Rainbow Dash set her bags down at the foot of the hotel bed and let out a quiet breath.

A few feet away, beside the room's other bed, Chinook's ears twitched. “Everything alright?” she asked. Her own belongings – uniforms, mostly, but a few toiletries and personal effects – were spread out on the covers, as if she were preparing for an inspection. She even had a tin of hoof polish.

Funny question, that. “Everything alright?” It and its cousins, “How do you feel?” or “Are you okay?” were probably the most common expressions she'd heard lately. They'd become automatic, like waving to a pony on the street. She barely went twenty minutes any more without running across them.

Despite her mood, Dash smiled at the sight of Chinook's bed. She remembered her first time travelling with the team, and how she had packed two of every item, just in case she lost a mane clip, or somepony on the team forgot their toothbrush, she could pull out a spare and be the team's hero. A silly, foalish thought, but sometimes her mind worked that way.

And, apparently, Chinook's. Dash limped over to her and peered at the array on the bed. In addition to her Wonder Bolts dress uniform, her flight uniform, a back-up flight uniform, a third flight uniform, and a set of off-duty fatigues, Chinook had brought a set of cold-weather survival gear. To Las Pegasus. In June. “Do you really think you'll need the thermals, Chi-chi?”

Chinook ducked, and a light flush showed through her sea-green coat. Not just on her cheeks – Chinook was one of those mares who blushed with her whole body, and it had become a team sport to see how often and how publicly they could embarrass her. “They were on the list!” she protested.

Dash chuckled. It was a rare sound from her these days, and Chinook's ears twitched again at the sound. “Chi-chi, there's a lot of shit on the list. But when we're on the road, we use big-filly rules. You're responsible for yourself – if you don't think you'll need cold-weather gear in the desert in the summer, you can leave it at home.”

“Oh.” Chinook's ears drooped as she reconsidered the spread of equipment on her bed. Her ears were huge and expressive – Cloud Fire had called them cat-ears once, when they were drunk after a show, and now Dash could never get the image out of her head when she looked at Chinook. “So, what did you bring?”

Dash wandered back to her bed and climbed onto it clumsily. Her left foreleg was still in a metal brace, though thankfully one that was much smaller than the massive plaster cast she'd worn for two months. She could even take it off at night. “Just the dress uniform and some toiletries.”

“That's it?”

“Yeah, we're in the middle of a city. If I forgot something, I can just go buy it down the street.”

Chinook gave the mess on her bed a grumpy look. “Well, huh. Wish I'd thought of that.”

“Meh, it's your first show.” Dash curled three of her legs beneath her, leaving her injured foreleg stretched out. “Everypony does it.”

“Even you?”

“Yup. So, excited?”

“Nervous.” Chinook fluffed her wings, as though she wanted to take off right there. “I, uh... I just hope we're able to fly as well as you did.” A pause. “As you do, I mean.”

“Yeah.” Dash cleared her throat and turned to look out the window. They were near the top floor, as was customary for pegasi, and outside the vast expanse of Las Pegasus stretched away into the hazy distance. “You'll do fine. Cirrus too.”

Chinook didn't respond, and they lapsed into silence. Rainbow Dash lost track of time, staring out the window, watching the sun creep across the sky and the clouds paint huge shadows across the earth. It was like flying, except completely different.

“This was after the accident, I take it?” Rarity's voice, soft as a cloud, came from just inches away.

“About two months after, I think,” Dash said. She felt Rarity's warm presence at her side, and could smell the faint perfume she always wore, teasing the air. “Our first show after we resumed operations. Chinook and Cirrus were part of the reserve team and got called up when it was clear I wasn't returning to flight anytime soon.”

“They called up two ponies to replace you?”

“No, Chinook replaced me. Cirrus replaced Soarin.”

“Ah.” Rarity fell silent for several moments. “Of course, I'm sorry.”

Dash flicked her tail, brushing it against Rarity's side. “Don't be.”

“What kind of pony would I be if I was not sorry for a friend's loss? Especially a friend like you.” Rarity pressed her muzzle into Dash's neck, the kind of nuzzle that a parent might give a foal. Soft, reassuring, and quite welcome.

Dash sighed and leaned her weight against Rarity's side. She tried to remember that this Rarity was an imposter, a beautiful and awful monster poisoning her friend's mind. But in that moment she was simply a soft and warm anchor against the cold, uncaring world.

“Can we just stay here?” Dash whispered. Outside the window, the gentle wind pushed the clouds across the brilliant blue sky.

“I'm sorry, darling.” Rarity's muzzle brushed against the top of Dash's head. “There are other dreams to see.”

“Alright.” Dash closed her eyes. “Can we just wait here a few more—”

Rainbow Dash was measuring a bolt of fabric when she heard the bell above the Boutique door ring. The heavy hoofsteps of her apprentice, Thimble, shortly followed, and she heard the quiet mumble of polite conversation through the workroom door.

Business had been good, lately. Thanks to Looking Glass's funds, they'd managed to completely restock after the summer's disaster, and now the fall line of semi-formal wear, scarves and hats was selling briskly. Just as she'd expected, bright primaries, especially reds, were all the rage, and once again her trademark triple-diamond logo was headlining the city's premier shows. In a few months, she'd have the last of her outstanding debts settled, and she could start paying back the principle on Looking Glass's loans.

She still met with him once a week – how could she not? Though never stated outright, their quid-pro-quo remained in effect: one night a week, in the city's most expensive penthouse, her body was his. Whatever of it he desired, she gave, and she gave willingly. Eagerly.

Dash no longer pretended not to enjoy it, either. Sex was sex, and sex with Looking Glass had always been a pleasure, at least when she wasn't obsessing over what was really going on. When she didn't think about the bank note for eight thousand bits that appeared in her mailbox once a month, signed with a lithograph of his cutie mark, a hummingbird staring at its own reflection.

So, no, she didn't think about that part. She just enjoyed the sex, and enjoyed the fact that her business was once again in the black. That was all that mattered.

Whore.

Thus it was that the sound of another customer walking through the door on a Tuesday afternoon aroused no particular interest. She rarely met with customers face to face – she had apprentices for that, and unless somepony wanted to order a bespoke item, Thimble and Weave were more than able to assist most customers. So she continued her measuring, making an occasional mark on the sheer crimson fabric, until her door cracked open, and Thimble's head poked through.

“Miss Dash? There's a customer who would like to speak with you.”

“Oh?” She tucked her grease pencil behind her ear, the only place she never seemed to lose it. “Tell her I'll be right out.”

“She asked to speak in private, actually.”

Again, nothing unusual. Many mares prefered to discuss their measurements in private. “Of course. Please ask her to join me.” There was no need to tidy up the workroom – this was her space, and she kept it immaculate.

Thimble bobbed her head and vanished out the door. Dash heard the faint mumble of conversation while she replaced the bolt of fabric back on its rack, and she turned in time to see a middle-aged pegasus mare step through the door.

Her coat was dappled, which was rare enough to stand out in a crowd, and Rainbow Dash couldn't help but start imagining different color schemes that would take advantage of her coat. The preponderance of it was a dark blue, but speckles of azure and aquamarine covered her legs and extended up her chest and down her barrel, growing fainter as they went, until they vanished around her flanks. Her wings were banded as well, mostly the same dark blue as her coat, but interspaced with the occasional vibrant feather.

Unusual. Dash wondered if she were a model, but immediately discarded the thought. The mare's face was refined, and she wore a calm expression, but she lacked the otherworldly beauty that models aspired to. She was handsome for her age, yes, and her coat would turn more than a few heads, but not quite enough for a professional.

So, just a customer, then. Dash smiled and stepped across the room toward her. “Good afternoon, ma'am, I'm Rainbow Dash. How can I help you today?”

The mare didn't answer immediately. Instead she looked around the room, her eyes taking in its various projects, some ready for the showroom, others in various stages of completion. She stopped at one particular piece, a formal gown composed of sheer black fabric dressed upon a mannequin. It was one of Dash's better pieces, a custom work for a friend of Cinnabar's, and when it was done it would go a long way toward paying off her debts.

“You d-designed this?” she asked, a faint, almost unheard stutter in her voice. Some lingering verbal tick from her foalhood, perhaps. She stepped toward the mannequin and carefully ran the back of her hoof along the gown's collar.

“I did.” Dash couldn't help the smile as she stepped up beside the mare. “I'm afraid it's already spoken for, however. If you'd like something similar, though, I might be able to help you. Though, I would suggest a different color scheme to compliment your coat, which I must say, darling, is quite striking. Perhaps a nice, bright red, to contrast with all the blues you have going on?”

“Hm.” The mare sounded unimpressed with Dash's suggestion. “Perhaps. I hear that a lot, you know. How st-striking or exotic or special my coat is, like I designed it myself. And it's a pain to find even simple clothes for.”

“Well, no one said beauty should be easy.” Dash tossed her head, flicking her mane's indigo ringlets to the other side of her neck. “You sound like you know something about fashion.”

The mare smiled. Something about the expression seemed thin, though, as though it were about to crack. The lines around her eyes drew tighter. “It's, it's important in the circles I travel. You understand, I'm sure.”

“Of course, of course.” Dash stepped back to her work table, and cleared it with her magic, leaving a blank canvas upon which to plan. “Would you like some water, or perhaps some tea?”

“No, thank you.”

Silence followed.

Dash waited as long as she could, until the pause became uncomfortable. Perhaps this mare wasn't used to social situations, or that slight stutter made her shy with conversations. Or perhaps she really liked that black dress.

“So, ah...” Dash cleared her throat. “What would you be interested in, ma'am? And what would you like me to call you?”

The mare turned at that, and Dash noticed now the expression in her eyes. It was carefully hidden, but now that she stared directly at her there was no missing it – anger, and pain. She walked up to the table, her wings quivering at her sides.

“My name,” she said, “is T-Terrazzo. And I would like you to stop sleeping with my husband.”

Time seemed to stop. Her heart actually did stop, missing a full beat in the shock that followed the mare's words. A terrible, constricting pressure crushed her chest, and for a panic-filled moment Rainbow Dash wondered if it were really possible for a mare her age to die of fright. Her vision grew grey around the edges, and her head felt light as a feather, as though it were about to drift away.

She closed her eyes and forced her lungs to work. Her heart thudded back to life, racing now in an apparent attempt to make up for all the blood it had missed over the past few seconds. A cold sweat broke out all over her body, soaking her coat, and she knew without having to gaze in the mirror that her lips were as grey and colorless as wet cotton.

“Terrazzo...” she said. The name came out in a rush, more of an exhalation than real speech. “You are Terrazzo.”

“I am.” Terrazzo's eyes narrowed, as if distrusting Dash's reaction, and then she snorted. “Don't tell me you didn't know Looking Glass was married.”

“No, I ahh...” Dash turned away, resting her hooves on the table for support. The nice, sturdy table that kept the room steady. She leaned against it and sucked in another deep breath, making sure to count slowly as she exhaled. She was not going to be sick. She was not going to be sick. She could fix this.

When she looked up, Terrazzo was still staring at her.

Lie? Bend the truth? Honesty? A million options spun through Dash's head, none of them focused beyond the next five minutes, beyond surviving this mare's wrath and getting her out of the Boutique without causing a scene. Thank Celestia they were in private, at least. Maybe Terrazzo didn't want a scene either.

She could do this. Dash closed her eyes, feigning a moment of weakness – well, not feigning, perhaps – and imagining an expression on her face. One of shock, which was easy, and a little bit of a lie. A little bit of confusion.

“He told me he was married,” she said, when she felt the expression fitting her face like a mask. “But he said you two were separated. That your marriage wasn't about love, just appearances. Terrazzo, believe me, I had no idea he was hurting you.”

“Of course, of course, he would say that,” Terrazzo mumbled half to herself. She turned away as she spoke, inspecting the rest of Dash's workshop. “Celestia damn-damn that stallion, lying. Let me guess, you were angry with him when you first found out?”

“I was!” Dash leapt for the nuggest of truth like a drowning mare reaching for a life preserver. “Terrazzo, when I found out, I cut him off. I did! It was months before I could even look at him again.”

Terrazzo's ears flicked at that, and her head whipped around to stare at Dash. The movement was fidgety and abrupt, more like a real bird than even most pegasi Dash was used to dealing with. “Why did you, then?”

That... that was not a question Dash could answer. Not truthfully, at least – she could barely admit to herself that she was a whore, selling her cunt to Looking Glass for eight thousand bits a month. There was no way on heaven or earth she could admit it to a near-stranger like Terrazzo.

“That's... that's when he told me! That you were separated!” Dash said. It seemed perfect, she could even feel herself starting to believe it. Hadn't Looking Glass said his marriage was a sham? That was similar to being separated, figuratively if not legally speaking. She'd done nothing wrong.

Well, except for the part where you're a whore. But let's focus on the marriage you've been ruining.

“And that was all it took?” The sneer on Terrazzo's face hurt Dash worse than being whipped. “You just bounced b-back into his b-bed? Maybe hoping for a nice trinket or two?”

Oh, no. No no no no no. Dash shook her head, and only stopped when the curls of her mane actually whipped her in the face. “Terrazzo, that is not, that is not the kind of pony I am! You must know how Looking Glass is, he's suave and charming and yes, maybe I have been a silly filly with stars in my eyes, but you must believe me, you must believe me that I never, ever intended to hurt anypony. If I had known the truth, I'd have called off the whole thing, and never seen him again.”

“And? Will you?”

“Will I?” Dash blinked, and then the actual substance of her own words caught up with her. “Oh, I mean, of course I would. I will! I will... I will write him a letter, right now, and break everything off! I will tell him what a terrible pony he is, to cheat on a mare as lovely and kind and understanding as you are, and that will be it! We will never see each other again. You have my word, Terrazzo.”

“Your word.”

“Yes! Terrazzo, I know we can never be friends, but I am not a bad pony. I don't want to hurt anypony, and he'll just have to understand that.”

Terrazzo was silent after that. She stared at Dash, her wings and ears occasionally twitching, and Dash could practically see the thoughts whipping through her mind. Dash hunched down, waiting for the explosion.

None came. When Terrazzo spoke, her voice was soft, and each word seemed to catch in her throat.

“This marriage is all I have left.” It was a brittle voice, from a mare on the verge of breaking herself. “I've give-given him everything, every bit of my life I have poured into our partnership, and this is how he repays me. He... He left me to find some young, beautifully filly, lied to her about our sacred b-bond, lied to me about why he always travels to Fillydelphia, and now I see why. You really are beautiful, D-Dash. No wonder he wanted you.”

“Terrazzo, please—“

“Do you want money? I can give you that, that.”

“I meant it!” Dash leaned forward, crouching at Terrazzo's feet. “You don't need to give me anything, Terrazzo. He will never see me again, and if he tries, I will buck him in the face! It is over!”

“You're lying.”

“I'm not!” Dash tried to say more, but for some reason couldn't catch her breath. All she could do was pant, desperate for air. “It's over, it's over,” she finally managed.

“Hmph.” Terrazzo frowned down at her, and then turned with a snort. “I p-pray for all of us that it is, Rainbow Dash.”

She let herself out.

It was some time before Dash could pick herself up from the floor. The shock wore off a few minutes after Terrazzo's departure, and the numbing cold in her chest vanished, swept away by a hot anger. Her eyes burned, and she wiped away the tears before they could leave tracks down her muzzle.

Damn him! Damn her! Dash grabbed a bolt of cloth with her magic and yanked it toward her. She unwound it, flinging it around the room, and grabbed a huge mouthful to muffle her screams. She yelled into it until her chest hurt and her eyes felt ready to burst from her head, and then she yelled some more.

Are you honestly upset? How did you expect your little affair to end? A hoofshake and kiss on the cheek?

“I'm just... I'm just trying to help everypony,” she whispered. Thimble, Weave, they needed her to be strong, to keep the Boutique running. That's why she was doing it.

There were two months left in her agreement with Looking Glass. Sixteen thousand more bits that she needed, regardless of how well the Boutique was doing. She couldn't risk everypony's welfare just for one mare's pride.

What about your pride?

Her pride didn't matter either, if it ever had. She sniffed, trying not to imagine how much of a mess she looked, and used her magic to fix up the shop. The cloth bolt rewound itself, the papers and drawing utensils floated back to their appointed nooks and crannies. She took a pair of long, deep breaths, and stepped out into the showroom, where Thimble and Weaved, bless their innocent hearts, worked with smiles on their faces.

Terrazzo would just have to wait a few more months to get her husband back.

Dash landed badly, her legs folding like wet straws and sending her skidding across the cold, gritty mud on her belly. She scrambled to a stop, barely avoiding a mouthful of the foul muck, and shook her head to clear away the cobwebs that fogged her mind.

Funny, she didn't remember flying.

She pushed herself onto her hooves with a grunt and scraped off as much of the mud as she could. She didn't mind mud, most days, but she never, never missed a landing, and the muddy streak down her neck and chest was a signpost for anypony who happened by that she'd planted her face in the dirt.

Except... no pony seemed to be around. She was in Ponyville, that much she could tell, but the streets were deserted and the only sound was the low whistle of the wind along the rooftops. The skies were sick with clouds, low and dour and green, filled with ice and churning madly, waiting to spill their fury on the world below. Her wings drew in, and she ducked her head reflexively, already anticipating the sting of hail. Even small hail could tear up a pegasus's feathers, and the larger chunks could knock a pony senseless and send them tumbling to the earth and death. Hail was dangerous stuff – no pony messed with it, or even went near it if they had a choice.

So, shelter. She turned and jerked to a sudden halt at the sight before her.

The Carousel Boutique was not ten paces away, but it was not the boutique Dash remembered. Its white walls were stained by age and neglect, with warped, greying timbers showing through the paint like rotting teeth. The colorful pennants were no more; tatters of faded cloth whipped madly in the wind, and as she watched a shred of one tore away, vanishing down the street like a bird taking flight.

The windows were empty. Shards of glass poked out of the weeds lining the boutique, and inside the house was only darkness. Nopony seemed to be home.

“It's just a dream,” she mumbled. “None of this is real. It's just a dream.”

She stopped at the door. It was pristine, as perfect as she remembered. The paint had not faded, the wood had not cracked, and the brass knocker and handle were perfect and untarnished. It was like a piece of the wrong puzzle, jammed into the hollows of her mind.

She shook her head, and when she looked again, the door was gone. Only the torn lintel remained, and the dark void beyond.

It's only a dream. It's only a dream. She held her breath as she stepped across the tattered threshold and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the Boutique.

The place was in ruins. If Rarity – the real Rarity, not the monster stalking this dream – could have seen it, she'd have shrieked. The tasteful furniture she used to entertain guests or customers was in flinders, strewn about the room and mixed with the torn remains of a dozen dresses. A headless mannequin, still wrapped in a crimson scarf, leaned precariously against the stairway banister. Half of the coffee table protruded from the wall. The carpet beneath her hooves was torn and uprooted, exposing the bare wood beneath. It looked as if nopony had been home for years. Perhaps decades.

“Rarity?” she called. “It's Dash.”

Something shifted upstairs. Plaster dust rained down from the ceiling, and she felt her wings flex, instinctively preparing for a quick escape. She forced them back to her side and called again. “Rarity?”

For the longest time, there was no answer, only the rush of the wind outside and the creak of the boutique's feeble, ancient structure. Minutes passed while she waited, minutes or hours, she couldn't quite be sure.

At last, as she knew would happen, Rarity responded. “In here,” a voice called from the kitchen. It ended timidly, and Dash could imagine the silent 'darling' appended to the end, a wish more than a word.

Rarity waited for her at the table. In the sickly green light leaking in from the twilight outside, only Rarity's coat seemed clean and pure. The rest of the kitchen was as much a disaster as the foyer; cabinets blown apart, the sink sunk into a watery crater, and a ceiling that sagged in places like an old pony's skin. The imposter waited for Dash at the table, one leg resting on it, her head in profile as she gazed out the window at the churning storm. She towered over the room, her long horn nearly brushing the rotting, exposed rafters above their heads.

“Hey,” Dash whispered. She walked slowly to the table and hopped up on the remaining seat. It creaked beneath her weight, but held; pegasi, especially mares, were the lightest of ponies.

“I'm glad to see you, Dash. I wish you hadn't come, but I'm glad to see you all the same.” She paused, and a small frown marred her lips. “That doesn't make any sense, does it?”

“No, but I get it.”

“Hm.” She tilted her head, pointing at the window with her chin. “Did you see the storm? It's going to be a big one.”

“Yeah, I saw.” A pause. “Rares, where are we?”

“We're asleep on Sweetie's old bed in the Carousel Boutique. Or we're in Ponyville, after it's been abandoned and consigned to ruins. Or we're in some metaphysical construct created by my sleeping mind, a sort of reflection of my inner self.” She glanced up at the sagging ceiling. “Rather miserable, isn't it?”

“It's seen better days.”

“Better years.” She turned to face Dash, and Dash saw that her left eye was a ruined pit, a dark hole whose borders were smeared red. “I have something for you, Rainbow Dash.”

Please don't be an eyeball. Please don't be an eyeball. Dash fought back the urge to gag. She shivered, but kept her gaze steady on Rarity's intact eye. “What do you have for me?”

“A way out.” Rarity's horn lit with a faint cerulean glow, and a tiny blue star floated from some concealed pouch to land on the table between them. It rocked for a moment, and then Rarity's magic faded, revealing a small gem, about the size of a quail's egg, perfectly spherical, and glimmering in its depths like the ocean at night.

“Twilight was apparently worried after our last adventure with dreamwalking, so she added a safety mechanism to the spell,” Rarity continued. “Break this gem, just like you broke the other, and we will both wake up.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes. I think you've seen enough of my past. You've seen the—” here she paused, “—the inner workings of my mind, as I saw yours. We have achieved a certain parity. We are equally aware of each others' misery.”

“You're being dramatic again.”

“Well.” She turned her head to observe the forlorn boutique and all its ruin. If the missing eye bothered her at all, she didn't show it. “I dare say it's warranted, here.”

A gust of wind slammed into the boutique, shaking the entire structure. The shriek of tortured wood, stretched to its breaking point, grated on Dash's ears.

“You really need better dreams, Rares,” she said, once the wind subsided. “We can... I can help you.”

“These are a whore's dreams, Dash. Whores dream of loss.”

“You are not—“ Dash realized she was standing on the chair, her voice raised to shout. She took a deep breath to calm herself, and settled back onto her haunches. “Don't ever use that word for yourself, Rarity. I don't care what mistakes you made, or what you thought you had to do. You're still the same beautiful, loving, generous mare I remember.”

Rarity was silent for some time. Only the hammer beat of Dash's heart and the wind outside sounded in her ears.

Dash reached a slow hoof across the table. It stopped, just inches from Rarity's leg. “Rarity, please let me—”

“Do you remember what I said? I meant it,” Rarity interrupted, as though Dash hadn't spoken. She reached up to brush her cheek with her ankle, leaving a crimson smear all down her muzzle. “I really meant it. I would happily pluck out my eye if I could go back and fix these mistakes. To have just five minutes with my past self. To warn her. Sometimes, when I'm pretending I'm a brave pony, I dream of giving up both my eyes.”

“Rares, first off, you've always been a brave pony. Second, you're being silly.” Little about their situation seemed silly, though; the abandoned Boutique creaked in the wind, and upstairs she heard something tumble to the floor with a loud crash of breaking glass. The shutters banged against the windows as if they wanted to batter their way in, and Dash had to raise her voice to be heard over them. “All this, it's just your mind caught up on a little mistake and blown out of proportion. Way, way out of proportion.”

“I can see why you would believe that,” Rarity said. She rolled the ocean sapphire idly under her hoof, briefly extinguishing its light and plunging the room back into night. “Just another mare sleeping with a married stallion. Just another whore. It must happen a thousand times every day. Why should my sin be any different, hm?”

“Er.” That wasn't exactly what Dash meant. Not the sin part, at least. “I... yeah, I guess. You don't have anything to be ashamed of, Rarity. Not anymore. You can let this go.”

The wind howled again, and a terrible, splintering roar stole away Dash's hearing. The boutique quaked, as though a giant had smashed it with her hoof, and from the stairway leading to the second floor came a sudden blast of air and rain. Pieces of what must have once been the upstairs spilled down in a mess of sodden wreckage, and the damp puddles around Dash's hooves slowly began to rise.

“None of us can let go of the past, Dash,” Rarity said. Her face was turned away, to the outside window, and though she spoke softly, Dash could hear her as clearly as if they were in Twilight's old library. “You cannot let go of Soarin's memory, and I cannot let go of...” Her mouth snapped shut with a sudden clack of teeth, and she turned to the ocean sapphire sparkling on the table between them. “Well, let go of this.”

“Let go of what, Rarity?” Dash had to shout over the roaring winds to be heard. She braced herself against the table, and mantled her wings around her head to block out the knifing rain that blasted in through the cracks in the Boutique's floundering walls.

“I cannot tell you, Dash. This is a dream – you can only watch. And again, I beg you, don't.” She gave the ocean sapphire a little tap, sending it rolling across the table toward Dash.

Dash squinted against the furious winds. The air around them was filled with flying debris, some of it sharp enough to draw blood when it struck her. She ignored the pains and focused on the perfect round gem. It would crack in her teeth, she knew, and smell like junipers.

“I'm sorry, Rares. I can't.” Dash tapped the sapphire with her hoof, sending it back toward Rarity. It rolled to the edge of the table, teetered there, and then plunged over, vanishing with a soundless splash into the deepening water beneath them.

Rarity nodded. “I didn't think so.” She had to yell now as well, to be heard over the demolition of the boutique. The walls began to bend; huge cracks appeared in them, and in spilled the storm's tempestuous, sickening light. The very floor shifted beneath Dash, as if it were no longer fully moored to the ground. “I'm sorry, Dash. I'm sorry about everything, and I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before.”

“It's okay, Rares.” Dash leaned over the table to shout in Rarity's ear. “It's like you said, I have to watch it.”

“No, not that.” Rarity shook her head. The spitting rain leaking in through the cracked walls smeared the crimson stain on her muzzle and washed pink tears from the hollow socket of her left eye. “I never said I loved—”

There was a deafening shriek as the last of the boutique's structure failed, and wood beams and plaster and curtains and shingles and everything that makes a home tore apart and collapsed and lifted away, carried by the wind into the raging storm and the everlasting night. Inside, two ponies broke as well, and Dash wished, for just a moment before the agony became complete, that she had used the gem and woken up instead.

But the gem was gone, and only the dream remained.

Rainbow Dash was already awake when the sun poked its head over the horizon.

It was technically fall now, several days past the autumnal equinox, but the air was still fair and balmy, and even at night in Fillydelphia it was warm enough for ponies to venture outside without any coats or scarves. But every few hours outside, the wind would blow just so, and brush ponies' coats with a cool kiss, a promise and a warning of things to come. Celestia's season had ended, and now the world drifted away from the sun, toward the long winter night.

So, business at the Boutique was brisk.

None of that was in Dash's mind at the moment, though. The Boutique was miles away, in the city's fashion and garment district, not the posh business quarter where dwelled the High Step Hotel and its fantastically expensive penthouse suite, from whose vast picture windows she gazed out at the waking world. It was going to be a clear day, she saw; only a few dark smudges of cloud marred the azure-perfect dawn sky.

Beautiful, isn't it? An honest beauty that doesn't pretend to be something else. If nature were a pony, she would always be naked, and we would worship her for it.

Dash let out a quiet breath. Behind her, curled up against her back, Looking Glass mumbled something in his sleep and pulled her closer. His warm breath tickled the hairs of her mane.

She tried to remember if he had any appointments scheduled in other cities. Sometimes he rose early after their nights together, catching the first train to Manehattan or Canterlot. Other days, when nothing pressing was on his plate, they would lounge in bed for hours, until the maids came by to clean the room. They might catch a late breakfast, then, or walk around the bustling city, always buzzing with ponies even on a Saturday. She didn't mind spending the extra time with him – for eight thousand bits a month, he had more than earned it.

Only three weeks remained until his final payment would arrive in her accounts, and then... well, then things would become complicated. She would transition from earning his money to owing him money, which was a somewhat better position to be in, but still precarious. And there was always the matter of Terrazzo, who presumably wouldn't be too happy if she knew Dash was still fucking her husband.

A lot to think about, isn't it? It could always be worse, though – you could be a cheap whore. Oh, and speaking of precarious positions, last night was truly impressive. How did you manage to balance—

Dash curled her legs tighter against her barrel. The motion was enough to disturb her bedmate, and she felt him stir.

“Mm.” He pushed his muzzle into her mane and drew in a deep breath. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” she whispered.

“Sleep well?”

“Of course.” She ran a hoof along the length of his leg. “You just woke me up, in fact.”

“Sorry.” He gave her ear a little nip by way of apology, and his legs unwound themselves from around her body. The mattress shifted as he climbed out of the bed. “Go back to sleep if you want, I'm going to grab a shower.”

She didn't answer, but she knew him well enough to know that no reply was expected. Instead she hooked the covers with her ankle and pulled them up over her shoulder, as though to make up for the lost warmth of his body pressed against hers. It was an act, of course, but it was a well-practiced one, and she knew it would kindle a small amount of satisfaction in his chest.

Quite the actor. Once you master fake orgasms, you'll be able to give any whore in the city a run for her money.

Alone, at last, Dash let her eyes drift shut. She'd managed a few hours of sleep last night, but as always it was fitful. A few more minutes before she had to get up and stumble into her own shower would be just about the greatest thing in the world, and she yawned so wide that her jaw actually popped. She worked it a few times, and let her head sink back into the pillow. The wonderful, soft pillow. Probably an expensive pillow, but now that the Boutique was back on its feet, she could afford nice things like it. She would have to check for a label before she left.

That silly thought caught in her mind, the way thoughts sometimes do on the horizon of sleep, and it tumbled around as she sank further and further away from the waking world. Just when she was nearly gone, the room suddenly darkened, as if a cloud had passed across the sun. It was enough to crack open her eyes.

Outside the window, her hooves balanced on the inches-wide concrete sill like a bird, stood a pegasus mare, her wings beating fitfully to hold her in place. Her face was pressed up against the glass, and Dash could see her wild eyes were wide, straining, the whites fully exposed around the irises.

Her gaze was like an arrow into Dash's chest. She shrieked and tried to jump onto her hooves, but her legs tangled in the covers, and all she managed to do was tumble out of the bed in a panic. She kicked at them frantically and managed to stand, her heart thudding in her chest like a jackhammer.

The pegasus on the far side of the glass tracked Dash's stumbling progress. Dash could see her colors, now; blue, mostly, with speckles of teal and green, sparkling like gems in the morning sun. But their beauty was gone – her coat was matted and marred with dirt, and her long mane filled with tangles. Her wings were not sleek and smooth, but ratty like a pigeon's, with stray feathers poking out at odd angles.

Dash barely noticed these things – her eyes were locked on Terrazzo's own, and in them she saw betrayal, and pain, and a hint of something else. Something that looked determined.

Before Dash could scream again, Terrazzo's wings flashed, and she was gone. She found herself alone, staring out at the beautiful sunrise, gasping for breath.

“Dash? Is everything alright?” She heard the shower stop, and the bathroom door creaked open. “I thought I heard something.”

“Yes, yes, everything's fine.” It was, perhaps, the worst lie Dash had ever told. She could hear the panic in her voice. “I... I have to go!”

“Wait, what's...” Looking Glass's voice was lost as Dash stumbled out the penthouse door, into the hotel hallway. It was still empty this early, though newspapers were already set out in front of each room. She galloped down the corridor to the elevators and mashed the 'down' button with her hoof. The damn thing took forever to arrive, at least ten seconds, and she dove in as soon as the doors opened wide enough to accept her slender form.

“Oh Celestia, oh Celestia,” she mumbled. They were forty floors up, and it took well over a minute to reach the ground level. For all she knew, Terrazzo might already be in the lobby waiting for her. She had a scarf in her bag, still up in the room, and she cursed herself for running away without it.

Well, no time to go back. Dash poked her head out the door as it opened – the lobby was empty, except for the hotel staff and some tasteful potted plants. She wondered, idly, if they were heavy enough to use as a weapon.

She made it through the lobby without being accosted by a crazed pegasus, and moments later was outside on the sidewalk. Here, at least, she felt safe – dozens of ponies were already up and about, and almost all of them were unicorns. If she kept her head down, she could blend into the crowd long enough to get in a cab. As for later, when Terrazzo would inevitably track her back to the Boutique... well, she could figure something out.

Dash was wondering what the process was for filing a restraining order when an odd sound caught her ears. All around her, ponies had stopped in their tracks and were looking up. A few pointed with a hoof, high overhead. Dash followed their gazes, and once again her heart nearly froze.

Forty stories above the streets, a bright blue spark leaned over the edge of the High Step Hotel. Pegasi weren't uncommon in Fillydelphia, but they rarely flew so high, much less perched upon the edges of skyscrapers. It was uncommon enough to turn a few heads. For Dash, it was instead the sight of a hawk searching for its prey.

The blue shape moved, and turned into a blur streaking toward the ground. Dash cringed and prepared to run. Any second now, those wings would snap open, and Terrazzo would come zooming toward her. She was caught.

Faster, Terrazzo fell. Past the thirtieth floor, then the twentieth.

Then the tenth, the fifth. The last. Her wings never opened.

Ponies screamed, and there was a rush away from the sidewalk in front of the lobby doors. Dash caught a glimpse of something blue smeared with a brilliant red, and then the world turned sideways, and she felt the hard asphalt against her cheek.

She remembered nothing else from that terrible day.