[4/4] maybe death is like falling asleep

I.

No one commented on Twilight’s silence during dinner.

She would have liked to think it was because they thought she was tired, but she knew better than that. Maybe Incantation might think that, but she’d seen Princess Luna and Primrose speaking. She couldn’t imagine Princess Luna hadn’t said something, even if she hoped the more personal details had been kept private. 

She didn’t want Primrose to know what she felt. It shamed her just to think of the elderly mare knowing how deeply hurt Twilight was by the circumstances of her very existence. So, she hoped that unlike her, Primrose wasn’t hiding thoughts and feelings. Maybe all her care, all the affection and understanding she kept showing Twilight was out of the belief Twilight was grieving a dear friend—not the love of her life. 

Incantation certainly thought that. She meant no ill intent when, after dinner everyone shared, she asked if Twilight wanted to visit Rarity’s grave. 

“No,” she’d replied, ignoring Princess Luna’s furrowing brow and Primrose’s sympathetic smile. “I’m fine.” When no one said anything, guilt forced her to add, “Maybe next time. Just not today.” 

A little later, when Incantation excused herself to gather the dishes and take them into the kitchen, Princess Luna insisted. 

“Twilight,” she said, “Rarity’s grave—” 

“Princess,” Twilight cut her off, weary and the slightest bit upset Princess Luna was insisting in front of Primrose. “Please. I don’t want to go.” She noticed Primrose watching her intently, so she added, “It’s not that I don’t care. This has just been a lot.” 

“I understand that, but—” 

“Stop insisting, then,” Twilight asked, aggravated. “Rarity isn’t going anywhere. I can visit next time.” She could feel Princess Luna’s discontent, so she added wearily, “I’m trying my best, Princess Luna. Can’t you see?” 

“…Yes, of course I can,” the princess conceded, relenting, “but—” 

“Now, Luna, dear,” Primrose said, placing a hoof against Princess Luna’s foreleg. “If she doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to go.” 

Princess Luna’s lips pursed, her ears flattening against her head. “…Very well,” she said, diplomatically. “But we need to talk about Rarity, Twilight. There are more things we need you to know.” 

Twilight repressed a sigh. Haven’t we talked about her enough?  

“Okay,” she said instead, defeated. “We will. Just not today.” 

“When then? I would like a date.” 

Primrose cleared her throat. “Princess Luna, really—” 

“I want a date,” the princess insisted. “We’ve delayed it enough already.” 

Twilight breathed in and then out. In and then out. “Tomorrow. When we’re back at the library. Okay?” 

Princess Luna nodded, visibly relieved. “Very well. Thank you.”

The rest of the evening stretched out slowly, Twilight still awake long after everyone had retired for the night. She tossed and turned in bed, that stupid constant ache in her chest keeping her as awake as her buzzing mind, thinking and thinking and thinking of Rarity. 

And of her grave. 

Rarity was dead. If one ascribed to Arimaspi theories, had already reincarnated into a flower or a tree or another pony far away, no longer the unicorn she loved. The kirin believed that she would still be watching as part of the dresses she loved. But there was no evidence that souls lingered after death. She was gone. She wouldn’t know if Twilight never visited because she no longer even existed. 

But, her treacherous mind whispered, what if you’re wrong?

What if she still persisted not just in memories, but in essence? What if her soul was still there, at that grave, waiting for Twilight? 

What if she’d left something for Twilight? Epitaphs were a pony’s last words, weren’t they? 

What if they were for her? 

What if they weren’t? 

Could she live with never finding out? 

Incantation was doing dishes when Twilight stepped into the kitchen past midnight. 

“Princess!” she exclaimed, putting the clean ones away. “What are you still doing awake? Is everything okay?” 

“Yes. No.” Twilight swallowed. The necklace felt so heavy around her neck. “You know where Rarity’s grave is, don’t you? I know it’s late, but would you mind?” 

One, two, three seconds passed, and Incantation smiled. “I don’t mind at all, Princess,” she replied. “It’s a bit out of the way, but even at night, it’s a very pretty walk.”  

II. 

Past the Hollow Shades forest was a small grassy hill. Headstones bathed in moonlight dotted it all over, from the very top to its very bottom, right by silver gates opening the fence surrounding the hill in its entirety. 

Step by step, dead leaves crunching underhoof, Twilight Sparkle followed Incantation, her hornlight cutting through the night as they maneuvered their way around decaying graves, their shadows long and dark. Her eyes roamed the tombs as they went, her perpetually-laboring mind trying its best to decipher faded epitaphs. 

‘Gone but not forgotten’ said this one; ‘rest thy weary soul’ another asked; on and on they went. ‘We will meet again’ and ‘death is but the key’ and ‘finally together, my dear’. Twilight had never once thought about what hers would be—her opinion for millenia being that not only would she never die, but that epitaphs were for those left behind, not the dead—but if one were to ask her now what she’d like it to be, she’d say that last one might do. 

“We’re almost there,” Incantation announced as they neared the top of the hill. She stopped and gestured up. “You can see them from here, actually. Look!” 

Two white marble headstones loomed in the distance. They were clearly well-taken care of, clean and polished, which was the only reason why, under the moonlight, Twilight Sparkle could make out a triple diamond carving at the top of the leftmost tomb. 

“I was here just last week,” Incantation continued, resuming the trek. “I wanted to make sure they looked good for when you—” Her sentence petered out when she noticed she was alone, prompting her to look back and find Twilight frozen in place. “Princess?” 

“Sorry,” Twilight managed, eyes shut. Her heart was thundering painfully in her chest. Badum badum badum. “Sorry, I—I need a moment.” 

“Of course,” said Incantation, walking over and placing a comforting hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. “Take all the time you need.” She paused, and then added, “I’m sure she’s happy you came, Princess.” 

This was patently untrue, of course. Rarity didn’t feel any certain way about anything because she was dead, and there was her tomb, and Twilight should not have come to see it. 

“I hope so,” she said instead. She breathed in, then out, in and out, until the buzzing in her head stopped, and the stinging in her eyes was tolerable enough she could open them. There were the three diamonds in the distance again. “Okay.” She offered the changeling an apologetic look. “Sorry, but… I’d like to go alone, if that’s all right.” 

“Oh. Oh! Of course, yes.” Ink planted herself down on the soft grass and then gestured the alicorn over. “Let me know if you, uh, need me, ok?” 

After a brief nod, Twilight forced her hooves all the way up the hill, the pounding in her chest getting louder and louder the closer she got, until it drowned everything out. It stopped all at once the moment she stood before twin graves. 

Well. There it was. 

Inscribed permanently on a tomb in Hollow Shades, Twilight Sparkle saw the following: 

Rarity’s name. Two dates. And Four immutable truths. 

‘Beloved Daughter. Beloved Sister. Beloved Wife. Beloved Mother.’

And again, not for the first time, not for the last time, Twilight Sparkle asked herself: what had she been expecting? What had she been expecting, if she even had the right to expect anything at all? That it would be about her? 

“Hi, Rarity.” The words tumbled out her mouth, dry and jagged with disuse, no unicorn yelping in shock or scolding her for startling the soul out of her. The place felt so empty. So distinctly lacking the unicorn’s energy. “I’m sorry I took so long to come see you.” 

There was so much she wanted to say. There was so sunforsaken much she wanted to say—to cry, to beg, to plead—but Twilight Sparkle loved Rarity too much to disrespect her memory by bleeding out all over the grave of her and her husband.

Because Rarity had moved on. Because she had lived a whole long life—beloved wife, beloved mother—and the least Twilight could do was respect the fact she’d had and lost her chance.

So she spoke in half-truths. 

“I didn’t mean that you were Discord’s revenge,” she said, and kept quiet that it was because you were actually the best thing that ever happened to me. 

“I’m really happy you had a happy life,” even if I wish it had been with me. 

“I’m going to be all right,” because it’s what I think you’d want even if I can’t imagine how I ever will be without you. 

“Thank you for everything,” I love you, I love you, I love you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. 

“Princess?” Ink called a little while later. “Is it okay if I come up?” At Twilight’s positive signal, she trotted up towards the two graves and stood next to the alicorn, her wings flitting at her sides. “You okay?” 

“Did he make her happy?” asked Princess Twilight instead, voice quiet. 

Ink blinked. “Did he—You mean Copper? Yes.” There was no hesitation. “Oh, yes, to the moon and back. They were the kind of couple everypony wants to be when they grow old, honestly. You’d have loved to see it.” 

“Good,” she said, and she didn’t think it was a lie. Happy to the moon and back is how she would have wanted Rarity to be, there was simply no other way. 

“Do you think…” 

Incantation was a changeling. A being who thrived on ponies’ love, who could feel and detect it. Wouldn’t she know? Surely, she would have felt it, even with the passing of time, even with the crawling of years. She would have known.

Did Rarity still love her even in the end? Did she know?

“Do I think what?” Ink asked. 

Twilight shook her head. “Nothing. We should go. It’s late, isn’t it?” 

Her horn lit up with magic, two beautiful bouquets appearing before each grave, and it was as the second rested against his grave that she finally looked at it. And under her breath, she spoke to him only because of her. 

“Thank you.” 

And to her grave? Well, to hers, she said nothing more, instead simply turning and making her way down the hill.

If she said anything more, after all, she wasn’t sure she could make it out in one piece. 

III. 

The rest of her time in Hollow Shades went by in a blur. 

She just wanted to go home, even if she had no idea what home even meant or even was. 

Was it Canterlot Castle, full of ghosts and memories of a pony she’d not been for over a thousand years? Was it Ponyville, full of strangers who’d replaced the farming family she’d once known, and then the modern family Rarity gave her? Or was it her library still? 

‘I’m just relieved to be back home,’ a unicorn said once, tumbling onto a throw-pillow on the library floor. ‘Heart’s Haven was more than enough excitement for my entire month, thank you. I’m exhausted.’

‘Then you should have gone home to rest,’ Twilight said, concerned, and then feeling a phantom heart stir when the unicorn blinked up and offered a tired, affectionate smile. 

‘Gone home? But, darling, where exactly do you think I am if not home?’

But what was home now, then, when home was dead? 

If Primrose and the Princess noticed something was wrong, which Twilight suspected they did, they were kind enough not to comment on it. They’d led the conversation most of the train back, Primrose holding on to her bag with her book. Only occasionally would she look towards Twilight, squeezing her hoof and thanking her for coming. 

“Of course,” Twilight’d replied, smiling as best she could. 

When they told her they’d like to stop by Carousel Boutique, Twilight did not protest. There was no energy left to fight or avoid it. She was quickly learning that loss and grief were like tides of the sea, coming and going in big and small waves. Carousel Boutique would be a big, big wave. 

Might as well let it swallow her now while there were others around to rescue her. 

IV. 

If there was any grace to be had with the fact that Rarity had shown pictures of the boutique to Twilight, it was that there were no shocks when she stepped into the building. It was exactly as she’d seen it in the photographs. 

“We’ve left it mostly in the exact condition Grandmother did,” Primrose explained, perching her coat and hat on the nearby rack as they dropped their luggage in the entrance. 

“You didn’t live here?” Twilight asked, idly noticing Luna trailing towards the kitchen. “Or, well, your mother and her sisters?” 

“Oh, no! This was Grandmother’s private workshop. Her retreat! Only her and Grandfather would come here. Momma and my aunties didn’t find Ponyville all that interesting, I’m afraid, and when they did, they’d stay with their grandparents.” She was looking around as she was talking, a clear air of fondness present in her gaze. “I only got to come here so often because I didn’t mind her being locked away in her workshop.” 

“So Carousel Boutique is yours now, then?” 

Primrose laughed. “Mine? Goodness! No, Grandmother left me her share of the Dreamland. I think cousin Plymouth would have killed me at the will if she’d left me the boutique, too. No, no, she left this place to somepony else in the family.” 

“Right.” 

“I’ve started some tea,” Princess Luna announced, stepping back into the foyer. “Shall we start while we wait for the water? We thought you might enjoy a tour of the boutique, Twilight.” 

“Sure.” 

The first thing they did was go upstairs, where they showed her what used to be the guest room and was now a private office, sunlight pouring in through the open window curtains. There was a beautiful mahogany desk, and a smile pulled at her lips at the sight of a row of owl-shaped inkwells lined against the wall. There was a small cup with fresh quills of all shapes and sizes, too, as well as stacks of parchment paper ready to be used. 

Bookcases lined the walls, and though the collection was not as impressive as her library’s, it was still very robust. And informative, seemingly focusing specifically on history books, dictionaries, and even more books of idioms Twilight had never seen. She wasn’t sure if she was allowed free access into Carousel Boutique, but if she was, a week in that library might get her up to speed on anything else she’d missed during her time away. 

“There’s also some chalkboards in the closet,” Prim said, dusting off the desk a bit. “And anything missing, we can get easily enough!” She turned to Twilight. “Do you like it?” 

“Ah, er, yes,” she replied, politely. “Do you think I could use it tonight? If there’s not a problem with the owner.” 

Primrose grinned widely. “Of course not, Princess. It’s all yours.” She then cleared her throat and gestured towards the hallway. “Shall we?” 

The kitchen came next, if only because the kettle whistled them over. They had some lavender tea—Rarity’s favorite, Primrose specified—as well as some biscuits Luna had acquired on the train.

That done, they went back upstairs to finish the second landing tour, which really only meant the master bedroom was left. 

The master bedroom, too, looked very much like the pictures Rarity had once shown her. A large bed against the wall, a few dressers, and a few more bookcases—not completely full, but full enough with what Twilight quickly recognized with a pang in her heart as Rarity’s favorite novels. 

She stopped before one of the bookcases and glanced back towards Prim. “Can I—?” 

At Primrose’s nod, she pulled out one of the books, idly flipping it open and stopping completely when, tucked between the first page and the second, was a small index card with Rarity’s writing on it. 

My darling, it said in elegant calligraphy, this one is for those rainy days that seem like they’ll never end. 

It was as soon as she felt her eyes sting that she tucked the note to Copper away and put back the book. But curiosity got the best of her, as it always did, and when she picked up the next book, there was another note. 

My darling, it said, this one is for when you want a good laugh. 

Once again, Twilight tucked the note away and returned the book. In the back of her mind, she knew she ought to move on. She knew that reading messages meant for another was just twisting the knife, but it was also her writing, a morbid morsel of Rarity she could still get back in some stupid, silly minor way. 

So she picked up a third book, the cover depicting a haunted house, and when she opened it up, there was that index card. And the note. 

My darling, it said, this one is for when you want to feel one quarter of the heart attacks you’d give me when you’d appear behind me in the library like the ghost of Hearth’s Warming past. 

Now this made her frown. Made her heart stop just that bit. 

“Wait.” 

She grabbed another, quickly now, and pulled out the note.

My darling, it said, this is the book I read whenever I felt myself losing hope. It’s about the afterlife. I don’t know what happens after we die, but if I don’t get to hold you before this life ends, then stars, Twilight, I hope what comes next is just like this. 

She turned towards the mares urgently, the book falling to the ground, but whatever question she had died on her lips when she was met with a smiling Primrose gesturing towards a bednight stand on the right side of the bed. There was nothing on it save for an empty pitcher of water, a disconnected alarm clock, and a picture frame. 

Twilight moved towards it, that buzzing in her head for once not unpleasant, and when she grabbed the frame, well.

There she was. 

There they were, in a shaky photograph taken by a little sibling with shaky grip, a little princess waving around a book on teleportation, doubtlessly rattling of how she ‘would know by now if she practiced, Rarity’ while a unicorn wallowed on a cushion on the floor, throwing her friend the most patethic-yet-cute look a mare could muster. 

She hadn’t noticed she was crying until the moment her tears hit the frame. 

Stars. 

How could Rarity be gone? 

“Twilight?”

She looked up to find the two mares had stepped closer, their ears lowered. 

“I don’t—I don’t understand,” Twilight managed. “She left those for me? Here? And this picture?” 

“Not just that picture,” Princess Luna said. She looked at Primrose and said, just before disappearing into the hallway, “I think we may have stalled it long enough.” 

Primrose bristled humorously, following her out. “Stalled? We were creating buildup! Drama! Just like she would have wanted!” Suddenly, her head peered into the room, and she smiled warmly at the alicorn. “Well? Aren’t you coming?” 

She followed them out into the hallway, down the stairs, past the main foyer and stopped when they did, right before a door at the end of a hallway. Neither made a move to go in. They both just stood there, looking at Twilight.

“What’s in there?” she asked. 

“Her private workshop,” Prim replied. “Why don’t you go in first?” 

So she did. 

And it wasn’t just the dresses scattered all over, half done, or the fabrics organized in her chaotic way she’d constantly tell Twilight was ‘actually very organized’. It wasn’t just that the workshop still felt lived in, used, like she’d stopped in the middle of a dress—which she might have, she might have, she might have—and she was about to stride right in and continue her work. 

It wasn’t just that every inch of that place was Rarity’s. 

It was that this was her workshop, this was her retreat, as Primrose said, and here in this place, every wall belonged to Twilight Sparkle. 

In dozens of pictures plastered on the walls—dozens she knew existed, dozens she was finding out about now—and more than that, when the pictures ran out, when they weren’t enough, when time had cut them short, Rarity had filled the empty spaces with sketches. Drawings. Illustrations not of Princess Twilight Sparkle, but of Twilight the pony, stretching out her wings in that sketch over there, basking under the sun in that illustration over here, growing old in this one on the table, existing and living and being thought of in dozens of ways, every drawing signed with dates that spanned their creator’s entire life.

Gone but remembered, remembered, remembered.  

“Princess Luna mentioned you were upset there weren’t photos of you in Hollow Shades,” Primrose said, stepping into the workshop, Princess Luna behind her. “I think grandmother always regretted not having these there, but you know? If I had to guess…” She stepped right next to Twilight and lifted the alicorn’s forehoof. “She probably thought the owner of this place would prefer them here with her.” Smiling, she pressed three keys down on Twilight’s hoof. “Welcome home, Princess Twilight.” 

Twilight paled. Her heart felt like it had stopped. “…What?” 

“For as long as I remember, this was her plan for Carousel Boutique,” Princess Luna said, stepping into the room. “She wanted you to have a place that was your own, free of Discord’s grasp. Your own to do with as you like, where you answer to no one and owe no one.” 

“She left everything ready for you!” Primrose continued, a glinting sparkle of tears in her eyes. “Every room, every corner, everything left here, she prepared thinking of you. Well, except for this room. This room is very much her, but—” She winked, and there was her grandmother in those sapphire eyes. “Maybe she thought you’d want a little bit of her to remember her by.”

Twilight fell to her haunches, her forehooves finding her face as the weight of it all finally collapsed on her, compressing her chest, and her heart, and her soul, and her lies, until there was nothing left to bleed out but the truth. 

“I loved her.” 

It came out broken. It came out half-sobbed, one hoof landing on the floor with a slam not out of anger but out of sheer need for support, for steady ground as her world fell apart. 

“And I wanted to tell her, but instead—then I—” It came out jagged, every inch reminding her of another weight she carried, another guilt, another mistake, another knot in the noose she felt around her neck every day of her life. 

And she was selfish. And in that moment, she didn’t care that she was. 

“Did she still love me?” 

“Princess. Of course she loved you,” Prim said, gently, “look around—” 

“No. Not like that,” she interrupted, desperate. “Like I loved her. Like I don’t know how I’m supposed to figure this out without her.” 

It was when she looked up that she realized what she’d just done. When she caught sight of Princess Luna’s indecipherable expression, and then Primrose’s. Primrose, who’d been nothing but kind, nothing but loving, nothing but patient, who Twilight was fond of now, and who looked so much like her grandfather. 

The elderly mare looked sad. 

“Princess…” 

And now the shame came back. The guilt. Because she’d been so strong, she’d been so good, keeping at bay these thoughts that should never be spoken into truth, and now she’d gone and asked a terrible question to the one pony who should not have to hear it: did your grandmother love me in the end? 

“I’m sorry.” It came out in a stammer. It came out humiliated, ashamed, apologetic, sincere, all manner of things that only got worse when Primrose stepped forward. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have— I—” 

And then came back that old habit. 

CRACK!

And the breeze of the trees as she landed near the entrance of the Everfree Forest, her vision blurry with tears. 

She ran. She ran, and ran, and ran, past trees and wolves, past forgotten houses and dead memories, away from everything, until her legs burned from exertion and she reached her destination: their trees. 

Rarity’s tree, with its beautiful purple petals, and its deep dark brown wood, and its bark somehow warm to the touch when Twilight, pain ripping through her, rested her forehead against it, her horn lightly digging into wood, one hoof grasping it while the other clutched a crystal clear necklace. 

The air around her was so warm, enough that as she whispered the unicorn’s name, she wished it was her warmth around her, and maybe it was. Maybe it was, here, in this tree planted by a Rarity who loved her, who’d died long before her body had been buried. 

Maybe she was still here. 

Maybe. 

But whatever hope or thought she had ended when she heard the sound of somepony landing behind her. She swallowed the urge to yell at them. To tell them to go away, to leave her alone, hadn’t she done enough, been through enough? But she didn’t because she wouldn’t, so bracing herself, she turned around to find Princess Luna helping Primrose off her back, the former carrying with her a thick blue binder. 

Twilight said nothing. 

She simply leaned back and slid down against Rarity’s tree, begging it for support, and waited for whatever came next. 

“You know,” Primrose began, every word clearly deliberately picked, like she’d practiced saying this, and maybe in fact had. There was no malice in her voice, no anger, nor sadness. This was just a story being told in a long line of stories yet to tell. “Grandmother and I only ever had one very terrible fight. Only once in our life! And it was all about you, Princess.”  

Twilight said nothing, so Primrose continued. 

“For as long as I remember, or even my mother and aunts remember, that workshop was locked. Nopony could go in except for Grandmother or Grandfather. The first time I saw it, or saw any of those drawings of you, was because I broke in as a young filly. And oh! I was not happy.” She’d made her way up to Twilight now, her expression still as gentle as serene as always, and she sat down under the tree. “And it wasn’t the pictures on the wall that made me mad, mind. That wasn’t why we fought.” She tapped the binder with her hoof, which only now Twilight noticed had a label on its spine. ‘Vol. 23’. “It was because of this.” 

“…What is that?” 

“It’s something she made! Well, one of several somethings. There’s quite a few more after this. Some I even helped with!” She tapped the volume number. “But this one was the one she was working on when I broke into her office. It made me ask her the same question you asked us: did she love you? Did she still love you? And it was her answer that made us fight.”

Twilight said nothing. The necklace felt heavy against her chest. 

Primrose leaned forward and placed a hoof over Twilight’s own. “She said yes.” 

“She said yes?” Twilight whispered. 

Prim smiled. “She said yes. And when grandfather came back from the market, he found me crying inconsolably in my room. This was awful!” she continued with great airs. “I couldn’t tell Mom, she worshiped their relationship! I couldn’t tell my aunties, I couldn’t tell my cousins, I couldn’t tell anyone that Grandmother loved someone and it wasn’t him. But he scooped me up in his arms and he told me he already knew.” Sapphire eyes watered. “He had known all along that Grandmother loved you, just like she had always known he still loved Summersong just as much as when she was alive. But it was their secret. Their memories for them and—well! Now for me, and—” She offered the binder to Twilight, its title displayed for the alicorn to see. “Now for you.” 

Us
Volume #23

“You see,” Primrose continued as Twilight Sparkle opened the binder and found a whole life worth of sketches of herself and Rarity, “she didn’t think it was fair that you had your future taken from you. So she gave you two the future you deserved in the only way she could. She drew it herself.” 

And there it was, page by page, line by line, rendered and colored in and penciled and inked and created with loving detail in every way that mattered, that should have happened, that they deserved, there they were. Talking under the sun. Swimming at the beach. Arguing at a restaurant. Cuddled in bed. Growing old under the clouds.

The life they should have had, her signature etched under every single one, and that splash of pink as well, of course. 

“Well, Twilight?” came Princess Luna’s voice. “Does that answer your question?” 

She said nothing. She wanted to—there was so much she wanted to say—but all Twilight Sparkle could do was grab the binder and press it against her heart, her closed eyes doing little to stop her tears. 

Rarity had loved her. Not more than him, not less than him, not that things such as those mattered anymore. She had loved her in the only way she could, even when she was gone, and even now, after her death, she was still there loving her. 

She had never stopped. 

And Twilight thought she had. 

And because some habits take years to break, even if they will break, not for the first time, not for the last time, the little princess felt guilt wash over her again. 

“Princess, what’s wrong?” Prim whispered, leaning closer, her hoof squeezing Twilight’s foreleg. She must have heard the despair in her quiet weeping. 

“I didn’t tell her,” Twilight whispered. 

“Didn’t tell her?” 

“Rarity. I went to her grave in Hollow Shades, I didn’t tell you, but—” She clutched the binder just that little bit tighter, felt those tears just that little bit hotter. “I was there, and she was waiting for me, and I—I didn’t tell her.” 

“Tell her what?” Princess Luna coaxed. 

“That she was the best thing that ever happened to me,” she said, and it all came out, word by word. “That I’m so sorry I didn’t come out earlier. That I wish I could have lived the rest of my life with her, that I—that she means everything to me, and that I don’t know how I’m going to do any of this without her, but I’ll try for her; that—” It came out broken. It came out jagged. It came out bleeding. But it came out real and warm and loving and for once in her life, as Rarity would have wanted, it came out without hatred for herself. “I was there, and I thought she didn’t love me, so I didn’t tell her I loved her, too.” 

“Twilight.” 

When violet eyes peered up, she found Primrose was smiling. Princess Luna was, too. 

“But, little one,” said the princess, “you did tell her.”

“No,” Twilight whispered, harrowed as she buried her face back in the life she ought to have had. “Not like that. At her grave. Where she is. I didn’t tell her there.” 

“Yes, I know,” Princess Luna said, intentionally, and that smile remained, “I know that’s what you meant.” 

Twilight looked up. And Primrose spoke. 

“Would you like to know a secret, Princess Twilight?” she said, standing up and coaxing Twilight up on her hooves. “Grandfather asked a favor of grandmother. Something he wanted her to do for him after he died. You see, he loved her dearly, but he felt that since she’d gotten his life, it was only fair that Summersong got his death.” 

“H-His death?” she hiccuped. 

“His death. Grandfather isn’t buried in Hollow Shades,” she whispered, smiling mischievously. “He’s secretly snug as bug in Tall Tales, right next to Summer.” 

“He’s not in—” Realization dawned on Twilight, and no sooner it did, her wings spread out, horror overcoming her. “Hold on, are you—are you telling me Rarity is buried alone in Hollow Shades?! Are you serious?!” 

Princess Luna laughed, which made no sense. “Twilight Sparkle,” she said, “you are fortunate the dead cannot throw sewing machines at your head.” 

“Princess,” Prim continued, sapphire eyes sparkling with tears, smile as wide as the day is long, “if grandfather asked to be buried next to his first wife…” She lifted a hoof and patted Twilight’s cheeks. “Then there must be only one place that grandmother would ever want to be, don’t you think?”

Without giving Twilight a moment to reply, Primrose stepped back and looked at Princess Luna. 

“So! I think it’s finally time we keep our promise now that anypony who cares is dead and the only pony who matters is here, don’t you agree?” 

“I do,” Princess Luna said, satisfied.

As Princess Luna’s horn alighted with magic, Twilight stepped back from Rarity’s tree and then, not for the first time, fell to her haunches, her eyes watching as letter by letter, an epitaph was written over a beautiful, wooden headstone. 

“Oh, Rarity,” she whispered, holding her necklace. 

For there, inscribed forevermore on a tree in the middle of the Everfree Forest, was…

A name.

And two dates.

And a parting promise from this life to the next:

For you,
a thousand times over