Princess Platinum levitated her antique oil lamp off a high shelf, placed it on her windowsill, and lit it, sending a faint glow over the snowscape outside. She leaned in close, even breathed in a bit of the smoke, as the flame warmed her muzzle. Her visitor would be here soon, not summoned by the light, just… she would come. She always did. How many times now? She’d lost count long ago.

Shame that she’d miss how all this new… history played out. Only a year ago, the unicorns had formed a pact with the other pony tribes to live together in peace. In the time since, their alliance had suffered its share of growing pains, but she had to count it a rousing success.

And so the leaders of all three tribes had decided to celebrate today, on the first anniversary. Each window in the castle held a candle to symbolize the warmth in their hearts warding off the bitter cold, but Platinum would rather use her lamp. Sentimental, perhaps, but it served the same function. And then some…

Soon enough, a knock sounded at the door. “Please come in, Pallas,” she said.

Her younger sister cracked the door open. “How did you know it was me?” She squinted at Platinum, but the dancing illumination in the window soon drew her eye.

“I just expected you. Nothing more. It is a night for family, after all.” She beckoned Pallas over, who nestled into Platinum’s embrace and watched the firelight. Pallas started humming, one of the new songs that had become popular in the last month. A “carol,” as ponies had started calling them, for this Hearth’s Warming Eve.

Platinum had never heard this particular one before—she soon lost herself in the melody, though, closed her eyes, hugged her sister closer. What a lovely voice she had! Ever since she could speak, she’d effortlessly crafted beautiful music, though she’d rarely let anypony other than Platinum hear.

Another weak light flashed in the room, and Platinum looked down at her sister’s flank. She briefly held a breath—at least her heart still leapt a little in this moment. How long until it failed to do so anymore? Her smile twisted into a frown, but Pallas couldn’t see her face from there.

“Look,” she said in a low voice, tapping a hoof on her sister’s side.

A sharp squeal, and Pallas broke free of the hug, leaping around the room, at least on three legs—she kept rubbing the fourth across the trio of notes on her flank to see, to touch… to make sure she wasn’t lost in some dream. “I did it, I did it!” Pallas chanted as she rushed back in for another hug.

So many foals acted similarly when getting their cutie marks, but this was her sister. Platinum hugged Pallas against herself and felt that little heartbeat, right along with her own. She smiled, a nice, big, broad one. She’d better never lose that feeling.

Platinum closed her eyes and inhaled the cinnamon scent of her sister’s mane, who’d no doubt spent the evening helping out the pastry chef. Dinner soon. But then Platinum felt a small foreleg work its way loose and reach out. “I love you, Nummy. I wish we could have a night like this all the time.”

The festivities over, the candles all extinguished. But still Platinum’s lamp burned in the window. She’d let it go until it ran out of oil—she hadn’t filled it all the way. Platinum rolled away from it and gathered her covers up around her. The light from the fireplace all but washed out that little flame, but it still served her purpose.

Another knock at the door.

Platinum sat up quickly and wrinkled her brow. This wasn’t supposed to happen. “Pallas?” she said.

“Not as such,” a masculine voice answered—one she knew well.

“Star Swirl? What brings you here at this hour?” Not exactly appropriate for a lady to entertain a visitor in her bedchamber so late—should she remain in bed? Quickly remove the nightgown, grab a dress, just go casual and not bother with clothes?

“I would speak with you.”

Decidedly unhelpful, but he often got cryptic. Platinum forced out a sigh, walked over to the window, and took off her sleepwear. Only her personal servants and family should see her in that. “You may enter.”

Star Swirl strolled in and pulled the desk chair over near Platinum. “I know,” he said as he sat down.

Platinum glanced at her feet, steadied the surge in her chest, then looked out at the moonlight glowing off the snow. “What is it that you know?”

Folding his forelegs, Star Swirl regarded her with a wary eye. “It is my business to catalog all of the magical goings-on in the realm, explained or otherwise.”

“I see.” Her chest swelled with the words that wanted, needed to come out, but they couldn’t. He’d never understand. “And how does this involve me?”

No, he’d see right through her. He was closer with Clover the Clever, but she counted him a friend, too. Such a cold response—she smiled at him. “I’ll provide you any assistance you need, of course. Castle staff, equipment… whatever. But what do you need from me personally?”

He held a hoof to his forehead. She’d seen that look before, from parents in her court, watching her deliver sentence upon their children. “I want you to stop it,” he croaked, his eyes glistening.

Platinum’s heart nearly lurched out of her chest. “Wh-what?” Her mind raced for a direction—denial, explanation, intimidation…

“I love you like one of my own daughters,” Star Swirl said. “But I can’t let this go on. Please, please say you’ll stop on your own.”

She turned away from him, toward her work table, and fiddled with the gems scattered about on it and the half-finished crown beside them. Then she collapsed onto the surface. What option did she have? She couldn’t lie to him, but what could he do? Despite his assuring words, he didn’t have that kind of power. Why couldn’t he understand!? Better if he just left her alone. Better for everypony.

“I can’t,” she squeaked through her tears. “Believe me, I want to, but I can’t.” Platinum straightened up, swiveled back to him, and adopted her most formal tone. “Did you know Pallas got her cutie mark tonight? I’m so proud of her!” Shoulders squared, forehooves gathered in her lap, head held high… and tears pouring down her cheeks. “You should hear her sing.”

A smile flickered across Star Swirl’s face for a second, but it soon fled. “You really can’t, can you?”

“No.” She waited for the feeling to come over her, to cut off her voice. But it didn’t. Not yet. “I try to avoid using magic as much as possible, but… it’s beyond my control.” All out, then. No going back. Her body went numb, and she pitched forward, but he caught her in a hug.

“I’m sorry, Platinum. I’m so sorry.” Thank the stars above that he believed her. Not that it mattered in the long run, but she couldn’t live with him hating her. “I saw… patterns. Flashes here and there. Your first butler, one of the guards, a classmate of your sister’s… years apart, but still. And then the same things again and again, but long ago. Long ago.” He shook his head, and did she feel him shudder a little?

“But if I’m right,” he said, “how is this possible?”

“In your own western mythology, how many times did the gods interact with mortals, even have children with them?” Platinum levitated a kerchief over and wiped her nose off. He merely nodded and held her in the dimness. “Where do you think Pallas got her name? After Pallas Athena, the spirit of wisdom, ironically enough. Mythological traditions run strong sometimes.”

It felt like hours, but the fire hadn’t burned down any. Maybe he did understand. He’d looked ready to give her a verbal thrashing when he’d first arrived, but maybe he saw that she’d already done that to herself enough times.

“You could warn ponies,” he finally said.

“No, I can’t,” she said, pushing away from him. “I can’t! You can try, but nopony will believe you. It—it just works that way. You don’t realize how much about me is driven by compulsion! I can’t explain, I can’t hide, I can’t refuse!”

“You’re explaining it to me,” he replied in a slow, steady tone. If only she had that kind of composure.

Platinum slumped her shoulders. “You already figured it out. I’m not telling you something you don’t know.”

He nodded and rubbed his chin. “Then you can’t exactly answer questions. But I can’t determine why there are long stretches when no such magic happens.”

If only she could… Platinum coughed and rubbed a hoof at her throat, where the words had gathered, the words that would reveal all. But the more she tried to push them out, the more her airway constricted until she couldn’t even draw a breath. What good would it do? Even if she told him, he wouldn’t remember in the morning. But then… how did he remember all the other incidents he’d noted? Was his magic powerful enough to make him immune to the effect? Then he actually could warn everypony… and seal his reputation as a crazy old stallion.

She sucked in what air she could. “Why do you think only one pony could get caught up in the curse?” His eyes shot wide open. Did he finally…? “I told you Pallas got her cutie mark tonight. This new Hearth’s Warming holiday has really piqued her interest. It used to take quite a bit of encouragement to get her singing, but she really took a shine to these ‘carols.’ I suspect she will continue to do so.”

Gears turned. Not all in the right direction, but she had him thinking. Her tears returned, but… good! Good that it could still draw tears from her. So how much more of this would she get through? “We shared a nice sisterly moment, and she told me—”

A strangled gasp completed the thought as her throat once again choked off what she needed to say.

But a fire lit in his eyes. Fire. She rather liked thinking of it that way. Star Swirl tapped a hoof rapidly on the windowsill. “Then… Then that means—” he gasped “—this wasn’t the first time!”

And the lock in her throat shattered. “She—she only wanted…” Platinum said between deep draughts of precious air, “for that feeling to last, so—”

She fell to the floor, scratched hard at her neck. No. Can’t reveal another’s desire. Forbidden. Stars danced in her vision.

Star Swirl leaned over her, a grim smile on his face. He smoothed her forelock back. “It’s okay. I won’t ask any more. I think I understand now. You’ve taught me quite a lot.”

“Nopony will believe you,” she whispered.

“No matter. Somepony will. Eventually.” His horn alight, he lifted Platinum back to her hooves and hugged her again. “You poor dear—you’re doubly cursed, aren’t you?”

She nodded into his shoulder.

“And if I don’t set things into motion tonight, I’ll lose any chance.”

She nodded once more. “Yes. You won’t see me again.” Then, just like when her sister had been in here earlier, she felt a foreleg reach out. And she heard him utter the words that she prayed she never would. “No! Stop!” she hissed.

He didn’t. And her mind filled with the horrible realization of what would happen next: his fate, laid out before her like a map. Her body went cold, her mind crackled with energy, and her horn blazed fiercely into the night.

Once the noise and the light had died, the magic graciously allowed her a moment to cry softly on the floor, and then Star Swirl stood alone in the room.

Rarity stood in the open doorway to Carousel Boutique, a foreleg draped over Sweetie Belle’s withers. She wore a huge smile as the group of carolers paused in the street. She would have gone around singing as well, but the Ponytones didn’t really do holiday music, and Rarity would rather watch anyway. They sounded so lovely, and she could feel the faint vibrations of her sister against her, humming along.

“Won’t you come in for some coffee or hot cocoa?” she said when they’d finished. She beckoned toward the kitchen.

But they waved her off. “Thanks,” Roseluck said, “but we just started our route. Got a lot of houses to hit still.”

So Rarity just shut the door, leaving her and Sweetie Belle in the glow from the candle in each window. “Why don’t we watch from upstairs?” Rarity said. “We can see all the pretty lights and decorations and carolers.”

Sweetie Belle nodded and leaned into Rarity’s side, so she led her little sister up the stairs and to her room. Some jewelry lay halfway assembled on the work table, and the candle in one of the windows had just burned down enough to form a little puddle of wax at the top. They walked over to the empty window and knelt there, looking down at everything happening outside. Friends greeting each other, exchanging gifts, sharing a drink or a smile. All as it should be.

Nuzzling her sister, Sweetie Belle brought what magic she could to bear and floated a blanket over them. What a lovely night! Rarity tucked Sweetie Belle under her chin and kissed her on top of her head. Her mane smelled like… brown sugar and nutmeg. Of course, she’d spent the afternoon over at Sugarcube Corner helping Pinkie bake holiday treats. The thoughtful little dear.

And then Sweetie Belle began to sing. She wouldn’t do that in front of most ponies, but Rarity knew. She closed her eyes and listened, the strands of musical silk threading their way through the air. That perfect voice, honed over years and years and… centuries?

With a sigh, Rarity levitated an old oil lamp from a high shelf, out of the reach of inquisitive hooves, and lit it from the candle, then set it on the windowsill in front of them. The little flame wavered, its twin in the glass pane’s reflection following its lead. Against the backdrop of love outside, it watched with them.

When Sweetie Belle had finished her song, another light shone in the dim room, but only briefly. With a chuckle, Rarity lifted the corner of the blanket and poked at her sister’s flank. “Look.”

Sweetie Belle let out a shrill screech, and Rarity gritted her teeth at the noise, but her heart leapt, too. Good. Good that it still did.

“My cutie mark!” Sweetie Belle shouted over and over as she bounced around the room. The next time she passed near Rarity, she snared Sweetie Belle in another hug.

“I’m so proud of you!” Rarity said, rubbing a hoof on her sister’s head. She wiped a tear away. She was proud. If she had to repeat one moment of her life, this wasn’t a bad one. She could live with it.

And from the embrace, Rarity could feel Sweetie Belle reach a hoof out. “I love you, Rarity. I wish we could have a night like this all the time.”

Rarity’s chest felt heavy. But it didn’t matter. She couldn’t do anything about it. It didn’t matter.

To Rarity’s surprise, Sweetie Belle had managed to fall asleep. She’d insisted she needed to go show Scootaloo and Apple Bloom immediately, but Rarity had convinced her that it was far too late and that it wouldn’t disappear overnight.

And so she sat at her window again, alone this time. She’d blown out all the candles and now had only the lamp’s flame to keep her company anymore. Maybe an hour of oil left, but barely any ponies remained outside.

A knock sounded at the door. “Mmm. Sweetie Belle? Couldn’t sleep?”

The door opened behind her, then a few hoofsteps. “Um… it’s me.”

Rarity spun around. “Twilight? What brings you here this late?” She maneuvered herself between her unexpected guest and the lamp.

“It’s… going to sound odd, but I’ve been looking for this sign for years.” While Rarity gaped, Twilight walked around her and settled to the floor, her gaze fixed on the polished brass. “I came across some writings of Star Swirl the Bearded when I was still a student in Canterlot. An odd manuscript, one that most ponies discount as idle speculation or the ravings of a decaying mind. But one thing always stuck with me.”

Could Twilight see? Rarity trembled, but she held as steady as she could and sat next to her. But at the mention of Star Swirl… Could he have figured something out?

“A brass lamp burning in a window on Hearth’s Warming Eve. I used to wonder why somepony would do that. Candles have always been the tradition, so… why a brass lamp?” Twilight sighed and looked Rarity in the eye. “Everything fit, too perfectly. That I found his notes, just a few years ago, and his predictions… that it’d happen within the next couple of years, that it’d happen in Ponyville. And the notes were carefully hidden in a book that’d very much interest me, but not anypony else. Why? It’s like I was specifically meant to find them! Me, at this time, in this place!”

She banged a hoof against the floorboards. “What does it mean, Rarity? Can you tell me?”

Rarity shrugged and shied away. Maybe. Maybe not. “It depends on how much you’ve discovered already.”

“A—a whole conversation he had with Princess Platinum, but it’s vague, like… like he could barely remember it. I came to some conclusions, but I don’t know if they’re right.”

Rarity closed her eyes. She only had to listen. Not talk, not yet. “Go on, then. Did he say anything about asking her questions?”

“Only that something prevented her from saying much beyond agreeing with him.”

With a nod, Rarity set her jaw. And after a moment of silence, Twilight began again.

“She suffered a curse, brought on by her sister.”

Just listen. But Rarity couldn’t hold her tongue. “Princess Pallas. From the same origin as the word ‘palladium,’ which is closely related to platinum. I thought you’d find that amusing.” Twilight didn’t immediately respond, but Rarity could envision the smile forming on her face at making that little connection.

A clasp opened, and the dull thump of a book on the floor, pages flipping. “Other curses had happened, since long before that and long after, but still very rarely. The ones about that time all occurred around the castle, though. And for things nopony would normally suspect of even being a curse, like… like somepony inheriting a lot of money from the death of a loved one. Seemingly normal, but all in a pattern. All around Princess Platinum.”

He’d remembered that much? Impressive. If so, he might have even had the power to—

No. She’d forgotten. A cold jolt shot through Rarity’s body. Oh, no. If Twilight knew enough, if Rarity could spill her soul tonight, finally, then she’d have to tell her about Star Swirl, too.

“The princess had a lamp, which she lit in the window that Hearth’s Warming Eve, the first one. Before that, it might have been erratic, but afterward, Star Swirl said it would always happen on Hearth’s Warming Eve. He thought the lamp was important, but somehow… the flame, too.”

Tingles of frost ran along Rarity’s nerves. “And what do you conclude from that?”

Bits and pieces. Enough there, and few things could escape Twilight’s relentless logic. Rarity could feel that mass of words clogging up her throat again, but they’d never get out unless Twilight said them first.

“There are a few more notes that didn’t make sense in isolation, but when put together…”

Please, Twilight. Say it.

“Princess Platinum was one of the jiniri, wasn’t she? Or ‘genie,’ I guess, is the more familiar word.”

Rarity coughed. Her chest heaved with each breath she took in. “Yes,” she wheezed, and Twilight waited for her to continue. Patient Twilight. Maybe the one pony she could trust with all this. “Fine shades of meaning, but an ifrit, specifically.”

“A flame spirit?” Rarity finally looked again, and Twilight’s eyes had gone wide. “I guess that explains lighting the lamp. But once a year? Was that enough?”

“Half-ifrit,” Rarity said, the words dropping from her chest like lead blocks. “The child of an ifrit and a pony. Limited in abilities, always visible. But yes, that flame would be enough to fulfill her affinity for it.”

“So the lamp, the curses…” Twilight rubbed a hoof at her temple. “She granted wishes. Twisted ones, but… Star Swirl doesn’t speak against her. How could he excuse such… evil—”

“No!” Rarity lurched forward and grabbed Twilight by the shoulders, and her poor friend stiffened her whole body, flinched away. “No, not evil! Just imagine, somepony makes a wish in casual conversation, not even realizing… And then it floods her mind, how she must corrupt that wish, how it will change the future. She can’t refuse him, but she can’t tell him why, either—if she tries, the magic strangles her until she gives in! He can’t change it; he only gets one wish. What does she do? Warn everypony not to even use the word ‘wish’ around her? Before long, ponies figure out why and try to use that knowledge to their own ends. Now what used to crush her soul every few years, at most, happens every day!”

Tears. When had she started crying? And Twilight, poor Twilight, looked like she’d taken a lightning strike. Rarity didn’t mean to startle her friend. She really didn’t.

“P-Princess Platinum,” Twilight said, shaking her head and staring at the floor. “Sh-she disappeared the next day. Her sister, too. But nopony ever talks about it. It’s like nopony even noticed or cared. Nopony but Star Swirl.” She shot to her hooves. “Me too! I read about her in my history books. I never questioned why. Just like nopony ever questioned…”

Twilight brushed away a few tears of her own. “She got caught in one of her own curses,” she whispered. Her face went ashen, and she took Rarity’s forehooves in her own. “Her sister. Pallas had just gotten her cutie mark and spent the evening with Platinum. Star Swirl stressed that—it must be important. They must have loved seeing the first Hearth’s Warming celebration, and Pallas might have wished…”

“Not for the first time,” Rarity said.

“I know. Star Swirl noted the odd time skips went back further than that. But it must have happened similarly before, Pallas getting her cutie mark in a private moment together. She wanted to relive that night forever. Why wouldn’t she know better, though? Why wouldn’t she know what would happen?”

Rarity huddled on the floor and hid her eyes. She could feel Twilight leaning over her. “Just because she had the same parents didn’t mean…” Rarity took a deep breath. “Her little sister was a normal pony. She didn’t know.”

Still, that presence over her, but not like a judge, high on her bench. More like a blanket, close and warm. “Rarity,” Twilight said softly, “what’s your real name?”

“Salaam,” she said between sniffles. “It means ‘peace.’ And I have never had a day of it.” More than just the impression of a blanket, Rarity now felt the warmth covering her, the warmth of her friend holding on to her.

“Now you know,” she whimpered. “But Star Swirl made sure you would because—”

Only a harsh rale came from her throat. No! Can’t reveal the desires of another! She rocked on the floor, fought for breath.

“It’s alright,” Twilight said, her face hovering just inches above Rarity’s. “Don’t tell me what he did! Just breathe! Please!”

Rarity nodded, and little by little, the knot in her neck released. She lay panting on the floor.

“Just… tell me something else. Um, doesn’t it get wet in there?” Twilight asked, pointing at the lamp.

“I don’t live in it,” Rarity wheezed. “I just have to keep it with me, in plain view. I can’t hide it, disguise it. Nothing.”

“Why not—” Twilight’s mouth formed into a taut line. “I see. It’s not enough for somepony to make a wish around you. They have to involve the lamp somehow.”

Rarity sat up and watched it. The oil had almost burned out, and the shrunken flame threatened to die. “Touch it,” she said. “Always by accident, though. A maid, dusting it. A curious guard. Maybe they make a fleeting comment. I can tell them to leave it alone, but nothing else. Sometimes too late, sometimes they don’t listen. Only Star Swirl ever touched it on purpose.”

Twilight stared off at the wall, lost in thought. But Rarity didn’t like the silence, not right now. She didn’t have long. “Sweetie Belle got her cutie mark tonight,” she said.

“Oh…” Twilight held a hoof to her mouth. “But… you knew she would. You could have stopped her.”

“No.” Rarity grimaced. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Just a formality now. She made her wish long ago. Tomorrow, we’ll be gone, off to be born again in who knows how many years, and nopony will notice or wonder why. Except maybe you.”

“No, no. Star Swirl meant something by this. He wanted me to know, to…”

Rarity’s heart chilled to its core. “Twilight, stop. You don’t know what price he paid.” She could see it now, the thoughts churning in Twilight’s head. And what the twisted magic would do with them. “Don’t! I just want Sweetie Belle to grow up for once, to enjoy her talent for more than a few hours. But it’s not worth it!”

Twilight walked over to the window and put her hoof on the lamp. “I think I know what Star Swirl wished for—that somepony in the future would have the capability to figure out how to fix this.”

The words surged from Rarity’s chest, the lock now broken. “Yes, with his power, he could already resist the effects of my magic. He remembered me! He actually did! But he was such a legend—you never thought it strange that he couldn’t ascend to being an alicorn? He gave that up! He sacrificed that so that it would happen to you! So that you could resist my magic, too!”

“If you already know what I’m going to wish, and you already know what form that wish will take, then why are you so scared? Trust him. Trust me!” Twilight gathered up Rarity in her hooves. “I know what I’m doing. Star Swirl left me all the clues I need.”

Rarity felt a hoof reach out, like she had on so many Hearth’s Warming Eves before, even earlier that same night. “I know what you need, too,” Twilight said. “But which one? Salaam? Platinum? Who else have you been?”

With a genuine smile for once, Rarity rubbed a hoof along her own cheek. “I’ve grown rather fond of this one. What started out as giving gifts in a desperate attempt to keep ponies from ever having something to wish for—”

“You started that tradition? Gifts at Hearth’s Warming?”

“Yes.” And the tears started again. “After so many years, it’s finally resulted in true generosity, and… I like who I am now. Except…”

Twilight patted her back. “It’s okay. I have that covered. Last thing, though: the rules you have to follow—do you have to find them through trial and error, or do you know them innately?”

“I-I just knew,” Rarity said. Her hooves shook. “Twilight, don’t.”

Twilight took a deep breath. “I wish you were Rarity, nothing more, nothing less. And nothing else.”

Rarity squeezed her eyes shut. Was it over? Was it really over? She could always see the consequences of a wish, anticipate the wish itself, and she had, but… gone now, like a distant memory. She didn’t know. She didn’t know!

But a faint impression lingered. She pushed away from Twilight. “You-you’ll be immortal now!”

Twilight touched a hoof to her horn and flared her wings. “Already got that.” She frowned. “But you won’t…”

Quickly, Rarity shook her head. “I-I don’t care. I just want Sweetie Belle to have a real life.”

“She will.”

“A-are you okay?” Rarity asked. She shouldn’t have wriggled out of that hug, but Twilight might not feel like one now. Not if she hated what Rarity had done to her.

But Twilight smiled. “Relax. Everything is fine.” She did reach out to embrace Rarity. “So… you were actually Princess Platinum? Wh-where do I even start? What was it like playing her at the pageant last year? You could fill in so many historical details! B-but… I’ll never tell anypony about you. I promise.”

Rarity chuckled and pressed her muzzle into Twilight’s mane. For the first time in thousands of years, she found herself looking forward to tomorrow.

“Come in, come in!” Twilight said as she hustled Rarity into her room. “The carolers have just started!” They trotted over to the one window without a candle and looked down at the lovely adornments all over Ponyville, the ponies exchanging signs of friendship. And yes, the carolers—

Sweetie Belle! In the group just passing Sugarcube Corner! A year older, a year more lovely, and now sharing her angelic voice with anypony who’d listen.

Twilight must have seen, too, from the size of the smile on her face. It was all Rarity could do to hold back tears, even though she’d had an entire year to get used to the idea.

And then Twilight lit her horn, manipulating the lock on a rather imposing and rather well-hidden safe in the wall. She levitated an old brass lamp out and set it on the windowsill, finally igniting a small flame at the tip.

Rarity squinted at it. “You can hide it? But you have to…?”

The cluster of words never made it out, but Twilight held up a hoof. “Yes, I have to light it once a year. I have to keep it, and if somepony insists on a wish, I have to grant it, and still only one apiece. I’m obviously not going to advertise. But that’s all.”

“Insist? But—”

The still-raised hoof jiggled. “Give it a try.” Rarity raised an eyebrow. “Go on. It won’t hurt anything.”

Well… Rarity reached a hoof toward the lamp—Twilight’s lamp. “I… I wish—”

“For a cup of cocoa.” Rarity gaped at her, but Twilight only grinned back. “And if I grant it, you’ll end up spilling it on your new scarf. Still want it?”

“N-no.” Rarity’s lip trembled.

Twilight merely shrugged. “Then it’s off.”

Rarity’s heart skipped a beat. Oh, thank goodness for alicorn magic! And somehow, Star Swirl knew. She practically leapt at Twilight and smothered her in a hug. “Twilight, you’re the best friend ever!”

“You are, too,” Twilight replied, once she’d stopped laughing. “You always were. Never forget that.”

Rarity glanced out the window at her sister again, just vanishing around the corner of another row of houses. She wished every night could be like this, but then Twilight had just tricked her into using hers up now, hadn’t she? Clever.

She nuzzled her friend’s neck, gazed at all the lights below, and hummed along with the strains of music floating in the sky.

“Happy Hearth’s Warming, Twilight,” she said.

Author's Notes:

Now that I've added this as a sequel to “In the Moon’s Platinum Glow,” it does add a little bit of intrigue as to why Rarity's the one to fall under the Nightmare's influence in the Nightmare Rarity comics arc.