In the late hours of that night, when all was said and all was done, only then the party that began, finally did come undone.

A poetic statement, to be sure, but it was true. Darkness had fallen over everything, blacker than fresh ink, and though the Apple home shone courageously through, it was clear that the hour had come. Gifts were taken home and food packaged into little boxes to be served at another time. Hugs were shared, kisses as final departures. One by one, the Apple family filtered out into the deep night, heading back to their homes.

Ink was among those who stayed to help clean up and wish the others fond farewells. Braeburn sauntered up to her at some point, perhaps to offer yet another moment of flirting, but one hard look from Mac sent him scurrying. It made Ink feel a little bad just as much as it made her feel good.

She remembered Applejack’s words: “He’s taken a liking to you.” That farmer girl was more perceptive than Ink had given her credit.

Afterwards, with the help of the rest of the Apples, they cleaned the home and swept the floors, doing so diligently and with small conversation. The radio maintained Christmas tunes all throughout, though its volume was kept low and the most that they did with it was hum. They swept up the dirt and cleaned the mud and helped wash the dishes and put them all away even as the clock ticked closer and closer to midnight.

“Hoo, wee!” Granny Smith exclaimed, wiping her brow. “Ah guess that jus’ about does it! Thank you kindly fer all yer help, Ink and Mrs. Quill.”

“Of course!” Mrs. Quill said. “Though all that work has made me a little dizzy… could I have a glass of water?”

“Shore you can! Come on over to the kitchen and I’ll fix you up.”

When they had gone, they left Big Macintosh, Apple Bloom, and Ink in the living room. “Thanks fer comin’,” Apple Bloom said before Mac could. She smiled up at Ink. “It was great havin’ you!”

“Aw, thank you, Apple Bloom,” Ink said. “It was great being here.” The two hugged. They separated, and then Apple Bloom let out a yawn.

“I think I’m gonna head off to bed, now, Mac,” she said to her brother. “If that’s all right with you…”

“Go on ahead,” Mac said, nodding. “Good night, Apple Bloom. Merry Christmas.”

The farewell was repeated between the three of them, and then Bloom headed off for her room.

“Thanks for having me, Mac,” Ink murmured. She sidled up to him and gave him a quick hug. It felt right.

He placed a hand on her head, and she knew he was smiling. “An’ thanks for decidin’ to come.”

He paused. Then he said, with a bit of hesitance to his voice, “Would you consider comin’ again next year, maybe?”

She looked up at him, smiling as well. “I just might.”

Mrs. Quill and Granny Smith came back, talking about other things that neither Mac or Ink listened to. Mrs. Quill finished her drink, and handed it over to Granny, thanking her for having them over. All thanks was largely unneeded, Granny argued; “You made up for it by helpin’ us clean up.”

Then she looked over to Mac, and he and Ink realized they were still hugging. They separated, blushing, while Granny and Mrs. Quill chuckled at their expense. “Well, you two best be heading on home, now,” the elderly lady said. “Wouldn’t want to keep you up all night. Mac, you drive them on— and be careful, y’hear?”

“I hear.”

So it was that the two Quills and Mac walked out of that home and into the night and into Mac’s truck and after he had started it, the lights glowing like streams of fireflies awakening for the spring that was to come in the long future, he turned the truck around and pushed lightly on the pedal and together they sped into the night. It was warm. There were no words. None that needed to be said, anyway, for all that needed voice had long been expressed back there in the home and in that hug and while Ink still blushed as she knew her mother would tease her relentlessly for what she had just seen, she felt safe in the knowledge that what was seen was true, and though she did not know where it would take her, she knew it would take her somewhere truly great.

The night was filled with stars and the moon. One might think that because of this it would be bright and that it was the sign of a new time for the three. One would be right in thinking that.

But the darkness of the night cut through the spaces that divided the stars and it was larger than the light of all there combined.

They stood in the foyer, Mac and Ink. The latter’s mother had gone in first, complaining of a slight headache. She insisted Mac stay a little moment longer, and for this Ink felt strangely grateful. The door was open and the night was still there outside, waiting to take its son back home.

It was quiet in the home. Aside from the ticking grandfather clock there carried no other sounds. Even Ink’s breathing was subdued. She stood by Mac and he by her, unsure of how long either should stay but again unwilling to leave just yet. Did history repeat for those singular times when it became largely necessary to do what must be done? A question set forth before them, not waiting for an answer, not letting them anyway. And neither were thinking it, really; all that was on their minds was the person that kept close.

Ink had a gift in her hands. A present from Mac, given to her as they had exited the car. She put it down by her feet, telling Mac softly that she appreciated it and she would open it later. It was late anyway and opening gifts at such an hour, while allowed, did not seem fitting. And Mac had nodded to this and had agreed.

So they waited there together as Ink’s mom did what she had to do in the kitchen.

Then the two were driven by something invisible. They turned, to face each other, perhaps to say something, but when they had seen they had moved at the same time, both paused and were filled with crippling indecision. The world seemed to recede, fading into blurry lines and fractures, until all that was left were those two. That same invisible force placed its hands on their backs and began to push. Neither felt inclined to stop it.

Outside were the same wind chimes that had hung by the door all those nights prior. There was no wind, and yet something still carried those chimes back and forth, and so they began to sing. They sung in indecipherable words yet the tone was as understood as the names of the two who bore auditory witness to them. They sung deeply and richly and were beautiful in the silence of the night, a song that neither would forget, a song that would echo deep in the memory of their souls and their hearts, more than a song: a serenading tune.

Ink and Mac crept closer. The boy leaned his head down, and the girl leaned her head up. There were no thoughts, then. Only action, pure and simple and right and true. What was going to happen? What else, other than what was meant to be?

The song swelled. The two grew closer, until their lips were almost touching, and she could taste his breath on hers, and her heart was thudding in her chest, yet at the same time it was not rushing, for maybe it knew more than her head did that this was how it was supposed to go, how it was always supposed to go, and so it was no longer nervous or excited but accepting and happy and rested from those emotions and this might not have made sense to the rational world at large but this was the heart and the heart operated separate from that place so who was to say it operated under the same laws?

The heart cannot help for whom it yearns. The echoes of a universal truth.

Their lips brushed against each other…

… and the chimes began wailing, and they stopped, for it was not actually the chimes that broke through that moment, but the wailing of someone inside the house, in pain, and the night was shattered forever by that cry.

“Mom? Oh my God, Mom! Mac, get one of the bowls—hurry!”

“Eeyup! Here, Mrs. Quill, just place this under your chin, there ya go…”

“My head… my head…”

“What’s wrong with yer head?”

“It hurts! It really hurts! Oh, God!”

“O-okay… Ink, get on the phone. Mrs. Quill, just breathe, okay, just breathe…”

“On it!”

“911, what is your emergency?”

“Yes, it’s my mother, she’s… Oh, God, she just threw up… my address is—”

“Oh, God…”

“Mom? Oh my God, no, no, no!”

“Mrs. Quill? Mrs. Quill!”

“Ma’am? Ma’am, what is going on? What is your address?”

“Ink, she’s not breathing!”

“Oh my God! Please, hurry! My address is 11 Sherriford Road, I need an ambulance, she’s not breathing—

“Mrs. Quill! Pfft! Pfft!”

“Okay, I am sending an ambulance to your location. Can you tell me what she’s doing now?”

“I told you, she’s not breathing—”

“She’s breathin’! Okay, Mrs. Quill, I need you to stay upright, okay? Just keep the bowl close and— there you go, there— Ink, where’s the damn ambulance?!”

“Where are you guys? Hurry, she’s—”

“Mmph!”

“Oh, God! I think she’s having a seizure—”

“Mrs. Quill! Oh God, oh God—”

“Ma’am, I need you to stay calm, the ambulance is on its way—”

“Mac! Please, Mac, please!”

“I’m trying! Mrs. Quill, come on! Come on, stay with us!”

“Mom! Mom!”

“Ma’am, you need to stay calm—”

“Stay with us—”

“Oh, God! Oh my God, no, no! Mom! MOM!”