Pinkie Pie led the way.

Twilight was pulled along like a little rowboat caught up in her wake, victim to each twist and turn down secretive alleys, scraping the edges of dark waves that were never found in the [i]proper[/i] parts of Canterlot.

“Hey, do you know where we’re going?” Twilight called out, panting as she rushed forward to keep pace, pushing past a plume of smoke being coughed out from a metal pipe that had sprung a leak.

“Twilight?” Pinkie called back.

“Yeah!” Twilight confirmed her existence.

“We’re friends, right?” Pinkie trotted along.

Twilight slowed.

She sighed.

Pinkie, too, came to a halt, swivelling around to face her friend.

She tilted her head.

“Yes, Pinkie,” Twilight said with a note of exasperation. “Yes. Yes. Yes again.”

“Then trust me.” Pinkie smiled, in a specific sort of manner. It was a smile neither too eager nor too subtle – it was controlled grin whose gist Twilight took immediate note of.

Twilight grunted, casting her eyes to a dead rat that lay along the wall. Her brow fell weakly.

“Right. Right. Sorry,” Twilight muttered. “Just that, you’ve been asking that a lot recently. And I don’t know [i]why[/i]. Have I done something to you or something?”

“No!” Pinkie gasped, her eyes widening. “No. Of course not! I didn’t ask you to come along today because I don’t trust you, did I?”

“Then why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” Twilight frowned.

“Because there’s [i]nothing[/i] wrong!” Pinkie continued to smile, shifting her weight to another hoof. “Look, you know that planning a surprise party usually takes it out of me! I just want to make sure everything’s just perfect!”

“I said to stop calling it that,” Twilight pursed her lips.

“But it [i]is[/i] a surprise!”

“Yeah but it’s [i]my[/i] party, isn’t it? And I [i]know[/i] about it, don’t I? And I’m the [i]only[/i] one you told, aren’t I!”

“Yeah but… it’s a surprise for everyone [i]else[/i].” Pinkie blinked.

Twilight’s sigh was glacial.

“Look,” she said, as soon as her hoof left her face, “can we just get this over with? This place seems really shady. I don’t know where you heard of this so-called ‘bakery’ from, but Princess Celestia warned me about this part of Canterlot, and I think that dead rat just moved.”

“I read about it in a book!” Pinkie nodded.

“A book.”

“Yep! Reeeeemember when I borrowed your library last week?” Pinkie grinned.

“Ah. Well. I guess if you found it in a [i]book[/i], it’s probably legitimate… right?” Twilight rubbed the back of her head.

“Yep! So don’t you worry about it! Besides, I can count on the big bad princess to save me if anything happens, right?”

Pinkie’s eyes shut in honest joviality. She let out a slight chuckle — a tinkling of bells that coursed through the narrow, lonely alleyway. She was always good with her expressions. She always had the perfect one for every situation.

Twilight couldn’t help but smile in return, if only just a little.

“Sure, Pinkie. Alright. I’m here for you. Because we’re friends.”

“That’s right. We are…” Pinkie nodded, turning back to face the path. “Right! It should be around the corner just here, and–”

The corner was rounded, and the two came across more of the same winding courseways they had just traversed over the past ten minutes. They were valleys that were watched over by the backs of establishments and homes whose windows never opened, whose faces were marred by twisting cracks and burning pipelines.

The area was in the less-frequented industrial sector of Canterlot, the place that the well-to-dos kept away from because no one needed to know how things worked, really, as long as the fancy food kept appearing on glistening plates and the latest fashions always appeared in the shops with the big golden doors.

Twilight herself peered up and down the blackened, soot-covered cobblestones, almost as if gauging them for what they [i]truly[/i] were, almost as if this were one of her adventures from her youth where she travelled to caves and swamps and far-off places.

This was foreign.

Pinkie bounced along, unaffected by all of it, her cheerfulness always masking furtive thoughts.

And there it was:

A mere doorway, that sunk itself into the wall slipshod and rough-had, tilted at an angle that wasn’t entirely crooked but not exactly straight. It felt as if the door was built only after the wall had already gone up — bricks were coarsely broken around the edges where the wooden frame was hammered in, and the planked door itself seemed to bulge and warp in its rectangular cage.

There was no sign. There were no numbers indicating address. There was merely a door.

“This is it!” Pinkie yelped. “It’s gotta be!”

“Uh…” Twilight murmured.

“Look,” Pinkie ran her hoof across the frame, cooing her impression. “No knob. No sign. The only indication of travel being the scratches along the sides, just as the book said!”

“What… what book was this, again?”

“Legerdemain’s Prestidigitation.” The bubbly pink pony gave her reply, staring with an odd focus at the cracks in the wood, peering at the grain.

“Legerde– wait. That’s… that’s a… I’m sure I’ve heard that name before,” Twilight mumbled.

“Yeah, it’s not [i]really[/i] a bakery,” Pinkie said, knocking on one of the planks.

“Wait, what?”

“Yes, but they have what I need and what I want, so don’t worry about it!” Two more knocks, a different plank this  time.

“Pinkie, this might be dangerous,” Twilight stated, as she looked cautiously up and down the alleyway. “Listen, I think it might be best if we–”

“Nah, it’s safe! I’m sure of it! Don’t worry!” Pinkie knocked once, again, upon the wood. “But I really needed you here to wait for me, because only one may enter at any one time, okay?”

“W-what?” Twilight stuttered.

“See you in ten minutes, okie?” Pinkie giggled. “Really, I’m sure it’s safe. Just promise to wait for me [i]before[/i] you tear the city apart looking for me, alright?”

“Pinkie!”

“Look, I [i]really[/i] need to do this, alright?” Pinkie told Twilight.

With one final tap on the door, everything went away.

The alley melted into a sludge of damp and turgid colours, and the frantic, shocked yell of Twilight Sparkle, who just [i]had[/i] to make such a fuss about it, garbled into a muffled hum that mixed in with the roar of nothingness until only a void remained.

And then there was a pop.

A bubble burst, far in the gloom.

Pinkie opened her eyes.

And the darkness disappeared.

Pinkie peered over her shoulder, mouth and eyes as round as round could be, noting the lack of a way out of the shop that she now stood in. By all appearances, she might have accidentally stumbled into this place on a dreary Sunday afternoon. It gave off the air of a shop of curious antiquities, with brass baubles lining the rickety shelves that went from floor to ceiling, and the random bits of cloth that blocked the few lamps that bothered to try giving the place a bit of class.

The floor was nicely carpeted in red, and there were a few glass display cases as well, showing odd knick knacks and bric-a-brac from countries far and timelines wide.

Pinkie couldn’t help but break out into one of her patented smiles, the one that showed absolute wonder and a child-like fascination at the world, which never ceased to amuse her.

The bubbling came from an untended cauldron that spat out a green aura and a furious, yet odorless, smoke.

The pony gaited up to it, peering down within, whereupon a hot steam rose up and hit her in the face, through which she saw a thick, emerald brew, black chunks caught up in its clotted bog.

“Cream of mushroom,” came a voice from behind.

“Oh!” Pinkie twirled around. “Oh, but why’s it all green then?”

Standing in front of her was a gentleman, a scholar, a finely-topped stallion in finery galore, from his purple felt suit to his under-sized bowler hat that sat upon his head like a black egg. He wore not one but two monocles, one for each eye, and didn’t seem to give the impression that he quite understood what the point of fashion was, but at least he was trying his best.

The stallion sniffed at Pinkie’s inquisition, wrinkling his nose. His brow scrunched up slightly, and he looked slightly perturbed to be asked such a question.

“Hi!” Pinkie waved.

“Oh, yes, hello,” replied the stallion, shaking his head out of his confusion. “Are you a customer?”

“Is this [i]Trade[/i]?” Pinkie asked, stepping forward with eager earnestness.

“Ah, yes. Indeed, Indeed. Hello. This is the shop, and I am the… shopkeeper.” The Shopkeeper nodded.

“Hi! I’m Pinkie!” Pinkie held out a hoof.

“And… I’m the shopkeeper,” The Shopkeeper replied, unmoving.

“Oh! Hello!” Pinkie rescinded her gesture.

“Yes, you’ve… said that. Three times.” The Shopkeeper said tapping the side of his head. “Quite… quite unusual.”

“Well, ah… I mean…” Pinkie muttered.

“Ah, well. No worries,” The Shopkeeper stammered. “Is… that right? Yes. Yes. Now, you’re here, I assume, because you wish to make a trade, yes?”

“Yeppers!” Pinkie said. “And I think, I think… this might be the only place that can help me!”

“Yes, most of our customers do… somewhat think along those lines, of course, as it were,” The Shopkeeper said again, moving to his soup to peer in.

Pinkie watched him as he moved, watched each of his perfectly silent, yet uneven, steps. There was something quite [i]unwell[/i] about the stallion, like as if this was the first day he had ever been a person, that he was still breaking it in.

She remained mute. It was the only response she had in the face of someone that not even [i]she[/i] could quite puzzle out.

“Um… yes. Quite.” The Shopkeeper continued, replying to nothing. “Alright. I’ll have to go through the rules, then. As a matter of discourse. Somewhat part of the regulations, yes? But we can’t… we can’t [i]have[/i] people just come up here and not really know what the deal is. In that way lies danger. Mmmph. Yes.”

The Shopkeeper pulled back from his brew, and swept to his little pulpit, a little wooden stand-y thing from which he retrieved some papers. “Right, right then. Indeed. You are aware of the manner of trade we conduct here?”

“Yeah!” Pinkie said, as her eyes wandered to a jar in the corner. There was something vaguely animal-shaped inside. It wasn’t wriggling, and it wasn’t clear if that was good or bad at this point. “Knowledge for knowledge. I’ll be able to get what I want here, or so the story goes.”

“Yes,” The Shopkeeper said swiftly. “You will, of course, state your request in the official forms, and one piece of knowledge will be traded for another. This includes all [i]auxillary[/i] knowledges and [i]sub-knowledges[/i] accordingly. The knowledge will be given freely of your own volition, and there are no refunds.”

“What’s that mean?” Pinkie asked, hoof to bottom lip. “All that… auxwilliardy stuff.”

“Ah, yes. Simply put, if you trade your knowledge of what apples look like, for example, then you shall also lose the remembrance of the taste of them. You will also lose knowledge on apple juice, apple trees and granny’s delicious apple pie. It’s quite complicated how all of it works, really, but think of it like a tree, since we’re… talking about… apples.” The Shopkeeper rambled on, looking at the papers on his stand. “We will be able to remove a branch, but if you ask us to remove the trunk, then everything else above it has to go as well.”

“So… so if I [i]just[/i] wanted to trade my knowledge on how to make apple pie, then, would I still know how to make apple muffins?”

“Yes.”

“Apple fritters?”

“Yes.”

“How about Apple crumble yogurt delight?”

“Yes. Look, it’s parallel knowledge, right? So it’s–”

“Apple surprise parfait?”

“Stop.”

“App–”

“Please stop. Please. You’re upsetting the paperwork,” The Shopkeeper said, looking up.

Pinkie smiled back.

“Ah, I see.” The Shopkeeper hummed. “That was a joke. I assume you use humour to break tension, don’t you. One of [i]those[/i].”

“Uh huh!” Pinkie nodded.

“Right. You know,” The Shopkeeper adjusted his right monocle, a serious look on his face, “odd senses of humour are in quite high demand here. Perhaps you would be willing to pay with yours.”

“Ah… I don’t think so,” Pinkie said. “But I have loads of other really good things I can offer!”

“Hopefully none that involve the baking of apple-related snack products, I should think. Well.”

“I mean…” Pinkie started, shrugging.

“No. Listen. Look. You see, this is why I [i]dislike[/i] making extended metaphors! It’s so very me– Look! Listen.” The Shopkeeper cocked his head to the left and then to the right in quick succession, his lips thinly pursed. “Right. What is it that you are looking for?”

“Alright, if I might get a bit serious, maybe?” Pinkie asked.

“Please.”

“Well… you see. I sorta… kinda… maybe have a thing for this other pony, right?”

“Right.” The Shopkeeper licked his lips. “I get the gist. Who is this pony?”

“Uh… Princess Twilight?” Pinkie scuffed her hooves on the carpet.

“Right. Thank you. Please come again,” The Shopkeeper said, holding up a hoof to wave her away without actually waving.

“No, wait!”

“Now, listen. If you had any idea how many ponies come through these doors with their [i]oh, I’m in love with Celestia[/i] and [i]oh, I want to put my things into Luna[/i] and all that utter nonsense, you’d– Please!” The Shopkeeper prattled out flabbergastedly as his arm gyrated through the air. “We deal with knowledge, not miracle shortcuts! And we have strict policies!”

“No but, I’m her friend, you see! Close friend!”

“Yes, and I’m Princess Cadance’s left buttock,” The Shopkeeper huffed. “We can’t do anything for–”

“Look, she’s outside, you can ask her yourself,” Pinkie interrupted, chucking her hoof at the wall where the door was supposed to be.

“I– excuse us? I beg your what?”

“She’s… I mean, I brought her with me, just in case. And… I mean, I’d prefer if you didn’t tell her that I’m in love with her, because she doesn’t really…” Pinkie let her words trail off into wisps of air that floated around in her lungs.

“What?”

“Yeah,” she finally said, as the last vestments of her smile left her face. “You can check, though, if you’d like.”

“She’s… out there? Right now?” The Shopkeeper asked again.

“Yes.”

“Right. Uh…”

Walking to the opposite end of the shop, The Shopkeeper threw open a rickety old window that didn’t seem to be there before. It was one of those old paned types, the kind that muddied up something bad and functioned better as shade than anything else. He peered down through it, looking far below, which was strange given how they were already on the ground floor to begin with.

“Um…” Pinkie said.

“Cor, that’s really her, isn’t it,” The Shopkeeper said.

“Yeah!” Pinkie reaffirmed.

“[i]Oi, Princess![/i]” The Shopkeeper yelled down through the window. “[i]Cooee! Oi! Quit runnin’ about, there![/i]”

The Shopkeeper turned back.

“Bit of a panicky one, isn’t she?”

“Ah yeah, she’s… we’re good friends,” Pinkie explained. “She thinks I’m in trouble or something.”

“Ah, right. She’s [i]that[/i] kind of person.”

The Shopkeeper stuck his head out of the window once more.

“[i]Right, love! Your friend’s s– yes! Pinkie Pie![/i]”

Muffled sounds came floating through.

“[i]No! She’s fine! Won’t take a bit! Worry not! She asked me to tell you everything’s– No! Only one visitor at a time! … Because regulations! Listen, I’m not the owner of this place, alright? Are you trying to get me fired here, Princess?[/i]”

The Shopkeeper turned.

“What were you here for again?” He motioned to the window.

“Oh! Uh… to get a recipe for a cake.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes?”

The Shopkeeper shook his head and returned to Twilight.

“[i]Right, we got tons of cake recipes! … Yes! Tons! Many of them even with apples in! I hope you like apples! Pinkie sure likes apples! … What do you mean she’s not Applejack? Listen! I have to get back to work! She’ll be down soon, okay? Goodbye![/i]”

The Shopkeeper slammed the window shut.

He spun around and tilted his head.

“Right.”

“So do you believe me now?” Pinkie asked.

“Right.”

“But I mean, I’m quite surprised you didn’t believe me. I mean…”

“What, am I supposed to know all of Princess Twilight’s personal friends?”

“But I’m [i]Pinkie[/i]. I mean, I don’t mean to be a big old big-head, but… you know. Elements of Harmony?”

“Alright, listen,” The Shopkeeper frowned. “There’s [i]six[/i] of you, right? And I can barely remember the one, right? So let’s just move past this and get this sorted, what do you say?”

“I’d love to!”

“Amazing. So. She.” The stallion jerked his hoof toward the window. “You fancy her, eh?”

“Yeah. I guess,” Pinkie sighed.

“Right. Well, you got options, that’s for sure. Lots of things you [i]can[/i] do and plenty more that you can’t. But first of all, what are you looking for, really?”

“Well, I mean,” Pinkie said, eyes travelling again to the walls. “It’d be nice if she liked me too, right?”

“And you know that can’t be done.”

“Yeah, of course. So, honestly, I’m kinda stuck. I was hoping maybe... “

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could suggest something?”

“I’m not really allowed to, I’m afraid. And I probably wouldn’t be your best bet for that either.” The Shopkeeper shrugged.

The glimmer in Pinkie’s eyes died down.

“Yeah, I figured,” she whispered. “Guess it was a long shot, right?”

“Now, listen. Solving things… there are many ways to solve things, really. I’d remind you that what we deal with here is knowledge. We can let you know things you’ve never known before. Things that can help you on the path. But there’s never really any shortcut to where you’re going. But knowledge,” The Shopkeeper said, “is the most powerful thing on this planet. Perhaps even the slightest help can aid you.”

“Well, but I don’t even really know where to start. I mean, there’s an awful lot to think about.”

“Well, pardon me for asking the obvious here, but have you perhaps attempted to address the situation with her directly?”

“No. She doesn’t know. And she can’t. I mean, I’ve hinted to her, and she’s pretty dumb sometimes, so she never really caught on. But… she doesn’t like me back in that way for sure, and bringing it up would just be bad. The last thing we have left is our friendship. And I can’t… I can’t lose that.”

Pinkie dropped to a low moment of thought, to a place where she let the noises in her head take over for a while. Like a buzz, she moved from shelf to shelf slowly, looking at random items — a crystal snowglobe here, a wind-up toy there, a necklace made of seashells and dusk-rock over in the corner — hoping for a word or two to emerge.

A minute passed.

“Hey,” Pinkie said, as she stared at a little dollhouse. Meek and mum was the sound of her voice, lacking any semblance of a jolly overtone.

“Yes?” The Shopkeeper responded, as was his duty.

“What’s all this stuff for?” Pinkie asked. If you deal with knowledge, why’s this shop full of… stuff?”

“A good question. Rather annoyingly perceptive one, perhaps, but good, for what it is.” The Shopkeeper walked over. “They are candles. Bright flickering lights in the darkness. They are for you to see off in the distance such that they might find you an answer to the questions you [i]aren’t[/i] asking. Or perhaps they will lead to those questions from the start. They are Foci.”

“How do I use them?”

“You don’t. They use you. Or at least, one will. Maybe two, maybe three. Depends on the customer, really, doesn’t it? There’s always something for everyone, here. Depends on how much you’re willing to [i]dig in[/i].”

“Huh,” Pinkie muttered, eyes falling on the dollhouse again. “It’s pretty.”

“Yes, rather much.”

“So I have to keep searching to find one that will… work on me?” Pinkie glanced around the shop, which now seemed larger than she gave it credit for.

“Oh, no. No, no. Never. You’ll never find yours just by [i]looking[/i]. I’ll have to take your case, won’t I?”

“I don’t get it,” Pinkie said softly.

“Right, time to actually do some work, then.”

“Pardon?”

“Here. Perhaps you could start with this.”

From the corner of her eye, a soft blanket, checkered in white and red, was passed along into her sight. It flew in almost as gracefully as a leaf carried on the winds, and even harder was it to snatch out of the air due to a hoof that was no longer stable nor steady.

The Shopkeeper only let go once he was sure that Pinkie had a tight hold upon it.

Pinkie stared, a laugh of disbelief almost threatening to realise itself in the pit of her throat. But something in there kept it at bay, a lump that swelled up and remained there until she closed her gaping mouth to swallow it away.

She [i]could[/i] have asked the questions that any other would ask, but there were no answers she thought she would receive. There was no answering [i]why[/i] the blanket was there, nor [i]how[/i] it had come into the shop’s possession. It simply was, and that seemed to be the point.

Pinkie wanted to let go, let it fall to the ground, but she found herself unable.

“Talk,” a voice said.

Pinkie blinked, the lines between the red and white blocks of the blanket blurring.

“Talk!”

Pinkie breathed out, her eyes flicking unsteadily to the side. “W-what?”

“Talk,” The Shopkeeper demanded, holding out a hoof to tap the blanket. “Talk about it.”

“T-this?” Pinkie gasped.

“Yes. Tell us about it,” The Shopkeeper asked once more.

Pinkie deflated. There were no words she could muster. She merely looked upon the blanket as her shoulders slumped further and further down.

“How long ago was it? Come on, lass!”

Pinkie opened her mouth, eyes dry from the lack of blinking.

“[i]How long[/i]?”

“Two years, okay? Two years!” Pinkie blurted out, her hoof shaking. She squeezed her eyes together, finally moistening them a bit too fervently. “This was the day. The exact day. It was a picnic. This was the blanket. It looks exactly the same!”

“It’s rather similar,” The Shopkeeper said. “What about it, though?”

“What do you mean, what about it?” Pinkie yelled, agitated, as she flung the blanket to the ground, finally allowing it to escape her grasp. “You conjured this up! You already know, don’t you?”

“Mmm,” The Shopkeeper hummed, watching the blanket crumple. “Yes, somewhat. But the question is, do [i]you[/i] know what it is?”

Pinkie stared, pure indignation writ upon her face. “Yes. Yes, I do. This was… [i]the[/i] most important event in this whole thing!”

“It was the start.”

“It was the start!”

“The clouds were white, that day, weren’t they?”

“No. They were grey.”

“Are you certain?” The Shopkeeper raised an eyebrow.

“Yes! That’s the whole point, wasn’t it? The rain! The barn? Twilight ran out to get it back for me because she didn’t want it to get grass-stains. And this…” Pinkie kicked at the fraudulent blanket, “this… it led to things.”

“And you didn’t like her response,” The Shopkeeper shrugged.

“No. I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s the [i]same response she’s been giving me for the past two years[/i]!” Pinkie yelled.

If there was any expression The Shopkeeper could have given as a response, he kept it to himself.

Pinkie seethed, breathing heavily, staring downward at the memory.

Her chest heaved, thumping, heartbeat loud enough to hear.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?” The Shopkeeper asked.

“Sorry. I got angry.”

“Well, it’s fine, isn’t it? To be angry at the things that make us angry.”

“I… I guess so.”

“But I don’t suppose it’s always that bad, is it?” The Shopkeeper asked, turning around to the shelf along the wall behind them. “For example, some things are a bit more pleasant.”

The stallion swept two scraps of paper off a dusty shelf, holding them up.

“Tickets. To a movie.”

“O-oh yeah,” Pinkie stammered, rushing towards them. “These! I… I decided to go join her with her stupid science geek movie instead of the other one.”

“Right. Good memories. The best,” The Shopkeeper muttered, running his hoof along the clutter. “And here, a bunch of owl feathers. And here, a little stuffed jellyfish doll thing, and…”

The Shopkeeper picked up a rather unsightly blob of a thing. “What is this, even? It looks offensive and I don’t even know what it is.”

“Hey,” Pinkie said. “That’s… that’s a vase.”

“This is [i]not[/i] a vase.”

“Look, I tried, okay? Turns out clay and frosting aren’t exactly the same.”

“Right.” The Shopkeeper said. “Right.”

He placed the vase back onto the shelf cautiously, slowly.

Pinkie looked back towards the blanket.

“But all these are just things, aren’t they?” The Shopkeeper said, still looking at the vase. “All just things that mean nothing to me. They all mean a lot to [i]you[/i], right? But your feelings are your own, and quite frankly, I don’t think I’ll ever really be able to truly grasp that in the odd number of minutes you have left before Twilight out there explodes from anxiety.”

Pinkie looked down, shuffling.

“Dealing with your emotions is your job, really, not mine. All I’m here to do is to perhaps show you what you already know.”

“And what’s that?” Pinkie said weakly.

“Well, it just comes as an observation to me that most of your happy memories have to do with making some sort of sacrifice for your friend Twilight. You gave up some sort of thing, really. Time, maybe. Effort. Objects. Things. Whatever.”

“Well, yeah,” Pinkie cut in. “I want her to be happy, don’t I?”

“Okay, miss obvious! Didn’t have to say it, did you? Really!”

Pinkie clamped her mouth shut.

“Now, what’s more interesting, though, is that your one most angry memory is the one where Twilight made a sacrifice for you, innit?”

There was no reply. Merely thoughts.

“Why do you think that is? Eh?” The Shopkeeper said.

“I don’t know,” Pinkie replied.

“Oh, come on. You said it earlier!” The Shopkeeper rolled his eyes.

“Because…”

“Because it’s not the response you want, is it?”

“No.” Pinkie said. “No, it isn’t.”

“And that’s as far as I go, I’m afraid. You already have everything you need. And I will be back [i]there[/i], with the paperwork because there’s always so bloody much of it.”

“Wait, that’s it?” Pinkie asked.

“Yes, that’s it,” The stallion said as he trotted away.

Pinkie watched as the odd stallion left, leaving her alone with the things on the wall.

There was a numbing emotionlessness that enveloped her mind.

There were the things of her past up for display, as if this shop were a museum of her life. And surely, this was some sort of terribly powerful and invasive magic at work, but it was also the odd sort of clarity she needed.

It was strange, seeing memories as objects. It felt almost as if she could put them all on a scale along with the blanket to see which one weighed more.

“I broke a cake spinner for this,” Pinkie said aloud, as she reached up and nudged the vase slightly. It rocked on its uneven base, just as the real one did. This was a mere facsimile, but what it represented was more than enough.

Pinkie laughed, once.

“Yeah. I figured it’d be the same, right? Turns out pottery wheels are that heavy for a reason. But she really wanted me to try my hoof at it, and I didn’t want to let her down.”

The sound of writing came floating in, as a quill scratched gently against parchment from the pulpit where The Shopkeeper now stood.

“Well, she liked it, though,” Pinkie said. “I guess that’s what matters in the end, right?”

Pinkie laughed again as she spotted something else lying there, and she swept over and grabbed it off, cradling it in her hooves like a baby chick.

“Oh, hey! It’s the speckled egg!” Pinkie said excitedly, looking up toward The Shopkeeper. “I ran this over because Twilight needed it for an experiment, and I tripped when she opened her door and…”

Pinkie’s smile dropped.

The Shopkeeper looked up over the rim of his monocles, staring at Pinkie while he furiously scribbled away on some sheets of paper.

“Yeah,” Pinkie mumbled.

The Shopkeeper looked back down.

“I just don’t… I don’t want to lose all this,” Pinkie said, as she placed the egg gently back upon the shelf. “That’s why I never really… told Twilight or anything, right? Because all this… this is at stake here. This is at risk. No more new things. No more new memories. Just… you know.”

Pinkie turned around, walking to the blanket where she had dropped it on the floor.

“And… I guess I came here hoping I could get something… Maybe learn a way to be able to make her love me back. But that wouldn’t be fair, would it? I couldn’t force her to do anything she doesn’t already want to do herself.”

“The one who visits the shop is the one who changes,” The Shopkeeper said, dryly. “You have to find something to take out with you to [i]effect[/i] that change.”

Pinkie sighed.

“You know…” she began.

“Listen, we’re a bit busy here, so…” The Shopkeeper said.

“I guess you’re right. Coming here, I always sorta knew. I always knew what I needed to do.”

“Right, thanks for wasting our time, then,” came the reply.

“It’s not easy, though. Not easy to face it at all.” Pinkie ignored him.

“Never is!”

Bubbles filled the air as the soup in the cauldron simmered away. Papers shuffled as ink marked pages.

Pinkie stared at the wall.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Probably. Yes. If it’s smart enough.”

“What [i]is[/i]  this place, really?”

The Shopkeeper placed his quill down, reaching up with both front hooves to adjust the monocles on his face. A sudden seriousness crept into his voice as he steadied himself for a moment before he began to speak. “Right. Smart enough, then. Listen, right? There are places and things in this world of magic. Magic of a nature that when you start to question it, it stops making sense. Just think of us merely as the lights in the darkness. And that’s all we’ll ever be.”

“The final choice is mine, then.”

“Always has been.”

“But how do I know it’s the [i]right[/i] choice?”

“And we’re back to the stupid questions, I see.”

Pinkie squared her jaw.

“It’s a valid question,” she complained. “One that helps me delay the end.”

“Listen, alright? Door’s right…” The Shopkeeper pointed at the blank wall. “I mean, listen, right? You can walk away. Loads of customers do. But you seem to have already made up your mind.”

“But why does it have to be this way?” Pinkie said, shaking her head slightly, the words barely leaving her throat.

“You already wrote this ending for yourself. We’re just here to help you make it happen.”

“I’m scared! Okay?” Pinkie yelled, the edges of her eyes glistening. “I’m scared and I don’t know if I’m going to lose!”

“But what is [i]she[/i] going to gain?” The Shopkeeper asked.

Pinkie shut her mouth, swallowing again to kill the dryness.

“It’s your sacrifice to bear,” The Shopkeeper shrugged. “Now, we can stand around here faffing about for the next few hours, but, and let me be frank, I really don’t want to because, as you said, you’re just scared. But you already know what to do. The choice is in your head. I can’t tell you what it is or what you should do, but I can tell you that you should have the conviction to do what you feel is right.”

Pinkie nodded, rubbing at her eyes.

“It’s not that hard.” The Shopkeeper said. “General rule: preserve the good, discard the bad. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Of course.” Pinkie looked left at the good memories, the ones she wanted to preserve, and then to the bad, the weighted feelings she needed to deal with.

“Then can we get on with it? I got the forms done for you.” The Shopkeeper held up two copies of scrolls 6-b2af and 6-b2af(b).

Pinkie swallowed. “It’s gonna be hard.”

“Yeah, mountains and difficult paths and all that and beautiful peaks. Go on, lass.”

“I [i]have[/i] to do this.”

“Right,” The Shopkeeper said, shaking the forms about. “So, what knowledge are you going to take with you?”

“I’m taking nothing,” Pinkie replied.

[hr]

Twilight launched herself off the wall at the sound of magic happening, as the door twisted and turned and opened with the sickening crunch of wood breaking and repairing itself at the same time.

And suddenly, Pinkie was there.

Standing there.

Bouncing, now.

Smiling and giggling.

“Pinkie!” Twilight yelled out. “That was [i]more[/i] than ten minutes! I was about to go get Princess Celestia!”

“Hey!” Pinkie yelled, bubbling over. “Hey, Twi! Hey!”

“Uh… hey? Pinkie, did everything go okay in there?”

Pinkie stopped when she looked straight on at Twilight’s face. And suddenly, the edges of her mouth turned up into a wide, open smile, one that Twilight hadn’t seen for a long time. It was a smile free from agenda. It was a smile that existed just because Pinkie was happy to see her, and nothing more.

“Yeah! Everything went peachy-fantastic, Twiglet!” Pinkie laughed. “It went super super good!”

“Yeah,” Twilight raised her eyebrow. “You… got what you wanted?”

“I got [i]exactly[/i] what I wanted, Twilight! A beautiful new recipe for your super-secret birthday! It’s your [i]favouritest[/i] cake ever! And I’m gonna bake it so good you won’t even know!”

“Hope it wasn’t too expensive,” Twilight commented.

“It cost me nothing at all,” Pinkie giggled.

“Er… alright.” Twilight shook her head. “I was… well. Glad things got sorted out. And you sure sound a lot more chipper! You wanna get out of here already? That dead rat I saw earlier has friends.”

“Absolutely-loo, Twilight! Let’s go! And thanks super much for waiting for me. I know it was kinda mean of me, but you’re the best, Twi!”

“Yeah, no problem,” Twilight scratched her horn. “I mean, we’re friends, right?”

“That’s right! We’re super best buds! Always and forever, Twilight!” Pinkie laughed, as he bounded down the street with all that renewed energy.

Twilight blinked.

She looked back, glancing at the entryway, for a moment, staring at the door that bore no sign nor knob.

She frowned.

But with a shake of her head, she turned away, and like a little rowboat caught up in Pinkie’s wake, was carried out of the alleys and back into the sun.