Professor Evening Shine walked through the front door of her house, feeling as though the entire world had turned on its axis. The day itself started out normal enough; she woke up, ate breakfast with her daughter, went to school to teach her classes. She had, at first, considered going straight home after her lectures, but a fit of pique sent her to the mall instead. Maybe she should browse the bookstore and find something interesting to read that night?

But instead, she found Twilight Sparkle.

Feeling her chest tighten up uncomfortably at the memory of the goddess from another world, she shut the door and removed her shoes, hardly caring where they ended up as she padded through the brightly lit entryway. Her daughter always left the light on when she was home, but she could hardly be bothered to call for her then.

She walked silently through the halls, passing by darkened rooms and the kitchen — there was a plate of cold chicken and salad laid out for her — until she reached the bedrooms. She paused at her daughter’s room; the door was shut, but she could hear music playing softly. She was probably working on one of her many projects that occupied her time.

Satisfied that the only other occupant in the house was busy, she continued on and entered her bedroom.

The room itself was as one would expect of a tenured professor of literature; a large four-poster bed along the far wall, a couple wardrobes and an armoire lining the other side. The door to the attached bathroom was shut, as was the sliding door to her walk-in closet. A sizable bookcase was filled with an eclectic assortment of books. All in all, it was a typical room and the aged professor found it suitable.

The vanity that took up the far corner of the room was the only thing that seemed like it didn’t belong.

An antique chair sat in front of the shortened countertop, for looks rather than practicality, as it wobbled and creaked whenever she sat in it. The makeup counter even moreso — it was splotched with old, dried foundation and a random assortment of colors. But she hadn’t kept the vanity all these years because she liked the look of it, after all. No, she kept it for very different reasons.

The broken mirror that stood at the back of the vanity, crawling up the wall and casting her eerie reflection back at her in thousands of angry splinters was really why she refused to give up the thing.

For a long moment, she stared at the mirror, her eyes running over each and every inch of the glass, examining that which she had memorized for most of her life. Some shards were missing along the edges, some larger than others, but the center of the mirror still remained intact — for all that was worth, heavily fractured though it was. It was a poor tool for applying makeup, and as such she had long since gotten used to performing her daily routine by muscle memory alone.

But still, she kept it. Because it was important to her.

Minutes passed, and as her alarm clock beside her bed clicked away the seconds, Eve began to lean towards the mirror, her eyes becoming hard.

Surely it wasn’t possible.

She lifted a hand up, pausing only a few inches away from the splintered glass.

But she knew what she saw. What she felt.

She pressed her fingertips to it’s surface, feeling its cool smoothness against her skin.

There was no mistaking it.

She barely twitched when her finger ran over a warped edge of a shard, slicing the pad of her finger open.

The mirror…

“Damn it,” she finally murmured.

…was no longer breaking.

“Damn it,” she said again, her face twisting.

She had seen Twilight Sparkle herself, standing there clear as day in front of her. It was definitely her, ‘Twili’ or not. She knew those eyes anywhere.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it.” She withdrew her hand and made a fist, clenching it so tightly that it hurt.

And Sunset, right there beside her. Little Sunset Shimmer. Totally oblivious. Unaware of what she had really done, what she had undone.

“Damn!” Eve snarled, lashing out with her fist towards the mirror. Her hand jolted to a stop, pain lancing through her wrist up to her arm. She blinked, staring at the damage done. The mirror hadn’t changed all that much — a few more shards clattered on the table and bounced to the carpet near her feet — but her hand had gotten a few good slashes, fresh blood already starting to well up around her knuckles. She swallowed, pulling her trembling hand back to cradle it to her chest.

“Damn it,” she muttered again, unable to say anything else.

There a muffled sound through the wall, and footsteps walking from the next room over to the hallway.

“Mom?” came the call, tentatively.

“In… in here,” Eve replied.

A moment later her door opened, and her daughter stood there, her dark hair piled high in a rather severe bun and her glasses perched loosely on her nose. She flicked on the light, blinked a few times to take in the situation, and then brought her hands to her mouth in a gasp.

“Mom! Oh my gosh — are you okay?” She started forward, her expression set in worry.

“Be careful, there’s glass on the carpet,” Eve warned, perhaps unnecessarily. The younger girl was wearing her thick winter slippers.

“You’re hurt!” she said, taking her mother’s hand in hers and examining the damage. “What did you do?”

“I was… thinking of getting rid of my old mirror,” came the reply, the flimsiest of excuses. “I accidentally brought my hand too close and knocked it.”

Her daughter pursed her lips, clearly unbelieving, but didn’t comment. She only said, “It’s about damn time. You’ve had that thing longer than I’ve been alive. It’s hideous.”

Smiling wryly, Eve replied, “You don’t know the half of it, dear.”

The girl clicked her tongue, turning over her mother’s hand in hers. “I’ll go get the first aid kit,” She muttered quickly, turning to leave.

But just as quickly, Eve reached out and wrapped her non-bloodied fingers around the girl’s forearm. “Twilight,” she said.

Her daughter turned her bespectacled gaze to her. “...Mom?”

“You know I love you, don’t you?” she asked. “No matter the circumstance, you’re still my daughter in every way that counts.”

Twilight blinked. “I… um, okay? I know that.” She laughed skittishly. “What brought this on?”

The older woman held her adoptive daughter’s gaze for a long moment, curious as to why she said those words. They were the truth, in a way. But still, she rarely said things like that. Nowadays, anyway. Maybe seeing Twilight Sparkle in the mall earlier with her student brought with it a bunch of old memories, thoughts that made her feel as old as she was. Or maybe she really did care for her daughter like she said. Either way, with the girl standing there looking all awkward and nervous, it wouldn’t do to stay silent.

“Nevermind.” She shook her head. “Go and fetch the first aid kit.”

The girl eyed her mother for another few moments. When she was satisfied, Twilight Shine turned and jogged from the room to find the supplies.

Eve watched her go, finally standing when Twilight left the room. Letting her bloodied hand fall limp, she walked over to her bookshelf and trailed her good hand along the spines of her many books, her eyes expertly passing over the many texts she had read over the years. After a few seconds, she found what she was looking for.

She pulled out a large, leather-bound tome, the stylized depiction of a sun cracked and faded from its cover. She scowled at the book for a moment, and then, balancing it deftly between her chest and her bad hand, opened to the front page.

In perfect, if slightly formal Equestrian characters, she read,

Dear Princess Celestia,

I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, going through the mirror. I wanted to know more, I wanted to learn more, I wanted you to be proud of me. But I failed. I came here, to this world, and it wasn’t at all what I wanted. It’s so horrible here, I’m scared all the time. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go. I barely sleep, I can’t eat.

I want to go home.

Please. Can I come home?

Your student, Sunset Shimmer.

There was no reply — the following page of the magical diary was blank.

She frowned and turned to a later page, skipping over many, many instances of the same missive to the Sun Goddess of Equestria, each one more desperate than the last, until she reached a point where the once-perfect symbols started to become sloppy.

Dear Princess Celestia,

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I’m a bad pony. A naughty, stupid filly. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live like this. Please please please please, take me back!

Sunset

There was still no reply.

Eve’s face hardened, and she flipped past a few more pages of increasingly more desperate pleas, each one going ignored, until the Equestrian characters grew too illegible to read, and were eventually replaced with symbols she recognized as Proto-Sinaitic. It was a difficult translation — the meaning was almost impossible to parse between that and Equestrian — but the gist was clear.

Celestia—

Fine! I don’t care anymore! Fuck you, for making me think I was loved. You never loved me. You only love yourself, and you always will. I hate you. I hate you so fucking much. I hope I never, ever see you again!

No reply.

As Eve turned the pages, Proto-Sinaitic turned to the Phoenician alphabet, which soon changed to Greek. Greek turned to Latin, which soon began a subtle shift to a more Germanic script. The language and tone changed nearly every missive, each one more scathing than the last, until the language finally resembled a fairly antiquated form of English.

Dear Princess Celestia,

I never did thank you, you know?

I spent so much time hating you, spitting on your very existence and lamenting my lot in life, that I never thought to extend my thanks to you. For, you see, it was because of you that I was able to accomplish so much.

I came here are a mere unicorn, barely able to survive on my own in a strange world. I recall countless sleepless nights, constantly fearing for my life should somebody find me in the dark, and smother me, or burn me alive as a monster. In a way, I still wish they had. It would have been easier.

But I survived, and have become so much more.

I have turned cities to dust, created entire civilizations, gave life and took it away just as easily. I controlled kings and emperors at my whim, commanded armies more vast that you could possibly imagine. Watched an entire species grow from infancy to adulthood, witnessed as they learned how to master the elements, and wield unbelievable craft. I watched as they mapped the stars and studied the world around them.

And they are all mine. My students. My children. My humanity.

But then, you also know what that is like, don’t you? After all, Twilight Sparkle is your student.

Twilight Sparkle, the Goddess of Friendship. A princess. Your most faithful student. Your success to my failure.

I have met her, many times. She has no idea who I am. As it should be. I summon her to my world infrequently enough that she never has an inkling, and always when I am living a different life. I sometimes greet her as a queen, later as a pauper. Different always, and each time I see her she is still the same, the same perfect little student you always wanted.

She makes me sick.

But, in the end, it doesn’t matter. After all, even gods don’t live forever. I have made sure of that. It will only be a matter of time.

Only a matter of time until the end.

So thank you, My Dear Celestia, my Mother, for making what what I am. For if you hadn’t cast me aside, I would never had learned my true calling.

Say hello to oblivion for me. I’ll be waiting.

Your Faithful Student,

Sunset Shimmer

Evening Shine quietly shut the book, giving the well-worn cover a gentle caress of her yellow-painted fingertip. It had been such a long time — lifetimes ago — since she had thought about her old mentor, even longer still since she had written to her. She never received anything back, of course, but that was alright. She always thought that allowing her words to be put down on paper as cathartic.

First things first, though; she quickly slid the book back into the shelf when she heard Twilight scurry into the room, her cheeks flushed.

“I couldn’t find the kit,” she explained meekly as she lay an armful of supplies on her mother’s bed. “So I bought antiseptic from the medicine cabinet, and some wipes and bandages. That’ll have to do until I run to the store to get more stuff.”

“It will do,” Eve agreed, holding out her hand as Twilight set herself to task disinfecting the cuts along her hand. She watched her daughter work, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she considered what to do now; now that the mirror was stable, now that Twilight was on Earth for who knew how long, and now that Sunset Shimmer — her very own student, ironically enough — was mixed in with everything.

“After all, some things you have to do yourself.”