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.”