Thunk!

“Yeeeah! Another one for Team Pegasus! Woooo!”

Dash, drunkenly uncaring of her volume as several passing ponies throw concerned glances her way, wraps Fluttershy in a tightly woven aerial embrace, squeezing tightly as she sings their praises for all to hear. Another game of Arc has seemingly won in their name given that all of their bags are sitting outrageously close to the bullseye.

It was like Skeeball’s backwoods cousin; instead of underhandedly rolling balls up a slope and into holes, you toss bean bags onto a floor-adjacent target, hoping they land where you aim them. The closer you get to the bullseye, the more points you get, and since there aren’t any holes for the bags to sink into, that means things get competitive - especially when one team knocks another’s bean bag off of the platform. Two teams play at a time, and currently, it’s Team Pegasus versus Team Earth Pony, consisting of Pinkie and AJ.

“Now don’t count us out just yet, missy,” AJ retorts, securing her hat more firmly to her head. “This lil’ tango ain’t over!”

Her words, even from a few feet away, are sharper in the chilly evening than they were at the beginning of the day. Same with most of the noise; the soundscape filled your ears from top to bottom, louder and without much focus yet still remarkably clear.

Touch was impacted similarly. Your clothes became a cocoon, and each brush against the denim of your jeans or the cotton of your shirt was uncompromisingly vivid, despite the cold. Your head swims, but comfortably so, swaying at a pace you dictate. Another swig of cider travels down your throat, warming your already cozy stomach.

What a buzz. God, you love this shit so much. How’d you ever go without it up there?

Beside you, you feel Twilight stir slightly, riding out a blissful tipsiness of her own. Her expression is stuck as a smile; you don’t think she’s stopped ever since her second mug.

Not that you’d like to change it. The first image that comes to mind when you think of her is that big, dorky smile she’s got on her library card. It’s too adorable to not giggle at, especially in your cider-addled mind. You try to stifle it, but a very faint snort escapes, catching the attention of your bitter Arc rival.

“What’re you giggling about, Anon?” she asks as she turns to look at you, one eyebrow raised in accusatory fashion, no doubt thanks to the cider’s influence.

“Oh, nothing. I just, uh, remembered something funny.”

The entire sentence is warped by your incessant chuckle fit.

“Tell me!”

“Huh?”

“I wanna hear it,” she explains, already starting to laugh at nothing in particular. “If it’s got you laughing, I definitely wanna hear it.”

Even her speaking mannerisms have changed slightly. Just how much has she had?

Nevermind that, though - you are wholly unprepared for her question, and you’re not one to be overly funny on the fly, either. Quick, Anon! Put on your thinking cap! Surely there must be some off-the-cuff joke buried in that head of yours.

You search fiendishly, milliseconds stretching into years behind your eyes. From the depths of the farthest reaches of your mind emerges a joke so old, so terrible, it makes you shiver as it reaches your mouth and demands release.

“W-Why do math teachers love going to dance clubs?”

“Hmm…”

She puts on a show of pondering what the answer could be before turning to face you again.

“I’m actually not sure. Why?”

“It’s ‘cause… they like breakin’ it down.”

After you deliver the decidedly underwhelming punchline, your face autonomously rearranges its expression into the physical representation of the phrase ‘I’m sorry.’ You look ahead to the two teams battling it out, clueing into a yelled ‘consarn it’ here, and a raspy ‘no way’ there. The silence beside you gives way to a barely stifled laugh; when you turn to face her, you find Twilight starting to double over, catching herself on the edge of the bench.

Honestly, you… didn’t expect that. Maybe it’s the alcohol?

“Anon, that…” she manages to get out during lapses in her giggle fit. “I think that might have been the worst dad joke I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh yeah? Well, you’re laughing at it, purplesmart.”

She doesn’t seem to notice that you’ve used the dreaded nickname once more.

“It was so repugnant that it circled back around to being funny, honestly.”

…Mission accomplished, sorta?

“You know what? I’ll take that.”

The two of you fall silent, both watching AJ desperately trying to displace Fluttershy’s expertly tossed bean bags with mixed results. Over time, though, you’re compelled to keep talking. There’s no discernible reason; the words simply take shape before you’ve had time to think of them.

“Are you having fun?”

“Oh, absolutely! I’d hoped that the festival would end up being a success, but I had no idea today would be this…”

She hangs on ‘this’ for a few moments, looking to capture a word she can properly ascribe to the feeling.

“This magical, I suppose.”

You laugh at her ironic choice of words.

“The element of magic, planning a festival that ends up being magical? Color me shocked.”

“No, no, I mean…” she laughs out before a tone akin to that of wistful gratitude. “I mean us. Look at us, Anon!”

Your eyes scan the two teams out in front, still engaged in their heated battle, cut off from the world around them as their conflict rages on. With only a quick flick of your head rightward, you spy Rarity and Spike, chatting at a food booth while they wait for their order.

Every single one of them - even the ones embroiled in the Arc war - all seem content beyond measure, as if they’re aware of how good things are, but on a more primal level than upfront recognition. Turning back to Twilight, she’s probably the most aware of it out of all of them, judging by her beaming smile.

“You sure it isn’t just the cider, Miss Lightweight?”

She shakes her head, her expression unchanging.

“I know it isn’t. Today being a mare’s day, I already knew it was going to be wonderful like it always is, but then…”

She stops for a second, the weight of her chosen next words showing in her hesitance. All at once, she barrels through those second thoughts.

“Then you showed up out of nowhere, and now we’re all back together again having fun, just like it used to be… I was hoping we would come back to that.”

Her words twist your stomach into a solid knot. How do you even respond to something that levels you completely like that…?

“I was, too.”

Your response has her full attention; sensing this, you launch into it.

“I was scared that I messed up our friendship. When I boarded the train, I realized just how much I had alienated myself from your lives, all in the effort of…

You sigh deeply.

“Of living out someone else’s vision of fulfillment.”

Your arms cross as you lean back into the bench.

“Yesterday, I would have given anything to get those four years back. To spend them here, with you all. Now, though…”

You turn to Twilight.

“Now, I know I already have all the time I need.”

It’s like she’s awestruck, with those near-bulging eyes of hers shining even in the dim light of the receding sun.

“You mean…?”

“Yep. I get to browse the housing market again.”

You don’t even get an opportunity to laugh at your own dry joke before she launches into you, throwing her hooves around your torso and resting her head on your chest. The sensation of her hugging you so tightly sends sparks across your flesh, setting it alight.

She’s laughing again, although this time, it’s a lot more sing-songy. It lilts through the air and vibrates through your chest, a declaration of joy belted with her eyes closed. Her breath reaches you, cider and lavender co-mingling in your nose. She’s definitely tipsy; she’s received better news before and been more reserved than this.

Still, the gesture tugs at your heartstrings. You embrace her fully in return, squeezing as hard as you think she can take. She’s actually surprisingly warm, despite the steadily dropping evening temperatures. That down jacket of hers must be working wonders alongside the alcohol.

A couple seconds later, it seems like she gains some of her self-awareness back, tensing up just a tad and pulling back to give you your space.

“S-Sorry, Anon,” she stammers out, her face flush. “It’s just- that’s amazing news!”

You chuckle, a bit lightheaded from the attention.

“It’ll be a while before I can make any kind of down payment on a house, so it’s not quite set in stone, but I really would like to do that. I don’t know what I want to do with my life right now, especially after yesterday, but Ponyville’s a great place to try and figure it out, right?”

“I don’t think you could have picked a better town for it, honestly.”

Thinking about it, she’s absolutely right. Last time you combed the job listings here, the variety of positions and apprenticeships offered was so staggering that it was hard to believe. Back home it was front desk associate, mail clerk, office assistant, and other soul-draining positions if you ever wanted to just get your foot in the door of a practice.

In Ponyville? You can basically walk up to any store in town, ask for an apprenticeship, and if the trial period goes well, you’d have an interesting, engaging career path. Bookkeeper, assistant caretaker at the animal sanctuary… Hell, there was even a blacksmith that was taking on students.

At least, that’s what the job listings said the last time you were in town. It makes you wonder why you ever wanted your old job in the first place. A memory lost in the swathes of corporate skullduggery, you suppose.

“I just hope I can slide into a career I really enjoy. I’ve been on autopilot for so long, I feel like I don’t even know what I wanna do anymore.”

“Luckily, you’ve got a place to stay while you figure it out,” she says, unsubtly winking at you.

“Twi, the last thing I wanna do is bum off of you.”

“Is it bumming if I want you to stay with us?”

“I mean… inverse stockholm-bumming syndrome, maybe?”

“Anon, I thought we were enjoying the festival, not working out,” she pseudo-whines, disappointment plain for you to hear.

“...Huh?”

“You know, with all that stretching you just did.”

“Ha-ha. I’m serious.”

“So am I,” she says sternly. “That bedroom’s been yours since before you left, and it always will be.”

You’re not sure what to say to that, snark or otherwise. Her genuine kindness is welcomed, but there’s a nagging feeling in your gut that you can’t quite shake.

“I’m sorry, Twilight. I’d be more than happy to stay with you two. I don’t really know why I…”

The words die in your throat as Twilight listens intently, her expression disarmingly neutral, attentive to a fault. Soft gaze, slightly upturned eyebrows, the ghost of a grin as you struggle to explain your initial refusal… It’s like she knows what you’re going to say, but you feel compelled to say it anyways.

You’re cut off, unfortunately, by what can only be described as a ‘victory screech.’

“YAAAAAA-”

A cannon goes off next to the game of Arc taking place in front of you, forcing your hands to shoot up to your ears. The party armament - which, by all accounts, wasn’t there five seconds ago - blasts confetti to and fro, a fair bit of it landing on both you and Twi. More than a few passers by are stealing glances in your general direction, a good many of them startled out of their wits.

Well, at least you know who won.

Looking over, your suspicions are confirmed by Pinkie and AJ’s brief victory dance, Rainbow momentarily sulking in the background while ‘Shy claps her hooves for the winning team.

“Now what was that about putin’ our bits where our mouths are?” AJ goads, her competitive spirit winning out over her humility.

Rainbow openly sighs, shaking the sour taste of victory off.

“You know what?” she harrumphs. “Fair play. Don’t think you’ll get so lucky next time, bub.”

“Luck ain’t got anything to do with it, sugarcube. Good game, though.”

They close the distance between each other and shake hooves, leaving their bitter rivalry behind for merrier pastures. Suddenly, the enchanted lamps scattered throughout the park come alight, signaling the official transition from evening to night.

You look back over at Twilight, who returns your gaze just as soon as you give it.

“We’ll talk about it more later, okay?”

She smiles fully at you, brushing some of the confetti out of her mane as she does so.

“Of course, Anon.”

The two of you hop off of the bench and head toward your friends, all convening around the peppered target and picking up the bags. AJ holds a bigger bag open while you all toss the sacks in, cleaning up so that the next group wouldn’t have to do the dirty work.

“Who’s got the next game?” Pinkie asks excitedly, already raring to go.

Maybe it’s just your imagination, but you swear you can feel her vibrating next to you.

“Nopony, unfortunately,” Twilight chimes in, mild dejection painting her features. “The festival was only scheduled to operate until the lights came on, that way the vendors can pack up before it gets too dark out.”

“What!? It can’t be over yet, we barely even started!”

“I’m sorry, Pinkie. Mayor Mare’s the one who set the limits, I can’t bend them.”

The partier of eons literally deflates before your eyes, accompanied by a comical sputtering noise as she slumps further and further into a pile on the ground.

“It’s hard to believe it’s already over,” Fluttershy chimes in. “It really doesn’t feel like it’s been seven hours, does it?”

The others hem and haw at her statement; your own answer is to look around you as their words blur in your ears. It doesn’t feel like seven hours have passed, but the flow of time presents itself under the dim lamplight of the late evening. Once pristine blankets of snow are now heavily tread, bits of waterlogged grass peering out in messy clumps.

The goings-on have died down considerably; where once a giant crowd resided, there are only inklings of groups here and there, finishing up their loose ends before making for the entrance of the park. Night hasn’t fully descended yet, and a dull glow seeping through the clouds paints everything one or two shades toward amber, irrespective of its prior color. Celestia’s handiwork, of course. Who else could be responsible for a sunset blooming through cloud cover like that?

She must’ve had a particularly good day.

A small smirk tugs at the corners of your lips; a good day for her usually means that something funny happened in court, or at some mind-numbing delegate meeting. ‘What could it be this time?’ you wonder. A mischief of her own design, perhaps?

Oh, you hope so. You’ve always loved hearing about her legendary gags in your back-and-forths with her, written or otherwise. Come to think of it, her letters are the only ones you’ve responded to with some sort of regularity. Though, you suppose that’s to be expected, given she was one of the first friends you’d happened to make here.

A bomb hits your gut - you haven’t told her what happened yet.She likes her impromptu visits once in a blue moon, and the last thing you want is for her to show up at an empty apartment none the wiser. Looks like you’re gonna be writing a letter tonight when you get home. With any luck, it’ll reach her while she’s still awake, now that you have Spike nearby.

Hopefully, it won’t take her too long to see it. You’ve seen the busier end of her and Luna’s schedules firsthand; sometimes, the sea of responsibilities swallows all.

Funny, that.

Infinitely busier than you were, and yet she still found time to get back to you every week or so.

“Do we have anything else planned for tonight?” Rarity chimes in, breaking you out of your runaway thoughts.

“Yeah, I was gonna ask the same thing,” Dash says. “We can’t end it here, it’s not even that late yet!”

Twilight looks off into the waning crowd for a second, weighing the possible post-festival options for entertainment. She frowns momentarily, seemingly coming up short.

You, however, might just have an ace.

“I mean, it is Saturday night.”

Six sets of eyes dart to you, expecting a continuation. Pinkie miraculously reinflates, aiming that seventh set straight at yours with barely contained anticipation.

“Is Ponyville Pub still open?”

Rarity giggles daintily, bringing a hoof up to her face.

“Anonymous, dear, we’ve already been drinking quite a bit of cider.”

“Oh, no, I meant for dinner.”

As if on cue, your stomach grumbles.

“I haven’t had their mushroom stew since the last time I was here, and honestly, I could probably eat two bowls right now.”

Looks of consideration take the group by storm.

“Well, you already know my answer,” Spike chuckles, patting his stomach with his claw.

“I didn’t eat very much for lunch, so I wouldn’t mind coming along,” Shy adds.

Everyone else nods along with your two vocal supporters, clearly into the suggestion.

“Any extra time together sounds good to me!” Pinkie interjects, hopping merrily in the direction of the pub.

You all follow suit, conversation springing up around you once more.

---

“See ya later! And good to have you back again, Anon!”

Rainbow waves hastily, flashing a winning smile before jetting directly upward into the night sky, her signature rainbow trail lighting up the street that you and Twilight are standing on, Spike riding on her back. The technicolored light strips stay behind for just a few seconds before dissipating into thin air, leaving the three of you once again blanketed in starlight, save for the dim lamps strewn about the town.

Cloudsdale’s shadow blots out the stars behind it, its usual array of lights and rainbows missing for the night. Back on earth, the streets have died down considerably; now, only a few ponies mill about, most having retreated indoors for the night.

You turn to your two closest friends, both of them still looking with gentle regard at the floating town’s impression against the sky. Errant snowflakes dot their clothing here and there, the snowfall having kicked up once more after dinner ended. And yet, despite the recurring onset of the cold, they aren’t shivering. Not like you, at least.

Before long, you find that their grin has found its way onto your face as well. Maybe, if they’re generous, they’ll lend you a bit of that cold resistance they’ve got going right now. Why not, if their smiles were so infectious?

A sudden sigh from Twilight breaks your attention, the steam from her breath billowing forth from her nostrils and curling into the night air before ultimately fading into nothing. You stay silent, unconsciously echoing her with a much gentler sigh of your own.

Apart from the crickets and the gentle pittering of the snowfall, all is still.

She shares with you not her inherent warmth, but the hidden feeling fastened just behind her eyes, locked onto the clouds above. The nighttime introspection of a day shared with loved ones, all crashing at once now that they’ve gone home. She doesn’t look sad; far from it, in fact. Her joy more than likely looped back into relative neutrality. It’s a strikingly familiar feeling, having experienced it yourself during every trip back here from Canterlot.

She looks back at you, that wistful smile still holding, ending your train of thought.

“Ready to go home, Anon?”

You nod, the three of you once more setting off for home. The uneven firmness of the cobbled streets feel nice against the soles of your shoes, even slippery and covered with snow.

You speak, but your voice comes out as a murmur, still audible against the delicate ambience.

“I’ll never get used to how quiet it gets after dark here.”

“Even after living here for a while?” Spike asks, twisting to look at you.

“Mhm. It’s different than just quiet, though, it’s… weirdly calm.”

Ach, poor choice of words.

“Not weird in a bad way, of course. It’s just… agh, how do I even convey it?”

The sound of hooves, feet, and claws marching homeward, buffeted by the gentle snowfall, is the only response you get for a few moments.

“Serene?” Twilight muses, both of you still looking ahead.

“Not quite, but I feel like that’s pretty close.”

Your eyes sweep the quaint homes around you, each cottage with its own somewhat unique architecture and decorations despite being mostly uniform. Most of the houses are illuminated from the inside, giving a lived-in feeling to the otherwise empty path.

“I was thinking ‘homey’ might do it justice, but that seems too aggressive a descriptor.”

Even after a few more moments of deeper thought, you struggle to come up with anything, especially under your friends’ curious gaze. Maybe later on, whenever you’ve settled back in, you’ll be able to-

“It’s gentle.”

The word sort of falls out of you as opposed to being spoken confidently. It did come to your mouth before your mind, after all. Spike cocks his head at your answer, while Twilight raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Well, that isn’t exactly it, but it’s close. You get what I mean?”

You gesture to the town around you, your hand falling against your pants with a slap afterward.

“It’s like there’s this giant blanket covering the town, keeping everything cozy or something.”

You sigh openly.

“I don’t know, that probably sounds stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Twilight retorts, sounding almost taken aback by your self-reprimanding. “Trying to understand those strange, ineffable feelings is really interesting. I actually did a study on it once when I was still in school.”

“Did you find anything out?”

“Well, it was more of a thesis than anything, but in laymare’s terms, I proposed that certain ineffable emotions could be attributed to color, with an individual’s upbringing and social environment being the largest determining factors of what color denotes which feeling.”

“How’d you summarize the unnamed emotions?”

The three of you turn onto the street leading to the library, and you inwardly wish that the road would go on forever.

“Mostly by combining other known emotions, or describing the experience somepony had when they felt it, like you just did. It wasn’t exactly the best or most thorough study I’ve ever done, given that it wasn’t about anything related to magic, but it ended up making me a lot more conscious of my own feelings.”

“In a more analytical way, I presume?”

“To a degree,” she concedes. “Afterward, I started seeing the context of why I felt certain ways at certain times.”

Before she can continue, she squints in the direction of Golden Oaks, scanning something that you don’t quite see yet, even when you pore over the homestead with your own eyes.

“Odd… I wasn’t expecting any mail today.”

You affix your gaze to the mailbox, just barely picking up the outline of the red flag raised above the box proper. How she was able to make out that tiny detail in the dark, you’ll never know.

The two of you pick up the pace slightly, her confusion growing as you both reach the mailbox. With a flourish of her horn, the flag is nestled on its side once more and the hatch is pulled gently open, revealing nothing but a single letter inside. She envelops it within her aura and pulls it out, a confused frown gracing her features as she reads over the addressing information.

“It’s for you…?” she half-asks as she floats it over to you, befuddled.

You grab it out of the air, leafing it over in your hand to look at the cover. In the very center of the envelope is Fleur de Lis’s cutie mark, with ‘Flair’ superimposed over it in eloquent script.

It takes a second or two before some mild alarm bells ring out in your head. Chief among them is the fact that the letter was addressed directly to here, with no trace of your old apartment’s address to be found. You’d think they would’ve re-addressed it here after the initial delivery failed, but no; straight to Golden Oaks.

Then, there’s the timing of the letter. You quit yesterday, and you’ve already gotten written correspondence from them for who knows what. Eager to dispel the mystery, you tear at the envelope’s fold, cold fingers ringing along as you open it. You unfold the delicate slip of paper within and begin reading.

Mister Anonymous,

The employees in charge of clearing out your vacant cubicle found that a number of your belongings were still present. These include, but are not limited to: Office decorations, books, a lunch box, personal photos, and a scheduling journal. These items will be held for pickup until end-of-day Sunday. In the event that we do not hear from you by then, we will have no choice but to dispose of them. We apologize for this inconvenience; our storage facility is currently at capacity, and we cannot afford overflow at this time. We look forward to your arrival!

Yours truly,
Clean Sweep, Senior Director of Sales

…

Motherfucker.

He saw those pictures and knew he’d have you by the nuts.

You know for a fact that storage isn’t at capacity. At least, it wasn’t yesterday. Even then, how the hell do some knick knacks cause an overflow? And for that matter, why’s his signature even on the letter, anyway? This dreck reeks of corporate copy-and-paste.

Fuuuuuuuuck. If it were anything but the pictures of you and your friends, you’d leave Flair to rot.

…God damn it, you hope the station opens early.

“What’s it say?” Spike chimes in, interrupting your inward rant.

A dejected breath leaves you in a hurry.

“I left some stuff with sentimental value at the office by accident, and they’re gonna throw it away if I don’t go pick it up tomorrow. Pictures of all of us, a few months after I got here.”

“They’d really do that?”

“Not normally, no. Clean Sweep’s pulling out all the stops to fuck me over, I guess.”

“Anon!”

Your head whips to a decidedly displeased Twilight mad-dogging you.

Ah, shit, right. She hates when you curse, especially in front of Spike.

“Sorry, Twilight.”

“I swear, one day, I’m going to break that habit of yours,” she promises, her expression switching to that of concern over your situation. “Is there any way we can help?”

Despite an extensive internal search, you come up with nothing. The fate of your pictures lies solely with you.

“Not that I can think of. I just hope he hasn’t already gotten rid of all of it.”

“He’d have to be awfully rotten to do something like that.”

Although misplaced, you really did miss her unflinching optimism.

“He is. You don’t get to his position in that company without stepping on others.”

You crumple the letter and envelope in your hand, balling it up and shoving it deeply into your palm with your curled fingers.

“Knowing him, he’s gonna be there when I show up, complete with his trademark snide.”

“Do you want us to come along with you?” Twilight asks. “The library is closed until the week starts, so it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

You honestly consider it for a second, but…

“I think I’ll be okay. I doubt he’d try to be overly confrontational about it.”

You turn to the two of them, both holding your gaze with neutral expressions.

“Besides, I wouldn’t want to drag you two along on a fetch quest the day before work starts back up.”

“I do like having the day to relax,” Twilight admits with a giggle. “Still, are you sure you’re alright with going alone?”

You nod, shooting a disarming smile at her.

“Yep. One last headache to deal with, am I right?”

And then you can get on with your dreams, whatever those are.

Spike smiles back at you, nodding along with your statement. Twilight looks like she’s going to argue a case for going along with you, but relents after a moment, smiling with a barely audible sigh.

“One last headache.”

Without warning, she yawns, bringing one out of you as well.

“We should probably head in and start winding down,” she suggests in the midst of an exhale, both of you heading for the front door. “It’s nine right now, and the station opens at six, so you’ll need as much sleep as you can get.”

“Looks like chamomile’s on the menu again, then.”

“Too right,” Spike agrees, his own yawn taking over at the end.

You open the door for the both of them, and they thank you as they head inside, the floorboards creaking gently beneath them. Shutting the door behind you, you’re blasted by a gust of cold outdoor wind before the slightly warmer air of the library envelops you. You follow them into the living room proper, and before you get too far in, you stop as you realize you’ve almost forgotten something.

“Hey, Twilight?” you call out across the room.

“Hm?” she responds, looking back as she lights an overhead lamp with the help of her magic.

“Would you mind if I borrowed some of your parchment? I wanna write a letter to Celestia real quick.”

“Oh, sure! I keep a stack in the front desk in the library room, second drawer from the top.”

“Thanks!”

You traipse back into the library room, heading back behind the desk and taking a seat. You pull some fresh parchment from the aforementioned stash, smoothing it out against the wood surface as you place it down. The material gently catches your fingers, rough to the touch. Pulling her fountain pen from its receptacle, you hover your hand over the paper, ready to write.

You pause just before the ink starts to flow, molding your thoughts with care. When you’re satisfied with the composition, you press the tip into the page, translating mind into ink.

Dear Princess Celestia,

Hail, fair Celestia, whose friendship and acquaintanceship is a boon to us all! How have you been faring as of late, Your Majesty?’

Okay, that even felt bad to write. I don’t think I could ever be one of the advisors in the castle, I don’t have the stomach for their vernacular. In all seriousness, how’ve you been, Cel? I know it’s been a bit longer than usual since I last wrote to you, and I want to apologize for that. Hopefully my negligence hasn’t upset you too much. If I know you at all, then you’ve already figured out that I’m not in Canterlot by now from this letter’s method of delivery. There’s a story surrounding that, and although I usually prefer waiting to tell you in person, I feel like this one’s too important to sit on the proverbial shelf. I’ll save the juicier gossip for the next time I see you, but in short, I quit my job at Flair and moved out of my apartment in Canterlot. Let’s just say I was made aware of how people were being treated by certain people in power at the company. I just wanted to- I can’t believe I let-

I don’t know what I’m here for, Cel.

The pen moves far slower than before; its weight drags your fingers along with it. Your chest tightens, but you keep writing, pausing to dictate almost every single word.

All I’ve ever known is the path that was set for me, for better or worse. It helped keep me focused when I was in school, but now that I’ve got to make my own way forward, I realize how suffocating it’s been. The only part of my life, work or otherwise, that I’ve ever been passionate about was the end result. Always beyond me, always dangling from a rope. It was always the next milestone, and when I eventually did reach it? It was no big deal; I should’ve been there already. It’s devastating, realizing you’ve been chasing someone else’s dream on autopilot for so long that you’re starting to wonder where the ghost ends, and where you start.

…

But it’s not all bad. I’m back in Ponyville, surrounded by friends who genuinely care about me and want to see me grow. It’s a far cry from what I’m used to, but it’s exactly what the doctor ordered. They’re making this whole thing manageable. I don’t know what I’d do if it wasn’t for them.

You chuckle to yourself.

Here I was, thinking they’d be mad at me for not writing to them when I came back, but they ended up inviting me out to Mare’s Night and drinking me under the table.

An exaggeration, but one made in goodwill.

I don’t think I’m worthy of them, but I’m gonna make sure I spend the rest of my life trying to be.

You only realize you’re smiling when your cheeks start hurting. Rubbing them cyclically with your left hand, you continue to write with your free one.

In other news, I’ve gotta come back up to Canterlot tomorrow to pick up some mementos I accidentally left at the office before they throw them away. Do you remember that picture Luna got of you nailing me in the face with a pie from around the corner? Yeah, I wouldn’t wanna lose that one. Anyway, I’m starting to run out of parchment, so I’ll cut it short. I know you probably won’t get this before morning, but I just wanted to reach out and say hello. Miss ya, Cel.

Wishing you all the best,
Anonymous

With your friendly outpouring complete, you let the pen fall from your hand, its surprising weight crashing onto the table with a resounding thud. You lean back into the chair, letting your head loll back onto the cushion at the very top.

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