Monday had been the last day of school. The rest of the week— and the rest of the month— would be devoted solely to Winter Break, an affair that everyone was thankful for. As crowds of students took to the streets to head home or elsewhere for the holiday festivities and as Christmas music ran out from seemingly every nook and cranny, it began to snow. Roads and driveways and bushes and trees were soon blanketed by the snow. Snowmen magically appeared on lawns. Trees came up and in and were decorated. Lights now hung from every home and all about was a wintry wonderland filled with festive mirth.

By the morning of the 24th, the snow had stopped and the streets and driveways had been plowed. But the snow still blanketed the lawns. It was the richest color of white that people had seen in years, and perhaps that was a sign of good things to come.

Morning gave way to evening. The stars came out. Bronze streetlamps awoke and did their work. It was now time for Christmas, now time for celebration. And as one group of friends left their Canterlot neighborhood to join others at a certain mansion for a party none would forget, another group, far smaller but just as close, left and went the other way.

“Whoa!”

“Sorry, Mrs. Quill. These roads are a might bit slippery.”

“Oh, don’t worry too much about me, Macintosh. You should be more concerned with your side passenger over there.”

“How ya holding up, Ink?”

“Uh… I’m good, Mac.”

Strange. All throughout this little trip to Mac’s house, and all that her mom had been doing was make Mac more concerned about her daughter than herself. She could understand a bit of where her mother was coming from— it was in her soul to worry— but still, it just felt odd. Not that it was wrong for Mac to ask if she was okay, even if she felt it was largely unwarranted.

The road had indeed been cleared of snow, but ice was beginning to gather where the snow had melted from friction before freezing over as the night wore on. Wet sludge accompanied this, and so it was that on these back roads Mac had to drive much more slowly and cautiously. The wipers were at their quickest and the heat was blasting from the air ducts. The radio had been turned on but had been kept low so as to not distract the boy. And it was so dark that even with the lights turned all the way up, Ink couldn’t see more than several feet in front of her.

“You sure you know where you’re going, Mac?” Ink asked.

He pressed a little on the gas as they came up a hill, then slowed once they were going down it. “Sure do, Ink. I know these roads like the back of my hand. Don’t you worry none.” He flashed her a grin, one that she returned.

Her decision to accompany Mac had come as no surprise to her mother. Somehow, she had assumed that they would be going out, having already brought out her coat by the time Ink had broken the news, and in fact she seemed downright excited to be spending Christmas at some other place than their home. Perhaps she, too had grown tired of that habit. A little change here and there wouldn’t hurt, right?

With that in mind, Ink had texted Mac, and he had arrived at her home in the darkness of evening. His truck brought a warm smile to Ink’s face, though she couldn’t understand exactly why; maybe because it was familiar? He’d come out and, after some small talk and plenty of “thank you’s” and “you’re welcomes,” had helped the two of them into the car. Ink’s mom had been strangely insistent that Ink sit up front with the boy.

If the boy had thought it strange, though, he didn’t say anything, so Ink had decided not to press the matter any further. And now here they were, driving along a wet and cold route to hopefully someplace warm and inviting.

“We’re close, right?” Ink asked.

“Eeyup.” He nodded his head. “Right over yonder.”

Ink looked over yonder, and was treated to a spectacular sight.

She had seen the Big Apple, had seen Rockefeller Center, the big tree that was there every year that was bigger every year after, but this?

This somehow—honestly, earnestly, perfectly—showed it up in every way. (“Suck it, Artifex!” she couldn’t help but whisper, though Mac gave her a confused look for a moment.)

She knew they grew apples at Sweet Apple Acres and that in the winter they basically closed up and waited for warmer weather to arrive. But she had not imagined that they would change the cold and barren orchard patches into a blinking, glowing garden of lights and ornaments. As they came over the last hill and the road leveled off into a soft plateau, they passed that garden and saw all of the reds and greens and yellows drift past lazily, hanging from those same trees that had once been copious with apples, almost as if they had taken their place so as to no longer leave the trees naked. Several of them had been adorned with light fixtures in the shape of snowmen, and between the trees where the field was wide and flat were reindeer and elves and even a red-and-white Santa construction.

And because the field was so vast, as they drove past it, Ink could make out an entire story there. Somehow the Apple family had found the time to craft the entirety of the Rudolph mythos, all the way from his birth to his ascension to being the lead of the sleigh.

Mac grunted. “Yeah, that was Apple Bloom’s idea. She and her friends helped put it all up.”

“They did a very nice job,” Mrs. Quill said.

“Much appreciated. I’ll be sure to pass that message on to them.”

Ink’s mom leaned in, smiling. “You’re quite chatty tonight, Macintosh. I was under the impression that you didn’t talk much?”

He turned a light shade of scarlet. “Mom!” Ink chided. “Come on, you’re teasing him.”

Her mom laughed. “All right, I’ll leave the poor boy alone.”

“Here we are,” Mac said, sounding quite relieved.

He parked some distance away from the seemingly small farmhouse. The snow was coming down softly, but was having a hard time sticking to the ground and truck’s roof and the top of the house. Inside of the farmhouse shone yellow light, and they could hear Christmas carols playing once again on the radio. The tunes carried like they were being sung directly into their ears. Nearby sat the red barn, the neighboring silo covered in snow. The field where the horses might have played was also awash in white, and inside the barn Ink could see the animals blinking at them.

She regarded the house once again, frowning. “Mac? Are you sure we can all fit?”

“We’ll fit, Ink,” he said resolutely with a nod. “Besides, we’re not gonna stay the whole evening inside. We got a big tree out back that needs some presents.”

They all got out of the car, Ink’s mom carrying the present Ink had managed to buy the day before. The present was small, not really ornate, but she had figured that even something tiny would be better than nothing at all. Plus, she suspected that Mac wouldn’t mind either way.

“Well, I for one think your house looks very lovely,” the older woman said, smiling as Ink took the present from her.

“Thank y’kindly, ma’am,” Mac said.

They walked up to the porch, boots kicking up snow. Somehow in the seconds that passed then Ink’s body temperature plummeted, and by the time they had rung the doorbell, she was shivering.

An elderly, green-skinned lady with a shock of white hair greeted them, yellow eyes squinting in momentary confusion. Then she let out a gasp. “Oh! Macintosh! You brought guests!”

“Eeyup,” Mac said. “Granny Smith, this here is Ink Quill and her mother.”

They exchanged pleasantries, though Ink detected something hidden behind the elderly woman’s eyes.

“You all look so cold! Here, come on inside,” and she ushered them in without giving them a chance to protest (not that Ink would have).

“Mac, take their coats.” He did, and he hung them up in the closet. “Here, why don’t you girls make yourself comfortable on the couch? Ink, you can put your gift on the piano for now. I’ll whip up some nice warm cocoa for us all.”

“Oh, um… thank you,” Mrs. Quill said. Clearly she was unused to being the person treated to by the hostess. Ink put her gift on the piano as told.

They sat down on the couch while Granny worked her magic in the kitchen. A warm fire was glowing in the pit, orange and blue. The smell of burning wood rose from there and wafted into their noses, and Ink thought she could smell a touch of cinnamon in it. On the mantelpiece were a series of holiday-themed photos, mostly of the Apple children, but sitting in one corner was a photo of a couple whom Ink did not recognize. They must have been other family members, she thought. The woman was very pretty, and the man strong-jawed and handsome.

“Granny Smith!” somebody wailed. “Where are the heavy duty batteries? I need them for my Twin Turbine Snow Globe!”

“They’re where I left them, Apple Bloom,” Granny Smith called from the kitchen, “or didn’t you see?”

“Ah did see! But they’re triple A’s and they ain’t gonna be strong enough to power it all—eep!”

This “eep” was directed at Ink, who looked at the young Bloom with a mix of surprise and amusement. While she had kept her boots on, she’d traded her green T-shirt and blue jeans for a black-and-red flannel and brown pants. She still wore that pink bow of hers wrapped in her red hair.

Mrs. Quill elbowed her daughter. “Don’t just stare back! Say something!”

“Um… hello?”

Apple Bloom slowly walked over, seemingly on the tips of her toes. Her mouth was covered by her hands. Her eyes were wide and sparkling with curiosity.

“Um… Apple Bloom, right?”

The young girl gasped. “You know me?”

“Yes… you wrote a bit for the school newspaper, right?” In truth, Ink hadn’t read the newspaper—wasn’t what she liked to read—but she had caught glimpses here and there of articles written by the paper’s fledgling reporter. Apple Bloom even had her own editorial section called “Crusader Call-Ins,” something for underclassmen to write to.

The young girl made a squealing noise. “An’ you must be Ink, Big Mac’s girlfriend!”

As Ink blushed for what was likely not going to be the last time that night, her mother giggled. “Well, you’re quite a smart cookie, aren’t you?”

“Oh!” Apple Bloom suddenly remembered there was someone else there. She did a quick curtsy. “Good evenin’, ma’am. Ah’m Apple Bloom.”

“And a good evening to you, too. I’m Mrs. Quill, Ink’s mother.”

“So you’re the one who gave Mac the verbal lashing of a lifetime?”

Mrs. Quill laughed. “Oh, I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Really? Cuz Mac said it darn near scared him half to death!”

“Really now?”

“Apple Bloom? Did you clean your room?” Granny Smith called.

“Er… no?”

“Best get on with that, little lady.”

“Oh, all right, Granny Smith. It was nice meeting with y’all, Ink and Mrs. Quill. Maybe we’ll talk some more later!” With that, the young girl skipped away.

Ink’s mom was smiling. “Well, then. If she said you’re his girlfriend…”

Ink buried her face in her hands, groaning.

Granny Smith came back around with three cups of cocoa, expertly stirred and concocted to be just the right amount of sweetness and consistency. “Thank you,” Ink said after the first sip. “You know, it’s been a while since I last had any hot chocolate.”

“Shucks, that so?” Granny Smith shook her head. “That’s a real shame. Ah always thought that these here cold weathers and nights ain’t nothin’ without a bit of hot chocolate to go along with it.”

She gulped her drink, before fixing Ink with one eye closed. “So! You’re the girl Mac fancies, eh?”

Ink sputtered, nearly spraying her drink everywhere. “I, uh… we’re just friends. Good friends.”

“Good friends, eh?” Granny stared at her for a moment longer, before her old, wrinkled face split into a grin. “Well, any friend o’ Mac’s is welcome in this here household, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh! Um… thank you. Very much.”

“I see that we seem to be the only ones here,” Mrs. Quill then said. “Is anyone else coming along?”

“You got that right!” And Granny Smith proceeded to regale Mrs. Quill with a long and extensive genealogy lesson on the Apples. Here and there Ink injected a comment or two out of politeness, but for now the conversation was between her mother and the elderly lady before them.

So Ink, after finishing her cup, asked if she could be excused to get some more. “Help yourself!” Granny said.

She got up and went into the kitchen to do just that, and as she did so, her eyes wandered. This was where the radio was playing softly, and above and around it were draped tinsel and ornaments of every kind. On the stove cooked an entire turkey, and alongside it sat stuffing and potatoes and some sort of soup and a bunch of other foods that lay simmering or baking in the oven and whose smell, combined with the burning wood from the fireplace, saw fit to envelop Ink in a lip-smacking air. Her stomach growled, and she found herself wondering when was dinner.

The ladies continued yapping. Upstairs she heard Apple Bloom as she stomped about her room. And down the hall, coming forward, was Big Mac, pulling the last of the decorations behind him. He stopped when he saw her, then nodded and smiled. She did the same back. It felt right. Then he went along and she waited for the cup to fill.

Her thoughts wandered. She wondered how Artifex and his friends were doing, if they were going to celebrate both Christmas and Gaige’s birthday. She wondered if the boy and the girl would actually get along this time, knowing that the two didn’t have the best relationship; she’d almost laughed at the sheer terribleness of it when she had learned that Gaige’s person for whom she was supposed to buy a Secret Santa gift was none other than the boy from Manehattan himself. It was almost like the universe was conspiring to put the two together, regardless of their own feelings for each other.

She glanced outside. The field rose into hills covered with the silent apple trees and snow and decorations and lights and above them all rose the full moon and behind it lay the stars eternal. The night was clear and clean. She thought back to her other friends. Would tonight be the night when all their dreams came true? Would what Adagio had hinted at days before finally come to fruition? She could only hope so, and so she hoped for the best, a smile on her face.

The front door swung open, and there was whistling.

This was not her house. This was a stranger’s house, and she was in a stranger’s kitchen. She should have felt at the very least awkward, but that was not the case; she felt at peace, serene, comfortable. Perhaps that was because she knew Mac was nearby, the only other person here with whom she was familiar.

Mac…

“Whoo-wee! It is cold out there! Howdy, Big Mac, Granny Smith… er, who’s that there, Granny?”

When she heard that voice, Ink’s mind grinded to a halt. No… Mac said she’d be out!

“This? Oh, she’s someone Mac brought over. Why don’t you warm yourself up in the kitchen? There’s a steaming pot of cocoa waiting for you.”

“Ah think I’ll do just that, Granny!”

Oh, no, please, no…

Stomping. Boots being removed. Feet easing past the foyer into the kitchen. A pause. Then:

“Ink.”

Ink turned and sickly smiled. “Hi, Applejack.”