Memory (The White Crow)

There’s something I’m forgetting...

I am Nova Blare.

I came from... I am from...

I’m supposed to do something.  I have a purpose.  What is it?  What am I forgetting?

She lay awake in her bed

(Fluttershy’s bed, it’s really her bed)

staring at the ceiling.  Sunlight leaked through the closed curtains, the orange beams of morning creating patterns and shadows across the floor.  Nova watched, captivated, as the early light painted the dust in the air a hue so warm she could almost feel it.  The sight was amazing, and somehow very important; as Nova felt the sunlight begin to spread over her, she felt a familiar comfort—she felt at home.

Rigel?

…What is that thought supposed to mean?

She was pondering the caved-in depths of her own mind when there was a knock upon the door.

“Come in,” she said, feeling uncomfortable and guilty—why did she deserve a knock?  This was Fluttershy’s own home, wasn’t it?  You shouldn’t have to knock on your own doors.

The door slid open, and Fluttershy slowly walked through.  One wing was extended, balancing a bowl of something steaming hot.  She smiled cordially at Nova.

“I brought you some breakfast.  It’s porridge.  I’m not much of a cook, but I did my best.  Oh! I forgot napkins.”  She slid the bowl off her wing and onto the dresser that sat across from the bed.  “I’ll be right back.”

On her way to the kitchen, Fluttershy performed a mental analysis of Nova.  She had been wide awake, sitting up in bed—that was a good sign.  It meant her back was well enough to sit, and her hooves were healed enough and strong enough to push her into a sitting position.  The cuts and bruises were nearly gone—and far sooner than she had anticipated.  But it wasn’t Nova’s body that worried Fluttershy.  It was her mind.  She knew head injuries were terrifying things, and the mind was a complex machine that could behave erratically when broken.  She could deal with broken wings, Bloom Fever, splinters, headaches.  But she had never before encountered an amnesiac.

She grabbed the napkins off the counter and returned to the room.

“Here you go!  Let me—”  She stopped mid-sentence.  The porridge was no longer on the dresser.  Now, it sat in Nova’s lap, above the comforter.  Nova herself looked up questioningly at Fluttershy, a steaming spoonful of porridge hovering just before her open mouth.

Sensing something was amiss, Nova returned the spoon to the bowl.  “What’s wrong?  What happened?”  A blemish of guilt spread across her face—suddenly she couldn’t escape the feeling that she had done something wrong, that by eating the porridge she had broken some unspoken rule.

“Oh, no, don’t worry,” Fluttershy said soothingly, heading toward the bed.  “It’s nothing, it’s nothing.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”  She sat next to Nova’s side of the bed while Nova stared red-faced into the porridge.

“What... what did I do?  I’m very sorry for it, I promise.”

“No, it’s nothing.  It’s just... I put the porridge on the dresser.  How did you get it without leaving the bed?”

Nova looked at Fluttershy, then at the bowl of porridge, then at the dresser, then back at the bowl of porridge with an intense scrutiny.  She closed her eyes, focusing all of her efforts on remembering.

“I... I don’t know.  I mean, I remember you putting the porridge on the dresser.  And then I remember thinking it looked delicious.  I could see the steam rising from here, and I could smell it, too.  So... I just wanted it.  And then I was eating it.”  She turned to Fluttershy with pleading eyes, eyes childlike with innocence and remorse—but adult with a deep, striking fear that went beyond the scope of the porridge; the porridge was merely a reminder that she didn’t belong, that even in the mundane act of eating, she was able to estrange herself and upset her new friend.

“That’s okay,” Fluttershy said.  “I’m not mad.  Of course I’m not mad!”  She smiled in an attempt to prove she wasn’t upset.  “So,” she said, hoping to change the topic, “how is it?”

Nova brightened immediately.  “It’s delicious!  I love it.  Thanks so much, Fluttershy.”

Fluttershy smiled.  “Just glad to see you’re feeling better.  Oh—I’d better go make sure I turned the stove off.”

As she closed the door behind her, her smiled faded.  Now there was another mystery on her list, another unknown to be solved.

Oh, Nova, she thought.  Nova, Nova...

***

“...And then the porridge was in her lap, even though I was only gone for a few seconds and she couldn’t have possibly gotten out of bed.”

Twilight waved a hoof, dismissing the issue.  “Okay, Fluttershy.  She probably just... moves quickly.  To be honest, I’m more worried about her health.  How is she?”

Sitting around the table in the kitchen, Fluttershy lowered her voice while throwing a glance to the hallway.  She didn’t think Nova could hear from such a distance and behind a closed door, but it couldn’t hurt to be safe.

“She’s healing just fine.  Faster than I expected, actually.  Listen, Twilight, I think there’s something... unusual about her.”

Twilight smiled.  “Aw, you’re just underestimating your abilities.  She’s healing quickly because of you, Fluttershy.  Nopony can nurture a creature back to health like you can.  You really have a gift.”

Fluttershy bit her lip.  She didn’t know why she was so worried.  It had to do with Nova’s little curiosities—the porridge, the glowing, the amnesia; and even though each of those mysteries was innocent enough, she couldn’t escape the feeling that combined they signaled something with great foreboding.

“But... the porridge...”

Twilight rolled her eyes.  “I told you, Fluttershy, she probably just got out of bed.  Don’t worry about it.”

“I think she used magic.”

Another eye roll.  “Fluttershy, she doesn’t have a horn.”

Fluttershy was beginning to feel frustrated—emotion she didn’t feel very often, and so when she did, it was very difficult for her to control.

“Twilight, you saw her fall out of the sky.  Why won’t you believe that she can use magic?”

Twilight blinked; such an assertive tone was Fluttershy’s way of yelling, and therefore was always a surprise to hear.

“Well, Fluttershy... it’s logic.  Inductive reasoning.  Every unicorn ever observed has been able to perform at least some amount of magic, and every non unicorn ever observed hasn’t.  Nova isn’t a unicorn.  Therefore, Nova can’t use magic.”

“But—”

“Here’s another example to help you understand.  All crows we’ve ever seen have been black.  Therefore, all crows are black.”

Fluttershy looked away, mumbling something.

“What?”

“I said, I’ve seen a white crow.”

“Well...”  But she could think of nothing to say.  Had she just lost a game of reasoning?  She began to reevaluate their discussion.  It was true, she had seen Nova fall out of the sky.  Would it really be so incredible if she could also use magic?

“I think I’m right, Twilight.  And...” She lowered her voice to a hushed whisper, though she still wasn’t sure why.  “She glows.”

Twilight’s eyebrows rose.  “What do you mean—”

Just then, the kitchen door burst open, and a pink blur sped through it.

“Is she awake?  Can I meet her?  What’s her name?  Did you tell her about me yet?  Oh, also, is she okay?  I think I should have asked that first.”

“Hi, Pinkie,” Fluttershy and Twilight said in chorus—Twilight with an amiable smile and Fluttershy with a troubled frown.  She was always happy to see her friends, but at that moment she didn’t feel like dealing with Pinkie.  Too much was happening too quickly, and the feeling of dread kept growing, spurred by some deep intuition that she didn’t understand.  But she had no way to express this feeling, not without Twilight scoffing at her like before.  So she kept her mouth shut, and all the while the feeling grew.

“She’s improving,” Fluttershy said, responding to Pinkie’s question, “but she still needs to be alone.  Maybe you both should—”

Just then a voice, small and meek, spoke out from behind.  “Fluttershy?”  The three ponies turned in surprise.  In the doorway connecting the kitchen and the hallway stood Nova, who peered back with a nervous and nearly apologetic grin.  “I’m sorry to bother you.  I just wanted to stretch my legs.  Are these your friends?”

“Yep!”  Pinkie nodded her head so voraciously that her mane sprung crazily up and down like a yo-yo.  “And you’re that pony who fell from the sky!”  In the blink of an eye she was next to Nova, wrapping a hoof around her shoulder and pulling her close in a friendly, albeit rather tight, hug.  “I’m Pinkie Pie!  And now you know my name and I know yours and so therefore by Pinkie’s Law, we’re friends!”

Pinkie’s foreleg was squeezing her so tightly that her golden face began burning bright red.  “It’s... nice... to meet you,” she said, her voice strained.

“Pinkie!  Give her room!”  With a pop Twilight teleported to Pinkie and began prying her off the light-headed Nova.  “Sorry about that,” Twilight said, as Nova regained her breath, face returning to its normal color.  “That’s just Pinkie.  I’m Twilight.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  She extended a hoof.

“I’m Nova,” the golden mare said, staring at the hoof in confusion.  She could tell she was supposed to do something, but she wasn’t sure what.  Twilight’s friendly grin faltered while her hoof stood out awkwardly in the air, alone.  After a few awkward seconds, Nova realized what she was expected to do, her face lighting up in recognition.  She extended her own hoof, meeting Twilight’s.

Is this a gesture of greeting? she thought.  I hope I am doing this correctly.

Twilight, no stranger to awkward scenarios, visibly relaxed and let out a mental breath of relief when Nova caught on.  She put her hoof down and smiled once more at the quiet golden pony before her. Maybe Fluttershy was right—there was something unusual about her.  It was hard to tell just what, though; she was of average size, and though her color was unusual, Twilight had met golden mares before.  Perhaps none with this magnitude of... sheen, however.  And maybe there was something strange about those curious honey-gold eyes, not in their color but in their shape, the way they stared out at the world as if everything were new but familiar at the same time.

After several moments of studying her closely, she realized she was staring.  “So, where are you from?” she asked, hoping the return of conversation would break the awkward quiet.

“Don’t be silly!” Pinkie chimed in.  “Didn’t you see her fall from the sky?”

“Well, yes,” Twilight said slowly and carefully.  “But there must be more to it than that.  It’s not like she appeared out of nowhere.  So,” she smiled brightly at Nova, “where are you from?”

Nova shrunk back under Twilight’s gaze.

The sky?  Up there from the blue?

“I... don’t know...”  She retreated back to the doorway.  “I don’t remember.”

The sky?

“I’m going to go back to my room—Fluttershy’s room—the room Fluttershy is letting me use—to lie down now.”

Twilight’s grin faltered for the second time.  “Oh... kay?  Goodbye?”  But she was already gone.  “Gosh, Fluttershy.  She might be even shyer than you are.”

Fluttershy sighed, leaning against the table and resting her head in her hooves.  “I think she’s just confused.  She doesn’t know who she is.  That blow to the head really damaged her memory.”  She sighed again, this time with sadness weighing down the wavering breath.  “I don’t know if I can help her.”

“Of course you can, Fluttershy,” Twilight said, smiling and sitting down at the table opposite her friend.  “She wouldn’t even be out of bed if it weren’t for you.”  Her horn glowed, and so did the mug of tea on the table.  “If I were you, I’d—AH!”  She let out a blunt yell, falling back from the table.  The mug crashed to the ground, where it shattered into a puzzle of shards.

Pinkie gasped.  “Twilight!”

Fluttershy bent down to help her friend up.  “What’s wrong, Twilight?  What happened?”

The unicorn groaned, rubbing her head with a hoof and shakily getting back up.  “I... don’t know.  It didn’t hurt.  I just didn’t expect it.”

“What was it?” Pinkie asked, looking her friend all over as if expecting to find an injury.

“I’m not sure... I just tried to levitate this mug and it felt... weird.”

“Weird?” Fluttershy asked.

Twilight nodded.  “It’s hard to explain if you’re not a unicorn, but... when I used magic just then, it felt... off.  Kind of like—”  Her eyes widened, and with a gasp she turned around, facing the door.  “I’ve felt this before.”  Turning back to her friends: “Fluttershy, Pinkie, I have to go.  I think something’s happening, but I can’t be sure.  It could be serious.”

“...Serious?” Pinkie gulped.

Twilight smiled.  “Don’t worry, Pinkie, it’s probably nothing.  But I have to go run tests.”  Then she turned again, and with a hasty gallop and a gentle slam of the door, she was gone.

Pinkie turned to Fluttershy.  “Do... you know what just happened?”

The pegasus shook her head.  “I have no—”

“If you... see AJ or Rarity or Rainbow...” Twilight said between enormous breaths, peering through the kitchen’s circular window, “...tell them... I said... hi.”  Then she was gone again.

After a few moments of silence, Pinkie turned slowly to Fluttershy again.  “Oooooooh... kaaaaaay... I do not know what just happened.”

“I don’t, either,” Fluttershy said, but in her head the pieces were beginning to fall into place.  She wasn’t sure what had just happened with Twilight.  She wasn’t sure why Nova glowed in the night, or why she fell from the sky, or where she came from or even who she really was.  But she did know that, in some way, each of those peculiarities were connected.  And the feeling that something enormous was heading directly toward them grew and grew.

***

“Your friends seemed nice,” Nova said, sipping from a hot mug of something delicious.  She wasn’t sure what it was, but Fluttershy had made it on the stove by pouring leaves and some sort of powder into boiling water.  It was bittersweet, and reminded her of... of a similar drink from her home.  Something her mother used to make.  Conflicting emotions washed over her as she took another sip.  How could she remember the taste of a drink but not her own mother’s face?  Suddenly she felt incredibly alone, and it was only by glancing up to the yellow pegasus sitting next to her bed that she was able to hold in homesick tears for a home she couldn’t remember.

Fluttershy grinned.  “Oh, you’ve only met two of them.  I’m sure you’ll like the others just as much.”

“When will I get to meet them?”

“Tomorrow, I think.  They were going to come over today, but something’s going on in town.”  She glanced to the window, peering into the night.  “Living out here, all that commotion never reaches me.  At least, not for a few more days.”

Nova nodded and took another sip.  Though she didn’t know it, she was beginning to glow again.  Fluttershy had noticed immediately when she walked in, and as the dusk turned to night it only became more and more apparent; she grew brighter as the sky grew darker.

Fluttershy said nothing to her luminous friend.  Over the past two days, they had gotten to know each other through conversation as well as silence.  In the silence, Fluttershy learned from the little details of Nova’s actions; from the way she stared with wonder and wistfulness out the window each night, from her habit of squeezing her eyes tight with every blink, from her restless sleep of tossing and turning that nearly always resulted in the comforter shed onto the ground.

Fluttershy nearly mentioned to her that she was glowing, but decided not to.  Maybe if her memory started coming back, she would notice on her own.

“I don’t know if I want to meet them,” Nova said suddenly.

“What?”

“Your friends.”  She shrank back under the comforter.  “I don’t know if I want to meet them.”

“Why not?  They’re excited to meet you.  And they’re the best friends anypony could ask for.  You’ll love them, I’m sure.”

“I know... but Fluttershy... what if they get to know me, and we become friends, and then my memory returns?  What if I’m a very different pony with my memories?  Maybe they wouldn’t like me as much.”  Her eyes widened with a new realization.  “What if I’m actually really mean?”

Fluttershy smiled reassuringly.  “Nova, that’s not how it works.  You may have lost your memories, but you’re still you, and when we find a way to get your memories back, you won’t be any different.”

Nova nodded, then stared off into a distance seen only by herself.

Twilight had been right—she was incredibly shy.  Not in the same way Fluttershy was shy, with quiet, nervous mumblings; no, Nova was more reserved, opting for silence rather than meek conversation.  She said little because there wasn’t much for her to say—except to ask questions.  Many questions.  She was curious about everything, asking about Fluttershy’s wings, the photos hanging on her bedroom wall, the ingredients used in her delicious porridge, the dim and somehow lonely wailing heard in the distance every night before she went to sleep.

Fluttershy had patiently answered each question.  “These wings are for flying.  All pegasi have them.  Those are my parents, back before I was born.  I grow my own grain and sprinkle in daisy shavings.  That is the sound of the Ponyville train, which runs twice a day.”  Explaining each one while Nova listened, golden eyes soaking up everything.

She was quick to learn, but also quick to guilt.  After almost any action, be it eating porridge or making her bed, she’d look to Fluttershy for signs of anxiety, to make sure nothing she had done had disturbed her new friend.  It was a habit that bothered Fluttershy, who simply wanted Nova to be happy, and to foster the return of her memory.  But day after day, she continued to give that glance, like a child looking to her mother for either encouragement or admonishment, unsure which she would find.  And day after day, her memory showed no sign of improving, and Fluttershy began to fear that the old Nova, the one that existed right up until she ran into a tree, was being replaced by a new Nova, a Nova who knew only what Fluttershy taught her, a Nova that was born in the exact moment the old Nova disappeared with a heavy thud of skull meeting tree.

Nova took another sip from the steaming mug.

There was a knock on the front door.

Fluttershy looked up in surprise.  “I wonder who that could be?  It’s getting late for visitors.”  Maybe Twilight is back with news about... whatever it was that happened to her in the kitchen today.  “I’ll be right back.”

Nova just nodded.

Fluttershy left the room and made the short journey to the front door.  She pulled it open, unsure what to expect.

Outside, seemingly every unicorn in Ponyville was massed together in one large lump of distress.

“Miss Fluttershy, you need to help us!”

“I can’t use magic and I feel dizzy!”

“Me too!”

“Do you know of any cures for this?”

The murmuring voices of anxiety increased and rose to a crescendo as she stepped out onto her porch.  This was Fluttershy’s worst nightmare, every one of her fears combined: a large number of ponies staring at her, all of them needing her help, none of them with a problem she could cure.

“Um,” she said, beginning to panic, retreating slightly into the doorway.  “Um... have you talked to... Twilight?”

“She wasn’t home!”

“She’s probably having the same problems!”

Fluttershy gulped.  “So... what’s the matter, again?”

“We can’t use magic!”

“It just won’t work!”

“I think our horns are broken!”

“Oooh,” Fluttershy groaned, and she couldn’t think of anything to tell them so she just repeated that over and over, nervously looking around and unsure what to do.  “Oooh, dear....”

She shut the door and shakily headed back to Nova’s room.

“Who was it?” Nova asked, sitting up in bed and watching Fluttershy with concern.

Fluttershy closed the bedroom door.  Then she slouched down against it, sliding to the floor and covering her face with her hooves.

“It was the unicorns,” she said.  “I think something very bad is happening.”

***

“Are you sure, Princess?”

“Yes.  I’ve been afraid this would happen ever since the incident with Thade, but I was never sure until now.”

“Then Fluttershy was right. Oh, I feel awful.  I didn’t believe her.”

“She will forgive you, if you ask it of her.”

“I know.  I will.  So if Nova’s here... why hasn’t it happened yet?”

“You say she doesn’t remember anything, and that maybe she has amnesia.  That could be why.  Also, it is up to her to decide.”

“You mean she has a choice?”

“Of course she has a choice, Twilight.  She could very well refuse.”

“But why would she refuse?  How could she say no?”

“Twilight, we are in this position because of our own flaws.  She will determine if we are deserving.  It is a privilege, not a right.”

“Do you think she will refuse?”

“I don’t know.  But I trust she will make the right decision.”

“So then... what do we do?”

“The question is not what will we do; it is what will you do.”

“Me?”

“Yes.  You and your friends.  It was you who found her, and it will be you who see her through.  Help her, teach her, learn from her, and the question of what you must do will be answered.”

“I still don’t understand, but if you say so, Princess, then that’s what we’ll do.  And I know my friends will agree.”

“Thank you.  I have faith in you.  Oh, and take this with you.  It may come in handy.”

“What is it?”

“If you ever need it, you’ll see.”

“Thank you.  It’s beautiful. But... take it with us?  Are we going somewhere?”

“I don’t know.  But soon you’ll find out.  Good luck, Twilight.”

“Thank you, Princess.”

***

The Cures and Curiosities of the Pony Brain

Chapter Eighteen: Amnesia

Amnesia can be caused by many factors, the most common being a head injury or brain damage.  Amnesia may also occur after a traumatic event causes psychological repression; however, this is not due not to physical impairment but instead to an intense desire to forget.  This chapter will primarily discuss the “physical” amnesia caused by an external injury.  To learn more about repression, turn to Chapter Six.

Amnesia can be broken down into two categories:

Anterograde amnesia, in which one cannot form new memories, and

Retrograde amnesia, in which one cannot remember old ones.

Retrograde amnesia is often considered to be more serious because it has a much larger impact upon one’s life.  Sufferers cannot remember old friends, family, their home, and possibly even themselves.  Because of this, the afflicted require constant supervision and care to prevent them from becoming lost or confused.

While a powerful unicorn may be able to cause retrograde amnesia through a curse (recall that to do so is incredibly illegal), no known magic is able to cure retrograde amnesia.  There are potions and herbs that are said to help regain memories; however, the mind is a complex thing that is not well understood (as you have read).  To provoke the brain through such medicines can be incredibly dangerous; therefore, the safest and most advisable route to treating an amnesiac is through more natural means.

It is well documented that an amnesiac does not have “erased” memories; he simply has “misplaced” memories.  They are still there in the brain somewhere, waiting to be fished out and put back into order.  This can be done by exposing the afflicted to their pre-amnesiac life—by visiting their home, an old friend, reading scrapbooks, tasting and smelling the food of their youth.  Sometimes—very rarely, but sometimes—doing so can cause a domino effect, wherein one returning memory triggers another, which triggers two more, which each expand exponentially until the mind has regained most if not all of its lost pieces.

This is, of course, very rare—the sufferer of retrograde amnesia is almost surely doomed to forget.

Twilight closed the book, sending up a cloud of dust that carried the delicious scent of ancient paper and old knowledge.  It reminded her of her home, of her studies, of herself at a younger age, reading old and forgotten books of magic that she rescued from the most neglected of library shelves.

Memories...

She gently slid the relic of paper and binding back into its place upon the shelf, standing as tall as she could on her back hooves; such a thing would have been simple with magic, and she cursed the dull ache in her head that reminded her that there was none to use.

In one hoof, she grasped the vial that Celestia had given her.  Filled with some unknown, sparkling-clear liquid, it seemed as though it contained a million tiny glowing galaxies.  Its aura was enchanting, and she brought it up to hang before her eyes by its short chain.

There must be at least six or seven ounces of liquid in there.  Wouldn’t it be best to try a drop now so that when we need it, we’ll know what it does?

She stared deeper into the vial, considering.  It wouldn’t even be noticeable if a small drop were missing.  She shook the flask, watching the incredible liquid splash up the sides and then run back down.

Just a drop, just to see.

With a gentle tug, the cork slid right out, not even making the popping sound she expected.  She gave the open neck a sniff, but could detect no scent.  Holding it up before her face, she peered deeply into it once more, as if hoping to see its secret within the beautiful field of pulsing light.

Here goes, she thought, tilting the vial carefully to her open mouth.  It must be safe, she thought.  Celestia gave it to her.

She intently watched the bottle before her face as a small drop formed at the tilted rim and began to grow fat and heavy.  Then, she watched it fall, losing sight of it at the end but feeling it land on her tongue.

She almost dropped the flask.  The sensation was unlike anything she had felt before, though for some reason she thought of her experiments with capturing lightning, the way it could course through her if she wasn’t careful, the immense power of it and its need to spread, its desire to find a way out.

She thought of lightning while this energy spread through her, originating from the point of contact on her tongue but within seconds reaching into every limb and every bone and every hair, a feeling hot and cold and neither at the same time.

And then, like a rubber band that has been stretched too far snapping back into place, or perhaps more like the pull of a magnet, it stopped spreading and began compressing back with immense strength, retreating back the way it had come.  Except instead of flowing back to her tongue, it flung itself directly into her horn.

She gasped, and then it was over.

For a moment she simply stood there, eyes wide, feeling like she had just run many miles but not feeling tired at all.  In fact, she felt... energized.

With great awe she brought the vial back before her eyes, staring at the liquid inside, watching it swish and flow as though it had a life of its own.

Is this what I think it is?

She was afraid to try, afraid to find out.  But the invisible vestiges of power still sparked across the hairs of her coat, and she felt full of a familiar energy, whose presence comforted her like an old friend.

Only one way to find out.

She cautiously focused on one of the books from the shelf, and gently began pulling energy up to her horn—but not from the familiar old source, which she knew to be the Spring, but instead from the new energy that had so recently coursed through her.  She felt it come first as a trickle, then as a stronger flow, until the book that was the subject of her concentration began glowing with a deep purple aura, and then began sliding off the shelf.

“YES!” she cried, grabbing the book from the air and hugging it tightly.

But on the inside, she could feel that power, that magnificent energy, had diminished by a little.  There was less, now, and with a few more tricks like that, there would be none.

I’ll have to be conservative with this.  She stared at the luminous vial once more.  How long could that last?  The drop she had tried felt like enough for a few lifting and displacement spells.  The vial held much more, but she needed to make it last.  Especially with the upcoming journey.

Fluttershy has to know, she thought suddenly.  About Nova, about everything.

She placed the book she had been squeezing back onto the shelf and stepped outside into the night.

***

Fluttershy eyed the sleeping Nova with compassion as well as worry.  Whatever it was that caused the sense of dread that grew from deep within her, it had to do with the glowing golden pony who breathed softly upon the bed before her.  Though Fluttershy had nursed her back to health, it was clear there was still more healing to do—there was still the matter of her mind.  The fragments needed to be pieced together.  But such treatment was beyond her capabilities, and as Fluttershy watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Nova’s chest, she felt the dread that had snaked into her conscience begin to grow, a dread strengthened by the fact that she didn’t know how to help this girl.

A chill breeze entered through the window, and Fluttershy watched as Nova’s body curled up with a shiver.  The blanket was lying uselessly upon the floor, leaving her completely uncovered and exposed to the cold night air.

Fluttershy moved to pick it up when suddenly it was enveloped in a warm, soft glow.  A golden glow.  With a gasp she stepped back, watching as the blanket floated into the air, as Nova’s body began to shine with a greater luminosity than she had ever seen before.

The blanket carefully unfolded itself over her, then slowly and steadily drifted down atop her, muting but not hiding the bright gold light that radiated from within and without her body, light which escaped through the creases and seams of the quilt.

Fluttershy slowly backed out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.  There was too much to think about, too much to figure out.

She made her way to her bedroom.  With a tireless yawn, she pulled back the bedsheets.

Once in bed, she rolled and turned.  Her body told her it was exhausted, but her mind was too busy to rest, too burdened to shut off until morning.

She was saved from a night of fruitlessly pursuing sleep by a soft yet rapt knock upon the front door.

She slipped out of bed and headed down the hallway to the front door.  She paused, wondering who it might be.  More unicorns hoping to get help?  She had already told them there was nothing she could do.

Laying her worries aside, she slowly pulled open the door.

“Twilight!  Thank goodness!  The unicorns in town are panicking, and I don’t know how to—”

“It’s Nova,” Twilight said.  Without waiting for an invitation, she slid past Fluttershy and into the cottage living room.

“Nova?”  Fluttershy asked.  “What’s wrong?  What’s been going on in town?  Why are the unicorns having problems with magic?  What does Nova have to do with this?”

Twilight sighed.  “Nova has everything to do with this.  Fluttershy, listen; do you remember Thade?”

Her yellow brows furrowed in thought.  “Yes, of course I do.  But what does Nova have to do with Thade?”

“Thade was trying to bring somepony back from the dead, remember?  And he needed a powerful spell to do so.  An incredibly powerful spell.  So powerful that it threatened to use up all the magic contained in the Spring.”

“Yes, of course, Twilight.  I remember.  But we stopped him.”

Twilight looked away, unsure how to explain.  “Yes, Fluttershy.  We—you—stopped Thade from bringing that pony through the portal.  However, in doing so, you let Thade pass through it himself.”

Fluttershy didn’t know what to say.  Did that make everything her fault?  Was she the reason the unicorns’ magic was failing?  After a moment, she managed a few words. “Let’s sit, please.”

Twilight took a seat upon the couch, while Fluttershy dropped herself into her armchair.  Suddenly she felt very weak, as though all the strength she had spent journeying to the Spring, separating from her friends, confronting Thade, and then traveling all the way back had been for nothing.

“Fluttershy, what I’m trying to say is... he still used the spell.  Sure, he used it for a different purpose—and we’re lucky he did; traveling from our world to the next requires far less magic than crossing from there to here.  But he used the spell nonetheless, and as a result... the Spring is running  low on magic.  Very low.”

Fluttershy bit her lip.  She didn’t like where this was heading, and she definitely didn’t like the sadness in Twilight’s voice.  To unicorns, magic was more than a commodity or convenience—it was a way of life.  It was necessary for their race to exist.  Magic rose the sun and lowered the moon, magic cured illness and brought stability to all creatures.  Fluttershy glanced out the window.  How much longer until magic was depleted for good?  When the sun rose the next day, would it ever set again?  Or would magic run out even before then, dooming the world to eternal darkness, just as Nightmare Moon had once tried to accomplish?

“What are we supposed to do, Twilight?”  That heavy weight of responsibility returned, like every set of eyes in Equestria was focused directly on her, watching to see what she would do and if she could succeed.

“It’s Nova,” Twilight whispered, leaning forward on the couch.  “You were right, Fluttershy.  She can use magic.  But there’s more to it than that.  Fluttershy, she contains the magic needed to refuel the Spring.”

Fluttershy drew in a sharp breath, trying to comprehend.  Could it be true?  She had known Nova could use magic—she had seen it with her own eyes earlier that night.  But what did Twilight mean about the Spring?  Nova has to refuel it?  Why?  How?

“Twilight, how do you know this?”

“The Princess told me.  I spoke with her earlier today.  I’ll explain everything once the others are here.”

Fluttershy nodded, head still swimming with questions.  “Are you saying that we need to take Nova to the Spring?”  The idea caused her to grow weak in her chair.  The amount of pain and sacrifice she had gone through—that they had all gone through—on their first journey to the Spring was enormous, and she doubted that it could be done again.  Not even a chance.

Twilight turned away, inspecting the neat and cozy living room, the fireplace that sat below a mantle of family heirlooms, the portraits smiling down at her from the walls.  “I don’t know.  But even if we do... there’s somewhere else we have to go first.”

“Somewhere else?  Where?”

“Somewhere that Nova is familiar with.  Somewhere that reminds her of home, even if she doesn’t know it.  Something to ignite her memories.  She has to fuel the Spring, but she can’t do it if she doesn’t know how, if she doesn’t even know who she is and what she is.”

“Wait.”  Something Twilight had said lingered in her mind.  “She has to fuel the Spring?  Is... does that hurt her?”

Twilight looked away once more.  “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Another sigh.  “Fluttershy, there are a lot of things I don’t know.  I know about physics, I know about math, I know about letters and numbers.  I know about magic.  But this... this is something different.  Yes, it’s magic, but it’s magic at a caliber that I’m not even sure Celestia understands.  So... I don’t know.”

Fluttershy nodded, hating the truth but understanding it nonetheless.  “So, where is this place we need to take her?”

For the first time that night, Twilight smiled.  “Actually, that’s a question you should ask Rainbow Dash.  I think she knows.  We’ll ask her tomorrow.”

“Rainbow Dash?” Fluttershy said doubtfully.  “How does she know about this?”

“She read about it.  I didn’t want to believe it at first, but I think that old storybook might be pretty close to the truth.  However, I don’t think the version Dash gave us was very truthful.  I don’t know about you, but the ending seemed a bit fabricated to me.”

“I guess so,” Fluttershy agreed, though her mind was elsewhere.

Will it hurt her?

“I’d better go,” Twilight said, lifting up off the couch.  “We’ll all need a good night’s rest.  We might have a big day tomorrow.”

“She glows,” Fluttershy said suddenly.

Twilight paused.  “Yes, you mentioned that today.  She glows?  Like, she’s shiny?”

“Well, yes,” Fluttershy said, trying to help Twilight understand.  “She shines.  But she glows, too.”

“...May I see her?”

***

Fluttershy nervously shuffled her hooves across the floor.  “I don’t know, Twilight.  I don’t think it’s polite to stare at ponies.  Especially while they’re asleep.”

Twilight’s face displayed no such concern.  Instead, it was illuminated by wonder, as well as the soft golden light that radiated off the sleeping pony before her.  

“She’s beautiful,” Twilight said, her voice empty of worry and full of amazement.

“Yes,” Fluttershy grumbled, “she is.  Can we please leave?  This isn’t polite.  What if she wakes up and sees us both staring at her?”  Of course, when Fluttershy was alone, she would stare at Nova, but only as a watchful protector, and always with her best interest in mind.  But Twilight was staring at her like a scientist examining an interesting experiment.

Twilight didn’t respond.  She just kept her eyes locked onto that mesmerizing glowing golden coat, on the light that seeped through the quilt’s seams.

Nova shifted in her sleep.  Fluttershy drew in a breath, afraid she was about to wake up; after a few uncertain moments, however, Nova sighed contentedly, her breathing becoming regular once more.

Twilight noticed that the quilt had begun to slide off her and onto the floor.

Let me get that for her, she thought. There was still some magic left in her from the drop she had tested earlier, and she was anxious to use it again, to reassure herself of its existence, to feel that familiar rush once more.  And as she watched the quilt comforter begin sliding to the floor, she thought of the vulnerability of the sleeping pony before her, of her heartbreaking innocence, of the loneliness that must come with being the last of her kind in a place so foreign to her.  She doesn’t remember.  She doesn’t remember why she’s here, doesn’t remember the sacrifice that she must make.

In that moment, Twilight saw the Nova that was, the Nova that would be, and Nova that had been.  And her horn began to glow, and so did the quilt on the ground, which raised up into the air over the sleeping figure and slowly began descending until it rested atop her.

Then Twilight was on the floor.

Her head hurt.  Not in her horn—in fact, that dull ache was mysteriously absent—but in her skull.  It had collided with the floor.  Hard.  She looked up, trying to focus her blurred vision, trying to hear beyond the ringing in her ears.  The glowing pony—she was awake.  She was sitting in bed, staring back with horror-filled eyes, the quilt pulled up to her face as if to shield her from some ghastly image.

Twilight turned her aching head to follow Nova’s gaze.

It was Fluttershy.  She lay on her back, mouth hanging open, wings crumpled and bent.  Crimson blood stained her yellow head in little red rivers, pooling on the ground beneath her.

Twilight could only stare in shock.  She hardly even heard the quilt fall to the floor, or the bedroom door slamming open, or the front door slamming closed.  She could only stare at her friend.  Soon she would move, soon the tears would come, but at that moment she was frozen.

***

Nova ran.

The night air was cold.  The grass below crunched with each hooffall, and her breath came in desperate gasps, trailing behind her like ghosts of the past.

She ran, tears born from confusion and agonizing guilt falling behind her and freezing in the cold grass.

Her mind, already so scrambled, was falling apart.  The one thing that she loved.  The one thing that she knew.  That pony, Fluttershy, the one who had saved her life and given her food and shelter and affection—and it was her fault that she now lay upon the floor of her own home, broken and bleeding.  Probably in pain.  Possibly worse.

A forest on the horizon.  Nova ran to it, unknowingly passing the very tree where she had been rescued by six friends only days ago.  She ran, but the images in her mind didn’t fade, she couldn’t leave them behind like the tears in the grass or the ghosts of her breath in the air.  Instead, they grew even more harrowing, as they were twisted by her imagination and guilt to portray a truth more horrible than she could bear.

The forest quickly grew dense and difficult, but Nova was driven by emotions so powerful that they pulsed within her and without her in a golden aura, an energy that cleared her a path in the thickets and trees that loomed over her.

She gave me tea and a bed and hope and her head was bloody and broken wings because of me—

A golden force pushed aside a bush as she ran through it.

She said your coat is beautiful gold it reminds me of my mother’s and oh her hoof was bent the wrong way and it is YOUR fault and why did you do that why—

She jumped over a rock, landing heavily on her hooves, ignoring the ache of impact.

She saved your life she made you live and cleaned you and picked out thorns one by one and made you whole again she saved your life and you took hers—

An ancient and giant log blocked her path.  Without even slowing, she ran straight through it, the golden sphere of energy around her leaving a clean hole in its layers, which for a moment burned with a brilliant golden singe.

And there in her mind was Fluttershy, as clear as if she were standing right before her.  She smiled sweetly at Nova, her face alive with kindness and caring and covered in blood.  Nova shut her eyes, trying to dispel the image, but it was only stronger there in the dark where everything was a stage for her mind’s eye.

She was beginning to slow.  She could run no further, and her aura began to fade as she stumbled over a rock, falling hard onto her stomach.  But even as her head smashed into the dirt, her stream of thoughts never faltered, and she lay there, head reeling, body exhausted, dirt and debris coating her golden downy fur.  Though she didn’t know it, she looked almost exactly as she had when she was found against a tree by six friends.

As her vision faded and her thoughts began to dim, the last words to run through her conscious mind weren’t her own.

...Just promise that one day you’ll do the same, if you ever can...

***

In a cottage near a forest, a unicorn desperately nudged her motionless friend.  The unicorn’s cries sounded out into the empty moonlit field around the house, but there was nopony near to hear them.

In Ponyville, the damp cobblestone streets were quiet, the shops sitting vacant in preparation for the next day’s market.

In the depths of the Everfree Forest, a golden glow began to fade, and then was extinguished.

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