“Oh, hi again!”

Pinkie Pie’s reflection stared back at her through half-lidded eyes. As ever, the straight-haired doppelganger was unamused by its other half’s overabundance of positive energy. As Pinkie reached up to shift a curl of her impossibly voluminous hair, the reflection did the same to brush a lock of straight hair out of its eyes.

“Are you going to listen to me this time?” The reflection asked, a trace of darkness in its voice. Empty of a threat, but full of intent.

“I always listen to you, silly!” Pinkie laughed, covering her mouth with a hand before moving a thoughtful finger to dig into her cheek.  “Or...do I always listen to me?” She rolled her giant eyes. “Well, yeah, but are you me? Or is it are me me?” She giggled absentmindedly, and began to hum a tune. “Hehe. Me-me. Meeeemee~”

“Uuugh!” her reflection groaned, dragging its fingers down its face and off its chin forcefully, leaving red marks in its skin. "The me-meing, the talky-talky, the ramble ramble ramble; every time, Pinkie, every time! You say you’re listening, but you never listen to me.” The reflection twitched, its left eye blinking in rapid succession before focusing on its other self. “You never listen to yourself!”

Pinkie just tilted her head.

“I don’t get it. Are you me, or not me?”

“I’m the you that isn’t you,” the reflection said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, condescension dripping from its tongue and wetting its chin. “And you’re the me that’s too weak to be me.”

“I’m too weak to be my reflection?”

“N-N-N-NO!” the reflection exclaimed through a series of furious head spasms, twisting its thin neck at a strange angle. “You’re too weak to do what I want to do. What you need to do. To see what I see as clear as a white balloon at a funeral party.”

“You don’t hold parties at funerals,” Pinkie pointed out, a slight frown on her face. The reflection’s neck straightened suddenly, eliciting a loud crunch of bone, and it wiped at the drool on its face and dragged its hand through it’s hair as Pinkie tossed her curls.

“What? Wait, do you mean that I don’t hold parties at funerals, or that they aren’t a thing that people do?”

“Uh, both. I think,” Pinkie answered thoughtfully. Her eyebrows drew together, and she frowned ever so slightly deeper, confused with herself. Itself. Themselves. “And I thought you were me?”

“I am.” One of its eyes stared beyond Pinkie, darting around the room wildly, spinning like a top in a tornado. Pinkie reached up and touched her eye, and the reflection began scratching wildly at its own cornea. “A-a-aaaand I would hold funeral parties, parties, if I could, and I don’t seeeeeee anything wrong with that.”

“What’s so fun about death?”

“What’s not fun about death?” The reflection asked distractedly as it used one hand to press the opposite one backwards until her fingertips wiggled and pinched her elbow. “The less people who can hurt you…” One of her fingers broke ”...who can make you trust them…” Crunch  “...who can make you think they’re your friends…” Crrrk “...the better.”

It whipped its battered hand forwards, frowning as Pinkie didn’t bat an eyelash. It held a moment of silence before smiling wickedly, revealing yellowed teeth. Its eyes spun, and its face twitched horribly. “The f-f-f-ffffffffunneeeeeeer.”

“...I think Twilight told me that funner isn’t a word.”

The reflection’s expression dropped. Its eyes ceased spinning, its mouth closed into a line, and it hid its ruined hand behind its back. Slowly, red-hot hatred began to spread across its face.

“Are...are you correcting me?” It hissed the penultimate word through its gnarled mouth, past its cracked lips.  

“...Huh.” Pinkie shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I am. Is that bad?”

“Ohhh, it’s bad,” the reflection whispered harshly. "Very bad. All kinds of bad. The worst.” It wrung its hands for a moment, looking off to the side. Suddenly, it looked eyes with its other. Its hands shot out, pressing against the vanity mirror.

Pinkie didn’t even flinch.

“Pinkie, your friends correct you,” it reminded her. “All the time. Every day. They, they try-yy-try to, to change you, to make you not you. And and and do you know why they do that terrible terrible terrible thing?” Its face pressed against the glass, and Pinkie’s breath fogged the mirror, her oily hands leaving smudges on the vanity.  

“...Because they’re bulking under the pressure accompanied with teenage life?” Pinkie managed through her half-squished mouth.

“No! Maybe. Wait, no, look, it’s because they hate you.” The reflection smiled while it chewed at the inside of its mouth. “Whenever they’re with you, they’re thinking about how much they hate being with you, and whenever they’re away from you, they keep you out of their thoughts as much as possible.” Blood began to spill from the reflection's mouth as pieces of flesh stuck themselves to its teeth. “Because none of them care, Pinkie, none of them caaaaaaaare about your parties, about the stupid things you say, about the stupid way you dress or your stupid, stupid hair!”

Pinkie gasped, finally thinking that her other had taken it too far this time.

“How dare you!” she exclaimed.

“It’s the truth!” the reflection screamed right back.

“I love my hair!”

The reflection’s eyes widened, and its mouth malformed into a terrible snarl that shifted and churned and grew to great sizes.

“That’s, not, the point!” Its hands shot out from the mirror, and one grabbed Pinkie’s shoulder while the other simply knocked against her flesh like a sock full of bone and fish guts. It pulled Pinkie forwards until her forehead slammed into the mirror, shattering the glass. It pressed its own forehead against Pinkie's, and began to screech as it twitched and writhed and hated and feared. Blood and spittle flew from its mouth and into Pinkie's face, marring her with self doubt and dissatisfaction and ugliness. “When will you get it? When will you see what I see? When will you kill them, Pinkie, when will you burn them, hurt them?! When, Pinkie, when, wheeeeeeeeeennnnnnnn?!”  

And then everything stopped. Its other was touching it. She was pulling at the corners of its horrible mouth.

She was touching it.

“W-What are you doing?” The reflection whispered fearfully. Pinkie just smiled, the blood on her face going unnoticed.

“You’re always frowning,” Pinkie said quietly. “I thought you just needed a smile.”

The reflection threw itself backwards, releasing Pinkie. Its arms wrapped around its chest, and its eyes welled with black tears. It breathed heavily, and the drum like beating of its heart was visible, the organ pulsing through her rib cage.

“I-I’ll be seeing you again.” It was barely audible as it drew back into nothingness before fading away with a final promise. “Soon.”

Pinkie just looked down at her ruined hand, and wondered when she would be able to smile to herself again.