[1/3] letting you go

I.

His name was Copper Tune. He was a unicorn pony. This was his first meeting. This was her fourth. 

There was a lot that could be said of Copper. That his coat—copper like his name—looked remarkably soft, almost as if inviting you to touch it. Or that his mane, a pretty olive green, should look wrong, like rust, but somehow fit him perfectly. Or that his cutie mark—a pink harpsichord—looked just a little out of place in that red sea. 

But what struck her, as he introduced himself, were his silver eyes—they were sad, like everypony else’s, but they were also kind. Was it silly to say that? It felt trite, but they spoke to some part of her she’d tried to ignore, coaxing it out.

“Hello, everyone. My name is Copper Tune, and it’s been—” He paused. Most of them did the first time. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. It’s, ah… It’s been one year since my wife Summersong died.”

“Welcome, Copper Tune,” said the group, Rarity included. “You’re not alone.”

II. 

It was strange to be there. It felt wrong. It was wrong. But the girls and Princess Luna would not stop going on about it, harping on and on and on, until they wore her down. “They’ll get it,” they insisted when she agreed so long as it was in a town nopony knew her. “It’ll help.”

One by one, that first meeting, as tearful ponies introduced themselves and then gave a timeline from the worst day of their life, all she could do was sit there and wait, suffused in dread, her body hidden under her black cloak. 

What was she supposed to say? She was not like them. She felt disrespectful to even be there, to pretend her pain in any way equaled theirs. 

How could she sit there and look these poor ponies in the face, and then lie? How could Pinkie, the Princess, Fluttershy suggest this when—when only those with dead halves came to places like these.

And Twilight wasn’t dead. She wasn’t even dead. 

A hoof gingerly brushed her shoulder, and it was only when she looked towards her elderly neighbor that she realized she was crying. 

“It’s alright, dear,” whispered the mare.  

The introductions continued, one after another, and finally, they turned to her.

She stood up. Liar, liar, liar. “Hello, everypony. My name is Rarity, and it’s been two and a half years since—” 

She cut herself off, not because this was hard, but because, well… What was she supposed to call what they’d had? Because it wasn’t a marriage. It hadn’t even been a relationship, and to call it a friendship felt like a slap in the face to not just everypony there, but to… to what it had actually been. 

That elderly hoof found its place on her shoulder again and squeezed. 

“Hello, everypony. My name is Rarity,” she said, reaching towards her chest, grasping a necklace that wasn’t there, “and it’s been two and a half years since Twilight left.”

It wasn’t a lie. There had been no relationship, and there had been no death. 

III.

They’d been right, of course. Princess Luna, Pinkie, and the rest. 

Week by week, it helped to be surrounded by ponies like her, who understood that this kind of grief had no timeline, no end in sight, only the ability to live with it.  The grief of, say, Silver Shine, who’d lost her husband twenty years ago, was still treated with the same reverence and kindness as the grief of Swift Storm, for example, who’d lost his husband only two months before.

She liked that they listened to her. And she liked that they didn’t know the truth.

It was more lies, but when they asked her of Twilight, when they encouraged her to speak, it felt freeing to do so, even if she omitted the more supernatural details. 

They laughed as she recounted the way Twilight would roooooll those violet eyes when Rarity protested her endless teleportation lessons. They listened with rapt attention as she described the labyrinthian library, imagining those high ceilings, the smell of ink and aged wood, and all those hundreds of books Twilight knew by heart. With every laugh, every tear, every nod, they legitimized something that had happened only in dreams and idle, wishful thoughts.

And so, word by word, piece by piece, only in that sanctuary enshrining what was gone was she was allowed to weave together the story of what should have been. 

IV. 

Once upon a time, the two having arrived a little earlier than everyone else, Copper sat next to her and made a heartfelt attempt at small talk. It was a little awkward, but she welcomed his effort to connect.

It was his tenth meeting. It was her fourteenth. 

“Aren’t you hot?” he asked, eyeing the black cloak she wore at all times without exception. She wasn’t ashamed of the scars, but she didn’t want questions. “I feel like I’m sweating just looking at you.”

“I feel perfectly fine,” she replied, lightly. She batted her eyelashes. “I think it gives me a certain mysterious je-ne-sais-quoi!”

He laughed. “Sure.” He took a sip of the glass of water he was levitating and then continued, hesitant,  “If it’s not too nosy to ask, have these been helping you? The meetings.”

“Yes,” she replied after some thought. “I think so. It helps to talk about her.”

He smiled warmly. “It sounds like she was great.” 

“Yes,” she replied, forcing herself not to correct the tense use. She toyed with the glowing necklace hanging from her neck; its presence the biggest indication that slowly but surely, she was moving not on, but forward. “Something else entirely.” She offered him a smile. “Summersong sounds like she was wonderful, too.”

He smiled, those big silver eyes sparkling. “She was. Denza, she was. She…” He breathed out. “I think she’d want me to come to these. Hah! She practically told me herself the week before it—It got bad. Said she didn’t want me moping around forever. And I’ve tried! Gone on a few dates, but—” He petered off. 

“It’s not the same?” she offered. 

He frowned. “More like they expect something else. They want to be first, and I get it, but Summersong came first, and well… She was my wife. I don’t want to forget her, or stop talking about her, and—” He coughed, embarrassed. “Sorry. Might be oversharing.”

“Not at all,” she replied kindly. “I understand. I wouldn’t be able to be with someone who isn’t at peace with the fact that Twilight will haunt our relationship.” She raised an eyebrow, leaning in conspiratorially. “There’s a reason one quarter of the group is dating each other, I think.”

He grinned. “I like that. Haunting the relationship. Might steal that for the next date. And what about you? If it’s not too nosy! Any goals with this? You want to move on, find someone, or… one and done?” 

“I… I don’t know,” she replied, a little taken aback. No pony had actually ever asked her so directly. 

Rarity had goals when it came to the princess of legend. Dozens upon dozens of them, of plans and machinations on how to break down barriers, destroy foreign magic, free cursed alicorns. 

But when it came to Twilight Sparkle—not the princess, but the pony—she had no plans. Dating had gone disastrously, waiting had gone disastrously, so all she had left was to exist, to keep her sight set on her goals, and hope that what they said about watched pots was true. 

V. 

It started happening before her very eyes. 

She’d arrive early, so would he, and they would sit together and chat. At first, all they did was talk about Twilight and Summersong in turn. It wasn’t exactly like the meetings, either, where they spoke about the loss, the heaviness, the pain.

It was much lighter. Warmer. Swapping stories back and forth, in as much as she could. She couldn’t help but envy him and the six years he’d had with his wife. The full, fleshed-out life, hundreds of dates, of fighting and making up, of traveling and exploring, of… 

Of being together. Of kissing each other. Of holding each other. Of—

If she had to pinpoint the moment something changed, it was when he asked how long she and Twilight had been together. It was a question she tactfully evaded whenever it came up during meetings, still guilted by the fact that she and Twilight had known each other not that long.

If she’d even known Twilight at all, she’d think during particularly terrible days. Maybe she hadn’t known Twilight well. Maybe she didn’t know her at all. Maybe she fell in love with a fantasy, and that’s what doomed them, maybe she—

“It’s okay,” he said to her, gently, when she hesitated to answer. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, I—I—”

She had to. Sitting there, in that empty classroom, her heart in her throat, the necklace burning her chest, she felt like she needed to say it. Like she couldn’t keep avoiding it.  

“It wasn’t—It wasn’t long,” she managed, burning up with shame at burning up with shame. At feeling like she had to defend it, justify why it mattered so much. She laughed, trying to make light of it. “Not as long as everypony else here and their spouses, at least.” 

But he didn’t laugh. 

“And?”

She looked at him, cornered frightened animal that she was. “What do you mean ‘and’?”

“Why does that matter to you?” he continued. “You always avoid answering.”

“It… It doesn’t matter,” she protested. 

“Doesn’t it?” he asked, and his tone was not accusing in any way.

It was kind, guiding, but more than anything, more importantly, it was very matter-the-fact. It was straight to the point, right to the heart, and his gaze was so intense, so piercing and thorough, that suddenly it was not silver eyes looking at her, but violet eyes. 

Violet eyes framed by that slightly tilted head, those upright lavender ears, the entire world nonexistent save for the question she wanted answered, slipping through lips whose smile tortured Rarity’s nights. 

She looked away from him, tears burning her eyes, her hoof clutching her necklace, all of it too much. 

“I’m sorry, I—I don’t want to upset you, but—” He sounded pained. “I just thought you—I wanted you to know that you could say you only knew her for two months, and it would matter as much as the rest of us. You don’t have to hide it.”

It was like a dam being torn apart. 

She’d only known Twilight for one year. She’d been without her longer than been with her. It had just been one, stupid year, and yet it had irrevocably changed her, her life now firmly split between before Twilight and after her. 

And she barely knew her. And now she was gone. 

He didn’t shy away when she went to him, when she wept in his forelegs. He didn’t care when he had to take her outside, to a different classroom, empty and secluded, where she could cry in peace. And he didn’t ask when her horn began to glow, watching as the necklace on her chest began to pulse with light, glowing on and on. 

VI.

She couldn’t believe she’d allowed herself to be convinced into coffee. 

She couldn’t believe, either, that she had to be convinced into it. Once upon a time, the idea of her saying no to being taken out and pampered was nigh unthinkable. She used to be a flirt! She used to flirt the day away, batting her eyelashes and getting her way, sometimes shamelessly so. 

But now? Now she was so restrained. So… not afraid, but… hidden away. Maybe the cloak wasn’t only just to avoid questions, after all. 

“Copper,” she said slowly, pushing her mocha away on the table, “I can’t give you what you want.”

“Can I ask why not?” he replied, because it was obvious to him that they fit together quite well, just as it was obvious to her, and obvious to most everyone in the meetings. 

“I am a very complicated pony,” she replied, bristling slightly when he laughed. 

“O-kay,” he said, grinning. 

“No, you don’t understand,” she insisted, and she felt her cheeks inflating when he laughed at again, endeared. “I’m being serious, Copper. My life, I—I’m involved in something—something very complicated.”

“Then explain,” he asked, wiping the teasing smile off his face. “I—Look.” He pushed his own mug away, trying to match her energy. “After Summer died, I never thought I’d feel anything like this again. But I do. You make me feel like—I don’t know, I’m not a poet, but you make me feel like what I think she wanted for me.”

“Copper, please,” she said. “That’s a beautiful sentiment, but—but I—” 

“You don’t feel the same?” 

“I do,” she said, despite herself. “I—I like you very much. I think you’re wonderful, really, but—”

“But what?” he insisted, not forcefully but determined as expected of somepony who finally grasped a lifeline after months of drowning. “Help me understand. I want to—”

“It’s Twilight.”

He faltered, and then spoke after a moment, clearly carefully considering every word, “Twilight was a great pony. Everything you’ve told me about her sounds like she loved you, Rarity, and maybe she’d want this for you, maybe—” he said, even as she buried her face in her hooves, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I know—I know it’s hard, and I know I shouldn’t be pushing, but—”

“She’s not dead, Copper,” came the agonized, muffled reply. 

He froze.“What? What do you mean ‘she’s not dead’?”

She could hear the growing horror in his voice. She could practically see the dozens of scenarios flooding his imagination, each worse than the last, but none as terrible as the truth she was now forced to confront. 

“She—Princesses, help me,” she stammered, so ashamed and horrified she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “She’s—She’s not here, she’s trapped somewhere physically, and she—” She didn’t want to say it. But she had to. “But she might as well be dead.”

“…Trapped somewhere?” he stammered, completely lost. “As in—is she sick? In a coma?”

A coma.

For just a second, she imagined Twilight lying in a bed, wires coming out her skin, pumping blood and fluids, her brain chugging along, as opposed to whatever state she actually was in—possessed, or barely alive, either fine or in a pain so excruciating, maybe that’s why she couldn’t answer the necklace. 

She imagined it and felt like a monster when some part of her almost wished that that were the case, that it was so simple, that this tragedy was one in which she could tearfully nod her head at a doctor, a plug would be pulled out, and at least then it would be over. It would be done. 

But then Twilight would actually be dead, and that was a world she could not bear to be part of. 

“Rarity?”

She looked up at him. He wasn’t mad. He didn’t look at her like she was deranged, a liar, a monster. In twin silver eyes, kindness poured out, pulling her apart. Or, perhaps, pulling her back together. 

“Copper.” Her voice was a whisper as she drew herself up, looking into his eyes. “Do you remember the Myth of the Four Princesses?”

If he looked bewildered before, well… “The Myth—? Yes?” he blurted out. “What about it?”

“The fourth princess. The one trapped in a library waiting to be found. Her name—her true name—was Twilight Sparkle.” 

Copper frowned, his mouth opening and closing several times before his mind finally figured out a sentence to utter. “…So, Twilight was named after her?”

“No,” Rarity said, and again her face found her hooves as her voice fell to a whisper, “she is her.”

VII. 

The barrier did not change in any visible way when Copper touched it, and though she’d expected this, she still found herself let down by the fact. 

But what had she been hoping for? Maybe that Twilight would know. That she would feel through this barrier the touch of a stallion Rarity was learning to love and that would spur her into action, coming out and freeing herself out of, what? Love? 

“Can she hear us?”

“No,” she replied, even though she was not sure. There was a chance she could, but that would mean she didn’t care enough or could not answer back, and rather than deal with what that implied, it was easier to believe—“I don’t think she can.”

“Princess Twilight?” he called out anyway, and she hated the anticipation she immediately felt. The hope. “Are you there?”

No one replied. 

She looked away when he called again, focusing her gaze on the dozens of drawings the fillies had done, pasted on the walls. She’d have to laminate them, at some point. Maybe frame them. Maybe enchanted them so they’d last long enough Twilight could see them, know that they had waited. 

Had.

That was something new, admittedly. Something she’d caught herself doing since Copper’s gentle guiding towards a life after Twilight Sparkle. She’d started speaking of herself in the past when it came to the alicorn. 

She had visited. She had kept going. She had waited. She… 

She loved her. 

That one was still present-tense. 

“I thought about telling her I wanted to kiss you,” he said, suddenly, observing the barrier and completely missing her flushed expression, “but then what if she came out and killed me? You’d trade one ghost for another!”

“Don’t be daft,” she reprimanded, rolling her eyes but allowing herself a smile. “You wouldn’t become a ghost. You’d be reunited with Summer.”

He blinked at her, gasped loudly, and then banged his hoof on the barrier. “Princess! I’m making out with Rarity soon!”

“Copper!” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his grin sincere. He then looked at the barrier. “Is it okay if I have a minute alone with them?”

“Them?”

“Summersong and Twilight,” he replied, quietly. He brushed his hoof against the barrier, which emitted a low thrum in reply. “I like to think they can both hear, and—” He turned to look at her, and in twin silver eyes she saw love like she’d seen once upon a time in twin violet eyes. “There’s some things I want to run through them first before I say them to you.”

Even with her heart caught in her throat, she managed to speak. “I see. All right.” She took a step back, and then another and another, before turning around, heart beating fast. “I’ll be outside!”

Sunlight fought its way through the trees outside, illuminating the little circular area around the tree that Rarity had taken to calling Twilight’s Hollow. 

She had dreams for that place; some new, some old, long before she’d lost Twilight again. She had a grand design for what it could be, how it could look. A staircase near the base of the hole so ponies could walk up and down with ease; flowers and bushes planted throughout, to mark it as a place of resistance and joy within Discord’s forest; and maybe a few more trees here and there. 

She trotted away from the tree and towards a small fenced area where a small green sapling was poking out the earth. Once upon a time, she’d joked with Twilight that she ought to have a tree as well, and they’d decided it would be a cherry blossom tree. 

‘Where would you plant it?’ Twilight had asked, sitting atop a bookcase. 

‘Next to yours,’ Rarity had replied, sitting not next to Twilight, but on the opposite bookcase, where she could always see her face. ‘It’ll take about thirty years to reach its full height, I read.’

‘Why outside? You could grow it in here,’ Twilight had suggested. ‘I can help take care of it. I can even probably use a spell to simulate sunlight.’

Rarity shook her head. ‘No, I want it outside next to yours.’ She grinned, tilting her head. ‘It would be poetic. Right next to you, just like I’ll always be.’

‘I wouldn’t be able to see it,’ Twilight replied softly. 

‘You will,’ Rarity replied back. And she meant it. ‘You will see it with your own two eyes, Twilight. You have my word.’

The sound of the trap door shutting and opening brought her back to reality, and she turned around to watch as Copper made his way towards her. She did not protest when he sat down right next to her, or when his tail wrapped around her body, nor when she leaned against him, her eyes set on her sprout.

“Well?” she asked, barely above a whisper. 

“I asked them if it was okay,” he said, “and they told me to ask you. So I’m asking you.”

“Don’t be daft, Copper.”

“What? Because she could come out at any minute? And you would run straight into her forelegs?” he asked, his magic reaching for her forehoof. When she didn’t reply, he continued, “I’m sure I can make her fall in love with me, too.” 

She laughed. And it, too, was above a whisper as her hoof reached for her necklace. “You’ve no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

“I have sort of an idea!” he protested, and when he nuzzled her, she could feel him grinning. “If that was Summer in there, I’d be waiting here the rest of my life. And you know? I think I want to have a shot at making a princess fall in love with me. So, if you’ll have me, I think I want to wait with you.”

“And if she doesn’t come out?” she asked, tears stinging at her eyes, voice coming undone as her greatest fear bled out her heart. “What if she doesn’t come out before I die?”

“Then we’ll wait for her wherever comes after this,” he said, and he meant it. “I think Summersong would love to meet her, too.”