Twilight Sparkle descended the stairs to her workshop from the foyer of her castle. Her hooves found the well-worn grooves of each rock step and for a brief moment she contemplated the last time she’d gotten them repaired. How many times had she climbed down these steps? In the morning; in the middle of the night when some new notion caught her unawares in that blissful place somewhere between sleeping and awake. Perchance she could even make her way down there in the dark. And she had.

Could today be the day? she thought indifferently, hovering a steaming cup of tea near her head—one leg carefully pinning a fresh scroll against her chest. For years now she had been going down there to work, yet only recently did the thoughts of reaching an actual conclusion feel tangible for the very first time. Externally her youthful face held more emotion than it had in years. Internally, the news that her project would come to a close almost made her want to cry.

But she would see it until the end regardless.

Setting down her tea and laying out her wrinkled scroll, she weighed the curved edges to the table with a series of candles (ones she’d be tempted to light after the sun left the sky and the warm glow from her basement windows disappeared after hours and hours of work). Next, she glimpsed the one item in the room that held precedence over all.

Covered in a white tarp and standing upright in a bare corner of her basement was the object of her obsession. For years every thought that ran through her head was of the equine-like creature she was slowly building in the safe confines of her home. A simple sketch on paper began the erratic journey. A series of equations and logistics later told her—as smart as she was—that a creation such as this was still somewhere beyond her scholarly reach. Yet nothing much these days could deter the alicorn completely.

Passing near the top of her class, Twilight Sparkle earned both a degree in engineering and electronics. Before the idea of a lifelike robotic pony swam into her head, she honestly had very little interest in either field. Now she thought she knew it all.

Years later, her small secret left the quiet tranquility of her workspace—an innocent passing of words from one of her friends. She couldn’t blame them, though; it was perhaps something more advanced than they’d ever seen before.

Only a half-day went by before Princess Celestia paid the alicorn a visit. While Celestia’s face held a gentle cheer, she could tell behind those eyes was a small mountain of worry. Twilight did not like to lie for any such circumstance… but if she didn’t, it might mean the unexpected abrupt end to her effort.

“Why are you building this device, Twilight?” she had asked, enveloping the smaller pony in a gentle wing. “You only seem so… attached to it.”

Twilight shook her head and tried her best to smile. Her hurried mind grabbed at anything at all to get her mentor away from her unfinished creation.

“It’s…” she began, suddenly having trouble meeting the taller alicorn’s eyes. “It’s only a toy, Princess. A…” Hurriedly she searched for answers. “A Cuddlebot. I’ve been making it in secret to surprise everyone once it’s complete. I might see if the school would want one for recess time, or for whatever else they might find use for it.” She tried for a smile again. “I’m just having so much fun learning new things. You know me—I never shy away from a challenge.”

Celestia regarded her warmly, bowing down for an embrace. While close to her ear, she said, “You know I will always be there for you, Twilight; Luna and I and all your friends. If you ever want to spend some time in Canterlot, I would welcome it openly.”

Twilight thanked her oldest friend before she watched her depart. Already she knew the odds of leaving her home before her project came to fruition to be very small indeed.

From her simple sketch came a series of failures and successes. The inner body of the robot was held together by thick steel, keeping the ligaments and parts rigid in place. Overtop of this was a soft material that gave the creature the body and form of an average-sized equine. The material itself was something Twilight had to research and develop on her own—able to bend and stay loose or hard depending on how one wanted it to be used.

The longest ordeal of all was installing the thousands of malleable metal threads underneath the soft exterior. From the touch of a button, the shape of the creature could change at will. If the user wanted an earth pony, they could have it. If they wanted a unicorn, a series of soft threads would extend from the base of the head, where an extra-pliable area of skin would allow such a thing. The same went for the pegasus model, if one wished for an aerial-type of creature. After nearly tearing out each frayed strand of her mane, Twilight settled on a resting set of wings for the time being. (Perhaps Cuddlebot 2.0 would be capable of flight, she dreamed.)

After the basic framework held true, the next obstacle in her path ended as one of the easiest. During her many hours of meticulous research and creation into the comfortable material that adhered to her creation’s frame, she also included hundreds of thousands of small light reflectors—ones that could manipulate any color imaginable and emit itself as a small glow inside the body of the equine.

If the owner wanted a green pony to play with, they could have it with the simple turn of a knob. If they wanted it to have a pink, bouncy mane atop its head, it could be granted within seconds. Once they’d entered in their precise selection a single time, it could even be added to a list of favorites—along with a thousand designs of cutie marks.

Already Twilight Sparkle had dozens of ready made selections at hoof. As tempting as it was to try out each and every one after each stage of the process, she managed to hold back in only the faintest of ways.

Until today.

Steaming tea forgotten completely, Twilight Sparkle removed the tarp covering her near complete equine robot and for the longest time merely admired her work. It had taken her years—more years than she was willing to admit—but overall each painstaking hour had been worth it. As well as time, it had devoured thoughts she’d rather part from. It had kept her busy, and for every moment spent laboring over it, it allowed her to shut out that overwhelming darkness that only seemed to nibble at her being as each day went by.

And now to see to the fruits of her labor.

Taking a dozen steps back, Twilight pressed a button on a controller left alone on her workbench. A click from inside the robot told her it had become operational. Already she could hear the steady hum from within, carefully warming its exterior skin to a preset degree. When it’s fully complete, no one will even be able to tell if its real or not, she thought—hoping, wishing for such a thing.

“Cuddlebot is operational,” it said, a standard electronic voice that Twilight had programmed as its neutral setting.

With jittery nerves, Twilight plucked up her controls and found she could hardly come to a decision. She had thought and dreamed and wondered about this moment for so long already, and now that it was here she almost found it to be too much. She wanted to see them all, all at once. But that was impossible and she knew it. So who first? Who first after all this time?

Several minutes later Twilight made up her mind and punched in a few numbers on the control. The perfectly white robot in front of her clicked minutely as it received its instructions, before the drastic change began. First came the set of wings that seemed to sprout from nowhere at all along its sides, before the nonaligned mane slowly configured into a solid, smooth arc that enveloped half of its face. The last change felt like the biggest of all to the alicorn, as the immaculate white creature slowly bloomed out into a rich yellow from somewhere within. The soft mane slowly seeped into a bright pink—like a spill of ink on a perfect white cloth.

The large, blue eyes filled in last, along with the perfectly recreated series of butterflies along its flank. With these last details in place, Twilight almost collapsed to the ground from the sight alone.

“Operation complete,” it said, still in that robotic tone.

I almost forgot, she thought meekly, as she felt something hot and heavy press against both eyes. Now for the hardest step of them all.

Another press of the button finished the job. She had pushed everything as far as it would go and now came the real test.

“Cuddlebot?” she asked, with a faint quiver in her voice.

The robot turned its head to the source of the noise; blue eyes moving sluggishly while the irises and pupils dilated and expanded to take in the room. “Yes, Twilight Sparkle?” said the voice—an all too familiar voice.

Even though the mouth stayed open a fraction of a second too long and not every syllable matched up to perfection (it could all be readjusted in time), Twilight finally fell to the floor as warm tears trickled down both cheeks. “Can you…” she began, a hard lump starting to form in her throat.

“Can you please repeat objective, Twilight Sparkle?” the robot that sounded far too much like Fluttershy asked.

Twilight hitched in a breath. “Can you just call me Twilight, please?”

“Yes I can, Twilight,” it said, curious eyes taking in every inch of her helter-skelter basement—small robotic noises following each and every minuscule move.

Still crumpled along the floor, Twilight brought a leg to wipe at her leaking eyes. It did little to help, as the tears only kept coming.

For the first time in over four-hundred years she had heard her friend’s voice again, emitted from the closest possible resemblance she could have created. Although the voice was not perfect (she had never thought to record her friends’ voices while they were alive) it was still near enough to pull at her heart in the most painful of ways. One by one the ravages of age had taken her friends from this world—each one a more and more bitter blow to the already fragile alicorn. Afterwards, she had spent over a hundred years busing herself with a rudimentary position in Canterlot—distancing herself from most everyone around her. Several lifetimes later, new friends came and then went, and happiness along with it. So what if she only wanted to spend time with the greatest friends she had ever known? So what if she only wanted a small piece of her past life again? Who exactly was it she was hurting if she only wanted them back? Even if it was only an illusion.

“Are you still here, Twilight?” it asked, while its malleable face worked over a vast collection of preprogrammed expressions.

“I am, Fluttershy,” Twilight chirped from the floor, unable to stop staring.

“Is that my name, Twilight?”

“For now, yes.”

Slowly, Twilight got back to her hooves, a creaky smile enveloping her face.

“Can you do something for me, Fluttershy?” she said.

“Anything, Twilight.”

“Just say, ‘Yay,’ please.”

“Yay.”

“Could you increase volume output by four degrees, please.”

“Yay!” it yelled timidly.

For the first time in a long time, Twilight did not find the need to force a smile.

The robot that appeared far too similar to her dear deceased friend took a step away from its corner, ligaments appearing to work in perfect order. “What is it you’d have me do now, Twilight?”

It didn’t take long for Twilight to say what she had wanted to for all these long years.

“Just promise you won’t leave me again.”