Twilight stared at the door to Sugarcube Corner. This pattern was starting to get old—sleep poorly, show up at Sugarcube Corner too early in the morning, then hesitate to knock on the door. Hopefully this would be the last time. It had to be, with her new version of the old plan.

Pinkie answered the door after just one knock. “Hi Twilight! Did you come to pick up some leftovers?”

“No, not really. But I did want to talk to you about the party.” Twilight stepped into the building, and a streamer crunched loudly under her hoof. The place looked even worse than last night.

“Sure, what about it?” Pinkie bounced into the kitchen. “I thought it went pretty well, but I hear constructive criticism is good too!”

Twilight followed her. Every inch of the place was a mess, and navigating around some of the piles of paper and food made it a long walk. “Well, that’s good. I made a bulleted list of your…areas of improvement, and I brought some flashcards.” Twilight’s nose crinkled as she entered the kitchen. “Looks like we should start with cleaning.”

“Oh don’t be silly, you don’t need to.” Pinkie pulled a dirty cookie pan out of the dishwasher. “It’s rude to make guests help, isn’t it?”

“Pinkie, you aren’t supposed to put those in the dishwasher, you have to let them soak in the sink.” Twilight’s magic wrapped around the metal and yanked it away from Pinkie. “Here, let me show you.”

The sink was full. For an industrial sink, that was no easy feat. Pans and spatulas and whisks and measuring cups and mixing bowls were piled inside, the remnants of batter and dough periodically dripping off of them. Twilight floated a few out of the way, and they thunked loudly onto the counter.

“Now, pay attention. We have a lot of lessons to go through.” The faucet rattled on and Twilight set the pan down. She glanced around for a sponge, but there were so many dishes and stains and utensils it was hard to see.

“Ooh, that reminds me! I had a really funny dream last night, and you were in it!”

“That’s nice,” Twilight muttered. Still no sponge.

Pinkie turned back to the dishwasher. There weren’t many dishes in it, and the ones that were still had a large amount of grime stuck to them. “We were in a classroom, I think, you and me and the other Pinkies.”

Twilight froze. “The what?”

“Yeah, I know! Weird right?” Pinkie pulled another pan out and carried it over to the sink. “There were these Pinkies who were complaining about something, and then one was the teacher, and then she disappeared and then you were the teacher.” She slid the pans off her back and onto the counter. “And then at the end you gave me a test or something.”

“And uhm, what was this test about, exactly?”

Pinkie rubbed her chin for a moment. “It was a piece of paper. I forget what the questions were. And then all the other Pinkies said something, and then I woke up.”

Twilight poked at the dirty pan. “And…that’s all you remember?”

“There was some other stuff.” Pinkie tapped her chin, then rubbed her forehead, then tilted her neck a bit. “Oh yeah!” She leapt up. “The last question you ask me was ‘who are you’. Isn’t that silly? Like I wouldn’t know who I am!” Pinkie snickered. “And all those other Pinkies were so serious and sad. No wonder they didn’t pass.” Pinkie leaned towards Twilight. Though she didn’t notice it, Twilight’s coat bristled visibly as Pinkie approached it. It was almost feline in its obviousness.

Pinkie smiled again. “Isn’t that funny? Are dreams always that weird?”

Twilight was silent.

“Twilight?”

“You know, I just realized something.” Twilight’s voice was barely audible, even in the sleepy silence of the early morning, and the empty silence of the kitchen.

“Ooh, is it something important? Did my dream help? What is it?”

Twilight turned her head, and Pinkie’s face was right there to meet hers. Pinkie still had that goofy smile plastered on.

Twilight’s ear flicked. “I realized, I hate you.”

Pinkie’s smile flickered for the briefest moment, like a light bulb giving its first hint of burning out. “Sorry, Twilight, I guess I wasn't listening too carefully. For a moment there it sounded like—”

“I said,” Twilight turned the rest of her body to match her head, like lining up the sights on a weapon. “I hate you.”

For a moment, the kitchen was completely silent. Even the dripping sink didn’t interrupt.

Pinkie smiled, though it wasn’t quite as wide as it had been. “Ohhhh, I get it! You’re joking! That’s pretty—”

Twilight jerked her head forward. Her breath brushed across Pinkie’s nose. “Do you know why I hate you?” she asked.

Pinkie’s smile flickered again. “Twilight, don't be silly! You don't really—”

“I hate you because you're shallow.” Twilight took a step forward, and Pinkie instinctively mirrored the movement. “You're like an actor who didn't read your script. An understudy who decided to half-haunch their way through all their scenes, because they were too lazy and too stupid to learn their lines.”

Twilight took another step, and Pinkie could feel the unicorn’s hooves clack on the floor. If Pinkie hadn’t moved her hoof…

“Wow, Twilight! You sure know how to play a practical joke.” Pinkie tried and failed to widen her smile. “You really had me there for a min—”

“The real Pinkie Pie wasn't shallow. She didn't always show it, but she had depth. But you…you just don't.”

“But I am the real—”

More steps. “And deep down, you know that…don't you?” The last two words were barely above a whisper. “Your dream told you that, didn't it?” A glimmer of pity passed across Twilight’s features, but it was gone as soon as it had come. “But you're just too vapid to figure it out, too shallow to comprehend the obvious.”

“Dreams are just dreams, Twilight!” Another step. As Pinkie mirrored it, she felt her tail brush against the wall. “You…you can stop joking around now.”

“I'm not the only one who hates you. The whole town does. And do you know why they hate you?” Pinkie finally bumped into the wall, but Twilight didn't stop walking. “For the exact same reasons.”

Pinkie’s eyes flicked to the side and back again. “Twilight, this isn't really funny anymore…” Pinkie’s smile had faded completely.

“I’ve thought about using the spell on you.” Twilight's face was inches from Pinkie's “It would be so simple. It's not a hard spell at all. Just a little bit of magic, and then poof, you'd be gone forever.”

Twilight closed her eyes, and for a moment nothing moved. There was no sound but breathing.

Twilight’s eyes snapped open and she jerked her head to the side. “Except that wouldn’t help. Every time I think about it, I see…I hear Pinkie Pie screaming. And then I realize what I've been fantasizing about doing and it makes me sick.” Twilight’s eyes scrunched shut and she slumped onto her haunches.

The kitchen was drenched in silence. Pinkie lifted a hoof, and for a moment it hung in midair. She reached forward, slowly, carefully. “It’ll be oka—”

“Don’t touch me!” Twilight slapped the hoof away.

“But I just want to help you. You’re…you’re my friend, Twilight.” Pinkie’s voice stuttered slightly.

“You're not my friend! You're not Pinkie Pie! You're just a pathetic pretender, an imposter, an actor!” Tears had started to leak out of Twilight's eyes. “And…and I'm even worse than you! Because I've been pretending that you've been doing a good job.”

“But…” Pinkie’s ears drooped. “But I threw a party… I made cookies and everything. That’s what friends do! Did…” It was Pinkie’s turn to slump onto her haunches. “Did I do it all wrong?”

Twilight chuckled. It sounded like a frayed film reel, her tears slicing into her laughter. “Even after being told, you still can’t understand. It’s like talking to a rock.” She laughed again, and it lasted a second longer before being cut in half by crying. “I can’t believe I ever thought I could train something as pathetic as you to be Pinkie Pie…”

“But…but I won the test!” Pinkie’s voice cracked and she leaned forward. “Didn’t that mean anything? I’m not an actor! I’m Pinkie Pie!”

“You’re nothing!” Twilight stood up. “You’re just a bad reflection!” She jabbed a hoof towards the door. “Now get out!”

“But…”

“I said—” Twiligh blinked, heavily and slowly. “—leave.” A thin, nearly invisible thread of electricity crackled along her horn. The smell of ozone struck the room. For a moment the kitchen was still. Then the cakepan in the sink snapped in half. The sound of cracking, creaking metal and clattering, breaking dishes rumbled through the entire building, like thunder made of stone and metal.

“You’re not good enough to stay in Ponyville, let alone Pinkie Pie’s house.” Twilight’s voice was still uneven, caught between loud and quiet.

Pinkie didn’t move. Aside from a brief flinch as the pan shattered, her body was motionless. Her eyes were stuck on a particular floorboard, glued to the knot visible under the finish.

It just doesn’t make any sense. If she’s not joking, then…

Pinkie looked up. Twilight was still pointing at the door. Her furrowed brow and puffy eyes didn’t match. The expression and the emotion it represented were completely alien to her, like a preschooler presented with astrophysics.

Pinkie glanced at the sink. Half of the pan was still jutting out of it, a jagged, diagonal line of sheared steel.

Pinkie slowly, carefully stood up. The movement dragged on and on. Twilight’s eyes locked on to her through the entire ritual. Finally, arduously, Pinkie had gotten to her hooves. Then she bolted. The door to Sugarcube Corner slammed open and shut, and the noise crashed across the entire town.

Author's Notes:

—Tear Right At Your Soul.

I wrote at least six drafts of this confrontation. I cried during two of them.