If Only, If Only

by GaPJaxie

First published 3rd of April, 2017

Something hasn't been right about Rarity since the Inspiration Manifestation spell. Maybe somepony should check on her.

Sometimes, when I'm writing, I get upset. I have occasional psychiatric problems, and my creative work means a lot to me. When it doesn't go just right, I can get very emotional very quickly. Enough that sometimes it worries my friends, and they ask what's going on in my head.

This is a story about how it feels, as told by little horses.

Something hasn't been right about Rarity since the Inspiration Manifestation spell. Maybe somepony should check on her.

Now with a reading by Dr. Wolf!

The Book

Rarity lay in bed, and clutched a book that did not exist.

She had it wrapped tight in her legs. It was a weighty tome, with a thick cover covered in metal imprints and ornate designs. With it held against her chest, she could just barely twist her hoof down far enough to trace the designs on its cover. There was a golden ring in the middle, encircling an eight-pointed star on an ornate background. Around the ring was stitchwork depicting elaborate, flowery patterns. It had a latch on the open side, to hold it shut.

She could feel it. She could run her hooves across its pages, and feel the weight of the paper stock.

Which she thought was impressive, since there was, of course, nothing there.

Eventually, she realized her eyes were open. She could see her bedroom, and she was at least reasonably certain she wasn’t asleep. The dials of her clock glowed faintly in the darkness. It was just past 3AM.

She shut her eyes, and the world became clearer. Things had more solidity. It took careful effort, but she was able to feel herself pick up the book and put it on the nightstand. She thought, if she put it down, she might be able to get to sleep.

But sleep did not come.

“I don’t know, it just feels awkward?” Twilight sighed as she refilled her cup of tea. “Of course there’s nothing wrong with Moondancer being gay. Dash is gay and I’ve never felt uncomfortable around her. But, you know. With her having that really intense bond with me so strong my moving away messed her up for years?” Twilight drew her breath in through her teeth. “I kind of wonder?”

“Well, we may harbor our private suspicions.” Rarity smiled just so, letting only the faintest trace of gossiping glee show under her refined features. “But to look at this from another perspective, if Moondancer admitted to you today that she did have a crush on you before you left Canterlot, how would you feel?”

“Embarrassed I didn’t notice?” Twilight laughed, and scratched behind her head with a hoof. “Maybe a little bad I hurt her feelings.”

Rarity levitated her own cup of tea and a biscuit to go with it. “And is that not how you already felt about leaving her behind in Canterlot?”

“I guess it is.” Twilight mimicked Rarity’s actions, and they both paused the conversation for a moment to enjoy the biscuits Spike had made. “So you’re saying it doesn’t matter because my reaction is the same either way.”

“Oh, Twilight darling, it’s up to you to decide what matters.” Rarity flicked a hoof. “Nopony can tell you how to feel. But I assure you, there is such a thing as a platonic crush. And if it really matters to you, you know you’re always free to simply ask her.”

“No!” Twilight blushed, her eyes going down to the table. She swirled a hoof on its crystal surface. “I can’t just…” She laughed. “I mean, maybe.”

“She seems like she’d take the question in a good humor. And besides, you are quite the catch.” Rarity giggled, and then went on the same sing-song tone, “I could hardly blame her.”

“Aaah, stop it.” Twilight hid her face in her hooves, and Rarity laughed.

“Never.” Rarity paused, and just for a moment, her smile flickered. “Though, if you insist on changing the topic, there was one other thing I wanted to ask you about. A minor curiosity that’s been bothering me as of late.”

“Heh.” Twilight lowered her hooves from her face, taking a moment to rub her jaw until the blush faded. “Sure. What’s up?”

“Well, I was just thinking back through some of our adventures, and I had a question. As you know, I never had much of an education in magic. Just the basics: levitation and reading scrolls that some cleverer pony has nicely pre-prepared for me.” She waved a hoof through the air, as though to preemptively dismiss any compliments she might unintentionally catch. “But during our lessons, we were always taught that dark magic was a destructive, corruptive force. That spells fueled by it hurt ponies or twist them into doing awful things.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Twilight nodded. “What about it?”

Rarity paused for a moment too long. “Well, that’s not quite true, is it? While all the dark magic we’ve encountered was certainly evil, evil and destructive are not quite synonymous. King Sombra’s crystal creations, for instance. I know he conjured some amount of equipment for his soldiers and structures around the palace.”

Twilight didn’t answer at first, pausing to take a sip from her teacup. When she did speak, her tone was level and matter-of-fact. She was an academic, speaking about a topic of which she had great knowledge. “King Sombra’s crystal works drain the happiness and life out of anypony who wears them or looks at them. Sick ponies with no hope don’t spend a lot of time on their crafts. And so the total amount of works, of new things, of good brought into the world, is reduced. It’s an inherent trait of the spell.”

“Ah.” Rarity mulled that for a time, looking off at the many bookshelves around them. They were in Twilight’s library, of course. “So does that imply that if you took one of, say, King Sombra’s conjured buildings into a city filled with ponies who were immune to the despair it inflicted, the building would soon crumble to dust?”

“Yes.” Twilight nodded. “While it is true that many items and powers of dark magic are dangerous to the caster, that’s not the only reason dark magic is banned. If it was just bad for the user, we wouldn’t have to have laws against using it. Dark magic is banned because every time one pony benefits from it, another pony has to suffer. Basically, dark magic can’t create the power to create. It can only transfer it around.”

“And of course, the transfer has losses.” Rarity let out a long breath. “For every one bit the caster gains, two bits are lost—that sort of thing. Hence why kingdoms based on dark magic are always such ghastly places.”

“Mmm.” Twilight watched Rarity stare off into the shelves, and after a few moments, cleared her throat. “You know, the library in Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns has a dark arts section?”

Rarity’s head snapped back to Twilight, her ears up and alert. “Really?” she asked, momentarily left at a loss. “Whatever for? Surely that can’t be safe around the young students.”

“It’s very carefully locked away. Only a few students out of the whole student body are allowed to access it each year. And, it’s for defense. So if you ever have to fight a dark wizard, you know what they’re capable of.” Twilight pressed a hoof to her chest. “I was one of the students in my class who got to study there. There were a lot of rules we had to memorize before we were even allowed to set hoof in that section.”

“Oh.” Rarity let out half a laugh. “Well, I would imagine.”

“One of those rules,” Twilight pressed on, her tone suddenly firm, “was that if any students who were not allowed in that section asked ‘casual questions’ about the technical details of its contents, we were to immediately to go Princess Celestia’s office and report them. Absolutely no exceptions.”

Rarity stared at Twilight. Twilight stared back. Rarity swallowed.

“Well,” Rarity finally said, her voice quieter than it had been. “I’m not one of the students at the Academy.”

“And Princess Celestia’s office is in Canterlot, so marching down there in person might be a little impractical.” Twilight leaned across the table, making eye contact with Rarity. “But…” she went on, her tone and her expression both softening, “You’re my friend. So you want to tell me what’s up?”

“Heh.” Rarity smiled, even if it was a bit wan. “You know, you’ve taken quite well to being a princess?”

Twilight smiled back. “Don’t change the subject. Come on.”

“Oh, you know what it is.” Rarity sat back and levitated her teacup, holding it in front of her without sipping. The tea was nearly gone. “The Inspiration Manifestation spell that Spike found in the old castle. It was a twisted little piece of work and I don’t imagine I shall ever fully overcome the twinge of shame I feel when I think about that day. But,” her tone turned wistful, “it certainly had a kick.”

“I can imagine,” Twilight reached out a hoof across the table, and after a moment’s invitation, Rarity reached out in return. Their hooves clasped over the table, and each mare smiled. “Rarity, there’s nothing wrong with wishing magic was as easy as that. It’s perfectly normal to feel some sense of withdrawal after using particularly powerful magical artifacts, including dark spells. You don’t have to tip-hoof around me like you have something to hide.”

“Oh, I know.” Rarity looked down at the table, and at her and Twilight’s clasped hooves. “But, well. Like you yourself noted earlier in this conversation. Even if you know a question is perfectly reasonable, it can be…” Her breath caught in her throat for a moment. “Embarrassing. I put you all through a great deal that day.”

“It’s okay. We know you weren’t yourself.” Twilight reached out to squeeze Rarity’s hoof with both of hers. “Besides, if you don’t ask questions, you’ll never learn! And there’s a lot you can learn about fabricating things with magic. There are even a few spells that can condense an entire dress out of the air. They might take a long time to learn, but if you’d like, I can help.”

“Thank you, Twilight. You’ve always been such a good friend.” Rarity let out a soft little smile and rose from her chair. She reached out, and she and Twilight hugged for a time. Eventually, they broke apart. “I do think I’ll pass on the offer though.”

“You’re not interested in learning more about fabrication magic?” Twilight paused, and then added in a more positive tone. “You know it could really help you with your business.”

“Indeed I do. Which is why I have already dedicated a great deal of time to studying spells relevant to dressmaking.” Her soft smile turned into a more confident grin. “I mean really, Twilight. You saw me sew six dresses at once when we were getting ready for the gala. Did you imagine I was controlling every needle and thread individually with simple telekinesis?”

“Not five minutes ago you told me you barely know a thing about magic.”

“Well, compared to you…” Rarity said, drawing the word out. Twilight grumbled. “Oh, fine. Maybe I know a parlor trick or two. But a parlor trick is, sadly, all it really is. There are plenty of ponies who can sew a dress to a design, and when I was making the Princess Dress in Canterlot, each full piece took less than an hour. Fabricating a dress is easy.”

Twilight frowned. “Then… actually. I’m confused. If that’s true, what made the spell Spike found so special?”

Rarity did not answer right away. The silence grew long as she considered her words, and she looked away from Twilight towards the table beside them. “When you first…” she began, only to pause again. Her voice softened. “Conceive an idea. You can see it in your mind’s eye. You can see the colors blend, and feel the fabric against your coat, and know how the dress will move as a pony wears it. You can feel its beauty. You can shut your eyes, and it’s like it exists in front you, in its most perfect form. You think that it does exist inside your head, and you need only bring it out into the physical world.”

Twilight listened attentively, watching as Rarity’s eyes wandered over the room. Rarity licked her lips, and again lapsed into silence.

“But,” she finally said, “it is an illusion. I’ve conceived of, sketched, designed so many dresses that were beautiful in my head but hideous wrecks in the real world. Many more that were simply unsewable. And even when the dress does eventually look as good as I’d hoped, there is a great deal of thought that stands between that vision and completion. Questions must be answered; questions of weight and comfort and heat and style. That’s where the real work of dressmaking is.”

“And that’s what the spell let you skip.” Twilight’s ears folded back. “It was always as beautiful in the real world as it was in your head. I’m so sorry, Rarity.”

“Oh, don’t be,” Rarity waved her off, forcing an upbeat note into her words. “That was, after all, the cause of all the trouble. If I had stopped and thought I’d have realized why all the changes I was making were undesirable and hurting the ponies around me. The spell may have translated my visions into reality, but in the process, I lost the power to tell the difference between my visions and reality.”

“I know. But I also know how much your art means to you. I can still see how you might feel a sense of loss, walking away from that.” Twilight gave a little smile, and nudged Rarity’s side. “I’m here for you if you ever want to talk. Do you think you’ll be okay?”

Rarity imagined flipping through the pages of her book. The physical thing had long since been incinerated by dragonfire, it’s image nothing but a daydream. But when she focused and cleared her mind of all distractions, she could feel its pages. She could feel the soft paper. She could feel its distinctive flick as the pages turned. The edges scraped her hooves. She took a breath, and she could smell the binding.

“Yes,” she finally said, “I’m fine.”

The Shower

It was a particularly pleasant spring that year. The weather team was in top form, producing the most luxurious warm days, and Ponyville even managed to go a few months without any monster attacks. Twilight and her friends often took the opportunity to get outside, and Twilight even started making regular use of her palace’s balcony and inviting her friends over for breakfast.

Rarity missed a few of these gatherings. She worked through them and lost track of the time. But, she only missed a few. Perhaps, some of Rarity’s friends thought, she was a little more obsessive about her work than usual. But that was not so out of character, and they were beautiful dresses. She always made the time for her friends when it mattered.

One beautiful week, as spring was turning into summer, an inventors fair came to Ponyville. Applejack asked Rarity if she’d like to attend, and since it was true that she had missed the girls' last get-together, of course Rarity made the time. They spent the day together, looking at wonderous electrical devices, carts that hovered without the need for pegasi, and a surprising number of fast cookers. They tried the “food of the future,” and politely informed the poor stallion behind it that if his liquid food idea ever took off, they would be forced to kill him to avert a terrible dystopian future. He took it in a good humor, and wrote down their feedback. He even gave them credit for the grazing restaurant up the way. It was a good day.

Then they came to the shower.

It was in the household good section, and had drawn quite a crowd. Inside a box of crystal, a beautiful mare feigned bathing herself as eight jets of water struck her from all directions. The signs and placards around the booth insisted that it was the ‘shower of tomorrow,’ and that long gone were the days when ponies would have to struggle to scrub their flanks or underside.

“Hoo-eee,” Applejack grinned as they watched the display from a distance. “Think maybe these ponies just need to be told what a bathtub is? Might save ‘em a lot of effort.”

“Mmm. I suspect that’s not the point.” Rarity’s voice seemed far away, and she peered at the display with a look of intense focus, though her gaze was on the pipes instead of the model. “For practical hygiene, a bath or a regular shower is quite sufficient. They seem to be selling the experience. It’s about the feeling of being clean all over.”

“Oh boy. I know that look.” Applejack sighed, reaching up to adjust her hat. “Am I, in fact, looking at Rarity’s next big ‘civilized’ gadget?”

“No,” Rarity said, her tone still flat and distant. She didn’t engage with Applejack’s jest, or even seem to notice it. “Not from these ponies, anyway.”

Rarity went on without waiting for Applejack to reply. “The whole execution is frankly amateurish. The shower itself is far too small. A normal shower is scaled so that the back third of it is largely isolated from the spray, so that if the water is too hot or too cold you can simply step backwards. With this design, ponies are nearly guaranteed to burn or freeze. Freezing, of course, is more likely since it has eight nozzles. I may not be a plumber, but I can do basic math. A ten minute shower with this device would use an equivalent amount of hot water to nearly an hour and a half with my current shower, and I don’t know about you, but my boiler simply isn’t capable of that level of sustained exertion.”

Her pace picked up as her eyes locked onto details of the shower’s execution, flicking this way and that. “That’s not even getting into issues of airflow, of course. You see what they’ve done there? To prevent the lower jets from shooting over the top of the shower stall, they’ve enclosed the entire structure! Even without the mist setting they’re advertising, the humidity inside that cage will quickly climb so high you’ll be able to chew on the air. I enjoy a steamy shower as much as the next pony, but not to the point it impairs my ability to breathe.”

Rarity chewed on her hoof as she thought. Applejack stared.

“I uh…” Applejack finally managed. “I didn’t know you felt so strongly about plumbing.”

“Mmm?” Rarity turned to face her friend, and seemed to snap out of whatever trance she’d fallen into. Her voice returned to its normal volume, and she quickly smiled. “Oh, I don’t. But I recognize good craftsponyship when I see it. Or in this case, lazy work. Even if it’s not my field, there are principles to be upheld.”

“I suppose that’s true. I can certainly get my tail in a twist seeing a farm that’s been allowed to go fallow.” Applejack gestured across the way. “Wanna go see the movie theater?”

“Certainly! Lead the way.” Rarity’s tone was upbeat, and she fell in alongside Applejack as they walked.

She stole a glance over her shoulder.

The hands of Rarity’s clock glowed. It was just past four AM. She sat at her desk, but she hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights. The faint glow of her horn was more than sufficient. And it seemed better, somehow.

The page in front of her was blank. She thought of what it would be like to be awoken with a drawing full in her mind, and it made her stomach clench. She tasted bile. It was only with some effort that she was able to force herself to pick up the pen.

She drew a line. It had no significance, but it was at least something. That made her feel a little better.

She could feel the shower water. Not from the wretched display she’d seen at the fair, but from the correct shower. She felt the water from the shower that should exist, of which the one she saw in the fair was a distinctly inferior mutation. She could feel the warmth, and hear the hiss of the nozzles, and feel the little vibrations from the rumbling pipes.

And yet she couldn’t draw it. She didn’t know how to begin. She didn’t know anything about how to design a shower. The dream was there. It was perfect.

But it was stuck using her useless hooves to manifest itself.

Her chest tightened, and she had to force herself to draw breath. It hurt, like there was a stitch along her ribs. She forced herself to shut her eyes, and ran through a breathing exercise. Creative block was an old and bitter friend, and she knew how to deal with it. If she could not manifest the shower directly, then she could manifest the tools by which she could. And so through her shut eyes, she saw. She saw what the planning desk of a truly great designer would look like.

She lifted her hooves, and gently touched the wooden surface in front of her. The physical sensation cleared away so many distractions, and sharpened her focus. In her mind’s eye, there was no fabric on her desk, nor traces of dresses. She was clear to do as she wished.

Her book appeared resting on the desk's upper-left corner. Somewhere accessible, but out of the way, like a reference book. Then, there were samples of types of bathroom tile, wood, pipes. Her chest relaxed as the samples came into focus. The need for proper materials was something she understood. Then there was her blotter with the technical drawings of the shower, and photographs tacked along the left side. But what were they photographs of?

She picked one up with her horn and examined it. The image was hazy at first, but it was a room of some type.

She realized that it was a bathroom, and instantly, the picture snapped into focus -- as did all the others tacked along the side of her board. Of course, she realized, the context mattered. She could hardly fit a ten square meter shower in an eight square meter bathroom, could she. Then there were other things on the desk: tools, invoices, reference guides.

She opened her eyes. She added bullet points to the line she had drawn, and used it to make a list of inadequacies to be corrected. Then she got back into her sketches, and even got a few down.

Eventually, the sun came up.

Rarity had asked Applejack if she could use the old, empty barn on the weekends. She had a project, she said, that took up slightly more room than she had in the boutique. Applejack had no objections, save a warning that the south loft was not structurally sound. And so, Rarity moved in that Saturday, and worked clear through to Sunday night.

She did the same the next week, and the next after that. She was always suitably grateful for Applejack’s generosity, and often brought food at the start of each weekend as thanks. Yet more and more, she made excuses not to see her friends on weekends, claiming that she had to work. She was never specific as to precisely what work needed to be done, save the occasional vague hint at a hobby project. And yet, she was gone just the same.

Three weeks stretched into four. Then into six. Rainbow Dash cracked a joke that weekend Raritys were becoming an endangered species, and that habitat destruction of their scenic spas and outdoor cafes had driven them to the brink of extinction. Later, she admitted it was Fluttershy’s joke and she copied it.

Finally, after eight weeks, they’d had enough. Pinkie Pie pulled out the big guns.

“Surprise!” Pinkie shouted, a blast of confetti exploding around Rarity through the open barn door. “It’s a Sneak-Up-On-Rarity-and-Learn-About-Her-Secret-Project party! Everypony brought something and we’re going to have a blast!”

“I brought cake.” Rainbow added, hovering over the rest of the group. She was, in fact, holding a cake.

“Oh.” Rarity paused for a moment, and then smiled. “Well, I suppose that’s an offer I can’t refuse, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh!” Pinkie Pie yanked Twilight forward, wrapping an arm around the poor princess's unprepared shoulders. “I’ve got a laser princess and I’m not afraid to use it!”

Rarity laughed and stepped away from the door so it could open the rest of the way. “Oh, I suppose I earned that.” The other mares filed in, looking around the barn. “I know I’ve been a bit absent this past while. I’m almost done with it though. It will be good to have social time again.”

It took Rarity’s friends a little time to grasp what they were seeing. The inside of the barn had been thoroughly cleared of all hay or debris to make room for new equipment. Stalls held racks of pipes or samples of types of tile. A small, portable boiler sat in one corner next to a folding shelf filled with trade books on plumbing and magical texts on hydromancy. And there, in the middle of the barn was the shell of something strange.

“It’s uh…” Fluttershy asked, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes at the object in the middle of the room. “Modern art?” It was certainly beautiful. The tile work along its base formed an intricate pattern of blue and greens that seamlessly flowed into the fittings. Chest-height rectangles surrounded it on all sides, made from slabs of unfinished stone. Above was a collection of pipes, suspended from the ceiling by chain.

“It’s a…” Rarity cleared her throat. “It’s a shower.”

“Oh.” Fluttershy frowned. She didn’t seem to know what to think of it. Neither did any of the others. “Why is it a… pentagon?”

“It’s a 3/4ths octagon, actually,” Rarity said quickly. “And for directionality. I made a few test models before the finished product, and well.” She laughed again. “Excessive symmetry isn’t desireable in a shower. Even if you could face either way equally well, you have a certain sense that there’s a way you should face. Ponies instinctively want the shower to have a front and a back. So, I used oct and dectagonal shapes as a realizable approximation of a circle, and then cut the button quarter edges off to give it a clear front face. So you get full coverage while maintaining the illusion of directionality. You see?”

Rarity’s friends didn’t. Instead, they stared. After a moment, Applejack coughed. “So uh… where does the door go?”

“It doesn’t have one. The half-height walls allow the shower to remain open while effectively preventing splashing and restricting airflow enough that the shower keeps that ‘pleasant steam.’ Of course, the bathroom will have to be tiled as well, but that…” She looked at her friends' faces and cleared her throat. “Well, uh. Yes. Pinkie Pie? I don’t suppose you could uh… do your thing?”

“You mean break the awkward silence?” Pinkie Pie’s ears shot up. “No way! I mean, yes, way, because awkward silences are icky and weird, but I totally want to try this. You’ve been working on this, like, forever. I’ve got to know what makes it so super special!”

“Oh, I don’t-”

“Please, Rarity!” Pinkie Pie hopped over until she and Rarity were nearly muzzle to muzzle. “Please please please please please.”

Rarity raised a hoof. “The boiler doesn’t really have enough capacity for five ponies.”

“We’ll be quick! And we can team up. I’ll shower with AJ and Twilight can shower with Rainbow.”

Twilight raised a hoof. “Um… can I go with Fluttershy instead?”

Rainbow let out an irritated huff and rolled her eyes. “Oh for feather’s sake, Twilight. Would you get over that already? I promise, you’re not that attractive.”

“I’m over it! I just…” Twilight paused. “Wait, why aren’t I that attractive?”

“See? They want to try too.” Pinkie Pie squeezed Rarity’s shoulder. “Please?”

“I mean, is it my mane?” Twilight brushed her hair. “I guess my bangs kind of show. I could cut them.”

“Oh…” Rarity sighed. “Very well. Give me a moment to fire up the boiler.”

It was an odd sort of party. Each of Rarity’s friends tried her creation in turn, and each agreed it was the best shower they’d ever had. The water was hot and came at just the right pressure. It quickly developed a good head of steam. It cleaned coat, mane, hoof, and undercarriage equally well. It even had a ‘pulse’ setting that startled Fluttershy so badly that she leapt clear out of the shower when it came on. The hot blush didn’t leave her face for some hours thereafter.

That was a little embarrassing for everypony present, but no harm was done. Pinkie Pie laughed their troubles away. Then they dried off and there was cake.

“It’s just about finished, as you can see,” Rarity said to Applejack, as the two watched Twilight lead a conga line. “Just another day or two for some finishing touches.”

“Well, I admit. Outside of our trips to the spa, I ain’t ever felt this clean.” Applejack gave a little grin. She still had her towel draped over her shoulder, her coat all ruffled and her mane puffy. “So is this going into your bathroom soon as you’re happy with it?”

“Mmm?” Rarity looked over Applejack’s way. “Oh, no. No. The boutique’s plumbing can’t support it. Not without major overhauls I can’t afford. Even the prototype was a little too expensive for my blood.”

“Oh.” Applejack frowned for a moment. “Are you gonna sell it?”

“I sell dresses, Applejack. Not plumbing.” Rarity offered a small smile. “No, like I told you girls. It’s just a hobby project. A chance to stretch my creative muscles! It’ll go into storage once it’s done.”

“So, just something you do ‘cause you enjoy it then?”

Rarity looked across the room at her creation. “It’s not always about me. Sometimes, a thing just...”

She shrugged. “Wants to exist.”

The Clock

Rarity had had enough.

The world was not perfect. That much was clear. That much was understandable. It was not desireable, but she could see the truth when it was before her, and she could accept it. Things would not always be precisely as she wished them to be. But there were limits.

There were limits to what she would accept. A thing that was different from how it should be, but that groveled and sought forgiveness might in turn be forgiven. But this failure, this defect in the world personified, it had done nothing to atone for its sins. It flaunted its failure. It would not do. It simply would not do.

And so, one day, she got up from her desk. She walked down into the kitchen, and found the small toolbox under the sink that her father had given her. She picked up the hammer out of it, and walked back up into her creative space.

Then she picked up the clock on her desk, and smashed it into splinters, one heavy blow at a time. She hit it until the gears ceased to turn. She hit it until the last spring was bent out of shape. And then she hit it until the casing shattered, and every individual part was broken.

She missed once, and dented her desk, but that was okay. The desk was sorry.

Rarity stopped by Twilight’s library to pick up a few books. She brought a set of saddlebags to carry them.

“Sonic Enchantments and You?” Twilight read through Rarity’s wish-list aloud. “Principles of Metal Fabrication? Chronomancy: The Lost Art? Principles of Mechanical Engineering?”

Rarity cleared her throat. “I’m building a clock.”

“A… clock.” Twilight folded the list. After a moment, she cleared her throat. “You know you can just buy a clock, right?”

“The noise level is wrong.” Rarity explained. “A personal clock can be totally silent. Or it can be of a moderate volume, so that the distinctive ticking noise marks the passage of time in the ears of the user without distracting them overmuch. What it may not be is just quiet enough that you can’t consciously perceive it, but that it still niggles at the edges of your awareness. And since that is what most of the ‘silent’ clocks sold in Ponyville truly are, I’m building a clock.”

“Tell you what,” Twilight offered, “how about we go buy a clock right now, and I will put a silence charm on it for you? Not the slightest bit of noise.”

“Oh, thank you, Twilight.” Rarity demurred, with a warm tone and a soft smile. “But I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Oh, it’s no imposition,” Twilight waved the concern away.

“I couldn’t possibly.”

Twilight met Rarity’s eyes. Her face narrowed. “I insist.”

Their eyes met across the way, and a silence hung between them. Rarity took in a breath. “I appreciate the offer, Twilight. But it won’t help.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not about the noise.” She pointed at herself with a hoof. “I’ll still know that it’s wrong. I don’t want to cover up the noise. I want it done correctly.”

“Chronomancy is an extremely complex discipline, Rarity. Even the basic level of proficiency required just to make a device that tells the time of day takes over a year of focused effort to master. Not to toot my own horn, but even I needed four months to get it down.”

Rarity set her jaw. “Then I’d better get started right away.”

“So Rarity being totally unavailable on weekends is the new normal then? We should all just get used to it?” Twilight frowned. “Rarity…” She softened her tone. “Look, I didn’t want to bring this up, but obsessive behavior can be a consequence of exposure to dark magic. It’s usually a sign you’re not…”

She let out a breath. “Sorry,” she lowered her gaze to somewhere around Rarity’s hooves. “But it’s usually a sign you’re not dealing with it well.”

“Yes.” Rarity said the words simply. “I know.”

Twilight’s head snapped up. Her eyes refocused on Rarity, and she needed a moment to find her words. “Well, that…” She straightened up. “That’s good then! That means there are things we can do to help you. Maybe even make some time with Luna. Her own recovery from being Nightmare Moon has…”

Twilight trailed off as she watched Rarity’s face, and slowly, Rarity shook her head. “But…” Twilight frowned and lifted a hoof. “Why? You don’t have to do this, Rarity.”

“No, Twilight. I don’t. That’s the point.” She lifted her head, her back straight and her pose just so. “There’s not a thing in the world preventing me from walking away and just buying a travel clock in the market. Except, of course, that I will know that it isn’t supposed to be that way. I’ll know it every time I see that wretched miscarriage of a timepiece sitting on my desk. I’ll know that somewhere out there is a beautiful dream that wants to exist, but that it can’t, because I left it to be mutilated by Ponyville’s sniveling idiot clockmakers.”

“Rarity, I want you to listen to yourself.” Twilight stepped across the library, until she and Rarity were face to face. “You’re proposing neglecting your friends to build a slightly quieter clock. Does that sound like a decision you’d normally make?”

Rarity let out a sharp breath, and her tone sharpened as well. “I appreciate your concern, Twilight. But I am a grown mare and I will make my own decisions about how to spend my life. I make time for you and the girls in the evenings. I’m afraid you’re going to have to be content with that.”

“This isn’t healthy.”

“Your concern is noted.” Rarity’s chest was tight as she delivered the final word. Twilight could see her chest shake with each breath. “Really though, aren’t you blowing this a tad out of proportion? It’s just a better clock.”

It wasn’t a better clock, though. It wasn’t correct.

The correct clock—the one in her head—chimed when she needed to know the time. Its little alarm went ding-ding-ding when it was time for her to get up and she sprung out of bed awake and refreshed. Its hands kept her schedule, so she could always make it to her appointments on time and always keep her deadlines.

Her clock didn’t do any of that. Its chime was like an icepick through her temples when she opened her bloodshot eyes. Its lying hands constantly told her how far behind schedule she was. It told her that she wasn’t progressing fast enough in chronomancy to have a new prototype ready in time. It told her that the start of the new fashion season had passed, and her new line was barely half finished. It told her that it had been months since she’d spent time with Sweetie Belle.

So she lined up her clock frames, and clock parts, and her guides on chronomancy and fabrication, and made them all watch as she fed it into into a wood chipper. That served as a warning to the others. Her next iteration on the clock, while still not correct, at least had the decency to beg forgiveness. It suggested she close the Boutique on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so she had more time to work on side projects.

It seemed a reasonable suggestion, and the first week she tried it, she really did make much better progress. But then, she had new ideas for dresses. They were beautiful, beautiful visions, and she couldn’t love them any less than she loved the others. So the next week, she worked at the Boutique clear through the weekend and into the evenings, realizing the rest of her fall line. But then her other projects fell behind.

It was impossible. The Boutique’s schedule became erratic. There simply wasn’t enough time. The visions came on too fast. Each one was glorious, and her weak hooves and useless horn and empty, half witted mind simply were not their equal.

She had some dark moods, during the fall. Her dresses lived in fear. They shook when she passed. Ponies who visited the Boutique on those days that it was open always remarked how beautiful it was. Every dress was perfect. They wouldn’t dare do otherwise.

But it wasn’t enough.

The Boutique was dark. Rarity had pulled the blinds down over the windows. But she shut her eyes anyway. It helped.

If she could not manifest her visions directly, she would manifest the things that would allow her to fulfill her visions in turn. Her mind was troubled and chaotic, and it took her some time to clear it. But eventually, her thoughts were calm. She could feel things again.

She reached out to her desk, and picked up a book that didn't exist. She ran her hoof over its cover, and opened it. She imagined what the book would say, if it was really there before her.

After a moment, it all snapped into focus.

The Mirror

Rarity looked at herself in the mirror.

Her eyes were glowing. But, that was fine. She could hide it, when she needed to. She swallowed, and managed to force it down.

She wandered out of the bathroom and into the Boutique. It was so dark. The blinds were still closed. Navigating by the light of her horn, she found her way upstairs, to her desk.

She looked at her clock, and in a flash, it was done. She no longer had to spend months learning about frame manufacturing, springs, or chronomancy. She simply pictured her silent clock, and it was. It was perfect.

She looked at her schedule, which had started to seem both disobedient and cheeky compared to its new timepiece companion. There was a green flash, and its flaws were corrected. Now, it indicated that she was precisely on schedule, because she would be finishing one-hundred and twenty two dresses just this afternoon. It also suggested that, if she didn’t take too long with her afternoon tea, she might be able to finish digging the Boutique’s basement, redesign the water heater, make some new teacups, clean the front room, and do something about those ghastly windows.

Rarity thought it was an excellent suggestion. She also redesigned the teapot while she was at it.

She nearly made the new teapot entirely out of gold and gems, like the first time she used the spell, but she managed to restrain the impulse. The effort made her chest shake, but she remained in control.

The tea was good. And when she was done with her chores, she decided to go visit Applejack. She’d realized she’d been awfully rude to her friends these past few months. It would likely take her some care and effort to undo the damage she’d done.

But, they were worth it. And she had the time.

The Mare

Rarity was the most successful pony in Ponyville, or at least, many of the villagers said as much. It was an observation that Rarity found most flattering. Her Royal Highness, The Princess Twilight Sparkle enjoyed that observation considerably less.

But no matter how much the villagers' gossip grated Twilight, it was hard to deny the reasoning behind it. There wasn’t a high-end boutique in Equestria that didn’t have at least one Rarity dress, and they were widely recognized as the exemplars of their form. While Twilight’s palace was the largest home in Ponyville, Rarity’s was the most elegant, constructed of lines so flawless a pony felt they were standing inside a work of art. She was learned, she was beautiful, and she was rich, though you wouldn’t know it by how she acted. A tide of bits flowed into hooves, but just as quickly it flowed out again, given to charity or to support the many worthy merchants of Ponyville.

It wasn’t about the money, she would say. She created just to create. Better the bits go to somepony who would treasure them more. Colts and fillies looked up to her. Mares and stallions asked her advice when they were troubled. And she always had plenty of time for her five wonderful friends.

Until, one day, she rose from her bed and discovered a broken glass on the floor. It was the glass of water she kept by the bedside. She presumed she had knocked it over in her sleep. Her eyes flashed green, and it was mended.

Twilight cleared her throat.

Rarity’s head shot up. Her eyes were wide, and they needed a moment to refocus. Even once they had, she needed a moment to recover her composure. “Really, Twilight?” she asked. “Watching a mare sleep?”

Twilight stepped out into the center of Rarity’s bedroom. Her horn glowed, casting a pale light around the room. “How are you doing this?” Twilight demanded.

“You know more about magical theory than I do, Twilight. I’m sure you could reconstruct the spell yourself in—”

“All dark magic is powered by something,” Twilight’s voice was sharp, and her expression hard. “I didn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. I told myself that it couldn't possibly be true, since your creations weren’t hurting anypony. Since they didn’t drain anything from the community. And yet here we are.”

Twilight’s throat tightened, and her voice rose in pitch. “What? Are you sacrificing animals? Are you sacrificing ponies? How are you doing it?”

Rarity didn’t answer right away. She licked her lips, and took a breath, and her expression calmed. Slowly, she climbed out of bed and stretched. “A designer never reveals her secrets.”

“Why!?” Twilight shouted. There was a tightness around her eyes, and her voice seemed like it might crack. “I could have helped you! We all could have helped you.”

“No, Twilight.” Rarity shook her head. “You could have gotten me to accept the world around me, and that would have been no help at all.”

“Fine.” Twilight sniffled. “Fine. If that’s the way it has to be. We helped Luna even when she wouldn’t accept it. And we’ll help you.” Twilight squared her shoulders. “I need you to come with me now. We’re going to Canterlot.”

“No.” Rarity turned a slow eye over Twilight. “We aren’t.”

“I can force you to come, if you make me.” The glow around her horn brightened. “I know what a dark wizard is capable of. I have the power to stop you.”

“Theoretically, yes,” Rarity said, words picking up. Her tone turned conversational, almost academic. “But all the power in the world is useless if you lack the will to use it. Evil prevails when good ponies do nothing and all that. There was a time and a place you could have stopped me, but you hesitated. And now it’s too late.”

“I’m sorry, Rarity. But you’re wrong.” Twilight’s horn shone, and she focused her attention on the unicorn before her.

Nothing happened. Twilight set her teeth, but she just couldn’t make the spell come. The pain was written all over her face. Rarity could see the conflict there, as something inside Twilight screamed that she could never turn her magic against her friend. Something inside her forbade it.

The light on her horn went out.

Then there was a green flash, and she was chained to the floor.

“You see, Twilight,” Rarity said, “the ideal version of you? The version that should be? She supports me. She’s the Princess of Friendship. How could she not understand?” The two mares were alone in the darkness. Twilight’s horn was unlit, as was Rarity’s. The room was pitch black.

Save, of course, for the faint glow from Rarity’s eyes. She looked right at Twilight. “And you become a little bit more like that mare every day, don’t you?”

“No.” Twilight’s eyes went wide, and breath came in quick pants. She strained in her chains, pulling as far away from Rarity as she could. “Rarity, listen to yourself! This isn’t who you are! You’re about to throw away anything you ever wanted just for some… some stupid toys and dresses!”

“They’re not toys, Twilight. They’re my children. They’re my visions.” She reached out to cup Twilight’s jaw with her hoof, and the glow behind her eyes brightened. “They’re the things beyond this world that yearn to exist and I am the only one who can make it so. They’re what gives my life meaning.”

“We’ll stop you! Celestia and Luna and all the girls.” Twilight spat the words, pulling her head far away from Rarity. “You won’t get away with this!”

“Maybe not,” Rarity whispered, “but know this, Princess. Though the Elements of Harmony, or Rainbow Power, or whatever other little miracle of friendship you conjure may drive this magic from my mind, it took no possession or compulsion for me to betray you. I will never love you as much as I love them.”

Rarity leaned in. Her eyes shone bright. Twilight felt herself changing.

“Yeah,” Twilight said. “I know.”

Then, with all the might and power of an alicorn princess, she headbutted Rarity.

The Monster

Eventually, ponies were drawn to Twilight’s screaming. They found her still chained to the floor, with Rarity unconscious in front of her. Rarity had a cracked skull, but, eventually made a full recovery.

They found the kill shed out in the Everfree. It was animals, mostly.

They cured Rarity with the power of the Tree of Harmony, and drove the dark magic from her mind. She cried, and begged forgiveness from her friends and victims alike. In time, she received it. Ponies are compassionate creatures, and generally not inclined to hold grudges.

The world moved on. Rarity got something of her life back together. She even salvaged some of her reputation. She could go to her own home, and again sleep in her own bed.

Visions would come to her in the night. She saw beautiful things. She saw dresses, and devices, roads and railcars, the cures for diseases and beautiful poetry.

But she had a lot of work to do in the morning.

She smothered them all to death, and went back to sleep.