Late one fall afternoon, there came a knock at Rarity’s door. Tugging aside the blinds of her second-story office window, she spied down to the street below and saw a unicorn standing by her door with a dress box hovering beside them. For a moment, she wondered if she had forgotten to affix that sign which she hung on her door on weekends, whose text unambiguously read “Closed Until Monday, 8 AM.” But upon pondering the matter, she decided that that sign was likely indeed in its proper place, and that it could therefore provide her answer on her behalf.

All of which was to say, she shut her blinds again and ignored the caller.

Yet, their knock came again, then again, then a third time with no loss of exuberance, and Rarity came to the reluctant conclusion that this pony was one of her particularly determined customers. Exceptionally determined clients could earn a smile or a scowl, depending on their willingness to pay her exorbitant weekend rate, but smiles were less common, and even the most generous patron was not truly welcome on the weekend. Rarity, after all, needed time to herself.

Nonetheless, she went downstairs. She cracked the door, enough to see the pony on the other side and enough to make them feel unwelcome. “We are closed until Monday,” she said.

On one occasion, Twilight had made fun of her for that. The implication was of course that Rarity had assistants because what distinguished storeowner does not, but as she did not employ anypony at her Ponyville boutique, her use of the word was technically the royal “we.”

At the time, Rarity has replied to Twilight, “We are not amused.” Which got a round of laughs.

She had time for these reflections, as the pony waiting outside her door appeared frozen to the spot: unmoving, unblinking, like a statue. She was a mare, grey coat, green mane, a cutie mark with ladybugs or something like that. Visually, she was without distinction; perhaps cute, perhaps sweet, but only in that way that all ponies are, and entirely forgettable.

“Hello?” Rarity finally asked, tone curt, and the mare snapped from her reverie.

“Um. Hi,” she says, voice soft and dry, like the sound of dust being swept across a stone floor. “I’m sorry. I’m not a customer. I’m here to see you. I’m a changeling, and I fought in the Battle of Canterlot and a few other places. We’ve met before. And, and I wanted to talk about it. And say I was sorry.” After a moment, she appended. “If you’re free. It doesn’t have to be now. Or ever. I’ll go away if you want.”

Put rather on the spot, Rarity needed several moments to consider her answer. During that time, she watched the mare or changeling in front of her shift uncomfortably, moving their weight from one hoof to the next, and turning their gaze anywhere except to Rarity’s face.

“Is there a reason,” she asked, “you are disguised?”

“Habit,” the mare said. “I’m not comfortable being among groups of ponies as myself. And I think ponies still aren’t used to seeing changelings around. We don’t get, you know. Ponies are friendly, I mean. It’s not like I’m worried about getting run out of town. But I get a lot of attention and I don’t always want that attention.”

She did not change into some other form. And after a moment, Rarity relented. “Well, you had better come in then, shouldn’t you? Please, take a seat in the front room. I’ll make us some tea.”

Rarity’s as-yet-unnamed guest did as she was instructed, taking a seat and placing the dress box to the side of the table. She sat silently as Rarity lit a flame off her horn, staring down at the table and not making eye contact. Each waited for the other to speak until the stillness became oppressive.

Rarity’s unicorn magic produced a flame hotter than any common stove. The water boiled quickly. “Water’s ready,” Rarity said, “would you be a dear and get the nice teacups for me please?”

The mare at the table flinched like she’d been stung, and a laugh escaped her though it was an anxious and quiet sound. But she did as she was bid, and without further questions, she trotted into the back room, and thereafter to Rarity’s kitchen, opened the correct cabinet, and returned with Rarity’s good teaset, set up the way she preferred.

“The Battle of Canterlot indeed,” Rarity said, letting out a heavy sigh. “Do you prefer tea or boiled water?”

“Boiled water, please,” the changeling replied, eyes still on the table. “I’m sorry. I… I didn’t know how to say… I mean. I did actually fight in the Battle of Canterlot. That’s true. It’s not why I’m here, but I didn’t know how to break the ice. You’re very clever. You know?”

“Thank you.” Rarity poured her guest a cup of hot water, while she filled the teapot for herself, adding something herbal and minty. “May I take it then, that you are the changeling who kidnapped and replaced me during Queen Chrysalis’s second return to power? Before Starlight and the reformation and all that.”

“I’m the changeling who replaced you.” She levitated her cup over to herself but left it to cool. It was very nearly boiling after all. “There was a team of three who kidnapped you. I wasn’t one of them.” Before Rarity could speak again, the changeling said, voice stiff, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know… I…”

“Dear,” Rarity reached across the gap between them and gently touched her guest’s shoulder until their head rose. “I won’t say ‘it’s okay,’ because it is not. But I do believe you are genuine in your regret, and it does not make me feel any better to see you punish yourself. You said you wanted to apologize and to talk about it. You’ve apologized. Let’s talk about it. Tell me your name.”

“I’m Novelty,” the changeling said. “And I know, that’s not a changeling name. My old name was Poison Sting. But after the changelings reformed, I didn’t… like, that. It didn’t feel like a good name. So I changed it.”

“Novelty?” Rarity asked, speaking slowly. “Am I correct in assuming that’s… let’s say an homage?”

“Yeah.” Novelty nodded once. “I um… I had to study you for four years. Because Chrysalis thought I was going to have to impersonate you indefinitely. That meant I needed to be able to pass as you to people who knew you well. To your parents, and Sweetie Belle, and old customers. I needed to know my way around your house, how you talk and act, what jokes you’ll tell in private but not in public. So we…”

She tapped the table twice with a hoof in quick succession. “We, um. Recorded your private conversations, stole your diary, read all your correspondence. I don’t know if you know changelings can turn into objects, but um… do you remember that panel in the upstairs hall that was ‘wiggly’? Sometimes it stuck out, and sometimes it seemed recessed into the wall? It was always recessed, I could just turn into an identical panel of the same size, fit into the recession, and listen in on what you were doing.”

“Ah.” Rarity’s eyes went up to the ceiling for a moment, but she forced them back down. She kept her eyes on Novelty, even if Novelty could not keep her own head up. “And I suppose you also listened in on those most private moments. My liaison with Thunderlane, the nights I cried, my use of the ladies’ room, all that?”

Novelty nodded. “Your secrets are safe with me. Forever. I won’t tell a soul. And we destroyed all the old recordings and notes. Nothing is written down.”

“Well. Good.” Rarity picked up her teacup and blew over the top, taking the excuse to pause before she spoke. “I confess, I already suspected that something like that was true. While you may have failed to deceive Starlight, you did fool nearly everypony else, including several ponies with whom I share private connections, in-jokes or the like. Thunderlane said… in his words, ‘the other Rarity’ shared our private joke about how his tail looks. At which point I realized I had very little privacy left.”

When Rarity returned her teacup to the table, it hit harder than it should. It clattered against the saucer, and tea spilled out onto the table. “I suppose it’s good to get confirmation.”

Novelty began to speak, but Rarity cut her off with a sharp: “Don’t say you’re sorry again. I know you’re sorry. I accept your apology. I’m not mad; I’m upset. It’s different.”

“I would, um.” Novelty took a breath. “I’m living in Ponyville now. With a few other changelings. We’re renting the rooms over the bowling alley. If you ever want to talk about this again, you can go find me there. Or we can never talk about this again, and I promise, I’ll take all your secrets to my grave.”

“You’re leaving already?” Rarity’s tone kept its edge. “What is this? A hit-and-run confession? The tea isn’t even cold yet.”

“I mean, I don’t have to. If you want me to stay,” Novelty said, rubbing one leg over the other. “But you’re um… upset. I’m just offering to give you your space. If you want to think about things first. Or if… I don’t know. Maybe that was stupid to say. I can stay.”

Rarity held her counterpart with a glare for a long moment, but in the end she relented, and her gaze softened. “I’m actually not mad, you know,” she said, and Novelty nodded. “But you’ve given me a lot to think about and…” Rarity struggled. “While I may believe you’re sorry, naming yourself after me gives the whole thing an um… well. An unhealthy aura, doesn’t it?”

Novelty said nothing and continued to stare at the table, with only the barest glances at Rarity. Finally, Rarity said: “Maybe you’re right, and we should discuss this later. When I know what I want to ask. And what questions I’d rather not know the answers to.”

“Okay.” Novelty rose from the table, her teacup full of water still untouched. She lifted the dress box from where she had left it, and offered it over to Rarity. “Before I go, I wanted you to have this. To pretend to be a dressmaker, I had to, I mean. I had to make dresses. Obviously. So I studied. I um… I don’t need it or want it. Changelings don’t wear clothes. And I won’t be the least offended if you want to throw it away. Get rid of the memories. But it’s based on your work, and I can’t think of any creature that deserves it more than you.”

“Thank you,” Rarity took the box in her telekinetic grip. “I will open it later.”

Novelty accepted the rebuke for what it was and bowed her head -- which, given where her gaze had been for the whole conversation, involved looking at Rarity somewhat more than previously -- and left.

With her guest’s departure, Rarity decided that four in the afternoon was not too early to pour herself a glass of wine, and having done so she departed to see her friends. Twilight and the others could tell Rarity was disquieted and were to degrees troubled by her refusal to explain why, but Rarity told them that no matter the source of her inequities, being with her friends always made her feel better.

And it did.

When she returned home late that evening, Rarity felt somewhat herself again. She was still, in the deeper sense, distressed by what had happened, but she no longer felt an involuntary tension in her muscles and did not suffer from the instinct to cry or the urges of fight and flight. She tried to think of what she wanted to ask Novelty, but found her mind blank, and considered the merits of not pursuing the matter. She knew, in the general outlines, how she had been wronged and wondered what peace there was to be found in the details.

The dress, to her mind an afterthought to the whole affair, was forgotten until the next morning. Only when she was readying the storefront to open did she again notice the dress box she left leaning against one wall, still unopened. She did not expect much of it. Novelty, or “Poison Sting” at the time, had been in possession of her shop for several weeks, during which time she had executed on Rarity’s pre-existing designs in a manner competent but mechanical. Upon her return to Ponyville, Rarity had found not a single deviation from her designs, for good or ill.

Surely then, Rarity thought, the dress must be a copy of one of her classic works. Maybe it was a Princess Dress; there were so many of those it would have been easy for the changelings to acquire one for practice. She would never sell such a thing, and didn’t want it, but nor did she wish to discard the box unopened.

And so she broke the seal and pulled open the lid.

It was the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen.