On any other night, I believe I would wish to be admiring the stars. Luna has simply outdone herself of late, if I do say so myself! Why, just the other night a lovely new constellation blossomed in the south to commemorate the Pillars and celebrate their return. Certainly a vast improvement from that ghastly crustacean she thought would make a lovely ‘gift’ for our newest undersea allies. Of all things, she had to choose a - no! But no matter, I shall not think of it. Would that tonight were a night for stargazing. Would that I be free to lose myself in the beautiful creations of true artisans showcasing their craft. But no! No, no, no. No, instead I stare, and stare, and stare at the mannequin before me. It has a simple purpose, yet a noble one, for who or what else can claim, again and again, to be the first to wear an original Rarity? Certainly my clients may be the first [i]ponies[/i] to enjoy such finery, but the true honor belongs to that which sits before me, the first recipient of my craft, and perhaps my only true companion in this otherwise lonely work. I do wonder what it would tell me, if it could speak. Could think. Does it appreciate its part in ushering finery into the world? Each of us a mother, in our own way, and our child a vision of beauty whose purpose is to let somepony shine just a little brighter for a night, a week, a lifetime if cared for. So many of my children born inside this room and let loose upon the world. Most, I know, make a splash. Many I find are begging to be born, seizing me in a strange fever of linens and needle and thread, a frenzy of sewing and shaping and slowly slipping from dream to reality. Most. But not all. There are those children for whom I struggle, for whom I rant and rave before my humble companion who bears silent witness to my internal frenzy as I strive to create, to know just what my audience of one will adore, to anticipate not just their needs but the reaction of the crowd as well, for ill judgement by mob can render even the most satisfied customer livid. Tonight, I think, is such a night. Over the last days, sketch after sketch has littered the floor, endless flurries that have left my drafting desk nearly a fortress of discarded paper. Days I can no longer spare, for tonight, in these final hours, I know that morning brings with it the most relentless, the most implacable of foes. The delivery date. Promised, agreed upon, and though I may hem and haw and delay, it would only do both reputation and pride injury. Oh, if only that foul celestial crustacean could storm Ponyville itself, I might have some excuse. ‘I was doing battle, my lady. I most regret it, but the evil shelled beastie rent your dress in twain and I need time to recreate it! Yes, of course I shall work with full speed, but there is the issue of re-acquiring materials and of course there is the celebratory Vanquishing Feast, and -’ Foolish dreams of a foolish mare, are they not? Tell me, my dearest silent companion, what would you do when bereft of even the barest hint of inspiration? Were our positions reversed, and you faced with the unenviable pursuit to which I now am bent, what would you do? I run down the list as I have so many times before. I cannot delay, for I fear extra time would still inevitably lead to this same result. I must banish the very thought! I could do less than my best work, but even if that slipped past the eyes of everypony else, I? I would know. I would bear the subtle shame of knowing that a client who trusted me, who trusted [i]Rarity[/i], would have had her trust cast upon the floor like my abandoned plans. I could flee, of course. Abandon Ponyville, abandon my business, take up a new life in some distant village. Perhaps a simple seamstress, mending garments and oh no, no, no, that would never do for so very, very many reasons. Twilight would find me, for one. And were she to be delayed in doing so, who knows if the very fate of all Equestria wouldn’t be at stake in the interim, and perhaps my failure to be present would… Rarity, darling, you are dithering. The work must be completed tonight! It must. It must… But I have nothing! Nothing save piles of paper and an empty dummy and the moon drifting past the stars, unstoppable clockwork night promising the certainty of inevitable failure if I cannot get started! What, what, what do I do?! Why tonight, why again, why must I be at war with myself and searching for even some small spark of inspiration, some new way to combine warp and weft, to sew, to bedazzle, to once more let the mannequin sparkle with new beauty?! It was not like this, once. In simpler times, I believe, there was a joy I miss. There were no standards, no worries, just me and a dream and I did not let my fears nor worries consume me. I would dabble with whatever struck my fancy and, and, and...and it would have been enough. Tonight though, tonight, tonight, tonight - there is no way I can dissatisfy this client! No way I can possibly let her down, for she of all ponies will know I have done less than my best, and she shall be unable to hide her disapproval and so everypony will know of my shame, including… Including far too many ponies for me to simply let myself wallow in self-pity! I am stronger than this! I am Rarity! I find beauty in the most drab accoutrements and find a way to bring them forth into a new light! A crunch from beneath my hoof startles me and I realize I am pacing wildly around the room till I have stepped upon discarded papers, a half-torn malformed veil peeking out amongst the other crumpled parchments and like all its companions it simply will. Not. Do! I wish this were another simple job! Some gala or ball or simple affair with which I would be satisfied with my usual efforts. Or any efforts! Would that my client had an idea of what she wanted, some parameters that would constrain me, but no, no, no! No, I have parameters but they are too vague! Or perhaps too specific. So many colors I cannot use. So many gemstones that simply are inappropriate, no emeralds or rubies or many of my other favorites, kaleidoscopic colors that today of all days are banned, banned, banned! The client demands white, ivory, pale snow, pearls perhaps, maybe if I am lucky I will find a way to slip in a few sapphires. A little sparkling tiara? No, that would clash with the veil and there must be a veil and sanity slips in moments like this as I spin and stare once more at the mannequin. The heat of my stare leaves me certain it will burst into flames at any moment and for a phantom breath I smell smoke and realize my horn is alight and catch myself and briefly I am grateful I am not Twilight Sparkle or Starlight Glimmer for if I were either of them not just the dummy but my whole boutique might be aflame! Nary a spark nor speck of soot soils the mannequin, however, and a tension ebbs from me as head falls and I stare miserable at my hooves, unbidden salt gathering wet at edges of eyes then falling to stain the wood below. I fear I am to fail. I fear that the client will be unhappy, that she shall go forth tomorrow eve, sweep down the aisle even as the crowd oohs and ahhs at whatever ghastly abomination I finally spin together, she...she shall know, and in knowing so spoil the moment not just for her but for, for… But what do I do? The one waiting, the one who truly matters, not even the client or perhaps the true client for whom the actual client is insistent on being radiant for, she will not care about finery. She will not care about splendor, but sorrow, that shall spoil the sweetness of the moment and I cannot do that to her! If only I hadn’t accepted this commission! If only I had bidden her go to another dressmaker. Coco, perhaps, who I am certain would have created something radiant, but I, I in my vanity was certain I could make the perfect dress for the occasion! A wedding gown to outshine all wedding gowns, the bride to be resplendent and radiant and every other wonderful word in the book and bare, bare, bare nudity is all I have, a blank mannequin and paper and reams of fabric waiting for me and I, I alone am failing them all. I am failing me. I am failing [i]her[/i], and I cannot… Foul moon! Would that you would stay still so that I could work in peace as long as it would take, so that I could finish and then sleep and awaken refreshed and racing to face the day, eager and excited and twitterpated because it will be a day to remember, a day that will be just perfect, for I am certain no Changeling is waiting to play havoc this time! This wedding, at least, and now that I say the world to myself, now that I force myself to acknowledge at least part of why I must give it my all, why I must make the client - here I still refer to her as client - why I must make her shine above all else. Not for her. She, I know, she would find a way to endure even the most ghastly of seaweed-hued mane were that her lot in life and in the end flaunt it. A time to wallow in self-pity, yes, but in the end triumphant! Tonight. Tonight I am blank. Tonight I have nothing for her, nor for her bride to be. How droll! I almost said bridge to be, so caught up was I in ranting to myself and wouldn’t that be a sight? My dearest bridge, I vow to cross you always, to maintain you far above this watery canyon, to bring forth polish and spare parts and - I should tell her that, later. I am sure she would smile. Such a quirky sense of humor, but what else could it possibly be? Strangeness is itself one of the few novelties to remain when one has seen nearly everything else, and what stranger things would there be than wedding twixt Seamstress and Suspension Bridge? And I see her now, staring at me, arriving early! But there is still time and yet she stares at me, and I stare back, and every movement I make she mimics and I howl at her and before I know it I am lunging forward and my hooves beat at her and she pounds back, clack-clack-CRACK! And just like that, she is not one, but marred by a jagged line fracturing her face, and I stare back at reflection and now we are different, and there is only me. Yes, dearest me, dearest most critical, most horrible client I have ever undertaken, most evil, vile Rarity! In my own vanity I swore to craft the perfect wedding dress to shine for my beloved, and in the few precious hours before I am due to altar I have nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing, and that’s it! That, oh, yes, oh yes, you crafty, evil, wonderful mare! So be it. Perhaps I have nothing. Perhaps that is all that it shall come to. I see it now! I shall saunter down the aisle not in a dress, oh no! Everypony will be expecting finery, craning their necks for that moment the doors open and I trot forth and I can see the looks on their faces now as I walk in completely unclothed! Oh, that will be perfect. My beloved cares not for frippery such as dresses, I know that. But laughter? I suspect she will be unable to keep a straight face while the pompous nobility get ever puffier when the bride breaks every tradition and dares wed so wonderful a mare as my darling while herself in the buff! I wonder how long it will take her to laugh? Or maybe her sister will beat her to it. It shall be chaos either way, and many shall not appreciate my newest dress, but I know the one that truly matters will love my little surprise. Adieu, my dearest mannequin. As always, you get to be the first to wear my newest creation, and I hope you enjoy the not-Princess’s new clothes for a few hours more! I bid a final fond farewell to the moon, for tomorrow, I go to dream with the sun.