[3/4] maybe then i could finally be free

I. 

Despite the thousands of years Twilight had been gone, Canterlot and Cadance looked much the same as she’d left them. 

It was obvious Cadance had prepared for a much more emotional Twilight Sparkle, one who would weep and wail over her parents, and her brother, and her lost life. This was not the Twilight she met. 

This Twilight Sparkle had no more tears left in her. Maybe it was a blessing, even if she felt guilty for it, that her grief for her parents and brother so paled in comparison to her grief for Rarity that she felt relatively okay when visiting their tombs. Sad, of course, deeply so, but not devastated, not mourning, not regretful. It was a pain she’d long since processed, that felt much more distant than the one she was currently dealing with. 

Truth be told, Twilight Sparkle wished Rarity would stay dead. 

She wished that every other conversation with Cadance wasn’t evading her well-meaning but misguided belief that talking about it would help. She wished that working on Celestia’s liberation didn’t involve constantly going over what Rarity had done decades ago, working so hard and so far that it was her notes that were the most useful, her hoof-drawn maps that worked the best, her efforts that demanded to be seen above all else as if to ensure that even in death she was still the star. 

But these things? They were precisely that. Things, which was actually better than the alternative. Objects with no life or emotions couldn’t demand her attention. 

Living, breathing relatives could, however. 

No one had warned her, of course. Both Princess Luna and Cadance knew that there could be no preparing Twilight, no coaxing or convincing her. The only way they could get her to do as they wanted was by betraying her completely. They simply didn’t tell her it was coming at all. 

So, she stepped into the castle library as per a guard’s request, finding not just Cadance and Princess Luna but an elderly unicorn mare. 

Primrose Sap’s copper-colored coat had faded with age, and her silver mane was kept short in a bob, tucked under a large rimmed blue hat, whose color was almost as striking as the color of her piercing wide eyes: sapphire. 

Just like her grandmother’s. 

“My stars,” said Rarity’s last living grandfoal, her voice wavering as she stepped forward. “It’s you.” 

“Twilight,” said Princess Luna, having the gall to sound completely neutral, not a hint of contrition in her voice, “this is Rarity’s granddaughter, Primrose Sap.” 

“There’s something she and Auntie Luna need to talk about.” Cadance added, a little too quickly. “So we told her to come here so she could finally meet you.” Knowing better than Princess Luna, she made sure to sound the slightest bit pleading as she added, “We thought you’d like the surprise!”

Before Twilight could even draw breath with which to tell them off, Primrose Sap moved forward, step by step by step, until she stopped right before Twilight, sapphire eyes meeting violet. 

“It really is you,” she whispered in awe, her eyes scanning Twilight. “I can’t bel—” She interrupted herself with a gasp. Tears filled her eyes as she spotted Twilight’s necklace. “It’s not broken,” she said. 

“Wh-What?” Twilight blurted out. 

“Your necklace,” Primrose replied. “It’s not broken. I always imagined it would be, even though Grandmother said it wouldn’t. I used to tell her that was why you didn’t answer. ” She lifted her shining gaze and, patting Twilight’s cheeks, offered a grin so familiar Twilight felt sick. “I hope you’re ready to talk these old ears off, dear. I’ve been waiting a long time.”  

II. 

For the four days Primrose stayed at the castle, she could not be torn from Twilight’s side, her hoof always grasping for Twilight and forcing her to slow down as she chatted her way through the castle.  

She talked a lot about Rarity, but mercifully kept it to her own relationship with the unicorn. Twilight found it somewhat manageable as it did not involve the husband—a topic which Prim noticeably avoided. It was that care, admittedly, that chipped away at Twilight’s defenses, charming her way into Twilight’s heart—much like her grandmother had done once upon a time. 

“I was her favorite!” Prim would tell Twilight, seated right next to her at the dinner table while Princess Cadance giggled and Princess Luna rolled her eyes. “I was! I was the most like her. She never treated Starglaze and the others differently, but I was special.” 

“She loved all of you exactly the same,” Cadance would reply. 

“No, she didn’t,” Prim would whisper to Twilight, winking before adding, “And she always said I’d be your favorite, too.” 

Primrose noticeably kept her questions about Rarity restrained as well. She asked some things, standard questions like how they had met, what Rarity had done to help her, had she really stood up to dragons in caves, but she never really asked about their relationship. What they were like, how they acted around each other, what they talked about late into the night. In the dead of the night, Twilight wondered if this was because she thought their relationship unimportant. Was that it? Had Twilight meant so little by the time the end came knocking?

She also never asked Twilight what Rarity was like back then. She didn’t seem to care, and the few times it came up, she would nod and move on. Why should Twilight be surprised? There probably wasn’t anything she could say about the unicorn that Prim didn’t already know. After all, by that point Primrose had known and loved Rarity for far longer than Twilight ever did. 

Well, maybe not loved her for longer. Twilight still had that over her because, possessed or not, she’d still loved her long before Primrose was born and long after she’d die.

III.

If Primrose inherited one thing from her grandmother, it was her charm. It was this that made it so Twilight couldn’t help liking her, even in those first few days when she dreaded conversation, afraid of what she’d heard and ashamed of being afraid. She made Twilight laugh. She cheated at cards and pretended she was senile when called out. She spoke at length of romance novels Rarity read to her and indignantly defended their honor when Twilight pointed out plot holes and cliches. She slept in late and protested being awoken before noon. 

She was… She was different enough from Rarity that Twilight couldn’t spend her every waking moment grieving, but similar enough that she allowed Twilight to embrace memories of Rarity without thorns drawing blood.  

One sunny day, about three weeks since the elderly mare had arrived, Princess Twilight Sparkle trotted into Canterlot Castle’s grand foyer to find Princess Luna looking less than pleased.

“Good morning,” Twilight said, eyebrow raised. “Is everything okay?” 

“No.” Princess Luna’s tone was icy. 

“Don’t mind her,” Prim said, waving Princess Luna off. “She’s disrespecting her elders.” 

Twilight laughed. “She’s over a thousand years older than you, though.” 

“In body, maybe.” Prim exclaimed. She then placed a hoof over her heart. “But in spirit? A child compared to me!” 

Twilight grinned, her eyes darting towards the princess. “What did she do?” 

“We were supposed to travel to Ponyville tomorrow to attend to something there,” Princess Luna said, annoyed. “I planned on asking you to come with us tonight during dinner.” 

“Right. And that isn’t happening because…?” 

“Because I forgot a book in Hollow Shades,” Prim said, her eyes comically and enormously apologetic. “So we have to go get it. Too bad!” 

“We do not,” Princess Luna protested. “Primrose Sap, you know how important this is, and we have delayed it long enough! We will simply have to do without.” 

“Well, I won’t go, then,” Primrose said, wiping the floor with her tail and then plopping herself down with a soft thud. “Not without it.” 

“What’s so important about this book?” Twilight asked. 

“It’s my favorite book. You can’t have an old lady go to Ponyville without her favorite book! It’s just not right.”

Princess Luna sighed wearily. “Primrose.” 

“Please. I have my reasons,” Primrose said, her voice softening as she added, “I pinkie promise. And you know I don’t say that lightly.” 

Princess Luna looked away, ears lowering. 

Twilight frowned. “What’s a pinkie promise?” 

“The most important promise in the world,” Primrose replied, standing up and dusting herself off. “I’ll tell you on the way to Hollow Shades.” Before Twilight could process the request, or even quickly deny it, Primrose trotted over and grabbed her foreleg. “You are coming, aren’t you? You have to! You must! You must, I say!” Her eyes became enormous once again as she leaned in, lower lip jutting out. “Surely, you wouldn’t deny an old mare her small request?” 

She looked ridiculous, with her whining voice and blue puppy eyes, her tone of voice the same as every single time she’d whined to Twilight about something or other in the library back home. She was so charming, so familiar, so endearing, the name just slipped out. 

“O-kay,” Twilight laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re ridiculous, Rarity.” 

She caught herself too late, her heart stopping when Primrose froze. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Princess Luna stop breathing. 

“Sorry,” she stammered immediately, shame ripping through her. She stepped away from Prim, a buzzing noise in her head growing louder and louder. “I didn’t mean to—I—” She cleared her throat, grasping to stabilize herself only for Princess Luna to step towards her, worried or embarrassed Twilight could not tell and did not care because whatever it was did not compare to the shame that hollowed her out.

“Twilight—” 

“Why, Princess!” Primrose said, her voice just that little bit louder, that little bit more commanding, stopping Princess Luna in her tracks. “What are you sorry for?” She stepped forward and her hoof landed on Twilight’s chest, over that crystal clear necklace that burned. “I’m honored. And flattered.” The hoof moved to Twilight’s cheek, patting it affectionately, and when Twilight forced herself to look at her, a brilliant sapphire eye winked back. “There’s a reason I was her favorite, dear.” 

Twilight managed a laugh. It rippled through her body, shook her ribcage, burned her throat, but it was there. 

How could Rarity be dead? 

“On second thought,” Prim continued, sounding contrite all of a sudden. “You should stay here, I think. It might—” 

“No,” Twilight interrupted. “I’ll go. It’s fine. Please,” she insisted, trying to make up for—for what? For everything? Princesses, how could she be dead? “I want to.” 

Primrose opened her mouth a fraction of a second before nodding. “You’ll like it.” 

“I won’t,” Twilight replied. “But I’ll go anyway. She would—” She paused. “Would she want me to?” 

Prim was silent for a moment. “I think she would,” she replied eventually. “I think she’d want you to see what she did. She always wondered if you’d be proud of her.” 

“Proud of her?” Twilight asked, as if there wasn’t a world in which that wasn’t already true.

She hadn’t noticed she was crying until Primrose wiped her eyes. 

“But of course,” Prim said. “Don’t you know she cared for you very much?”

IV.

Hollow Shades was just as Twilight remembered from what she’d seen the times she’d mindmelded with Rarity. 

It was a beautiful town, if just a bit eerie, deep within a tall forest similar to Twilight’s own Everfree. Perpetual dusk reigned, and the little moonlight that fought its way through the treetops struggled to reach the ground, Foal Mountain looming overhead in the distance. The mountain had a visible hole near its top, which was apparently the spot where Princess Luna had blasted her way out of her prison about two years ago. 

As the small group made their way past the star-spangled homes, villagers stopped by to greet Princess Luna and Primrose, as well as enquire about their curious guest which, thanks to an illusion spell, looked like a perfectly ordinary unicorn. 

There would come a time, of course, when Twilight would have to introduce herself to the world at large—particularly this village that believed in her tale—but it was agreed that that particular introduction did not have to happen right then. Her mental stamina was already being tested enough. 

“We’ll be here just a day or two at most,” Primrose promised, her slow walk for once benefitting the alicorn and her fervent desire to delay the inevitable as much as possible. “I sent word ahead to have the Dreamland closed while we’re here.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Ah.” Princess Luna’s gaze fixed on something ahead. “There it is now.”

A tall building rose before Twilight in the distance, distinct against the buildings on either side. Lullaby’s Dreamland, looking as though Luna had whisked Rarity’s Ponyville boutique away and re-modeled it in her own image. Much like the other houses in the village, the building’s blue walls were decorated with bright yellow star designs. Fake clouds lined the building’s exterior, stars and moons hanging from them in perfectly even intervals.

Atop the large crystalline doors was an oval painting depicting Princess Luna herself. 

Twilight came to a stop, taking it in with no small amount of shock. “It’s huge.”

Light shone out a few windows on the second floor; all others were dark.

“Come, come,” Prim said, ushering Twilight on. “Incantation should still be awake.”

“Incantation?” 

“Incantation runs the Dreamland,” Princess Luna explained. “The changeling we spoke of last night. ”

“Oh, right. The one that worked for Rarity?” She’d always known changelings’ lifespans exceeded that of ponies, but it was still startling to think someone who’d worked for Rarity was still alive and well. “She must be old now.”

“Looks younger than my oldest niece, let me tell you,” Primrose said. “Grandfather used to joke it was his and Grandmother’s love keeping her looking so young.” She thankfully did not notice Twilight’s briefly sullen expression. “You’ll like her, you’ll see!”

“I’m sure I will,” she replied, trying to sound fine, trying her utmost best not to think of Rarity and her husband, trying to not sound like she hated the idea of their love even existing, and trying not to hold it against Prim. He was her grandfather and she was allowed to speak of him, whether Twilight liked it or not.

Thankfully, she was reprieved of her awful thoughts when she followed Primrose inside the Dreamland.

Warm, velvety, strewn with lights: the first sensations and impressions that hit Twilight before the fine details presented themselves. Navy walls and deep, dark carpets rolled across the lobby and up a grand staircase; yellow doors stood ajar and offered tantalising glimpses of the rooms beyond; everywhere, the night sky. Little golden stars and moons and planets and starborne beasts drifted in enchanted motion over the walls and ceiling, mimicking Luna’s realm proper. Many more illustrations and murals decorated the walls, all the way up to the ceiling and snaking up the stairs towards the second landing. 

By one set of pictures, a pony stood. No, Twilight realised, as they turned to greet her with a smile, the changeling. Incantation. She’d heard of her. All sorts of creatures walked openly and accepted in Equestria these days, Luna and Cadence had told her, and thanks to Rarity’s efforts, changelings were starting to become one of said creatures. 

Ragged, wispy wings and a snarled jag of horn, a dull blue-blue carapace, and luminous teal eyes creased at the corners with laugh-lines. The creature hobbled forward towards Twilight, betraying stiffness in her joints, even though she looked relatively healthy and young. Primrose had mentioned the changeling was over a hundred years old, but Twilight knew changelings aged differently. Stayed younger longer. 

“Sweet Denza,” she breathed, her eyes landing on Twilight. She stepped forward. “Princess Twilight Sparkle. It’s really you.” 

Twilight swallowed awkwardly. “Hello there. Pleased to meet you.”

The old changeling smiled fondly, wistfully. “Pleased doesn’t even begin to cut it,” she said. “I’m Incantation. Dreamland’s manager and its first and best employee!” 

“Inky,” Primrose said, patting Twilight on the back. “I think a tour’s in order.” 

“A tour?” Incantation’s eyes gleamed. “I’m excellent at those.” She looked Twilight over and grinned. “Why don’t we start with the theatre?”

V. 

The Dreamland consisted of four primary rooms — Twilight’s library, Celestia’s bakery, Luna’s observatory, and Cadance’s theatre. Each was meant as a place for the foals to either eat, play, or sleep in. Since Twilight Sparkle was not a foal, she did not care much for these rooms beyond the fact that they were pretty to look at, clearly had a lot of care put into them, and they all depicted the Princesses. 

They even depicted Twilight herself, but as she kept catching glimpses of herself, all she could think was that the alicorn on those walls wasn’t really her—starting by the fact that not a single one had her necklace with her. 

In the end, it seemed like she was remembered in the form she most hated—Twilight Sparkle, the princess.

Not Twilight Sparkle, the… the… what was she if not the princess? Did it even matter? Did anyone even care? 

Regardless, there was one place in the Dreamland that certainly felt designed to affect Twilight Sparkle, the pony, though.  

If Twilight had to describe Rarity’s workshop in two words, which had been mostly preserved just as the unicorn left it, she would describe it as painfully Rarity—painfully being the key word, of course. 

It was an organized chaos of fabrics strewn about, of racks and racks filled with all sorts of foal- and adult-sized clothes, a platform in the middle for ponies to model on, and a small desk in the back under a wall full of photographs. They called to Twilight like flame to a moth, her heart thumping loudly in her chest.  

Dozens of pictures were arranged in a circular pattern around a large portrait of the Dreamland and its two grinning founders standing outside by its doors. Rarity held her hoof over the necklace on her chest. 

This was the first time Twilight saw Rarity in almost two months. Two months ago, to her, in her mind, in her memories, in her heart, Rarity had been lounging about in her library, giggling as she read Twilight passages from absolutely awful romance novels. 

And now, there she was. In a picture taken decades ago. 

It would be nice to pretend that was it. She could step away, that image burned into her mind. The last glimpse she’d have of Rarity was of her Rarity, young and beautiful and grinning, grasping the only thing that mattered. 

But then she caught a glimpse of white. Against her will, her heart burning, her eyes moved to a beautiful unicorn in a beautiful wedding gown gazing at a stallion in a wedding suit, eyes only for each other. 

No necklace there, of course. 

Then another glimpse, now a husband and wife and three little fillies riding on top of their father while their mother laughed, the necklace back on her neck, and oh, oh, oh, how it hurt. 

Her only reprieve—slight, fast—was a picture next to it, of the husband with another mare, the two looking in love.

“That was his first wife,” Primrose said. “Summersong. It was always important for them to remember her.” 

Right. He’d been a widower. It made sense they’d remember his wife, and if she was remembered, then Twilight could no longer look away. She could not, not now that the dam had been opened, the bottle uncorked, the line crossed. 

How could she when now she had the excuse of scanning for a picture of herself to justify grabbing a knife and, as she’d done for a thousand years now, plunging it into her heart, twisting and twisting until she saw how much she could bleed. 

So she scanned. 

Another picture, of Rarity and her friends—all of them dead, Twilight knew— in a bar during Seeking Night, drinking and talking and dressed up in costumes. Again, there was the necklace, glowing brightly under the dim tavern light. Then another, and now the unicorn was older—how could she be older? How could that be? How could she be dead?— reading stories to foals with Pinkie, each and every one looking up adoringly, teddy bears held tight in their arms.

And there was the necklace. 

That glow of pink that was a constant in almost all these pictures—Rarity celebrating her daughters, Rarity on dates with her husband, Rarity and Pinkie working late, Rarity and Sweetie and Sweetie’s kids, Rarity living her life, Rarity growing old—in this wall of everything that mattered to her, and—

And then there was the necklace, no longer a symbol of their relationship, but a taunt because there was not a single photograph of Twilight.

None, nada, zilch, zip.

Just that sunforsaken pendant, an everpresent searing reminder that Twilight could have been there, should have been there if only for once in her life, she’d done the right thing when it mattered the most. 

A hoof on her withers jolted her out of her stupor, and she looked up to realize Princess Luna was next to her, her eyes soft with concern. 

“Uhm.” She looked back towards the wall, blinking back tears, determined not to show weakness even as she felt weak asking, “Are there any pictures of me?” 

Because she knew they existed. She knew there were at least one or two. Princess Luna had said Rarity didn’t hold what had happened against her, so—surely—please—

“No, not here,” Primrose said, her own voice suffused with… Pity? Sympathy? Both felt the same. “But she did have some! They’re in her boutique back in Ponyville, all over!” There was a manufactured chipperness to her voice, bordering on exaggerated, forced. 

“Oh. Okay,” Twilight replied. “Thank you.” 

They existed, but they were in Ponyville, not in her home. Not where she’d lived. 

“Princess,” Prim continued, and there was that pity again, “it’s all right if you—” 

“Sorry,” Twilight interrupted, smiling politely. “I’m a little tired, actually. Where am I sleeping? I think I could use a lie down, if that’s all right.” 

Prim’s mouth closed, whatever she had to say dying as she stepped back, smiling warmly. 

“I’ll take you, Princess,” Ink said, the hint of a stammer peeking through. “You and Princess Luna are staying in Pinkie’s old room. This way.” 

VI.

In a room painted pastel pink, two alicorns took their place on opposite beds—the younger lay down, her face buried in a pillow, while the older simply sat on the bed, patiently waiting for the other to speak. 

“There wasn’t a single picture of me.” 

The words came dragged out of her mouth, jagged and cutting her up. Tears burned her eyes, her attempts at keeping them away finally failing now that she was in the privacy of a bedroom and the company of somepony there was nothing she could hide from. 

“Not here,” Princess Luna said, patient as always. “They’re in Ponyville. Displayed.” 

“Oh, because they look great there.” 

“Twilight.” 

“Just great,” she continued venomously, turning to the wall, away from Princess Luna, her hoof grasping a necklace she wished would shatter. “In a house she didn’t live in, in a place she left because what I did was so awful, she couldn’t even live there anymore.” 

She buried her face in her hooves. Stars, stars, stars. 

“She left so she could place her efforts into helping me escape,” Princess Luna corrected, her tone forceful but not unkind. “While what happened to you didn’t help, what you did had nothing to do with that choice.” 

“Then why is there nothing of me in here?” Twilight asked. 

“What do you mean?” Princess Luna asked. “Twilight. You are everywhere. Practically every room has an illustration of you or—”

“But that’s not me!” Twilight exclaimed, sitting up, her voice apparently loud enough Princess Luna cast a muffling spell. “That’s Princess Twilight.” She shoved a hoof against her chest, right over the pendant, the crystal digging into her skin. “Not me. That’s the stupid—the stupid myth, the—” She fell back onto the bed, a sharp pain spreading in her chest, every breath she took more painful than the last. Stars, stars, stars, stars. “That’s not me. She didn’t want to remember me. I didn’t mean anything to her, she just—” 

“Twilight…” She heard Princess Luna breathe out. “That’s not true. You—”

“Yes, it is,” Twilight insisted.

“No, it is not.”

“But it is!” Twilight exploded. “You don’t get it! You don’t know—!”

“I do in fact know,” Princess Luna interrupted, irritation lacing her voice. “Because I knew her for much longer than you did.” If the princess cared that she had just stabbed Twilight with a knife, she didn’t show it. She did not apologize or relent, even when Twilight froze on the bed. “You have no idea what happened with Rarity’s life—at your request, may I remind you—so you have absolutely no authority—”

“Stop,” Twilight choked. 

She did not. 

“—To claim you know what she felt or thought or wanted,” Princess Luna continued, ignoring another request to stop, please, stop, she got it, please. “But I do, and I know how she felt much more than you, and if she knew how poorly you thought of her affection for you, well—”

“You think I wanted this?!” Twilight snapped, once again sitting up, hot furious tears rolling down her cheeks. “I didn’t want any of this! I didn’t mean to lock myself! I didn’t—”She stumbled on her own words, on her own defense that sounded hollow to her. But hadn’t she wanted this? Hadn’t she thought that’s what she deserved? She buried her face in her hooves, gutted. “I didn’t mean to—I just—”

A long pause seemed to follow, Twilight’s hooves shoved against her face until it hurt.

“It’s just—” she whispered. “If I had been stronger, I could have stopped the chaos magic.”

“And if I had been wiser, I would have never agreed to have you trick Discord. So, if you really want to look for somepony to blame, let’s start from the top.” The princess took a breath, and then continued. “Twilight, long did I dwell on Rarity’s memories of what happened, at her request. You two did the best you could with the terrible hand you were dealt. And, even if it doesn’t feel like it, you at least still won.”

“…Won?” Twilight looked up, incredulously, almost bordering on offended. “Won? Won how?”

“By saving Rarity’s life.”

“…Saving Rarity’s life?”

The princess nodded. “I told you. I spent decades studying the chaos magic possessing you through Rarity’s memories. I doubt this—as awful as it might feel—is what it intended. I think it would have preferred two ponies stayed in that library, and yet your last act was to save her.”

“No,” Twilight said, guilty. She hadn’t been a hero. “No, I threw her out because I blamed her, because I thought she was better off without me, and—”

“But she didn’t think that,” Princess Luna noted. “Your real intent doesn’t matter, because Rarity did not think you did it out of anything else but care for her. And more than that, your intent doesn’t matter because if you had not done that, she would have died.” 

“What—What do you mean?” 

“She would have died,” Princess Luna repeated. “For the exact same reason you tried to protect her from yourself. Because she put your life over hers. And she would have died trying to save you, if you hadn’t done that.” 

Twilight said nothing.

Princess Luna continued. 

“So, tell me, then, what would you have her do with this life she thought you gave her? Did you want her to wait by your barrier, wasting it away?” There was no antagonism in her voice, no judgment. There was just what she dealt best—the truth. “Did you want her to spend the rest of the life you gave her trapped by the memory of what could have been? Is that what you wanted for her?”

“N-No, I—” Again, her hooves found her face. “I don’t know, I—Maybe, I just—”

“Maybe?”

“No,” she managed, crushed not just by the fact that she was saying it, but by the fact that she meant it, as well. “No, of course not.”

Of course not. In what world would she have wanted that for Rarity? In what world would she not want Rarity to have everything and anything? In none that could ever possibly exist.

“Of course not,” Princess Luna repeated.

A wing enveloped her, soft and warm, and a chin found its place atop her head. 

“Twilight,” whispered Princess Luna, “what I’m trying to make you understand is that… the life she had that you so fear—she didn’t do it to spite you, Twilight. Rarity lived a full, happy life because it was a life you gave her with what she thought was your dying breath.”

“But I wish it had been with me,” Twilight said, her voice breaking as Princess Luna embraced her fully. Her voice was so terribly, terribly small. “I want her back, Princess Luna.”

“I know, little one,” said Princess Luna, settling in for as long as she would be needed. “I know.”