i did it for them

Once upon a time, Manehattan had been the mecca for fashion, the bustling city bursting with the latest in fashion stores and fashion trends and fashion everything-you-could-name.

But that was a long time ago. 

If ever in Equestria—frankly, not just Equestria, but in the entire realm—there had been a city dedicated to fashion in every aspect of its design, it was Coeur de Couture. 

Four mountains, a myriad of art, beauty fit to blind the heavens, and no waiting. A pony could try and take it in at a look, and a pony couldn’t help but fail.

Coeur de Couture. A city built in white marble. And in the districts where that sort of design was unspeakably passé, a city built also in dark granite, lapis lazuli, unassuming brick, canals suspended mid-air. A city where the designs loomed wherever the eye might roam, window after backlit window rising to the sky filled with the ponequins sporting that very day’s works. The streets may be in shadow, but what did that matter so long as the artistry about them shone?

Coeur de Couture. Three peaks, feeding down into the web of streets and parlours and galleries at their feet. And between them all, Mont Couture, from whose own peak the cable-cars strutted across the clouds to deliver their precious cargo of that day’s designs.

Mont Couture, its peak, the Boutique.

In the face of its pillars and frontage and carousel figures on high, Twilight remembered boutiques from days past. What artists from then might have wanted, if they’d just had that little more of a budget, maybe an extra storey to hold the designs, if they’d ever been able to get that carousel girdling the first floor to work.

She didn’t understand how so many ponies could stand to live there, so close to Her, but though it was her concern, it certainly wasn’t her business. In fact, she usually avoided going there if she could. 

She could have sent somepony else in her place, a guard or a diplomat, to tell the city’s grand couturier that the kingdom’s monarch expected her at the palace immediately, but not this time. Not with the molten lava flowing through her veins, ready to burn.  

And yet, as she stood before its doors, she felt something distinctly different than rage. 

She felt dread. The same dread she felt every time she had to deal with the Lady and her puppets and the complete mockery of those Twilight still held dear. 

She’d hoped it would get easier. It should have gotten easier, logically and sensibly, because those things were abominations, and yet, every time, just like with death, it was never easy, and this fact alone enraged her all the more. 

They’re just puppets, she thought as she slammed the heavy knocker three times. She was only knocking to be courteous, forcing herself to be better than what her instincts demanded, which was to tear the doors open on their hinges and make her presence violently known. 

One, two, three seconds passed, before the doors slowly opened to reveal a perfectly crafted, life-sized, beige-felted earth pony, devoid of any features such as eyes Twilight could glare at or a mouth from which to reply to Twilight’s snarled demands.

“Is she here?” 

The puppet did nothing for a second and then stepped out of the way, Twilight marching past it and into the lobby. 

“Where is she?” she demanded next, her thundering voice echoing through the large foyer and into the halls beyond. 

The puppet said nothing, only closing the door and then resuming a lifeless position next to it, waiting for the next miserable soul who came knocking by. 

“Don’t just stand there!” she snarled. “Go and get her. Aren’t you supposed to be intelligent?!” 

Again, the puppet said and did nothing. She looked around and saw another nearby, this one now lifeless by the entrance to a hallway. 

“What about you? Are you going to get her, or are you useless, too?” 

And again, this puppet did not move an inch nor did it react in any visible way when its companion landed a few feet next to it, stuffing pouring out from both sides of its now severed body. 

“Singularity!” the monarch of Equestria bellowed, her horn still crackling with magic. “Come here now.” She slammed her hoof against the floor, magic flooding out. “Now!” 

The grand couturier did not show up, but the voice that replied in her stead still made Twilight’s stomach churn. 

“Geeeeez! That’s no way to try and get a refund, lady.” 

The puppet that walked into the lobby was not like the others, not completely blank in mind and body. This one—a pegasus—was a much more finished model, from kaleidoscopic mane to cyan felted body, and a single expertly stitched rainbow-colored lightning bolt on its flank. 

Though her stitched cerise eyes could not express emotions, and her muzzle had no mouth with which to speak, the magic voice that came out of it when it saw the mutilated puppet conveyed emotions well enough. 

“Holy crap! What happened?!” the blue puppet asked, and when it turned around and met Twilight’s gaze, it stepped back. “Oh, crap. Twilight? I mean, your majesty?” 

(The voice wasn’t the same. Close enough, but not the same. It wasn’t, Twilight was sure of it, but—agonizing her to her core if she thought about it too much—not because she remembered what the real one’s voice sounded like, but because she remembered thinking it wasn’t the same the first time she heard the blue thing speak. )

“Where. Is. She?” Twilight asked, her voice level only because she felt sick, and sicker still at feeling so sick. 

“Uuuuuuuh.” The blue one stepped back. “Uh. Let me just. Uh. Stay here.” 

“No!” Twilight demanded, and it was only a primal care for a friend long gone that stopped her from dismembering her insulting facsimile. “WHERE. IS. SHE?!” 

“Please,” Rain—the thing said, taking yet another step back. “Chill, please, your majesty. Let me just. I’ll go get—Okay?” 

“You have three minutes. Or.” 

She barely spared a glance at the puppet pieces on the floor, and was relieved when the thing bolted back into the hallway she came from. 

Breathe, she thought to herself, closing her eyes. She couldn’t lose her temper like this. She shouldn’t, and wouldn’t, and not right before she had to deal with Singularity. So, one after the other, just as Cadance had taught her more than a century ago, she breathed in. Then out. 

In. And out.

“Twilight! Omigosh, you’re here!” 

The queen kept her eyes closed, even as her heart bled with newfound anger. Why couldn’t they stay the hell away?

“I was so sad! I thought I’d never see you again!” the voice continued, and just like with the blue one, the voice did not match. This one was too high-pitched, too happy, too cheerful, manufactured in a way the real one would never have been. “Remember, ‘cause last time you said you were never coming back here?” 

Twilight Sparkle kept her eyes closed and ignored the voice. 

“Ooooh, are you taller?! Dashie said last time that you looked the same, but I think you grow a liiiiiiittle bit taller every time! At least an inch!” 

She ignored the voice. She ignored it as best she could, the uneven pitch with every bounce, the stupid sing-song that was just a little too familiar, the stupid awful joy the thing had, if it was even real. 

“Twilight? Oh, are we playing a game? Who can be the quietest? Oh, oh! I can play, too!” One, two, three seconds passed, and the voice erupted again, like nails on the chalkboard that was Twilight’s mind. “Uuuugh! I just CAN’T! You’re too good!” 

Standing there, her eyes closed, Twilight Sparkle had only one thought, the same she’d had so long ago.

How could she? 

How could she have done this? 

“…Twilight?” Its voice was quieter, concerned. Coming closer and closer. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

Until it came too close, and the final “Twilight?” arrived with a felted hoof pressing against her trembling coat. 

The crack of magic was loud, but not as loud as the shattering sound of the puppet colliding against a glass display, which itself was not as loud as Twilight’s own voice. 

“Don’t TOUCH me.” 

And only now did her eyes see the puppet, the earth pony mockery scrambled atop the broken display, several gashes across its body, and only the one disfiguring three balloons succeeding in making the alicorn feel sick once again. 

“Oooooh,” it said, looking over at Twilight with expressionless stitched cerulean eyes. “Well, that wasn’t very nice!” 

“Enough!” Twilight’s voice was like a thunderstorm, ready to bring the whole place down with her. “Where is—” 

“She ain’t here, your majesty.” 

And again—again, again, again, neverending, neverending, neverending—her stomach dropped and churned. 

Maybe, if Twilight too was deranged, she’d find some sick humor in the fact that out of all four of them, this puppet’s voice was all but identical to her inspiration’s. Hard to forget the voice one most squabbled with.  

For what was the last time, considering what the puppet had just said, Twilight Sparkle turned around to face another charade of her departed, dearest friends. 

The orange one was just like the other two, a perfectly crafted tribute from the orange coat, to the apple-shaped cutiemark, to the wide green eyes. The only thing about her that was not made of felt or other stitched fabric was her hat. 

The hat was, as somepony might have once said, a ‘bona fide’ light brown hat. Twilight imagined these were easy to find, especially for somepony who ruled the fashion industry with an iron hoof, but…

But this hat was worn. It was creased. It was used. It looked old. So evidently lived in was it, in fact, that in the deepest, darkest pits of her soul, Twilight Sparkle feared it was not just any hat. 

She feared it was the hat, and the only reason she would never know for sure was because she did not think she could live through desecrating Applejack’s grave just to find out She had done the same. 

“Well,” said the orange one, “I’d say I’m happy to see you again, your majesty, but I reckon the feeling wouldn’t be mutual, would it?” 

“What do you mean she’s not here? Isn’t this her home?” Twilight barked. “Where the hell is she, then?” 

The orange one shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you even if I wanted. She ain’t usually in the business of tellin’ me what she’s doing, just that I’m in charge while she’s gone. Speaking of which—” She looked towards the pink puppet standing up in the distance. “You all right over there?” 

“My stuffing’s coming out!” the pink puppet yelped, pawing at escaping strands of white wispy fabric. “Don’t look, it’s awful! I’m not a foal-friendly sight at all right now!” 

“You sure ain’t. Come now, go and get you-know-who to stitch you up.” It looked back at Twilight briefly and then added, “And if you see Shy on the way, tell her she’d be smart to stay clear.” 

“Oki-doki-loki!” it said, stuffing flying out as it bounded off. “Bye, Twilight! I hope you come back soon!” 

“Get her here,” Twilight snapped, catching the puppet’s attention once again. “Now.” 

“What, you want me to go out and holler for her? When she’s out, she’s out, no plumb thing I can do about it.” Its tone softened, and Twilight hated it for it. “I’m sorry, sugarcube.” 

“Don’t,” Twilight hissed, “ever call me that again.” 

The puppet nodded courteously. “‘Scuse me, your majesty. Won’t happen again. Still. She ain’t here, I don’t know where she went, and I don’t know when she’s coming back.”

For the briefest of seconds, Twilight Sparkle saw in her mind’s eye the orange puppet turned to smoky cinders before her. 

“When she comes back,” she said, every word soaked in venom, “tell her that she is expected at the castle immediately, or else I’m going to wipe this city off the map. And she better do it soon, because I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait until she comes. Am I clear?”

“…Crystal, your majesty,” it said. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Just make sure she comes,” Twilight spat before turning on her heels and stalking off, disgusted and indignant that she’d have to go home and, what? Wait for ‘The Lady’ to deign Twilight with an appearance? Nopony made Twilight Sparkle wait, and even less a sociopath like Singu—

“Queen Twilight! Wait!”

A foot away from the door, Twilight Sparkle stopped for the final time, not because her mind demanded it, but because her heart did. Because memories she’d failed to bury kept coming back from the dead. 

If there was a sick humor to be found in the orange one sounding just like Applejack, the same did not apply to the voice arresting Twilight’s heart. This one too had a voice that was identical to its inspiration, just as gentle and kind, and all Twilight could think of was. Well.

She’s the only one left, Twilight! Please! I’m begging you! Just do it, we can’t lose her, I can’t lose her, too, just—Do it, Twilight. Or I will do it myself. 

She didn’t dare look back. Not then, just as she’d barely been able to look at the creature every single time Twilight’d been forced to come to this artistically inclined hell. It was just too much to handle, even if she knew the sight of the creature would be nicer than the last memory she had of the real Fluttershy—sick and dying. 

“Her boutique in Ponyville. The old one,” it said, strained. “I’ve… I’ve gone with her before. She has alarms there, they—She’ll know if somepony goes inside. You won’t have to wait long to see her.”

Twilight stood there a moment and then, the doors opening before her, left without another word.