line of drool running down from the corner of his mouth and onto the floor. "Mmmm. I think I want that one."

"The Éclaire Supréme?" Twilight gave the colt a skeptical look, eyeing the pastry he'd pointed out. To be perfectly honest, it was a triple-layered cake; far from a "pastry" or "treat." "That might be a bit too much for you, kid."

"How about a cupcake?" the filly asked, pointing at a Strawberry Shimmer cupcake on the shelf. "I want that one!"

"And I want this one!" The first colt eagerly prodded the glass over a Carrot Cake Cup and licked his lips. "It looks really good!"

The third colt bit his lips, eyeing the rest of the cupcakes. Above him, his mother groaned and put a hoof to her forehead. "Hurry up and pick something, dear; we're late."

"Um..."

"How about this one?" Twilight picked up a cupcake from a special batch she'd made this morning. It'd been her first time making cupcakes, and she was pretty proud of how they'd turned out. The light seemed to shine off of the dark chocolate finish of the Chocolatey Chocolate Delight, and Twilight felt herself getting hungry just looking at its collection of sprinkles, mousse frosting, and fudge cake. The other two foals evidently felt that way as well, giving their own choices sad looks and glancing enviously at the third's selection.

There was now a small puddle of saliva on the floor, and Twilight was beginning to regret her offer.

"We'll take it," the mare said, and dropped a small pile of bits on the counter. Twilight smiled; the register rang cheerily as she typed in the order. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Sugarwheat’s approving smile, and she felt a warm feeling in her chest.

Twilight chewed on her tongue and stared down at the pile of dull-brown mush in her hooves. Her eyes narrowed and she picked it up, squishing it between her hooves and stretching it out again.

She blinked and stared down at the lump in her grasp. With her tongue held carefully between her teeth she tried to place it back onto the wooden cutting board—but found the substance stuck fast to her hooves. She grunted, straining to get it off, but a hundred sticky tendrils latched onto her and refused to let go.

"How goes kneading that dough?"

"Poorly." Twilight took a deep breath and then glared at the pile of bread dough on the counter. Her hooves moved like molasses as she tried to free herself from its tyrannical grip, but the sticky dough refused to budge. "Gah! It’s stuck!"

“Hm?” Sugarwheat came trotting up beside her, his hooves echoing off of the stone-tiled floor. He peered over her shoulder and looked curiously at the wad of dough.

"Yes." She grit her teeth and pulled. The dough stretched and strained, her hooves struggling to pull themselves free. Seconds passed, and with a flash of fierce joy, she thought she felt her hooves leaving the sticky confines of the dough.

With a mighty splat, Twilight went flying backwards, and the dough soared up into the air. Her eyes tracking its trajectory, she watched as it went up, up, and up, and finally smacked into the ceiling where it stuck fast, like a wad of gum. A cloud of flour and sugar went flying off of the counter, landing all over her mane and the floor around her.

She blushed and looked away. "Oops."

Sugarwheat was quiet for a moment, still watching the hanging bit of bread dough with a cross between confusion and curiosity, and then burst out laughing. "Well, Miss Sparkle. I can't say I've seen anything like that there dough since before I started my own shop! But there you have it—it's sticking up there, and it don't look like it's coming down."

"Sorry," Twilight muttered, and lifted herself to her hooves while dusting herself off. "Er, I can fix it, I promise."

Sugarwheat lifted a hoof to shush her. "Oh, don't you go and worry yourself about it. I'll fix it; yes, I will. And then after that, I'll show you the right way to go kneading dough." He coughed and gave her a toothy grin. "Should've made sure you knew what you were doing before I went and gave you such a big job."

Her cheeks colored red. "Right."

Fifteen minutes later, the floor was mopped clean of flour, the counter had been cleared, and the ceiling was once again clean of any breadlike protrusions. Twilight stood in rapt attention, an apron around her neck and her hooves resting on the counter nearby a small bowl.

"Now, then; let's get this little lesson started." Sugarwheat pushed his mane out of his eyes and lowered his hooves into his own bowl, filled halfway to the top with a pile of flour. "First, you got to take a hoof-ful of flour here, and then sprinkle it all over your working area."

Twilight nodded back and reached one hoof into the bowl at her side, taking a generous scoop of flour and then spreading it out over the counter.

"Next, you've got to flour the rest of your hooves, making sure that you're not having any kind of clean contact with the dough." He brushed his hooves together to shake off any excess flour and gave her a wink. "Don't want it sticking, now do we?

"Now, I know the dough looks pretty sticky, ugly, and messy, right?" Sugarwheat quirked an eyebrow at her until she nodded in return. "Don't exactly look like something you'd want to put in the oven. So we're gonna change that by fixing it into just the shape that we want.

"So start off by pressing down on the ball of dough, nice and easy."

Twilight narrowed her eyes, poking and prodding the dough with the edges of her hooves. Sugarwheat shook his head and sighed and took her hooves in his. "No, that's not it. You got to be gentle, remember? One, slow movement after the other.

"Then you've got to fold it." He held up his own ball of dough—though it was more like a patty by this point—and took one side and folded it over the other. He did it again with the next set of corners, and then a third time. Twilight inclined her head slightly and then did the same, making sure to emulate his pattern of pressing down lightly on the edges each time she did so.

"Now we knead it?" Twilight held up her pile of dough, noting with a sigh that it looked far less neat than Sugarwheat's.

Sugarwheat grinned and chuckled slightly. "Well, we've been kneading it since we started, but yup; now's where we start pressin' it down." He licked his lips as he dipped his hoof back into the bowl of flour and began to massage the dough. "Now, you got to be careful, see? Stretch it and push it back, but don't be too harsh. It's like a little flower, and you can't be too quick about it."

Twilight nodded back and gave her work an intent stare. Her hooves moved up and down rhythmically, up and down with a steady beat. Stretch, pull, and push. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Sugarwheat going to coat his hoof in another dusting of flour, and she robotically did the same.

"Don't wanna let it get all sticky-like, nope," he said quietly, focused on his own bread. "Just keep working, and then you'll have it." Twilight worked alongside him in silence for another minute or so, the only sound in the bakery being the soft squish of dough between hooves.

"And, stop."

Twilight took a short breath and set the dough down. To her surprise, it didn't stick in the slightest; it slid easily off of her hoof and onto the granite counter. She shot Sugarwheat a quick smile. "Is that it?"

"Now you've got to make it into a ball."

Twilight paused and gave him an odd look. "Wait, but wasn't that how we started?"

"Yup." Sugarwheat hummed happily to himself as he tossed the wad of dough into the air, slapping it between his hooves as it gradually took on its original spherical shape. "Well, come on; let's keep going."

Twilight's eyes widened as he began to flatten out the ball of dough once more, rolling it into a patty-like shape. "But it looks like you're just repeating everything that we just did."

"Yup," Sugarwheat repeated. "Gotta keep the kneading going." The corner of his mouth quirked upward into a small smirk. "What, you think that we'd be done with just one little go-around?"

"Well...yes, to be honest." Twilight glanced down at her dough and slowly began to mold it into a ball again. "But if you're just doing the same thing over and over again, does it ever stop?"

Sugarwheat let out a chuckle; a soft sound of mirth that quickly turned into a rich-belly laugh that set his mustache fluttering and his apron swirling over the floor. "Miss Sparkle, now that's just a silly question. Everything stops sometime."

"But how do you know when to stop?"

"It's like this." Sugarwheat put the dough down and looked at Twilight seriously. "Do you know why I knead my dough?"

Twilight frowned and thought for a moment. "...To remove any excess gas bubbles?"

"Yeah, yeah." Sugarwheat waved a hoof dismissively and snorted. "What I mean to be saying is that you've got this here piece of bread, right?" He held out his hooves over his lump of dough, spacing them about a foot apart. "It's all assembled, ingredient-wise at least, but it's not really where you want it to be as far as putting it in the oven goes."

"I guess." Twilight's eyebrows lowered and her mouth quirked to one side, cheeks dimpling slightly. "But why doesn't kneading it once finish it?"

Sugarwheat sighed and rested his hooves on the table. "Miss Sparkle, now you're just being silly."

"Sorry."

"Hmph." He patted the dough gently and used his other hoof to straighten his moustache. "You got to do the kneading more than once because you're not gonna get to all of the little—gas bubbles, you called 'em?—gas bubbles in one go." He shook his head. "Even if you did, you wouldn't be done. You keep kneading until you like the texture, and each piece of bread that I stick into the oven has its own texture that it's got to have before I finish it. It's like any other craft—metalworking, pottery, you name it.”

"So even though you go back to the beginning each time, you start with an improved product?" Twilight breathed out slowly, eyeing her dough. "It's not about finishing, but about making it the best it can be?"

"Got it in one." Sugarwheat chuckled softly, wiping his hooves on his apron. "Couldn't have said it better myself.

"Now, you ready to knead this bread until it pleads for mercy?"

Twilight nodded back as a wide grin bloomed on her face. "Ready!"

She left the bakery that night tired, sweaty, and covered in flour, but happy and satisfied with her work.

It was the last night of that week's loop.

“So you’re looking for work, eh?” Sugarwheat inspected the purple unicorn standing before his counter with a critical eye. “Why not look somewhere else a bit easier—maybe a supermarket job?”

The mare shook her head. “Well, I would, but I—er, really like to bake.” She grinned goofily and ran a hoof through her mane. “I’ve wanted to get into it for years, and now that I’m away from home for the first time, I thought I might look for a job.”

Sugarwheat nodded slowly. “Hm. Maybe. What d'you know?”

“Kneading dough.”

He blinked. “…That’s it?”

She paused to consider that for a moment, and then beamed. “Yup!”

Sugarwheat shook his head slowly, chuckling. "I've had foals next door that could do more 'n that."

She wilted.

"Tell you what, though." He put a hoof to his chin and hummed an old marching song to himself as he thought. "My helper's away for two weeks on family business, so I could use the help. How 'bout I take you up as a temp for a bit and see how you do?"

The smile spread across her face again until it covered her face from ear to ear. "Like an intern?"

Whatever that meant. "Yeah, yeah." He waved a hoof dismissively. "Now, come on. If all you know is kneadin', I'd better at least show you how to make a decent pie crust."

"A travelling baker, eh?"

The unicorn—Twilight, she'd introduced herself after helping him with carrying in his bags—nodded happily. "Well, more of an apprentice, really," she said, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I just finished learning the trade back home, or at least as much as my parents could teach me."

"And thought you'd come out 'n see what the rest of the world had to offer?"

She nodded again.

"Heh." Sugarwheat chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Sounds mighty familiar. What d'you know? Know how to make cookies? Breads?"

"Yes, and yes." Twilight's speech was fast and clipped, seeming to run like a steam mill through her words. "I can knead dough, make pie crust, shape cinnamon rolls, and  make two different kinds of muffins."

Sugarwheat raised an eyebrow. Oho. "Nice little list you've got there," he said nonchalantly. "I'll consider you. Tell me, though—ever made a wedding cake? Mixed the filling for a pecan pie? Got any sorta fritters on that list of yours?"

From the way she giggled awkwardly, and the light red that tinged her coat, she didn't. He rolled his eyes and smirked. "Seems like we're gonna have a lotta fun together, then, Miss Sparkle. Welcome aboard."

Sugarwheat blinked, the piece of hay he'd been chewing on nearly falling from his mouth. "A what?"

"An artisan baker." Miss Sparkle, a unicorn who looked more like a librarian than a baker, smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at him. "I'm looking to gather recipes from around the world before I settle down and start up my own bakery. Would you consider taking me on?"

He frowned. "If your facts back up your talk."

"I can make every type of bread, barring bagels and pumpernickel," she began. "Not to mention buttermilk biscuits, corn muffins, apple muffins, pumpkin muffins, chocolate mousse pie, layered cake—red velvet and chocolate—and two dozen different kinds of pastries and cookies." She beamed.

This time, the piece of hay did fall to the floor. Sugarwheat stared.

"Oh! And cinnamon rolls as well, which are some of my friends' favorites." A cheeky grin danced across Miss Sparkle's face, her eyes sparkling. "Would you like me to bake some for you to prove it?"

He threw back his head and laughed uproariously. "Do I? Get in the kitchen, already." He grinned back fiercely. "With a talent like yours, maybe I'll get my lazy little apprentice to learn something when he gets back. How long did you say you planned on staying?"

"Oh, a while," she said casually.

He held out a hoof to shake and, in the other, an apron and chef's hat. "Welcome to the bakery, Miss Sparkle."

She smiled back and took the items gratefully. "Please," she said, a twinkle in her eye. "Call me Twilight."

Twilight trotted down the road, a small sack in her mouth. She’d worked harder than usual that morning, and so Sugarwheat had told her to go grab lunch somewhere else. She couldn’t live off pastries and bagels, he said, however hard she tried. So she’d taken a bit of a break to go visit a Canterlot café that she’d been meaning to try for a few weeks. Her purchase, a daisy-and-petunia sandwich, bounced up and down in its bag.

She passed through one of Canterlot’s many open squares and smiled at the group of foals playing in the fountains. It was a warm day, too. For not a single day leading up to the Royal Wedding had it rained above the city. Her smile faded slightly. The teams of pegasi had seen to that.

She glanced up at the sun. It was already beginning to come down from its peak, the shadows in the square already lengthening across the cobblestone in their places. She could take the main road back to the bakery...but it wound around the city too many times for her taste. It’d get her there, certainly, but she wanted to get back by the end of her lunch hour, no matter what Sugarwheat said.

 With a sigh, she turned her head to the side. She smiled. Canterlot had quite a few large, open streets, but as any city did, it was notorious for the system of alleyways and sidestreets that wound between its wide, spiraling structures. She’d never really gone out into the “backstreet” of the city, and the thought of going through it for the first time made a tingle go down her spine. Why not? It’d be an adventure, and she could get back to the bakery with time to spare.

So, once she’d made sure that her bagged lunch was held firmly in her mouth, she turned and trotted off the main road, passing a signpost marking the intersection between “New Canterlot Avenue” and “Saddle Way.”

It was cooler back here, she realized, looking up at the tall buildings that surrounded her; the sunshine didn’t quite reach past the towers to the ground. It was shadier, then, and she took a deep breath of the city smells that filtered through her nose. Canterlot was no Manehatten, but the occasional chili-dog salespony or pretzel stand did dot the urban streets.

She wrinkled her nose as she passed by a dumpster, though. Whatever poor creature that had been left in there to rot could not have been happy, and neither was her nose. An elderly mare who’d been sitting in a rocking chair as she passed scowled at her, as though Twilight had been grimacing at her. Twilight just winced apologetically and moved on.

After only about five minutes of walking, she estimated that she’d gotten nearly halfway to her destination. She had a fairly serviceable map of Canterlot in the back of her head, and it looked like—after a quick glance around—that she was somewhere in the Eastern Quarter. She turned a corner onto Acorn Street and pulled over to the side, intending to magic up a quick compass spell to check where she was.

Instead, though, she bumped into what felt like a rock-solid wall, and crumpled to her hooves.

Her vision swam, with incomprehensible buzzing in her ears. She groaned quietly and lifted a hoof to her forehead; her horn seemed okay. She reached up blindly, prodding to try and see what she’d run into, but her hoof touched only empty air. With another groan—her forehead was aching slightly—she opened her eyes to get a better look at the obstacle in question.

What she saw, though, was a dark shape galloping away before disappearing around the far corner.

She sprung to her hooves and grabbed her lunch with a levitation spell. “Hey, come back here!” she hollered. “Don’t you know it’s rude to knock someone over without apologizing?” The tip of her horn flickered, and she vanished before reappearing at the other end of the street.

She scowled. “Get back here!” she repeated. She picked up her pace, starting with an easy canter and ending with a full gallop toward the other pony. But if he—or she—could hear her, he gave no sign. If anything, he galloped even faster, rounding another corner before she could catch up.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said under her breath. She redoubled her speed, interspersing short-distance teleports with every few steps. Try as she might, though, the other pony stayed just out of her reach, doubling back through alleyways, weaving between trash cans, and jumping over potholes. Once or twice, she thought she’d lost him, but soon found him again by the tip of his shadow against the dimly-lit sidewalk.

She squinted. Concealed in the shadows of the Canterlot backstreets, there was no way she could make out any of his features. Instead, the only thing visible was a fuzzy, darkened shape that dodged between cellar doors and jumped through construction blocks. Twilight narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t quite decide why she’d decided to pursue him for so long—her legs were getting a bit sore, and she’d be late if she didn’t turn back around toward the bakery soon—but she’d catch up to him and give him a piece of her mind, dang it!

She narrowed her eyes. Mustering up her strength, she wove one, final teleport—

—and popped back into existence just in time to see a shadow disappear through a door and out of the street.

A frown crossed her face, but soon turned into a grim smile as she realized what she was looking at. A warehouse. A dead end. “I’ve got you now.” From here, the windows of the building looked dimly lit, though she kept a light spell at the ready as she trotted through.

“Come on now,” she said, shaking her head. “This is just getting ridiculous. Can’t you just—”

She blinked.

The inside of the warehouse was wider than she’d originally thought. Taller, too. She took a few hesitant steps inside, peering around for her target as the sound of her hooves echoes off of the wooden walls. Naked lightbulbs hung from the ceiling, creaking as they swung from side to side. Her eyes narrowed. The floor was completely devoid of any sort of storage—there were no crates, barrels, or even a small pile of boxes. And, she thought with a frown, her target was nowhere in sight.

She took another step forward. The sound seemed to bounce against the walls, echoing with the sort of dull resonance that only a completely empty room can provide. She moved to make another step, but froze as something flickered in her vision.

“There you are.” Twilight turned toward the shadowed corner where she’d seen the movement. She was feeling considerably annoyed by now, both at her mysterious assailant and at herself. Sugarwheat would be wondering where the hay she was by now. “Stop being so silly and get out here.”

As she drew closer, though, it became clear that the corner was empty. But how could that be? A quick glance around proved that the warehouse was empty, with no staircases or other exits. The other pony had to be in here—but he wasn’t.

Before she could turn around and give up, though, something else caught her eye. It was a small green light, flickering in that same corner like the glow of a firefly. She took a step closer, and then another. She hadn’t seen any electronics anywhere else in the building, so what could this be? By all indications, it was completely abandoned. She kept walking, oddly drawn toward that green light.

Soon, she was standing right before it, her body completely in shadow. No hanging lightbulbs illuminated this corner, and there certainly weren’t any other ponies here. She tilted her head and rocked forward on her hooves, ever so slightly, her gaze stuck on the green flicker stuck on the wall. For some reason, she had the oddest feeling that it was coming from behind the wall...but why would that be? The only thing behind the warehouse should be an empty street.

She leaned in to get a better look, and stared into the hole.

And something looked back.

Twilight recoiled on instinct, but as she pulled her head away, every light in the warehouse went out at once. She could hear the lightbulbs shatter, and only a quick shield spell protected her head from being sliced open by falling glass. The light took longer to fade, though, the room growing darker and darker until she realized that it was the walls themselves that were disappearing, wood that had once looked as solid as could be now becoming more and more incorporeal by the second.

She whirled around, her eyes wide. Even the floor was growing fainter, and as she watched, the cement was swallowed up by a deep black. There wasn’t any time to worry about how, exactly, she was still standing when there was nothing beneath her hooves but an endless void. Instead, she only watched, her limbs frozen in place, as the darkness started to hum around her.

Lines of green flowed down her vision, surrounding her on all sides. With a start, she realized that each line comprised thousands of tiny, squished numbers that floated together against the black backdrop around her. There were letters there, too: words of an incomprehensible language that mixed with the numbers, floating between strange dots and lines.

She tried to scream, but no sound came out. She tried to move, but her legs wouldn’t budge. She could only watch, helplessly, as the warehouse fell away around her. She could just barely make out flickers of the surrounding city, far in the distance, as the numbers grew until they filled her vision entirely. Beyond it all, a deep hum suffused the vacuum, a single green circle staring back at her—

When she woke up, she was back in her bed. Back in Canterlot. Back in her room. Back in the Royal Wedding. The room was empty, save for herself, Spike...

...And the memory of that immense eye, watching her from a dark, black void.