Pinkie slept through her alarm clock that morning. Pinkie always slept through her alarm clock that morning. It was a constant in her existence, a thing immutable. Sunlight roused her instead, a thin ray peeking through her window to tickle her face.

She stared right back, until her eyes watered, and she rolled out of bed with a sigh to go through the motions of her morning routine.

One, two, ten steps to the bathroom, fifteen into the shower, eighteen to the sink when she was finished. She brushed her teeth and wiped the foggy mirror with her bath towel, and stared at her reflection, and her straight-hanging mane.

Pinkie stuck her hoof into her mouth, shut her eyes, and blew until her ears popped. When she opened her eyes, her mane had changed – her head was now bedecked in hair with the look and consistency of cotton candy.

That's more like it.

She tried for a grin to go along with her characteristic 'do – a dopey, happy-go-lucky simper, the kind she was famous for. It didn't fool her by a longshot, but it would suffice to fool the world. Nopony had ever looked closely enough to notice how frayed and harried it really was. And unless something was different this time around, nopony would.

And that was a given. A constant. A thing immutable. Nothing had changed. Nothing would change.

Unless I make it change.

Pinkie left her bathroom and trudged down the stairs. Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five – at twenty-six, as expected, Mrs. Cake came into view, taking a whisk to a big pink mixing bowl. Her cheeks were powdered with a light coating of flour, and she hummed to herself as she worked.

She saw Pinkie, and set the whisk down. "Morning, dear! You ready for the big day?"

"As I'll ever be," said Pinkie automatically, forcing a cheerful lilt into her voice.

"Glad to hear it." Mrs. Cake poured the bowl's batter into a round baking pan, and carried it to the oven. "And I'm glad you're awake, because I need you to run to market for me, to pick up an extra bag of flour. We've got a big order to fill for tonight, but––"

"We're a bag short, because Mr. Cake filled out the order form incorrectly, and our last bulk shipment was light."

Mrs. Cake blinked. "Exactly. How...?"

"Lucky guess." Pinkie shrugged and hopped down the stairs, landing on the floor with a bounce. "I'll go get it right now."

Her hooves beat lightly against the floorboards as she trotted toward the exit – thirty, thirty-one, thirty two, thirtee-three – not stopping even when Mrs. Cake chased after her.

"Is there something wrong, Pinkie? You seem a little––"

"The rhythm method doesn't work, Mrs. Cake. Just fyi."

She let the door swing shut, not bothering to look at the expression on her employer's face.

The path she followed was a familiar one – she'd walked it enough times to have every hoofbeat, memorized. It was all muscle memory, all rote movement. Could probably do it in her sleep. She looked at her hooves and counted the steps, one after the other.

Forty, forty-one, forty-two... It's a hundred and fifty to the market, but you never get that far, do you?

Around her, ponies buzzed about in anticipation, looks of barely restrained excitement on their faces. The Summer Sun Celebration was always a special day, but its thousandth anniversary was... extra-special, apparently, and called for extra celebration. Once, she'd have been all over that, leading her friends and fellow townsponies in their revelry. That part of her never went away, really, but somewhere along the line, among the many, many, many parties she'd thrown, it had simply withered. And after going through this particular song and dance so many times, she couldn't so much as feign enthusiasm for it.

Not to say there was nothing she was anticipating, however.

Hundred one, hundred two, hundred three, hundred four. Hundred fifty to the market. But every time, at a hundred and ten...

"Come on, Twilight. Just try!"

...You get sidetracked and forget all about it.

Spike would never really grow beyond the round, dull spines and chub of babyhood, she knew, but it always seemed to her that he lost some of it as the years went on, and seeing him at his youngest again, after playing things out to their finish, always threw her for just a bit of a loop. His changes were never as drastic as Twilight's, though.

Funny. There was a time when she thought she'd never get used to seeing her with wings.

"Uh..." The unicorn smiled shyly at Pinkie, in response to Spike's prodding. "Hello?"

Jump. Gasp. Fly away. Invitations, balloons, streamers. Cake and punch. Mrs. Cake will be upset about the flour, but she'll forget all about it before the night's over.

Muscle memory and rote memorization. Every bit of Pinkie's being told her what to do. Instead, she shook her head.

"Can't stop right now, sorry. Maybe we can talk later."

Part of Pinkie had always wondered what Twilight's reaction to her antics had been. She was always long gone before Twilight was able to form a proper response to her sudden bounce and gasp. She'd never asked Twilight when she had the chance, and never saw fit to afterword.

So when she caught Twilight's sarcastic "well, that was interesting," she found herself wondering whether it was the same response she'd always given, or if changing her reaction to Twilight changed Twilight's reaction to her.

Either way, hearing it was almost enough to make Pinkie smile – really smile – for the first time in recent recollection.

---

The way to the Tree of Harmony was open. It shouldn't have been – it never was, as far as Pinkie knew. But then, she'd never been down there so early. For all she knew, maybe the way was only open until she and the others had reason to visit, and then it shut altogether. She had no way of knowing for sure.

More telling was the Tree itself. There was no color along its surface, no shimmering, iridescent patterns rippling across its trunk. Its canopy still glowed, but dimly, and flickering. It was a sign – it had to be. She was tired of it all. The cave being open, that was sloppiness born from her exhaustion. Pinkie was sure of it.

Maybe she's as worn out as I am. Maybe it's something we have in common.

"This needs to stop," said Pinkie Pie to the Tree of Harmony.

She made the declaration without expecting an answer, yet she hoped for one all the same. So she was unsurprised when the Tree gave none, and persevered in the face of its silence.

"I should have said so a long time ago – as soon as I figured out what was going on. But getting myself to say it took more courage than I had. Besides, the truth is, I was kind of hoping you'd just end things on your own if I waited long enough. But I figured out a while ago that, if I never said anything, you'd never stop. You'd just go on and on like this until you couldn't anymore. So, here I am.

"I've known for a while, y'know. It didn't happen all at once, mind you – it was just a feeling at first. A little itty-bitty one that grew into a big, jumbo-sized one, every time things started over from scratch. And I was okay with it at first, because hey, reliving the best years of my life, with the best friends a mare could ever ask for? Over and over, forever and ever? It's a party that never ends. What's not to love?

"But I figured something else out, the longer it went on, and I thought a thought I never thought I'd think. Parties need to end for them to mean anything. If you know it's never gonna come, that it's just gonna be cake and balloons for infinity, then there's no point in the celebration, because there's nothing to celebrate. Nothing to hold on to. I don't want that kind of party... that kind of life... anymore. And I know you too well to believe that you do."

The Tree said, and did, nothing.

"Are you not gonna talk to me?" Pinkie asked, an ear twitching nervously. "I know you're listening. I know you're watching. 'Cuz... what would be the point of all of this..."

Pinkie splayed her forelegs wide, sweeping them across the underground cavern.

"...if you weren't watching and listening?"

Still the Tree was silent.

Pinkie dropped her forelegs, the beginnings of a sweat prickling along her coat. She took a deep breath to calm herself.

"I know you're listening. But if you're not gonna take me seriously... then I'm gonna have to show you how serious I am. I'm gonna do something big, and bad, and... drastic, that's the word. I'm gonna have to do something drastic to make you listen to me. So we can do this now, or..."

The Tree glowed brighter for an instant. Pinkie broke off her threat, and stared at the canopy, her hope building in time with the light.

Then it dimmed to nothing, and Pinkie slumped over.

"I know you can hear me. Do you just not care?"

Pinkie turned around, staring mournfully at the Tree over her shoulder, before leaving it and the cavern behind.

"Then I'll have to make you care."

---

A Pinkie Pie party meant streamers and balloons, music and dancing. It meant happiness and revelry, shouts and laughter, sore hooves and tired muscles and raw, scratchy throats the morning after. There were friends to be made, and the possibility of romance – it didn't happen often, but it did happen – and, more often than not, it all ended with somepony wearing a lampshade.

That was the way things were supposed to go. How the night was supposed to play out. Arrangements made and invitations sent at breakneck speed and at the last moment, a surprise event to welcome Twilight Sparkle without the least bit of suspicion on her part. Simply resisting the impulse to do just that – to follow the script the same way she had innumerable times already – was hard enough. But what she had done – what she was about to do...

She stared into the bowl of punch that she'd prepared, and wrenched her eyes shut with a shudder, revolted at the sight of her reflection.

...It's not real. None if is real. So none of it matters, not really.

The door burst open, loudly and suddenly, and Fluttershy swept inside, cradling Spike in her forelegs. "You simply must get him to – oh!"

Pinkie looked up at the newcomers. "Hey, Fluttershy. How's your day been?"

"I-it's – it's, well, it's been... um..." Fluttershy dropped to the floor and lowered Spike, hiding behind her curtain of mane and shrinking away from Pinkie. "N-nothing. That is, um, I... it's..."

"Spike, Fluttershy? What's going on?" Twilight nudged past Fluttershy – a little thoughtless on her part, Pinkie thought – and stopped when she saw the library's occupant.

"When it rains," she sighed.

"You're the pony from this morning, right?" Pinkie approached Twilight, noting with silent nostalgia as Fluttershy edged away from her. "Sorry for ditching you; I was in a rush. I'm Pinkie Pie."

"Twilight Sparkle," the unicorn said testily. "And this is––"

"Spike. Spike the Dragon." Spike stood and brushed himself off before offering a handshake to Pinkie. "Who is perfectly capable of making his own introductions, and is definitely not sleepy."

Pinkie pumped his hand. "Hope not. 'Cuz I've got a big ol' bowl of punch that I'm not gonna be able to drink all by myself, otherwise."

"Punch?" Spike's eyes widened.

"My own way of personally welcoming you – both of you – to Ponyville." Pinkie forced herself to grin at Fluttershy. "You wanna stay and have a drink too? There's enough for all of us."

Fluttershy clambered to her hooves and shook her head rapidly, pink mane flying everywhere. "Th-that's okay. I have, um... I have an animal friend who needs a... spinal tap. Right now. E-excuse me."

She bolted for the door, to Pinkie's profound relief.

Twilight shut the door shut with a shimmery wave of magic, and looked at Pinkie, reluctance on her face.

"That's very kind of you, but Spike and I have a lot of work to do before the Summer Sun Celebration, and we really can't afford any more distractions."

"Aww, c'mon," said Pinkie, swaggering back to the punch bowl. "It won't take long. A swig and a slurp and a word in your ear, and I'll be out of your mane. Pinkie promise."

She poured servings into the three glasses. "See, most of the time, when somepony new comes to town, I greet 'em with a song and a dance, or even a party in their honor. Looking at you, I can tell you're not the partying type, but I still wanna do something nice for you. So..."

Pinkie nosed one of the glasses toward the edge of the table. "Indulge me a smidge?"

Her words brought a guarded smile out of Twilight that made Pinkie ache to see. "I... suppose it can't hurt." She trotted toward the table, throwing a significant look at Spike.

"This is honestly the most normal thing that's happened to either of us all day," Twilight admitted.

"Yeah, I'll bet the others have been swamping you with hellos, and presents, and attention, and apple fritters." Pinkie shrugged. "It's the Ponyville way. You get used to it."

"I'm not sure I'll be in town long enough to get used to it," Twilight muttered. She floated a cup to herself, and another into Spike's waiting grasp, and raised her own to her lips.

"Ah-ah!" Pinkie interrupted, balancing her own cup on her hoof. "Gotta make a toast first. C'mon, haven't you ever done this before?"

"Probably not," said Spike, nudging Twilight in the flank with his elbow. "Like you said – she's not really the partying type. Sheesh, Twi."

Twilight gave him a dirty look.

Pinkie looked into her cup, and squeezed her eyes shut. She inhaled deeply, and her breath hitched just so.

"To new beginnings."

She downed the punch in a single gulp, shuddering at the mish-mash of bitter flavors.

Twilight tried to suppress a shudder, but her own distaste was plain on her face. "It's, um... it's really quite... tasty."

"Uh, seriously Twilight?" Spike looked skeptically at the unicorn. "This tastes, like... like, there's a word for how this stuff tastes, but I can't remember it."

"Tart?" Pinkie offered.

Spike snapped his fingers. "Tart. Oh, and bitter. And––"

"Spike!"

"What? Hey, she agrees with me."

"He's right. I do." Pinkie shrugged. "New recipe, sorry. Still perfecting it."

Spike frowned, squinting into his cup. "Keep at it, I guess. Hope this sits well with all that Apple Family food."

He wandered off to examine one of the bookshelves, leaving Twilight alone with Pinkie.

"Sorry about him. I swear, he was raised better than that."

"He didn't say anything that wasn't true. This stuff's awful." Pinkie dropped her glass on the table. "So I don't take it personally."

"You handle criticism remarkably well. I know a scholar or two in Canterlot who could learn a lot from your graciousness." Twilight let her eyes wander around the room. "Where's the librarian, by the way? I'd like to touch base with her before I... urk..."

A twinge of pain spasmed across Twilight's face, and she rubbed her stomach lightly.

"...sorry. Before I settle in upstairs. Is she okay with us hanging out in here like this, after hours?"

"I have no idea. I never met her – for all I know, we never had one. Not until you showed up."

Twilight looked quizzically at Pinkie. "Until I...?"

"Never mind." The pain was starting to creep up on Pinkie – a hot, stabbing sensation in the pit of her stomach. She tried not to let it show. "We just don't have a librarian. I'm not sure who runs the place. The Mayor's office, maybe? Or somepony else."

"...Crazy," Twilight muttered, looking into her drink. "You've got a crazy, crazy way of doing things. Is anypony in this town not crazy?"

"Probably not." Pinkie admitted. "We're a funny bunch, I know, 'specially if you're coming from a place like Canterlot. But it's like I said, you get used to it. All that crazy just kinda becomes another part of everyday life. Goes from being weird, to normal, until you fall in love with the town."

"Twilight!" Spike called suddenly. "They make Power Ponies novels! Why didn't anypony ever tell me?!"

Pinkie watched Spike bury his nose in a thin, paperback book, holding it up with one hand, his other still holding his glass.

"He seems to be enjoying himself, at least." Twilight chuckled, interrupted by a slight wince of discomfort. "I dunno, though – seems like the kind of thing you'd never get used to."

"You do. You do." Then she sighed, and moved back to the punch bowl, forcing herself to stare at her reflection in its gently undulating surface.

"Thing is, though... the charm wears off after a while. The more you live it, the longer you live it, the more you get used to it, and the less fun it is. It goes from being exciting, to dull, to... tedious. That's a good word for it. It gets tedious. Then, after a while, it all just gets predictable. You see everything coming from a mile out, all the twists and turns, every hill and valley. It all becomes completely predictable. You could sleepwalk through it. Nothing ever changes, and nothing new ever comes from it."

Pinkie shut her eyes, stiffening as another pain lanced through her gut. Behind her, Twilight approached.

"Pinkie Pie? Are you... okay?"

Pinkie's body sagged.

"...No, Twilight. No, I'm not." She opened her eyes, and looked at her once and future Princess.

"But it doesn't matter anymore."

Glass shattered suddenly, from the other side of the room. Spike's cup and book were on the floor; with one hand, he clutched his stomach. With his other, his head.

"Twi, I'm... I'm not really feeling so..."

He fell to his side, curling into himself.

Twilight cried his name and galloped to him. Her gait was unsteady – she felt the same pain Pinkie felt, and was fighting through it to get to Spike's side.

"He's not breathing," Twilight said in a ragged voice, her hoof groping vainly at his neck. "His pulse is... Spike, get up. Spike, please, get up!"

"It's no use," said Pinkie matter-of-factly.

Twilight, stricken, pulled away from Spike. Her hooves trembled as she looked from his face, to the broken glass, and the remnants of his punch. She stared at Pinkie, in horror and anger, as tears streaked down her face.

"...What did you do?"

"I think it's obvious what I did." Pinkie sat down – the pain was too intense for her to stand any longer. She wasn't sure how Twilight wasn't completely overcome by it. "I wasn't expecting him to go before us, though – or at all, even. Dragon and all that. So I'm sorry, to both of you, for that. But if it's any consolation..."

A spasm of pain made Pinkie cringe.

"We're not gonna outlive him by much."

Books flew off the shelves haphazardly, and Twilight set into them, scanning the pages of one before flinging it away and moving on to another.

"There has to be something – some spell, some way to reverse this! There has to be!"

"There probably is. You don't have the time for it though. Neither of us do." She smiled apologetically as Twilight focused her attention on her.

"I know you're angry – angry enough to wanna hurt me really bad. You can, if you'd like. I won't stop you."

With a roar, Twilight did just that, flinging herself across the room and slamming into Pinkie, knocking her into the table. The punch bowl went flying, shattering and spilling its contents all over the floor. Pinkie landed on her back, amid the shards, and felt them prick and stab against her.

Then Twilight's hooves found her throat, compressed her windpipe until Pinkie's eyes bulged out of her skull. Tears splashed against Pinkie's face as Twilight throttled her.

The world darkened. Her last sight was Twilight's twisted, enraged expression. The smile never left Pinkie's face.

---

Pinkie awoke, staring into a bright light from above. The pain was gone – the pain in her back, though she still lay on the glass, and the pain in her insides, though the poison should still have been in her body. Twilight's body still pinned her to the floor, her hooves limp against her neck. The world around them was pitch-black; their spot was the only point of light in the library.

"Explain yourself, Pinkie," an unseen voice boomed.

"I already told you," said Pinkie to the light. "You weren't paying attention, and you weren't taking me seriously. So I did something drastic."

"Cutting your mane after a break-up is drastic. Quitting your job and going on vacation is drastic. Dropping out of college to join a hippie commune is drastic. Willfully poisoning your friends is murder."

"It's not really murder if they're not really real, is it?" Pinkie retorted. "And if it is... then, hey, you saw me buy the stuff. You saw me mix the punch. You could've stepped in and stopped me, any time, before it happened. You're as culpable as I am."

"I didn't think you'd actually go through with it!"

"Guess you know better now, don't you?" Pinkie listened carefully – the voice wasn't coming from the light after all, but from all around her. "I'll do it again, too, you know. You can reset the world and start over from scratch, and I'll do it again, because I'll remember. I always remember. And I'll do it again when you reset it again. And again, and again. I'll kill them, or I'll kill myself, or I'll do whatever it takes to screw it up, every single time."

"Why?!" the voice roared.

"Because it has to stop, Twilight!" Pinkie cried back.

For a moment, the voice vanished. Then Twilight's body was suddenly lifted from her and thrown into the darkness like a ragdoll.

Standing over her was Princess Twilight Sparkle, alive, and winged, and very put-out.

"How?" she asked, rage simmering beneath her voice. "How do you remember?"

Pinkie groaned and rolled onto her body, rising to her hooves and shaking the glass from her coat. "Dunno. Just do."

"That's not a satisfactory answer, Pinkie."

"I didn't think it would be, but what're ya gonna do? Kill me?" She smiled mirthlessly at Twilight. "Honestly, I think you just made me too well. The real Pinkie – you know how perceptive the real Pinkie was. How good she was at figuring stuff out. How she had a sixth sense––"

"No. No. No. I am not hearing this." Twilight sat down, covering her ears with her hooves. "After all this time, all these years, all these repetitions and all these cycles, I refuse to believe that we are right back to debating the merits of Pinkie Sense!"

"You asked." Pinkie shrugged. "Of course, I don't have to be that way – it's totally in your power to change me so I'm not as perceptive as the real Pinkie. But then, that'd defeat the whole point of this fantasy, right? I wouldn't be Pinkie anymore, and things'd be different if Pinkie wasn't Pinkie. And you don't want different. You want same. Forever and ever and––"

"Don't you dare pretend to understand me!" Twilight snapped, flaring her wings to full span.

"I'm not pretending. I do understand. I know what's happening, and I know why. It wasn't all at once – like I said – but every time I woke up, on that day, in that bed, I understood a little bit more. Remembered a little bit more."

She stepped closer to Twilight. Hesitantly, she put her hooves around Twilight's withers. The alicorn's wings drooped.

"It's all over, isn't it?" said Pinkie. "You couldn't stop it after all."

"...It wasn't something that could be stopped."

Twilight's eyes unfocused – she stared past Pinkie, through Pinkie.

"I tried for so long to understand why it was happening. To find some way reverse it, to put things back the way that they were. This world played out from start to finish, hundreds and hundreds of times, while the world outside fell away. All while I worked to bring everything back. And then... eventually... I finally figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

"That it isn't an enemy that can be fought. Not a malevolent force. Not a bad guy you can shoot with the Elements, or banish, or imprison in the moon." Her gaze found Pinkie's – her eyes were swimming.

"It's nature. It's fate. Unbiased, without malice. Everything ends so that something new can take its place. Equestria rose from the ashes of the world that came before, and the next must rise from Equestria's ashes in turn."

Pinkie offered a hopeful smile. "Is that so bad?"

Twilight's mouth hung open for a moment before her face twisted into a scowl. She shoved Pinkie away roughly. "You don't understand. You don't understand. There is nothing after this. For any of us – for you, or for me."

"I'm not real, though," said Pinkie dismissively. "Dying doesn't bother me."

"I'm not talking about dying! How I wish we were talking about something as simple and easy as death!" Twilight gestured at the inky darkness surrounding them. "Do you know what it's like outside this... this fantasy copy of our home? This snowglobe? It's gone, Pinkie Pie! The whole world – Equestria, and Ponyville, and all of our friends. They're worse than dead, worse than destroyed – it's like they never existed! They've stopped being! The castle, and myself, that's all that's left! All that is left as proof that we existed!"

Twilight's horn shimmered, and a bubble appeared around Twilight and Pinkie. The darkness rushed forward, encroaching on them from all sides and pressing against their tiny spot of light.

"And it's all I can do to keep that from falling away too. The moment I stop holding it back – the instant – the last remnant of our world, the last traces of Equestria, will collapse. We'll be broken down, recycled, our energy used to help birth the next world. A new world, a new face, a new reality. But for us? There's nothing. No afterlife, no hope of reuniting in some post-mortal paradise. Not a trace of us will be left. Not even a memory – and even if there was, there'd be nopony to remember us. Just oblivion."

She stared at her hooves and sniffled.

"It'll be like we never existed at all."

"How do you know all of this?" Pinkie asked. "How can you know?"

"You know how long this illusion's been running." Twilight rubbed her eyes with her fetlock. "It's real-time, Pinkie. My time passes along with yours. I've had a lot of time to study this. I'm right. Trust me."

The bubble burst, and the darkness receded. Pinkie stepped toward Twilight, hooves crunching over broken glass. She didn't dare touch her this time, though, stopping just within reach.

"We don't deserve that fate, Pinkie." Twilight's gaze held a glint of defiance. "We deserve to be remembered. You deserve to be remembered. That's the whole point of all of this; that's why it can't end. Even if it's just a fantasy, even if it's just like this, even if I'm the only one left to remember it, you deserve to live. You deserve to exist."

"But it isn't life," said Pinkie. "It's a lie. I can't live a lie, Twilight – I'm tired of just existing. And I know that you are, too. Heck, I saw the Tree; I know you've taken this as far as you can. If you don't end it now, on your terms... time's just gonna take that choice away from you."

"But it will all be gone," Twilight said, her jaw clenched.

"It's already gone. You said so yourself." Pinkie swallowed and wrapped her hooves around Twilight, pulling her close. "You're all alone out there."

Twilight stiffened briefly, before clutching Pinkie tightly and falling apart completely. Pinkie held her, stroking her mane soothingly.

In truth, she didn't know how much time had passed since Twilight started the illusion. She knew how long she'd been aware of it, but not how much time passed before then. She had no way of knowing, really knowing, how long it had been since Twilight had spoken to somepony else. How long it had been since she'd held somepony else.

She wanted to be strong for her friend – it was the last thing she could do for her, to be her rock while she cried. But thinking that made Pinkie break along with her.

"It can't be like that," Twilight sobbed. "It shouldn't. Our lives – our friendship – they mattered. We lived, and laughed, and fell in love, and... and it can't just stop, Pinkie. It can't!"

Tears dripped onto Twilight's shoulder. "I know. But it has to."

Twilight squeezed Pinkie Pie tighter, saying nothing. For a moment that stretched into the infinite, they held one another.

Then the world went white.

---

The library was gone when the light cleared, as was the glass underneath Pinkie's hooves. Looking down, she saw a flat, white surface, glowing faintly – crystal, she realized, after tapping it twice. Positioned around her were six chairs of the same crystal, of towering size and stature. And a seventh, too – smaller, yet still larger than she was.

Then her eyes found Twilight, and she realized that the world around her wasn't big. She was just very little. Although, even if Pinkie were at full size, Twilight would have dwarfed her.

The alicorn had changed dramatically over the centuries – she was much, much larger than the form she'd taken inside Pinkie's reality, a full-fledged alicorn princess. Her mane and tail fluttered in the air, a shimmering swirl of pink and purple nebulae, studded with twinkling stars. She was rail-thin, though, and her ribs poked visibly out of her sides, yet she carried herself with poise, resplendent in her full regalia and crowned with the Element of Magic.

Emaciated or no, she looked every bit a Princess. If a very hungry Princess.

Tears rolled down Twilight's gaunt face as she stepped closer to the Map Table. "I'm sorry, Pinkie Pie."

"For what?" Pinkie cocked her head, one ear flopping to the side. "Silly. I murdered you, remember? Or... I murdered a you. 'A you.' Does that sound funny to you too?"

Twilight smiled, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Or sobs. Pinkie preferred to think it was laughter.

"For making you live out that... that purgatory... for as long as you did. I never even guessed that you were aware. If I'd known, then maybe..."

She paused.

"It must have been awful."

"If it helps at all, it wasn't bad at first. I actually liked it for a really long time – it was a play where I knew all the lines and all the blocking like the back of my hoof. And the play just happened to be about the best years of my life – of any of our lives. It just... wore off, eventually, for me."

Pinkie shrugged. "And it did for you too, right? I mean, you were never part of it. You just watched your life happen without you, over and over and over again. That must have been awful."

A tear the size of Pinkie's head splashed against the map table.

"...It wasn't bad at first," Twilight admitted. "Truth is, I wanted to step inside more than once. Just to peek. Relive the old days, with you and the others, just for a little while."

"Why didn't you?"

"I didn't know if I could keep the castle from falling if I stayed in there for a protracted period of time." Twilight bit her lip, unease crossing her face. "No, that's... that's not quite it. If I let myself go inside, to interact with you, to take my own place, even just to visit... I don't think I'd ever have been able to leave."

"Would that have been so bad?"

"It would have been... paradise. Compared to what's left out here. But I felt it more appropriate to be a witness, rather than a participant." Twilight's smile slipped away, and she sighed.

"You okay, big girl?" Pinkie asked.

"...Have you been listening to a word I've said, Pinkie?" Twilight smirked ironically, despite everything. "Whatever the next world's like, there won't be anything left of us. Nopony left to remember us. Do you think I'm okay?"

"Well... no. Dumb question, I guess. But... I don't think I agree with you a hundred percent about that."

Twilight blinked. "Which part?"

"The being forgotten." Pinkie trotted to the edge of the table and looked up at Twilight. "Look, I've had a lot of time to think about this – not as long as you, probably, but long enough to figure a couple of things out. I mean, my world wasn't real, right? And you were watching me anyway. Maybe... maybe there's something else out there, or someone else, watching you the same way. Someone to remember Equestria when it's gone, and all the other Equestrias that came before, and all the ones that come after it. What would be the point of living – of existing – if it all just ended without even leaving behind a memory?"

"...Someone to remember us," Twilight whispered. "So our lives still had meaning. Even after we were gone."

Pinkie smiled. "Didn't think of that, didja?"

Twilight lifted her hoof and rested it on the table, in front of Pinkie. The tiny pink mare reared up and wrapped her forelegs against it – she wasn't quite big enough to get them all the way around.

But it was the best that either of them could do. The last bit of affection either of them would experience.

...Unless Twilight just resets everything from scratch and my memory goes kerflooey.

Somehow, though, Pinkie doubted she'd do that.

"You really think so?" Twilight said. "That there's someone out there to remember us?"

"I do. And who knows? You said that everything gets recycled for the new world, right? New face, new name? Maybe we'll get recycled too – maybe all of us will. You, and the real Pinkie Pie, and all your friends... you can find each other again."

"It won't be the same," said Twilight.

"It won't be the same." Pinkie squeezed her friend's hoof one last time. "But their friendship won't matter any less than ours."

She disengaged from Twilight, and stepped backwards. Her eyes found Twilight's, and she smiled.

"Goodbye, Pinkie," Twilight whispered. "I'll see you again."

"Not me," said Pinkie with a shake of her head. "The real one. The real Pinkie."

"...I'll see you again," Twilight repeated.

Her horn shimmered, and the world fell away from Pinkie's vision.

---

Pinkie Pie's smile was the last thing to go, hanging in the air after the rest of her was gone.

The aura around Princess Twilight's horn dimmed and vanished. The map table's glow, faint and dim as it was, finally went out for the first time in centuries innumerable. And Twilight Sparkle was, at last, alone.

She removed her tiara and set it on the table, her touch lingering on the pink star cresting it. Then, without a word, without so much as a final glance at the thrones, she strode from the chamber, securing the door behind her.

The walk to the main gate was the longest of her life, the last indulgence she would grant herself before the end. When she reached it, she paused for a final breath of stale, recirculated castle air. Then she flung the door open, and stepped onto the landing.

Beyond was the dark, kept at bay only by a thin, faintly glowing pink bubble, surrounding the entirety of her castle. The last remnant of Equestria. The last relic that marked their existence.

Pinkie was right, she realized, as she watched the bubble flicker. The shield she'd conjured to preserve the castle – the only defense she could muster against the encroaching end of all things – wouldn't hold forever, and she'd already spent much of herself casting and reinforcing it. It might have been centuries, or even only decades, but sooner or later, it'd wear out. She would wear out. And then, the choice would be made for her.

And what a choice it is. Live a lonely existence, hiding in a fantasy recreation of my prime? Or usher in the end of this world, and the birth of the next?

No, it wasn't a palatable choice. But it was the only choice still within her power to make.

Let entropy be damned. She would end it on her terms.

Her thoughts were of her friends as the barrier fell.

The instant that passed felt like an eternity. Twilight felt her body shrink, her stately, regal, alicorn body regressing into the fledgling form Celestia had bestowed upon her. Then the unicorn she was born as. Then nothing.

Twilight Sparkle retained her consciousness long enough to realize – with some surprise – that she didn't feel a thing. In all her time living alone, with only that fantasy world in front of her, in all the time she'd had to imagine this moment... she always figured it would hurt.

It doesn't, she thought as the last threads of consciousness gave way. It doesn't hurt at all.

---

Everything that was, and ever would be, collapsed into a singularity – a point of light, a pinprick of a brightness, against an endless expanse of black.

Then, with a crash, the light exploded, filling that canvass with blinding white...

---

...and the ruler crashed against her desk, wrenching her from sleep.

"Whuzzawhoza?" she slurred, the right side of her mouth slick with saliva. A strand stretched from the corner of her lips to the sheet of lined paper that had pillowed her face.

"I said 'wake up, Twilight Twinkle.' Or, if you must sleep through my class, at least have the decency to not snore."

Twilight Twinkle blinked as her wits returned in full. She looked up into the sour, middle-aged face of Ms. Blossomforth, and the ruler floating beside her head in a telekinetic sheath. Around her, two dozen other ponies snickered at Twilight's misfortune.

"Sorry, Ms. Blossomforth," Twilight muttered, rubbing the drool off her face. "I was, um... I was paying attention, I promise. Just resting my eyes. And I wasn't snoring. I have, uh... asthma."

More snickering. Ms. Blossomforth ignored it, keeping her attention squarely on Twilight.

"So you've been following the lesson attentively this whole time? I'm relieved to hear it. Surely, then, you can tell me the year in which the astronomer, Starswirl, proved the geocentric model?"

"It was, I..." Twilight scanned her notes frantically. "I'm sure it's on here some... uh..."

Twilight's heart froze when she saw the doodle at the bottom of the sheet – the effigy of her teacher, cross-eyed and shouting, with the floral-shaped puff of air coming from her behind and the caption "MS. BLOSSOMFART" beneath it. She covered her notes with her hoof and grinned weakly.

"Y'know, Teach, you really shouldn't have to see my messy mouthwriting. Just, uh, gimme a little space, and I'll––"

"I've seen your mouthwriting before, Ms. Twinkle. There's no sparing me from that, one way or another." Ms. Blossomforth yanked the paper from under Twilight with an effortless burst of magic and raised it to eye level. Her face darkened impressively, passing through several shades of red before settling on one which perfectly captured her level of fury.

She glared at Twilight, who made a weak sound in the back of her throat.

"...Freedom of expression?" Twilight offered feebly

Ms. Blossomforth's eye twitched as she smacked the paper down onto Twilight's desk. "Detention. Two weeks. Starting today."

Twilight sat bolt upright. "B-but Ms. Blossomforth, I can't stay after school! My brother – it's my turn to pick him up, and––"

"Three weeks, then. Or shall we try for four?"

The class burst into open laughter, and Twilight slumped in her seat.

"...Yes, Ms. Blossomforth."

Mercy came in the form of the bell; the students filed out as Ms. Blossomforth barked the homework assignment to them. "And as for you, Miss Twinkle, back here at a quarter after."

"Yes, ma'am," Twilight mumbled as she slung her bags over her flanks, shoved away from her desk, and trudged into the hall.

Twilight entered the current of students passing through the school corridor, stopping when she reached her locker. With practiced ease, she swiftly undid the lock with her magic and pulled the door open, and was immediately subsumed beneath a tidal wave of hastily packed papers and materials.

This... this is not my day.

She heard a patronizing sigh – immediately recognizable – and groaned inwardly as a pair of tawny forehooves started digging her out of the pile.

Not my day one bit.

"You're letting yourself be seen with me?" she said flatly. "Really? You sure your social standing can take the hit?"

"You get one freebie a year," murmured the husky voice of her older sister. "You know it, I know it, the whole school knows it."

"What a generous soul you are, Sunset."

Twilight added her magic to Sunset's, and pushed the pile off her body and back into the locker. Pausing to quickly pull a fresh textbook from the mess, she shoved the locker door shut and pressed against it tightly to ensure that it latched completely. Sighing, she slumped forward, resting her cheek against the cool metal.

"This would happen a lot less frequently if you'd just clean your locker out every once in awhile," said Sunset. The older filly leaned against the locker beside Twilight's, her violet eyes alight with schadenfreude.

"Yeah, you're one to talk," Twilight grumbled. "My locker's organized chaos. I've seen your bedroom; it's like... entropy personified."

"Whatever." Sunset rolled her eyes and shoved off the locker. "Hey, I'm gonna be late for dinner tonight – me and Adagio are goin' out for FroYo."

"Y-you can't!" Twilight blurted, making Sunset pause mid-stride as she headed down the school corridor. "You need to pick up Spike from school today."

"Uh... no I don't?" Sunset raised an eyebrow. "It's your turn."

"I... can't." Twilight looked at her hooves, mumbling. "I got detention."

"Detention? You?"

"Don't tell Mom, okay? Make something up; just don't let her find out."

Sunset's eyes narrowed. "You want me to cancel my plans with my best friend and pick up the slack for you, because you got yourself in trouble, and on top of everything else, you want me to lie to Mom for you."

"...What'll it take for you to say yes?"

"Six months of garnishing your allowance, jailbird. Plus hazard pay. For lying to Mom." Sunset smirked.

"Deal." Twilight hoisted her textbook in her levitation and slid it into one of her saddlebags. "See you at home."

It was only after she reached Ms. Blossomforth's classroom again that she realized she could have blackmailed Sunset into compliance by threatening to tell Mom that she had dessert before dinner.

Stupid, Twilight. Stupid, stupid, stupid Twilight.

She was inside the classroom just as the clock struck a quarter after three, and was greeted by Ms. Blossomforth's characteristically sour glare. There was a pile of papers on the desk in front of her, and a red pen floating beside her head. Wordlessly, she gestured for Twilight to take a seat, and went back to crushing hopes and dreams.

Twilight looked around the room with a gulp – there were eight or so other ponies in the desks. A few she'd never seen before, but most were known troublemakers – not a crowd she ever thought she'd spend an appreciable amount of time with. Her own seat was already taken by an edgy-looking colt in a black sweater, its hood drawn up and tufts of red mane poking out from beneath it. A pair of notorious ne'erdowells – Lyra and Licketysomething – glared at her from the front row.

Twilight's knees started shaking.

Then a furtive psst and a wave from a filly in the back of the room drew her attention. The filly – pink-coated and maned, with springy hair a few shades darker than her fur – beckoned Twilight over with a grin.

Reluctantly, Twilight approached, and took a seat beside her, smiling weakly.

"Haven't seen you in here before," said the filly in a sugary sweet whisper. "First timer?"

Twilight nodded.

"What're you in for?"

Twilight dug around in her bag for her "notes" and offered the paper to the filly. Her eyes widened, and she snorted with laughter.

"'Blossomfart.' Priceless. Oh, she really shouldn't have given this back to you."

Her laughter disarmed Twilight, and she chanced a wary chuckle. "What about you?"

"Added a tablespoon of cayenne pepper to the coffee grounds in the teacher's lounge. On a dare." She shrugged. "They totally overreacted; it's a victimless crime, if you ask me."

Twilight blinked. "Y'know, I thought Ms. Blossomforth was extra snippy today..."

"Oh, that happened a month ago. I'm still doin' time for it." The filly winked. "You got a name?"

"...Twilight Twinkle."

"Pretty name. I like it." The filly grinned. "M'name's Pinkie Pie. And I wanna take this opportunity to thank you for drawing that picture and landing yourself in here. Because you are by far the most interesting thing to walk through that door in, like... ever."

"You think I'm... interesting?" Twilight looked around the room at the troublemakers and the toughs, and the edgy colt occupying her desk. "What does that make them?"

"A buncha things I can't say if we want to maintain a Y-7 raiting," said Pinkie with a wink. "Detention's the pits – it'll crush you, if you let it. It goes by a lot smoother, and a lot faster, if you're doin' it with a friend, though. So... whaddaya say?"

She extended her hoof to Twilight. "To new beginnings?"

Twilight looked at her hoof, and a feeling of... something washed over her. Some distant, phantom sense of deja vu. She'd never seen this filly before in her life, and yet... and yet...

And yet something about this feels... strangely appropriate.

Smiling guardedly, she reached out to tap Pinkie's hoof with her own. "To new begin––"

"This is not a place to fraternize, Twilight Twinkle!" Ms. Blossomforth snapped suddenly from the front of the room. "Do not make me separate you two!"

Twilight froze before their hooves made contact, and Pinkie had to close the distance on her own.

"Yeah, she says that, but she won't actually do it unless you give her a reason to. So, first rule of detention?" She raised her hoof to her lips. "Indoor voice only."

Twilight her her smile behind her hoof and sighed.

To new beginnings.