“Well, Twilight Sparkle, here we are.”  Princess Celestia’s voice sounded strained in the still air.  “Has this all worked out the way you had hoped?”

Twilight slumped heavily against the bars of the cell and scrubbed at her face.

“No,” she croaked.  She kept her gaze on the cobbled floor of the royal gaol, resisting the desperate urge to look at the air above them.  “I’m... I’m so sorry, Celestia.  This has become a total disaster.”

After a pause, a soft soothing murmur reached her ears as Celestia stroked her mane.  Like a reflex reaction, Twilight pressed tight against the bars towards it, willingly surrendering herself to that warm abyss the embrace had always given her.  Only, it didn’t feel as strong as it had during the days of her fillyhood; fear still pricked at her chest, her body feeling cold.

“Oh, Twilight.  You had the best of intentions,” Celestia whispered. “Even if you were quite out of your depth.”

“I thought that helping ponies [i]see[/i] their friendships to each other would help those friendships become even stronger.  Or help find ponies in need and overcome their problems.  I didn’t expect [i]this[/i].”  Twilight sighed and shook her head.  “You must hate me.”

A hoof lifted Twilight’s face until her eyes met Celestia’s.  They were troubled, but still warm.

“My dearest Twilight,” she replied.  “I don’t hate you.  Nothing you could ever do would give me cause to hate you.”

Twilight nodded, and then her eyes crept upwards.  She was horrified, but felt powerless to resist.  She just [i]had[/i] to know.

From the top of Celestia’s head, a complex matrix of golden threads—some shimmering, many dull—arced outwards through the walls of the gaol.  Twilight focused on the single strand that didn’t: The one that connected Celestia’s matrix to hers.  It still shone brightly, and Twilight felt relief tease her lungs.

“Is my word not enough now?”

“Yes, of course!” Twilight recoiled from the bars, feeling hot shame prick her cheeks.  “I’m sorry, I just needed to be—I mean...” She trailed off, licking her dry lips.

The smile on Celestia’s face was gentle, though it didn’t reach the corners of her mouth.

“You see now why Star Swirl never finished this particular spell? It wasn’t because he wasn’t [i]able[/i] to, Twilight.  It seems not even you are immune to its effects.” She paused then, her eyes drifting upwards.

Twilight’s throat felt tight as she followed Celestia’s gaze.  There, between the networks of strands, hung one that sparkled like the stars in the night sky, though it was clear it had once been brighter.

“Luna will come around,” she offered helplessly.

Celestia’s eyes flashed momentarily, and she shook her head.  “Nor I, it seems.  The point is, Twilight, that the moment we aren’t content with simply [i]feeling[/i] that friendship exists, that we no longer just trust it’s there, we invite doom.  As you can see, it serves nopony to have constant physical reminders about the presence and strength of their feelings towards others, nor the feelings [i]between[/i] others.”

Twilight swallowed as suppressed memories roughly pushed her thoughts aside: Of comforting Pinkie Pie because half of Ponyville didn’t consider her as close a friend as she did them, and that horrible argument between AJ and Dash over why she hadn’t broken up with Big Mac, despite  the strand connecting them being so dull and lifeless.

And then there was Celestia.

Twilight licked her lips.  “Will you be—?”

“Yes.” Celestia cast her gaze about her cell, the frown on her face quickly disappearing.  “Twilight, I don’t blame you for any of this.  The investigation is just a precaution.  I should have been more open with everypony from the outset—it’s only natural for them to be suspicious when a golden strand is tracked between their princess and a changeling queen.  After all, we all have our fears...” Celestia’s face clouded slightly.  “I’m sorry for not telling you either.  I hope I haven’t disappointed you.”

“Of course not!” Twilight shook her head, her cheeks feeling hot as she gazed above Celestia’s head—where that one strand, as bright as the sun itself, arced away from the gaol.  “I’ll fix this, Celestia.  I promise.”

“I know you will,” Celestia replied, that sad smile returning.  “Though I suspect undoing the spell will be the easy part.  Undoing the effects, however...”

Twilight swallowed, and tried to reassure herself by checking the brightness of the strands from above her head. Her heart sank when she realised that Celestia was doing the same.