“There were times in my life that I’ve wanted to cry, times I’ve wanted to die, and times that I’ve wanted to watch the world burn. I’ve gone by many names, even before I became the mare I am today, and I will no doubt go by many more before my time is done. I’m in no way important, and yet I have left my mark on Equestria as Silver Script.

“For a time, I was Soren Friedrich, a human from Terra Firma, Earth, or whatever you want to call it. I was a nobody who watched and wrote about tiny cartoon horses, and it made me happy. Through the anonymity of the internet and assumed identities, I’d made a small name for myself and I was content with who I was.

“That’s when Lyra Heartstrings broke the barrier between worlds and shattered my perception of reality. I didn’t know what to think when she turned my life upside-down, beyond the fact that I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be a pony, and I never truly wanted to go to Equestria... but as certain songs back on Earth pointed out, life didn’t always go the way you wanted it to.

“Did I give up? Did I cry uncle or lay down to die? No. I might have wanted to, but at the same time, the world never stopped moving around me. It was a chance at a new life, and I took it. I studied hard under Twilight Sparkle so that I could get into university, and it paid off. I’ve known love and loss, hate and fear, pride and failure, and the inexplicable desire to do better.

“Through alchemy, I’ve achieved and lost much. Infertility, my dwarfism, the common cold... even petrification seemingly could not stand before the might of my determination. With sheer perseverance, a bit of lingering human ingenuity and a decent research fund, is there anything that I can’t do?”

I stare down at the oversized typewriter and groan inwardly. The words on the paper are certainly true, but it all seems so pompous when I put it that way. Surely there are better ways to preface my life’s story without sounding like some stuck-up rich pony. Okay, so I’m kind of rich because of patents and whatnot, but still! I don’t need to sound like a Blueblood.

A moment’s glance at the mountain of paper to my left reminds me just how fucked up this all is. “Why did I leave the preface ‘til last?” I mutter aloud, tearing the sheet of paper from the typewriter’s grasp. With a growl, I crumple the sheet and toss it into the bin. “Why do I care if she sees a proper foreword?”

The door to the bedchambers in our loaned royal apartment creaks open behind me. “Mommy?” a small voice asks. “Are you okay?”

I glance over my shoulder at the young speaker and give the filly a tired smile. “Mommy’s fine, Pura,” I say, feeling every bit as tired as the little gray unicorn looks, peering out from beneath the bedraggled mop of blond that is her mane. I slump down on the floor. “Just frustrated with my writing is all.”

Pura pulls her head back into the other room for a moment, and then emerges a comforter sheathed in a blue aura. Smiling as she snuggles up against my side, I draw my wing around her. My daughter, in turn, wraps the large blanket around us both, murmuring tiredly into my side. “You work too hard,” she declares, eyeing my memoir disdainfully, “and you promised that you’d spend more time with me and Clara.”

Seven years ago, I might have flinched at the sight of the floating blanket; I would be plagued by thoughts of how it could be used to strangle or incapacitate me. Not now, though—not with my daughters. Raising a pair of unicorns, you don’t really have a choice but learning to cope with magic. Don’t get me wrong; I’m still wary as fuck around unfamiliar unicorns, but I’m definitely more trusting than I was after everything Aqua Regia did.

“I know, hon,” I admit, stroking her mane with one hoof. My beautiful daughter... It doesn’t matter to me if she’s almost the spitting image of her sire. She’s too pure to be marred by the sins of her father—my little Aqua Pura, my Pure Water. “I promise after I finish my business here in Canterlot, we’ll go do something special. Maybe we can even divert to Ponyville before heading back to the Empire.” Nudging her playfully, I add, “I’m sure Clara would love to see Honeydew again.”

The filly beside me groans. “Ugh, can we not?” she whines. “They get too noisy when they’re together, and I can’t re—Hey!” Her cheeks flush as she realizes I’ve tried to put one over on her. “Why did we even have to come to Canterlot?”

I sigh, glancing back at the door to the bedchamber. “Mommy has to visit somepony. That’s why I’ve been working so hard on that bit of writing...” To tell the truth, I don’t really know how to explain that I’m visiting their murderous rapist father in order to make her understand what I’ve been through. That I am giving a mare her penance before she is executed tomorrow. “It’s for that somepony to read before they go away... forever.”

She watches me, her amber eyes cool and calculating, for a moment before reflecting my sigh. “This pony hurt you, didn’t they?” she says morosely. “It’s in your voice—your pain. You use that same voice whenever Clara asks about dad. He’s... he’s the pony you’re going to see, isn’t he? And he’s in prison.”

No joke, I often think that Clara and Pura’s names got mixed up at birth. Pura is anything but innocent; she’s too inquisitive and is too well read for a filly her age. Not only is the filly incredibly bright, but there’s not a doubt in my mind that she’s quite adept at reading ponies. She definitely knows more than she lets on at times, and I think she’s always known on some level that the pony that sired her was not a good pony—my precocious little munchkin.

Not my Aqua Clara, my Clear Water, though. She’s oblivious and bubbly, if not a bit shy. She’s the paragon of foalhood innocence, if there can be said to be such a thing. Scared of the dark, hiding behind my tail at social events, having imaginary friends... there’s no denying that she’s a filly. She might be a big baby at times, but she’s definitely my big baby. I’m just happy that at least one of my daughters is ‘normal’.

“Mommy, Pura?” Speak of the little angel now. A look over the shoulder isn’t necessary to inform me that Clara woke and found herself alone in the room. Her wide, teal eyes, peering out from beneath a curtain of white, are full of apprehension and a bit of fear. “What’s going on? I woke up and nopony was there...”

“I was just finishing a bit of work and Pura was worried about me is all,” I reply, unraveling the blanket and extending my other wing in invitation. “Not sleeping well?”

The crimson little unicorn meanders out of the bedchamber, a familiar stuffed pony in tow. After all these years, the Blossom plushie is still with us, but she has gone from watching over me in my times of need to being a guardian and friend to the more sensitive of my daughters. Tenderly and painstakingly loved, she’s weathered well over the years. Once Clara is nestled beneath my other wing, I pull the comforter over her as well.

“Nuh-uh,” she says, resting her head on the plushie like a pillow. “Havin’ bad dreams.” Noticing the stack of papers and my typewriter, a sleepy grin spreads across her face. “Tell us a story.”

Pura’s eyes light up, and she begins to grin too. “Yeah! A story!”

“Tell us about the time we were born!” Oh jeeze... “That was the happiest day in your life wasn’t it?”

“Um... heh, I was certainly happy that they cut you both out of me,” I tease, tickling them with my wingtips. “Don’t you know how fat you made mommy look?”

“Mooom,” they chorus. “We’re serious!”

I shake my head, looking from one to the other. “Girls, I’ve told you before... I don’t remember much about that day,” I tell them in a soft voice. “The doctors said that it would be dangerous for you to be born the normal way, on account of my weak heart. I was so out of it that day because of the medication they gave mommy that it was like I wasn’t even there when they pulled you out of my tummy.

“I could tell you about the time I witnessed the birth of your friend; I was there for that.” I smile knowingly. They look slightly disgruntled at receiving the same answer they’ve gotten countless times, but they do not speak against my counter-offer. “I thought you might like that compromise. It all happened seven years ago, on a very sunny day in June...”

I sit alone in a private booth, glancing nervously about the rest of the cafe, trying my damnedest not to think about the letter in my bag. Okay, so it’s more of an invitation than a letter, but given who the sender is, it may as well be a royal summons. With how long it’s been since I saw them last, I would think that they’d both be rather busy, having no time to pop down to Canterlot to have a coffee with me... Oh crap, I’m thinking about it again!

A waitress stops by to ask if I would like to place an order, to which I quickly answer, “I’m meeting somepony here; would it be too much of a problem if I hold off on ordering until they arrive?” Without breaking eye-contact with her, I tip a satchel of bits onto the table, spilling forth a few medium denomination bits, and smile. “Don’t worry, you’ll be tipped well.”

The young mare looks unsure of herself for a few moments, biting her lip as if struggling with some sort of internal dilemma. What do I know about this cafe’s service rules? It isn’t some top-tier sort of place, where they can afford to have a table not bringing in cash for a few minutes, but it also doesn’t look like the cafe is in a bad place. At last, though, she nods, and tells me simply to flag her down when I’m ready.

So with nothing else to do but stare at the table and wait, I fidget about in my seat, unable to keep my mind from wandering back to the letter. Not only is it short, but it’s incredibly vague, mentioning how they wish to discuss my talents. Could they be rescinding their earlier offer following my major spat of mental instability? Or maybe with the baby, they’d like to increase—

“No, please; don’t make a fuss on our accord!” somepony familiar says, cutting me off mid-thought. Jerking my head up, I see my contact standing before the now-anxious waitress, trying her best not to have a scene made on her accord. “Really, I’ll be fine!”

My jaw drops upon seeing her. It’s hard not to gape, and even more understandable as to why ponies would make a fuss. There, swathed in a travel cloak, is a very, unmistakably pregnant Mi Amore Cadenza. It’s hard to even process... I mean, by this point she would have to be, what, fifteen months pregnant! How can that be?

As she spots me and, beaming, makes her way over to my booth, my eye drifts to her husband. Shining looks every bit as happy to see me as Cadence, but despite the cheerful facade, there’s a certain pained—haunted, even—look present when our eyes meet. Yeah, I kind of imagine that there’s a certain lullaby that he won’t be singing that kid when it finally decides to pop out.

I nod slowly at him before turning my focus back to the pink pregnant pony princess. “Princess Cadance, Shining Armor, it’s so nice to see you both,” I say in a welcoming tone, glad to be able to mask my anxiety with a bit of surprise. A bit more nervously after a second glance at her distended belly, I chuckle and add, “I would have thought congratulations were in order, but... what? How?”

Cadance shakes her head, smiling tiredly. “Hasn’t been her time yet,” she says in a tone betraying some of her annoyance. “Aunt Celestia says it just runs in the family, and that I also wanted an extended stay.” She rolls her eyes at the thought, but her smile momentarily pulls into a smirk. “Aunt Luna says that it’s simply the nature of being born an alicorn—that it takes longer for an alicorn foal to develop ties to the world’s magical leylines.”

“Personally, I believe Celestia more,” Shining teases, nudging his wife gently with his nose. “Ever since the fourth month of her pregnancy, she can’t pass up an extended stay in a nice warm bed.”

I mull over these words slowly, hoping and praying that he isn’t insinuating what I think he is. Then, of course, it hits me that they are both still standing. “How rude of me!” I condemn myself, gesturing at the seats on the opposite side of the booth. “Please, have a seat; you must be exhausted.”

Both of them clamber onto the seating, Shining Armor of course being protective of Cadence and unborn foal and instinctively taking the aisle seat. Once they look somewhat relaxed, I glare pointedly at some interested onlookers before returning my attention to them both. “So, um, Your Majesties,” I say, flicking my ear gently as I watch the waitress out the corner of my eye. “You said you wanted to discuss something pertaining to my alchemy? I mean, when I got the letter, I thought you had already had the baby and wanted to turn Shining into a mare to be a wetnurse, but...”

“Nothing of the sort,” Cadence replies, snorting in amusement at what I just suggested. “We’re in Canterlot because the Crystal Empire honestly still needs modernizing in some fields, medical included, and at this point we want the best care available for when the next princess decides to make her debut. When we returned, we heard that you were back to studying and wanted to talk to you about our previous offer.”

“Decided you don’t want a stone-eye nutter for your court alchemist after all?” I offer in a defeated tone. “I don’t blame you. Losing my mind a couple of times definitely doesn’t look good on a health-record for prospective employers.”

Shining Armor frowns, and for a moment I worry he might shout. “What? No, no!” he denies, waving his hooves emphatically before him. “That offer still stands, but we were hoping you might consider finishing your alchemical doctorate in the Empire.”

At my surprised look, Cadence elaborates. “When we heard you were back at university and had decided to pursue the Restorative School of alchemy, we pulled the summaries of your research. Gene therapy, inoculations to common illnesses, the merits of petrifaction in emergency medicine.” She almost sounds giddy at the prospect. “Given some time, we could set you up with everything you’d need to make these a reality; in the meantime, you would be able to learn the relevant medicine along with the medical staff in the Empire.”

“Do I get a cute outfit?”

A look of sudden confusion crosses the prince consort’s face as he stares at me. “Wait a second. Why would I have to turn into a mare to wetnurse?” he asks slowly. “Why would you even suggest that when there are plenty—”

Both Cadance and I begin giggling uncontrollably, probably for completely different reasons, as Shining belatedly picks up on my joking comment. “I’m not sure if you remember where a mare’s mammary glands are located, but I think it might be just a bit too—” I laugh even louder at the mental image. “—stimulating.”

When no sign of understanding dawns on his face, I grab a pepper mill from the table and turn it on its side. “Okay, this is your... yeah,” I say, indicating the mill. “Pretend my hooves are the mams, and watch carefully.” I place my hooves on either side of the dispenser, gently brushing back and forth in a slow jerking motion. “Can you see why that might not be great when nursing?” I add with a smirk. “Besides, you’d look much cuter as a mare, nursing a little foal while wearing a maid’s dress.”

As Shining Armor’s face flushes with crimson, Cadence begins to lose it. It doesn’t help any that he immediately adjusts his posture, slouching and placing his forelegs as close together as possible. I can’t even tell what’s worse, that she’s laughing at a lewd joke, or that she has yet to object to my suggestion that her husband would be cute dressed as a maid. Then again, at like fifteen months pregnant, the bedroom life is probably full of anxiety.

Her amusement rises from light giggling to a steady howl of laughter, as tears spill freely down her cheeks. She clenches her eyes shut and wraps her hooves around her distended belly, but her laughter has changed. Rather than sounds of mirth, her ha-has sound more like pained gasps. Um... wait. Shit.

“Um... nobody panic, but I think you just went into labor.” Wow, way to sound reassuring, Silver. “Er...”

Princess Cadance rises to her hooves as though she’s about to burst into a run for the door, but she makes no further movements. Her eyes widen with alarm as she realizes that everypony in the cafe is now staring in her general direction with varied expressions of shock and alarm. Oh shit, oh shit, oh no; that baby’s ready to come out, and I don’t think it’s going to wait for an ambulance!

“She’s gone into labor?” Shining whispers hoarsely, his own eyes as wide as dinner plates. “But the books all say not to teleport once it begins—” His glances at me, noting my own gravid form. “—and you aren’t in any condition to go get help...”

“Don’t leave me, Shining!” she pleads, her voice trailing off into a keening cry. “It hurts so badly.”

Keep calm and help her deliver that baby, Silver. It’s nothing new, and this sort of thing has been happening for as long as mammals have had live births. It can’t be too difficult, especially with ponies, right? “Shining Armor, can your shield spell be made opaque?” I ask, glancing at the crowd gathering near the booth.

When he nods, his face becoming incredibly pale, I turn back to Cadance and grin half-heartedly. “Alright, Your Highness, Shiny there is going to put up a small privacy screen with his magic so we can get this done, okay?” Once Shining Armor conjures up a large rosy dome and I’ve shed my saddlebags, I upend the table and lead the pregnant pony princess into the center of the space. At first I worry that her legs have locked and that she’ll be foaling practically on top of the bench, but then, slowly, she leans against me for support as we inch out into the space.

Now, at this point, there isn’t much anypony can do but wait. It’s all up to Cadance to breathe and push and all that fun stuff. Well, if I’d known I was going to be playing midwife for the ruler of another country, I would have brought a mild painkiller—enough to deaden the pain, but not enough to make it so she can’t even feel the contractions—but that’s neither here nor there. For one, I’m technically not supposed to be making that sort of stuff. Controlled substance laws, and all that.

I’d also like to pretend that I can just sit off to the side, waiting. Unfortunately, somepony has to be watching to make sure that things are going okay. Shining certainly isn’t; he’s just standing in front of Cadance, trying to comfort her in spite of the look on his face that says, “Childbirth is the destroyer of vaginas.”

So there I stand over the span of an hour or two, not unlike the time with Lyra, staring at another mare’s genitals, watching a bubble of amniotic membrane protrude and distend, slowly filling with color. At first, there’s only a pair of light amber hooves, but as the foal comes out further, I can even see an almost azure color atop the horned little head through the membrane. Strangely, I don’t even feel sickened watching this. It’s just... magical in its own way.

Once the foal is out past her shoulders, it’s almost a simple affair. With a gush of fluid, the rest of the body practically glides out of her now gaping birth canal. Regardless of how icky the amniotic sac might feel to the touch, I’m right there to make sure the increased height of the alicorn mother doesn’t lead to any accidents, guiding with my hooves.

“Shining Armor, the amniotic sac is intact,” I say, not really expecting him to know what I’m actually saying. “In the hardcase saddlebag, there’s a surgical kit that I generally use for sample collection. Get me the scalpel and two forceps. No questions.”

I kneel down in front of the membrane-swaddled foal, and accept one pair of forceps from Shining Armor. Clamping down on the sac just in front of the foal’s muzzle, I accept the other pair and clamp off a point just above the little one’s hooves. Finally, with the proffered scalpel clenched between my teeth, a cut is made between the two points.

I waste no time at all diving forward to tear at the incision with my hooves, tearing the membrane and freeing the little horned head. The newly christened parents watch in awe as the sac rips further under my ministrations, revealing two tiny little wings. Sweat begins to cover my brow as the last of the sac comes away.

With a smile, I say, “Congratulations, Cadence; it’s a healthy little alicorn filly.”

The two share a look, before they both say in unison, “Our little Etherea.”

“... and that’s half the reason I got a cesarean,” I conclude, glancing down at my two sleeping daughters. With a chuckle and smile, I take care not to wake them as I slip out from beneath the comforter, allowing them to rest against one another. “Sleep well, little ones... Tomorrow is going to be a busy, busy day.”

Returning my attentions to the memoire on the desk, I frown. Maybe I don’t need to preface it, but I do need to address Aqua Regia somehow. Forgoing the noisy typewriter, a fountain pen and a sheet of parchment is retrieved from a drawer on the desk. It takes almost half an hour to organize what I want to say, but with one final glance at the clock, I begin to write.

Aqua Regia,

I don’t think either of us expected our lives to turn out the way they did. There are times when I think that life is but a play, and from time to time, the playwright is either flat-out drunk or hates us all. It’s not to say that I excuse or forgive what you have done, but I am beyond blaming you solely for all that has happened.

I have heard some of the things Blueblood—the house, your father, and your brother—has done to you, and it’s clear that up until attending the university, you’ve had little control in your life. Words can’t even describe what a horrible existence House Blueblood must have been for you, but as I said before, I excuse nothing. Having gotten to know your history while tracking your rehabilitation, I feel that you should also have the opportunity to know mine.

The enclosed memoir is all my life’s experiences since first coming to Equestria. Everything I’ve gone through, all the torture I’ve faced, and most of all, all of the accomplishments I’ve made in spite of it: all is a part of this. It’s not enough for me to know that you know what you did was wrong before your execution. I need you to understand how what you have done has affected my life. Since it’s really the heart of the matter, I like to think of it as the Alchemist’s Heart.

That being said, I will be visiting the same day you read this message, late in the afternoon. I will not be alone. If you have read the memoir in its entirety—not like you have much else to do there—you will know who will be joining me. You might thank me, or you might damn me for it. That is for you to decide when that time comes.

I also would ask you to think on something. If you had been born to any other family, do you think you would have turned out the way you did? Would you do the things you have done? If you had a chance to do it all again, to do it right, would you take it? Do you think you are deserving of such a second chance? I’ll ask the answer before the end of my visit.

Sincerely,

Silver Script

Content with the letter, I affix it to the sheaf of papers making up the memoir, tying it with twine, and carry it to the door. With a tug of a tasseled rope nearby, one of the castle servants is here in minutes. After that, it’s only a matter of time until the memoir is on a same-day trip to death row at Ironhoof Penitentiary.

Finally, I allow my tiredness to catch up to me. With a yawn, I lay up atop the comforter, curling my body around those of my daughters. I think Blossom would be proud of me if she could see me now. In fact, I know she is.

“Mommy, why are we in a prison?” Clara asks, hiding beneath one of my wings. We are seated at a table in a fair-sized room, waiting. “Was I bad?”

Before I have a chance to respond, Pura interjects with a grin, “Don’t be silly, sis. This is a visitation room! It said so on the door.” There’s an almost me-like glint in her eye for a moment, and she quickly adds, “Why? Did you wanna see the Scared Straight program firsthoof?”

Looking down at Pura disapprovingly, I shake my head. “One of these days, I’m going to start restricting what books that librarian lends you,” I state flatly. “You read too much for your own good.”

“Just think how disappointed Princess Twilight would be in you if—” Whatever attempt at trying to guilt me out of hampering her attempt at reading all the books in the Royal Library in the Crystal Empire falls silent as a door on the opposite side of the room opens. In steps a guard, followed by a tall mare in an orange jumpsuit.

After all these years, I can scarcely tell that Aqua Regia is the same mare that I knew. Her once-lustrous mane is cropped short, the meaning of which I can only begin to guess. A look of recognition crosses her gaunt face as her near-hollow eyes flick from me to the fillies—recognition and pain. Her ears are splayed back, and even beneath that prison uniform, I can tell that she’s judging whether or not she wants to book it.

As she creeps slowly to the table, unable to make eye-contact with any of us, my eyes instinctively flick up to her forehead, where her horn once was. I’d seen her without her horn before, less than a month after she’d raped me, but at that time, the area around it had been shaved back to allow doctors to properly remove the broken horn. It’s different now; the fur has grown back, but there’s still a round bare spot where her horn once was... almost like an Indian Bindi.

I purse my lips and nod when she reaches the table. “Aqua Regia,” I say in lieu of any other greeting. “You’re looking well today.”

“More than I have any right to be, Silver Script,” she agrees, taking a seat across from us. “So they are... ?”

I nod. “Pura, Clara, this is Aqua Regia,” I explain, looking each of my daughters in the eye in turn before once again looking at Aqua. “Aqua, these are my daughters.”

The murderess nods, shifting away from the table. “Hello,” she says in a surprisingly timid voice. “I’m—”

“A bad pony who hurt mommy,” Pura growls in a hateful tone I’ve never before heard from her. She hops onto the table to place herself between the two of us, taking a stance I’m sure she intends to be intimidating. In reality, it would almost be cute if not for how heartbreaking it really is. “You raped my mother. I don’t know how, but you did.”

Now, this is the sort of moment where if one were to have a beverage in their mouth, they would probably be spraying a fine mist of it across the table in surprise. Nobody ever expects their seven year old daughter to know what rape is, never mind that they would be able properly guess that the pony sitting before us is indeed the one who did that very crime.

Clara looks from Aqua, to Pura, and then to me. “Mommy, what’s rape?”

“It’s not something either of you should have to know about at your age,” I say softly, nuzzling Clara. Glancing up at her sister, I add, “Somebody is definitely getting a talking to about age-appropriate reading when we get home.” My gray daughter looks back at me, agape, but at my stern look, she makes no further protest. “Come down off of the table.”

Pura complies with my command, but seemingly grudgingly. The little unicorn takes a seat between my forelegs, resting her chin on the table, glaring across the table at her sire. I too turn back to looking at Aqua, and am unsurprised to see a stricken, guilty look on her face.

“She’s as clever as her mother,” she notes with a sad expression. Looking to Clara, she visibly winces and a look of near panic crosses her countenance. “And you... you have her eyes. I don't know how, but you do.” This last bit is a quavering whisper.

“As Pura has already guessed,” I state for Clara’s benefit, “Aqua Regia is your...”

“Daddy?” Clara offers hopefully.

Aqua shakes her head. “Sire.” There’s no sadness or anger in her voice; instead, I can almost hear pride. Pride not in what she’s done, but in what I’ve done in spite of it. “What I did to Silver was the most heinous of things a pony can do, and I have no right to claim any title pertaining to familial roles.” I realize that she is speaking not to me or Pura, but Clara specifically. “Even if your mother forgave me, which she can’t, it would be wrong of me to lay claim to such a role when I haven’t been there, and soon will not be around at all. There is no place in your life for a diseased mind such as mine. You all deserve better.”

Something, or rather, someone, bumps into my chest as her head shoots up. With a glance down, I’m happy to see that there’s a surprised look on Pura’s face. It would seem that Pura misjudged how Aqua would respond. She probably expected an unrepentant killer rather than the pony who is taking the presence and disdain of the fillies she begat with the stoicism of somebody about to die.

“You’re sick in the head?” little Clara asks, slipping out from beneath my wing to place her forehooves on the table to peer at Aqua expectantly. Again, the former unicorn looks as though she’s been physically slapped, and I think I know why. “But if you’re sick, why did they put you in prison? Mommy says we should help sick ponies whenever possible, but they can’t help you if you’re here!”

I look down at my daughter in pride and nod. “I’m actually still curious about that myself,” I admit. “When I saw you last, you were frequently flashing back to moments in your foalhood. I’m surprised your lawyer allowed it. You could have been living out your days in Helping Hooves, but...”

Aqua frowns and then rubs her head gently as a small trickle of blood begins to trickle from one of her tear ducts. At my look of alarm, she shakes her head. “It’s nothing; just a small aneurysm. Small price to pay to not be reduced into a blithering child,” she says dismissively. “I dismissed my lawyer as soon as he attempted to argue mental incompetence. The court—the princesses—agreed that as long as I was lucid from medication, I was fit to stand trial. I knew what I had done and the penalties associated with my crimes. I asked for this sentence when I plead guilty. Auntie... Princess Luna wasn't about to deny my request simply because it was what I wanted; everypony got what they wanted. The public got justice, Ice Blossom’s family got peace of mind, and I get what's coming to me.”

I nod, knowingly. She’s had to live with what she did for seven whole years, over which time she’s been receiving therapy to help her understand what she did. She murdered somepony I loved and brutally raped me. There’s no coming back from that, and I don’t think she wants to come back from it.

Again, I look to my daughters. “Girls, there’s something I need to talk to Aqua about privately. Do you think you could go ask the guard by the door we came in to take you to a vending machine to get some snacks?” I flick my saddlebag open with one of my wings and hook a small, foalish coin purse on one of my pinions before offering it to the fillies. “Anything you want as long as you bring me back a soda.”

Both Aqua and I watch the girls move to harass the guard before nodding. “So about my offer,” I say, stretching one of my hooves across the table. I don't even flinch as my hoof contacts the invisible barrier dividing the room. “Would you take a second chance if offered?”

“Silver, I can’t!” she cries, another bloody tear racing down her cheek. “I have to die, or else Ice Blossom’s family will never have justice. Even if you’re offering what I think you are, I couldn’t. The princesses—”

“Have already approved the testing, and rehabilitation programme,” I interrupt. “All inmates on death row are being offered this choice as an alternative execution. Make no mistake, you will die. Maybe not your soul or your body if all goes well, but who you are as a pony will cease to be...”

I walk quickly through the streets, fighting against the early-morning hoof traffic to get to my destination. There’s no reason anybody would think anything odd about a mare out and about with the sort of precious cargo she’s carrying on her back, but they are kind enough to give me enough space so as to not disturb it. For that I’m thankful.

My hooves practically lead me based on a memory from years ago: an out of the way spot in the residential district, overlooking much of the city. It was there that I first had a discussion with Shining Armor here at sundown on a day marking the end of one phase of my life, so it’s only fitting that I choose to meet somepony who helped me through a rough time at the beginning of a new era. So as I round a corner, getting a good glimpse of the cityscape as Celestia’s sun begins to crest the horizon, I’m pleased to see the pony already present.

At first, I barely recognize her; between her long gray-streaked brown mane and the cloth uniform of an instructor at the Royal Guard Officer Candidate School obscuring her scarred body and tan coat, it’s little wonder. That’s definitely the pony I came to see.

“Silver Script, it is so good to see you again,” she says before nursing what smells like a latte of some sort. “How are your daughters doing? I heard you took them to meet that awful mare, in spite of all she did.”

I nod. “Ponies value progeny, Wind Whisper, and even though she did all those things, I wanted Aqua to take peace in knowing that even though she didn’t deserve it, she helped create two wonderful fillies.”

“Most ponies wouldn't do what you did, though. It’s a kindness and cruelty beyond what most are capable of.” Wind Whisper shrugs, before noting the bundle on my back. “I didn't know you were pregnant again; congratulations Silver!”

I shake my head, smiling. “She isn’t mine,” I admit. “Project Genesis—death row inmate testing for a potion intended to revert a pony to foalhood whilst also purging any traits making a pony prone to illness—was a success,” I explain, lowering myself to the ground before retrieving the sleeping foal from my back. “This is one of the volunteers.”

The former sergeant eyes the swaddled filly guardedly. “Silver, I...”

I raise my hoof to hush her. “You were on a list of ponies looking to adopt, for which there were no suitable adoptees to choose from.” A foalish giggle escapes the now-awake child at my hooves. “She’s going to need a good mother.”

“But... isn't she... ?” she asks, noting the little cobalt eyes peering up at her from beneath the nubbin of a tiny crimson horn and wisps of blond mane. “Why give her the choice?”

“Everypony deserves a second chance,” I say, passing her the filly. “She’s yours if you want her. She’s a blank slate now, so you could make sure she doesn’t become the mare she was again.”

Tentatively, Whisper accepts the bundled filly, a tear staining her cheek. “I don't know what to say, Silver.” Hugging the cooing foal against her chest, she lets out a small sob. “Thank you so much.”

“Just say you’ll treat her right,” I say. “Love her like her family never did.”

Author's Notes:

And there we have it ladies and gents. Maybe not the greatest ending, but when you wall yourself into a corridor with words, you work with what you've given yourself. I am in no way ashamed of this ending. In fact, I've had this specific ending—the reborn Aqua Regia being handed off for a second chance at life—planned out pretty much since I set the story down its dark path. During the entirety of the whole span between Chapters 29 and Ω and the year between the writing of the two, there have been a lot of things in flux, but this was pretty much one constant throughout the whole ordeal.

A lot of you probably want to ask "Why?" or more precisely, "Why would Silver name her daughters in such a way?" and "Why would, after everything she has been through, give the one who did everything to her a second chance?" The answer, simply put, is that Silver Script is a good person. She has a courage in her heart; she could have let everything break her down completely, but each time I fate the universe dropped the hammer, Silver got back on her hooves, no matter how hard it was or how long it took, and dove right back into the fight that was life. Rather than let Aqua Regia stain two perfectly good names, she named her daughters a name that by all rights should have been painful. Every day she raised them, it was not pain she was reminded of, however; it was a reminder to do better. So when it came to Aqua Regia's execution, Silver pushed herself to do better, giving the one who wronged her the most a chance to do better, just as she had been so many times before.

It also felt good to leave the story off on a happy note. Yes, yes, I realize to some that it can hardly be considered happy when Aqua Regia effectively gets off. The thing is that she really didn't. An infants brain isn't nearly developed enough to hold the same contents as an adult's. Think of the brain like a bucket that expands as you age, ready to constantly be filled with water. If that bucket were to be reverted to its earliest state, a large portion of the water in that bucket will overflow, spilled and forever lost. That is what I—and Silver, for all intents and purposes—theorized would happen. True, the filly Silver gave Wind Whisper might contain the barest of trace of Aqua Regia, but that mare still died the moment she was 'treated'. That, in part is why I never had Silver directly refer to the child by name. The young should bear not the sins of the previous generation.

Now, to many of you, the Cameo segment of the epilogue probably didn't make much sense, and by all means seemed out of place. Hell, some of you probably think this is some kind of sequel hook or something. To be quite honest, this segment has been the result of an ongoing joke between Shachza and myself, regarding whether or not his wonderful story To Love a Pony could have been from the same Equestria as the Alchemist's Heart. After some conversations, I'd jokingly commented that I was going to cameo his character, Etherea, in the story. As time went on however, that joke actually became a fun little idea. A neat little treat for him and those who read both stories, if you will. Was it necessary? Maybe not. Was it fun to write? Hell yes.

Is Silver going to hell for telling her kids such a horrible story? As you've already seen, nope!

Another thing that some are probably wondering about is the chapter 'number'. Why name it Chapter Omega and not just leave it at Epilogue? Frankly, I'm a punny bastard. Omega is the final letter in the Greek alphabet , aided in meaning by the phrase "I am the alpha and the omega; the beginning and the end." Not only that, but the capital omega also resembles a horseshoe, and I vaguely recalled from the show that ponies have also signed things with a hoofprint. So it's the end, it's signed, and because I was being cute.

There are a lot of people that I want to thank for their help with this story. Obviously, I am mandated to thank my editors regardless, but thanks is given where thanks is deserved. Even they were not all available to edit this final chapter in the time-frame I'd promised for this release, I want to thank in no specific order E3gner, Fourpony, Refro, and NightmareKnight for all the help making sure I didn't look completely illiterate. I want to thank my friends DarkxRedemption and Vilcor for being there to bounce ideas off of when I more regularly frequented [or moderated] deviantArt's #Bronies chat. I also want to thank Shachza for motivating me to write, even when things seemed bleak from the userbase side of things. Finally, I need to thank all of you who have taken the time to read this story [and incidentally, this A/N]. Without everybody expressing interest in this work, I probably would not have gotten as far in writing it as I did.

While Silver Script may be put into retirement for a while, know that I will probably never forget the time that I've had writing from her POV.

On that note, I leave you all with this.