"It's not like I like seeing you sad, Pinkie."

The explosion. The heat coursing through her body. That cupcake, wasted.

"Nopony wants to see you sad!"

The hospital. The Get Well Soon party. The hospital in ruins.

"It's just... There isn't a good option here, okay?"

Her hooves covered in batter. The roads covered in confetti, pastern-deep. Giant pony-shaped holes in Sugarcube Corner, the Town Hall, Carousel Boutique.

"What I'm trying to say is, we don't want you to go..."

The faces of her friends, obscured by limp, pink mane.

"But... you have to. For the good of everypony."

Ponyville receding in the distance. A weight on her back. Tears.

"We'll keep in touch, I promise."

With a start and a sharp inhalation, she's staring at the flat basalt ceiling of her bedroom. The tears were the only thing real. She sits up, wraps her arms around the grey herringbone blanket, itchy wool, hugging her knees. A quick mane check reveals full limpness. Her shoulders rattle. She exhales.

"At least I've got a good head-start on my morning cry."

She would smile, if she weren't so against the notion.

---

Maud picks out her best black suit for her, the one with the pencil skirt. She likes that one; it's not as bland as the others, somehow. Have to make a good impression on the prospective clients, have to show them she's professional, knows what she's talking about. They don't wear suits, though the one who does all the talking has a vest, studded with gems. They sparkle in the cool light of the conference room, drawing attention away from the grey walls.

"With PRI's patented and proven extraction technology, your output will triple."

She keeps her expression neutral. Her pointer taps against the chart, punctuating words that she delivers evenly. Charts and graphs are artifices of her new life. She wouldn't have made them without copious amounts of felt and glitter, anyway. Maud prepared this one; she makes all of them.

"We estimate a continual linear increase in output and profits over the first five years, as our processes integrate with yours."

She adjusts her spectacles. The lenses catch the afternoon sun and throw a square patch onto the ceiling. One of the dogs follows with his eyes.

"After that, the sky is, as they say, the limit."

She's laid out the spread; it's time to invite them to dinner. She collapses her pointer, sets it on the easel tray, and takes two steps to come up against the boardroom table. She plants her forehooves on the tabletop, hefts herself up, leans forward. Diamond Dogs appreciate forwardness. The final step is a tiny smile, just a light upturning of the corners of the mouth, leaving one in her week's quota.

"The equipment will be yours to use, no leasing fee necessary. All we ask, gentledogs, is a thirty-five percent controlling stake in your company."

One breath, two: she hangs in wait. She doesn't sweat, she has more control than that, but they're taking too long. That should have been a done deal the moment she stopped speaking.

"I should add," she says, unblinking, "that this is quite a generous offer on our part."

"Generous." The lead Dog spits the word like a burning ember. "We are generous because we give you gems. We not take this deal, we still get gems. We keep more gems. I think you not understand Dogs, pony."

She retreats to the floor. The only outward sign of her disappointment is the tiny death of her smile. The Dog, one of the leaner, middle-sized breeds, taps his claws one by one against the tabletop.

"We not need pony company to get more gems. Dogs do that ourselves. You tell us you have good offer, but all we hear is 'pony way better, you give us more gems'. I think, no, not today."

He stands, as do his companions. Part of her wants to stop them, to plead, to make another offer, to explain herself just the tiniest bit more clearly, to offer them some cake, but their backs are already to her. The leader stops, turns his head. She can just see his eyes.

"You want control of Dog company? Must show flair. Ponies known for color, spirit. You got neither."

A click of his fingers, and he leads the other two out of the room. Maud hustles in behind them, a binder clutched in her teeth. Pinkie lets out the breath she's been holding, pulls out a chair to sit.

"I thought we had this tied down like..." She exhales. Closes her eyes, removes her glasses, rubs the spot between her eyes. "What did I do wrong?"

Maud is silent a moment.

"You performed admirably, I believe."

"Was it a culture issue?" She looks up at her sister, assistant — assister — with pleading eyes. "I've never been very good with non-ponies. Well, except Spike." She heaves a ponderous sigh, lays her head on the table, stares at nothing.

"If that was the fault, Pinkie, then it's as much mine as yours." She too stares blankly ahead before adding, "Shall I cancel your appointments for the rest of the day?"

Pinkie turns away. "Who's next?"

"Mister Lantern from Fillydelphia Oil and Lube, at three."

With a groan, she turns back, closes her eyes, pushes herself upright.

"No, no." She licks her lips and sighs. "I know why he's here. It'll be short, and easy. He's always fun to talk to, at least."

Maud inclines her head and moves out of the room. "All right, then. I'll show him in once he gets here." The doors close behind her.

Pinkie spins in her chair, three quarters of a revolution and then back a quarter so she faces the windows. It's a spin carefully crafted from indecision, not enjoyment.

Outside, downtown Big Rock bustles. The traffic of ponies and carriages is clumsy, jigging in and out of patterns dictated by lights installed only last year. It is the rhythm of a town in its teenage years, not yet a full city. The headquarters of Pie Rocks, Incorporated looms up out of its center like a drab prom-night pimple, ready to pop.

She swallows. To the west and south are more high-rise construction projects, skeletons looming out of the pavement shadows, waiting for their skins to grow. The low-rise buildings are already more concrete and steel than brick and thatch. In a few years, Big Rock will look like a smaller version of Manehattan. In a few decades, who knows? And it will all be thanks to her vision, her influence that started everything.

All it took was trading my friends for the rock farm.

She stands there, stroking the window frame, a small pout on her lips, until well after four o'clock.

"Did he send any word?" She didn't see Maud enter but knows she's there.

"No, he didn't." Maud joins her, gazes out at the slowly setting sun. "Will you be baking tonight?"

"Yes." Pinkie reaches up and pulls the window shade closed. "Yes, I think I will."

---

The joys of baking are necessarily few these days, but it's an indulgence she does not let herself go without for long. Sometimes a cake, sometimes two dozen cupcakes, sometimes as many muffins, sometimes something odd like strudel or something plain like simple bread, it doesn't matter. What matters is the doing.

While she measures and mixes, she lets her old life play behind her eyes like a movie. She hears the old songs and does not sing them. She feels the rhythm of pour, stir, pour again but does not swish her tail. She makes sure her movements are even, the ingredients measured properly instead of dumped, the batter spooned out evenly. It's a very different ritual than it used to be, but she comes back to it time and again because three balloons still grace her flank.

Her purpose isn't running a business, even if Maud deferred her inheritance in favor of Pinkie's real-life experience. "I just care about the rocks," she'd said. Typical Maud. Anyway, she'd been invaluable in helping Pinkie deal with her... personal problems. Limestone and Marble had been all too happy to continue their roles as foremare and chemist, respectively, as they had when Mother was alive.

The letters still come, from her father and from her friends, but she finds less and less to put in her responses. Three balloons taunt her, tell her to spice up the plain stationery with glitter, or crayons, or to stuff a few cookies in the envelope, but she can't. After a few days of denying her cutie mark the little things, she has to bake. It's all she can do to keep herself together sometimes. It's all she can do to give herself purpose.

Besides, the orphans always like her baking.

She deposits the basket on the back step of Our Princess of the Moon Home for Forlorn Foals and knocks. It's late, and she fears the doorbell will wake the children. She studies the same crack in the wall she always does. It's not a bad place, really, but repairs to the outside are low on the priority list. She likes to think her little contributions help.

The door opens on a peal of squeaks and a wizened midnight head emerges.

"Sister Henroost."

"Miss Pinkamina." She smiles, near toothless, and lifts the basket. "Won't you come in?"

"You know what I always say, Sister." I don't need to see them smile to know they're happy.

The old pony shakes her head, her wings and habit rustling. "I know something is truly bothering you tonight. You usually save some of your quota for me." She speaks with an aura of acceptance, not understanding.

Pinkie averts her eyes. "I've got one left, and it's only Wednesday. I thought I'd save it for the weekend." She sighs. "Plus, I don't have much to be smiling about today."

The door squeaks a bit more. Inside, the wallpaper is muted but cheerful in the dim light.

"I can feel the heat off these buns from here. I'm sure they wouldn't mind being woken a little early for breakfast, not when it's coming from you."

Pinkie hesitates. She's lower than a hoof in a rut, and she knows it. A day where nothing could go right merits a little splurging, no?

The old mare's hoof reaches out to hers. "Pinkie. You're so good to us, let us be good to you for once."

"Just for a bit."

Sister Henroost smiles. "Come on in, then."

Pinkie removes the hood of her cloak. She steps up over the threshold and fills her quota.

---

"It's called a magiwave oven. By focusing magical radiation, it can prepare food in just a few—"

"Enough with the bookin', it's time to get bakin'!"

The recipe, reduced to fit in the small oven. Pop it in, twist the dial. Easy, in Twilight's words.

"I just turn it like this, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"I love turning dials! Five, seven, four... Two should be enough!"

The shine, holding her uncomprehending attention.

"Now what?"

"Now..."

The room, dark. An oppressive force, all her attention focused on the back of Twilight's head. Her mane, purple and pink, and black and oily.

"Now it destroys your life."

Gleaming, Twilight's perfectly white skull grinning in the dim light.

---

Pinkie awakes with a body-shaking tremor. A wail on her lips merges with distant sirens. She hugs herself, shivers in the cool morning air. Her suit is gone, her cloak a tatters around her neck. She hoofs it absently, stroking it as she stares straight ahead, her face falling.

"Oh no..."

Her mane is limp, but the dirty water in it prevents a proper assessment. She's spent the night in an alley, sleeping in the gutter. Her back and legs ache.

"No, not again, not now..."

She moves down the alley to the source of the sirens. The air is thick and heavy, warm despite the chilly breeze. With each step closer, she tries to hold off the encroaching memory of just what she was doing last night.

"No, please..."

The street teems with police carriages. Officers hold back a throng of curious onlookers. She blinks, turns to look down the street, and looks away when she spots smoke and firefighters. Maybe she can pretend it's just a bonfire. In the middle of the street. Squeezing her eyes shut, she staggers across the sidewalk.

"Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to move behind the cordon."

The sharp voice cuts the air. This officer — his badge reads Green Jeans — has taken her for a salt-addled hobo. She can hardly blame him. As she regards him with numb apathy, his eyes travel to her flank.

"M-Miss Pie!" He stands straighter. "I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you! Are you alright, ma'am?"

His priorities deaden her desire to smile. Her aches come to the forefront of her thoughts.

"I'm fine. Thank you. What... happened here?"

"I... probably shouldn't say." He's still leading her behind the yellow rope. "Press releases, you understand. If you don't mind my saying, ma'am, you don't look fine. Is there anything I can do to help?"

The ponies of this city owe so her much. Taking advantage of that sentiment makes her feel undeservingly privileged. But after what's happened, given the hole she can see in the side of the orphanage, she is feeling weak and needy, if still not deserving.

"I just need to get home."

"I could arrange a carriage for you."

He doesn't hesitate to offer. Imagining him as a white unicorn with purple mane helps dull the sting as she takes advantage of his generosity.

"I'd appreciate that. Thank you."

---

On the whole bumpy ride back to PRI, all she can think of is how much of a setback this incident signifies. Years of effort have gone into crafting a life of minutiae, of diligent moods, of organized movements. Perhaps she's become too complacent; perhaps she can take this as a reason to double down on her efforts, to never give in to impulse for all that it can lead to. That she's only thinking of herself and not the orphans adds salt to the wound.

Maud greets her at the door.

"I was worried, until I saw the news."

Pinkie shakes her head. "How much did they see?"

"Not much. A large shape in a cloud of smoke. They focused on the fires."

"Did I..." Her heart sinks. Her throat becomes sandpaper. "How many were hurt?"

Maud leads her through the lobby, to the elevator, up to her penthouse suite. "None badly."

The tightness in her chest ebbs out.

"I heard there were a few ponies taken to the hospital. Smoke inhalation." Maud doesn't hesitate to add, "None of the orphans."

The tightness breaks.

"That... That's good. It could have been worse, right?"

Maud draws her a bath and the conversation stretches through the intervening time like a rubber band.

"What do I do, Maud?"

"The same thing you always do." She shakes her head. "I'm not sure there's anything else to do."

The water sloshes around her, the warmth seeps in. Somehow, that warmth feels separate from her, a notion more than a physical phenomenon. The water makes her think of tea with Rarity.

"That hasn't been enough." She sinks into the water. "If it was, last night wouldn't have happened."

The only noise is the light whooshing against the porcelain. Maud clears her throat as Pinkie steps out, and offers her a towel.

"You got a letter today."

Pinkie blinks. "Why didn't you say so?"

"It wasn't the right time. Plus, I think it might help you feel better now. And I didn't want it getting wet."

She withdraws a scroll, with wax over a ribbon. Pinkie's heart thumps. She takes a deep breath.

"From Twilight?"

"Yes."

Her hoof trembles as she takes it. She wills it to be still before letting herself break the seal.

Dear Pinkie,

I'm sorry for how long it's been since I last wrote. I wish this letter could come under more pleasant circumstances, but I had to tell you about this.

A strange affliction is moving down the eastern seaboard. It started in Manehattan and moved to Fillydelphia. Baltimare and Big Rock may be next. We don't know a whole lot about it. Reports from the affected areas are scarce, and none have been confirmed. All we know is that ponies are left listless and miserable, like all the happiness was drained out of them. I did some research, but I can't find anything outside pre-Equestrian texts that mentions such a thing, and those aren't exactly authoritative, more like ancient songs and legends.

The Princesses are looking into it. They instructed me to keep out for now, so all I can do is send letters out to you and the other girls and say...

Be careful. Be alert. If this were five years ago, we'd all suit up and throw some rainbows at it, but I know... Well, things aren't the way they used to be.

With love and friendship,

Twilight Sparkle

Pinkie frowns, rereads the longest paragraph, then crumples the parchment and gives it back to Maud.

"Well, at least I can't screw that up, too." She sighs. "Do I have any appointments today?"

"I can cancel them."

She nods. "Thanks."

"And Pinkie?"

She stops drying herself, looks up at her older sister. Maud's face is inscrutable, even to her.

"You're beating yourself up because you can't do anything about this."

Pinkie casts her gaze to the cold tile floor.

"So why don't you go find something you can do? It might help."

Pinkie lets the world whirl around in her mind for a bit. She raises her head.

"Thank you, Maud."

---

The reports are in the next day's newspaper. Fillydelphia is a grey wasteland of malaise. Ponies drag themselves through facsimiles of their daily lives if they're able to. More fill the air with mournful cries or lay in the street, unwilling to move. Commerce has ground to a halt, and business in other parts of Equestria start feeling the pinch.

They call it The Sadness.

The hubbub of talking heads zeroes in on those who could be doing something about it. The Princesses make official statements saying that they're looking into things. The other former Elements deny any ability to affect outcomes. Maud shoos away a reporter from PRI and makes no uncertain terms about how welcome they are right now. Boulder Jr. helps.

The thought that Pinkie wouldn't be able to do anything about the problem helps her deal with it. Somewhat. Her days of being the embodiment of Laughter are long gone, never mind that the Elements returned to the Tree of Harmony. The power of her friendships has waned, and as for herself... Well, her self-control has never been more in question than at this juncture. If she tried, she'd just mess it up.

That afternoon, Maud's advice comes back to her. She returns to the scene of the crime. Sister Henroost meets her at the back door as usual; the front door is nothing more than a plus-sized pony-shaped hole covered in plywood.

"I wanted to apologize for what happened."

The Sister's eyes are sad and yellow. That doesn't stop her smile, however.

"You can hardly be blamed."

"What did you see the night before?"

The Sister licks her lips. "Enough to know that you weren't in control of yourself."

Pinkie stills. Then she pulls a slip of paper from beneath her cloak. "This should cover the damages."

The Sister's eyes widen. "Miss Pinkie! Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. I can afford it, trust me."

The slip passes between them. Sister Henroost smiles a little more.

"You know I've already forgiven you, of course."

"I'm glad. It'll take me a little more time to forgive myself." Pinkie takes a deep breath. "How are the foals?"

Sister Henroost flinches. She can't meet Pinkie's gaze. "They... They'll need some time. They're still very afraid... I'm sorry, Miss Pinkie."

Pinkie's head hangs. "No, I understand." Her mouth works silently for a few moments. "I'll come back someday, I promise. I know it's important to them."

"I sincerely hope you will."

With molasses hooves, Pinkie moves into the alley. She stops, but doesn't turn. "What do ponies do when they've hit the rockiest of rock bottoms?"

A pause.

"Well, were I in your place, I would seek solace through prayer. Though I am hardly normal in that regard, compared to the population at large." She adds, "And I imagine it hasn't got the same effect when you know the Princess personally."

Pinkie nods. "What do normal ponies do, then?"

The Sister answers unhesitatingly. "They go to the Block and Tackle."

Pinkie nods and plods off.

"Thanks."

---

Dark. Loud. Filled with mares and stallions of dubious reputations and worse intentions. After her first block of salt, Pinkie finds herself caring less about these things. This place, this scene is like a nonstop party. The second block comes with hot peppers. Soon after, she's not caring about much save how tingly she feels.

In seconds, she burnt through both her week's quotas and more. She smiles, she laughs, she dances. This really is a nonstop party, and it's full of new friends. It's like her old life never had an expiration date. Other ponies touch her, and she touches them and feels them and doesn't connect with them. They are together, but they aren't friends, but she can't tell the difference and it's all just pretend. She smiles, she laughs, she dances, but her mane is straight.

Her legs vibrate as she takes a barstool and waves off the next mare wanting to dance. She needs a break, a breather, a glass of water. There's a stallion in the seat next to her, his colors washed out in the dim neon lights.

"This is great, isn't it? It's a real party!"

He looks up at her with red-rimmed eyes and a smile so thin it could blow away in a breeze.

"You don't look like you're having fun."

It takes her a moment to realize he, not she, is the one who spoke.

"What? Of course I'm having fun! I haven't had this much fun in years! I didn't even think I could!"

He ruminates on something, stares at the mirror behind the bar. "Why are you crying then? Not that it's any of my business."

Her hoof flies to her face and touches wetness. She looks into the mirror and shock dawns on her face. Twin tracks, black with mascara, fall from her eyes.

"Those aren't tears of happiness, Miss Pie," he says, downing the last of whatever he's been drinking. "Been seeing a lot of that lately. That's why I said something."

She starts at her name, and looks at him again for the first time. His red coat has greyed to drab rust. The yellow streaks in his mane are nearly white. There, a cutie mark of a hurricane lamp.

"Mister Lantern?"

He gives her that same lifeless smile. "Thanks for noticing me."

The last three days come rushing back. The salt in her system sinks to her stomach.

"W-what happened to you? Why didn't you show up for our meeting?"

"Didn't have it in me." His muzzle drops to the bartop and he sighs.

Pinkie frowns. "You could have at least let me know! I would have understood if you couldn't make it, I promise." She licks her lips. "Wait, except that I don't understand. You're here, in Big Rock, and you didn't show up! What happened?"

His shoulders roll. "I ran into something on the road, and it just... Took everything out of me. Kept on going to Big Rock 'cause I didn't have anything better to do, y'know?" The absence of the expected lilt to that last word hangs in the air between them.

"Maybe I do know." She closes her eyes. "Have you ever felt like your life was a cake, dissolving into crumbs?"

"Feelin' that right now, Miss Pie."

Her eyes snap open. She scans the room, sees the fake smiles everywhere, plastered on the faces of strangers with a mixture of salt and capsaicin. The dancing is robotic. The laughter is empty. Moments before, she had been among them.

For a second, it feels like enough. Even a shadow of her former life is preferable to her self-imposed Tartarus, right? She could come here every night, and lose herself in the crowd, and pretend that she's okay.

Except that pretending is never good enough, never has been good enough. The silver lining on the clouds turns to lead, the drop cloth tears, and the dream ends with a sharp inhalation and a kick of the legs. Coming here, night after night, she would be just another hollow pony trying to fill herself up with things that eat her. She's only got one life; she has to live it, for better or for worse.

"Do you... Do you ever feel like you don't deserve happiness?" The tears begin anew. "Like bad things, really bad things, will happen if you're the least bit happy?"

He turns his head, lays in the condensation on the bar top, tries to smile and fails. "Everypony deserves a little happiness in their life, Miss Pie." He sighs, his lips ruffle. "I just wish I had some in me."

This conversation is getting her nowhere. Mister Lantern is trying so hard to cheer her up, not that that's what she actually wants. Usually, their chats are so much more pleasant than this. What's happened to him?

She gasps.

He came from Fillydelphia and arrived in Big Rock in time for their meeting, but never showed.

He "ran into something on the road".

His washed-out coat and mane, like those of a certain lying earth pony, a mean pegasus, a greedy unicorn, from another lifetime ago.

"No!"

He groans. "What's that, Miss Pie?"

She stands, knocks the barstool over. "Everypony does deserve happiness, Mister Lantern." She's already moving for the door.

The bottles and cups rattle as something large and low booms through the city. The sky outside goes dark, like something is covering the sun. Ponies scream, surge past the door. Others crane their heads up, stare slack-jawed. Another thunderous boom and they too take off running. Black mist courses down upon them and they stop, their colors fading, fear on their faces melting into wretched melancholy. They plod forward or lay down where they stand, heaving great sighs and just... stopping.

Pinkie's throat goes dryer than any salt could make it. "But it might already be too late for that!"

---

She gets the ponies in the Block and Tackle out through the back door. She tries to tell herself that she's gotten them to safety, but it's hard to imagine anywhere in the city being safe against the thing that has invaded it.

It stands as tall as the skyscraper she calls her home. Its form is obscured by black mist that, little by little, detaches to swoop down and drain ponies of their vibrancy. It's not in a hurry to go anywhere. Its step shake the windows.

The streets crawl with police ponies, every single one in the division and possibly a few pulled out of retirement. As she chews her hooves from inside an empty café, she watches them succumb one by one to the black mist. Their eyes fall, their expressions droop, and they simply give up in the face of imminent danger.

A fire stirs within her, but the cold burn of fear is a sturdy wall. "Be careful," Twilight had told her, but here she is, watching the chaos from within its heart. Watching, and not doing.

An officer runs by the café, stops and ducks inside. She recognizes him as the one she saw the morning she woke up in the gutter.

"Miss Pie? What are you doing here? We need to evacuate the city! The Royal Guard have been called and—"

Black mist swarms in through the open door and engulfs him. She leaps back as though he's caught on fire, watches in horror as he gags and chokes. The mist swirls and fills the café, and it's looking at her, sizing her up for its next meal. But the tendril that snakes out toward her pauses, recoils, and then the whole thing flies back the way it came.

The officer sits down heavily in a chair. His white coat has dulled to grey. His uniform hangs limply around him. He puffs out a breath and stares at the table in front of him.

She licks her lips, tiptoes over to him, shakes him gently.

"Officer Green Jeans? C'mon now, we have to evacuate the city like you said!"

He turns blank eyes toward her. "What's the use? There's not anything we can do about it. Please leave me alone, Miss Pie, I'm not in the mood right now."

She withdraws her hoof, frowns. Part of her wants to be angry. For a moment, he's a mute-colored pegasus grabbing a cloud and taking off at high speed.

She grits her teeth. From the anger, she forges determination.

"You just wait right here," she commands, and stalks out the door. Officer Green Jeans doesn't move or acknowledge her.

She gallops to the nearest animated-looking police pony and barks instructions at her. Above, the mass of black mist moves deeper into downtown. The back roads will be safest for evacuating citizens, and everypony who can should carry at least one afflicted with them. Don't argue, officer, just see that it gets done. Right, Miss Pie, thank you.

She finds a fire pony, tells him the same, asks that they use ladders to get those trapped in higher buildings. No, don't look at the big black thing, just focus on saving ponies. We can at least do that much. Right, Miss Pie, thank you.

Down an alley to the Home for Forlorn Foals, but she's too late. Sister Henroost's eyes are glassy. She's breathing, but she's limp.

"The Princess can't help us now, Miss Pinkie," she wheezes. Another nun takes her up, listens to Pinkie's instructions on how to steer clear of the monster, and goes.

And then she realizes that the black mist is heading right for her home. Royal Guard sky chariots follow in its wake, but one by one, they fall, black mist removing their desire to keep flying. Ponies are getting hurt, Maud is in danger, and right now, she's the only one who can do something about it.

She grabs a chariot without even thinking, tells the driver to get her as close to PRI as he safely can. They careen through the streets, dodging the comatose, and she tells him to make sure he grabs as many as he can on the trip out of town. Don't go back to your post, no, just get as many ponies as you can out of harm's way. A sky chariot crashes to the ground beside them, scattering gilded ornamentation across the road. The ponies inside groan in a mixture of pain and misery. Right, Miss Pie, right.

Her chariot stops and she keeps up the momentum, running for where the black mist creature has stopped, on the same block as the PRI building. Outside, in the street, she can see a grey form in a grey dress. Tears cloud her vision. Another whistling sky chariot falls and she has to roll to avoid it. At least the ponies inside are still groaning. At least it's not as bad as it could be, right?

But Maud is there, and she's not moving. Pinkie scoops her up, peels back the slack eyelids. Maud groans, squeezes her eyes shut; it's nearly impossible to tell whether she's been hit with the mist.

"Is anypony left inside?"

"No."

That one word contains more emotion than Pinkie has ever heard her older sister speak before. Maud is safe from the mist, but she's hurt. Pinkie drags her to the carriage, sends the driver on his way, turns and sizes up the black cloud swirling above her home.

Pinkie swallows. She knows it's dangerous. She's faced danger before, but back then she carried an armor made of silliness to bolster her courage. She could giggle at ghosties then. She hasn't in so long, she's not sure she can anymore. What does she have instead? Self-righteous fury?

"The mist didn't attack me. If that means I'm safe, then I have to help everypony else."

She hopes that will be enough.

---

The streets have grown eerily silent. Nopony is screaming; they've either left or fallen into despair. The mist monster isn't moving, either. This close, she can see legs, below the knee, thick as tree trunks, mottled black and midnight blue, swirling and vaguely opaque. There's definitely something under all that mist. It's time to find out what.

"Hey!" she shouts, not knowing if something that tall can hear a voice at ground level. "Hey, you big meanie! What do you think you're doing, attacking my home and making everypony all sad?"

The mist, which has so far appeared like swams of tiny black insects, stops. It reverses, flows back into itself, merges into the titanic form. Those black and blue swirls continue up a featureless torso with long arms, ending in a hunched head and myriad antlers spreading out against the afternoon sky like dark fingers clawing up from Tartarus.

"Who speaks?"

The voice is cold, and the force of it makes her stumble. She could really use a laugh right now.

"M-my name is Pinkie Pie. And I-I'm giving you one chance, mister, to turn everypony back the way they were and get the hay outta Dodge, or..." She grasps at straws, her hooves sweaty. "Or you'll regret it!"

The thing turns toward her.

"We know of the Pinkie Pie. The Element of Laughter. We are The Sadness, we do not fear this one. We shall consume it."

Its head dissolves into mist. It surges toward her. She tries to run, but it's everywhere all at once. It swarms her, choking her, cloying, digging into her pores and ears, her mouth and nose. And then, like a sneeze, it retreats.

"This one speaks falsehoods. Never have we found a pony so devoid of joy as this one."

She shivers, pants, gathers herself up from the ground, and turns toward it once again.

"I t-told you, you have one ch-chance." No longer is she shouting. "T-take it or leave it."

"This one can assist us."

She snorts. "That's a laugh. And so's this: hah!"

"If this one defies us, we shall extinguish it."

The mist reforms, but instead of insects, it is obsidian, smooth and hard. A bolt of it blasts against her, knocks the wind from her and sends her hurtling into the air. The landing forces the air back into her lungs and she coughs.

"This one cannot stop us."

Another blast sends her skidding across the pavement. It digs into the skin on her back and she cries out. Tears fill her eyes. She doesn't have a plan. Twilight would have had a plan. She gasps soundlessly.

"This one should not struggle. The end will be swift."

The voice booms in her ears as she pushes herself, leg by leg, to her hooves, only to be knocked off them again and again. She collides with buildings, with food carts, those black bolts like teeth nipping at her coat. She wheezes, blood warming her outsides even as it cools her insides.

She turns over and can see eyes watching her from the high windows. The ponies of Big Rock, fearful, counting on her to save them. Nopony else can. This...

This is her purpose.

The effort of standing again is enough to make her collapse. She rises once more, blows the mane out of her face, and glares up at The Sadness. Her voice is like the buzzing of insect wings.

"Was that supposed to tickle?"

"This one yet persists? Foolish."

She takes a step forward. "Because if you tickle me, I might laugh."

Another step. One of the black bolts slams into the ground in front of her, kicks up a plume of concrete dust.

"And if I laugh, I might get happy."

More bolts swarm toward her. She grits her teeth, closes her eyes, and lets them wash over her. She pictures Officer Green Jeans, sitting alone in the café; Maud, lying unconscious as the carriage speeds away; Sister Henroost, her faith dried up, receding into the darkness of the orphanage. When the assault ends, she opens her eyes.

"You wouldn't like me when I'm happy."

This is a prayer to the thing inside of me: do good, for once in your life.

"Ha."

Her coat regains its original bright pink.

"What?"

"Ha!"

Her mane puffs into a tangle of pink curls.

"What is this one doing?"

"HA!"

She looses a roar that shatters windows at street level. Obsidian shards hail around her, but from the smoke springs a new form.

Hooves like granite blocks. A ball of muscle and sinew. It crashes through The Sadness, leaving a hole three times the size of a normal pony. Teeth the size of books leer out of an elongated muzzle. The Sadness roars in pain.

The thing that was Pinkie Pie rushes forward and wraps her hooves around the massive ankle. The muscles tighten and lift The Sadness into the air.

"DANCE!"

Pinkie pulls, hard. The Sadness slams into the street. The foot dissolves into mist-shards that rocket against her, but she does not notice them.

"This one tastes of happiness. How has so much happiness come from nothing?"

She runs up its length, hooves leaving dents in the translucent flesh. Her forelegs wrap around a massive antler and she plants her rear hooves in the back of its head, pulling.

"PARTY HAT!"

The Sadness shakes its head, but cannot dislodge her. It keens in impotent rage and strikes her with more black energy, but this only strengthens her. With a crack, one of the antlers comes loose, and she tosses it away. A fist reaches up and knocks her free at last.

She catches herself and watches The Sadness stand.

"Cease this at once. We cannot be stopped!"

Pinkie grins that destructive grin once again.

"PINKIE... PARTY!"

She surges between the legs, taking swipes at either one. The Sadness stumbles, but does not fall. When she stops, it is in front of a cannon the size of a tree that had not been there before.

She fires it. Confetti, streamers, party favors and confections rain into the pliant skin of The Sadness, only to be absorbed. The hole in its side closes; its antler regrows.

"This one cannot defeat us with joy!"

The cannon fires again and again, creating more and more material, flouting all laws of reality. Each time, the matter is absorbed into The Sadness. With each barrage, it grows larger. The larger it grows, the more translucent grows its skin. Purple swirls behind the black and blue.

"No! No, this is too much happiness! Stop, stop!"

Pinkie lifts the entire cannon, whips it into the monster. It bursts into multicolored shards. She hurls herself at it, produces a mammoth pie from nowhere and slams it into the head where a face might have been. The Sadness recoils, claws at its skin, its cries filling the air over Big Rock.

"We cannot... Bow... This one... B-bow, bow..."

She wraps her hooves around its neck, squeezes it like a jelly donut.

"Bow, bow... Nothing can s—"

The skin splits, bursts like a water balloon. An ocean of purple muck spills out over a city block, chanting "bow, bow, bow" in an oily voice. Eyes and mouths open and shut without purpose, without understanding.

The pink lips split, the wild blue eyes fill with manic hunger.

"DESSERT!"

---

Pinkie awakens from the most epic sugar coma ever experienced in the history of Equestria to a chorus of flashbulbs and questions. Maud is standing over her, and she smiles.

"Did... Did I do good?"

Maud embraces her before she's loaded into an ambulance.

"You did great, Pinkie."

There are questions to be answered. That's nothing she hasn't handled before, but somehow they're easier to deal with now. She smiles at the inquiries, laughs through the press conferences, and tells them all she's just a real party animal. Yes, the damages to the orphanage were paid for. No, they don't have to worry about it happening again, not when she's got a tummy full of Smooze.

Like all whirlwinds, the media circus eventually dies down. Her friends break from their busy lives to visit, and she remembers what tears of happiness taste like. But duties call; the reunion is painfully brief. It lives in her memory as a wash of colors surging out of her life just as quickly as they surged into it.

She stares at the flat basalt ceiling of her bedroom and chews her lip. The grey herringbone coverlet has been replaced with a quilt one of her younger sisters sent. It's comfortable, but she can't sleep.

She can smile again, and she doesn't want to stop.

But the renewed purpose in her life brings with it a feeling that makes her tummy extra Smoozey. The accident that unleashed her inner party animal — party monster, more like — had been just that, an accident. It wasn't Twilight's fault, and it wasn't hers. Given different circumstances, it might not have happened at all.

And if it hadn't happened, and if The Sadness had come to Big Rock, or Fillydelphia, or even Ponyville, what would she have done? Could they have stopped it with rainbows and friendship? Or was it a certain collusion of elements, of characteristics quintessential to her being and hers alone, amplified by the magical radiation, that had allowed her to save everypony? Could it be called luck? Fate? Was the Sister on to something?

Or was it merely the aimless machinations of coincidence and happenstance?

It's both frightening and exciting, and she doesn't know which is worse. She rubs her forehead through thick magenta curls.

"Those were some big words I just thought." She giggles. "Time to stop thinking, now!"

She reaches over to her night stand, puts her hoof on the pull chain to her lamp. Her eyes trace across the Get Well Soon cards, the Thank You flowers and balloons left for her by her friends, her family, and the citizens of Big Rock. Past them, the walls of the room are flat and grey.

"I think I'll have Maud schedule some decorating time this week. And invite those Diamond Dogs back."

She turns out the light.

---

(Author's note: Capsaicin makes horses' skin extra sensitive, and dulls their pain receptors.)