“...So, can you help me?”

Matilda Donkey spoke in a low voice, concerned about eavesdroppers even in the private location she’d picked for the meeting.

“Unfortunately, even for a magician of Trixie’s calibre, it is simply not possible!”

The cerulean showmare turned up her nose at the older Hauseselin standing before her in the fruit-scented gloom of the apple-cellar.

Matilda’s brows knitted. “Oh, please! It’ll mean so much to him! To us!”

Trixie sighed in irritation, staring her down. “Trixie hates repeating herself.”

The Donkey stared back. “ … You did it to those two colts.”

Trixie turned away. “That was different!”

Matilda’s lower lip quivered. “I don’t know who else to turn to! Twilight Sparkle said she couldn’t do it, and-”

Trixie wheeled around like an uncoiling spring.

“That Mare... said she couldn’t? Not wouldn’t? Couldn’t?” A passionate flame flared to life in the Unicorn’s violet eyes.

Matilda took a backward step. “Err, yes...?”

Trixie narrowed her eyes. “The Great and Powerful Trixie will do this for you, humble Donkey. Even if her mighty horn cracks and her very Cutie Mark explodes from the effort, you shall have your wish!” The mare swung her head upward and unleashed a flourish of magical fireworks.

Muffled hooffalls and voices came from the floor above:

“What in tarnation was that?”

“GALLOP!” shouted Trixie, racing past Matilda and breaking for the cellar door.

Cranky Doodle Donkey sat on a stump outside of his modest home and pondered the falling leaves as the autumn dusk set them ablaze with colour.

He sighed; the fall always made his joints ache.

All at once, a strange tingle gripped the end of his nose. His nostrils twitched. He sneezed.

The tingling intensified, and a violet haze blurred his vision. His heart began to pound.

Oh, roadapples, he thought to himself ruefully, I always knew I’d give up the ghost in the autumn.

He staggered to his hooves, hoping to make it to the comfort of his bed before his last moments of life slipped away. Better than flopping down in the dirt like some swatted fly...

With every step, however, he found his gait becoming firmer, not weaker. His strides lengthened, and his hoofprints deepened. A furious itch seared across his scalp.

By the time he reached his front door and leaned against it for support, the impact of his body broke the latch. He tumbled inside, his aching back un-cooperatively pain-free.

“Now, what are you playing at?” he asked the Reaper who was no doubt either already here or on his way. “You think it’s funny, making me kick the bucket this wa-”

The sight of himself in a wall-mirror made Cranky freeze stock-still in mid-sentence.

His garish blond toupee had fallen, replaced by a thick head of curly dark-brown locks. His sallow hide was now tight and bright, and his sunken chest solid and firm. His knock-knees were straight. His arthritis was gone.

He was still staring when there was a knock at his broken door.

Cranky trotted over to his door in a daze, opening it as much by reflex as by choice.

He gasped.

She was a vision. Lean and long-legged, with eyes like wide, soulful droplets of summer sky. Her dark mane was pulled back in a queue, and she wore a dainty silk kerchief - just like she had the day he’d met her.

“M-Mah... Muh...” His voice cracked and lost all volume.

“Oh! I’m so happy this is the right house!” she said, her voice bright and high and full of youthful vigour. “After we met at the Gala, I had to leave early for a family emergency. But I just had to see you again! So I searched high and low until I found you!” She winked.

Cranky swallowed hard. “H-How...?”

“You know what they say, Doodle-darling... love finds a way.” She smiled; her eyes shone.

Cranky smiled back, revealing a mouthful of straight, white teeth. He raced forward and embraced her, gripping her with a strength he’d forgotten ever having.

Matilda hugged back with the same force, half-squeezing the breath from his lungs. He didn’t care.

Cranky nuzzled her neck. “It’s... it’s not real, is it?” he whispered softly, afraid to break the moment but more afraid to leave the question unasked.

“Just for today, love,” she whispered back. “Let’s never forget it.” She pulled back and stared into his bright, clear eyes. “Do I look like you remembered? Like the jenny of your dreams?”

Cranky fought down the lump in his throat. “Oh, Matilda... you always do!” He pressed his lips to hers.

A dozen yards away, concealed by underbrush, the Shaking and Sweating Trixie fell over on her side. Her white-hot horn ignited the dry autumn grass where she fell. She lay there, wheezing for breath, until her limbs stopped tingling, and then slowly staggered back to her hooves. She took a few faltering steps until her view of the young lovers was clearer. She wiped the sweat out of her eyes with a trembling forelimb.

“H-Hah...!” she gasped. “Hah... hah...”

“...Happy anniversary!”