Sunset returned Vervain's phone, calling one of his friends and saying she'd found it lying around school.

For the next few days she expected to see the pictures Adagio had talked about descend on the school, but nothing came. Indeed, she heard nothing from Adagio at all.

She told her friends about the breakup – including Sonata but not Aria, who had apparently vanished because of another depressive episode. They were supportive to a woman, as Sunset had expected.

After a week, Aria had returned to their midst. Sunset listened intently to what the former sirens had to say, eager for news of Adagio but too proud to ask outright how she was doing. While they did mention Adagio, it was only in passing and told Sunset nothing.

After a second week, Sunset received a note in her letterbox. Written in an elaborate and curlicued but entirely readable hand.

A hand she recognised as Adagio's:

Sunset Shimmer,

I want to talk.

I understand if you don't want to. But just grant me this.

Sunset headed upstairs and there spent the next ten minutes or so pacing the room and re-reading the note. She still had Adagio's number. Of course she did. But was there anything to be gained from it? Would it be worth it?

She sat on her bed, read the note once more, then got her phone out and sent a text.

The next evening, when Adagio turned up, she was holding a half empty bottle of reasonably expensive beer in one hand and a half-smoked cigarette in the other. She had gone back to the hoodie and jeans outfit and makeup that was, for her, fairly restrained.

“Hey,” she said with a brief, thin smile.

After two weeks without talking to her, it struck Sunset again how Adagio was able to make even the most banal syllable sound sultry – and how, unlike nearly every other aspect of her sex appeal, she seemed utterly unaware of it.

“Hey,” said Sunset. Then: “Woah, woah,” as Adagio stepped forward. She gestured at the cigarette.

Adagio flicked it to the ground and crushed it beneath the heel of her sneaker.

They ascended the stairs in silence, Adagio still carrying her beer. Sunset's heart was thudding away in her chest, but she did her best to keep a cool front. In her room, they sat beside one another, not touching, on the bed. Adagio took a long gulp of her beer, nearly finishing half of what was left, and put the bottle on the beside table.

“You had something you wanted to say, then?” said Sunset.

Adagio was staring straight ahead, looking without looking at the door. Without glancing at Sunset, she nodded. Her hand went to her neck, where her pendant once was; even her pewter necklace was absent. She sighed. “You were right, Sunset Shimmer. I am scared. I didn't want to admit it, but I am. So this is me, admitting it. Self-respect is all I have left.” She looked over at Sunset briefly, then stood. “That's all.”

As Adagio made for the door, Sunset grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. “No, it isn't. You didn't come all this way just to admit that. Sit down.”

Adagio sat back on the bed. She looked ahead again and fiddled with her curls. It was some time before she spoke:

“It all used to be so simple, you know? We just had that one focus: Get home. That was it. That was all we needed to know. Nothing else was important. We knew what we were, and we knew what we had to do. Hundreds of years like that, without deviation.

“Then you came along, and you fucked everything up. You're an angler fish; you lured us in with your lightshow, and when we fell into your grasp, you destroyed us. Except we didn't even get that. We're still here – a fragment of what we used to be.” Adagio looked over at Sunset and smiled thinly. “I'm not offending you, am I?”

Sunset shook her head. An urge to reach out and stroke Adagio's arm welled up inside her, but thought better of it. “Keep going.”

“I'm never going to rule here or Equestria. I can't sing. I can't swim, not the way I used to. I'm not even the leader of the sirens anymore – I mean, what is there to lead them to now? Nothing. I'm not a siren, but I'm not really human either. And the worst thing …”

Adagio rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms, then turned to look at Sunset. “My head is so full. So many desires, fears, dreams, wishes … and all of them murky and half-formed. I don't even know if I really want what I want anymore. Every night, I lay awake, everything in there churns, and I find myself wondering what will become of me, what I am, what value there is in … anything, really. It used to be simple. Now it's a mangled mess. I'm being pulled in a thousand directions at once.” Her voice was becoming more tremulous. She reached over with a shaking hand to drink more beer before continuing:

“I considered ending it, you know. Oh, don't look so surprised. May as well, right? But … no. I can't even suicide properly. I didn't want to. Perhaps. Perhaps … Oh fucking hell.” She finished the last of the beer and put the bottle on the floor. Her breaths were coming in short gasps. “I'm a tiny mote adrift in immensity, and it fucking terrifies me. I can't even … I mean … when we were together, none of that mattered, and everything was wonderful. But then we had to part, and I was alone with my thoughts again, and they just kept coming. And just … look at us! Look at me, Adagio Dazzle, former siren, former haughty idol of millions of ponies, now … pouring her heart out to the girl who … who ruined her.”

The final part of her speech came out almost as a choke, and when Sunset looked over she saw Adagio's cheeks wet with smeared makeup. Adagio clutched aimlessly at the bedclothes beneath, failing to hold back more sobs. Eventually she fell sideways and collapsed into Sunset's arms, then retreated even further until she was curled up on the bed with her head on Sunset's lap and her chest heaving.

Sunset wasn't sure how long Adagio wept. She alternated between holding her hand, rubbing her back, and caressing her hair. She murmured comforting nothings. In time, Adagio's breathing slowed, her sobs became more infrequent.

“I,” she began, then took a moment to steady herself and continued, “I feel a bit better now.” Her voice was muffled; her face was still hidden in Sunset's lap.

Sunset waited for a while, in which Adagio remained curled up, before prompting her: “Do you wanna sit up?”

“Mmn. I must look a complete mess.”

Sunset squeezed her shoulder. After a few halting moments, Adagio pushed herself up so she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing Sunset. Her eyes were red, her skin smeared with makeup. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and cheeks, and blinked in the light.

“You look beautiful to me,” said Sunset.

Adagio looked away. “Don't be sentimental,” she said.

Sunset took her chin. “Look at me. Look into my eyes, remember?”

After a few moments of studying her gaze, a small but sincere smile flickered across Adagio's face. “Okay,” she said. “You win.” And as they embraced, she whispered, “You're the only person who has ever seen me cry, you know that?”

More silence after they broke away, broken by a sniffle from Adagio.

“I wish” said Sunset, “I could tell you that it was all going to get better. But I'm not sure if it will.” She reached out and took Adagio's hand. “Being confused about who you are, about where you're going, about what you want. That seems to be pretty standard for most people. And yeah, realising you're just a tiny dot in a huge world, that can be pretty scary. That's how I feel a lot of the time, anyway.”

Adagio nodded. “That's what I like about you, Sunset Shimmer. You've never tried to be condescending.”

Sunset squeezed her hand and thanked her. “But I can promise you this: You're strong enough to deal with it. It's going to be hard, maybe forever, but you'll get along. And, even though I know you could do it without me, I'll be there for you.”

“Breaking down in my ex-girlfriend's room,” muttered Adagio. “Yeah, real strong.”

“That doesn't make you weak. You're allowed to stumble occasionally. Just believe me, I know you're strong. And maybe … maybe you just need some time, to go out the world a bit more, find some stuff you enjoy doing, find your bearings. That makes it easier.”

“Hm. And I don't think I'll ever be a good person …”

“Maybe not. But still, I'll support you.”

Adagio said nothing. After a moment she pulled Sunset into a tight hug again. As they retreated, Sunset found her face inches away from Adagio's, warm breath against her lips. For a drawn-out instant they looked into one another's eyes. Then Adagio came forward and kissed her.

The next moment they had rolled over, Sunset on top. Her hands stroked upwards from Adagio's thighs to her hips, then under her hoodie and the top below, pulling them up. Sunset kissed her again, more forcefully. She felt her skirt being tugged up, Adagio's hands exploring her inner thighs.

She found Adagio wasn't wearing a bra as she lifted the top the rest of the way, and moved down to take one of the exposed nipples in her mouth. Adagio murmured in response.

As Sunset was unbuttoning Adagio's jeans, she heard her speak:

“Wait … wait.”

Sunset pulled away and look up at her. “What's wrong?”

Adagio swallowed. “I don't know if …” She brushed a tangle of hair back, as the two girls extricated themselves and sat up. “I don't know if I feel up to this right now. Is that okay?” She straightened her top and then her hoodie, and went to work buttoning her jeans.

“Of course!” said Sunset.

“Our first night together, when you were worried you might be taking advantage of me,” said Adagio. “It didn't matter to me. Now it does, and I'm not sure I'm in the best frame of mind to have sex with you right now.”

Sunset stroked her hand. “It's alright. You don't have to worry about it.”

Adagio nodded. She was silent for several seconds. “I want to be with you. So much. But I think I need to … I don't know, steady myself first. Find my bearings, like you said. I want to be worthy of you, and I can't do that when I'm snivelling wreck.”

“Adagio –”

“No, really. I know I am. But I also know I can do better.” Adagio smiled to herself. “I can be fucking amazing when I put my mind to it.”

“You really can.”

“But I need time to work on it. Some time with just me, to make sure I'm not becoming dependent. I … Well, I don't expect you to wait for me.”

Watching Adagio's face, still tear-stained, but full of resolve and just a hint of justified arrogance, Sunset couldn't help by smile. “You'll be awesome,” she said. “I know you will.”

“I will,” promised Adagio. “But I don't think I'll ever be a good person. Not by the way you and your friends measure it.”

“You don't need to be. Just keep away from the cruelty and we'll be fine.”

She stood. “But I think it's about time I got going.”

“Sure thing.” Sunset pulled her in for a hug.

After Adagio had left, Sunset stood at her window staring out into the night. A light rain fell, glistening in the light of her room and the orange streetlamp. On a whim she opened the window, stuck her head out for a moment, and felt the water running against her face. It smelt of renewal.