In a suburban garage, air vibrating with anticipation and a blaring techno rendition of "Winter Wrap-Up", a roomful of fretful eyes stared at the clock. "Fifty-nine... fifty-eight... fifty-seven..." went the people's trembling whisper as they tracked the agonizingly slow seconds hand. Drinks sloshed quietly as wineglasses quaked in sweat-slick hands. A middle-aged woman at the table scribbled furiously in her notebook, hurriedly trying to figure out the right body shape for her coming pony-sona. There was a collective gasp as the seconds hand reached the top. Having been set up carefully to end right at this second, the techno beat cut out. Midnight. October 10, 2020 was over. And yet they all were still there--bipedal and hoofless. A few people opened the garage door and looked out hopefully into the night, but the surroundings still did not resemble paradisial Equestria in the slightest. "Anything online?" someone asked. A few smartphone screens went aglow, but furious scrolling of Twitter timelines revealed nothing unusual happening around the world. The tenth anniversary of the MLP:FiM premiere came and went, and yet the Raponyture had not arrived to claim Celestia's Foals. A few spasmatic breaths were audible in the great silence. A couple of the Foals, more worried than most, thought about the friends and family members they had alienated in preparation for this day. In the corner, a trio were quietly expressing their sorrow in the best way they knew how: a whispered rendition of "What My Cutie Mark is Telling Me." The Foals looked worriedly at their guru -- a portly, bespectacled man with a shirt adorned by a Rainbow Dash. He seemed the most perplexed of all. He blinked a few times, looked out the garage door, then, in deep thought, walked up to the computer and turned on a quiet, calm cover of "So Many Wonders". He turned around and, his arms held out like a preacher's, said: "Guys. I just [i]know[/i] what went wrong. We were thinking in the wrong terms!" The audience, breaths held, hung on his words. "We are waiting for the anniversary, but not this anniversary. May the sixth! Year twenty-eleven! Remember that?" A few members piped up: "The Best Night Ever premiere!" "Exactly," the leader said like a satisfied teacher. "Do you remember these days? The younger of us may not, but I do. The end of Season One. The crushing feeling that it's [i]over[/i], and that we are now facing a lonely, ponyless existence, until Season Two... Yes, do you not see how it makes sense? It was on that day that the longing began, and thus it will be on this same date it will be satisfied!" With ever rising enthusiasm, he continued in the most stentorian tones he could muster: "The beginning of Season One symbolized just that... Its anniversary today is the [i]beginning[/i] of our final stay on Earth... And the Raponyture will take place on the anniversary of the [i]end[/i] of Season One, May the sixth!" There was a silence, and then a raising of arms and a cheerful whoop from the gathered congregation--not all of them, but enough to make one trust it [i]had[/i] to be true if so many people believed it. "On May the sixth," the guru said, with dreamy eyes, "I will be a pegasus. If any of you has designs on Rainbow Dash... well, I suggest you make your move quick." "I will be Princess Luna's most faithful guard," a sickly college student said with conviction. "[i]May the Sixth![/i]," someone shouted. "[i]The Best Night Ever![/i]," a woman exclaimed. "Lose not your tickets, for on May the Sixth we shall rejoice!" They have never felt more solid in their conviction. And so rose the wave, louder and louder, more passionate voices joining with each repetition: "At the Gala... At the Gala... At the Gala, tonight!"