If there was one mercy in being shoved into storage, it was the way time quickly ceased to matter to her. It wasn't dying exactly, at least not as Twilight had read or theorized about death, but at least it meant she didn't have to think as much. Didn't have to think about the friends she wasn't seeing, about the lives they were having without her. Starlight Glimmer had looked so much older last time, suggesting to Twilight that she'd been locked away in storage much longer than it had seemed. Her friends were probably all married by now, living with their partners. Some might have foals. Would Spike be okay without her?

Of course he will, stupid. He still has you.

So maybe it wasn't much of a mercy after all.

The longer she waited in the dark, the more she hoped that maybe, just maybe, she would never be found. Even powerful spells had an end, and there was nopony around to keep this one going. Her perceptions could get slower and slower until one day, they'd stop completely. Even if Twilight had ever believed in abstractions like the soul, she had no fear she might have one. That was real Twilight's problem—she could sleep in peace.

But then, as had happened before, she felt motion in the world above. Heard the sound of boxes being moved, then someone cutting. Fabric shifted, and light peeked in from above the lid of her music box. The whole range of Twilight's emotional experience came rushing back to her. Somepony turned the key, and again she emerged into the world, to spin slowly around to an endlessly-repeated tune.

It wasn't Starlight Glimmer outside, but a pony she didn't recognize. A unicorn with a light pink coat, pale patches on his hooves, and an orangish mane and tail with a few bluish streaks.

The desk around Twilight was littered with books and diagrams, the unfinished workings of many spells. The room beyond the desk grew dark and blurry, suggesting it was underground somewhere, or that it was night outside.

Even as Twilight rotated around, she found her eyes drawn to each one, studying them as she had studied so many spells before. Not me. The real Twilight studied spells. I've never even seen one of these diagrams before. But just because that statement was objectively true didn't mean it felt true to her. It also didn't make the spells any less interesting.

"I'm not sure..." the stallion began. He was young, perhaps Twilight's own age the day she'd arrived in Ponyville. "I'm not sure if you can really hear me. My grandmother's wishes were... somewhat confusing, and now I can't ask her to clarify." He looked down, squinting through thin lenses at her. "Are you alive? Well, no you're not. But are you conscious?"

Twilight kept spinning. She had a choice before her now, the same choice she'd faced before. If she stayed quiet, perhaps she would be sold off, which would condemn her to a life as somepony's music box. Or, maybe the stallion would just throw her away. On the other hand, if she told him the truth, perhaps the hopelessness of her situation would defeat him as it had apparently beaten his grandmother.

"Yes," she said, stopping her spin again. It took a little willpower, as it always did. She was supposed to play music, she was supposed to dance. Not doing those things made her feel a little guilty. She stopped anyway. "Regrettably."

The stallion withdrew, eyes widening. "You sound just like the princess! Well... maybe not quite the same. Younger, maybe... but similar. Guess that makes sense... you look like some of the paintings."

"I would," she said. "I created—Twilight created me using a greater possession spell. I was so eager to check on Starlight I didn't... she didn't read all the fine print. I guess I'm the result. Starlight Glimmer said she was going to help me... that didn't work out?"

"No," he said, staring at the floor. "She regretted it, though. Did a little research, when she could, but... Equestria was always getting into trouble back then. She didn't really have a lot of time to devote to 'saving' a music box. Sorry, that... that probably came out wrong."

"I don't think it did." Twilight slumped back into her natural position, which meant she started spinning again. The music resumed, though at a slower tempo than usual. It was the most she could do to affect how it sounded. Unfortunately, the melody was still infuriatingly upbeat. "So who are you? Her... grandson?"

"Stellar Glow," he agreed. "The only one who cared about.. well mostly it was my grandfather who got me interested in the esoteric aspects of magical research, but Starlight was always the one to show me how they worked. When she passed, uh..." He held up a note. "This was in her things, along with you. Guess she... hoped I'd figure out how to bring you to life." He laughed, looking away. "Guess it goes to show just how useless I am. My sisters and cousins are off doing important things for Equestria, but... here I am in her old lab. Talking to a music box."

She didn't say anything to that. Even knowing she wasn't real, knowing that the rest of Equestria would come first, it still hurt to learn that Starlight had thought it was okay to lock her up in a box somewhere and forget about her. If there was any mercy in this, it was that her wooden body couldn't cry.

"A-anyway... she never figured out how to help you, but I think maybe she was approaching the problem the wrong way. Grandma Starlight always thought she had the answers on her own, and she had trouble asking others for help. You, uh... might remember that. Anyway, I'm not as clever as she was, but I don't think I have to be." He grinned down at her. "You are the Princess of Magic and Friendship! Starlight had you right here, and she never thought that your own skills might help in solving this! I'm thinking maybe you can help—" He collected all the papers scattered around her music box into a large stack, holding it up in front of her. "She experimented with a dozen different spells! One of them had to have some potential. Why don't you help me look through them, and when we find the right one... I could cast it! Or get you to cast it. The, uh... the real you, I mean."

Twilight stopped spinning again. She wanted to be furious, or angry, or many other different feelings. But she couldn't hold onto her anger when so much of her wanted to examine those spells. There's no way to make a spell into a living pony. But there might be another way…

A few years later...

Twilight spun—old habits were hard to break, and for her dancing was the deepest and most central tenet of her existence. She couldn't cast spells anymore, couldn't fly, but dancing to music at least brought her some old, familiar joy. More than that—looking up into the many faces at the Royal Canterlot Ballet, watching their awe at the movements she performed, that was an even deeper satisfaction. A possession spell was still an object, and objects were given life by their use, by the appreciation ponies had for them.

She wasn't trapped in a music box anymore, nor was she only a few inches tall. But underneath the spells and the illusions, Twilight was still made of wood. Wood now painted a lighter purple than before, with a mane in five different shades—her memory to the friends who had never even known she missed them before they died. She got rid of the horn and wings too, in her transformation, since either one would suggest to other ponies abilities she did not have.

Twilight never got older, never had to retire like her fellow dancers. But that didn't matter—there was enough need for a skilled dancer and an actress in most big cities in Equestria.

When the show was over, she returned to her small apartment in the loft of the old civic library, to curl up in a soft round bed with a few good books, and enjoy some quiet reading in front of her window overlooking the brand new electric lights of the city.

It was not the life Twilight Sparkle had imagined for herself—not any life at all, really. Though her hollow body seemed alive to the ponies who saw her, it stayed that way only thanks to the crystals Stellar Glow had embeded there, back when she'd only been a few inches tall. Those spells required her to spend time with ponies to survive, soaking up the magic of their friendship as a music box is wound by a key. But she didn't really mind anymore.

The real Twilight Sparkle still didn't know about her, and if the fake one got her way, she never would.

Her life might not be real—her memories might be lies, her old friends had never even known she existed. But none of that mattered. The new friendships she made felt real. And for Twilight Sparkle, that was enough.