It was Hearth’s Warming Eve, and the wind was blowing and the snow was falling, and a little filly dashed through the streets of Ponyville. Her name was Sweetie Belle, and she had a mane of vivid purple and brightest pink, and a coat of nearly-white fur. She wore, on her face, a very-nearly-a-frown, and there was panic in her eyes.

She muttered as she ran. “It’s not too late,” she said to herself over and over, as though repeating the words would make them come true. “It’s not too late, it’s not too late. Oh please don’t let it be too late, pleeease.”

“What’s not too late, Sweetie Belle?”

The voice reminded Sweetie of many different things: it was sunshine in the gloom, a flame in the cold. It was the voice of candy canes and of gingerbread houses, and of and twinkling lights hung upon the Hearth’s Warming tree. It was the last voice Sweetie had expected, and in her surprise she slipped in the snow, smack on her face! Thank Celestia the snow was thick that year – a humongous, freezing duvet spread over the streets of the little town.

Even so, Sweetie scowled as Pinkie Pie helped her back up – for of course it was Pinkie – and glared at her pink coat and pink hooves and pink mane. Even her words sounded pink.

“Are you late for a party?” Pinkie said. “A ‘bring-all-your-friends-’cause-it’s-going-to-be-awesome’ kind of party? A super-duper Hearth’s Warming spectacular?”

“No, Pinkie,” Sweetie snapped. “I’m not going to a party. Anyway, I don’t have time for this. I need to get to the shops.”

“Oooo, how fun!” said Pinkie, stepping into place behind the filly – or bouncing, rather, for not even the snowfall could chill her spirits. “Lemme guess: you’re in a race against time, looking a last minute Hearth’s Warming gift. Dashing, rushing, hurry, hasty! Oh, oh: but then you realise that you’re too late; then comes the terrible PANIC, the dreadful GUILT. And then, and then—”

“Pinkie, I’m not in the mood for this. I—”

Sweetie stopped in her tracks – it was as though hands of ice had burst from the snow and clasped her in place. “W-wait,” she said. “What do you mean I’m too late? It’s only four o’clock.”

Pinkie’s smile was too wide for Sweetie’s liking. It was the atomic bomb of smiles: darkness and misery were blown away in its presence, making it quite impossible, no matter how hard Sweetie Belle tried, to remain irritated with her. “Well, duh,” said Pinkie. “It’s Sunday, silly. The shops closed early this year.”  

Sweetie’s very-nearly-a-frown grew, grew, and grew, until any onlookers would have sworn that she was more frown than filly.

It was Hearth’s Warming Eve.

It was also the end of the world, the apocalypse, the rapture – most importantly of all, it was a Sunday.

Sunday!

How, oh how could she have forgotten that the shops shut early on Sunday? How could she have been so dull? So completely, outstandingly stupid?

A nudge on her shoulder: Sweetie glanced up, and was shocked to discover that she wasn’t the only one with tears in her eyes. Where there had once been a city’s worth of smiles shining on Pinkie’s face, there was a frown. Where once endless sunshine had dazzled from behind the pink pony’s eyes, there lurked now various shades of midnight. and twilight. Pinkie shared in Sweetie’s misery – Pinkie Pie, who was laughter and joy in pony form! Pinkie Pie, who always smiled even when the days were darkest, the nights were longest!  Any lingering annoyance Sweetie felt was blown away on the wind. Misery brought them closer together. Misery made the two of them understand one another a little better than before.

And that, in its own way, was its own kind of joy.

They stood in silence for a while, two ponies alone in the snowy street, under streetlamps casting yellow light in the blue darkness. Sweetie pondered what to do next. So far as she could tell, there remained only one thing she could do, and that was to—

But surely there was something else?

There had to be something, something she could get for her older sister.

Make-up from her own bedroom? Yet what would a grown-up want with a filly’s make-up kit? What mare would be interested in children’s nail varnish, a foal’s eyeliner, and blusher for kids?

Perhaps she could make something for Rarity – a picture, maybe. Yet between carols at midnight and the school Hearth’s Warming play that evening at nine, there was no time, no time at all for drawing and colouring.

Fear feasted upon her melancholy, before mutating into desperation. “Pinkie!” she said, grabbing the mare by the shoulders. “You’ve got to help me! What should I do? It’s got to be something other than—”

“You should apologise,” Pinkie said with a shrug. “It’s what Rarity deserves.”

Sweetie gulped, pawing a hoof in the snow. “H-how d’you know the present was for Rarity?” she whispered, caught off-guard by the bluntness of Pinkie’s words. Had she been looking closer, then possibly she might have noticed that though Pinkie’s body was wrapped in the special gloom of Hearth’s Warming Eve, her face radiated with freshly discovered joy. Had Sweetie looked closer, she might have noticed that a plan was forming in the mare’s eyes…

Sweetie didn’t notice these things, however, and certainly didn’t question Pinkie as the mare led her through dark streets and down lonely alleyways. “Of course it’s Rarity’s pressie,” the mare said to Sweetie. “The way you cried just then? That was a sister-cry, and I know all about sister-cries – they’re the most especially special kind! You’re sooooo lucky to have a sister you care about enough to make you sad like that.”

“Not helping, Pinkie,” Sweetie said through gritted teeth as they cut through a park. “We need to think of an idea for a last minute present—”

“Why didn’t you get one before?”

The frankness, the bluntness! Arguments were worthless here: Sweetie wasn’t used to Pinkie Pie talking to her this way. “I… I um…”

“You’ve had alllll week to get one – I know, ’cause that’s how long you’ve been off school. Apple Bloom brought her sister the biggest, hugestest, most massivest apple pie that you ever saw, mmm! And Scootaloo! You should have seen the cake that she got for Dashie!”

“But that’s not fair,” Sweetie said as they trotted across town square then down another side-street. “I was busy all week!”

“Oh? You were?”

Had Sweetie looked closer, she might have seen the twinkle in Pinkie’s eyes.

Had Sweetie listened closer, she would have realised that, actually, Pinkie didn’t sound at all surprised by the news that she had been busy all week, and that she hadn’t had time to buy Rarity a present.

“Yeah, I was busy, OK? I get it already. I’m a horrible little pony.”

“Busy with what?” Pinkie said.

 “I… I had to practice for the play tonight. I’m Princess Platinum. I have songs and everything.”

“Hmmm, interesting, interesting. What else were you doing?”

“Well, I helped Scootaloo pick out the cake and then Apple Bloom with that pie. Can you believe that Scoots wanted to get Rainbow a book?! And Apple Bloom almost got AJ a cake with oranges in it. Oranges! ‘We want to try something new this year!’ they both said. But not that new. It took aaages to talk them out of it.”

“Uh-huh. What else?”

Sweetie glowered at Pinkie Pie, and her eyes began to water again.

What else?

What a question!

Why, there was so much ‘else’ that, now Sweetie thought of it, she scarcely knew where to begin. Yet she took a deep breath, and said, “I had extra magic lessons with Twilight, and you know what she’s like for giving out homework.”

“What else?”

“I, I helped Mom and Dad with the decorations. I visited my grandma in hospital – twice! – no, actually, it was three times, except she was asleep for one of them.”

“Uh-huh. What else?”

“Loads of family came to stay, I had to help get the house ready. I had to make up the spare room for one my cousins. We made cookies. We played games. Plus I was helping with looking after my niece ’cause she’s only one-year-old and she loves hanging out with me. Then I had tons and tons of cards to write. I’ve been wrapping presents. I’ve been sorting stuff out for Mom and Dad.”

“Have you seen Rarity this week?”

Sweetie’s cheeks burned in the gloom. There weren’t many streetlamps here in the wide fields and open lawns which lined the outskirts of Ponyville: in fact, they had walked all the way to a certain fashion boutique owned, managed, and lived in by a very special pony. An especially special pony. Sweetie Belle had never told anyone, but she considered herself to have two hearts: one which beat inside of herself, and a second which beat in the body of another – somepony to whom she felt closer than even her own parents.

She stopped three paces short of Rarity’s front door, hooves too numb from cold to continue – though it wasn’t the snow that chilled her. “N-not so much,” she admitted. “Even when I did, we didn’t speak to each other. There wasn’t time.”

“How d’you reckon she’ll act when you tell her how busy you’ve been? D’you think maybe she already knows, and has been telling all her friends about how amazingly-awesomely- super-duper-zuper proud she is of you?”

Before Sweetie knew what was happening, Pinkie grinned and slapped a Christmas bow on the filly’s head, and then made to ring the doorbell—

“WAIT!”

Sweetie’s cry enveloped them. It hung in the air like the softy drifting snowflakes. It froze Pinkie in her tracks, her hoof an inch from the buzzer.

Sweetie gulped again.

Shutting her eyes, she sighed and whispered, “If I’m going to do this, I should do it myself.”

With that, Pinkie nodded and stepped back from the door – bounced back from the door – allowing Sweetie to raise a trembling hoof to the bell.

She never got a chance to press it.

Right then, the door opened, washing the two ponies in golden light; and from the door emerged Rarity herself, who wrapped her forelegs tight, tight, so wonderfully, gloriously tight around Sweetie’s body. Fear was forgotten. All worries melted away, and the filly lost herself in the heavenly warmth of her sister’s embrace, silent tears streaming down her face and straining Rarity’s fur. Rarity didn’t mind. It didn’t matter to her that Sweetie was freezing and that her hooves were wet from the snow, and her coat soaking from the flakes falling from the dark, dark sky.

“Sweetie, darling,” Rarity whispered in her little sister’s ear, “I must confess: I heard you through the doorway.”

“I didn’t get you a present,” Sweetie sobbed into Rarity’s fur. “I’ve ruined Hearth’s Warming. I’m so sorry.”

“Sweetie Belle, listen to me, what I am about to say is highly important: you’ve ruined nothing. Nothing.”

“What about your present?”

Rarity considered this for a moment, then let go of her little sister and said, “You know what? A cup of tea would be quite, quite lovely right now. Yes: that will do, I think. I shall make it myself! Tea for the both of us: if only you’d keep me company?” Turning to Pinkie, she added, “And to our mutual friend who made this possible?”

But Pinkie Pie shook her head. “Aw, shucks,” she said. “This was all Sweetie, really. She just needed somepony to nudge her.”

“All the same, I insist that you join me later, for the play.”

And Pinkie nodded, and it was agreed: she would accompany Rarity, that evening, to the school Hearth’s Warming play.

There was a moment’s pause – a warm, chilly, snow-filled pause. Then the two sisters walked into the light, hoof in hoof, and the pink pony bounced away into the night.

It was Hearth’s Warming Eve, and the wind was blowing and the snow was falling.

All was well.

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