"I see it you know. In your eyes, I see it. Every movement you make is asking the same question over and over and over again. You're afraid of asking it because you don't want to remind me of something I'm all too aware of, but you can't ignore it, can you? You can't look away and pretend that the question isn't there.

"I know these eyes of mine aren't the same as they once were, but I see it anyway. Every time you look at me. Why are you fighting? Why are you trying to resist? You want to know the answer. Ask."

I watch the murky purple blur that had once been her face as it bobs around my vision. Dark circles that had been eyes flickered and flew – it had been a lie. I couldn't see her eyes. I hadn't seen them for nearly a decade, not really, but I could picture exactly how they would look. And exactly how she would react when I pointed it out.

We're walking in a park, I think. Probably the same park I had waited for him all those years ago, though these days it's hard to remember most of the details. So many memories lost to time. So many... I feel myself drifting into a reverie that I know I will become lost in for hours if I don't do something about it, so I stop. She stops with me; they both do, with that awkward nervousness that the young show when they're around the elderly. But she isn't young, not really. Her body may not age but her mind is as old as mine.

Perhaps less clouded. Or perhaps clouded differently.

"Ask," I say again. "Or shall I ask for you?"

She shuffles her legs, all nervous energy and confused spirits and I recall the days when a similar feeling would have left me bouncing on all fours like a sun-maddened hare. "Why aren't you afraid?"

I have to admit that's not the question I was expecting. She's a scientist, they don't usually ask why. They ask how, or when, or what but almost never why. Why questions lead to stories, not answers. I can feel my smile and I can feel the answering, nervous grin she gives me. Times like that I'm glad I still have all my teeth because I know I'd just end up losing falsies and then I'd be wandering around with gaps and holes and look like some sort of pirate. Or an old mare.

I chuckle to myself, likely confusing the pair of them even more than usual. Vanity is always the hardest thing to overcome.

I look at her, staring into those dark round holes in that blurry face. "What do I have to be afraid of?"

"Well..."

Before she can answer I start walking again. Hobbling really. My legs aren't the boundless springs they once were, but neither are they useless lumps, something I am and always shall be glad for.

"Death," I say quietly, "is merely a process. It's another step on the way, another part of the great balance. I came from the earth. I return to it so that new life can be born from my body. My entire life has been dedicated to this one, simple truth: that nothing is permanent. That all things end and begin and experience and change and end once more. Even you, Twilight. Even you will end. Your body may live until the stars grow cold, but that Twilight Sparkle will not be the pony I see before me now."

"How can you say that? I--"

She pauses, the analytical side of her mind already working over the implications of what I said. She understands, in her heart.

"Because you aren't the same pony now as you were when we met," I say. "That Twilight is as dead as you will be a thousand years from now. Because your experience has changed who you are."

Author's Notes:

Some old stuff.